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"I am a keeper and watchman on the lands of Signor Corbario." Paoluccio took his pipe from his mouth and nodded twice. "That is a very rich gentleman, I have heard," he observed. "He owns much land." "It all belongs to his stepson, now that the young gentleman is of age," Ercole answered. "But as it was his mother's, and she married Signor Corbario, we have the habit of the name."
Many rich widows remain young and beautiful as much as a quarter of a century, or even longer, and the Signora Consalvi was very rich indeed. As soon as she was married to Folco Corbario every one knew that she was thirty-five years old and he was barely twenty-six, and that such a difference of ages on the wrong side was ridiculous if it was not positively immoral.
"In scientific language," he began, "it is probably H three C seven, parenthesis, H two C plus C four O five, close parenthesis, HC three O." Corbario laughed carelessly. "I am no wiser than before," he said. "Nor I," answered the Professor. "Not a bit." "It is much simpler to call it 'the sleeping death, is it not?" suggested the Contessa. "Much simpler, for that is precisely what it is."
"As a matter of fact, she did." Corbario smiled. "You know what a very proper person she is!" "She is quite right," answered Marcello gravely. "It certainly cannot have been pleasant for her, on account of Aurora." Folco looked at him thoughtfully, for his tone had suddenly changed. "If you don't mind," Folco said, "I think I will drive up with you and call on them this afternoon.
Could I?" Marcello blushed again, hardly knowing why. Corbario seemed deeply interested. "She must be a very unusual sort of girl," he observed thoughtfully. "There are not many like her, I fancy." "There is nobody like her," Marcello answered with conviction. "That is why I want to marry her. I owe it to her. You must admit that.
He guessed what talking and gossiping there would be when the newspapers told what had happened in the little house, how the reporters would hang about the street for a week to come, and how fashionable people would go out of their way to see the place where a murder had been committed by such a well-known person as Corbario, and where he had been taken almost in the very act, and himself nearly killed.
A good deal of what Corbario had called "harmless dissipation" had made matters worse, and when Regina had persuaded him to leave Paris he had really been in that dangerous moral, intellectual, and physical condition in which it takes very little to send a man to the bad altogether, and not much more to kill him outright, if he be of a delicate constitution and still very young.
As a matter of fact Corbario understood what had led to it better than Marcello himself, who had no very positive reason for entirely disbelieving his stepfather's words. The Contessa and her daughter had returned to Rome, and Corbario often went to see them, whereas Marcello had not been even once.
When I wrote, I thought Marcello must be alone here I mean, without you," she added. "I did not know he had been here, until I heard that he was gone. He left three or four days ago. I fancy that when you wrote your letter he was already gone." "Do you let him wander about Europe as he pleases?" asked the Contessa. "He is old enough to take care of himself," answered Corbario.
Marcello was transfixed with horror, and grasped the arms of his chair. His face was livid. Kalmon watched him, and continued. "Yes. Corbario did it. Your mother used to take phenacetine tablets when she had headaches. They were very like the tablets of my poison in size and shape. Corbario stole into my room when I was sound asleep, took one of mine, and dropped in one of hers.
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