A FEW days later, the Gadfly, still rather pale and limping more than usual, entered the reading room of the public library and asked for Cardinal Montanelli's sermons. Riccardo, who was reading at a table near him, looked up. He liked the Gadfly very much, but could not digest this one trait in him--this curious personal maliciousness. “Are you preparing another volley against that unlucky Cardinal?” he asked half irritably. “My dear fellow, why do you a-a-always attribute evil m-m-motives to people? It's m-most unchristian. I am preparing an essay on contemporary theology for the n-n-new paper.” “What new paper?” Riccardo frowned. It was perhaps an open secret that a new press-law was expected and that the Opposition was preparing to astonish the town with a radical newspaper; but still it was, formally, a secret. “The Swindlers' Gazette, of course, or the Church Calendar.” “Sh-sh! Rivarez, we are disturbing the other readers.” “Well then, stick to your surgery, if that's your subject, and l-l-leave me to th-theology--that's mine. I d-d-don't interfere with your treatment of broken bones, though I know a p-p-precious lot more about them than you do.” He sat down to his volume of sermons with an intent and preoccupied face. One of the librarians came up to him. “Signor Rivarez! I think you were in the Duprez expedition, exploring the tributaries of the Amazon? Perhaps you will kindly help us in a difficulty. A lady has been inquiring for the records of the expedition, and they are at the binder's.” “What does she want to know?” “Only in what year the expedition started and when it passed through Ecuador.” “It started from Paris in the autumn of 1837, and passed through Quito in April, 1838. We were three years in Brazil; then went down to Rio and got back to Paris in the summer of 1841. Does the lady want the dates of the separate discoveries?” “No, thank you; only these. I have written them down. Beppo, take this paper to Signora Bolla, please. Many thanks, Signor Rivarez. I am sorry to have troubled you.” The Gadfly leaned back in his chair with a perplexed frown. What did she want the dates for? When they passed through Ecuador---- Gemma went home with the slip of paper in her hand. April, 1838--and Arthur had died in May, 1833. Five years-- She began pacing up and down her room. She had slept badly the last few nights, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. Five years;--and an “overluxurious home”--and “someone he had trusted had deceived him”--had deceived him--and he had found it out---- She stopped and put up both hands to her head. Oh, this was utterly mad--it was not possible--it was absurd---- And yet, how they had dragged that harbour!