It might well be, and the mistake she made in supposing the thing Hedwig had dropped to be a letter told him that her spy had not ventured very near.
The tall count came forward under the raised curtains, limping and helping himself with his stick.

His face was as gray and wooden as ever, but his moustaches had an irritated, crimped look that Nino did not like.

The count barely nodded to the young man as he stood aside to let the old gentleman pass; his eyes turned mechanically to where the baroness sat.

She was a woman who had no need to simulate passion in any shape, and it must have cost her a terrible effort to control the paroxysm of anger and shame and grief that had overcome her.

There was something unnatural and terrifying in her sudden calm, as she forced herself to rise and greet her visitor.
"I fear I come out of season," he said, apologetically, as he bent over her hand.
"On the contrary," she answered; "but forgive me if I speak one word to Professor Cardegna." She went to where Nino was standing.
"Go into that room," she said, in a very low voice, glancing towards a curtained door opposite the windows, "and wait till he goes.