them to see him, a soldier, stay in bed till midday on pretence that he was ill.  Thus the lovers lived only in the night-time, when the rest of the household were asleep.  If Montefiore had not been one of those libertines whom the habit of gallantry enables to retain their self-possession under all circumstances, he might have been lost a dozen times during those ten days.  A young lover, in the simplicity of a first love, would have committed the enchanting imprudences which are so difficult to resist.  But he did resist even Juana herself, Juana pouting, Juana making her long hair a chain which she wound about his neck when caution told him he must go.

The most suspicious of guardians would however have been puzzled to detect the secret of their nightly meetings.  It is to be supposed that, sure of success, the Italian marquis gave himself the ineffable pleasures of a slow seduction, step by step, leading gradually to the fire which should end the affair in a conflagration.  On the eleventh day, at the dinner-table, he thought it wise to inform old Perez, under seal of secrecy, that the reason of his separation from his family was an ill-assorted marriage.  This false revelation was an infamous thing in view of the nocturnal drama which was being played under that roof.  Montefiore, an experienced rake, was preparing for the finale of that drama which he foresaw and enjoyed as an artist who loves his art.  He expected to leave before long, and without regret, the house and his love.  It would happen, he thought, in this way:  Juana, after waiting for him in vain for several nights, would risk her life, perhaps, in asking Perez what had become of his guest; and Perez would reply, not aware of the importance of his answer,—­

“The Marquis de Montefiore is reconciled to his family, who consent to receive his wife; he has gone to Italy to present her to them.”

And Juana?—­The marquis never asked himself what would become of Juana; but he had studied her character, its nobility, candor, and strength, and he knew he might be sure of her silence.

He obtained a mission from one of the generals.  Three days later, on the night preceding his intended departure, Montefiore, instead of returning to his own room after dinner, contrived to enter unseen that of Juana, to make that farewell night the longer.  Juana, true Spaniard and true Italian, was enchanted with such boldness; it argued ardor!  For herself she did not fear discovery.  To find in the pure love of marriage the excitements of intrigue, to hide her husband behind the curtains of her bed, and say to her adopted father and mother, in case of detection:  “I am the Marquise de Montefiore!”—­was to an ignorant and romantic young girl, who for three years past had dreamed of love without dreaming of its dangers, delightful.  The door closed on this last evening upon her folly, her happiness, like a veil, which it is useless here to raise.