"Why, what is it?" I inquired in quick concern. But in an instant her
face, a moment before suddenly blanched by some mysterious fear, relaxed
into a smile, as she answered--
"Nothing! It was really nothing. I thought--I thought I saw something
in that corner."
"Saw something!" I exclaimed, advancing to the table. "What do you
mean?"
"Nothing," and she laughed a strange, forced laugh. "It was really
nothing, I assure you."
"But surely your imagination did not cause you to start like that," I
said dubiously. She was, I felt convinced, trying to conceal something
from me. Could she, I wondered, be subject to hallucinations?
Then, as if to change the subject, she crossed to my side, and pointing
to an antique ivory cross upon an ebony stand, much battered and yellow
with age, which I had picked up in a shop on the Ponte Vecchio, in
Florence, long ago, she exclaimed--
"What a quaint old crucifix!"
And she took it up and examined it closely, as a connoisseur might look
at it.
"The figure, I see, is in silver," she observed. "And it is very old.
Italian, I should say."
"Yes," I replied, rather surprised at her knowledge. "How did you know
that?"
But she smiled, and declared that she only guessed it to be so, as I had
half an hour ago spoken of a recent winter spent in Italy. Then, after
admiring it, she placed it down, and again turned, sighed heavily, and
bent over the Directory, which was still open upon the table.