But I do
not believe it--I do not believe it--indeed, I do not believe it at all.
Poor Bosio was not in his right mind. That is why he killed himself. He
was mad, even when he talked with you the day before yesterday--it is
the only possible explanation."
"Nevertheless, something must be done," said Don Teodoro. "Your safety
must be thought of first, princess."
"I feel perfectly safe here," answered Veronica. "All this is madness.
The countess is my father's sister. I admit that I have not always liked
her, but she has always been kind. You really cannot expect me to
believe that she and my uncle would plot against my life--especially
now, in this terrible trouble and sorrow! I have listened to you, Don
Teodoro, and I am sure that you wish me well, but I never can believe
that you are right. Really--with all respect to you--I must say it. It
is wildly absurd!"
And the longer she thought of it, the more absurd it seemed. The girl
was naturally both sensible and brave, and the whole tale was monstrous
in her eyes, though while he had been telling it she had fallen under
the spell of its thrilling interest, forgetting that it was all about
herself. She looked at the quiet old priest, with his extraordinary face
and quiet manner, and it was far easier to believe that a man with such
features might be mad than that her Aunt Matilde meant to kill her. He
was silent for a few moments.
"There is a terrible logic in the absurdity," he said at last.
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