t the beginning, so I made Settimia teach me
how to read the writing, and I also learned to write myself, not very
well, but one can understand it."

"I know. I have seen you writing copies. But how has that helped you to
find out what Folco is doing?"

"I read all Settimia's letters," Regina answered, with perfect
simplicity.

"Eh?" Marcello thought he had misunderstood her.

"I read all the letters she gets," Regina replied, unmoved. "When she
was teaching me to read I saw where she kept all her letters. It is
always the same place. There is a pocket inside a little black bag she
has, which opens easily, though she locks it. She puts the letters
there, and when she has read them over she burns them. You see, she has
no idea that I read them. But I always do, ever since you asked me about
that note. When I know that she has had a letter, I send her out on an
errand. Then I read. It is so easy!"

Regina laughed, but Marcello looked displeased.

"It is not honest to do such things," he said.

"Not honest?" Regina stared at him in amazement. "How does honesty enter
into the question? Is Settimia honest? Then honest people should all be
in the galleys! And if you knew how he writes to her! Oh, yes! You are
the 'dear patient,' and I am the 'admirable companion.' They have known
each other long, those two. They have a language between them, but I
have learned it. They have no more secrets that I do not know.
Everything the admirable companion does that makes the dear patient
better is wrong, and everything that used to make him worse was right.
They were killing you in Paris, they wanted you to stay there until you
were dead. Do you know who saved your life? It was the Contessa, when I
heard her say that you were looking ill! If you ever see her again,
thank her, for I was blind and she opened my eyes. The devil had blinded
me, and the pleasure, and I could not see. I see now, thanks to heaven,
and I know all, and they shall not hurt you. But they shall pay!"

She was not laughing now, as she said the last words under her breath,
and her beautiful lips just showed her white teeth, set savagely tight
as though they had bitten through something that could be killed. Folco
Corbario was not timid, but if he had seen her then, and known that the
imaginary bite was meant for his life, he would have taken special care
of his bodily safety whenever she was in his neighbourhood.

Marcello had listened in profound surprise,