SARACINESCA

 BY F. MARION CRAWFORD

AUTHOR OF 'MR. ISAACS, ' 'DR. CLAUDIUS, ' 'A ROMAN SINGER, ' 'ZOROASTER, ''A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH, ' ETC. 

 1887

NOTE

It was at first feared that the name Saracinesca, as it is nowprinted, might be attached to an unused title in the possession of aRoman house. The name was therefore printed with an additionalconsonant--Sarracinesca--in the pages of 'Blackwood's Magazine. 'After careful inquiry, the original spelling is now restored. 

SARACINESCA. 

CHAPTER I. 

In the year 1865 Rome was still in a great measure its old self. It hadnot then acquired that modern air which is now beginning to pervade it. The Corso had not been widened and whitewashed; the Villa Aldobrandinihad not been cut through to make the Via Nazionale; the south wing of thePalazzo Colonna still looked upon a narrow lane through which menhesitated to pass after dark; the Tiber's course had not then beencorrected below the Farnesina; the Farnesina itself was but just underrepair; the iron bridge at the Ripetta was not dreamed of; and the Pratidi Castello were still, as their name implies, a series of waste meadows. At the southern extremity of the city, the space between the fountain ofMoses and the newly erected railway station, running past the Baths ofDiocletian, was still an exercising-ground for the French cavalry. Eventhe people in the streets then presented an appearance very differentfrom that which is now observed by the visitors and foreigners who cometo Rome in the winter. French dragoons and hussars, French infantry andFrench officers, were everywhere to be seen in great numbers, mingledwith a goodly sprinkling of the Papal Zouaves, whose grey Turco uniformswith bright red facings, red sashes, and short yellow gaiters, gavecolour to any crowd. A fine corps of men they were, too; countinghundreds of gentlemen in their ranks, and officered by some of the bestblood in France and Austria. In those days also were to be seen the greatcoaches of the cardinals, with their gorgeous footmen and magnificentblack horses, the huge red umbrellas lying upon the top, while from theopen windows the stately princes of the Church from time to time returnedthe salutations of the pedestrians in the street. And often in theafternoon there was heard the tramp of horse as a detachment of the nobleguards trotted down the Corso on their great chargers, escorting the holyFather himself, while all who met him dropped upon one knee and uncoveredtheir heads to receive the benediction of the mild-eyed old man with thebeautiful features, the head of Church and State. Many a time, too, Pius IX. Would descend from his coach and walk upon the Pincio, allclothed in white, stopping sometimes to talk with those who accompaniedhim, or to lay his gentle hand on the fair curls of some little Englishchild that paused from its play in awe and admiration as the Pope wentby. For he loved children well, and most of all, children with goldenhair--angels, not Angles, as Gregory said. 

As for the fashions of those days, it is probable that most of us wouldsuffer severe penalties rather than return to them, beautiful as theythen appeared to us by contrast with the exaggerated crinoline andflower-garden bonnet, which had given way to the somewhat milder form ofhoop-skirt madness, but had not yet flown to the opposite extreme in theinvention of the close-fitting _princesse_ garments of 1868. But, to eachother, people looked then as they look now. Fashion in dress, concerningwhich nine-tenths of society gives itself so much trouble, appears toexercise less influence upon men and women in their relations towardseach other than does any other product of human ingenuity. Provided everyone is in the fashion, everything goes on in the age of high heels andgowns tied back precisely as it did five-and-twenty years ago, whenpeople wore flat shoes, and when gloves with three buttons had not beendreamed of--when a woman of most moderate dimensions occupied three orfour square yards of space upon a ball-room floor, and men wore peg-toptrousers. Human beings since the days of Adam seem to have retired likecaterpillars into cocoons of dress, expecting constantly the wondroushour when they shall emerge from their self-woven prison in the garb ofthe angelic butterfly, having entered into the chrysalis state as merehuman grubs. But though they both toil and spin at their garments, andvie with Solomon in his glory to outshine the lily of the field, thehumanity of the grub shows no signs of developing either in character orappearance in the direction of anything particularly angelic. 

It was not the dress of the period which gave to the streets of Rometheir distinctive feature. It would be hard to say, now that so much ischanged, wherein the peculiar charm of the old-time city consisted; butit was there, nevertheless, and made itself felt so distinctly beyond thecharm of any other place, that the very fascination of Rome wasproverbial. Perhaps no spot in Europe has ever possessed such anattractive individuality. In those days there were many foreigners, too, as there are to-day, both residents and visitors; but they seemed tobelong to a different class of humanity. They seemed less inharmonious totheir surroundings then than now, less offensive to the general air ofantiquity. Probably they were more in earnest; they came to Rome with theintention of liking the place, rather than of abusing the cookery in thehotels. They came with a certain knowledge of the history, theliterature, and the manners of the ancients, derived from an educationwhich in those days taught more through the classics and less throughhandy text-books and shallow treatises concerning the Renaissance; theycame with preconceived notions which were often strongly dashed withold-fashioned prejudice, but which did not lack originality: they comenow in the smattering mood, imbued with no genuine beliefs, but coveredwith exceeding thick varnish. Old gentlemen then visited the sights inthe morning, and quoted Horace to each other, and in the eveningendeavoured by associating with Romans to understand something of Rome;young gentlemen now spend one or two mornings in finding fault with thearchitecture of Bramante, and "in the evening, " like David's enemies, "they grin like a dog and run about the city:" young women were contentto find much beauty in the galleries and in the museums, and were simpleenough to admire what they liked; young ladies of the present day canfind nothing to admire except their own perspicacity in detecting faultsin Raphael's drawing or Michael Angelo's colouring. This is the age ofincompetent criticism in matters artistic, and no one is too ignorant tovolunteer an opinion. It is sufficient to have visited half-a-dozenItalian towns, and to have read a few pages of fashionable aestheticliterature--no other education is needed to fit the intelligent youngcritic for his easy task. The art of paradox can be learned in fiveminutes, and practised by any child; it consists chiefly in taking twoexpressions of opinion from different authors, halving them, and unitingthe first half of the one with the second half of the other. The resultis invariably startling, and generally incomprehensible. When a youngsociety critic knows how to be startling and incomprehensible, hisreputation is soon made, for people readily believe that what they cannotunderstand is profound, and anything which astonishes is agreeable to ataste deadened by a surfeit of spices. But in 1865 the taste of Europewas in a very different state. The Second Empire was in its glory. M. Emile Zola had not written his 'Assommoir. ' Count Bismarck had onlyjust brought to a successful termination the first part of his trimachy;Sadowa and Sedan were yet unfought. Garibaldi had won Naples, and Cavourhad said, "If we did for ourselves what we are doing for Italy, we shouldbe great scoundrels;" but Garibaldi had not yet failed at Mentana, norhad Austria ceded Venice. Cardinal Antonelli had yet ten years of lifebefore him in which to maintain his gallant struggle for the remnant ofthe temporal power; Pius IX. Was to live thirteen years longer, just longenough to outlive by one month the "honest king, " Victor Emmanuel. Antonelli's influence pervaded Rome, and to a great extent all theCatholic Courts of Europe; yet he was far from popular with the Romans. The Jesuits, however, were even less popular than he, and certainlyreceived a much larger share of abuse. For the Romans love faction morethan party, and understand it better; so that popular opinion is toofrequently represented by a transitory frenzy, violent and pestilentwhile it lasts, utterly insignificant when it has spent its fury. 

But Rome in those days was peopled solely by Romans, whereas now a largeproportion of the population consists of Italians from the north andsouth, who have been attracted to the capital by many interests--races asdifferent from its former citizens as Germans or Spaniards, andunfortunately not disposed to show overmuch good-fellowship orloving-kindness to the original inhabitants. The Roman is a grumbler bynature, but he is also a "peace-at-any-price" man. Politicians andrevolutionary agents have more than once been deceived by these traits, supposing that because the Roman grumbled he really desired change, butrealising too late, when the change has been begun, that that same Romanis but a lukewarm partisan. The Papal Government repressed grumbling as anuisance, and the people consequently took a delight in annoying theauthorities by grumbling in secret places and calling themselvesconspirators. The harmless whispering of petty discontent was mistaken bythe Italian party for the low thunder of a smothered volcano; but, thechange being brought about, the Italians find to their disgust that theRoman meant nothing by his murmurings, and that he now not only stillgrumbles at everything, but takes the trouble to fight the Government atevery point which concerns the internal management of the city. In thedays before the change, a paternal Government directed the affairs of thelittle State, and thought it best to remove all possibility of strife bygiving the grumblers no voice in public or economic matters. Thegrumblers made a grievance of tins; and then, as soon as the grievancehad been redressed, they redoubled their complaints and retrenchedthemselves within the infallibility of inaction, on the principle thatmen who persist in doing nothing cannot possibly do wrong. 

Those were the days, too, of the old school of artists--men who, if theirpowers of creation were not always proportioned to their ambition forexcellence, were as superior to their more recent successors in theirpure conceptions of what art should be as Apelles was to the Pompeianwall-painters, and as the Pompeians were to modern house-decorators. Theage of Overbeck and the last religious painters was almost past, but theage of fashionable artistic debauchery had hardly begun. Water-colourwas in its infancy; wood-engraving was hardly yet a great profession;but the "Dirty Boy" had not yet taken a prize at Paris, nor had indecencybecome a fine art. The French school had not demonstrated the startlingdistinction between the nude and the naked, nor had the English schooldreamed nightmares of anatomical distortion. 

Darwin's theories had been propagated, but had not yet been passed intolaw, and very few Romans had heard of them; still less had any one beenfound to assert that the real truth of these theories would be soondemonstrated retrogressively by the rapid degeneration of men into apes, while apes would hereafter have cause to congratulate themselves upon nothaving developed into men. Many theories also were then enjoying vastpopularity which have since fallen low in the popular estimation. Prussiawas still, in theory, a Power of the second class, and the empire ofLouis Napoleon was supposed to possess elements of stability. The greatcivil war in the United States had just been fought, and people stilldoubted whether the republic would hold together. It is hard to recallthe common beliefs of those times. A great part of the political creed oftwenty years ago seems now a mass of idiotic superstition, in no wisepreferable, as Macaulay would have said, to the Egyptian worship of catsand onions. Nevertheless, then, as now, men met together secretly incellars and dens, as well as in drawing-rooms and clubs, and whisperedtogether, and said their theories were worth something, and ought to betried. The word republic possessed then, as now, a delicious attractionfor people who had grievances; and although, after the conquest ofNaples, Garibaldi had made a sort of public abjuration of republicanprinciples, so far as Italy was concerned, the plotters of all classespersisted in coupling his name with the idea of a commonwealth erected onthe plan of "sois mon frère ou je te tue. " Profound silence on the partof Governments, and a still more guarded secrecy on the part ofconspiring bodies, were practised as the very first principle of allpolitical operations. No copyist, at half-a-crown an hour, had yetbetrayed the English Foreign Office; and it had not dawned upon theclouded intellects of European statesmen that deliberate nationalperjury, accompanied by public meetings of sovereigns, and much blare ofmany trumpets, could be practised with such triumphant success as eventshave since shown. In the beginning of the year 1865 people crossed theAlps in carriages; the Suez Canal had not been opened; the first Atlanticcable was not laid; German unity had not been invented; Pius IX. Reignedin the Pontifical States; Louis Napoleon was the idol of the French;President Lincoln had not been murdered, --is anything needed to widen thegulf which separates those times from these? The difference between theStates of the world in 1865 and in 1885 is nearly as great as that whichdivided the Europe of 1789 from the Europe of 1814. 

But my business is with Rome, and not with Europe at large. I intend totell the story of certain persons, of their good and bad fortune, theiradventures, and the complications in which they found themselves placedduring a period of about twenty years. The people of whom I tell thisstory are chiefly patricians; and in the first part of their history theyhave very little to do with any but their own class--a class peculiar andalmost unique in the world. 

Speaking broadly, there is no one at once so thoroughly Roman and sothoroughly non-Roman as the Roman noble. This is no paradox, no play onwords. Roman nobles are Roman by education and tradition; by blood theyare almost cosmopolitans. The practice of intermarrying with the greatfamilies of the rest of Europe is so general as to be almost a rule. OneRoman prince is an English peer; most of the Roman princes are grandeesof Spain; many of them have married daughters of great French houses, ofreigning German princes, of ex-kings and ex-queens. In one princely housealone are found the following combinations: There are three brothers: theeldest married first the daughter of a great English peer, and secondlythe daughter of an even greater peer of Prance; the second brothermarried first a German "serene highness, " and secondly the daughter of agreat Hungarian noble; the third brother married the daughter of a Frenchhouse of royal Stuart descent. This is no solitary instance. A score offamilies might be cited who, by constant foreign marriages, have almosteliminated from their blood the original Italian element; and this greatintermixture of races may account for the strangely un-Italian types thatare found among them, for the undying vitality which seems to animateraces already a thousand years old, and above all, for a very remarkablecosmopolitanism which pervades Roman society. A set of people whose nearrelations are socially prominent in every capital of Europe, could hardlybe expected to have anything provincial about them in appearance ormanners; still less can they be considered to be types of their ownnation. And yet such is the force of tradition, of the patriarchal familylife, of the early surroundings in which are placed these children of amixed race, that they acquire from their earliest years the unmistakableoutward manner of Romans, the broad Roman speech, and a sort of clannishand federative spirit which has not its like in the same class anywherein Europe. They grow up together, go to school together, go together intothe world, and together discuss all the social affairs of their nativecity. Not a house is bought or sold, not a hundred francs won at écarté, not a marriage contract made, without being duly considered and commentedupon by the whole of society. And yet, though there is much gossip, thereis little scandal; there was even less twenty years ago than there isnow--not, perhaps, because the increment of people attracted to the newcapital have had any bad influence, but simply because the city has grownmuch larger, and in some respects has outgrown a certain simplicity ofmanners it once possessed, and which was its chief safeguard. For, inspite of a vast number of writers of all nations who have attempted todescribe Italian life, and who, from an imperfect acquaintance with thepeople, have fallen into the error of supposing them to live perpetuallyin a highly complicated state of mind, the foundation of the Italiancharacter is simple--far more so than that of his hereditary antagonist, the northern European. It is enough to notice that the Italian habituallyexpresses what he feels, while it is the chief pride of Northern men thatwhatever they may feel they express nothing. The chief object of mostItalians is to make life agreeable; the chief object of the Teutonicraces is to make it profitable. Hence the Italian excels in the art ofpleasing, and in pleasing by means of the arts; whereas the Northern manis pre-eminent in the faculty of producing wealth under anycircumstances, and when he has amassed enough possessions to think ofenjoying his leisure, has generally been under the necessity of employingSouthern art as a means to that end. But Southern simplicity carried toits ultimate expression leads not uncommonly to startling results; for itis not generally a satisfaction to an Italian to be paid a sum of moneyas damages for an injury done. When his enemy has harmed him, he desiresthe simple retribution afforded by putting his enemy to death, and hefrequently exacts it by any means that he finds ready to his hand. Beingsimple, he reflects little, and often acts with violence. The Northernmind, capable of vast intricacy of thought, seeks to combine revenge ofinjury with personal profit, and in a spirit of cold, far-sightedcalculation, reckons up the advantages to be got by sacrificing an innatedesire for blood to a civilised greed of money. 

Dr. Johnson would have liked the Romans--for in general they are goodlovers and good haters, whatever faults they may have. The patriarchalsystem, which was all but universal twenty years ago, and is only nowbeginning to yield to more modern institutions of life, tends to fosterthe passions of love and hate. Where father and mother sit at the headand foot of the table, their sons with their wives and their childreneach in his or her place, often to the number of twenty souls--all livingunder one roof, one name, and one bond of family unity--there is likelyto be a great similarity of feeling upon all questions of family pride, especially among people who discuss everything with vehemence, fromEuropean politics to the family cook. They may bicker and squabble amongthemselves, --and they frequently do, --but in their outward relations withthe world they act as one individual, and the enemy of one is the enemyof all; for the pride of race and name is very great. There is a familyin Rome who, since the memory of man, have not failed to dine togethertwice every week, and there are now more than thirty persons who taketheir places at the patriarchal board. No excuse can be pleaded forabsence, and no one would think of violating the rule. Whether such amode of life is good or not is a matter of opinion; it is, at all events, a fact, and one not generally understood or even known by persons whomake studies of Italian character. Free and constant discussion of allmanner of topics should certainly tend to widen the intelligence; but, onthe other hand, where the dialecticians are all of one race, and name, and blood, the practice may often merely lead to an undue development ofprejudice. In Rome, particularly, where so many families take a distinctcharacter from the influence of a foreign mother, the opinions of a houseare associated with its mere name. Casa Borghese thinks so and so, CasaColonna has diametrically opposite views, while Casa Altieri may differwholly from both; and in connection with most subjects the mere namesBorghese, Altieri, Colonna, are associated in the minds of Romans of allclasses with distinct sets of principles and ideas, with distinct typesof character, and with distinctly different outward and visible signs ofrace. Some of these conditions exist among the nobility of othercountries, but not, I believe, to the same extent. In Germany, thearistocratic body takes a certain uniform hue, so to speak, from thearmy, in which it plays so important a part, and the patriarchal systemis broken up by the long absences from the ancestral home of thesoldier-sons. In France, the main divisions of republicans, monarchists, and imperialists have absorbed and unified the ideas and principles oflarge bodies of families into bodies politic. In England, the practice ofallowing younger sons to shift for themselves, and the division of thewhole aristocracy into two main political parties, destroy thepatriarchal spirit; while it must also be remembered, that at a periodwhen in Italy the hand of every house was against its neighbour, and thestruggles of Guelph and Ghibelline were but an excuse for the prosecutionof private feuds, England was engaged in great wars which enlisted vastbodies of men under a common standard for a common principle. Whetherthe principle involved chanced to be that of English domination inFrance, or whether men flocked to the standards of the White Rose of Yorkor the Red Rose of Lancaster, was of little importance; the result wasthe same, --the tendency of powerful families to maintain internecinetraditional feuds was stamped out, or rather was absorbed in themaintenance of the perpetual feud between the great principles of Toryand Whig--of the party for the absolute monarch, and the party for thefreedom of the people. 

Be the causes what they may, the Roman nobility has many characteristicspeculiar to it and to no other aristocracy. It is cosmopolitan by itsforeign marriages, renewed in every generation; it is patriarchal andfeudal by its own unbroken traditions of family life; and it is onlyessentially Roman by its speech and social customs. It has undergonegreat vicissitudes during twenty years; but most of these features remainin spite of new and larger parties, new and bitter political hatreds, newideas of domestic life, and new fashions in dress and cookery. 

In considering an account of the life of Giovanni Saracinesca from thetime when, in 1865, he was thirty years of age, down to the present day, it is therefore just that he should be judged with a knowledge of some ofthese peculiarities of his class. He is not a Roman of the people likeGiovanni Cardegna, the great tenor, and few of his ideas have anyconnection with those of the singer; but he has, in common with him, thatsingular simplicity of character which he derives from his Roman descentupon the male side, and in which will be found the key to many of hisactions both good and bad--a simplicity which loves peace, but cannotalways refrain from sudden violence, which loves and hates strongly andto some purpose. 

CHAPTER II. 

The hour was six o'clock, and the rooms of the Embassy were as full asthey were likely to be that day. There would doubtless have been morepeople had the weather been fine; but it was raining heavily, and below, in the vast court that formed the centre of the palace, the lamps offifty carriages gleamed through the water and the darkness, and thecoachmen, of all dimensions and characters, sat beneath their hugeumbrellas and growled to each other, envying the lot of the footmen whowere congregated in the ante-chamber up-stairs around the great bronzebraziers. But in the reception-rooms there was much light and warmth;there were bright fires and softly shaded lamps; velvet-footed servantsstealing softly among the guests, with immense burdens of tea and cake;men of more or less celebrity chatting about politics in corners; womenof more or less beauty gossiping over their tea, or flirting, or wishingthey had somebody to flirt with; people of many nations and ideas, witha goodly leaven of Romans. They all seemed endeavouring to get away fromthe men and women of their own nationality, in order to amuse themselveswith the difficulties of conversation in languages not their own. Whetherthey amused themselves or not is of small importance; but as they wereall willing to find themselves together twice a-day for the five monthsof the Roman season--from the first improvised dance before Christmas, to the last set ball in the warm April weather after Easter--it may beargued that they did not dislike each other's society. In case theafternoon should seem dull, his Excellency had engaged the services ofSignor Strillone, the singer. From time to time he struck a few chordsupon the grand piano, and gave forth a song of his own composition inloud and passionate tones, varied with, very sudden effects of extremepianissimo, which occasionally surprised some one who was trying to makehis conversation heard above the music. 

There was a little knot of people standing about the door of the greatdrawing-room. Some of them were watching their opportunity to slip awayunperceived; others had just arrived, and were making a survey of thescene to ascertain the exact position of their Excellencies, and of thepersons they most desired to avoid, before coming forward. Suddenly, justas Signor Strillone had reached a high note and was preparing to bellowupon it before letting his voice die away to a pathetic falsetto, thecrowd at the door parted a little. A lady entered the room alone, andstood out before the rest, pausing till the singer should have passed theclimax of his song, before she proceeded upon her way. She was a verystriking woman; every one knew who she was, every one looked towards her, and the little murmur that went round the room was due to her entrancerather than to Signor Strillone's high note. 

The Duchessa d'Astrardente stood still, and quietly looked about her. Aminister, two secretaries, and three or four princes sprang towards her, each with a chair in hand; but she declined each offer, nodding to one, thanking another by name, and exchanging a few words with a third. Shewould not sit down; she had not yet spoken to the ambassadress. 

Two men followed her closely as she crossed the room when the song wasfinished. One was a fair man of five-and-thirty, rather stout, andelaborately dressed. He trod softly and carried his hat behind him, whilehe leaned a little forward in his walk. There was something unpleasantabout his face, caused perhaps by his pale complexion and almostcolourless moustache; his blue eyes were small and near together, and hada watery, undecided look; his thin fair hair was parted in the middleover his low forehead; there was a scornful look about his mouth, thoughhalf concealed by the moustache; and his chin retreated rather abruptlyfrom his lower lip. On the other hand, he was dressed with extreme care, and his manner showed no small confidence in himself as he pushedforwards, keeping as close as he could to the Duchessa. He had the airof being thoroughly at home in his surroundings. 

Ugo del Ferice was indeed rarely disconcerted, and his self-reliance wasmost probably one chief cause of his success. He was a man who performedthe daily miracle of creating everything for himself out of nothing. Hisfather had barely been considered a member of the lower nobility, although he always called himself "dei conti del Ferice"--of the familyof the counts of his name; but where or when the Conti del Ferice hadlived, was a question he never was able to answer satisfactorily. He hadmade a little money, and had squandered most of it before he died, leaving the small remainder to his only son, who had spent every scudo ofit in the first year. But to make up for the exiguity of his financialresources, Ugo had from his youth obtained social success. He had begunlife by boldly calling himself "Il conte del Ferice. " No one had everthought it worth while to dispute him the title; and as he had hithertonot succeeded in conferring it upon any dowered damsel, the question ofhis countship was left unchallenged. He had made many acquaintances inthe college where he had been educated; for his father had paid forhis schooling in the Collegio dei Nobili, and that in itself was apassport--for as the lad grew to the young man, he zealously cultivatedthe society of his old school-fellows, and by wisely avoiding all othercompany, acquired a right to be considered one of themselves. He was verycivil and obliging in his youth, and had in that way acquired a certainreputation for being indispensable, which had stood him in good stead. No one asked whether he had paid his tailor's bill; or whether uponcertain conditions, his tailor supplied him with raiment gratis. He wasalways elaborately dressed, he was always ready to take a hand at cards, and he was always invited to every party in the season. He had cultivatedwith success the science of amusing, and people asked him to dinner inthe winter, and to their country houses in the summer. He had been seenin Paris, and was often seen at Monte Carlo; but his real home andhunting-ground was Rome, where he knew every one and every one knew him. He had made one or two fruitless attempts to marry young women ofAmerican extraction and large fortune; he had not succeeded in satisfyingthe paternal mind in regard to guarantees, and had consequently beenworsted in his endeavours. Last summer, however, it appeared that he hadbeen favoured with an increase of fortune. He gave out that an old uncleof his, who had settled in the south of Italy, had died, leaving him amodest competence; and while assuming a narrow band of _crêpe_ upon hishat, he had adopted also a somewhat more luxurious mode of living. Instead of going about on foot or in cabs, he kept a very small coupé, with a very small horse and a diminutive coachman: the whole turn-out wasvery quiet in appearance, but very serviceable withal. Ugo sometimes woretoo much jewellery; but his bad taste, if so it could be called, did notextend to the modest equipage. People accepted the story of the deceaseduncle, and congratulated Ugo, whose pale face assumed on such occasionsa somewhat deprecating smile. "A few scudi, " he would answer--"a verysmall competence; but what would you have? I need so little--it is enoughfor me. " Nevertheless people who knew him well warned him that he wasgrowing stout. 

The other man who followed the Duchessa d'Astrardente across thedrawing-room was of a different type. Don Giovanni Saracinesca wasneither very tall nor remarkably handsome, though in the matter of hisbeauty opinion varied greatly. He was very dark--almost as dark for aman as the Duchessa was for a woman. He was strongly built, but verylean, and his features stood out in bold and sharp relief from thesetting of his short black hair and pointed beard. His nose was perhaps alittle large for his face, and the unusual brilliancy of his eyes gavehim an expression of restless energy; there was something noble in theshaping of his high square forehead and in the turn of his sinewy throat. His hands were broad and brown, but nervous and well knit, with straightlong fingers and squarely cut nails. Many women said Don Giovanni wasthe handsomest man in Rome; others said he was too dark or too thin, andthat his face was hard and his features ugly. There was a greatdifference of opinion in regard to his appearance. Don Giovanni was notmarried, but there were few marriageable women in Rome who would not havebeen overjoyed to become his wife. But hitherto he had hesitated--or, tospeak more accurately, he had not hesitated at all in his celibacy. Hisconduct in refusing to marry had elicited much criticism, little of whichhad reached his ears. He cared not much for what his friends said to him, and not at all for the opinion of the world at large, in consequence ofwhich state of mind people often said he was selfish--a view takenextensively by elderly princesses with unmarried daughters, and even byDon Giovanni's father and only near relation, the old Prince Saracinesca, who earnestly desired to see his name perpetuated. Indeed Giovanni wouldhave made a good husband, for he was honest and constant by nature, courteous by disposition, and considerate by habit and experience. Hisreputation for wildness rested rather upon his taste for dangerousamusements than upon such scandalous adventures as made up the lives ofmany of his contemporaries. But to all matrimonial proposals he answeredthat he was barely thirty years of age, that he had plenty of time beforehim, that he had not yet seen the woman whom he would be willing tomarry, and that he intended to please himself. 

The Duchessa d'Astrardente made her speech to her hostess and passed on, still followed by the two men; but they now approached her, one on eachside, and endeavoured to engage her attention. Apparently she intended tobe impartial, for she sat down in the middle one of three chairs, andmotioned to her two companions to seat themselves also, which theyimmediately did, whereby they became for the moment the two mostimportant men in the room. 

Corona d'Astrardente was a very dark woman. In all the Southern landthere were no eyes so black as hers, no cheeks of such a warm dark-olivetint, no tresses of such raven hue. But if she was not fair, she was verybeautiful; there was a delicacy in her regular features that artists saidwas matchless; her mouth, not small, but generous and nobly cut, showedperhaps more strength, more even determination, than most men like to seein women's faces; but in the exquisitely moulded nostrils there lurkedmuch sensitiveness and the expression of much courage; and the level browand straight-cut nose were in their clearness as an earnest of the noblethoughts that were within, and that so often spoke from the depths of hersplendid eyes. She was not a scornful beauty, though her face couldexpress scorn well enough. Where another woman would have shown disdain, she needed but to look grave, and her silence did the rest. She wieldedmagnificent weapons, and wielded them nobly, as she did all things. Sheneeded all her strength, too, for her position from the first was noteasy. She had few troubles, but they were great ones, and she borethem bravely. 

One may well ask why Corona del Carmine had married the old man who washer husband--the broken-down and worn-out dandy of sixty, whose careerwas so well known, and whose doings had been as scandalous as his ancientname was famous in the history of his country. Her marriage was in itselfalmost a tragedy. It matters little to know how it came about; sheaccepted Astrardente with his dukedom, his great wealth, and his evilpast, on the day when she left the convent where she had been educated;she did it to save her father from ruin, almost from starvation; she was seventeen, years of age; she was told that the world was bad, andshe resolved to begin her life by a heroic sacrifice; she took thestep heroically, and no human being had ever heard her complain. Fiveyears had elapsed since then, and her father--for whom she had given allshe had, herself, her beauty, her brave heart, and her hopes ofhappiness--her old father, whom she so loved, was dead, the last of hisrace, saving only this beautiful but childless daughter. What shesuffered now--whether she suffered at all--no man knew. There had been awild burst of enthusiasm when she appeared first in society, a universalcry that it was a sin and a shame. But the cynics who had said she wouldconsole herself had been obliged to own their worldly wisdom at fault;the men of all sorts who had lost their hearts to her were ignominiouslydriven in course of time to find them again elsewhere. Amid all theexcitement of the first two years of her life in the world, Corona hadmoved calmly upon her way, wrapped in the perfect dignity of hercharacter; and the old Duca d'Astrardente had smiled and played with thecurled locks of his wonderful wig, and had told every one that his wifewas the one woman in the universe who was above suspicion. People hadlaughed incredulously at first; but as time wore on they held theirpeace, tacitly acknowledging that the aged fop was right as usual, butswearing in their hearts that it was the shame of shames to see thenoblest woman in their midst tied to such a wretched remnant ofdissipated humanity as the Duca d'Astrardente. Corona went everywhere, like other people; she received in her own house a vast number ofacquaintances; there were a few friends who came and went much as theypleased, and some of them were young; but there was never a breath ofscandal breathed about the Duchessa. She was indeed above suspicion. 

She sat now between two men who were evidently anxious to please her. Theposition was not new; she was, as usual, to talk to both, and yet to showno preference for either. And yet she had a preference, and in her heartshe knew it was a strong one. It was by no means indifferent to her whichof those two men left her side and which remained. She was abovesuspicion--yes, above the suspicion of any human being besides herself, as she had been for five long years. She knew that had her husbandentered the room and passed that way, he would have nodded to GiovanniSaracinesca as carelessly as though Giovanni had been his wife'sbrother--as carelessly as he would have noticed Ugo del Ferice upon herother side. But in her own heart she knew that there was but one face inall Rome she loved to see, but one voice she loved, and dreaded too, forit had the power to make her life seem unreal, till she wondered how longit would last, and whether there would ever be any change. The differencebetween Giovanni and other men had always been apparent. Others would sitbeside her and make conversation, and then occasionally would makespeeches she did not care to hear, would talk to her of love--somepraising it as the only thing worth living for, some with affectedcynicism scoffing at it as the greatest of unrealities, contradictingthemselves a moment later in some passionate declaration to herself. Whenthey were foolish, she laughed at them; when they went too far, shequietly rose and left them. Such experiences had grown rare of late, forshe had earned the reputation of being cold and unmoved, and thatprotected her. But Giovanni had never talked like the rest of them. Henever mentioned the old, worn subjects that the others harped upon. Shewould not have found it easy to say what he talked about, for he talkedindifferently about many subjects. She was not sure whether he spent moretime with her when in society than with other women; she reflected thathe was not so brilliant as many men she knew, not so talkative as themajority of men she met; she knew only--and it was the thing she mostbitterly reproached herself with--that she preferred his face above allother faces, and his voice beyond all voices. It never entered her headto think that she loved him; it was bad enough in her simple creed thatthere should be any man whom she would rather see than not, and whom shemissed when he did not approach her. She was a very strong and loyalwoman, who had sacrificed herself to a man who knew the world verythoroughly, who in the thoroughness of his knowledge was able to see thatthe world is not all bad, and who, in spite of all his evil deeds, wasproud of his wife's loyalty. Astrardente had made a bargain when hemarried Corona; but he was a wise man in his generation, and he knew andvalued her when he had got her. He knew the precise dangers to which shewas exposed, and he was not so cruel as to expose her to them willingly. He had at first watched keenly the effect produced upon her by conversingwith men of all sorts in the world, and among others he had noticedGiovanni; but he had come to the conclusion that his wife was equal toany situation in which she might be placed. Moreover, Giovanni was not an_habitué_ at the Palazzo Astrardente, and showed none of the usual signsof anxiety to please the Duchessa. 

From the time when Corona began to notice her own predilection forSaracinesca, she had been angry with herself for it, and she tried toavoid him; at all events, she gave him no idea that she liked himespecially. Her husband, who at first had delivered many lectures on thesubject of behaviour in the world, had especially warned her againstshowing any marked coldness to a man she wished to shun. "Men, " said he, "are accustomed to that; they regard it as the first indication that awoman is really interested; when you want to get rid of a man, treat himsystematically as you treat everybody, and he will be wounded at yourindifference and go away. " But Giovanni did not go, and Corona began towonder whether she ought not to do something to break the interest shefelt in him. 

At the present moment she wanted a cup of tea. She would have liked tosend Ugo del Ferice for it; she did what she thought least pleasant toherself, and she sent Giovanni. The servants who were serving therefreshments had all left the room, and Saracinesca went in pursuit ofthem. As soon as he was gone Del Ferice spoke. His voice was soft, andhad an insinuating tone in it. 

"They are saying that Don Giovanni is to be married, " he remarked, watching the Duchessa from the corners of his eyes as he indifferentlydelivered himself of his news. 

The Duchessa was too dark a woman to show emotion easily. Perhaps she didnot believe the story; her eyes fixed themselves on some distant objectin the room, as though she were intensely interested in something shesaw, and she paused before she answered. 

"That is news indeed, if it is true. And whom is he going to marry?"

"Donna Tullia Mayer, the widow of the financier. She is immensely rich, and is some kind of cousin of the Saracinesca. "

"How strange!" exclaimed Corona. "I was just looking at her. Is not thatshe over there, with the green feathers?"

"Yes, " answered Del Ferice, looking in the direction the Duchessaindicated. "That is she. One may know her at a vast distance by herdress. But it is not all settled yet. "

"Then one cannot congratulate Don Giovanni to-day?" asked the Duchessa, facing her interlocutor rather suddenly. 

"No, " he answered; "it is perhaps better not to speak to him about it. "

"It is as well that you warned me, for I would certainly have spoken. "

"I do not imagine that Saracinesca likes to talk of his affairs of theheart, " said Del Ferice, with considerable gravity. "But here he comes. Ihad hoped he would have taken even longer to get that cup of tea. "

"It was long enough for you to tell your news, " answered Corona quietly, as Don Giovanni came up. 

"What is the news?" asked he, as he sat down beside her. 

"Only an engagement that is not yet announced, " answered the Duchessa. "Del Ferice has the secret; perhaps he will tell you. "

Giovanni glanced across her at the fair pale man, whose fat face, however, expressed nothing. Seeing he was not enlightened, Saracinescacivilly turned the subject. 

"Are you going to the meet to-morrow, Duchessa?" he asked. 

"That depends upon the weather and upon the Duke, " she answered. "Are yougoing to follow?"

"Of course. What a pity it is that you do not ride!"

"It seems such an unnatural thing to see a woman hunting, " remarked DelFerice, who remembered to have heard the Duchessa say something of thekind, and was consequently sure that she would agree with him. 

"You do not ride yourself, " said Don Giovanni, shortly. "That is thereason you do not approve of it for ladies. "

"I am not rich enough to hunt, " said Ugo, modestly. "Besides, the otherreason is a good one; for when ladies hunt I am deprived of theirsociety. "

The Duchessa laughed slightly. She never felt less like laughing in herlife, and yet it was necessary to encourage the conversation. Giovannidid not abandon the subject. 

"It will be a beautiful meet, " he said. "Many people are going out forthe first time this year. There is a man here who has brought his horsesfrom England. I forget his name--a rich Englishman. "

"I have met him, " said Del Ferice, who was proud of knowing everybody. "He is a type--enormously rich--a lord--I cannot pronounce his name--notmarried either. He will make a sensation in society. He won races inParis last year, and they say he will enter one of his hunters for thesteeplechases here at Easter. "

"That is a great inducement to go to the meet, to see this Englishman, "said the Duchessa rather wearily, as she leaned back in her chair. Giovanni was silent, but showed no intention of going. Del Ferice, withan equal determination to stay, chattered vivaciously. 

"Don Giovanni is quite right, " he continued. "Every one is going. Therewill be two or three drags. Madame Mayer has induced Valdarno to have outhis four-in-hand, and to take her and a large party. "

The Duchessa did not hear the remainder of Del Ferice's speech, for atthe mention of Donna Tullia--now commonly called Madame Mayer--sheinstinctively turned and looked at Giovanni. He, too, had caught thename, though he was not listening in the least to Ugo's chatter; and ashe met Corona's eyes he moved uneasily, as much as to say he wished thefellow would stop talking. A moment later Del Ferice rose from his seat;he had seen Donna Tullia passing near, and thought the opportunityfavourable for obtaining an invitation to join the party on the drag. With a murmured excuse which Corona did not hear, he went in pursuit ofhis game. 

"I thought he was never going, " said Giovanni, moodily. He was not in thehabit of posing as the rival of any one who happened to be talking to theDuchessa. He had never said anything of the kind before, and Coronaexperienced a new sensation, not altogether unpleasant. She looked at himin some surprise. 

"Do you not like Del Ferice?" she inquired, gravely. 

"Do you like him yourself?" he asked in reply. 

"What a question! Why should I like or dislike any one?" There wasperhaps the smallest shade of bitterness in her voice as she asked thequestion she had so often asked herself. Why should she like GiovanniSaracinesca, for instance?

"I do not know what the world would be like if we had no likes anddislikes, " said Giovanni, suddenly. "It would be a poor place; perhaps itis only a poor place at best. I merely wondered whether Del Ferice amusedyou as he amuses everybody. "

"Well then, frankly, he has not amused me to-day, " answered Corona, witha smile. 

"Then you are glad he is gone?"

"I do not regret it. "

"Duchessa, " said Giovanni, suddenly changing his position, "I am glad heis gone, because I want to ask you a question. Do I know you well enoughto ask you a question?"

"It depends--" Corona felt the blood rise suddenly to her dark forehead. Her hands burned intensely in her gloves. The anticipation of somethingshe had never heard made her heart beat uncontrollably in her breast. 

"It is only about myself, " continued Giovanni, in low tones. He had seenthe blush, so rare a sight that there was not another man in Rome who hadseen it. He had not time to think what it meant. "It is only aboutmyself, " he went on. "My father wants me to marry; he insists that Ishould marry Donna Tullia--Madame Mayer. "

"Well?" asked Corona. She shivered; a moment before, she had beenoppressed with the heat. Her monosyllabic question was low andindistinct. She wondered whether Giovanni could hear the beatings of herheart, so slow, so loud they almost deafened her. 

"Simply this. Do you advise me to marry her?"

"Why do you ask me, of all people?" asked Corona, faintly. 

"I would like to have your advice, " said Giovanni, twisting his brownhands together and fixing his bright eyes upon her face. 

"She is young yet. She is handsome--she is fabulously rich. Why shouldyou not marry her? Would she make you happy?"

"Happy? Happy with her? No indeed. Do you think life would be bearablewith such a woman?"

"I do not know. Many men would marry her if they could--"

"Then you think I should?" asked Giovanni. Corona hesitated; she couldnot understand why she should care, and yet she was conscious that therehad been no such struggle in her life since the day she had blindlyresolved to sacrifice herself to her father's wishes in acceptingAstrardente. Still there could be no doubt what she should say: how couldshe advise any one to marry without the prospect of the happiness she hadnever had?

"Will you not give me your counsel?" repeated Saracinesca. He had grownvery pale, and spoke with such earnestness that Corona hesitated nolonger. 

"I would certainly advise you to think no more about it, if you are surethat you cannot be happy with her. "

Giovanni drew a long breath, the blood returned to his face, and hishands unlocked themselves. 

"I will think no more about it, " he said. "Heaven bless you for youradvice, Duchessa!"

"Heaven grant I have advised you well!" said Corona, almost inaudibly. "How cold this house is! Will you put down my cup of tea? Let us go nearthe fire; Strillone is going to sing again. "

"I would like him to sing a 'Nune dimittis, Domine, ' for me, " murmuredGiovanni, whose eyes were filled with a strange light. 

Half an hour later Corona d'Astrardente went down the steps of theEmbassy wrapped in her furs and preceded by her footman. As she reachedthe bottom Giovanni Saracinesca came swiftly down and joined her asher carriage drove up out of the dark courtyard. The footman opened thedoor, but Giovanni put out his hand to help Corona to mount the step. Shelaid her small gloved fingers upon the sleeve of his overcoat, and as shesprang lightly in she thought his arm trembled. 

"Good night, Duchessa; I am very grateful to you, " he said. 

"Good night; why should you be grateful?" she asked, almost sadly. 

Giovanni did not answer, but stood hat in hand as the great carriagerolled out under the arch. Then he buttoned his greatcoat, and went outalone into the dark and muddy streets. The rain had ceased, buteverything was wet, and the broad pavements gleamed under the uncertainlight of the flickering gas-lamps. 

CHAPTER III. 

The palace of the Saracinesca is in an ancient quarter of Rome, farremoved from the broad white streets of mushroom dwelling-houses andmachine-laid macadam; far from the foreigners' region, the varnish of thefashionable shops, the whirl of brilliant equipages, and the scream ofthe newsvendor. The vast irregular buildings are built around threecourtyards, and face on all sides upon narrow streets. The first sixteenfeet, up to the heavily ironed windows of the lower storey, consist ofgreat blocks of stone, worn at the corners and scored along their lengthby the battering of ages, by the heavy carts that from time immemorialhave found the way too narrow and have ground their iron axles againstthe massive masonry. Of the three enormous arched gates that give accessto the interior from different sides, one is closed by an iron grating, another by huge doors studded with iron bolts, and the third alone isusually open as an entrance. A tall old porter used to stand there in along livery-coat and a cocked-hat; on holidays he appeared in thetraditional garb of the Parisian "Suisse, " magnificent in silk stockingsand a heavily laced coat of dark green, leaning upon his tall mace--aconstant object of wonder to the small boys of the quarter. He trimmedhis white beard in imitation of his master's--broad and square--and hiswords were few and to the point. 

No one was ever at home in the Palazzo Saracinesca in those days; therewere no ladies in the house; it was a man's establishment, and there wassomething severely masculine in the air of the gloomy courtyardssurrounded by dark archways, where not a single plant or bit of colourrelieved the ancient stone. The pavement was clean and well kept, a newflagstone here and there showing that some care was bestowed uponmaintaining it in good repair; but for any decoration there was to befound in the courts, the place might have been a fortress, as indeed itonce was. The owners, father and son, lived in their ancestral home in asort of solemn magnificence that savoured of feudal times. Giovanni wasthe only son of five-and-twenty years of wedlock. His mother had beenolder than his father, and had now been dead some time. She had been astern dark woman, and had lent no feminine touch of grace to the palacewhile she lived in it, her melancholic temper rather rejoicing in thesepulchral gloom that hung over the house. The Saracinesca had alwaysbeen a manly race, preferring strength to beauty, and the reality ofpower to the amenities of comfort. 

Giovanni walked home from the afternoon reception at the Embassy. Histemper seemed to crave the bleak wet air of the cold streets, and he didnot hurry himself. He intended to dine at home that evening, and heanticipated some kind of disagreement with his father. The two men weretoo much alike not to be congenial, but too combative by nature to carefor eternal peace. On the present occasion it was likely that there wouldbe a struggle, for Giovanni had made up his mind not to marry MadameMayer, and his father was equally determined that he should marry her atonce: both were singularly strong men, singularly tenacious of theiropinions. 

At precisely seven o'clock father and son entered from different doorsthe small sitting-room in which they generally met, and they had nosooner entered than dinner was announced. Two words might suffice for thedescription of old Prince Saracinesca--he was an elder edition of hisson. Sixty years of life had not bent his strong frame nor dimmed thebrilliancy of his eyes, but his hair and beard were snowy white. He wasbroader in the shoulder and deeper in the chest than Giovanni, but ofthe same height, and well proportioned still, with little tendency tostoutness. He was to all appearance precisely what his son would be athis age--keen and vigorous, the stern lines of his face grown deeper, andhis very dark eyes and complexion made more noticeable by the dazzlingwhiteness of his hair and broad square beard--the same type in adifferent stage of development. 

The dinner was served with a certain old-fashioned magnificence which hasgrown rare in Rome. There was old plate and old china upon the table, oldcut glass of the diamond pattern, and an old butler who moved noiselesslyabout in the performance of the functions he had exercised in the sameroom for forty years, and which his father had exercised there beforehim. Prince Saracinesca and Don Giovanni sat on opposite sides of theround table, now and then exchanging a few words. 

"I was caught in the rain this afternoon, " remarked the Prince. 

"I hope you will not have a cold, " replied his son, civilly. "Why do youwalk in such weather?"

"And you--why do you walk?" retorted his father. "Are you less likely totake cold than I am? I walk because I have always walked. "

"That is an excellent reason. I walk because I do not keep a carriage. "

"Why do not you keep one if you wish to?" asked the Prince. 

"I will do as you wish. I will buy an equipage tomorrow, lest I shouldagain walk in the rain and catch cold. Where did you see me on foot?"

"In the Orso, half an hour ago. Why do you talk about my wishes in thatabsurd way?"

"Since you say it is absurd, I will not do so, " said Giovanni, quietly. 

"You are always contradicting me, " said the Prince. "Some wine, Pasquale. "

"Contradicting you?" repeated Giovanni. "Nothing could be further from myintentions. "

The old Prince slowly sipped a glass of wine before he answered. 

"Why do not you set up an establishment for yourself and live like agentleman?" he asked at length. "You are rich--why do you go about onfoot and dine in cafes?"

"Do I ever dine at a cafe when you are dining alone?"

"You have got used to living in restaurants in Paris, " retorted hisfather. "It is a bad habit. What was the use of your mother leaving you afortune, unless you will live in a proper fashion?"

"I understand you very well, " answered Giovanni, his dark eyes beginningto gleam. "You know all that is a pretence. I am the most home-stayingman of your acquaintance. It is a mere pretence. You are going to talkabout my marriage again. "

"And has any one a more natural right to insist upon your marriage than Ihave?" asked the elder man, hotly. "Leave the wine on the table, Pasquale--and the fruit--here. Give Don Giovanni his cheese. I will ringfor the coffee--leave us. " The butler and the footman left the room. "Hasany one a more natural right, I ask?" repeated the Prince when they werealone. 

"No one but myself, I should say, " answered Giovanni, bitterly. 

"Yourself--yourself indeed! What have you to say about it? This a familymatter. Would you have Saracinesca sold, to be distributed piecemealamong a herd of dogs of starving relations you never heard of, merelybecause you are such a vagabond, such a Bohemian, such a break-neck, crazy good-for-nothing, that you will not take the trouble to accept oneof all the women who rush into your arms?"

"Your affectionate manner of speaking of your relatives is only surpassedby your good taste in describing the probabilities of my marriage, "remarked Giovanni, scornfully. 

"And you say you never contradict me!" exclaimed the Prince, angrily. 

"If this is an instance, I can safely say so. Comment is notcontradiction. "

"Do you mean to say you have not repeatedly refused to marry?" inquiredold Saracinesca. 

"That would be untrue. I have refused, I do refuse, and I will refuse, just so long as it pleases me. "

"That is definite, at all events. You will go on refusing until you havebroken your silly neck in imitating Englishmen, and then--good nightSaracinesca! The last of the family will have come to a noble end!"

"If the only use of my existence is to become the father of heirs to yourtitles, I do not care to enjoy them myself. "

"You will not enjoy them till my death, at all events. Did you everreflect that I might marry again?"

"If you please to do so, do not hesitate on my account. Madame Mayer willaccept you as soon as me. Marry by all means, and may you have a numerousprogeny; and may they all marry in their turn, the day they are twenty. Iwish you joy. "

"You are intolerable, Giovanni. I should think you would have morerespect for Donna Tullia--"

"Than to call her Madame Mayer, " interrupted Giovanni. 

"Than to suggest that she cares for nothing but a title and a fortune--"

"You showed much respect to her a moment ago, when you suggested that shewas ready to rush into my arms. "

"I! I never said such a thing. I said that any woman--"

"Including Madame Mayer, of course, " interrupted Giovanni again. 

"Can you not let me speak?" roared the Prince. Giovanni shrugged hisshoulders a little, poured out a glass of wine, and helped himself tocheese, but said nothing. Seeing that his son said nothing, oldSaracinesca was silent too; he was so angry that he had lost the threadof his ideas. Perhaps Giovanni regretted the quarrelsome tone he hadtaken, for he presently spoke to his father in a more conciliatory tone. 

"Let us be just, " he said. "I will listen to you, and I shall be glad ifyou will listen to me. In the first place, when I think of marriage Irepresent something to myself by the term--"

"I hope so, " growled the old man. 

"I look upon marriage as an important step in a man's life. I am not soold as to make my marriage an immediate necessity, nor so young as to beable wholly to disregard it. I do not desire to be hurried; for when Imake up my mind, I intend to make a choice which, if it does not ensurehappiness, will at least ensure peace. I do not wish to marry MadameMayer. She is young, handsome, rich--"

"Very, " ejaculated the Prince. 

"Very. I also am young and rich, if not handsome. "

"Certainly not handsome, " said his father, who was nursing his wrath, andmeanwhile spoke calmly. "You are the image of me. "

"I am proud of the likeness, " said Giovanni, gravely. "But to return toMadame Mayer. She is a widow--"

"Is that her fault?" inquired his father irrelevantly, his anger risingagain. 

"I trust not, " said Giovanni, with a smile. "I trust she did not murderold Mayer. Nevertheless she is a widow. That is a strong objection. Haveany of my ancestors married widows?"

"You show your ignorance at every turn, " said the old Prince, with ascornful laugh. "Leone Saracinesca married the widow of the Elector ofLimburger-Stinkenstein in 1581. "

"It is probably the German blood in our veins which gives you yourtaste for argument, " remarked Giovanni. "Because three hundred yearsago an ancestor married a widow, I am to marry one now. Wait--do not beangry--there are other reasons why I do not care for Madame Mayer. She istoo gay for me--too fond of the world. "

The Prince burst into aloud ironical laugh. His white hair and beardbristled about his dark face, and he showed all his teeth, strong andwhite still. 

"That is magnificent!" he cried; "it is superb, splendid, a piece ofunpurchasable humour! Giovanni Saracinesca has found a woman who is toogay for him! Heaven be praised! We know his taste at last. We will givehim a nun, a miracle of all the virtues, a little girl out of a convent, vowed to a life of sacrifice and self-renunciation. That will pleasehim--he will be a model happy husband. "

"I do not understand this extraordinary outburst, " answered Giovanni, with cold scorn. "Your mirth is amazing, but I fail to understand itssource. "

His father ceased laughing, and looked at him curiously, his heavy browsbending with the intenseness of his gaze. Giovanni returned the look, andit seemed as though those two strong angry men were fencing across thetable with their fiery glances. The son was the first to speak. 

"Do you mean to imply that I am not the kind of man to be allowed tomarry a young girl?" he asked, not taking his eyes from his father. 

"Look you, boy, " returned the Prince, "I will have no more nonsense. Iinsist upon this match, as I have told you before. It is the mostsuitable one that I can find for you; and instead of being grateful, youturn upon me and refuse to do your duty. Donna Tullia is twenty-threeyears of age. She is brilliant, rich. There is nothing against her. Sheis a distant cousin--"

"One of the flock of vultures you so tenderly referred to, " remarkedGiovanni. 

"Silence!" cried old Saracinesca, striking his heavy hand upon the tableso that the glasses shook together. "I will be heard; and what is more, Iwill be obeyed. Donna Tullia is a relation. The union of two suchfortunes will be of immense advantage to your children. There iseverything in favour of the match--nothing against it. You shall marryher a month from to-day. I will give you the title of Sant' Ilario, withthe estate outright into the bargain, and the palace in the Corso tolive in, if you do not care to live here. "

"And if I refuse?" asked Giovanni, choking down his anger. 

"If you refuse, you shall leave my house a month from to-day, " said thePrince, savagely. 

"Whereby I shall be fulfilling your previous commands, in setting up anestablishment for myself and living like a gentleman, " returned Giovanni, with a bitter laugh. "It is nothing to me--if you turn me out. I am rich, as you justly observed. "

"You will have the more leisure to lead the life you like best, " retortedthe Prince; "to hang about in society, to go where you please, to makelove to--" the old man stopped a moment. His son was watching himfiercely, his hand clenched upon the table, his face as white as death. 

"To whom?" he asked with a terrible effort to be calm. 

"Do you think I am afraid of you? Do you think your father is less strongor less fierce than you? To whom?" cried the angry old man, his wholepent-up fury bursting out as he rose suddenly to his feet. "To whom butto Corona d'Astrardente--to whom else should you make love?--wasting youryouth and life upon a mad passion! All Rome says it--I will say it too!"

"You have said it indeed, " answered Giovanni, in a very low voice. Heremained seated at the table, not moving a muscle, his face as the faceof the dead. "You have said it, and in insulting that lady you have saida thing not worthy for one of our blood to say. God help me to rememberthat you are my father, " he added, trembling suddenly. 

"Hold!" said the Prince, who, with all his ambition for his son, and hishasty temper, was an honest gentleman. "I never insulted, her--she isabove suspicion. It is you who are wasting your life in a hopelesspassion for her. See, I speak calmly--"

"What does 'all Rome say'?" asked Giovanni, interrupting him. He wasstill deadly pale, but his hand was unclenched, and as he spoke he restedhis head upon it, looking down at the tablecloth. 

"Everybody says that you are in love with the Astrardente, and that herhusband is beginning to notice it. "

"It is enough, sir, " said Giovanni, in low tones. "I will consider thismarriage you propose. Give me until the spring to decide. "

"That is a long time, " remarked the old Prince, resuming his seat andbeginning to peel an orange, as though nothing had happened. He was farfrom being calm, but his son's sudden change of manner had disarmed hisanger. He was passionate and impetuous, thoughtless in his language, andtyrannical in his determination; but he loved Giovanni dearly for allthat. 

"I do not think it long, " said Giovanni, thoughtfully. "I give you myword that I will seriously consider the marriage. If it is possible forme to marry Donna Tullia, I will obey you, and I will give you my answerbefore Easter-day. I cannot do more. "

"I sincerely hope you will take my advice, " answered Saracinesca, nowentirely pacified. "If you cannot make up your mind to the match, I maybe able to find something else. There is Bianca Valdarno--she will have aquarter of the estate. "

"She is so very ugly, " objected Giovanni, quietly. He was still muchagitated, but he answered his father mechanically. 

"That is true--they are all ugly, those Valdarni. Besides, they are ofTuscan origin. What do you say to the little Rocca girl? She has great_chic_; she was brought up in England. She is pretty enough. "

"I am afraid she would be extravagant. "

"She could spend her own money then; it will be sufficient. "

"It is better to be on the safe side, " said Giovanni. Suddenly he changedhis position, and again looked at his father. "I am sorry we alwaysquarrel about this question, " he said. "I do not really want to marry, but I wish to oblige you, and I will try. Why do we always come to wordsover it?"

"I am sure I do not know, " said the Prince, with a pleasant smile. "Ihave such a diabolical temper, I suppose. "

"And I have inherited it, " answered Don Giovanni, with a laugh that wasmeant to be cheerful. "But I quite see your point of view. I suppose Iought to settle in life by this time. "

"Seriously, I think so, my son. Here is to your future happiness, " saidthe old gentleman, touching his glass with his lips. 

"And here is to our future peace, " returned Giovanni, also drinking. 

"We never really quarrel, Giovanni, do we?" said his father. Every traceof anger had vanished. His strong face beamed with an affectionate smilethat was like the sun after a thunderstorm. 

"No, indeed, " answered his son, cordially. "We cannot afford to quarrel;there are only two of us left. "

"That is what I always say, " assented the Prince, beginning to eat theorange he had carefully peeled since he had grown calm. "If two men likeyou and me, my boy, can thoroughly agree, there is nothing we cannotaccomplish; whereas if we go against each other--"

"Justitia non fit, coelum vero ruet, " suggested Giovanni, in parody ofthe proverb. 

"I am a little rusty in my Latin, Giovanni, " said the old gentleman. 

"Heaven is turned upside down, but justice is not done. "

"No; one is never just when one is angry. But storms clear the sky, asthey say up at Saracinesca. "

"By the bye, have you heard whether that question of the timber has beensettled yet?" asked Giovanni. 

"Of course--I had forgotten. I will tell you all about it, " answered hisfather, cheerfully. So they chatted peacefully for another half-hour; andno one would have thought, in looking at them, that such fierce passionshad been roused, nor that one of them felt as though his death-warranthad been signed. When they separated, Giovanni went to his own rooms, andlocked himself in. 

He had assumed an air of calmness which was not real before he left hisfather. In truth he was violently agitated. He was as fiery as hisfather, but his passions were of greater strength and of longer duration;for his mother had been a Spaniard, and something of the melancholy ofher country had entered into his soul, giving depth and durability to thehot Italian character he inherited from his father. Nor did the lattersuspect the cause of his son's sudden change of tone in regard to themarriage. It was precisely the difference in temperament which madeGiovanni incomprehensible to the old Prince. 

Giovanni had realised for more than a year past that he loved Coronad'Astrardente. Contrary to the custom of young men in his position, hedetermined from the first that he would never let her know it; and hereinlay the key to all his actions. He had, as he thought, made a point ofbehaving to her on all occasions as he behaved to the other women he metin the world, and he believed that he had skilfully concealed his passionfrom the world and from the woman he loved. He had acted on all occasionswith a circumspection which was not natural to him, and for which heundeniably deserved great credit. It had been a year of constantstruggles, constant efforts at self-control, constant determination that, if possible, he would overcome his instincts. It was true that, whenoccasion offered, he had permitted himself the pleasure of talking toCorona d'Astrardente--talking, he well knew, upon the most generalsubjects, but finding at each interview some new point of sympathy. Never, he could honestly say, had he approached in that time the subjectof love, nor even the equally dangerous topic of friendship, thediscussion of which leads to so many ruinous experiments. He had never bylook or word sought to interest the dark Duchessa in his doings nor inhimself; he had talked of books, of politics, of social questions, butnever of himself nor of herself. He had faithfully kept the promise hehad made in his heart, that since he was so unfortunate as to love thewife of another--a woman of such nobility that even in Rome no breath hadbeen breathed against her--he would keep his unfortunate passion tohimself. Astrardente was old, almost decrepit, in spite of hismagnificent wig; Corona was but two-and-twenty years of age. If ever herhusband died, Giovanni would present himself before the world as hersuitor; meanwhile he would do nothing to injure her self-respect nor todisturb her peace--he hardly flattered himself he could do that, for heloved her truly--and above all, he would do nothing to compromise theunsullied reputation she enjoyed. She might never love him; but he wasstrong and patient, and would do her the only honour it was in his powerto do her, by waiting patiently. 

But Giovanni had not considered that he was the most conspicuous man insociety; that there were many who watched his movements, in hopes hewould come their way; that when he entered a room, many had noticedthat, though he never went directly to Corona's side, he always lookedfirst towards her, and never omitted to speak with her in the course ofan evening. Keen observers, the jays of society who hover about theeagle's nest, had not failed to observe a look of annoyance on Giovanni'sface when he did not succeed in being alone by Corona's side for at leasta few minutes; and Del Ferice, who was a sort of news-carrier in Rome, had now and then hinted that Giovanni was in love. People had repeatedhis hints, as he intended they should, with the illuminating wit peculiarto tale-bearers, and the story had gone abroad accordingly. True, therewas not a man in Rome bold enough to allude to the matter in Giovanni'spresence, even if any one had seen any advantage in so doing; but suchthings do not remain hidden. His own father had told him in a fit ofanger, and the blow had produced its effect. 

Giovanni sat down in a deep easy-chair in his own room, and thought overthe situation. His first impulse had been to be furiously angry with hisfather; but the latter having instantly explained that there was nothingto be said against the Duchessa, Giovanni's anger against the Prince hadturned against himself. It was bitter to think that all his self-denial, all his many and prolonged efforts to conceal his love, had been of noavail. He cursed his folly and imprudence, while wondering how it waspossible that the story should have got abroad. He did not waver in hisdetermination to hide his inclinations, to destroy the impression he hadso unwillingly produced. The first means he found in his way seemed thebest. To marry Donna Tullia at once, before the story of his affectionfor the Duchessa had gathered force, would, he thought, effectually shutthe mouths of the gossips. From one point of view it was a noble thought, the determination to sacrifice himself wholly and for ever, rather thanpermit his name to be mentioned ever so innocently in connection with thewoman he loved; to root out utterly his love for her by seriouslyengaging his faith to another, and keeping that engagement with all thestrength of fidelity he knew himself to possess. He would save Coronafrom annoyance, and her name from the scandal-mongers; and if any oneever dared to mention the story--

Giovanni rose to his feet and mechanically took a fencing-foil from thewall, as he often did for practice. If any one mentioned the story, hethought, he had the means to silence them, quickly and for ever. His eyesflashed suddenly at the idea of action--any action, even fighting, whichmight be distantly connected with Corona. Then he tossed down the rapierand threw himself into his chair, and sat quite still, staring at thetrophies of armour upon the wall opposite. 

He could not do it. To wrong one woman for the sake of shielding anotherwas not in his power. People might laugh at him and call him Quixotic, forsooth, because he would not do like every one else and make a marriageof convenience--of propriety. Propriety! when his heart was breakingwithin him; when every fibre of his strong frame quivered with the strainof passion; when his aching eyes saw only one face, and his ears echoedthe words she had spoken that very afternoon! Propriety indeed! Proprietywas good enough for cold-blooded dullards. Donna Tullia had done him noharm that he should marry her for propriety's sake, and make her lifemiserable for thirty, forty, fifty years. It would be propriety ratherfor him to go away, to bury himself in the ends of the earth, until hecould forget Corona d'Astrardente, her splendid eyes, and her deep sweetvoice. 

He had pledged his father his word that he would consider the marriage, and he was to give his answer before Easter. That was a long time yet. Hewould consider it; and if by Eastertide he had forgotten Corona, hewould--he laughed aloud in his silent room, and the sound of his voicestartled him from his reverie. 

Forget? Did such men as he forget? Other men did. What were they made of?They did not love such women, perhaps; that was the reason they forgot. Any one could forget poor Donna Tullia. And yet how was it possible toforget if one loved truly?

Giovanni had never believed himself in love before. He had known one ortwo women who had attracted him strongly; but he had soon found out thathe had no real sympathy with them, that though they amused him they hadno charm for him--most of all, that he could not imagine himself tied toany one of them for life without conceiving the situation horrible in theextreme. To his independent nature the idea of such ties was repugnant:he knew himself too courteous to break through the civilities of lifewith a wife he did not love; but he knew also that in marrying a womanwho was indifferent to him, he would be engaging to play a part for lifein the most fearful of all plays--the part of a man who strives to bearbravely the galling of a chain he is too honourable to break. 

It was four o'clock in the morning when Giovanni went to bed; and eventhen he slept little, for his dreams were disturbed. Once he thought hestood upon a green lawn with a sword in his hand, and the blood upon itspoint, his opponent lying at his feet. Again, he thought he was alone ina vast drawing-room, and a dark woman came and spoke gently to him, saying, "Marry her for my sake. " He awoke with a groan. The church clockswere striking eight, and the meet was at eleven, five miles beyond thePorta Pia. Giovanni started up and rang for his servant. 

CHAPTER IV. 

It was a beautiful day, and half Rome turned out to see the meet, notbecause it was in any way different from other meets, but because itchanced that society had a fancy to attend it. Society is very like afever patient in a delirium; it is rarely accountable for its actions; itscarcely ever knows what it is saying; and occasionally, without theleast warning or premeditation, it leaps out of bed at an early hour ofthe morning and rushes frantically in pursuit of its last hallucination. The main difference is, that whereas a man in a fever has a nurse, society has none. 

On the present occasion every one had suddenly conceived the idea ofgoing to the meet, and the long road beyond the Porta Pia was dotted formiles with equipages of every description, from the four-in-hand ofPrince Valdarno to the humble donkey-cart of the caterer who sellsmesses of boiled beans, and bread and cheese, and salad to the grooms--aninstitution not connected in the English mind with hunting. One afteranother the vehicles rolled out along the road, past Sant' Agnese, downthe hill and across the Ponte Nomentana, and far up beyond to a placewhere three roads met and there was a broad open stretch of wet, witheredgrass. Here the carriages turned in and ranged themselves side by side, as though they were pausing in the afternoon drive upon the Pincio, instead of being five miles out upon the broad Campagna. 

To describe the mountains to southward of Rome would be an insult tonature; to describe a meet would be an affront to civilised readers ofthe English language. The one is too familiar to everybody; the prettycrowd of men and women, dotted with pink and set off by the neutralcolour of the winter fields; the hunters of all ages, and sizes, andbreeds, led slowly up and down by the grooms; while from time to timesome rider gets into the saddle and makes himself comfortable, assureshimself of girth and stirrup, and of the proper disposal of thesandwich-box and sherry-flask, gives a final word of instruction to hisgroom, and then moves slowly off. A Roman meet is a little lessbusiness-like than the same thing elsewhere; there is a little moredawdling, a little more conversation when many ladies chance to have cometo see the hounds throw off; otherwise it is not different from othermeets. As for the Roman mountains, they are so totally unlike any otherhills in the world, and so extremely beautiful in their own peculiar way, that to describe them would be an idle and a useless task, which couldonly serve to exhibit the vanity of the writer and the feebleness of hispen. 

Don Giovanni arrived early in spite of his sleepless night. He descendedfrom his dogcart by the roadside, instead of driving into the field, andhe took a careful survey of the carriages he saw before him. Conspicuousin the distance he distinguished Donna Tullia Mayer standing among alittle crowd of men near Valdarno's drag. She was easily known by herdress, as Del Ferice had remarked on the previous evening. On thisoccasion she wore a costume in which the principal colours were green andyellow, an enormous hat, with feathers in the same proportion surmountingher head, and she carried a yellow parasol. She was a rather handsomewoman of middle height, with unnaturally blond hair, and a fairly goodcomplexion, which as yet she had wisely abstained from attempting toimprove by artificial means; her eyes were blue, but uncertain in theirglance--of the kind which do not inspire confidence; and her mouth wasmuch admired, being small and red, with full lips. She was rapid in hermovements, and she spoke in a loud voice, easily collecting people abouther wherever there were any to collect. Her conversation was notbrilliant, but it was so abundant that its noisy vivacity passed currentfor cleverness; she had a remarkably keen judgment of people, and aremarkably bad taste in her opinions of things artistic, from beauty innature to beauty in dress, but she maintained her point of viewobstinately, and admitted no contradiction. It was a singularcircumstance that whereas many of her attributes were distinctly vulgar, she nevertheless had an indescribable air of good breeding, the strangeinimitable stamp of social superiority which cannot be acquired by anyknown process of education. A person seeing her might be surprised at herloud talking, amused at her eccentricities of dress, and shocked at herbold manner, but no one would ever think of classing her anywhere save inwhat calls itself "the best society. "

Among the men who stood talking to Donna Tullia was the inevitable DelFerice, a man of whom it might be said that he was never missed, becausehe was always present. Giovanni disliked Del Ferice without being able todefine his aversion. He disliked generally men whom he suspected ofduplicity; and he had no reason for supposing that truth, looking intoher mirror, would have seen there the image of Ugo's fat pale face andcolourless moustache. But if Ugo was a liar, he must have had a goodmemory, for he never got himself into trouble, and he had the reputationof being a useful member of society, an honour to which persons ofdoubtful veracity rarely attain. Giovanni, however, disliked him, andsuspected him of many things; and although he had intended to go up toDonna Tullia, the sight of Del Ferice at her side very nearly preventedhim. He strolled leisurely down the little slope, and as he neared thecrowd, spoke to one or two acquaintances, mentally determining to avoidMadame Mayer, and to mount immediately. But he was disappointed in hisintention. As he stood for a moment beside the carriage of the MarchesaRocca, exchanging a few words with her, and looking with some interest ather daughter, the little Rocca girl whom his father had proposed as apossible wife for him, he forgot his proximity to the lady he wished toavoid; and when, a few seconds later, he proceeded in the direction ofhis horse, Madame Mayer stepped forward from the knot of her admirers andtapped him familiarly upon the shoulder with the handle of her parasol. 

"So you were not going to speak to me to-day?" she said rather roughly, after her manner. 

Giovanni turned sharply and faced her, bowing low. Donna Tullia laughed. 

"Is there anything so amazingly ridiculous in my appearance?" he asked. 

"_Altro_! when you make that tremendous salute--"

"It was intended to convey an apology as well as a greeting, " answeredDon Giovanni, politely. 

"I would like more apology and less greeting. "

"I am ready to apologise--"

"Humbly, without defending yourself, " said Donna Tullia, beginning towalk slowly forward. Giovanni was obliged to follow her. 

"My defence is, nevertheless, a very good one, " he said. 

"Well, if it is really good, I may listen to it; but you will not make mebelieve that you intended to behave properly. "

"I am in a very bad humour. I would not inflict my cross temper upon you;therefore I avoided you. "

Donna Tullia eyed him attentively. When she answered she drew in hersmall red lips with an air of annoyance. 

"You look as though you were in bad humour, " she answered. "I am sorry Idisturbed you. It is better to leave sleeping dogs alone, as the proverbsays. "

"I have not snapped yet, " said Giovanni. "I am not dangerous, I assureyou. "

"Oh, I am not in the least afraid of you, " replied his companion, with alittle scorn. "Do not flatter yourself your little humours frighten me. Isuppose you intend to follow?"

"Yes, " answered Saracinesca, shortly; he was beginning to weary of DonnaTullia's manner of taking him to task. 

"You had much better come with us, and leave the poor foxes alone. Valdarno is going to drive us round by the cross-roads to the Capannelle. We will have a picnic lunch, and be home before three o'clock. "

"Thanks very much. I cannot let my horse shirk his work. I must beg youto excuse me--"

"Again?" exclaimed Donna Tullia. "You are always making excuses. " Thenshe suddenly changed her tone, and looked down. "I wish you would comewith us, " she said, gently. "It is not often I ask you to do anything. "

Giovanni looked at her quickly. He knew that Donna Tullia wished tomarry him; he even suspected that his father had discussed the matterwith her--no uncommon occurrence when a marriage has to be arranged witha widow. But he did not know that Donna Tullia was in love with him inher own odd fashion. He looked at her, and he saw that as she spoke therewere tears of vexation in her bold blue eyes. He hesitated a moment, butnatural courtesy won the day. 

"I will go with you, " he said, quietly. A blush of pleasure rose toMadame Mayer's pink cheeks; she felt she had made a point, but she wasnot willing to show her satisfaction. 

"You say it as though you were conferring a favour, " she said, with ashow of annoyance, which was belied by the happy expression of her face. 

"Pardon me; I myself am the favoured person, " replied Giovanni, mechanically. He had yielded because he did not know how to refuse; buthe already regretted it, and would have given much to escape from theparty. 

"You do not look as though you believed it, " said Donna Tullia, eyeinghim critically. "If you are going to be disagreeable, I release you. " Shesaid this well knowing, the while, that he would not accept of hisliberty. 

"If you are so ready to release me, as you call it, you do not reallywant me, " said her companion. Donna Tullia bit her lip, and there was amoment's pause. "If you will excuse me a moment I will send my horsehome--I will join you at once. "

"There is your horse--right before us, " said Madame Mayer. Even thatshort respite was not allowed him, and she waited while Don Giovanniordered the astonished groom to take his hunter for an hour's exercise ina direction where he would not fall in with the hounds. 

"I did not believe you would really do it, " said Donna Tullia, as the twoturned and sauntered back towards the carriages. Most of the men whomeant to follow had already mounted, and the little crowd had thinnedconsiderably. But while they had been talking another carriage had driveninto the field, and had halted a few yards from Valdarno's drag. Astrardente had taken it into his head to come to the meet with his wife, and they had arrived late. Astrardente always arrived a little late, onprinciple. As Giovanni and Donna Tullia came back to their drag, theysuddenly found themselves face to face with the Duchessa and her husband. It did not surprise Corona to see Giovanni walking with the woman he didnot intend to marry, but it seemed to give the old Duke undisguisedpleasure. 

"Do you see, Corona, there is no doubt of it! It is just as I told you, "exclaimed the aged dandy, in a voice so audible that Giovanni frowned andDonna Tullia blushed slightly. Both of them bowed as they passed thecarriage. Don Giovanni looked straight into Corona's face as he tookoff his hat. He might very well have made her a little sign, the smallestgesture, imperceptible to Donna Tullia, whereby he could have given herthe idea that his position was involuntary. But Don Giovanni was agentleman, and he did nothing of the kind; he bowed and looked calmly atthe woman he loved as he passed by. Astrardente watched him keenly, andas he noticed the indifference of Saracinesca's look, he gave a curiouslittle snuffling snort that was peculiar to him. He could have sworn thatneither his wife nor Giovanni had shown the smallest interest in eachother. He was satisfied. His wife was above suspicion, as he always said;but he was an old man, and had seen the world, and he knew that howeverimplicitly he might trust the noble woman who had sacrificed her youth tohis old age, it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that she mightbecome innocently interested, even unawares, in some younger man--in somesuch man as Giovanni Saracinesca-and he thought it worth his while towatch her. His little snort, however, was indicative of satisfaction. Corona had not winced at the mention of the marriage, and had nodded withthe greatest unconcern to the man as he passed. 

"Ah, Donna Tullia!" he cried, as he returned their greeting, "you arepreventing Don Giovanni from mounting; the riders will be off in amoment. "

Being thus directly addressed, there was nothing to be done but to stopand exchange a few words. The Duchessa was on the side nearest to thepair as they passed, and her husband rose and sat opposite her, so as totalk more at his ease. There were renewed greetings on both sides, andGiovanni naturally found himself talking to Corona, while her husband andDonna Tullia conversed together. 

"What man could think of hunting when he could be talking to youinstead?" said old Astrardente, whose painted face adjusted itself in asort of leer that had once been a winning smile. Every one knew hepainted, his teeth were a miracle of American dentistry, and his wighad deceived a great portrait-painter. The padding in his clothes wasdisposed with cunning wisdom, and in public he rarely removed the glovesfrom his small hands. Donna Tullia laughed at what he said. 

"You should teach Don Giovanni to make pretty speeches, " she said. "He isas surly as a wolf this morning. "

"I should think a man in his position would not need much teaching inorder to be gallant to you, " replied the old dandy, with a knowing look. Then lowering his voice, he added confidentially, "I hope that beforevery long I may be allowed to congrat--"

"I have prevailed upon him to give up following the hounds to-day, "interrupted Donna Tullia, quickly. She spoke loud enough to be noticed byCorona. "He is coming with us to picnic at the Capannelle instead. "

Giovanni could not help glancing quickly at Corona. She smiled faintly, and her face betrayed no emotion. 

"I daresay it will be very pleasant, " she said gently, looking far outover the Campagna. In the next field the pack was moving away, followedat a little distance by a score of riders in pink; one or two men who hadstayed behind in conversation, mounted hastily and rode after the hunt;some of the carriages turned out of the field and began to follow slowlyalong the road, in hopes of seeing the hounds throw off; the party whowere going with Valdarno gathered about the drag, waiting for DonnaTullia; the grooms who were left behind congregated around the men whosold boiled beans and salad; and in a few minutes the meet hadpractically dispersed. 

"Why will you not join us, Duchessa?" asked Madame Mayer. "There is lunchenough for everybody, and the more people we are the pleasanter it willbe. " Donna Tullia made her suggestion with her usual frank manner, fixingher blue eyes upon Corona as she spoke. There was every appearance ofcordiality in the invitation; but Donna Tullia knew well enough thatthere was a sting in her words, or at all events that she meant thereshould be. Corona, however, glanced quietly at her husband, and thencourteously refused. 

"You are most kind, " she said, "but I fear we cannot join you to-day. Weare very regular people, " she explained, with a slight smile, "and we arenot prepared to go to-day. Many thanks; I wish we could accept your kindinvitation. "

"Well, I am sorry you will not come, " said Donna Tullia, with a ratherhard laugh. "We mean to enjoy ourselves immensely. "

Giovanni said nothing. There was only one thing which could have renderedthe prospect of Madame Mayer's picnic more disagreeable to him than italready was, and that would have been the presence of the Duchessa. Heknew himself to be in a thoroughly false position in consequence ofhaving yielded to Donna Tullia's half-tearful request that he would jointhe party. He remembered how he had spoken to Corona on the previousevening, assuring her that he would not marry Madame Mayer. Corona knewnothing of the change his plans had undergone during the stormy interviewhe had had with his father; he longed, indeed, to be able to make theDuchessa understand, but any attempt at explanation would be whollyimpossible. Corona would think he was inconsistent, or at least that hewas willing to flirt with the gay widow, while determined not to marryher. He reflected that it was part of his self-condemnation that heshould appear unfavourably to the woman he loved, and whom he wasdetermined to renounce; but he realised for the first time how bitter itwould be to stand thus always in the appearance of weakness andself-contradiction in the eyes of the only human being whose good opinionhe coveted, and for whose dear sake he was willing to do all things. Ashe stood by her, his hand rested upon the side of the carriage, and hestared blankly at the distant hounds and the retreating riders. 

"Come, Don Giovanni, we must be going, " said Donna Tullia. "What in theworld are you thinking of? You look as though you had been turned into astatue!"

"I beg your pardon, " returned Saracinesca, suddenly called back fromthe absorbing train of his unpleasant thoughts. "Good-bye, Duchessa;good-bye, Astrardente--a pleasant drive to you. "

"You will always regret not having come, you know, " cried Madame Mayer, shaking hands with both the occupants of the carriage. "We shall probablyend by driving to Albano, and staying all night--just fancy! Immensefun--not even a comb in the whole party! Good-bye. I suppose we shall allmeet to-night--that is, if we ever come back to Rome at all. Come along, Giovanni, " she said, familiarly dropping the prefix from his name. Afterall, he was a sort of cousin, and people in Rome are very apt to calleach other by their Christian names. But Donna Tullia knew what she wasabout; she knew that Corona d'Astrardente could never, under anycircumstances whatever, call Saracinesca plain "Giovanni. " But she hadnot the satisfaction of seeing that anything she said produced any changein Corona's proud dark face; she seemed of no more importance in theDuchessa's eyes than if she had been a fly buzzing in the sunshine. 

