Shall I say that I am sorry? No. I am not a hypocrite. Death in all forms is horrible, and I shudder and regret, but I am not sorry. Does it sound cruel and heartless to express my feelings thus frankly? Well, I am human; I do not pose as being better than I am. I have suffered a grievous wrong. At the hands of this man I lost my illusions, I learned the words hate and loathing, shame and despair. Again I say that I regret the violence of his end, but I am not sorry to be free. If we wait long enough the scales of Heaven will balance nicely. Some outraged father or brother, to this alone do I attribute his death.

Let me be as brief as possible; I have no desire to weary you, only the wish to vindicate in part what appeared to you as a species of madness.

My father was Colonel Grosvenor, of the Confederate army, during the Civil War. On General Lee's staff was an Italian named the Principi di Monte Bianca. He was an Arab for wandering. The tumult of battle would bring him round the world. Rich, titled, a real noble, he was at heart an adventurer, a word greatly abused these inglorious days. For does not the word adventurer stand for the pioneer, the explorer, the inventor, the soldier and the sailor? It is wrong to apply the word to the impostor. My father was cut from the same pattern, a wild and reckless spirit in those crowded times. The two became friends such as you and Mr. Merrihew are. Their exploits became famous. My father was also rich and a man of foresight. He knew that the stars and bars was a flag of temporary endurance. All that portion of his wealth which remained in the South he readily sacrificed with his blood. His real wealth was in foreign securities, mines, oils, steel, steamships. When the war terminated, the prince prevailed upon my father to return with him to Italy. Italy was not new to my father; and as he loved the country and spoke the language, he finally consented. He saw the shadow of the reconstruction and dreaded it; and there were no ties of blood to hold him in the States. Italy itself was in turmoil. Il Re Galantuomo, that Piedmontese hunter, Vittorio Emanuele, wished to liberate Venice from the grasp of Austria, to wrest temporal power from the Vatican, and to send the French troops back to France. Well, he accomplished all these things, and both my father and the prince were with him up to the time he entered the Quirinal. After victory, peace. My father invested in villas and palaces, added to his fortune through real estate in Rome, lived in Florence a little while, and settled down to end his days in the Venetian palace on the Grand Canal. He and the prince met daily at Florian's and planned futures or dreamed over the noisy past.

Then my father, still young, remember, fell in love with the daughter of a Venetian noble. It was a happy union. Shortly after the prince also married. He was, with the exception of my father, the most lovable man I ever knew. Brave, kindly, impetuous, honorable, witty and wise; it does not seem possible that such a father should have such a son. Though he covered it up with all the rare tact of a man of the world, his marital ties were not happy like my father's.

There came a great day: a young prince was born, and the rough king stood as his god-father. Later I added my feeble protest, at the cost of my mother's life. These domestic histories! how far more vital to the welfare of nations than the flaming pages of war and politics! As I grew up I became my father's constant companion; we were always out of doors. By and by he sent me to America to school; for he still loved his country and was not that fault-finding scold, the expatriate. And I may as well add that your defense of America pleased me as few things have in these later years. I returned from America to enter a convent out of Rome. From there I went to Milan and studied music under the masters. My father believed in letting youth choose what it would. Music! What should I have done without it in the dark hours?

One fatal day the old prince and my father put their heads together and determined that this great friendship of theirs should be perpetuated; the young prince should marry the young signorina. When will parents learn not to meddle with the destinies of their children? So they proceeded to make the alliance an absolute certainty. They drew up the strangest of wills. Both men were in full control of their properties; there was no entailed estate such as one finds in England. They could do as they pleased; and this was before Italy had passed the law requiring that no art treasures should be sold or transported. Fortunately for me, my mother's property was considerable.

The impossible clauses in the joint will read that if we two young people declined the bargain the bulk of the estates should revert to the crown; again, if we married and separated and were not reunited inside of five years, the fortunes should become the crown's; if, having separated from my husband, either for just or unjust reasons, I should secretly or publicly occupy any villa or palace mentioned in the will, it would be a tacit admission that I accepted my husband. Was there ever such an insane tangle kindly meant? We must marry, we must be happy; that our minds and hearts were totally different did not matter at all. Do you understand why I went from city to city, living haphazard? Sometimes I was very poor, for my income from my mother's estate was paid quarterly, and I did not inherit my father's business ability. During the recent days in Venice I had to offer my jewels because I dared not write my attorneys for an advance, for I did not wish them to know where I was.

Time went on. How young I was in those days! What dreams I dreamed! The old prince died suddenly, his wife followed. And then my kind and loving father went the way. I was very, very lonely. But I was taken under the wing of a duchessa who was popular at court. At this period the young prince was one of the handsomest men in Europe. Foolish women set about to turn his head. He was brave, clever and engaging. Dissipation had not yet enmeshed him. My heart fluttered naturally when I saw him, for he was permitted to see me at intervals. Young girls have dreams which in older years appear ordinary enough. He was then to me Prince Charming. I was really glad that I was to marry him.

