"There is one person whom I beg leave to consult--the Duchess,
his daughter. It may be that the present is an ill moment for
approaching the Count, and the affair requires her sanction."

They agreed, and with a very perplexed mind I went forth to seek
the lady. The irony of the thing was too cruel, and my heart
ached for her. In the gallery I found Oliphant packing some very
shabby trunks, and when I questioned him he told me that the
family were to leave Santa Chiara on the morrow. Perchance the
Duchess had awakened to the true state of their exchequer, or
perchance she thought it well to get her father on the road again
as a cure for his ailment.

I discovered Cristine, and begged for an interview with her
mistress on an urgent matter. She led me to the Duchess's room,
and there the evidence of poverty greeted me openly. All the
little luxuries of the menage had gone to the Count. The poor
lady's room was no better than a servant's garret, and the lady
herself sat stitching a rent in a travelling cloak. She rose to
greet me with alarm in her eyes.

As briefly as I could I set out the facts of my amazing mission.
At first she seemed scarcely to hear me. "What do they want
with him?" she asked. "He can give them nothing. He is no
friend to the Americans or to any people who have deposed their
sovereign." Then, as she grasped my meaning, her face flushed.

"It is a heartless trick, Mr. Townshend. I would fain think you
no party to it."