How dazzlingly lovely she was! I gazed at her with the same bewildered fascination that had stupefied my reason and judgment when I beheld her for the first time.

The black robes she wore, the long crape veil thrown back from her clustering hair and mignonne face, all the somber shadows of her mourning garb only served to heighten and display her beauty to greater advantage.

A fair widow truly! I, her lately deceased husband, freely admitted the magnetic power of her charms! She paused for an instant on the threshold, a winning smile on her lips; she looked at me, hesitated, and finally spoke in courteous accents: "I think I cannot be mistaken! Do I address the noble Conte Cesare Oliva ?" I tried to speak, but could not.

My mouth was dry and parched with excitement, my throat swelled and ached with the pent-up wrath and despair of my emotions.

I answered her question silently by a formal bow.