Ferrari shrugged his shoulders.

“I cannot agree with you, count,” he said; “but I will not argue with you.  From your point of view you may be right—­but when one is young, and life stretches before you like a fair pleasure-ground, love and the smile of woman are like sunlight falling on flowers!  You too must have felt this—­in spite of what you say, there must have been a time in your life when you also loved!”

“Oh, I have had my fancies, of course!” I answered, with an indifferent laugh.  “The woman I fancied turned out to be a saint—­I was not worthy of her—­at least, so I was told.  At any rate, I was so convinced of her virtue and my own unworthiness—­that—­I left her.”

He looked surprised.  “An odd reason, surely, for resigning her, was it not?”

“Very odd—­very unusual—­but a sufficient one for me.  Pray let us talk of something more interesting—­your pictures, for instance.  When may I see them?”

“When you please,” he answered, readily—­“though I fear they are scarcely worth a visit.  I have not worked much lately.  I really doubt whether I have any that will merit your notice.”

“You underrate your powers, signor,” I said with formal politeness.  “Allow me to call at your studio this afternoon.  I have a few minutes to spare between three and four o’clock, if that time will suit you.”

“It will suit me admirably,” he said, with a look of gratification; “but I fear you will be disappointed.  I assure you I am no artist.”

I smiled.  I knew that well enough.  But I made no reply to his remark—­I said, “Regarding the matter of the jewels for the Countess Romani—­would you care to see them?”

“I should indeed,” he answered; “they are unique specimens, I think?”

“I believe so,” I answered, and going to an escritoire in the corner of the room, I unlocked it and took out a massive carved oaken jewel-chest of square shape, which I had had made in Palermo.  It contained a necklace of large rubies and diamonds, with bracelets to match, and pins of their hair—­also a sapphire ring—­a cross of fine rose-brilliants, and the pearl pendant I had first found in the vault.  All the gems, with the exception of this pendant, had been reset by a skillful jeweler in Palermo, who had acted under my superintendence—­and Ferrari uttered an exclamation of astonishment and admiration as he lifted the glittering toys out one by one and noted the size and brilliancy of the precious stones.

“They are trifles,” I said, carelessly—­“but they may please a woman’s taste—­and they amount to a certain fixed value.  You would do me a great service if you consented to take them to the Contessa Romani for me—­tell her to accept them as heralds of my forthcoming visit.  I am sure you will know how to persuade her to take what would unquestionably have been hers had her husband lived.  They are really her property—­she must not refuse to receive what is her own.”