y should I pity? Had I not calculated it all? and was it not part of
my vengeance?

"Tell me!" pursued my wife's dulcet voice, breaking in upon my
reflections, "did you really imagine Signer Ferrari's suit might meet
with favor at my hands?"

I must speak--the comedy had to be played out. So I answered, bluntly:

"Madam, I certainly did think so. It seemed a natural conclusion to
draw from the course of events. He is young, undeniably handsome, and
on his uncle's death will be fairly wealthy--what more could you
desire? besides, he was your husband's friend--"

"And for that reason I would never marry him!" she interrupted me with
a decided gesture. "Even if I liked him sufficiently, which I do not"
(oh, miserable traitress), "I would not run the risk of what the world
would say of such a marriage."

"How, madam? Pardon me if I fail to comprehend you."

"Do you not see, conte?" she went on in a coaxing voice, as of one that
begged to be believed, "if I were to marry one that was known to have
been my husband's most intimate friend, society is so wicked--people
would be sure to say that there had been something between us before my
husband's death--I KNOW they would, and I could not endure such
slander!"

"Murder will out" they say! Here was guilt partially declaring itself.
A perfectly innocent woman could not foresee so readily the
condemnation of society. Not having the knowledge of evil she would be
unable to calculate the consequences. The overprudish woman betrays
herself; the fine lady who virtuously shudders at the sight of a nude
statue or picture, announces at once to all whom it may concern that
there is something far coarser in the suggestions of her own mind than
the work of art she condemns. Absolute purity has no fear of social
slander; it knows its own value, and that it must conquer in the end.
My wife--alas! that I should call her so--was innately vicious and
false; yet how particular she was in her efforts to secure the blind
world's good opinion! Poor old world! how exquisitely it is fooled, and
how good-naturedly it accepts its fooling! But I had to answer the fair
liar, whose net of graceful deceptions was now spread to entrap me,
therefore I said with an effort of courtesy:

"No one would dare to slander you, contessa, in my presence." She bowed
and smiled prettily. "But," I went on, "if it is true that you have no
liking for Signer Ferrari--"

"It is true!" she exclaimed with sudden emp