She gasped for breath.  The sight of my infuriated figure—­the glitter of the naked steel before her eyes—­the suddenness of my action, the horror of her position, all terrified her into speech.  She flung herself down before me in an attitude of abject entreaty.  She found her voice at last.

“Mercy! mercy!” she cried.  “Oh, God! you will not kill me?  Anything--anything but death; I am too young to die!  Yes, yes; I know you are Fabio—­Fabio, my husband, Fabio, whom I thought dead—­Fabio—­oh!” and she sobbed convulsively.  “You said you loved me to-day—­when you married me!  Why did you marry me?  I was your wife already—­why—­why?  Oh, horrible, horrible!  I see—­I understand it all now!  But do not, do not kill me, Fabio—­I am afraid to die!”

And she hid her face at my feet and groveled there.  As quickly calmed as I had been suddenly furious, I put back the dagger.  I smoothed my voice and spoke with mocking courtesy.

“Pray do not alarm yourself,” I said, coolly.  “I have not the slightest intention of killing you!  I am no vulgar murderer, yielding to mere brute instincts.  You forget:  a Neapolitan has hot passions, but he also has finesse, especially in matters of vengeance.  I brought you here to tell you of my existence, and to confront you with the proofs of it.  Rise, I beg of you, we have plenty of time to talk; with a little patience I shall make things clear to you—­rise!”

She obeyed me, lifting herself up reluctantly with a long, shuddering sigh.  As she stood upright I laughed contemptuously.

“What! no love words for me?” I cried, “not one kiss, not one smile, not one word of welcome?  You say you know me—­well!—­are you not glad to see your husband?—­you, who were such an inconsolable widow?”

A strange quiver passed over her face—­she wrung her hands together hard, but she said no word.

“Listen!” I said, “there is more to tell.  When I broke loose from the grasp of death, when I came home—­I found my vacant post already occupied.  I arrived in time to witness a very pretty pastoral play.  The scene was the ilex avenue—­the actors, you, my wife, and Guido, my friend!”

She raised her head and uttered a low exclamation of fear.  I advanced a step or two and spoke more rapidly.

“You hear?  There was moonlight, and the song of nightingales—­yes; the stage effects were perfect! I watched the progress of the comedy—­with what emotions you may imagine.  I learned much that was news to me.  I became aware that for a lady of your large heart and sensitive feelings one husband was not sufficient”—­here I laid my hand on her shoulder and gazed into her face, while her eyes, dilated with terror, stared hopelessly up to mine—­“and that within three little months of your marriage to me you provided yourself with another.  Nay, no denial can serve you!  Guido Ferrari was husband to you in all things but the name.  I mastered the situation--I rose to the emergency.  Trick for trick, comedy for comedy!  You know the rest.  As the Count Oliva you can not deny that I acted well!  For the second time I courted you, but not half so eagerly as you courted me!  For the second time I have married you!  Who shall deny that you are most thoroughly mine—­mine, body and soul, till death do us part!”