"Jacopo, you have suffered heavily!"
The Corsican sobbed bitterly, and the count continued: "How long it is since I saw your bright face on the strand; at that time you were happy in the possession of Manuelita, and to-day I find you broken, despairing, and—alone!"
Jacopo could only go on sobbing, and hot tears came down his pale, haggard cheeks.
"You have killed Manuelita," whispered the count softly.
Jacopo trembled.
"Who has told you, master?"
"Don't you know that I can read your soul?"
"Yes," nodded Jacopo. "I have killed her!"
"And do you regret the deed?"
"This question I cannot exactly answer," observed Jacopo timidly. "I was for a time insane, and often I wish I were so even now; the clouded mind was bliss compared with the terrible recollections which now break my heart! Oh, what wouldn't I give to have courage enough to take my own life; but I lack that courage; I suffer terribly, I cry, I wring my hands, and yet I live. Oh, the cowardice! who will save me from myself?"