The look of triumph faded slowly from her face, and the brows contracted
in a look which no one could easily have understood, except Bosio
himself, perhaps, had he still been there. The smooth lips were drawn in
and tightly compressed; and she held her breath, while her right hand
strained upon her left with all her might. Then the lips parted with a
sort of little snap as she drew breath again; and she turned her head
suddenly, and looked behind her, growing a trifle paler, as though she
expected to see something startling.

She tried to smile, and roused herself, rang the bell for the servant to
put out the lights, and left the room. It was long before she slept that
night. In the next room she could hear Gregorio's slow and regular
footsteps, as he walked up and down without ceasing. In his own room
upstairs, Bosio Macomer sat staring at the ashes of the burnt-out fire
on his hearth. Only Veronica was asleep, dreamless, young, and restful.




CHAPTER III.


Naples, more than any other city of Italy, is full of the violent
contrasts which belong to great old cities everywhere, and the absence
of which makes new cities dull, be they as well built, as well situated,
as civilized and as beautiful as they can be made by art handling nature
for the greater glory of modern humanity.

In Naples, there is a fashionable new quarter, swept, watered, and
garnished with plants and trees, but many of the great palaces stand in