"Tell me! I have told you
all my misery."
"Yes,--once,--long ago. And I did it to the
person I loved best in the world."
The hands that clasped hers were trembling violently;
but they did not loosen their hold.
"He was a comrade," she went on; "and I believed
a slander against him,--a common glaring
lie that the police had invented. I struck him in
the face for a traitor; and he went away and
drowned himself. Then, two days later, I found
out that he had been quite innocent. Perhaps
that is a worse memory than any of yours. I
would cut off my right hand to undo what it has done."
Something swift and dangerous--something
that she had not seen before,--flashed into his
eyes. He bent his head down with a furtive, sudden
gesture and kissed the hand.
She drew back with a startled face. "Don't!"
she cried out piteously. "Please don't ever do
that again! You hurt me!"
"Do you think you didn't hurt the man you
killed?"
"The man I--killed---- Ah, there is Cesare
at the gate at last! I--I must go!"
.
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