o Naples, to find a doctor for him. Instead
of a physician he met a priest, and he was taking this priest to the
assistance of the fruit-seller (who by the bye died in the meantime and
was past all caring for) when he himself was struck down by the plague.
He was carried then and there to a common inn, where in about five
hours he died--all the time shrieking curses on any one who should dare
to take him alive or dead inside his own house. He showed good sense in
that at least--naturally he was anxious not to bring the contagion to
his wife and child."

"Is the child a boy or a girl?" I asked, carelessly.

"A girl. A mere baby--an uninteresting old-fashioned little thing, very
like her father."

My poor little Stella.

Every pulse of my being thrilled with indignation at the indifferently
chill way in which he, the man who had fondled her and pretended to
love her, now spoke of the child. She was, as far as he knew,
fatherless; he, no doubt, had good reason to suspect that her mother
cared little for her, and, I saw plainly that she was, or soon would
be, a slighted and friendless thing in the household. But I made no
remark--I sipped my cognac with an abstracted air for a few
seconds--then I asked:

"How was the count buried? Your narrative interests me greatly."

"Oh, the priest who was with him saw to his burial, and I believe, was
able to administer the last sacraments. At any rate, he had him laid
with all proper respect in his family vault--I myself was present at
the funeral."

I started involuntarily, but quickly repressed myself.

"YOU were present--YOU--YOU--" and my voice almost failed me.

Ferrari raised his eyebrows with a look of surprised inquiry.

"Of course! You are astonished at that? But perhaps you do not
understand. I was the count's very closest friend, closer than a
brother, I may say. It was natural, even necessary, that I should
attend his body to its last resting place."

By this time I had recovered myself.

"I see--I see!" I muttered, hastily. "Pray excuse me--my age renders me
nervous of disease in any form, and I should have thought the fear of
contagion might have weighed with you."

"With ME!" and he laughed lightly. "I was never ill in my life, and I
have no dread whatever of cholera. I suppose I ran some risk, though I
never thought about it at the time--but the priest--one of the
Benedictine order--died the very next day."

"Shocking!" I murmured over my coffee-cup. "