"I shall certainly remind you; I am very curious to know." Then she
opened and shut her fan two or three times, still looking at me. What
eyes they have! "Tell me a little," she went on, "if I may ask without
indiscretion. Are you married?"
"No, Signora Contessa."
"Isn't that at least a mistake?"
"Do I look very unhappy?"
She dropped her head a little to one side. "For an Englishman--no!"
"Ah," said I, laughing, "you are quite as clever as your mother."
"And they tell me that you are a great soldier," she continued; "you have
lived in India. It was very kind of you, so far away, to have remembered
our poor dear Italy."
"One always remembers Italy; the distance makes no difference. I
remembered it well the day I heard of your mother's death!"
"Ah, that was a sorrow!" said the Countess. "There's not a day that I
don't weep for her. But _che vuole_? She's a saint its paradise."
"_Sicuro_," I answered; and I looked some time at the ground. "But tell
me about yourself, dear lady," I asked at last, raising my eyes. "You
have also had the sorrow of losing your husband."
"I am a poor widow, as you see. _Che vuole_? My husband died after
three years of marriage."
I waited for her to remark that the late Count Scarabelli was also a
saint in paradise, but I waited in vain.
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