d. "For me it was no mistake."

She began to laugh again. "Caro Signore, you're a great original. What
had my poor mother done to you?"

I looked at our young Englishman, who still had his back turned to us and
was staring up at the picture. "I will tell you some other time," I
said.

"I shall certainly remind you; I am very curious to know." Then she
opened and shut her fan two or three times, still looking at me. What
eyes they have! "Tell me a little," she went on, "if I may ask without
indiscretion. Are you married?"

"No, Signora Contessa."

"Isn't that at least a mistake?"

"Do I look very unhappy?"

She dropped her head a little to one side. "For an Englishman--no!"

"Ah," said I, laughing, "you are quite as clever as your mother."

"And they tell me that you are a great soldier," she continued; "you have
lived in India. It was very kind of you, so far away, to have remembered
our poor dear Italy."

"One always remembers Italy; the distance makes no difference. I
remembered it well the day I heard of your mother's death!"

"Ah, that was a sorrow!" said the Countess. "There's not a day that I
don't weep for her. But _che vuole_? She's a saint its paradise."

"_Sicuro_," I answered; and I looked some time at the ground. "But tell
me about yourself, dear lady," I asked at last, raising my eyes. "You
have also had the sorrow of losing your husband."

"I am a poor widow, as you see. _Che vuole_? My husband died after
three years of marriage."

I waited for her to remark that the late Count Scarabelli was also a
saint in paradise, but I waited in vain.

"That was like your distinguished father," I said.

"Yes, he too died young. I can't be said to have known him; I was but of
the age of my own little girl. But I weep for him all the more."

Again I was silent for a moment.

"It was in India too," I said presently, "that I heard of your mother's
second marriage."

The Countess raised her eyebrows.

"In India, then, one hears of everything! Did that news please you?"

"Well, since you ask me--no."

"I understand that," said the Countess, looking at her open fan. "I
shall not marry again like that."

"That's what your mother said to me," I ventured to observe.

She was not offended, but she rose from her seat and stood looking at me
a moment. Then--"You should not have gone away!" she exclaimed. I
stayed for another hour; it is a very pleasant house.

Two or three of