“If you were not a very good woman now,” Kalmon said earnestly, “you could not say what you are saying.”

“Never mind what I am now.  I am not as good as you choose to think.  If I were, there would not be a bitter thought left.  I should have forgiven all.  Leave out of the question what I am now.  Compare me as I was with Regina as she is.  That is how I put it, and I am right.”

“Even if you were,” Kalmon answered doubtfully, “the situation would be the same, so far as Aurora is concerned.”

“But suppose that this poor woman cannot die in peace unless she has asked Aurora’s pardon and obtained her forgiveness, what then?”

“Her forgiveness?  For what?”

“For coming between her and Marcello.  Say that, so far as Regina knows, my daughter is the only human being she has ever injured, what then?”

“Does Aurora love Marcello?” asked Kalmon, instead of answering the question.

“I think she does.  I am almost sure of it.”

Kalmon was silent for a while.

“But Marcello,” he said at last, “what of him?”

“He has always loved Aurora,” the Contessa answered.  “Do you blame him so much for what he has done?  Why do you blame some people so easily, my dear friend, and others not at all?  Do you realise what happened to him?  He was virtually taken out of the life he was leading, by a blow that practically destroyed his memory, and of which the consequences altogether destroyed his will for some time.  He found himself saved and at the same time loved—­no, worshipped—­by one of the most beautiful women in the world.  Never mind her birth!  She has never looked at any other man, before or since, and from what I have heard, she never will.  Ah, if all women were like her!  Marcello, weak from illness, allowed himself to be worshipped, and Corbario did the rest.  I understand it all.  Do you blame him very much?  I don’t.  With all your strength of character, you would have done the same at his age!  And having taken what she offered, what could he do, when he grew up and came to himself, and felt his will again?  Could he cast her off, after all she had done for him?”

“He could marry her,” observed Kalmon.  “I don’t see why he should not, after all.”

“Marriage!” There was a little scornful sadness in Maddalena’s voice.  “Marriage is always the solution!  No, no, he is right not to marry her, if he has ever thought of it.  They would only make each other miserable for the rest of their lives.  Miserable, and perhaps faithless too.  That is what happens when men and women are not saints.  Look at me!”

“You were never in that position.  Others were to blame, who made you marry when you were too young to have any will of your own.”

“Blame no one,” said the Contessa gravely.  “I shall give Aurora Regina’s message, and if she is willing to go and see her, I shall bring her to-morrow morning—­to-night, if there is no time to be lost.  The world need never know.  Go and tell Regina what I have said.  It may comfort her a little, poor thing.”