“And a very great fool she is for her pains,” cried the old man, with an oath; “it is just the last thing she ought to have done—­the very last.  I really thought she had more sense!”

“I am sure, Signor Quinto, she has not had one bit of pleasure all this Carnival.  A nun couldn’t have lived a quieter life, nor more shut up than she has.  With the exception of the old gentleman and the Marchese Ludovico, she has never seen a soul!”

The old gentleman thus alluded to, it may be necessary to explain, was the Marchese Lamberto.  “And where’s the use of never seeing a single soul, if she throws all that she has gained by it away in this manner?”

“Why, Santa Virgine, Signor Quinto!  Where’s the harm?  Isn’t the Signor Ludovico the old one’s own nephew?” expostulated Gigia shrilly.

“The old one, as you call him, is not a bit the more likely to like it for that.  It is just the very last thing she should have done.  I do wonder she should not have more sense,” grumbled Quinto.

“Misericordia! why what a piece of work about nothing!  The old gentleman will never know anything about it, you may be very sure.  He is safe enough in bed and asleep after his late hours, you may swear.  Besides, it’s both best and honestest to begin as you mean to go on, and accustom him to what he’s got to expect,” said Gigia, fighting loyally for her side.

“All very well in good time.  But it would be as well for Bianca to make sure first what she has got to expect.”

“Why, you don’t suppose, Signor Quinto, nor yet that old Marchese don’t suppose, I should think, that he’s going to marry a woman like my mistress, to keep her caged up like a bird that’s never to sing, except for him?”

“I tell you, Gigia, and you would do well to tell her, and make her understand, that she is not Marchesa di Castelmare yet, and is not likely to be, if this morning’s work were to come to the ears of the Marchese.  It is just the very worst thing she could have done; and I should have thought she must know that.  I had rather that she should have gone with any other man in the town.”

“I am sure,” said Gigia, with a virtuous toss of the head, “she would not wish to go with any one of them.”

“And she would wish to go with the Marchese Ludovico!  There’s all the mischief.  Just what I am afraid of.  I tell you, Gigia, that if the Marchese Lamberto hears of her going off in this manner with his nephew, the game is all up.  He would never forgive it.”

“You will excuse me, Signor Quinto,” said Gigia, with a demure air of speaking modestly on a subject which she perfectly well understood—­“You will excuse me, if I tell you that I know a great deal better than that.  There’s men, Signor Quinto, who are in love because they like it; and there’s others who are in love whether they like it or no, because they can’t help themselves!”

“And you fancy the Marchese Lamberto is one of those who can’t help himself, eh?” grumbled Quinto discontentedly.