CHAPTER II

"WHITE HYACINTHS" I am driven to what is either the vehicle for the sentimental vapourings of a school-girl, or the last resource of a desperate, friendless woman. I am going to set down on blank paper the record of events here just in the way they occur to me. I am going to enjoy the luxury of being honest to myself. I need not say in which of the above states I am. That is soon shown. I would to God that I had died before I had come here; before I had sought out my uncle, Count Marioni, and listened to the pi…