It seemed to Tony as though the Count were going over to his enemies, and the thought sharpened his retort.

“I had supposed,” said he, “that men of sense had much the same behaviour in all countries, and that, here as elsewhere, a gentleman would be taken at his word.  I solemnly affirm that the letter I was seen to read reflects in no way on the honour of this young lady, and has in fact nothing to do with what you suppose.”

As he had himself no notion what the letter was about, this was as far as he dared commit himself.

There was another brief consultation in the opposing camp, and the Count then said:—­“We all know, sir, that a gentleman is obliged to meet certain enquiries by a denial; but you have at your command the means of immediately clearing the lady.  Will you show the letter to her father?”

There was a perceptible pause, during which Tony, while appearing to look straight before him, managed to deflect an interrogatory glance toward Polixena.  Her reply was a faint negative motion, accompanied by unmistakable signs of apprehension.

“Poor girl!” he thought, “she is in a worse case than I imagined, and whatever happens I must keep her secret.”

He turned to the Senator with a deep bow.  “I am not,” said he, “in the habit of showing my private correspondence to strangers.”

The Count interpreted these words, and Donna Polixena’s father, dashing his hand on his hilt, broke into furious invective, while the Marquess continued to nurse his outraged feelings aloof.

The Count shook his head funereally.  “Alas, sir, it is as I feared.  This is not the first time that youth and propinquity have led to fatal imprudence.  But I need hardly, I suppose, point out the obligation incumbent upon you as a man of honour.”

Tony stared at him haughtily, with a look which was meant for the Marquess.  “And what obligation is that?”

“To repair the wrong you have done—­in other words, to marry the lady.”

Polixena at this burst into tears, and Tony said to himself:  “Why in heaven does she not bid me show the letter?” Then he remembered that it had no superscription, and that the words it contained, supposing them to have been addressed to himself, were hardly of a nature to disarm suspicion.  The sense of the girl’s grave plight effaced all thought of his own risk, but the Count’s last words struck him as so preposterous that he could not repress a smile.

“I cannot flatter myself,” said he, “that the lady would welcome this solution.”

The Count’s manner became increasingly ceremonious.  “Such modesty,” he said, “becomes your youth and inexperience; but even if it were justified it would scarcely alter the case, as it is always assumed in this country that a young lady wishes to marry the man whom her father has selected.”

“But I understood just now,” Tony interposed, “that the gentleman yonder was in that enviable position.”