“There is a terrible logic in the absurdity,” he said at last.  “Your aunt constrains you to make a will in her favour, Bosio knew that his brother is ruined and that several large mortgages expire on the first of January.  He knew that his brother has defrauded you in a way which is criminal.  If they can get control of your money within three weeks they are saved.  They persuaded Bosio and you to be betrothed.  But Bosio kills himself.  The main chance is gone.  There remains the one with which the countess threatened him if he would not marry you—­your immediate death.  Against that, stands the possibility of penal servitude in the galleys for a man and woman of high rank and social position—­only the possibility, to be sure, but a possibility, nevertheless.  Remember that to those who know the whole extent and criminality of the count’s fraud the case appears very much worse than it does to you, who now hear of it for the first time, in a general way, and who do not understand the nature of such transactions.  I have been a confessor many years, princess.  I know how few penitents can be made to believe that those they have injured will pardon them, if they frankly ask forgiveness.  It is human nature.  The best of us have doubted God’s willingness to forgive—­how much more do we doubt man’s!  It is all very logical, princess, very logical—­far too logical, whether you will believe it or not.”

“If I believed the beginning,” said Veronica, “I might believe it all.  But it is not proved that my uncle has defrauded me, and all the rest seems absurd, if that is not true.”

“I beseech you at least to be careful!” answered the priest, earnestly.

“In what way?  I shall go on living here, just the same, unless we all go into the country for the rest of the winter.  Even if I thought myself in danger, I do not see what I could do.”

“Eat what the others eat.  Drink what the others drink.  Take nothing especially prepared for you.  Lock your door at night.  If you will not leave the house, that is all you can do.”

He shook his head thoughtfully.

It was true Italian advice—­against poison and smothering.  Veronica smiled, even in her sadness.

“I have no fear,” she said.  “Let us say no more about it.  Can I do anything for the people at Muro?” she asked, by way of preparing to send him away.

“The people at Muro—­the people at Muro,” he repeated dreamily.  “Oh yes—­they are all poor—­almost all.  Money would help them.  The best would be to come and see us yourself, princess.  But if you are not careful, you will never come now,” he added, turning the big spectacles slowly towards her and looking long into her face.  “I have done what I could to warn you,” he said, beginning to rise.  “I will do anything I can to watch over you—­but it will be little.  Good bye.  God preserve you.”

As she rose she rang the bell beside her that her maid might come and show him the way out.  She knew that by this time Elettra must have returned from her errands.  The afternoon light was already failing.