"Not you, of course, child--would you have me believe that? When I was your age I thought of nothing else, and when you are my age you will see the folly of it. No, I am not in love with the Advocate. He is performing unholy work down there in Geneva. The priest says as much. If that murderer escapes from justice, the guilt of blood will weigh upon the Advocate's soul."
"Oh, grandmother! If my lady heard you she would never forgive you."
"If she hears it, it will not be from my tongue. Dionetta, it was a young girl who was murdered, about the same age as yourself. It might have been you--ah, you may well turn white--and this clever lawyer, this stranger it is, who comes among us to prevent justice being done upon a murderous wretch. He will be punished for it, mark my words."
Dionetta, who knew how useless it was to oppose her grandmother's opinions, endeavoured to change the subject by saying:
"Tell me, grandmother, why Mr. Almer should be more anxious to avoid this room than any other room in the house? I think it is the prettiest of all."
Mother Denise did not reply. She looked round her with the air of a woman recalling a picture of long ago.
"The story connected with this part of the house," she presently said, "gave to the villa the name of the House of White Shadows. You are old enough to hear it. Let me see, let me see. Christian Almer is now thirty-one years old--yes, thirty-one on his last birthday. How time passes! I remember well the day he was born----"
"Hush, grandmother," said Dionetta, holding up her hand. "My lady."
The Advocate's wife had entered the room quietly, and was regarding the arrangements with approval.
"It is excellently done," she said, "exactly as I wished. Dionetta, it was you who arranged the flowers?"