With a painful start Kitty perceived the mocking eyes of Mademoiselle Ricci.  The Ricci said something in Italian, staring the while at the English lady; and the men near her laughed, some furtively, some loudly.

Cliffe’s face set.  “Walk quickly!” he said in her ear, hurrying her past.

When they had reached one of the narrow streets behind the Piazza, Kitty looked at him—­white and haughtily tremulous.  “What did that mean?”

“Why should you deign to ask?” was Cliffe’s impatient reply.  “I have ceased to go and see her.  I suppose she guesses why.”

“I will have no rivalry with Mademoiselle Ricci!” cried Kitty.

“You can’t help it,” said Cliffe, calmly.  “The powers of light are always in rivalry with the powers of darkness.”

And without further pleading or excuse he stalked on, his gaunt form and striking head towering above the crowded pavement.  Kitty followed him with difficulty, conscious of a magnetism and a force against which she struggled in vain.

* * * * *

About a week afterwards Kitty shut herself up one evening in her room to write to Ashe.  She had just passed through an agitating conversation with Margaret French, who had announced her intention of returning to England at once, alone, if Kitty would not accompany her.  Kitty’s hands were trembling as she began to write.

* * * * *

“I am glad—­oh! so glad, William—­that you have withdrawn your resignation—­that people have come forward so splendidly, and made you withdraw it—­that Lord Parham is behaving decently—­and that you have been able to get hold of all those copies of the book.  I always hoped it would not be quite so bad as you thought.  But I know you must have gone through an awful time—­and I’m sorry.

“William, I want to tell you something—­for I can’t go on lying to you—­or even just hiding the truth.  I met Geoffrey Cliffe here—­before you left—­and I never told you.  I saw him first in a gondola the night of the serenata—­and then at the Armenian convent.  Do you remember my hurrying you and Margaret into the garden?  That was to escape meeting him.  And that same afternoon when I was in the unused rooms of the Palazzo Vercelli—­the rooms they show to tourists—­he suddenly appeared—­and somehow I spoke to him, though I had never meant to do so again.

“Then when you left me I met him again—­that afternoon—­and he found out I was very miserable and made me tell him everything.  I know I had no right to do so—­they were your secrets as well as mine.  But you know how little I can control myself—­it’s wretched, but it’s true.