"number one is the greater number; if i assisted number two it would become the lesser."

signor ferrari was a gentleman who knew how to make himself thoroughly comfortable; and, in order to do so, squandered his earnings in a most spendthrift fashion. at present he was receiving a very handsome salary for his singing in sultana fatima, therefore he denied himself nothing in the way of luxury. he was a true bohemian in every action of his life, and accepted his fluctuating fortunes with the utmost equanimity. if he fared badly on dry bread and water one day, he was hopeful of oysters and champagne the next; and when the feast of dives was before him, made the most of it in eating and drinking, so as to recompense himself for all future deprivations, which would be the lot of poverty-stricken lazarus.

while his voice lasted he was well aware that he could command an excellent income which satisfied him completely; for when he grew old and songless he was quite prepared to return to italy, and live there the happy-go-lucky life of his youth on polenta and sour wine. in his impulsive southern fashion he loved mrs. belswin madly; but, strangely enough, it never for a moment occurred to him to save money against his possible marriage with her. if he starved, she would starve; if he made money, she would share it; and if she objected to such a chequered existence, signor ferrari was quite confident enough in his own powers of will and persuasion to be satisfied that he could force her to accept his view of the matter. this was the ferrari philosophy, and no bad one either as times go, seeing that a singer's livelihood depends entirely upon the caprice of the public. as long as he could get enough to eat, be the food rich or plain, a smoke, and plenty of sleep, the world could go hang for all he cared. he lived in the present, never thought about the past, and let the future take care of itself; so altogether managed to scramble through life in a leisurely, selfish manner eminently egotistical in fashion.

at present, being in the heyday of life, he was dining with dives, which was happiness enough in itself; but, in order that nothing should be wanting to complete his felicity, he had received a letter from mrs. belswin, telling him of her contemplated arrival. under these circumstances he had nothing left to wish for, and lounging on the sofa in his sitting-room in a state of blissful contentment awaited the coming of his fair friend.

"buõno," said the signor, with smiling satisfaction, folding up the letter and putting it in his pocket, "the singing-bird returns to its nest. this time i will clip its wings, so that it flies not again. per bacco, the kind heart of stephano surprises himself, for who would let his bird fly as he has done? but i fear not the jealousy, offspring of suspicion. ecco! she loves but me, and comes again to the nest. and what a nest! cospetto! my lucrezia will be hard to please if she likes not this palazzo del amor."

it was a very pretty nest indeed, from a lodging-house point of view, although its incongruity of colouring and furnishing would have driven an artist out of his mind; but then the signor was not exacting in the way of harmonious effect, and, provided his dwelling was fairly comfortable, felt completely satisfied. lying on the sofa, he looked complacently at the furniture, covered with painfully bright blue satin, at the scarlet curtains, the green wall-paper, and at all the wax flowers, berlin wool mats, and gimcrack ornaments with which the room was adorned. ferrari had added to this splendid furnishing an excellent piano for professional purposes, and numerous photographs, principally feminine, of his artistic friends; so that he conceived himself to be housed in a princely fashion.

it was three o'clock by the incorrect french timepiece on the tawdry mantelpiece, and ferrari was getting somewhat impatient, as mrs. belswin had mentioned two o'clock as the time of her arrival; but with his accustomed philosophy he manifested no anger at the delay.

"la donna é mobile," he hummed, shrugging his shoulders, as he strolled towards the piano. "women are always late; it is one of their charming follies. ah! eh! ee! diavolo! my voice is bad this day. these english fogs are down my throat ah! eh! ee! dio! what a note! voce del oca.

"ask not the stars the fate they deal.

read in my eyes the love i feel."

"that's a good song, that serenade to fatima. it shows off my voice. i'll sing it to exercise my high notes."

he did so, and was just in the middle of the first verse when mrs. belswin made her appearance, upon which he stopped abruptly, and came forward to greet her with theatrical effusion.

"stella dora! once more you shine," he cried, seizing her hands, with a passionate look in his dark eyes. "oh, my life! how dear it is to see thee again."

"you missed me then, stephano?" said mrs. belswin, sinking wearily into a chair.

