at me; but I have never minded
it, because I have always understood it.

"Is that what you recommend me to say to the Countess?" I asked.

"Recommend you!" he exclaimed, laughing again; "I recommend nothing. I
may be the victim to be rescued, but I am at least not a partner to the
conspiracy. Besides," he added in a moment, "the Countess knows your
state of mind."

"Has she told you so?"

Stanmer hesitated.

"She has begged me to listen to everything you may say against her. She
declares that she has a good conscience."

"Ah," said I, "she's an accomplished woman!"

And it is indeed very clever of her to take that tone. Stanmer
afterwards assured me explicitly that he has never given her a hint of
the liberties I have taken in conversation with--what shall I call
it?--with her moral nature; she has guessed them for herself. She must
hate me intensely, and yet her manner has always been so charming to me!
She is truly an accomplished woman!

May 4th.--I have stayed away from Casa Salvi for a week, but I have
lingered on in Florence, under a mixture of impulses. I have had it on
my conscience not to go near the Countess again--and yet from the moment
she is aware of the way I feel about her, it is open war. There need be
no scruples on either side. She is as free to use every possible art to
entangle poor Stanmer more closely as I am to clip her fine-spun meshes.
Under the circumstances, however, we naturally shouldn't meet very
cordially. But as regards her meshes, why, after all, should I clip
them? It would really be very interesting to see Stanmer swallowed up. I
should like to see how he would agree with her after she had devoured
him--(to what vulgar imagery, by the way, does curiosity reduce a man!)
Let him finish the story in his own way, as I finished it in mine. It is
the same story; but why, a quarter of a century later, should it have the
same _denoument_? Let him make his own _denoument_.

5_th_.--Hang it, however, I don't want the poor boy to be miserable.

6_th_.--Ah, but did my _denoument_ then prove such a happy one?

7_th_.--He came to my room late last night; he was much excited.

"What was it she did to you?" he asked.

I answered him first with another question. "Have you quarrelled with
the Countess?"

But he only repeated his own. "What was it she did to you?"

"Sit down and I'll tell you." And he sat there beside the candle,
staring at me. "There was a man always