at plans do you speak?" replied the Count, moved, in spite of
himself, by this half-confidence.

"Mon Dieu! of your own. Did you not tell me that you were passionately
fond of the sister of Taddeo de Sorrento, of the beautiful Aminta
Rovero, daughter of the old minister of finances of Murat?"

"True," said the Count.

"Well," continued Barberini, "I hope you are cured of that love, for you
have a rival."

"A rival!" said the Count.

"Yes, and perhaps a happy one."

"Signor," said Monte-Leone, restraining himself with difficulty, "let me
tell you I purpose to make that lady my wife. All that touches her
honor, touches mine also."

"I say nothing derogatory to it, but merely repeat what I have heard."

"What have you heard?" said Monte-Leone, and the blood rushed to his
head.

"One of my young relations," continued Count Barberini, "was at an
entertainment given on the recurrence of her daughter's birthday by
Signora Rovero. He spoke to me of a Frenchman who is with them, and who
seems passionately fond of the young Aminta."

"And then?" said Monte-Leone, with the same tone in which he would have
asked the executioner to strike him with certainty.

"And then! why that is all," said Barberini, who had become terrified at
Monte-Leone's manner. "I heard nothing more.... If I did, I would take
care to be silent when you look so furiously. All this interests me very
slightly. One's own love affairs are too troublesome to enable us to
occupy ourselves with those of others.... There, too, is the Countess
d'Oliviero, waving her bouquet so impatiently to and fro that I see she
will break it to pieces unless I go. I must leave you, to save her
flowers." The young man left.

"I was right," said he, "not to tell the story of the night affair of
which my kinsman was a witness. I think he would have killed me at
once."

III. A PATERNAL LETTER

On the day after the terrible night during which Aminta had strayed in
her sleep to the room of Maulear, two ladies met at about nine in the
morning in the saloon of the villa of Sorrento, and were locked in each
other's arms.

"Yes, my child," said one of them, "your sleep has given an
interpretation to all that has passed, and I understand all. Your honor
cannot suffer, for you are chaste and pure."

"In your eyes, dear mother, I am; but in those of the world, which they
tell me is so envious and malicious! Even last night, when every eye was
fixed on me, I fancied that