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[Transcriber's note: Both "Matilde" and "Matilda" appear in the sourcetext.]
1895
"Where shall I sign my name?"
Veronica Serra's thin, dark fingers rolled the old silver penholdernervously as she sat at one end of the long library table, looking up atthe short, stout man who stood beside her.
"Here, if you please, Excellency," answered Lamberto Squarci, with anaffable smile.
His fingers were dark, too, but not thin, and they were smooth and dingyand very pointed, a fact which the young princess noticed with dislike,as he indicated the spot on the broad sheet of rough, hand-made paper,where he wished her to sign. A thrill of repulsion that was strongenough to be painful ran through her, and she rolled the penholder stillmore quickly and nervously, so that she almost dropped it, and a littleblot of ink fell upon the sheet before she had begun to write.
"Oh! It is of no importance!" said the Neapolitan notary, in areassuring tone. "A little ink more or less!"
He had some pink blotting-paper ready, and was already applying a cornerof it to the ink-spot, with the neat skill of a professional scribe.
"I will erase it when it is dry," he said. "You will not even see it.
Now, if your Excellency will sign—that will make the will valid."
Three other persons stood around Donna Veronica as she set the point ofher pen to the paper, and two of them watched the characters she traced,with eager, unwinking eyes. The third was a very insignificant personagejust then, being but the notary's clerk; but his signature was needed asa witness to the will, and he patiently waited for his turn. The othertwo were husband and wife, Gregorio and Matilde, Count and CountessMacomer; and the countess was the young girl's aunt, being the onlysister of Don Tommaso Serra, Prince of Acireale, Veronica's dead father.She looked on, with an eager, pleased expression, standing upright andbending her head in order to see the point of the pen as it moved overthe rough paper. Her hands were folded before her, but the uppermost onetwitched and moved once or twice, as though it would go out to getpossession of the precious document which left her all the heiress'sgreat possessions in case of Donna Veronica's death. It was a bit ofpaper well worth having.
The girl rose, slight and graceful, when she had written her name, andthe finely chiselled lips had an upward curve of young scorn, as sheturned from the table, while the notary and his clerk proceeded towitness the will. Immediately, the countess smiled, very brightly,showing beautiful teeth between smooth red lips, and her strong armswent round her young niece. She was a woman at least forty years of age,but still handsome.
"I thank you with all my heart!" she cried. "It is a proof of affectionwhich I shall never forget! You will live a hundred years—a thousand,if God will it! But the mere wish to leave me your fortune is a token oflove and esteem which I shall know how to value."
Donna Veronica kissed her aunt's fresh cheek coldly, and drew back assoon as she could.
"I am glad that you are pleased," she answered in a cool and colourlessvoice.
She felt that she had said enough, and, so far as she expected anythanks, h