Ugo. 'She must have cared for him so much that
she is tired of living. Very few of those Sisters ever come back, I
believe.'

'None,' said the Princess Chiaromonte in a tone that would certainly
have arrested his attention if he had known everything. 'It is the
saddest thing in the world,' she went on quickly, fearing that her
hatred had betrayed itself. 'To think that year after year those good
women voluntarily go to certain death! And not even to save life, for
lepers cannot be cured, you know. The most that can be done is to
alleviate their suffering!'

She said this very well, though the words were hackneyed.

'It is heroic,' said Captain Ugo quietly.

She stayed some time longer, and he showed her the finest of his books
and a number of old engravings and etchings; and these really
impressed her because she knew something of their current value, which
was her only standard in judging works of art. At last she showed that
she was thinking of going. Women of the world generally give warning
of their approaching departure, as an ocean steamer blows its horn at
intervals before it starts. The Princess's voice was suddenly
colourless and what she said became more and more general, till she
observed that it was really a lovely day. She looked down at her skirt
critically and then glanced quickly at the walls, one after another.
When you do not know what a woman is looking for in an unfamiliar
drawing-room, it is a mirror to see whether her hat is straight. The
Princess saw none and rose gracefully out of the deep easy-chair.

'It has been such a great pleasure to see you!' she said, the
cordiality returning to her tone as soon as she was on her feet.

'I am very much obliged for your visit,' Ugo answered politely,
because nothing else occurred to him to say, and he clapped his heels
together with a jingle of his spurs as he took her proffered hand.

He was neither shy nor dull of comprehension where women were
concerned, and he understood quite well that she had not come with the
intention of making an impression on him, nor out of mere curiosity to
see what Giovanni's brother was like. He knew what her reputation had
been, but he did not know whether she had retired from the lists at
last or still kept the field; and he cared very little, though he had
sometimes reflected that whereas Balzac had written of the Woman of
Thirty, the 'woman of forty' was still to be studied by a clever
novelist; unless, indeed, S