"missed thee, carissima!" exclaimed the italian, throwing himself on his knees before her and kissing her hand; "by this, and this, and this again, i swear that all has been dark to me without the light of thine eyes. but you will not leave me again, angela mia. thou hast come back for ever to be my wife."

mrs. belswin drew her hand away sharply and frowned, for in her present irritable state of mind the exaggerated manner of ferrari jarred on her nerves.

"do be sensible, stephano," she said in a vexed tone. "you are always acting."

"how can that be acting, cruel one, which is the truth?" replied ferrari, reproachfully, rising from his knees. "thou knowst my love, and yet when i speak you are cold. eh, donna lucrezia, is your heart changed?"

"my heart remains as it always was, my friend; but i've come up to see you on business----"

"oh, business!" interrupted stephano, suspiciously. "cospetto! you want once more to leave me."

"for a time; yes."

"oh, for a time; yes!" echoed ferrari, mockingly. "amica mia, you have a strange way of speaking to him who adores you. dio, you play with me like a child. i love you, and wish you for my wife. you say 'yes,' and depart for a time. now return you to me and again say, 'stephano, i leave you for a time.'"

"i made no promise to be your wife," said mrs. belswin, angrily, "nor will i do so unless you help me now."

"help you! and in what way? has the little daughter been cruel? you wish me to speak as father to her."

"i wish you to do nothing of the sort. my daughter is quite well, and i was perfectly happy with her."

"and without me," cried ferrari, jealously; upon which mrs. belswin made a gesture of irritation.

"we can settle that afterwards," she said, drawing off her gloves: "meanwhile let us talk sense. i shall be up in town for a fortnight."

"and you stay, cara?"

"at an hotel in the strand. i'll give you the address before i leave."

"bene! i will then have you to myself for two weeks."

"it all depends on whether you will help me in what i wish to do."

"ebbene! is it il marito?"

mrs. belswin nodded, and the italian burst out laughing.

"povero diavolo. he has then come again."

"no! but he arrives next week."

"how pleased you are," said ferrari, mockingly. "oh, yes, he will be so sweet to behold you."

"that's the very question! i don't want him to see me."

"then return not to the little daughter."

"i must! i must!" cried mrs. belswin in despair. "i can't give up my child after meeting her again. twenty years, stephano, and i have not seen her; now i am beside her every day. she loves me--not as her mother, but as her friend. i can't give up all this because my husband is returning."

signor ferrari shrugged his shoulders and lighted a cigarette.

"but there is nothing more you can do," he said, spreading out his hands with a dramatic gesture, "eh, carrissima? think of what is this affair. il marito has said to you, 'good-bye.' the little daughter thinks you to be dead. if then you come to reveal yourself, il marito--eh, amica mia! it is a trouble for all."

"what can i do?"

"nothing! oh no, certainly! you have beheld the little daughter for a time. now you are to me again. i say, stella 'dora, with me remain and forget all."

"no, i will not! i will not!" cried mrs. belswin, savagely, rising to her feet. "cannot you see how i suffer? if you love me as you say, you must see how i suffer. give up my child, my life, my happiness! i cannot do it."

"dio! you cannot make the miracles."

"i can! i must! do you think i will stay with you while my child calls me?"

"with me you must stay, my norma. i love thee. i will not leave you no more."

"you can't stop me."

"ebbene," said ferrari, conscious that he held the advantage. "go, then, and see how il marito will behold you."

mrs. belswin felt her helplessness, and clenched her hands with a savage cry of despair, that seemed to be torn out of her throbbing heart. up and down the gaudy room she paced, with her face convulsed with rage, and her fierce eyes flashing with an unholy fire, while ferrari, secure in his position, sat quietly near the window, smoking leisurely. his self-possession seemed to provoke her, ready as she was to vent her impotent anger on anything, and, stopping abruptly she poured forth all her anger.

"why do you sit there smiling, and smiling, like a fool?" she shrieked, stamping her foot. "can you not suggest something? can you not do something?"

"eh, carissima, i would say, 'be quiet' the people below will hear you cry out."

"let them! what do i care? i am a desperate woman, ferrari, and i am determined to keep my position beside my child. i will stop at nothing--nothing--not even murder!"

"murder!"

signor ferrari let the cigarette drop from his fingers, and jumped up with a cry of dismay looking pale and unnerved. she saw this, and lashing him with her tongue, taunted him bitterly.

