at you
know already that secret which I ask you to share with me."

"What on earth makes you think so?"

"When, some weeks ago, you asked me to describe the personal appearance
and manners of the exile, which I did partly from the recollections of
my childhood, partly from the description given to me by others, I could
not but notice your countenance, and remark its change; in spite," said
the marchesa, smiling, and watching Randal while she spoke,--"in spite
of your habitual self-command. And when I pressed you to own that you
had actually seen some one who tallied with that description, your
denial did not deceive me. Still more, when returning recently, of
your own accord, to the subject, you questioned me so shrewdly as to my
motives in seeking the clew to our refugees, and I did not then answer
you satisfactorily, I could detect--"

"Ha, ha," interrupted Randal, with the low soft laugh by which
occasionally he infringed upon Lord Chesterfield's recommendations to
shun a merriment so natural as to be illbred,--"ha, ha, you have the
fault of all observers too minute and refined. But even granting that I
may have seen some Italian exiles (which is likely enough), what could
be more natural than my seeking to compare your description with their
appearance; and granting that I might suspect some one amongst them to
be the man you search for, what more natural also than that I should
desire to know if you meant him harm or good in discovering his
'whereabout'? For ill," added Randal, with an air of prudery,--"ill
would it become me to betray, even to friendship, the retreat of one who
would hide from persecution; and even if I did so--for honour itself is
a weak safeguard against your fascinations--such indiscretion might be
fatal to my future career."

"How?"

"Do you not say that Egerton knows the secret, yet will not communicate;
and is he a man who would ever forgive in me an imprudence that
committed himself? My dear friend, I will tell you more. When Audley
Egerton first noticed my growing intimacy with you, he said, with his
usual dryness of counsel, 'Randal, I do not ask you to discontinue
acquaintance with Madame di Negra, for an acquaintance with women like
her forms the manners, and refines the intellect; but charming women are
dangerous, and Madame di Negra is--a charming woman.'"

The marchesa's face flushed. Randal resumed: "'Your fair acquaintance'
(I am still quoting Egerton) 'seeks to dis cover th