Six months was the shortest possible interval that could be observed, according to social etiquette, between the death of one husband and the wedding of another, and even that was so short as to be barely decent.

Six months--yet in that space of time much might happen--things undreamed of and undesired--slow tortures carefully measured out, punishment sudden and heavy! Wrapped in these sombre musings I walked beside him in profound silence.

The moon shone brilliantly; groups of girls danced on the shore with their lovers, to the sound of a flute and mandoline--far off across the bay the sound of sweet and plaintive singing floated from some boat in the distance, to our ears--the evening breathed of beauty, peace and love.

But I--my fingers quivered with restrained longing to be at the throat of the graceful liar who sauntered so easily and confidently beside me.

Ah! Heaven, if he only knew! If he could have realized the truth, would his face have worn quite so careless a smile--would his manner have been quite so free and dauntless?
Stealthily I glanced at him; he was humming a tune softly under his breath, but feeling instinctively, I suppose, that my eyes were upon him, he interrupted the melody and turned to me with the question: "You have traveled far and seen much, conte!" "I have." "And in what country have you found the most beautiful women!" "Pardon me, young sir," I answered, coldly, "the business of life has separated me almost entirely from feminine society.