"You cannot
shoot him."

"One can without doubt," returned Lamberti, smiling. "But it will not be
necessary."

"My dear child," cried the Countess in a reproachful tone, "I had no
idea you could be so bloodthirsty! Your father fought with Garibaldi,
but I am sure he never talked like that."

"Men have no need of talking, mother. They can fight themselves."

"May I take the _Figaro_ with me?" asked Lamberti. "I may not be able to
buy a copy. By the bye, Baron Goldbirn is your guardian, is he not? He
must have important relations with the financiers in Paris."

Cecilia looked at her mother, meaning her to answer the question.

"He is always in Paris himself," said the Countess. "I mean when he is
not in Vienna."

"Can you telegraph to him to use his influence in Paris, so that the
_Figaro_ shall correct the article? Newspapers never take back what they
say, but it will be enough if a paragraph appears in a prominent part of
the paper stating that some ill-disposed people having supposed that the
person referred to in a recent letter from a Roman correspondent was
Guido d'Este, the editors take the opportunity of stating positively
that no reference to him was intended. Will you telegraph that?"

"But will it be of any use?" asked the Countess, who was slightly in awe
of Baron Goldbirn.

"Please write the telegram yourself," Cecilia said. "Then there cannot
be any mistake. The address is Kaernthner Ring, Vienna."

"You will find writing paper in my boudoir," said the Countess. "Cecilia
will show you."

The young girl led the way to her mother's table in the next room, and
Lamberti sat down before it, while she pulled out a sheet of paper and
gave him a pen. Neither looked at the other, and Lamberti wrote slowly
in a laboured round hand unlike his own, intended for the telegraph
clerk to read easily.

"How shall I sign it?" he asked when he had finished.

"'Countess Fortiguerra.'"

He wrote, blotted the page, and rose. For one moment he stood close
beside her.

"Shall I tell your mother?" he asked, in a low voice.

"Not yet."

He bent his head and looked at her, and his face softened wonderfully in
that instant. But there was not a touch of their hands, though they were
alone in the room, nor a tender word spoken in a whisper to have told
any one that they loved each other so well. They were alike, and they
understood without speech or touch.

Lamberti read the telegram to the Countess, who seemed sa