- Oh! Said he, so it's you! I am damned if I expected you here tonight.

He spoke this way to a woman, a young and pretty woman in a very classy evening gown. She was hatless, had diamond earrings and wrapped herself in a luxurious fur. She didn't apologise and just looked at the Count with the melancholic glance of a woman looking for solace and affection and finding a cool welcome.

She said:

- Excuse me; I just wanted to say goodnight before you went.

He replied with bad grace:

- Well, come in, my dear! But you disturb me greatly, have no doubts about it.

He received her in the living room, and at first, there wasn't a single word exchanged between them. The Count looked busy and indifferent, moving towards the mirror to rectify mechanically the position of his tie; he had a deep fold across his forehead showing his bad mood.

It was her, dominating her anxiety, who talked first:

- You seem worried, dear?

He stopped walking as if he had made a decision, as if the word 'dear' had given him the strength he was looking for, he came straight to the young woman, who was standing there, her hands on the back of the sofa.

- Listen…

In the unexpected visitor's eyes, there was a painful anxiety. With her instinct and intuition, she must have felt that the words were going to be painful. She uttered slowly, in a barely audible voice:

- I'm listening. I've listened to you for so long when you still talked to me….about love… if you can however remember it.

He took his time as if he hadn't heard her.

- Listen… said he finally, I am charmed to receive your visit, my dear Elise… But, don't you remember that I asked you not to come here anymore… Your husband…

She interrupted him:

- My husband doesn't know I am here; we are going to the Opera tonight

.He had a casual gesture, as if he was completely indifferent and the young woman mistook this gesture. She thought he was annoyed that her husband had been mixed up in such a story. In a broken voice, as if she was afraid not to say everything she wanted, she nevertheless decided to speak openly to relieve her desolate soul, she stammered:

- There is nothing to fear… Anyway, have you no confidence in me? Am I not the only woman who knows exactly who you are?... have I let this secret slip?...

He interrupted her harshly:

- Be quiet! There are words that shouldn't even been mentioned.

Tamed and dominated by fear and by a respect that she couldn't even understand herself, she whispered:

- Yes, I'll be silent, but I know who you are, don't forget.

He looked angry again. Certainly if she had added something he would have lost his temper. But, again, they were some knocks on the door and this time they didn't come from a timid hand. The young woman looked surprised and frightened. She closed her coat more tightly around her and looked for a place where she could hide. She saw the bedroom door ajar and went this way. The count stood in her way with his arm extended in front of her.

- No, said he, not this way!

He knew there were some things that she shouldn't see. She wasn't mixed up at all with the previous drama. The Count Cassatti's good fortunes piled up without having between them any other relationship apart from the passion of a frenzied seducer, completely unscrupulous. But, still, he didn't judge it was proper that his latest mistress witnessed the tragic conclusion of a former affair. He noticed a hidden cubby-hole in a corner of the living room.

- Get in there, said he.

When the young woman had obeyed, without protest, he opened the door. A man came in the living room. It was Elise's husband, the hidden lady's husband. He came in without any invitation to do so and looked around him as if he knew full well his wife was around. He knew it indeed. The count's usual smile came back on his lips. He must have been accustomed to this kind of scenes and didn't seem too affected in the slightest by such common events in his life. He moved quietly and faced the intruder, with full composure, he attempted to speak:

- To tell you the truth, he started…

But, he understood the man wouldn't let him talk. It was a quick-tempered husband, an elegant and vigorous man in his fifties of noble descent, probably who didn't let himself overawed by anybody even of higher birth than himself. He grumbled:

- Do not think you'll frighten me and do not make me go away before I have found my wife, my dear Count. I know she is here.

Cassatti didn't even bother to deny it or even to look surprised.

- Well! Said he, if you want to, why don't you look for her?

The husband, while being a distinguished gentleman able to hide his feelings, showed signs of impatience in front of such mockery.

- Well! He continued, once I have found her and sent her back to her apartment; we'll have to discuss something together.

- At your disposal, said the count, I only hope you won't make me miss my evening because I have an urgent appointment.

