She advanced to Maud Gorka, whom she embraced affectionately, then, pressing Boleslas's hand, she said in a voice so warm, in which at times there were deep tones, softened by the habitual use of the caressing dialect of the lagoon: "What a surprise! And you could not come to dine with us?
Well, sit down, both of you, and relate to me the Odyssey of the traveller," and, turning toward Maitland, who had followed her into the salon with the insolent composure of a giant and of a lover: "Be kind, my little Linco, and fetch me my fan and my gloves, which I left on the couch." At that moment Dorsenne, who had only one fear, that of meeting Gorka's eyes--he could not have borne their glance--was again by the side of Alba Steno.

The young girl's face, just now so troubled, was radiant.

It seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from the pretty Contessina's mind.
"Poor child," thought the writer, "she would not think her mother could be so calm were she guilty.

The Countess's manner is the reply to the anonymous letter.

Have they written all to her?
My God! Who can it be ?" And he fell into a deep revery, interrupted only by the hum of the conversation, in which he did not participate.