She presently stood up with all her own lily-like grace and fairy majesty; and smiling as though she were a pleased child, she began to arrange her disordered dress with elaborate care. I paused wonderingly and watched her. She went to the brigand's chest of treasure and proceeded to examine its contents--laces, silver and gold embroideries, antique ornaments, she took carefully in her hands, seeming mentally to calculate their cost and value. Jewels that were set as necklaces, bracelets and other trinkets of feminine wear she put on, one after the other, till her neck and arms were loaded--and literally blazed with the myriad scintillations of different-colored gems. I marveled at her strange conduct, but did not as yet guess its meaning. I moved away from the staircase and drew imperceptibly nearer to her--Hark! what was that? A strange, low rumbling like a distant earthquake, followed by a sharp cracking sound; I stopped to listen attentively. A furious gust of wind rushed round the mausoleum shrieking wildly like some devil in anger, and the strong draught flying through the gateway extinguished two of the flaring candles. My wife, entirely absorbed in counting over Carmelo Neri's treasures, apparently saw and heard nothing. Suddenly she broke into another laugh--a chuckling, mirthless laugh such as might come from the lips of the aged and senile. The sound curdled the blood in my veins--it was the laugh of a mad-woman! With an earnest, distinct voice I called to her: "Nina! Nina!"
She turned toward me still smiling--her eyes were bright, her face had regained its habitual color, and as she stood in the dim light, with her rich tresses falling about her, and the clustering gems massed together in a glittering fire against her white skin, she looked unnaturally, wildly beautiful. She nodded to me, half graciously, half haughtily, but gave me no answer. Moved with quick pity I called again: "Nina!"
She laughed again--the same terrible laugh.
"Si, si! Son' bella, son' bellissima!" she murmured. "E tu, Guido mio? Tu m'ami?"
Then raising one hand as though commanding attention she cried: "Ascolta!" and began to sing clearly though feebly: "Ti saluto, Rosignuolo! Nel tuo duolo--ti saluto! Sei l'amante della rosa Che morendo si fa sposa!"
As the old familiar melody echoed through the dreary vault, my bitter wrath against her partially lessened; with the swiftness of my southern temperament a certain compassion stirred my soul. She was no longer quite the same woman who had wronged and betrayed me--she had the helplessness and fearful innocence of madness--in that condition I could not have hurt a hair of her head. I stepped hastily forward--I resolved to take her out of the vault--after all I would not leave her thus--but as I approached, she withdrew from me, and with an angry stamp of her foot motioned me backward, while a dark frown knitted her fair brows.