"To purchase it of me!" repeated the Conte, pale with anger, "but my dear Zoë,"--in moments of great excitement the Conte was wont to call the Baroness by her first name,--"but my dear Zoë what did you propose to her?"
"Exactly what you told me."
"Indeed?"--the Count drew closer to her, and leaned forward,--"did you tell her that I laid the china at her feet, not in the name of the Count Capriani, but of the Doctor Stein whom she knew years ago in the Riviera?"
"Yes, and I told her that you said you had formerly attended the Count, her husband."
"Well?"
"She replied--do you really wish to hear her reply."
"Yes."
"Well, then, she replied, 'that may possibly be so, but I do not remember it.'"
The Conte grew still paler, and his face wore an ugly expression;--he picked up a paper-knife of beautiful oriental workmanship, and began to toy with it restlessly.
"I beg you to observe," Zoë began, "that I am entirely innocent in this matter. You certainly remember that I postponed for weeks the delivery of your message, and that I fulfilled your commission reluctantly at last. I told you beforehand what the result would be; but you were so perfectly sure that the Countess would remember the name of Stein...."