"She was wrong!" interrupted Camillo with a laugh.
"Don't say that, Camillo. If you only realized in what anguish I went there, all on account of you. You know. I've told you before. Don't laugh at me; don't poke fun at me . . ."
Camillo seized her hands and gazed into her eyes earnestly and long. He swore that he loved her ever so much, that her fears were childish; in any case, should she ever harbor a fear, the best fortune-teller to consult was he himself. Then he reproved her, saying that it was imprudent to visit such houses. Villela might learn of it, and then . . .
"Impossible! I was exceedingly careful when I entered the place."
"Where is the house?"
"Near here. On Guarda-Velha Street. Nobody was passing by at the time. Rest easy. I'm not a fool."
Camillo laughed again.
"Do you really believe in such things?" he asked.
It was at this point that she translated Hamlet into every-day speech, assuring her lover that there was many a true, mysterious thing in this world. If he was skeptical, let
