If she had been pale before, she grew paler now.  All the brilliancy of her complexion faded for the moment into an awful haggardness.  She took the ring with fingers that shook visibly and were icy cold.  There was no attempt at smiling now.  She drew a sharp quick breath; she thought I knew all.  I was again silent.  She looked at the diamond signet with a bewildered air.

“I do not understand,” she murmured, petulantly.  “I gave him this as a remembrance of his friend, my husband, why does he return it?”

Self-tortured criminal!  I studied her with a dark amusement, but answered nothing.  Suddenly she looked up at me and her eyes filled with tears.

“Why are you so cold and strange, Cesare?” she pleaded, in a sort of plaintive whimper.  “Do not stand there like a gloomy sentinel; kiss me and tell me at once what has happened.”

Kiss her!  So soon after kissing the dead hand of her lover!  No, I could not and would not.  I remained standing where I was, inflexibly silent.  She glanced at me again, very timidly, and whimpered afresh.

“Ah, you do not love me!” she murmured.  “You could not be so stern and silent if you loved me!  If there is indeed any bad news, you ought to break it to me gently and kindly.  I thought you would always make everything easy for me—­”

“Such has been my endeavor, madame,” I said interrupting her complaint.  “From your own statement, I judged that your adopted brother Guido Ferrari had rendered himself obnoxious to you.  I promised that I would silence him—­you remember!  I have kept my word.  He is silenced—­forever!”

She started.

“Silenced?  How?  You mean—­”

I moved away from my place behind her chair, and stood so that I faced her as I spoke.

“I mean that he is dead.”

She uttered a slight cry, not of sorrow but of wonderment.

“Dead!” she exclaimed.  “Not possible!  Dead!  You have killed him?”

I bent my head gravely.  “I killed him—­yes!  But in open combat, openly witnessed.  Last night he insulted me grossly; we fought this morning.  We forgave each other before he died.”

She listened attentively.  A little color came back into her cheeks.

“In what way did he insult you?” she asked, in a low voice.

I told her all, briefly.  She still looked anxious.

“Did he mention my name?” she said.

I glanced at her troubled features in profound contempt.  She feared the dying man might have made some confession to me!  I answered: 

“No; not after our quarrel.  But I hear he went to your house to kill you!  Not finding you there, he only cursed you.”

She heaved a sigh of relief.  She was safe now, she thought!

Her red lips widened into a cruel smile.

“What bad taste!” she said, coldly.  “Why he should curse me I cannot imagine!  I have always been kind to him—­too kind.”