"How should I know!" said the Marchese, with the tips of his pale
lips; for he was grinding his teeth together to prevent them from
chattering in his head.

"He is off at six o'clock to-morrow morning tete-a-tete with La
Bianca, on an excursion to the Pineta. Coming it strong, isn't it?"

"To-morrow morning!" said the Marchese under his breath, and with
difficulty; for his blood seemed suddenly to rush back cold to his
heart, and he was shivering all over.

"Niente meno! I heard them arrange it all. He is to slip away from
the ball presently, in order to make all needful preparations, and
to be at her door with a bagarino at six o'clock in the morning.
Doing the thing nicely, isn't it?"

For a minute or two the Marchese was utterly unable to answer him a
word. His head swam round. He felt sick. A cold perspiration broke
out all over him; and he feared that he should have fallen from his
seat.

"He is a great fool for his pains," he said at last, mastering
himself by a great effort, sufficiently to enable himself to utter
the words in an ordinary voice and manner.

"Well, it seemed to me a mad scheme, considering all things. And the
truth is, that I thought your lordship would very likely think it
well to put a stop to it. And that is why I have bored your lordship
by mentioning it to you."