that she had willingly gone away. It might be supposed--it could not
be proved. Camillo hung in his chamber the unfinished portrait, and a
black veil shrouded it from chance and curious eyes. He did not seem
altered. He was still calm and grave--still cold and sweet in his general
intercourse.

"My friendship with him became more intimate. He saw that I was much
changed--for although pride can do much, the heart is stronger than the
head. But he had no suspicion of the truth. People who suffer intensely
often forget that there are other sufferers in the world, you know.
Camillo was very tender toward me, for he thought that I was paying the
penalty of too warm a sympathy with him, and often begged me not to wear
away my health and youth in commiseration for what was past and hopeless.
I cultivated my consciousness of his suffering as a defence against my
own. We never mentioned the names of either of those of whom we were
always thinking; but once in many months he would call me into his
chamber and remove the veil from the portrait, while we stood before it as
silent as devotees in a church before the picture of the Madonna. Camillo
pursued his affairs--the cares of his estate--the duties of society. He
assembled all the strangers of distinction at his table. Yes, it was a
rare and great triumph.

"For myself, I was mistress of my secret, and I reveal it to you for the
first time. Why not? I am seventy years old. You know none of the
persons--you hear it as you would read a romance. My heart was broken--my
faith was lost--and I have never met since any one who could restore it. I
distrust the sweetest smile if it move me deeply, and although men may
sometimes be sincere, yet sorrow is so sure that we must steer by memory,
not by hope. In this world we must not play that we are happy. That play
has a frightful forfeit. Society is wise. It eats its own children, whose
consolation is that after this world there is another--and a better, say
the priests. Of course--for it could not be a worse.

V.

"Suddenly Sulpizia returned. My brother was in his library when a
messenger came for him from her parents. He ran breathless and pale to
his gondola. The man was conquered in that moment and the wild passion of
the boy flamed up again. When he reached the Balbo palace he paused a
moment, despite himself, upon the stairs, and the calmness of the man
returned to him. Nature is kind in that to her noble children. Their
reg