As I stood gossiping with her, my eyes fell upon a little Florentine table of polished black marble inlaid with colored stones forming a basket of fruit, a marvel of Renaissance art, and upon it there stood a silver model of a gigantic tarantula, or spider, the body being about seven inches long by five broad, with eight long curved legs, most perfectly copied from nature. Flavia noticed that I had seen it. "That's our Silver Spider!" she laughed. "It's the ancient mascot of the Romanelli." I walked over and examined it, but without, of course, taking it in my hand. Then I remarked upon its beautiful workmanship, and we turned away. It was a gay informal assembly. Among the men there were several naval and military attaches from the Embassies, as well as one or two Deputies with their wives. Once or twice I had brief chats with the Marchesa, who, of course, was the center of her guests. One man, tall, with deep-set eyes and a well-trimmed black beard, seemed to pay her particular attention, and on discreet inquiry as to who he was, I discovered him to be the well-known banker, Pietro Zuccari, who represented Orvieto in the Chamber. Now the reason of our visit to the Marchesa's was to see what manner of company she kept, but I detected nothing suspicious in any person in that chattering assembly. Yet I could not put away from myself what Fra Pacifico had told me in the silence of the cloisters of San Domenico. Again I looked upon the handsome face of that gay society woman and wondered what secret could be hidden behind that happy, laughing countenance. After leaving the Palazzo Romanelli that night I resolved to "fade out" and watch. Now Admiral the Marquis Romanelli, who was in charge of the important port of Naples, had, during the late war, returned to his position as a high naval officer, and with all his patriotism as the head of a noble Roman house, had done his level best against the enemy until the proclamation of peace. Wherever one went one heard loud praises of "Torquato," as he was affectionately called by his Christian name by the populace. After due consideration I decided that we should move from Naples to the pretty little town of Salerno at the other end of the blue bay, and there at the Hotel d'Angleterre, facing the sapphire sea, I spent several delightful days with the girl I so passionately loved. "I cannot see the reason for all this inquiry, Mr. Hargreave," she said one evening, as we were walking by the moonlit sea after we had dined and Madame had retired. "Why should father wish you to watch the Marchesa so narrowly? How can she concern him? They are strangers." I was silent for a few seconds. "Your father's business is a confidential one, no doubt. He has his own views, and I am, after all, his secretary and servant." "I--I often wish you were not," the girl blurted forth. "Why?" I asked in surprise.