So, not without much doubt and misgiving, the old woman put on her bonnet and cloak and made the best of her way to the Castelmare palace.  There she found a porter lounging before the door, to whom she made her petition to be allowed to speak to the Signor Marchese Ludovico.

“My name is Orsola Steno,” said the old woman humbly, a little in awe of the majestic porter, chosen for that situation for his size; “and the Signor Marchesino knows me very well.  I am sure he would not refuse to see me.”

Insolent servants in a great house are generally a sure symptom of something amiss in the moral nature of their masters.  Good and kindly masters have and make civil and kindly servants; and the big porter of the palazzo Castelmare was accordingly by no means a terrible personage.

“Signora Orsola Steno!  To be sure.  I remember you very well, Signora, when you called on the padrone last summer.  I am sure the Signor Marchesino would have pleasure in seeing you, if he were at home.  But he is not here.  And to tell you the truth, we have no idea where he is.  He came home early this morning after the ball, and instead of going to bed, changed his dress, and went out again at once; and has not been back since.  Some devilry or other!  Che vuole!  We were all young once upon a time, eh, Signora Orsola?  And as for the Marchesino, he is as good a gentleman as any in Ravenna or out of it, for that matter.  But he is young, Signora, he is young!  And that’s all the fault he has.  Can I give him any message for you, Signora?”

“The fact is,” said old Orsola, after a few moments of rapid reflection as to the expediency of telling her trouble to the porter, and a decision prompted by the good-natured manner of the man, and by the poor woman’s extreme need of some one to tell her trouble to,—­“the fact is, that I wanted to ask the advice of the Signor Marchesino about a young friend of mine, the Signora Paolina Foscarelli, who went out of the city early this morning to go to St. Apollinare in Classe, and ought to have been back hours ago.  And I am quite uneasy about her.”

“Why, your trouble, Signora, is of a piece with our own,” said the porter, with a burly laugh; “and it seems to me like enough we can help each other.  You miss a young lady; and we miss a young gentleman.  When I used to go out into the marshes a-shooting with the Marchese, we used to be sure, when we had put up the cock bird, that the hen was not far off; or, if we got the hen, we knew we had not far to look for the cock.  Do you see, Signora?  Two to one the pair of runaways are together; and they’ll come home safe enough when they’ve had their fun out.  I dare say the Signor Marchesino and the Signorina you speak of are old friends?”

“Why, yes, Signore.  For that matter they are old friends!” replied Orsola, adopting the porter’s phrase for want of one which could express the meaning she had in her mind more desirably.