“There is an affair here,” observed Gigi presently.

“I suppose you mean the newspapers,” said Toto nodding gravely.  “They pay for such stories.”

“Newspapers!” Gigi made a face.  “All journalists are pigs who are dying of hunger.”

Toto seemed inclined to agree with this somewhat extreme statement, on the whole, but he distinguished.  There were papers, he said, which would pay as much as a hundred francs for a scandalous story about the Roman princes.  A hundred francs was not a gold mine, it was not Peru.  But it was a hundred francs.  What did Gigi expect?  The treasure of Saint Peter’s?  A story was a story, after all, and anybody could deny it.

“It is worth more than a hundred francs,” Gigi answered, with his weasel smile, “but not to the newspapers.  The honour of a Roman princess is worth a hundred thousand.”

Toto whistled, and then looked incredulous, but it began to dawn upon him that the “affair” was of more importance than he had supposed.  Gigi was much cleverer than he; that was why he always called Gigi an imbecile.

The carpenter unfolded his plan.  He knew as well as any one that the Conti were ruined and could not raise any such sum as he proposed to demand, even to save Sabina’s good name.  It would apparently be necessary to extract the blackmail from Volterra by some means to be discovered.  On the other hand, Volterra was not only rich, he also possessed much power, and it would be somewhat dangerous to incur his displeasure.

Toto, though dull, had a certain rough common sense and pointed this out.  He said that the Princess must have jewels which she could sell to save her daughter from disgrace.  She and Donna Sabina were at the Russian Embassy, for the Messaggero said so.  Gigi, who could write, might send her a letter there.

“No doubt,” assented the carpenter with a superior air.  “I have some instruction, and can write a letter.  But the jewels are paste.  Half the Roman princesses wear sham jewellery nowadays.  Do you suppose the Conti have not sold everything long ago?  They had to live.”

“I do not see why,” observed Toto.  “Princes without money might as well be dead, an apoplexy on them all!  Well, what do you propose to do?  That old franc-eater of a Senator will not pay you for the girl’s reputation, since she is not his daughter.”

“We must think,” said Gigi.  “Perhaps it would do no harm to write a letter to the Princess.  The engineer is poor, of course.  It is of no use to go to him.”

“All engineers are starving to death,” Toto answered cheerfully.  “I have seen them eat bread and onions and drink water, like us.  Would they eat onions and dry bread if they could have meat?  It is when they become contractors that they get money, by cheating the rich and strangling the poor.  I know them.  They are all evil people.”

“This is true,” assented Gigi, “I have seen several, before this one.”