“By Heaven!” exclaimed Guido, fiercely, “do I not think of it?  Ay—­ and I curse him for every kiss he stole from your lips!”

I listened half stupefied.  Here was a new phase of the marriage law!  Husbands were thieves then—­they “stole” kisses; only lovers were honest in their embraces!  Oh, my dear friend—­my more than brother—­ how near you were to death at that moment!  Had you but seen my face peering pallidly through the dusky leaves—­could you have known the force of the fury pent up within me—­you would not have valued your life at one baiocco!

“Why did you marry him?” he asked, after a little pause, during which he toyed with the fair curls that floated against his breast.

She looked up with a little mutinous pout, and shrugged her shoulders.

“Why?  Because I was tired of the convent, and all the stupid, solemn ways of the nuns; also because he was rich, and I was horribly poor.  I cannot bear to be poor!  Then he loved me”—­here her eyes glimmered with malicious triumph—­“yes—­he was mad for me—­and—­”

“You loved him?” demanded Guido, almost fiercely.

“Ma che!” she answered, with an expressive gesture.  “I suppose I did—­for a week or two.  As much as one ever loves a husband!  What does one marry for at all?  For convenience—­money—­position—­he gave me these things, as you know.”

“You will gain nothing by marrying me, then,” he said, jealously.

She laughed, and laid her little white hand, glittering with rings, lightly against his lips.

“Of course not!  Besides—­have I said I will marry you?  You are very agreeable as a lover—­but otherwise—­I am not sure!  And I am free now—­I can do as I like; I want to enjoy my liberty, and—­”

She was not allowed to complete her sentence, for Ferrari snatched her close to his breast and held her there as in a vise.  His face was aflame with passion.

“Look you, Nina,” he said, hoarsely, “you shall not fool me, by Heaven! you shall not!  I have endured enough at your hands, God knows!  When I saw you for the first time on the day of your marriage with that poor fool, Fabio—­I loved you, madly—­ay, wickedly as I then thought, but not for the sin of it did I repent.  I knew you were woman, not angel, and I waited my time.  It came—­I sought you—­ I told you my story of love ere three months of wedded life had passed ever your head.  I found you willing—­ready—­nay, eager to hear me!  You led me on; you know you did!  You tempted me by touch, word and look; you gave me all I sought!  Why try to excuse it now?  You are as much my wife as ever you were Fabio’s—­nay—­you are more so, for you love me—­at least you say so—­and though you lied to your husband, you dare not lie to me.  I tell you, you dare not!  I never pitied Fabio, never—­he was too easily duped, and a married man has no right to be otherwise than suspicious and ever on his guard; if he relaxes in his vigilance he has only himself to blame when his honor is flung like a ball from hand to hand, as one plays with a child’s toy.  I repeat to you, Nina, you are mine, and I swear you shall never escape me!”