“I could go back to my room.”  Sabina laughed.  “Why should I be displeased?”

“I have not the least idea whether you like me or not,” answered Malipieri.

Sabina wondered whether all men talked like this, or whether it were not more usual to begin with a few generalities.  She was really quite sure that she liked Malipieri, but it was a little embarrassing to be called upon to tell him so at once.

“If I wanted you to go away, I should not sit down,” she said, still smiling.

“I hate conventions,” answered Malipieri, “and I fancy that you do, too.  We were both brought up in them, and I suppose we think alike about them.”

“Perhaps.”

Sabina turned over the book she still held, and looked at the back of it.

“Exactly,” continued Malipieri.  “But I do not mean that what we are doing now is so dreadfully unconventional after all.  Thank heaven, manners have changed since I was a boy, and even in Italy we may be allowed to talk together a few minutes without being suspected of planning a runaway marriage.  I wanted to see you alone because I wish you to do something very much more ‘improper,’ as society calls it.”

Sabina looked up with innocent and inquiring eyes, but said nothing in answer.

“I have found something,” he said.  “I should like you to see it.”

“There is nothing so very terrible in that,” replied Sabina, looking at him steadily.

“The world would think differently.  But if you will trust me the world need never know anything about it.  You will have to come alone.  That is the difficulty.”

“Alone?” Sabina repeated the word, and instinctively drew herself up a little.

“Yes.”

A short silence followed, and Malipieri waited for her to speak, but she hesitated.  In years, she was but lately out of childhood, but the evil of the world had long been near her in her mother’s house, and she knew well enough that if she did what he asked, and if it were known, her reputation would be gone.  She was a little indignant at first, and was on the point of showing it, but as she met his eyes once more she felt certain that he meant no offence to her.

“You must have a very good reason for asking me to do such a dangerous thing,” she said at last.

“The reasons are complicated,” answered Malipieri.

“Perhaps I could understand, if you explained them.”

“Yes, I am sure you can.  I will try.  In the first place, you know of the story about a treasure being concealed in the palace.  I spoke of it the other day, and you laughed at it.  When I began, I was not inclined to believe it myself, for it seems never to have been anything more than a tradition.  One or two old chronicles speak of it.  A Venetian ambassador wrote about it in the sixteenth century in one of his reports to his government, suggesting that the Republic should buy the palace if it were ever sold.  I daresay you have heard that.”