received from an impudent liar. In reply to her question I shook my
head. I could not speak to her just then, nor could I look at her.

She told me her story. "Count Amadeo said to me this morning, 'My
friend, the fact that I owe you this preposterous debt of initials makes
it more than doubtful whether I can ever endure to pay it off. I could
have had no objection to stand indebted to Don Francis for my life, but
I am a man of honour, with a name which I have some reason to value, and
I assure you that it is not tolerable to me that I should owe its
continuance in my person to the fact that my mistress's maiden name
began with the same letters.' He said also----"

But I had caught her by the arm. "No more," I cried, "No more, O God!"

She was alarmed. "You are ill, you are ill, Checho?"

I said, "I stand at a death-bed. Love lies dying down there. Hush. We
should be on our knees."

She was now weeping bitterly. "O lasso! O lasso! What have I done to
you?"

"I fought in your honour, madam," I said, commanding myself, "I dared a
murder in your defence. I would have stormed Hell's ramparts and put the
baleful city to the sword in the same cause. From that accursed day on
which I first saw you until now I have held you high before my face as
the glory of womanhood. And now you repeat the slander for which that
monster lay at my mercy. You repeat it--you allowed him to say it in
your ear!"