"Old in vices and mean of soul! The marriage I forgave you. You had the right, according to the customs of our country, to dispose of my hand. But I forgave you not the consolations that you whispered in the ear of a wretched and insulted wife."
"Pardon me the remark," replied the Count, with a courtly bend of his head, "but those consolations were also conformable to the customs of our country, and I was not aware till now that you had wholly disdained them. And," continued the Count, "you were not so long a wife that the gall of the chain should smart still. You were soon left a widow—free, childless, young, beautiful."
"And penniless."
"True, Di Negra was a gambler, and very unlucky; no fault of mine. I could neither keep the cards from his hands, nor advise him how to play them."
"And my own portion? Oh, Giulio, I knew but at his death why you had condemned me to that renegade Genoese. He owed you money, and, against honor, and I believe against law, you had accepted my fortune in discharge of the debt."
"He had no other way to discharge it—a debt of honor must be paid—old stories these. "What matters? Since then my purse has been open to you."
"Yes, not as your sister, but your instrument—your spy! Yes, your purse has been open—with a niggard hand."
"Un peu de conscience, ma chère, you are so extravagant. But come, be plain. What would you?"
"I would be free from you."