ded hastily, "Pray
do not think me capable of judging you wrongly."

She seemed relieved, and smiling that shadowy, flitting smile of hers,
she said:

"No doubt you are impatient, signor; Nina shall come to you directly,"
and with a slight salutation she left me.

Surely she was a good woman, I thought, and vaguely wondered about her
past history--that past which she had buried forever under a mountain
of prayers. What had she been like when young--before she had shut
herself within the convent walls--before she had set the crucifix like
a seal on her heart? Had she ever trapped a man's soul and strangled it
with lies? I fancied not--her look was too pure and candid; yet who
could tell? Were not Nina's eyes trained to appear as though they held
the very soul of truth? A few minutes passed. I heard the fresh voices
of children singing in the next room:

"D'ou vient le petit Gesu?
Ce joli bouton de rose
Qui fleurit, enfant cheri
Sur le coeur de notre mere Marie."

Then came a soft rustle of silken garments, the door opened, and my
wife entered.

CHAPTER XXVII.

She approached with her usual panther-like grace and supple movement,
her red lips parted in a charming smile.

"So good of you to come!" she began, holding out her two hands as
though she invited an embrace; "and on Christmas morning too!" She
paused, and seeing that I did not move or speak, she regarded me with
some alarm. "What is the matter?" she asked, in fainter tones; "has
anything happened?"

I looked at her. I saw that she was full of sudden fear, I made no
attempt to soothe her, I merely placed a chair.

"Sit down," I said, gravely. "I am the bearer of bad news."

She sunk into the chair as though unnerved, and gazed at me with
terrified eyes. She trembled. Watching her keenly, I observed all these
outward signs of trepidation with deep satisfaction. I saw plainly what
was passing in her mind. A great dread had seized her--the dread that I
had found out her treachery. So indeed I had, but the time had not yet
come for her to know it. Meanwhile she suffered--suffered acutely with
that gnawing terror and suspense eating into her soul. I said nothing,
I waited for her to speak. After a pause, during which her cheeks had
lost their delicate bloom, she said, forcing a smile as she spoke--

"Bad news? You surprise me! What can it be? Some unpleasantness with
Guido? Have you seen him?"

"I have seen him," I answered in the