“Because he knew he was the stronger or the more skilful, and the other had struck him in the presence of fifty people at the club, after accusing him of having cheated at cards. And it was quite true; he did cheat!” “No one will ever say so again, now that he has killed a man for that very reason! Besides, the proof that he does not cheat is that he always loses.” “You know something about it?” “Ah, what should I do with my money if I did not give it to him?” “You are right. Money is vile; it should serve no other purpose than to satisfy one’s caprices. Its only value is in the pleasures it procures; in itself it is worth no more than the pebbles lying at one’s feet. Will the young man who comes now give it you or receive it from you?” “I do not think he would accept it, Milo,” said Sophia, laughing. “You are a regular barbarian, and incapable of understanding anything beyond bribery. There are honest people on earth, little one, and they cannot be paid for obtaining from them what one wishes. Other seductive means must be employed.” “Ah, that is why you sing when he is here! You will make him mad, like all the others. And yet he looks so gentle and charming!” “That is true, but he is our enemy, Milo; and if he were to discover who I am, and what I wish to obtain from him, I should run the most terrible danger.” “So the Agostini has brought him here to ruin him?” “In a way.” “And he already loves you? Ah, your power over men is irresistible. Take care, however, or some fine day you will be caught in your turn. Then it will be terrible for you!” “I have loved, as you well know. Love has nothing new to teach me.” “Your heart has never been touched, for all those you have loved have been your victims. Sincere and pure love is no assassin. It is a protection and self-sacrifice. Up to the present, however, you have had to deal with none but fortune-hunters, and it was pure justice to treat them as they had been in the habit of treating their own victims. The day you show the Agostini to the door, you may summon me to open it for him. I will do it most gladly!” “That day has not come yet.” “What a pity!” Sophia gave a weary toss of the head, and Milona understood that she must cease this light jesting tone. She said— “I am going to close all the shutters, mistress, do you need me any longer?” “No, I am going to write. You will hear me when I retire to rest.” Seating herself in front of the table, she took an elegant blotting-pad and began to trace, on perfumed paper, in a large masculine hand, the following lines:— “MY DEAR CESARE,