"It is contemptible so to mourn for one who is faithless," said she. "It
is for me to judge and to punish, and that will I! It is my duty as
ruler of Austria to bring crime to light. I will soon learn who it is
that dares to exchange letters with the husband of the reigning empress.
And after all, the speediest, the simplest way to do this, lies before
me. I must open the letter, for justice sake; but I swear that I will
not read one word contained within its stages. I will see the name of
the writer alone; and then I can be sure that curiosity and personal
interest have not prompted me."

And so Maria Theresa silenced her scruples, and persuaded herself that
she was compelled to do as the tempter had suggested. She tore open the
note; but true to her self-imposed vow, she paused on the threshold of
dishonor, and read nothing but the writer's name.

"Riccardo!" cried she, wildly. "You were right, Margaretta: an intrigue
with the Riccardo. The emperor has written to her--the emperor, my
husband!"

She folded the fatal letter, and oh, how her white hands trembled as she
laid it upon the table I and how deadly pale were the cheeks that had
flushed with anger when Gaspardi had been by!

The countess was not deceived by this phase of the empress's grief. She
knew that the storm would burst, and she thought it better to divide its
wrath. She stepped lightly out to call the confessor of her victim.

Maria Theresa was unconscious of being alone. She stood before the table
staring at the letter. Gradually her paleness vanished, and the hue of
anger once more deepened on her cheeks. Her eyes, which had just been