“Nina!  Nina!”

She turned toward me still smiling—­her eyes were bright, her face had regained its habitual color, and as she stood in the dim light, with her rich tresses falling about her, and the clustering gems massed together in a glittering fire against her white skin, she looked unnaturally, wildly beautiful.  She nodded to me, half graciously, half haughtily, but gave me no answer.  Moved with quick pity I called again: 

“Nina!”

She laughed again—­the same terrible laugh.

“Si, si!  Son’ bella, son’ bellissima!” she murmured.  “E tu, Guido mio?  Tu m’ami?”

Then raising one hand as though commanding attention she cried: 

“Ascolta!” and began to sing clearly though feebly: 

   “Ti saluto, Rosignuolo! 
    Nel tuo duolo—­ti saluto! 
    Sei l’amante della rosa
    Che morendo si fa sposa!”

As the old familiar melody echoed through the dreary vault, my bitter wrath against her partially lessened; with the swiftness of my southern temperament a certain compassion stirred my soul.  She was no longer quite the same woman who had wronged and betrayed me—­ she had the helplessness and fearful innocence of madness—­in that condition I could not have hurt a hair of her head.  I stepped hastily forward—­I resolved to take her out of the vault—­after all I would not leave her thus—­but as I approached, she withdrew from me, and with an angry stamp of her foot motioned me backward, while a dark frown knitted her fair brows.

“Who are you?” she cried, imperiously.  “You are dead, quite dead!  How dare you come out of your grave!”

And she stared at me defiantly—­then suddenly clasping her hands as though in ecstasy, and seeming to address some invisible being at her side, she said, in low, delighted tones: 

“He is dead, Guido!  Are you not glad?” She paused, apparently expecting some reply, for she looked about her wonderingly, and continued—­“You did not answer me—­are you afraid?  Why are you so pale and stern?  Have you just come back from Rome?  What have you heard?  That I am false?—­oh, no!  I will love you still—­Ah!  I forgot! you also are dead, Guido!  I remember now—­you cannot hurt me any more—­I am free—­and quite happy!”

Smiling, she continued her song: 

   “Ti saluto, Sol di Maggio
    Col two raggio ti saluto! 
    Sei l’Apollo del passato
    Sei l’amore incoronato!”

Again—­again!—­that hollow rumbling and crackling sound overhead.  What could it be?

“L’amore incoronato!” hummed Nina fitfully, as she plunged her round, jeweled arm down again into the chest of treasure.  “Si, si!  Che morendo si fa sposa—­che morendo si fa sposa—­ah!”