There was, she recognized, something essentially feminine in
the saturnine bullfighter; his pride had been severely assaulted; and
therefore he would be--in his own, less subtle manner--as dangerous as
Gheta. Cesare's self-esteem, too, had been wounded in its most
vulnerable place--he had been insulted before her. But, even if the
latter refused to proceed, Mochales, she knew, would force an acute
conclusion. There was nothing to be got from her sister and she slowly
returned to her chamber, from which she could hear Orsi's heavy
footfalls.
She mechanically removed the square emerald that hung from a platinum
thread about her neck, took off her rings, and proceeded to the small
iron safe where valuables were kept. As she swung open the door a sheet
of paper slipped forward from an upper compartment. It bore a printed
address ... in the Strada San Lucia. She saw that it was the
blackmailing letter Cesare had received from the Neapolitan secret
society, demanding two thousand lire. She recalled what he had said at
the time--if she had an enemy her gown could be spoiled in the foyer of
the opera; a man ruined at his club.... Even murders were ascribed to
it.
She held the letter, gazing fixedly at the address, mentally repeating
again and again the significance of its contents. She thought of
showing it to Cesare, suggesting----But she realized that, bound by a
conventional honor, he would absolutely refuse to listen to her.
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