d, or unseated--by some one of her black tempers.
She shot Rinaldo Guidascarpi dead. Perhaps it was that. I am informed
that she worshipped the poor boy, and has been like a trapped she-wolf
since she did it. In some way she associated our darling with Rinaldo's
death, like the brute she is. The ostensible ground for her futile
bit of devilishness was that she fancied Sandra to have betrayed Barto
Rizzo, her husband, into the hands of the polizia. He wrote to the
Countess Alessandra--such a letter!--a curiosity!--he must see her and
cross-examine her to satisfy himself that she was a true patriot, &c.
You know the style: we neither of us like it. Sandra was waiting to
receive him when they pounced on him by the door. Next day the woman
struck at her. Decidedly a handsome woman. She is the exact contrast
to the Countess Violetta in face, in everything. Heart-disease will
certainly never affect that pretty spy! But, mark," pursued
Laura, warming, "when Carlo arrived, tears, penitence, heaps of
self-accusations: he had been unkind to her even on Lake Orta, where
they passed their golden month; he had neglected her at Turin; he had
spoken angry words in Milan; in fact, he had misused his treasure, and
begged pardon;--'If you please, my poor bleeding angel, I am sorry. But
do not, I entreat, distract me with petitions of any sort, though I will
perform anything earthly to satisfy you. Be a good little boat in the
wake of the big ship. I will look over at you, and chirrup now and
then to you, my dearest, when I am not engaged in piloting
extraordinary.'--Very well; I do not mean to sneer at the unhappy boy,
Merthyr; I love him; he was my husband's brother in arms; the sweetest
lad ever seen. He is in the season of faults. He must command; he must
be a chief; he fancies he can intrigue poor thing! It will pass. And so
will the hour to be forward to Rome. But I call your attention to this:
when he heard of the dagger--I have it from Colonel Corte, who was with
him at the time in Turin--he cried out Violetta d'Isorella's name.
Why? After he had buried his head an hour on Sandra's pillow, he went
straight to Countess d'Isorella, and was absent till night. The woman is
hideous to me. No; don't conceive that I think her Sandra's rival. She
is too jealous. She has him in some web. If she has not ruined him, she
will. She was under my eyes the night she heard of his marriage: I saw
how she will look at seventy! Here is Carlo at the hea