miserable comedy out to its end.  I looked dumbly on at my own betrayal!  I saw my honor stabbed to the death by those whom I most trusted, and yet I gave no sign!  They—­Guido Ferrari and my wife—­came so close to my hiding-place that I could note every gesture and hear every word they uttered.  They paused within three steps of me—­his arm encircled her waist—­hers was thrown carelessly around his neck—­her head rested on his shoulder.  Even so had she walked with me a thousand times!  She was dressed in pure white save for one spot of deep color near her heart—­a red rose, as red as blood.  It was pinned there with a diamond pin that flashed in the moonlight.  I thought wildly, that instead of that rose, there should be blood indeed—­instead of a diamond pin there should be the good steel of a straight dagger!  But I had no weapon—­I stared at her, dry-eyed and mute.  She looked lovely—­exquisitely lovely!  No trace of grief marred the fairness of her face—­her eyes were as languidly limpid and tender as ever—­her lips were parted in the child-like smile that was so sweet—­so innocently trustful!  She spoke—­ah, Heaven! the old bewitching music of her low voice made my heart leap and my brain reel.

“You foolish Guido!” she said, in dreamily amused accents.  “What would have happened, I wonder, if Fabio had not died so opportunely.”

I waited eagerly for the answer.  Guido laughed lightly.

“He would never have discovered anything.  You were too clever for him, piccinina!  Besides, his conceit saved him—­he had so good an opinion of himself that he would not have deemed it possible for you to care for any other man.”

My wife—­flawless diamond-pearl of pure womanhood!—­sighed half restlessly.

“I am glad he is dead!” she murmured; “but, Guido mio, you are imprudent.  You cannot visit me now so often—­the servants will talk!  Then I must go into mourning for at least six months—­and there are many other things to consider.”

Guide’s hand played with the jeweled necklace she wore—­be bent and kissed the place where its central pendant rested.  Again—­again, good sir, I pray you!  Let no faint scruples interfere with your rightful enjoyment!  Cover the white flesh with caresses—­it is public property! a dozen kisses more or less will not signify!  So I madly thought as I crouched among the trees—­the tigerish wrath within me making the blood beat in my head like a hundred hammer-strokes.

“Nay then, my love,” he replied to her, “it is almost a pity Fabio is dead!  While he lived he played an excellent part as a screen—­he was an unconscious, but veritable duenna of propriety for both of us, as no one else could be!”

The boughs that covered me creaked and rustled.  My wife started, and looked uneasily round her.

“Hush!” she said, nervously.  “He was buried only yesterday—­and they say there are ghosts sometimes.  This avenue, too—­I wish we had not come here—­it was his favorite walk.  Besides,” she added, with a slight accent of regret, “after all he was the father of my child—­ you must think of that.”