So Giovanni and Madame Mayer joined their noisy party, and began to climbinto their places upon the drag; but before they were prepared to start, the Astrardente carriage turned and drove rapidly out of the field. Thelaughter and loud talking came to Corona's ears, growing fainter and moredistant every second, and the sound was very cruel to her; but she sether strong brave lips together, and leaned back, adjusting the blanketover her old husband's knees with one hand, and shading the sun from hereyes with the parasol she held in the other. 

"Thank you, my dear; you are an angel of thoughtfulness, " said the olddandy, stroking his wife's hand. "What a singularly vulgar woman MadameMayer is! And yet she has a certain little _chic_ of her own. "

Corona did not withdraw her fingers from her husband's caress. She wasused to it. After all, he was kind to her in his way. It would have beenabsurd to have been jealous of the grossly flattering speeches he made toother women; and indeed he was as fond of turning compliments to his wifeas to any one. It was a singular relation that had grown up between theold man and the young girl he had married. Had he been less thoroughly aman of the world, or had Corona been less entirely honest and loyal andself-sacrificing, there would have been small peace in their wedlock. ButAstrardente, decayed roué and worn-out dandy as he was, was in love withhis wife; and she, in all the young magnificence of her beauty, submittedto be loved by him, because she had promised that she would do so, andbecause, having sworn, she regarded the breaking of her faith by thesmallest act of unkindness as a thing beyond the bounds of possibility. It had been a terrible blow to her to discover that she cared for DonGiovanni even in the way she believed she did, as a man whose society shepreferred to that of other men, and whose face it gave her pleasure tosee. She, too, had spent a sleepless night; and when she had risen in themorning, she had determined to forget Giovanni, and if she could notforget him, she had sworn that more than ever she would be all things toher husband. 

She wondered now, as Giovanni had known she would, why he had suddenlythrown over his day's hunting in order to spend his time with DonnaTullia; but she would not acknowledge, even to herself, that the dullpain she felt near her heart, and that seemed to oppress her breathing, bore any relation to the scene she had just witnessed. She shut her lipstightly, and arranged the blanket for her husband. 

"Madame Mayer is vulgar, " she answered. "I suppose she cannot help it. "

"Women can always help being vulgar, " returned Astrardente. "I believeshe learned it from her husband. Women are not naturally like that. Nevertheless she is an excellent match for Giovanni Saracinesca. Rich, bymillions. Undeniably handsome, gay--well, rather too gay; but Giovanni isso serious that the contrast will be to their mutual advantage. "

Corona was silent. There was nothing the old man disliked so much assilence. 

"Why do you not answer me?" he asked, rather petulantly. 

"I do not know--I was thinking, " said Corona, simply. "I do not see thatit is a great match after all, for the last of the Saracinesca. "

"You think she will lead him a terrible dance, I daresay, " returned theold man. "She is gay--very gay; and Giovanni is very, very solemn. "

"I did not mean that she was too gay. I only think that Saracinesca mightmarry, for instance, the Rocca girl. Why should he take a widow?"

"Such a young widow. Old Mayer was as decrepit as any old statue in amuseum. He was paralysed in one arm, and gouty--gouty, my dear; you donot know how gouty he was. " The old fellow grinned scornfully; he hadnever had the gout. "Donna Tullia is a very young widow. Besides, thinkof the fortune. It would break old Saracinesca's heart to let so muchmoney go out of the family. He is a miserly old wretch, Saracinesca!"

"I never heard that, " said Corona. 

"Oh, there are many things in Rome that one never hears, and that is oneof them. I hate avarice--it is so extremely vulgar. "

Indeed Astrardente was not himself avaricious, though he had all his lifeknown how to protect his interests. He loved money, but he loved also tospend it, especially in such a way as to make a great show with it. Itwas not true, however, that Saracinesca was miserly. He spent a largeincome without the smallest ostentation. 

"Really, I should hardly call Prince Saracinesca a miser, " said Corona. "I cannot imagine, from what I know of him, why he should be so anxiousto get Madame Mayer's fortune; but I do not think it is out of meregreediness. "

"Then I do not know what you can call it, " returned her husband, sharply. "They have always had that dismal black melancholy in that family--thatdetestable love of secretly piling up money, while their faces are asgrave and sour as any Jew's in the Ghetto. "

Corona glanced at her husband, and smiled faintly as she looked at histhin old features, where the lights and shadows were touched in withdelicate colour more artfully than any actress's, superficiallyconcealing the lines traced by years of affectation and refined egotism;and she thought of Giovanni's strong manly face, passionate indeed, butnoble and bold. A moment later she resolutely put the comparison out ofher mind, and finding that her husband was inclined to abuse theSaracinesca, she tried to turn the conversation. 

"I suppose it will be a great ball at the Frangipani's, " she said. "Wewill go, of course?" she added, interrogatively. 

"Of course. I would not miss it for all the world. There has not beensuch a ball for years as that will be. Do I ever miss an opportunity ofenjoying myself--I mean, of letting you enjoy yourself?"

"No, you are very good, " said Corona, gently. "Indeed I sometimes thinkyou give yourself trouble about going out on my account. Really, I am notso greedy of society. I would often gladly stay at home if you wishedit. "

"Do you think I am past enjoying the world, then?" asked the old man, sourly. 

"No indeed, " replied Corona, patiently. "Why should I think that? I seehow much you like going out. "

"Of course I like it. A rational man in the prime of life always likes tosee his fellow-creatures. Why should not I?"

The Duchessa did not smile. She was used to hearing her aged husbandspeak of himself as young. It was a harmless fancy. 

"I think it is quite natural, " she said. 

"What I cannot understand, " said Astrardente, muffling his thin throatmore closely against the keen bright _tramontana_ wind, "is that such oldfellows as Saracinesca should still want to play a part in the world. "

Saracinesca was younger than Astrardente, and his iron constitution badefair to outlast another generation, in spite of his white hair. 

"You do not seem to be in a good humour with Saracinesca to-day, "remarked Corona, by way of answer. 

"Why do you defend him?" asked her husband, in a new fit of irritation. "He jars on my nerves, the sour old creature!"

"I fancy all Rome will go to the Frangipani ball, " began Corona again, without heeding the old man's petulance. 

"You seem to be interested in it, " returned Astrardente. 

Corona was silent; it was her only weapon when he became petulant. Hehated silence, and generally returned to the conversation with moresuavity. Perhaps, in his great experience, he really appreciated hiswife's wonderful patience with his moods, and it is certain that he wasexceedingly fond of her. 

"You must have a new gown, my dear, " he said presently, in a conciliatorytone. 

His wife passed for the best-dressed woman in Rome, as she was undeniablythe most remarkable in many other ways. She was not above taking aninterest in dress, and her old husband had an admirable taste; moreover, he took a vast pride in her appearance, and if she had looked a whit lesssuperior to other women, his smiling boast that she was above suspicionwould have lost some of its force. 

"I hardly think it is necessary, " said Corona; "I have so many things, and it will be a great crowd. "

"My dear, be economical of your beauty, but not in your adornment of it, "said the old man, with one of his engaging grins. "I desire that you havea new gown for this ball which will be remembered by every one who goesto it. You must set about it at once. "

"Well, that is an easy request for any woman to grant, " answered Corona, with a little laugh; "though I do not believe my gown will be rememberedso long as you think. "

"Who knows--who knows?" said Astrardente, thoughtfully. "I remember gownsI saw"--he checked himself--"why, as many as ten years ago!" he added, laughing in his turn, perhaps at nearly having said forty for ten. "Gowns, my dear, " he continued, "make a profound impression upon men'sminds. "

"For the matter of that, " said the Duchessa, "I do not care to impressmen at all nor women either. " She spoke lightly, pleased that theconversation should have taken a more pleasant turn. 

"Not even to impress me, my dear?" asked old Astrardente, with a leer. 

"That is different, " answered Corona, quietly. 

So they talked upon the subject of the gown and the ball until thecarriage rolled under the archway of the Astrardente palace. But when itwas three o'clock, and Corona was at liberty to go out upon her usualround of visits, she was glad that she could go alone; and as she satamong her cushions, driving from house to house and distributing cards, she had time to think seriously of her situation. It would seem a lightthing to most wives of aged husbands to have taken a fancy to a man suchas Giovanni Saracinesca. But the more Corona thought of it, the morecertain it appeared to her that she was committing a great sin. Itweighed heavily upon her mind, and took from her the innocent pleasureshe was wont to feel in driving in the bright evening air in the VillaBorghese. It took the colour from the sky, and the softness from thecushions, it haunted her and made her miserably unhappy. At every turnshe expected to see Giovanni's figure and face, and the constantrecurrence of the thought seemed to add magnitude to the crime of whichshe accused herself, --the crime of even thinking of any man save herold husband--of wishing that Giovanni might not marry Donna Tullia afterall. 

"I will go to Padre Filippo, " she said to herself as she reached home. 

CHAPTER V. 

Valdarno took Donna Tullia by his side upon the front seat of the drag;and as luck would have it, Giovanni and Del Ferice sat together behindthem. Half-a-dozen other men found seats somewhere, and among them werethe melancholy Spicca, who was a famous duellist, and a certainCasalverde, a man of rather doubtful reputation. The others were membersof what Donna Tullia called her "corps de ballet. " In those days DonnaTullia's conduct was criticised, and she was thought to be emancipated, as the phrase went. Old people opened their eyes at the spectacle of thegay young widow going off into the Campagna to picnic with a party ofmen; but if any intimate enemy had ventured to observe to her that shewas giving occasion for gossip, she would have raised her eyebrows, explaining that they were all just like her brothers, and that Giovanniwas indeed a sort of cousin. She would perhaps have condescended to saythat she would not have done such a thing in Paris, but that in dear oldRome one was in the bosom of one's family, and might do anything. Atpresent she sat chatting with Valdarno, a tall and fair young man, with aweak mouth and a good-natured disposition; she had secured Giovanni, andthough he sat sullenly smoking behind her, his presence gave hersatisfaction. Del Ferice's smooth face wore an expression of ineffablecalm, and his watery blue eyes gazed languidly on the broad stretch ofbrown grass which bordered the highroad. 

For some time the drag bowled along, and Giovanni was left to his ownreflections, which were not of a very pleasing kind. The other men talkedof the chances of luck with the hounds; and Spicca, who had been a greatdeal in England, occasionally put in a remark not very complimentary tothe Roman hunt. Del Ferice listened in silence, and Giovanni did notlisten at all, but buttoned his overcoat to the throat, half closed hiseyes, and smoked one cigarette after another, leaning back in his seat. Suddenly Donna Tullia's laugh was heard as she turned half round to lookat Valdarno. 

"Do you really think so?" she cried. "How soon? What a dance we will leadthem then!"

Del Fence pricked his ears in the direction of her voice, like a terrierthat suspects the presence of a rat. Valdarno's answer was inaudible, butDonna Tullia ceased laughing immediately. 

"They are talking politics, " said Del Ferice in a low voice, leaningtowards Giovanni as he spoke. The latter shrugged his shoulders and wenton smoking. He did not care to be drawn into a conversation with DelFerice. 

Del Ferice was a man who was suspected of revolutionary sympathies by theauthorities in Rome, but who was not feared. He was therefore allowed tolive his life much as he pleased, though he was conscious from time totime that he was watched. Being a man, however, who under allcircumstances pursued his own interests with more attention than hebestowed on those of any party, he did not pretend to attach anyimportance to the distinction of being occasionally followed by a spy, asa more foolish man might have done. If he was watched, he did not care toexhibit himself to his friends as a martyr, to tell stories of the_sbirro_ who sometimes dogged his footsteps, nor to cry aloud that he wasunjustly persecuted. He affected a character above suspicion, and rarelyallowed himself to express an opinion. He was no propagator of newdoctrines; that was too dangerous a trade for one of his temper. But heforesaw changes to come, and he determined that he would profit by them. He had little to lose, but he had everything to gain; and being a patientman, he resolved to gain all he could by circumspection--in other words, by acting according to his nature, rather than by risking himself in abold course of action for which he was wholly unsuited. He was too wiseto attempt wholly to deceive the authorities, knowing well that they werenot easily deceived; and he accordingly steered a middle course, constantly speaking in favour of progress, of popular education, and offreedom of the press, but at the same time loudly proclaiming that allthese things--that every benefit of civilisation, in fact--could beobtained without the slightest change in the form of government. He thusasserted his loyalty to the temporal power while affecting a belief inthe possibility of useful reforms, and the position he thus acquiredexactly suited his own ends; for he attracted to himself a certain amountof suspicion on account of his progressist professions, and then disarmedthat suspicion by exhibiting a serene indifference to the espionage ofwhich he was the object. The consequence was, that at the very time whenhe was most deeply implicated in much more serious matters--of which theobject was invariably his own ultimate profit--at the time when he wasreceiving money for information he was able to obtain through his socialposition, he was regarded by the authorities, and by most of hisacquaintances, as a harmless man, who might indeed injure himself by hisfoolish doctrines of progress, but who certainly could not injure any oneelse. Few guessed that his zealous attention to social duties, hisoccasional bursts of enthusiasm for liberal education and a free press, were but parts of his machinery for making money out of politics. He wasso modest, so unostentatious, that no one suspected that the mainspringof his existence was the desire for money. 

But, like many intelligent and bad men, Del Ferice had a weakness whichwas gradually gaining upon him and growing in force, and which wasdestined to hasten the course of the events which he had planned forhimself. It is an extraordinary peculiarity in unbelievers that they areoften more subject to petty superstitions than other men; and similarly, it often happens that the most cynical and coldly calculating ofconspirators, who believe themselves proof against all outwardinfluences, yield to some feeling of nervous dislike for an individualwho has never harmed them, and are led on from dislike to hatred, untiltheir soberest actions take colour from what in its earliest beginningswas nothing more than a senseless prejudice. Del Ferice's weakness washis unaccountable detestation of Giovanni Saracinesca; and he had so farsuffered this abhorrence of the man to dominate his existence, that ithad come to be one of his chiefest delights in life to thwart Giovanniwherever he could. How it had begun, or when, he no longer knew norcared. He had perhaps thought Giovanni treated him superciliously, oreven despised him; and his antagonism being roused by some fanciedslight, he had shown a petty resentment, which, again, Saracinescahad treated with cold indifference. Little by little his fanciedgrievance had acquired great proportions in his own estimation, and hehad learned to hate Giovanni more than any man living. At first it mighthave seemed an easy matter to ruin his adversary, or, at all event, tocause him great and serious injury; and but for that very indifferencewhich Del Ferice so resented, his attempts might have been successful. 

Giovanni belonged to a family who from the earliest times had been atswords-drawn with the Government. Their property had been more than onceconfiscated by the popes, had been seized again by force of arms, and hadbeen ultimately left to them for the mere sake of peace. They seem tohave quarrelled with everybody on every conceivable pretext, and to havegenerally got the best of the struggle. No pope had ever reckoned uponthe friendship of Casa Saracinesca. For generations they had headed theopposition whenever there was one, and had plotted to form one when therewas none ready to their hands. It seemed to Del Ferice that in thestirring times that followed the annexation of Naples to the Italiancrown, when all Europe was watching the growth of the new Power, itshould be an easy matter to draw a Saracinesca into any scheme for thesubversion of a Government against which so many generations ofSaracinesca had plotted and fought. To involve Giovanni in some Liberalconspiracy, and then by betraying him to cause him to be imprisoned orexiled from Rome, was a plan which pleased Del Ferice, and which hedesired earnestly to put into execution. He had often tried to lead hisenemy into conversation, repressing and hiding his dislike for the sakeof his end; but at the first mention of political subjects Giovannibecame impenetrable, shrugged, his shoulders, and assumed an air of theutmost indifference. No paradox could draw him into argument, noflattery could loose his tongue. Indeed those were times when menhesitated to express an opinion, not only because any opinion theymight express was liable to be exaggerated and distorted by willingenemies--a consideration which would not have greatly intimidatedGiovanni Saracinesca--but also because it was impossible for the wisestman to form any satisfactory judgment upon the course of events. It wasclear to every one that ever since 1848 the temporal power had beensustained by France; and though no one in 1865 foresaw the downfall ofthe Second Empire, no one saw any reason for supposing that the militaryprotectorate of Louis Napoleon in Rome could last for ever: what would belikely to occur if that protection were withdrawn was indeed a matter ofdoubt, but was not looked upon by the Government as a legitimate matterfor speculation. 

Del Ferice, however, did not desist from his attempts to make Giovannispeak out his mind, and whenever an opportunity offered, tried to drawhim into conversation. He was destined on the present occasion to meetwith greater success than had hitherto attended his efforts. The picnicwas noisy, and Giovanni was in a bad humour; he did not care for DonnaTullia's glances, nor for the remarks she constantly levelled at him;still less was he amused by the shallow gaiety of her party of admirers, tempered as their talk was by the occasional tonic of some outrageouscynicism from the melancholy Spicca. Del Ferice smiled, and talked, andsmiled again, seeking to flatter and please Donna Tullia, as was hiswont. By-and-by the clear north wind and the bright sun dried the ground, and Madame Mayer proposed that the party should walk a little on the roadtowards Rome--a proposal of such startling originality that it wascarried by acclamation. Donna Tullia wanted to walk with Giovanni; buton pretence of having left something upon the drag, he gave Valdarno timeto take his place. When Giovanni began to follow the rest, he found thatDel Ferice had lagged behind, and seemed to be waiting for him. 

Giovanni was in a bad humour that day. He had suffered himself to bepersuaded into joining in a species of amusement for which he carednothing, by a mere word from a woman for whom he cared less, but whom hehad half determined to marry, and who had wholly determined to marry him. He, who hated vacillation, had been dangling for four-and-twenty hourslike a pendulum, or, as he said to himself, like an ass between twobundles of hay. At one moment he meant to marry Donna Tullia, and atanother he loathed the thought; now he felt that he would make anysacrifice to rid the Duchessa d'Astrardente of himself, and now again hefelt how futile such a sacrifice would be. He was ashamed in his heart, for he was no boy of twenty to be swayed by a woman's look or a fit ofQuixotism; he was a strong grown man who had seen the world. He had beenin the habit of supposing his impulses to be good, and of following themnaturally without much thought; it seemed desperately perplexing to beforced into an analysis of those impulses in order to decide what heshould do. He was in a thoroughly bad humour, and Del Ferice guessed thatif Giovanni could ever be induced to speak out, it must be when histemper was not under control. In Rome, in the club--there was only oneclub in those days--in society, Ugo never got a chance to talk to hisenemy; but here upon the Appian Way, with the broad Campagna stretchingaway to right and left and rear, while the remainder of the party walkedthree hundred yards in front, and Giovanni showed an evident reluctanceto join them, it would go hard indeed if he could not be led intoconversation. 

"I should think, " Del Ferice began, "that if you had your choice, youwould walk anywhere rather than here. "

"Why?" asked Giovanni, carelessly. "It is a very good road. "

"I should think that our Roman Campagna would be anything but a source ofsatisfaction to its possessors--like yourself, " answered Del Ferice. 

"It is a very good grazing ground. "

"It might be something better. When one thinks that in ancient times itwas a vast series of villas--"

"The conditions were very different. We do not live in ancient times, "returned Giovanni, drily. 

"Ah, the conditions!" ejaculated Del Ferice, with a suave sigh. "Surelythe conditions depend on man--not on nature. What our proud forefathersaccomplished by law and energy, we could, we can accomplish, if werestore law and energy in our midst. "

"You are entirely mistaken, " answered Saracinesca. "It would take fivetimes the energy of the ancient Romans to turn the Campagna into agarden, or even into a fertile productive region. No one is five times asenergetic as the ancients. As for the laws, they do well enough. "

Del Ferice was delighted. For the first time, Giovanni seemed inclined toenter upon an argument with him. 

"Why are the conditions so different? I do not see. Here is the sameundulating country, the same climate--"

"And twice as much water, " interrupted Giovanni. "You forget that theCampagna is very low, and that the rivers in it have risen very much. There are parts of ancient Rome now laid bare which lie below the presentwater-mark of the Tiber. If the city were built upon its old level, muchof it would be constantly flooded. The rivers have risen and have swampedthe country. Do you think any amount of law or energy could drain thisfever-stricken plain into the sea? I do not. Do you think that if I couldbe persuaded that the land could be improved into fertility I wouldhesitate, at any expenditure in my power, to reclaim the miles of desertmy father and I own here? The plain is a series of swamps and stonequarries. In one place you find the rock a foot below the surface, andthe soil burns up in summer; a hundred yards farther you find a boghundreds of feet deep, which even in summer is never dry. "

"But, " suggested Del Ferice, who listened patiently enough, "supposingthe Government passed a law forcing all of you proprietors to plant treesand dig ditches, it would have some effect. "

"The law cannot force us to sacrifice men's lives. The Trappist monks atthe Tre Fontane are trying it, and dying by scores. Do you think I, orany other Roman, would send peasants to such a place, or could inducethem to go?"

"Well, it is one of a great many questions which will be settled someday, " said Del Fence. "You will not deny that there is room for muchimprovement in our country, and that an infusion of some progressistideas would be wholesome. "

"Perhaps so; but you understand one thing by progress, and I understandquite another, " replied Giovanni, eyeing in the bright distance thefigures of Donna Tullia and her friends, and regulating his pace so asnot to lessen the distance which separated them from him. He preferredtalking political economy with a man he disliked, to being obliged tomake conversation for Madame Mayer. 

"I mean by progress, positive improvement without revolutionary change, "explained Del Ferice, using the phrase he had long since constructed ashis profession of faith to the world. Giovanni eyed him keenly for amoment. He cared nothing for Ugo or his ideas, but he suspected him ofvery different principles. 

"You will pardon me, " he said, civilly, "if I venture to doubt whetheryou have frankly expressed your views. I am under the impression that youreally connect the idea of improvement with a very positive revolutionarychange. "

Del Ferice did not wince, but he involuntarily cast a glance behind him. Those were times when people were cautious of being overheard. But DelFerice knew his man, and he knew that the only way in which he couldcontinue the interview was to accept the imputation as though trustingimplicitly to the discretion of his companion. 

"Will you give me a fair answer to a fair question?" he asked, verygravely. 

"Let me hear the question, " returned Giovanni, indifferently. He alsoknew his man, and attached no more belief to anything he said than to thechattering of a parrot. And yet Del Ferice had not the reputation of aliar in the world at large. 

"Certainly, " answered Ugo. "You are the heir of a family which fromimmemorial time has opposed the popes. You cannot be supposed to feel anykind of loyal attachment to the temporal power. I do not know whetheryou individually would support it or not. But frankly, how would youregard such a revolutionary change as you suspect me of desiring?"

"I have no objection to telling you that. I would simply make the best ofit. "

Del Ferice laughed at the ambiguous answer, affecting to consider it as amere evasion. 

"We should all try to do that, " he answered; "but what I mean to ask is, whether you would personally take up arms to fight for the temporalpower, or whether you would allow events to take their course? I fancythat would be the ultimate test of loyalty. "

"My instinct would certainly be to fight, whether fighting were of anyuse or not. But the propriety of fighting in such a case is a very nicequestion of judgment. So long as there is anything to fight for, nomatter how hopeless the odds, a gentleman should go to the front--but nolonger. The question must be to decide the precise point at which theposition becomes untenable. So long as France makes our quarrels hers, every man should give his personal assistance to the cause; but it isabsurd to suppose that if we were left alone, a handful of Romans againsta great Power, we could do more, or should do more, than make a formalshow of resistance. It has been a rule in all ages that a general, however brave, who sacrifices the lives of his soldiers in a perfectlyhopeless resistance, rather than accept the terms of an honourablecapitulation, is guilty of a military crime. "

"In other words, " answered Del Ferice, quietly, "if the French troopswere withdrawn, and the Italians were besieging Rome, you would at oncecapitulate?"

"Certainly--after making a formal protest. It would be criminal tosacrifice our fellow-citizens' lives in such a case. "

"And then?"

"Then, as I said before, I would make the best of it--not omitting tocongratulate Del Ferice upon obtaining a post in the new Government, "added Giovanni, with a laugh. 

But Del Ferice took no notice of the jest. 

"Do you not think that, aside from any question of sympathy or loyalty tothe holy Father, the change of government would be an immense advantageto Rome?"

"No, I do not. To Italy the advantage would be inestimable; to Rome itwould be an injury. Italy would consolidate the prestige she began toacquire when Cavour succeeded in sending a handful of troops to theCrimea eleven years ago; she would at once take a high position as aEuropean Power--provided always that the smouldering republican elementshould not break out in opposition to the constitutional monarchy. ButRome would be ruined. She is no longer the geographical capital ofItaly--she is not even the largest city; but in the course of a fewyears, violent efforts would be made to give her a fictitious moderngrandeur, in the place of the moral importance she now enjoys as theheadquarters of the Catholic world. Those efforts at a spurious growthwould ruin her financially, and the hatred of Romans for Italians of thenorth would cause endless internal dissension. We should be subjected toa system of taxation which would fall more heavily on us than on otherItalians, in proportion as our land is less productive. On the whole, weshould grow rapidly poorer; for prices would rise, and we should have apaper currency instead of a metallic one. Especially we landedproprietors would suffer terribly by the Italian land system beingsuddenly thrust upon us. To be obliged to sell one's acres to any peasantwho can scrape together enough to capitalise the pittance he now pays asrent, at five per cent, would scarcely be agreeable. Such a fellow, fromwhom I have the greatest difficulty in extracting his yearly bushel ofgrain, could borrow twenty bushels from a neighbour, or the value ofthem, and buy me out without my consent--acquiring land worth ten timesthe rent he and his father have paid for it, and his father before him. It would produce an extraordinary state of things, I can assure you. No--even putting aside what you call my sympathies and my loyalty to thePope--I do not desire any change. Nobody who owns much property does; therevolutionary spirits are people who own nothing. "

"On the other hand, those who own nothing, or next to nothing, are thegreat majority. "

"Even if that is true, which I doubt, I do not see why the intelligentfew should be ruled by that same ignorant majority. "

"But you forget that the majority is to be educated, " objected DelFerice. 

"Education is a term few people can define, " returned Giovanni. "Any goodschoolmaster knows vastly more than you or I. Would you like to begoverned by a majority of schoolmasters?"

"That is a plausible argument, " laughed Del Ferice, "but it is notsound. "

"It is not sound!" repeated Giovanni, impatiently. "People are so fond ofexclaiming that what they do not like is not sound! Do you think that itwould not be a fair case to put five hundred schoolmasters against fivehundred gentlemen of average education? I think it would be very fair. The schoolmasters would certainly have the advantage in education: do youmean to say they would make better or wiser electors than the same numberof gentlemen who cannot name all the cities and rivers in Italy, nortranslate a page of Latin without a mistake, but who understand theconditions of property by practical experience as no schoolmaster canpossibly understand them? I tell you it is nonsense. Education, of thekind which is of any practical value in the government of a nation, meansthe teaching of human motives, of humanising ideas, of some systemwhereby the majority of electors can distinguish the qualities of honestyand common-sense in the candidate they wish to elect. I do not pretend tosay what that system may be, but I assert that no education which doesnot lead to that kind of knowledge is of any practical use to the votingmajority of a constitutionally governed country. "

Del Ferice sighed rather sadly. 

"I am afraid you will not discover that system in Europe, " he said. Hewas disappointed in Giovanni, and in his hopes of detecting in him somesigns of a revolutionary spirit. Saracinesca was a gentleman of the oldschool, who evidently despised majorities and modern political science asa whole, who for the sake of his own interests desired no change from theGovernment under which he lived, and who would surely be the first todraw the sword for the temporal power, and the last to sheathe it. Hiscalm judgment concerning the fallacy of holding a hopeless position wouldvanish like smoke if his fiery blood were once roused. He was so honest aman that even Del Ferice could not suspect him of parading views he didnot hold; and Ugo then and there abandoned all idea of bringing him intopolitical trouble and disgrace, though he by no means gave up all hope ofbeing able to ruin him in some other way. 

"I agree with you there at least, " said Saracinesca. "The onlyimprovements worth having are certainly not to be found in Europe. DonnaTullia is calling us. We had better join that harmless flock of lambs, and give over speculating on the advantages of allying ourselves with apack of wolves who will eat us up, house and home, bag and baggage. "

So the whole party climbed again to their seats upon the drag, andValdarno drove them back into Borne by the Porta San Giovanni. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Corona d'Astrardente had been educated in a convent--that is to say, shehad been brought up in the strict practice of her religion; and duringthe five years which had elapsed since she had come out into the world, she had found no cause for forsaking the habits she had acquired in hergirlhood. Some people find religion a burden; others regard it as anindifferently useless institution, in which they desire no share, andconcerning which they never trouble themselves; others, again, look uponit as the mainstay of their lives. 

It is natural to suppose that the mode of thought and the habits acquiredby young girls in a religious institution will not disappear without atrace when they first go into the world, and it may even be expected thatsome memory of the early disposition thus cultivated will cling to themthroughout their lives. But the multifarious interests of socialexistence do much to shake that young edifice of faith. The drivingstrength of stormy passions of all kinds undermines the walls of thefabric, and when at last the bolt of adversity strikes full upon thekeystone of the arch, upon the self of man or woman, weakened andloosened by the tempests of years, the whole palace of the soul falls in, a hopeless wreck, wherein not even the memory of outline can be traced, nor the faint shadow of a beauty which is destroyed for ever. 

But there are some whose interests in this world are not strong enough toshake their faith in the next; whose passions do not get the mastery, andwhose self is sheltered from danger by something more than the feebledefence of an accomplished egotism. Corona was one of these, for her lothad not been happy, nor her path strewn with roses. 

She was a friendless woman, destined to suffer much, and her sufferingwas the more intense that she seemed always upon the point of findingfriends in the world where she played so conspicuous a part. There can belittle happiness when a whole life has been placed upon a falsefoundation, even though so dire a mistake may have been committedwillingly and from a sense of duty and obligation, such as drove Coronato marry old Astrardente. Consolation is not satisfaction; and though, when she reflected on what she had done, she knew that from her point ofview she had done her best, she knew also that she had closed uponherself the gates of the earthly paradise, and that for her the prospectof happiness had been removed from the now to the hereafter--the dim andshadowy glass in which we love to see any reflection save that of ourpresent lives. And to her, thus living in submission to the consequencesof her choice, that faith in things better which had inspired her tosacrifice was the chief remaining source of consolation. There was a goodman to whom she went for advice, as she had gone to him ever since shecould remember. When she found herself in trouble she never hesitated. Padre Filippo was to her the living proof of the possibility of humangoodness, as faith is to us all the evidence of things not seen. 

Corona was in trouble now--in a trouble so new that she hardly understoodit, so terrible and yet so vague that she felt her peril imminent. Shedid not hesitate, therefore, nor change her mind upon the morningfollowing the day of the meet, but drove to the church of the Capuchinsin the Piazza Barberini, and went up the broad steps with a beatingheart, not knowing how she should tell what she meant to tell, yetknowing that there was for her no hope of peace unless she told itquickly, and got that advice and direction she so earnestly craved. 

Padre Filippo had been a man of the world in his time--a man of greatcultivation, full of refined tastes and understanding of tastes inothers, gentle and courteous in his manners, and very kind of heart. Noone knew whence he came. He spoke Italian correctly and with a keenscholarly use of words, but his slight accent betrayed his foreign birth. He had been a Capuchin monk for many years, perhaps for more than halfhis lifetime, and Corona could remember him from her childhood, for hehad been a friend of her father's; but he had not been consulted abouther marriage, --she even remembered that, though she had earnestly desiredto see him before the wedding-day, her father had told her that he hadleft Rome for a time. For the old gentleman was in terrible earnest aboutthe match, so that in his heart he feared lest Corona might waver and askPadre Filippo's advice; and he knew the good monk too well to think thathe would give his countenance to such a sacrifice as was contemplatedin marrying the young girl to old Astrardente. Corona had known thislater, but had hardly realised the selfishness of her father, nor indeedhad desired to realise it. It was sufficient that he had died satisfiedin seeing her married to a great noble, and that she had been able, inhis last days, to relieve him from the distress of debt and embarrassmentwhich had doubtless contributed to shorten his life. 

The proud woman who had thus once humbled herself for an object shethought good, had never referred to her action again. She had neverspoken of her position to Padre Filippo, so that the monk wondered andadmired her steadfastness. If she suffered, it was in silence, withoutcomment and without complaint, and so she would have suffered to the end. But it had been ordered otherwise. For months she had known that theinterest she felt in Giovanni Saracinesca was increasing: she had chokedit down, had done all in her power to prove herself indifferent to him;but at last the crisis had come. When he spoke to her of his marriage, she had felt--she knew now that it was so--that she loved him. The veryword, as she repeated it to herself, rang like an awful, almostincomprehensible, accusation of evil in her ears. One moment she stood atthe top of the steps outside the church, looking down at the barestraggling trees below, and upward to the grey sky, against which thelofty eaves of the Palazzo Barberini stood out sharply defined. Theweather had changed again, and a soft southerly wind was blowing thespray of the fountain half across the piazza. Corona paused, her gracefulfigure half leaning against the stone doorpost of the church, her handupon the heavy leathern curtain in the act to lift it; and as she stoodthere, a desperate temptation assailed her. It seemed desperate toher--to many another woman it would have appeared only the natural courseto pursue--to turn her back upon the church, to put off the hard momentof confession, to go down again into the city, and to say to herself thatthere was no harm in seeing Don Giovanni, provided she never let himspeak of love. Why should he speak of it? Had she any reason to supposethere was danger to her in anything he meant to say? Had he ever, by wordor deed, betrayed that interest in her which she knew in herself was lovefor him? Had he ever?--ah yes! It was only the night before last that hehad asked her advice, had besought her to advise him not to marryanother, had suffered his arm to tremble when she laid her hand upon it. In the quick remembrance that he too had shown some feeling, there was asudden burst of joy such as Corona had never felt, and a moment later sheknew it and was afraid. It was true, then. At the very time when she wasmost oppressed with the sense of her fault in loving him, there was aninward rejoicing in her heart at the bare thought that she loved him. Could a woman fall lower, she asked herself--lower than to delight inwhat she knew to be most bad? And yet it was such a poor little thrill ofpleasure after all; but it was the first she had ever known. To turn awayand reflect for a few days would be so easy! It would be so sweet tothink of it, even though the excuse for thinking of Giovanni should be agood determination to root him from her life. It would be so sweet todrive again alone among the trees that very afternoon, and to weigh thesalvation of her soul in the balance of her heart: her heart would knowhow to turn the scales, surely enough. Corona stood still, holding thecurtain in her hand. She was a brave woman, but she turned pale--nothesitating, she said to herself, but pausing. Then, suddenly, a greatscorn of herself arose in her. Was it worthy of her even to pause indoing right? The nobility of her courage cried loudly to her to go in anddo the thing most worthy: her hand lifted the heavy leathern apron, andshe entered the church. 

The air within was heavy and moist, and the grey light fell coldlythrough the tall windows. Corona shuddered, and drew her furs moreclosely about her as she passed up the aisle to the door of the sacristy. She found the monk she sought, and she made her confession. 

"Padre mio, " she said at last, when the good man thought she hadfinished--"Padre mio, I am a very miserable woman. " She hid her dark facein her ungloved hands, and one by one the crystal tears welled from hereyes and trickled down upon her small fingers and upon the worn blackwood of the confessional. 

"My daughter, " said the good monk, "I will pray for you, others will prayfor you--but before all things, you must pray for yourself. And let meadvise you, my child, that as we are all led into temptation, we mustnot think that because we have been in temptation we have sinnedhopelessly; nor, if we have fought against the thing that tempts us, should we at once imagine that we have overcome it, and have donealtogether right. If there were no evil in ourselves, there could be notemptation from without, for nothing evil could seem pleasant. But withyou I cannot find that you have done any great wrong as yet. You musttake courage. We are all in the world, and do what we may, we cannotdisregard it. The sin you see is real, but it is yet not very near yousince you so abhor it; and if you pray that you may hate it, it will gofurther from you till you may hope not even to understand how it couldonce have been so near. Take courage--take comfort. Do not be morbid. Resist temptation, but do not analyse it nor yourself too closely; forit is one of the chief signs of evil in us that when we dwell too muchupon ourselves and upon our temptations, we ourselves seem good in ourown eyes, and our temptations not unpleasant, because the very resistingof them seems to make us appear better than we are. "

But the tears still flowed from Corona's eyes in the dark corner of thechurch, and she could not be comforted. 

"Padre mio, " she repeated, "I am very unhappy. I have not a friend in theworld to whom I can speak. I have never seen my life before as I see itnow. God forgive me, I have never loved my husband. I never knew what itmeant to love. I was a mere child, a very innocent child, when I wasmarried to him. I would have sought your advice, but they told me youwere away, and I thought I was doing right in obeying my father. "

Padre Filippo sighed. He had long known and understood why Corona had notbeen allowed to come to him at the most important moment of her life. 

"My husband is very kind to me, " she continued in broken tones. "He lovesme in his way, but I do not love him. That of itself is a great sin. Itseems to me as though I saw but one half of life, and saw it from thewindow of a prison; and yet I am not imprisoned. I would that I were, forI should never have seen another man. I should never have heard hisvoice, nor seen his face, nor--nor loved him, as I do love him, " shesobbed. 

"Hush, my daughter, " said the old monk, very gently. "You told me you hadnever spoken of love; that you were interested in him, indeed, but thatyou did not know--"

"I know--I know now, " cried Corona, losing all control as the passionatetears flowed down. "I could not say it--it seemed so dreadful--I love himwith my whole self! I can never get it out--it burns me. O God, I am sowretched!"

Padre Filippo was silent for a while. It was a terrible case. He couldnot remember in all his experience to have known one more sad tocontemplate, though his business was with the sins and the sorrows of theworld. The beautiful woman kneeling outside his confessional wasinnocent--as innocent as a child, brave and faithful. She had sacrificedher whole life for her father, who had been little worthy of suchdevotion; she had borne for years the suffering of being tied to an oldman whom she could not help despising, however honestly she tried toconceal the fact from herself, however effectually she hid it fromothers. It was a wonder the disaster had not occurred before: it showedhow loyal and true a woman she was, that, living in the very centre andmidst of the world, admired and assailed by many, she should never infive years have so much as thought of any man beside her husband. A womanmade for love and happiness, in the glory of beauty and youth, capableof such unfaltering determination in her loyalty, so good, so noble, sogenerous, --it seemed unspeakably pathetic to hear her weeping her heartout, and confessing that, after so many struggles and efforts andsacrifices, she had at last met the common fate of all humanity, andwas become subject to love. What might have been her happiness was turnedto dishonour; what should have been the pride of her young life was madea reproach. 

She would not fall. The grey-haired monk believed that, in his greatknowledge of mankind. But she would suffer terribly, and it might be thatothers would suffer also. It was the consequence of an irretrievableerror in the beginning, when it had seemed to the young girl justleaving the convent that the best protection against the world of evilinto which she was to go would be the unconditional sacrifice of herself. 

Padre Filippo was silent. He hoped that the passionate outburst of griefand self-reproach would pass, though he himself could find little enoughto say. It was all too natural. What was he, he thought, that he shouldexplain away nature, and bid a friendless woman defy a power that hasmore than once overset the reckoning of the world? He could bid her prayfor help and strength, but he found it hard to argue the case with her;for he had to allow that his beautiful penitent was, after all, onlyexperiencing what it might have been foretold that she must feel, andthat, as far as he could see, she was struggling bravely against thedangers of her situation. 

Corona cried bitterly as she knelt there. It was a great relief to giveway for a time to the whole violence of what she felt. It may be that inher tears there was a subtle instinctive knowledge that she was weepingfor her love as well as for her sin in loving, but her grief was nonethe less real. She did not understand herself. She did not know, as PadreFilippo knew, that her woman's heart was breaking for sympathy ratherthan for religious counsel. She knew many women, but her noble pridewould not have let her even contemplate the possibility of confiding inany one of them, even if she could have done so in the certainty of notbeing herself betrayed and of not betraying the man she loved. She hadbeen accustomed to come to her confessor for counsel, and she now came tohim with her troubles and craved sympathy for them, in the knowledge thatPadre Filippo could never know the name of the man who had disturbed herpeace. 

But the monk understood well enough, and his kind heart comprehended hersand felt for her. 

"My daughter, " he said at last, when she seemed to have grown more calm, "it would be an inestimable advantage if this man could go away for atime, but that is probably not to be expected. Meanwhile, you must notlisten to him if he speaks--"

"It is not that, " interrupted Corona--"it is not that. He never speaks oflove. Oh, I really believe he does not love me at all!" But in her heartshe felt that he must love her; and her hand, as it lay upon the hardwood of the confessional, seemed still to feel his trembling arm. 

"That is so much the better, my child, " said the monk, quietly. "For ifhe does not love you, your temptations will not grow stronger. "

"And yet, perhaps--he may--" murmured Corona, feeling that it would bewrong even to conceal her faintest suspicions at such a time. 

"Let there be no perhaps, " answered Padre Filippo, almost sternly. "Letit never enter your mind that he might love you. Think that even from theworldly point there is small dignity in a woman who exhibits love for aman who has never mentioned love to her. You have no reason to supposeyou are loved save that you desire to be. Let there be no perhaps. "

The monk's keen insight into character had given him an unexpected weaponin Corona's defence. He knew how of all things a proud woman hates toknow that where she has placed her heart there is no response, and thatif she fails to awaken an affection akin to her own, what has been lovemay be turned to loathing, or at least to indifference. The strongcharacter of the Duchessa d'Astrardente responded to his touch as heexpected. Her tears ceased to flow, and her scorn rose haughtily againstherself. 

"It is true. I am despicable, " she said, suddenly. "You have shown memyself. There shall be no perhaps. I loathe myself for thinking of it. Pray for me, lest I fall so low again. "

A few minutes later Corona left the confessional and went and kneeled inthe body of the church to collect her thoughts. She was in a verydifferent frame of mind from that in which she had left home an hour ago. She hardly knew whether she felt herself a better woman, but she wassure that she was stronger. There was no desire left in her to meditatesadly upon her sorrow--to go over and over in her thoughts the feelingsshe experienced, the fears she felt, the half-formulated hope thatGiovanni might love her after all. There was left only a haughtydetermination to have done with her folly quickly and surely, and to tryand forget it for ever. The confessor's words had produced their effect. Henceforth she would never stoop so low again. She was ready to go outinto the world now, and she felt no fear. It was more from habit than forthe sake of saying a prayer that she knelt in the church after herconfession, for she felt very strong. She rose to her feet presently, andmoved towards the door: she had not gone half the length of the churchwhen she came face to face with Donna Tullia Mayer. 

It was a strange coincidence. The ladies of Rome frequently go to thechurch of the Capuchins, as Corona had done, to seek the aid and counselof Padre Filippo, but Corona had never met Donna Tullia there. MadameMayer did not profess to be very devout. As a matter of fact, she had notfound it convenient to go to confession during the Christmas season, andshe had been intending to make up for the deficiency for some time past;but it is improbable that she would have decided upon fulfilling herreligious obligations before Lent if she had not chanced to see theDuchessa d'Astrardente's carriage standing at the foot of the churchsteps. 

Donna Tullia had risen early because she was going to sit for herportrait to a young artist who lived in the neighbourhood of the PiazzaBarberini, and as she passed in her brougham she caught sight of theDuchessa's liveries. The artist could wait half an hour: the opportunitywas admirable. She was alone, and would not only do her duty in going toconfession, but would have a chance of seeing how Corona looked when shehad been at her devotions. It might also be possible to judge from PadreFilippo's manner whether the interview had been an interesting one. TheAstrardente was so very devout that she probably had difficulty ininventing sins to confess. One might perhaps tell from her face whethershe had felt any emotion. At all events the opportunity should not belost. Besides, if Donna Tullia found that she herself was really not in aproper frame of mind for religious exercises, she could easily spend afew moments in the church and then proceed upon her way. She stopped hercarriage and went in. She had just entered when she was aware of the tallfigure of Corona d'Astrardente coming towards her, magnificent in thesimplicity of her furs, a short veil just covering half her face, and anunwonted colour in her dark cheeks. 

Corona was surprised at meeting Madame Mayer, but she did not show it. She nodded with a sufficiently pleasant smile, and would have passed on. This would not have suited Donna Tullia's intentions, however, for shemeant to have a good look at her friend. It was not for nothing that shehad made up her mind to go to confession at a moment's notice. Shetherefore stopped the Duchessa, and insisted upon shaking hands. 

"What an extraordinary coincidence!" she exclaimed. "You must have beento see Padre Filippo too?"

"Yes, " answered Corona. "You will find him in the sacristy. " She noticedthat Madame Mayer regarded her with great interest. Indeed she couldhardly be aware how unlike her usual self she appeared. There were darkrings beneath her eyes, and her eyes themselves seemed to emit a strangelight; while an unwonted colour illuminated her olive cheeks, and hervoice had a curiously excited tone. Madame Mayer stared at her so hardthat she noticed it. 

"Why do you look at me like that?" asked the Duchessa, with a smile. 

"I was wondering what in the world you could find to confess, " repliedDonna Tullia, sweetly. "You are so immensely good, you see; everybodywonders at you. "

Corona's eyes flashed darkly. She suspected that Madame Mayer noticedsomething unusual in her appearance, and had made the awkward speech toconceal her curiosity. She was annoyed at the meeting, still more atbeing detained in conversation within the church. 

"It is very kind of you to invest me with such virtues, " she answered. "Iassure you I am not half so good as you suppose. Good-bye--I must begoing home. "

"Stay!" exclaimed Donna Tullia; "I can go to confession another time. Will not you come with me to Gouache's studio? I am going to sit. It issuch a bore to go alone. "

"Thank you very much, " said Corona, civilly. "I am afraid I cannot go. Myhusband expects me at home. I wish you a good sitting. "

"Well, good-bye. Oh, I forgot to tell you, we had such a charming picnicyesterday. It was so fortunate--the only fine day this week. Giovanni wasvery amusing: he was completely _en train_, and kept us laughing thewhole day. Good-bye; I do so wish you had come. "

"I was very sorry, " answered Corona, quietly, "but it was impossible. Iam glad you all enjoyed it so much. Good-bye. "

So they parted. 

"How she wishes that same husband of hers would follow the example of myexcellent old Mayer, of blessed memory, and take himself out of the worldto-day or to-morrow!" thought Donna Tullia, as she walked up the church. 

She was sure something unusual had occurred, and she longed to fathom themystery. But she was not altogether a bad woman, and when she hadcollected her thoughts she made up her mind that even by the utmoststretch of moral indulgence, she could not consider herself in a properstate to undertake so serious a matter as confession. She thereforewaited a few minutes, to give time for Corona to drive away, and thenturned back. She cautiously pushed aside the curtain and looked out. The Astrardente carriage was just disappearing in the distance. DonnaTullia descended the steps, got into her brougham, and proceeded to thestudio of Monsieur Anastase Gouache, the portrait-painter. She had notaccomplished much, save to rouse her curiosity, and that parting thrustconcerning Don Giovanni had been rather ill-timed. 

She drove to the door of the studio and found Del Ferice waiting for heras usual. If Corona had accompanied her, she would have expressedastonishment at finding him; but, as a matter of fact, Ugo always mether there, and helped to pass the time while she was sitting. He was veryamusing, and not altogether unsympathetic to her; and moreover, heprofessed for her the most profound devotion--genuine, perhaps, andcertainly skilfully expressed. If any one had paid much attention to DelFence's doings, it would have been said that he was paying court to therich young widow. But he was never looked upon by society from the pointof view of matrimonial possibility, and no one thought of attaching anyimportance to his doings. Nevertheless Ugo, who had been gradually risingin the social scale for many years, saw no reason why he should not winthe hand of Donna Tullia as well as any one else, if only GiovanniSaracinesca could be kept out of the way; and he devoted himself withbecoming assiduity to the service of the widow, while doing his utmost topromote Giovanni's attachment for the Astrardente, which he had been thefirst to discover. Donna Tullia would probably have laughed to scorn theidea that Del Ferice could think of himself seriously as a suitor, but ofall her admirers she found him the most constant and the most convenient. 

"What are the news this morning?" she asked, as he opened hercarriage-door for her before the studio. 

"None, save that I am your faithful slave as ever, " he answered. 

"I have just seen the Astrardente, " said Donna Tullia, still sitting inher seat. "I will let you guess where it was that we met. "

"You met in the church of the Capuchins, " replied Del Ferice promptly, with a smile of satisfaction. 

"You are a sorcerer: how did you know? Did you guess it?"

"If you will look down this street from where I stand, you will perceivethat I could distinctly see any carriage which turned out of the PiazzaBarberini towards the Capuchins, " replied Ugo. "She was there nearly anhour, and you only stayed five minutes. "

"How dreadful it is to be watched like this!" exclaimed Donna Tullia, with a little laugh, half expressive of satisfaction and half ofamusement at Del Fence's devotion. 

"How can I help watching you, as the earth watches the sun in its dailycourse?" said Ugo, with a sentimental intonation of his soft persuasivevoice. Donna Tullia looked at his smooth face, and laughed again, halfkindly. 

"The Astrardente had been confessing her sins, " she remarked. 

"Again? She is always confessing. "

"What do you suppose she finds to say?" asked Donna Tullia. 

"That her husband is hideous, and that you are beautiful, " answered DelFerice, readily enough. 

"Why?"

"Because she hates her husband and hates you. "

"Why, again?"

"Because you took Giovanni Saracinesca to your picnic yesterday; becauseyou are always taking him away from her. For the matter of that, I hatehim as much as the Astrardente hates you, " added Del Ferice, with anagreeable smile. Donna Tullia did not despise flattery, but Ugo made herthoughtful. 

"Do you think she really cares--?" she asked. 

"As surely as that he does not, " replied Del Ferice. 

"It would be strange, " said Donna Tullia, meditatively. "I would like toknow if it is true. "

"You have only to watch them. "

"Surely Giovanni cares more than she does, " objected Madame Mayer. "Everybody says he loves her; nobody says she loves him. "

"All the more reason. Popular report is always mistaken--exceptin regard to you. "

"To me?"

"Since it ascribes to you so much that is good, it cannot be wrong, "replied Del Ferice. 

Donna Tullia laughed, and took his hand to descend from her carriage. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Monsieur Gouache's studio was on the second floor. The narrow flight ofsteps ended abruptly against a green door, perforated by a slit for theinsertion of letters, by a shabby green cord which, being pulled, rang afeeble bell, and adorned by a visiting-card, whereon with manysuperfluous flourishes and ornaments of caligraphy was inscribed the nameof the artist--ANASTASE GOUACHE. 

The door being opened by a string, Donna Tullia and Del Ferice entered, and mounting half-a-dozen more steps, found themselves in the studio, aspacious room with a window high above the floor, half shaded by acurtain of grey cotton. In one corner an iron stove gave out loudcracking sounds, pleasant to hear on the damp winter's morning, and theflame shone red through chinks of the rusty door. A dark-green carpet inpassably good condition covered the floor; three or four broad divans, spread with oriental rugs, and two very much dilapidated carved chairswith leathern seats, constituted the furniture; the walls were hung withsketches of heads and figures; half-finished portraits stood upon twoeasels, and others were leaning together in a corner; a couple of smalltables were covered with colour-tubes, brushes, and palette-knives;mingled odours of paint, varnish, and cigarette-smoke pervaded the air;and, lastly, upon a high stool before one of the easels, his sleevesturned up to the elbow, and his feet tucked in upon a rail beneath him, sat Anastase Gouache himself. 

He was a man of not more than seven-and-twenty years, with delicate palefeatures, and an abundance of glossy black hair. A small and very muchpointed moustache shaded his upper lip, and the extremities thereof roseshort and perpendicular from the corners of his well-shaped mouth. Hiseyes were dark and singularly expressive, his forehead low and verybroad; his hands were sufficiently nervous and well knit, but white as awoman's, and the fingers tapered delicately to the tips. He wore a brownvelvet coat more or less daubed with paint, and his collar was low at thethroat. 

He sprang from his high stool as Donna Tullia and Del Ferice entered, hispalette and mahl-stick in his hand, and made a most ceremonious bow;whereat Donna Tullia laughed gaily. 

"Well, Gouache, " she said familiarly, "what have you been doing?"

Anastase motioned to her to come before his canvas and contemplate theportrait of herself upon which he was working. It was undeniably good--astriking figure in full-length, life-size, and breathing with DonnaTullia's vitality, if also with something of her coarseness. 

"Ah, my friend, " remarked Del Ferice, "you will never be successful untilyou take my advice. "

"I think it is very like, " said Donna Tullia, thoughtfully. 

"You are too modest, " answered Del Ferice. "There is the foundation oflikeness, but it lacks yet the soul. "

"Oh, but that will come, " returned Madame Mayer. Then turning to theartist, she added in a more doubtful voice, "Perhaps, as Del Ferice says, you might give it a little more expression--what shall I say?--morepoetry. "

Anastase Gouache smiled a fine smile. He was a man of immense talent;since he had won the Prix de Rome he had made great progress, and wasalready half famous with that young celebrity which young men easilymistake for fame itself. A new comet visible only through a good glasscauses a deal of talk and speculation in the world; but unless it comesnear enough to brush the earth with its tail, it is very soon forgotten. But Gouache seemed to understand this, and worked steadily on. WhenMadame Mayer expressed a wish for a little more poetry in her portrait, he smiled, well knowing that poetry was as far removed from her nature asdry champagne is different in quality from small beer. 

"Yes, " he said; "I know--I am only too conscious of that defect. " Asindeed he was--conscious of the defect of it in herself. But he had manyreasons for not wishing to quarrel with Donna Tullia, and he swallowedhis artistic convictions in a rash resolve to make her look like aninspired prophetess rather than displease her. 

"If you will sit down, I will work upon the head, " he said; and movingone of the old carved chairs into position for her, he adjusted the lightand began to work without any further words. Del Ferice installed himselfupon a divan whence he could see Donna Tullia and her portrait, and thesitting began. It might have continued for some time in a profoundsilence as far as the two men were concerned, but silence was notbearable for long to Donna Tullia. 

"What were you and Saracinesca talking about yesterday?" she askedsuddenly, looking towards Del Ferice. 

"Politics, " he answered, and was silent. 

"Well?" inquired Madame Mayer, rather anxiously. 

"I am sure you know his views as well as I, " returned Del Ferice, rathergloomily. "He is stupid and prejudiced. "

"Really?" ejaculated Gouache, with innocent surprise. "A little moretowards me, Madame. Thank you--so. " And he continued painting. 

"You are absurd, Del Ferice!" exclaimed Donna Tullia, colouring a little. "You think every one prejudiced and stupid who does not agree with you. "

"With me? With you, with us, you should say. Giovanni is a specimen ofthe furious Conservative, who hates change and has a cold chill at theword 'republic' Do you call that intelligent?"

"Giovanni is intelligent for all that, " answered Madame Mayer. "I am notsure that he is not more intelligent than you--in some ways, " she added, after allowing her rebuke to take effect. 

Del Ferice smiled blandly. It was not his business to show that he washurt. 

"In one thing he is stupid compared with me, " he replied. "He is very farfrom doing justice to your charms. It must be a singular lack ofintelligence which prevents him from seeing that you are as beautiful asyou are charming. Is it not so, Gouache?"

"Does any one deny it?" asked the Frenchman, with an air of devotion. 

Madame Mayer blushed with annoyance; both because she coveted Giovanni'sadmiration more than that of other men, and knew that she had not won it, and because she hated to feel that Del Ferice was able to wound her soeasily. To cover her discomfiture she returned to the subject ofpolitics. 

"We talk a great deal of our convictions, " she said; "but in themeanwhile we must acknowledge that we have accomplished nothing at all. What is the good of our meeting here two or three times a-week, meetingin society, whispering together, corresponding in cipher, and doing allmanner of things, when everything goes on just the same as before?"

"Better give it up and join Don Giovanni and his party, " returned DelFerice, with a sneer. "He says if a change comes he will make the best ofit. Of course, we could not do better. "

"With us it is so easy, " said Gouache, thoughtfully. "A handful ofstudents, a few paving-stones, 'Vive la République!' and we have a tumultin no time. "

That was not the kind of revolution in which Del Ferice proposed to havea hand. He meditated playing a very small part in some great movement;and when the fighting should be over, he meant to exaggerate the part hehad played, and claim a substantial reward. For a good title and twentythousand francs a-year he would have become as stanch for the temporalpower as any canon of St. Peter's. When he had begun talking ofrevolutions to Madame Mayer and to half-a-dozen harebrained youths, ofwhom Gouache the painter was one, he had not really the slightest idea ofaccomplishing anything. He took advantage of the prevailing excitementin order to draw Donna Tullia into a closer confidence than he couldotherwise have aspired to obtain. He wanted to marry her, and every newpower he could obtain over her was a step towards his goal. Neither shenor her friends were of the stuff required for revolutionary work; butDel Ferice had hopes that, by means of the knot of malcontents he wasgradually drawing together, he might ruin Giovanni Saracinesca, and getthe hand of Donna Tullia in marriage. He himself was indeed deeplyimplicated in the plots of the Italian party; but he was only employed asa spy, and in reality knew no more of the real intentions of those heserved than did Donna Tullia herself. But the position was sufficientlylucrative; so much so that he had been obliged to account for hisaccession of fortune by saying that an uncle of his had died and left himmoney. 

"If you expected Don Giovanni to join a mob of students in tearing uppaving-stones and screaming 'Vive la République!' I am not surprised thatyou are disappointed in your expectations, " said Donna Tullia, ratherscornfully. 

"That is only Gouache's idea of a popular movement, " answered Del Ferice. 

"And yours, " returned Anastase, lowering his mahl-stick and brushes, andturning sharply upon the Italian--"yours would be to begin by stabbingCardinal Antonelli in the back. "

"You mistake me, my friend, " returned Del Ferice, blandly. "If youvolunteered to perform that service to Italy, I would certainly notdissuade you. But I would certainly not offer you my assistance. "

"Fie! How can you talk like that of murder!" exclaimed Donna Tullia. "Goon with your painting, Gouache, and do not be ridiculous. "

"The question of tyrannicide is marvellously interesting, " answeredAnastase in a meditative tone, as he resumed his work, and glancedcritically from Madame Mayer to his canvas and back again. 

"It belongs to a class of actions at which Del Ferice rejoices, but inwhich he desires no part, " said Donna Tullia. 

"It seems to me wiser to contemplate accomplishing the good resultwithout any unnecessary and treacherous bloodshed, " answered Del Ferice, sententiously. Again Gouache smiled in his delicate satirical fashion, and glanced at Madame Mayer, who burst into a laugh. 

"Moral reflections never sound so especially and ridiculously moral as inyour mouth, Ugo, " she said. 

"Why?" he asked, in an injured tone. 

"I am sure I do not know. Of course, we all would like to see VictorEmmanuel in the Quirinal, and Rome the capital of a free Italy. Of coursewe would all like to see it accomplished without murder or bloodshed; butsomehow, when you put it into words, it sounds very absurd. "

In her brutal fashion Madame Mayer had hit upon a great truth, and DelFerice was very much annoyed. He knew himself to be a scoundrel; he knewMadame Mayer to be a woman of very commonplace intellect; he wonderedwhy he was not able to deceive her more effectually. He was often able todirect her, he sometimes elicited from her some expression of admirationat his astuteness; but in spite of his best efforts, she saw through himand understood him better than he liked. 

"I am sorry, " he said, "that what is honourable should sound ridiculouswhen it comes from me. I like to think sometimes that you believe in me. "

"Oh, I do, " protested Donna Tullia, with a sudden change of manner. "Iwas only laughing. I think you are really in earnest. Only, you know, nowadays, it is not the fashion to utter moralities in a severe tone, with an air of conviction. A little dash of cynicism--you know, a sort ofhalf sneer--is so much more _chic_; it gives a much higher idea of themorality, because it conveys the impression that it is utterly beyondyou. Ask Gouache--"

"By all means, " said the artist, squeezing a little more red from thetube upon his palette, "one should always sneer at what one cannot reach. The fox, you remember, called the grapes sour. He was probably right, forhe is the most intelligent of animals. "

"I would like to hear what Giovanni had to say about those grapes, "remarked Donna Tullia. 

"Oh, he sneered in the most fashionable way, " answered Del Ferice. "Hewould have pleased you immensely. He said that he would be ruined by achange of government, and that he thought it his duty to fight againstit. He talked a great deal about the level of the Tiber, and landedproperty, and the duties of gentlemen. And he ended by saying he wouldmake the best of any change that happened to come about, like athoroughgoing egotist, as he is!"

"I would like to hear what you think of Don Giovanni Saracinesca, " saidGouache; "and then I would like to hear what he thinks of you. "

"I can tell you both, " answered Del Fence. "I think of him that he is athorough aristocrat, full of prejudices and money, unwilling to sacrificehis convictions to his wealth or his wealth to his convictions, intelligent in regard to his own interests and blind to those of others, imbued with a thousand and one curious feudal notions, and overcome witha sense of his own importance. "

"And what does he think of you?" asked Anastase, working busily. 

"Oh, it is very simple, " returned Del Ferice, with a laugh. "He thinks Iam a great scoundrel. "

"Really! How strange! I should not have said that. "

"What? That Del Fence is a scoundrel?" asked Donna Tullia, laughing. 

"No; I should not have said it, " repeated Anastase, thoughtfully. "Ishould say that our friend Del Ferice is a man of the most profoundphilanthropic convictions, nobly devoting his life to the pursuit ofliberty, fraternity, and equality. "

"Do you really think so?" asked Donna Tullia, with a half-comic glance atUgo, who looked uncommonly grave. 

"Madame, " returned Gouache, "I never permit myself to think otherwise ofany of my friends. "

"Upon my word, " remarked Del Fence, "I am delighted at the compliment, mydear fellow; but I must infer that your judgment of your friends issingularly limited. "

"Perhaps, " answered Gouache. "But the number of my friends is not large, and I myself am very enthusiastic. I look forward to the day when'liberty, equality, and fraternity' shall be inscribed in letters offlame, in the most expensive Bengal lights if you please, over the _portecochère_ of every palace in Rome, not to mention the churches. I lookforward to that day, but I have not the slightest expectation of everseeing it. Moreover, if it ever comes, I will pack up my palette andbrushes and go somewhere else by the nearest route. "

"Good heavens, Gouache!" exclaimed Donna Tullia; "how can you talk likethat? It is really dreadfully irreverent to jest about our most sacredconvictions, or to say that we desire to see those words written over thedoors of our churches!"

"I am not jesting. I worship Victor Hugo. I love to dream of theuniversal republic--it has immense artistic attractions--the fierceyelling crowd, the savage faces, the red caps, the terrible mænad womenurging the brawny ruffians on to shed more blood, the lurid light ofburning churches, the pale and trembling victims dragged beneath thepoised knife, --ah, it is superb, it has stupendous artistic capabilities!But for myself--bah! I am a good Catholic--I wish nobody any harm, forlife is very gay after all. "

At this remarkable exposition of Anastase Gouache's views in regard tothe utility of revolutions, Del Ferice laughed loudly; but Anastaseremained perfectly grave, for he was perfectly sincere. Del Ferice, towhom the daily whispered talk of revolution in Donna Tullia's circle wasmere child's play, was utterly indifferent, and suffered himself to beamused by the young artist's vagaries. But Donna Tullia, who longed tosee herself the centre of a real plot, thought that she was beinglaughed, at, and pouted her red lips and frowned her displeasure. 

"I believe you have no convictions!" she said angrily. "While we arerisking our lives and fortunes for the good cause, you sit here in yourstudio dreaming of barricades and guillotines, merely as subjects forpictures--you even acknowledge that in case we produce a revolutionyou would go away. "

"Not without finishing this portrait, " returned Anastase, quite unmoved. "It is an exceedingly good likeness; and in case you should everdisappear--you know people sometimes do in revolutions--or if by anyunlucky accident your beautiful neck should chance beneath thatguillotine you just mentioned, --why, then, this canvas would be the mostdelightful souvenir of many pleasant mornings, would it not?"

"You are incorrigible, " said Donna Tullia, with a slight laugh. "Youcannot be serious for a moment. "

"It is very hard to paint you when your expression changes so often, "replied Anastase, calmly. 

"I am not in a good humour for sitting to you this morning. I wish youwould amuse me, Del Ferice. You generally can. "

"I thought politics amused you--"

"They interest me. But Gouache's ideas are detestable. "

"Will you not give us some of your own, Madame?" inquired the painter, stepping back from his canvas to get a better view of his work. 

"Oh, mine are very simple, " answered Donna Tullia. "Victor Emmanuel, Garibaldi, and a free press. "

"A combination of monarchy, republicanism, and popular education--notvery interesting, " remarked Gouache, still eyeing his picture. 

"No; there would be nothing for you to paint, except portraits of theliberators--"

"There is a great deal of that done. I have seen them in every café inthe north of Italy, " interrupted the artist. "I would like to paintGaribaldi. He has a fine head. "

"I will ask him to sit to you when he comes here. "

"When he comes I shall be here no longer, " answered Gouache. "They willwhitewash the Corso, they will make a restaurant of the Colosseum, andthey will hoist the Italian flag on the cross of St. Peter's. Then I willgo to Constantinople; there will still be some years before Turkey ismodernised. "

"Artists are hopeless people, " said Del Ferice. "They are utterlyillogical, and it is impossible to deal with them. If you like oldcities, why do you not like old women? Why would you not rather paintDonna Tullia's old Countess than Donna Tullia herself?"

"That is precisely the opposite case, " replied Anastase, quietly. "Theworks of man are never so beautiful as when they are falling to decay;the works of God are most beautiful when they are young. You might aswell say that because wine improves with age, therefore horses dolikewise. The faculty of comparison is lacking in your mind, my dear DelFerice, as it is generally lacking in the minds of true patriots. Greatreforms and great revolutions are generally brought about by people offierce and desperate convictions, like yours, who go to extreme lengths, and never know when to stop. The quintessence of an artist's talent isprecisely that faculty of comparison, that gift of knowing when the thinghe is doing corresponds as nearly as he can make it with the thing he hasimagined. "

There was no tinge of sarcasm in Gouache's voice as he imputed to DelFerice the savage enthusiasm of a revolutionist. But when Gouache, whowas by no means calm by nature, said anything in a particularly gentletone, there was generally a sting in it, and Del Ferice reflected uponthe mean traffic in stolen information by which he got his livelihood, and was ashamed. Somehow, too, Donna Tullia felt that the part shefancied herself playing was contemptible enough when compared with thehard work, the earnest purpose, and the remarkable talent of the youngartist. But though she felt her inferiority, she would have died ratherthan own it, even to Del Ferice. She knew that for months she had talkedwith Del Ferice, with Valdarno, with Casalverde, even with the melancholyand ironical Spicca, concerning conspiracies and deeds of darkness of allkinds, and she knew that she and they might go on talking for ever in thesame strain without producing the smallest effect on events; but shenever to the very end relinquished the illusion she cherished so dearly, that she was really and truly a conspirator, and that if any one of herlight-headed acquaintance betrayed the rest, they might all be orderedout of Rome in four-and-twenty hours, or might even disappear into thatlong range of dark buildings to the left of the colonnade of St. Peter's, martyrs to the cause of their own self-importance and semi-theatricalvanity. There were many knots of such self-fancied conspirators in thosedays, whose wildest deed of daring was to whisper across a glass ofchampagne in a ball-room, or over a tumbler of Velletri wine in aTrasteverine cellar, the magic and awe-inspiring words, "Viva Garibaldi!Viva Vittorio!" They accomplished nothing. The same men and women are nowgrumbling and regretting the flesh-pots of the old Government, orwhispering in impotent discontent "Viva la Repubblica!" and they andtheir descendants will go on whispering something to each other to theend of time, while mightier hands than theirs are tearing down empiresand building up irresistible coalitions, and drawing red pencil-marksthrough the geography of Europe. 

The conspirators of those days accomplished nothing after Pius IX. Returned from Gaeta; the only men who were of any use at all were thosewho, like Del Ferice, had sources of secret information, and basely soldtheir scraps of news. But even they were of small importance. The momenthad not come, and all the talking and whispering and tale-bearing in theworld could not hasten events, nor change their course. But Donna Tulliawas puffed up with a sense of her importance, and Del Ferice managed toattract just as much attention to his harmless chatter about progress aswould permit him undisturbed to carry on his lucrative traffic in secretinformation. 

Donna Tullia, who was not in the least artistic, and who by no meansappreciated the merits of the portrait Gouache was painting, was very farfrom comprehending his definition of artistic comparison; but Del Fericeunderstood it very well. Donna Tullia had much foreign blood in herveins, like most of her class; but Del Ferice's obscure descent was inall probability purely Italian, and he had inherited the common instinctin matters of art which is a part of the Italian birthright. He hadrecognised Gouache's wonderful talent, and had first brought Donna Tulliato his studio--a matter of little difficulty when she had learned thatthe young artist had already a reputation. It pleased her to fancy thatby telling him to paint her portrait she might pose as his patroness, andhereafter reap the reputation of having influenced his career. Forfashion, and the desire to be the representative of fashion, led DonnaTullia hither and thither as a lapdog is led by a string; and thereis nothing more in the fashion than to patronise a fashionableportrait-painter. 

But after Anastase Gouache had thus delivered himself of his views uponDel Ferice and the faculty of artistic comparison, the conversationlanguished, and Donna Tullia grew restless. "She had sat enough, " shesaid; and as her expression was not favourable to the portrait, Anastasedid not contradict her, but presently suffered her to depart in peacewith her devoted adorer at her heels. And when they were gone, Anastaselighted a cigarette, and took a piece of charcoal and sketched acaricature of Donna Tullia in a liberty cap, in a fine theatricalattitude, invoking the aid of Del Ferice, who appeared as the Angel ofDeath, with the guillotine in the background. Having put the finishingtouches to this work of art, Anastase locked his studio and went tobreakfast, humming an air from the "Belle Hélène. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

When Corona reached home she went to her own small boudoir, with theintention of remaining there for an hour if she could do so without beingdisturbed. There was a prospect of this; for on inquiry she ascertainedthat her husband was not yet dressed, and his dressing took a very longtime. He had a cosmopolitan valet, who alone of living men understood theart of fitting the artificial and the natural Astrardente together. Corona believed this man to be an accomplished scoundrel; but she neverhad any proof that he was anything worse than a very clever servant, thoroughly unscrupulous where his master's interests or his own wereconcerned. The old Duca believed in him sincerely and trusted him alone, feeling that since he could never be a hero in his valet's eyes, he mightas well take advantage of that misfortune in order to gain a confident. 

Corona found three or four letters upon her table, and sat down to readthem, letting her fur mantle drop to the floor, and putting her smallfeet out towards the fire, for the pavement of the church had been cold. 

She was destined to pass an eventful day, it seemed. One of the letterswas from Giovanni Saracinesca. It was the first time he had ever writtento her, and she was greatly surprised on finding his name at the foot ofthe page. He wrote a strong clear handwriting, entirely without adornmentof penmanship, close and regular and straight: there was an air ofdetermination about it which was sympathetic, and a conciseness ofexpression which startled Corona, as though she had heard the man himselfspeaking to her. 

"I write, dear Duchessa, because I covet your good opinion, and my motiveis therefore before all things an interested one. I would not have youthink that I had idly asked your advice about a thing so important to meas my marriage, in order to discard your counsel at the firstopportunity. There was too much reason in the view you took of the matterto admit of my not giving your opinion all the weight I could, even if Ihad not already determined upon the very course you advised. Circumstances have occurred, however, which have almost induced me tochange my mind. I have had an interview with my father, who has put thematter very plainly before me. I hardly know how to tell you this, but Ifeel that I owe it to you to explain myself, however much you may despiseme for what I am going to say. It is very simple, nevertheless. My fatherhas informed me that by my conduct I have caused my name to be coupledin the mouth of the gossips with that of a person very dear to me, butwhom I am unfortunately prevented from marrying. He has convinced me thatI owe to this lady, who, I confess, takes no interest whatever in me, theonly reparation possible to be made--that of taking a wife, and thuspublicly demonstrating that there was never any truth in what has beensaid. As a marriage will probably be forced upon me some day, it is aswell to let things take their course at once, in order that a step sodisagreeable to myself may at least distantly profit one whom I love inremoving me from the appearance of being a factor in her life. The gossipabout me has never reached your ears, but if it should, you will be thebetter able to understand my position. 

"Do not think, therefore, that if I do not follow your advice I amaltogether inconsistent, or that I wantonly presumed to consult youwithout any intention of being guided by you. Forgive me also thisletter, which I am impelled to write from somewhat mean motives ofvanity, in the hope of not altogether forfeiting your opinion; andespecially I beg you to believe that I am at all times the most obedientof your servants, "GIOVANNI SARACINESCA. "

Of what use was it that she had that morning determined to forgetGiovanni, since he had the power of thus bringing himself before her bymeans of a scrap of paper? Corona's hand closed upon the letterconvulsively, and for a moment the room seemed to swim around her. 

So there was some one whom he loved, some one for whose fair name he waswilling to sacrifice himself even to the extent of marrying against hiswill. Some one, too, who not only did not love him, but took no interestwhatever in him. Those were his own words, and they must be true, for henever lied. That accounted for his accompanying Donna Tullia to thepicnic. He was going to marry her after all. To save the woman he lovedso hopelessly from the mere suspicion of being loved by him, he was goingto tie himself for life to the first who would marry him. That wouldnever prevent the gossips from saying that he loved this other woman asmuch as ever. It could do her no great harm, since she took no interestwhatever in him. Who could she be, this cold creature, whom even Giovannicould not move to interest? It was absurd--the letter was absurd--thewhole thing was absurd! None but a madman would think of pursuing such acourse; and why should he think it necessary to confide his plans--hisvery foolish plans--to her, Corona d'Astrardente, --why? Ah, Giovanni, howdifferent things might have been!

Corona rose angrily from her seat and leaned against the broadchimney-piece, and looked at the clock--it was nearly mid-day. He mightmarry whom he pleased, and be welcome--what was it to her? He might marryand sacrifice himself if he pleased--what was it to her?

She thought of her own life. She, too, had sacrificed herself; she, too, had tied herself for life to a man she despised in her heart, and she haddone it for an object she had thought good. She looked steadily at theclock, for she would not give way, nor bend her head and cry bitter tearsagain; but the tears were in her eyes, nevertheless. 

"Giovanni, you must not do it--you must not do it!" Her lips formed thewords without speaking them, and repeated the thought again and again. Her heart beat fast and her cheeks flushed darkly. She spread out thecrumpled letter and read it once more. As she read, the most intensecuriosity seized her to know who this woman might be whom Giovanni soloved; and with her curiosity there was a new feeling--an utterly hatefuland hating passion--something so strong, that it suddenly dried her tearsand sent the blood from her cheeks back to her heart. Her white hand wasclenched, and her eyes were on fire. Ah, if she could only find thatwoman he loved! if she could only see her dead--dead with GiovanniSaracinesca there upon the floor before her! As she thought of it, shestamped her foot upon the thick carpet, and her face grew paler. She didnot know what it was that she felt, but it completely overmastered her. Padre Filippo would be pleased, she thought, for she knew how in thatmoment she hated Giovanni Saracinesca. 

With a sudden impulse she again sat down and opened the letter next toher hand. It was a gossiping epistle from a friend in Paris, full ofstories of the day, exclamations upon fashion and all kinds of emptiness;she was about to throw it down impatiently and take up the next when hereyes caught Giovanni's name. 

"Of course it is not true that Saracinesca is to marry MadameMayer... " were the words she read. But that was all. There chanced tohave been just room for the sentence at the foot of the page, and by thetime her friend had turned over the leaf, she had already forgotten whatshe had written, and was running on with a different idea. It seemed asthough Corona were haunted by Giovanni at every turn; but she had notreached the end yet, for one letter still remained. She tore open theenvelope, and found that the contents consisted of a few lines penned ina small and irregular hand, without signature. There was an air ofdisguise about the whole, which was unpleasant; it was written upon acommon sort of paper, and had come through the city post. It ran asfollows:--

"The Duchessa d'Astrardente reminds us of the fable of the dog in thehorse's manger, for she can neither eat herself nor let others eat. Shewill not accept Don Giovanni Saracinesca's devotion, but she effectuallyprevents him from fulfilling his engagements to others. "

If Corona had been in her ordinary mood, she would very likely havelaughed at the anonymous communication. She had formerly received morethan one passionate declaration, not signed indeed, but accompaniedalways by some clue to the identity of the writer, and she had carelesslythrown them into the fire. But there was no such indication here wherebyshe might discover who it was who had undertaken to criticise her, tocast upon her so unjust an accusation. Moreover, she was very angry andaltogether thrown out of her usually calm humour. Her first impulse wasto go to her husband, and in the strength of her innocence to show himthe letter. Then she laughed bitterly as she thought how the selfish olddandy would scoff at her sensitiveness, and how utterly incapable hewould be of discovering the offender or of punishing the offence. Thenagain her face was grave, and she asked herself whether it was true thatshe was innocent; whether she were not really to be blamed, if perhapsshe had really prevented Giovanni from marrying Donna Tullia. 

But if that were true, she must herself be the woman he spoke of in hisletter. Any other woman would have suspected as much. Corona went to thewindow, and for an instant there was a strange light of pleasure in herface. Then she grew very thoughtful, and her whole mood changed. Shecould not conceive it possible that Giovanni so loved her as to marry forher sake. Besides, no one could ever have breathed a word of him inconnection with herself--until this abominable anonymous letter waswritten. 

The thought that she might, after all, be the "person very dear to him, "the one who "took no interest whatever in him, " had nevertheless crossedher mind, and had given her for one moment a sense of wild andindescribable pleasure. Then she remembered what she had felt before; howangry, how utterly beside herself, she had been at the thought of anotherwoman being loved by him, and she suddenly understood that she wasjealous of her. The very thought revived in her the belief that it wasnot she herself who was thus influencing the life of GiovanniSaracinesca, but another, and she sat silent and pale. 

