she was not aware of my gaze; and glad was I of the sheltering protection of the dark glasses I wore, for I knew and felt that there was a terrible look in my eyes—­the look of a half-famished tiger ready to spring on some long-desired piece of prey.  She herself was exceptionally bright and cheerful; with her riante features and agile movements, she reminded me of some tropical bird of gorgeous plumage swaying to and fro on a branch of equally gorgeous blossom.

“You are like a prince in a fairy tale, Cesare,” she said, with a little delighted laugh; “everything you do is superbly done!  How pleasant it is to be so rich—­there is nothing better in all the world.”

“Except love!” I returned, with a grim attempt to be sentimental.

Her large eyes softened like the pleading eyes of a tame fawn.

“Ay, yes!” and she smiled with expressive tenderness, “except love.  But when one has both love and wealth, what a paradise life can be!”

“So great a paradise,” I assented, “that it is hardly worth while trying to get into heaven at all!  Will you make earth a heaven for me, Nina mia, or will you only love me as much—­or as little—­as you loved your late husband?”

She shrugged her shoulders and pouted like a spoilt child.

“Why are you so fond of talking about my late husband, Cesare?” she asked, peevishly; “I am so tired of his name!  Besides, one does not always care to be reminded of dead people—­and he died so horribly too!  I have often told you that I did not love him at all.  I liked him a little, and I was quite ill when that dreadful monk, who looked like a ghost himself, came and told me he was dead.  Fancy hearing such a piece of news suddenly, while I was actually at luncheon with Gui—­Signore Ferrari!  We were both shocked, of course, but I did not break my heart over it.  Now I really do love you—­”

I drew nearer to her on the couch where she sat, and put one arm round her.

“You really do?” I asked, in a half-incredulous tone; “you are quite sure?”

She laughed and nestled her head on my shoulder.

“I am quite sure!  How many times have you asked me that absurd question?  What can I say, what can I do—­to make you believe me?”

“Nothing,” I answered, and answered truly, for certainly nothing she could say or do would make me believe her for a moment.  “But how do you love me—­for myself or for my wealth?”

She raised her head with a proud, graceful gesture.

“For yourself, of course!  Do you think mere wealth could ever win my affection?  No, Cesare!  I love you for your own sake—­your own merits have made you dear to me.”

I smiled bitterly.  She did not see the smile.  I slowly caressed her silky hair.

“For that sweet answer, carissima mia, you shall have your reward.  You called me a fairy prince just now—­perhaps I merit that title more than you know.  You remember the jewels I sent you before we ever met?”