“You are ingenious,” she observed drily, as she rose to her feet.  “I should not have thought of that.  It is a pity that you have not been able to apply your ingenuity better in other ways, too.  It has been wasted.”

“I am not sure,” answered Macomer, thoughtfully.  “If Bosio marries Veronica, our position will be a very good one, considering the misfortunes through which we have passed.  If he should not, and if Veronica should die, it will be much better.  I am not sure but that, if I had no affection for the girl, I might prefer that she should die.”

Matilde glanced at him sideways, uneasily.

“We will not speak of that,” she said, as though it were a disagreeable subject.

“No.”

Then, without warning, his jarring, crashing laughter filled the room again for a moment, and she started as she heard it, and looked round nervously.

“I really wish you would not laugh in that way,” she said, with a frown.  “There is nothing to laugh at, I assure you.”

“I did not know that I laughed,” said Macomer, indifferently.  “That is the second time in a quarter of an hour.  How odd it would be if I were to laugh unconsciously in that way when—­” He seemed to check the words that were coming.

“When, for instance?” asked Matilde, not guessing what was passing in his mind.

“At the funeral,” he answered shortly.  Matilde started again, and looked at him anxiously.  She had resumed her seat after she had hidden the key, but she now rose and went to him.  He was still standing before the window, though he had finished his cigarette and had thrown away the end of it.  She stood before him a moment before she spoke, fixing her eyes severely on his face.

“Control yourself!” she said sternly.  “I understand that you are nervous and over-strained.  That is no reason for behaving like a fool.”

He also paused an instant before speaking.  Then, all at once, his features assumed an expression of docility, not at all natural to him.

“Yes,” he answered, “I will try.  I think you are quite right.  I really am very much over-strained in these days.”

Matilde was surprised by his change of manner, but was glad to find that she could control him so easily.

“It will pass,” she said more gently.  “You will be better in a day or two, when everything is settled.”

“Yes—­when everything is settled.  But meanwhile, my dear, perhaps it would be better, if you should notice anything strange in my behaviour, like my laughing in this absurd way, for instance, just to look at me without saying anything—­you understand—­it will recall me to myself.  I am convinced that it is only absence of mind, brought on by great anxiety.  But people are spiteful, you know, and somebody might think that I was losing my mind.”

“Yes,” she answered gravely.  “If you laugh in that way, without any reason, somebody might think so.  I will try and call your attention to it, if I can.”