enkenstein and Irma di Karski; but a happy peep between the
hanging curtains gave him sight of a letter passing from Anna's hands to
Irma's. Anna quitted her. Irma, was looking at the superscription of the
letter, an the act of passing in her steps, when Luigi tore the curtains
apart, and sprang on her arm like a cat. Before her shrieks could bring
succour, Luigi was bounding across the court with the letter in his
possession. A dreadful hug awaited him; his pockets were ransacked, and
he was pitched aching into the street. Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz went
straightway under a gas-lamp, where he read the address of the letter to
Countess d'Isorella. He doubted; he had a half-desire to tear the letter
open. But a rumour of the attack upon Irma had spread among the domestics
and Jacob prudently went up to his mistress. The duchess was sitting with
Laura. She received the letter, eyed: it all over, and held it to a
candle.

Laura's head was bent in dark meditation. The sudden increase of light
aroused her, and she asked, "What is that?"

"A letter from Countess Anna to Countess d'Isorella," said the duchess.

"Burnt!" Laura screamed.

"It's only fair," the duchess remarked.

"From her to that woman! It may be priceless. Stop! Let me see what
remains. Amalia! are you mad? Oh! you false friend. I would have
sacrificed my right hand to see it."

"Try and love me still," said the duchess, letting her take one unburnt
corner, and crumble the black tissuey fragments to smut in her hands.

There was no writing; the unburnt corner of the letter was a blank.

Laura fooled the wretched ashes between her palms. "Good-night," she
said. "Your face will be of this colour to me, my dear, for long."

"I cannot behave disgracefully, even to keep your love, my beloved," said
the duchess.

"You cannot betray a German, you mean," Laura retorted. "You could let a
spy into the house."

"That was a childish matter--merely to satisfy a whim."

"I say you could let a spy into the house. Who is to know where the
scruples of you women begin? I would have given my jewels, my head, my
husband's sword, for a sight of that letter. I swear that it concerns us.
Yes, us. You are a false friend. Fish-blooded creature! may it be a year
before I look on you again. Hide among your miserable set!"

"Judge me when you are cooler, dearest," said the duchess, seeking to
detain the impetuous sister of her affection by the sweeping skirts; but
Laura sp