I carefully kept up my character as a prematurely elderly man, slightly invalided by a long and ardous career in far-off foreign lands, and I was particularly prudent in my behavior toward my wife before Ferrari.
Never did I permit the least word or action on my part that could arouse his jealousy or suspicion.

I treated her with a sort of parental kindness and reserve, but she--trust a woman for intrigue!--she was quick to perceive my reasons for so doing.

Directly Ferrari's back was turned she would look at me with a glance of coquettish intelligence, and smile--a little mocking, half-petulant smile--or she would utter some disparaging remark about him, combining with it a covert compliment to me.

It was not for me to betray her secrets--I saw no occasion to tell Ferrari that nearly every morning she sent her maid to my hotel with fruit and flowers and inquiries after my health--nor was my valet Vincenzo the man to say that he carried gifts and similar messages from me to her.

But at the commencement of November things were so far advanced that I was in the unusual position of being secretly courted by my own wife!--I reciprocating her attentions with equal secrecy! The fact of my being often in the company of other ladies piqued her vanity--she knew that I was considered a desirable parti--and--she resolved to win me.