'The Countess (speaking with quiet dignity--for why should her infamous
husband have the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he has wounded
her?) reminds my Lord that the Courier has gone to the post. My Lord
asks suspiciously if she has looked at the letter. The Countess
informs him coldly that she has no curiosity about his letters.
Referring to the cold from which he is suffering, she inquires if he
thinks of consulting a medical man. My Lord answers roughly that he is
quite old enough to be capable of doctoring himself.

'As he makes this reply, the Courier appears, returning from the post.
My Lord gives him orders to go out again and buy some lemons. He
proposes to try hot lemonade as a means of inducing perspiration in
bed. In that way he has formerly cured colds, and in that way he will
cure the cold from which he is suffering now.

'The Courier obeys in silence. Judging by appearances, he goes very
reluctantly on this second errand.

'My Lord turns to the Baron (who has thus far taken no part in the
conversation) and asks him, in a sneering tone, how much longer he
proposes to prolong his stay in Venice. The Baron answers quietly,
"Let us speak plainly to one another, my Lord. If you wish me to leave
your house, you have only to say the word, and I go." My Lord turns to
his wife, and asks if she can support the calamity of her brother's
absence--laying a grossly insulting emphasis on the word "brother."
The Countess preserves her impenetrable composure; nothing in her
betrays the deadly hatred with which she regards the titled ruffian who
has insulted her. "You are master in this house, my Lord," is all she
says. "Do as you please."

'My Lord looks at his wife; looks at the Baron--and suddenly alters his
tone. Does he perceive in the composure of the Countess and her
brother something lurking under the surface that threatens him? This
is at least certain, he makes a clumsy apology for the language that he
has used. (Abject wretch!)

'My Lord's excuses are interrupted by the return of the Courier with
the lemons and hot water.

'The Countess observes for the first time that the man looks ill. His
hands tremble as he places the tray on the table. My Lord orders his
Courier to follow him, and make the lemonade in the bedroom. The
Countess remarks that the Courier seems hardly capable of obeying his
orders. Hearing this, the man admits that he is ill. He, too, is
suffering from a cold; he has been kept waiti