"What, you know----"
"I know most of the story you have told me, and as to the Signora Morone, mon Dieu! I know her better than she does herself."
"Then why marry her?"
Beltrami shrugged his shoulders and selected another cigarette.
"Eh! she is rich and I am poor. It is time I ranged myself, as the French say, and I cannot afford to marry a poor wife; besides----"
"Besides what?"
"I rather like the task of taming this demon of a woman. Madame Morone is Satan's mistress in the matter of temper, I know, but I come of a race who either broke the will of their wives or----"
"Or?" I asked interrogatively.
"Or killed them!"
"That's rather risky nowadays, Marchese. We do not live in the time of the Renaissance remember. But let us leave off this discussion of Madame Morone. I have told you my story, and you say you knew most of it before!"