or placing you in that room which she had
acknowledged to Francis--she even owned that she had been by your
bedside, watching through the night, "to see what you saw," as she
expressed it. Hearing this, I tried to persuade her to tell me how she
got into the room. Unluckily, her manuscript on the table caught her
eye; she returned to her writing. "The Baron wants money," she said;
"I must get on with my play." What she saw or dreamed while she was in
your room last night, it is at present impossible to discover. But
judging by my brother's account of her, as well as by what I remember
of her myself, some recent influence has been at work which has
produced a marked change in this wretched woman for the worse. Her
mind (since last night, perhaps) is partially deranged. One proof of
it is that she spoke to me of the Baron as if he were still a living
man. When Francis saw her, she declared that the Baron was dead, which
is the truth. The United States Consul at Milan showed us the
announcement of the death in an American newspaper. So far as I can
see, such sense as she still possesses seems to be entirely absorbed in
one absurd idea--the idea of writing a play for Francis to bring out at
his theatre. He admits that he encouraged her to hope she might get
money in this way. I think he did wrong. Don't you agree with me?'

Without heeding the question, Agnes rose abruptly from her chair.

'Do me one more kindness, Henry,' she said. 'Take me to the Countess
at once.'

Henry hesitated. 'Are you composed enough to see her, after the shock
that you have suffered?' he asked.

She trembled, the flush on her face died away, and left it deadly pale.
But she held to her resolution. 'You have heard of what I saw last
night?' she said faintly.

'Don't speak of it!' Henry interposed. 'Don't uselessly agitate
yourself.'

'I must speak! My mind is full of horrid questions about it. I know I
can't identify it--and yet I ask myself over and over again, in whose
likeness did it appear? Was it in the likeness of Ferrari? or was
it--?' she stopped, shuddering. 'The Countess knows, I must see the
Countess!' she resumed vehemently. 'Whether my courage fails me or
not, I must make the attempt. Take me to her before I have time to
feel afraid of it!'

Henry looked at her anxiously. 'If you are really sure of your own
resolution,' he said, 'I agree with you--the sooner you see her the
better. You remember how strangely she talked of your