“‘Why do you pity him, father dear? I should think you would feel nothing but resentment and animosity to him.’ “‘My dear, when one has seen so much suffering as I have, one must learn mercy. He ran away with my daughter and married her, to be sure; but he was young and in love, and you were living only with careless governesses. I could have forgiven him. He took to the gaming table until hazard became the passion of his life. He was lucky in cards, but I never heard that he was dishonest. And—without knowing his near relations to you and myself—I have heard a good deal of him lately.’ “‘Father, you seem to be really defending him.’ “‘Am I, my dear? Then it is because he can no longer defend himself.’ “‘No; for his conduct is utterly indefensible.’ “‘What conduct, my child?’ “‘My dear father, with all that you have heard of him lately, you cannot have heard of the shocking event at Paris.’ “‘Yes, my dear, I have heard it all—though I did not know at the time that he was your husband.’ “‘And now that you do know it, what do you think of all this, sir?’ “‘I think, my dear, that it is strange in you, and incomprehensible to me, that you should feel no regret for the young man’s tragic fate, nor wear one sign of mourning for him who was your husband. I think, my dear, that in this you should pay some respect to death, if not to the dead,’ he gravely replied. “It was now my turn to stare at him. “‘Father!’ I exclaimed; ‘I do not comprehend. What tragic fate? Who is dead? Not Luigi! I heard of him only yesterday!’ “‘Heard of him? Heard of whom? Not Saviola? Is it possible that you do not know?’ “‘Know what, sir? I know nothing, it seems. What do you mean, dear father?’ “‘Is it possible that you do not know Prince Luigi Saviola fell in a duel with the Duc de Montmeri, nearly two months ago!’ “‘Great Heaven! No, I knew nothing of all that. Oh, poor Luigi! Poor Luigi!’ I covered my face with my hands and fell back in my chair. “‘And you knew nothing of all this?’ “‘Nothing, nothing!’ I moaned. “‘And yet the papers were full of the subject.’ “‘I never saw any papers after Luigi left me. I was expecting my child every day, and I lived very secluded, so that I heard no rumors—until very lately a report met me that he was on the eve of marriage with a French heiress,’ I said, remembering the tale told me by Anglesea. “‘Strange that such a report as that should get afloat about a young man whose fate was well known all over Europe, and filled all hearers with compassion and sympathy.’ “‘Tell me of the duel, father! Tell me all you know,’ I said.