cessions, one of
which followed the dead, and the other the litter that bore his beloved
to her house, for she had swooned away by the side of her lost friend.
That same night the young Emilia returned with her mother to Vicenza.
Her father, however, Signor Tullio Scarpa, remained in the house of the
Buonfigli, in order to be present at Attilio's funeral, himself doubly
a mourner, for his daughter's sorrow and his son's disgrace.

"But when on the third day the beloved dead was borne to his grave in
the chapel of the Madonna degli Angeli, there was seen next to the
bier, and taking precedence of all blood relations, the tall form of
Giovanna, dressed in deepest black, and wearing a widow's veil. And
when she threw back the veil to kiss the brow of the departed, all the
people beheld with astonishment the marvel that had taken place, for
the gold of her hair which used to shine out from afar, had in a few
nights changed to dull silver, and her fair face was pale and faded
like that of an aged woman.

"And, indeed, many thought she could not longer endure life, but would
follow her beloved. Nevertheless she lived on for three years, during
which she never laid aside her widow's garb, and was never seen
in any public or festive place. In her retirement, however, she was
industrious at her work, for she had vowed to the chapel of the Madonna
degli Angeli, a large banner on which was represented the archangel
Michael, clad in white armour, and slaying the dragon. And it was
reported that the angel's coat of mail was worked with her own silver
hair. And this banner was placed next to the first which hung in the
chapel over Attilio's grave. This task completed, she held out no
longer; they bore the embroideress too to her rest, and granted her her
last petition, to be buried at the feet of him she loved. And that
grave was long the resort of inhabitants and strangers, who went to
admire the exquisite work of both banners, and to relate to each other
the story of Gianna the Fair, who in life and death gave to her beloved
all she possessed--even to her honour--though she might easily have
preserved it unblemished had she held her peace."

When the reader had ended, there was on interval of silence in the
saloon, and the rain, the pattering of which had formed a melancholy
accompaniment to the whole of the narrative, was now the only sound
heard.

At last the young doctor at the chess-table observed: "This story has
somewhat