14th.--I went again, last evening, to Casa Salvi, where I found the same little circle, with the addition of a couple of ladies. Stanmer was there, trying hard to talk to one of them, but making, I am sure, a very poor business of it. The Countess--well, the Countess was admirable. She greeted me like a friend of ten years, toward whom familiarity should not have engendered a want of ceremony; she made me sit near her, and she asked me a dozen questions about my health and my occupations. "I live in the past," I said. "I go into the galleries, into the old palaces and the churches. Today I spent an hour in Michael Angelo's chapel at San Loreozo." "Ah yes, that's the past," said the Countess. "Those things are very old." "Twenty-seven years old," I answered. "Twenty-seven? _Altro_!" "I mean my own past," I said. "I went to a great many of those places with your mother." "Ah, the pictures are beautiful," murmured the Countess, glancing at Stanmer. "Have you lately looked at any of them?" I asked. "Have you gone to the galleries with _him_?" She hesitated a moment, smiling. "It seems to me that your question is a little impertinent. But I think you are like that." "A little impertinent? Never. As I say, your mother did me the honour, more than once, to accompany me to the Uffizzi." "My mother must have been very kind to you." "So it seemed to me at the time." "At the time only?" "Well, if you prefer, so it seems to me now." "Eh," said the Countess, "she made sacrifices." "To what, cara Signora? She was perfectly free. Your lamented father was dead--and she had not yet contracted her second marriage." "If she was intending to marry again, it was all the more reason she should have been careful." I looked at her a moment; she met my eyes gravely, over the top of her fan. "Are _you_ very careful?" I said. She dropped her fan with a certain violence. "Ah, yes, you are impertinent!" "Ah no," I said. "Remember that I am old enough to be your father; that I knew you when you were three years old. I may surely ask such questions. But you are right; one must do your mother justice. She was certainly thinking of her second marriage." "You have not forgiven her that!" said the Countess, very gravely. "Have you?" I asked, more lightly. "I don't judge my mother. That is a mortal sin. My stepfather was very kind to me." "I remember him," I said; "I saw him a great many times--your mother already received him." My hostess sat with lowered eyes, saying nothing; but she presently looked up. "She was very unhappy with my father." "That I can easily believe. And your stepfather--is he still living?" "He died--before my mother." "Did he fight any more duels?" "He was killed in a duel," said the Countess, discreetly.