I glanced quickly from my wife to Ferrari: he coughed, and appeared embarrassed--he was not so good an actor as she was an actress.
Studying them both, I know not which feeling gained the mastery in my mind--contempt or disgust.
"Console yourself, madame," I said, coldly.

"Time should be quick to heal the wounds of one so young and beautiful as you are! Personally speaking, I much regret your husband's death, but I would entreat YOU not to give way to grief, which, however sincere, must unhappily be useless.

Your life lies before you--and may happy days and as fair a future await you as you deserve!" She smiled, her tear-drops vanished like morning dew disappearing in the heat.
"I thank you for your good wishes, conte," she said "but it rests with you to commence my happy days by honoring me with a visit.

You will come, will you not?
My house and all that it contains are at your service!" I hesitated.

Ferrari looked amused.
"Madame is not aware of your dislike to the society of ladies, conte," he said, and there was a touch of mockery in his tone.