Howeverthismightbe，hewasunquestionablytroubledbysomesecretannoyanceoranxiety，which，withallhispowersofdeception，hewasnotableentirelytoconceal。ThroughthewholeofdinnerhewasalmostassilentasSirPercivalhimself，andhe，everynowandthen，lookedathiswifewithanexpressionoffurtiveuneasinesswhichwasquitenewinmyexperienceofhim。Theonesocialobligationwhichheseemedtobeself-possessedenoughtoperformascarefullyaseverwastheobligationofbeingpersistentlycivilandattentivetome。WhatvileobjecthehasinviewIcannotstilldiscover，butbethedesignwhatitmay，invariablepolitenesstowardsmyself，invariablehumilitytowardsLaura，andinvariablesuppressionatanycostofSirPercival’sclumsyviolence，havebeenthemeanshehasresolutelyandimpenetrablyusedtogettohisendeversincehesetfootinthishouse。Isuspecteditwhenhefirstinterferedinourfavour，onthedaywhenthedeedwasproducedinthelibrary，andIfeelcertainofitnow。
　　WhenMadameFoscoandIrosetoleavethetable，theCountrosealsotoaccompanyusbacktothedrawing-room。
　　`Whatareyougoingawayfor？’askedSirPercival——`Imeanyou，Fosco。’
　　`IamgoingawaybecauseIhavehaddinnerenough，andwineenough，’
　　answeredtheCount。`Besokind，Percival，astomakeallowancesformyforeignhabitofgoingoutwiththeladies，aswellascominginwiththem。’
　　`Nonsense！Anotherglassofclaretwon’thurtyou。SitdownagainlikeanEnglishman。Iwanthalfanhour’squiettalkwithyouoverourwine。’
　　`Aquiettalk，Percival，withallmyheart，butnotnow，andnotoverthewine。Laterintheevening，ifyouplease——laterintheevening。’
　　`Civil！’saidSirPercivalsavagely。`Civilbehaviour，uponmysoul，toamaninhisownhouse！’
　　IhadmorethanonceseenhimlookattheCountuneasilyduringdinner-time，andhadobservedthattheCountcarefullyabstainedfromlookingathiminreturn。Thiscircumstance，coupledwiththehost’sanxietyforalittlequiettalkoverthewine，andtheguest’sobstinateresolutionnottositdownagainatthetable，revivedinmymemorytherequestwhichSirPercivalhadvainlyaddressedtohisfriendearlierintheday，tocomeoutofthelibraryandspeaktohim。TheCounthaddeferredgrantingthatprivateinterview，whenitwasfirstaskedforintheafternoon，andhadagaindeferredgrantingit，whenitwasasecondtimeaskedforatthedinner-table。
　　Whateverthecomingsubjectofdiscussionbetweenthemmightbe，itwasclearlyanimportantsubjectinSirPercival’sestimation——andperhapsjudgingfromhisevidentreluctancetoapproachitadangeroussubjectaswell，intheestimationoftheCount。
　　Theseconsiderationsoccurredtomewhilewewerepassingfromthedining-roomtothedrawing-room。SirPercival’sangrycommentaryonhisfriend’sdesertionofhimhadnotproducedtheslightesteffect。TheCountobstinatelyaccompaniedustothetea-table——waitedaminuteortwointheroom——wentoutintothehall——andreturnedwiththepost-baginhishands。Itwastheneighto’clock——thehouratwhichtheletterswerealwaysdespatchedfromBlackwaterPark。
　　`Haveyouanyletterforthepost，MissHalcombe？’heasked，approachingmewiththebag。
　　IsawMadameFosco，whowasmakingthetea，pause，withthesugar-tongsinherhand，tolistenformyanswer。
　　`No，Count，thankyou。Noletterstoday。’
