The Marchesa saw that she had made a mistake by mentioning that fatal name, but with iron nerve opened a fan she had hanging to her girdle and fanned herself slowly.
"Of course I do," she answered quietly; "it belongs to the family of my late husband, and is said to be haunted."
Bianca shivered.
"So it is! so it is!" she muttered in a fearful tone. "I have been in that room. Signor Hugo took me there."
"Signor Hugo!" repeated the Marchesa reflectively.
"I think I have heard my husband speak of that gentleman. He is English, is he not?"
"Yes, Madame. A great friend of my husband's. A terrible thing happened to Guiseppe at Verona! Oh! a terrible thing. And that room, that fearful room! Dio! I shall never forget it."
"You are trembling, Signora! You are ill," cried Madame Beltrami, rising to her feet and crossing quickly to the table before the curtain behind which we were concealed. "Let me give you some wine."
"No, no! thank you. I am quite well!" said Bianca, going to the window and opening it. "It is only the heat. The fresh air will do me good."
"A glass of wine will be better," replied the Marchesa, pouring out a glass of Chianti.