t chanced that Corbario himself was there
at that very time. Possibly he had kept out of Marcello's way for some
reason of his own, but he had really not known that the Contessa was
there. Her letter was forwarded from Rome and reached him four days
after it was written. He read it carefully, tore it into several dozen
little bits, looked at his watch, and went at once to the quiet hotel in
the Rue Saint Honore. The Contessa was alone, Aurora having gone out
with her mother's maid.

Maddalena was glad to see him, not because she liked him, for she did
not, but because it would be so much easier to talk of what was on her
mind than to write about it.

"I suppose you are surprised to see me," said Folco, after the first
conventional greeting.

"No, for one may meet any one in Paris, at any time of the year. When I
wrote, I thought Marcello must be alone here--I mean, without you," she
added.

"I did not know he had been here, until I heard that he was gone. He
left three or four days ago. I fancy that when you wrote your letter he
was already gone."

"Do you let him wander about Europe as he pleases?" asked the Contessa.

"He is old enough to take care of himself," answered Corbario. "There is
nothing worse for young men than running after them and prying into
their affairs. I say, give a young fellow his independence as soon as
possible. If he has been brought up in a manly way, with a feeling of
self-respect, it can only do him good to travel alone. That is the
English way, you know, and always succeeds."

"Not always, and besides, we are not English. It is not 'succeeding,' as
you call it, in Marcello's case. He will not live long, if you let him
lead such a life."

"Oh, he is stronger than he looks! He is no more threatened with
consumption than I am, and a boy who can live through what happened to
him two years ago can live through anything."

Not a muscle of his face quivered as he looked quietly into the
Contessa's eyes. He was quite sure that she did not suspect him of
having been in any way concerned in Marcello's temporary disappearance.

"Suppose him to be as strong as the strongest," Maddalena answered. "Put
aside the question of his health. There is something else that seems to
me quite as important."

"The moral side?" Corbario smiled gravely. "My dear lady, you and I know
the world, don't we? We do not expect young men to be saints!"

Maddalena, who had not always been a saint, returned his l