‘I am not ashamed!’ Maria drew herself up now, and her dark eyes gleamed a little. ‘But I will not tell you!’
‘There is only one name you would be ashamed to let me hear in this matter. If you persist in your silence I shall know that you have been helped by Castiglione.’
Montalto’s eyes were a little bloodshot, and fixed themselves on hers. She did not hesitate any longer.
‘I never lied to you, and I am not ashamed of the truth,’ she answered proudly. ‘Baldassare del Castiglione has helped me.’
Until she had actually told him so, in plain words, Montalto had wished not to believe what he had guessed. His face had been changing slowly, and now she saw once more, after many years, the look it had worn when he had first accused her, and she had bowed her head. When he spoke again she remembered the tone she had not heard since then.
‘As you are not ashamed to say so, I suppose you will not mind telling me what he did.’
‘You shall see for yourself.’
She left the drawing-room, and he sat quite still during the few seconds that elapsed; quite still, staring at the seat that she had left. For he loved her. When she came back she stood before him. He took the paper from her hand and read it with difficulty, though he had known the handwriting well enough in old times. He read it all, to the name of the regiment after Castiglione’s signature. Then he handed back the paper.
‘I have been mad,’ he said slowly and almost mechanically.
She misunderstood him.