Yes--I had expected this--we men are such fools when we love women! Suddenly a terrible thought struck me. Had she gone mad? Had the shock and grief of my so unexpected death turned her delicate brain? Was she roaming about, poor child, like Ophelia, knowing not whither she went, and was her apparent gayety the fantastic mirth of a disordered brain? I shuddered at the idea--and bending slightly apart the boughs behind which I was secreted, I looked out anxiously. Two figures were slowly approaching--my wife and my friend, Guido Ferrari. Well--there was nothing in that--it was as it should be--was not Guido as my brother? It was almost his duty to console and cheer Nina as much as lay in his power. But stay! stay! did I see aright--was she simply leaning on his arm for support--or--a fierce oath, that was almost a cry of torture, broke from my lips! Oh, would to God I had died! Would to God I had never broken open the coffin in which I lay at peace! What was death--what were the horrors of the vault--what was anything I had suffered to the anguish that racked me now? The memory of it to this day burns in my brain like inextinguishable fire, and my hand involuntarily clinches itself in an effort to beat back the furious bitterness of that moment! I know not how I restrained the murderous ferocity that awoke within me--how I forced myself to remain motionless and silent in my hiding-place. But I did. I watched the miserable comedy out to its end. I looked dumbly on at my own betrayal! I saw my honor stabbed to the death by those whom I most trusted, and yet I gave no sign! They--Guido Ferrari and my wife--came so close to my hiding-place that I could note every gesture and hear every word they uttered. They paused within three steps of me--his arm encircled her waist--hers was thrown carelessly around his neck--her head rested on his shoulder. Even so had she walked with me a thousand times! She was dressed in pure white save for one spot of deep color near her heart--a red rose, as red as blood. It was pinned there with a diamond pin that flashed in the moonlight. I thought wildly, that instead of that rose, there should be blood indeed--instead of a diamond pin there should be the good steel of a straight dagger! But I had no weapon--I stared at her, dry-eyed and mute. She looked lovely--exquisitely lovely! No trace of grief marred the fairness of her face--her eyes were as languidly limpid and tender as ever--her lips were parted in the child-like smile that was so sweet--so innocently trustful! She spoke--ah, Heaven! the old bewitching music of her low voice made my heart leap and my brain reel.