“Good heavens, Bianca,” exclaimed I, “what is the meaning of this?  Is this my reception after so long an absence?  Is this the love you professed for me?”

At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her.  She turned to me a face wild with anguish.  “No more of that! no more of that!” gasped she—­“talk not to me of love—­I—­I—­am married!”

I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow.  A sickness struck to my very heart.  I caught at a window frame for support.  For a moment or two, everything was chaos around me.  When I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa; her face buried in a pillow, and sobbing convulsively.  Indignation at her fickleness for a moment overpowered every other feeling.

“Faithless—­perjured—­” cried I, striding across the room.  But another glance at that beautiful being in distress, checked all my wrath.  Anger could not dwell together with her idea in my soul.

“Oh, Bianca,” exclaimed I, in anguish, “could I have dreamt of this; could I have suspected you would have been false to me?”

She raised her face all streaming with tears, all disordered with emotion, and gave me one appealing look—­“False to you!—­they told me you were dead!”

“What,” said I, “in spite of our constant correspondence?”

She gazed wildly at me—­“correspondence!—­what correspondence?”

“Have you not repeatedly received and replied to my letters?”

She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervor—­“As I hope for mercy, never!”

A horrible surmise shot through my brain—­“Who told you I was dead?”

“It was reported that the ship in which you embarked for Naples perished at sea.”

“But who told you the report?”

She paused for an instant, and trembled—­

“Filippo!”

“May the God of heaven curse him!” cried I, extending my clinched fists aloft.

“Oh do not curse him—­do not curse him!” exclaimed she—­“He is—­he is —­my husband!”

This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that had been practised upon me.  My blood boiled like liquid fire in my veins.  I gasped with rage too great for utterance.  I remained for a time bewildered by the whirl of horrible thoughts that rushed through my mind.  The poor victim of deception before me thought it was with her I was incensed.  She faintly murmured forth her exculpation.  I will not dwell upon it.  I saw in it more than she meant to reveal.  I saw with a glance how both of us had been betrayed. “’Tis well!” muttered I to myself in smothered accents of concentrated fury.  “He shall account to me for this!”

Bianca overhead me.  New terror flashed in her countenance.  “For mercy’s sake do not meet him—­say nothing of what has passed—­for my sake say nothing to him—­I only shall be the sufferer!”

A new suspicion darted across my mind—­“What!” exclaimed I—­“do you then fear him—­is he unkind to you—­tell me,” reiterated I, grasping her hand and looking her eagerly in the face—­“tell me—­dares he to use you harshly!”