There was another pause before he went on. “Since I saw you this morning,” he said slowly, “something horrible has happened. After you left I sent for Andrea and Gemma to tell them the news from Vienna and the probability of my being summoned to Milan before night. You know as well as I that we have reached a crisis. There will be fighting within twenty-four hours, if I know my people; and war may follow sooner than we think. I felt it my duty to leave my affairs in Andrea’s hands, and to entrust my wife to his care. Don’t look startled,” he added with a faint smile. “No reasonable man goes on a journey without setting his house in order; and if things take the turn I expect it may be some months before you see me back at Siviano.—But it was not to hear this that I sent for you.” He pushed his chair aside and walked up and down the room with his short limping step. “My God!” he broke out wildly, “how can I say it?—When Andrea had heard me, I saw him exchange a glance with his wife, and she said with that infernal sweet voice of hers, ‘Yes, Andrea, it is our duty.’
“‘Your duty?’ I asked. ‘What is your duty?’
“Andrea wetted his lips with his tongue and looked at her again; and her look was like a blade in his hand.
“‘Your wife has a lover,’ he said.
“She caught my arm as I flung myself on him. He is ten times stronger than I, but you remember how I made him howl for mercy in the old days when he used to bully you.
“‘Let me go,’ I said to his wife. ‘He must live to unsay it.’
“Andrea began to whimper. ‘Oh, my poor brother, I would give my heart’s blood to unsay it!’
“‘The secret has been killing us,’ she chimed in.
“‘The secret? Whose secret? How dare you—?’
“Gemma fell on her knees like a tragedy actress. ‘Strike me—kill me—it is I who am the offender! It was at my house that she met him—’