tered himself that this was a
remarkably neat way of letting the world know who he was and with what
great discretion he was endowed.

As Cecilia thought of Guido's face as she had seen it that morning, her
heart beat with anger and she clenched her hand and turned away. Her
mother believed the story, or a part of it, and others would believe as
much. The _Figaro_ had come in the morning, and the article would
certainly appear in the Roman papers that very evening. Guido would not
hear of it at present, because Lamberti would keep it from him, but he
must know it in the end.

The girl was powerless, and realised it. If she had been mistress of her
own fortune she would readily have satisfied the Princess's demands on
Guido, for she suspected that in some way the abominable article had
been authorised by his aunt. But she was still Baron Goldbirn's ward,
and the sensible financier would have laughed to scorn the idea of
ransoming Guido d'Este's reputation. So would her mother, though she was
generous; and besides, the Countess could not touch her capital, which
was held in trust for Cecilia.

"What a mercy that you are not married to him!" she said, reading the
article again, while her daughter walked up and down the small boudoir.

"You should not say such things!" Cecilia answered hotly. "Why do you
read that disgusting paper? You know the story is a vile falsehood, from
beginning to end. You know that as well as I do! Signor Lamberti will go
to Paris to-night and kill the man who wrote it."

Her eyes flashed, and she had visions of the man she loved shaking a
miserable creature to death, as a terrier kills a rat. Oddly enough the
miserable creature took the shape of Monsieur Leroy in her vivid
imagination.

"Monsieur Leroy is at the bottom of this," she said with instant
conviction. "He hates Guido."

"I daresay," answered the Countess. "I never liked Monsieur Leroy. Do
you remember, when I asked about him at the Princess's dinner, what an
awful silence there was? That was one of the most dreadful moments of my
life! I am sure her relations never mention him."

"He does what he likes with her. He is a spiritualist."

"Who told you that, child?"

"That dear old Don Nicola Francesetti, the archaeologist who showed us
the discoveries in Saint Cecilia's church."

"I remember. I had quite forgotten him."

"Yes. He told me that Monsieur Leroy makes tables turn and rap, and all
that, and persuades the Princess