Of course it was another! What had she done, what word had she spoken, whereby the world might pretend to believe that she controlled this man'sactions? "Fulfilling his engagements, " the letter said, too. It must havebeen written by an ignorant person--by some one who had no idea of whatwas passing, and who wrote at random, hoping to touch a sensitive chord, to do some harm, to inflict some pain, in petty vengeance for a fanciedslight. But in her heart, though she crushed down the instinct, shewould have believed the anonymous jest well founded, for the sake ofbelieving, too, that Giovanni Saracinesca was ready to lay his life ather feet--although in that belief she would have felt that she wascommitting a mortal sin. 

She went back to her interview that morning with Padre Filippo, andthought over all she had said and all he had answered; how she had beenwilling to admit the possibility of Giovanni's love, and how sternly theconfessor had ruled down the clause, and told her there should neverarise such a doubt in her mind; how she had scorned herself for beingcapable of seeking love where there was none, and how she had sworn thatthere should be no perhaps in the matter. It seemed very hard to doright, but she would try to see where the right lay. In the first place, she should burn the anonymous letter, and never condescend to think ofit; and she should also burn Giovanni's, because it would be an injusticeto him to keep it. She looked once more at the unsigned, ill-writtenpage, and, with a little scornful laugh, threw it from where she sat intothe fire with its envelope; then she took Giovanni's note, and wouldhave done the same, but her hand trembled, and the crumpled bit of paperfell upon the hearth. She rose from her chair quickly, and took it upagain, kneeling before the fire, like some beautiful dark priestess ofold feeding the flames of a sacred altar. She smoothed the paper out oncemore, and once more read the even characters, and looked long at thesignature, and back again to the writing. 

"This lady, who, I confess, takes no interest whatever in me.... "

"How could he say it!" she exclaimed aloud. "Oh, if I knew who she was!"With an impatient movement she thrust the letter among the coals, andwatched the fire curl it and burn it, from white to brown and from brownto black, till it was all gone. Then she rose to her feet and left theroom. 

Her husband certainly did not guess that the Duchessa d'Astrardente hadspent so eventful a morning; and if any one had told him that his wifehad been through a dozen stages of emotion, he would have laughed, andwould have told his informant that Corona was not of the sort whoexperience violent passions. That evening they went to the operatogether, and the old man was in an unusually cheerful humour. A new coathad just arrived from Paris, and the padding had attained a higher degreeof scientific perfection than heretofore. Corona also looked morebeautiful than even her husband ever remembered to have seen her; shewore a perfectly simple gown of black satin without the smallest reliefof colour, and upon her neck the famous Astrardente necklace of pearls, three strings of even thickness, each jewel exquisitely white and justlighted in its shadow by a delicate pink tinge--such a necklace as anempress might have worn. In the raven masses of her hair there was notthe least ornament, nor did any flower enhance the rich blackness of itssilken coils. It would be impossible to imagine greater simplicity thanCorona showed in her dress, but it would be hard to conceive of any womanwho possessed by virtue of severe beauty a more indubitable right todispense with ornament. 

The theatre was crowded. There was a performance of "Norma" for whichseveral celebrated artists had been engaged--an occurrence so rare inRome, that the theatre was absolutely full. The Astrardente box wasupon the second tier, just where the amphitheatre began to curve. Therewas room in it for four or five persons to see the stage. 

The Duchessa and her husband arrived in the middle of the first act, andremained alone until it was over. Corona was extremely fond of "Norma, "and after she was seated never took her eyes from the stage. Astrardente, on the other hand, maintained his character as a man of no illusions, andswept the house with his small opera-glass. The instrument itself waslike him, and would have been appropriate for a fine lady of the FirstEmpire; it was of mother-of-pearl, made very small and light, themetal-work upon it heavily gilt and ornamented with turquoises. The oldman glanced from time to time at the stage, and then again settledhimself to the study of the audience, which interested him far more thanthe opera. 

"Every human being you ever heard of is here, " he remarked at the end ofthe first act. "Really I should think you would find it worth while tolook at your magnificent fellow-creatures, my dear. "

Corona looked slowly round the house. She had excellent eyes, and neverused a glass. She saw the same faces she had seen for five years, thesame occasional flash of beauty, the same average number of over-dressedwomen, the same paint, the same feathers, the same jewels. She sawopposite to her Madame Mayer, with the elderly countess whom shepatronised for the sake of deafness, and found convenient as a sort offlying chaperon. The countess could not hear much of the music, but shewas fond of the world and liked to be seen, and she could not hear at allwhat Del Ferice said in an undertone to Madame Mayer. Sufficient to herwere the good things of the day; the rest was in no way her business. There was Valdarno in the club-box, with a knot of other men of his ownstamp. There were the Rocca, mother and daughter and son--a boy ofeighteen--and a couple of men in the back of the box. Everybody wasthere, as her husband had said; and as she dropped her glance towardthe stalls, she was aware of Giovanni Saracinesca's black eyes lookinganxiously up to her. A faint smile crossed her serene face, and almostinvoluntarily she nodded to him and then looked away. Many men werewatching her, and bowed as she glanced at them, and she bent her head toeach; but there was no smile for any save Giovanni, and when she lookedagain to where he had been standing with his back to the stage, he wasgone from his place. 

"They are the same old things, " said Astrardente, "but they are stillvery amusing. Madame Mayer always seems to get the wrong man into herbox. She would give all those diamonds to have Giovanni Saracinescainstead of that newsmonger fellow. If he comes here I will send himacross. "

"Perhaps she likes Del Ferice, " suggested Corona. 

"He is a good lapdog--a very good dog, " answered her husband. "He cannotbite at all, and his bark is so soft that you would take it for themewing of a kitten. He fetches and carries admirably. "

"Those are good points, but not interesting ones. He is very tiresomewith his eternal puns and insipid compliments, and his gossip. "

"But he is so very harmless, " answered Astrardente, with compassionatescorn. "He is incapable of doing an injury. Donna Tullia is wise inadopting him as her slave. She would not be so safe with Saracinesca, forinstance. If you feel the need of an admirer, my dear, take Del Ferice. Ihave no objection to him. "

"Why should I need admirers?" asked Corona, quietly. 

"I was merely jesting, my love. Is not your own husband the greatest ofyour admirers, and your devoted slave into the bargain?" OldAstrardente's face twisted itself into the semblance of a smile, as heleaned towards his young wife, lowering his cracked voice to a thinwhisper. He was genuinely in love with her, and lost no opportunityof telling her so. She smiled a little wearily. 

"You are very good to me, " she said. She had often wondered how it wasthat this aged creature, who had never been faithful to any attachment inhis life for five months, did really seem to love her just as he had donefor five years. It was perhaps the greatest triumph she could haveattained, though she never thought of it in that light; but though shecould not respect her husband very much, she could not think unkindly ofhim--for, as she said, he was very good to her. She often reproachedherself because he wearied her; she believed that she should have takenmore pleasure in his admiration. 

"I cannot help being good to you, my angel, " he said. "How could I beotherwise? Do I not love you most passionately?"

"Indeed, I think so, " Corona answered. As she spoke there was a knock atthe door. Her heart leaped wildly, and she turned a little pale. 

"The devil seize these visitors!" muttered old Astrardente, annoyedbeyond measure at being interrupted when making love to his wife. "Isuppose we must let them in?"

"I suppose so, " assented the Duchessa, with forced calm. Her husbandopened the door, and Giovanni Saracinesca entered, hat in hand. 

"Sit down, " said Astrardente, rather harshly. 

"I trust I am not disturbing you, " replied Giovanni, still standing. Hewas somewhat surprised at the old man's inhospitable tone. 

"Oh no; not in the least, " said the latter, quickly regaining hiscomposure. "Pray sit down; the act will begin in a moment. "

Giovanni established himself upon the chair immediately behind theDuchessa. He had come to talk, and he anticipated that during the secondact he would have an excellent opportunity. 

"I hear you enjoyed yourselves yesterday, " said Corona, turning her headso as to speak more easily. 

"Indeed!" Giovanni answered, and a shade of annoyance crossed his face. "And who was your informant, Duchessa?"

"Donna Tullia. I met her this morning. She said you amused them all--keptthem laughing the whole day. "

"What an extraordinary statement!" exclaimed Giovanni. "It shows how onemay unconsciously furnish matter for mirth. I do not recollect havingtalked much to any one. It was a noisy party enough, however. "

"Perhaps Donna Tullia spoke ironically, " suggested Corona. "Do you like'Norma'?"

"Oh yes; one opera is as good as another. There goes the curtain. "

The act began, and for some minutes no one in the box spoke. Presentlythere was a burst of orchestral music. Giovanni leaned forward so thathis face was close behind Corona. He could speak without being heard byAstrardente. 

"Did you receive my letter?" he asked. Corona made an almostimperceptible inclination of her head, but did not speak. 

"Do you understand my position?" he asked again. He could not see herface, and for some seconds she made no sign; at last she moved her headagain, but this time to express a negative. 

"It is simple enough, it seems to me, " said Giovanni, bending his brows. 

Corona found that by turning a little she could still look at the stage, and at the same time speak to the man behind her. 

"How can I judge?" she said. "You have not told me all. Why do you ask meto judge whether you are right?"

"I could not do it if you thought me wrong, " he answered shortly. 

The Duchessa suddenly thought of that other woman for whom the man whoasked her advice was willing to sacrifice his life. 

"You attach an astonishing degree of importance to my opinion, " she saidvery coldly, and turned her head from him. 

"There is no one so well able to give an opinion, " said Giovanni, insisting. 

Corona was offended. She interpreted the speech to mean that since shehad sacrificed her life to the old man on the opposite side of the box, she was able to judge whether Giovanni would do wisely in making amarriage of convenience, for the sake of an end which even to her mindseemed visionary. She turned quickly upon him, and there was an angrygleam in her eyes. 

"Pray do not introduce the subject of my life, " she said haughtily. 

Giovanni was too much astonished to answer her at once. He had indeed notintended the least reference to her marriage. 

"You have entirely misunderstood me, " he said presently. 

"Then you must express yourself more clearly, " she replied. She wouldhave felt very guilty to be thus talking to Giovanni, as she would nothave talked before her husband, had she not felt that it was uponGiovanni's business, and that the matter discussed in no way concernedherself. As for Saracinesca, he was in a dangerous position, and wasrapidly losing his self-control. He was too near to her, his heart wasbearing too fast, the blood was throbbing in his temples, and he wasstung by being misunderstood. 

"It is not possible for me to express myself more clearly, " he answered. "I am suffering for having told you too little when I dare not tell youall. I make no reference to your marriage when I speak to you of my own. Forgive me; I will not refer to the matter again. "

Corona felt again that strange thrill, half of pain, half of pleasure, and the lights of the theatre seemed moving before her uncertainly, asthings look when one falls from a height. Almost unconsciously she spoke, hardly knowing that she turned her head, and that her dark eyes restedupon Giovanni's pale face. 

"And yet there must be some reason why you tell me that little, and whyyou do not tell me more. " When she had spoken, she would have given allthe world to have taken back her words. It was too late. Giovannianswered in a low thick voice that sounded as though he were choking, his face grew white, and his teeth seemed almost to chatter as though hewere cold, but his eyes shone like black stars in the shadow of the box. 

"There is every reason. You are the woman I love. "

Corona did not move for several seconds, as though not comprehending whathe had said. Then she suddenly shivered, and her eyelids drooped as sheleaned back in her chair. Her fingers relaxed their tight hold upon herfan, and the thing fell rattling upon the floor of the box. 

Old Astrardente, who had taken no notice of the pair, being annoyed atGiovanni's visit, and much interested in the proceedings of Madame Mayerin the box opposite, heard the noise, and stooped with considerablealacrity to pick up the fan which lay at his feet. 

"You are not well, my love, " he said quickly, as he observed his wife'sunusual pallor. 

"It is nothing; it will pass, " she murmured, with a terrible effort. Then, as though she had not said enough, she added, "There must be adraught here; I have a chill. "

Giovanni had sat like a statue, utterly overcome by the sense of his ownfolly and rashness, as well as by the shock of having so miserably failedto keep the secret he dreaded to reveal. On hearing Corona's voice, herose suddenly, as from a dream. 

"Forgive me, " he said hurriedly, "I have just remembered a most importantengagement--"

"Do not mention it, " said Astrardente, sourly. Giovanni bowed to theDuchessa and left the box. She did not look at him as he went away. 

"We had better go home, my angel, " said the old man. "You have got a badchill. "

"Oh no, I would rather stay. It is nothing, and the best part of theopera is to come. " Corona spoke quietly enough. Her strong nerves hadalready recovered from the shock she had experienced, and she couldcommand her voice. She did not want to go home; on the contrary, thebrilliant lights and the music served for a time to soothe her. If therehad been a ball that night she would have gone to it; she would have doneanything that would take her thoughts from herself. Her husband looked ather curiously. The suspicion crossed his mind that Don Giovanni had saidsomething which had either frightened or offended her, but on secondthoughts the theory seemed absurd. He regarded Saracinesca as littlemore than a mere acquaintance of his wife's. 

"As you please, my love, " he answered, drawing his chair a little nearerto hers. "I am glad that fellow is gone. We can talk at our ease now. "

"Yes; I am glad he is gone. We can talk now, " repeated Corona, mechanically. 

"I thought his excuse slightly conventional, to say the least of it, "remarked Astrardente. "An important engagement!--just a little _banal_. However, any excuse was good enough which took him away. "

"Did he say that?" asked Corona. "I did not hear. Of course, any excusewould do, as you say. "

CHAPTER IX. 

Giovanni left the theatre at once, alone, and on foot. He was very muchagitated. He had done suddenly and unawares the thing of all others hehad determined never to do; his resolutions had been broken down andcarried away as an ineffectual barrier is swept to the sea by the floodsof spring. His heart had spoken in spite of him, and in speaking hadsilenced every prompting of reason. He blamed himself bitterly, as hestrode out across the deserted bridge of Sant' Angelo and into the broadgloom beyond, where the street widens from the fortress to the entranceof the three Borghi: he walked on and on, finding at every step freshreason for self-reproach, and trying to understand what he had done. Hepaused at the end of the open piazza and looked down towards the blackrushing river which he could hear, but hardly see; he turned into thesilent Borgo Santo Spirito, and passed along the endless wall of thegreat hospital up to the colonnades, and still wandering on, he came tothe broad steps of St. Peter's and sat down, alone in the darkness, atthe foot of the stupendous pile. 

He was perhaps not so much to blame as he was willing to allow in hisjust anger against himself. Corona had tempted him sorely in that lastquestion she had put to him. She had not known, she had not even faintlyguessed what she was doing, for her own brain was intoxicated with a newand indescribable sensation which had left no room for reflection nor forweighing the force of words. But Giovanni, who had been willing to giveup everything, even to his personal liberty, for the sake of concealinghis love, would not allow himself any argument in extenuation of what hehad done. He had had but very few affairs of the heart in his life, andthey had been for the most part very insignificant, and his experiencewas limited. Even now it never entered his mind to imagine that Coronawould condone his offence; he felt sure that she was deeply wounded, andthat his next meeting with her would be a terrible ordeal--so terrible, indeed, that he doubted whether he had the courage to meet her at all. His love was so great, and its object so sacred to him, that he hesitatedto conceive himself loved in return; perhaps if he had been able tounderstand that Corona loved him he would have left Rome for ever, ratherthan trouble her peace by his presence. 

It would have been absolutely different if he had been paying court toDonna Tullia, for instance. The feeling that he should be justified wouldhave lent him courage, and the coldness in his own heart would have lefthis judgment free play. He could have watched her calmly, and would havetried to take advantage of every mood in the prosecution of his suit. Hewas a very honourable man, but he did not consider marriages of proprietyand convenience as being at all contrary to the ordinary standard ofsocial honour, and would have thought himself justified in using everymeans of persuasion in order to win a woman whom, upon mature reflection, he had judged suitable to become his wife, even though he felt no reallove for her. That is an idea inherent in most old countries, an idea forwhich Giovanni Saracinesca was certainly in no way responsible, seeingthat it had been instilled into him from his boyhood. Personally he wouldhave preferred to live and die unmarried, rather than to take a wife as amatter of obligation towards his family; but seeing that he had neverseriously loved any woman, he had acquired the habit of contemplatingsuch a marriage as a probability, perhaps as an ultimate necessity, tobe put off as long as possible, but to which he would at last yield witha good grace. 

But the current of his life had been turned. He was certainly not aromantic character, not a man who desired to experience the externalsensations to be obtained by voluntarily creating dramatic events. Heloved action, and he had a taste for danger, but he had sought both ina legitimate way; he never desired to implicate himself in adventureswhere the feelings were concerned, and hitherto such experiences hadnot fallen in his path. As is usual with such men, when love came atlast, it came with a strength such as boys of twenty do not dream of. The mature man of thirty years, with his strong and dominant temper, his carelessness of danger, his high and untried ideals of what atrue affection should be, resisting the first impressions of themaster-passion with the indifference of one accustomed to believe thatlove could not come near his life, and was in general a thing to beavoided--a man, moreover, who by his individual gifts and by hisbrilliant position was able to command much that smaller men wouldnot dream of aspiring to, --such a man, in short, as GiovanniSaracinesca, --was not likely to experience love-sickness in a milddegree. Proud, despotic, and fiercely unyielding by his inheritance oftemper, he was outwardly gentle and courteous by acquired habit, a manof those whom women easily love and men very generally fear. 

He did not realise his own nature, he did not suspect the extremes offeeling of which he was eminently capable. He had at first felt Corona'sinfluence, and her face and voice seemed to awaken in him a memory, whichwas as yet but an anticipation, and not a real remembrance. It was as thefaint perfume of the spring wafted up to a prisoner in some sternfortress, as the first gentle sweetness that rose from the enchantedlakes of the cisalpine country to the nostrils of the war-hardened Gothsas they descended the last snow-slopes in their southern wandering--ananticipation that seemed already a memory, a looking forward again tosomething that had been already loved in a former state. Giovanni hadlaughed at himself for it at first, then he had dreaded its growingcharm, and at the last he had fallen hopelessly under the spell, retaining only enough of his former self to make him determined that theharm which had come upon himself should not come near this woman whom heso adored. 

And behold, at the first provocation, the very first time that by acareless word she had fired his blood and set his brain throbbing, he hadnot only been unable to hide what he felt, but had spoken such words ashe would not have believed he could speak--so bluntly, so roughly, thatshe had almost fainted before his very eyes. 

She must have been very angry, he thought. Perhaps, too, she wasfrightened. It was so rude, so utterly contrary to all that waschivalrous to say thus at the first opportunity, "I love you"--just thatand nothing more. Giovanni had never thought much about it, but hesupposed that men in love, very seriously in love, must take a long timeto express themselves, as is the manner in books; whereas he washorrified at his own bluntness in having blurted out rashly such words ascould never be taken back, as could never even be explained now, hefeared, because he had put himself beyond the pale of all explanation, perhaps beyond the reach of forgiveness. 

Nobody ever yet explained away the distinct statement "I love you, " uponany pretence of a mistake. Giovanni almost laughed at the idea, and yethe conceived that some kind of apology would be necessary, though hecould not imagine how he was to frame one. He reflected that few womenwould consider a declaration, even as sudden as his had been, in thelight of an insult; but he knew how little cause Corona had given him forspeaking to her of love, and he judged from her manner that she had beeneither offended or frightened, or both, and that he was to blame for it. He was greatly disturbed, and the sweat stood in great drops upon hisforehead as he sat there upon the steps of St. Peter's in the cold nightwind. He remained nearly an hour without changing his position, and thenat last he rose and slowly retraced his steps, and went home by narrowstreets, avoiding the theatre and the crowd of carriages that stoodbefore it. 

He had almost determined to go away for a time, and to let his absencespeak for his contrition. But he had reckoned upon his former self, andhe doubted now whether he had the strength to leave Rome. The most thatseemed possible was that he should keep out of Corona's way for a fewdays, until she should have recovered from the shock of the scene in thetheatre. After that he would go to her and tell her quite simply that hewas very sorry, but that he had been unable to control himself. It wouldsoon be over. She would not refuse to speak to him, he argued, for fearof attracting the attention of the gossips and making an open scandal. She would perhaps tell him to avoid her, and her words would be few andhaughty, but she would speak to him, nevertheless. 

Giovanni went to bed. The next day he gave out that he had a touch offever, and remained in his own apartments. His father, who waspassionately attached to him, in spite of his rough temper and hastyspeeches, came and spent most of the day with him, and in the intervalsof his kindly talk, marched up and down the room, swearing that Giovanniwas no more ill than he was himself, and that he had acquired hisaccursed habit of staying in bed upon his travels. As Giovanni had neverbefore been known to spend twenty-four hours in bed for any reasonwhatsoever, the accusation was unjust; but he only smiled and pretendedto argue the case for the sake of pleasing the old prince. He reallyfelt exceedingly uncomfortable, and would have been glad to be left aloneat any price; but there was nothing for it but to pretend to be ill inbody, when he was really sick at heart, and he remained obstinately inbed the whole day. On the following morning he declared his intention ofgoing out of town, and by an early train he left the city. No one sawGiovanni again until the evening of the Frangipani ball. 

Meanwhile it would have surprised him greatly to know that Corona lookedfor him in vain wherever she went, and that, not seeing him, she grewsilent and pale, and gave short answers to the pleasant speeches men madeher. Every one missed Giovanni. He wrote to Valdarno to say that he hadbeen suddenly obliged to visit Saracinesca in order to see to somedetails connected with the timber question; but everybody wondered why heshould have taken himself away in the height of the season for so triviala matter. He had last been seen in the Astrardente box at the opera, where he had only stayed a few minutes, as Del Ferice was able totestify, having sat immediately opposite in the box of Madame Mayer. DelFerice swore secretly that he would find out what was the matter; andDonna Tullia abused Giovanni in unmeasured terms to a circle of intimatefriends and admirers, because he had been engaged to dance with her atthe Valdarno cotillon, and had not even sent word that he could not come. Thereupon all the men present immediately offered themselves for thevacant dance, and Donna Tullia made them draw lots by tossing a coppersou in the corner of the ball-room. The man who won the toss recklesslythrew over the partner he had already engaged, and almost had to fight aduel in consequence; all of which was intensely amusing to Donna Tullia. Nevertheless, in her heart, she was very angry at Giovanni's departure. 

But Corona sought him everywhere, and at last heard that he had lefttown, two days after everybody else in Rome had known it. She wouldprobably have been very much disturbed, if she had actually met himwithin a day or two of that fatal evening, but the desire to see him wasso great, that she entirely overlooked the consequences. For the timebeing, her whole life seemed to have undergone a revolution--she trembledat the echo of the words she had heard--she spent long hours in solitude, praying with all her strength that she might be forgiven for havingheard him speak; but the moment she left her room, and went out into theworld, the dominant desire to see him again returned. The secret longingof her soul was to hear him speak again as he had spoken once. She wouldhave gone again to Padre Filippo and told him all; but when she was alonein the solitude of her passionate prayers and self-accusation, she feltthat she must fight this fight alone, without help of any one; and whenshe was in the world, she lacked courage to put altogether from her whatwas so very sweet, and her eyes searched unceasingly for the dark faceshe loved. But the stirring strength of the mighty passion played uponher soul and body in spite of her, as upon an instrument of strings; andsometimes the music was gentle and full of sweet harmony, but often therewere crashes of discord, so that she trembled and felt her heart wrung asby torture; then she set her strong lips, and her white fingers woundthemselves together, and she could have cried aloud, but that her prideforbade her. 

The days came and went, but Giovanni did not return, and Corona's facegrew every morning more pale and her eyes every night more wistful. Herhusband did not understand, but he saw that something was the matter, asothers saw it, and in his quick suspicious humour he connected thetrouble in his wife's face with the absence of Giovanni and with thestrange chill she had felt in the theatre. But Corona d'Astrardente was avery brave and strong woman, and she bore what seemed to her like theagony of death renewed each day, so calmly that those who knew herthought it was but a passing indisposition or annoyance, unusual withher, who was never ill nor troubled, but yet insignificant. She gaveparticular attention to the gown which her husband had desired sheshould wear at the great ball, and the need she felt for distracting hermind from her chief care made society necessary to her. 

The evening of the Frangipani ball came, and all Rome was in a state ofexcitement and expectation. The great old family had been in mourning foryears, owing to three successive deaths, and during all that time theancient stronghold which was called their palace had been closed to theworld. For some time, indeed, no one of the name had been in Rome--theprince and princess preferring to pass the time of mourning in thecountry and in travelling; while the eldest son, now just of age, wasfinishing his academic career at an English University. But this year thefamily had returned: there had been both dinners and receptions at thepalace, and the ball, which was to be a sort of festival in honour of thecoming of age of the heir, was expected as the principal event of theyear. It was rumoured that there would be nearly thirty rooms openedbesides the great hall, which was set aside for dancing, and that thearrangements were on a scale worthy of a household which had endured inits high position for upwards of a thousand years. It was understood thatno distinction had been made, in issuing the invitations, between partiesin politics or in society, and that there would be more people seen therethan had been collected under one roof for many years. 

The Frangipani did things magnificently, and no one was disappointed. Thegardens and courts of the palace were brilliantly illuminated; vastsuites of apartments were thrown open, and lavishly decorated with rareflowers; the grand staircase was lined with footmen in the liveries ofthe house, standing motionless as the guests passed up; the supper was abanquet such as is read of in the chronicles of medieval splendour; theenormous conservatory in the distant south wing was softly lit by shadedcandles concealed among the tropical plants; and the ceilings and wallsof the great hall itself had been newly decorated by famous painters;while the polished wooden floor presented an innovation upon theold-fashioned canvas-covered brick pavement, not hitherto seen in anyRoman palace. A thousand candles, disposed in every variety of chandelierand candelabra, shed a soft rich light from far above, and high in thegallery at one end an orchestra of Viennese musicians played unceasingly. 

As generally happens at very large balls, the dancing began late, butnumbers of persons had come early in order to survey the wonders of thepalace at their leisure. Among those who arrived soon after ten o'clockwas Giovanni Saracinesca, who was greeted loudly by all who knew him. Helooked pale and tired, if his tough nature could ever be said to seemweary; but he was in an unusually affable mood, and exchanged words withevery one he met. Indeed he had been sad for so many days that he hardlyunderstood why he felt gay, unless it was in the anticipation of oncemore seeing the woman he loved. He wandered through the rooms carelesslyenough, but he was in reality devoured by impatience, and his quick eyessought Corona's tall figure in every direction. But she was not yetthere, and Giovanni at last came and took his station in one of the outerhalls, waiting patiently for her arrival. 

While he waited, leaning against one of the marble pillars of the door, the throng increased rapidly; but he hardly noticed the swelling crowd, until suddenly there was a lull in the unceasing talk, and the men andwomen parted to allow a cardinal to pass out from the inner rooms. Withmany gracious nods and winning looks, the great man moved on, his keeneyes embracing every one and everything within the range of his vision, his courteous smile seeming intended for each separate individual, andyet overlooking none, nor resting long on any, his high brow serene andunbent, his flowing robes falling back from his courtly figure, as withhis red hat in his hand he bowed his way through the bowing crowd. Hisdeparture, which was quickly followed by that of several other cardinalsand prelates, was the signal that the dancing would soon begin; and whenhe had passed out, the throng of men and women pressed more quickly inthrough the door on their way to the ball-room. 

But as the great cardinal's eye rested on Giovanni Saracinesca, accompanied by that invariable smile that so many can remember well tothis day, his delicate hand made a gesture as though beckoning to theyoung man to follow him. Giovanni obeyed the summons, and became for themoment the most notable man in the room. The two passed out together, anda moment later were standing in the outer hall. Already the torch-bearerswere standing without upon the grand staircase, and the lackeys weremustering in long files to salute the Prime Minister. Just then themaster of the house came running breathless from within. He had not seenthat Cardinal Antonelli was taking his leave, and hastened to overtakehim, lest any breach of etiquette on his part should attract thedispleasure of the statesman. 

"Your Eminence's pardon!" he exclaimed, hurriedly "I had not seen thatyour Eminence was leaving us--so early too--the Princess feared--"

"Do not speak of it, " answered the Cardinal, in suave tones. "I am not sostrong as I used to be. We old fellows must to bed betimes, and leave youyoung ones to enjoy yourselves. No excuses--good night--a beautifulball--I congratulate you on the reopening of your house--good nightagain. I will have a word with Giovanni here before I go down-stairs. "

He extended his hand to Frangipani, who lifted it respectfully to hislips and withdrew, seeing that he was not wanted. He and many othersspeculated long upon the business which engaged his Eminence in closeconversation with Giovanni Saracinesca, keeping him for more than aquarter of an hour in the cold ante-chamber, where the night wind blew inunhindered from the vast staircase of the palace. As a matter of fact, Giovanni was as much surprised as any one. 

"Where have you been, my friend?" inquired the Cardinal, when they werealone. 

"To Saracinesca, your Eminence. "

"And what have you been doing in Saracinesca at this time of year? I hopeyou are attending to the woods there--you have not been cutting timber?"

"No one can be more anxious than we to see the woods grow thick upon ourhills, " replied Giovanni. "Your Eminence need have no fear. "

"Not for your estates, " said the great Cardinal, his small keen blackeyes resting searchingly on Giovanni's face. "But I confess I have somefears for yourself. "

"For me, Eminence?" repeated Giovanni, in some astonishment. 

"For you. I have heard with considerable anxiety that there is a questionof marrying you to Madame Mayer. Such a match would not meet with theHoly Father's approval, nor--if I may be permitted to mention my humbleself in the same breath with our august sovereign--would it be wise in myown estimation. "

"Permit me to remark to your Eminence, " answered Giovanni, proudly, "thatin my house we have never been in the habit of asking advice upon suchsubjects. Donna Tullia is a good Catholic. There can therefore be novalid objection to my asking her hand, if my father and I agree that itis best. "

"You are terrible fellows, you Saracinesca, " returned the Cardinal, blandly. "I have read your family history with immense interest, and whatyou say is quite true. I cannot find an instance on record of your takingthe advice of any one--certainly not of the Holy Church. It is with theutmost circumspection that I venture to approach the subject with you, and I am sure that you will believe me when I say that my words are notdictated by any officious or meddling spirit; I am addressing you by thedirect desire of the Holy Father himself. "

A soft answer turneth away wrath, and if the all-powerful statesman'sanswer to Giovanni seems to have been more soft than might have beenexpected, it must be remembered that he was speaking to the heir of oneof the most powerful houses in the Roman State, at a time when thepersonal friendship of such men as the Saracinesca was of vastly greaterimportance than it is now. At that time some twenty noblemen owned agreat part of the Pontifical States, and the influence they could exertupon their tenantry was very great, for the feudal system was notextinct, nor the feudal spirit. Moreover, though Cardinal Antonelli wasfar from popular with any party, Pius IX. Was respected and beloved by avast majority of the gentlemen as well as of the people. Giovanni's firstimpulse was to resist any interference whatsoever in his affairs; but onreceiving the Cardinal's mild answer to his own somewhat arrogantassertion of independence, he bowed politely and professed himselfwilling to listen to reason. 

"But, " he said, "since his Holiness has mentioned the matter, I beg thatyour Eminence will inform him that, though the question of my marriageseems to be in everybody's mouth, it is as yet merely a project in whichno active steps have been taken. "

"I am glad of it, Giovanni, " replied the Cardinal, familiarly taking hisarm, and beginning to pace the hall; "I am glad of it. There are reasonswhy the match appears to be unworthy of you. If you will permit me, without any offence to Madame Mayer, I will tell you what those reasonsare. "

"I am at your service, " said Giovanni, gravely, "provided only there isno offence to Donna Tullia. "

"None whatever. The reasons are purely political. Madame Mayer--or DonnaTullia, since you prefer to call her so--is the centre of a sort of clubof so-called Liberals, of whom the most active and the most foolishmember is a certain Ugo del Ferice, a fellow who calls himself a count, but whose grandfather was a coachman in the Vatican under Leo XII. Hewill get himself into trouble some day. He is always in attendance uponDonna Tullia, and probably led her into this band of foolish young peoplefor objects of his own. It is a very silly society; I daresay you haveheard some of their talk?"

"Very little, " replied Giovanni; "I do not trouble myself about politics. I did not even know that there was such a club as your Eminence speaksof. "

Cardinal Antonelli glanced sharply at his companion as he proceeded. 

"They affect solidarity and secrecy, these young people, " he said, with asneer, "and their solidarity betrays their secrecy, because it isunfortunately true in our dear Rome that wherever two or three aregathered together they are engaged in some mischief. But they may gatherin peace at the studio of Monsieur Gouache, or anywhere else they please, for all I care. Gouache is a clever fellow; he is to paint my portrait. Do you know him? But, to return to my sheep in wolves' clothing--myamusing little conspirators. They can do no harm, for they know not evenwhat they say, and their words are not followed by any kind of actionwhatsoever. But the principle of the thing is bad, Giovanni. Your braveold ancestors used to fight us Churchmen outright, and unless the Lord isespecially merciful, their souls are in an evil case, for the devilknoweth his own, and is a particularly bad paymaster. But they foughtoutright, like gentlemen; whereas these people--_foderunt foveam utcaperent me_--they have digged a ditch, but they will certainly not catchme, nor any one else. Their conciliabules, as Rousseau would have calledthem, meet daily and talk great nonsense and do nothing; which does notprove their principles to be good, while it demonstrates their intellectto be contemptible. No offence to the Signor Conte del Ferice, but Ithink ignorance has marked his little party for its own, and inanitywaits on all his councils. If they believe in half the absurdities theyutter, why do they not pack up their goods and chattels and cross thefrontier? If they meant anything, they would do something. "

"Evidently, " replied Giovanni, half amused at his Eminence's tirade. 

"Evidently. Therefore they mean nothing. Therefore our good friend DonnaTullia is dabbling in the emptiness of political dilettanteism for thesatisfaction of a hollow vanity; no offence to her--it is the manner ofher kind. "

Giovanni was silent. 

"Believe me, prince, " said the Cardinal, suddenly changing his tone andspeaking very seriously, "there is something better for strong men likeyou and me to do, in these times, than to dabble in conspiracy and totoss off glasses of champagne to Italian unity and Victor Emmanuel. Thecondition of our lives is battle, and battle against terrible odds. Neither you nor I should be content to waste our strength in fightingshadows, in waging war on petty troubles of our own raising, knowingall the while that the powers of evil are marshalled in a deadly arrayagainst the powers of good. _Sed non praevalebunt!_"

The Cardinal's thin face assumed a strange look of determination, and hisdelicate fingers grasped Giovanni's arm with a force that startled him. 

"You speak bravely, " answered the young man. "You are more sanguine thanwe men of the world. You believe that disaster impossible which to meseems growing daily more imminent. "

Cardinal Antonelli turned his gleaming black eyes full on his companion. 

"_O generatio incredula!_ If you have not faith, you have not courage, and if you have not courage you will waste your life in the pursuit ofemptiness! It is for men like you, for men of ancient race, of broadacres, of iron body and healthy mind, to put your hand to the good workand help us who have struggled for many years and whose strength isalready failing. Every action of your life, every thought of yourwaking hours, should be for the good end, lest we all perish togetherand expiate our lukewarm indifference. _Timidi nunquam statuerunttrapaeum_--if we would divide the spoil we must gird on the sword and useit boldly; we must not allow the possibility of failure; we must bevigilant; we must be united as one man. You tell me that you men of theworld already regard a disaster as imminent--to expect defeat isnine-tenths of a defeat itself. Ah, if we could count upon such men asyou to the very death, our case would be far from desperate. "

"For the matter of that, your Eminence can count upon us well enough, "replied Giovanni, quietly. 

"Upon you, Giovanni--yes, for you are a brave gentleman. But upon yourfriends, even upon your class--no. Can I count upon the Valdarno, even?You know as well as I that they are in sympathy with the Liberals--thatthey have neither the courage to support us nor the audacity to renounceus; and, what is worse, they represent a large class, of whom, I regretto say, Donna Tullia Mayer is one of the most prominent members. With herwealth, her youth, her effervescent spirits, and her early widowhood, sheleads men after her; they talk, they chatter, they set up an opinion andgloat over it, while they lack the spirit to support it. They are allalike--_non tantum ovum ovo simile_--one egg is not more like anotherthan they are. _Non tali auxilio_--we want no such help. We ask forbread, not for stones; we want men, not empty-headed dandies. We haveboth at present; but if the Emperor fails us, we shall have too manydandies and too few men--too few men like you, Don Giovanni. Instead ofarmed battalions we shall have polite societies for mutual assuranceagainst political risks, --instead of the support of the greatest militarypower in Europe, we shall have to rely on a parcel of young gentlemenwhose opinions are guided by Donna Tullia Mayer. "

Giovanni laughed and glanced at his Eminence, who chose to refer all theimminent disasters of the State to the lady whom he did not wish to seemarried to his companion. 

"Is her influence really so great?" asked Saracinesca, incredulously. 

"She is agreeable, she is pretty, she is rich--her influence is a type ofthe whole influence which is abroad in Rome--a reflection of the life ofParis. There, at least, the women play a real part--very often a greatone: here, when they have got command of a drawing-room full of fops, they do not know where to lead them; they change their minds twenty timesa-day; they have an access of religious enthusiasm in Advent, followed byan attack of Liberal fever in Carnival, and their season is brought toa fitting termination by the prostration which overtakes them in Lent. Bythat time all their principles are upset, and they go to Paris for themonth of May--_pour se retremper dans les idées idéalistes_, as theyexpress it. Do you think one could construct a party out of suchelements, especially when you reflect that this mass of uncertainty iscertain always to yield to the ultimate consideration of self-interest?Half of them keep an Italian flag with the Papal one, ready to thrusteither of them out of the window as occasion may require. Good night, Giovanni. I have talked enough, and all Rome will set upon you to findout what secrets of State I have been confiding. You had better preparean answer, for you can hardly inform Donna Tullia and her set that I havebeen calling them a parcel of--weak and ill-advised people. They mighttake offence--they might even call me by bad names, --fancy how veryterribly that would afflict me! Good night, Giovanni--my greetings toyour father. "

The Cardinal nodded, but did not offer his hand. He knew that Giovannihated to kiss his ring, and he had too much tact to press the ceremonialetiquette upon any one whom he desired to influence. But he noddedgraciously, and receiving his cloak from the gentleman who accompaniedhim and who had waited at a respectful distance, the statesman passed outof the great doorway, where the double line of torch-bearers stood readyto accompany him down the grand staircase to his carriage, in accordancewith the custom of those days. 

CHAPTER X. 

When he was alone, Giovanni retraced his steps, and again took up hisposition near the entrance to the reception-rooms. He had matter forreflection in the interview which had just ended; and, having nothingbetter to do while he waited for Corona, he thought about what hadhappened. He was not altogether pleased at the interest his marriageexcited in high quarters; he hated interference, and he regarded CardinalAntonelli's advice in such a matter as an interference of the mostunwarrantable kind. Neither he himself nor his father were men who soughtcounsel from without, for independence in action was with them a familytradition, as independence of thought was in their race a hereditaryquality. To think that if he, Giovanni Saracinesca, chose to marry anywoman whatsoever, any one, no matter how exalted in station, should dareto express approval or disapproval was a shock to every inborn andcultivated prejudice in his nature. He had nearly quarrelled with his ownfather for seeking to influence his matrimonial projects; it was notlikely that he would suffer Cardinal Antonelli to interfere with them. IfGiovanni had really made up his mind--had firmly determined to ask thehand of Donna Tullia--it is more than probable that the statesman'sadvice would not only have failed signally in preventing the match, butby the very opposition it would have aroused in Giovanni's heart it wouldhave had the effect of throwing him into the arms of a party whichalready desired his adhesion, and which, under his guidance, might havebecome as formidable as it was previously insignificant. But the greatCardinal was probably well informed, and his words had not fallen upon abarren soil. Giovanni had vacillated sadly in trying to come to adecision. His first Quixotic impulse to marry Madame Mayer, in order toshow the world that he cared nothing for Corona d'Astrardente, had proveditself absurd, even to his impetuous intelligence. The growing antipathyhe felt for Donna Tullia had made his marriage with her appear in thelight of a disagreeable duty, and his rashness in confessing his love forCorona had so disturbed his previous conceptions that marriage no longerseemed a duty at all. What had been but a few days before almost a fixedresolution, had dwindled till it seemed an impracticable and even auseless scheme. When he had arrived at the Palazzo Frangipani thatevening, he had very nearly forgotten Donna Tullia, and had quitedetermined that whatever his father might say he would not give thepromised answer before Easter. By the time the Cardinal had left him, hehad decided that no power on earth should induce him to marry MadameMayer. He did not take the trouble of saying to himself that he wouldmarry no one else. 

The Cardinal's words had struck deep, in a deep nature. Giovanni hadgiven Del Ferice a very fair exposition of the views he believed himselfto hold, on the day when they had walked together after Donna Tullia'spicnic. He believed himself a practical man, loyal to the temporal powerby principle rather than by any sort of enthusiastic devotion; notdesirous of any great change, because any change that might reasonably beexpected would be bad for his own vested interests; not prejudiced forany policy save that of peace--preferring, indeed, with Cicero, the mostunjust peace to the most just war; tenacious of old customs, and notparticularly inquisitive concerning ideas of progress, --on the whole, Giovanni thought himself what his father had been in his youth, and moreor less what he hoped his sons, if he ever had any, would be after him. 

But there was more in him than all this, and at the first distant soundof battle he felt the spirit stir within him, for his real nature wasbrave and loyal, unselfish and devoted, instinctively sympathizing withthe weak and hating the lukewarm. He had told Del Ferice that he believedhe would fight as a matter of principle: as he leaned against the marblepillar of the door in the Palazzo Frangipani, he wished the fight hadalready begun. 

Waiting there, and staring into the moving crowd, he was aware of a youngman with pale and delicate features and black hair, who stood quietly byhis side, and seemed like himself an idle though not uninterestedspectator of the scene. Giovanni glanced once at the young fellow, andthought he recognised him, and glancing again, he met his earnest look, and saw that it was Anastase Gouache, the painter. Giovanni knew himslightly, for Gouache was regarded as a rising celebrity, and, thanks toDonna Tullia, was invited to most of the great receptions and balls ofthat season, though he was not yet anywhere on a footing of intimacy. Gouache was proud, and would perhaps have stood aloof altogether ratherthan be treated as one of the herd who are asked "with everybody, " asthe phrase goes; but he was of an observing turn of mind, and it amusedhim immensely to stand unnoticed, following the movements of society'splanets, comets, and satellites, and studying the many types of thecosmopolitan Roman world. 

"Good evening, Monsieur Gouache, " said Giovanni. 

"Good evening, prince, " replied the artist, with a somewhat formalbow--after which both men relapsed into silence, and continued to watchthe crowd. 

"And what do you think of our Roman world?" asked Giovanni, presently. 

"I cannot compare it to any other world, " answered Gouache, simply. "Inever went into society till I came to Rome. I think it is at oncebrilliant and sedate--it has a magnificent air of historical antiquity, and it is a little paradoxical. "

"Where is the paradox?" inquired Giovanni. 

"'Es-tu libre? Les lois sont-elles respectées?Crains-tu de voir ton champ pillé par le voisin?Le maître a-t-il son toit, et l'ouvrier son pain?'"

A smile flickered over the young artist's face as he quoted Musset'slines in answer to Giovanni's question. Giovanni himself laughed, andlooked at Anastase with somewhat increased interest. 

"Do you mean that we are revelling under the sword of Damocles--dancingon the eve of our execution?"

"Not precisely. A delicate flavour of uncertainty about to-morrow giveszest to the appetite of to-day. It is impossible that such a largesociety should be wholly unconscious of its own imminent danger--and yetthese men and women go about to-night as if they were Romans of old, rulers of the world, only less sure of themselves than of the stabilityof their empire. "

"Why not?" asked Giovanni, glancing curiously at the pale young manbeside him. "In answer to your quotation, I can say that I am as free asI care to be; that the laws are sufficiently respected; that no one hashitherto thought it worth while to plunder my acres; that I have a modestroof of my own; and that, as far as I am aware, there are no workmenstarving in the streets at present. You are answered, it seems to me, Monsieur Gouache. "

"Is that really your belief?" asked the artist, quietly. 

"Yes. As for my freedom, I am as free as air; no one thinks of hinderingmy movements. As for the laws, they are made for good citizens, and goodcitizens will respect them; if bad citizens do not, that is their loss. My acres are safe, possibly because they are not worth taking, thoughthey yield me a modest competence sufficient for my needs and for theneeds of those who cultivate them for me. "

"And yet there is a great deal of talk in Rome about misery and injusticeand oppression--"

"There will be a great deal more talk about those evils, with much bettercause, if people who think like you succeed in bringing about arevolution, Monsieur Gouache, " answered Giovanni, coldly. 

"If many people think like you, prince, a revolution is not to be thoughtof. As for me I am a foreigner and I see what I can, and listen to what Ihear. "

"A revolution is not to be thought of. It was tried here and failed. Ifwe are overcome by a great power from without, we shall have no choicebut to yield, if any of us survive--for we would fight. But we havenothing to fear from within. "

"Perhaps not, " returned Gouache, thoughtfully. "I hear such oppositeopinions that I hardly know what to think. "

"I hear that you are to paint Cardinal Antonelli's portrait, " saidGiovanni. "Perhaps his Eminence will help you to decide. "

"Yes; they say he is the cleverest man in Europe. "

"In that opinion they--whoever they may be--are mistaken, " repliedGiovanni. "But he is a man of immense intellect, nevertheless. "

"I am not sure whether I will paint his portrait after all, " saidGouache. 

"You do not wish to be persuaded?"

"No. My own ideas please me very well for the present. I would notexchange them for those of any one else. "

"May I ask what those ideas are?" inquired Giovanni, with a show ofinterest. 

"I am a republican, " answered Gouache, quietly. "I am also a goodCatholic. "

"Then you are yourself much more paradoxical than the whole of our Romansociety put together, " answered Giovanni, with a dry laugh. 

"Perhaps. There comes the most beautiful woman in the world. "

It was nearly twelve o'clock when Corona arrived, old Astrardentesauntering jauntily by her side, his face arranged with more than usualcare, and his glossy wig curled cunningly to represent nature. He wassaid to possess a number of wigs of different lengths, which he wore inrotation, thus sustaining the impression that his hair was cut from timeto time. In his eye a single eyeglass was adjusted, and as he walked heswung his hat delicately in his tightly gloved fingers. He wore theplainest of collars and the simplest of gold studs; no chain dangledshowily from his waistcoat-pocket, and his small feet were encased inlittle patent-leather shoes. But for his painted face, he might havepassed for the very incarnation of fashionable simplicity. But his facebetrayed him. 

As for Corona, she was dazzlingly beautiful. Not that any colour ormaterial she wore could greatly enhance her beauty, for all who saw heron that memorable night remembered the wonderful light in her face, andthe strange look in her splendid eyes; but the thick soft fall of thewhite velvet made as it were a pedestal for her loveliness, and theAstrardente jewels that clasped her waist and throat and crowned herblack hair, collected the radiance of the many candles, and made thelight cling to her and follow her as she walked. Giovanni saw her enter, and his whole adoration came upon him as a madness upon a sick man in afever, so that he would have sprung forward to meet her, and fallen ather feet and worshipped her, had he not suddenly felt that he was watchedby more than one of the many who paused to see her go by. He moved fromhis place and waited near the door where she would have to pass, and fora moment his heart stood still. 

He hardly knew how it was. He found himself speaking to her. He asked herfor a dance, he asked boldly for the cotillon--he never knew how he haddared; she assented, let her eyes rest upon him for one moment with anindescribable expression, then grew very calm and cold, and passed on. 

It was all over in an instant. Giovanni moved back to his place as shewent by, and stood still like a man stunned. It was well that there wereyet nearly two hours before the preliminary dancing would be over; heneeded some time to collect himself. The air seemed full of strangevoices, and he watched the moving faces as in a dream, unable toconcentrate his attention upon anything he saw. 

"He looks as though he had a stroke of paralysis, " said a woman's voicenear him. It did not strike him, in his strange bewilderment, that it wasDonna Tullia who had spoken, still less that she was speaking of himalmost to him. 

"Something very like it, I should say, " answered Del Ferice's oily voice. "He has probably been ill since you saw him. Saracinesca is an unhealthyplace. "

Giovanni turned sharply round. 

"Yes; we were speaking of you, Don Giovanni, " said Donna Tullia, withsome scorn. "Does it strike you that you were exceedingly rude in notletting me know that you were going out of town when you had promised todance with me at the Valdarno ball?" She curled her small lip and showedher sharp white teeth. Giovanni was a man of the world, however, and wasequal to the occasion. 

"I apologise most humbly, " he said. "It was indeed very rude; but in theurgency of the case, I forgot all other engagements. I really beg yourpardon. Will you honour me with a dance this evening?"

"I have every dance engaged, " answered Madame Mayer, coldly staring athim. 

"I am very sorry, " said Giovanni, inwardly thanking heaven for his goodfortune, and wishing she would go away. 

"Wait a moment, " said Donna Tullia, judging that she had produced thedesired effect upon him. "Let me look. I believe I have one waltz left. Let me see. Yes, the one before the last--you can have it if you like. "

"Thank you, " murmured Giovanni, greatly annoyed. "I will remember. "

Madame Mayer laid her hand upon Del Ferice's arm, and moved away. She wasa vain woman, and being in love with Saracinesca after her own fashion, could not understand that he should be wholly indifferent to her. Shethought that in telling him she had no dances she had given him a littlewholesome punishment, and that in giving one after all she had conferreda favour upon him. She also believed that she had annoyed Del Ferice, which, always amused her. But Del Ferice was more than a match for her, with his quiet ways and smooth tongue. 

They went into the ball-room together and danced a few minutes. When themusic ceased, Ugo excused himself on the plea that he was engaged for thequadrille that followed. He at once set out in search of the Duchessad'Astrardente, and did not lose sight of her again. She did not dancebefore the cotillon, she said; and she sat down in a high chair in thepicture-gallery, while three or four men, among whom was Valdarno, satand stood near her, doing their best to amuse her. Others came, and somewent away, but Corona did not move, and sat amongst her little court, glad to have the time pass in any way until the cotillon. When Del Fericehad ascertained her position, he went about his business, which wasmanifold--dancing frequently, and making a point of speaking to every onein the room. At the end of an hour, he joined the group of men around theDuchessa and took part in the conversation. 

It was an easy matter to make the talk turn upon Giovanni Saracinesca. Every one was more or less curious about the journey he had made, andespecially about the cause of his absence. Each of the men had somethingto say, and each, knowing the popular report that Giovanni was in lovewith Corona, said his say with as much wit as he could command. Coronaherself was interested, for she alone understood his sudden absence, andwas anxious to hear the common opinion concerning it. 

The theories advanced were various. Some said he had been quarrellingwith the local authorities of Saracinesca, who interfered with hisdevelopments and improvements upon the estate, and they gave laughableportraits of the village sages with whom he had been engaged. Otherssaid he had only stopped there a day, and had been in Naples. One said hehad been boar-hunting; another, that the Saracinesca woods had beeninfested by a band of robbers, who were terrorising the country. 

"And what do you say, Del Ferice?" asked Corona, seeing a cunning smileupon the man's pale fat face. 

"It is very simple, " said Ugo; "it is a very simple matter indeed. If theDuchessa will permit me, I will call him, and we will ask him directlywhat he has been doing. There he stands with old Cantalorgano at theother end of the room. Public curiosity demands to be satisfied. May Icall him, Duchessa?"

"By no means, " said Corona, quickly. But before she had spoken, Valdarno, who was always sanguine and impulsive, had rapidly crossed the galleryand was already speaking to Giovanni. The latter bowed his head as thoughobeying an order, and came quietly back with the young man who had calledhim. The crowd of men parted before him as he advanced to the Duchessa'schair, and stood waiting in some surprise. 

"What are your commands, Duchessa?" he asked, in somewhat formal tones. 

"Valdarno is too quick, " answered Corona, who was greatly annoyed. "Someone suggested calling you to settle a dispute, and he went before I couldstop him. I fear it is very impertinent of us. "

"I am entirely at your service, " said Giovanni, who was delighted athaving been called, and had found time to recover from his firstexcitement on seeing her. "What is the question?"

"We were all talking about you, " said Valdarno. 

"We were wondering where you had been, " said another. 

"They said you had gone boar-hunting. "

"Or to Naples. "

"Or even to Paris. " Three or four spoke in one breath. 

"I am exceedingly flattered at the interest you all show in me, " saidGiovanni, quietly. "There is very little to tell. I have been inSaracinesca upon a matter of business, spending my days in the woods withmy steward, and my nights in keeping away the cold and the ghosts. Iwould have invited you all to join the festivity, had I known how muchyou were interested. The beef up there is monstrously tough, and the ratsare abominably noisy, but the mountain air is said to be very healthy. "

Most of the men present felt that they had not only behaved foolishly, but had spoiled the little circle around the Duchessa by introducing aman who had the power to interest her, whereas they could only afford hera little amusement. Valdarno was still standing, and his chair besideCorona was vacant. Giovanni calmly installed himself upon it, and beganto talk as though nothing had happened. 

"You are not dancing, Duchessa, " he remarked. "I suppose you have been inthe ball-room?"

"Yes--but I am rather tired this evening. I will wait. "

"You were here at the last great ball, before the old prince died, wereyou not?" asked Giovanni, remembering that he had first seen her on thatoccasion. 

"Yes, " she answered; "and I remember that we danced together; and theaccident to the window, and the story of the ghost. "

So they fell into conversation, and though one or two of the men venturedan ineffectual remark, the little circle dropped away, and Giovanni wasleft alone by the side of the Duchessa. The distant opening strains of awaltz came floating down the gallery, but neither of the two heard, norcared. 

"It is strange, " Giovanni said. "They say it has always happened, sincethe memory of man. No one has ever seen anything, but whenever there is agreat ball, there is a crash of broken glass some time in the course ofthe evening. Nobody could ever explain why that window fell in, fiveyears ago--five years ago this month, --this very day, I believe, " hecontinued suddenly, in the act of recollection. "Yes--the nineteenth ofJanuary, I remember very well--it was my mother's birthday. "

"It is not so extraordinary, " said Corona, "for it chances to be thename-day of the present prince. That was probably the reason why it waschosen this year. " She spoke a little nervously, as though still ill atease. 

"But it is very strange, " said Giovanni, in a low voice. "It is strangethat we should have met here the first time, and that we should not havemet here since, until--to-day. "

He looked towards her as he spoke, and their eyes met and lingered ineach other's gaze. Suddenly the blood mounted to Corona's cheeks, hereyelids drooped, she leaned back in her seat and was silent. 

Far off, at the entrance to the ball-room, Del Ferice found Donna Tulliaalone. She was very angry. The dance for which she was engaged toGiovanni Saracinesca had begun, and was already half over, and still hedid not come. Her pink face was unusually flushed, and there was adisagreeable look in her blue eyes. 

"Ah!--I see Don Giovanni has again forgotten his engagement, " said Ugo, in smooth tones. He well knew that he himself had brought about theomission, but none could have guessed it from his manner. "May I have thehonour of a turn before your cavalier arrives?" he asked. 

"No, " said Donna Tullia, angrily. "Give me your arm. We will go and findhim. " She almost hissed the words through her closed teeth. 

She hardly knew that Del Ferice was leading her as they moved towards thepicture-gallery, passing through the crowded rooms that lay between. Shenever spoke; but her movement was impetuous, and she resented beingdelayed by the hosts of men and women who filled the way. As they enteredthe long apartment, where the portraits of the Frangipani lined the wallsfrom end to end, Del Ferice uttered a well-feigned exclamation. 

"Oh, there he is!" he cried. "Do you see him?--his back is turned--he isalone with the Astrardente. "

"Come, " said Donna Tullia, shortly. Del Ferice would have preferred tohave let her go alone, and to have witnessed from a distance the scene hehad brought about. But he could not refuse to accompany Madame Mayer. 

Neither Corona, who was facing the pair, but was talking with Giovanni, nor Giovanni himself, who was turned away from them, noticed theirapproach until they came and stood still beside them. Saracinesca lookedup and started. The Duchessa d'Astrardente raised her black eyebrows insurprise. 

"Our dance!" exclaimed Giovanni, in considerable agitation. "It is theone after this--"

"On the contrary, " said Donna Tullia, in tones trembling with rage, "itis already over. It is the most unparalleled insolence!"

Giovanni was profoundly disgusted at himself and Donna Tullia. He carednot so much for the humiliation itself, which was bad enough, as for theannoyance the scene caused Corona, who looked from one to the other inangry astonishment, but of course could have nothing to say. 

"I can only assure you that I thought--"

"You need not assure me!" cried Donna Tullia, losing all self-control. "There is no excuse, nor pardon--it is the second time. Do not insult mefurther, by inventing untruths for your apology. "

"Nevertheless--" began Giovanni, who was sincerely sorry for his greatrudeness, and would gladly have attempted to explain his conduct, seeingthat Donna Tullia was so justly angry. 

"There is no nevertheless!" she interrupted. "You may stay where youare, " she added, with a scornful glance at the Duchessa d'Astrardente. Then she laid her hand upon Del Ferice's arm, and swept angrily past, sothat the train of her red silk gown brushed sharply against Corona's softwhite velvet. 

Giovanni remained standing a moment, with a puzzled expression upon hisface. 

"How could you do anything so rude?" asked Corona, very gravely. "Shewill never forgive you, and she will be quite right. "

"I do not know how I forgot, " he answered, seating himself again. "It isdreadful--unpardonable--but perhaps the consequences will be good. "

CHAPTER XI. 

Corona was ill at ease. In the first few moments of being alone withGiovanni the pleasure she felt outweighed all other thoughts. But as theminutes lengthened to a quarter of an hour, then to half an hour, shegrew nervous, and her answers came more and more shortly. She said toherself that she should never have given him the cotillon, and shewondered how the remainder of the time would pass. The realisation ofwhat had occurred came upon her, and the hot blood rose to her face andebbed away again, and rose once more. Yet she could not speak out whather pride prompted her to say, because she pitied Giovanni a little, andwas willing to think for a moment that it was only compassion she felt, lest she should feel that she must send him away. 

But Giovanni sat beside her, and knew that the spell was working uponhim, and that there was no salvation. He had taken her unawares, thoughhe hardly knew it, when she first entered, and he asked her suddenly fora dance. He had wondered vaguely why she had so freely consented; but, inthe wild delight of being by her side, he completely lost all hold uponhimself, and yielded to the exquisite charm of her presence, as a man whohas struggled for a moment against a powerful opiate sinks under itsinfluence, and involuntarily acknowledges his weakness. Strong as he was, his strength was all gone, and he knew not where he should find it. 

"You will have to make her some further apology, " said Corona, as MadameMayer's red train disappeared through the doorway at the other end of theroom. 

"Of course--I must do something about it, " said Giovanni, absently. "After all, I do not wonder--it is amazing that I should have recognisedher at all. I should forget anything to-night, except that I am todance with you. "

The Duchessa looked away, and fanned herself slowly; but she sighed, andchecked the deep-drawn breath as by a great effort. The waltz was over, and the dancers streamed through the intervening rooms towards thegallery in quest of fresher air and freer space. Two and two they came, quickly following each other and passing on, some filling the high seatsalong the walls, others hastening towards the supper-rooms beyond. A fewminutes earlier Saracinesca and Corona had been almost alone in the greatapartment; now they were surrounded on all sides by a chattering crowd ofmen and women, with flushed faces or unnaturally pale, according as theeffort of dancing affected each, and the indistinguishable din ofhundreds of voices so filled the air that Giovanni and the Duchessa couldhardly hear each other speak. 

"This is intolerable, " said Giovanni, suddenly. "You are not engaged forthe last quadrille? Shall we not go away until the cotillon begins?"

Corona hesitated a moment, and was silent. She glanced once at Giovanni, and again surveyed the moving crowd. 

"Yes, " she said at last; "let us go away. "

"You are very good, " answered Giovanni in a low voice, as he offered herhis arm. She looked at him inquiringly, and her face grew grave, as theyslowly made their way out of the room. 

At last they came to the conservatory, and went in among the great plantsand the soft lights. There was no one there, and they slowly paced thebroad walk that was left clear all round the glass-covered chamber, andup and down the middle. The plants were disposed so thickly as to formalmost impenetrable walls of green on either side; and at one end therewas an open space where a little marble fountain played, around whichwere disposed seats of carved wood. But Giovanni and Corona continued towalk slowly along the tiled path. 

"Why did you say I was good just now?" asked Corona at last. Her voicesounded cold. 

"I should not have said it, perhaps, " answered Giovanni. "I say manythings which I cannot help saying. I am very sorry. "

"I am very sorry too, " answered the Duchessa, quietly. 

"Ah! if you knew, you would forgive me. If you could guess half thetruth, you would forgive me. "

"I would rather not guess it. "

"Of course; but you have already--you know it all. Have I not told you?"Giovanni spoke in despairing tones. He was utterly weak and spellbound;he could hardly find any words at all. 

"Don Giovanni, " said Corona, speaking very proudly and calmly, but notunkindly, "I have known you so long, I believe you to be so honourable aman, that I am willing to suppose that you said--what you said--in amoment of madness. "

"Madness! It was madness; but it is more sweet to remember than all theother doings of my life, " said Saracinesca, his tongue unloosed at last. "If it is madness to love you, I am mad past all cure. There is nohealing for me now; I shall never find my senses again, for they are lostin you, and lost for ever. Drive me away, crush me, trample on me if youwill; you cannot kill me nor kill my madness, for I live in you and foryou, and I cannot die. That is all. I am not eloquent as other men are, to use smooth words and twist phrases. I love you--"

"You have said too much already--too much, far too much, " murmuredCorona, in broken tones. She had withdrawn her hand from his during hispassionate speech, and stood back from him against the dark wall of greenplants, her head drooping upon her breast, her fingers clasped fasttogether. His short rude words were terribly sweet to hear, it wasfearful to think that she was alone with him, that one step would bringher to his side, that with one passionate impulse she might throw herwhite arms about his neck, that one faltering sigh of overwhelming lovemight bring her queenly head down upon his shoulder. Ah, God! how gladlyshe would let her tears flow and speak for her! how unutterably sweet itwould be rest for one instant in his arms, to love and be loved as shelonged to be!

"You are so cold, " he cried, passionately. "You cannot understand. Allspoken words are not too much, are not enough to move you, to make yousee that I do really worship and adore you; you, the whole of you--yourglorious face, your sweet small hands, your queenly ways, the light ofyour eyes, and the words of your lips--all of you, body and soul, I love. I would I might die now, for you know it, even if you will notunderstand--"

He moved a step nearer to her, stretching out his hands as he spoke. Corona trembled convulsively, and her lips turned white in the torture oftemptation; she leaned far back against the green leaves, staring wildlyat Giovanni, held as in a vice by the mighty passions of love and fear. Having yielded her ears to his words, they fascinated her horribly. He, poor man, had long lost all control of himself. His resolutions, longpondered in the solitude of Saracinesca, had vanished like unsubstantialvapours before a strong fire, and his heart and soul were ablaze. 

"Do not look at me so, " he said almost tenderly. "Do not look at me asthough you feared me, as though you hated me. Can you not see that it isI who fear you as well as love you, who tremble at your coldness, whowatch for your slightest kind look? Ah, Corona, you have made me sohappy!--there is no angel in all heaven but would give up his Paradise tochange for mine!"

He had taken her hand and pressed it wildly to his lips. Her eyelidsdrooped, and her head fell back for one moment. They stood so very nearthat his arm had almost stolen about her slender waist, he almost thoughthe was supporting her. 

Suddenly, without the least warning, she drew herself up to her fullheight, and thrust Giovanni back to her arm's length strongly, almostroughly. 

"Never!" she said. "I am a weak woman, but not so weak as that. I ammiserable, but not so miserable as to listen to you. GiovanniSaracinesca, you say you love me--God grant it is not true! but you sayit. Then, have you no honour, no courage, no strength? Is there nothingof the man left in you? Is there no truth in your love, no generosity inyour heart? If you so love me as you say you do, do you care so littlewhat becomes of me as to tempt me to love you?"

She spoke very earnestly, not scornfully nor angrily, but in thecertainty of strength and right, and in the strong persuasion that theheadstrong man would hear and be convinced. She was weak no longer, forone desperate moment her fate had trembled in the balance, but she hadnot hesitated even then; she had struggled bravely, and her brave soulhad won the great battle. She had been weak the other day at the theatre, in letting herself ask the question to which she knew the answer; she hadbeen miserably weak that very night in so abandoning herself to theinfluence she loved and dreaded; but at the great moment, when heaven andearth swam before her as in a wild and unreal mirage, with the voice ofthe man she loved ringing in her ears, speaking such words as it wasan ecstasy to hear, she had been no longer weak--the reality of dangerhad brought forth the sincerity of her goodness, and her heart had foundcourage to do a great deed. She had overcome, and she knew it. 

Giovanni stood back from her, and hung his head. In a moment the force ofhis passion was checked, and from the supreme verge of unspeakable andrapturous delight, he was cast suddenly into the depths of his ownremorse. He stood silent before her, trembling and awestruck. 

"You cannot understand me, " she said, "I do not understand myself. Butthis I know, that you are not what you have seemed to-night--that thereis enough manliness and nobility in you to respect a woman, and that youwill hereafter prove that I am right. I pray that I may not see you anymore; but if I must see you, I will trust you thus much--say that I maytrust you, " she added, her strong smooth voice sinking in a tremblingcadence, half beseeching, and yet wholly commanding. 

Saracinesca bent his heavy brows, and was silent for a moment. Then helooked up, and his eyes met hers, and seemed to gather strength from her. 

"If you will let me see you sometimes, you may trust me. I would I wereas noble and good as you--I am not. I will try to be. Ah, Corona!" hecried suddenly, "forgive me, forgive me! I hardly knew what I said. "

"Hush!" said the Duchessa, gently; "you must not speak like that, norcall me Corona. Perhaps I am wrong to forgive you wholly, but I believein you. I believe you will understand, and that you will be worthy of thetrust I place in you. "

"Indeed, Duchessa, none shall say that they have trusted me in vain, "answered Giovanni very proudly--"neither man nor woman--and, least of allwomen, you. "

"That is well, " said she, with a faint shadow of a smile. "I would rathersee you proud than reckless. See that you remain so--that neither by wordnor deed you ever remind me that I have had anything to forgive. It isthe only way in which any intercourse between us can be possible afterthis--this dreadful night. "

Giovanni bowed his head. He was still pale, but he had regained controlof himself. 

"I solemnly promise that I will not recall it to your memory, and Iimplore your forgiveness, even though you cannot forget. "

"I cannot forget, " said Corona, almost under her breath. Giovanni's eyesflashed for a moment. "Shall we go back to the ball-room? I will go homesoon. "

As they turned to go, a loud crash, as of broken glass, with the fall ofsome heavy body, startled them, and made them stand still in the middleof the walk. The noisy concussion was followed by a complete silence. Corona, whose nerves had been severely tried, trembled slightly. 

"It is strange, " she said; "they say it always happens. "

There was nothing to be seen. The thick web of plants hid the cause ofthe noise from view, whatever it might be. Giovanni hesitated a moment, looking about to see how he could get behind the banks of flower-pots. Then he left Corona without a word, and striding to the end of the walk, disappeared into the depths of the conservatory. He had noticed thatthere was a narrow entrance at the end nearest the fountain, intendedprobably to admit the gardener for the purpose of watering the plants. Corona could hear his quick steps; she thought she heard a low groan anda voice whispering, --but she might have been mistaken, for the place waslarge, and her heart was beating fast. 

Giovanni had not gone far in the narrow way, which was sufficientlylighted by the soft light of the many candles concealed in various partsof the conservatory, when he came upon the figure of a man sitting, as hehad apparently fallen, across the small passage. The fragments of a heavyearthenware vase lay beyond him, with a heap of earth and roots; and thetall india-rubber plant which grew in it had fallen against the slopingglass roof and shattered several panes. As Giovanni came suddenly uponhim, the man struggled to rise, and in the dim light Saracinescarecognised Del Ferice. The truth flashed upon him at once. The fellow hadbeen listening, and had probably heard all. Giovanni instantly resolvedto conceal the fact from the Duchessa, to whom the knowledge that thepainful scene had been overheard would be a bitter mortification. Giovanni could undertake to silence the eavesdropper. 

Quick as thought his strong brown hands gripped the throat of Ugo delFerice, stifling his breath like a collar of iron. 

"Dog!" he whispered fiercely in the wretch's ear, "if you breathe, I willkill you now! You will find me in my own house in an hour. Be silentnow!" Giovanni whispered, with such a terrible grip on the fellow'sthroat that his eyeballs seemed starting from his head. Then he turnedand went out by the way he had entered, leaving Del Ferice writhing withpain and gasping for breath. As he joined Corona, his face betrayed noemotion--he had been so pale before that he could not turn whiter in hisanger--but his eyes gleamed fiercely at the thought of fight. TheDuchessa stood where he had left her, still much agitated. 

"It is nothing, " said Giovanni, with a forced laugh, as he offered herhis arm and led her quickly away. "Imagine. A great vase with one ofFrangipani's favourite plants in it had been badly propped, and hadfallen right through the glass, outward. "

"It is strange, " said Corona. "I was almost sure I heard a groan. "

"It was the wind. The glass was broken, and it is a stormy night. "

"That was just the way that window fell in five years ago, " said Corona. "Something always happens here. I think I will go home--let us find myhusband. "

No one would have guessed, from Corona's face, that anythingextraordinary had occurred in the half-hour she had spent in theconservatory. She walked calmly by Giovanni's side, not a trace ofexcitement on her pale proud face, not a sign of uneasiness in the quietglance of her splendid eyes. She had conquered, and she knew it, never tobe tempted again; she had conquered herself and she had overcome the manbeside her. Giovanni glanced at her in wondering admiration. 

"You are the bravest woman in the world, as I am the most contemptible ofmen, " he said suddenly, as they entered the picture-gallery. 

"I am not brave, " she answered calmly, "neither are you contemptible, myfriend. We have both been very near to our destruction, but it haspleased God to save us. "

"By you, " said Saracinesca, very solemnly. He knew that within six hourshe might be lying dead upon some plot of wet grass without the city, andhe grew very grave, after the manner of brave men when death is abroad. 

"You have saved my soul to-night, " he said earnestly. "Will you give meyour blessing and whole forgiveness? Do not laugh at me, nor think mefoolish. The blessing of such women as you should make men braver andbetter. "

The gallery was again deserted. The cotillon had begun, and those whowere not dancing were at supper. Corona stood still for one moment by thevery chair where they had sat so long. 

"I forgive you wholly. I pray that all blessings may be upon you always, in life and in death, for ever. "

Giovanni bowed his head reverently. It seemed as though the woman he soloved was speaking a benediction upon his death, a last _in pace_ whichshould follow him for all eternity. 

"In life and in death, I will honour you truly and serve you faithfullyfor ever, " he answered. As he raised his head, Corona saw that there weretears in his eyes, and she felt that there were tears in her own. 

"Come, " she said, and they passed on in silence. 

She found her husband at last in the supper-room. He was leisurelydiscussing the wing of a chicken and a small glass of claret-and-water, with a gouty ambassador whose wife had insisted upon dancing thecotillon, and who was revenging himself upon a Strasbourg _pâté_ and abottle of dry champagne. 

"Ah, my dear, " said Astrardente, looking up from his modest fare, "youhave been dancing? You have come to supper? You are very wise. I havedanced a great deal myself, but I have not seen you--the room was socrowded. Here--this small table will hold us all, just a quartet. "

"Thanks--I am not hungry. Will you take me home when you have finishedsupper? Or are you going to stay? Do not wait, Don Giovanni; I know youare busy in the cotillon. My husband will take care of me. Good night. "

Giovanni bowed, and went away, glad to be alone at last. He had to be athome in half an hour according to his engagement, and he had to lookabout him for a friend. All Rome was at the ball; but the men upon whomhe could call for such service as he required, were all dancing. Moreover, he reflected that in such a matter it was necessary to havesome one especially trustworthy. It would not do to have the real causeof the duel known, and the choice of a second was a very importantmatter. He never doubted that Del Ferice would send some one with achallenge at the appointed time. Del Ferice was a scoundrel, doubtless;but he was quick with the foils, and had often appeared as second inaffairs of honour. 

Giovanni stood by the door of the ball-room, looking at the many familiarfaces, and wondering how he could induce any one to leave his partner atthat hour, and go home with him. Suddenly he was aware that his fatherwas standing beside him and eyeing him curiously. 

"What is the matter, Giovanni?" inquired the old Prince. "Why are you notdancing?"

"The fact is--" began Giovanni, and then stopped suddenly. An idea struckhim. He went close to his father, and spoke in a low voice. 

"The fact is, that I have just taken a man by the throat and otherwiseinsulted him, by calling him a dog. The fellow seemed annoyed, and so Itold him he might send to our house in an hour for an explanation. Icannot find a friend, because everybody is dancing this abominablecotillon. Perhaps you can help me, " he added, looking at his fatherrather doubtfully. To his surprise and considerable relief the old Princeburst into a hearty laugh. 

"Of course, " he cried. "What do you take me for? Do you think I woulddesert my boy in a fight? Go and call my carriage, and wait for me whileI pick up somebody for a witness; we can talk on the way home. "

The old Prince had been a duellist in his day, and he would no more havethought of advising his son not to fight than of refusing a challengehimself. He was, moreover, exceedingly bored at the ball, and not in theleast sleepy. The prospect of an exciting night was novel and delightful. He knew Giovanni's extraordinary skill, and feared nothing for him. Heknew everybody in the ballroom was engaged, and he went straight to thesupper-table, expecting to find some one there. Astrardente, theDuchessa, and the gouty ambassador were still together, as Giovanni hadleft them a moment before. The Prince did not like Astrardente, but heknew the ambassador very well. He called him aside, with an apology tothe Duchessa. 

"I want a young man immediately, " said old Saracinesca, stroking hiswhite beard with his broad brown hand. "Can you tell of any one who isnot dancing?"

"There is Astrardente, " answered his Excellency, with an ironical smile. "A duel?" he asked. 

Saracinesca nodded. 

"I am too old, " said the diplomatist, thoughtfully; "but it would beinfinitely amusing. I cannot give you one of my secretaries either. Italways makes such a scandal. Oh, there goes the very man! Catch himbefore it is too late!"

Old Saracinesca glanced in the direction the ambassador indicated, anddarted away. He was as active as a boy, in spite of his sixty years. 

"Eh!" he cried. "Hi! you! Come here! Spicca! Stop! Excuse me--I am in agreat hurry!"

Count Spicca, whom he thus addressed, paused and looked round through hissingle eyeglass in some surprise. He was an immensely tall andcadaverous-looking man, with a black beard and searching grey eyes. 

"I really beg your pardon, " said the Prince hurriedly, in a low voice, ashe came up, "but I am in a great hurry--an affair of honour--will you bewitness? My carriage is at the door. "

"With pleasure, " said Count Spicca, quietly; and without further commenthe accompanied the Prince to the outer hall. Giovanni was waiting, andthe Prince's footman stood at the head of the stairs. In three minutesthe father and son and the melancholy Spicca were seated in the carriage, on their way to the Palazzo Saracinesca. 

"Now then, Giovannino, " said the Prince, as he lit a cigarette in thedarkness, "tell us all about it. "

"There is not much to tell, " said Giovanni. "If the challenge arrives, there is nothing to be done but to fight. I took him by the throat andnearly strangled him. "

"Whom?" asked Spicca, mournfully. 

"Oh! it is Del Ferice, " answered Giovanni, who had forgotten that he hadnot mentioned the name of his probable antagonist. The Prince laughed. 

"Del Ferice! Who would have thought it? He is a dead man. What was it allabout?"

"That is unnecessary to say here, " said Giovanni, quietly. "He insultedme grossly. I half-strangled him, and told him he was a dog. I suppose hewill fight. "

"Ah yes; he will probably fight, " repeated Spicca, thoughtfully. "Whatare your weapons, Don Giovanni?"

"Anything he likes. "

"But the choice is yours if he challenges, " returned the Count. 

"As you please. Arrange all that--foils, swords, or pistols. "

"You do not seem to take much interest in this affair, " remarked Spicca, sadly. 

"He is best with foils, " said the old Prince. 

"Foils or pistols, of course, " said the Count. "Swords are child's play. "

Satisfied that his seconds meant business, Giovanni sank back in hiscorner of the carriage, and was silent. 

"We had better have the meeting in my villa, " said his father. "If itrains, they can fight indoors. I will send for the surgeon at once. "

In a few moments they reached the Palazzo Saracinesca. The Prince leftword at the porter's lodge that any gentlemen who arrived were to beadmitted, and all three went up-stairs. It was half-past two o'clock. 

As they entered the apartments, they heard a carriage drive under thegreat archway below. 

"Go to your rooms, Giovanni, " said the old Prince. "These fellows arepunctual. I will call you when they are gone. I suppose you mean businessseriously?"

"I care nothing about him. I will give him any satisfaction he pleases, "answered Giovanni. "It is very kind of you to undertake the matter--I amvery grateful. "

"I would not leave it to anybody else, " muttered the old Prince, as hehurried away to meet Del Fence's seconds. 

Giovanni entered his own rooms, and went straight to his writing-table. He took a pen and a sheet of paper and began writing. His face was verygrave, but his hand was steady. For more than an hour he wrote withoutpausing. Then his father entered the room. 

"Well?" said Giovanni, looking up. 

"It is all settled, " said the old gentleman, seriously. "I was afraidthey might make some objection to me as a second. You know there is anold clause about near relations acting in such cases. But they declaredthat they considered my co-operation an honour--so that is all right. You must do your best, my boy. This rascal means to hurt you if he can. Seven o'clock is the time. We must leave here at half-past six. You cansleep two hours and a half. I will sit up and call you. Spicca has gonehome to change his clothes, and is coming back immediately. Now lie down. I will see to your foils--"

"Is it foils, then?" asked Giovanni, quietly. 

