“Console yourself, madame,” I said, coldly.  “Time should be quick to heal the wounds of one so young and beautiful as you are!  Personally speaking, I much regret your husband’s death, but I would entreat you not to give way to grief, which, however sincere, must unhappily be useless.  Your life lies before you—­and may happy days and as fair a future await you as you deserve!”

She smiled, her tear-drops vanished like morning dew disappearing in the heat.

“I thank you for your good wishes, conte,” she said “but it rests with you to commence my happy days by honoring me with a visit.  You will come, will you not?  My house and all that it contains are at your service!”

I hesitated.  Ferrari looked amused.

“Madame is not aware of your dislike to the society of ladies, conte,” he said, and there was a touch of mockery in his tone.  I glanced at him coldly, and addressed my answer to my wife.

“Signor Ferrari is perfectly right,” I said, bending over her, and speaking in a low tone; “I am often ungallant enough to avoid the society of mere women, but, alas!  I have no armor of defense against the smile of an angel.”

And I bowed with a deep and courtly reverence.  Her face brightened—­ she adored her own loveliness, and the desire of conquest awoke in her immediately.  She took a glass of wine from my hand with a languid grace, and fixed her glorious eyes full on me with a smile.

“That is a very pretty speech,” she said, sweetly, “and it means, of course, that you will come to-morrow.  Angels exact obedience!  Gui—­, I mean Signor Ferrari, you will accompany the conte and show him the way to the villa?”

Ferrari bent his head with some stiffness.  He looked slightly sullen.

“I am glad to see,” he observed, with some petulance, “that your persuasions have carried more conviction to the Conte Oliva than mine.  To me he was apparently inflexible.”

She laughed gayly.  “Of course!  It is only a woman who can always win her own way—­am I not right, conte?” And she glanced up at me with an arch expression of mingled mirth and malice.  What a love of mischief she had!  She saw that Guido was piqued, and she took intense delight in teasing him still further.

“I cannot tell, madame,” I answered her.  “I know so little of your charming sex that I need to be instructed.  But I instinctively feel that you must be right, whatever you say.  Your eyes would convert an infidel!”

Again she looked at me with one of those wonderfully brilliant, seductive, arrowy glances—­then she rose to take her leave.

“An angel’s visit truly,” I said, lightly, “sweet, but brief!”

“We shall meet to-morrow,” she replied, smiling.  “I consider I have your promise; you must not fail me!  Come as early as you like in the afternoon, then you will see my little girl Stella.  She is very like poor Fabio.  Till tomorrow, adieu!”