"Yes, dearest, you are far too busy. I am always afraid Elena will overwork herself, my dear Corradini. I am nervous lest she should have a breakdown." The woman and her tempter exchanged meaning glances. "Everyone knows how intensely patriotic is the Marchesa, and we all admire her for her hard work in the cause of charity. My friend the Princess, however, asked me to call here and solicit her help, and in consequence I have done so." The Admiral thanked him warmly, for the Princess di Paliano's exertions in war-work were well known throughout Italy. Elena's husband sipped the tea she handed him, and, after chatting with their visitor for a further half-hour, the Admiral suddenly asked: "What are you doing down in Rome nowadays?" "Oh, of course, we are all working hard. I am secretary in a department in the Ministry of War, the department which is in touch with France and England concerning munitions." He spoke the truth. Carlo Corradini held a very important position in the Ministry, even though, as we afterwards discovered, he had in secret long been an enemy agent. This latter fact, Guilio Michelozzo-Alfani never dreamed. Like all others, he never imagined that Carlo, hating the Tedeschi so fiercely as he did, could be in secret their ingenious and unscrupulous friend. The Marchese himself was a true-born Italian, one of the ancient aristocracy of the north. Those who know Italy, know quite well the stern and honest patriotism of her sons from count to contadino, and of the fierce, relentless hatred of every Austrian. Presently the well-dressed civilian functionary rose, clicked his heels, and in the elegant Italian manner raised his hostess's hand, and, kissing it, wished her _addio_. The dark eyes of the Admiral's young wife met his in that second, and they understood. Five minutes later Carlo Corradini was hurrying along the Via Vittorio Emanuele, the principal street in Sarzana, in the grey evening light; then, turning to the left, he gained the Passeggio, which faced the Adriatic, that long promenade lined with its dusty, wind-swept tamarisks, where by day the _cicale_, harbinger of heat, chirped their monotonous chant. Corradini's visit to Sarzana proved to be a protracted one. His excuse was that he had been sent from the Ministry upon a special mission, and, in consequence, he had preferred to rent a little flat on the Passeggio than to live in the Albergo Stella d'Italia. One day, at six o'clock, he met, at a very obscure restaurant called The Vapore, a certain Countess Malipiero, a middle-aged, ugly, but quite wealthy woman, who lived near the Santa Maria della Salute, and who was a great personal friend of the Marchesa.