　　Hegavethebagtotheservant，whowasthenintheroom；satdownatthepiano，andplayedtheairofthelivelyNeapolitanstreet-song，`LamiaCarolina，’twiceover。Hiswife，whowasusuallythemostdeliberateofwomeninallhermovements，madeteaasquicklyasIcouldhavemadeitmyself——finishedherowncupintwominutes，andquietlyglidedoutoftheroom。
　　Irosetofollowherexample——partlybecauseIsuspectedherofattemptingsometreacheryupstairswithLaura，partlybecauseIwasresolvednottoremainaloneinthesameroomwithherhusband。
　　BeforeIcouldgettothedoortheCountstoppedme，byarequestforacupoftea。Igavehimthecupoftea，andtriedasecondtimetogetaway。Hestoppedmeagain——thistimebygoingbacktothepiano，andsuddenlyappealingtomeonamusicalquestioninwhichhedeclaredthatthehonourofhiscountrywasconcerned。
　　Ivainlypleadedmyowntotalignoranceofmusic，andtotalwantoftasteinthatdirection。Heonlyappealedtomeagainwithavehemencewhichsetallfurtherprotestonmypartatdefiance。`TheEnglishandtheGermansheindignantlydeclaredwerealwaysrevilingtheItaliansfortheirinabilitytocultivatethehigherkindsofmusic。WewereperpetuallytalkingofourOratorios，andtheywereperpetuallytalkingoftheirSymphonies。
　　Didweforgetanddidtheyforgethisimmortalfriendandcountryman，Rossini？
　　WhatwasMosesinEgyptbutasublimeoratorio，whichwasactedonthestageinsteadofbeingcoldlysunginaconcert-room？WhatwastheoverturetoGuillaumeTellbutasymphonyunderanothername？HadIheardMosesinEgypt？WouldIlistentothis，andthis，andthis，andsayifanythingmoresublimelysacredandgrandhadeverbeencomposedbymortalman？’——
　　Andwithoutwaitingforawordofassentordissentonmypart，lookingmehardinthefaceallthetime，hebeganthunderingonthepiano，andsingingtoitwithloudandloftyenthusiasm——onlyinterruptinghimself，atintervals，toannouncetomefiercelythetitlesofthedifferentpiecesofmusic：`ChorusofEgyptiansinthePlagueofDarkness，MissHalcombe！’——
　　`RecitativoofMoseswiththetablesoftheLaw。’——`PrayerofIsraelites，atthepassageoftheRedSea。Aha！Aha！Isthatsacred？isthatsublime？’
　　Thepianotrembledunderhispowerfulhands，andtheteacupsonthetablerattled，ashisbigbassvoicethunderedoutthenotes，andhisheavyfootbeattimeonthefloor。
　　Therewassomethinghorrible——somethingfierceanddevilish——intheoutburstofhisdelightathisownsingingandplaying，andinthetriumphwithwhichhewatcheditseffectuponmeasIshranknearerandnearertothedoor。Iwasreleasedatlast，notbymyownefforts，butbySirPercival’sinterposition。Heopenedthedining-roomdoor，andcalledoutangrilytoknowwhat`thatinfernalnoise’meant。TheCountinstantlygotupfromthepiano。`AhIifPercivaliscoming，’hesaid，`harmonyandmelodyarebothatanend。TheMuseofMusic，MissHalcombe，desertsusindismay，andI，thefatoldminstrel，exhaletherestofmyenthusiasmintheopenair！’Hestalkedoutintotheverandah，puthishandsinhispockets，andresumedtheRecitativoofMoses，sottovoce，inthegarden。
　　IheardSirPercivalcallafterhimfromthedining-roomwindow。Buthetooknonotice——heseemeddeterminednottohear。Thatlong-deferredquiettalkbetweenthemwasstilltobeputoff，wasstilltowaitfortheCount’sabsolutewillandpleasure。
