“An instant more, and I saw--I saw my wife, Lucia, pacing slowly along the path, her skirts trailing over the mingled flowers and weeds of the flower-borders, her eyes cast down, her arms hanging by her side, looking weary, and, I fancied, sad. I stood still, spellbound, as if unable to move a step. For a second my heart melted; the mad love I cherished rose in all its old intensity. I flattered myself that perhaps she regretted her precipitation--I induced myself to imagine that she was to a great extent influenced by the mercenary old dog who had lured her away. The idea that she might welcome me with a cry of gladness, and throw herself into my arms with tears of penitence, unnerved me.” “Well?” “She drew nearer and nearer, unconscious of my presence, the shrubs that grew about the door, or gate, serving to conceal me. As she came close, when I could almost have touched her, she happened to raise her eyes. She uttered one cry--a cry of fear, or surprise, or both, and then stood perfectly still, as if turned to stone. I sprang toward her with one long stride, and caught her by the arm, afraid that even now she might elude me. “I do not remember what either said--it was a repetition of what had passed before. But I do remember that when I said I would compel her to obey me, as my wife, and told her she could enter into no contract without my consent, she stared at me, and broke into contemptuous laughter--laughter of defiance. She answered that she was no wife of mine, and acknowledged the authority of no one save her nearest relative, her brother, the priest. “For a moment I really thought her brain was turned. I asked her if she could deny that her brother had joined our hands in the little chapel of our native village. She declared I was uttering rank falsehood, or impertinent folly. I swore I would soon prove our marriage, and bring witnesses by the dozen. She laughed again, and said I was welcome to indulge in my own fancies, unless they annoyed her.” “You said she had destroyed the evidence of the marriage,” said Captain Desfrayne, fixing his eyes on Gilardoni, as if to read his very soul. “Thunderstruck, confounded, I knew not what to say. I thought it was a ruse to get me to leave the garden, for perhaps she feared I might enter the house, and then be difficult to dislodge. So I no longer thought she had lost her senses, but that she was trying to do by cunning what she could not hope to effect by force or persuasion. But in the end she had her own way. It was of no earthly use arguing with her, or threatening: she was immovable, and answered every sentence I addressed to her by the same firm iteration of the fact that she was no wife of mine.