Having wreaked some of her vengeance upon Belassis, Miss Marjory was able to turn her attention to the foreigner, who had now recovered from his momentary confusion. It was he who opened the conversation, and he seemed inclined to be aggressive. ‘Madame has done me the honour to doubt my word. Will Madame tell me her reason? Is it merely because I understand English, although I cannot speak it with any fluency? Surely there are many in a like case.’ ‘I dare say there are; but I have other reasons for what I said,’ answered Miss Marjory boldly, on the ‘nothing-venture, nothing-have’ principle, going a good deal farther than she had any warrant. ‘I know more about you than you think.’ A look of uneasiness flitted across the young man’s face, which his bland smile did not disguise. ‘Madame is mysterious. May I not hear what it is that you have learned of me?’ ‘I’m not sure that you may,’ answered Miss Marjory, wondering how far she had better go. ‘My curiosity is burning,’ he went on in a low eager tone. ‘Madame is cruel to make accusations which she will not substantiate.’ Miss Marjory looked at him sharply. ‘What accusations have I made?’ He hesitated somewhat, and then said: ‘You tell me I am not what I seem to be.’ ‘Well, can you look me in the face, and tell me that you are?’ Signor Pagliadini did not even attempt to do this. He merely said: ‘That is a grave charge to bring against a man.’ ‘If it comes to that,’ retorted Miss Marjory boldly, ‘I could bring a graver one if I chose.’ ‘Will you explain farther?’ ‘I am not sure that I will; but I don’t mind telling you that you are playing a risky game, and may get yourself into trouble one of these days.’ ‘How so?’ He looked so ill at ease that Miss Marjory felt her attempt to frighten him had been unexpectedly successful. ‘You have come here bent on mischief; you know that as well as I do. You won’t succeed in what you mean to do, and you stand a good chance of finding yourself in a very unpleasant position.’ He gazed at her with an earnestness and anxiety which told her that her words had produced an impression. She had not chosen them with any special care. Her object had been, if possible, to alarm him, and induce him to keep as quiet as he would on the subject of the secret he had discovered. From the expression his face had assumed, she imagined that her random shaft had struck home. ‘He is not very bold,’ she thought. ‘I must make him nervous.’ ‘I have not come bent on mischief, Madame,’ he answered gravely, but not timidly. ‘Madame is in error there. I have come to put right a wrong—that is all—to do justice to the helpless and oppressed. If Madame knew all that I do, she would not speak as she now does.’