den, and I
swooned. That was my only show of weakness. Since then you are the only
strength I feel."

"Have they all become Barto Rizzos?" Merthyr exclaimed.

"Beloved, I will open my mind to you," said Vittoria. "I am cowardly, and
I thought I had such courage! Tonight a poor mad creature has been here,
who has oppressed me, I cannot say how long, with real fear--that I only
understand now that I know the little ground I had for it. I am even
pleased that one like Barto Rizzo should see me in a better light. I find
the thought smiling in my heart when every other thing is utterly dark
there. You have heard that Carlo goes to Brescia. When I was married, I
lost sight of Italy, and everything but happiness. I suffer as I deserve
for it now. I could have turned my husband from this black path; I
preferred to dream and sing. I would not see--it was my pride that would
not let me see his error. My cowardice would not let me wound him with a
single suggestion. You say that he is betrayed. Then he is betrayed by
the woman who has never been unintelligible to me. We were in Turin
surrounded by intrigues, and there I thanked her so much for leaving me
the days with my husband by Lake Orta that I did not seek to open his
eyes to her. We came to Milan, and here I have been thanking her for the
happy days in Turin. Carlo is no longer to blame if he will not listen to
me. I have helped to teach him that I am no better than any of these
Italian women whom he despises. I spoke to him as his wife should do, at
last. He feigned to think me jealous, and I too remember the words of the
reproach, as if they had a meaning. Ah, my friend! I would say of nothing
that it is impossible, except this task of recovering lost ground with
one who is young. Experience of trouble has made me older than he. When
he accused me of jealousy, I could mention Countess d'Isorella's name no
more. I confess to that. Yet I knew my husband feigned. I knew that he
could not conceive the idea of jealousy existing in me, as little as I
could imagine unfaithfulness in him. But my lips would not take her name!
Wretched cowardice cannot go farther. I spoke of Rome. As often as I
spoke, that name was enough to shake me off: he had but to utter it, and
I became dumb. He did it to obtain peace; for no other cause. So, by
degrees, I have learnt the fatal truth. He has trusted her, for she is
very skilful; distrusting her, for she is treacherous. He has, therefore,
belie