"Yes. They made no objection. You had better lie down. "

"I will. Father, if anything should happen to me--it may, you know--youwill find my keys in this drawer, and this letter, which I beg you willread. It is to yourself. "

"Nonsense, my dear boy! Nothing will happen to you--you will just run himthrough the arm and come home to breakfast. "

The old Prince spoke in his rough cheerful way; but his voice trembled, and he turned aside to hide two great tears that had fallen upon his darkcheeks and were losing themselves in his white beard. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Giovanni slept soundly for two hours. He was very tired with the manyemotions of the night, and the arrangements for the meeting beingcompleted, it seemed as though work were over and the pressure removed. It is said that men will sleep for hours when the trial is over and thesentence of death has been passed; and though it was more likely that DelFerice would be killed than that Giovanni would be hurt, the latter feltnot unlike a man who has been tried for his life. He had suffered in acouple of hours almost every emotion of which he was capable--his lovefor Corona, long controlled and choked down, had broken bounds at last, and found expression for itself; he had in a moment suffered the severesthumiliation and the most sincere sorrow at her reproaches; he had knownthe fear of seeing her no more, and the sweetness of pardon from her ownlips; he had found himself on a sudden in a frenzy of righteous wrathagainst Del Ferice, and a moment later he had been forced to hide hisanger under a calm face; and at last, when the night was far spent, hehad received the assurance that in less than four hours he would haveample opportunity for taking vengeance upon the cowardly eavesdropper whohad so foully got possession of the one secret he held dear. Worn outwith all he had suffered, and calm in the expectation of the morning'sstruggle, Giovanni lay down upon his bed and slept. 

Del Ferice, on the contrary, was very wakeful. He had an unpleasantsensation about his throat as though he had been hanged, and cut downbefore he was dead; and he suffered the unutterable mortification ofknowing that, after a long and successful social career, he had beendetected by his worst enemy in a piece of disgraceful villany. In thefirst place, Giovanni might kill him. Del Ferice was a very good fencer, but Saracinesca was stronger and more active; there was certainlyconsiderable danger in the duel. On the other hand, if he survived, Giovanni had him in his power for the rest of his life, and there was noescape possible. He had been caught listening--caught in a flagrantlydishonest trick--and he well knew that if the matter had been broughtbefore a jury of honour, he would have been declared incompetentto claim any satisfaction. 

It was not the first time Del Ferice had done such things, but it was thefirst time he had been caught. He cursed his awkwardness in oversettingthe vase just at the moment when his game was successfully played to theend--just when he thought that he began to see land, in having discoveredbeyond all doubt that Giovanni was devoted body and soul to Coronad'Astrardente. The information had been necessary to him, for he wasbeginning seriously to press his suit with Donna Tullia, and he needed tobe sure that Giovanni was not a rival to be feared. He had long suspectedSaracinesca's devotion to the dark Duchessa, and by constantly puttinghimself in his way, he had done his best to excite his jealousy and tostimulate his passion. Giovanni never could have considered Del Ferice asa rival; the idea would have been ridiculous. But the constant annoyanceof finding the man by Corona's side, when he desired to be alone withher, had in some measure heightened the effect Del Ferice desired, thoughit had not actually produced it. Being a good judge of character, he hadsensibly reckoned his chances against Giovanni, and he had formed so justan opinion of the man's bold and devoted character as to be absolutelysure that if Saracinesca loved Corona he would not seriously think ofmarrying Donna Tullia. He had done all he could to strengthen the passionwhen he guessed it was already growing, and at the very moment when hehad received circumstantial evidence of it which placed it beyond alldoubt, he had allowed himself to be discovered, through his ownunpardonable carelessness. 

Evidently the only satisfactory way out of the difficulty was to killGiovanni outright, if he could do it. In that way he would rid himselfof an enemy, and at the same time of the evidence against himself. The question was, how this could be accomplished; for Giovanni was aman of courage, strength, and experience, and he himself--Ugo delFerice--possessed none of those qualities in any great degree. The resultwas, that he slept not at all, but passed the night in a state of nervousanxiety by no means conducive to steadiness of hand or calmness of thenerves. He was less pleased than ever when he heard that Giovanni'sseconds were his own father and the melancholy Spicca, who was the mostcelebrated duellist in Italy, in spite of his cadaverous long body, hissad voice, and his expression of mournful resignation to the course ofevents. 

In the event of his neither killing Don Giovanni nor being himselfkilled, what he most dreaded was the certainty that for the rest of hislife he must be in his enemy's power. He knew that, for Corona's sake, Giovanni would not mention the cause of the duel, and no one could haveinduced him to speak of it himself; but it would be a terrible hindrancein his life to feel at every turn that the man he hated had the power toexpose him to the world as a scoundrel of the first water. What he hadheard gave him but small influence over Saracinesca, though it was ofgreat value in determining his own action. To say aloud to the world thatGiovanni loved the Duchessa d'Astrardente would be of little use. DelFerice could not, for very shame, tell how he had found it out; and therewas no other proof but his evidence, for he guessed that from that timeforward the open relation between the two would be even more formal thanbefore--and the most credulous people do not believe in a great fireunless they can see a little smoke. He had not even the advantage ofturning the duel to account in his interest with Donna Tullia, sinceGiovanni could force him to deny that she was implicated in the question, on pain of exposing his treachery. There was palpably no satisfactory wayout of the matter unless he could kill his adversary. He would have toleave the country for a while; but Giovanni once dead, it would be easyto make Donna Tullia believe they had fought on her account, and toderive all the advantage there was to be gained from posing before theworld as her defender. 

But though Del Ferice's rest was disturbed by the contemplation of hisdifficulties, he did not neglect any precaution which might save hisstrength for the morrow. He lay down upon his bed, stretching himself atfull length, and carefully keeping his right arm free, lest, by lettinghis weight fall upon it as he lay, he should benumb the muscles orstiffen the joints; from time to time he rubbed a little strengtheningointment upon his wrist, and he was careful that the light should notshine in his eyes and weary them. At six o'clock his seconds appearedwith the surgeon they had engaged, and the four men were soon drivingrapidly down the Corso towards the gate. 

So punctual were the two parties that they arrived simultaneously at thegate of the villa which had been selected for the encounter. The oldPrince took a key from his pocket and himself opened the great iron gate. The carriages drove in, and the gates were closed by the astonishedporter, who came running out as they creaked upon their hinges. The lightwas already sufficient for the purpose of fencing, as the eight mendescended simultaneously before the house. The morning was cloudy, butthe ground was dry. The principals and seconds saluted each otherformally. Giovanni withdrew to a little distance on one side with hissurgeon, and Del Ferice stood aside with his. 

The melancholy Spicca, who looked like the shadow of death in the dimmorning light, was the first to speak. 

"Of course you know the best spot in the villa?" he said to the oldPrince. 

"As there is no sun, I suggest that they fight upon the ground behind thehouse. It is hard and dry. "

The whole party followed old Saracinesca. Spicca had the foils in a greenbag. The place suggested by the Prince seemed in every way adapted, andDel Ferice's seconds made no objection. There was absolutely no choice ofposition upon the ground, which was an open space about twenty yardssquare, hard and well rolled, preferable in every way to a grass lawn. 

Without further comment, Giovanni took off his coat and waistcoat, andDel Ferice, who looked paler and more unhealthy than usual, followed hisexample. The seconds crossed sides to examine the principals' shirts, and to assure themselves that they wore no flannel underneath theunstarched linen. This formality being accomplished, the foils werecarefully compared, and Giovanni was offered the first choice. He tookthe one nearest his hand, and the other was carried to Del Ferice. Theywere simple fencing foils, the buttons being removed and the pointssharpened--there was nothing to choose between them. The seconds theneach took a sword, and stationed the combatants some seven or eightpaces apart, while they themselves stood a little aside, each upon theright hand of his principal, and the witnesses placed themselves atopposite corners of the ground, the surgeons remaining at the ends behindthe antagonists. There was a moment's pause. When all was ready, oldSaracinesca came close to Giovanni, while Del Ferice's second approachedhis principal in like manner. 

"Giovanni, " said the old Prince, gravely, "as your second I am bound torecommend you to make any advance in your power towards a friendlyunderstanding. Can you do so?"

"No, father, I cannot, " answered Giovanni, with a slight smile. His facewas perfectly calm, and of a natural colour. Old Saracinesca crossed theground, and met Casalverde, the opposite second, half-way. Each formallyexpressed to the other his great regret that no arrangement would bepossible, and then retired again to the right hand of his principal. 

"Gentlemen, " said the Prince, in a loud voice, "are you ready?" As bothmen bowed their assent, he added immediately, in a sharp tone of command, "In guard!"

Giovanni and Del Ferice each made a step forward, saluted each other withtheir foils, repeated the salute to the seconds and witnesses, and thencame face to face and fell into position. Each made one thrust in tierceat the other, in the usual fashion of compliment, each parrying in thesame way. 

"Halt!" cried Saracinesca and Casalverde, in the same breath. 

"In guard!" shouted the Prince again, and the duel commenced. 

In a moment the difference between the two men was apparent. Del Fericefenced in the Neapolitan style--his arm straight before him, neverbending from the elbow, making all his play with his wrist, his backstraight, and his knees so much bent that he seemed not more than halfhis height. He made his movements short and quick, and relatively few, inevident fear of tiring himself at the start. To a casual observer hisfence was less graceful than his antagonist's, his lunges less daring, his parries less brilliant. But as the old Prince watched him he saw thatthe point of his foil advanced and retreated in a perfectly straightline, and in parrying described the smallest circle possible, while hiscold watery blue eye was fixed steadily upon his antagonist; oldSaracinesca ground his teeth, for he saw that the man was a mostaccomplished swordsman. 

Giovanni fought with the air of one who defended himself, without muchthought of attack. He did not bend so low as Del Ferice, his arm doubleda little before his lunge, and his foil occasionally made a wide circlein the air. He seemed careless, but in strength and elasticity he was farsuperior to his enemy, and could perhaps afford to trust to theseadvantages, when a man like Del Ferice was obliged to employ his wholeskill and science. 

They had been fencing for more than two minutes, without any apparentresult, when Giovanni seemed suddenly to change his tactics. He loweredthe point of his weapon a little, and, keeping it straight before him, began to press more closely upon his antagonist. Del Ferice kept his armat full length, and broke ground for a yard or two, making clever feintsin carte at Giovanni's body, with the object of stopping his advance. ButGiovanni pressed him, and suddenly made a peculiar movement with hisfoil, bringing it in contact with his enemy's along its length. 

"Halt!" cried Casalverde. Both men lowered their weapons instantly, andthe seconds sprang forward and touched their swords between them. Giovanni bit his lip angrily. 

"Why 'halt'?" asked the Prince, sharply. "Neither is touched. "

"My principal's shoe-string is untied, " answered Casalverde, calmly. Itwas true. "He might easily trip and fall, " explained Del Ferice's friend, bending down and proceeding to tie the silk ribbon. The Prince shruggedhis shoulders, and retired with Giovanni a few steps back. 

"Giovanni, " he said, in a voice trembling with emotion, "if you are notmore careful, he will do you a mischief. For heaven's sake run himthrough the arm and let us be done with it. "

"I should have disarmed him that time if his second had not stopped us, "said Giovanni, calmly. "He is ready again, " he added, "come on. "

"In guard!"

Again the two men advanced, and again the foils crossed and recrossed andrang loudly in the cold morning air. Once more Giovanni pressed upon DelFerice, and Del Ferice broke ground. In answer to a quick feint, Giovannimade a round parry and a sharp short lunge in tierce. 

"Halt!" yelled Casalverde. Old Saracinesca sprang in, and Giovannilowered his weapon. But Casalverde did not interpose his sword. A fulltwo seconds after the cry to halt, Del Ferice lunged right forward. Giovanni thrust out his arm to save his body from the foul attempt--hehad not time to raise his weapon. Del Ferice's sharp rapier entered hiswrist and tore a long wound nearly to the elbow. 

Giovanni said nothing, but his sword dropped from his hand and he turnedupon his father, white with rage. The blood streamed down his sleeve, andhis surgeon came running towards him. 

The old man had understood at a glance the foul play that had beenpractised, and going forward laid his hand upon the arm of Del Ferice'ssecond. 

"Why did you stop them, sir? And where was your sword?" he said in greatanger. Del Ferice was leaning upon his friend; a greenish pallor hadoverspread his face, but there was a smile under his colourlessmoustache. 

"My principal was touched, " said Casalverde, pointing to a tiny scratchupon Del Ferice's neck, from which a single drop of blood was slowlyoozing. 

"Then why did you not prevent your principal from thrusting after youcried the halt?" asked Saracinesca, severely. "You have singularlymisunderstood your duties, sir, and when these gentlemen are satisfied, you will be answerable to me. "

Casalverde was silent. 

"I protest myself wholly satisfied, " said Ugo, with a disagreeable smile, as he glanced to where the surgeon was binding up Giovanni's arm. 

"Sir, " said old Saracinesca, fiercely addressing the second, "I am nothere to bandy words with your principal. He may express himself satisfiedthrough you, if he pleases. My principal, through me, expresses hisentire dissatisfaction. "

"Your principal, Prince, " answered Casalverde, coldly, "is unable toproceed, seeing that his right arm is injured. "

"My son, sir, fences as readily with his left hand as with his right, "returned old Saracinesca. 

Del Ferice's face fell, and his smile vanished instantly. 

"In that case we are ready, " returned Casalverde, unable, however, toconceal his annoyance. He was a friend of Del Ferice's and would gladlyhave seen Giovanni run through the body by the foul thrust. 

There was a moment's consultation on the other side. 

"I will give myself the pleasure of killing that gentleman to-morrowmorning, " remarked Spicca, as he mournfully watched the surgeon'soperations. 

"Unless I kill him myself to-day, " returned the Prince savagely, in hiswhite beard. "Are you ready, Giovanni?" It never occurred to him to askhis son if he was too badly hurt to proceed. 

Giovanni never spoke, but the hot blood had mounted to his temples, andhe was dangerously angry. He took the foil they gave him, and felt thepoint quietly. It was sharp as a needle. He nodded to his father'squestion, and they resumed their places, the old Prince this timestanding on the left, as his son had changed hands. Del Ferice cameforward rather timidly. His courage had sustained him so far, but theconsciousness of having done a foul deed, and the sight of the angry manbefore him, were beginning to make him nervous. He felt uncomfortable, too, at the idea of fencing against a left-handed antagonist. 

Giovanni made one or two lunges, and then, with a strange movement unlikeanything any one present was acquainted with, seemed to wind his bladeround Del Ferice's, and, with a violent jerk of the wrist, sent theweapon flying across the open space. It struck a window of the house, andcrashed through the panes. 

"More broken glass!" said Giovanni scornfully, as he lowered his pointand stepped back two paces. "Take another sword, sir, " he said; "I willnot kill you defenceless. "

"Good heavens, Giovanni!" exclaimed his father in the greatestexcitement; "where on earth did you learn that trick?"

"On my travels, father, " returned Giovanni, with a smile; "where you tellme I learned so much that was bad. He looks frightened, " he added in alow voice, as he glanced at Del Ferice's livid face. 

"He has cause, " returned the Prince, "if he ever had in his life!"

Casalverde and his witness advanced from the other side with a fresh pairof foils; for the one that had gone through the window could not berecovered at once, and was probably badly bent by the twist it hadreceived. The gentlemen offered Giovanni his choice. 

"If there is no objection I will keep the one I have, " said he to hisfather. The foils were measured, and were found to be alike. The twogentlemen retired, and Del Ferice chose a weapon. 

"That is right, " said Spicca, as he slowly went back to his place. "Youshould never part with an old friend. "

"We are ready!" was called from the opposite side. 

"In guard, then!" cried the Prince. The angry flush had not subsided fromGiovanni's forehead, as he again went forward. Del Ferice came up like aman who has suddenly made up his mind to meet death, with a look ofextraordinary determination on his pale face. 

Before they had made half-a-dozen passes Ugo slipped, or pretended toslip, and fell upon his right knee; but as he came to the ground, he madea sharp thrust upwards under Giovanni's extended left arm. 

The old Prince uttered a fearful oath, that rang and echoed along thewalls of the ancient villa. Del Ferice had executed the celebrated feintknown long ago as the "Colpo del Tancredi, " "Tancred's lunge, " from thesupposed name of its inventor. It is now no longer permitted in duelling. But the deadly thrust loses half its danger against a left-handed man. The foil grazed the flesh on Giovanni's left side, and the blood againstained his white shirt. In the moment when Del Ferice slipped, Giovannihad made a straight and deadly lunge at his body, and the sword, insteadof passing through Ugo's lungs, ran swift and sure through his throat, with such force that the iron guard struck the falling man's jaw withtremendous impetus, before the oath the old Prince had uttered was fairlyout of his mouth. 

Seconds and witnesses and surgeons sprang forward hastily. Del Ferice layupon his side; he had fallen so heavily and suddenly as to wrench thesword from Giovanni's grip. The old Prince gave one look, and draggedhis son away. 

"He is as dead as a stone, " he muttered, with a savage gleam in his eyes. 

Giovanni hastily began to dress, without paying any attention to thefresh wound he had received in the last encounter. In the generalexcitement, his surgeon had joined the group about the fallen man. BeforeGiovanni had got his overcoat on he came back with Spicca, who lookedcrestfallen and disappointed. 

"He is not dead at all, " said the surgeon. "You did the thing with amaster's hand--you ran his throat through without touching the jugularartery or the spine. "

"Does he want to go on?" asked Giovanni, so savagely that the three menstared at him. 

"Do not be so bloodthirsty, Giovanni, " said the old Prince, reproachfully. 

"I should be justified in going back and killing him as he lies there, "said the younger Saracinesca, fiercely. "He nearly murdered me twice thismorning. "

"That is true, " said the Prince, "the dastardly brute!"

"By the bye, " said Spicca, lighting a cigarette, "I am afraid I havedeprived you of the pleasure of dealing with the man who called himselfDel Ferice's second. I just took the opportunity of having a moment'sprivate conversation with him--we disagreed, a little. "

"Oh, very well, " growled the Prince; "as you please. I daresay I shallhave enough to do in taking care of Giovanni to-morrow. That is avillanous bad scratch on his arm. "

"Bah! it is nothing to mention, save for the foul way it was given, " saidGiovanni between his teeth. 

Once more old Saracinesca and Spicca crossed the ground. There was a wordof formality exchanged, to the effect that both combatants weresatisfied, and then Giovanni and his party moved off, Spicca carrying hisgreen bag of foils under his arm, and puffing clouds of smoke into thedamp morning air. They had been nearly an hour on the ground, and werechilled with cold, and exhausted for want of sleep. They entered theircarriage and drove rapidly homewards. 

"Come in and breakfast with us, " said the old Prince to Spicca, as theyreached the Palazzo Saracinesca. 

"Thank you, no, " answered the melancholy man. "I have much to do, as Ishall go to Paris to-morrow morning by the ten o'clock train. Can I doanything for you there? I shall be absent some months. "

"I thought you were going to fight to-morrow, " objected the Prince. 

"Exactly. It will be convenient for me to leave the country immediatelyafterwards. "

The old man shuddered. With all his fierce blood and headstrong passion, he could not comprehend the fearful calm of this strange man, whose skillwas such that he regarded his adversary's death as a matter of coursewhenever he so pleased. As for Giovanni, he was still so angry that hecared little for the issue of the second duel. 

"I am sincerely grateful for your kind offices, " he said, as Spicca tookleave of him. 

"You shall be amply revenged of the two attempts to murder you, " saidSpicca, quietly; and so, having shaken hands with all, he again enteredthe carriage. It was the last they saw of him for a long time. Hefaithfully fulfilled his programme. He met Casalverde on the followingmorning at seven o'clock, and at precisely a quarter past, he left himdead on the field. He breakfasted with his seconds at half-past eight, and left Rome with them for Paris at ten o'clock. He had selected twoFrench officers who were about to return to their home, in order not toinconvenience any of his friends by obliging them to leave the country;which showed that, even in moments of great excitement, Count Spicca wasthoughtful of others. 

When the surgeon had dressed Giovanni's wounds, he left the father andson together. Giovanni lay upon a couch in his own sitting-room, eatinghis breakfast as best he could with one hand. The old Prince paced thefloor, commenting from time to time upon the events of the morning. 

"It is just as well that you did not kill him, Giovanni, " he remarked;"it would have been a nuisance to have been obliged to go away just now. "

Giovanni did not answer. 

"Of course, duelling is a great sin, and is strictly forbidden by ourreligion, " said the Prince suddenly. "But then--"

"Precisely, " returned Giovanni. "We nevertheless cannot always helpourselves. "

"I was going to say, " continued his father, "that it is, of course, verywicked, and if one is killed in a duel, one probably goes straight intohell. But then--it was worth something to see how you sent that fellow'sfoil flying through the window!"

"It is a very simple trick. If you will take a foil, I will teach it toyou. "

"Presently, presently; when you have finished your breakfast. Tell me, why did you say, 'more broken glass'?"

Giovanni bit his lip, remembering his imprudence. 

"I hardly know. I believe it suggested something to my mind. One says allsorts of foolish things in moments of excitement. "

"It struck me as a very odd remark, " answered the Prince, still walkingabout. "By the bye, " he added, pausing before the writing-table, "here isthat letter you wrote for me. Do you want me to read it?"

"No, " said Giovanni, with a laugh. "It is of no use now. It would seemabsurd, since I am alive and well. It was only a word of farewell. "

The Prince laughed too, and threw the sealed letter into the fire. 

"The last of the Saracinesca is not dead yet, " he said. "Giovanni, whatare we to say to the gossips? All Rome will be ringing with this affairbefore night. Of course, you must stay at home for a few days, or youwill catch cold, in your arm. I will go out and carry the news of ourvictory. "

"Better to say nothing about it--better to refer people to Del Ferice, and tell them he challenged me. Come in!" cried Giovanni, in answer to aknock at the door. Pasquale, the old butler, entered the room. 

"The Duca d'Astrardente has sent to inquire after the health of hisExcellency Don Giovanni, " said the old man, respectfully. 

The elder Saracinesca paused in his walk, and broke out into a loudlaugh. 

"Already! You see, Giovannino, " he said. "Tell him, Pasquale, that DonGiovanni caught a severe cold at the ball last night--or no--wait! Whatshall we say, Giovannino?"

"Tell the servant, " said Giovanni, sternly, "that I am much obliged forthe kind inquiry, that I am perfectly well, and that you have just seenme eating my breakfast. "

Pasquale bowed and left the room. 

"I suppose you do not want her to know--" said the Prince, who hadsuddenly recovered his gravity. 

Giovanni bowed his head silently. 

"Quite right, my boy, " said the old man, gravely. "I do not want to knowanything about it either. How the devil could they have found out?"

The question was addressed more to himself than to his son, and thelatter volunteered no answer. He was grateful to his father for hisconsiderate silence. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

When Astrardente saw the elder Saracinesca's face during his shortinterview with the diplomatist, his curiosity was immediately aroused. Heperceived that there was something the matter, and he proceeded to tryand ascertain the circumstances from his acquaintance. The ambassadorreturned to his _pâté_ and his champagne with an air of amused interest, but vouchsafed no information whatever. 

"What a singularly amusing fellow old Saracinesca is!" remarkedAstrardente. 

"When he likes to be, " returned his Excellency, with his mouth full. 

"On the contrary--when he least meditates it. I never knew a man bettersuited for a successful caricature. Indeed he is not a bad caricature ofhis own son, or his own son of him--I am not sure which. "

The ambassador laughed a little and took a large mouthful. 

"Ha! ha! very good, " he mumbled as he ate. "He would appreciate that. Heloves his own race. He would rather feel that he is a comicmisrepresentation of the most hideous Saracinesca who ever lived, thanpossess all the beauty of the Astrardente and be called by anothername. "

The diplomatist paused for a second after this speech, and then bowed alittle to the Duchessa; but the hit had touched her husband in asensitive spot. The old dandy had been handsome once, in a certain way, and he did his best, by artificial means, to preserve some trace of hisgood looks. The Duchessa smiled faintly. 

"I would wager, " said Astrardente, sourly, "that his excited manner justnow was due to one of two things--either his vanity or his money is indanger. As for the way he yelled after Spicca, it looked as though therewere a duel in the air--fancy the old fellow fighting a duel! Tooridiculous!"

"A duel!" repeated Corona in a low voice. 

"I do not see anything so very ridiculous in it, " said the diplomatist, slowly twisting his glass of champagne in his fingers, and then sippingit. "Besides, " he added deliberately, glancing at the Duchessa from thecorner of his eyes, "he has a son. "

Corona started very slightly. 

"Why should there be a duel?" she asked. 

"It was your husband who suggested the idea, " returned the diplomatist. 

"But you said there was nothing ridiculous in it, " objected the Duchessa. 

"But I did not say there was any truth in it, either, " answered hisExcellency with a reassuring smile. "What made you think of duelling?" heasked, turning to Astrardente. 

"Spicca, " said the latter. "Wherever Spicca is concerned there is a duel. He is a terrible fellow, with his death's-head and dangling bones--one ofthose extraordinary phenomena--bah! it makes one shiver to think of him!"The old fellow made the sign of the horns with his forefinger and littlefinger, hiding his thumb in the palm of his hand, as though to protecthimself against the evil eye--the sinister influence invoked by themention of Spicca. Old Astrardente was very superstitious. The ambassadorlaughed, and even Corona smiled a little. 

"Yes, " said the diplomatist, "Spicca is a living _memento mori_; heoccasionally reminds men of death by killing them. "

"How horrible!" exclaimed Corona. 

"Ah, my dear lady, the world is full of horrible things. "

"That is not a reason for making jests of them. "

"It is better to make light of the inevitable, " said Astrardente. "Areyou ready to go home, my dear?"

"Quite--I was only waiting for you, " answered Corona, who longed to be athome and alone. 

"Let me know the result of old Saracinesca's warlike undertakings, " saidAstrardente, with a cunning smile on his painted face. "Of course, as heconsulted you, he will send you word in the morning. "

"You seem so anxious that there should be a duel, that I should almost betempted to invent an account of one, lest you should be too grievouslydisappointed, " returned the diplomatist. 

"You know very well that no invention will be necessary, " said the Duca, pressing him, for his curiosity was roused. 

"Well--as you please to consider it. Good night, " replied the ambassador. It had amused him to annoy Astrardente a little, and he left him with thepleasant consciousness of having excited the inquisitive faculty of hisfriend to its highest pitch, without giving it anything to feed upon. 

Men who have to do with men, rather than with things, frequently take aprofound and seemingly cruel delight in playing upon the feelings andpetty vanities of their fellow-creatures. The habit is as strong withthem as the constant practice of conjuring becomes with a juggler; evenwhen he is not performing, he will for hours pass coins, perform littletricks of sleight-of-hand with cards, or toss balls in the air inmarvellously rapid succession, unable to lay aside his profession evenfor a day, because it has grown to be the only natural expression ofhis faculties. With men whose business it is to understand other men, it is the same. They cannot be in a man's company for a quarter of anhour without attempting to discover the peculiar weaknesses of hischaracter--his vanities, his tastes, his vices, his curiosity, his loveof money or of reputation; so that the operation of such men's minds maybe compared to the process of auscultation--for their ears are alwaysupon their neighbours' hearts--and their conversation to the percutationsof a physician to ascertain the seat of disease in a pair ofconsumptive lungs. 

But, with all his failings, Astrardente was a man of considerableacuteness of moral vision. He had made a shrewd guess at Saracinesca'sbusiness, and had further gathered from a remark dropped by hisdiplomatic friend, that if there was to be a duel at all, it would befought by Giovanni. As a matter of fact, the ambassador himself knewnothing certainly concerning the matter, or it is possible that, for thesake of observing the effect of the news upon the Duchessa, he would havetold the whole truth; for he had of course heard the current gossipconcerning Giovanni's passion for her, and the experiment would have beentoo attractive and interesting to be missed. As it was, she had startedat the mention of Saracinesca's son. The diplomatist only did whateveryone else who came near Corona attempted to do at that time, inendeavouring to ascertain whether she herself entertained any feeling forthe man whom the gossips had set down as her most devoted admirer. 

Poor Duchessa! It was no wonder that she had started at the idea thatGiovanni was in trouble. He had played a great part in her life that day, and she could not forget him. She had hardly as yet had time to thinkof what she felt, for it was only by a supreme effort that she had beenable to bear the great strain upon her strength. If she had not lovedhim, it would have been different; and in the strange medley of emotionsthrough which she was passing, she wished that she might never haveloved--that, loving, she might be allowed wholly to forget her love, andto return by some sudden miracle to that cold dreamy state ofindifference to all other men, and of unfailing thoughtfulness for herhusband, from which she had been so cruelly awakened. She would havegiven anything to have not loved, now that the great struggle was over;but until the supreme moment had come, she had not been willing to putthe dangerous thought from her, saving in those hours of prayer andsolitary suffering, when the whole truth rose up clearly before her inits undisguised nakedness. So soon as she had gone into the world, shehad recklessly longed for Giovanni Saracinesca's presence. 

But now it was all changed. She had not deceived herself when she hadtold him that she would rather not see him any more. It was true; notonly did she wish not to see him, but she earnestly desired that the loveof him might pass from her heart. With a sudden longing, her thoughtswent back to the old convent-life of her girlhood, with its regularoccupations, its constant religious exercises, its narrowness of view, and its unchanging simplicity. What mattered narrowness, when all beyondthat close limitation was filled with evil? Was it not better that thelips should be busy with singing litanies than that the heart should betormented by temptation? Were not those simple tasks, that had seemed soall-important then, more sweet in the performance than the manifoldduties of this complicated social existence, this vast web and woof oflife's loom, this great machinery that worked and groaned and rolledendlessly upon its wheels without producing any more result than theceaseless turning of a prison treadmill? But there was no way out of lifenow; there was no escape, as there was also no prospect of relief, fromcare and anxiety. There was no reason why Giovanni should go away--noreason either why Corona should ever love him less. She belonged to aclass of women, if there are enough of them to be called a class, who, where love is concerned, can feel but one impression, which becomes intheir hearts the distinctive seal and mark of their lives, for good orfor evil. Corona was indeed so loyal and good a woman, that the strongpressure of her love could not abase her nobility, nor put untruth whereall was so true; but the sign of her love for Giovanni was upon her forever. The vacant place in her heart had been filled, and filled wholly;the bulwark she had reared against the love of man was broken down andswept away, and the waters flowed softly over its place and remembered itnot. She would never be the same woman again, and it was bitter to her tofeel it: for ever the face of Giovanni would haunt her waking hours andvisit her dreams unbidden, --a perpetual reproach to her, a perpetualmemory of the most desperate struggle of her life, and more than amemory--the undying present of an unchanging love. 

She was quite sure of herself in future, as she also trusted sincerely inGiovanni's promise. There should be no moment of weakness, no word shouldever fall from her lips to tempt him to a fresh outbreak of passionatewords and acts; her life should be measured in the future by the accountof the dangers past, and there should be no instant of unguarded conduct, no hour wherein even to herself she would say it was sweet to love and tobe loved. It was indeed not sweet, but bitter as death itself, to feelthat weight at her heart, that constant toiling effort in her mind tokeep down the passion in her breast. But Corona had sacrificed much; shewould sacrifice this also; she would get strength by her prayers andcourage from her high pride, and she would smile to all the world as shehad never smiled before. She could trust herself, for she was doing theright and trampling upon the wrong. But the suffering would be none theless for all her pride; there was no concealing it--it would be horrible. To meet him daily in the world, to speak to him and to hear his voice, perhaps to touch his hand, and all the while to smile coldly, and to bestill and for ever above suspicion, while her own burning consciousnessaccused her of the past, and seemed to make the dangers of mere livingyawn beside her path at every step, --all this would be terrible to bear, but by God's help she would bear it to the end. 

But now a new horror seized her, and terrified her beyond measure. Thisrumour of a duel--a mere word dropped carelessly in conversation by athoughtless acquaintance--called up to her sudden visions of evil tocome. Surely, howsoever she might struggle against love and beat itroughly to silence in her breast, it was not wrong to fear danger forGiovanni, --it could not be a sin to dread the issue of peril when it wasall so very near to her. It might perhaps not be true, for people in theworld are willing to amuse their empty minds with empty tales, acknowledging the emptiness. It could not be true; she had seen Giovannibut a moment before--he would have given some hint, some sign. 

Why--after all? Was it not the boast of such men that they could face theworld and wear an indifferent look, at times of the greatest anxiety anddanger? But, again, if Giovanni had been involved in a quarrel so seriousas to require the arbitrament of blood, some rumour of it would havereached her. She had talked with many men that night, and with somewomen--gossips all, whose tongues wagged merrily over the troubles offriend, or foe, and who would have battened upon anything so novel as asociety duel, as a herd of jackals upon the dead body of one of theirfellows, to make their feast off it with a light heart. Some one of allthese would have told her; the quarrel would have been common property inhalf an hour, for somebody must have witnessed it. 

It was a consolation to Corona to reflect upon the extreme improbabilityof the story; for when the diplomatist was gone, her husband dwelt uponit--whether because he could not conceal his unsatisfied curiosity, orfrom other motives, it was hard to tell. 

Astrardente led his wife from the supper-table through the great rooms, now almost deserted, and past the wide doors of the hall where thecotillon was at its height. They paused a moment and looked in, asGiovanni had done a quarter of an hour earlier. It was a magnificentscene; the lights flashed back from the jewels of fair women, and surgedin the dance as starlight upon rippling waves. The air was heavy with theodour of the countless flowers that filled the deep recesses of thewindows, and were distributed in hundreds of nosegays for the figures ofthe cotillon; enchanting strains of waltz music seemed to float down fromabove and inspire the crowd of men and women with harmonious motion, sothat sound was made visible by translation into graceful movement. AsCorona looked there was a pause, and the crowd parted, while a hugetiger, the heraldic beast of the Frangipani family, was drawn into thehall by the young prince and Bianca Valdarno. The magnificent skin hadbeen so artfully stuffed as to convey a startling impression of life, andin the creature's huge jaws hung a great basket filled with tiny tigers, which were to be distributed as badges for the dance by the leaders. Awild burst of applause greeted this novel figure, and every one ranforward to obtain a nearer view. 

"Ah!" exclaimed old Astrardente, "I envy them that invention, my dear; itis perfectly magnificent. You must have a tiger to take home. Howfortunate we were to be in time!" He forced his way into the crowd, leaving his wife alone for a moment by the door; and he managed to catchValdarno, who was distributing the little emblems to right and left. Madame Mayer's quick eyes had caught sight of Corona and her husband, andfrom some instinct of curiosity she made towards the Duchessa. She wasstill angry, as she had never been in her short life, at Giovanni'srudeness in forgetting her dance, and she longed to inflict some woundupon the beautiful woman who had led him into such forgetfulness. WhenAstrardente left his wife's side, Donna Tullia pressed forward with herpartner in the general confusion that followed upon the entrance of thetiger, and she managed to pass close to Corona. She looked up suddenlywith an air of surprise. 

"What! not dancing, Duchessa?" she asked. "Has your partner gone home?"

With the look that accompanied the question, it was an insulting speechenough. Had Donna Tullia seen old Astrardente close behind her, she wouldnot have made it. The old dandy was returning in triumph in possession ofthe little tiger-badge for Corona. He heard the words, and observed withinward pleasure his wife's calm look of indifference. 

"Madam, " he said, placing himself suddenly in Madame Mayer's way, "mywife's partners do not go home while she remains. "

"Oh, I see, " returned Donna Tullia, flushing quickly; "the Duchessa isdancing the cotillon with you. I beg your pardon--I had forgotten thatyou still danced. "

"Indeed it is long since I did myself the honour of asking you for aquadrille, madam, " answered Astrardente with a polite smile; and sosaying, he turned and presented the little tiger to his wife with acourtly bow. There was good blood in the old _roué_. 

Corona was touched by his thoughtfulness in wishing to get her the littlekeepsake of the dance, and she was still more affected by his readydefence of her. He was indeed sometimes a little ridiculous, with hispaint and his artificial smile--he was often petulant and unreasonablein little things; but he was never unkind to her, nor discourteous. Inspite of her cold and indifferent stare at Donna Tullia, she had keenlyfelt the insult, and she was grateful to the old man for taking her part. Knowing what she knew of herself that night, she was deeply sensible tohis kindness. She took the little gift, and laid her hand upon his arm. 

"Forgive me, " she said, as they moved away, "if I am ever ungrateful toyou. You are so very good to me. I know no one so courteous and kind asyou are. "

Her husband looked at her in delight. He loved her sincerely with allthat remained of him. There was something sad in the thought of a manlike him finding the only real passion of his life when worn out with ageand dissipation. Her little speech raised him to the seventh heaven ofjoy. 

"I am the happiest man in all Rome, " he said, assuming his most jauntywalk, and swinging his hat gaily between his thumb and finger. But acurrent of deep thought was stirring in him as he went down the broad, staircase by his wife's side. He was thinking what life might have beento him had he found Corona del Carmine--how could he? she was not bornthen--had he found her, or her counterpart, thirty years ago. He waswondering what conceivable sacrifice there could be which he would notmake to regain his youth--even to have his life lived out and behind him, if he could only have looked back to thirty years of marriage withCorona. How differently he would have lived, how very differently hewould have thought! how his whole memory would be full of the sweet past, and would be common with her own past life, which, to her too, would besweet to ponder on! He would have been such a good man--so true to herin all those years! But they were gone, and he had not found her untilhis foot was on the edge of the grave--until he could hardly count on oneyear more of a pitiful artificial life, painted, bewigged, stuffed to thesemblance of a man by a clever tailor--and she in the bloom of her glorybeside him! What he would have given to have old Saracinesca's strengthand fresh vitality--old Saracinesca whom he hated! Yes, with all thathair--it was white, but a little dye would change it. What was a littledye compared with the profound artificiality of his own outer man? Howthe old fellow's deep voice rang, loud and clear, from his broad chest!How strong he was, with his firm step, and his broad brown hands, and hisfiery black eyes! He hated him for the greenness of his age--he hated himfor his stalwart son, another of those long-lived fierce Saracinesca, whoseemed destined to outlive time. He himself had no children, norelations, no one to bear his name--he had only a beautiful young wifeand much wealth, with just enough strength left to affect a gay walk whenhe was with her, and to totter unsteadily to his couch when he was alone, worn out with the effort of trying to seem young. 

As they sat in their carriage he thought bitterly of all these things, and never spoke. Corona herself was weary, and glad to be silent. Theywent up-stairs, and as she took his arm, she gently tried to help himrather than be helped. He noticed it, and made an effort, but he wasvery tired. He paused upon the landing, and looked at her, and a gentleand sad smile stole over his face, such as Corona had never seen there. 

"Shall we go into your boudoir for ten minutes, my love?" he said; "orwill you come into my smoking-room? I would like to smoke a little beforegoing to bed. "

"You may smoke in my boudoir, of course, " she answered kindly, though shewas surprised at the request. It was half-past three o'clock. They wentinto the softly lighted little room, where the embers of the fire werestill glowing upon the hearth. Corona dropped her furs upon a chair, andsat down upon one side of the chimney piece. Astrardente sank wearilyinto a deep easy-chair opposite her, and having found a cigarette, lighted it, and began to smoke. He seemed in a mood which Corona hadnever seen. After a short silence he spoke. 

"Corona, " he said, "I love you. " His wife looked up with a gentle smile, and in her determination to be loyal to him she almost forgot that otherman who had said those words but two hours before, so differently. 

"Yes, " he said, with a sigh, "you have heard it before--it is not new toyou. I think you believe it. You are good, but you do not love me--no, donot interrupt me, my dear; I know what you would say. How should youlove me? I am an old man--very old, older than my years. " Again hesighed, more bitterly, as he confessed what he had never owned before. The Duchessa was too much astonished to answer him. 

"Corona, " he said again, "I shall not live much longer. "

"Ah, do not speak like that, " she cried suddenly. "I trust and pray thatyou have yet many years to live. " Her husband looked keenly at her. 

"You are so good, " he answered, "that you are really capable of utteringsuch a prayer, absurd as it would seem. "

"Why absurd? It is unkind of you to say it--"

"No, my dear; I know the world very well. That is all. I suppose it isimpossible for me to make you understand how I love you. It must seemincredible to you, in the magnificence of your strength and beautifulyouth, that a man like me--an artificial man"--he laughed scornfully--"acreature of paint and dye--let me be honest--a creature with a wig, should be capable of a mad passion. And yet, Corona, " he added, his thincracked voice trembling with a real emotion, "I do love you--very dearly. There are two things that make my life bitter: the regret that I did notmeet you, that you were not born, when I was young; and worse than that, the knowledge that I must leave you very soon--I, the exhausted dandy, the shadow of what I was, tottering to my grave in a last vain effort tobe young for your sake--for your sake, Corona dear. Ah, it iscontemptible!" he almost moaned. 

Corona hid her eyes in her hand. She was taken off her guard by hisstrange speech. 

"Oh, do not speak like that--do not!" she cried. "You make me veryunhappy. Do I reproach you? Do I ever make you feel that you are--olderthan I? I will lead a new life; you shall never think of it again. You are too kind--too good for me. "

"No one ever said I was too good before, " replied the old man with ashade of sadness. "I am glad the one person who finds me good, should bethe only one for whose sake I ever cultivated goodness. I could havebeen different, Corona, if I had had you for my wife for thirty years, instead of five. But it is too late now. Before long I shall be dead, andyou will be free. "

"What makes you say such things to me?" asked Corona. "Can you think I amso vile, so ungrateful, so unloving, as to wish your death?"

"Not unloving; no, my dear child. But not loving, either. I do not askimpossibilities. You will mourn for me a while--my poor soul will rest inpeace if you feel one moment of real regret for me, for your old husband, before you take another. Do not cry, Corona, dearest; it is the way ofthe world. We waste our youth in scoffing at reality, and in theunrealness of our old age the present no longer avails us much. You knowme, perhaps you despise me. You would not have scorned me when I wasyoung--oh, how young I was! how strong and vain of my youth, thirty yearsago!"

"Indeed, indeed, no such thought ever crossed my mind. I give you all Ihave, " cried Corona, in great distress; "I will give you more--I willdevote my whole life to you--"

"You do, my dear. I am sensible of it, " said Astrardente, quietly. "Youcannot do more, if you will; you cannot make me young again, nor takeaway the bitterness of death--of a death that leaves you behind. "

Corona leaned forward, staring into the dying embers of the fire, onehand supporting her chin. The tears stood in her eyes and on her cheeks. The old dandy in his genuine misery had excited her compassion. 

"I would mourn you long, " she said. "You may have wasted your life; yousay so. I would love you more if I could, God knows. You have always beento me a courteous gentleman and a faithful husband. "

The old man rose with difficulty from his deep chair, and came and stoodby her, and took the hand that lay idle on her knees. She looked up athim. 

"If I thought my blessing were worth anything, I would bless you for whatyou say. But I would not have you waste your youth. Youth is that which, being wasted, is like water poured out upon the ground. You must marryagain, and marry soon--do not start. You will inherit all my fortune; youwill have my title. It must descend to your children. It has come to anunworthy end in me; it must be revived in you. "

"How can you think of it? Are you ill?" asked Corona kindly, pressinggently his thin hand in hers. "Why do you dwell on the idea of deathto-night?"

"I am ill; yes, past all cure, my dear, " said the old man, gently raisingher hand to his lips, and kissing it. 

"What do you mean?" asked Corona, suddenly rising to her feet and layingher hand affectionately upon his shoulder. "Why have you never told me?"

"Why should I tell you--except that it is near, and you must be prepared?Why should I burden you with anxiety? But you were so gentle and kindto-night, upon the stairs, " he said, with some hesitation, "that Ithought perhaps it would be a relief to you to know--to know that it isnot for long. "

There was something so gentle in his tone, so infinitely pathetic in histhought that possibly he might lighten the burden his wife bore sobravely, there was something at last so human in the loving regret withwhich he spoke, that Corona forgot all his foolish ways, his wig and hisfalse teeth and his petty vanities, and letting her head fall upon hisshoulder, burst into passionate tears. 

"Oh no, no!" she sobbed. "It must be a long time yet; you must not die!"

"It may be a year, not more, " he said gently. "God bless you for thosetears, Corona--the tears you have shed for me. Good night, my dearest. "

He let her sink upon her chair, and his hand rested for one moment uponher raven hair. Then with a last remnant of energy he quickly left theroom. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Such affairs as the encounter between Giovanni and Del Ferice were veryrare in Rome. There were many duels fought; but, as a general rule, theywere not very serious, and the first slight wound decided the matter inhand to the satisfaction of both parties. But here there had been a fightfor life and death. One of the combatants had received two such wounds aswould have been sufficient to terminate an ordinary meeting, and theother was lying at death's door stabbed through the throat. Society wasfrantic with excitement. Giovanni was visited by scores of acquaintances, whom he allowed to be admitted, and he talked with them cheerfully, inorder to have it thoroughly known that he was not badly hurt. DelFerice's lodging was besieged by the same young gentlemen of leisure, whowent directly from one to the other, anxious to get all the news in theirpower. But Del Ferice's door was guarded jealously from intruders by hisfaithful Neapolitan servant--a fellow who knew more about his master thanall the rest of Rome together, but who had such a dazzlingly brillianttalent for lying as to make him a safe repository for any secretcommitted to his keeping. On the present occasion, however, he had smalluse for duplicity. He sat all day long by the open door, for he hadremoved the bell-handle, lest the ringing should disturb his master. Hehad a basket into which he dropped the cards of the visitors who called, answering each inquiry with the same unchanging words:

"He is very ill, the signorino. Do not make any noise. "

"Where is he hurt?" the visitor would ask. Whereupon Temistocle pointedto his throat. 

"Will he live?" was the next question; to which the man answered byraising his shoulders to his ears, elevating his eyebrows, and at thesame time shutting his eyes, while he spread out the palms of his handsover his basket of cards--whereby he meant to signify that he did notknow, but doubted greatly. It being impossible to extract any furtherinformation from him, the visitor had nothing left but to leave his cardand turn away. Within, the wounded man was watched by a Sister of Mercy. The surgeon had pronounced his recovery probable if he had proper care:the wound was a dangerous one, but not likely to prove mortal unless thepatient died of the fever or of exhaustion. 

The young gentlemen of leisure who thus obtained the news of the twoduellists, lost no time in carrying it from house to house. Giovannihimself sent twice in the course of the day to inquire after hisantagonist, and received by his servant the answer which was given toeverybody. By the time the early winter night was descending upon Rome, there were two perfectly well-authenticated stories circulated in regardto the cause of the quarrel--neither of which, of course, contained agrain of truth. In the first place, it was confidently asserted by oneparty, represented by Valdarno and his set, that Giovanni had takenoffence at Del Ferice for having proposed to call him to be examinedbefore the Duchessa d'Astrardente in regard to his absence from town:that this was a palpable excuse for picking a quarrel, because it waswell known that Saracinesca loved the Astrardente, and that Del Fericewas always in his way. 

"Giovanni is a rough fellow, " remarked Valdarno, "and will not stand anyopposition, so he took the first opportunity of getting the man out ofthe way. Do you see? The old story--jealous of the wrong man. Can one bejealous of Del Ferice? Bah!"

"And who would have been the right man to attack?" was asked. 

"Her husband, of course, " returned Valdarno with a sneer. "That angel ofbeauty has the ineffably eccentric idea that she loves that oldtransparency, that old magic-lantern slide of a man!"

On the other hand, there was a party of people who affirmed, as beyondall doubt, that the duel had been brought about by Giovanni's forgettinghis dance with Donna Tullia. Del Ferice was naturally willing to puthimself forward in her defence, reckoning on the favour he would gain inher eyes. He had spoken sharply to Giovanni about it, and told him he hadbehaved in an ungentlemanly manner--whereupon Giovanni had answeredthat it was none of his business; an altercation had ensued in a remoteroom in the Frangipani palace, and Giovanni had lost his temper and takenDel Ferice by the throat, and otherwise greatly insulted him. The resulthad been the duel in which Del Ferice had been nearly killed. There was ashow of truth about this story, and it was told in such a manner as tomake Del Ferice appear as the injured party. Indeed, whichever tale weretrue, there was no doubt that the two men had disliked each other for along time, and that they were both looking out for the opportunity of anopen disagreement. 

Old Saracinesca appeared in the afternoon, and was surrounded by eagerquestioners of all sorts. The fact of his having served his own son inthe capacity of second excited general astonishment. Such a thing hadnot been heard of in the annals of Roman society, and many ancientwisdom-mongers severely censured the course he had pursued. Couldanything be more abominably unnatural? Was it possible to conceive of thehard-heartedness of a man who could stand quietly and see his sonrisk his life? Disgraceful!

The old Prince either would not tell what he knew, or had no informationto give. The latter theory was improbable. Some one made a remark to thateffect. 

"But, Prince, " the man said, "would you second your own son in an affairwithout knowing the cause of the quarrel?"

"Sir, " returned the old man, proudly, "my son asked my assistance; I didnot sell it to him for his confidence. " People knew the old man'sobstinacy, and had to be satisfied with his short answers, for he washimself as quarrelsome as a Berserker or as one of his own irascibleancestors. 

He met Donna Tullia in the street. She stopped her carriage, and beckonedhim to come to her. She looked paler than Saracinesca had ever seen her, and was much excited. 

"How could you let them fight?" were her first words. 

"It could not be helped. The quarrel was too serious. No one would moregladly have prevented it than I; but as my son had so desperatelyinsulted Del Ferice, he was bound to give him satisfaction. "

"Satisfaction!" cried Donna Tullia. "Do you call it satisfaction to cut aman's throat? What was the real cause of the quarrel?"

"I do not know. "

"Do not tell me that--I do not believe you, " answered Donna Tullia, angrily. 

"I give you my word of honour that I do not know, " returned the Prince. 

"That is different. Will you get in and drive with me for a few minutes?"

"At your commands. " Saracinesca opened the carriage-door and got in. 

"We shall astonish the world; but I do not care, " said Donna Tullia. "Tell me, is Don Giovanni seriously hurt?"

"No--a couple of scratches that will heal in a week. Del Ferice is veryseriously wounded. "

"I know, " answered Donna Tullia, sadly. "It is dreadful--I am afraid itwas my fault. "

"How so?" asked Saracinesca, quickly. He had not heard the story of theforgotten waltz, and was really ignorant of the original cause ofdisagreement. He guessed, however, that Donna Tullia was not so muchconcerned in it as the Duchessa d'Astrardente. 

"Your son was very rude to me, " said Madame Mayer. "Perhaps I ought notto tell you, but it is best you should know. He was engaged to dance withme the last waltz but one before the cotillon. He forgot me, and I foundhim with that--with a lady--talking quietly. "

"With whom did you say?" asked Saracinesca, very gravely. 

"With the Astrardente--if you will know, " returned Donna Tullia, heranger at the memory of the insult bringing the blood suddenly to herface. 

"My dear lady, " said the old Prince, "in the name of my son I offer youthe humble apologies which he will make in person when he is well enoughto ask your forgiveness. "

"I do not want apologies, " answered Madame Mayer, turning her face away. 

"Nevertheless they shall be offered. But, pardon my curiosity, how didDel Ferice come to be concerned in that incident?"

"He was with me when I found Don Giovanni with the Duchessa. It is verysimple. I was very angry--I am very angry still; but I would not have hadDon Giovanni risk his life on my account for anything, nor poor DelFerice either. I am horribly upset about it all. "

Old Saracinesca wondered whether Donna Tullia's vanity would suffer if hetold her that the duel had not been fought for anything which concernedher. But he reflected that her supposition was very plausible, andthat he himself had no evidence. Furthermore, and in spite of hisgood-natured treatment of Giovanni, he was very angry at the thought thathis son had quarrelled about the Duchessa. When Giovanni should berecovered from his wounds he intended to speak his mind to him. But hewas sorry for Donna Tullia, for he liked her in spite of hereccentricities, and would have been satisfied to see her married to hisson. He was a practical man, and he took a prosaic view of the world. Donna Tullia was rich, and good-looking enough to be called handsome. Shehad the talent to make herself a sort of centre in her world. She was alittle noisy; but noise was fashionable, and there was no harm in her--noone had ever said anything against her. Besides, she was one of the fewrelations still left to the Saracinesca. The daughter of a cousin of thePrince, she would make a good wife for Giovanni, and would bring sunshineinto the house. There was a tinge of vulgarity in her manner; but, likemany elderly men of his type, Saracinesca pardoned her this fault inconsideration of her noisy good spirits and general good-nature. He wasvery much annoyed at hearing that his son had offended her so grossly byhis forgetfulness; especially it was unfortunate that since she believedherself the cause of the duel, she should have the impression that it hadbeen provoked by Del Ferice to obtain satisfaction for the insultGiovanni had offered her. There would be small chance of making the matchcontemplated after such an affair. 

"I am sincerely sorry, " said the Prince, stroking his white beard andtrying to get a sight of his companion's face, which she obstinatelyturned away from him. "Perhaps it is better not to think too much of thematter until the exact circumstances are known. Some one is sure totell the story one of these days. "

"How coldly you speak of it! One would think it had happened in Peru, instead of here, this very morning. "

Saracinesca was at his wits' end. He wanted to smooth the matter over, orat least to soften the unfavourable impression against Giovanni. He hadnot the remotest idea how to do it. He was not a very diplomatic man. 

"No, no; you misunderstand me. I am not cold. I quite appreciate yoursituation. You are very justly annoyed. "

"Of course I am, " said Donna Tullia impatiently. She was beginning toregret that she had made him get into her carriage. 

"Precisely; of course you are. Now, so soon as Giovanni is quiterecovered, I will send him to explain his conduct to you if he can, orto--"

"Explain it? How can he explain it? I do not want you to send him, if hewill not come of his own accord. Why should I?"

"Well, well, as you please, my dear cousin, " said old Saracinesca, smiling to cover his perplexity. "I am not a good ambassador; but youknow I am a good friend, and I really want to do something to restoreGiovanni to your graces. "

"That will be difficult, " answered Donna Tullia, although she knew verywell that she would receive Giovanni kindly enough when she had once hadan opportunity of speaking her mind to him. 

"Do not be hard-hearted, " urged the Prince. "I am sure he is verypenitent. "

"Then let him say so. "

"That is exactly what I ask. "

"Is it? Oh, very well. If he chooses to call I will receive him, sinceyou desire it. Where shall I put you down?"

"Anywhere, thank you. Here, if you wish--at the corner. Good-bye. Do notbe too hard on the boy. "

"We shall see, " answered Donna Tullia, unwilling to show too muchindulgence. The old Prince bowed, and walked away into the gloom of thedusky streets. 

"That is over, " he muttered to himself. "I wonder how the Astrardentetakes it. " He would have liked to see her; but he recognized that, as heso very rarely called upon her, it would seem strange to choose such atime for his visit. It would not do--it would be hardly decent, seeingthat he believed her to be the cause of the catastrophe. His steps, however, led him almost unconsciously in the direction of the Astrardentepalace; he found himself in front of the arched entrance almost beforehe knew where he was. The temptation to see Corona was more than he couldresist. He asked the porter if the Duchessa was at home, and on beinganswered in the affirmative, he boldly entered and ascended the marblestaircase--boldly, but with an odd sensation, like that of a schoolboywho is getting himself into trouble. 

Corona had just come home, and was sitting by the fire in her greatdrawing-room, alone, with a book in her hand, which she was not reading. She rarely remained in the reception-rooms; but to-day she had rathercapriciously taken a fancy to the broad solitude of the place, and hadaccordingly installed herself there. She was very much surprised when thedoors were suddenly opened wide and the servant announced PrinceSaracinesca. For a moment she thought it must be Giovanni, for his fatherrarely entered her house, and when the old man's stalwart figure advancedtowards her, she dropped her book in astonishment, and rose from herdeep chair to meet him. She was very pale, and there were dark ringsunder her eyes that spoke of pain and want of sleep. She was so utterlydifferent from Donna Tullia, whom he had just left, that the Prince wasalmost awed by her stateliness, and felt more than ever like a boy in abad scrape. Corona bowed rather coldly, but extended her hand, which theold gentleman raised to his lips respectfully, in the manner of the oldschool. 

"I trust you are not exhausted after the ball?" he began, not knowingwhat to say. 

"Not in the least. We did not stay late, " replied Corona, secretlywondering why he had come. 

"It was really magnificent, " he answered. "There has been no such ballfor years. Very unfortunate that it should have terminated in such anunpleasant way, " he added, making a bold dash at the subject of which hewished to speak. 

"Very. You did a bad morning's work, " said the Duchessa, severely. "Iwonder that you should speak of it. "

"No one speaks of anything else, " returned the Prince, apologetically. "Besides, I do not see what was to be done. "

"You should have stopped it, " answered Corona, her dark eyes gleamingwith righteous indignation. "You should have prevented it at any price, if not in the name of religion, which forbids it as a crime, at least inthe name of decency--as being Don Giovanni's father. "

"You speak strong words, Duchessa, " said the Prince, evidently annoyed ather tone. 

"If I speak strongly, it is because I think you acted shamefully inpermitting this disgraceful butchery. "

Saracinesca suddenly lost his temper, as he frequently did. 

"Madam, " he said, "it is certainly not for you to accuse me of crime, lack of decency, and what you are pleased to call disgraceful butchery, seeing who was the probable cause of the honourable encounter which youcharacterise in such tasteful language. "

"Honourable indeed!" said Corona, very scornfully. "Let that pass. Who, pray, is more to blame than you? Who is the probable cause?"

"Need I tell you?" asked the old man, fixing his flashing eyes upon her. 

"What do you mean?" inquired Corona, turning white, and her voicetrembling between her anger and her emotion. 

"I may be wrong, " said the Prince, "but I believe I am right. I believethe duel was fought on your account. "

"On my account!" repeated Corona, half rising from her chair in herindignation. Then she sank back again, and added, very coldly, "If youhave come here to insult me, Prince, I will send for my husband. "

"I beg your pardon, Duchessa, " said old Saracinesca. "It is very far frommy intention to insult you. "

"And who has told you this abominable lie?" asked Corona, still veryangry. 

"No one, upon my word. "

"Then how dare you--"

"Because I have reason to believe that you are the only woman alive forwhom my son would engage in a quarrel. "

"It is impossible, " cried Corona. "I will never believe that Don Giovannicould--" She checked herself. 

"Don Giovanni Saracinesca is a gentleman, madam, " said the old Prince, proudly. "He keeps his own counsel. I have come by the informationwithout any evidence of it from his lips. "

"Then I am at a loss to understand you, " returned the Duchessa. "I mustbeg you either to explain your extraordinary language, or else to leaveme. "

Corona d'Astrardente was a match for any man when she was angry. But oldSaracinesca, though no diplomatist, was a formidable adversary, from hisboldness and determination to discover the truth at any price. 

"It is precisely because, at the risk of offending you, I desired anexplanation, that I have intruded myself upon you to-day, " he answered. "Will you permit me one question before I leave you?"

"Provided it is not an insulting one, I will answer it, " replied Corona. 

"Do you know anything of the circumstances which led to this morning'sencounter?"

"Certainly not, " Corona answered, hotly. "I assure you most solemnly, "she continued in calmer tones, "that I am wholly ignorant of it. Isuppose you have a right to be told that. "

"I, on my part, assure you, upon my word, that I know no more than youyourself, excepting this: on some provocation, concerning which he willnot speak, my son seized Del Ferice by the throat and used strong wordsto him. No one witnessed the scene. Del Ferice sent the challenge. My son could find no one to act for him and applied to me, as was quiteright that he should. There was no apology possible--Giovanni had to givethe man satisfaction. You know as much as I know now. "

"That does not help me to understand why you accuse me of having causedthe quarrel, " said Corona. "What have I to do with Del Ferice, poor man?"

"This--any one can see that you are as indifferent to my son as to anyother man. Every one knows that the Duchessa d'Astrardente is abovesuspicion. "

Corona raised her head proudly and stared at Saracinesca. 

"But, on the other hand, every one knows that my son loves you madly--canyou yourself deny it?"

"Who dares to say it?" asked Corona, her anger rising afresh. 

"Who sees, dares. Can you deny it?"

"You have no right to repeat such hearsay tales to me, " answered Corona. But the blush rose to her pale dark cheeks, and she suddenly dropped hereyes. 

"Can you deny it, Duchessa?" asked the Prince a third time, insistingroughly. 

"Since you are so certain, why need you care for my denial?" inquiredCorona. 

"Duchessa, you must forgive me, " answered Saracinesca, his tone suddenlysoftening. "I am rough, probably rude; but I love my son dearly. I cannotbear to see him running into a dangerous and hopeless passion, from whichhe may issue only to find himself grown suddenly old and bitter, disappointed and miserable for the rest of his life. I believe you to bea very good woman; I cannot look at you and doubt the truth of anythingyou tell me. If he loves you, you have influence over him. If you haveinfluence, use it for his good; use it to break down this mad love ofhis, to show him his own folly--to save him, in short, from his fate. Doyou understand me? Do I ask too much?"

Corona understood well enough--far too well. She knew the whole extent ofGiovanni's love for her, and, what old Saracinesca never guessed, thestrength of her own love for him, for the sake of which she would do allthat a woman could do. There was a long pause after the old Prince hadspoken. He waited patiently for an answer. 

"I understand you--yes, " she said at last. "If you are right in yoursurmises, I should have some influence over your son. If I can advisehim, and he will take my advice, I will give him the best counsel I can. You have placed me in a very embarrassing position, and you have shownlittle courtesy in the way you have spoken to me; but I will try to do asyou request me, if the opportunity offers, for the sake of--of turningwhat is very bad into something which may at last be good. "

"Thank you, thank you, Duchessa!" cried the Prince. "I will neverforget--"

"Do not thank me, " said Corona, coldly. "I am not in a mood to appreciateyour gratitude. There is too much blood of those honest gentlemen uponyour hands. "

"Pardon me, Duchessa, I wish there were on my hands and head the blood ofthat gentleman you call honest--the gentleman who twice tried to murdermy son this morning, and twice nearly succeeded. "

"What!" cried Corona, in sudden terror. 

"That fellow thrust at Giovanni once to kill him while they were haltingand his sword was hanging lowered in his hand; and once again he threwhimself upon his knee and tried to stab him in the body--which is adastardly trick not permitted in any country. Even in duelling, suchthings are called murder; and it is their right name. "

Corona was very pale. Giovanni's danger had been suddenly brought beforeher in a very vivid light, and she was horror-struck at the thought ofit. 

"Is--is Don Giovanni very badly wounded?" she asked. 

"No, thank heaven; he will be wall in a week. But either one of thoseattempts might have killed him; and he would have died, I think--pardonme, no insult this time--I think, on your account. Do you see why forhim I dread this attachment to you, which leads him to risk his life atevery turn for a word about you? Do you see why I implore you to take thematter into your serious consideration, and to use your influence tobring him to his senses?"

"I see; but in this question of the duel you have no proof that I wasconcerned. "

"No, --no proof, perhaps. I will not weary you with surmises; but even ifit was not for you this time, you see that it might have been. "

"Perhaps, " said Corona, very sadly. 

"I have to thank you, even if you will not listen to me, " said thePrince, rising. "You have understood me. It was all I asked. Good night. "

"Good night, " answered Corona, who did not move from her seat nor extendher hand this time. She was too much agitated to think of formalities. Saracinesca bowed low and left the room. 

It was characteristic of him that he had come to see the Duchessa notknowing what he should say, and that he had blurted out the whole truth, and then lost his temper in support of it. He was a hasty man, of nobleinstincts, but always inclined rather to cut a knot than to unlooseit--to do by force what another man would do by skill--angry atopposition, and yet craving it by his combative nature. 

His first impulse on leaving Corona was to go to Giovanni and tell himwhat he had done; but he reflected as he went home that his son was illwith his wounds, and that it would be bad for him to be angry, as ofcourse he would be if he were told of his father's doings. Moreover, asold Saracinesca thought more seriously of the matter, he wisely concludedthat it would be better not to speak of the visit; and when he enteredthe room where Giovanni was lying on his couch with a novel and acigarette, he had determined to conceal the whole matter. 

"Well, Giovanni, " he said, "we are the talk of the town, of course. "

"It was to be expected. Whom have you seen?"

"In the first place, I have seen Madame Mayer. She is in a state of angeragainst you which borders on madness--not because you have wounded DelFerice, but because you forgot to dance with her. I cannot conceivehow you could be so foolish. "

"Nor I. It was idiotic in the last degree, " replied Giovanni, annoyedthat his father should have learned the story. 

"You must go and see her at once--as soon as you can go out. It is adisagreeable business. "

"Of course. What else did she say?"

"She thought that Del Ferice had challenged you on her account, becauseyou had not danced with her. "

"How silly! As if I should fight duels about her. "

"Since there was probably a woman in the case, she might have been theone, " remarked his father. 

"There was no woman in the case, practically speaking, " said Giovanni, shortly. 

"Oh, I supposed there was. However, I told Donna Tullia that I advisedher not to think anything more of the matter until the whole story cameout. "

"When is that likely to occur?" asked Giovanni, laughing. "No one aliveknows the cause of the quarrel but Del Ferice and I myself. He willcertainly not tell the world, as the thing was even more disgraceful tohim than his behaviour this morning. There is no reason why I shouldspeak of it either. "

"How reticent you are, Giovanni!" exclaimed the old gentleman. 

"Believe me, if I could tell you the whole story without injuring any onebut Del Ferice, I would. "

"Then there was really a woman in the case?"

"There was a woman outside the case, who caused us to be in it, " returnedGiovanni. 

"Always your detestable riddles, " cried the old man, petulantly; andpresently, seeing that his son was obstinately silent, he left the roomto dress for dinner. 

CHAPTER XV. 

It may be that when Astrardente spoke so tenderly to his wife after theFrangipani ball, he felt some warning that told him his strength wasfailing. His heart was in a dangerous condition, the family doctor hadsaid, and it was necessary that he should take care of himself. He hadbeen very tired after that long evening, and perhaps some sudden sinkinghad shaken his courage. He awoke from an unusually heavy sleep with astrange sense of astonishment, as though he had not expected to awakeagain in life. He felt weaker than he had felt for a long time, and evenhis accustomed beverage of chocolate mixed with coffee failed to give himthe support he needed in the morning. He rose very late, and his servantfound him more than usually petulant, nor did the message brought backfrom Giovanni seem to improve his temper. He met his wife at the middaybreakfast, and was strangely silent, and in the afternoon he shut himselfup in his own rooms and would see nobody. But at dinner he appearedagain, seemingly revived, and declared his intention of accompanying hiswife to a reception given at the Austrian embassy. He seemed so unlikehis usual self, that Corona did not venture to speak of the duel whichhad taken place in the morning; for she feared anything which mightexcite him, well knowing that excitement might prove fatal. She did whatshe could to dissuade him from going out; but he grew petulant, and sheunwillingly yielded. 

At the embassy he soon heard all the details, for no one talked ofanything else; but Astrardente was ashamed of not having heard it allbefore, and affected a cynical indifference to the tale which themilitary attaché of the embassy repeated for his benefit. He vouchsafedsome remark to the effect that fighting duels was the natural amusementof young gentlemen, and that if one of them killed another there was atleast one fool the less in society; after which he looked about him forsome young beauty to whom he might reel off a score of compliments. Heknew all the time that he was making a great effort, that he feltunaccountably ill, and that he wished he had taken his wife's advice andstayed quietly at home. But at the end of the evening he chanced tooverhear a remark that Valdarno was making to Casalverde, who lookedexceedingly pale and ill at ease. 

"You had better make your will, my dear fellow, " said Valdarno. "Spiccais a terrible man with the foils. "

Astrardente turned quickly and looked at the speaker. But both men weresuddenly silent, and seemed absorbed in gazing at the crowd. It wasenough, however. Astrardente had gathered that Casalverde was to fightSpicca the next day, and that the affair begun that morning had not yetreached its termination. He determined that he would not again be guiltyof not knowing what was going on in society; and with the intention ofrising early on the following morning, he found Corona, and ratherunceremoniously told her it was time to go home. 

On the next day the Duca d'Astrardente walked into the club soon afterten o'clock. On ordinary occasions that resort of his fellows wasentirely empty until a much later hour; but Astrardente was notdisappointed to-day. Twenty or thirty men were congregated in the largehall which served as a smoking-room, and all of them were talkingtogether excitedly. As the door swung on its hinges and the old dandyentered, a sudden silence fell upon the assembly. Astrardente naturallyjudged that the conversation had turned upon himself, and had beenchecked by his appearance; but he affected to take no notice of theoccurrence, adjusting his single eyeglass in his eye and serenelysurveying the men in the room. He could see that, although they had beentalking loudly, the matter in hand was serious enough, for there was notrace of mirth on any of the faces before him. He at once assumed an airof gravity, and going up to Valdarno, who seemed to have occupied themost prominent place in the recent discussion, he put his question in anundertone. 

"I suppose Spicca killed him?"

Valdarno nodded, and looked grave. He was a thoughtless young fellowenough, but the news of the tragedy had sobered him. Astrardente hadanticipated the death of Casalverde, and was not surprised. But he wasnot without human feeling, and showed a becoming regret at the sad end ofa man he had been accustomed to see so frequently. 

"How was it?" he asked. 

"A simple 'un, deux, ' tierce and carte at the first bout. Spicca is asquick as lightning. Come away from this crowd, " added Valdarno, in a lowvoice, "and I will tell you all about it. "

In spite of his sorrow at his friend's death, Valdarno felt a certainsense of importance at being able to tell the story to Astrardente. Valdarno was vain in a small way, though his vanity was to that of theold Duca as the humble violet to the full-blown cabbage-rose. Astrardenteenjoyed a considerable importance in society as the husband of Corona, and was an object of especial interest to Valdarno, who supported theincredible theory of Corona's devotion to the old man. Valdarno's stableswere near the club, and on pretence of showing a new horse toAstrardente, he nodded to his friends, and left the room with the ageddandy. It was a clear, bright winter's morning, and the two men strolledslowly down the Corso towards Valdarno's palace. 

"You know, of course, how the affair began?" asked the young man. 

"The first duel? Nobody knows--certainly not I. "

"Well--perhaps not, " returned Valdarno, doubtfully. "At all events, youknow that Spicca flew into a passion because poor Casalverde forgot tostep in after he cried halt; and then Del Ferice ran Giovanni through thearm. "

"That was highly improper--most reprehensible, " said Astrardente, puttingup his eyeglass to look at a pretty little sempstress who hurried past onher way to her work. 

"I suppose so. But Casalverde certainly meant no harm; and if Del Fericehad not been so unlucky as to forget himself in the excitement of themoment, no one would have thought anything of it. "

"Ah yes, I suppose not, " murmured Astrardente, still looking after thegirl. When he could see her face no longer, he turned sharply back toValdarno. 

"This is exceedingly interesting, " he said. "Tell me more about it. "

"Well, when it was over, old Saracinesca was for killing Casalverdehimself. "

"The old fire-eater! He ought to be ashamed of himself. "

"However, Spicca was before him, and challenged Casalverde then andthere. As both the principals in the first duel were so badly wounded, ithad to be put off until this morning. "

"They went out, and--piff, paff! Spicca ran him through, " interruptedAstrardente. "What a horrible tragedy!"

"Ah yes; and what is worse--"

"What surprises me most, " interrupted the Duca again, "is that in thisdelightfully peaceful and paternally governed little nest of ours, theauthorities should not have been able to prevent either of these duels. It is perfectly amazing! I cannot remember a parallel instance. Do youmean to say that there was not a _sbirro_ or a _gendarme_ in theneighbourhood to-day nor yesterday?"

"That is not so surprising, " answered Valdarno, with a knowing look. "There would have been few tears in high quarters if Del Ferice had beenkilled yesterday; there will be few to-day over the death of poorCasalverde. "

"Bah!" ejaculated Astrardente. "If Antonelli had heard of these affairshe would have stopped them soon enough. "

Valdarno glanced behind him, and, bending a little, whispered inAstrardente's ear--

"They were both Liberals, you must know. "

"Liberals?" repeated the old dandy, with a cynical sneer. "Nonsense, Isay! Liberals? Yes, in the way you are a Liberal, and Donna Tullia Mayer, and Spicca himself, who has just killed that other Liberal, Casalverde. Liberals indeed! Do you flatter yourself for a moment that Antonelli isafraid of such Liberals as you are? Do you think the life of Del Fericeis of any more importance to politics than the life of that dog there?"

It was Astrardente's habit to scoff mercilessly at all the pettymanifestations of political feeling he saw about him in the world. Herepresented a class distinct both from the Valdarno set and from the menrepresented by the Saracinesca--a class who despised everything politicalas unworthy of the attention of gentlemen, who took everything forgranted, and believed that all was for the best, provided that societymoved upon rollers and so long as no one meddled with old institutions. To question the wisdom of the municipal regulations was to attack theGovernment itself; to attack the Government was to cast a slight upon hisHoliness the Pope, which was rank heresy, and very vulgar into thebargain. Astrardente had seen a great deal of the world, but his ideas ofpolitics were almost childishly simple--whereas many people said that hisprinciples in relation to his fellows were fiendishly cynical. He wascertainly not a very good man; and if he pretended to no reputation fordevoutness, it was probable that he recognised the absurdity of hisattempting such a pose. But politically he believed in CardinalAntonelli's ability to defy Europe with or without the aid of France, andlaughed as loudly at Louis Napoleon's old idea of putting the sovereignPontiff at the head of an Italian federation, as he jeered at Cavour'sfavourite phrase concerning a free Church in a free State. He had goodblood in him, and the hereditary courage often found with it. He had acertain skill in matters worldly; but his wit in things political seemedto belong to an earlier generation, and to be incapable of receiving newimpressions. 

But Valdarno, who was vain and set great value on his opinions, wasdeeply offended at the way Astrardente spoke of him and his friends. Inhis eyes he was risking much for what he considered a good object, and heresented any contemptuous mention of Liberal principles, whenever hedared. No one cared much for Astrardente, and certainly no one fearedhim; nevertheless in those times men hesitated to defend anything whichcame under the general head of Liberalism, when they were likely to beoverheard, or when they could not trust the man to whom they werespeaking. If no one feared Astrardente, no one trusted him either. Valdarno consequently judged it best to smother his annoyance at the oldman's words, and to retaliate by striking him in a weak spot. 

"If you despise Del Ferice as much as you say, " he remarked, "I wonderthat you tolerate him as you do. "

"I tolerate him. Toleration is the very word--it delightfully expressesmy feelings towards him. He is a perfectly harmless creature, who affectsimmense depth of insight into human affairs, and who cannot see an inchbefore his face. Dear me! yes, I shall always tolerate Del Ferice, poorfellow!"

"You may not be called upon to do so much longer, " replied Valdarno. "They say he is in a very dangerous condition. "

"Ah!" ejaculated Astrardente, putting up his eyeglass at his companion. "Ah, you don't say so!"

There was something so insolent in the old man's affected stare that eventhe foolish and good-natured Valdarno lost his temper, being alreadysomewhat irritated. 

"It is a pity that you should be so indifferent. It is hardly becoming. If you had not tolerated him as you have, he might not be lying there atthe point of death. "

Astrardente stared harder than ever. 

"My dear young friend, " he said, "your language is the most extraordinaryI ever heard. How in the world can my treatment of that unfortunate manhave had anything to do with his being wounded in a duel?"

"My dear old friend, " replied Valdarno, impudently mimicking the oldman's tone, "your simplicity surpasses anything I ever knew. Is itpossible that you do not know that this duel was fought for your wife?"

Astrardente looked fixedly at Valdarno; his eyeglass dropped from hiseye, and he turned ashy pale beneath his paint. He staggered a moment, and steadied himself against the door of a shop. They were just passingthe corner of the Piazza di Sciarra, the most crowded crossing of theCorso. 

"Valdarno, " said the old man, his cracked voice dropping to a hoarser anddeeper tone, "you must explain yourself or answer for this. "

"What! Another duel!" cried Valdarno, in some scorn. Then, seeing thathis companion looked ill, he took him by the arm and led him rapidlythrough the crowd, across the Arco dei Carbognani. Entering the CaffèAragno, a new institution in those days, both men sat down at a smallmarble table. The old dandy was white with emotion; Valdarno felt that hewas enjoying his revenge. 

"A glass of cognac, Duke?" he said, as the waiter came up. Astrardentenodded, and there was silence while the man brought the cordial. The Ducalived by an invariable rule, seeking to balance the follies of his youthby excessive care in his old age; it was long, indeed, since he had takena glass of brandy in the morning. He swallowed it quickly, and thestimulant produced its effect immediately; he readjusted his eyeglass, and faced Valdarno sternly. 

"And now, " he said, "that we are at our ease, may I inquire what thedevil you mean by your insinuations about my wife?"

"Oh, " replied Valdarno, affecting great indifference, "I only say whateverybody says. There is no offence to the Duchessa. "

"I should suppose not, indeed. Go on. "

"Do you really care to hear the story?" asked the young man. 

"I intend to hear it, and at once, " replied Astrardente. 

"You will not have to employ force to extract it from me, I can assureyou, " said Valdarno, settling himself in his chair, but avoiding theangry glance of the old man. "Everybody has been repeating it since theday before yesterday, when it occurred. You were at the Frangipaniball--you might have seen it all. In the first place, you must know thatthere exists another of those beings to whom you extend your mercifultoleration--a certain Giovanni Saracinesca--you may have noticed him?"

"What of him?" asked Astrardente, fiercely. 

"Among other things, he is the man who wounded Del Ferice, as I daresayyou have heard. Among other things concerning him, he has done himselfthe honour of falling desperately, madly in love with the Duchessad'Astrardente, who--"

"What?" cried the old man in a cracked voice, as Valdarno paused. 

"Who does you the honour of ignoring his existence on most occasions, butwho was so unfortunate as to recall him to her memory on the night of theFrangipani ball. We were all sitting in a circle round the Duchessa'schair that night, when the conversation chanced to turn upon this sameGiovanni Saracinesca, a fire-eating fellow with a bad temper. He had beenaway for some days; indeed he was last seen at the Apollo in your box, when they gave 'Norma'--"

"I remember, " interrupted Astrardente. The mention of that evening wasbut a random shot. Valdarno had been in the club-box, and had seenGiovanni when he made his visit to the Astrardente; he had not seen himagain till the Frangipani ball. 

"Well, as I was saying, we spoke of Giovanni, and every one had somethingto say about his absence. The Duchessa expressed her curiosity, and DelFerice, who was with us, proposed calling him--he was at the other end ofthe room, you see--that he might answer for himself. So I went andbrought him up. He was in a very bad humour--"

"What has all this absurd story got to do with the matter?" asked the oldman, impatiently. 

