ou are as dark as the Holy Office," said Donna Tullia, a little
impatiently. "What possible harm could it do if you told me?"

"What possible good either?" asked Del Ferice, in reply. "You could not
use it as I could. You would gain no advantage by knowing it. Of course,"
he added, with a laugh, "if we entered into the alliance we were jesting
about, it would be different."

"You will not tell me unless I promise to marry you?"

"Frankly, no," he answered, still laughing.

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 pe