Vittoria heard that Laura and her sister and the duchess had gone down to Meran.  Countess Lena von Lenkenstein was riding to see her betrothed shoot on a neighbouring estate.  Countess Anna had disappeared early, none knew where.  Both these ladies, and their sister-in-law, were in mourning for the terrible death of their brother, Count Paul Aennchen repeated what she knew of the tale concerning him.

The desire to see Laura first, and be embraced and counselled by her, and lie awhile in her arms to get a breath of home, made Vittoria refuse to go up to her chamber, and notwithstanding Aennchen’s persuasions, she left the castle, and went out and sat in the shaded cart-track.  On the winding ascent she saw a lady in a black riding habit, leading her horse and talking to a soldier, who seemed to be receiving orders from her, and presently saluted and turned his steps downward.  The lady came on, and passed her without a glance.  After entering the courtyard, where she left her horse, she reappeared, and stood hesitating, but came up to Vittoria and said bluntly, in Italian: 

“Are you the signorina Campa, or Belloni, who is expected here?”

The Austrian character and colouring of her features told Vittoria that this must be the Countess Anna or her sister.

“I think I have been expected,” she replied.

“You come alone?”

“I am alone.”

“I am Countess Anna von Lenkenstein; one of the guests of the castle.”

“My message is to the Countess Anna.”

“You have a message?”

Vittoria lifted the embroidered cigar-case.  Countess Anna snatched it from her hand.

“What does this mean?  Is it insolence?  Have the kindness, if you please, not to address me in enigmas.  Do you”—­Anna was deadly pale as she turned the cigarcase from side to side—­“do you imagine that I smoke, ’par hasard?’” She tried to laugh off her intemperate manner of speech; the laugh broke at sight of a blood-mark on one corner of the case; she started and said earnestly, “I beg you to let me hear what the meaning of this may be?”

“He lies in the Ultenthal, wounded; and his wish was that I should deliver it to you.”  Vittoria spoke as gently as the harsh tidings would allow.

“Wounded?  My God! my God!” Anna cried in her own language.  “Wounded?-in the breast, then!  He carried it in his breast.  Wounded by what? by what?”

“I can tell you no more.”

“Wounded by whom?”

“It was an honourable duel.”

“Are you afraid to tell me he has been assassinated?”

“It was an honourable duel.”

“None could match him with the sword.”

“His enemy had nothing but a dagger.”

“Who was his enemy?”

“It is no secret, but I must leave him to say.”

“You were a witness of the fight?”

“I saw it all.”

“The man was one of your party!