asked him if his wife were there. I had to do that.

"Oh yes, she's in one of the other rooms. Come and make her
acquaintance; I want you to know her."

"You forget that I do know her."

"Oh no, you don't; you never did." And he gave a little significant
laugh.

I didn't feel like facing the _ci-devant_ Scarabelli at that moment; so I
said that I was leaving the house, but that I would do myself the honour
of calling upon his wife. We talked for a minute of something else, and
then, suddenly breaking off and looking at me, he laid his hand on my
arm. I must do him the justice to say that he looks felicitous.

"Depend upon it you were wrong!" he said.

"My dear young friend," I answered, "imagine the alacrity with which I
concede it."

Something else again was spoken of, but in an instant he repeated his
movement.

"Depend upon it you were wrong."

"I am sure the Countess has forgiven me," I said, "and in that case you
ought to bear no grudge. As I have had the honour to say, I will call
upon her immediately."