“Surely you know your wife as well as I,” she replied in Italian, which she evidently spoke with facility, though with a strong guttural accent. “I’ve been talking with her: that’s what has made me keep you. I’ve urged her to see you. I’ve told her that this could do no harm and would pledge her to nothing. But you know your wife,” Madame Grandoni repeated with an intensity now much relaxed. Prince Casamassima looked down at his boots. “How can one ever know a person like that? I hoped she’d see me five little minutes.” “For what purpose? Have you anything to propose?” “For what purpose? To rest my eyes on her beautiful face.” “Did you come to England for that?” “For what else should I have come?” the Prince asked as he turned his blighted gaze to the opposite side of South Street. “In London, such a day as this, _già_,” said the old lady sympathetically. “I’m very sorry for you; but if I had known you were coming I’d have written to you that you might spare yourself the pain.” He gave a deep interminable sigh. “You ask me what I wish to propose. What I wish to propose is that my wife shouldn’t kill me inch by inch.” “She’d be much more likely to do that if you lived with her!” Madame Grandoni cried. “_Cara amica_, she doesn’t appear to have killed you,” the melancholy nobleman returned. “Oh, me? I’m past killing. I’m as hard as a stone. I went through my miseries long ago; I suffered what you’ve not had to suffer; I wished for death many times and I survived it all. Our troubles don’t kill us, _Principe mio_; it’s we who must try to kill them. I’ve buried not a few. Besides, Christina’s fond of me, the devil knows why!” Madame Grandoni added. “And you’re so good to her,” said the Prince, who laid his hand on her fat wrinkled fist. “_Che vuole?_ I’ve known her so long. And she has some such great qualities.” “Ah, to whom do you say it?” And he gazed at his boots again, for some moments, in silence. Suddenly he resumed: “How does she look to-day?” “She always looks the same: like an angel who came down from heaven yesterday and has been rather disappointed in her first day on earth!” The Prince was evidently a man of a simple nature, and Madame Grandoni’s rather violent metaphor took his fancy. His face lighted up a little and he replied with eagerness: “Ah, she’s the only woman I’ve ever seen whose beauty never for a moment falls below itself. She has no bad days. She’s so handsome when she’s angry!” “She’s very handsome to-day, but she’s not angry,” said the old lady. “Not when my name was announced?” “I was not with her then; but when she sent for me and asked me to see you it was quite without passion. And even when I argued with her and tried to persuade her (and she doesn’t like that, you know) she was still perfectly quiet.” “She hates me, she despises me too much, eh?” “How can I tell, dear Prince, when she never mentions you?” “Never, never?” “That’s much better than if she railed at you and abused you.”