naturally and instinctively in this matter of a marriage between him and the Venetian artist, was the idea that Paolina, almost as a matter of course, was at least biassed in her acceptance of his love by a consideration of the material advantages she would gain by it.  It was the natural thing then, the thing a priori to be expected, that a girl in Paolina’s position should be so influenced.  Ludovico would fain have questioned and cross-questioned La Bianca, his experienced monitress, a little more on this point.

Yes, to be expected a priori.  But when one knew Paolina; when one knew her as he knew her, was it not impossible?  Could it be that Paolina, being such as he knew her in his inmost heart to be, should even adulterate her love with interested calculations?  He knew it was not so; and yet—­and yet other men had been as certain as he, and had been deceived.  In short the germ of doubt had been planted in his mind.  And Bianca well knew what she had been about when she planted it there.

Why had she done so?  She spoke with perfect sincerity when she had told him that she would do much and suffer much for his happiness.  And yet she had knowingly placed this thorn in his heart.  Why could she not let him, as Quinto Lalli had expressed it, have his Venetian in peace?  She spoke truly, moreover, when she said that, married to the Marchese Lamberto, she fully purposed to make him a good and true wife; truly, when she declared to old Lalli, and also to her own heart, that she really did like and admire him much.  And yet there was something in the sight of the love of Ludovico and Paolina that was bitter, odious, intolerable to her.

Ludovico hastened to the house in the Via di Santa Eufemia on quitting that in the Via di Porta Sisi, not unhappy, not even uneasy; with no recognized doubt, but with a germ of doubt in his mind.

Signora Orsola had gone out per fare le spese, to make the marketings for the day; and he found Paolina alone.  Such a tete-a-tete would have been altogether contrary to all rules in the more strictly regulated circles of Italian society.  And it would have been all the more, and by no means the less contrary to rule in consequence of the position in which Ludovico and Paolina stood towards each other.  But the world to which Paolina belonged lives under a different code in these matters.  And ever since the day in which the memorable conversation between her and her lover, which has been recorded in a former chapter, had taken place, Paolina had never felt the smallest embarrassment or even shyness in her intercourse with him.  And she received him now with openly expressed rejoicing, that the chance of Orsola’s absence gave them the opportunity of being for a little while alone together.

“I called at this early hour, tesoro mio,” said Ludovico, “mainly to tell you that I have made all the necessary arrangements at St. Apollinare in Classe, and you can begin your work there as soon as you like.  What a dreary place it is.  To think of my little Paolina working, working away all by herself in that dismal old barn of a church out there amid the swamps!”