-like faces.

One night, Matilde came in very late. She trod softly on the polished
floor, wearing felt slippers.

"Elettra sleeps in her dressing-room," she said in a low voice.

Macomer looked up, and the twitching of his face began instantly, as
though he were going to laugh. Matilde brought the palm of her hand down
sharply upon the bare table, fixing her eyes upon him.

"Stop that!" she cried in a tone of command. "It is very well for the
servants. You are learning to do it very well. It is of no use with me."

He looked at her steadily for a moment. Then he laughed, but naturally
and low.

"I might have known that you would find me out," he said. "But it is
becoming a habit. It may serve us in the end. How do you know that the
woman sleeps in Veronica's dressing-room?"

"I was wandering about, just now," answered Matilde, looking away from
him. "I saw the door of Elettra's room ajar. I pushed it open and looked
in, and I saw that her bed was not disturbed. Then I stood outside the
door of Veronica's dressing-room, and listened. Something moved once,
and I was sure that I heard breathing."

Gregorio watched her gravely while she was speaking, but in the silence
that followed, his small eyes wandered uneasily.

"The girl is lonely," he said at last. "She makes Elettra sleep in the
room next to hers, because she is nervous."

Matilde seemed to be thinking over what she had said. Some time passed
before she answered, and then it was by a vague question.

"Well?"

Again they looked at each other.

"That is certainly bad," said Macomer, thoughtfully. "What are we to do?
Speak to her about it? You can say that you found Elettra's door open,
at this hour."

"It would do no good," answered Matilde. "We could not prevent her from
having her maid there, if she wishes it."

"After all," observed Macomer, absently, "it is only a woman."

"Only a woman?" Matilde's lip curled. "I am only a woman."

Macomer nodded slowly, as though realizing what that meant, but he said
nothing in answer. With his hands under the table he slipped low down in
his chair, his head bent forward upon his breast, in deep thought.

"Can you not suggest anything?" asked Matilde, at last, gazing at him
somewhat scornfully. "After all, this is your fault. You have dragged me
into this ruin with you."

"I know, I know," he repeated in a low voice. "But we cannot do it
now--with that woman there."

"No. It is impossible now." Matilde