“Murder is a crime,” she answered simply.  Then Bosio started violently and turned very white, almost rising from his seat.

“Murder?” he cried; “what do you mean?”

Matilde’s smooth red lips smiled.

“I merely mentioned it as an instance of a crime,” she said, without any change of tone.  “You said it would be a crime for you to marry Veronica.  It did not strike me that it could be called by that name.  Crimes are murder, stealing, forgery—­such things.  Who would say that it was criminal for Bosio Macomer to marry Veronica Serra?  There is no reason against it.  I daresay that many people wonder why you have not married her already, and that many others suppose that you will before long.  You are young, you have never been married, you have a very good name and a small fortune of your own.”

“Take it, then!” exclaimed Bosio, impulsively.  “You shall have it all to-morrow—­everything I possess.  God knows, I am ready to give you all I have.  Take it.  I can live somehow.  What do I care?  I have given you my life—­what is a little money?  But do not ask me to marry her, your niece, here, under your very roof.  I am not a saint, but I cannot do that!”

“No,” answered the countess, “we are not saints, you and I, it is true.  For my part, I make no pretences.  But the trouble is desperate, Bosio.  I do not know what to do.  It is desperate!” she repeated with sudden energy.  “Desperate, I tell you!”

“I suppose that all I have would be of no use, then?” asked Bosio, disheartened.

“It would pay the interest for a few months longer.  That would be all.  Then we should be where we are now, or shall be in three weeks.”

“Throw yourself upon her mercy.  Ask her to forgive you and to lend you money,” suggested Bosio.  “She is kind—­she will do it, when she knows the truth.”

“I had thought of that,” answered Matilde.  “But, in the first place, you do not know her.  Secondly, you forget Cardinal Campodonico.”

“Since he has left the management of her fortune in Gregorio’s hands, he will not begin to ask questions at this point.  Besides, the guardianship is at an end—­”

“The estate has not been made over.  He will insist upon seeing the accounts—­that is no matter, for they will bear his inspection well enough.  Squarci is clever!  But Veronica sees him.  She would tell him of our trouble, if we went to her.  If not, she would certainly tell Bianca Corleone, who is his niece.  If he suspected anything, let alone knowing the truth, that would be the end of everything.  It would be better for us to escape before the crash—­if we could.  It comes to that—­unless you will help us.”

“By marrying Veronica?” asked Bosio, with a bitterness not natural to him.