Little Ercole only does what my uncle tells him. I don't
believe she ever sings a note on the stage that he has not heard and
approved beforehand."
"Suppose he is the dark horse; suppose she is his mistress all this
time; and he takes care to keep her all to himself," said Manutoli.
"What, lo zio. Bah! I should have thought that you knew him better
than that, Manutoli. To him a woman is a voice, and nothing else. If
the same sounds could be got out of a flute or a fiddle he would
like it much better, and think it far more convenient. I don't think
my uncle Lamberto ever knew whether a woman was pretty or plain. I
wish to heaven he would get caught for once in his life; it would
suit my book very well. He would have less leisure to think of other
things."
The fact was that the Marchese had, in truth, had less leisure to
think of those other things from which Ludovico desired that his
attention should be drawn away. His visits to the Via Santa Eufemia
had been more frequent than ever; his visits to the Marchesa Anna
Lanfredi and her niece rarer than ever. And he had received neither
lectures nor remonstrances for a long time past. In truth, the
Marchese had his mind too full of other matters to think much of his
nephew's affairs or doings. And, besides that, there was a quite new
and hitherto unknown feeling in the heart of the Marchese Lamberto
which made him shrink from any such encounter with his nephew, as
remonstrances respecting his conduct with regard to Paolina would
have occasioned;--a feeling which made it seem to him that he was
the watched instead of the watcher; that suggested to him the fear
that the first word he might utter upon the subject would be met by
references to doings of his own.
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