"It is the matter itself. The irascible Giovanni is angry at beingquestioned, treats us all like mud under his feet, sits down by theDuchessa and forces us to go away. The Duchessa tells him the story, witha laugh no doubt, and Giovanni's wrath overflows. He goes in search ofDel Ferice, and nearly strangles him. The result of these eccentricitiesis the first duel, leading to the second. "

Astrardente was very angry, and his thin gloved hands twitched nervouslyat the handle of his stick. 

"And this, " he said, "this string of trivial ball-room incident, seems toyou a sufficient pretext for stating that the duel was about my wife?"

"Certainly, " replied Valdarno, coolly. "If Saracinesca had not been formonths openly devoting himself to the Duchessa--who, I assure you, takesno kind of notice of him--"

"You need not waste words--"

"I do not, --and if Giovanni had not thought it worth while to be jealousof Del Ferice, there would have been no fighting. "

"Have you been telling your young friends that my wife was the cause ofall this?" asked Astrardente, trembling with a genuine rage which lent acertain momentary dignity to his feeble frame and painted face. 

"Why not?"

"Have you or have you not?"

"Certainly--if you please, " returned Valdarno insolently, enjoying theold man's fury. 

"Then permit me to tell you that you have taken upon yourself anoutrageous liberty, that you have lied, and that you do not deserve to betreated like a gentleman. "

Astrardente got upon his feet and left the café without further words. Valdarno had indeed wounded him in a weak spot, and the wound was mortal. His blood was up, and at that moment he would have faced Valdarno swordin hand, and might have proved himself no mean adversary, so great is thepower of anger to revive in the most decrepit the energies of youth. Hebelieved in his wife with a rare sincerity, and his blood boiled at theidea of her being rudely spoken of as the cause of a scandalous quarrel, however much Valdarno insisted upon it that she was as indifferent toGiovanni as to Del Ferice. The story was a shallow invention upon theface of it. But though the old man told himself so again and again as healmost ran through the narrow streets towards his house, there was onethought suggested by Valdarno which rankled deep. It was true thatGiovanni had last been seen in the Astrardente box at the opera; but hehad not remained five minutes seated by the Duchessa before he hadsuddenly invented a shallow excuse for leaving; and finally, there was nodoubt that at that very moment Corona had seemed violently agitated. Giovanni had not reappeared till the night of the Frangipani ball, andthe duel had taken place on the very next morning. Astrardente could notreason--his mind was too much disturbed by his anger against Valdarno;but a vague impression that there was something wrong in it all, drovehim homewards in wild excitement. He was ill, too, and had he been in aframe of mind to reflect upon himself, he would have noticed that hisheart was beating with ominous irregularity. He did not even think oftaking a cab, but hurried along on foot, finding, perhaps, a momentaryrelief in violent exertion. The old blood rushed to his face in goodearnest, and shamed the delicately painted lights and shadows touched inby the master-hand of Monsieur Isidore, the cosmopolitan valet. 

Valdarno remained seated in the café, rather disturbed at what he haddone. He certainly had had no intention of raising such a storm; he was aweak and good-natured fellow, whose vanity was easily wounded, but whowas not otherwise very sensitive, and was certainly not very intelligent. Astrardente had laughed at him and his friends in a way which touched himto the quick, and with childish petulance he had retaliated in theeasiest way which presented itself. Indeed there was more foundation forhis tale than Astrardente would allow. At least it was true that thestory was in the mouths of all the gossips that morning, and Valdarno hadonly repeated what he had heard. He had meant to annoy the old man; hehad certainly not intended to make him so furiously angry. As for thedeliberate insult he had received, it was undoubtedly very shocking to betold that one lied in such very plain terms; but on the other hand, todemand satisfaction of such an old wreck as Astrardente would beridiculous in the extreme. Valdarno was incapable of very violentpassion, and was easily persuaded that he was in the wrong when any onecontradicted him flatly; not that he was altogether devoid of a certainphysical courage if hard pushed, but because he was not very strong, notvery confident of himself, not very combative, and not very truthful. When Astrardente was gone, he waited a few minutes, and then sauntered upthe Corso again towards the club, debating in his mind how he should turna good story out of his morning's adventure without making himself appeareither foolish or pusillanimous. It was also necessary so to turn hisnarrative that in case any one repeated it to Giovanni, the latter mightnot propose to cut his throat, though it was not probable that any onewould be bold enough to desire a conversation with the youngerSaracinesca on such a subject. 

When he again entered the smoking-room of the club, he was greeted by achorus of inquiries concerning his interview with Astrardente. 

"What did he ask? What did he say? Where is he? What did you tell him?Did he drop his eyeglass? Did he blush through his paint?"

Everybody spoke together in the same breath. Valdarno's vanity rose tothe occasion. Weak and insignificant by nature, he particularly delightedin being the centre of general interest, if even for a moment only. 

"He really dropped his eyeglass, " he answered, with a gay laugh, "and hereally changed colour in spite of his paint. "

"It must have been a terrible interview, then, " remarked one or two ofthe loungers. 

"I shall be happy to offer you my services in case you wish to cut eachother's throats, " said a French officer of the Papal Zouaves who stood bythe fireplace rolling a cigarette. Whereupon everybody laughed loudly. 

"Thanks, " answered Valdarno; "I am expecting a challenge every minute. Ifhe proposes a powder-puff and a box of rouge for the weapons, I acceptwithout hesitation. Well, it was very amusing. He wanted to know allabout it, and so I told him about the scene in Casa Frangipani. He didnot seem to understand at all. He is a very obtuse old gentleman. "

"I hope you explained the connection of events, " said some one. 

"Indeed I did. It was delightful to witness his fury. It was then that hedropped his eyeglass and turned as red as a boiled lobster. He swore thathis wife was above suspicion, as usual. "

"That is true, " said a young man who had attempted to make love to Coronaduring the previous year. 

"Of course it is true, " echoed all the rest, with unanimity rare indeedwhere a woman's reputation is concerned. 

"Yes, " continued Valdarno, "of course. But he goes so far as to say it isabsurd that any one should admire his wife, who is nevertheless a mostadmirable woman. He stamped, he screamed, he turned red in the face, andhe went off without taking leave of me, flourishing his stick, andswearing eternal hatred and vengeance against the entire civilisedsociety of the world. He was delightfully amusing. Will anybody playbaccarat? I will start a bank. "

The majority were for the game, and in a few minutes were seated at alarge green table, drawing cards and betting with a good will, andinterspersing their play with stray remarks on the events of the morning. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Corona was fast coming to a state of mind in which a kind of passiveexpectation--a sort of blind submission to fate--was the chief feature. She had shed tears when her husband spoke of his approaching end, becauseher gentle heart was grateful to him, and by its own sacrifices had grownused to his presence, and because she suddenly felt that she hadcomprehended the depth of his love for her, as she had never understoodit before. In the five years of married life she had spent with him, shehad not allowed herself to think of his selfishness, of his small dailyegotism; for, though it was at no great expense to himself, he had beenuniformly generous and considerate to her. But she had been consciousthat if she should ever remove from her conscience the pressure of aself-imposed censorship, so that her judgment might speak boldly, theverdict of her heart would not have been so indulgent to her husband aswas that formal opinion of him which she forced herself to hold. Now, however, it seemed as though the best things she had desired to believeof him were true; and with the conviction that he was not only notselfish, but absolutely devoted to herself, there had come upon her afear of desolation, a dread of being left alone--of finding herselfabandoned by this strange companion, the only person in the world withwhom she had the habit of familiarity and the bond of a common past. Astrardente had thought, and had told her too, that the knowledge of hisimpending death might lighten her burden--might make the days ofself-sacrifice that yet remained seem shorter; he had spoken kindly ofher marrying again when he should be dead, deeming perhaps, in his suddenburst of generosity that she would be capable of looking beyond theunhappy present to the possibilities of a more brilliant future, or atleast that the certainty of his consent to such a second union wouldmomentarily please her. It was hard to say why he had spoken. It had beenan impulse such as the most selfish people sometimes yield to when theirfailing strength brings upon them suddenly the sense of their inabilityto resist any longer the course of events. The vanity of man is soamazing that when he is past arrogating to himself the attention which isnecessary to him as his daily bread, he is capable of so demeaning hismanhood as to excite interest in his weaknesses rather than that heshould cease to be the object of any interest whatever. The analysis ofthe feelings of old and selfish persons is the most difficult of allstudies; for in proportion as the strength of the dominant passion orpassions is quenched in the bitter still waters of the harbour ofsuperannuation, the small influences of life grow in importance. As when, from the breaking surge of an angry ocean, the water is dashed high amongthe re-echoing rocks, leaving little pools of limpid clearness in thehollows of the storm-beaten cliffs; and as when the anger of the tossingwaves has subsided, the hot sun shines upon the mimic seas, and the clearwaters that were so transparent grow thick and foul with the motion of atiny and insignificant insect-life undreamed of before in such crystalpurity: so also the clear strong sea of youth is left to dry in thepools and puddles of old age, and in the motionless calm of the stillplaces where the ocean of life has washed it, it is dried up and consumedby myriads of tiny parasites--lives within lives, passions withinpassions--tiny efforts at mimic greatness, --a restless little world, thevery parody and infinitesimal reproduction of the mighty flood whence itcame, wherein great monsters have their being, and things of unspeakablebeauty grow free in the large depths of an unfathomed ocean. 

To Corona d'Astrardente in the freshness of her youth the study of herhusband's strange littleness had grown to be a second nature from thehabit of her devotion to him. But she could not understand him; she couldnot explain to herself the sudden confession of old age, the quietanticipation of death, the inexplicable generosity towards herself. Sheonly knew that he must be at heart a man more kindly and of betterimpulse than he had generally been considered, and she resolved to doher utmost to repay him, and to soothe the misery of his last years. 

Since he had told her so plainly, it must be true. It was natural, perhaps--for he was growing more feeble every day--but it was very sad. Five years ago, when she had choked down her loathing for the old man towhom she had sold herself for her father's sake, she would not havebelieved that she should one day feel the tears rise fast at the thoughtof his dying and leaving her free. He had said it; she would be free. They say that men who have been long confined in a dungeon becomeindifferent, and when turned out upon the world would at first gladlyreturn to their prison walls. Liberty is in the first place an instinct, but it will easily grow to be a habit. Corona had renounced all thoughtof freedom five years ago, and in the patient bowing of her noble natureto the path she had chosen, she had attained to a state of renunciationlike that of a man who has buried himself for ever in an order ofTrappists, and neither dreams of the freedom of the outer world, nordesires to dream of it. And she had grown fond of the aged dandy and hisfoolish ways--ways which seemed foolish because they were those of youthgrafted upon senility. She had not known that she was fond of him, it istrue; but now that he spoke of dying, she felt that she would weep hisloss. He was her only companion, her only friend. In the loyaldetermination to be faithful to him, she had so shut herself from allintimacy with the world that she had not a friend. She kept women at adistance from her, instinctively dreading lest in their careless talksome hint or comment should remind her that she had married a manridiculous in their eyes; and with men she could have but littleintercourse, for their society was dangerous. No man save GiovanniSaracinesca had for years put himself in the light of a mereacquaintance, always ready to talk to her upon general subjects, studiously avoiding himself in all discussions, and delicatelyflattering her vanity by his deference to her judgment. The other men hadgenerally spoken of love at the second meeting, and declared themselvesdevoted to her for life at the end of a week: she had quietly repulsedthem, and they had dropped back into the position of indifferentacquaintances, going in search of other game, after the manner of younggentlemen of leisure. Giovanni alone had sternly maintained his air ofcalmness, had never offended her simple pride of loyalty to Astrardenteby word or deed; so that, although she felt and dreaded her growinginterest in him, she had actually believed that he was nothing in herlife, until at last she had been undeceived and awakened to the knowledgeof his fierce passion, and being taken unawares, had nearly been carriedoff her feet by the tempest his words had roused in her own breast. Buther strength had not utterly deserted her. Years of supreme devotion tothe right, of honest and unwavering loyalty, neither deceiving herconscience on the one hand with the morbid food of a fictitious religiousexaltation, nor, upon the other, sinking to a cynical indifference toinevitable misery; days of quiet and constant effort; long hours ofthoughtful meditation upon the one resolution of her life, --all this hadstrengthened the natural force of her character, so that, when at lastthe great trial had come, she had not yielded, but had conquered once andfor ever, in the very moment of sorest temptation. And with her therewould be no return of the danger. Having found strength to resist, she knew that there would be no more weakness; her love for Giovanni wasdeep and sincere, but it had become now the chief cause of suffering inher life; it had utterly ceased to be the chief element of joy, as it hadbeen for a few short days. It was one thing more to be borne, and itoutweighed all other cares. 

The news of the duel had given her great distress. She believed honestlythat she was in no way concerned in it, and she had bitterly resented oldSaracinesca's imputation. In the hot words that had passed betweenthem, she had felt her anger rise justly against the old Prince; but whenhe appealed to her on account of his son, her love for Giovanni hadvanquished her wrath against the old man. Come what might, she would dowhat was best for him. If possible, she would induce him to leave Rome atonce, and thus free herself from the pain of constantly meeting him. Perhaps she could make him marry--anything would be better than to allowthings to go on in their present course, to have to face him at everyturn, and to know that at any moment he might be quarrelling withsomebody and fighting duels on her account. 

She went boldly into the world that night, not knowing whether she shouldmeet Giovanni or not, but resolved upon her course if he appeared. Manypeople looked curiously at her, and smiled cunningly as they thought theydetected traces of care upon her proud face; but though they studied her, and lost no opportunity of talking to her upon the one topic whichabsorbed the general conversation, no one had the satisfaction of movingher even so much as to blush a little, or to lower the gaze of her eyesthat looked them all indifferently through and through. 

Giovanni, however, did not appear, and people told her he would not leavehis room for several days, so that she returned to her home withouthaving accomplished anything in the matter. Her husband was very silent, but looked at her with an expression of uncertainty, as though hesitatingto speak to her upon some subject that absorbed his interest. Neither ofthem referred to the strange interview of the previous night. They wenthome early, as has been already recorded, seeing it was only a great andformal reception to which the world went that night; and even thetoughest old society jades were weary from the ball of the day before, which had not broken up until half-past six in the morning. 

On the next day, at about twelve o'clock, Corona was sitting in herboudoir writing a number of invitations which were to be distributed inthe afternoon, when the door opened and her husband entered the room. 

"My dear, " he cried in great excitement, "it is perfectly horrible! Haveyou heard?"

"What?" asked Corona, laying down her pen. 

"Spicca has killed Casalverde--the man who seconded Del Fericeyesterday, --killed him on the spot--"

Corona uttered an exclamation of horror. 

"And they say Del Ferice is dead, or just dying"--his cracked voice roseat every word; "and they say, " he almost screamed, laying his witheredhand roughly upon his wife's shoulder, --"they say that the duel was aboutyou--you, do you understand?"

"That is not true, " said Corona, firmly. "Calm yourself--I beseech you tobe calm. Tell me connectedly what has happened--who told you this story. "

"What right has any man to drag your name into a quarrel?" cried the oldman, hoarsely. "Everybody is saying it--it is outrageous, abominable--"

Corona quietly pushed her husband into a chair, and sat down beside him. 

"You are excited--you will harm yourself, --remember your health, " shesaid, endeavouring to soothe him. "Tell me, in the first place, who toldyou that it was about me. "

"Valdarno told me; he told me that every one was saying it--that it wasthe talk of the town. "

"But why?" insisted Corona. "You allow yourself to be furious for thesake of a piece of gossip which has no foundation whatever. What is thestory they tell?"

"Some nonsense about Giovanni Saracinesca's going away last week. DelFerice proposed to call him before you, and Giovanni was angry. "

"That is absurd, " said Corona. "Don Giovanni was not the least annoyed. He was with me afterwards--"

"Always Giovanni! Always Giovanni! Wherever you go, it is Giovanni!"cried the old man, in unreasonable petulance--unreasonable from his pointof view, reasonable enough had he known the truth. But he struckunconsciously upon the key-note of all Corona's troubles, and she turnedpale to the lips. 

"You say it is not true, " he began again. "How do you know? How can youtell what may have been said? How can you guess it? Giovanni Saracinescais about you in society more than any one. He has quarrelled about you, and two men have lost their lives in consequence. He is in love with you, I tell you. Can you not see it? You must be blind!"

Corona leaned back in her chair, utterly overcome by the suddenness ofthe situation, unable to answer, her hands folded tightly together, herpale lips compressed. Angry at her silence, old Astrardente continued, his rage gradually getting the mastery of his sense, and his passionworking itself up to the pitch of madness. 

"Blind--yes--positively blind!" he cried. "Do you think that I am blindtoo? Do you think I will overlook all this? Do you not see that yourreputation is injured--that people associate your name with his--that nowoman can be mentioned in the same breath with Giovanni Saracinesca andhope to maintain a fair fame? A fellow whose adventures are ineverybody's mouth, whose doings are notorious; who has but to look at awoman to destroy her; who is a duellist, a libertine--"

"That is not true, " interrupted Corona, unable to listen calmly to theabuse thus heaped upon the man she so dearly loved. "You are mad--"

"You defend him!" screamed Astrardente, leaning far forward in his chairand clenching his hands. "You dare to support him--you acknowledge thatyou care for him! Does he not pursue you everywhere, so that the townrings with it? You ought to long to be rid of him, to wish he were dead, rather than allow his name to be breathed with yours; and instead, youdefend him to me--you say he is right, that you prefer his odiousdevotion to your good name, to my good name! Oh, it is not to bebelieved! If you loved him yourself you could not do worse!"

"If half you say were true--" said Corona, in terrible distress. 

"True?" cried Astrardente, who would not brook interruption. "It is alltrue--and more also. It is true that he loves you, true that all theworld says it, true--by all that is holy, from your face I would almostbelieve that you do love him! Why do you not deny it? Miserable woman!"he screamed, springing towards her and seizing her roughly by the arm, asshe hid her face in her hands. "Miserable woman! you have betrayed me--"

In the paroxysm of his rage the feeble old man became almost strong; hisgrip tightened upon his wife's wrist, and he dragged her violently fromher seat. 

"Betrayed! And by you!" he cried again, shaking with passion. "You whom Ihave loved! This is your gratitude, your sanctified devotion, yourcunning pretence at patience! All to hide your love for such a man asthat! You hypocrite, you--"

By a sudden effort Corona shook off his grasp, and drew herself up to herfull height in magnificent anger. 

"You shall hear me, " she said, in deep commanding tones. "I have deservedmuch, but I have not deserved this. "

"Ha!" he hissed, standing back from her a step, "you can speak now--Ihave touched you! You have found words. It was time!"

Corona was as white as death, and her black eyes shone like coals offire. Her words came slowly, every accent clear and strong withconcentrated passion. 

"I have not betrayed you. I have spoken no word of love to any man alive, and you know that I speak the truth. If any one has said to me whatshould not be said, I have rebuked him to silence. You know, while youaccuse me, that I have done my best to honour and love you; you know wellthat I would die by my own hand, your loyal and true wife, rather thanlet my lips utter one syllable of love for any other man. "

Corona possessed a supreme power over her husband. She was so true awoman that the truth blazed visibly from her clear eyes; and what shesaid was nothing but the truth. She had doubted it herself for onedreadful moment; she knew it now beyond all doubting. In a moment the oldman's wrath broke and vanished before the strong assertion of her perfectinnocence. He turned pale under his paint, and his limbs trembled. Hemade a step forward, and fell upon his knees before her, and tried totake her hands. 

"Oh, Corona, forgive me, " he moaned--"forgive me! I so love you!"

Suddenly his grasp relaxed from her hands, and with a groan he fellforward against her knees. 

"God knows I forgive you!" cried Corona, the tears starting to her eyesin sudden pity. She bent down to support him; but as she moved, he fellprostrate upon his face before her. With a cry of terror she kneeledbeside him; with her strong arms she turned his body and raised his headupon her knees. His face was ghastly white, save where the tinges ofpaint made a hideous mockery of colour upon his livid skin. His partedlips were faintly purple, and his hollow eyes stared wide open at hiswife's face, while the curled wig was thrust far back upon his bald andwrinkled forehead. 

Corona supported his weight upon one knee, and took his nerveless hand inhers. An agony of terror seized her. 

"Onofrio!" she cried--she rarely called him by his name--"Onofrio! speakto me! My husband!" She clasped him wildly in her arms. "O God, havemercy!"

Onofrio d'Astrardente was dead. The poor old dandy, in his paint and hiswig and his padding, had died at his wife's feet, protesting his love forher to the last. The long averted blow had fallen. For years he hadguarded himself against sudden emotions, for he was warned of the diseaseat his heart, and knew his danger; but his anger had killed him. He mighthave lived another hour while his rage lasted; but the revulsion offeeling, the sudden repentance for the violence he had done his wife, hadsent the blood back to its source too quickly, and with his last cry oflove upon his lips he was dead. 

Corona had hardly ever seen death. She gently lowered the dead man'sweight till he lay at full length upon the floor. Then she started to herfeet, and drew back against the fireplace, and gazed at the body of herhusband. 

For fully five minutes she stood motionless, scarcely daring to drawbreath, dazed and stupefied with horror, trying to realise what hadhappened. There he lay, her only friend, the companion of her life sinceshe had known life; the man who in that very room, but two nights since, had spoken such kind words to her that her tears had flowed--the tearsthat would not flow now; the man who but a moment since was railing ather in a paroxysm of rage--whose anger had melted at her first word ofdefence, who had fallen at her feet to ask forgiveness, and to declareonce more, for the last time, that he loved her! Her friend, hercompanion, her husband--had he heard her answer, that she forgave himfreely? He could not be dead--it was impossible. A moment ago he had beenspeaking to her. She went forward again and kneeled beside him. 

"Onofrio, " she said very gently, "you are not dead--you heard me?"

She gazed down for a moment at the motionless features. Womanlythoughtful, she moved his head a little, and straightened the wig uponhis poor forehead. Then, in an instant, she realised all, and with a wildcry of despair fell prostrate upon his body in an agony of passionateweeping. How long she lay, she knew not. A knock at the door did notreach her ears, nor another and another, at short intervals; and thensome one entered. It was the butler, who had come to announce the mid-daybreakfast. He uttered an exclamation and started back, holding the handleof the door in his hand. 

Corona raised herself slowly to her knees, gazing down once more upon thedead man's face. Then she lifted her streaming eyes and saw the servant. 

"Your master is dead, " she said, solemnly. 

The man grew pale and trembled, hesitated, and then turned and fled downthe hall without, after the manner of Italian servants, who fear death, and even the sight of it, as they fear nothing else in the world. 

Corona rose to her feet and brushed the tears from her eyes. Then sheturned and rang the bell. No one answered the summons for some time. Thenews had spread all over the house in an instant, and everything wasdisorganised. At last a woman came and stood timidly at the door. She wasa lower servant, a simple strong creature from the mountains. Seeing theothers terrified and paralysed, it had struck her common-sense that hermistress was alone. Corona understood. 

"Help me to carry him, " she said, quietly; and the peasant and the noblelady stooped and lifted the dead duke, and bore him to his chamberwithout a word, and laid him tenderly upon his bed. 

"Send for the doctor, " said Corona; "I will watch beside him. "

"But, Excellency, are you not afraid?" asked the woman. 

Corona's lip curled a little. 

"I am not afraid, " she answered. "Send at once. " When the woman was gone, she sat down by the bedside and waited. Her tears were dry now, but shecould not think. She waited motionless for an hour. Then the oldphysician entered softly, while a crowd of servants stood without, peering timidly through the open door. Corona crossed the room andquietly shut it. The physician stood by the bedside. 

"It is simple enough, Signora Duchessa, " he said, gently. "He is quitedead. It was only the day before yesterday that I warned him that theheart disease was worse. Can you tell me how it happened?"

"Yes, exactly, " answered Corona, in a low voice. She was calm enough now. "He came into my room two hours ago, and suddenly, in conversation, hebecame very angry. Then his anger subsided in a moment, and he fell at myfeet. "

"It is just as I expected, " answered the physician, quietly. "They alwaysdie in this way. I entreat you to be calm--to consider that all men aremortal--"

"I am calm now, " interrupted Corona. "I am alone. Will you see that whatis necessary is done quickly? I will leave you for a moment. There arepeople outside. "

As she opened the door the gaping crowd of servants slunk out of her way. With bent head she passed between them, and went out into the greatreception-rooms, and sat down alone in her grief. 

It was genuine, of its kind. The poor man's soul might rest in peace, forshe felt the real sorrow at his death which he had longed for, which hehad perhaps scarcely dared to hope she would feel. Had it not been real, in those first moments some thought would have crossed her mind--somefaint, repressed satisfaction at being free at last--free to marryGiovanni Saracinesca. But it was not so. She did not feel free--she feltalone, intensely alone. She longed for the familiar sound of hisquerulous voice--for the expression of his thousand little wants andinterests; she remembered tenderly his harmless little vanities. Shethought of his wig, and she wept. So true it is that what is mostridiculous in life is most sorrowfully pathetic in death. There was notone of the small things about him she did not recall with a pang ofregret. It was all over now. His vanity was dead with him; his tenderlove for her was dead too. It was the only love she had known, until thatother love--that dark and stirring passion--had been roused in her. Butthat did not trouble her now. Perhaps the unconscious sense thathenceforth she was free to love whom she pleased had suddenly madeinsignificant a feeling which had before borne in her mind the terriblename of crime. The struggle for loyalty was no more, but the memory ofwhat she had borne for the dead man made him dearer than before. Thefollies of his life had been many, but many of them had been for her, andthere was the true ring in his last words. "To be young for your sake, Corona--for your sake!" The phrase echoed again and again in herremembrance, and her silent tears flowed afresh. The follies of his lifehad been many, but to her he had been true. The very violence of his lastmoments, the tenderness of his passionate appeal for forgiveness, spokefor the honesty of his heart, even though his heart had never been honestbefore. 

She needed never to think again of pleasing him, of helping him, offoregoing for his sake any intimacy with the world which she mightdesire. But the thought brought no relief. He had become so much a partof her life that she could not conceive of living without him, and shewould miss him at every turn. The new existence before her seemed dismaland empty beyond all expression. She wondered vaguely what she should dowith her time. For one moment a strange longing came over her to returnto the dear old convent, to lay aside for ever her coronet and state, andin a simple garb to do simple and good things to the honour of God. 

She roused herself at last, and went to her own rooms, dragging her stepsslowly as though weighed down by a heavy burden. She entered the roomwhere he had died, and a cold shudder passed over her. The afternoon sunwas streaming through the window upon the writing table where yet lay theunfinished invitation she had been writing, and upon the plants and therich ornaments, upon the heavy carpet--the very spot where he hadbreathed his last word of love and died at her feet. 

Upon that spot Corona d'Astrardente knelt down reverently andprayed, --prayed that she might be forgiven for all her shortcomings tothe dear dead man; that she might have strength to bear her sorrow and tohonour his memory; above all, that his soul might rest in peace and findforgiveness, and that he might know that she had been truly innocent--sheprayed for that too, for she had a dreadful doubt. But surely he knew allnow: how she had striven to be loyal, and how truly--yes, how truly--shemourned his death. 

At last she rose to her feet, and lingered still a moment, her handsclasped as they had been in her prayer. Glancing down, somethingglistened on the carpet. She stooped and picked it up. It was herhusband's sealring, engraven with the ancient arms of the Astrardente. She looked long at the jewel, and then put it upon her finger. 

"God give me grace to honour his memory as he would have me honour it, "she said, solemnly. 

Truly, she had deserved the love the poor old dandy had so deeply feltfor her. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

That night Giovanni insisted on going out. His wounds no longer painedhim, he said; there was no danger whatever, and he was tired of stayingat home. But he would dine with his father as usual. He loved hisfather's company, and when the two omitted to quarrel over trifles theywere very congenial. To tell the truth, the differences between themarose generally from the petulant quickness of the Prince; for in his sonhis own irascible character was joined with the melancholy gravity whichGiovanni inherited from his mother, and in virtue of which, beingtaciturn, he was sometimes thought long-suffering. 

As usual, they sat opposite each other, and the ancient butler Pasqualeserved them. As the man deposited Giovanni's soup before him, he spoke. Acertain liberty was always granted to Pasquale; Italian servants aremembers of the family, even in princely houses. Never assuming thatconfidence implies familiarity, they enjoy the one without everapproaching the latter. Nevertheless it was very rarely that Pasqualespoke to his masters when they were at table. 

"I beg your Excellencies' pardon--" he began, as he put down thesoup-plate. 

"Well, Pasquale?" asked old Saracinesca, looking sharply at the oldservant from under his heavy brows. 

"Have your Excellencies heard the news?"

"What news? No, " returned the Prince. 

"The Duca d'Astrardente--"

"Well, what of him?"

"Is dead. "

"Dead!" repeated Giovanni in a loud voice, that echoed to the vaultedroof of the dining-room. 

"It is not true, " said old Saracinesca; "I saw him in the street thismorning. "

"Nevertheless, your Excellency, " replied Pasquale, "it is quite true. Thegates of the palace were already draped with black before the Ave Mariathis evening; and the porter, who is a nephew of mine, had _crêpe_ uponhis hat and arm. He told me that the Duca fell down dead of a stroke inthe Signora Duchessa's room at half-past twelve to-day. "

"Is that all you could learn?" asked the Prince. 

"Except that the Signora Duchessa was overcome with grief, " returned theservant, gravely. 

"I should think so--her husband dead of an apoplexy! It is natural, " saidthe Prince, looking at Giovanni. The latter was silent, and tried to eatas though, nothing had happened--inwardly endeavouring not to rejoice toomadly at the terrible catastrophe. In his effort to control his features, the blood rushed to his forehead, and his hand trembled violently. Hisfather saw it, but made no remark. 

"Poor Astrardente!" he said. "He was not so bad as people thought him. "

"No, " replied Giovanni, with a great effort; "he was a very good man. "

"I should hardly say that, " returned his father, with a grim smile ofamusement. "I do not think that by the greatest stretch of indulgence hecould be called good. "

"And why not?" asked the younger man, sharply snatching at any possiblediscussion in order to conceal his embarrassment. 

"Why not, indeed! Why, because he had a goodly share of original sin, towhich he added others of his own originating but having an equal claim tooriginality. "

"I say I think he was a very good man, " repeated Giovanni, maintaininghis point with an air of conviction. 

"If that is your conception of goodness, it is no wonder that you havenot attained to sanctity, " said the old man, with a sneer. 

"It pleases you to be witty, " answered his son. "Astrardente did notgamble; he had no vices of late. He was kind to his wife. "

"No vices--no. He did not steal like a fraudulent bank-clerk, nor try todo murder like Del Ferice. He did not deceive his wife, nor starve her todeath. He had therefore no vices. He was a good man. "

"Let us leave poor Del Ferice alone, " said Giovanni. 

"I suppose you will pity him now, " replied the Prince, sarcastically. "You will talk differently if he dies and you have to leave the countryat a moment's notice, like Spicca this morning. "

"I should be very sorry if Del Ferice died. I should never recover fromit. I am not a professional duellist like Spicca. And yet Casalverdedeserved his death. I can quite understand that Del Ferice might in theexcitement of the moment have lunged at me after the halt was cried, butI cannot understand how Casalverde could be so infamous as not to crosshis sword when he himself called. It looked very much like a preconcertedarrangement. Casalverde deserved to die, for the safety of society. I should think that Rome had had enough of duelling for a while. "

"Yes; but after all, Casalverde did not count for much. I am not sure Iever saw the fellow before in my life. And I suppose Del Ferice willrecover. There was a story this morning that he was dead; but I went andinquired myself, and found that he was better. People are much shockedat this second duel. Well, it could not be helped. Poor old Astrardente!So we shall never see his wig again at every ball and theatre andsupper-party! There was a man who enjoyed his life to the very end!"

"I should not call it enjoyment to be built up every day by one's valet, like a card-house, merely to tumble to pieces again when the pins aretaken out, " said Giovanni. 

"You do not seem so enthusiastic in his defence as you were a few minutesago, " said the Prince, with a smile. 

Giovanni was so much disturbed at the surprising news that he hardly knewwhat he said. He made a desperate attempt to be sensible. 

"It appears to me that moral goodness and personal appearance are twothings, " he said, oracularly. The Prince burst into a loud laugh. 

"Most people would say that! Eat your dinner, Giovanni, and do not talksuch arrant nonsense. "

"Why is it nonsense? Because you do not agree with me?"

"Because you are too much excited to talk sensibly, " said his father. "Doyou think I cannot see it?"

Giovanni was silent for a time. He was angry at his father for detectingthe cause of his vagueness, but he supposed there was no help for it. Atlast Pasquale left the room. Old Saracinesca gave a sigh of relief. 

"And now, Giovannino, " he said familiarly, "what have you got to say foryourself?"

"I?" asked his son, in some surprise. 

"You! What are you going to do?"

"I will stay at home, " said Giovanni, shortly. 

"That is not the question. You are wise to stay at home, because youought to get yourself healed of that scratch. Giovanni, the Astrardenteis now a widow. "

"Seeing that her husband is dead--of course. There is vast ingenuity inyour deduction, " returned the younger man, eyeing his fathersuspiciously. 

"Do not be an idiot, Giovannino. I mean, that as she is a widow, I haveno objection to your marrying her. "

"Good God, sir!" cried Giovanni, "what do you mean?"

"What I say. She is the most beautiful woman in Rome. She is one of thebest women I know. She will have a sufficient jointure. Marry her. Youwill never be happy with a silly little girl just out of a convent Youare not that sort of man. The Astrardente is not three-and-twenty, butshe has had five years of the world, and she has stood the test well. Ishall be proud to call her my daughter. "

In his excitement Giovanni sprang from his seat, and rushing to hisfather's side, threw his arms round his neck and embraced him. He hadnever done such a thing in his life. Then he remained standing, and grewsuddenly thoughtful. 

"It is heartless of us to talk in this way, " he said. "The poor man isnot buried yet. "

"My dear boy, " said the old Prince, "Astrardente is dead. He hated me, and was beginning to hate you, I fancy. We were neither of us hisfriends, at any rate. We do not rejoice at his death; we merely regard itin the light of an event which modifies our immediate future. He is dead, and his wife is free. So long as he was alive, the fact of your lovingher was exceedingly unfortunate: it was injuring you and doing a wrong toher. Now, on the contrary, the greatest good fortune that can happen toyou both is that you should marry each other. "

"That is true, " returned Giovanni. In the suddenness of the news, it hadnot struck him that his father would ever look favourably upon the match, although the immediate possibility of the marriage had burst upon him asa great light suddenly rising in a thick darkness. But his nature, asstrong as his father's, was a little more delicate, a shade less rough;and even in the midst of his great joy, it struck him as heartless to bediscussing the chances of marrying a woman whose husband was not yetburied. No such scruple disturbed the geniality of the old Prince. He wasan honest and straightforward man--a man easily possessed by a singleidea--and he was capable of profound affections. He had loved his Spanishwife strongly in his own fashion, and she had loved him, but there was noone left to him now but his son, whom he delighted in, and he regardedthe rest of the world merely as pawns to be moved into position for thehonour and glory of the Saracinesca. He thought no more of a man's lifethan of the end of a cigar, smoked out and fit to be thrown away. Astrardente had been nothing to him but an obstacle. It had not struckhim that he could ever be removed; but since it had pleased Providenceto take him out of the way, there was no earthly reason for mourning hisdeath. All men must die--it was better that death should come to thosewho stood in the way of their fellow-creatures. 

"I am not at all sure that she will consent, " said Giovanni, beginning towalk up and down the room. 

"Bah!" ejaculated his father. "You are the best match in Italy. Whyshould any woman refuse you?"

"I am not so sure. She is not like other women. Let us not talk of itnow. It will not be possible to do anything for a year, I suppose. A yearis a long time. Meanwhile I will go to that poor man's funeral. "

"Of course. So will I. "

And they both went, and found themselves in a vast crowd ofacquaintances. No one had believed that Astrardente could ever die, thatthe day would ever come when society should know his place no more; andwith one consent everybody sent their carriages to the funeral, and wentthemselves a day or two later to the great requiem Mass in the parishchurch. There was nothing to be seen but the great black catafalque, withCorona's household of servants in deep mourning liveries kneeling behindit. Relations she had none, and the dead man was the last of his race--she was utterly alone. 

"She need not have made it so terribly impressive, " said Madame Mayerto Valdarno when the Mass was over. Madame Mayer paused beside theholy-water basin, and dipping one gloved finger, she presented it toValdarno with an engaging smile. Both crossed themselves. 

"She need not have got it up so terribly impressively, after all, " sherepeated. 

"I daresay she will miss him at first, " returned Valdarno, who was akind-hearted fellow enough, and was very far from realising how much hehad contributed to the sudden death of the old dandy. "She is a strangewoman. I believe she had grown fond of him. "

"Oh, I know all that, " said Donna Tullia, as they left the church. 

"Yes, " answered her companion, with a significant smile, "I presume youdo. " Donna Tullia laughed harshly as she got into her carriage. 

"You are detestable, Valdarno--you always misunderstand me. Are you goingto the ball tonight?"

"Of course. May I have the pleasure of the cotillon?"

"If you are very good--if you will go and ask the news of Del Ferice. "

"I sent this morning. He is quite out of danger, they believe. "

"Is he? Oh, I am very glad--I felt so very badly, you know. Ah, DonGiovanni, are you recovered?" she asked coldly, as Saracinesca approachedthe other side of the carriage. Valdarno retired to a distance, andpretended to be buttoning his greatcoat; he wanted to see what wouldhappen. 

"Thank you, yes; I was not much hurt. This is the first time I have beenout, and I am glad to find an opportunity of speaking to you. Let me sayagain how profoundly I regret my forgetfulness at the ball the othernight--"

Donna Tullia was a clever woman, and though she had been very angry atthe time, she was in love with Giovanni. She therefore looked at himsuddenly with a gentle smile, and just for one moment her fingers touchedhis hand as it rested upon the side of the carriage. 

"Do you think it was kind?" she asked, in a low voice. 

"It was abominable. I shall never forgive myself, " answered Giovanni. 

"I will forgive you, " answered Donna Tullia, softly. She really lovedhim. It was the best thing in her nature, but it was more than balancedby the jealousy she had conceived for the Duchessa d'Astrardente. 

"Was it on that account that you quarrelled with poor Del Ferice?" sheasked, after a moment's pause. "I have feared it--"

"Certainly not, " answered Giovanni, quickly. "Pray set your mind at rest. Del Ferice or any other man would have been quite justified in calling meout for it--but it was not for that. It was not on account of you. "

It would have been hard to say whether Donna Tullia's face expressed moreclearly her surprise or her disappointment at the intelligence. Perhapsshe had both really believed herself the cause of the duel, and hadbeen flattered at the thought that men would fight for her. 

"Oh, I am very glad--it is a great relief, " she said, rather coldly. "Areyou going to the ball to-night?"

"No; I cannot dance. My right arm is bound up in a sling, as you see. "

"I am sorry you are not coming. Good-bye, then. "

"Good-bye; I am very grateful for your forgiveness. " Giovanni bowed low, and Donna Tullia's brilliant equipage dashed away. 

Giovanni was well satisfied at having made his peace so easily, but henevertheless apprehended danger from Donna Tullia. 

The next thing which interested Roman society was Astrardente's will, but no one was much surprised when the terms of it were known. As therewere no relations, everything was left to his wife. The palace in Rome, the town and castle in the Sabines, the broad lands in the lowhill-country towards Ceprano, and what surprised even the family lawyer, a goodly sum in solid English securities, --a splendid fortune in all, according to Roman ideas. Astrardente abhorred the name of money in hisconversation--it had been one of his affectations; but he had anexcellent understanding of business, and was exceedingly methodical inthe management of his affairs. The inheritance, the lawer thought, mightbe estimated at three millions of scudi. 

"Is all this wealth mine, then?" asked Corona, when the solicitor hadexplained the situation. 

"All, Signora Duchessa. You are enormously rich. "

Enormously rich! And alone in the world. Corona asked herself if she wasthe same woman, the same Corona del Carmine who five years before hadsuffered in the old convent the humiliation of having no pocket-money, whose wedding-gown had been provided from the proceeds of a little saleof the last relics of her father's once splendid collection of old chinaand pictures. She had never thought of money since she had been married;her husband was generous, but methodical; she never bought anythingwithout consulting him, and the bills all went through his hands. Now andthen she had rather timidly asked for a small sum for some charity; shehad lacked nothing that money could buy, but she never remembered to havehad more than a hundred francs in her purse. Astrardente had once offeredto give her an allowance, and had seemed pleased that she refused it. Heliked to manage things himself, being a man of detail. 

And now she was enormously rich, and alone. It was a strange sensation. She felt it to be so new that she innocently said so to the lawyer. 

"What shall I do with it all?"

"Signora Duchessa, " returned the old man, "with regard to money thequestion is, not what to do with it, but how to do without it. You arevery young, Signora Duchessa. "

"I shall be twenty-three in August, " said Corona, simply. 

"Precisely. I would beg to be allowed to observe that by the terms of thewill, and by the laws of this country, you are not the dowager-duchess, but you are in your own right and person the sole and only feudalmistress and holder of the title. "

"Am I?"

"Certainly, with all the privileges thereto attached. It may be--I begpardon for being so bold as to suggest it--it may be that in years tocome, when time has soothed your sorrow, you may wish, you may consent, to renew the marriage tie. "

"I doubt it--but the thing is possible, " said Corona, quietly. 

"In that case, and should you prefer to contract a marriage ofinclination, you will have no difficulty in conferring your title uponyour husband, with any reservations you please. Your children will theninherit from you, and become in their turn Dukes of Astrardente. This Iconceive to have been the purpose and spirit of the late Duke's will. Theestate, magnificent as it is, will not be too large for the foundation ofa new race. If you desire any distinctive title, you can call yourselfDuchessa del Carmine d'Astrardente--it would sound very well, " remarkedthe lawyer, contemplating the beautiful woman before him. 

"It is of little importance what I call myself, " said Corona. "At presentI shall certainly make no change. It is very unlikely that I shall evermarry. "

"I trust, Signora Duchessa, that in any case you will always command mymost humble services. "

With this protestation of fidelity the lawyer left the PalazzoAstrardente, and Corona remained in her boudoir in meditation of what itwould be like to be the feudal mistress of a great title and estate. Shewas very sad, but she was growing used to her solitude. Her liberty wasstrange to her, but little by little she was beginning to enjoy it. Atfirst she had missed the constant care of the poor man who for five yearshad been her companion; she had missed his presence and the burden ofthinking for him at every turn of the day. But it was not for long. Hermemory of him was kind and tender, and for months after his death theoccasional sight of some object associated with him brought the tears toher eyes. She often wished he could walk into the room in his old way, and begin talking of the thousand and one bits of town gossip thatinterested him. But the first feeling of desolation soon passed, for hehad not been more than a companion; she could analyse every memory shehad of him to its source and reason. There was not in her that passionateunformulated yearning for him that comes upon a loving heart when itsfellow is taken away, and which alone is a proof that love has been realand true. She soon grew accustomed to his absence. 

To marry again--every one would say she would be right--to marry and tobe the mother of children, of brave sons and noble girls, --ah yes! thatwas a new thought, a wonderful thought, one of many that werewonderful. 

Then, again, her strong nature suddenly rose in a new sense of strength, and she paced the room slowly with a strange expression of sternness uponher beautiful features. 

"I am a power in the world, " she said to herself, almost starting at thetruth of the thought, and yet taking delight in it. "I am what men callrich and powerful; I have money, estates, castles, and palaces; I amyoung, I am strong. What shall I do with it all?"

As she walked, she dreamed of raising some great institution of charity;she knew not for what precise object, but there was room enough forcharity in Rome. The great Torlonia had built churches, and hospitals, and asylums. She would do likewise; she would make for herself aninterest in doing good, a satisfaction in the exercise of her power tocombat evil. It would be magnificent to feel that she had done itherself, alone and unaided; that she had built the walls from thefoundation and the corner-stone to the eaves; that she had enteredherself into the study of each detail, and herself peopled the greatinstitution with such as needed most help in the world--with littlechildren, perhaps. She would visit them every day, and herself providefor their wants and care for their sufferings. She would give the placeher husband's name, and the good she would accomplish with his earthlyportion might perhaps profit his soul. She would go to Padre Filippo andask his advice. He would know what was best to be done, for he knew moreof the misery in Rome than any one, and had a greater mind to relieve it. She had seen him since her husband's death, but she had not yet conceivedthis scheme. 

And Giovanni--she thought of him too; but the habit of putting him out ofher heart was strong. She dimly fancied that in the far future a daymight come when she would be justified in thinking of him if she sopleased; but for the present, her loyalty to her dead husband seemed morethan ever a sacred duty. She would not permit herself to think ofGiovanni, even though, from a general point of view, she mightcontemplate the possibility of a second marriage. She would go to PadreFilippo and talk over everything with him; he would advise her well. 

Then a wild longing seized her to leave Rome for a while, to breathe theair of the country, to get away from the scene of all her troubles, ofall the terrible emotions that had swept over her life in the last threeweeks, to be alone in the hills or by the sea. It seemed dreadful to betied to her great house in the city, in her mourning, shut off suddenlyfrom the world, and bound down by the chain of conventionality to a fixedmethod of existence. She would give anything to go away. Why not? Shesuddenly realised what was so hard to understand, that she was free to gowhere she pleased--if only, by accident, she could chance to meetGiovanni Saracinesca before she left. No--the thought was unworthy. Shewould leave town at once--surely she could have nothing to say toGiovanni--she would leave to-morrow morning. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Corona found it impossible to leave town so soon as she had wished. Shehad indeed sent out great cart-loads of furniture, servants, horses, andall the paraphernalia of an establishment in the country, and shebelieved herself ready to move at once, when she received an exceedinglycourteous note from Cardinal Antonelli requesting the honour of beingreceived by her the next day at twelve o'clock. It was impossible torefuse, and to her great annoyance she was obliged to postpone herdeparture another twenty-four hours. She guessed that the great man wasthe bearer of some message from the Holy Father himself; and in herpresent frame of mind, such words of comfort could not fail to beacceptable from one whom she reverenced and loved, as all who knewPius IX. Did sincerely revere and love him. She did not like theCardinal, it is true; but she did not confound the ambassador with himwho sent the embassy. The Cardinal was a most courteous and accomplishedman of the world, and Corona could not easily have explained the aversionshe felt for him. It is very likely that if she could have understood thepart he was sustaining in the great European struggle of those days, shewould have accorded him at least the admiration he deserved as astatesman. He had his faults, and they were faults little becoming acardinal of the Holy Roman Church. But few are willing to consider that, though a cardinal, he was not a priest--that he was practically a laymanwho, by his own unaided genius, had attained to great power, and thatthose faults which have been charged against him with such virulencewould have passed, nay, actually pass, unnoticed and uncensured in many agreat statesman of those days and of these. He was a brave man, whofought a desperate and hopeless fight to his last breath, and who foughtalmost alone--a man most bitterly hated by many, at whose death manyrejoiced loudly and few mourned; and to the shame of many be it said, that his most obstinate adversaries, those who unsparingly heaped abuseupon him during his lifetime, and most unseemingly exulted over his end, were the very men among whom he should have found the most willingsupporters and the firmest friends. But in 1865 he was feared, and thosewho reckoned without him in the game of politics reckoned badly. 

Corona was a woman, and very young. She had not the knowledge or theexperience to understand his value, and she had taken a personal disliketo him when she first appeared in society. He was too smooth for her; shethought him false. She preferred a rougher type. Her husband, on theother hand, had a boundless admiration for the cardinal-statesman; andperhaps the way in which Astrardente constantly tried to impress his wifewith a sense of the great man's virtues, indirectly contributed toincrease her aversion. Nevertheless, when he sent word that he desired tobe received by her, she did not hesitate a moment, but expressed herwillingness at once. Punctually as the gun of Sant Angelo roared out thenews that the sun was on the meridian, Cardinal Antonelli enteredCorona's house. She received him in the great drawing-room. There was anair of solemnity about the meeting. The room itself, divested of athousand trifles which had already been sent into the country, lookeddesolate and formal; the heavy curtains admitted but little light; therewas no fire on the hearth; Corona stood all in black--a very incarnationof mourning--as her visitor trod softly across the dark carpet towardsher. 

The Cardinal's expressive face was softened by a look of gentle sympathy, as he came forward and took her hand in both of his, and gazed for amoment into her beautiful eyes. 

"I am an ambassador, Duchessa, " he said softly. "I come to tell you howdeeply our Holy Father sympathises in your great sorrow. "

Corona bent her head respectfully, and motioned to the Cardinal to beseated. 

"I beg that your Eminence will convey to his Holiness my most sinceregratitude for this expression of his paternal kindness to one sounhappy. "

"Indeed I will not fail to deliver your message, Duchessa, " answered theCardinal, seating himself by her side in one of the great arm-chairswhich had been placed together in the middle of the room. "His Holinesshas promised to remember you in his august prayers; and I also, for myown part, entreat you to believe that my poor sympathy is wholly with youin your distress. "

"Your Eminence is most kind, " replied Corona, gravely. 

It seemed as though there were little more to be said in such a case. There was no friendship between the two, no bond of union or fellowship:it was simply a formal visit of condolence, entailed as a necessity byCorona's high position. The Pope had sent her a gift at her wedding; hesent her a message of sympathy at her husband's death. Half-a-dozenphrases would be exchanged, and the Cardinal would take his leave, accompanied by a file of the Duchessa's lackeys--and so it would all beover. But the Cardinal was a statesman, a diplomatist, and one of thebest talkers in Europe; moreover, he never allowed an opportunity ofpursuing his ends to pass unimproved. 

"Ah, Duchessa!" he said, folding his hands upon his knee and lookingdown, "there is but one Consoler in sorrow such as yours. It is vain forus mortals to talk of any such thing as alleviating real mentalsuffering. There are consolations--many of them--for some people, butthey are not for you. To many the accidents of wealth, of youth, ofbeauty, seem to open the perspective of a brilliant future at the verymoment when all the present appears to be shrouded in darkness; but ifyou will permit me, who know you so little, to say it frankly, I do notbelieve that any of these things which you possess in such plentifulabundance will lessen the measure of your grief. It is not right thatthey should, I suppose. It is not fitting that noble minds should evenpossess the faculty of forgetting real suffering in the unreal triflesof a great worldly possession, which so easily restore the weak tocourage, and natter the vulgar into the forgetfulness of honourablesorrow. I am no moraliser, no pedantic philosopher. The stoic may haveshrugged his heavy shoulders in sullen indifference to fate; theepicurean may have found such bodily ease in his excessive refinementof moderate enjoyment as to overlook the deepest afflictions inanticipating the animal pleasure of the next meal. I cannot conceive ofsuch men as those philosophising diners; nor can I imagine by whatarguments the wisest of mankind could induce a fellow-creature indistress to forget his sufferings. Sorrow is sorrow still to all finelyorganised natures. The capacity for feeling sorrow is one of the highesttests of nobility--a nobility of nature not found always in those of highblood and birth, but existing in the people, wherever the people aregood. "

The Cardinal's voice became even more gentle as he spoke. He was himselfof very humble origin, and spoke feelingly. Corona listened, though sheonly heard half of what he said; but his soft tone soothed her almostunconsciously. 

"There is little consolation for me--I am quite alone, " she said. 

"You are not of those who find relief in worldly greatness, " continuedthe Cardinal. "But I have seen women, young, rich, and beautiful, weartheir mourning with wonderful composure. Youth is so much, wealth is somuch more, beauty is such a power in the world--all three together areresistless. Many a young widow is not ashamed to think of marriage beforeher husband has been dead a month. Indeed they do not always make badwives. A woman who has been married young and is early deprived of herhusband, has great experience, great knowledge of the world. Many feelthat they have no right to waste the goods given them in a life ofsolitary mourning. Wealth is given to be used, and perhaps many a richyoung widow thinks she can use it more wisely in the company of a husbandyoung as herself. It may be; I cannot tell. These are days when power ofany sort should be used, and perhaps no one should even for a momentthink of withdrawing from the scene where such great battles are beingfought. But one may choose wisely a way of using power, or one may chooseunwisely. There is much to be done. "

"How?" asked Corona, catching at his expression of an idea which pursuedher. "Here am I, rich, alone, idle--above all, very unhappy. What can Ido? I wish I knew, for I would try and do it. "

"Ah! I was not speaking of you, Duchessa, " answered the statesman. "Youare too noble a woman to be easily consoled. And yet, though you may notfind relief from your great sorrow, there are many things within yourreach which you might do, and feel that in your mourning you have donehonour to your departed husband as well as to yourself. You have greatestates--you can improve them, and especially you can improve thecondition of your peasants, and strengthen their loyalty to you and tothe State. You can find many a village on your lands where a schoolmight be established, an asylum built, a road opened--anything whichshall give employment to the poor, and which, when finished, shallbenefit their condition. Especially about Astrardente they are very poor;I know the country well. In six months you might change many things; andthen you might return to Rome next winter. If it pleases you, you can doanything with society. You can make your house a centre for a newparty--the oldest of all parties it is, but it would now be thought newhere. We have no centre. There is no _salon_ in the good old sense of theword--no house where all that is intelligent, all that is powerful, allthat is influential, is irresistibly drawn. To make a centre of that kindwould be a worthy object, it seems to me. You would surround yourselfwith men of genius; you would bring those together who cannot meetelsewhere; you would give a vigorous tone to a society which is fastfalling to decay from inanition; you could become a power, a real power, not only in Rome, but in Europe; you could make your house famous as thepoint from which, in Rome, all that is good and great should radiate tothe very ends of the earth. You could do all this in your youngwidowhood, and you would not dishonour the memory of him you loved sodearly. "

Corona looked earnestly at the Cardinal as he enlarged upon thepossibilities of her life. What he said seemed true and good. It openedto her a larger field than she had dreamed of half an hour ago. Especially the plan of working for the improvement of her estates andpeople attracted her. She wanted to do something at once--somethinggood, and something worth doing. 

"I believe you are right, " she said. "I shall die if I am idle. "

"I know I am right, " returned the Cardinal, in a tone of conviction. "Notthat I propose all this as an unalterable plan for you. I would not haveyou think I mean to lay down any system, or even to advise you at all. Iwas merely thinking aloud. I am too happy if my thoughts please you--ifanything I say can even for a moment relieve your mind from the pressureof this sudden grief. It is not consolation I offer you. I am not apriest, but a man of action; and it is action I propose to you, not asan anodyne for sorrow, but simply because it is right that in these dayswe should all strive with a good will. Your peasants are many of them inan evil case: you can save them and make them happy, even though you findno happiness for yourself. Our social world here is falling to pieces, going astray after strange gods, and especially after Madame Mayer andher _lares_ and _penates_, young Valdarno and Del Ferice: it is in yourpower to create a new life here, or at least to contribute greatlytowards reestablishing the social balance. I say, do this thing, if youwill, for it is a good thing to do. At all events, while you are buildingroads--and perhaps schools--at Astrardente, you can think over the courseyou will afterwards pursue. And now, my dear Duchessa, I have detainedyou far too long. Forgive me if I have wearied you, for I have greatthings at heart, and must sometimes speak of them though I speak feebly. Count on me always for any assistance you may require. Bear with me if Iweary you, for I was a good friend of him we both mourn. "

"Thank you--you have given me good thoughts, " said Corona, simply. 

So the courtly Cardinal rose and took his leave, and once more Corona wasleft alone. It was a strange thing that, while he disclaimed all power tocomfort her, and denied that consolation was possible in her case, shehad nevertheless listened to him with interest, and now found herselfthinking seriously of what he had said. He seemed to have put herthoughts into shape, and to have given direction to that sense of powershe had already begun to feel. For the first time in her life she feltsomething like sympathy for the Cardinal, and she lingered for someminutes alone in the great reception-room, wondering whether she couldaccomplish any of the things he had proposed to her. At all events, therewas nothing now to hinder her departure; and she thought with somethinglike pleasure of the rocky Sabines, the solitude of the mountains, thesimple faces of the people about her place, and of the quiet life sheintended to lead there during the next six months. 

But the Cardinal went on his way, rolling along through, the narrowstreets in his great coach. Leaning far back in his cushioned seat, hecould just catch a glimpse of the people as he passed, and his quick eyesrecognised many, both high and low. But he did not care to show himself, for he felt himself disliked, and deep in his finely organised naturethere lay a sensitiveness which was wounded by the popular hatred. Ithurt him to see the lowering glances of the poor man, and to return theforced bow of the rich man who feared him. He often longed to be able toexplain many things to them both, to the rich and to the poor; and then, knowing how impossible it was that he should be understood by either, he sighed somewhat bitterly, and hid himself still deeper in hiscarriage. Few men in the midst of the world have stood so wholly alone asCardinal Antonelli. 

To-day, however, he had an appointment which he anticipated with a sortof interest quite new to him. Anastase Gouache was coming to begin hisportrait, and Anastase was an object of curiosity to him. It would havesurprised the young Frenchman had he guessed how carefully he waswatched, for he was a modest fellow, and did not think himself of verymuch importance. He allowed Donna Tullia and her friends to come to hisstudio whenever they pleased, and he listened to their shallow talk, andjoined, occasionally in the conversation, letting them believe that hesympathised with them, simply because his own ideas were unsettled. Itwas a good thing for him to paint a portrait of Donna Tullia, for it madehim the fashion, and he had small scruple in agreeing with her views solong as he had no fixed convictions of his own. She and her set regardedhim as a harmless boy, and looked upon his little studio as aconvenience, in payment whereof they pushed him into society, and spreadabroad the rumour that he was the rising artist of the day. But the greatCardinal had seen him more than once, and had conceived a liking forhis delicate intellectual face and unobtrusive manner. He had watched himand caused him to be watched, and his interest had increased, and finallyhe had taken a fancy to have a portrait of himself painted by the youngfellow. This was the day appointed for the first sitting; and when theCardinal reached his lodgings, high up in the Vatican pile, he foundAnastase Gouache waiting for him in the small ante-chamber. 

The prime minister was not luxuriously lodged. Four rooms sufficedhim--to wit, the said ante-chamber, bare and uncarpeted, and furnishedwith three painted wooden box benches; a comfortable study linedthroughout with shelves and lockers, furnished with half-a-dozen largechairs and a single writing-table, whereon stood a crucifix and aninkstand; beyond this a bedroom and a small dining-room: that was all. The drawers of the lockers and bookcases contained a correspondence whichwould have astonished Europe, and a collection of gems and preciousstones unrivalled in the world; but there was nothing in the shape ofornament visible to the eye, unless one were to class under that head afairly good bust of Pius IX, which stood upon a plain marble pedestalin one corner. Gouache followed the great man into this study. He wassurprised by the simplicity of the apartment; but he felt in sympathywith it, and with the Cardinal himself; and with the intuitive knowledgeof a true artist, he foresaw that he was to paint a successful portrait. 

The Cardinal busied himself with some papers while the painter silentlymade his preparations. 

"If your Eminence is ready?" suggested Gouache. 

"At your service, my friend, " replied the Cardinal, blandly. "How shall Isit? The portrait must be taken in full face, I think. "

"By all means. Here, I think--so; the light is very good at this hour, but a little later we shall have the sun. If your Eminence will look atme--a little more to the left--I think that will do. I will draw it in incharcoal and your Eminence can judge. "

"Precisely, " returned the Cardinal. "You will paint the devil evenblacker than he is. "

"The devil?" repeated Gouache, raising his eyebrows with a slight smile. "I was not aware--"

"And yet you have been in Rome four years!"

"I am very careful, " returned Gouache. "I never by any chance hear anyevil of those whom I am to paint. "

"You have very well-bred ears, Monsieur Gouache. I fear that if I hadattended some of the meetings in your studio while Donna Tullia washaving her portrait painted, I should have heard strange things. Havethey all escaped you?"

Gouache was silent for a moment. It did not surprise him to learn thatthe omniscient Cardinal was fully acquainted with the doings in hisstudio, but he looked curiously at the great man before he answered. TheCardinal's small gleaming eyes met his with the fearlessness ofsuperiority. 

"I remember nothing but good of your Eminence, " the painter replied atlast, with a laugh; and applying himself to his work, he began to draw inthe outline of the Cardinal's head. The words he had just heard, implyingas they did a thorough knowledge of the minutest details of social life, would have terrified Madame Mayer, and would perhaps have driven DelFerice out of the Papal States in fear of his life. Even the good-naturedand foolish Valdarno might reasonably have been startled; but Anastasewas made of different stuff. His grandfather had helped to storm theBastille, his father had been among the men of 1848; there wasrevolutionary blood in his veins, and he distinguished between real andimaginary conspiracy with the unerring certainty of instinct, as thebloodhound knows the track of man from the slot of meaner game. Helaughed at Donna Tullia, he distrusted Del Ferice, and to some extent heunderstood the Cardinal. And the statesman understood him, too, and wasinterested by him. 

"You may as well forget their chatter. It does me no harm, and it amusesthem. It does not seem to surprise you that I should know all about it, however. You have good nerves, Monsieur Gouache. "

"Of course your Eminence can send me out of Rome tomorrow, if youplease, " answered Gouache, with perfect unconcern. "But the portrait willnot be finished so soon. "

"No--that would be a pity. You shall stay. But the others--what would youadvise me to do with them?" asked the Cardinal, his bright eyes twinklingwith amusement. 

"If by the others your Eminence means my friends, " replied Gouache, quietly, "I can assure you that none of them will ever cause you theslightest inconvenience. "

"I believe you are right--their ability to annoy me is considerablyinferior to their inclination. Is it not so?"

"If your Eminence will allow me, " said Gouache, rising suddenly andlaying down his charcoal pencil, "I will pin this curtain across thewindow. The sun is beginning to come in. "

He had no intention of answering any questions. If the Cardinal knew ofthe meetings in the Via San Basilio, that was not Gouache's fault;Gouache would certainly not give any further information. The statesmanhad expected as much, and was not at all surprised at the young man'ssilence. 

"One of those young gentlemen seems to have met his match, at allevents, " he remarked, presently. "I am sorry it should have come about inthat way. "

"Your Eminence might easily have prevented the duel. "

"I knew nothing about it, " answered the Cardinal, glancing keenly atAnastase. 

"Nor I, " said the artist, simply. 

"You see my information is not always so good as people imagine, myfriend. "

"It is a pity, " remarked Gouache. "It would have been better had poor DelFerice been killed outright. The matter would have terminated there. "

"Whereas--"

"Whereas Del Ferice will naturally seek an occasion for revenge. "

"You speak as though you were a friend of Don Giovanni's, " said theCardinal. 

"No; I have a very slight acquaintance with him. I admire him, he hassuch a fine head. I should be sorry if anything happened to him. "

"Do you think Del Ferice is capable of murdering him?"

"Oh no! He might annoy him a great deal. "

"I think not, " answered the Cardinal, thoughtfully. "Del Ferice wasafraid that Don Giovanni would marry Donna Tullia and spoil his ownprojects. But Giovanni will not think of that again. "

"No; I suppose Don Giovanni will marry the Duchessa d'Astrardente. "

"Of course, " replied the Cardinal. For some minutes there was silence. Gouache, while busy with his pencil, was wondering at the interest thegreat man took in such details of the Roman social life. The Cardinal wasthinking of Corona, whom he had seen but half an hour ago, and wasrevolving in his mind the advantages that might be got by allying her toGiovanni. He had in view for her a certain Serene Highness whom he wishedto conciliate, and whose circumstances were not so splendid as to makeCorona's fortune seem insignificant to him. But on the other hand, theCardinal had no Serene Highness ready for Giovanni, and feared lest heshould after all marry Donna Tullia, and get into the opposite camp. 

"You are from Paris, Monsieur Gouache, I believe, " said the Cardinal atlast. 

"Parisian of the Parisians, your Eminence. "

"How can you bear to live in exile so long? You have not been to yourhome these four years, I think. "

"I would rather live in Rome for the present. I will go to Paris someday. It will always be a pleasant recollection to have seen Rome in thesedays. My friends write me that Paris is gay, but not pleasant. "

"You think there will soon be nothing of this time left but therecollection of it?" suggested the Cardinal. 

"I do not know what to think. The times seem unsettled, and so are myideas. I was told that your Eminence would help me to decide what tobelieve. " Gouache smiled pleasantly, and looked up. 

"And who told you that?"

"Don Giovanni Saracinesca. "

"But I must have some clue to what your ideas are, " said the Cardinal. "When did Don Giovanni say that?"

"At Prince Frangipani's. He had been talking with your Eminence--perhapshe had come to some conclusion in consequence, " suggested Gouache. 

"Perhaps so, " answered the great man, with a look of considerablesatisfaction. "At all events I am flattered by the opinion he gave you ofme. Perhaps I may help you to decide. What are your opinions? or rather, what would you like your opinions to be?"

"I am an ardent republican, " said Gouache, boldly. It needed no ordinarycourage to make such a statement to the incarnate chief of reactionarypolitics in those days--within the walls of the Vatican, not a hundredyards from the private apartments of the Holy Father. But CardinalAntonelli smiled blandly, and seemed not in the least surprised noroffended. 

"Republicanism is an exceedingly vague term, Monsieur Gouache, " he said. "But with what other opinions do you wish to reconcile yourrepublicanism?"

"With those held by the Church. I am a good Catholic, and I desire toremain one--indeed I cannot help remaining one. "

"Christianity is not vague, at all events, " answered the Cardinal, who, to tell the truth, was somewhat astonished at the artist's juxtapositionof two such principles. "In the first place, allow me to observe, myfriend, that Christianity is the purest form of a republic which theworld has ever seen, and that it therefore only depends upon your goodsense to reconcile in your own mind two ideas which from the first havebeen indissolubly bound together. "

It was Gouache's turn to be startled at the Cardinal's confidence. 

"I am afraid I must ask your Eminence for some further explanation, " hesaid. "I had no idea that Christianity and republicanism were the samething. "

"Republicanism, " returned the statesman, "is a vague term, invented in anabortive attempt to define by one word the mass of inextricable disorderarising in our times from the fusion of socialistic ideas with ideaspurely republican. If you mean to speak of this kind of thing, you mustdefine precisely your position in regard to socialism, and in regard tothe pure theory of a commonwealth. If you mean to speak of a realrepublic in any known form, such as the ancient Roman, the Dutch, or theAmerican, I understand you without further explanation. "

"I certainly mean to speak of the pure republic. I believe that under apure republic the partition of wealth would take care of itself. "

"Very good, my friend. Now, with regard to the early Christians, shouldyou say that their communities were monarchic, or aristocratic, oroligarchic?"

"None of those three, I should think, " said Gouache. 

"There are only two systems left, then--democracy and hierarchy. You willprobably say that the government of the early Christians was of thelatter kind--that they were governed by priests, in fact. But on theother hand, there is no doubt that both those who governed, and those whowere governed by them, had all things in common, regarded no man asnaturally superior to another, and preached a fraternity and equality atleast as sincere as those inculcated by the first French Republic. I donot see how you can avoid calling such community a republic, seeing thatthere was an equal partition of wealth; and defining it as a democraticone, seeing that they all called each other brethren. "

"But the hierarchy--what became of it?" inquired Gouache. 

"The hierarchy existed within the democracy, by common consent and forthe public good, and formed a second democracy of smaller extent butgreater power. Any man might become a priest, any priest might become abishop, any bishop might become pope, as surely as any born citizen ofRome could become consul, or any native of New York may be electedPresident of the United States. Now in theory this was beautiful, and inpractice the democratic spirit of the hierarchy, the smaller republic, has survived in undiminished vigour to the present day. In the originalChristian theory the whole world should now be one vast republic, inwhich all Christians should call each other brothers, and support eachother in worldly as well as spiritual matters. Within this should existthe smaller republic of the hierarchy, by common consent, --an electivebody, recruiting its numbers from the larger, as it does now; choosingits head, the sovereign Pontiff, as it does now, to be the head of bothChurch and State; eminently fitted for that position, for the very simplereason that in a community organised and maintained upon such principles, in which, by virtue of the real and universal love of religion, the bestmen would find their way into the Church, and would ultimately find theirway to the papal throne. "

"Your Eminence states the case very convincingly, " answered Gouache. "Butwhy has the larger republic, which was to contain the smaller one, ceasedto exist? or rather, why did it never come into existence?"

"Because man has not yet fulfilled his part in the great contract. Thematter lies in a nutshell. The men who enter the Church are sufficientlyintelligent and well educated to appreciate the advantages of Christiandemocracy, fellowship, solidarity, and brotherly love. The republic ofthe Church has therefore survived, and will survive for ever. The men whoform the majority, on the other hand, have never had either theintelligence or the education to understand that democracy is theultimate form of government: instead of forming themselves into afederation, they have divided themselves into hostile factions, callingthemselves nations, and seeking every occasion for destroying andplundering each other, frequently even turning against the Churchherself. The Church has committed faults in history, without doubt, buton the whole she has nobly fulfilled her contract, and reaps the fruitsof fidelity in the vigour and unity she displays after eighteencenturies. Man, on the other hand, has failed to do his duty, and allraces of men are consequently suffering for their misdeeds; the nationsare divided against each other, and every nation is a house dividedagainst itself, which sooner or later shall fall. "

"But, " objected Gouache, "allowing, as one easily may, that all this istrue, your Eminence is always called reactionary in politics. Does thataccord with these views?"

Gouache believed the question unanswerable, but as he put it he workedcalmly on with his pencil, labouring hard to catch something of theCardinal's striking expression in the rough drawing he was making. 

"Nothing is easier, my friend, " replied the statesman. "The republic ofthe Church is driven to bay. We are on a war footing. For the sake ofstrength we are obliged to hold together so firmly that for the time wecan only think of maintaining old traditions without dreaming of progressor spending time in experiments. When we have weathered the storm weshall have leisure for improving much that needs improvement. Do notthink that if I am alive twenty years hence I shall advise what I advisenow. We are fighting now, and we have no time to think of the arts ofpeace. We shall have peace some day. We shall lose an ornament or twofrom our garments in the struggle, but our body will not be injured, andin time of peace our ornaments will be restored to us fourfold. But nowthere is war and rumour of war. There is a vast difference between theideal republic which I was speaking of, and the real anarchy andconfusion which would be brought about by what is called republicanism. "

"In other words, if the attack upon the Church were suddenly abandoned, your Eminence would immediately abandon your reactionary policy, " saidGouache, "and adopt progressive views?"

"Immediately, " replied the Cardinal. 

"I see, " said Gouache. "A little more towards me--just so that I cancatch that eye. Thank you--that will do. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

When Del Ferice was thought sufficiently recovered of his wound to hearsome of the news of the day, which was about three weeks after the duel, he learned that Astrardente was dead, that the Duchessa had inheritedall his fortune, and that she was on the point of leaving Rome. It wouldbe hard to say how the information of her approaching departure had gotabroad; it might be merely a clever guess of the gossips, or it might bethe report gleaned from her maid by all the other maids in town. Be thatas it may, when Del Ferice heard it he ground his teeth as he lay uponhis bed, and swore that if it were possible to prevent the Duchessad'Astrardente from leaving town he would do it. In his judgment itwould be a dangerous thing to let Corona and Giovanni part, and to allowDonna Tullia free play in her matrimonial designs. Of course Giovanniwould never marry Madame Mayer, especially as he was now at liberty tomarry the Astrardente; but Madame Mayer herself might become fatallyinterested in him, as she already seemed inclined to be, and this wouldbe bad for Del Ferice's own prospects. It would not do to squander any ofthe advantages gained by the death of the old Duca. Giovanni must behastened into a marriage with Corona; it would be time enough to think ofrevenge upon him afterwards for the ghastly wound that took so long toheal. 

It was a pity that Del Ferice and Donna Tullia were not allies, for ifMadame Mayer hated Corona d'Astrardente, Ugo del Ferice detested Giovanniwith equal virulency, not only because he had been so terribly worstedby him in the duel his own vile conduct had made inevitable, but becauseDonna Tullia loved him and was doing her very best to marry him. Evidently the best thing to be done was to produce a misunderstandingbetween the two; but it would be dangerous to play any tricks withGiovanni, for he held Del Ferice in his power by his knowledge of thatdisagreeable scene behind the plants in the conservatory. Saracinesca wasa great man in society and celebrated for his honesty; people wouldbelieve him rather than Del Ferice, if the story got abroad. This wouldnot do. The next best thing was to endeavour to draw Giovanni and Coronatogether as quickly as possible, to precipitate their engagement, andthus to clear the field of a dangerous rival. Del Ferice was a veryobstinate and a very intelligent man. He meant more than ever to marryDonna Tullia himself, and he would not be hindered in the accomplishmentof his object by an insignificant scruple. 

He was not allowed to speak much, lest the effort should retard thehealing of his throat; but in the long days and nights, when he laysilent in his quiet lodging, he had ample time to revolve many schemes inhis brain. At last he no longer needed the care of the Sister of Mercy;his servant took charge of him, and the surgeon came twice a-day to dresshis wound. He lay in bed one morning watching Temistocle, who movednoiselessly about the room. 

"Temistocle, " he said, "you are a youth of intelligence: you must use thegifts nature has given you. "

Temistocle was at that time not more than five-and-twenty years of age. He had a muddy complexion, a sharp hooked nose, and a cast in one eyethat gave him a singularly unpleasant expression. As his master addressedhim, he stood still and listened with a sort of distorted smile inacknowledgment of the compliment made him. 

"Temistocle, you must find out when the Duchessa d'Astrardente means toleave Rome, and where she is going. You know somebody in the house?"

"Yes, sir--the under-cook; he stood godfather with me for the baby of acousin of mine--the young man who drives Prince Valdarno's privatebrougham: a clever fellow, too. "

"And this under-cook, " said Del Ferice, who was not above entering intodetails with his servant--"is he a discreet character?"

"Oh, for that, you may trust him. Only sometimes--" Temistocle grinned, and made a gesture which signified drinking. 

"And when he is drunk?" asked Del Ferice. 

"When he is drunk he tells everything; but he never remembers anything hehas been told, or has said. When he is drunk he is a dictionary; but thefirst draught of water washes out his memory like a slate. "

"Well--give me my purse; it is under my pillow. Go. Here is a _scudo_, Temistocle. You can make him very drunk for that. "

Temistocle hesitated, and looked at the money. 

"Another couple of _pauls_ would make it safer, " he remarked. 

"Well, there they are; but you must make him very drunk indeed. You mustfind out all he knows, and you must keep sober yourself. "

"Leave that to me. I will make of him a sponge; he shall be squeezed dry, and sopped again and squeezed again. I will be his confessor. "

"If you find out what I want, I will give you--" Del Ferice hesitated; hedid not mean to give too much. 

"The grey trousers?" asked Temistocle, with an avaricious light in theeye which did not wander. 

"Yes, " answered his master, rather regretfully; "I suppose you must havethe grey trousers at last. "

"For those grey trousers I will upset heaven and earth, " returnedTemistocle in great glee. 

Nothing more was said on that day, but early on the following morning theman entered and opened the shutters, and removed the little oil-lightthat had burned all night. He kept one eye upon his master, who presentlyturned slowly and looked inquiringly at him. 

"The Duchessa goes to Astrardente in the Sabines on the day afterto-morrow, " said Temistocle. "It is quite sure that she goes, because shehas already sent out two pairs of horses, and several boxes of effects, besides the second housemaid and the butler and two grooms. "

"Ah! that is very good. Temistocle, I think I will get up this morningand sit in the next room. "

"And the grey trousers?"

"Take them, and wear them in honour of the most generous master living, "said Del Ferice, impressively. "It is not every master who gives hisservant a pair of grey trousers. Remember that. "

"Heaven bless you, Signor Conte!" exclaimed Temistocle, devoutly. 

Del Ferice lost no time. He was terribly weak still, and his woundwas not entirely healed yet; but he set himself resolutely to hiswriting-table, and did not rise until he had written two letters. Thefirst was carefully written in a large round hand, such as is used bycopyists in Italy, resembling the Gothic. It was impossible to connectthe laboriously formed and conventional letters with any particularperson. It was very short, as follows:--

"It may interest you to know that the Duchessa d'Astrardente is going toher castle in the Sabines on the day after to-morrow. "

This laconic epistle Del Ferice carefully directed to Don GiovanniSaracinesca at his palace, and fastened a stamp upon it; but he concealedthe address from Temistocle. The second letter was longer, and written inhis own small and ornate handwriting. It was to Donna Tullia Mayer. It ran thus:--

"You would forgive my importuning you with a letter, most charming DonnaTullia, if you could conceive of my desolation and loneliness. For morethan three weeks I have been entirely deprived of the pleasure, theexquisite delight, of conversing with her for whom I have suffered. Istill suffer so much. Ah! if my paper were a cloth of gold, and my pen inmoving traced characters of diamond and pearl, yet any words which speakof you would be ineffectually honoured by such transcription! In themiserable days and nights I have passed between life and death, it isyour image which has consoled me, the echo of your delicate voice whichhas soothed my pain, the remembrance of the last hours I spent with youwhich has gilded the feverish dreams of my sickness. You are theguardian angel of a most unhappy man, Donna Tullia. Do you know it? Butfor you I would have wooed death as a comforter. As it is, I havestruggled desperately to keep my grasp upon life, in the hope of oncemore seeing your smile and hearing your happy laugh; perhaps--I dare notexpect it--I may receive from you some slight word of sympathy, somelittle half-sighed hint that you do not altogether regret having been inthese long weeks the unconscious comforter of my sorrowing spirit andtormented body. You would hardly know me, could you see me; but savingfor your sweet spiritual presence, which has rescued me from the jaws ofdeath, you would never have seen me again. Is it presumption in me towrite thus? Have you ever given me a right to speak in these words? I donot know. I do not care. Man has a right to be grateful. It is the firstand most divine right I possess, to feel and to express my gratitude. Forout of the store of your kindness shown me when I was in the world, strong and happy in the privilege of your society, I have drawn healingmedicine in my sickness, as tormented souls in purgatory get refreshmentfrom the prayers of good and kind people who remember them on earth. So, therefore, if I have said too much, forgive me, forgive the heartfeltgratitude which prompts me; and believe still in the respectful andundying devotion of the humblest of your servants, UGO DEL FERICE. "

Del Ferice read over what he had written with considerable satisfaction, and having addressed his letter to Donna Tullia, he lost no time indespatching Temistocle with it, instructing him to ask if there would bean answer. As soon as the man was out of the house, Ugo rang for hislandlady, and sent for the porter's little boy, to whom he delivered theletter to Don Giovanni, to be dropped into the nearest post-box. Then helay down, exhausted with his morning's work. In the course of two hoursTemistocle returned from Donna Tullia's house with a little scentednote--too much scented, and the paper just a shade too small. She took nonotice of what he had said in his carefully penned epistle; but merelytold him she was sincerely glad that he was better, and asked him to callas soon as he could. Ugo was not disappointed; he had expected nocompromising expression of interest in response to his own effusions; andhe was well pleased with the invitation, for it showed that what he hadwritten had produced the desired result. 

