Old Orsola paused, out of breath with the length and vehemence of the tirade, which her feelings had prompted her to utter with crescendo violence.  She was verbose; but the lawyer had listened with the most perfect patience and unflagging attention to every word she had uttered.

“It is, indeed, clear enough,” he said, shaking his head, “that between two women so situated with reference to each other, there could have been no very kindly feeling.  And it must be confessed that this unfortunate Bianca Lalli was, by all accounts, just the sort of woman that was likely to be a very dangerous rival.”

“She; a common, impudent, low-lived, brazen-faced, worn-out Jezebel.  No; not where my Paolina stood on the other side.  She couldn’t take the Marchese away from her with all her arts.  And that’s why she went and put an end to herself.  But she’s gone—­she’s gone, where her painted face and her lures won’t be of any more service to her.  And so I won’t say any evil of her.  Not I. It’s a good rule that tells us to speak well of the dead.  Ave, Maria gratia plena, ora pro nobis, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae,” said the old woman, crossing herself and casting up her eyes in attestation of the Christian nature of her sentiments.

“Amen!” said the lawyer, piously, while he waited to see if the exuberance of his visitor’s feelings would lead her to throw any further light on the state of feeling that had existed between Paolina Foscarelli and the murdered woman.

“I always say and think, for my part,” continued the old woman, perceiving that her companion sat silent, as if expecting her to continue the conversation; “I always think that the blessed Virgin knows what’s best for us.  Maybe it’s just as well that that poor miserable creature did as she did.  For we all know what men are, Signore Dottore; and there’s no saying what hold she might have got upon the Marchese.”

“And no doubt that is the feeling of our young friend Signorina Foscarelli?” said the sympathetic lawyer.

“To be sure,—­to be sure it is,” said the old woman, meaning to credit Paolina with the piety she had understood herself to have expressed; “she did take a mortal aversion and dislike to the woman, and small blame to her.  But now she is gone, Paolina is no more likely to say anything against her than I am myself.”

“Quite so, quite so.  And I hope the magistrates may take the same view of the circumstances, that you have so judiciously expressed, Signora,” said the lawyer, who was abundantly contented with the result of his interview with the Signora Steno, as it stood, and did not see any further necessity for prolonging it.  “You may tell the Contessa Violante, if you should see her, that I am much obliged to her for having sent you to me,” he added, as he rose to open the door of his sanctum for the old lady; “Beppo, open the door for the Signora Steno.  Farewell, Signora, we shall meet again.”