"Has retired?" he observed, finding they hesitated, yet feeling somewhat surprised at so speedy a summons. "Nay, signor, not retired, but--" "But what? Speak out." "We were disrobing the Lady Adelaide, Sir Count, when she saw in the chamber a note addressed to her. And--and--she read it, and fainted, in spite of the essence we poured on her hands and brow." "A note!--fainted!" ejaculated the count. "It was an insulting letter, signor; for Irene, the youngest of the Lady Adelaide's attendants, read the first line or two of it aloud, before we could prevent her, it having fallen, open, on the floor. Our lady is yet insensible, and the Signora Lucrezia desired us to acquaint you, my lord." Without another word he turned from them, and passing through the various corridors, entered the dressing-chamber. The Lady Adelaide was still motionless, but a faint coloring had begun to appear in her face. "What is this, signora?" demanded the count of the chief attendant, Lucrezia. "It must be owing to this letter, my lord, which was waiting for her on the cabinet," was the lady's reply, holding out the open note. "The Lady Adelaide fainted whilst she was perusing it." "Fold it up," interrupted the count, "and replace it there." Lucrezia did as she was bid. "You may now go," said Giovanni to the attendants, advancing to support his bride. "When the countess has need of you, you shall be summoned." "You have read that letter?" were the first connected words of the Lady Adelaide. "Nay, my love, surely not, without your permission. Will you that I read it?" She motioned in the affirmative. "A guilty, glowing color came over his face as he read. Who could have written it? That it alluded to Gina Montani there was no doubt. Who _could_ have sent it? He felt convinced that she had no act or part in so dishonorable a trick--yet what may not be expected from a jealous woman? Now came his trial. "Was it not enough to make me ill?" demanded Adelaide. He stammered something. He was not yet sufficiently collected to speak connectedly. "Giovanni," she exclaimed, passionately, "deceive me not. Tell me what I have to fear: how much of your love is left for me--if any." He tried to soothe her. He told her an enemy must have done this; and he mentioned Gina Montani, though not by name. He said that he had sometimes visited her house, but not to love; and that the letter must allude to this. "You _say_ you did not love her!" she cried, resentment in her tone, as she listened to the tale. He hesitated a single second; but, he reasoned to himself, he ought at all risks to lull her suspicions--it was his duty. So he replied firmly, though the flush of shame rose to his brow, for he deemed a falsehood dishonorable. "In truth I did not. My love is yours, Adelaide." "Why did you visit her?" "I can hardly tell you. I hardly know myself: want of thought--or of occupation, probably."