Don Giovanni Saracinesca received the anonymous note late in the evening. He had, of course, together with his father, deposited cards ofcondolence at the Palazzo Astrardente, and he had been alone to inquireif the Duchessa would receive him. The porter had answered that, forthe present, there were standing orders to admit no one; and as Giovannicould boast of no especial intimacy, and had no valid excuse to give, hewas obliged to be satisfied. He had patiently waited in the VillaBorghese and by the band-stand on the Pincio, taking it for granted thatsooner or later Corona's carriage would appear; but when at last he hadseen her brougham, she had driven rapidly past him, thickly veiled, andhe did not think she had even noticed him. He would have written to her, but he was still unable to hold a pen; and he reflected that, after all, it would have been a hideous farce for him to offer condolences andsympathy, however much he might desire to hide from himself his secretsatisfaction at her husband's death. Too proud to think of obtaininginformation through such base channels as Del Ferice was willing to use, he was wholly ignorant of Corona's intentions; and it was a brilliantproof of Ugo's astuteness that he had rightly judged Giovanni's positionwith regard to her, and justly estimated the value of the news conveyedby his anonymous note. 

Saracinesca read the scrap of writing, and tossed it angrily into thefire. He hated underhand dealings, and scorned himself for the interestthe note excited in him, wondering who could find advantage in informinghim of the Duchessa's movements. But the note took effect, nevertheless, although he was ashamed of it, and all night he pondered upon what ittold him. The next day, at three o'clock, he went out alone, and walkedrapidly towards the Palazzo Astrardente. He was unable to bear thesuspense any longer; the thought that Corona was going away, apparentlyto shut herself up in the solitude of the ancient fortress, for anyunknown number of months, and that he might not see her until the autumn, was intolerable. He knew that by the mere use of his name he could atleast make sure that she should know he was at her door, and hedetermined to make the attempt. He waited a long time, pacing slowly thebroad flagstones beneath the arch of the palace, while the porterhimself went up with his card and message. The fellow had hesitated, butDon Giovanni Saracinesca was not a man to be refused by a servant. Atlast the porter returned, and, bowing to the ground, said that theSignora Duchessa would receive him. 

In five minutes he was waiting alone in the great drawing-room. It hadcost Corona a struggle to allow him to be admitted. She hesitated long, for it seemed like a positive wrong to her husband's memory, but thewoman in her yielded at last; she was going away on the followingmorning, and she could not refuse to see him for once. She hesitatedagain as she laid her hand upon the latch of the door, knowing that hewas in the room beyond; then at last she entered. 

Her face was very pale and very grave. Her simple gown of close-fittingblack set off her height and figure, and flowed softly in harmony withher stately movements as she advanced towards Giovanni, who stood almostawestruck in the middle of the room. He could not realise that this darksad princess was the same woman to whom less than a month ago he hadspoken such passionate words, whom he had madly tried to take into hisarms. Proud as he was, it seemed presumptuous in him to think of love inconnection with so royal a woman; and yet he knew that he loved herbetter and more truly than he had done a month before. She held out herhand to him, and he raised it to his lips. Then they both sat down insilence. 

"I had despaired of ever seeing you again, " said Giovanni at last, speaking in a subdued voice. "I had wished for some opportunity oftelling you how sincerely I sympathise with you in your great loss. " Itwas a very formal speech, such as men make in such situations. It mighthave been better, but he was not eloquent; even his rough old father hada better command of language on ordinary occasions, though Giovanni couldspeak well enough when he was roused. But he felt constrained in thepresence of the woman he adored. Corona herself hardly knew how toanswer. 

"You are very kind, " she said, simply. 

"I wish it were possible to be of any service to you, " he answered. "Ineed not tell you that both my father and myself would hold it an honourto assist you in any way. " He mentioned his father from a feeling ofdelicacy; he did not wish to put himself forward. 

"You are very kind, " repeated Corona, gravely. "I have not had anyannoyance. I have an excellent man of business. "

There was a moment's pause. Then she seemed to understand that he wasembarrassed, and spoke again. 

"I am glad to see that you are recovered, " she said. 

"It was nothing, " answered Giovanni, with a glance at his right arm, which was still confined in a bandage of black silk, but was no longer ina sling. 

"It was very wrong of you, " returned Corona, looking seriously into hiseyes. "I do not know why you fought, but it was wrong; it is a greatsin. "

Giovanni smiled a little. 

"We all have to sin sometimes, " he said. "Would you have me stand quietlyand see an abominable piece of baseness, and not lift a hand to punishthe offender?"

"People who do base things always come to a bad end, " answered theDuchessa. 

"Perhaps. But we poor sinners are impatient to see justice done at once. I am sorry to have done anything you consider wrong, " he added, with ashade of bitterness. "Will you permit me to change the subject? Areyou thinking of remaining in Rome, or do you mean to go away?"

"I am going up to Astrardente to-morrow, " answered Corona, readily. "Iwant to be alone and in the country. "

Giovanni showed no surprise: his anonymous information had been accurate;Del Ferice had not parted with the grey trousers in vain. 

"I suppose you are right, " he said. "But at this time of year I shouldthink the mountains would be very cold. "

"The castle is comfortable. It has been recently fitted up, and there aremany warm rooms in it. I am fond of the old place, and I need to be alonefor a long time. "

Giovanni thought the conversation was becoming oppressive. He thought ofwhat had passed between them at their last meeting in the conservatory ofthe Palazzo Frangipani. 

"I shall myself pass the summer in Saracinesca, " he said, suddenly. "Youknow it is not very far. May I hope that I may sometimes be permitted tosee you?"

Corona had certainly had no thought of seeing Giovanni when she haddetermined to go to Astrardente; she had not been there often, and hadnot realised that it was within reach of the Saracinesca estate. Shestarted slightly. 

"Is it so near?" she asked. 

"Half a day's ride over the hills, " replied Giovanni. 

"I did not know. Of course, if you come, you will not be deniedhospitality. "

"But you would rather not see me?" asked Saracinesca, in a tone ofdisappointment. He had hoped for something more encouraging. Coronaanswered courageously. 

"I would rather not see you. Do not think me unkind, " she added, hervoice softening a little. "Why need there be any explanations? Do not tryto see me. I wish you well; I wish you more--all happiness--but do nottry to see me. "

Giovanni's face grew grave and pale. He was disappointed, evenhumiliated; but something told him that it was not coldness whichprompted her request. 

"Your commands are my laws, " he answered. 

"I would rather that instead of regarding what I ask you as a command, you should feel that it ought to be the natural prompting of your ownheart, " replied Corona, somewhat coldly. 

"Forgive me if my heart dictates what my obedience to you musteffectually forbid, " said Giovanni. "I beseech you to be satisfied thatwhat you ask I will perform--blindly. "

"Not blindly--you know all my reasons. "

"There is that between you and me which annihilates reason, " answeredGiovanni, his voice trembling a little. 

"There is that in my position which should command your respect, " saidCorona. She feared he was going too far, and yet this time she knew shehad not said too much, and that in bidding him avoid her, she was onlydoing what was strictly necessary for her peace. "I am a widow, " shecontinued, very gravely; "I am a woman, and I am alone. My onlyprotection lies in the courtesy I have a right to expect from men likeyou. You have expressed your sympathy; show it then by cheerfullyfulfilling my request. I do not speak in riddles, but very plainly. Yourecall to me a moment of great pain, and your presence, the mere fact ofmy receiving you, seems a disloyalty to the memory of my husband. I havegiven you no reason to believe that I ever took a greater interest in youthan such as I might take in a friend. I hourly pray that this--this toogreat interest you show in me, may pass quickly, and leave you what youwere before. You see I do not speak darkly, and I do not mean to speakunkindly. Do not answer me, I beseech you, but take this as my last word. Forget me if you can--"

"I cannot, " said Giovanni, deeply moved. 

"Try. If you cannot, God help you! but I am sure that if you tryfaithfully, you will succeed. And now you must go, " she said, in gentlertones. "You should not have come--I should not have let you see me. Butit is best so. I am grateful for the sympathy you have expressed. I donot doubt that you will do as I have asked you, and as you have promised. Good-bye. "

Corona rose to her feet, her hands folded before her. Giovanni had nochoice. She let her eyes rest upon him, not unkindly, but she did notextend her hand. He stood one moment in hesitation, then bowed and leftthe room without a word. Corona stood still, and her eyes followed hisretreating figure until at the door he turned once more and bent his headand then was gone. Then she fell back into her chair and gazed listlesslyat the wall opposite. 

"It is done, " she said at last. "I hope it is well done and wisely. "Indeed it had been a hard thing to say; but it was better to say it atonce than to regret an ill-timed indulgence when it should be too late. And yet it had cost her less to send him away definitely than it hadcost her to resist his passionate appeal a month ago. She seemed to havegained strength from her sorrows. So he was gone! She gave a sigh ofrelief, which was instantly followed by a sharp throb of pain, so suddenthat she hardly understood it. 

Her preparations were all made. She had at the last moment realised thatit was not fitting for her, at her age, to travel alone, nor to livewholly alone in her widowhood. She had revolved the matter in her mind, and had decided that there was no woman of her acquaintance whom shecould ask even for a short time to stay with her. She had no friends, norelations, none to turn to in such a need. It was not that she cared forcompany in her solitude; it was merely a question of propriety. Toovercome the difficulty, she obtained permission to take with her one ofthe sisters of a charitable order of nuns, a lady in middle life, butbroken down and in ill health from her untiring labours. The thing waseasily managed; and the next morning, on leaving the palace, she stoppedat the gate of the community and found Sister Gabrielle waiting with hermodest box. The nun entered the huge travelling carriage, and the twoladies set out for Astrardente. 

It was the first day of Carnival, and a memorably sad one for GiovanniSaracinesca. He would have been capable of leaving Rome at once, but thathe had promised Corona not to attempt to see her. He would have gone toSaracinesca for the mere sake of being nearer to her, had he notreflected that he would be encouraging all manner of gossip by so doing. But he determined that so soon as Lent began, he would declare hisintention of leaving the city for a year. No one ever went toSaracinesca, and by making a circuit he could reach the ancestralcastle without creating suspicion. He might even go to Paris for a fewdays, and have it supposed that he was wandering about Europe, for hecould trust his own servants implicitly; they were not of the type whowould drink wine at a tavern with Temistocle or any of his class. 

The old Prince came into his son's room in the morning and found himdisconsolately looking over his guns, for the sake of an occupation. 

"Well, Giovanni, " he said, "you have time to reflect upon your futureconduct. What! are you going upon a shooting expedition?"

"I wish I could. I wish I could find anything to do, " answered Giovanni, laying down the breech-loader and looking out of the window. "The worldis turned inside out like a beggar's pocket, and there is nothing in it. "

"So the Astrardente is gone, " remarked the Prince. 

"Yes; gone to live within twenty miles of Saracinesca, " replied Giovanni, with an angry intonation. 

"Do not go there yet, " said his father. "Leave her alone a while. Womenbecome frantic in solitude. "

"Do you think I am an idiot?" exclaimed Giovanni. "Of course I shall staywhere I am till Carnival is over. " He was not in a good humour. 

"Why are you so petulant?" retorted the old man. "I merely gave you myadvice. "

"Well, I am going to follow it. It is good. When Carnival is over I willgo away, and perhaps get to Saracinesca by a roundabout way, so that noone will know where I am. Will you not come too?"

"I daresay, " answered the Prince, who was always pleased when his sonexpressed a desire for his company. "I wish we lived in the good oldtimes. "

"Why?"

"We would make small scruple of besieging Astrardente and carrying offthe Duchessa for you, my boy, " said the Prince, grimly. 

Giovanni laughed. Perhaps the same idea had crossed his mind. He was notquite sure whether it was respectful to Corona to think of carrying heroff in the way his father suggested; but there was a curious flavour ofpossibility in the suggestion, coming as it did from a man whosegrandfather might have done such a thing, and whose great-grandfather wassaid to have done it. So strong are the instincts of barbaric dominationin races where the traditions of violence exist in an unbroken chain, that both father and son smiled at the idea as if it were quite natural, although Giovanni had only the previous day promised that he would noteven attempt to see Corona d'Astrardente without her permission. He didnot tell his father of his promise, however, for his more delicateinstinct made him sure that though he had acted rightly, his father wouldlaugh at his scruples, and tell him that women liked to be wooed roughly. 

Meanwhile Giovanni felt that Rome had become for him a vast solitude, andthe smile soon faded from his face at the thought that he must go outinto the world, and for Corona's sake act as though nothing had happened. 

CHAPTER XX. 

Poor Madame Mayer was in great anxiety of mind. She had not a greatamount of pride, but she made up for it by a plentiful endowment ofvanity, in which she suffered acutely. She was a good-natured womanenough, and by nature she was not vindictive; but she could not helpbeing jealous, for she was in love. She felt how Giovanni every dayevidently cared less and less for her society, and how, on the otherhand, Del Ferice was quietly assuring his position, so that peoplealready began to whisper that he had a chance of becoming her husband. She did not dislike Del Ferice; he was a convenient man of the world, whom she always found ready to help her when she needed help. But by dintof making use of him, she was beginning to feel in some way bound toconsider him as an element in her life, and she did not like theposition. The letter he had written her was of the kind a man mightwrite to the woman he loved; it bordered upon the familiar, even whilethe writer expressed himself in terms of exaggerated respect. Perhaps ifDel Ferice had been well, she would have simply taken no notice of whathe had written, and would not even have sent an answer; but she had notthe heart to repulse him altogether in his present condition. There was aphrase cunningly introduced and ambiguously worded, which seemed to meanthat he had come by his wound in her cause. He spoke of having sufferedand of still suffering so much for her, --did he mean to refer to pain ofbody or of mind? It was not certain. Don Giovanni had assured her thatshe was in no way concerned in the duel, and he was well known for hishonesty; nevertheless, out of delicacy, he might have desired to concealthe truth from her. It seemed like him. She longed for an opportunity oftalking with him and eliciting some explanation of his conduct. Therehad been a time when he used to visit her, and always spent some time inher society when they met in the world--now, on the contrary, he seemedto avoid her whenever he could; and in proportion as she noticed thathis manner cooled, her own jealousy against Corona d'Astrardenteincreased in force, until at last it seemed to absorb her love forGiovanni into itself and turn it into hate. 

Love is a passion which, like certain powerful drugs, acts differentlyupon each different constitution of temper; love also acts more stronglywhen it is unreturned or thwarted than when it is mutual and uneventful. If two persons love each other truly, and there is no obstacle to theirunion, it is probable that, without any violent emotion, their love willgrow and become stronger by imperceptible degrees, without changing inits natural quality; but if thwarted by untoward circumstances, thepassion, if true, attains suddenly to the dimensions which it wouldotherwise need years to reach. It sometimes happens that the nature inwhich this unforeseen and abnormal development takes place is unable tobear the precocious growth; then, losing sight of its identity in thestrange inward confusion of heart and mind which ensues, it is driven tomadness, and, breaking every barrier, either attains its object at asingle bound, or is shivered and ruined in dashing itself against theimpenetrable wall of complete impossibility. But again, in the last case, when love is wholly unreturned, it dies a natural death of atrophy, whenit has existed in a person of common and average nature; or if the man orwoman so afflicted be proud and of noble instincts, the passion becomes akind of religion to the heart--sacred, and worthy to be guarded from theeyes of the world; or, finally, again, where it finds vanity the dominantcharacteristic of the being in whom it has grown, it draws a poisonouslife from the unhealthy soil on which it is fed, and the tender seed oflove shoots and puts forth evil leaves and blossoms, and grows to be amost venomous tree, which is the tree of hatred. 

Donna Tullia was certainly a woman who belonged to the latter class ofindividuals. She had qualities which were perhaps good because not bad;but the mainspring of her being was an inordinate vanity; and it was inthis characteristic that she was most deeply wounded, as she foundherself gradually abandoned by Giovanni Saracinesca. She had been in thehabit of thinking of him as a probable husband; the popular talk hadfostered the idea, and occasional hints, aad smiling questions concerninghim, had made her feel that he could not long hang back. She had been inthe habit of treating him familiarly; and he, tutored by his father tothe belief that she was the best match for him, and reluctantly yieldingto the force of circumstances, which seemed driving him into matrimony, had suffered himself to be ordered about and made use of with anindifference which, in Madame Mayer's eyes, had passed for consent. Shehad watched with growing fear and jealousy his devotion to theAstrardente, which all the world had noticed; and at last her anger hadbroken out at the affront she had received at the Frangipani ball. Buteven then she loved Giovanni in her own vain way. It was not till Coronawas suddenly left a widow, that Donna Tullia began to realise thehopelessness of her position; and when she found how determinatelySaracinesca avoided her wherever they met, the affection she had hithertofelt for him turned into a bitter hatred, stronger even than her jealousyagainst the Duchessa. There was no scene of explanation between them, nowords passed, no dramatic situation, such as Donna Tullia loved; thechange came in a few days, and was complete. She had not even thesatisfaction of receiving some share of the attention Giovanni would havebestowed upon Corona if she had been in town. Not only had he grownutterly indifferent to her; he openly avoided her, and thereby inflictedupon her vanity the cruellest wound she was capable of feeling. 

With Donna Tullia to hate was to injure, to long for revenge--not of thekind which is enjoyed in secret, and known only to the person who suffersand the person who causes the suffering. She did not care for that somuch as she desired some brilliant triumph over her enemies before theworld; some startling instance of poetic justice, which should at oneblow do a mortal injury to Corona d'Astrardente, and bring GiovanniSaracinesca to her own feet by force, repentant and crushed, to be dealtwith as she saw fit, according to his misdeeds. But she had chosen heradversaries ill, and her heart misgave her. She had no hold upon them, for they were very strong people, very powerful, and very much respectedby their fellows. It was not easy to bring them into trouble; itseemed impossible to humiliate them as she wished to do, and yet her hatewas very strong. She waited and pondered, and in the meanwhile, when shemet Giovanni, she began to treat him with haughty coldness. But Giovannismiled, and seemed well satisfied that she should at last give over whatwas to him very like a persecution. Her anger grew hotter from its veryimpotence. The world saw it, and laughed. 

The days of Carnival came and passed, much as they usually pass, in awhirl of gaiety. Giovanni went everywhere, and showed his grave face; buthe talked little, and of course every one said he was melancholy at thedeparture of the Duchessa. Nevertheless he kept up an appearance ofinterest in what was done, and as nobody cared to risk asking himquestions, people left him in peace. The hurrying crowd of social lifefilled up the place occupied by old Astrardente and the beautifulDuchessa, and they were soon forgotten, for they had not had manyintimate friends. 

On the last night of Carnival, Del Ferice appeared once more. He had notbeen able to resist the temptation of getting one glimpse of the world heloved, before the wet blanket of Lent extinguished the lights of theballrooms and the jollity of the dancers. Every one was surprised to seehim, and most people were pleased; he was such a useful man, that he hadoften been missed during the time of his illness. He was improved inappearance; for though he was very pale, he had grown also extremelythin, and his features had gained delicacy. 

When Giovanni saw him, he went up to him, and the two men exchanged aformal salutation, while every one stood still for a moment to see themeeting. It was over in a moment, and society gave a little sigh ofrelief, as though a weight were removed from its mind. Then Del Fericewent to Donna Tullia's side. They were soon alone upon a small sofa in asmall room, whither a couple strayed now and then to remain a few minutesbefore returning to the ball. A few people passed through, but for morethan an hour they were not disturbed. 

"I am very glad to see you, " said Donna Tullia; "but I had hoped that thefirst time you went out you would have come to my house. "

"This is the first time I have been out--you see I should not have foundyou at home, since I have found you here. "

"Are you entirely recovered? You still look ill. "

"I am a little weak--but an hour with you will do me more good than allthe doctors in the world. "

"Thanks, " said Donna Tullia, with a little laugh. "It was strange to seeyou shaking hands with Giovanni Saracinesca just now. I suppose men haveto do that sort of thing. "

"You may be sure I would not have done it unless it had been necessary, "returned Del Ferice, bitterly. 

"I should think not. What an arrogant man he is!"

"You no longer like him?" asked Del Fence, innocently. 

"Like him! No; I never liked him, " replied Donna Tullia, quickly. 

"Oh, I thought you did; I used to wonder at it. " Ugo grew thoughtful. 

"I was always good to him, " said Donna Tullia. "But of course I can neverforgive him for what he did at the Frangipani ball. "

"No; nor I, " answered Del Ferice, readily. "I shall always hate him forthat too. "

"I do not say that I exactly hate him. "

"You have every reason. It appears to me that since my illness we haveanother idea in common, another bond of sympathy. " Del Ferice spokealmost tenderly; but he laughed immediately afterwards, as though notwishing his words to be interpreted too seriously. Donna Tullia smiledtoo; she was inclined to be very kind to him. 

"You are very quick to jump at conclusions, " she said, playing with herred fan and looking down. 

"It is always easy to reach that pleasant conclusion--that you and I arein sympathy, " he answered, with a tender glance, "even in regard tohating the same person. The bond would be close indeed, if it depended onthe opposite of hate. And yet I sometimes think it does. Are you not thebest friend I have in the world?"

"I do not know, --I am a good friend to you, " she answered. 

"Indeed you are; but do you not think it would be possible to cement ourfriendship even more closely yet?"

Donna Tullia looked up sharply; she had no idea of allowing him topropose to marry her. His face, however, was grave--unlike his usualexpression when he meant to be tender, and which she knew very well. 

"I do not know, " she said, with a light laugh. "How do you mean?"

"If I could do you some great service--if I could by any means satisfywhat is now your chief desire in life--would not that help to cement ourfriendship, as I said?"

"Perhaps, " she answered, thoughtfully. "But then you do not know--youcannot guess even--what I most wish at this moment. "

"I think I could, " said Del Ferice, fixing his eyes upon her. "I am sureI could, but I will not. I should risk offending you. "

"No; I will not be angry. You may guess if you please. " Donna Tullia inher turn looked, fixedly at her companion. They seemed trying to readeach other's thoughts. 

"Very well, " said Ugo at last, "I will tell you. You would like to seethe Astrardente dead and Giovanni Saracinesca profoundly humiliated. "

Donna Tullia started. But indeed there was nothing strange in hercompanion's knowledge of her feelings. Many people, being asked what shefelt, would very likely have said the same, for the world had seen herdiscomfiture and had laughed at it. 

"You are a very singular man, " she said, uneasily. 

"In other words, " replied Del Ferice, calmly, "I am perfectly right in mysurmises. I see it in your face. Of course, " he added, with a laugh, "itis mere jest. But the thing is quite possible. If I fulfilled your desireof just and poetic vengeance, what would you give me?"

Donna Tullia laughed in her turn, to conceal the extreme interest shefelt in what he said. 

"Whatever you like, " she said. But even while the laugh was on her lipsher eyes sought his uneasily. 

"Would you marry me, for instance, as the enchanted princess in the fairystory marries the prince who frees her from the spell?" He seemedimmensely amused at the idea. 

"Why not?" she laughed. 

"It would be the only just recompense, " he answered. "See how impossiblethe thing appears. And yet a few pounds of dynamite would blow up theGreat Pyramid. Giovanni Saracinesca is not so strong as he looks. "

"Oh, I would not have him hurt!" exclaimed Donna Tullia in alarm. 

"I do not mean physically, nor morally, but socially. "

"How?"

"That is my secret, " returned Del Ferice, quietly. 

"It sounds as though you were pretending to know more than you reallydo, " she answered. 

"No; it is the plain truth, " said Del Ferice, quietly. "If you were inearnest I might be willing to tell you what the secret is, but for a merejest I cannot. It is far too serious a matter. "

His tone convinced Donna Tullia that he really possessed some weaponwhich he could use against Don Giovanni if he pleased. She wondered onlywhy, if it were true, he did not use it, seeing that he must hateSaracinesca with all his heart. Del Ferice knew so much about people, somany strange and forgotten stories, he had so accurate a memory and soacute an intelligence, that it was by no means impossible that he was inpossession of some secret connected with the Saracinesca. They were, or were thought to be, wild, unruly men, both father and son; there wereendless stories about them both; and there was nothing more likely thanthat, in his numerous absences from home, Giovanni had at one time oranother figured in some romantic affair, which he would be sorry to havehad generally known. Del Ferice was wise enough to keep his own counsel;but now that his hatred was thoroughly roused, he might very likely makeuse of the knowledge he possessed. Donna Tullia's curiosity was excitedto its highest pitch, and at the same time she had pleasant visions ofthe possible humiliation of the man by whom she felt herself so ill-used. It would be worth while making the sacrifice in order to learn DelFence's secret. 

"This need not be a mere jest, " she said, after a moment's silence. 

"That is as you please, " returned Del Ferice, seriously. "If you arewilling to do your part, you may be sure that I will do mine. "

"You cannot think I really meant what I said just now, " replied DonnaTullia. "It would be madness. "

"Why? Am I halt, am I lame, am I blind? Am I repulsively ugly? Am I apauper, that I should care for your money? Have I not loved you--yes, loved you long and faithfully? Am I too old? Is there anything in thenature of things why I should not aspire to be your husband?"

It was strange. He spoke calmly, as though enumerating the advantages ofa friend. Donna Tullia looked at him for a moment, and then laughedoutright. 

"No, " she said; "all that is very true. You may aspire, as you call it. The question is, whether I shall aspire too. Of course, if we happened toagree in aspiring, we could be married to-morrow. "

"Precisely, " answered Del Ferice, perfectly unmoved. "I am not proposingto marry you. I am arguing the case. There is this in the case which isperhaps outside the argument--this, that I am devotedly attached to you. The case is the stronger for that. I was only trying to demonstrate thatthe idea of our being married is not so unutterably absurd. Youlaughingly said you would marry me if I could accomplish something whichwould please you very much. I laughed also; but now I seriously repeat myproposition, because I am convinced that although at first sight it mayappear extremely humourous, on a closer inspection it will be foundexceedingly practical. In union is strength. "

Donna Tullia was silent for a moment, and her face grew grave. There wasreason in what he said. She did not care for him--she had never thoughtof marrying him; but she recognised the justice of what he said. It wasclear that a man of his social position, received everywhere and intimatewith all her associates, might think of marrying her. He lookedpositively handsome since he was wounded; he was accomplished andintelligent; he had sufficient means of support to prevent him frombeing suspected of marrying solely for money, and he had calmly statedthat he loved her. Perhaps he did. It was flattering to Donna Tullia'svanity to believe him, and his acts had certainly not belied his words. He was by far the most thoughtful of all her admirers, and he affected totreat her always with a certain respect which she had never succeeded inobtaining from Valdarno and the rest. A woman who likes to be noisy, butis conscious of being a little vulgar, is always flattered when a manbehaves towards her with profound reverence. It will even sometimes cureher of her vulgarity. Donna Tullia reflected seriously upon what DelFerice had said. 

"I never had such a proposition made to me in my life, " she said. "Ofcourse you cannot think I regard it as a possible one, even now. Youcannot think I am so base as to sell myself for the sake of revenging aninsult once offered me. If I am to regard this as a proposal of marriage, I must decline it with thanks. If it is merely a proposition for analliance, I think the terms of the treaty are unequal. "

Del Ferice smiled. 

"I knew you well enough to know what your answer would be, " he said. "Inever insulted you by dreaming that you would accept such a proposition. But as a subject for speculation it is very pleasant. It is delightfulto me to think of being your husband; it is equally delightful to you tothink of the humiliation of an enemy. I took the liberty of uniting thetwo thoughts in one dream--a dream of unspeakable bliss for myself. "

Donna Tullia's gay humour returned. 

"You have certainly amused me very well for a quarter of an hour withyour dreams, " she answered. "I wish you would tell me what you know ofDon Giovanni. It must be very interesting if it can really seriouslyinfluence his life. "

"I cannot tell you. The secret is too valuable. "

"But if the thing you know has such power, why do you not use ityourself? You must hate him far more than I do. "

"I doubt that, " answered Del Ferice, with a cunning smile. "I do not useit, I do not choose to strike the blow, because I do not care enough forretribution merely on my own account. I do not pretend to generosity, butI am not interested enough in him to harm him, though I dislike himexceedingly. We had a temporary settlement of our difficulties the otherday, and we were both wounded. Poor Casalverde lost his head and did afoolish thing, and that cold-blooded villain Spicca killed him inconsequence. It seems to me that there has been enough blood spilled inour quarrel. I am prepared to leave him alone so far as I am concerned. But for you it would be different. I could do something worse than killhim if I chose. "

"For me?" said Donna Tullia. "What would you do for me?" She smiledsweetly, willing to use all her persuasion to extract his secret. 

"I could prevent Don Giovanni from marrying the Astrardente, as heintends to do, " he answered, looking straight at his companion. 

"How in the world could you do that?" she asked, in great surprise. 

"That, my dear friend, is my secret, as I said before. I cannot reveal itto you at present. "

"You are as dark as the Holy Office, " said Donna Tullia, a littleimpatiently. "What possible harm could it do if you told me?"

"What possible good either?" asked Del Ferice, in reply. "You could notuse it as I could. You would gain no advantage by knowing it. Of course, "he added, with a laugh, "if we entered into the alliance we were jestingabout, it would be different. "

"You will not tell me unless I promise to marry you?"

"Frankly, no, " he answered, still laughing. 

It exasperated Donna Tullia beyond measure to feel that he was inpossession of what she so coveted, and to feel that he was bargaining, half in earnest, for her life in exchange for his secret. She was almosttempted for one moment to assent, to say she would marry him, so greatwas her curiosity; it would be easy to break her promise, and laugh athim afterwards. But she was not a bad woman, as women of her class areconsidered. She had suffered a great disappointment, and her resentmentwas in proportion to her vanity. But she was not prepared to give a falsepromise for the sake of vengeance; she was only bad enough to imaginesuch bad faith possible. 

"But you said you never seriously thought I could accept such anengagement, " she objected, not knowing what to say. 

"I did, " replied Del Ferice. "I might have added that I never seriouslycontemplated parting with my secret. "

"There is nothing to be got from you, " said Donna Tullia, in a tone ofdisappointment. "I think that when you have nearly driven me mad withcuriosity, you might really tell me something. "

"Ah no, dear lady, " answered her companion. "You may ask anything of mebut that--anything. You may ask that too, if you will sign the treaty Ipropose. "

"You will drive me into marrying you out of sheer curiosity, " said DonnaTullia, with an impatient laugh. 

"I wish that were possible. I wish I could see my way to telling you asit is, for the thing is so curious that it would have the most intenseinterest for you. But it is quite out of the question. "

"You should never have told me anything about it, " replied Madame Mayer. 

"Well, I will think about it, " said Del Ferice at last, as thoughsuddenly resolving to make a sacrifice. "I will look over some papers Ihave, and I will think about it. I promise you that if I feel that I canconscientiously tell you something of the matter, you may be sure thatI will. "

Donna Tullia's manner changed again, from impatience to persuasion. Thesudden hope he held out to her was delicious to contemplate. She couldnot realise that Del Ferice, having once thoroughly interested her, couldplay upon her moods as on the keys of an instrument. If she had been lessanxious that the story he told should be true, she might have suspectedthat he was practising upon her credulity. But she seized the idea ofobtaining some secret influence over the life of Giovanni, and itcompletely carried her away. 

"You must tell me--I am sure you will, " she said, letting her kindestglance rest upon her companion. "Come and dine with me, --do you fast?No--nor I. Come on Friday--will you?"

"I shall be delighted, " answered Del Ferice, with a quiet smile oftriumph. 

"I will have the old lady, of course, so you cannot tell me at dinner;but she will go to sleep soon afterwards--she always does. Come at seven. Besides, she is deaf, you know. "

The old lady in question was the aged Countess whom Donna Tullia affectedas a companion in her solitary magnificence. 

"And now, will you take me back to the ball-room? I have an idea that apartner is looking for me. "

Del Ferice left her dancing, and went home in his little coupé. He wasdesperately fatigued, for he was still very weak, and he feared lest hisimprudence in going out so soon might bring on a relapse from hisconvalescence. Nevertheless, before he went to bed he dismissedTemistocle, and opened a shabby-looking black box which stood upon hiswriting-table. It was bound with iron, and was fastened by a patent lockwhich had frequently defied Temistocle's ingenuity. Prom this repositoryhe took a great number of papers, which were all neatly filed away andmarked in the owner's small and ornamented handwriting. Beneath manypackages of letters he found what he sought for, a long envelopecontaining several folded documents. 

He spread out the papers and read them carefully over. 

"It is a very singular thing, " he said to himself; "but there can be nodoubt about it. There it is. "

He folded the papers again, returned them to their envelope, and replacedthe latter deep among the letters in his box. He then locked it, attachedthe key to a chain he wore about his neck, and went to bed, worn outwith fatigue. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Del Ferice had purposely excited Donna Tullia's curiosity, and he meantbefore long to tell more than he had vouchsafed in his first confidence. But he himself trembled before the magnitude of what he had suddenlythought of doing, for the fear of Giovanni was in his heart. Thetemptation to boast to Donna Tullia that he had the means of preventingGiovanni from marrying was too strong; but when it had come to tellingher what those means were, prudence had restrained him. He desired thatif the scheme were put into execution it might be by some one else; for, extraordinary as it was, he was not absolutely certain of its success. Hewas not sure of Donna Tullia's discretion, either, until by a judiciouswithholding of the secret he had given her a sufficient idea of itsimportance. But on mature reflection he came to the conclusion that, evenif she possessed the information he was able to give, she would not dareto mention it, nor even to hint at it. 

The grey light of Ash-Wednesday morning broke over Rome, and stolethrough the windows of Giovanni Saracinesca's bedroom. Giovanni had notslept much, but his restlessness was due rather to his gladness at havingperformed the last of his social duties than to any disturbance of mind. All night he lay planning what he should do, --how he might reach hisplace in the mountains by a circuitous route, leaving the generalimpression that he was abroad--and how, when at last he had got toSaracinesca unobserved, he would revel in the solitude and in the thoughtof being within half a day's journey of Corona d'Astrardente. He waswilling to take a great deal of trouble, for he did not wish people toknow his whereabouts; he would not have it said that he had gone intothe country to be near Corona and to see her every day, as wouldcertainly be said if his real movements were discovered. Accordingly, hefulfilled his programme to the letter. He left Rome on the afternoon ofAsh-Wednesday for Florence; there he visited several acquaintances who, he knew, would write to their friends in Rome of his appearance; fromFlorence he went to Paris, and gave out that he was going upon a shootingexpedition in the Arctic regions, as soon as the weather was warm enough. As he was well known for a sportsman and a traveller, this statementcreated no suspicion; and when he finally left Paris, the newspapers andthe gossips all said he had gone to Copenhagen on his way to the farnorth. In due time the statement reached Rome, and it was supposed thatsociety had lost sight of Giovanni Saracinesca for at least eight months. It was thought that he had acted with great delicacy in absentinghimself; he would thus allow the first months of Corona's mourning topass before formally presenting himself to society as her suitor. Considering the peculiar circumstances of the case, there would benothing improper, from a social point of view, in his marrying Corona atthe expiration of a year after her husband's death. Of course he wouldmarry her; there was no doubt of that--he had been in love with her solong, and now she was both free and rich. No one suspected that Giovanni, instead of being in Scandinavia, was quietly established at Saracinesca, a day's journey from Rome, busying himself with the management of theestate, and momentarily satisfied in feeling himself so near the woman heloved. 

Donna Tullia could hardly wait until the day when Del Ferice was comingto dinner: she was several times on the point of writing a note to askhim to come at once. But she wisely refrained, guessing that the more shepressed him the more difficulties he would make. At last he came, lookingpale and worn--interesting, as Donna Tullia would have expressed it. Theold Countess talked a great deal during dinner; but as she was too deafto hear more than a quarter of what was said by the others, theconversation was not interesting. When the meal was over, she establishedherself in a comfortable chair in the little sitting-room, and took abook. After a few minutes, Donna Tullia suggested to Del Ferice that theyshould go into the drawing-room. She had received some new waltz-musicfrom Vienna which she wanted to look over, and Ugo might help her. Shewas not a musician, but was fond of a cheerful noise, and played upon thepiano with the average skill of a well-educated young woman of theworld. Of course the doors were left open between the drawing-room andthe boudoir, where the Countess dozed over her book and presently fellasleep. 

Donna Tullia sat at the grand piano, and made Del Ferice sit beside her. She struck a few chords, and played a fragment of dance-music. 

"Of course you have heard that Don Giovanni is gone?" she asked, carelessly. "I suppose he is gone to Saracinesca; they say there is avery good road between that and Astrardente. "

"I should think he would have more decency than to pursue the Duchessa inthe first month of her mourning, " answered Del Ferice, resting one armupon the piano, and supporting his pale face with his hand as he watchedDonna Tullia's fingers move upon the keys. 

"Why? He does not care what people say--why should he? He will marry herwhen the year is out. Why should he care?"

"He can never marry her unless I choose to allow it, " said Del Ferice, quietly. 

"So you told me the other night, " returned Donna Tullia. "But you willallow him, of course. Besides, you could not stop it, after all. I do notbelieve that you could. " She leaned far back in her chair, her handsresting upon the keys without striking them, and she looked at Del Fericewith a sweet smile. There was a moment's pause. 

"I have decided to tell you something, " he said at last, "upon onecondition. "

"Why make conditions?" asked Donna Tullia, trying to conceal herexcitement. 

"Only one, that of secrecy. Will you promise never to mention what I amgoing to tell you without previously consulting me? I do not mean acommon promise; I mean it to be an oath. " He spoke very earnestly. "Thisis a very serious matter. We are playing with fire and with life anddeath. You must give me some guarantee that you will be secret. "

His manner impressed Donna Tullia; she had never seen him so much inearnest in her life. 

"I will promise in any way you please, " she said. 

"Then say this, " he answered. "Say, 'I swear and solemnly bind myselfthat I will faithfully keep the secret about to be committed to me; andthat if I fail to keep it I will atone by immediately marrying Ugo delFerice--'"

"That is absurd!" cried Donna Tullia, starting back from him. He did notheed her. 

"'And I take to witness of this oath the blessed memory of my mother, thehope of the salvation of my soul, and this relic of the True Cross. '" Hepointed to the locket she wore at her neck, which she had often toldhim contained the relic he mentioned. 

"It is impossible!" she cried again. "I cannot swear so solemnly aboutsuch a matter. I cannot promise to marry you. "

"Then it is because you cannot promise to keep my secret, " he answeredcalmly. He knew her very well, and he believed that she would not breaksuch an oath as he had dictated, under any circumstances. He did notchoose to risk anything by her indiscretion. Donna Tullia hesitated, seeing that he was firm. She was tortured with curiosity beyond allendurance. 

"I am only promising to marry you in case I reveal the secret?" sheasked. He bowed assent. "So that I am really only promising to be silent?Well, I cannot understand why it should be solemn; but if you wish itso, I will do it. What are the words?"

He repeated them slowly, and she followed him. He watched her at everyword, to be sure she overlooked nothing. 

"I, Tullia Mayer, swear and solemnly bind myself that I will faithfullykeep the secret about to be committed to me; and that if I fail to keepit, I will atone by immediately marrying Ugo del Ferice"--her voicetrembled nervously: "and I take to witness of this oath the blessedmemory of my mother, the hope of the salvation of my soul, and this relicof the True Cross. " At the last words she took the locket in her fingers. 

"You understand that you have promised to marry me if you reveal mysecret? You fully understand that?" asked Del Ferice. 

"I understand it, " she answered hurriedly, as though ashamed of what shehad done. "And now, the secret, " she added eagerly, feeling that she hadundergone a certain humiliation for the sake of what she so muchcoveted. 

"Don Giovanni cannot marry the Duchessa d'Astrardente, because"--hepaused a moment to give full weight to his statement--"because DonGiovanni Saracinesca is married already. "

"What!" cried Donna Tullia, starting from her chair in amazement at theastounding news. 

"It is quite true, " said Del Ferice, with a quiet smile. "Calm yourself;it is quite true. I know what you are thinking of--all Rome thought hewas going to marry you. "

Donna Tullia was overcome by the strangeness of the situation. She hidher face in her hands for a moment as she leaned forward over the piano. Then she suddenly looked up. 

"What a hideous piece of villany!" she exclaimed, in a stifled voice. Then slowly recovering from the first shock of the intelligence, shelooked at Del Ferice; she was almost as pale as he. "What proof haveyou?" she asked. 

"I have the attested copy of the banns published by the priest whomarried them. That is evidence. Moreover, the real book of banns exists, and Giovanni's name is upon the parish register. I have also a copy ofthe certificate of the civil marriage, which is signed by Giovannihimself. "

"Tell me more, " said Donna Tullia, eagerly. "How did you find it?"

"It is very simple, " answered Del Ferice. "You may go and see foryourself, if you do not mind making a short journey. Last summer I waswandering a little for my health's sake, as I often do, and I chanced tobe in the town of Aquila--you know, the capital of Abruzzi. One day Ihappened to go into the sacristy of one of the parish churches to seesome pictures which are hung there. There had been a marriage serviceperformed, and as the sacristan moved about explaining the pictures, helaid his hand upon an open book which looked like a register of somekind. I idly asked him what it was, and he showed it to me; it wasamusing to look at the names of the people, and I turned over the leavescuriously. Suddenly my attention was arrested by a name I knew--'GiovanniSaracinesca, ' written clearly across the page, and below it, 'FeliceBaldi, '--the woman he had married. The date of the marriage was the 19thof June 1863. You remember, perhaps, that in that summer, in fact duringthe whole of that year, Don Giovanni was supposed to be absent uponhis famous shooting expedition in Canada, about which he talks so much. It appears, then, that two years ago, instead of being in America, he wasliving in Aquila, married to Felice Baldi--probably some pretty peasantgirl. I started at the sight of the names. I got permission to have anattested copy of it made by a notary. I found the priest who had marriedthem, but he could not remember the couple. The man, he said, was dark, he was sure; the woman, he thought, had been fair. He married so manypeople in a year. These were not natives of Aquila; they had apparentlycome there from the country--perhaps had met. The banns--yes, he hadthe book of banns; he had also the register of marriages from which hesometimes issued certified extracts. He was a good old man, and seemedready to oblige me; but his memory was very defective. He allowed me totake notary's copies of the banns and the entry in the list, as well asof the register. Then I went to the office of the Stato Civile. You knowthat people do not sign the register in the church themselves; the namesare written down by the priest. I wanted to see the signatures, and thebook of civil marriages was shown to me. The handwriting was Giovanni's, I am sure--larger, and a little less firm, but distinguishable at aglance. I took the copies for curiosity, and never said anything aboutit, but I have kept them. That is the history. Do you see how serious amatter it is?"

"Indeed, yes, " answered Donna Tullia, who had listened with intenseinterest to the story. "But what could have induced him to marry thatwoman?"

"One of those amiable eccentricities peculiar to his family, " replied DelFerice, shrugging his shoulders. "The interesting thing would be todiscover what became of Felice Baldi--Donna Felice Saracinesca, as Isuppose she has a right to be called. "

"Let us find her--Giovanni's wife, " exclaimed Donna Tullia, eagerly. "Where can she be?"

"Who knows?" ejaculated Del Ferice. "I would be curious to see her. Thename of her native village is given, and the names of her parents. Giovanni described himself in the paper as 'of Naples, a landholder, ' andomitted somehow the details of his parentage. Nothing could be morevague; everybody is a landholder, from the wretched peasant whocultivates one acre to their high-and-mightinesses the Princes ofSaracinesca. Perhaps by going to the village mentioned some informationmight be obtained. He probably left her sufficiently provided for, and, departing on pretence of a day's journey, never returned. He is aperfectly unscrupulous man, and thinks no more of this mad scrape than ofshooting a chamois in the Tyrol. He knows she can never find him--neverguessed who he really was. "

"Perhaps she is dead, " suggested Donna Tullia, her face suddenly growinggrave. 

"Why? He would not have taken the trouble to kill her--a peasant girl inthe Abruzzi! He would have had no difficulty in leaving her, and she isprobably alive and well at the present moment, perhaps the mother of thefuture Prince Saracinesca--who can tell?"

"But do you not see, " said Donna Tullia, "that unless you have proof thatshe is alive, we have no hold upon him? He may acknowledge the wholething, and calmly inform us that she is dead. "

"That is true; but even then he must show that she came to a natural endand was buried. Believe me, Giovanni would relinquish all intentions ofmarrying the Astrardente rather than have this scandalous storypublished. "

"I would like to tax him with it in a point-blank question, and watch hisface, " said Donna Tullia, fiercely. 

"Remember your oath, " said Del Ferice. "But he is gone now. You will notmeet him for some months. "

"Tell me, how could you make use of this knowledge, if you really wantedto prevent his marriage with the Astrardente?"

"I would advise you to go to her and state the case. You need mentionnobody. Any one who chooses may go to Aquila and examine the registers. Ithink that you could convey the information to her with as much commandof language as would be necessary. "

"I daresay I could, " she answered, between her teeth. "What a strangechance it was that brought that register under your hand!"

"Heaven sends opportunities, " said Del Ferice, devoutly; "it is for manto make good use of them. Who knows but what you may make a brilliant useof this?"

"I cannot, since I am bound by my promise, " said Donna Tullia. 

"No; I am sure you will not think of doing it. But then, we might perhapsagree that circumstances made it advisable to act. Many months must passbefore he can think of offering himself to her. It will be time enoughto consider the matter then--to consider whether we should be justifiedin raising such a terrible scandal, in causing so much unhappiness to aninnocent woman like the Duchessa, and to a worthless man like DonGiovanni. Think what a disgrace it would be to the Saracinesca to have itmade public that Giovanni was openly engaged to marry a great heiresswhile already secretly married to a peasant woman!"

"It would indeed be horrible, " said Donna Tullia, with a disagreeablelook in her blue eyes. "Perhaps we should not even think of it, " sheadded, turning over the leaves of the music upon the piano. Then suddenlyshe added, "Do you know that you have put me in a dreadful positionby exacting that promise from me?"

"No, " said Del Ferice, quietly. "You wanted to hear the secret. You haveheard it. You have nothing to do but to keep it to yourself. "

"That is precisely--" She checked herself, and struck a loud chord uponthe instrument. She had turned from Del Ferice, and could not see thesmile upon his face, which flickered across the pale features andvanished instantly. 

"Think no more about it, " he said pleasantly. "It is so easy to forgetsuch stories when one resolutely puts them out of one's mind. "

Donna Tullia smiled bitterly, and was silent. She began playing from thesheet before her, with indifferent accuracy, but with more thansufficient energy. Del Ferice sat patiently by her side, turning over theleaves, and glancing from time to time at her face, which he reallyadmired exceedingly. He belonged to the type of pale and somewhatphlegmatic men who frequently fall in love with women of sanguinecomplexion and robust appearance. Donna Tullia was a fine type of thisclass, and was called handsome, though she did not compare well withwomen of less pretension to beauty, but more delicacy and refinement. DelFerice admired her greatly, however; and, as has been said, he admiredher fortune even more. He saw himself gradually approaching the goal ofhis intentions, and as he neared the desired end he grew more and morecautious. He had played one of his strongest cards that night, and he wascontent to wait and let matters develop quietly, without any more pushingfrom him. The seed would grow, there was no fear of that, and hisposition was strong. He could wait quietly for the result. 

At the end of half an hour he excused himself upon the plea that he wasstill only convalescent, and was unable to bear the fatigue of latehours. Donna Tullia did not press him to stay, for she wished to bealone; and when he was gone she sat long at the open piano, ponderingupon what she had done, and even more upon what she had escaped doing. Itwas a hideous thought that if Giovanni, in all that long winter, hadasked her to be his wife, she would readily have consented; it wasfearful to think what her position would have been towards Del Ferice, who would have been able by a mere word to annul her marriage by provingthe previous one at Aquila. People do not trifle with such accusations, and he certainly knew what he was doing; she would have been bound handand foot. Or supposing that Del Ferice had died of the wound he receivedin the duel, and his papers had been ransacked by his heirs, whoeverthey might be--these attested documents would have become publicproperty. What a narrow escape Giovanni had had! And she herself, too, how nearly had she been involved in his ruin! She liked to think thathe had almost offered himself to her; it flattered her, although she nowhated him so cordially. She could not help admiring Del Ferice'swonderful discretion in so long concealing a piece of scandal that wouldhave shaken Roman society to its foundations, and she trembled when shethought what would happen if she herself were ever tempted to reveal whatshe had heard. Del Ferice was certainly a man of genius--so quiet, andyet possessing such weapons; there was some generosity about him too, orhe would have revenged himself for his wound by destroying Giovanni'sreputation. She considered whether she could have kept her counsel sowell in his place. After all, as he had said, the moment for using thedocuments had not yet come, for hitherto Giovanni had never proposed tomarry any one. Perhaps this secret wedding in Aquila explained hiscelibacy; Del Ferice had perhaps misjudged him in saying that he wasunscrupulous; he had perhaps left his peasant wife, repenting of hisfolly, but it was perhaps on her account that he had never proposed tomarry Donna Tullia; he had, then, only been amusing himself with Corona. That all seemed likely enough--so likely, that it heightened thecertainty of Del Ferice's information. 

A few days later, as Giovanni had intended, news began to reach Rome thathe had been in Florence, and was actually in Paris; then it was said thathe was going upon a shooting expedition somewhere in the far northduring the summer. It was like him, and in accordance with his tastes. Hehated the quiet receptions at the great houses during Lent, to which, ifhe remained in Rome, he was obliged to go. He naturally escaped when hecould. But there was no escape for Donna Tullia, and after all shemanaged to extract some amusement from these gatherings. She was theacknowledged centre of the more noisy set, and wherever she went, people who wanted to be amused, and were willing to amuse each other, congregated around her. On one of these occasions she met oldSaracinesca. He did not go out much since his son had left; but he seemedcheerful enough, and as he liked Madame Mayer, for some inscrutablereason, she rather liked him. Moreover, her interest in Giovanni, thoughnow the very reverse of affectionate, made her anxious to know somethingof his movements. 

"You must be lonely since Don Giovanni has gone upon his travels again, "she said. 

"That is the reason I go out, " said the Prince. "It is not very gay, butit is better than nothing. It suggests cold meat served up after thedessert; but when people are hungry, the order of their food is not ofmuch importance. "

"Is there any news, Prince? I want to be amused. "

"News? No. The world is at peace, and consequently given over to sin, asit mostly is when it is resting from a fit of violence. "

"You seem to be inclined to moralities this evening, " said Donna Tullia, smiling, and gently swaying the red fan she always carried. 

"Am I? Then I am growing old, I suppose. It is the privilege of old ageto censure in others what it is no longer young enough to praise initself. It is a bad thing to grow old, but it makes people good, or makesthem think they are, which in their own eyes is precisely the samething. "

"How delightfully cynical!"

"Doggish?" inquired the Prince, with a laugh. "I have heard it said byscholars, that cynical means doggish in Greek. The fable of the dog inthe horse's manger was invented to define the real cynic--the man whoneither enjoys life himself nor will allow other people to enjoy it. I amnot such a man. I hope you, for instance, will enjoy everything thatcomes in your way. "

"Even the cold meat after the dessert which you spoke of just now?" askedDonna Tullia. "Thank you--I will try; perhaps you can help me. "

"My son despised it, " said Saracinesca. "He is gone in search of freshpastures of sweets. "

"Leaving you behind. "

"Somebody once said that the wisest thing a son could do was to get ridof his father as soon as possible--"

"Then Don Giovanni is a wise man, " returned Donna Tullia. 

"Perhaps. However, he asked me to accompany him. "

"You refused?"

"Of course. Such expeditions are good enough for boys. I dislikeFlorence, I am not especially fond of Paris, and I detest the North Pole. I suppose you have seen from the papers that he is going in thatdirection? It is like him, he hankers after originality, I suppose. Beingborn in the south, he naturally goes to the extreme north. "

"He will write you very interesting letters, I should think, " remarkedDonna Tullia. "Is he a good correspondent?"

"Remarkably, for he never gives one any trouble. He sends his addressfrom time to time, and draws frequently on his banker. His letters arenot so full of interest as might be thought, as they rarely extend overfive lines; but on the other hand it does not take long to read them, which is a blessing. "

"You seem to be an affectionate parent, " said Donna Tullia, with a laugh. 

"If you measure affection by the cost of postage-stamps, you have a rightto be sarcastic. If you measure it in any other way, you are wrong. Icould not help loving any one so like myself as my son. It would show adetestable lack of appreciation of my own gifts. "

"I do not think Don Giovanni so very like you, " said Donna Tullia, thoughtfully. 

"Perhaps you do not know him so well as I do, " remarked the Prince. "Where do you see the greatest difference?"

"I think you talk better, and I think you are more--not exactly morehonest, perhaps, but more straightforward. "

"I do not agree with you, " said old Saracinesca, quickly. "There is noone alive who can say they ever knew Giovanni approach in the mostinnocent way to a distortion of truth. I daresay you have discovered, however, that he is reticent; he can hold his tongue; he is no chatterer, no parrot, my son. "

"Indeed he is not, " answered Donna Tullia, and the reply pacified the oldman; but she herself was thinking what supreme reticence Giovanni hadshown in the matter of his marriage, and she wondered whether the Princehad ever heard of it. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Anastase Gouache worked hard at the Cardinal's portrait, and at the sametime did his best to satisfy Donna Tullia. The latter, indeed, was noteasily pleased, and Gouache found it hard to instil into hisrepresentation of her the precise amount of poetry she required, withoutdoing violence to his own artistic sense of fitness. But the otherpicture progressed rapidly. The Cardinal was a restless man, and afterthe first two or three sittings, desired nothing so much as to be donewith them altogether. Anastase amused him, it is true, and the statesmansoon perceived that he had made a conquest of the young man's mind, andthat, as Giovanni Saracinesca had predicted, he had helped Gouache tocome to a decision. He was not prepared, however, for the practical turnthat decision immediately took, and he was just beginning to wish thesittings at an end when Anastase surprised him by a very startlingannouncement. 

As usual, they were in the Cardinal's study; the statesman was silent andthoughtful, and Gouache was working with all his might. 

"I have made up my mind, " said the latter, suddenly. 

"Concerning what, my friend?" inquired the great man, rather absently. 

"Concerning everything, Eminence, " answered Gouache "concerning politics, religion, life, death, and everything else which belongs to my career. Iam going to enlist with the Zouaves. "

The Cardinal looked at him for a moment, and then broke into a low laugh. 

"_Extremis malis extrema remedial!_" he exclaimed. 

"Precisely--_aux grands maux les grands remèdes, _ as we say. I am goingto join the Church militant. I am convinced that it is the best thing anhonest man can do. I like fighting, and I like the Church--therefore Iwill fight for the Church. "

"Very good logic, indeed, " answered the Cardinal. But he looked atAnastase, and marking his delicate features and light frame, he almostwondered how the lad would look in the garb of a soldier. "Very goodlogic; but, my dear Monsieur Gouache, what is to become of your art?"

"I shall not be mounting guard all day, and the Zouaves are allowed tolive in their own lodgings. I will live in my studio, and paint when I amnot mounting guard. "

"And my portrait?" inquired Cardinal Antonelli, much amused. 

"Your Eminence will doubtless be kind enough to manage that I may haveliberty to finish it. "

"You could not put off enlisting for a week, I suppose?"

Gouache looked annoyed; he hated the idea of waiting. 

"I have taken too long to make up my mind already, " he replied. "I mustmake the plunge at once. I am convinced--your Eminence has convincedme--that I have been very foolish. "

"I certainly never intended to convince you of that, " remarked theCardinal, with a smile. 

"Very foolish, " repeated Gouache, not heeding the interruption. "I havetalked great nonsense, --I scarcely know why--perhaps to try and findwhere the sense really lay. I have dreamed so many dreams, so long, thatI sometimes think I am morbid. All artists are morbid, I suppose. It isbetter to do anything active than to lose one's self in the slums of asickly imagination. "

"I agree with you, " answered the Cardinal; "but I do not think yousuffered from a sickly imagination, --I should rather call it abundantthan sickly. Frankly, I should be sorry to think that in following thisnew idea you were in any way injuring the great career which, I am sure, is before you; but, on the other hand, I cannot help wishing that agreater number of young men would follow your example. "

"Your Eminence approves, then?"

"Do you think you will make a good soldier?"

"Other artists have been good soldiers. There was Cellini--"

"Benvenuto Cellini said he made a good soldier; he said it himself, buthis reputation for veracity in other matters was doubtful, to say theleast. If he did not shoot the Connétable de Bourbon, it is very certainthat some one else did. Besides, a soldier in our times should be a verydifferent kind of man from the self-armed citizen of the time of Clementthe Ninth and the aforesaid Connétable. You will have to wear a uniformand sleep on boards in a guard-house; you will have to be up early todrill, and up late mounting guard, in wind and rain and cold. It is hardwork; I do not believe you have the constitution for it. Nevertheless, the intention is good. You can try it, and if you fall ill I will seethat you have no difficulty in returning to your artist life. "

"I do not mean to give it up, " replied Gouache, in a tone of conviction. "And as for my health, I am as strong as any one. "

"Perhaps, " said the Cardinal, doubtfully. "And when are you going to jointhe corps?"

"In about an hour, " said Gouache, quietly. 

And he kept his word. But he had told no one, save the Cardinal, of hisintention; and for a day or two, though he passed many acquaintances inthe street, no one recognised Anastase Gouache in the handsome youngsoldier with his grey Turco uniform, a red sash round his slender waist, and a small _képi_ set jauntily upon one side. 

It was one of the phenomena of those times. Foreigners swarmed in Rome, and many of them joined the cosmopolitan corps--gentlemen, noblemen, artists, men of the learned professions, adventurers, duellists drivenfrom their country in a temporary exile, enthusiasts, strollingIrishmen, men of all sorts and conditions. But, take them all in all, they were a fine set of fellows, who set no value whatever on theirlives, and who, as a whole, fought for an idea, in the old crusadingspirit. There were many who, like Gouache, joined solely from conviction;and there were few instances indeed of any who, having joined, deserted. It often happened that a stranger came to Rome for a mere visit, and atthe end of a month surprised his friends by appearing in the greyuniform. You had met him the night before at a ball in the ordinary garbof civilisation, covered with cotillon favours, waltzing like a madman;the next morning he entered the Café de Rome in a braided jacket open atthe throat, and told you he was a soldier--a private soldier, who touchedhis cap to every corporal of the French infantry, and was liable to belocked up for twenty-four hours if he was late to quarters. 

Donna Tullia's portrait was not quite finished, and Gouache had asked forone or two more sittings. Three days after the artist had taken his greatresolution, Madame Mayer and Del Ferice entered his studio. He had had nodifficulty in being at liberty at the hour of the sitting, and had merelyexchanged his jacket for an old painting-coat, not taking the trouble todivest himself of the remainder of his uniform. 

"Where have you been all this time?" asked Donna Tullia, as she liftedthe curtain and entered the studio. He had kept out of her way during thepast few days. 

"Good heavens, Gouache!" cried Del Ferice, starting back, as he caughtsight of the artist's grey trousers and yellow gaiters. "What is themeaning of this comedy?"

"What?" asked Gouache, coolly. Then, glancing at his legs, he answered, "Oh, nothing. I have turned Zouave--that is all. Will you sit down, DonnaTullia? I was waiting for you. "

"Turned Zouave!" exclaimed Madame Mayer and Del Ferice in a breath. "Turned Zouave!"

"Well?" said Gouache, raising his eyebrows and enjoying their surprise. "Well--why not?"

Del Ferice struck a fine attitude, and, laying one hand upon DonnaTullia's arm, whispered hoarsely in her ear--

"_Siamo traditi_--we are betrayed!" he said. Whereupon Donna Tulliaturned a little pale. 

"Betrayed!" she repeated, "and by Gouache!"

Gouache laughed, as he drew out the battered old carved chair on whichMadame Mayer was accustomed to sit when he painted. 

"Calm yourself, Madame, " he said. "I have not the least intention ofbetraying you. I have made a counter-revolution--but I am perfectlyfrank. I will not tell of the ferocious deeds I have heard discussed. "

Del Ferice scowled and drew back, partly acting, partly in earnest. Itlay in his schemes to make Donna Tullia believe herself involved in agenuine plot, and from this point of view he felt that he must pretendthe greatest horror and surprise. On the other hand, he knew that Gouachehad been painting the Cardinal's portrait, and guessed that the statesmanhad acquired a strong influence over the artist's mind--an influencewhich was already showing itself in a way that looked dangerous. It hadnever struck him until quite lately that Anastase, a republican bydescent and conviction, could suddenly step into the reactionary camp. 

"Pardon me, Donna Tullia, " said Ugo, in serious tones, "pardon me--but Ithink we should do well to leave Monsieur Gouache to the contemplation ofhis new career. This is no place for us--the company of traitors--"

"Look here, Del Ferice, " said Gouache, suddenly going up to him andlooking him in the face, --"do you seriously believe that anything youhave ever said, in this room is worth betraying? or, if you do, do youreally think that I would betray it?"

"Bah!" exclaimed Donna Tullia, interposing, "it is nonsense! Gouache is agentleman, of course--and besides, I mean to have my portrait, politicsor no politics. "

With this round statement Donna Tullia sat down, and Del Ferice had nochoice but to follow her example. He was profoundly disgusted, but he sawat a glance that it would be hopeless to attempt to dissuade Madame Mayerwhen she had once made up her mind. 

"And now you can tell us all about it, " said Donna Tullia. "What, in thename of all that is senseless, has induced you to join the Zouaves? Itreally makes me very nervous to see you. "

"That lends poetry to your expression, " interrupted Gouache. "I wish youwere always nervous. You really want to know why I am a Zouave? It isvery simple. You must know that I always follow my impulses. "

"Impulses!" ejaculated Del Ferice, moodily. 

"Yes; because my impulses are always good, --whereas when I reflect much, my judgment is always bad. I felt a strong impulse to wear the greyuniform, so I walked into the recruiting office and wrote my name down. "

"I feel a strong impulse to walk out of your studio, Monsieur Gouache, "said Donna Tullia, with a rather nervous laugh. 

"Then allow me to tell you that, whereas my impulses are good, yours arenot, " replied Anastase, quietly painting. "Because I have a new dress--"

"And new convictions, " interrupted Del Ferice; "you who were alwaysarguing about convictions!"

"I had none; that is the reason I argued about them. I have plentynow--I argue no longer. "

"You are wise, " retorted Ugo. "Those you have got will never beardiscussion. "

"Excuse me, " answered Gouache; "if you will take the trouble to beintroduced to his Eminence Cardinal Antonelli--"

Donna Tullia held up her hands in horror. 

"That horrible man! That Mephistopheles!" she cried. 

"That Macchiavelli! That arch-enemy of our holy liberty!" exclaimed DelFerice, in theatrical tones. 

"Exactly, " answered Gouache. "If he could be induced to devote a quarterof an hour of his valuable time to talking with you, he would turn yourconvictions round his finger. "

"This is too much!" cried Del Ferice, angrily. 

"I think it is very amusing, " said Donna Tullia, "What a pity that allLiberals are not artists, whom his Eminence could engage to paint hisportrait and be converted at so much an hour!"

Gouache smiled quietly, and went on with his work. 

"So he told you to go and turn Zouave, " remarked Donna Tullia, after apause, "and you submitted like a lamb. "

"So far was the Cardinal from advising me to turn soldier, that heexpressed the greatest surprise when I told him of my intention, "returned Gouache, rather coldly. 

"Indeed it is enough to take away even a cardinal's breath, " answeredMadame Mayer. "I was never, never so surprised in my life!"

Gouache stood up to get a view of his work, and Donna Tullia looked athim critically. 

"_Tiens_!" she exclaimed, "it is rather becoming--what small ankles youhave, Gouache!"

Anastase laughed. It was impossible to be grave in the face of suchutterly frivolous inconsistency. 

"You will allow your expression to change so often, Donna Tullia! It isimpossible to catch it. "

"Like your convictions, " murmured Del Ferice from his corner. Indeed Ugodid not know what to make of the scene. He had miscalculated the strengthof Donna Tullia's fears as compared with her longing to possess aflattering portrait of herself. Rather than leave the picture unfinished, she exhibited a cynical indifference to danger which would have donehonour to a better man than Del Ferice. Perhaps, too, she understoodGouache well enough to know that he might be trusted. Indeed any onewould have trusted Gouache. Even Del Ferice was less disturbed at thepossibility of the artist's repeating any of the trivial liberal talkwhich he had listened to, than at the indifference to discovery shown byDonna Tullia. To Del Ferice, the whole thing had been but a harmlessplay; but he wanted Madame Mayer to believe that it had all been insolemn earnest, and that she was really implicated in a dangerous plot;for it gave him a stronger hold upon her for his own ends. 

"So you are going to fight for Pio Nono, " remarked Ugo, scornfully, afteranother pause. 

"I am, " replied Gouache. "And, no offence to you, my friend, if I meetyou in a red shirt among the Garibaldini, I will kill you. It would bevery unpleasant, so I hope that you will not join them. "

"Take care, Del Ferice, " laughed Donna Tullia; "your life is in danger!You had better join the Zouaves instead. "

"I cannot paint his Eminence's portrait, " returned Ugo, with a sneer, "sothere is no chance of that. "

"You might assist him with wholesome advice, I should think, " answeredGouache. "I have no doubt you could tell him much that would be veryuseful. "

"And turn traitor to--"

"Hush! Do not be so silly, Del Ferice, " interrupted Donna Tullia, whobegan to fear that Del Ferice's taunts would make trouble. She had asecret conviction that it would not be good to push the gentle Anastasetoo far. He was too quiet, too determined, and too serious not to be alittle dangerous if roused. 

"Do not be absurd, " she repeated. "Whatever Gouache may choose to do, heis a gentleman, and I will not have you talk of traitors like that. Hedoes not quarrel with you--why do you try to quarrel with him?"

"I think he has done quite enough to justify a quarrel, I am sure, "replied Del Ferice, moodily. 

"My dear sir, " said Gouache, desisting from his work and turning towardsUgo, "Madame is quite right. I not only do not quarrel, but I refuse tobe quarrelled with. You have my most solemn assurance that whatever haspreviously passed here, whatever I have heard said by you, by DonnaTullia, by Valdarno, by any of your friends, I regard as an inviolablesecret. You formerly said I had no convictions, and you were right. I hadnone, and I listened to your exposition of your own with considerableinterest. My case is changed. I need not tell you what I believe, for Iwear the uniform of a Papal Zouave. When I put it on, I certainly did notcontemplate offending you; I do not wish to offend you now--I only begthat you will refrain from offending me. For my part, I need only saythat henceforth I do not desire to take a part in your councils. If DonnaTullia is satisfied with her portrait, there need be no further occasionfor our meeting. If, on the contrary, we are to meet again, I beg that wemay meet on a footing of courtesy and mutual respect. "

It was impossible to say more; and Gouache's speech terminated thesituation so far as Del Ferice was concerned. Donna Tullia smilinglyexpressed her approval. 

"Quite right, Gouache, " she said. "You know it would be impossible toleave the portrait as it is now. The mouth, you know--you promised to dosomething to it--just the expression, you know. "

Gouache bowed his head a little, and set to work again without a word. Del Ferice did not speak again during the sitting, but sat moodilystaring at the canvas, at Donna Tullia, and at the floor. It was notoften that he was moved from his habitual suavity of manner, butGouache's conduct had made him feel particularly uncomfortable. 

The next time Donna Tullia came to sit, she brought her old Countess, andDel Ferice did not appear. The portrait was ultimately finished to thesatisfaction of all parties, and was hung in Donna Tullia's drawing-room, to be admired and criticised by all her friends. But Gouache rejoicedwhen the thing was finally removed from his studio, for he had grown tohate it, and had been almost willing to flatter it out of all likeness toMadame Mayer, for the sake of not being eternally confronted by the coldstare of her blue eyes. He finished the Cardinal's portrait too; and thestatesman not only paid for it with unusual liberality, but gave theartist what he called a little memento of the long hours they had spenttogether. He opened one of the lockers in his study, and from a smalldrawer selected an ancient ring, in which was set a piece of crystal witha delicate intaglio of a figure of Victory. He took Gouache's hand andslipped the ring upon his finger. He had taken a singular liking toAnastase. 

"Wear it as a, little souvenir of me, " he said kindly. "It is a Victory;you are a soldier now, so I pray that victory may go with you; and I giveVictory herself into your hands. "

"And I, " said Gouache, "will pray that it may be a symbol in my hand ofthe real victories you are to win. "

"Only a symbol, " returned the Cardinal, thoughtfully. "Nothing but asymbol. I was not born to conquer, but to lead a forlorn-hope--to deceivevanquished men with a hope not real, and to deceive the victors with anunreal fear. Nevertheless, my friend, " he added, grasping Gouache's hand, and fixing upon him his small bright eyes, --"nevertheless, let us fight, fight--fight to the very end!"

"We will fight to the end, Eminence, " said Gouache. He was only a privateof Zouaves, and the man whose hand he held was great and powerful; butthe same spirit was in the hearts of both, the same courage, the samedevotion to the failing cause--and both kept their words, each in his ownway. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Astrardente was in some respects a picturesque place. The position of thelittle town gave it a view in both directions from where it stood; for itwas built upon a precipitous eminence rising suddenly out of the midst ofthe narrow strip of fertile land, the long and rising valley which, fromits lower extremity, conducted by many circuits to the Roman Campagna, and which ended above in the first rough passes of the lower Abruzzi. Thebase of the town extended into the vineyards and olive-orchards whichsurrounded the little hill on all sides; and the summit of it was crownedby the feudal palace-castle--an enormous building of solid stone, in thestyle of the fifteenth century. Upon the same spot had formally stood arugged fortress, but the magnificent ideas of the Astrardente popehad not tolerated such remains of barbarism; the ancient stronghold hadbeen torn down, and on its foundations rose a gigantic mansion, consisting of a main palace, with great balconies and columned front, overlooking the town, and of two massive wings leading back like towersto the edge of the precipitous rock to northwards. Between these wings agreat paved court formed a sort of terrace, open upon one side, andornamented within with a few antique statues dug up upon the estates, andwith numerous plants, which the old duke had caused to be carefullycultivated in vases, and which were only exposed upon the terrace duringthe warm summer months. The view from the court was to the north--that isto say, down the valley, comprehending ranges of hills that seemed tocross and recross into the extreme distance, their outlines being eachtime less clearly defined, as the masses in each succeeding range took asofter purple hue. 

Within, the palace presented a great variety of apartments. There weresuites of vaulted rooms upon the lower floor, frescoed in the good mannerof the fifteenth century; there were other suites above, hung withancient tapestry and furnished with old-fashioned marble tables, andmirrors in heavily gilt frames, and one entire wing had been latelyfitted up in the modern style. In this part of the house Coronaestablished herself with Sister Gabrielle, and began to lead a life ofregular occupations and profound retirement, which seemed to be rather acontinuation of her existence in the convent where she had been educatedas a girl, than to form any part in the life of the superb Duchessad'Astrardente, who for five years had been one of the most conspicuouspersons in society. Every morning at eight o'clock the two ladies, alwaysclad in deep black, attended the Mass which was celebrated for them inthe palace chapel. Then Corona walked for an hour with her companion uponthe terrace, or, if it rained, beneath the covered balconies upon thesouth side. The morning hours she passed in solitude, reading such booksof devotion and serious matter as most suited the sad temper of her mind;precisely at mid-day she and Sister Gabrielle breakfasted together in asort of solemn state; and at three o'clock the great landau, with itsblack horses and mourning liveries, stood under the inner gate. The twoladies appeared five minutes later, and by a gesture Corona indicatedwhether she would be driven up or down the valley. The dashing equipagedescended the long smooth road that wound through the town, and returnedinvariably at the end of two hours, again ascended the tortuous way, anddisappeared beneath the dark entrance. At six o'clock dinner was served, with the same solemn state as attended the morning meal; Corona andSister Gabrielle remained together until ten, and the day was over. Therewas no more variation in the routine of their lives than if they had beenmoved by a machinery connected with the great castle clock overhead, which chimed the hours and the quarters by day and night, and regulatedthe doings of the town below. 

But in spite of this unchanging sequence of similar habit, the timepassed pleasantly for Corona. She had had too much of the brilliantlights and the buzzing din of society for the last five years, too muchnoise, too much idle talk, too much aimless movement; she needed rest, too, from the constant strain of her efforts to fulfil her self-imposedduties towards her husband--most of all, perhaps, she required a respitefrom the sufferings she had undergone through her stifled love forGiovanni Saracinesca. All this she found in the magnificent calm ofthe life at Astrardente. She meditated long upon the memory of herhusband, recalling lovingly those things which had been most worthy inhim, willingly forgetting his many follies and vanities and moments ofpetulance. She went over in her mind the many and varied scenes of thepast, and learned to love the sweet and silent solitude of the present bycomparison of it with all the useless and noisy activity of the world shehad for a time abandoned. She had not expected to find anything more thana passive companion in Sister Gabrielle; but in the course of their dailyconverse she discovered in her a character of extreme refinement andquick perception, a depth of human sympathy and a breadth of experiencewhich amazed her, and made her own views of things seem small. The Sisterwas devout and rigid in the observance of the institutions of her order, in so far as she was able to follow out the detail of religiousregulation without interfering with the convenience of her companion;but in her conversation she showed an intimate knowledge of characterwhich was a constant source of pleasure to Corona, who told the Sisterlong stories of people she had known for the sake of hearing heradmirable comments upon social questions. 

But besides her reading and her long hours of meditation and her talkswith Sister Gabrielle, Corona found occupation in the state of the townbelow her residence. She attempted once or twice to visit the poorcottages, in the hope of doing some good; but she found that she wassuch an object of holy awe to the inmates that they were speechless inher presence, or became so nervous in their desire to answer herquestions, that the information she was able to obtain concerning theirtroubles was too vague to be of any use. 

The Italian peasant is not the same in all parts of the country, as isgenerally supposed; and although the Tuscan, who is constantly broughtinto familiar contact with his landlord, and acquires a certain pleasantfaith in him, grows eloquent upon the conditions of his being, the sameis not true of the rougher race that labours in the valleys of the Sabineand the Samnite hills. The peasant of the Agro Romano is indeed capableof civilisation and he is able to understand his superiors, provided thathe is gradually accustomed to seeing them: unfortunately this occurs butrarely. Many of the great Roman landholders spend a couple of months ofevery year upon their estates: old Astrardente had in his later yearsgone to considerable expense in refitting and repairing the castle, buthe had done little for the town. Men like the Saracinesca, however, weregreat exceptions at that time; though they travelled much abroad, theyoften remained for many months in their rugged old fortress. They knewthe inhabitants of their lands far and wide, and were themselves not onlyknown but loved; they spent their money in improving the condition oftheir peasants, in increasing the area of their forests, and in fosteringthe fertility of the soil, but they cared nothing for adorning the greystone walls of their ancestors' stronghold. It had done well enough for athousand years, it would do well enough still; it had stood firm againstfierce sieges in the dark ages of the Roman baronry, it could afford tostand unchanged in its monumental strength against the advancing sea ofnineteenth-century civilisation. They themselves, father and son, werecontent with such practical improvements as they could introduce for thegood of their people and the enriching of their land; a manly race, despising luxury, they cared little whether their home was thoughtcomfortable by the few guests they occasionally invited to spend a weekwith them. They saw much of the peasantry, and went daily among them, understanding their wants, and wisely promoting in their minds the beliefthat land cannot prosper unless both landlord and tenant do their share. 

But Astrardente was a holding of a very different kind, and Corona, inher first attempts at understanding the state of things, found herselfstopped by a dead wall of silence, beyond which she guessed that therelay an undiscovered land of trouble. She knew next to nothing of thecondition of her people; she only imperfectly understood the relations inwhich they actually stood to herself, the extent of her power over them, and of their power over her. The mysteries of _emphyteusis, emphyteuma, _and _emphyteuta_ were still hidden to her, though her steward spoke ofthem with surprising loquacity and fluency. She laboured hard tounderstand the system upon which her tenants held their lands from her, and it was some time before she succeeded. It is easier to explain thematter at once than to follow Corona in her attempts to comprehend it. 

To judge from the terms employed, the system of holdings common in thePontifical States has descended without interruption from the time of theRomans to the present day. As in old Roman law, _emphyteusis_, now spelt_emfiteuse_, means the possession of rights over another person's land, capable of transmission by inheritance; and to-day, as under the Romans, the holder of such rights is called the _emphyteuta_, or _emfiteuta_. Howthe Romans came to use Greek words in their tenant-law does not belong tothe matter in hand; these words are the only ones now in use in this partof Italy, and they are used precisely as they were in remote times. 

A tenant may acquire rights of _emfiteuse_ directly from the ownerof the land, like an ordinary lease; or he may acquire them bysettlement--"squatting, " as the popular term is. Wherever land is lyingwaste, any one may establish himself upon it and cultivate it, oncondition of paying to the owner a certain proportion of the yield of theland--generally one quarter--either in kind or in money. The landlordmay, indeed, refuse the right of settlement in the first instance, whichwould very rarely occur, since most people who own barren tracts of rockand heath are only too glad to promote any kind of cultivation. But whenthe landlord has once allowed the right, the right itself is constitutedthereby into a possession of which the peasant may dispose as he pleases, even by selling it to another. The law provides, however, that in case oftransfers by sale, the landlord shall receive one year's rent in kind orin money in addition to the rent due, and this bonus is paid jointly bythe buyer and the seller according to agreement. Such holdings areinherited from father to son for many generations, and are considered tobe perpetual leases. The landlord cannot expel a tenant except fornon-payment of rent during three consecutive years. In actual fact, theright of the _emfiteuta_ in the soil is far more important than that ofthe landlord; for the tenant can cheat his landlord as much as hepleases, whereas the injustice of the law provides that under nocircumstances whatsoever shall the landlord cheat the tenant. In actualfact, also, the rents are universally paid in kind, and the peasant eatswhat remains of the produce, so that very little cash is seen in theland. 

