"I quite understand, Signora Contessa," the man courteously replied, carefully placing the envelope in the breast-pocket of his heavy frieze overcoat. "His Excellency has already given me instructions." "Va bene. Then go. Make all haste, for every hour lost may place Italy in greater jeopardy. Remember that your early arrival is absolutely imperative." She spoke authoritatively, and it was evident that they were not strangers. "I shall not lose an instant," answered the Minister's private messenger. "The Contessa has no further commands?" he added inquiringly. "None," she answered briefly. "Arivederci!" "Arivederci, Signora Contessa," he replied; and a moment later Gemma found herself again alone. "God forgive me!" she murmured as she paced the room wildly agitated. "It's the only way--the only way! I have transgressed before man and before Heaven in order to free myself from this hateful tie of heinous sin; I have risked all in order to gain happiness with the man I love. And if I fail"--she paused, pale-faced, haggard-eyed, shuddering--"if I fail," she went on in a changed voice, "then I must take my life." She threw herself into a chair before the fire, and was silent for a long time. The dressing-bell sounded, but she took no heed; she had no appetite. The crowded table d'hote, with its glare and colour and clatter, jarred upon her highly-strung nerves. She had dined in the great gilded saloon the night before, and had resolved not to do so again. She would have a little soup and a cutlet brought to her room. At that moment she was calmly, deliberately contemplating suicide. She sat in the low chair, her elbows on her knees, gazing gloomily into the fire. The loose gown of pale lilac silk, with deep lace at the collar and cuffs, suited her fair complexion admirably, although it imparted to her a wan appearance, and made her look older than she really was, while the tendrils of her gold-brown hair, straying across her brow, gave her a wild, wanton look. Even as she sat, her eyes fixed upon the leaping flames, hers was still a countenance frail, childlike in its softness, purity, and innocence of expression--a face perfect in its symmetry, and one in which it was difficult to conceive that any evil could lurk. The diamonds upon her fingers sparkling in the fitful firelight caught her gaze. She looked long and earnestly at the strange ring of turquoise and diamonds upon her right hand, and the sad memories it recalled caused her to sigh deeply, as they ever did. Again she remained plunged in a deep debauch of melancholy, until suddenly the was aroused from her reverie by a loud knocking at her door and her hotel number being shouted by the lad in buttons. "Gentleman wishes to see you, ma'am," the youngster said, handing her another card. She glanced quickly at the name, then rising slowly, answered-- "Show him up."