"I fear you will be disappointed," I said, with some irony, "for my eyes are not pleasant to look at."
"Never mind," she returned, gayly. "I shall be satisfied if I see them just once, and we need not have much light in the room, as the light gives you pain. I would not be the cause of suffering to you--no, not for all the world!"
"You are very amiable," I answered, "more so than I deserve. I hope I may prove worthy of your tenderness! But to return to the subject of the jewels. I wish you to see them for yourself and choose the best among them. Will you come with me to-morrow night? and I will show you where they are."
She laughed sweetly.
"Are you a miser, Cesare?--and have you some secret hiding-place full of treasure like Aladdin?"
I smiled.
"Perhaps I have," I said. "There are exceptional cases in which one fears to trust even to a bank. Gems such as those I have to offer you are almost priceless, and it would be unwise, almost cruel to place such tempting toys within the reach of even an honest man. At any rate, if I have been something of a miser, it is for your sake, for your sake I have personally guarded the treasure that is to be your bridal gift. You cannot blame me for this?"
In answer she threw her fair arms round my neck and kissed me. Strive against it as I would, I always shuddered at the touch of her lips--a mingled sensation of loathing and longing possessed me that sickened while it stung my soul.
"Amor mio!" she murmured. "As if I could blame you! You have no faults in my estimation of you. You are good, brave and generous--the best of men; there is only one thing I wish sometimes--" Here she paused, and her brow knitted itself frowningly, while a puzzled, pained expression came into her eyes.
"And that one thing is?" I inquired.
"That you did not remind me so often of Fabio," she said, abruptly and half angrily. "Not when you speak of him, I do not mean that. What I mean is, that you have ways like his. Of course I know there is no actual resemblance, and yet--" She paused again, and again looked troubled.
"Really, carina mia," I remarked, lightly and jestingly, "you embarrass me profoundly! This fancy of yours is a most awkward one for me. At the convent where I visited you, you became quite ill at the contemplation of my hand, which you declared was like the hand of your deceased husband; and now--this same foolish idea is returning, when I hoped it had gone, with other morbid notions of an oversensitive brain, forever. Perhaps you think I am your late husband?"