　　Hehaddetainedmeinthedrawing-roomnearlyhalfanhourfromthetimewhenhiswifeleftus。Wherehadshebeen，andwhathadshebeendoinginthatinterval？
　　Iwentupstairstoascertain，butImadenodiscoveries，andwhenI
　　questionedLaura，Ifoundthatshehadnotheardanything。Nobodyhaddisturbedher，nofaintrustlingofthesilkdresshadbeenaudible，eitherintheante-roomorinthepassage。
　　Itwasthentwentyminutestonine。Aftergoingtomyroomtogetmyjournal，Ireturned，andsatwithLaura，sometimeswriting，sometimesstoppingtotalkwithher。Nobodycamenearus，andnothinghappened。Weremainedtogethertillteno’clock。Ithenrose，saidmylastcheeringwords，andwishedhergoodnight。ShelockedherdooragainafterwehadarrangedthatIshouldcomeinandseeherthefirstthinginthemorning。
　　Ihadafewsentencesmoretoaddtomydiarybeforegoingtobedmyself，andasIwentdownagaintothedrawing-roomafterleavingLauraforthelasttimethatwearyday，Iresolvedmerelytoshowmyselfthere，tomakemyexcuses，andthentoretireanhourearlierthanusualforthenight。
　　SirPercival，andtheCountandhiswife，weresittingtogether。SirPercivalwasyawninginaneasy-chair，theCountwasreading，MadameFoscowasfanningherself。Strangetosay，herfacewasflushednow。She。whohadneversufferedfromtheheat，wasmostundoubtedlysufferingfromittonight。
　　`Iamafraid，Countess，youarenotquitesowellasusual？’Isaid。
　　`TheveryremarkIwasabouttomaketoyou，’shereplied。`Youarelookingpale，mydear。’
　　Mydear！Itwasthefirsttimeshehadeveraddressedmewiththatfamiliarity！
　　Therewasaninsolentsmiletooonherfacewhenshesaidthewords。
　　`Iamsufferingfromoneofmybadheadaches，’Iansweredcoldly。
　　`Ah，indeed？Wantofexercise，Isuppose？Awalkbeforedinnerwouldhavebeenjustthethingforyou。’Shereferredtothe`walk’withastrangeemphasis。Hadsheseenmegoout？Nomatterifshehad。ThelettersweresafenowinFanny’shands。
　　`Comeandhaveasmoke，Fosco，’saidSirPercival，rising，withanotheruneasylookathisfriend。
　　`Withpleasure，Percival，whentheladieshavegonetobed，’repliedtheCount。
　　`Excuseme，Countess，ifIsetyoutheexampleofretiring，’Isaid。
　　`Theonlyremedyforsuchaheadacheasmineisgoingtobed。’
　　Itookmyleave。Therewasthesameinsolentsmileonthewoman’sfacewhenIshookhandswithher。SirPercivalpaidnoattentiontome。HewaslookingimpatientlyatMadameFosco，whoshowednosignsofleavingtheroomwithme。TheCountsmiledtohimselfbehindhisbook。TherewasyetanotherdelaytothatquiettalkwithSirPercival——andtheCountesswastheimpedimentthistime。
　　June19th——Oncesafelyshutintomyownroom，Iopenedthesepages，andpreparedtogoonwiththatpartoftheday’srecordwhichwasstilllefttowrite。
　　FortenminutesormoreIsatidle，withthepeninmyhand，thinkingovertheeventsofthelasttwelvehours。WhenIatlastaddressedmyselftomytask，IfoundadifficultyinproceedingwithitwhichIhadneverexperiencedbefore。Inspiteofmyeffortstofixmythoughtsonthematterinhand，theywanderedawaywiththestrangestpersistencyintheonedirectionofSirPercivalandtheCount，andalltheinterestwhichItriedtoconcentrateonmyjournalcentredinsteadinthatprivateinterviewbetweenthemwhichhadbeenputoffallthroughtheday，andwhichwasnowtotakeplaceinthesilenceandsolitudeofthenight。