Mila looked the Piccinino in the face, trying to discover what could possibly induce him to put forward such a supposition. If it was a method of testing her, she considered it insulting; if it was a jest, she considered it in very bad taste on the part of one who seemed to be a man of superior intellect and of exalted rank. This was the decisive moment for her and for him. If she had felt the slightest fear--and she was not the woman to conceal it, like Princess Agatha--the Piccinino would have grown bolder; for he knew that fear is the beginning of weakness. But she looked him in the face with such frank fearlessness, and with so brave an air of displeasure, that he was convinced at last that he was dealing with a really strong and sincere character; and thereafter he had not the slightest desire to open hostilities. He felt that a battle of ruses with so straightforward a creature could have no other result for him than shame or remorse. "Well, my child," he said, giving her hand a frank and friendly pressure, "I see that you had a confidence in me which does honor to us both. Will you permit me to ask you one more question? Have you a lover?" "A lover? no, monsignor," replied Mila, blushing crimson; but she added, without hesitation: "I may tell you, however, that there is a man whom I love." "Where is he now?" "In Catania." "Is he rich--well-born?" "He has a noble heart and two stout arms." "And he loves you as you deserve to be loved?" "That does not concern you, monsignor; I will not answer that question." "However, you came here at the risk of losing his love?" "As you see, alas!" said Mila, with a sigh. "O women! are you really so much nobler than we men?" exclaimed the Piccinino, rising. But he had no sooner glanced out of doors than he took Mila by the hand. "Here's the abbé!" he said; "follow me. Why do you tremble so?" "Not with fear," she replied, "but with disgust and displeasure; but I will follow you." They went down to the garden. "You will not leave me alone with him a single minute, will you?" said Mila, as they left the house: "if he should so much as kiss my hand, I should be forced to burn the place with a red-hot iron." "And I should be forced to kill him," rejoined the Piccinino. They walked under the arbor to an opening, where the Piccinino glided behind the trellis, and so followed Mila to the garden gate. Emboldened by his presence, she opened it and motioned to the abbé to enter. "Are you alone?" he said, making haste to put aside his monk's frock and show how gallantly he was arrayed in black--a veritable musk-laden abbé.