Then up he went to the Villa Romani, taking with him the count's trinkets, his watch, ring, and cigar-case--and nothing would satisfy him but that he should deliver them himself to the young contessa, telling her how her husband died." My poor Nina!--I thought.

"Was she much grieved ?" I inquired, with a vague curiosity.
"How do I know ?" said the landlord, shrugging his bulky shoulders.

"The reverend father said nothing, save that she swooned away.

But what of that?
Women swoon at everything--from a mouse to a corpse.

As I said, the good Cipriano attended the count's burial--and he had scarce returned from it when he was seized with the illness.