"Only since I have been here. A very short time."
"A week?"
For a moment he said nothing. "A month."
"That's just the answer I should have made. A week, a month—it was all the same to me."
"I think it is more than a month," said the young man.
"It's probably six. How did you make her acquaintance?"
"By a letter—an introduction given me by a friend in England."
"The analogy is complete," I said. "But the friend who gave me my letter to Madame de Salvi died many years ago. He, too, admired her greatly. I don't know why it never came into my mind that her daughter might be living in Florence. Somehow I took for granted it was all over. I never thought of the little girl; I never heard what had become of her. I walked past the palace yesterday and saw that it was occupied; but I took for granted it had changed hands."
"The Countess Scarabelli," said my friend, "brought it to her husband as her marriage-portion."
