"Precisely! he is in the next room. We will go and look at him presently. But to continue: the next day I called upon the Contessa, and told her I had seen all, suppressing, however, the fact that I had carried off this unfortunate lover." "Which accounted for her surprise to-day on seeing the pillar empty?" "Of course; she never dreamed that I would meddle with her work. Well, I gave her a choice of either explaining her little adventure to the authorities, and thus run a chance of being imprisoned for life, or of becoming my wife. Of these two evils she chose the least; so now I am engaged to marry her, and she will become the Marchesa Beltrami next month. Interesting, is it not, Hugo?" It was no use arguing with this man, who, as he said himself, looked at the affair in a totally different light from what I did, and I did not know whether to loathe his brutal candour, to despise his mercenary designs, or to admire his undoubted courage in marrying this woman. However, I reflected that his subtle intriguing would undoubtedly be sufficiently punished by his marriage with this tigress of a Contessa, and as my only desire was to restore Pallanza to the arms of Bianca, I neither condemned nor praised Beltrami's singular conduct, which seemed admirable in his own eyes, but simply complimented him on his adroitness in following the precepts of Niccolo Machiavelli. He listened to my cold remarks with a disbelieving smile on his face, and laughed mockingly when I ceased speaking. "Eh! Hugo, you do not approve of my ideas? Well, I do not wonder at that Fire and water are not more different than an Italian and an Englishman. Your cool blood comes from generations of church-going, straight-laced ancestors, whose beliefs ruled their lives in a simple manner; but my fiery blood burned in the veins of those condottieri of the Renaissance who were at war with King and Pope and Republic, who constantly stood on the verge of unseen precipices, and who needed all their craft, their courage, and their iron nerve to preserve their lives and fortunes. Dame! let us talk no more of such contrasts, but come with me, and I will show you this missing lover of Madame Morone." I acquiesced eagerly in this proposal, and followed Beltrami, who led me into his bedroom, and, having unlocked a door in the opposite wall, ushered me into a small, bare apartment, containing a bed on which lay the still form of Guiseppe Pallanza. There he was dressed the same as on that fatal night, with his eyes closed, a frozen look on his white face, and his hands crossed on his breast. Lying thus in his antique garb he put me in mind of one of those coloured statues which adorn the tombs of great men; where the face, the hair, and the vestments are all tinted so as to produce the semblance of life. But was life here, in the body of this young man, who lay so passively before me with closed eyes as though he were indeed buried in some sepulchre of the dead?