Nera was silent.  She guessed his thoughts.  She knew men so well.  Men had been her special study.  Nera was only twenty-four, but she was clever, and would have excelled in any thing she pleased.  To draw men to her, as the magnet draws the needle, was the passion of her life; whether she cared for them or not, to draw them.  Not to succeed argued a want of skill.  That maddened her.  She was keen and hot upon the scent, knocking over her man as a sportsman does his bird, full in the breast.  Her aim was marriage.  Count Nobili would have suited her exactly.  She had felt for him a warmth that rarely quickened her pulses.  Nobili had evaded her.  But revenge is sweet.  Now his hour is come.

“Count Nobili”—­Nera’s tempting looks spoke more than words—­“come and sit down by me.”  She signed to him to place himself upon the sofa.

Nobili rose as she bade him.  He came upon his fate without a word.  Seated so near to Nera, he gazed into her starry eyes, and felt it did him good.

“You look ill,” Nera said, tuning her voice to a tone of tender pity; “you have grown older too since I last saw you.  Is it love, or grief, or jealousy, or what?”

Nobili heaved a deep sigh.  His hand, which rested near hers, slipped forward, and touched her fingers.  Nera withdrew them to smooth the braids of her glossy hair.  While she did so she scanned Nobili closely.  “You are not a triumphant lover, certainly.  What is the matter?”

“You are very good to care,” answered Nobili, sighing again, gazing into her face; “once I thought that my fate did touch you.”

“Yes, once,” Nera rejoined.  “Once—­long ago.”  She gave an airy laugh that grated on Nobili’s ears.  “But we meet so seldom.”

“True, true,” he answered hurriedly, “too seldom.”  His manner was most constrained.  It was plain his mind was running upon some unspoken thought.

“Yes,” Nera said.  “Spite of your absence, however you make yourself remembered.  You give us so much to talk of!  Such a succession of surprises!”

One by one Nera’s phrases dropped out, suggesting so much behind.

Nobili, greatly excited, felt he must speak or flee.

“I must confess,” she added, giving a stealthy glance out of the corners of her eyes, “you have surprised me.  When do you bring your wife home, Count Nobili?” As Nera asked this question she bent over Nobili, so that her breath just swept his heated cheek.

“Never, perhaps!” cried Nobili, wildly.  He could contain himself no longer.  His heart beat almost to bursting.  A desperate seduction was stealing over him.  “Never, perhaps!” he repeated.

Nera gave a little start; then she drew back and leaned against the sofa, gazing at him.

“I am come to you, Nera”—­Nobili spoke in a hoarse voice—­his features worked with agitation—­“I am come to tell you all; to ask you what I shall do.  I am distracted, heart-broken, degraded!  Nera, dear Nera, will you help me?  In mercy say you will!”