It exasperated Donna Tullia beyond measure to feel that he was in possession of what she so coveted, and to feel that he was bargaining, half in earnest, for her life in exchange for his secret. She was almost tempted for one moment to assent, to say she would marry him, so great was her curiosity; it would be easy to break her promise, and laugh at him afterwards. But she was not a bad woman, as women of her class are considered. She had suffered a great disappointment, and her resentment was in proportion to her vanity. But she was not prepared to give a false promise for the sake of vengeance; she was only bad enough to imagine such bad faith possible. "But you said you never seriously thought I could accept such an engagement," she objected, not knowing what to say. "I did," replied Del Ferice. "I might have added that I never seriously contemplated parting with my secret." "There is nothing to be got from you," said Donna Tullia, in a tone of disappointment. "I think that when you have nearly driven me mad with curiosity, you might really tell me something." "Ah no, dear lady," answered her companion. "You may ask anything of me but that--anything. You may ask that too, if you will sign the treaty I propose." "You will drive me into marrying you out of sheer curiosity," said Donna Tullia, with an impatient laugh. "I wish that were possible. I wish I could see my way to telling you as it is, for the thing is so curious that it would have the most intense interest for you. But it is quite out of the question." "You should never have told me anything about it," replied Madame Mayer. "Well, I will think about it," said Del Ferice at last, as though suddenly resolving to make a sacrifice. "I will look over some papers I have, and I will think about it. I promise you that if I feel that I can conscientiously tell you something of the matter, you may be sure that I will." Donna Tullia's manner changed again, from impatience to persuasion. The sudden hope he held out to her was delicious to contemplate. She could not realise that Del Ferice, having once thoroughly interested her, could play upon her moods as on the keys of an instrument. If she had been less anxious that the story he told should be true, she might have suspected that he was practising upon her credulity. But she seized the idea of obtaining some secret influence over the life of Giovanni, and it completely carried her away. "You must tell me--I am sure you will," she said, letting her kindest glance rest upon her companion. "Come and dine with me,--do you fast? No--nor I. Come on Friday--will you?" "I shall be delighted," answered Del Ferice, with a quiet smile of triumph. "I will have the old lady, of course, so you cannot tell me at dinner; but she will go to sleep soon afterwards--she always does. Come at seven. Besides, she is deaf, you know." The old lady in question was the aged Countess whom Donna Tullia affected as a companion in her solitary magnificence.