vor the Contessa
Romani extends toward me in allowing me to make her acquaintance at a
time which must naturally be for her a secluded season of sorrow."

At these words my wife's face suddenly assumed an expression of wistful
sadness and appealing gentleness.

"Ah, poor unfortunate Fabio," she sighed. "How terrible it seems that
he is not here to greet you! How gladly he would have welcomed any
friend of his father's--he adored his father, poor fellow! I cannot
realize that he is dead. It was too sudden, too dreadful! I do not
think I shall ever recover the shock of his loss!"

And her eyes actually filled with tears; though the fact did not
surprise me in the least, for many women can weep at will. Very little
practice is necessary--and we men are such fools, we never know how it
is done; we take all the pretty feigned piteousness for real grief, and
torture ourselves to find methods of consolation for the feminine
sorrows which have no root save in vanity and selfishness. I glanced
quickly from my wife to Ferrari: he coughed, and appeared
embarrassed--he was not so good an actor as she was an actress.
Studying them both, I know not which feeling gained the mastery in my
mind--contempt or disgust.

"Console yourself, madame," I said, coldly. "Time should be quick to
heal the wounds of one so young and beautiful as you are! Personally
speaking, I much regret your husband's death, but I would entreat YOU
not to give way to grief, which, however sincere, must unhappily be
useless. Your life lies before you--and may happy days and as fair a
future await you as you deserve!"

She smiled, her tear-drops vanished like morning dew disappearing in
the heat.

"I thank you for your good wishes, conte," she said "but it rests with
you to commence my happy days by honoring me with a visit. You will
come, will you not? My house and all that it contains are at your
service!"

I hesitated. Ferrari looked amused.

"Madame is not aware of your dislike to the society of ladies, conte,"
he said, and there was a touch of mockery in his tone. I glanced at him
coldly, and addressed my answer to my wife.

"Signor Ferrari is perfectly right," I said, bending over her, and
speaking in a low tone; "I am often ungallant enough to avoid the
society of mere women, but, alas! I have no armor of defense against
the smile of an angel."

And I bowed with a deep and courtly reverence. Her face brightened--she
adored her own loveliness, an