"yes, murder, you miserable! i thought you were a brave man; but i see i made a mistake. you love me! you want to be my husband! no, no, no! i marry a brave man--yes, a brave man; not a coward!"

ferrari winced, with an angry glitter in his eyes.

"eh, lucrezia. you think i am a brave man if i go to assassin il marito. cospetto! i am an italian; but the italians are not fools. if another man loved you, and would take you away, i would kill him--yes! but il marito--eh, that is not quite the same. i kill him and you return to the little daughter for always. what gain to me, carissima? i kill him, and your law gives me the rope. what gain to me? no, donna lucrezia. do what you love. stab him with a stiletto, or give the poison, i say nothing; but as for me to obey--dio, the life is not trouble to me yet."

"you are afraid."

he bounded across the room, and seized her roughly by the wrist.

"devil-woman, i have no fear! you lie to speak so i you lie, figlia inferna."

"then why do you refuse to help me?"

"per bacco, i am no assassin. il marito is not an enemy to me. to you he is hateful. revenge yourself as it pleases; but i--cospetto. you ask too much."

he flung her away from him with a gesture of anger, and began to walk about the room. mrs. belswin remained silent, savagely disappointed at the failure of her plan, and presently ferrari began to talk again in his rapid, impulsive fashion.

"if there was any gain. yes. but i see not anything. i would work against myself. you know that, signora machiavelli. ah, yes; i am not blind, cara mia. while il marito lives, you are mine. he will keep you from the little daughter. but he dies--eh, and you depart."

"no, no! i swear----"

"i refuse your swearing. they are false. forget, il marito--forget the little daughter! you are mine, mia moglie, and you depart not again."

mrs. belswin laughed scornfully, and put on her gloves again with the utmost deliberation. then, taking up her umbrella, she moved quickly towards the door; but not so quickly as to prevent ferrari placing himself before her.

"where go you?" demanded the italian, between his clenched teeth.

"to find a braver man than stephano ferrari."

"no; you will find no one."

"won't i? pshaw! i have found one already."

the italian sprang on her with a bound like a tiger, seized her hands, and placed his face so close to her own that she could feel his hot breath on her cheek.

"you have a lover, traditrice?"

"no."

"you lie! i believe you not!"

mrs. belswin laughed, and made an attempt to go away.

"sit in that chair, infamous!"

"i will not."

"sit in that chair, i order."

"you order!"

"yes, i, stephano ferrari."

she looked first at the italian, then at the chair; and his aspect was so determined that, in order to avoid an unseemly struggle, she sat down as desired, with a shrug of the shoulders.

"now, tell me of this lover."

"there is nothing to tell."

"you lie!"

"i do not lie."

with eyes as fierce as his own, she looked straight at him, and it became a question as to which of them had the stronger will. her determination to retain her position at any price, even at the cost of her husband's life, had roused all her worst passions, and for the first time since he had known her, the italian averted his eyes with a shudder of dread.

"jettatura," he cried, recoiling from her malignant gaze, and making horns with his fingers to avert the blighting consequences of her look. mrs. belswin saw her advantage, and immediately began to play on his superstition.

"i have the evil eye, you think. yes; it is so. why have you never discovered it before? because i gave you love. to those who cross me not, i am kind; but an insult---- ah! you shrink. well, then, take care. i never forgive. i never forget."

ferrari, completely cowed by her manner, threw himself on his knees before her, and held out his hands with a gesture of entreaty.

"stella 'dora, leave me not. behold me at your feet, cruel one. i die in your anger."

mrs. belswin saw that she had gained command over him, but was too wise to push her conquest too far; so, bending down, she gave him her hand, which he covered with fierce kisses.

"rise, stephano, and i will tell you all. for two weeks i will be in town, and with you all the days. you can call at my hotel if it pleases you. if i decide nothing about my husband you can come down with me to deswarth, and we will face him together."

"but this lover?"

"i have no lover. i spoke in jest. your devotion has touched me, and i will reward it by becoming your wife. for the present," said mrs. belswin, with a charming smile, "i will say 'a reverderci.' if you send me a box i will come and hear you sing to-night."

ferrari once more kissed her hand, there was a rustling of skirts, a closing of the door, and she was gone.

the italian stood where she had left him, with a scared look on his face; and after a few minutes looked at the door through which she had vanished, with a nervous smile.

"jettatura!" he muttered, shivering. "jettatura."