"You are to find out who the man in the Cascine was, immediately--
"Oh, what a man! Did you see him? What do you think of him? Tell me."
"The man is beautiful," I replied dully.
"He is so beautiful," she paused, supporting herself on the arm of
a chair, "that he has taken my breath away."
"I can understand the impression he has made on you," I replied, my
imagination carrying me away in a mad whirl. "I am quite lost in
admiration myself, and I can imagine--"
"You may imagine," she laughed aloud, "that this man is my lover,
and that he will apply the lash to you, and that you will enjoy being
punished by him.
"But now go, go."
* * * * *
Before evening fell, I had the desired information.
Wanda was still fully dressed when I returned. She reclined on the
ottoman, her face buried in her hands, her hair in a wild tangle,
like the red mane of a lioness.
"What is his name?" she asked, uncanny calm.
"Alexis Papadopolis."
"A Greek, then,"
I nodded.
"He is very young?"
"Scarcely older than you. They say he was educated in Paris, and
that he is an atheist. He fought against the Turks in Candia, and is
said to have distinguished himself there no less by his race-hatred
and cruelty, than by his bravery."
"All in all, then, a man," she cried with sparkling eyes.
"At present he is living in Florence," I continued, "he is said to
be tremendously rich--"
"I didn't ask you about that," she interrupted quickly and sharply.
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