an assertion founded upon very substantial
evidence. Del Ferice was suddenly gone to Naples: obviously the only
way to get at the papers was to bribe his servant to deliver them up. Ugo
had once or twice mentioned Temistocle to her, and she judged from the
few words he had let fall that the fellow was a scoundrel, who would
sell his soul for money. Madame Mayer drove home, and put on the only
dark-coloured gown she possessed, wound a thick veil about her head,
provided herself with a number of bank-notes, which she thrust between
the palm of her hand and her glove, left the house on foot, and took a
cab. There was nothing to be done but to go herself, for she could trust
no one. Her heart beat fast as she ascended the narrow stone steps of
Del Ferice's lodging, and stopped upon the landing before the small green
door, whereon she read his name. She pulled the bell, and Temistocle
appeared in his shirt-sleeves.

"Does Count Del Ferice live here?" asked Donna Tullia, peering over the
man's shoulder into the dark and narrow passage within.

"He lives here, but he is gone to Naples," answered Temistocle, promptly.

"When will he be back?" she inquired. The man raised his shoulders to his
ears, and spread out the palms of his hands to signify that he did not
know. Donna Tullia hesitated. She had never attempted to bribe anybody
in her life, and hardly knew how to go about it. She thought that the
sight of the money might produce an impression, and she withdrew a
bank-note from the hollow of her hand, spreading it out between her
fingers. Temistocle eyed it greedily.

"There are twenty-five scudi," she said. "If you will help me to find a
piece of paper in your master's room, you shall have them."

Temistocle drew himself up with an air of mock pride. Madame Mayer looked
at him.

"Impossible, signora," he said. Then she drew out another. Temistocle
eyed the glove curiously to see if it contained more.

"Signora," he repeated, "it is impossible. My master would kill me. I
cannot think of it." But his tone seemed to yield a little. Donna Tullia
found another bank-note; there were now seventy-five scudi in her hand.
She thought she saw Temistocle tremble with excitement. But still he
hesitated.

"Signora, my conscience," he said, in a low voice of protestation.

"Come," said Madame Mayer, impatiently, "there is another--there are a
hundred scudi--that is all I have got," she added, turning down her empty
glove.

Sudd