Corona discovered that the income she enjoyed from the lands ofAstrardente was collected by the basketful from the threshing-floors, andby the barrel from the vineyards of some two hundred tenants. It was aserious matter to gather from two hundred threshing-floors precisely aquarter of the grain threshed, and from fifty or sixty vineyardsprecisely a quarter of the wine made in each. The peasants all made theirwine at the same time, and all threshed their grain in the same week. Ifthe agent was not on the spot during the threshing and the vintage, thepeasant had no difficulty whatever in hiding a large quantity of hisproduce. As the rent was never fixed, but depended solely on the yield ofthe year, it was preeminently to the advantage of the tenant to throwdust in the eyes of the landlord whenever he got a chance. The landlordfound the business of watching his tenants tedious and unprofitable, andnaturally resorted to the crowning evil of agricultural evils--theemployment of a rent-farmer. The latter, at all events, was willing topay a fixed sum yearly; and if the sum paid was generally considerablybelow the real value of the rents, the arrangement at least assured afixed income to the landlord, with the certainty of getting it withouttrouble to himself. The middleman then proceeded to grind the tenants athis leisure and discretion in order to make the best of his bargain. Theresult was, that while the tenant starved and the landlord got less thanhis due in consideration of being saved from annoyance, the middlemangradually accumulated money. 

Upon this system nine-tenths of the land in the Pontifical States washeld, and much of the same land is so held to-day, in spite of the moderntenant-law, for reasons which will be clearly explained in another partof this history. Corona saw and understood that the evil was very great. She discussed the matter with her steward, or _ministro_ as he wascalled, who was none other than the aforesaid middleman; and the more shediscussed the question, the more hopeless the question appeared. Thesteward held a contract from her dead husband for a number of years. Hehad regularly paid the yearly sums agreed upon, and it would beimpossible to remove him for several years to come. He, of course, wasstrenuously opposed to any change, and did his best to make himselfappear as an angel of mercy and justice, presiding over a happy family ofrejoicing peasants in the heart of a terrestrial paradise. Unfortunatelyfor himself, however, he had not at first understood the motive whichprompted Corona's inquiries. He supposed in the beginning that she wasnot satisfied with the amount of rent he paid, and that at the expirationof his contract she intended to raise the sum; so that, on the firstoccasion when she sent for him, he had drawn a piteous picture of thepeasant's condition, and had expatiated with eloquence on his ownpoverty, and on the extreme difficulty of collecting any rents at all. Itwas not until he discovered that Corona's chief preoccupation was for thewelfare of her tenants that he changed his tactics, and endeavoured toprove that all was for the best upon the best of all possible estates. 

Then, to his great astonishment, Corona informed him that his contractwould not be renewed, and that at the expiration of his term she wouldcollect her rents herself. It had taken her long to understand thesituation, but when she had comprehended it, she made up her mind thatsomething must be done. If her fortune had depended solely upon theincome she received from the Astrardente lands, she would have made upher mind to reduce herself to penury rather than allow things to go inthe way they were going. Fortunately she was rich, and if she had not allthe experience necessary to deal with such matters, she had plenty ofgoodwill, plenty of generosity, and plenty of money. In her simpletheory of agrarian economy the best way to improve an estate seemed to beto spend the income arising from it directly upon its improvement, untilshe could take the whole management of it into her own hands. Thetrouble, as she thought, was that there was too little money among thepeasants; the best way to help them was to put money within their reach. The only question was how to do this without demoralising them, andwithout increasing their liabilities towards the _ministro_ or middleman. 

Then she sent for the curate. From him she learned that the people didwell enough in the summer, but that the winter was dreaded. She askedwhy. He answered that they were not provident; that the land system wasbad; and that even if they saved anything the _ministro_ would take itfrom them. She inquired whether he thought it possible to induce them tobe more thrifty. He thought it might be done in ten years, but not inone. 

"In that case, " said Corona, "the only way to improve their condition isto give them work in the winter. I will make roads through the estate, and build large dwelling-houses in the town. There shall be work enoughfor everybody. "

It was a simple plan, but it was destined to be carried into execution, and to change the face of the Astrardente domain in a few years. Coronasent to Rome for an engineer who was also a good architect, and she setherself to study the possibilities of the place, giving the mansufficient scope, and only insisting that there should be no labour andno material imported from beyond the limits of her lands. This providedher with an occupation whereby the time passed quickly enough. 

The Lenten season ended, and Eastertide ran swiftly on to Pentecost. Theearly fruit-trees blossomed white, and the flowers fell in a snow-showerto the ground, to give place to the cherries and the almonds and thepears. The brown bramble-hedges turned leafy, and were alive with littlebirds; and the great green lizards shot across the woodland paths uponthe hillside, and caught the flies that buzzed noisily in the springsunshine. The dried-up vines put forth tiny leaves, and the maize shotsuddenly up to the sun out of the rich furrows, like myriads of brilliantgreen poignards piercing the brown skin of the earth. By the roadside thegrass grew high, and the broad shallow brooks shrank to narrow rivulets, and disappeared in the overgrowing rushes before the increasing heat ofthe climbing sun. 

Corona's daily round of life never changed, but as the months wore on, astealing thought came often and often again--shy, as though fearing to bedriven away; silent at first, as a shadow in a dream, but taking form andreality from familiarity with its own self, and speaking intelligiblewords, saying at last plainly, "Will he keep his promise? Will he nevercome?"

But he came not as the fresh colours of spring deepened with the richmaturity of summer; and Corona, gazing down the valley, saw the changethat came over the fair earth, and half guessed the change that wascoming over her own life. She had sought solitude instinctively, butshe had not known what it would bring her. She had desired to honour herdead husband by withdrawing from the world for a time and thinking of himand remembering him. She had done so, but the youth in her rebelled atlast against the constant memory of old age--of an old age, too, whichhad passed away from her and was dead for ever. 

It was right to dwell for a time upon the thought of her widowhood, butthe voice said it would not be always right. The calm and noiseless tideof the old man's ceasing life had ebbed slowly and reluctantly from hershore, and she had followed the sad sea in her sorrow to the furthestverge of its retreat; but as she stood upon the edge of the stagnantwaters, gazing far out and trying to follow even further the slowsubsiding ooze, the tide had turned upon her unawares, the fresh seawardbreeze sprang up and broke the dead calm with the fresh motion of crispripples that once more flowed gladly over the dreary sand, and the watersof life plashed again and laughed gladly together around her feet. 

The thought of Giovanni--the one thought that again and again keptrecurring in her mind--grew very sweet, --as sweet as it had once beenbitter. There was nothing to stop its growth now, and she let it have itsway. What did it matter, so long as he did not come near her--for thepresent? Some day he would come; she wondered when, and how long he wouldkeep his promise. But meanwhile she was not unhappy, and she went abouther occupations as before; only sometimes she would go alone at eveningto the balcony that faced the higher mountains, and there she would standfor half an hour gazing southward towards the precipitous rocks thatcaught the red glare of the sinking sun, and she asked herself if he werethere, or whether, as report had told her, he were in the far north. It was but half a day's ride over the hills, he had said. But strain hersight as she would, she could not pierce the heavy crags nor see into thewooded dells beyond. He had said he would pass the summer there; had hechanged his mind?

But she was not unhappy. There was that in her which forbade unhappiness, which would have broken out into great joy if she would have let it; butyet she would not. It was too soon yet to say aloud what she said in herheart daily, that she loved Giovanni with a great love, and that she knewshe was free to love him. In that thought there was enough of joy. But hemight come if he would; her anger would not be great if he broke hispromise now, he had kept it so long--six whole months. But by-and-by, as the days passed, the first note of happiness was marred by thediscordant ring of a distant fear. What if she had too effectuallyforbidden him to see her? What if he had gone out disappointed of allhope, and was really in distant Scandinavia, as the papers said, riskinghis life in mad adventures?

But after all, that was not what she feared. He was strong, young, brave--he had survived a thousand dangers, he would survive these also. There arose between her and the thought of him an evil shadow, the imageof a woman, and it took the shape of Donna Tullia so vividly that shecould see the red lips move and almost hear the noisy laugh. She wasangry with herself at the idea, but it recurred continually and gave herpain, and the pain grew to an intolerable fear. She began to feel thatshe must know where he was, at any cost, or she could have no peace. Shewas restless and nervous, and began to be absent-minded in herconversation with Sister Gabrielle. The good woman saw it, and advised alittle change--anything, an excursion of a day for instance. Corona, shesaid, was too young to lead this life. 

Her mind leaped at the idea. It was but half a day's ride, he had said;she would climb those hills and look down upon Saracinesca--only once. She might perhaps meet some peasant, and by a careless inquiry she wouldlearn whether he was there--or would be there in the summer. No one wouldknow; and besides, Sister Gabrielle had said that an excursion would doCorona good. Sister Gabrielle had probably never heard that Saracinescawas so near, and she certainly would not guess that the Duchessa had anyinterest in its lord. She announced her intention, and the Sisterapproved--she herself, she said, was too weak to undergo the fatigue. 

On the following morning, Corona alone entered her carriage and wasdriven many miles up the southward hills, till the road was joined by abroad bridle-path that led eastwards towards the Abruzzi. Here she wasmet by a party of horsemen, her own _guardiani_, or forest-keepers, asthey are called, in rough dark-blue coats and leathern gaiters. Each manwore upon his breast a round plate of chiselled silver, bearing the armsof the Astrardente; each had a long rifle slung behind him, and carried aholster at the bow of his huge saddle. A couple of sturdy black-browedpeasants held a mule by the bridle, heavily caparisoned in the oldfashion, under a great red velvet Spanish saddle, with long tarnishedtrappings that had once been embroidered with silver. A little knot ofpeasants and ragged boys stood all around watching the preparationswith interest, and commenting audibly upon the beauty of the great lady. 

Corona mounted from a stone by the wayside, and the young men led herbeast up the path. She smiled to herself, for she had never done such athing before, but she was not uneasy in the company of her rough-lookingescort. She knew well enough that she was as safe with them as in her ownhouse. 

As the bridle-path wound up from the road, the country grew more rugged, the vegetation more scanty, and the stones more plentiful. It was awilderness of rocky desolation; as far as one could see there was no signof humanity, not a soul upon the solitary road, not a living thing uponthe desolate hills that rose on either side in jagged points to the sky. Corona talked a little with the head-keeper who rode beside her with aslack rein, letting his small mountain horse pick its own way over therough path. He told her that few people ever passed that way. It was theshort road to Saracinesca. The princes sometimes sent their carriageround by the longer way and rode over the hills; and in the vintage-timethere was some traffic, as many of the smaller peasants carried grapesacross the pass to the larger wine-presses, and sold them outright. Itwas not a dangerous road, for the very reason that it was sounfrequented. The Duchessa explained that she only wanted to see thevalley beyond from the summit of the pass, and would then return. It waspast mid-day when the party reached the highest point, --a depressionbetween the crags just wide enough to admit one loaded mule. The keepersaid she could see Saracinesca from the end of the narrow way, before thedescent began. She uttered an exclamation of surprise as she reached thespot. 

Scarcely a quarter of a mile to the right, at the extremity of a broadhill-road, she saw the huge towers of Saracinesca, grey and storm-beaten, rising out of a thick wood. The whole intervening space--and indeed thewhole deep valley as far as she could see--was an unbroken forest ofchestnut-trees. Here and there below the castle the houses of the townshowed their tiled gables, but the mass of the buildings was hiddencompletely from sight. Corona had had no idea that she should findherself so near to the place, and she was seized with a sudden fear lestGiovanni should appear upon the long straight path that led into thetrees. She drew back a little among her followers. 

"Are the princes there now?" she asked of the head-keeper. 

He did not know; but a moment later a peasant, riding astride of a bag ofcorn upon his donkey's back, passed along the straight road by theentrance to the bridle-path. The keeper hailed him, and put the question. Seeing Corona upon her mule, surrounded by armed men in livery, the manhalted, and pulled off his soft black-cloth hat. 

Both the princes were in Saracinesca, he said. The young prince had beenthere ever since Easter. They were busy building an aqueduct which was tosupply the whole town with water; it was to pass above, up there amongthe woods. The princes went almost every day to visit the works. HerExcellency might, perhaps, find them there now, or if not, they were atthe castle. 

But her Excellency had no intention of finding them. She gave the fellowa coin, and beat a somewhat hasty retreat. Her followers were silent men, accustomed to obey, and they followed her down the steep path withouteven exchanging a word among themselves. Beneath the shade of anoverhanging rock she halted, and, dismounting from her mule, was servedwith the lunch that had been brought. She ate little, and then satthoughtfully contemplating the bare stones, while the men at a littledistance hastily disposed of the remains of her meal. She had experiencedan extraordinary emotion on finding herself suddenly so near to Giovanni;it was almost as though she had seen him, and her heart beat fast, whilea dark flush rose from time to time to her cheek. It would have been sonatural that he should pass that way, just as she was halting at theentrance to the bridle-path. How unspeakably dreadful it would have beento be discovered thus spying out his dwelling-place when she had sostrictly forbidden him to attempt to see her! The blush burned upon hercheeks--she had done a thing so undignified, so ill befitting hermagnificent superiority. For a moment she was desperately ashamed. Butfor all that, she could not repress the glad delight she felt atknowing that he was there after all; that, if he had kept his word, inavoiding her, he had, nevertheless, also fulfilled his intention ofspending the summer in Saracinesca. He had even been there since Easter, and the story of his going to the North had been a mere invention of thenewspapers. She could not understand his conduct, nor why he had gone toParis--a fact attested by people who knew him. It had probably been forsome matter of business--that excuse which, in a woman's mind, explainsalmost any sudden journey a man may undertake. But he was there in thecastle now, and her heart was satisfied. 

The men packed the things in the basket, and Corona was helped upon hermule. Slowly the party descended the steep path that grew broader andmore practicable as they neared the bottom; there the carriage awaitedher, and soon she was bowling along the smooth road towards home, leavingfar behind her the mounted guards, the peasants, and her slow-paced mule. The sun was low when the carriage rolled under the archway ofAstrardente. Sister Gabrielle said Corona looked much the better for herexcursion, and she added that she must be very strong to bear suchfatigue so well. And the next day--and for many days--the Sister noticedthe change in her hostess's manner, and promised herself that if theDuchessa became uneasy again she would advise another day among thehills, so wonderful was the effect of a slight change from the ordinaryroutine of her life. 

That night old Saracinesca and his son sat at dinner in a wide hall oftheir castle. The faithful Pasquale served them as solemnly as he wasused to do in Rome. This evening he spoke again. He had ventured noremark since he had informed them of the Duca d'Astrardente's death. 

"I beg your Excellencies' pardon, " he began, adopting his usual formulaof apologetic address. 

"Well, Pasquale, what is it?" asked old Saracinesca. 

"I did not know whether your Excellency was aware that the Duchessad'Astrardente had been here to-day. "

"What?" roared the Prince. 

"You must be mad, Pasquale?" exclaimed Giovanni in a low voice. 

"I beg your Excellencies' pardon if I am wrong, but this is how I know. Gigi Secchi, the peasant from Aquaviva in the lower forest, brought a bagof corn to the mill to-day, and he told the miller, and the miller toldEttore, and Ettore told Nino, and Nino told--"

"What the devil did he tell him?" interrupted old Saracinesca. 

"Nino told the cook's boy, " continued Pasquale unmoved, "and the cook'sboy told me, your Excellency, that Gigi was passing along the road toServeti coming here, when he was stopped by a number of _guardiani_ whoaccompanied a beautiful dark lady in black, who rode upon a mule, and the_guardiani_ asked him if your Excellencies were at Saracinesca; and whenhe said you were, the lady gave him a coin, and turned at once and rodedown the bridle-path towards Astrardente, and he said the _guardiani_were those of the Astrardente, because he remembered to have seen one ofthem, who has a scar over his left eye, at the great fair at Genazzanolast year. And that is how I heard. "

"That is a remarkable narrative, Pasquale, " answered the Prince, laughingloudly, "but it seems very credible. Go and send for Gigi Secchi if he isstill in the neighbourhood, and bring him here, and let us have the storyfrom his own lips. "

When they were alone the two men looked at each other for a moment, andthen old Saracinesca laughed again; but Giovanni looked very grave, andhis face was pale. Presently his father became serious again. 

"If this thing is true, " he said, "I would advise you, Giovanni, to pay avisit to the other side of the hills. It is time. "

Giovanni was silent for a moment. He was intensely interested in thesituation, but he could not tell his father that he had promised Coronanot to see her, and he had not yet explained to himself her suddenappearance so near Saracinesca. 

"I think it would be better for you to go first, " he said to his father. "But I am not at all sure this story is true. "

"I? Oh, I will go when you please, " returned the old man, with anotherlaugh. He was always ready for anything active. 

But Gigi Secchi could not be found. He had returned to Aquaviva at once, and it was not easy to send a message. Two days later, however, Giovannitook the trouble of going to the man's home. He was not altogethersurprised when Gigi confirmed Pasquale's tale in every particular. Corona had actually been at Saracinesca to find out if Giovanni was thereor not; and on hearing that he was at the castle, she had fledprecipitately. Giovanni was naturally grave and of a melancholy temper;but during the last few months he had been more than usually taciturn, occupying himself with dogged obstinacy in the construction of hisaqueduct, visiting the works in the day and spending hours in the eveningover the plans. He was waiting. He believed that Corona cared for him, and he knew that he loved her, but for the present he must waitpatiently, both for the sake of his promise and for the sake of a decentrespect of her widowhood. In order to wait he felt the necessity ofconstant occupation, and to that end he had set himself resolutely towork with his father, whose ideal dream was to make Saracinesea the mostcomplete and prosperous community in that part of the mountains. 

"I think if you would go over, " he said, at the end of a week, "it wouldbe much better. I do not want to intrude myself upon her at present, andyou could easily find out whether she would like to see me. After all, she may have been merely making an excursion for her amusement, andmay have chanced upon us by accident. I have often noticed how suddenlyone comes in view of the castle from that bridle-path. "

"On the other hand, " returned the Prince with a smile, "any one wouldtell her that the path leads nowhere except to Saracinesca. But I will goto-morrow, " he added. "I will set your mind at rest in twenty-fourhours. "

"Thank you, " said Giovanni. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Old Saracinesca kept his word, and on the following morning, eight daysafter Corona's excursion upon the hills, he rode down to Astrardente, reaching the palace at about mid-day. He sent in his card, and stoodwaiting beneath the great gate, beating the dust from his boots with hisheavy whip. His face looked darker than ever, from constant exposure tothe sun, and his close-cropped hair and short square beard had turnedeven whiter than before in the last six months, but his strong form waserect, and his step firm and elastic. He was a remarkable old man; many aboy of twenty might have envied his strength and energetic vitality. 

Corona was at her mid-day breakfast with Sister Gabrielle, when the oldPrince's card was brought. She started at the sight of the name; andthough upon the bit of pasteboard she read plainly enough, "_Il Principedi Saracinesca_, " she hesitated, and asked the butler if it was reallythe Prince. He said it was. 

"Would you mind seeing him?" she asked of Sister Gabrielle. "He is an oldgentleman, " she added, in explanation--"a near neighbour here in themountains. "

Sister Gabrielle had no objection. She even remarked that it would do theDuchessa good to see some one. 

"Ask the Prince to come in, and put another place at the table, " saidCorona. 

A moment later the old man entered, and Corona rose to receive him. Therewas something refreshing in the ring of his deep voice and the clank ofhis spurs as he crossed the marble floor. 

"Signora Duchessa, you are very good to receive me. I did not know thatthis was your breakfast-hour. Ah!" he exclaimed, glancing at SisterGabrielle, who had also risen to her feet, "good day, my Sister. "

"Sister Gabrielle, " said Corona, as an introduction; "she is good enoughto be my companion in solitude. "

To tell the truth, Corona felt uneasy; but the sensation was somehowrather pleasurable, although it crossed her mind that the Prince mighthave heard of her excursion, and had possibly come to find out why shehad been so near to his place. She boldly faced the situation. 

"I nearly came upon you the other day as unexpectedly as you have visitedme, " she said with a smile. "I had a fancy to look over into your valley, and when I reached the top of the hill I found I was almost in yourhouse. "

"I wish you had quite been there, " returned the Prince. "Of course Iheard that you had been seen, and we guessed you had stumbled upon us insome mountain excursion. My son rode all the way to Aquaviva to see theman who had spoken with you. "

Saracinesca said this as though it were perfectly natural, helpinghimself to the dish the servant offered him. But when he looked up he sawthat Corona blushed beneath her dark skin. 

"It is such a very sudden view at that point, " she said, nervously, "thatI was startled. "

"I wish you had preserved your equanimity to the extent of going a littlefurther. Saracinesca has rarely been honoured with the visit of aDuchessa d'Astrardente. But since you have explained your visit--or thevisit which you did not make--I ought to explain mine. You must know, inthe first place, that I am not here by accident, but by intention, preconceived, well pondered, and finally executed to my own completesatisfaction. I came, not to get a glimpse of your valley nor a distantview of your palace, but to see you, yourself. Your hospitality inreceiving me has therefore crowned and complimented the desire I had ofseeing you. "

Corona laughed a little. 

"That is a very pretty speech, " she said. 

"Which you would have lost if you had not received me, " he answered, gaily. "I have not done yet. I have many pretty speeches for you. Thesight of you induces beauty in language as the sun in May makes theflowers open. "

"That is another, " laughed Corona. "Do you spend your days in studyingthe poets at Saracinesca? Does Don Giovanni study with you?"

"Giovanni is a fact, " returned the Prince; "I am a fable. Old men arealways fables, for they represent, in a harmless form, the follies of allmankind; their end is always in itself a moral, and young people canlearn much by studying them. "

"Your comparison is witty, " said Corona, who was much amused at oldSaracinesca's conversation; "but I doubt whether you are so harmless asyou represent. You are certainly not foolish, and I am not sure whether, as a study for the young--" she hesitated, and laughed. 

"Whether extremely young persons would have the wit to comprehend virtueby the concealment of it--to say, as that witty old Roman said, that theimages of Cassius and Brutus were more remarkable than those of any oneelse, for the very reason that they were nowhere to be seen--like myvirtues? Giovanni, for instance, is the very reverse of me in that, though he has shown such singularly bad taste in resembling my outwardman. "

"One should never conceal virtues, " said Sister Gabrielle, gently. "Oneshould not hide one's light under a basket, you know. "

"My Sister, " replied the old Prince, his black eyes twinkling merrily, "if I had in my whole composition as much light as would enable you toread half-a-dozen words in your breviary, it should be at your disposal. I would set it in the midst of Piazza Colonna, and call it the mostwonderful illumination on record. Unfortunately my light, like thelantern of a solitary miner, is only perceptible to myself, and dimly atthat. "

"You must not depreciate yourself so very much, " said Corona. 

"No; that is true. You will either believe I am speaking the truth, oryou will not. I do not know which would be the worse fate. I will changethe subject. My son Giovanni, Duchessa, desires to be remembered in yourgood graces. "

"Thanks. How is he?"

"He is well, but the temper of him is marvellously melancholy. He isbuilding an aqueduct, and so am I. The thing is accomplished by hisworking perpetually while I smoke cigarettes and read novels. "

"The division of labour is to your advantage, I should say, " remarkedCorona. 

"Immensely, I assure you. He promotes the natural advantages of my lands, and I encourage the traffic in tobacco and literature. He works frommorning till night, is his own engineer, contractor, overseer, andmaster-mason. He does everything, and does it well. If we were lessbarbarous in our bachelor establishment I would ask you to come and seeus--in earnest this time--and visit the work we are doing. It is wellworth while. Perhaps you would consent as it is. We will vacate thecastle for your benefit, and mount guard outside the gates all night. "

Again Corona blushed. She would have given anything to go, but she feltthat it was impossible. 

"I would like to go, " she said. "If one could come back the same day. "

"You did before, " remarked Saracinesca, bluntly. 

"But it was late when I reached home, and I spent no time at all there. "

"I know you did not, " laughed the old man. "You gave Gigi Secchi somemoney, and then fled precipitately. "

"Indeed I was afraid you would suddenly come upon me, and I ran away, "answered Corona, laughing in her turn, as the dark blood rose to herolive cheeks. 

"As my amiable ancestors did in the same place when anybody passed with afull purse, " suggested Saracinesca. "But we have improved a little sincethen. We would have asked you to breakfast. Will you come?"

"I do not like to go alone; I cannot, you see. Sister Gabrielle couldnever ride up that hill on a mule. "

"There is a road for carriages, " said the Prince. "I will proposesomething in the way of a compromise. I will bring Giovanni down with meand our team of mountain horses. Those great beasts of yours cannot dothis kind of work. We will take you and Sister Gabrielle up almost asfast as you could go by the bridle-path. " "And back on the same day?"asked Corona. 

"No; on the next day. "

"But I do not see where the compromise is, " she replied. "SisterGabrielle is at once the compromise and the cause that you will not becompromised. I beg her pardon--"

Both ladies laughed. 

"I will be very glad to go, " said the Sister. "I do not see that there isanything extraordinary in the Prince's proposal. "

"My Sister, " returned Saracinesca, "you are on the way to saintship; youalready enjoy the beatific vision; you see with a heavenly perspicuity. "

"It is a charming proposition, " said Corona; "but in that case you willhave to come down the day before. " She was a little embarrassed. 

"We will not invade the cloister, " answered the Prince. "Giovanni and Iwill spend the night in concocting pretty speeches, and will appear armedwith them at dawn before your gates. "

"There is room in Astrardente, " replied Corona. "You shall not lackhospitality for a night. When will you come?"

"To-morrow evening, if you please. A good thing should be done quickly, in order not to delay doing it again. "

"Do you think I would go again?"

Saracinesca fixed his black eyes on Corona's, and gazed at her someseconds before he answered. 

"Madam, " he said at last, very gravely, "I trust you will come again andstay longer. "

"You are very good, " returned Corona, quietly. "At All events, I will gothis first time. "

"We will endeavour to show our gratitude by making you comfortable, "answered the Prince, resuming his former tone. "You shall have a mass inthe morning and a litany in the evening. We are godless fellows upthere, but we have a priest. "

"You seem to associate our comfort entirely with religious services, "laughed Corona. "But you are very considerate. "

"I see the most charming evidence of devotion at your side, " he replied;"Sister Gabrielle is both the evidence of your piety and is in herselfan exposition of the benefits of religion. There shall be otherattractions, however, besides masses and litanies. "

Breakfast being ended, Sister Gabrielle left the two together. They wentfrom the dining-room to the great vaulted hall of the inner building. Itwas cool there, and there were great old arm-chairs ranged along thewalls. The closed blinds admitted a soft green light from the hot noondaywithout. Corona loved to walk upon the cool marble floor; she was a verystrong and active woman, delighting in mere motion--not restless, butalmost incapable of weariness; her movements not rapid, but full of graceand ease. Saracinesca walked by her side, smoking thoughtfully for someminutes. 

"Duchessa, " he said at last, glancing at her beautiful face, "things aregreatly changed since we met last. You were angry with me then. I do notknow whether you were so justly, but you were very angry for a fewmoments. I am going to return to the subject now; I trust you will not beoffended with me. "

Corona trembled for a moment, and was silent. She would have preventedhim from going on, but before she could find the words she sought hecontinued. 

"Things are much changed, in some respects; in others, not at all. It isbut natural to suppose that in the course of time you will think of thepossibility of marrying again. My son, Duchessa, loves you very truly. Pardon me, it is no disrespect to you, now, that he should have told meso. I am his father, and I have no one else to care for. He is too honesta gentleman to have spoken of his affection for you at an eailier period, but he has told me of it now. "

Corona stood still in the midst of the great hall, and faced the oldPrince. She had grown pale while he was speaking. Still she was silent. 

"I have nothing more to say--that is all, " said Saracinesca, gazingearnestly into the depths of her eyes. "I have nothing more to say. "

"Do you then mean to repeat the warning you once gave me?" asked Corona, growing whiter still. "Do you mean to imply that there is danger to yourson?"

"There is danger--great danger for him, unless you will avert it. "

"And how?" asked Corona, in a low voice. 

"Madam, by becoming his wife. "

Corona started and turned away in great agitation. Saracinesca stoodstill while she slowly walked a few steps from him. She could not speak. 

"I could say a great deal more, Duchessa, " he said, as she came backtowards him. "I could say that the marriage is not only fitting in everyother way, but is also advantageous from a worldly point of view. Youare sole mistress of Astrardente; my son will before long be sole masterof Saracinesca. Our lands are near together--that is a great advantage, that question of fortune. Again, I would observe that, with yourmagnificent position, you could not condescend to accept a man of lowerbirth than the highest in the country. There is none higher than theSaracinesca--pardon my arrogance, --and among princes there is no braver, truer gentleman than my son Giovanni. I ask no pardon for saying that; Iwill maintain it against all comers. I forego all questions of advantage, and base my argument upon that. He is the best man I know, and he lovesyou devotedly. "

"Is he aware that you are here for this purpose?" asked Corona, suddenly. She spoke with a great effort. 

"No. He knows that I am here, and was glad that I came. He desired me toascertain if you would see him. He would certainly not have thought ofaddressing you at present. I am an old man, and I feel that I must dothings quickly. That is my excuse. "

Corona was again silent. She was too truthful to give an evasive answer, and yet she hesitated to speak. The position was an embarrassing one; shewas taken unawares, and was terrified at the emotion she felt. It hadnever entered her mind that the old Prince could appear on his son'sbehalf, and she did not know how to meet him. 

"I have perhaps been too abrupt, " said Saracinesca. "I love my son verydearly, and his happiness is more to me than what remains of my own. Iffrom the first you regard my proposition as an impossible one, I wouldspare him the pain of a humiliation, --I fear I could not save him fromthe rest, from a suffering that might drive him mad. It is for thisreason that I implore you, if you are able, to give me some answer, notthat I may convey it to him, but in order that I may be guided in future. He cannot forget you; but he has not seen you for six months. To see youagain if he must leave you for ever, would only inflict a fresh wound. "He paused, while Corona slowly walked by his side. 

"I do not see why I should conceal the truth, from you, " she said atlast. "I cannot conceal it from myself. I am not a child that I shouldbe ashamed of it. There is nothing wrong in it--no reason why it shouldnot be. You are honest, too--why should we try to deceive ourselves? Itrust to your honour to be silent, and I own that I--that I love yourson. "

Corona stood still and turned her face away, as the burning blush rose toher cheeks. The answer she had given was characteristic of her, straightforward and honest. She was not ashamed of it, and yet the wordswere so new, so strange in their sound, and so strong in their meaning, that she blushed as she uttered them. Saracinesca was greatly surprised, too, for he had expected some evasive turn, some hint that he might bringGiovanni. But his delight had no bounds. 

"Duchessa, " he said, "the happiest day I can remember was when I broughthome my wife to Saracinesca. My proudest day will be that on which my sonenters the same gates with you by his side. "

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, with a courteous gesture. 

"It will be long before that--it must be very long, " answered Corona. 

"It shall be when you please, Madam, provided it is at last. Meanwhile wewill come down to-morrow, and take you to our tower. Do you understandnow why I said that I hoped you would come again and stay longer? Itrust you have not changed your mind in regard to the excursion. "

"No. We will expect you to-morrow night. Remember, I have been honestwith you--I trust to you to be silent. "

"You have my word. And now, with your permission, I will return toSaracinesca. Believe me, the news that you expect us will be good enoughto tell Giovanni. "

"You may greet him from me. But will you not rest awhile before you rideback? You must be tired. "

"No fear of that!" answered the Prince. "You have put a new man into anold one. I shall never tire of bearing the news of your greetings. "

So the old man left her, and mounted his horse and rode up the pass. ButCorona remained for hours in the vaulted hall, pacing up and down. It hadcome too soon--far too soon. And yet, how she had longed for it!how she had wondered whether it would ever come at all!

The situation was sufficiently strange, too. Giovanni had once told herof his love, and she had silenced him. He was to tell her again, and shewas to accept what he said. He was to ask her to marry him, and heranswer was a foregone conclusion. It seemed as though this greatest eventof her life were planned to the very smallest details beforehand; asthough she were to act a part which she had studied, and which was yet nocomedy because it was the expression of her life's truth. The future hadbeen, as it were, prophesied and completely foretold to her, and held nosurprises; and yet it was more sweet to think of than all the pasttogether. She wondered how he would say it, what his words would be, howhe would look, whether he would again be as strangely violent as hehad been that night at the Palazzo Frangipani. She wondered, most of all, how she would answer him. But it would be long yet. There would be manymeetings, many happy days before that happiest day of all. 

Sister Gabrielle saw a wonderful change in Corona's face that afternoonwhen they drove up the valley together, and she remarked what wonderfuleffect a little variety had upon her companion's spirits--she could notsay upon her health, for Corona seemed made of velvet and steel, sosmooth and dark, and yet so supple and strong. Corona smiled brightly asshe looked far up at the beetling crags behind which Saracinesca washidden. 

"We shall be up there the day after to-morrow, " she said. "How strange itwill seem!" And leaning back, her deep eyes flashed, and she laughedhappily. 

On the following evening, again, they drove along the road that led upthe valley. But they had not gone far when they saw in the distance acloud of dust, from which in a few moments emerged a vehicle drawn bythree strong horses, and driven by Giovanni Saracinesca himself. Hisfather sat beside him in front, and a man in livery was seated at theback, with a long rifle between his knees. The vehicle was a kind ofdouble cart, capable of holding four persons, and two servants at theback. 

In a moment the two carriages met and stopped side by side. Giovannisprang from his seat, throwing the reins to his father, who stood up hatin hand, and bowed from where he was. Corona held out her hand toGiovanni as he stood bareheaded in the road beside her. One long looktold all the tale; there could be no words there before the Sister andthe old Prince, but their eyes told all--the pain of past separation, thejoy of two loving hearts that met at last without hindrance. 

"Let your servant drive, and get in with us, " said Corona, who couldhardly speak in her excitement. Then she started slightly, and smiled inher embarrassment. She had continued to hold Giovanni's hand, unconsciously leaving her fingers in his. 

The Prince's groom climbed into the front seat, and old Saracinesca gotdown and entered the landau. It was a strangely silent meeting, longexpected by the two who so loved each other--long looked for, but hardlyrealised now that it had come. The Prince was the first to speak, as usual. 

"You expected to meet us, Duchessa?" he said; "we expected to meet you. An expectation fulfilled is better than a surprise. Everything atSaracinesca is prepared for your reception. Don Angelo, our priest, hasbeen warned of your coming, and the boy who serves mass has been washed. You may imagine that a great festivity is expected. Giovanni has turnedthe castle inside out, and had a room hung entirely with tapestries of mygreat-grandmother's own working. He says that since the place is so old, its antiquity should be carried into the smallest details. "

Corona laughed gaily--she would have laughed at anything that day--andthe old Prince's tone was fresh and sparkling and merry. He had relievedthe first embarrassment of the situation. 

"There have been preparations at Astrardente for your reception, too, "answered the Duchessa. "There was a difficulty of choice, as there areabout a hundred vacant rooms in the house. The butler proposed to giveyou a suite of sixteen to pass the night in, but I selected an airylittle nook in one of the wings, where you need only go through ten toget to your bedroom. "

"There is nothing like space, " said the Prince; "it enlarges the ideas. "

"I cannot imagine what my father would do if his ideas were extended, "remarked Giovanni. "Everything he imagines is colossal already. He talksabout tunnelling the mountains for my aqueduct, as though it were no moretrouble than to run a stick through a piece of paper. "

"Your aqueduct, indeed!" exclaimed his father. "I would like to knowwhose idea it was?"

"I hear you are working like an engineer yourself, Don Giovanni, " saidCorona. "I have a man at work at Astrardente on some plans of roads. Perhaps some day you could give us your advice. "

Some day! How sweet the words sounded to Giovanni as he sat opposite thewoman he loved, bowling along through the rich vine lands in the cool ofthe summer evening!

CHAPTER XXV. 

The opportunity which Giovanni sought of being alone with Corona was longin coming. Sister Gabrielle retired immediately after dinner, and theDuchessa was left alone with the two men. Old Saracinesca would gladlyhave left his son with the hostess, but the thing was evidentlyimpossible. The manners of the time would not allow it, and the resultwas that the Prince spent the evening in making conversation for tworather indifferent listeners. He tried to pick a friendly quarrel withGiovanni, but the latter was too absent-minded even to be annoyed; hetried to excite the Duchessa's interest, but she only smiled gently, making a remark from time to time which was conspicuous for itsirrelevancy. But old Saracinesca was in a good humour, and he bore upbravely until ten o'clock, when Corona gave the signal for retiring. Theywere to start very early in the morning, she said, and she must haverest. 

When the two men were alone, the Prince turned upon his son in semi-comicanger, and upbraided him with his obstinate dulness during the evening. Giovanni only smiled calmly, and shrugged his shoulders. There wasnothing more to be said. 

But on the following morning, soon after six o'clock, Giovanni hadthe supreme satisfaction of installing Corona beside him upon thedriving-seat of his cart, while his father and Sister Gabrielle sattogether behind him. The sun was not yet above the hills, and themountain air was keen and fresh; the stamping of the horses sounded crispand sharp, and their bells rang merrily as they shook their sturdy necksand pricked their short ears to catch Giovanni's voice. 

"Have you forgotten nothing, Duchessa?" asked Giovanni, gathering thereins in his hand. 

"Nothing, thanks. I have sent our things on mules--by the bridle-path. "She smiled involuntarily as she recalled her adventure, and half turnedher face away. 

"Ah, yes--the bridle-path, " repeated Giovanni, as he nodded to the groomto stand clear of the horses' heads. In a moment they were brisklydescending the winding road through the town of Astrardente: the streetswere quiet and cool, for the peasants had all gone to their occupationstwo hours before, and the children were not yet turned loose. 

"I never hoped to have the honour of myself driving you to Saracinesca, "said Giovanni. "It is a wild place enough, in its way. You will be ableto fancy yourself in Switzerland. "

"I would rather be in Italy, " answered Corona. "I do not care for theAlps. Our own mountains are as beautiful, and are not infested bytourists. "

"You are a tourist to-day, " said Giovanni. "And it has pleased Heaven tomake me your guide. "

"I will listen to your explanations of the sights with interest. "

"It is a reversal of the situation, is it not? When we last met, it wasyou who guided me, and I humbly followed your instructions. I didprecisely as you told me. "

"Had I doubted that you would do as I asked, I would not have spoken, "answered Corona. 

"There was one thing you advised me to do which I have not evenattempted. "

"What was that?"

"You told me to forget you. I have spent six months in constantlyremembering you, and in looking forward to this moment. Was I wrong?"

"Of course, " replied the Duchessa, with a little laugh. "You should bythis time have forgotten my existence. They said you were gone to theNorth Pole--why did you change your mind?"

"I followed my load-star. It led me from Rome to Saracinesca by the wayof Paris. I should have remained at Saracinesca--but you also changedyour mind. I began to think you never would. "

"How long do you think of staying up there?" asked Corona, to turn theconversation. 

"Just so long as you stay at Astrardente, " he answered. "You will notforbid me to follow you to Rome?"

"How can I prevent you if you choose to do it?"

"By a word, as you did before. "

"Do you think I would speak that word?" she asked. 

"I trust not. Why should you cause me needless pain and suffering? Itwas right then, it is not right now. Besides, you know me too well tothink that I would annoy you or thrust myself upon you. But I will do asyou wish. "

"Thank you, " she said quietly. But she turned her dark face toward him, and looked at him for a moment very gently, almost lovingly. Where wasthe use of trying to conceal what would not be hidden? Every word hespoke told of his unchanged love, although the phrases were short andsimple. Why should she conceal what she felt? She knew it was a foregoneconclusion. They loved each other, and she would certainly marry him inthe course of a year. The long pent up forces of her nature werebeginning to assert themselves; she had conquered and fought down hernatural being in the effort to be all things to her old husband, toquench her growing interest in Giovanni, to resist his declared love, todrive him from her in her widowhood; but now it seemed as though allobstacles were suddenly removed. She saw clearly how well she loved him, and it seemed folly to try and conceal it. As she sat by his side shewas unboundedly happy, as she had never been in her life before: the coolmorning breeze fanned her cheeks, and the music of his low voice soothedher, while the delicious sense of rapid motion lent a thrill of pleasureto every breath she drew. It was no matter what she said; it was asthough she spoke unconsciously. All seemed predestined and foreplannedfrom all time, to be acted out to the end. The past vanished slowly as aretreating landscape. The weary traveller, exhausted with the heat of thescorching Campagna, slowly climbs the ascent towards Tivoli, the haven ofcool waters, and pausing now and then upon the path, looks back and seeshow the dreary waste of undulating hillocks beneath him seems graduallyto subside into a dim flat plain, while, in the far distance, the mightydomes and towers of Rome dwindle to an unreal mirage in the warm haze ofthe western sky; then advancing again, he feels the breath of themountains upon him, and hears the fresh plunge of the cold cataract, tillat last, when his strength is almost failing, it is renewed within him, and the dust and the heat of the day's journey are forgotten in thefulness of refreshment. So Corona d'Astrardente, wearied though notbroken by the fatigues and the troubles and the temptations of the pastfive years, seemed suddenly to be taken up and borne swiftly through thegardens of an earthly paradise, where there was neither care nortemptation, and where, in the cool air of a new life, the one voice sheloved was ever murmuring gentle things to her willing ear. 

As the road began to ascend, sweeping round the base of the mountain andupwards by even gradations upon its southern flank, the sun rose higherin the heavens, and the locusts broke into their summer song among thehedges with that even, long-drawn, humming note, so sweet to southernears. But Corona did not feel the heat, nor notice the dust upon the way;she was in a new state, wherein such things could not trouble her. Thefirst embarrassment of a renewed intimacy was fast disappearing, and shetalked easily to Giovanni of many things, reviewing past scenes andspeaking of mutual acquaintances, turning the conversation when itconcerned Giovanni or herself too directly, yet ever and again comingback to that sweet ground which was no longer dangerous now. At last, ata turn in the road, the grim towers of ancient Saracinesca loomed in thedistance, and the carriage entered a vast forest of chestnut trees, shadyand cool after the sunny ascent. So they reached the castle, and thesturdy horses sprang wildly forward up the last incline till their hoofsstruck noisily upon the flagstones of the bridge, and with a rush and aplunge they dashed under the black archway, and halted in the broad courtbeyond. 

Corona was surprised at the size of the old fortress. It seemed anendless irregular mass of towers and buildings, all of rough grey stone, surrounded by battlements and ramparts, kept in perfect repair, butdestitute of any kind of ornament whatever. It might have been even now amilitary stronghold, and it was evident that there were traditions ofprecision and obedience within its walls which would have done credit toany barracks. The dominant temper of the master made itself felt at everyturn, and the servants moved quickly and silently about their duties. There was something intensely attractive to Corona in the air of strengththat pervaded the place, and Giovanni had never seemed to her so manlyand so much in his element as under the grey walls of his ancestral home. The place, too, was associated in history with so many events, --the twomen, Leone and Giovanni Saracinesca, stood there beside her, where theirancestors of the same names had stood nearly a thousand years before, their strong dark faces having the same characteristics that forcenturies had marked their race, features familiar to Romans by countlessstatues and pictures, as the stones of Rome themselves--but for a detailof dress, it seemed to Corona as though she had been suddenly transportedback to the thirteenth century. The idea fascinated her. The two men ledher up the broad stone staircase, and ushered her and Sister Gabrielleinto the apartments of state which had been prepared for them. 

"We have done our best, " said the Prince, "but it is long since we haveentertained ladies at Saracinesca. "

"It is magnificent!" exclaimed Corona, as she entered the ante-chamber. The walls were hung from end to end with priceless tapestries, and thestone floor was covered with long eastern carpets. Corona paused. 

"You must show us all over the castle by-and-by, " she said. 

"Giovanni will show you everything, " answered the Prince. "If it pleasesyou, we will breakfast in half-an-hour. " He turned away with his son, andleft the two ladies to refresh themselves before the mid-day meal. 

Giovanni kept his word, and spared his guests no detail of the vaststronghold, until at last poor Sister Gabrielle could go no farther. Giovanni had anticipated that she would be tired, and with theheartlessness of a lover seeking his opportunity, he had secretly longedfor the moment when she should, be obliged to stop. 

"You have not yet seen the view from the great tower, " he said. "It issuperb, and this is the very best hour for it. Are you tired, Duchessa?"

"No--I am never tired, " answered Corona. 

"Why not go with Giovanni?" suggested the Prince. "I will stay withSister Gabrielle, who has nearly exhausted herself with seeing oursights. "

Corona hesitated. The idea of being alone with Giovanni for a quarter ofan hour was delightful, but somehow it did not seem altogether fittingfor her to be wandering over the castle with him. On the other hand, torefuse would seem almost an affectation: she was not in Rome, where herevery movement was a subject for remark; moreover, she was not only amarried woman, but a widow, and she had known Giovanni for years--itwould be ridiculous to refuse. 

"Very well, " said she. "Let us see the view before it is too late. "

Sister Gabrielle and old Saracinesea sat down on a stone seat upon therampart to wait, and the Duchessa disappeared with Giovanni through thelow door that led into the great tower. 

"What a wonderful woman you are!" exclaimed Giovanni, as they reached thetop of the winding stair, which was indeed broader than the staircase ofmany great houses in Rome. "You seem to be never tired. "

"No--I am very strong, " answered Corona, with a smile. She was not evenout of breath. "What a wonderful view!" she exclaimed, as they emergedupon the stone platform at the top of the tower. Giovanni was silent fora moment. The two stood together and looked far out at the purplemountains to eastward that caught the last rays of the sun high up abovethe shadows of the valley; and then looking down, they saw the Prince andthe Sister a hundred feet below them upon the rampart. 

Both were thinking of the same thing: three days ago, their meeting hadseemed infinitely far off, a thing dreamed of and hoped for--and now theywere standing alone upon the topmost turret of Giovanni's house, familiarwith each other by a long day's conversation, feeling as though they hadnever been parted, feeling also that most certainly they would not beparted again. 

"It is very strange, " said Giovanni, "how things happen in this world, and how little we ever know of what is before us. Last week I wonderedwhether I should ever see you--now I cannot imagine not seeing you. Isit not strange?"

"Yes, " answered Corona, in a low voice. 

"That, yesterday, we should have seemed parted by an insurmountablebarrier, and that to-day--" he stopped. "Oh, if to-day could only lastfor ever!" he exclaimed, suddenly. 

Corona gazed out upon the purple hills in silence, but her face caughtsome of the radiance of the distant glow, and her dark eyes had strangelights in them. She could not have prevented him from speaking; she hadloosed the bonds that had held her life so long; the anchor was up, andthe breath of love fanned the sails, and gently bore the craft in whichshe trusted out to seaward over the fair water. In seeing him she hadresigned herself to him, and she could not again get the mastery if shewould. It had come too soon, but it was sweet. 

"And why not?" he said, very softly. "Why should it not remain so forever--till our last breath? Why will you not let it last?"

Still she was silent; but the tears gathered slowly in her eyes, andwelled over and lay upon her velvet cheek like dewdrops on the leaves ofa soft dark tulip. Giovanni saw them, and knew that they were the jewelswhich crowned his life. 

"You will, " he said, his broad brown hand gently covering her smallfingers and taking them in his. "You will--I know that you will. "

She said nothing, and though she at first made a slight movement--not ofresistance, but of timid reluctance, utterly unlike herself--she sufferedhim to hold her hand. He drew closer to her, himself more diffident inthe moment of success than he had ever been when he anticipated failure;she was so unlike any woman he had ever known before. Very gently he puthis arm about her, and drew her to him. 

"My beloved--at last, " he whispered, as her head sank upon his shoulder. 

Then with a sudden movement she sprang to her height, and for one instantgazed upon him. Her whole being was transfigured in the might of herpassion: her dark face was luminously pale, her lips almost white, andfrom her eyes there seemed to flash a blazing fire. For one instant shegazed upon him, and then her arms went round his neck, and she claspedhim fiercely to her breast. 

"Ah, Giovanni, " she cried, passionately, "you do not know what lovemeans!"

A moment later her arms dropped from him; she turned and buried her facein her hands, leaning against the high stone parapet of the tower. Shewas not weeping, but her face was white, and her bosom heaved withquick and strong-drawn breath. 

Giovanni went to her side and took her strongly in his right arm, andagain her head rested upon his shoulder. 

"It is too soon--too soon, " she murmured. "But how can I help it? I loveyou so that there is no counting of time. It seems years since we metlast night, and I thought it would be years before I told you. Oh, Giovanni, I am so happy! Is it possible that you love me as I love you?"

It is a marvellous thing to see how soon two people who love each otherlearn the gentle confidence that only love can bring. A few moments laterGiovanni and Corona were slowly pacing the platform, and his arm wasabout her waist and her hand in his. 

"Do you know, " she was saying, "I used to wonder whether you would keepyour word, and never try to see me. The days were so long atAstrardente. "

"Not half so long as at Saracinesca, " he answered. "I was going to callmy aqueduct the Bridge of Sighs; I will christen it now the Spring ofLove. "

"I must go and see it to-morrow, " said she. 

"Or the next day--"

"The next day!" she exclaimed, with a happy laugh. "Do you think I amgoing to stay--"

"For ever, " interrupted Giovanni. "We have a priest here, you know, --hecan marry us to-morrow, and then you need never go away. "

Corona's face grew grave. 

"We must not talk of that yet, " she said, gently, "even in jest. "

"No; you are right. Forgive me, " he answered; "I forget many things--itseems to me I have forgotten everything, except that I love you. "

"Giovanni, "--she lingered on the name, --"Giovanni, we must tell yourfather at once. "

"Are you willing I should?" he asked, eagerly. 

"Of course--he ought to know; and Sister Gabrielle too. But no one elsemust be told. There must be no talk of this in Rome until--until nextyear. "

"We will stay in the country until then, shall we not?" asked Giovanni, anxiously. "It seems to me so much better. We can meet here, and nobodywill talk. I will go and live in the town at Astrardente, and play theengineer, and build your roads for you. "

"I hardly know, " said Corona, with a doubtful smile. "You could not dothat. But you may come and spend the day once--in a week, perhaps. "

"We will arrange all that, " answered Giovanni, laughing. "If you think Ican exist by only seeing you once a week--well, you do not know me. "

"We shall see, " returned Corona, laughing too. "By the bye, how long havewe been here?"

"I do not know, " said Giovanni; "but the view is magnificent, is it not?"

"Enchanting, " she replied, looking into his eyes. Then suddenly the bloodmounted to her cheeks. "Oh, Giovanni, " she said, "how could I do it?"

"I should have died if you had not, " he answered, and clasped her oncemore in his arms. 

"Come, " said she, "let us be going down. It is growing late. "

When they reached the foot of the tower, they found the Prince walkingthe rampart alone. Sister Gabrielle was afraid of the evening air, andhad retired into the house. Old Saracinesca faced them suddenly. Helooked like an old lion, his thick white hair and beard bristling abouthis dark features. 

"My father, " said Giovanni, coming forward, "the Duchessa d'Astrardentehas consented to be my wife. I crave your blessing. "

The old man started, and then stood stock-still. His son had fairly takenhis breath away, for he had not expected the news for three or fourmonths to come. Then he advanced and took Corona's hand, and kissed it. 

"Madam, " he said, "you have done my son an honour which extends to myselfand to every Saracinesca, dead, living, and to come. "

Then he laid Corona's hand in Giovanni's, and held his own upon themboth. 

"God bless you, " he said, solemnly; and as Corona bent her proud head, hetouched her forehead with his lips. Then he embraced Giovanni, and hisjoy broke out in wild enthusiasm. 

"Ha, my children, " he cried, "there has not been such a couple as you arefor generations--there has not been such good news told in these oldwalls since they have stood here. We will illuminate the castle, thewhole town, in your honour--we will ring the bells and have a Te Deumsung--we will have such a festival as was never seen before--we will goto Rome to-morrow and celebrate the espousal--we will--"

"Softly, _padre mio_, " interrupted Giovanni. "No one must know as yet. You must consider--"

"Consider what? consider the marriage? Of course we will consider it, assoon as you please. You shall have such a wedding as was never heard of--you shall be married by the Cardinal Archpriest of Saint Peter's, by theHoly Father himself. The whole country shall ring with it. "

It was with difficulty Giovanni succeeded in calming his father'sexcitement, and in recalling to his mind the circumstances which made itnecessary to conceal the engagement for the present. But at last the oldman reluctantly consented, and returned to a quieter humour. For sometime the three continued to pace the stone rampart. 

"This is a case of arrant cruelty to a man of my temper, " said thePrince. "To be expected to behave like an ordinary creature, with grinsand smiles and decent paces, when I have just heard what I have longed tohear for years. But I will revenge myself by making a noise aboutit by-and-by. I will concoct schemes for your wedding, and dream ofnothing but illuminations and decorations. You shall be Prince of Sant'Ilario, Giovanni, as I was before my father died; and I will give youthat estate outright, and the palace in the Corso to live in. "

"Perhaps we might live in my palace, " suggested Corona. It seemed strangeto her to be discussing her own marriage, but it was necessary to humourthe old Prince. "Of course, " he said. "I forgot all about it. You haveplaces enough to live in. One forgets that you will in the end be therichest couple in Italy. Ha!" he cried, in sudden enthusiasm, "theSaracinesca are not dead yet! They are greater than ever--and our landshere so near together, too. We will build a new road to Astrardente, and when you are married you shall be the first to drive over it fromAstrardente here. We will do all kinds of things--we will tunnel themountain!"

"I am sure you will do that in the end, " said Giovanni, laughing. 

"Well--let us go to dinner, " answered his father. "It has grown quitedark since we have been talking, and we shall be falling over the edge ifwe are not careful. "

"I will go and tell Sister Gabrielle before dinner, " said Corona toGiovanni. 

So they left her at the door of her apartment, and she went in. She foundthe Sister in an inner room, with a book of devotions in her hand. 

"Pray for me, my Sister, " she said, quietly. "I have resolved upon agreat step. I am going to be married again. "

Sister Gabrielle looked up, and a quiet smile stole over her thin face. 

"It is soon, my friend, " she said. "It is soon to think of that. Butperhaps you are right--is it the young Prince?"

"Yes, " answered Corona, and sank into a deep tapestried chair. "It issoon I know well. But it has been long--have struggled hard--I love himvery much--so much, you do not know!"

The Sister sighed faintly, and came and took her hand. 

"It is right that you should marry, " she said, gently. "You are tooyoung, too famously beautiful, too richly endowed, to lead the life youhave led at Astrardente these many months. "

"It is not that, " said Corona, an expression of strange beautyilluminating her lovely face. "Not that I am young, beautiful as you say, if it is so, or endowed with riches--those reasons are nothing. It isthis that tells me, " she whispered, pressing her left hand to her heart. "When one loves as I love, it is right. "

"Indeed it is, " assented the good Sister. "And I think you have chosenwisely. When will you be married?"

"Hardly before next summer--I can hardly think connectedly yet--it hasbeen very sudden. I knew I should marry him in the end, but I neverthought I could consent so soon. Oh, Sister Gabrielle, you are sogood--were you never in love?"

The Sister was silent, and looked away. 

"No--of course you cannot tell me, " continued Corona; "but it is such awonderful thing. It makes days seem like hundreds of years, or makes thempass in a flash of light, in a second. It oversets every idea of time, and plays with one's resolutions as the wind with a feather. If once itgets the mastery of one, it crowds a lifetime of pain and pleasure intoone day; it never leaves one for a moment. I cannot explain love--it is awonderful thing. "

"My dear friend, " said the Sister, "the explanation of love is life. "

"But the end of it is not death. It cannot be, " continued Corona, earnestly. "It must last for ever and ever. It must grow better and purerand stronger, until it is perfect in heaven at last: but where is the useof trying to express such things?"

"I think it is enough to feel them, " said Sister Gabrielle. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

The summer season ripened into autumn, and autumn again turned to winter, and Rome was once more full. The talk of society turned frequently uponthe probability of the match between the Duchessa d'Astrardente andGiovanni Saracinesca; and when at last, three weeks before Lent, theengagement was made known, there was a general murmur of approbation. Itseemed as though the momentous question of Corona's life, which had foryears agitated the gossips, were at last to be settled: every one hadbeen accustomed to regard her marriage with old Astrardente as atemporary affair, seeing that he certainly could not live long, andspeculation in regard to her future had been nearly as common during hislifetime as it was after his death. One of the duties most congenialto society, and one which it never fails to perform conscientiously, isthat judicial astrology, whereby it forecasts the issue of itsneighbour's doings. Everybody's social horoscope must be cast by thecircle of five-o'clock-tea-drinking astro-sociologists, and, generallyspeaking, their predictions are not far short of the truth, for societyknoweth its own bitterness, and is uncommonly quick in the diagnosis ofits own state of health. 

When it was announced that Corona was to marry Giovanni after Easter, society looked and saw that the arrangement was good. There was not onedissenting voice heard in the universal applause. Corona had behaved withexemplary decency during the year of her mourning--had lived a life ofreligious retirement upon her estates in the sole company of a Sister ofCharity, had given no cause for scandal in any way. Everybody aspiredto like her--that is to say, to be noticed by her; but with oneexception, she had caused no jealousy nor ill-feeling by herindifference, for no one had ever heard her say an unkind word concerninganybody she knew. Donna Tullia had her own reasons for hating Corona, andperhaps the world suspected them; but people did not connect the noisyDonna Tullia, full of animal spirits and gay silly talk, with the idea ofserious hatred, much less with the execution of any scheme of revenge. 

Indeed Madame Mayer had not spent the summer and autumn in nursing herwrath against Corona. She had travelled with the old Countess, hercompanion, and several times Ugo del Ferice had appeared suddenly at thewatering-places which she had selected for her temporary residence. Fromtime to time he gave her news of mutual friends, which she repaidconscientiously with interesting accounts of the latest scandals. Theywere a congenial pair, and Ugo felt that by his constant attention to herwishes, and by her never-varying willingness to accept his service, hehad obtained a hold upon her intimacy which, in the ensuing winter, wouldgive him a decided advantage over all competitors in the field. Shebelieved that she might have married half-a-dozen times, and that withher fortune she could easily have made a very brilliant match; she eventhought that she could have married Valdarno, who was very good-natured:but her attachment to Giovanni, and the expectations she had so longentertained in regard to him, had prevented her from showing any markedpreference for others; and while she was hesitating, Del Ferice, by hissuperior skill, had succeeded in making himself indispensable to her--asuccess the more remarkable that, in spite of his gifts and the curiouspopularity he enjoyed, he was by far the least desirable man of heracquaintance from the matrimonial point of view. 

But when Donna Tullia again met Giovanni in the world, the remembrance ofher wrongs revived her anger against him, and the news of his engagementto the Astrardente brought matters to a climax. In the excitement of themoment, both her jealousy and her anger were illuminated by the light ofa righteous wrath. She knew, or thought she knew, that Don Giovanni wasalready married. She had no proof that the peasant wife mentioned in thecertificate was alive, but there was nothing either to show that she wasdead. Even in the latter ease it was a scandalous thing that he shouldmarry again without informing Corona of the circumstances of his pastlife, and Donna Tullia felt an inner conviction that he had told theDuchessa nothing of the matter. The latter was such a proud woman, thatshe would be horrified at the idea of uniting herself to a man who hadbeen the husband of a peasant. 

Madame Mayer remembered her solemn promise to Del Ferice, and feared toact without his consent. An hour after she had heard the news of theengagement, she sent for him to come to her immediately. To herastonishment and dismay, her servant brought back word that he hadsuddenly gone to Naples upon urgent business. This news made her pause;but while the messenger had been gone to Del Ferice's house, Donna Tulliahad been anticipating and going over in her mind the scene which wouldensue when she told Corona the secret. Donna Tullia was a very sanguinewoman, and the idea of at last being revenged for all the slights she hadreceived worked suddenly upon her brain, so that as she paced herdrawing-room in expectation of the arrival of Del Ferice, she entirelyacted out in her imagination the circumstances of the approaching crisis, the blood beat hotly in her temples, and she lost all sense of prudencein the delicious anticipation of violent words. Del Ferice had cruellycalculated upon her temperament, and he had hoped that in the excitementof the moment she would lose her head, and irrevocably commit herself tohim by the betrayal of the secret. This was precisely what occurred. Onbeing told that he was out of town, she could no longer contain herself, and with a sudden determination to risk anything blindly, rather than toforego the pleasure and the excitement she had been meditating, sheordered her carriage and drove to the Palazzo Astrardente. 

Corona was surprised at the unexpected visit. She was herself on thepoint of going out, and was standing in her boudoir, drawing on her blackgloves before the fire, while her furs lay upon a chair at her side. Shewondered why Donna Tullia called, and it was in part her curiosity whichinduced her to receive her visit. Donna Tullia, armed to the teeth withthe terrible news she was about to disclose, entered the room quickly, and remained standing before the Duchessa with a semi-tragic air thatastonished Corona. 

"How do you do, Donna Tullia?" said the latter, putting out her hand. 

"I have come to speak to you upon a very serious matter, " answered hervisitor, without noticing the greeting. 

Corona stared at her for a moment, but not being easily disconcerted, shequietly motioned to Donna Tullia to sit down, and installed herself in achair opposite to her. 

"I have just heard the news that you are to marry Don GiovanniSaracinesca, " said Madame Mayer. "You will pardon me the interest I takein you; but is it true?"

"It is quite true, " answered Corona. 

"It is in connection with your marriage that I wish to speak, Duchessa. Iimplore you to reconsider your decision. "

"And why, if you please?" asked Corona, raising her black eyebrows, andfixing her haughty gaze upon her visitor. 

"I could tell you--I would rather not, " answered Donna Tullia, unabashed, for her blood was up. "I could tell you--but I beseech you not to ask me. Only consider the matter again, I beg you. It is very serious. Nothingbut the great interest I feel in you, and my conviction--"

"Donna Tullia, your conduct is so extraordinary, " interrupted Corona, looking at her curiously, "that I am tempted to believe you are mad. Imust beg you to explain what you mean by your words. "

"Ah, no, " answered Madame Mayer. "You do me injustice. I am not mad, butI would save you from the most horrible danger. "

"Again I say, what do you mean? I will not be trifled with in this way, "said the Duchessa, who would have been more angry if she had been lessastonished, but whose temper was rapidly rising. 

"I am not trifling with you, " returned Donna Tullia. "I am imploring youto think before you act, before you marry Don Giovanni. You cannot thinkthat I would venture to intrude upon you without the strongest reasons. I am in earnest. "

"Then, in heaven's name, speak out!" cried Corona, losing all patience. "I presume that if this is a warning, you have some grounds, you havesome accusation to make against Don Giovanni. Have the goodness to statewhat you have to say, and be brief. "

"I will, " said Donna Tullia, and she paused a moment, her face growingred with excitement, and her blue eyes sparkling disagreeably. "Youcannot marry Don Giovanni, " she said at length, "because there is aninsurmountable impediment in the way. "

"What is it?" asked Corona, controlling her anger. 

"He is already married!" hissed Donna Tullia. 

Corona turned a little pale, and started back. But in an instant hercolour returned, and she broke into a low laugh. 

"You are certainly insane, " she said, eyeing Madame Mayer suspiciously. It was not an easy matter to shake her faith in the man she loved. DonnaTullia was disappointed at the effect she had produced. She was a cleverwoman in her way, but she did not understand how to make the best of thesituation. She saw that she was simply an object of curiosity, and thatCorona seriously believed her mind deranged. She was frightened, and, in order to help herself, she plunged deeper. 

"You may call me mad, if you please, " she replied, angrily. "I tell youit is true. Don Giovanni was married on the 19th of June 1863, at Aquila, in the Abruzzi, to a woman called Felice Baldi--whoever she may havebeen. The register is extant, and the duplicate of the marriagecertificate. I have seen the copies attested by a notary. I tell you itis true, " she continued, her voice rising to a harsh treble; "you areengaged to marry a man who has a wife--a peasant woman--somewhere in themountains. "

Corona rose from her seat and put out her hand to ring the bell. She waspale, but not excited. She believed Donna Tullia to be insane, perhapsdangerous, and she calmly proceeded to protect herself by calling forassistance. 

"Either you are mad, or you mean what you say, " she said, keeping hereyes upon the angry woman before her. "You will not leave this houseexcept in charge of my physician, if you are mad; and if you mean whatyou say, you shall not go until you have repeated your words toDon Giovanni Saracinesca himself, --no, do not start or try to escape--itis of no use. I am very sudden and violent--beware!"

Donna Tullia bit her red lip. She was beginning to realise that she hadgot herself into trouble, and that it might be hard to get out of it. Butshe felt herself strong, and she wished she had with her those proofswhich would make her case good. She was so sanguine by nature that shewas willing to carry the fight to the end, and to take her chance for theresult. 

"You may send for Don Giovanni if you please, " she said. "I have spokenthe truth--if he denies it I can prove it. If I were you I would sparehim the humiliation--"

A servant entered the room in answer to the bell, and Corona interruptedDonna Tullia's speech by giving the man her orders. 

"Go at once to the Palazzo Saracinesca, and beg Don Giovanni to come hereinstantly with his father the Prince. Take the carriage--it is waitingbelow. "

The man disappeared, and Corona quietly resumed her seat. Donna Tulliawas silent for a few moments, attempting to control her anger in anassumption of dignity; but soon she broke out afresh, being rendered verynervous and uncomfortable by the Duchessa's calm manner and apparentindifference to consequences. 

"I cannot see why you should expose yourself to such a scene, " saidMadame Mayer presently. "I honestly wished to save you from a terribledanger. It seems to me it would be quite sufficient if I proved the factto you beyond dispute. I should think that instead of being angry, youwould show some gratitude. "

"I am not angry, " answered Corona, quietly. "I am merely giving you animmediate opportunity of proving your assertion and your sanity. "

"My sanity!" exclaimed Donna Tullia, angrily. "Do you seriouslybelieve--"

"Nothing that you say, " said Corona, completing the sentence. 

Unable to bear the situation, Madame Mayer rose suddenly from her seat, and began to pace the small room with short, angry steps. 

"You shall see, " she said, fiercely--"you shall see that it is all true. You shall see this man's face when I accuse him--you shall see himhumiliated, overthrown, exposed in his villany--the wretch! You shall seehow--"

Corona's strong voice interrupted her enemy's invective in ringing tones. 

"Be silent!" she cried. "In twenty minutes he will be here. But if yousay one word against him before he comes, I will lock you into this roomand leave you. I certainly will not hear you. "

Donna Tullia reflected that the Duchessa was in her own house, andmoreover that she was not a woman to be trifled with. She threw herselfinto a chair, and taking up a book that lay upon the table, she pretendedto read. 

Corona remained seated by the fireplace, glancing at her from time totime. She was strangely inclined to laugh at the whole situation, whichseemed to her absurd in the extreme--for it never crossed her mind tobelieve that there was a word of truth in the accusation againstGiovanni. Nevertheless she was puzzled to account for Donna Tullia'sassurance, and especially for her readiness to face the man she socalumniated. A quarter of an hour elapsed in this armed silence--the twowomen glancing at each other from time to time, until the distant soundof wheels rolling under the great gate announced that the messenger hadreturned from the Palazzo Saracinesca, probably conveying Don Giovanniand his father. 

"Then you have made up your mind to the humiliation of the man you love?"asked Donna Tullia, looking up from her book with a sneer on her face. 

Corona vouchsafed no answer, but her eyes turned towards the door inexpectation. Presently there were steps heard without. The servantentered, and announced Prince Saracinesca and Don Giovanni. Coronarose. The old man came in first, followed by his son. 

"An unexpected pleasure, " he said, gaily. "Such good luck! We were bothat home. Ah, Donna Tullia, " he cried, seeing Madame Mayer, "how are you?"Then seeing her face, he added, suddenly, "Is anything the matter?"

Meanwhile Giovanni had entered, and stood by Corona's side near thefireplace. He saw at once that something was wrong, and he lookedanxiously from the Duchessa to Donna Tullia. Corona spoke at once. 

"Donna Tullia, " she said, quietly, "I have the honour to offer you anopportunity of explaining yourself. "

Madame Mayer remained seated by the table, her face red with anger. Sheleaned back in her seat, and half closing her eyes with a disagreeablelook of contempt, she addressed Giovanni. 

"I am sorry to cause you such profound humiliation, " she began, "but inthe interest of the Duchessa d'Astrardente I feel bound to speak. DonGiovanni, do you remember Aquila?"

"Certainly, " he replied, coolly--"I have often been there. What of it?"

Old Saracinesca stared from one to the other. 

"What is this comedy?" he asked of Corona. But she nodded to him to besilent. 

"Then you doubtless remember Felice Baldi--poor Felice Baldi, " continuedDonna Tullia, still gazing scornfully up at Giovanni from where she sat. 

"I never heard the name, that I can remember, " answered Giovanni, asthough trying to recall some memory of the past. He could not imaginewhat she was leading to, but he was willing to answer her questions. 

"You do not remember that you were married to her at Aquila on the 19thof June--"

"I--married?" cried Giovanni, in blank astonishment. 

"Signora Duchessa, " said the Prince, bending his heavy brows, "what isthe meaning of all this?"

"I will tell you the meaning of it, " said Donna Tullia, in low hissingtones, and rising suddenly to her feet she assumed a somewhat theatricalattitude as she pointed to Giovanni. "I will tell what it means. It meansthat Don Giovanni Saracinesca was married in the church of SanBernardino, at Aquila, on the 19th of June 1863, to the woman FeliceBaldi--who is his lawful wife to-day, and for aught we know the mother ofhis children, while he is here in Rome attempting to marry the Duchessad'Astrardente--can he deny it? Can he deny that his own signature isthere, there in the office of the State Civile at Aquila, to testifyagainst him? Can he--?"

"Silence!" roared the Prince. "Silence, woman, or by God in heaven I willstop your talking for ever!" He made a step towards her, and there was amurderous red light in his black eyes. But Giovanni sprang forward andseized his father by the wrist. 

"You cannot silence me, " screamed Donna Tullia. "I will be heard, and byall Rome. I will cry it upon the housetops to all the world--"

"Then you will precipitate your confinement in the asylum of SantoSpirito, " said Giovanni, in cold, calm tones. "You are clearly mad. "

"So I said, " assented Corona, who was nevertheless pale, and tremblingwith excitement. 

"Allow me to speak with her, " said Giovanni, who, like most dangerousmen, seemed to grow cold as others grew hot. Donna Tullia leaned upon thetable, breathing hard between her closed teeth, her face scarlet. 

"Madame, " said Giovanni, advancing a step and confronting her, "you saythat I am married, and that I am contemplating a monstrous crime. Uponwhat do you base your extraordinary assertions?"

"Upon attested copies of your marriage certificate, of the civil registerwhere your handwriting has been seen and recognised. What more would youhave?"

"It is monstrous!" cried the Prince, advancing again. "It is the mostabominable lie ever concocted! My son married without my knowledge, andto a peasant! Absurd!"

But Giovanni waved his father back, and kept his place before DonnaTullia. 

"I give you the alternative of producing instantly those proofs you referto, " he said, "and which you certainly cannot produce, or of waiting inthis house until a competent physician has decided whether you aresufficiently sane to be allowed to go home alone. "

Donna Tullia hesitated. She was in a terrible position, for Del Fericehad left Rome suddenly, and though the papers were somewhere in hishouse, she knew not where, nor how to get at them. It was impossible toimagine a situation more desperate, and she felt it as she lookedround and saw the pale dark faces of the three resolute persons whoseanger she had thus roused. She believed that Giovanni was capable ofanything, but she was astonished at his extraordinary calmness. Shehesitated for a moment. 

"That is perfectly just, " said Corona. "If you have proofs, you canproduce them. If you have none, you are insane. "

"I have them, and I will produce them before this hour to-morrow, "answered Donna Tullia, not knowing how she should get the papers, butknowing that she was lost if she failed to obtain them. 

"Why not to-day--at once?" asked Giovanni, with some scorn. 

"It will take twenty-four hours to forge them, " growled his father. 

"You have no right to insult me so grossly, " cried Donna Tullia. "Butbeware--I have you in my power. By this time to-morrow you shall see withyour own eyes that I speak the truth. Let me go, " she cried, as the oldPrince placed himself between her and the door. 

"I will, " said he. "But before you go, I beg you to observe that ifbetween now and the time you show us these documents you breathe abroadone word of your accusations, I will have you arrested as a dangerouslunatic, and lodged in Santo Spirito; and if these papers are notauthentic, you will be arrested to-morrow afternoon on a charge offorgery. You quite understand me?" He stood aside to let her pass. Shelaughed scornfully in his face, and went out. 

When she was gone the three looked at each other, as though trying tocomprehend what had happened. Indeed, it was beyond their comprehension. Corona leaned against the chimneypiece, and her eyes rested lovingly uponGiovanni. No doubt had ever crossed her mind of his perfect honesty. OldSaracinesca looked from one to the other for a moment, and then, strikingthe palms of his hands together, turned and began to walk up and down theroom. 

"In the first place, " said Giovanni, "at the time she mentions I was inCanada, upon a shooting expedition, with a party of Englishmen. It iseasy to prove that, as they are all alive and well now, so far as I haveheard. Donna Tullia is clearly out of her mind. "

"The news of your engagement has driven her mad, " said the old Prince, with a grim laugh. "It is a very interesting and romantic case. "

Corona blushed a little, and her eyes sought Giovanni's, but her face wasvery grave. It was a terrible thing to see a person she had known so longbecoming insane, and for the sake of the man she herself so loved. Andyet she had not a doubt of Donna Tullia's madness. It was very sad. 

"I wonder who could have put this idea into her head, " said Giovanni, thoughtfully. "It does not look like a creation of her own brain. Iwonder, too, what absurdities she will produce in the way of documents. Of course they must be forged. "

"She will not bring them, " returned his father, in a tone of certainty. "We shall hear to-morrow that she is raving in the delirium of abrain-fever. "

"Poor thing!" exclaimed Corona. "It is dreadful to think of it. "

"It is dreadful to think that she should have caused you all this troubleand annoyance, " said Giovanni, warmly. "You must have had a terriblescene with her before we came. What did she say?"

"Just what she said to you. Then she began to rail against you; and Isent for you, and told her that unless she could be silent I would lockher up alone until you arrived. So she sat down in that chair, andpretended to read. But it was an immense relief when you came!"

"You did not once believe what she said might possibly be true?" askedGiovanni, with a loving look. 

"I? How could you ever think it!" exclaimed Corona. Then she laughed, andadded, "But of course you knew that I would not. "

"Indeed, yes, " he answered. "It never entered my head. "

"By-the-bye, " said old Saracinesca, glancing at the Duchessa's blackbonnet and gloved hands, "you must have been just ready to go out whenshe came--we must not keep you. I suppose that when she said she wouldbring her proofs to-morrow at this hour, she meant she would bring themhere. Shall we come to-morrow then?"

"Yes--by all means, " she answered. "Come to breakfast at one o'clock. Iam alone, you know, for Sister Gabrielle has insisted upon going back toher community. But what does it matter now?"

"What does it matter?" echoed the Prince. "You are to be married so soon. I really think we can do as we please. " He generally did as he pleased. 

The two men left her, and a few minutes later she descended the steps ofthe palace and entered her carriage, as though nothing had happened. 

Six months had passed since she had given her troth to Giovanni upon thetower of Saracinesca, and she knew that she loved him better now thanthen. Little had happened of interest in the interval of time, and thedays had seemed long. But until after Christmas she had remained atAstrardente, busying herself constantly with the improvements she hadalready begun, and aided by the counsels of Giovanni. He had taken acottage of hers in the lower part of her village, and had fitted it upwith the few comforts he judged necessary. In this lodging he hadgenerally spent half the week, going daily to the palace upon the hilland remaining for long hours in Corona's society, studying her plans andvisiting with her the works which grew beneath their joint direction. Shehad grown to know him as she had not known him before, and to understandmore fully his manly character. He was a very resolute man, and very muchin earnest when he chanced to be doing anything; but the strain ofmelancholy which he inherited from his mother made him often inclined toa sort of contemplative idleness, during which his mind seemedpreoccupied with absorbing thoughts. Many people called his fits ofsilence an affectation, or part of his system for rendering himselfinteresting; but Corona soon saw how real was his abstraction, and shesaw also that she alone was able to attract his attention and interesthim when the fit was upon him. Slowly, by a gradual study of him, shelearned what few had ever guessed, namely, that beneath the experiencedman of the world, under his modest manner and his gentle ways, therelay a powerful mainspring of ambition, a mine of strength, which wouldone day exert itself and make itself felt upon his surroundings. He haddeveloped slowly, feeding upon many experiences of the world in manycountries, his quick Italian intelligence comprehending often more thanit seemed to do, while the quiet dignity he got from his Spanish bloodmade him appear often very cold. But now and again, when under theinfluence of some large idea, his tongue was loosed in the charm ofCorona's presence, and he spoke to her, as he had never spoken to anyone, of projects and plans which should make the world move. She did notalways understand him wholly, but she knew that the man she loved wassomething more than the world at large believed him to be, and there wasa thrill of pride in the thought which delighted her inmost soul. She, too, was ambitious, but her ambition was all for him. She felt that therewas little room for common aspirations in his position or in her own. Allthat high birth, and wealth, and personal consideration could give, theyboth had abundantly, beyond their utmost wishes; anything they coulddesire beyond that must lie in a larger sphere of action than meresociety, in the world of political power. She herself had had dreams, andentertained them still, of founding some great institution of charity, ofdoing something for her poorer fellows. But she learned by degrees thatGiovanni looked further than to such ordinary means of employing power, and that there was in him a great ambition to bring great forces to bearupon great questions for the accomplishment of great results. The sixmonths of her engagement to him had not only strengthened her love forhim, already deep and strong, but had implanted in her an unchangingdetermination to second him in all his life, to omit nothing in her powerwhich could assist him in the career he should choose for himself, andwhich she regarded as the ultimate field for his extraordinary powers. Itwas strange that, while granting him everything else, people had neverthought of calling him a man of remarkable intelligence. But no one knewhim as Corona knew him; no one suspected that there was in him anythingmore than the traditional temper of the Saracinesca, with sufficient mindto make him as fair a representative of his race as his father was. 

