Then began an argument between the wife and the husband; but, as I saw that Benedetto sustained his part of it with great brutality, I was angry, and, having a pretty vigorous arm, I pushed him aside, and took the wife, who was trembling all over, to the door.  She said, in Italian, a few words of thanks, and disappeared instantly.

Returning to Benedetto, who was gesticulating furiously, I told him to leave the studio, that his conduct was infamous, and if I heard of his ill-treating his wife I would have him punished.

“Debole!” (idiot!) he replied, shrugging his shoulders, and departing amid derisive cheers.

Several days passed, and no signs of Benedetto.  By the end of a week he was forgotten.  Three days before my departure from Rome his wife entered my studio.

“You are leaving Rome,” she said, “and I want you to take me with you.”

“Take you with me!—­but your husband?”

“Dead,” she answered tranquilly.

A thought crossed my mind.

“Did you kill him?” I said.

She made an affirmative sign, adding, “But I meant to die too.”

“How was it?” I asked.

“After he offered me that affront,” she replied, “he came home and beat me, as he often did; then he went out and was gone all day.  At night he returned with a pistol and threatened to shoot me; but I got the pistol away from him, for he was drunk.  I threw him—­the briccone!—­on his bed, and he fell asleep.  Then I stuffed up the doors and windows, and lighted the charcoal brazier.  My head ached horribly, and I knew nothing more till the next day, when I woke up in the hands of my neighbors.  They had smelt the charcoal, and burst in the door,—­but he was dead.”

“And the law?”

“I told the judge everything.  Besides, he had tried to sell me to an Englishman,—­that’s why he wanted to disgrace me here with you; he thought I would resist less.  The judge told me I might go, I had done right; then I confessed to a priest, and he gave me absolution.”

“But, cara mia, what can you do in France?  Better stay in Italy; besides, I am not rich.”

She smiled disdainfully.

“I shall not cost you much,” she said; “on the contrary, I can save you money.”

“How so?”

“I can be the model for your statues if I choose.  Besides which, I am a capital housekeeper.  If Benedetto had behaved properly, we should have had a good home,—­per che, I know how to make one; and I’ve another great talent too!”

She ran to a guitar, which was hanging on the wall, and began to sing a bravura air, accompanying herself with singular energy.

“In France,” she said, when she had finished, “I could take lessons and go upon the stage, where I know I should succeed; that was Benedetto’s idea.”

“But why not do that in Italy?”

“I am hiding from that Englishman,” she replied; “he wants to carry me off.  I am determined to go to France; I have learned to speak French.  If I stay here, I shall throw myself into the Tiber.”