'Had you seen much of him during the last months before he went to Africa?' she asked. 'I did not know you till long after that, you know. I think you were always away?'
'I was stationed in Pavia,' the Captain answered. 'Giovanni joined the expedition at short notice and I was not able to see him before he started. I have always regretted it, for we had not met for eighteen months.'
'You were never very intimate, I suppose?' suggested the Princess.
'We were always very good friends, but after he was appointed to the Staff we saw little of each other.'
The Princess mused in silence for a few moments.
'I was very fond of him,' she said at last. 'Did he ever talk about me to you?'
'No,' Ugo answered. 'Not that I can remember.'
Their eyes met and she saw that he was telling the truth, as, in fact, he always did.
'I suppose you have heard that he was in love with my poor niece, who went into a convent after he was lost?' she said tentatively, and watching his face.
'Indeed?' He showed more interest. 'I never heard of that. Were they engaged to be married?'
'No. At least, there was no formal engagement. My brother-in-law was killed in a motor accident just at that time. Then Giovanni went to Massowah, and you know the rest. But they were very much in love with each other, and Angela was broken-hearted.'
She now knew what she had come to find out, and she did not care to rouse his curiosity as to her own share in the story, since no gossip had taken the trouble to enlighten him.
'Has she taken permanent vows?' he asked.
'Yes. Three years ago, and now it is said that she means to go out to the Rangoon Leper Hospital. I daresay you have heard that a good many nuns do that. It is almost certain death and we all feel very badly about Angela.'
'Poor girl!' exclaimed Ugo. 'She must have cared for him so much that she is tired of living. Very few of those Sisters ever come back, I believe.'
'None,' said the Princess Chiaromonte in a tone that would certainly have arrested his attention if he had known everything. 'It is the saddest thing in the world,' she went on quickly, fearing that her hatred had betrayed itself. 'To think that year after year those good women voluntarily go to certain death! And not even to save life, for lepers cannot be cured, you know. The most that can be done is to alleviate their suffering!'