Beltrami blew a wreath of smoke, and laying back his handsome head on the cushions of the chair, laughed heartily. "No, my doubting Englishman, I promise you I will not be offended at anything you say." "But, Luigi, it is about the Contessa Morone!" "Eh! about the Contessa?--I thought as much!" "How so?" I asked in some surprise. The face of the Marchese assumed that cruel, cunning look I so much disliked to see, and he eyed me in a nonchalant manner. "Dame! Signor Hugo, I will tell you when I hear your story of the Contessa." Thus committed to narrative, I told Beltrami the whole story of my adventure from the time I had seen the Contessa at the graveyard to the hour when she had fled in dismay from the Palazzo Morone. He listened attentively, and when I had finished remained silent for a few minutes with a thoughtful look on his dark face. "Why do you tell me all this, mon ami?" he asked, at length, twisting his moustache in a reflective manner. "For two reasons. First, you may be able to aid me in my search for Pallanza; and second, you must have been ignorant of the character of the woman you are going to marry." "As to the first reason, Hugo, you are right. As to the second, you are wrong." "What, you know----" "I know most of the story you have told me, and as to the Signora Morone, mon Dieu! I know her better than she does herself." "Then why marry her?" Beltrami shrugged his shoulders and selected another cigarette. "Eh! she is rich and I am poor. It is time I ranged myself, as the French say, and I cannot afford to marry a poor wife; besides----" "Besides what?" "I rather like the task of taming this demon of a woman. Madame Morone is Satan's mistress in the matter of temper, I know, but I come of a race who either broke the will of their wives or----" "Or?" I asked interrogatively. "Or killed them!" "That's rather risky nowadays, Marchese. We do not live in the time of the Renaissance remember. But let us leave off this discussion of Madame Morone. I have told you my story, and you say you knew most of it before!" "And I say truly. Now listen, you cold-blooded islander, and see if I cannot disturb your phlegmatic disposition." He paused a moment to give greater weight to his remarks, the conclusion of which I impatiently awaited. "I was the man who drugged you and had you carried to the Piazza Vittorio." "You!" "I was the man who carried away the body of Guiseppe Pallanza." "You!" "I am the man who, knowing what I do, calmly and with open eyes, have made up my mind to marry Madame Morone." "You!" I was so overwhelmed with the disclosures made by Beltrami that I could only sit thunderstruck in my chair, looking like an idiot and repeating "You! you! you!" parrot-fashion. Beltrami enjoyed my confusion for some time, and then went on speaking with a mocking smile:--