Lorenzi drew a ring from his finger and flicked it across the table. The Marchese took it up, saying: “That is good for a thousand.” “What about this one?” Lorenzi threw down another ring in front of the Marchese. The latter nodded, saying: “That is good for the same amount.” “Are you satisfied now, Signor Marchese?” enquired Lorenzi, moving as if to go. “I am satisfied,” answered the Marchese, with an evil chuckle; “all the more, seeing that the rings are stolen.” Lorenzi turned sharply, clenching his fist as if about to strike the Marchese. Olivo and the Abbate seized Lorenzi’s arm. “I know both the stones, though they have been reset,” said the Marchese without moving from his place. “Look, gentlemen, the emerald is slightly flawed, or it would be worth ten times the amount. The ruby is flawless, but it is not a large one. Both the stones come from a set of jewels which I once gave my wife. And, since it is quite impossible for me to suppose that the Marchesa had them reset in rings for Lieutenant Lorenzi, it is obvious that they have been stolen--that the whole set has been stolen. Well, well, the pledge suffices, Signor Lieutenant, for the nonce.” “Lorenzi!” cried Olivo, “we all give you our word that no one shall ever hear a syllable from us about what has just happened.” “And whatever Signor Lorenzi may have done,” said Casanova, “you, Signor Marchese, are the greater rascal of the two.” “I hope so,” replied the Marchese. “When anyone is as old as we are, Chevalier de Seingalt, assuredly he should not need lessons in rascality. Good-evening, gentlemen.” He rose to his feet. No one responded to his farewell, and he went out. For a space the silence was so intense, that once again the girls’ laughter was heard from the garden, now seeming unduly loud. Who would have ventured to utter the word that was searing Lorenzi’s soul, as he stood at the table with his arm still raised? Casanova, the only one of the company who had remained seated, derived an involuntary artistic pleasure from the contemplation of this fine, threatening gesture, meaningless now, but seemingly petrified, as if the young man had been transformed into a statue. At length Olivo turned to him with a soothing air; the Ricardis, too, drew near; and the Abbate appeared to be working himself up for a speech. But a sort of shiver passed over Lorenzi’s frame. Automatically but insistently he silently indicated his rejection of any offers at intervention. Then, with a polite inclination of the head, he quietly left the room. Casanova, who had meanwhile wrapped up the money in a silken kerchief, instantly followed. Without looking at the others’ faces, he could feel that they were convinced it was his instant intention to do what they had all the while been expecting, namely, to place his winnings at Lorenzi’s disposal. CHAPTER EIGHT.