The husband clenched his fist, as if he wanted to hit somebody, but he refrained from it. But he staid there uncertain what to do, shifting from one foot to the other, torn between the desire to crush this evil being and the desire to stay polite. He didn't talk. Only, a growl came from his lips, and as if he had made a decision, he moved three steps towards the bedroom door. The Count ran after him. He judged it was useless to say "Do not go in!" as, already, the man had his hand on the door knob and was going in. The Count was the kind of man who never makes forward plans and relies entirely on their presence of mind, his hand's sudden reaction to take advantage of the events as they occur. He entered behind him.

The husband had tripped over the overturned sofa; Cassatti was kind enough to give him some light. He waited to see the result of the effect produced with a certain perversity. For him, of course, the previous drama had left no traces in his mind. It looked to him like a perfectly usual thing, almost natural. He observed the husband, but, beforehand, he took the revolver which had excaped the first visitor's hand. Wasn't it a beautiful evening for somebody looking for thrills?

The husband was wondering what had happened in the room and it was prefectly forgivable. Bending down, he surveyed the chaos in the room, looking at the little pool of blood on the carpet just in front of his left foot. His eyes followed the blood, shining in the light, and he discovered the man lying down, stiff and dead. Then, he turned around, he looked closely at the Count, motionless near the door, and with an expression of contempt and fury, he exclaimed:

- Scoundrel!

Then, as if he had only one thought, to kill an evil animal, he touched his trousers' left pocket, a pocket that usually contains a revolver. And it was a revolver he took out. He didn't even had time to aim at the Count. A sharp bang, a little bit of smoke! Cassatti had fired off. The husband looked suddenly frozen with an unsteady stupor. He moved forwards then backwards. On the back of the overturned sofa, his legs gave way and he suddenly collapsed while a big blood stain was growing bigger on his shirt and his mouth opened widely.

Cassatti didn't move. A little pale, but quiet, because he wasn't surprised by any unexpected and extraordinary event – didn't he envisaged this eventuality? – he moved and threw the revolver near the young man who had entered the room first.

Nothing had troubled his astonishing serenity. In front of this succession of abnormal facts, he didn't feel any more terror than if he had witnessed an unfortunate duel, where he was a mere onlooker. He had acted reasonably according to his own temper, he had protected himself. He hadn't wanted to kill, of course, but, anyway, having killed, he absolved himself and didn't feel dishonored nor anxious. But, raising his eyes, he saw in the doorway the terrified face of the young woman who having not witnessed this domestic tragedy, had nevertheless heard the gun shot. She trembled, her teeth clenched and her hand clenched on her coat. In front of her, she discovered her husband lying dead, furnitures overturned and also the corpse of the first victim, half hidden by the sofa. She wondered what on earth could have happened.

The Count just had time to stifle a shout.

- For Heaven's sake! He said quickly, be quiet and go back to the living room. A woman shouldn't see those things.

Appalled, incapable to utter a single word, still wondering, it was obvious she felt for the murderer some kind of loving horror. She loved him with her whole soul, and she was scared. She had wanted, in her moment of weakness to take refuge in his arms, but, she was shivering with fear. Suddenly, she slipped and nearly fell. Looking at her feet, she noticed she had stepped into a pool of blood brought there probably by Cassatti's foot. She suffocated, so overwhelmed that she couldn't stifle a sob. It didn't burst, just stopped in her throat and she couldn't utter a word. Ashen faced, she moved mechanically like a dislocated machine, unable to react. She fell into an armchair.

- One second please, said Cassatti, do not move and do not call!

He went to the telephone. He took the receiver and called the porter on duty that night. The young woman, knocked senseless by such composure, uncertain of what she heard, thought she was witnessing the end of a drama in a theatre. She couldn't be the heroine of such a drama; she listened without thinking as her heart was beating wildly.

- Hello! The porter…

The count's voice was as steady as if he was asking when his mail would be brought up.

- The porter? Great… Send me somebody immediately and if possible with a doctor. A murder has been committed in my apartment.

He took his time, waited for the porter's horrified scream and added:

- And, of course, call the police as well.

• *
• **

- Not a word, I'll do all the talking.

