convenient young Englishman established near her _en permanence_. And
yet," I added, "I must do her complete justice. I honestly believe she
was fond of me." At this Stanmer got up and walked to the window; he
stood looking out a moment, and then he turned round. "You know she was
older than I," I went on. "Madame Scarabelli is older than you. One day
in the garden, her mother asked me in an angry tone why I disliked
Camerino; for I had been at no pains to conceal my feeling about him, and
something had just happened to bring it out. 'I dislike him,' I said,
'because you like him so much.' 'I assure you I don't like him,' she
answered. 'He has all the appearance of being your lover,' I retorted.
It was a brutal speech, certainly, but any other man in my place would
have made it. She took it very strangely; she turned pale, but she was
not indignant. 'How can he be my lover after what he has done?' she
asked. 'What has he done?' She hesitated a good while, then she said:
'He killed my husband.' 'Good heavens!' I cried, 'and you receive him!'
Do you know what she said? She said, '_Che voule_?'"

"Is that all?" asked Stanmer.

"No; she went on to say that Camerino had killed Count Salvi in a duel,
and she admitted that her husband's jealousy had been the occasion of it.
The Count, it appeared, was a monster of jealousy--he had led her a
dreadful life. He himself, meanwhile, had been anything but
irreproachable; he had done a mortal injury to a man of whom he pretended
to be a friend, and this affair had become notorious. The gentleman in
question had demanded satisfaction for his outraged honour; but for some
reason or other (the Countess, to do her justice, did not tell me that
her husband was a coward), he had not as yet obtained it. The duel with
Camerino had come on first; in an access of jealous fury the Count had
struck Camerino in the face; and this outrage, I know not how justly, was