“No,” said the Prince, “but—­”

“There is no but,” she resumed, allowing him to say no more than she had allowed her intendant.  The despotism natural to puissant personalities scorned to be disguised in her, when there were practical decisions in which she was to take part.  “The only serious objection you made to me when I spoke to you of this marriage six months ago was that Fanny was not a Catholic.  I know today that she has only to be asked to be converted.  So do not let us speak of that.”

“No,” said the Prince, “but—­”

“As for Hafner,” continued the Countess, “you will say he is my friend and that I am partial, but that partiality even is an opinion.  He is precisely the father-in-law you need.  Do not shake your head.  He will repair all that needs repairing in your fortune.  You have been robbed, my poor Peppino.  You told me so yourself....  Become the Baron’s son-in-law, and you will have news of your robbers.  I know....  There is the Baron’s origin and the suit of ten years ago with all the ‘pettogolezzi’ to which it gave rise.  All that has not the common meaning.  The Baron began life in a small way.  He was from a family of Jewish origin—­you see, I do not deceive you—­but converted two generations back, so that the story of his change of religion since his stay in Italy is a calumny, like the rest.  He had a suit in which he was acquitted.  You would not require more than the law, would you?”

“No, but—­”

“For what are you waiting, then?” concluded Madame Steno.  “That it may be too late?  How about your lands?”

“Ah! let me breathe, let me fan myself,” said Ardea, who, indeed, took one of the Countess’s fans from the desk.  “I, who have never known in the morning what I would do in the evening, I, who have always lived according to my pleasure, you ask me to take in five minutes the resolution to bind myself forever!”

“I ask you to decide what you wish to do,” returned the Countess.  “It is very amusing to travel at one’s pleasure.  But when it is a question of arranging one’s life, this childishness is too absurd.  I know of only one way:  to see one’s aim and to march directly to it.  Yours is very clear—­to get out of this dilemma.  The way is not less clear; it is marriage with a girl who has five millions dowry.  Yes or no, will you have her?....  Ah,” said she, suddenly interrupting herself, “I shall not have a moment to myself this morning, and I have an appointment at eleven o’clock!"....  She looked at the timepiece on her table, which indicated twenty-five minutes past ten.  She had heard the door open.  The footman was already before her and presented to her a card upon a salver.  She took the card, looked at it, frowned, glanced again at the clock, seemed to hesitate, then:  “Let him wait in the small salon, and say that I will be there immediately,” said she, and turning again toward Ardea:  “You think you have escaped.  You have not.  I do not give you permission to