On that she would have gone, but the sharpness of his tone arrested her.
'Madonna, if ever I practised those arts, it was in your service, and a reproach is a poor requital.'
'In my service!' Her eyes momentarily blazed. 'Was it in my service that you came to spy upon me and betray me? Was it in my service that you murdered Enzo Spigno?' She smiled with terrible bitterness. 'I have, you see, no illusions left of the service that you did me.'
'No illusions!' His voice was wistful. She reasoned much as he had feared that she would reason. 'Lord God! You are filled with illusions; the result of inference; and I warned you, madonna, that inference is not your strength.'
'You poor buffoon! Will you pretend that you did not murder Spigno?'
'Of course I did.'
The admission amazed her where she had expected denial.
'You confess it? You dare to confess it?'
'So that in future you may assert with knowledge what you have not hesitated to assert upon mere suspicion. Shall I inform you of the reason at the same time? I killed Count Spigno because he was the spy sent by your uncle to betray you, so that your brother's ruin might be accomplished.'
'Spigno!' she cried in so loud a voice of indignation that her lady clutched her arm to impose caution. 'You say that of Spigno? He was the truest, bravest friend I ever knew, and his murder shall be atoned if there is a justice in heaven. It is enough.'