Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-03-05

reavement-the loss of my companion in America, my brother. Baron Rivar.n
 The reputation of the baron and the doubt which scandal had thrown on his assumed relationship to the countess were we'll known to Francis. "Shot in gambling saloon" he asked, brutally.
 "The question is a perfectly natural one on your part" she said, with the impenetrably ironical manner which she could assume on certain occasions. "As a native of horse racing England, you belong to a nation of gamblers. My brother died no extraordi- nary death, Mir. Westwick. He sunk. with many other unfortunate people, under q fever prevalent in a western city which we happened to visit. The calamity of his loss made the United States unendurable for me. l left by the first steamer that sailed from New York-a French vessel, which brought me to Havre. continued my lonely journey to the south of France. And then went on to Venice"
 "What does all this matter to mel" Francis thought to himself. She paused, evidently expecting him to say something. "So you have come to Venice?' he said, carelessly. "Why?"
 Because couldn't help it," she answered Francis looked at her with cynical curiosity.
 
 couldn't you help itl"
 she explained Suppose we say that an i'm pulse has directed my journey. And yet, this is the last place in the world that I wish to find myself in. Associations that detest are connected with it in my mind. If I had will of my own I would never see it again. I hate Venice. As you see, however, I am here. When did you meet with such an unreasonable woman before3 Never, I am sureIn She stopped, eyed him for a moment, and suddenly altered her tone. "When is Miss Agnes Lockwood expected to be in VeniceT' It was not easy to throw Francis off his balance, but that extraordinary question did it. "How the devil did you know that Miss Lockwood was coming to VeniceF' he ex- claimed.
 She laughed-a bitter, mocking laugh. | Say guessed it."
 Something in her tone, or perhaps something | in the audacious defiance of her eyes as they rested on him, reused the quick temper that was in Francis Westwick "Lady Mont barry" he began.
 "Stop there!" she interposed. "Your l brother Stephens wife calls herself Lady | Montbarry now. I share my title with nc woman. Call me by my name before com. mitted the fatal mistake of marrying your brother. Address me, if you please, as Countess Narona."
 | "Countess Narona," Francis resumed, "i your object in claiming my acquaintance is | to mystify me, you have come to the wrong man. Speak plainly, or permit me to wish you good evening""
 eff your object is to keep Miss Lockwood'S arrival in Venice a secret," she retorted ''speak plainly, MT. Westwick. on your side and say so."
 Her intention was evidently to irritate him and she succeeded. "Nonsensep he broke out, petulantly. "My brothers travelling ar engagements are secrets to nobody. He brings Miss Lockwood here, with Lady Montbarry and the children. As you seem so we'll in formed, perhaps you know why she is coming 1 to Venice?'
 The countess had suddenly become grave and thoughtful. She made no reply. The two stfangly associated companions, having reached one extremity of the square, wer, now standing before the church of St. Mark The moonlight was bright enough to show th' architecture of the grand cathedral in it wonderful variety of detail. Even tn pigeons of St. Mark were visible, in dark closely packed rows, roasting in the arch | ways of the great entrance doors.
 "I never saw the old church look so beauti full by moonlight" the countess said, quietly Speaking, not to Francis, but to herself ''Goodby, St. Marks by moonlight shcl not see you again."