at his side. They crossed the
wide hall, and she stopped to gaze about it in wonder and curiosity,
even though she did not appreciate the splendor of its proportions. The
great _baldachino_, of blue and silver, surmounting the Sansevero arms,
held her attention.

"Do the broken silver chains in your coat of arms represent mercy or
weakness?" she asked.

"Both, probably," he answered grimly, as he caught the sound of an
automobile chugging in the courtyard. Feeling sure that it was Nina's
car, he slipped his arm through Favorita's to urge her forward,
whereupon she grew suspicious and lagged purposely. She looked
deliberately about, as though she were a tourist intent upon finding
every object starred in Baedeker. To his inward rage and chagrin,
Giovanni realized his mistake in having attempted to hurry her, and now
changed his tactics. Although his every nerve was strained to catch the
sound of Nina's approaching footfall, he went into a long, prosy
dissertation upon the history of the ceiling, dwelling purposely upon
the dullest facts he could think of, until his tormentor was glad enough
to leave.

Once outside the building, Giovanni breathed more freely, although the
sight of the automobile confirmed his apprehension. Hailing a cab, he
put Favorita into it and got in after her. They had not gone more than
five hundred yards when Nina, alone in the car, passed them. Giovanni
had stooped over quickly so that she might not recognize him; but
Favorita took no notice of this, or anything else, and they drove on in
a silence broken only by occasional and casual remarks. It was not
until they were safely within her apartment that he demanded:

"And now, Fava, perhaps you will have the goodness to explain to me what
you were doing at the Palazzo Sansevero when I saw you, and how you got
past the _portiere_?"

"At least it shows you that what I try to do I accomplish," she retorted
with an air of bravado. She leaned her elbows on a little table, looking
across at Giovanni, her lips parted, her eyes dancing. "Do you wish to
hear? Very well. I have a friend who gives the American heiress lessons
in Italian. She says it is easy--one has only to talk Italian and make
her talk, and tell her when she makes mistakes. My friend is sick. She
sent a letter, which I intercepted, and I went in her place. Why not?"
Then suddenly her little teeth locked tightly, and she spoke between
them savagely--"I'd be a teacher worth employing.