Macomer looked up, and the twitching of his face began instantly, as though he were going to laugh.  Matilde brought the palm of her hand down sharply upon the bare table, fixing her eyes upon him.

“Stop that!” she cried in a tone of command.  “It is very well for the servants.  You are learning to do it very well.  It is of no use with me.”

He looked at her steadily for a moment.  Then he laughed, but naturally and low.

“I might have known that you would find me out,” he said.  “But it is becoming a habit.  It may serve us in the end.  How do you know that the woman sleeps in Veronica’s dressing-room?”

“I was wandering about, just now,” answered Matilde, looking away from him.  “I saw the door of Elettra’s room ajar.  I pushed it open and looked in, and I saw that her bed was not disturbed.  Then I stood outside the door of Veronica’s dressing-room, and listened.  Something moved once, and I was sure that I heard breathing.”

Gregorio watched her gravely while she was speaking, but in the silence that followed, his small eyes wandered uneasily.

“The girl is lonely,” he said at last.  “She makes Elettra sleep in the room next to hers, because she is nervous.”

Matilde seemed to be thinking over what she had said.  Some time passed before she answered, and then it was by a vague question.

“Well?”

Again they looked at each other.

“That is certainly bad,” said Macomer, thoughtfully.  “What are we to do?  Speak to her about it?  You can say that you found Elettra’s door open, at this hour.”

“It would do no good,” answered Matilde.  “We could not prevent her from having her maid there, if she wishes it.”

“After all,” observed Macomer, absently, “it is only a woman.”

“Only a woman?” Matilde’s lip curled.  “I am only a woman.”

Macomer nodded slowly, as though realizing what that meant, but he said nothing in answer.  With his hands under the table he slipped low down in his chair, his head bent forward upon his breast, in deep thought.

“Can you not suggest anything?” asked Matilde, at last, gazing at him somewhat scornfully.  “After all, this is your fault.  You have dragged me into this ruin with you.”

“I know, I know,” he repeated in a low voice.  “But we cannot do it now—­with that woman there.”

“No.  It is impossible now.”  Matilde’s tones sank to a whisper.

She looked down at her strong hands that had grown thinner during the past days, but were strong still.  Gregorio waited a few moments and then roused himself and bent over his papers again.

“You cannot see any way out of it, can you?” asked his wife at last.  “Is there no possibility of keeping afloat until things go better?”

“No,” answered Macomer, not looking up.  “There is nothing to go better.  You know it all.  There is only that one way.  Failing that, I must go mad.  One can recover from madness, you know.”