If he had lied, that
would not prevent his really telegraphing within the next half hour,
and matters would be in just the same situation with a slight difference
of time. She would, indeed, in this latter case, have a fresh proof of
his duplicity. But she needed none, as it seemed to her. It was enough
that he should have acted his comedy last night and got by a stratagem
what he could never have by any other means. Ruggiero returned after two
or three minutes.
"Well?" inquired Beatrice.
"He sent one at nine o'clock this morning, Excellency."
For one minute their eyes met. Ruggiero's were fierce, bright and clear.
Beatrice's own softened almost imperceptibly under his glance. If she
had seen herself at that moment she would have noticed that the hard
look she had observed in her own face had momentarily vanished, and that
she was her gentle self again.
"One only?" she asked.
"Only one, Excellency. No one will know that I have asked, for the man
will not tell."
"Are you sure? What did you say to him? Tell me."
"I said to him, 'Don Gennaro, I am the Conte di San Miniato's sailor.
Has the Conte sent any telegram this morning, to any one, anywhere?'
Then he shook his head; but he looked into his book and said, 'He sent
one to Florence at nine o'clock.
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