A light flashed on my mind.
“And its contents?” I inquired.
“Its contents make me the owner of everything he died possessed of!” she said, with an air of quiet yet malicious triumph.
Unhappy Guido! What trust he had reposed in this vile, self-interested, heartless woman! He had loved her, even as I had loved her—she who was unworthy of any love! I controlled my rising emotion, and merely said with gravity:
“I congratulate you! May I be permitted to see this document?”
“Certainly; I can show it to you now. I have it here,” and she drew a Russia-leather letter-case from her pocket, and opening it, handed me a sealed envelope. “Break the seal!” she added, with childish eagerness. “He closed it up like that after I had read it.”
With reluctant hand, and a pained piteousness at my heart, I opened the packet. It was as she had said, a will drawn up in perfectly legal form, signed and witnessed, leaving everything unconditionally to “Nina, Countess Romani, of the Villa Romani, Naples.” I read it through and returned it to her.
“He must have loved you!” I said.
She laughed.
“Of course,” she said, airily. “But many people love me—that is nothing new; I am accustomed to be loved. But you see,” she went on, reverting to the will again, “it specifies, ‘everything he dies possessed of;’ that means all the money left to him by his uncle in Rome, does it not?”