On completing my education I decided to live in Rome, where the prince was quartered. I went into the world with serene confidence, believing that all men were good like my father and his friend. The old duchessa mothered the rich American girl gladly; for, though I was half Italian, they always considered me as the child of my father. I was presented at court, I was asked to dinners and receptions and balls. I was quite the rage because the dowager queen gave me singular attention. My head was in a whirl. In Europe, as you know, till a woman is married she is a nonentity. I was beginning to live. The older women were so attentive and the men so gallant that I lost sight of the things that counted. As I was a fluent linguist, and as I possessed a natural lightness of heart, my popularity was by no means due to my property. I believe I sang wherever I went, because I loved music, because it was beautiful to send one's voice across space in confidence; it was like liberating the soul for a moment.

The prince by this time seemed changed in some way; but I was blindly young. A girl of twenty in European society knows less than a girl of fifteen in the States. Often I noticed the long scar on his cheek. He had received it, he said, in some cavalry exercise. As the Italians are reckless horsemen, I accepted this explanation without question. I know differently now! But he was as courteous and gallant to me as ever.

Now, there was another clause in this will. It was the one thing which made the present life tolerable and possible to me. We were to be married without pomp, quietly, first at the magistrate's and then at the church.

Have you not often seen the carriage pass you in the streets? The bride in her white dress and veil and the bouquet of roses? The ribbon round the driver's whip? The good-natured smiles of the idlers, the children running out and crying for a rose? They say that a rose given by the bride brings luck. It was thus we passed through the streets to the magistrate's. I did not know then that I was not in love, that I was only young and curious. I threw roses to any who asked. The prince sat beside me in full-dress uniform, looking very handsome and distinguished. We heard many compliments. The prince smiled, but he was nervous and not at ease. I thought nothing of this at the time. I believed his nervousness a part of my own. To be sure there was a fair gathering at the magistrate's, for the name of Monte Bianca was widely known. But there was none of our own class present; they would be at the church.

The magistrate performed his part in the affair. Legally we were man and wife. We were leaving for the church, when at the very doorway a handsome woman, sad-eyed, weary, shabbily dressed, touched me on the arm.

"A rose, Signora!"

I gave it to her, smiling pityingly.

"God pray," she said, "that this man will make you happier than he made me!"

The prince was at my elbow, pushing me toward the carriage. But something had been said that could not be lightly passed. I stood firm.

"Let us be on!" said the prince eagerly.

"Wait!" I turned to the woman. "Signora, what do you mean by those words?"

"His Highness knows." She pointed to the prince, whose face I now saw, strangely enough, for the first time. It was black with rage and ugliness.

"What has he been to you?" I demanded.

She answered with a gesture, pathetic but easily translatable. It was enough for me. I understood. In that moment I became a woman without illusions. Without looking at the prince I entered the carriage and closed the door in his face. He stormed, he pleaded, he lied. I was of stone. There was a scene. He was low enough to turn upon the poor woman and strike her across the face with his gloves. Even had I loved him, that would have been the end of the romance. I ordered the driver to take me home. There would be no wedding at the church that day. There was a great scandal. Every one took up the prince's cause, with the exception of the king. But my determination was not to be moved.

The prince was almost bankrupt. He had squandered the liberal fortune left him independently of the will. He had sold to the Jews half of the fortune he expected to get after marrying me. He had not the slightest affection for me; he was desperate and wanted the money. How old and wise I became during that ride home from the magistrate's! The prince called, but I was not at home to him. He wrote many times, but I replied to none of his letters. He struck but one string; I was foolish to let a little peccadillo of bachelorhood stand in the way; all men were the same; the position I took was absurd. I never answered. I returned to Venice. I have seen him but twice since; once at Monte Carlo and that night at the Villa Ariadne. How he begged, schemed, plotted, and manoeuvered to regain my favor! But I knew now. I vowed he should never have a penny; it should all go to the crown.

When at length he found that I was really serious, he became base in his tactics. He was the one who was wronged. He gave life to such rumors among those I knew that soon I found doors closed to me which had always been open. No Italian woman could see the matter from my point of view. I was an American for all that my mother was a Venetian, therefore I was wrong.

So great was this man's vanity that he truly believed that all he had to do was to meet me face to face to overcome my objections! I have already told you that my impulses are as mysterious to me as to others. Why I went to the Villa Ariadne is not to be explained. I do not know.... A comic opera singer! But I shall always love those light-hearted companions, who were cheerful under misfortune, who accepted each new calamity as a jest by the Great Dramatist. Perhaps the truth is, this last calamity was brought about by my desire to aid them without letting them know who I was. I have committed many foolish acts, but innocent and hurtless. To you I have been perfectly frank. From the first I warned you; and many times I have given you hurts which recoiled upon my own head. But all for your good. I wanted you to be clear of the tangle. There! That is all. There is no more mystery concerning Sonia Hilda Grosvenor.

And so the letter ended. There was not a word regarding any future meeting; there was nothing to read between the lines. A great loneliness surged over Hillard. Was this, then, really the end? No! He struck the letter sharply on his palm. No, this should not be the end. He would wait here in Florence till the day of doom. He would waste no time in seeking her, for he knew that if he sought he would not find.

Day after day dragged through the hours, and Florence grew thinned and torrid. Sometimes he rode past the Villa Ariadne, but he never stopped. He could not bring himself to enter those confines again alone.

In the meantime he had received a cable from Merrihew, stating that he and Mrs. Merrihew would be at home after September. He read the line many times. Good old Dan! He was right; it took patience and persistence to win a woman.

It was in the middle of June that, one afternoon, the concierge handed him a telegram. It contained but three words:

"Villa Serbelloni, Bellaggio."