and he remembered that a scarcely perceptible change had taken place in the manner or conversation of the one who heard the other’s name.  It even seemed to him that at such moments Maria Consuelo had shown an infinitesimal resentment, whereas Spicca had faintly exhibited something more like impatience.  If this were true, it argued that Spicca was more friendly to Maria Consuelo than she was to him.  Yet on this particular evening Spicca had spoken somewhat bitterly of her—­but then, Spicca was always bitter.  His last remark was to the effect that she was eccentric.  After a long silence, during which Orsino hoped that his friend would say something more, he took up the point.

“I wish I knew what you meant by eccentric,” he said.  “I had the advantage of seeing Madame d’Aranjuez frequently, and I did not notice any eccentricity about her.”

“Ah—­perhaps you are not observant.  Or perhaps, as you say, we do not mean the same thing.”

“That is why I would like to hear your definition,” observed Orsino.

“The world is mad on the subject of definitions,” answered Spicca.  “It is more blessed to define than to be defined.  It is a pleasant thing to say to one’s enemy, ‘Sir, you are a scoundrel.’  But when your enemy says the same thing to you, you kill him without hesitation or regret—­which proves, I suppose, that you are not pleased with his definition of you.  You see definition, after all, is a matter of taste.  So, as our tastes might not agree, I would rather not define anything this evening.  I believe I have finished that flask.  Let us take our coffee.  We can define that beforehand, for we know by daily experience how diabolically bad it is.”

Orsino saw that Spicca meant to lead the conversation away in another direction.

“May I ask you one serious question?” he inquired, leaning forward.

“With a little ingenuity you may even ask me a dozen, all equally serious, my dear Orsino.  But I cannot promise to answer all or any particular one.  I am not omniscient, you know.”

“My question is this.  I have no sort of right to ask it.  I know that.  Are you nearly related to Madame d’Aranjuez?”

Spicca looked curiously at him.

“Would the information be of any use to you?” he asked.  “Should I be doing you a service in telling you that we are, or are not related?”

“Frankly, no,” answered Orsino, meeting the steady glance without wavering.

“Then I do not see any reason whatever for telling you the truth,” returned Spicca quietly.  “But I will give you a piece of general information.  If harm comes to that lady through any man whomsoever, I will certainly kill him, even if I have to be carried upon the ground.”