He drank off his wine at one gulp and spoke with some excitement.

“Then I will frankly confide in you.  I do love the contessa.  Love! it is too weak a word to describe what I feel.  The touch of her hand thrills me, her very voice seems to shake my soul, her eyes burn through me!  Ah!  You cannot know—­you could not understand the joy, the pain—­”

“Calm yourself,” I said, in a cold tone, watching my victim as his pent-up emotion betrayed itself, “The great thing is to keep the head cool when the blood burns.  You think she loves you?”

“Think!  Gran Dio!  She has—­” here he paused and his face flushed deeply—­“nay!  I have no right to say anything on that score.  I know she never cared for her husband.”

“I know that too!” I answered, steadily.  “The most casual observer cannot fail to notice it.”

“Well, and no wonder!” he exclaimed, warmly.  “He was such an undemonstrative fool!  What business had such a fellow as that to marry so exquisite a creature!”

My heart leaped with a sudden impulse of fury, but I controlled my voice and answered calmly: 

“Requiescat in pace!  He is dead—­let him rest.  Whatever his faults, his wife of course was true to him while he lived; she considered him worthy of fidelity—­is it not so?”

He lowered his eyes as he replied in an indistinct tone: 

“Oh, certainly!”

“And you—­you were a most loyal and faithful friend to him, in spite of the tempting bright eyes of his lady?”

Again he answered huskily, “Why, of course!” But the shapely hand that rested on the table so near to mine trembled.

“Well, then,” I continued, quietly, “the love you bear now to his fair widow is, I imagine, precisely what he would approve.  Being, as you say, perfectly pure and blameless, what can I wish otherwise than this—­may it meet with the reward it deserves!”

While I spoke he moved uneasily in his chair, and his eyes roved to my father’s picture with restless annoyance.  I suppose he saw in it the likeness to his dead friend.  After a moment or two of silence he turned to me with a forced smile—­

“And so you really entertain no admiration for the contessa?”

“Oh, pardon me, I do entertain a very strong admiration for her, but not of the kind you seem to suspect.  If it will please you, I can guarantee that I shall never make love to the lady unless—­”

“Unless what?” he asked, eagerly.

“Unless she happens to make love to me, In which case it would be ungallant not to reciprocate!”

And I laughed harshly.  He stared at me in blank surprise.  “She make love to you!” he exclaimed, “You jest.  She would never do such a thing.”

“Of course not!” I answered, rising and clapping him heavily on the shoulder.  “Women never court men, it is quite unheard of; a reverse of the order of nature!  You are perfectly safe, my friend; you will certainly win the recompense you so richly merit.  Come, let us go and drink coffee with the fair one.”