Wilfrid marvelled to hear this titled and lovely woman speaking almost in tones of humility in reply to such outrageous insolence.  She craved a private interview.  Irma was temporarily expelled, and then Violetta stooped to ask what the Greek’s reason for his behaviour could be.  She admitted that it was in his power to ruin her, as far as money went.  “Perhaps a little farther,” said Pericles; “say two steps.  If one is on a precipice, two steps count for something.”  But, what had she done?  Pericles refused to declare it.  This set her guessing with a charming naivete.  Pericles called Irma back to assist her in the task, and quitted them that they might consult together and hit upon the right thing.  His object was to send his valet for Luigi Saracco.  He had seen that no truth could be extracted from these women, save forcibly.  Unaware that he had gone out, Wilfrid listened long enough to hear Irma say, between sobs:  “Oh!  I shall throw myself upon his mercy.  Oh, Countess d’Isorella, why did you lead me to think of vengeance!  I am lost!  He knows everything.  Oh, what is it to me whether she lives with her husband!  Let them go on plotting.  I am not the Government.  I am sure I don’t much dislike her.  Yes, I hate her, but why should I hurt myself?  She will wear those jewels on her forehead; she will wear that necklace with the big amethysts, and pretend she’s humble because she doesn’t carry earrings, when her ears have never been pierced!  I am lost!  Yes, you may say, lookup!  I am only a poor singer, and he can ruin me.  Oh!  Countess d’Isorella, oh! what a fearful punishment.  If Countess Anna should betray Count Ammiani to-night, nothing, nothing, will save me.  I will confess.  Let us both be beforehand with her—­or you, it does not matter for a noble lady.”

“Hush!” said Violetta.  “What dreadful fool is this I sit with?  You may have done what you think of doing already.”

She walked to the staircase door, and to that of the suite.  An honourable sentiment, conjoined to the knowledge that he had heard sufficient, induced Wilfrid to pass on into the sleeping apartment a moment or so before Violetta took this precaution.  The potent liquor of Pericles had deprived him of consecutive ideas; he sat nursing a thunder in his head, imagining it to be profound thought, till Pericles flung the door open.  Violetta and Irma had departed.  “Behold!  I have it; ze address of your rogue Barto Rizzo,” said Pericles, in the manner of one whose triumph is absolutely due to his own shrewdness.  “Are two women a match for me?  Now, my friend, you shall see.  Barto Rizzo is too clever for zis government, which cannot catch him.  I catch him, and I teach him he may touch politics—­it is not for him to touch Art.  What! to hound men to interrupt her while she sings in public places?  What next!  But I knew my Countess d’Isorella could help me, and so I sent for her to confront Irma, and dare to say she knew not Barto’s dwelling—­and why?  I will tell you a secret.  A long-flattered woman, my friend, she has had, you will think, enough of it; no! she is like avarice.  If it is worship of swine, she cannot refuse it.  Barto Rizzo worships her; so it is a deduction—­she knows his abode—­I act upon that, and I arrive at my end.  I now send him to ze devil.”