women who were stinted of pocket-money with the sight of shimmering satins, soft radiating plushes, rich velvets, embroidery studded with real gems, pieces of costly old lace, priceless scents, and articles of bijouterie; she loved also to dazzle the eyes and bewilder the brains of young girls, whose finest toilet was a garb of simplest white stuff unadorned save by a cluster of natural blossoms, and to send them away sick at heart, pining for they knew not what, dissatisfied with everything, and grumbling at fate for not permitting them to deck themselves in such marvelous “arrangements” of costume as those possessed by the happy, the fortunate future Countess Oliva.

Poor maidens! had they but known all they would not have envied her!  Women are too fond of measuring happiness by the amount of fine clothes they obtain, and I truly believe dress is the one thing that never fails to console them.  How often a fit of hysterics can be cut short by the opportune arrival of a new gown!

My wife, in consideration of her approaching second nuptial, had thrown off her widow’s crape, and now appeared clad in those soft subdued half-tints of color that suited her fragile, fairy-like beauty to perfection.  All her old witcheries and her graceful tricks of manner and speech were put forth again for my benefit.  I knew them all so well!  I understood the value of her light caresses and languishing looks so thoroughly!  She was very anxious to attain the full dignity of her position as the wife of so rich a nobleman as I was reputed to be, therefore she raised no objection when I fixed the day of our marriage for Giovedi Grasso.  Then the fooling and mumming, the dancing, shrieking, and screaming would be at its height; it pleased my whim to have this other piece of excellent masquerading take place at the same time.

The wedding was to be as private as possible, owing to my wife’s “recent sad bereavements,” as she herself said with a pretty sigh and tearful, pleading glance.  It would take place in the chapel of San Gennaro, adjoining the cathedral.  We were married there before!  During the time that intervened, Nina’s manner was somewhat singular.  To me she was often timid, and sometimes half conciliatory.  Now and then I caught her large dark eyes fixed on me with a startled, anxious look, but this expression soon passed away.  She was subject, too, to wild fits of merriment, and anon to moods of absorbed and gloomy silence.  I could plainly see that she was strung up to an extreme pitch of nervous excitement and irritability, but I asked her no questions.  If—­I thought—­if she tortured herself with memories, all the better—­if she saw, or fancied she saw, the resemblance between me and her “dear dead Fabio,” it suited me that she should be so racked and bewildered.

I came and went to and fro from the villa as I pleased.  I wore my dark glasses as usual, and not even Giacomo could follow me with his peering, inquisitive gaze; for since the night he had been hurled so fiercely to the ground by Guido’s reckless and impatient hand, the poor old man had been paralyzed, and had spoken no word.  He lay in an upper chamber, tended by Assunta, and my wife had already written to his relatives in Lombardy, asking them to send for him home.