would repent and turn to better counsels.  But what made her tremble was the hoarse and desperate accent in which he told her that he had need of money, that he was, hard pressed by necessity, obliged to pay ten thousand lire.  The glance that he directed to every corner of the apartment, perhaps because he did not dare to look her in the face, was dark and unsteady:  some broken words, uttered in a low voice, pierced her heart like a dagger.  And without any available means, she promised Edoardo to procure him the required sum by next day.

When he left the house, therefore, she threw herself at her father’s feet, and begged him for a sum of money that belonged to her, but of which she could not dispose without his signature; but Cadori refused it.  I shall not repeat their dialogue.  I shall only say, that she came out from that conference in a state of distraction.  Her mind was fraught with desolation.  Hideous thoughts passed through her brain.  It was night:  she found she was alone.  She felt desperate.  A terrible temptation passed through her mind.  Her father, she knew, had heaps of gold lying useless in his coffers; but locks and bolts placed their contents out of reach.  She then bethought herself of the countess’s bureau, in which her own cross had been deposited, secure from the old man’s covetousness.  There, too, the countess kept her treasures.  She took a light, observed whether any one saw her, or could follow her, and repaired to the apartment of the Countess Galeazzi, who was from home, spending the evening with an old acquaintance.  Hardly breathing, and walking on tiptoe, Sophia took a key from under a bell-glass, and opened the bureau.  Oh, how she felt her heart throb!  She was terrified; she trembled in every movement!  The noise she made in opening the money-drawer seemed to be the footsteps of some person following to lay hands on her.  The light of the lamp, reflected in the mirrors and in the furniture, seemed to her so many eyes that looked on and reproached her.  She opened the drawer and took out her cross.  Under it were several notes of the bank of Vienna.  The temptation was strong; she laid her hands on the papers; but a thrill of terror seemed communicated through her frame by the touch, and, overcome by intense excitement, she fell senseless on the floor.

Some time afterwards the Countess Galeazzi returned home.  On entering her apartment, she beheld the wretched girl stretched on the floor with the diamond cross in her hand.  The bureau was still open.  She ran to succour Sophia, and by the application of essences recalled her to life.  The moment the latter awoke to consciousness, she threw herself on her knees, wept desperately, tried to speak, but could not; the only words she was at length able to articulate were—­’Forgive me! forgive me!’

The countess used every means to pacify her, by the compassionate expression of her countenance, by her maternal gestures, caressing and pressing her to her bosom, with words of comfort and tenderness.