and stopped at pity. He could pity jealousy; and it seemed that something had been said to awaken her jealousy.
"A part of the sindaco's roof-terrace fell in when a company of us were on it, and the contessina was left clinging to the parapet," he said. "I did not then know who she was. I went and helped her off. I'm not sure that it was anything so very romantic. We left town the next day. The evening before going, we called on the family, Pamparà and I. We lodged in the house, but had seen only the master of it."
"I find it very romantic," the duchess said, in a dry tone of voice. "How odd that you never mentioned this fine adventure to me!"
Again a mental struggle held him silent for a moment. He was one of the most sincere of men; but the desire to avoid a quarrel tempted him to make a false and flattering speech, for which he despised himself even while uttering it. "It was about the time of our marriage, Laura," he said, softening his voice. "Could I think of anything but that?"
He was punished promptly, for his sweetness had no effect. She even rejected it with something of the tone and gesture she had used in brushing aside the wasp a moment before. "We talked of a thousand trifles, and you told me of the sham battle," she said.
He was silent again, biting his under lip. Irritation was getting the mastery of him.
"You must have seen her when you came to see the duke," she resumed.
"I did not see her," he replied briefly.
"You cannot imagine that a girl is going to keep house before she is married," the wife resumed, with impatience. "She should go to live in a convent, if she does not become a nun. It is the only proper place for a girl who has no protection."
"Perhaps she may not like a convent-life," D'Rubiera replied calmly. "Being a student and writer, her habits may not easily be made to agree with those of the nuns. The life of an artist is sometimes exceptional. It requires more liberty than that of others, or it requires a different sort of liberty. The nuns are free to perform the duties of their vocation. Perhaps she could not perform her work in their company."
The duchess gave her head a toss: "Then let her give up rhyming. What good does such nonsense do ?"
"If you would read some of her poems, and take them to heart, they would do you great good," her husband said, with some emphasis. "They are very noble. Besides," he made haste to add, seeing the angry blush his words called up, "you mistake in saying that she is unprotected. The Signora Nina Campana, who lives with her when she is here, is a person of the most perfect respectability. She is a lady by birth and education. The duke himself selected her, and left her a small pension. There is no one in Sassovivo who would see any impropriety in her living with such a guardian in her own house."
"I beg your pardon, but there are persons who think it improper," the duchess exclaimed. "There are people who commented on the fact that she and her mother received more gentlemen than lady visitors."
"Probably the gentlemen could talk something better than gossip," remarked the husband mildly. "I should imagine that two such ladies would prefer another sort of conversation."
"They thought the girl imprudent," his wife broke in angrily. "She used to sit alone by the hour on the moon-lighted terrace with gentlemen she hardly knew."
"Do you mean to say that Monsignor told you this stuff?" D'Rubiera asked, with some heat.
She hesitated. "I am not sure that it came directly from him," she said; "but I have reason to believe that he thinks so."
"Suor Benedetta must think as the bishop thinks," she reflected.
Her husband perceived that she was lying, and it comforted him. The thought of Aurora sitting alone in conversation with a strange gentleman by moonlight was not a pleasant one,
