She paused one shrewd instant. Some instinct told me that she was bidding herself not to press a dangerous point, but to seek other means of vantage. “Come, Gualtiero,” she resumed, holding out one hand winningly, “three years is a long time. At Palaestro we parted in a quarrel, let us not meet again only to renew it. We have always liked each other better after quarrelling. Do you remember the fearful war we had because I believed you had given those pearls to that Carlotta di Empoli, and how we were vastly more devoted than ever, after the wretched thing was made up? Yes? Well then, here we will sit together. These cushions are filled with silk floss from Parma. Old Cardinale di Piombo swears there is nothing more comfortable, and surely he is the softest liver in the whole conclave. After all, what is it to me if you wish to run after a heretic friar or the very Maestro Diavolo himself if but your ‘Cause’ does not keep you in this vile Germany. O _Miseria_! But what a dress you have on! Very foul and worn even for this dreadful country. You have already paid for your folly towards the heretic by being brought to poverty?” “I have still sufficient revenues,” said I dryly, not without inward meditation as to whether Marianna’s attitude would alter if I avowed myself poor. “I am wearing this dress simply to avoid remark upon the streets.” “Happy relief then to my fears! Now I will ask you, as if you were at the confessional, and do you answer. Are you married?” “No.” “Are you betrothed?” “No.” “Are you in love?” I could have cut her tongue out. I saw heavy disadvantages either in telling the truth, or framing any reasonable manner of a lie. “You need not press that question, Marianna,” I returned sharply. “But you equivocate, proof enough you are truly in love. Fie, do not think I am going to be angry. Every one must amuse himself. Declare the lady.” “I have forbidden you to interrogate.” “_Buono!_ only one question, then; is she that Ilsa--such I swear was the name--whose father held the castle close to yours? Am I not right? You are blushing.” “The lady whereof you ask has entered the convent. As a nun she is beyond all our discussions.” Marianna’s hands floated out and her long fingers moved in a gesture as if she were untangling spider webs. “Oh, simple, simple Gualtiero! Do you not think I can see through you as through yonder goblet of Venetian glass? Do you think that while you have been running about Germany for the sake of your mad heretic, I have not been informed by a dozen correspondents about you. Did not many letters report ‘The Graf von Regenstein, rumor has it, made offers of marriage to Ilsa von Blankenburg, but she rejecting his proffer has entered the convent?’ And lo! now by your own silence and blushes you confess to the secret that you, _you_ who preach to us Italians of your serious purpose and your zeal for your ‘Cause,’ are actually engaged in the quest of a nun!”