“I have news of importance—­can I speak to you privately?”

She smiled assent, and motioning me by a graceful gesture of her hand to take a seat, she at once dismissed her maid.  As soon as the door had closed behind the girl I spoke at once and to the point, scarcely waiting till my wife resumed her easy-chair before the fire.

“I have had a letter from Signor Ferrari.”

She started slightly, but said nothing, she merely bowed her head and raised her delicately arched eyebrows with a look of inquiry as of one who should say, “Indeed! in what way does this concern me?” I watched her narrowly, and then continued, “He is coming back in two or three days—­he says he is sure,” and here I smiled, “that you will be delighted to see him.”

This time she half rose from her seat, her lips moved as though she would speak, but she remained silent, and sinking back again among her violet velvet cushions, she grew very pale.

“If,” I went on, “you have any reason to think that he may make himself disagreeable to you when he knows of your engagement to me, out of disappointed ambition, conceit, or self-interest (for of course you never encouraged him), I should advise you to go on a visit to some friends for a few days, till his irritation shall have somewhat passed.  What say you to such a plan?”

She appeared to meditate for a few moments—­then raising her lovely eyes with a wistful and submissive look, she replied: 

“It shall be as you wish, Cesare!  Signor Ferrari is certainly rash and hot-tempered, he might be presumptuous enough to—­But you do not think of yourself in the matter!  Surely you also are in danger of being insulted by him when he knows all?”

“I shall be on my guard!” I said, quietly.  “Besides, I can easily pardon any outburst of temper on his part—­it will be perfectly natural, I think!  To lose all hope of ever winning such a love as yours must needs be a sore trial to one of his hot blood and fiery impulses.  Poor fellow!” and I sighed and shook my head with benevolent gentleness.  “By the way, he tells me he has had letters from you?”

I put this question carelessly, but it took her by surprise.  She caught her breath hard and looked at me sharply, with an alarmed expression.  Seeing that my face was perfectly impassive, she recovered her composure instantly, and answered: 

“Oh, yes!  I have been compelled to write to him once or twice on matters of business connected with my late husband’s affairs.  Most unfortunately, Fabio made him one of the trustees of his fortune in case of his death—­it is exceedingly awkward for me that he should occupy that position—­it appears to give him some authority over my actions.  In reality he has none.  He has no doubt exaggerated the number of times I have written to him? it would be like his impertinence to do so.”

Though this last remark was addressed to me almost as a question, I let it pass without response.  I reverted to my original theme.