"I beg your pardon, Signore Principe," said the little black-eyed woman. "You will allow me to say a few words? I thank you, Eccellenza. It is about my Signora, in there, of whom I have charge."
"Of whom, you have charge?" repeated Orsino, not understanding her.
"Yes--precisely. Of course, I am only her maid. You understand that. But I have charge of her though she does not know it. The poor Signora has had terrible trouble during the last few years, and at times--you understand? She is a little--yes--here." She tapped her forehead. "She is better now. But in my position I sometimes think it wiser to warn some friend of hers--in strict confidence. It sometimes saves some little unnecessary complication, and I was ordered to do so by the doctors we last consulted in Paris. You will forgive me, Eccellenza, I am sure."
Orsino stared at the woman for some seconds in blank astonishment. She smiled in a placid, self-confident way.
"You mean that Madame d'Aranjuez is--mentally deranged, and that you are her keeper? It is a little hard to believe, I confess."
"Would you like to see my certificates, Signor Principe? Or the written directions of the doctors? I am sure you are discreet."
"I have no right to see anything of the kind," answered Orsino coldly. "Of course, if you are acting under instructions it is no concern of mine."
He would have gone forward, but she suddenly produced a small bit of note-paper, neatly folded, and offered it to him.
"I thought you might like to know where we are until we return," she said, continuing to speak in a very low voice. "It is the address."
Orsino made an impatient gesture. He was on the point of refusing the information which he had not taken the trouble to ask of Maria Consuelo herself. But he changed his mind and felt in his pocket for something to give the woman. It seemed the easiest and simplest way of getting rid of her. The only note he had, chanced to be one of greater value than necessary.
"A thousand thanks, Eccellenza!" whispered the maid, overcome by what she took for an intentional piece of generosity.
Orsino left the hotel as quickly as he could.
"For improbable situations, commend me to the nineteenth century and the society in which we live!" he said to himself as he emerged into the street.