He showed good sense in that at least--naturally he was anxious not to bring the contagion to his wife and child." "Is the child a boy or a girl ?" I asked, carelessly.
"A girl.

A mere baby--an uninteresting old-fashioned little thing, very like her father." My poor little Stella.
Every pulse of my being thrilled with indignation at the indifferently chill way in which he, the man who had fondled her and pretended to love her, now spoke of the child.

She was, as far as he knew, fatherless; he, no doubt, had good reason to suspect that her mother cared little for her, and, I saw plainly that she was, or soon would be, a slighted and friendless thing in the household.

But I made no remark--I sipped my cognac with an abstracted air for a few seconds--then I asked: "How was the count buried?
Your narrative interests me greatly." "Oh, the priest who was with him saw to his burial, and I believe, was able to administer the last sacraments.

At any rate, he had him laid with all proper respect in his family vault--I myself was present at the funeral." I started involuntarily, but quickly repressed myself.
"YOU were present--YOU--YOU--" and my voice almost failed me.
Ferrari raised his eyebrows with a look of surprised inquiry.
"Of course! You are astonished at that?
But perhaps you do not understand.