e
business-formality, which I spoke of this morning, to be settled.
Laura, will you come into the library? It won't take a minute--a mere
formality. Countess, may I trouble you also? I want you and the
Countess, Fosco, to be witnesses to a signature--nothing more. Come in
at once and get it over."

He held the library door open until they had passed in, followed them,
and shut it softly.

I remained, for a moment afterwards, standing alone in the hall, with
my heart beating fast and my mind misgiving me sadly. Then I went on
to the staircase, and ascended slowly to my own room.

IV

June 17th.--Just as my hand was on the door of my room, I heard Sir
Percival's voice calling to me from below.

"I must beg you to come downstairs again," he said. "It is Fosco's
fault, Miss Halcombe, not mine. He has started some nonsensical
objection to his wife being one of the witnesses, and has obliged me to
ask you to join us in the library."

I entered the room immediately with Sir Percival. Laura was waiting by
the writing-table, twisting and turning her garden hat uneasily in her
hands. Madame Fosco sat near her, in an arm-chair, imperturbably
admiring her husband, who stood by himself at the other end of the
library, picking off the dead leaves from the flowers in the window.

The moment I appeared the Count advanced to meet me, and to offer his
explanations.

"A thousand pardons, Miss Halcombe," he said. "You know the character
which is given to my countrymen by the English? We Italians are all
wily and suspicious by nature, in the estimation of the good John Bull.
Set me down, if you please, as being no better than the rest of my
race. I am a wily Italian and a suspicious Italian. You have thought
so yourself, dear lady, have you not? Well! it is part of my wiliness
and part of my suspicion to object to Madame Fosco being a witness to
Lady Glyde's signature, when I am also a witness myself."

"There is not the shadow of a reason for his objection," interposed Sir
Percival. "I have explained to him that the law of England allows
Madame Fosco to witness a signature as well as her husband."

"I admit it," resumed the Count. "The law of England says, Yes, but
the conscience of Fosco says, No." He spread out his fat fingers on the
bosom of his blouse, and bowed solemnly, as if he wished to introduce
his conscience to us all, in the character of an illustrious addition
to the society. "What this document wh