“Well, I congratulate you on having made up your mind.  The step shall be taken to-day, and you will be grateful to me all your life!”

“Yet,” replied the young man, “I understand myself.  I shall regret my decision all the afternoon.  It is true,” he added, philosophically, “that I should regret it just as much if I had not made it.”

“You have guessed that we were talking of Fanny’s marriage,” said Madame Steno to her daughter several minutes later, when they were seated side by side, like two sisters, in the victoria which was bearing them toward Maitland’s studio.

“Then,” asked the Contessina, “you think it will be arranged?”

“It is arranged,” gayly replied Madame Steno.  “I am commissioned to make the proposition....  How happy all three will be!....  Hafner has aimed at it this long time!  I remember how, in 1880, after his suit, he came to see me in Venice—­you and Fanny played on the balcony of the palace—­he questioned me about the Quirinal, the Vatican and society....  Then he concluded, pointing to his daughter, ’I shall make a Roman princess of the little one!”

The ‘dogaresse’ was so delighted at the thought of the success of her negotiations, so delighted, too, to go, as she was going, to Maitland’s studio, behind her two English cobs, which trotted so briskly, that she did not see on the sidewalk Boleslas Gorka, who watched her pass.

Alba was so troubled by that fresh proof of her mother’s lack of conscience that she did not notice Maud’s husband either.  Baron Hafner’s and Prince d’Ardea’s manner toward Fanny had inspired her the day before with a dolorous analogy between the atmosphere of falsehood in which that poor girl lived and the atmosphere in which she at times thought she herself lived.  That analogy again possessed her, and she again felt the “needle in the heart” as she recalled what she had heard before from the Countess of the intrigue by which Baron Justus Hafner had, indeed, ensnared his future son-in-law.  She was overcome by infinite sadness, and she lapsed into one of her usual silent moods, while the Countess related to her Peppino’s indecision.  What cared she for Boleslas’s anger at that moment?  What could he do to her?  Gorka was fully aware of her utter carelessness of the scene which had taken place between them, as soon as he saw the victoria pass.  For some time he remained standing, watching the large white and black hats disappear down the Rue du Vingt Septembre.

This thought took possession of him at once.  Madame Steno and her daughter were going to Maitland’s atelier....  He had no sooner conceived that bitter suspicion than he felt the necessity of proving it at once.  He entered a passing cab, just as Ardea, having left the Villa, Steno after him, sauntered up, saying: 

“Where are you going?  May I go with you that we may have a few moments’ conversation?”

“Impossible,” replied Gorka.  “I have a very urgent appointment, but in an hour I shall perhaps have occasion to ask a service of you.  Where shall I find you?”