Her ever-watchful attendant instantly obeyed the signal; and kneeling and bending forwards, after the custom of the Spaniards in their churches, she crossed her arms, and fixed her large clear eyes upon the countenance of Madame de Hansfeld with that mixture of intelligence, submission, and devotion, peculiar to the canine race; and thus, hardly daring to breathe, lest she should lose a word, a gesture, or the smallest change in the expression of her mistress's features, Iris remained heart, soul, and body, absorbed in the close observation of the adored object before her. CHAPTER IX THE RECITAL "You may remember when, two years since, before my marriage, I left you at Venice to go to Florence with my aunt Vasari, and Gianetta our waiting-maid. You had been an invalid for a long time, and were unable to accompany us." "I remember it well. Gianetta wrote to me sometimes, by your desire, to tell me how you were." "That Gianetta was very inquisitive, indiscreet, and faithless. I fear I kept her in my service too long." "During your residence in Florence she wrote me but a few lines, just to say that you were well; and she seemed to do this very unwillingly," added Iris, with incredible assurance. She lied, for Gianetta had, on the contrary, kept her constantly and fully informed of all that was going on at Florence during her godmother's absence. "At the end of six months," resumed the princess, "I returned to Venice." "It was then you had that long nervous attack which so nearly killed you." "And during which you gave me so many proofs of your devotion and affection; and from that time, Iris, I loved you like a sisterlike a daughter." Iris took her godmother's hand and silently placed it to her lips. "My aunt Vasari," continued Paula, "went to Florence to attend to a lawsuit she had there. She went out every day, being able, as she thought, to influence her judges. In the evening we went out to walk, and there I frequently met a Frenchman named M. Charles de Brévannes. He was very soon my constant shadow; his pursuit of me became incessant and troublesome, and from that time my indifference was changed to aversion." "Was he a man likely to cause such a sentiment?" "Why do you ask?" inquired the princess, scrutinising Iris's features; then adding, "You were so young then, you could not have remarked. Yes, at your age, that is natural. You recollect my cousin, Raphael Monti, the son of my father's brother?" Iris imperceptibly contracted her eyebrows, and replied in a short manner,-- "Yes; each time he returned from sea he came to pass his leisure at Venice. Isn't he in the East? Have you had any news of him lately? When we left Italy his mother was becoming very anxious about his absence." "He is dead," said Madame de Hansfeld, with desperate calmness. "Raphael dead!" exclaimed Iris, with feigned astonishment. "Charles de Brévannes killed him." "And your aunt is ignorant of this?"