'You will oblige me,' was her answer; but she could not control a
convulsion of her underlip that her defensive instinct told her was best
hidden.

'Of course, you know you are safe,' he repeated her previous words, while
examining the silver handle of the dagger. 'Safe? certainly! Here is
C. A. to V. . . . A. neatly engraved: a gift; so that the young
gentleman may be sure the young lady will defend herself from lions and
tigers and wild boars, if ever she goes through forests and over mountain
passes. I will not obtrude my curiosity, but who is V . . . . A. ?'

The dagger was Carlo's gift to her; the engraver, by singular
misadventure, had put a capital letter for the concluding letter of her
name instead of little a; she remembered the blush on Carlo's face when
she had drawn his attention to the error, and her own blush when she had
guessed its meaning.

'It spells my name,' she said.

'Your assumed name of Vittoria. And who is C. A.?'

'Those are the initials of Count Carlo Ammiani.'

'Another lover?'

'He is my sole lover. He is my betrothed. Oh, good God!' she threw her
eyes up to heaven; 'how long am I to endure the torture of this man in my
pathway? Go, sir, or let me go on. You are intolerable. It 's the
spirit of a tiger. I have no fear of you.'