new to me.  I had always rendered her justice as to her cleverness, but I thought her acts were the instinctive outcome of her nature.  I had never supposed her capable of inventing a whole system in order to support and justify the impulses of her nature.  This showed her in a somewhat nobler light, as it proved that where I had suspected her of more or less mean calculation, she only acted according to her own principles,—­maybe bad, even terrible, but always principles.  For instance, I had suspected her of wanting to marry me after Davis’s death,—­she proved me utterly in the wrong.  She herself began to talk about it.  She confessed that if I were to ask her for her hand she might not be able to refuse me, as she loved me more than I believed (here as I am a living man I saw a warm blush mounting to her neck and brow), but she knew this would never happen; sooner or later I would leave her with a light heart,—­but what of that?  If she dipped her hand into the water and felt the refreshing coolness, should she refuse herself this delight because the sun would suck the cool moisture?

Saying this she bent over the gunwale, which showed her figure in all its immaculate perfection, and after plunging her hands into the water, she stretched them out to me moist and pink and gleaming in the sunshine.  I took hold of the hands, and she, as if echoing my sensations, said in a caressing voice, “Come.”

20 April.

I did not see Laura the whole of yesterday, as she was not well.  She had caught a chill sitting out late on the balcony, and it had affected her teeth.  What a nuisance!  Fortunately the day before yesterday a doctor arrived who is to remain in attendance upon Mr. Davis; otherwise I should not have a soul to speak to.  He is a young Italian, small of stature, very dark, with an enormous head and very sharp eyes.  He seems very intelligent.  It is evident that from the very first he has grasped the situation, and found it very natural, for without hesitation he addressed me as the master of the house.  I could not help laughing when he came this morning and asked me whether he could see the countess so that he might prescribe for her.  They have some very quaint notions in this country.  Usually, when a married woman is suspected to belong to somebody else, the world is in arms to hunt and run her down, often with thoughtless cruelty.  Here, on the contrary, they worship at the altar of love, and one and all take sides with and plot for the lover.  I told the doctor I would see whether the countess would see him.  I penetrated into Laura’s sanctum.  She received me unwillingly, because her face is a little swollen, and she did not wish me to see her in that state.  And in truth her face reminded me of my old drawing lessons.  I noticed even then that with a modern face one may commit inaccuracies, change this or that, and provided the expression, the idea of the face remain intact, the likeness will not suffer.  It is quite a different