ents into which her outrageous
extravagance had plunged her. The marriage with Humphrey Heathfield, who
was Marquis of Mount Saint Michael and Earl of Broadford, and besides
possessing a considerable fortune was related to the highest nobility of
Great Britain, had saved her from ruin. Donna Elena had managed matters
with the utmost adroitness and succeeded marvellously in steering clear
of the threatening peril. It was not to be denied that the interval of
her three years of widowhood had been none too chaste a prelude to a
second marriage--neither chaste nor prudent--nevertheless, there was
also no denying that Elena Muti was a great lady----

'Ah, my boy, a grand creature!' said Musellaro, 'as you very well know.'

Andrea said nothing.

'But take my advice,' his friend went on, throwing away the cigarette
which had gone out while he talked, 'do not resume your relations with
her. It is the same with love as with tobacco--once out, it will not
bear relighting. Let us go and get a cup of tea from Donna Giulia
Moceto. They tell me one may go to her house after the theatre--it is
never too late.'

They were close by the Palazzo Borghese.

'You can,' answered Andrea, 'I am going home to bed. I am rather tired
after to-day's run with the hounds. My regards to Donna Giulia--my
blessing go with you!'

Musellaro went up the steps of the palace and Andrea continued on his
way past the Borghese fountain towards the Trinita.

It was one of those wonderful January nights, cold and serene, which
turn Rome into a city of silver set in a ring of diamonds. The full
moon, hanging in mid-sky, shed a triple purity of light, of frost, and
of silence.

He walked along in the moonlight like a somnambulist, conscious of
nothing but his pain. The last blow had been struck, the idol was
shattered, nothing remained standing above the ruins--this was the end!

So it was true--she had never really loved him. She had not scrupled to
break with him in order to contract a marriage of convenience. And now
she put on the airs of a martyr before him, wrapped herself round with a
mantle of conjugal inviolability! A bitter laugh rose to his lips, and
then a rush of sullen blind rage against the woman came over him. The
memory of his passion went for nothing--all the past was one long fraud,
one stupendous, hideous lie; and this man, who throughout his whole life
had made a practice of dissimulation and duplicity, was now incensed at
the decep