“I did not think of inquiring. She linked it on my watch-chain one day, and there was an end of the affair.”
“I knew this as well as if I had been present,” muttered the Italian. “Oh! false, wicked, traitorous serpent!”
These latter words he spoke so rapidly in his native language that his master did not catch their import.
“If you knew, why the deuce have you put yourself to the trouble of asking so many questions? I should be glad to know what you mean by cross-examining me in this ridiculous manner. You apparently consider you have no very good reason to like this same Lucia Guiscardini. Has she done you any harm?”
“She has ruined my happiness—blighted my life—that is all. No, I have no great reason to remember her with feelings of good-will.”
“As you have asked me some questions, I may be allowed the privilege of retaliating. May I ask if she jilted you?”
“No. Oh! no. Would to Heaven she had done so, and saved me these years of bitter hate and regret!”
“Is she your sister?” demanded Paul Desfrayne, startled by the overthrow of the supposition he had so readily built up.
“No. She is the only woman I have ever loved, or can ever love again.”
“Do you still love her, or do you hate her for being so far beyond you?”