One could hear footsteps in the corridor, voices as well…

- It's this door… are you sure? ….Yes… apartment 216…

They knocked first at the neighbouring door before the right one. The Count opened the door. Instinctively the young woman rose, overcome by fear. The first person in the doorway was a terrified valet. He glanced through the room as if he expected to find dead bodies in every corner; he stammered:

- Where is…where is he?

He was pushed outside to allow in the porter, the manager and behind them, two carabineers in full uniform, with shoulder straps and their red faces and large moustaches. The whole troop came in while the valet was getting better: there wasn't any trace of disorder in the room. Only the young woman, trembling, seemed to tell with her own face the whole drama that she experienced in a space of five minutes. She was numbed, very pale, but now her face looked more determined. One of the carabineers wanted to start the cross-examination as a law allowed him:

- Then? He said…

He didn't go any further as the count interrupted him:

- One minute, please! Let me explain the events!

Then addressing the manager, haughty and aloof, he started to ask:

- I hope these policemen have been told who I am.

The three members of the hotel bowed deeply in a very referential way.

- We thought about it, My Lord. These gentlemen are aware of whom they are addressing.

Cassatti gestured:

- Well then, here is what happened.

Carefully, trying to be clear, impassive, he explained the situation. The event, as he called it, the way he had arranged it in his mind:

- It's unfortunate, but rather banal. This lady and her husband came to take me because we were going out tonight. Just as we were leaving this room, we heard some noises near the window.

He spoke more particularly to the two policemen, for which he showed great care.

-During your inquiry, you'll find certainly some traces of breaking. I go on.

Pompous, he went on:

- Leaving this Lady in the leaving room, we went, her husband and I, to see what was happening. We caught a burglar in my bedroom. He must have thought that the apartment was empty. I knocked him dead with my cane, this cane you see over on the table. Please, look at it… You can keep it as evidence. I go on. Before he fell, the burglar drew a revolver and shot at us. His bullet hit my unfortunate friend. He is dead and with a second stroke of my cane, I finished off the burglar. Both are dead.

With one gesture, he called the valet who listened with both ears.

- Open the door, and asked the carabineers to make their first investigation.

He said all that with an expressionless and toneless voice which didn't suffer contradiction, but seemed sincere and truthful. The carabineers passed bowing deeply and went to the bedroom; but Cassatti stopped them for an instant and showing the young woman, who seemed to stand up by sheer miracle, he said:

- I hope this Lady can go back to her room now. You don't need her anymore and these emotions have shattered her.

The carabineers made no objection to this legitimate demand and the fallen mistress of Cassatti, without even turning back, went to the corridor, while the count wished her goodnight and while kissing her hand, offered her his condolences in an intelligible way. The investigations were rather fast. Everything seemed to agree with the Count's story. On top, the Savoia's personnel showed so much deference for their illustrious customer that the policemen overwhelmed didn't even dare to interrogate him and made their report on-the-spot, without ordering a full enquiry. They came back with the servants in the living room where the Count was smoking nonchalantly, and declared that the bodies would be removed immediately.

- Very good! Replied Cassatti. But, I would like to have another apartment for tonight. I wouldn't like to sleep in this bloody room and the police must want to have it untouched.

One of the policemen, the handsomest, with double stripes on his sleeve, had a respectful laugh:

- The police is enlightened, My Lord. Everything happened as you described it, I understood this at once.

Cassatti raised his highbrows, a deep fold on his forehead:

- I think you didn't doubt it for an instant.

The policeman protested, offered his apologies which he mixed with regrets and blushed thinking he had made a blunder and got entangled in a complex sentence which he could finish. The Count delivered him from his embarrassment by commanding silence:

- That's enough. You acted quickly and I thank you. Can you leave now?

But, when the valet was about to close the door, he called him back:

- Mario, come here. You're an idiot, my boy: I asked you for tickets for the circus tonight, not for the Opera. And you gave me Opera tickets.

He threw the tickets to the astounded servant's face. While the servant retired, he put on his cloak by himself and once again, in front of the mirror, he straightened the harmonious knot of his tie.