There was more than mere love and devotion in the complete security shefelt when she saw him attacked by Donna Tullia; there was already thecertainty that he was born to be above small things, and to create asphere of his own in which he would move as other men could not. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

When Donna Tullia quitted the Palazzo Astrardente her head swam. She hadutterly failed to do what she had expected; and from being the accuser, she felt that she was suddenly thrust into the position of the accused. Instead of inspiring terror in Corona, and causing Giovanni the terriblehumiliation she had supposed he would feel at the exposure of hisprevious marriage, she had been coldly told that she was mad, and thather pretended proofs were forgeries. Though she herself felt no doubtwhatever concerning the authenticity of the documents, it was verydisappointing to find that the first mention of them produced nostartling effect upon any one, least of all upon Giovanni himself. Theman, she thought, was a most accomplished villain; since he was capableof showing such hardened indifference to her accusation, he was capablealso of thwarting her in her demonstration of their truth--and shetrembled at the thought of what she saw. Old Saracinesca was not a man tobe trifled with, nor his son either: they were powerful, and would berevenged for the insult. But in the meanwhile she had promised to produceher proofs; and when she regained enough composure to consider the matterfrom all its points, she came to the conclusion that after all her gamewas not lost, seeing that attested documents are evidence not easilyrefuted, even by powerful men like Leone and Giovanni Saracinesca. Shegradually convinced herself that their indifference was a pretence, andthat they were accomplices in the matter, their object being to gainCorona with all her fortune for Giovanni's wife. But, at the same time, Donna Tullia felt in the depths of her heart a misgiving: she was cleverenough to recognise, even in spite of herself, the difference between aliar and an honest man. 

She must get possession of these papers--and immediately too; there mustbe no delay in showing them to Corona, and in convincing her that thiswas no mere fable, but an assertion founded upon very substantialevidence. Del Ferice was suddenly gone to Naples: obviously the onlyway to get at the papers was to bribe his servant to deliver them up. Ugohad once or twice mentioned Temistocle to her, and she judged from thefew words he had let fall that the fellow was a scoundrel, who wouldsell his soul for money. Madame Mayer drove home, and put on the onlydark-coloured gown she possessed, wound a thick veil about her head, provided herself with a number of bank-notes, which she thrust betweenthe palm of her hand and her glove, left the house on foot, and took acab. There was nothing to be done but to go herself, for she could trustno one. Her heart beat fast as she ascended the narrow stone steps ofDel Ferice's lodging, and stopped upon the landing before the small greendoor, whereon she read his name. She pulled the bell, and Temistocleappeared in his shirt-sleeves. 

"Does Count Del Ferice live here?" asked Donna Tullia, peering over theman's shoulder into the dark and narrow passage within. 

"He lives here, but he is gone to Naples, " answered Temistocle, promptly. 

"When will he be back?" she inquired. The man raised his shoulders to hisears, and spread out the palms of his hands to signify that he did notknow. Donna Tullia hesitated. She had never attempted to bribe anybodyin her life, and hardly knew how to go about it. She thought that thesight of the money might produce an impression, and she withdrew abank-note from the hollow of her hand, spreading it out between herfingers. Temistocle eyed it greedily. 

"There are twenty-five scudi, " she said. "If you will help me to find apiece of paper in your master's room, you shall have them. "

Temistocle drew himself up with an air of mock pride. Madame Mayer lookedat him. 

"Impossible, signora, " he said. Then she drew out another. Temistocleeyed the glove curiously to see if it contained more. 

"Signora, " he repeated, "it is impossible. My master would kill me. Icannot think of it. " But his tone seemed to yield a little. Donna Tulliafound another bank-note; there were now seventy-five scudi in her hand. She thought she saw Temistocle tremble with excitement. But still hehesitated. 

"Signora, my conscience, " he said, in a low voice of protestation. 

"Come, " said Madame Mayer, impatiently, "there is another--there are ahundred scudi--that is all I have got, " she added, turning down her emptyglove. 

Suddenly Temistocle put out his hand and grasped the bank-notes eagerly. But instead of retiring to allow her to enter, he pushed roughly pasther. 

"You may go in, " he said in a hoarse whisper, and turning quickly, fledprecipitately down the narrow steps, in his shirt-sleeves as he was. Madame Mayer stood for a moment looking after him in surprise, even whenhe had already disappeared. 

Then she turned and entered the door rather timidly; but before she hadgone two steps in the dark passage, she uttered a cry of horror. DelFerice stood in her way, wrapped in a loose dressing-gown, a curiousexpression upon his pale face, which from its whiteness was clearlydistinguishable in the gloom. Temistocle had cheated her, had lied intelling her that his master was absent, had taken her bribe and had fled. He would easily find an excuse for having allowed her to enter; and withhis quick valet's instinct, he guessed that she would not confess toDel Ferice that she had bribed him. Ugo came forward a step and instantlyrecognised Madame Mayer. 

"Donna Tullia!" he cried, "what are you doing? You must not be seenhere. "

A less clever man than Ugo would have pretended to be overjoyed at hercoming. Del Fence's fine instincts told him that for whatever cause shehad come--and he guessed the cause well enough--he would get a firmerhold upon her consideration by appearing to be shocked at her imprudence. Donna Tullia was nearly fainting with fright, and stood leaning againstthe wall of the passage. 

"I thought--I--I must see you at once, " she stammered. 

"Not here, " he answered, quickly. "Go home at once; I will join you infive minutes. It will ruin you to have it known that you have been here. "

Madame Mayer took courage at his tone. 

"You must bring them--those papers, " she said, hurriedly. "Somethingdreadful has happened. Promise me to come at once!"

"I will come at once, my dear lady, " he said, gently pushing her towardsthe door. "I cannot even go downstairs with you--forgive me. You haveyour carriage of course?"

"I have a cab, " replied Donna Tullia, faintly, submitting to be putout of the door. He seized her hand and kissed it passionately, orwith a magnificent semblance of passion. With a startled look, DonnaTullia turned and went rapidly down the steps. Del Ferice smiledsoftly to himself when she was gone, and went in again to exchange hisdressing-gown for a coat. He had her in his power at last. He had guessedthat she would betray the secret--that after the engagement became known, she would not be able to refrain from communicating it to Coronad'Astrardente; and so soon as he heard the news, he had shut himself upin his lodging, pretending a sudden journey to Naples, determined not toset foot out of the house until he heard that Donna Tullia had committedherself. He knew that when she had once spoken she would make a desperateattempt to obtain the papers, for he knew that such an assertion as herswould need to be immediately proved, at the risk of her position insociety. His plot had succeeded so far. His only anxiety was to knowwhether she had mentioned his name in connection with the subject, but heguessed, from his knowledge of her character, that she would not do so:she would respect her oath enough to conceal his name, even whilebreaking her promise; she would enjoy taking the sole credit of thediscovery upon herself, and she would shun an avowal which would proveher to have discussed with any one else the means of preventing themarriage, because it would be a confession of jealousy, and consequentlyof personal interest in Don Giovanni. Del Ferice was a very cleverfellow. 

He put on his coat, and in five minutes was seated in a cab on his way toDonna Tullia's house, with a large envelope full of papers in his pocket. He found her as she had left him, her face still wrapped in a veil, walking up and down her drawing-room in great excitement. He advancedand saluted her courteously, maintaining a dignified gravity of bearingwhich he judged fitting for the occasion. 

"And now, my dear lady, " he said, gently, "will you tell me exactly whatyou have done?"

"This morning, " answered Madame Mayer, in a stifled voice, "I heard ofthe Astrardente's engagement to Don Giovanni. It seemed such a terriblething!"

"Terrible, indeed, " said Del Ferice, solemnly. 

"I sent for you at once, to know what to do: they said you were gone toNaples. I thought, of course, that you would approve if you were here, because we ought to prevent such a dreadful crime--of course. " She waitedfor some sign of assent, but Del Ferice's pale face expressed nothing buta sort of grave reproach. 

"And then, " she continued, "as I could not find you, I thought it wasbest to act at once, and so I went to see the Astrardente, feeling thatyou would entirely support me. There was a terrific scene. She sent forthe two Saracinesca, and I--waited till they came, because I wasdetermined to see justice done. I am sure I was right, --was I not?"

"What did they say?" asked Del Ferice, quietly watching her face. 

"If you will believe it, that monster of villany, Don Giovanni, was ascold as stone, and denied the whole matter from beginning to end; but hisfather was very angry. Of course they demanded the proofs. I never sawanything like the brazen assurance of Don Giovanni. "

"Did you mention me?" inquired Del Ferice. 

"No, I had not seen you: of course I did not want to implicate you. Isaid I would show them the papers tomorrow at the same hour. "

"And then you came to see me, " said Del Ferice. "That was very rash. Youmight have seriously compromised yourself. I would have come if you hadsent for me. "

"But they said you had gone to Naples. Your servant, " continued DonnaTullia, blushing scarlet at the remembrance of her interview withTemistocle, --"your servant assured me in person that you had gone toNaples--"

"I see, " replied Del Ferice, quietly. He did not wish to press her to aconfession of having tried to get the papers in his absence. His objectwas to put her at her ease. 

"My dear lady, " he continued, gently, "you have done an exceedingly rashthing; but I will support you in every way, by putting the documents inyour possession at once. It is unfortunate that you should have acted sosuddenly, for we do not know what has become of this Felice Baldi, norhave we any immediate means of finding out. It might have taken weeks tofind her. Why were you so rash? You could have waited till I returned, and we could have discussed the matter carefully, and decided whether itwere really wise to make use of my information. "

"You do not doubt that I did right?" asked Donna Tullia, turning a littlepale. 

"I think you acted precipitately in speaking without consulting me. Allmay yet be well. But in the first place, as you did not ask my opinion, you will see the propriety of not mentioning my name, since you havenot done so already. It can do no good, for the papers speak forthemselves, and whatever value they may have is inherent in them. Do yousee?"

"Of course there is no need of mentioning you, unless you wish to have ashare in the exposure of this abominable wickedness. "

"I am satisfied with my share, " replied Del Ferice, with a quiet smile. 

"It is not an important one, " returned Donna Tullia, nervously. 

"It is the lion's share, " he answered. "Most adorable of women, you havenot, I am sure, forgotten the terms of our agreement--terms so dear tome, that every word of them is engraven for ever upon the tablet of myheart. "

Madame Mayer started slightly. She had not realised that her promise tomarry Ugo was now due--she did not believe that he would press it; he hadexacted it to frighten her, and besides, she had so persuaded herselfthat he would approve of her conduct, that she had not felt as though shewere betraying his secret. 

"You will not--you cannot hold me to that; you approve of telling theAstrardente, on the whole, --it is the same as though I had consultedyou--"

"Pardon me, my dear lady; you did not consult me, " answered Del Ferice, soothingly. He sat near her by the fire, his hat upon his knee, no longerwatching her, but gazing contemplatively at the burning logs. There was adelicacy about his pale face since the wound he had received a yearbefore which was rather attractive: from having been a little inclined tostoutness, he had grown slender and more graceful, partly because hishealth had really been affected by his illness, and partly because he haddetermined never again to risk being too fat. 

"I tried to consult you, " objected Donna Tullia. "It is the same thing. "

"It is not the same thing to me, " he answered, "although you have notinvolved me in the affair. I would have most distinctly advised you tosay nothing about it at present. You have acted rashly, have put yourselfin a most painful situation; and you have broken your promise to me--avery solemn promise, Donna Tullia, sworn upon the memory of your motherand upon a holy relic. One cannot make light of such promises asthat. "

"You made me give it in order to frighten me. The Church does not bind usto oaths sworn under compulsion, " she argued. 

"Excuse me; there was no compulsion whatever. You wanted to know mysecret, and for the sake of knowing it you bound yourself. That is notcompulsion. I cannot compel you. I could not think of presuming to compelyou to marry me now. But I can say to you that I am devotedly attached toyou, that to marry you is the aim and object of my life, and if yourefuse, I will tell you that you are doing a great wrong, repudiating asolemn contract--"

"If I refuse--well--but you would give me the papers?" asked DonnaTullia, who was beginning to tremble for the result of the interview. Shehad a vague suspicion that, for the sake of obtaining them, she wouldeven be willing to promise to marry Del Ferice. It would be very wrong, perhaps; but it would be for the sake of accomplishing good, bypreventing Corona from falling into the trap--Corona, whom she hated!Still, it would be a generous act to save her. The minds of women likeMadame Mayer are apt to be a little tortuous when they find themselveshemmed in between their own jealousies, hatreds, and personal interests. 

"If you refused--no; if you refused, I am afraid I could not give you thepapers, " replied Del Ferice, musing as he gazed at the fire. "I love youtoo much to lose that chance of winning you, even for the sake of savingthe Duchessa d'Astrardente from her fate. Why do you refuse? why do youbargain?" he asked, suddenly turning towards her. "Does all my devotioncount for nothing--all my love, all my years of patient waiting? Oh, youcannot be so cruel as to snatch the cup from my very lips! It is not forthe sake of these miserable documents: what is it to me whether DonGiovanni appears as the criminal in a case of bigamy--whether he isruined now, as by his evil deeds he will be hereafter, or whether he goeson unharmed and unthwarted upon his career of wickedness? He is nothingto me, nor his pale-faced bride either. It is for you that I care, foryou that I will do anything, bad or good, to win you that I would risk mylife and my soul. Can you not see it? Have I not been faithful for verylong? Take pity on me--forget this whole business, forget that you havepromised anything, forget all except that I am here at your feet, amiserable man, unless you speak the word, and turn all my wretchednessinto joy!"

He slipped from his seat and knelt upon one knee before her, clasping oneof her hands passionately between both his own. The scene was wellplanned and well executed; his voice had a ring of emotion that soundedpleasantly in Donna Tullia's ears, and his hands trembled withexcitement. She did not repulse him, being a vain woman and willing tobelieve in the reality of the passion so well simulated. Perhaps, too, itwas not wholly put on, for she was a handsome, dashing woman, in theprime of youth, and Del Ferice was a man who had always been susceptibleto charms of that kind. Donna Tullia hesitated, wondering what more hecould say. But he, on his part, knew the danger of trusting too much toeloquence when not backed by a greater strength than his, and he pressedher for an answer. 

"Be generous--trust me, " he cried. "Believe that your happiness iseverything to me; believe that I will take no unfair advantage of a hastypromise. Tell me that, of your own free will, you will be my wife, aridcommand me anything, that I may prove my devotion. It is so true, sohonest, --Tullia, I adore you, I live only for you! Speak the word, andmake me the happiest of men!"

He really looked handsome as he knelt before her, and she felt the light, nervous pressure of his hand at every word he spoke. After all, what didit matter? She might accept him, and then--well, if she did not like theidea, she could throw him over. It would only cost her a violent scene, and a few moments of discomfort. Meanwhile she would get the papers. 

"But you would give me the papers, would you not, and leave me to decidewhether--Really, Del Ferice, " she said, interrupting herself with anervous laugh, "this is very absurd. "

"I implore you not to speak of the papers--it is not absurd. It may seemso to you, but it is life or death to me: death if you refuse me--life ifyou will speak the word and be mine!"

Donna Tullia made up her mind. He would evidently not give her what shewanted, except in return for a promise of marriage. She had grown used tohim, almost fond of him, in the last year. 

"Well, I do not know whether I am right, " she said, "but I am really veryfond of you; and if you will do all I say--"

"Everything, my dear lady; everything in the world I will do, if you willmake me so supremely happy, " cried Del Ferice, ardently. 

"Then--yes; I will marry you. Only get up and sit upon your chair like areasonable being. No; you really must be reasonable, or you must goaway. " Ugo was madly kissing her hands. He was really a good actor, ifit was all acting. She could not but be moved by his pale delicate faceand passionate words. With a quick movement he sprang to his feet andstood before her, clasping his hands together and gazing into her face. 

"Oh, I am the happiest man alive to-day!" he exclaimed, and the sense oftriumph that he felt lent energy to his voice. 

"Do sit down, " said Donna Tullia, gaily, "and let us talk it all over. Inthe first place, what am I to do first?"

Del Ferice found it convenient to let his excitement subside, and as apreliminary he walked twice the length of the room. 

"It is so hard to be calm!" he exclaimed; but nevertheless he presentlysat down in his former seat, and seemed to collect his faculties withwonderful ease. 

"What is to be done first?" asked Donna Tullia again. 

"In the first place, " answered Del Ferice, "here are those preciouspapers. As they are notary's copies themselves, and not the originals, itis of no importance whether Don Giovanni tears them up or not. It is easyto get others if he does. I have noted down all the names and dates. Iwish we had some information about Felice Baldi. It is very unfortunatethat we have not, but it would perhaps take a month to find her. "

"I must act at once, " said Donna Tullia, firmly; for she remembered oldSaracinesca's threats, and was in a hurry. 

"Of course. These documents speak for themselves. They bear the addressof the notary who made the copies in Aquila. If the Saracinesca choose, they can themselves go there and see the originals. "

"Could they not destroy those too?" asked Donna Tullia, nervously. 

"No; they can only see one at a time, and the person who will show themwill watch them. Besides, it is easy to write to the curate of the churchof San Bernardino to be on his guard. We will do that in any case. Thematter is perfectly plain. Your best course is to meet the Astrardenteto-morrow at the appointed time, and simply present these papers forinspection. No one can deny their authenticity, for they bear theGovernment stamp and the notary's seal, as you see, here and here. Ifthey ask you, as they certainly will, how you came by them, you canafford to answer, that, since you have them, it is not necessary to knowwhence they came; that they may go and verify the originals; and that inwarning them of the fact, you have fulfilled a duty to society, and havedone a service to the Astrardente, if not to Giovanni Saracinesca. Youhave them in your power, and you can afford to take the high hand in thematter. They must believe the evidence of their senses; and they musteither allow that Giovanni's first wife is alive, or they must accountfor her death, and prove it. There is no denial possible in the face ofthese proofs. "

Donna Tullia drew a long breath, for the case seemed perfectly clear; andthe anticipation of her triumph already atoned for the sacrifice she hadmade. 

"You are a wonderful man, Del Ferice!" she exclaimed. "I do not knowwhether I am wise in promising to marry you, but I have the greatestadmiration for your intellect. "

Del Ferice glanced at her and smiled. Then he made as though he wouldreturn the papers to his pocket. She sprang towards him, and seized himby the wrist. 

"Do not be afraid!" she cried, "I will keep my promise. "

"Solemnly?" he asked, still smiling, and holding the envelope firmly inhis hand. 

"Solemnly, " she answered; and then added, with a quick laugh, "but youare so abominably clever, that I believe you could make me marry youagainst my will. "

"Never!" said Del Ferice, earnestly; "I love you far too much. " He hadwonderfully clear instincts. "And now, " he continued, "we have settledthat matter; when shall the happy day be?"

"Oh, there is time enough to think of that, " answered Donna Tullia, witha blush that might have passed for the result of a coy shyness, but whichwas in reality caused by a certain annoyance at being pressed. 

"No, " objected Del Ferice, "we must announce our engagement at once. There is no reason for delay--to-day is better than to-morrow. "

"To-day?" repeated Donna Tullia, in some alarm. 

"Why not? Why not, my dear lady, since you and I are both in earnest?"

"I think it would be much better to let this affair pass first. "

"On the contrary, " he argued, "from the moment we are publicly engaged Ibecome your natural protector. If any one offers you any insult in thismatter, I shall then have an acknowledged right to avenge you--a rightI dearly covet. Do you think I would dread to meet Don Giovanni again? Hewounded me, it is true, but he has the marks of my sword upon his bodyalso. Give me at once the privilege of appearing as your champion, and you will not regret it. But if you delay doing so, all sorts ofcircumstances may arise, all sorts of unpleasantness--who could protectyou? Of course, even in that case I would; but you know the tongues ofthe gossips in Rome--it would do you harm instead of good. "

"That is true, and you are very brave and very kind. But it seems almosttoo soon, " objected Donna Tullia, who, however, was fast learning toyield to his judgment. 

"Those things cannot be done too soon. It gives us liberty, and it givesthe world satisfaction; it protects you, and it will be an inestimablepleasure to me. Why delay the inevitable? Let us appear at once asengaged to be married, and you put a sword in my hand to defend you andto enforce your position in this unfortunate affair with theAstrardente. "

"Well, you may announce it if you please, " she answered, reluctantly. 

"Thank you, my dear lady, " said Del Ferice. "And here are the papers. Make the best use of them you can--any use that you make of them will begood, I know. How could it be otherwise?"

Donna Tullia's fingers closed upon the large envelope with a graspinggrip, as though she would never relinquish that for which she had paid sodear a price. She had, indeed, at one time almost despaired of gettingpossession of them, and she had passed a terrible hour, besides havingabased herself to the fruitless bribery she had practised uponTemistocle. But she had gained her end, even at the expense of permittingDel Ferice to publish her engagement to marry him. She felt that shecould break it off if she decided at last that the union was toodistasteful to her; but she foresaw that, from the point of worldlyambition, she would be no great loser by marrying a man of such cunningwit, who possessed such weapons against his enemies, and who, on thewhole, as she believed, entirely sympathised with her view of life. Sherecognised that her chances of making a great match were diminishingrapidly; she could not tell precisely why, but she felt, to hermortification, that she had not made a good use of her rich widowhood:people did not respect her much, and as this touched her vanity, she wassusceptible to their lack of deference. She had done no harm, but sheknew that every one thought her an irresponsible woman, and the thriftyRomans feared her extravagance, though some of them perhaps courted herfortune: many had admired her, and had to some extent expressed theirdevotion, but no scion of all the great families had asked her to be hiswife. The nearest approach to a proposal had been the doubtful attentionshe had received from Giovanni Saracinesca during the time when hisheadstrong father had almost persuaded him to marry her, and she thoughtof her disappointed hopes with much bitterness. To destroy Giovanni bythe revelations she now proposed to make, to marry Del Ferice, and thento develop her position by means of the large fortune she had inheritedfrom her first husband, seemed on the whole a wise plan. Del Ferice'stitle was not much, to be sure, but, on the other hand, he was intimatewith every one she knew, and for a few thousand scudi she could buy somesmall estate with a good title attached to it. She would then changeher mode of life, and assume the pose of a social power, which as a youngwidow she could not do. It was not so bad, after all, especially if shecould celebrate the first day of her engagement by destroying thereputation of Giovanni Saracinesca, root and branch, and dealing a blowat Corona's happiness from which it would not recover. 

As for Del Ferice, he regarded his triumph as complete. He cared littlewhat became of Giovanni--whether he was able to refute the evidencebrought against him or not. There had been nothing in the matter whichwas dishonest, and properly made out marriage-certificates are not easythings to annul. Giovanni might swim or sink--it was nothing to Ugo delFerice, now that he had gained the great object of his life, and was atliberty to publish his engagement to Donna Tullia Mayer. He lost no timein telling his friends the good news, and before the evening was over ahundred people had congratulated him. Donna Tullia, too, appeared in morethan usually gay attire, and smilingly received the expressions of goodwishes which were showered upon her. She was not inclined to question thesincerity of those who spoke, for in her present mood the stimulus of alittle popular noise was soothing to her nerves, which had been badlystrained by the excitement of the day. When she closed her eyes she hadevil visions of Temistocle retreating at full speed down the stairs withhis unearned bribe, or of Del Ferice's calm, pale face, as he had sat inher house that afternoon grasping the precious documents in his handuntil she promised to pay the price he asked, which was herself. Butshe smiled at each new congratulation readily enough, and said in herheart that she would yet become a great power in society, and make herhouse the centre of all attractions. And meanwhile she pondered on thetitle she should buy for her husband: she came of high blood herself, andshe knew how such dignities as a "principe" or a "duca" were regardedwhen bought. There was nothing for it but to find some snug littlemarquisate--"marchese" sounded very well, though one could not be called"eccellenza" by one's servants; still, as the daughter of a prince, shemight manage even that. "Marchese"--yes, that would do. What a pity therewere only four "canopy" marquises--"marchesi del baldacchino"--in Romewith the rank of princes! That was exactly the combination of dignitiesDonna Tullia required for her husband. But once a "marchese, " if she wasvery charitable, and did something in the way of a public work, the HolyFather might condescend to make Del Ferice a "duca" in the ordinarycourse as a step in the nobility. Donna Tullia dreamed many things thatnight, and she afterwards accomplished most of them, to the surprise ofeverybody, and, if the truth were told, to her own considerableastonishment. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

"Giovanni, you are the victim of some outrageous plot, " said oldSaracinesca, entering his son's room on the following morning. "I havethought it all out in the night, and I am convinced of it. "

Giovanni was extended upon a sofa, with a book in his hand and a cigarbetween his lips. He looked up quietly from his reading. 

"I am not the victim yet, nor ever will be, " he answered; "but it isevident that there is something at the bottom of this besides MadameMayer's imagination. I will find out. "

"What pleases me especially, " remarked the old Prince, "is the wonderfuloriginality of the idea. It would have been commonplace to make out thatyou had poisoned half-a-dozen wives, and buried their bodies in thevaults of Saracinesca; it would have been _banal_ to say that you werenot yourself, but some one else; or to assert that you were arevolutionary agent in disguise, and that the real Giovanni had beenmurdered by you, who had taken his place without my discovering it, --verycommonplace all that. But to say that you actually have a living wife, and to try to prove it by documents, is an idea worthy of a great mind. It takes one's breath away. "

Giovanni laughed. 

"It will end in our having to go to Aquila in search of my supposedbetter half, " he said. "Aquila, of all places! If she had said Paris--oreven Florence--but why, in the name of geography, Aquila?"

"She probably looked for some out-of-the-way place upon an alphabeticallist, " laughed the Prince. "Aquila stood first. We shall know in twohours--come along. It is time to be going. "

They found Corona in her boudoir. She had passed an uneasy hour on theprevious afternoon after they had left her, but her equanimity was nowentirely restored. She had made up her mind that, however ingenious theconcocted evidence might turn out to be, it was absolutely impossible toharm Giovanni by means of it. His position was beyond attack, as, in hermind, his character was above slander. Far from experiencing anysensation of anxiety as to the result of Donna Tullia's visit, what shemost felt was curiosity to see what these fancied proofs would be like. She still believed that Madame Mayer was mad. 

"I have been remarking to Giovanni upon Donna Tullia's originality, " saidold Saracinesca. "It is charming; it shows a talent for fiction which theworld has been long in realising, which we have not even suspected--anamazing and transcendent genius for invention. "

"It is pure insanity, " answered Corona, in a tone of conviction. "Thewoman is mad. "

"Mad as an Englishman, " asseverated the Prince, using the most powerfulsimile in the Italian language. "We will have her in Santo Spirito beforenight, and she will puzzle the doctors. "

"She is not mad, " said Giovanni, quietly. "I do not even believe we shallfind that her documents are forgeries. "

"What?" cried his father. Corona looked quickly at Giovanni. 

"You yourself, " said the latter, turning to old Saracinesca, "wereassuring me half an hour ago that I was the victim of a plot. Now, ifanything of the kind is seriously attempted, you may be sure it will bewell done. She has a good ally in the man to whom she is engaged. DelFerice is no fool, and he hates me. "

"Del Ferice!" exclaimed Corona, in surprise. As she went nowhere as yet, she had, of course, not heard the news which had been published on theprevious evening. "You do not mean to say that she is going to marry DelFerice?"

"Yes, indeed, " said Giovanni. "They both appeared last night andannounced the fact, and received everybody's congratulations. It is amost appropriate match. "

"I agree with you--a beautiful triangular alliteration of wit, wealth, and wickedness, " observed the Prince. "He has brains, she has money, andthey are both as bad as possible. "

"I thought you used to like Donna Tullia, " said Corona, suppressing asmile. 

"I did, " said old Saracinesea, stoutly. "I wanted Giovanni to marry her. It has pleased Providence to avert that awful catastrophe. I liked MadameMayer because she was rich and noisy and good-looking, and I thoughtthat, as Giovanni's wife, she would make the house gay. We are such apair of solemn bears together, that it seemed appropriate that somebodyshould make us dance. It was a foolish idea, I confess, though I thoughtit very beautiful at the time. It merely shows how liable we are to makemistakes. Imagine Giovanni married to a lunatic!"

"I repeat that she is not mad, " said Giovanni. "I cannot tell how theyhave managed it, but I am sure it has been managed well, and will give ustrouble. You will see. "

"I do not understand at all how there can be any trouble about it, " saidCorona, proudly. "It is perfectly simple for us to tell the truth, and toshow that what they say is a lie. You can prove easily enough that youwere in Canada at the time. I wish it were time for her to come. Let usgo to breakfast in the meanwhile. "

The views taken by the three were characteristic of their variousnatures. The old Prince, who was violent of temper, and inclined alwaysto despise an enemy in any shape, scoffed at the idea that there wasanything to show; and though his natural wit suggested from time to timethat there was a plot against his son, his general opinion was, that itwas a singular case of madness. He hardly believed Donna Tullia wouldappear at all; and if she did, he expected some extraordinary outburst, some pitiable exhibition of insanity. Corona, on the other hand, maintained a proud indifference, scorning to suppose that anything couldpossibly injure Giovanni in any way, loving him too entirely to admitthat he was vulnerable at all, still less that he could possibly havedone anything to give colour to the accusation brought against him. Giovanni alone of all the three foresaw that there would be trouble, anddimly guessed how the thing had been done; for he did not fall into hisfather's error of despising an enemy, and he had seen too much of theworld not to understand that danger is often greatest when the appearanceof it is least. 

Breakfast was hardly over when Donna Tullia was announced. All rose tomeet her, and all looked at her with equal interest. She was calmer thanon the previous day, and she carried a package of papers in her hand. Her red lips were compressed, and her eyes looked defiantly round uponall present. Whatever might be her faults, she was not a coward whenbrought face to face with danger. She was determined to carry the matterthrough, both because she knew that she had no other alternative, andbecause she believed herself to be doing a righteous act, which, at thesame time, fully satisfied her desire for vengeance. She came forwardboldly and stood beside the table in the midst of the room. Corona wasupon one side of the fireplace, and the two Saracinesea upon the other. All three held their breath in expectation of what Donna Tullia was aboutto say; the sense of her importance impressed her, and her love ofdramatic situations being satisfied, she assumed something of the air ofa theatrical avenging angel, and her utterance was rhetorical. 

"I come here, " she said, "at your invitation, to exhibit to your eyes theevidence of what I yesterday asserted--the evidence of the monstrouscrime of which I accuse that man. " Here she raised her finger with agesture of scorn, and extending her whole arm, pointed towards Giovanni. 

"Madam, " interrupted the old Prince, "I will trouble you to select yourepithets and expressions with more care. Pray be brief, and show what youhave brought. "

"I will show it, indeed, " replied Donna Tullia, "and you shall tremble atwhat you see. When you have evidence of the truth of what I say, you maychoose any language you please to define the action of your son. Thesedocuments, " she said, holding up the package, "are attested copies madefrom the originals--the first two in the possession of the curate of thechurch of San Bernardino da Siena, at Aquila, the other in the office ofthe Stato Civile in the same city. As they are only copies, you need notthink that you will gain anything by destroying them. "

"Spare your comments upon our probable conduct, " interrupted the Prince, roughly. Donna Tullia eyed him with a scornful glance, and her face beganto grow red. 

"You may destroy them if you please, " she repeated; "but I advise you toobserve that they bear the Government stamp and the notarial seal ofGianbattista Caldani, notary public in the city of Aquila, and that theyare, consequently, beyond all doubt genuine copies of genuine documents. "

Donna Tullia proceeded to open the envelope and withdraw the three papersit contained. Spreading them out, she took up the first, which containedthe extract from the curate's book of banns. It set forth that upon thethree Sundays preceding the 19th of June 1863, the said curate hadpublished, in the parish church of San Bernardino da Siena, the banns ofmarriage between Giovanni Saracinesca and Felice Baldi. Donna Tullia readit aloud. 

Giovanni could hardly suppress a laugh, it sounded so strangely. Coronaherself turned pale, though she firmly believed the whole thing to be animposture of some kind. 

"Permit me, madam, " said old Saracinesca, stepping forward and taking thepaper from her hand. He carefully examined the seal and stamp. "It isvery cleverly done, " he said with a sneer; "but there should be onlyone letter _r_ in the name Saracinesca--here it is spelt with two! Veryclever, but a slight mistake! Observe, " he said, showing the place toDonna Tullia. 

"It is a mistake of the copyist, " she said, scornfully. "The name isproperly spelt in the other papers. Here is the copy of the marriageregister. Shall I read it also?"

"Spare me the humiliation, " said Giovanni, in quiet contempt. "Spare methe unutterable mortification of discovering that there is anotherGiovanni Saracinesca in the world!"

"I could not have believed that any one could be so hardened, " said DonnaTullia. "But whether you are humiliated or not by the evidence of yourmisdeeds, I will spare you nothing. Here it is in full, and you maynotice that your name is spelt properly too. "

She held up the document and then read it out--the copy of the curate'sregister, stating that on the 19th of June 1863 Giovanni Saracinesca andFelice Baldi were united in holy matrimony in the church of SanBernardino da Siena. She handed the paper to the Prince, and then readthe extract from the register of the Civil marriage and the notary'sattestation to the signatures. She gave this also to old Saracinesca, andthen folding her arms in a fine attitude, confronted the three. 

"Are you satisfied that I spoke the truth?" she asked, defiantly. 

"The thing is certainly remarkably well done, " answered the old Prince, who scrutinised the papers with a puzzled air. Though he knew perfectlywell that his son had been in Canada at the time of this pretendedmarriage, he confessed to himself that if such evidence had been broughtagainst any other man, he would have believed it. 

"It is a shameful fraud!" exclaimed Corona, looking at the papers overthe old man's shoulder. 

"That is a lie!" cried Donna Tullia, growing scarlet with anger. 

"Do not forget your manners, or you will get into trouble, " saidGiovanni, sternly. "I see through the whole thing. There has been nofraud, and yet the deductions are entirely untrue. In the first place, Donna Tullia, how do you make the statements here given to coincide withthe fact that during the whole summer of 1863 and during the early partof 1864 I was in Canada with a party of gentlemen, who are all alive totestify to the fact?"

"I do not believe it, " answered Madame Mayer, contemptuously. "I wouldnot believe your friends if they were here and swore to it. You will verylikely produce witnesses to prove that you were in the arctic regionslast summer, as the newspapers said, whereas every one knows now that youwere at Saracinesca. You are exceedingly clever at concealing yourmovements, as we all know. "

Giovanni did not lose his temper, but calmly proceeded to demonstrate histheory. 

"You will find that the courts of law will accept the evidence ofgentlemen upon oath, " he replied, quietly. "Moreover, as a furtherevidence, and a piece of very singular proof, I can probably produceGiovanni Saracinesca and Felice Baldi themselves to witness against you. And I apprehend that the said Giovanni Saracinesca will vehementlyprotest that the said Felice Baldi is his wife, and not mine. "

"You speak in wonderful riddles, but you will not deceive me. Money willdoubtless do much, but it will not do what you expect. "

"Certainly not, " returned Giovanni, unmoved by her reply. "Money willcertainly not create out of nothing a second Giovanni Saracinesca, norhis circle of acquaintances, nor the police registers concerning himwhich are kept throughout the kingdom of Italy, very much as they arekept here in the Pontifical States. Money will do none of these things. "

While he was speaking, his father and the Duchessa listened with intenseinterest. 

"Donna Tullia, " continued Giovanni, "I am willing to believe from yourmanner that you are really sure that I am the man mentioned in yourpapers; but permit me to inform you that you have been made the victim ofa shallow trick, probably by the person who gave those same papers intoyour hands, and suggested to you the use you have made of them. "

"I? I, the victim of a trick?" repeated Donna Tullia, frightened at lastby his obstinately calm manner. 

"Yes, " he replied. "I know Aquila and the Abruzzi very well. Itchances that although we, the Saracinesca of Rome, are not numerous, the name is not uncommon in that part of the country. It is the samewith all our great names. There are Colonna, Orsini, Caetani all over thecountry--there are even many families bearing the name of the Medici, whoare extinct. You know it as well as I, or you should know it, for Ibelieve your mother was my father's cousin. Has it not struck you thatthis same Giovanni Saracinesca herein mentioned, is simply some low-bornnamesake of mine?"

Donna Tullia had grown very pale, and she leaned upon the table as thoughshe were faint. The others listened breathlessly. 

"I do not believe it, " said Madame Mayer, in a low and broken voice. 

"Now I will tell you what I will do, " continued Giovanni. "I will go toAquila at once, and I daresay my father will accompany me--"

"Of course I will, " broke in the old Prince. 

"We will go, and in a fortnight's time we will produce the whole historyof this Giovanni Saracinesca, together with his wife and himself in hisown person, if they are both alive; we will bring them here, and theywill assure you that you have been egregiously deceived, played upon andput in a false position by--by the person who furnished you with thesedocuments. I wonder that any Roman of common-sense should not have seenat once the cause of this mistake. "

"I cannot believe it, " murmured Donna Tullia. Then raising her voice, sheadded, "Whatever may be the result of your inquiry, I cannot but feelthat I have done my duty in this affair. I do not believe in your theory, nor in you, and I shall not, until you produce this other man. I havedone my duty--"

"An exceedingly painful one, no doubt, " remarked old Saracinesca. Then hebroke into a loud peal of laughter. 

"And if you do not succeed in your search, it will be my duty, in theinterests of society, to put the matter in the hands of the police. Sinceyou have the effrontery to say that those papers are of no use, I demandthem back. "

"Not at all, madam, " replied the Prince, whose laughter subsided at therenewed boldness of her tone. "I will not give them back to you. I intendto compare them with the originals. If there are no originals, they willserve very well to commit the notary whose seal is on them, and yourself, upon a well-founded indictment for forgery, wilful calumniation, and awhole list of crimes sufficient to send you to the galleys for life. If, on the other hand, the originals exist, they can be of no possible valueto you, as you can send to Aquila and have fresh copies made whenever youplease, as you yourself informed me. "

Things were taking a bad turn for Donna Tullia. She believed the papersto be genuine, but a fearful doubt crossed her mind that Del Ferice mightpossibly have deceived her by having them manufactured. Anybodycould buy Government paper, and it would be but a simple matter to have anotary's seal engraved. She was terrified at the idea, but there was nopossibility of getting the documents back from the old Prince, who heldthem firmly in his broad brown hand. There was nothing to be done but toface the situation out to the end and go. 

"As you please, " she said. "It is natural that you should insult me, adefenceless woman trying to do what is right. It is worthy of your raceand reputation. I will leave you to the consideration of the course youintend to follow, and I advise you to omit nothing which can help toprove the innocence of your son. "

Donna Tullia bestowed one more glance of contemptuous defiance upon thegroup, and brushed angrily out of the room. 

"So much for her madness!" exclaimed Giovanni, when she was gone. "Ithink I have got to the bottom of that affair. "

"It seems so simple, and yet I never thought of it, " said Corona. "Howclever you are, Giovanni!"

"There was not much cleverness needed to see through so shallow a trick, "replied Giovanni. "I suspected it this morning; and when I saw that thedocuments were genuine and all in order, I was convinced of it. Thisthing has been done by Del Ferice, I suppose in order to revenge himselfupon me for nearly killing him in fair fight. It was a noble plan. With alittle more intelligence and a little more pains, he could have given megreat trouble. Certificates like those he produced, if they had come froma remote French village in Canada, would have given us occupation forsome time. "

"I wish Donna Tullia joy of her husband, " remarked the Prince. "He willspend her money in a year or two, and then leave her to the contemplationof his past extravagance. I wonder how he induced her to consent. "

"Many people like Del Ferice, " said Giovanni. "He is popular, and hasattractions. "

"How can you say that!" exclaimed Corona, indignantly. "You should have abetter opinion of women than to think any woman could find attractions insuch a man. "

"Nevertheless, Donna Tullia is going to marry him, " returned Giovanni. "She must find him to her taste. I used to think she might have marriedValdarno--he is so good-natured, you know!"

Giovanni spoke in a tone of reflection; the other two laughed. 

"And now, Giovannino, " said his father, "we must set out for Aquila, andfind your namesake. "

"You will not really go?" asked Corona, with a look of disappointment. She could not bear the thought of being separated even for a day from theman she loved. 

"I do not see that we can do anything else, " returned the Prince. "I mustsatisfy myself whether those papers are forgeries or not. If they are, that woman must go to prison for them. "

"But she is our cousin--you cannot do that, " objected Giovanni. 

"Indeed I will. I am angry. Do not try to stop me. Do you suppose I careanything for the relationship in comparison with repaying her for allthis trouble? You are not going to turn merciful, Giovanni? I should notrecognise you. "

There was a sort of mournful reproach about the old Prince's tone, asthough he were reproving his son for having fallen from the paths ofvirtue. Corona laughed; she was not hard-hearted, but she was not soangelic of nature as to be beyond feeling deep and lasting resentmentfor injuries received. At that moment the idea of bringing Donna Tulliato justice was pleasant. 

"Well, " said Giovanni, "no human being can boast of having ever preventedyou from doing whatever you were determined to do. The best thing thatcan happen will be, that you should find the papers genuine, and mynamesake alive. I wish Aquila were Florence or Naples, " he added, turningto Corona; "you might manage to go at the same time. "

"That is impossible, " she answered, sadly. "How long will you be gone, doyou think?"

Giovanni did not believe that, if the papers were genuine, and if theyhad to search for the man mentioned in them, they could return in lessthan a fortnight. 

"Why not send a detective--a _sbirro_?" suggested Corona. 

"He could not accomplish anything, " replied the Prince. 

"He would be at a great disadvantage there; we must go ourselves. "

"Both?" asked Corona, regretfully, gazing at Giovanni's face. 

"It is my business, " replied the latter. "I can hardly ask my father togo alone. "

"Absurd!" exclaimed the old Prince, resenting the idea that he needed anyhelp to accomplish his mission. "Do you think I need some one to takecare of me, like a baby in arms? I will go alone; you shall not come evenif you wish it. Absurd, to talk of my needing anybody with me! I willshow you what your father can do when his blood is up. "

Protestations were useless after that. The old man grew angry at theopposition, and, regardless of all propriety, seized his hat and left theroom, growling that he was as good as anybody, and a great deal better. 

Corona and Giovanni looked at each other when he was gone, and smiled. 

"I believe my father is the best man alive, " said Giovanni. "He would goin a moment if I would let him. I will go after him and bring him back--Isuppose I ought. "

"I suppose so, " answered Corona; but as they stood side by side, shepassed her hand under his arm affectionately, and looked into his eyes. It was a very tender look, very loving and gentle--such a look as nonebut Giovanni had ever seen upon her face. He put his arm about her waistand drew her to him, and kissed her dark cheek. 

"I cannot bear to go away and leave you, even for a day, " he said, pressing her to his side. 

"Why should you?" she murmured, looking up to him. "Why should he go, after all? This has been such a silly affair. I wonder if that womanthought that anything could ever come between you and me? That was whatmade me think she was really mad. "

"And an excellent reason, " he answered. "Anybody must be insane whodreams of parting us two. It seems as though a year ago I had not lovedyou at all. "

"I am so glad, " said Corona. "Do you remember, last summer, on the towerat Saracinesca, I told you that you did not know what love was?"

"It was true, Corona--I did not know. But I thought I did. I neverimagined what the happiness of love was, nor how great it was, nor how itcould enter into every thought. "

"Into every thought? Into your great thoughts too?"

"If any thoughts of mine are great, they are so because you are themainspring of them, " he answered. 

"Will it always be so?" she asked. "You will be a very great man someday, Giovanni; will you always feel that I am something to you?"

"Always--more than anything to me, more than all of me together. "

"I sometimes wonder, " said Corona. "I think I understand you better thanI used to do. I like to think that you feel how I understand you when youtell me anything. Of course I am not clever like you, but I love you somuch that just while you are talking I seem to understand everything. Itis like a flash of light in a dark room. "

Giovanni kissed her again. 

"What makes you think that I shall be great, Corona? Nobody ever thinks Iam even clever. My father would laugh at you, and say it is quite enoughgreatness to be born a Saracinesca. What makes you think it?"

Corona stood up beside him and laid her delicate hand upon his thick, close-cut black hair, and gazed into his eyes. 

"I know it, " she said. "I know it, because I love you so. A man like youmust be great. There is something in you that nobody guesses but I, thatwill amaze people some day--I know it. "

"I wonder if you could tell me what it is? I wonder if it is really thereat all?" said Giovanni. 

"It is ambition, " said Corona, gravely. "You are the most ambitious man Iever knew, and nobody has found it out. "

"I believe it is true, Corona, " said Giovanni, turning away and leaningupon the chimneypiece, his head supported on one hand. "I believe you areright. I am ambitious: if I only had the brains that some men have Iwould do great things. "

"You are wrong, Giovanni. It is neither brains nor ambition nor strengththat you lack--it is opportunity. "

"They say that a man who has anything in him creates opportunities forhimself, " answered Giovanni, rather sadly. "I fear it is because I reallyhave nothing in me that I can do nothing. It sometimes makes me veryunhappy to think so. I suppose that is because my vanity is wounded. "

"Do not talk like that, " said Corona. "You have vanity, of course, but itis of the large kind, and I call it ambition. It is not only because Ilove you better than any man was ever loved before that I say that. It isthat I know it instinctively I have heard you say that these areunsettled times. Wait; your opportunity will come, as it came often toyour forefathers in other centuries. "

"I hardly think that their example is a good one, " replied Giovanni, witha smile. 

"They generally did something remarkable in remarkable times, " saidCorona. "You will do the same. Your father, for instance, would not. "

"He is far more clever than I, " objected Giovanni. 

"Clever! It passes for cleverness. He is quick, active, a good talker, aman with a ready wit and a sharp answer--kind-hearted when the fancytakes him, cruel when he is so disposed--but not a man of greatconvictions or of great actions. You are very different from him. "

"Will you draw my portrait, Corona?" asked Giovanni. 

"As far as I know you. You are a man quick to think and slow to make adecision. You are not brilliant in conversation--you see I do not flatteryou; I am just. You have the very remarkable quality of growing coldwhen others grow hot, and of keeping the full use of your faculties inany situation. When you have made a decision, you cannot be moved fromit; but you are open to conviction in argument. You have a great reposeof manner, which conceals a very restless brain. All your passions arevery strong. You never forgive, never forget, and scarcely ever repent. Beneath all, you have an untamable ambition which has not yet found itsproper field. Those are your qualities--and I love them all, and youmore than them all. "

Corona finished her speech by throwing her arms round his neck, andbreaking into a happy laugh as she buried her face upon his shoulder. Noone who saw her in the world would have believed her capable of thosesudden and violent demonstrations--she was thought so very cold. 

When Giovanni reached home, he was informed that his father had left Romean hour earlier by the train for Terni, leaving word that he had gone toAquila. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

In those days the railroad did not extend beyond Terni in the directionof Aquila, and it was necessary to perform the journey of forty milesbetween those towns by diligence. It was late in the afternoon of thenext day before the cumbrous coach rolled up to the door of the Locandadel Sole in Aquila, and Prince Saracinesca found himself at hisdestination. The red evening sun gilded the snow of the Gran Sassod'Italia, the huge domed mountain that towers above the city ofFrederick. The city itself had long been in the shade, and the springair was sharp and biting. Saracinesca deposited his slender luggage withthe portly landlord, said he would return for supper in half an hour, andinquired the way to the church of San Bernardino da Siena. There wasno difficulty in finding it, at the end of the Corso--the inevitable"Corso" of every Italian town. The old gentleman walked briskly along thebroad, clean street, and reached the door of the church just as thesacristan was hoisting the heavy leathern curtain, preparatory to lockingup for the night. 

"Where can I find the Padre Curato?" inquired the Prince. The man lookedat him but made no answer, and proceeded to close the doors with greatcare. He was an old man in a shabby cassock, with four days' beard onhis face, and he appeared to have taken snuff recently. 

"Where is the Curator?" repeated the Prince, plucking him by the sleeve. But the man shook his head, and began turning the ponderous key in thelock. Two little ragged boys were playing a game upon the church steps, piling five chestnuts in a heap and then knocking them down with a smallstone. One of them having upset the heap, desisted and came near thePrince. 

"That one is deaf, " he said, pointing to the sacristan. Then runningbehind, him he stood on tiptoe and screamed in his ear--"_Bruttabestia_!"

The sacristan did not hear, but caught sight of the urchin and made alunge at him. He missed him, however, and nearly fell over. 

"What education!--_che educazione_!" cried the old man, angrily. 

Meanwhile the little boy took refuge behind Saracinesca, and pulling hiscoat asked for a _soldo_. The sacristan calmly withdrew the key from thelock, and went away without vouchsafing a look to the Prince. 

"He is deaf, " screamed the little boy, who was now joined by hiscompanion, and both in great excitement danced round the fine gentleman. 

"Give me a _soldo_, " they yelled together. 

"Show me the house of the Padre Curato, " answered the Prince, "then Iwill give you each a _soldo. Lesti!_ Quick!"

Whereupon both the boys began turning cart-wheels on their feet and handswith marvellous dexterity. At last they subsided into a natural position, and led the way to the curate's house, not twenty yards from the church, in a narrow alley. The Prince pulled the bell by the long chain whichhung beside the open street door, and gave the boys the promised coppers. They did not leave him, however, but stood by to see what would happen. An old woman looked out of an upper window, and after surveying thePrince with care, called down to him--

"What do you want?"

"Is the Padre Curato at home?"

"Of course he is at home, " screamed the old woman, "At this hour!" sheadded, contemptuously. 

"_Ebbene_--can I see him?"

"What! is the door shut?" returned the hag. 

"No. "

"Then why don't you come up without asking?" The old woman's headdisappeared, and the window was shut with a clattering noise. 

"She is a woman without education, " remarked one of the ragged boys, making a face towards the closed window. 

The Prince entered the door and stumbled up the dark stairs, and aftersome further palaver obtained admittance to the curate's lodging. Thecurate sat in a room which appeared to serve as dining-room, living-room, and study. A small table was spread with a clean cloth, upon which werearranged a plate, a loaf of bread, a battered spoon, a knife, and a smallmeasure of thin-looking wine. A brass lamp with three wicks, one of whichonly was burning, shed a feeble light through the poor apartment. Againstthe wall stood a rough table with an inkstand and three or four mouldybooks. Above this hung a little black cross bearing a brass Christ, andabove this again a coloured print of San Bernardino of Siena. The wallswere whitewashed, and perfectly clean, --as indeed was everythingelse in the room, --and there was a sweet smell of flowers from a huge potof pinks which had been taken in for the night, and stood upon the stonesill within the closed window. 

The curate was a tall old man, with a singularly gentle face and softbrown eyes. He wore a threadbare cassock, carefully brushed; and frombeneath his three-cornered black cap his thin hair hung in a straightgrey fringe. As the Prince entered the room, the old woman calledover his shoulder to the priest an uncertain formula of introduction. 

"Don Paolo, _c'è uno_--there is one. " Then she retired, grumblingaudibly. 

The priest removed his cap, and bowing politely, offered one of the twochairs to his visitor. With an apology, he replaced his cap upon hishead, and seated himself opposite the Prince. There was much courteoussimplicity in his manner. 

"In what way can I serve you, Signore?" he asked. 

"These papers, " answered the Prince, drawing the famous envelope from hisbreast-pocket, "are copies of certain documents in your keeping, relatingto the supposed marriage of one Giovanni Saracinesca. With your very kindpermission, I desire to see the originals. "

The old curate bowed, as though giving his assent, and looked steadily athis visitor for a moment before he answered. 

"There is nothing simpler, my good sir. You will pardon me, however, if Iventure to inquire your name, and to ask you for what purpose you desireto consult the documents?"

"I am Leone Saracinesca of Rome--"

The priest started uneasily. 

"A relation of Giovanni Saracinesca?" he inquired. Then he addedimmediately, "Will you kindly excuse me for one moment?" and left theroom abruptly. The Prince was considerably astonished, but he held hispapers firmly in his hand, and did not move from his seat. The curatereturned in a few seconds, bringing with him a little painted porcelainbasket, much chipped and the worse for age, and which contained acollection of visiting-cards. There were not more than a score of them, turning brown with accumulated dust. The priest found one which wasrather newer than the rest, and after carefully adjusting a pair of hugespectacles upon his nose, he went over to the lamp and examined it. 

"'Il Conte del Ferice, '" he read slowly. "Do you happen to know thatgentleman, my good sir?" he inquired, turning to the Prince, and lookingkeenly at him over his glasses. 

"Certainly, " answered Saracinesca, beginning to understand the situation. "I know him very well. "

"Ah, that is good!" said the priest. "He was here two years ago, and had those same entries concerning Giovanni Saracinesca copied. Probably--certainly, indeed--the papers you have there are the very oneshe took away with him. When he came to see me about it, he gave me thiscard. "

"I wonder he did, " answered Saracinesca. 

"Indeed, " replied the curate, after a moment's thought, "I remember thathe came the next day--yes--and asked to have his card returned. But Icould not find it for him. There was a hole in one of my pockets--it hadslipped down. Carmela, my old servant, found it a day or two later in thelining of my cassock. I thought it strange that he should have asked forit. "

"It was very natural. He wished you to forget his existence. "

"He asked me many questions about Giovanni, " said the priest, "but Icould not answer him at that time. "

"You could answer now?" inquired the Prince, eagerly. 

"Excuse me, my good sir; what relation are you to Giovanni? You say youare from Rome?"

"Let us understand each other, Signor Curato, " said Saracinesca. "Isee I had better explain the position. I am Leone Saracinesca, the princeof that name, and the head of the family. " The priest bowed respectfullyat this intelligence. "My only son lives with me in Rome--he is nowthere--and his name is Giovanni Saracinesca. He is engaged to be married. When the engagement became known, an enemy of the family attempted toprove, by means of these papers, that he was married already to a certainFelice Baldi. Now I wish to know who this Giovanni Saracinesca is, wherehe is, and how he comes to have my son's name. I wish a certificate orsome proof that he is not my son, --that he is alive, or that he is deadand buried. "

The old priest burst into a genial laugh, and rubbed his hands togetherin delight. 

"My dear sir--your Excellency, I mean--I baptised Felice Baldi's secondbaby a fortnight ago! There is nothing simpler--"

"I knew it!" cried the Prince, springing from his chair in greatexcitement; "I knew it! Where is that baby? Send and get the baby atonce--the mother--the father--everybody!"

"_Subito!_ At once--or come with me. I will show you the whole familytogether, " said the curate, in innocent delight. "Splendid children theyare, too. Carmela, my cloak--_sbrigati_, be quick!"

"One moment, " objected Saracinesca, as though suddenly recollectingsomething. "One moment, Sign or Curato; who goes slowly goes safely. Where does this man come from, and how does he come by his name? I wouldlike to know something about him before I see him. "

"True, " answered the priest, resuming his seat. "I had forgotten. Well, it is not a long story. Giovanni Saracinesca is from Naples. You knowthere was once a branch of your family in the Neapolitan kingdom--atleast so Giovanni says, and he is an honest fellow. Their title wasMarchese di San Giacinto; and if Giovanni liked to claim it, he has aright to the title still. "

"But those Saracinesca were extinct fifty years ago, " objected thePrince, who knew his family history very well. 

"Giovanni says they were not. They were believed to be. The last Marchesedi San Giacinto fought under Napoleon. He lost all he possessed--lands, money, everything--by confiscation, when Ferdinand was restored in 1815. He was a rough man; he dropped his title, married a peasant's onlydaughter, became a peasant himself, and died obscurely in a village nearSalerno. He left a son who worked on the farm and inherited it from hismother, married a woman of the village of some education, and died of thecholera, leaving his son, the present Giovanni Saracinesca. This Giovannireceived a better education than his father had before him, improved hisfarm, began to sell wine and oil for exportation, travelled as far asAquila, and met Felice Baldi, the daughter of a man of some wealth, whohas since established an inn here. Giovanni loved her. I married them. Hewent back to Naples, sold his farm for a good price last year, andreturned to Aquila. He manages his father-in-law's inn, which is thesecond largest here, and drives a good business, having put his owncapital into the enterprise. They have two children, the second one ofwhich was born three weeks ago, and they are perfectly happy. "

Saracinesca looked thoughtfully at Don Paolo, the old curate. 

"Has this man any papers to prove the truth of this very singular story?"he inquired at last. 

"_Altro!_ That was all his grandfather left--a heap of parchments. Theyseem to be in order--he showed them to me when I married him. "

"Why does he make no claim to have the attainder of his grandfatherreversed?"

The curate shrugged his shoulders and spread out the palms of his hands, smiling incredulously. 

"The lands, he says, have fallen into the hands of certain patriots. There is no chance of getting them back. It is of little use to be aMarchese without property. What he possesses is a modest competence; itis wealth, even, in his present position. For a nobleman it would benothing. Besides, he is half a peasant by blood and tradition. "

"He is not the only nobleman in that position, " laughed Saracinesca. "Butare you aware--"

He stopped short. He was going to say that if he himself and his son bothdied, the innkeeper of Aquila would become Prince Saracinesca. The ideashocked him, and he kept it to himself. 

"After all, " he continued, "the man is of my blood by direct descent. Iwould like to see him. "

"Nothing easier. If you will come with me, I will present him to yourExcellency, " said the priest. "Do you still wish to see the documents?"

"It is useless. The mystery is solved. Let us go and see this new-foundrelation of mine. "

Don Paolo wrapped his cloak around him, and ushering his guest from theroom, led the way down-stairs. He carried a bit of wax taper, which heheld low to the steps, frequently stopping and warning the Prince to becareful. It was night when they went out. The air was sharp and cold, andSaracinesca buttoned his greatcoat to his throat as he strode by the sideof the old priest. The two walked on in silence for ten minutes, keepingstraight down the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele. At last the curate stoppedbefore a clean, new house, from the windows of which the bright lightstreamed into the street. Don Paolo motioned to the Prince to enter, andfollowed him in. A man in a white apron, with his arms full of plates, who was probably servant, butler, boots, and factotum to theestablishment, came out of the dining-room, which was to the left of theentrance, and which, to judge by the noise, seemed to be full of people. He looked at the curate, and then at the Prince. 

"Sorry to disappoint you, Don Paolo _mio_, " he said, supposing the priesthad brought a customer--"very sorry; there is not a bed in the house. "

"That is no matter, Giacchino, " answered the curate. "We want to see SorGiovanni for a moment. " The man disappeared, and a moment later SorGiovanni himself came down the passage. 

"_Favorisca_, dear Don Paolo, come in. " And he bowed to the Prince as heopened the door which led into a small sitting-room reserved for theinnkeeper's family. 

When they had entered, Saracinesca looked at his son's namesake. He sawbefore him a man whose face and figure he long remembered with aninstinctive dislike. Giovanni the innkeeper was of a powerful build. Twogenerations of peasant blood had given renewed strength to the old race. He was large, with large bones, vast breadth of shoulder, and massivejoints; lean withal, and brown of face, his high cheek-bones making hischeeks look hollow; clean shaved, his hair straight and black and neatlycombed; piercing black eyes near together, the heavy eyebrows joiningtogether in the midst of his forehead; thin and cruel lips, now parted ina smile and showing a formidable set of short, white, even teeth; aprominent square jaw, and a broad, strong nose, rather unnaturallypointed, --altogether a striking face, one that would be noticed in acrowd for its strength, but strangely cunning in expression, and notwithout ferocity. Years afterwards Saracinesca remembered his firstmeeting with Giovanni the innkeeper, and did not wonder that his firstimpulse had been to dislike the man. At present, however, he looked athim with considerable curiosity, and if he disliked him at first sight, he told himself that it was beneath him to show antipathy for aninnkeeper. 

"Sor Giovanni, " said the curate, "this gentleman is desirous of makingyour acquaintance. "

Giovanni, whose manners were above his station, bowed politely, andlooked inquiringly at his visitor. 

"Signor Saracinesca, " said the Prince, "I am Leone Saracinesca of Rome. Ihave just heard of your existence. We have long believed your family tobe extinct--I am delighted to find it still represented, and by one whoseems likely to perpetuate the name. "

The innkeeper fixed his piercing eyes on the speaker's face, and lookedlong before he answered. 

"So you are Prince Saracinesca, " he said, gravely. 

"And you are the Marchese di San Giacinto, " said the Prince, in the sametone, holding out his hand frankly. 

"Pardon me, --I am Giovanni Saracinesca, the innkeeper of Aquila, "returned the other. But he took the Prince's hand. Then they all satdown. 

"As you please, " said the Prince. "The title is none the less yours. Ifyou had signed yourself with it when you married, you would have saved mea vast deal of trouble; but on the other hand, I should not have beenso fortunate as to meet you. "

"I do not understand, " said Giovanni. 

The Prince told his story in as few words as possible. 

"Amazing! extraordinary! what a chance!" ejaculated the curate, noddinghis old head from time to time while the Prince spoke, as though he hadnot heard it all before. The innkeeper said nothing until old Saracinescahad finished. 

"I see how it was managed, " he said at last. "When that gentleman wasmaking inquiries, I was away. I had taken my wife back to Salerno, and mywife's father had not yet established himself in Aquila. Signor Del--whatis his name?"

"Del Ferice. "

"Del Ferice, exactly. He thought we had disappeared, and were not likelyto come back. Or else he is a fool. "

"He is not a fool, " said Saracinesca. "He thought he was safe. It is allvery clear now. Well, Signor Marchese, or Signor Saracinesca, I am veryglad to have made your acquaintance. You have cleared up a very importantquestion by returning to Aquila. It will always give me the greatestpleasure to serve you in any way I can. "

"A thousand thanks. Anything I can do for you during your stay--"

"You are very kind. I will hire horses and return to Terni to-night. Mybusiness in Rome is urgent. There is some suspense there in my absence. "

"You will drink a glass before going?" asked Giovanni; and withoutwaiting for an answer, he strode from the room. 

"And what does your Excellency think of your relation?" asked the curate, when he was alone with the Prince. 

"A terrible-looking fellow! But--" The Prince made a face and a gestureindicating a question in regard to the innkeeper's character. 

"Oh, do not be afraid, " answered the priest. "He is the most honest manalive. "

"Of course, " returned the Prince, politely, "you have had many occasionsof ascertaining that. "

Giovanni, the innkeeper, returned with a bottle of wine and threeglasses, which he placed upon the table, and proceeded to fill. 

"By the by, " said the Prince, "in the excitement I forgot to inquire foryour Signora. She is well, I hope?"

"Thank you--she is very well, " replied Giovanni, shortly. 

"A boy, I have no doubt?"

"A splendid boy, " answered the curate. "Sor Giovanni has a little girl, too. He is a very happy man. "

"Your health, " said the innkeeper, holding up his glass to the light. 

"And yours, " returned the Prince. 

"And of all the Saracinesca family, " said the curate, sipping his wineslowly. He rarely got a glass of old Lacrima, and he enjoyed itthoroughly. 

"And now, " said the Prince, "I must be off. Many thanks for yourhospitality. I shall always remember with pleasure the day when I met anunknown relation. "

"The Albergo di Napoli will not forget that Prince Saracinesca has beenits guest, " replied Giovanni politely, a smile upon his thin lips. Heshook hands with both his guests, and ushered them out to the door with acourteous bow. Before they had gone twenty yards in the street, thePrince looked back and caught a last glimpse of Giovanni's toweringfigure, standing upon the steps with the bright light falling upon itfrom within. He remembered that impression long. 

At the door of his own inn he took leave of the good curate with manyexpressions of thanks, and with many invitations to the PalazzoSaracinesca, in case the old man ever visited Home. 

"I have never seen Rome, your Excellency, " answered the priest, rathersadly. "I am an old man--I shall never see it now. "

So they parted, and the Prince had a solitary supper of pigeons and saladin the great dusky hall of the Locanda del Sole, while his horses werebeing got ready for the long night-journey. 

The meeting and the whole clearing up of the curious difficulty hadproduced a profound impression upon the old Prince. He had not theslightest doubt but that the story of the curate was perfectly accurate. It was all so very probable, too. In the wild times between 1806 and1815 the last of the Neapolitan branch of the Saracinesca haddisappeared, and the rich and powerful Roman princes of the name had beenquite willing to believe the Marchesi di San Giacinto extinct. They hadnot even troubled themselves to claim the title, for they possessed morethan fifty of their own, and there was no chance of recovering the SanGiacinto estate, already mortgaged, and more than half squandered at thetime of the confiscation. That the rough soldier of fortune should havehidden himself in his native country after the return of Ferdinand, hislawful king, against whom he had fought, was natural enough; as it wasalso natural that, with his rough nature, he should accommodate himselfto a peasant's life, and marry a peasant's only daughter, with herbroad acres of orange and olive and vine land; for peasants in the farsouth were often rich, and their daughters were generally beautiful--avery different race from the starved tenants of the Roman Campagna. 

The Prince decided that the story was perfectly true, and he reflectedsomewhat bitterly that unless his son had heirs after him, this herculeaninnkeeper of Aquila was the lawful successor to his own title, and to allthe Saracinesca lands. He determined that Giovanni's marriage should notbe delayed another day, and with his usual impetuosity he hastened backto Rome, hardly remembering that he had spent the previous night and allthat day upon the road, and that he had another twenty-four hours oftravel before him. 

At dawn his carriage stopped at a little town not far from the papalfrontier. Just as the vehicle was starting, a large man, muffled in ahuge cloak, from the folds of which protruded the long brown barrel of arifle, put his head into the window. The Prince started and grasped hisrevolver, which lay beside him on the seat. 

"Good morning, Prince, " said the man. "I hope you have slept well. "

"Sor Giovanni!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "Where did you drop from?"

"The roads are not very safe, " returned the innkeeper. "So I thought itbest to accompany you. Good-bye--_buon viaggio_!"

Before the Prince could answer, the carriage rolled off, the horsesspringing forward at a gallop. Saracinesca put his head out of thewindow, but his namesake had disappeared, and he rolled on towards Terni, wondering at the innkeeper's anxiety for his safety. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Even old Saracinesca's iron strength was in need of rest when, at the endof forty-eight hours, he again entered his son's rooms, and threw himselfupon the great divan. 

"How is Corona?" was his first question. 

"She is very anxious about you, " returned Giovanni, who was himselfconsiderably disturbed. 

"We will go and set her mind at rest as soon as I have had something toeat, " said his father. 

"It is all right, then? It was just as I said--a namesake?"

"Precisely. Only the namesake happens to be a cousin--the last of the SanGiacinto, who keeps an inn in Aquila. I saw him, and shook hands withhim. "

"Impossible!" exclaimed Giovanni. "They are all extinct--"

"There has been a resurrection, " returned the Prince. He told the wholestory of his journey, graphically and quickly. 

"That is a very extraordinary tale, " remarked Giovanni, thoughtfully. "So, if I die without children the innkeeper will be prince. "

"Precisely. And now, Giovanni, you must be married next week. "

"As soon as you please--to-morrow if you like. "

"What shall we do with Del Ferice?" asked the old prince. 

"Ask him to the wedding, " answered Giovanni, magnanimously. 

"The wedding will have to be a very quiet one, I suppose, " remarked hisfather, thoughtfully. "The year is hardly over--"

"The more quiet the better, provided it is done quickly. Of course wemust consult Corona at once. "

"Do you suppose I am going to fix the wedding-day without consultingher?" asked the old man. "For heaven's sake order dinner, and let us bequick about it. "

The Prince was evidently in a hurry, and moreover, he was tired andvery hungry. An hour later, as both the men sat over the coffee in thedining-room, his mood was mellower. A dinner at home has a wonderfuleffect upon the temper of a man who has travelled and fared badly foreight-and-forty hours. 

"Giovannino, " said old Saracinesca, "have you any idea what the Cardinalthinks of your marriage?"

"No; and I do not care, " answered the younger man. "He once advised menot to marry Donna Tullia. He has not seen me often since then. "

"I have an idea that it will please him immensely, " said the Prince. 

"It would be very much the same if it displeased him. "

"Very much the same. Have you seen Corona today?"

"Yes--of course, " answered Giovanni. 

"What is the use of my going with you this evening?" asked his father, suddenly. "I should think you could manage your own affairs without myhelp. "

"I thought that as you have taken so much trouble, you would enjoytelling her the story yourself. "

"Do you think I am a vain fool, sir, to be amused by a woman's praise?Nonsense! Go yourself. "

"By all means, " answered Giovanni. He was used to his father's habit ofbeing quarrelsome over trifles, and he was much too happy to take anynotice of it now. 

"You are tired, " he continued. "I am sure you have a right to be. Youmust want to go to bed. "

"To bed indeed!" growled the old man. "Tired! You think I am good fornothing; I know you do. You look upon me as a doting old cripple. I tellyou, boy, I can--"

"For heaven's sake, _padre mio_, do precisely as you are inclined. Inever said--"

"Never said what? Why are you always quarrelling with me?" roared hisfather, who had not lost his temper for two days, and missed hisfavourite exercise. 

"What day shall we fix upon?" asked Giovanni, unmoved. 

"Day! Any day. What do I care? Oh!--well, since you speak of it, youmight say a week from Sunday. To-day is Friday. But I do not care in theleast. "

"Very well--if Corona can get ready. "

"She shall be ready--she must be ready!" answered the old gentleman, in atone of conviction. "Why should she not be ready, I would like to know?"

"No reason whatever, " said Giovanni, with unusual mildness. 

"Of course not. There is never any reason in anything you say, youunreasonable boy. "

"Never, of course. " Giovanni rose to go, biting his lips to keep down alaugh. 

"What the devil do you mean by always agreeing with me, you impertinentscapegrace? And you are laughing, too--laughing at me, sir, as I live!Upon my word!"

Giovanni turned his back and lighted a cigar. Then, without lookinground, he walked towards the door. 

"Giovannino, " called the Prince. 

"Well?"

"I feel better now. I wanted to abuse somebody. Look here--wait amoment. " He rose quickly, and left the room. 

Giovanni sat down and smoked rather impatiently, looking at his watchfrom time to time. In five minutes his father returned, bringing in hishand an old red morocco case. 

"Give it to her with my compliments, my boy, " he said. "They are some ofyour mother's diamonds--just a few of them. She shall have the rest onthe wedding-day. "

"Thank you, " said Giovanni, and pressed his father's hand. 

"And give her my love, and say I will call to-morrow at two o'clock, "added the Prince, now perfectly serene. 

With the diamonds under his arm, Giovanni went out. The sky was clear andfrosty, and the stars shone brightly, high up between the tall houses ofthe narrow street. Giovanni had not ordered a carriage, and seeing howfine the night was, he decided to walk to his destination. It was noteight o'clock, and Corona would have scarcely finished dinner at thathour. He walked slowly. As he emerged into the Piazza di Venezia someone overtook him. 

"Good evening, Prince. " Giovanni turned, and recognised Anastase Gouache, the Zouave. 

"Ah, Gouache--how are you?"

"I am going to pay you a visit, " answered the Frenchman. 

"I am very sorry--I have just left home, " returned Giovanni, in somesurprise. 

"Not at your house, " continued Anastase. "My company is ordered to themountains. We leave tomorrow morning for Subiaco, and some of us are tobe quartered at Saracinesca. "

"I hope you will be among the number, " said Giovanni. "I shall probablybe married next week, and the Duchessa wishes to go at once to themountains. We shall be delighted to see you. "

"Thank you very much. I will not fail to do myself the honour. My homageto Madame la Duchesse. I must turn here. Good night. "

"_Au revoir_, " said Giovanni, and went on his way. 

He found Corona in an inner sitting-room, reading beside a greatwood-fire. There were soft shades of lilac mingled with the black of herdress. The year of mourning was past, and so soon as she could shemodified her widow's weeds into something less solemnly; black. Itwas impossible to wear funeral robes on the eve of her second marriage;and the world had declared that she had shown an extraordinary degree ofvirtue in mourning so long for a death which every one considered sohighly appropriate. Corona, however, felt differently. To her, her deadhusband and the man she now so wholly loved belonged to two totallydistinct classes of men. Her love, her marriage with Giovanni, seemed sonatural a consequence of her being left alone--so absolutely removedfrom her former life--that, on the eve of her wedding, she could almostwish that poor old Astrardente were alive to look as her friend upon hernew-found happiness. 

She welcomed Giovanni with a bright smile. She had not expected him thatevening, for he had been with her all the afternoon. She sprang to herfeet and came quickly to meet him. She almost unconsciously took themorocco case from his hands, not looking at it, and hardly noticing whatshe did. 

"My father has come back. It is all settled!" cried Giovanni. 

"So soon! He must have flown!" said she, making him sit down. 

"Yes, he has never rested, and he has found out all about it. It is amost extraordinary story. By the by, he sends you affectionate messages, and begs you to accept these diamonds. They were my mother's, " he added, his voice softening and changing. Corona understood his tone, and perhapsrealised, too, how very short the time now was. She opened the casecarefully. 

"They are very beautiful; your mother wore them, Giovanni?" She lookedlovingly at him, and then bending down kissed the splendid coronet asthough in reverence of the dead Spanish woman who had borne the manshe loved. Whereat Giovanni stole to her side, and kissed her own darkhair very tenderly. 

"I was to tell you that there are a great many more, " he said, "which myfather will offer you on the wedding--day. " Then he kneeled down besideher, and raising the crown from its case, set it with both his hands uponher diadem of braids. 

"My princess!" he exclaimed. "How beautiful you are!" He took the greatnecklace, and clasped it about her white throat. "Of course, " he said, "you have such splendid jewels of your own, perhaps you hardly care forthese and the rest. But I like to see you with them--it makes me feelthat you are really mine. "

Corona smiled happily, and gently took the coronet from her head, returning it to its case. She let the necklace remain about her throat. 

"You have not told me about your father's discovery, " she said, suddenly. 

"Yes--I will tell you. "

In a few minutes he communicated to her the details of the journey. Shelistened with profound interest. 

"It is very strange, " she said. "And yet it is so very natural. "

"You see it is all Del Ferice's doing, " said Giovanni. "I suppose it wasreally an accident in the first place; but he managed to make a greatdeal of it. It is certainly very amusing to find that the last of theother branch is an innkeeper in the Abruzzi. However, I daresay weshall never hear of him again. He does not seem inclined to claim histitle. Corona _mia_, I have something much more serious to say to youto-night. "

"What is it?" she asked, turning her great dark eyes rather wonderinglyto his face. 

"There is no reason why we should not be married, now--"

"Do you think I ever believed there was?" she asked, reproachfully. 

"No, dear. Only--would you mind its being very soon?"

The dark blood rose slowly to her cheek, but she answered without anyhesitation. She was too proud to hesitate. 

"Whenever you please, Giovanni. Only it must be very quiet, and we willgo straight to Saracinesca. If you agree to those two things, it shall beas soon as you please. "

"Next week? A week from Sunday?" asked Giovanni, eagerly. 

"Yes--a week from Sunday. I would rather not go through the ordeal of along engagement. I cannot bear to have every one here, congratulating mefrom morning till night, as they insist upon doing. "

"I will send the people out to Saracinesca to-morrow, " said Giovanni, ingreat delight. "They have been at work all winter, making the placerespectable. "

"Not changing, I hope?" exclaimed Corona, who dearly loved the old greywalls. 

"Only repairing the state apartments. By the by, I met Gouache thisevening. He is going out with a company of Zouaves to hunt the brigands, if there really are any. "

"I hope he will not come near us, " answered Corona. "I want to be allalone with you, Giovanni, for ever so long. Would you not rather bealone for a little while?" she asked, looking up suddenly with a timidsmile. "Should I bore you very much?"

It is unnecessary to record Giovanni's answer. If Corona longed to bealone with him in the hills, Giovanni himself desired such a retreatstill more. To be out of the world, even for a month, seemed to him themost delightful of prospects, for he was weary of the city, of society, of everything save the woman he was about to marry. Of her he could nevertire; he could not imagine that in her company the days would ever seemlong, even in old Saracinesca, among the grey rocks of the Sabines. Theaverage man is gregarious, perhaps; but in strong minds there is often agreat desire for solitude, or at least for retirement, in the society ofone sympathetic soul. The instinct which bids such people leave the worldfor a time is never permanent, unless they become morbid. It is a naturalfeeling; and a strong brain gathers strength from communing with itselfor with its natural mate. There are few great men who have not at onetime or another withdrawn into solitude, and their retreat has generallybeen succeeded by a period of extraordinary activity. Strong minds areoften, at some time or another, exposed to doubt and uncertaintyincomprehensible to a smaller intellect--due, indeed, to that verybreadth of view which contemplates the same idea from a vast number ofsides. To a man so endowed, the casting-vote of some one whom he loves, and with whom he almost unconsciously sympathises, is sometimes necessaryto produce action, to direct the faculties, to guide the overflowingflood of his thought into the mill-race of life's work. Without a certainamount of prejudice to determine the resultant of its forces, many afine intellect would expend its power in burrowing among its ownlabyrinths, unrecognised, misunderstood, unheard by the working-day worldwithout. For the working-day world never lacks prejudice to direct itsworking. 

For some time Giovanni and Corona talked of their plans for the springand summer. They would read, they would work together at the schemes foruniting and improving their estates; they would build that new road fromAstrardente to Saracinesca, concerning which there had been so muchdiscussion during the last year; they would visit every part of theirlands together, and inquire into the condition of every peasant; theywould especially devote their attention to extending the forestenclosures, in which Giovanni foresaw a source of wealth for hischildren; above all, they would talk to their hearts' content, and feel, as each day dawned upon their happiness, that they were free to go wherethey would, without being confronted at every turn by the troublesomeduties of an exigent society. 

At last the conversation turned again upon recent events, and especiallyupon the part Del Ferice and Donna Tullia had played in attempting toprevent the marriage. Corona asked what Giovanni intended to do about thematter. 

"I do not see that there is much to be done, " he answered. "I will go toDonna Tullia to-morrow, and explain that there has been a curiousmistake--that I am exceedingly obliged to her for calling my attention tothe existence of a distant relative, but that I trust she will not infuture interfere in my affairs. "

"Do you think she will marry Del Ferice after all?" asked Corona. 

"Why not? Of course he gave her the papers. Very possibly he thought theyreally proved my former marriage. She will perhaps blame him for herfailure, but he will defend himself, never fear; he will make hermarry him. "

"I wish they would marry and go away, " said Corona to whom the very nameof Del Ferice was abhorrent, and who detested Donna Tullia almost asheartily. Corona was a very good and noble woman, but she was very farfrom that saintly superiority which forgets to resent injuries. Herpassions were eminently human, and very strong. She had struggled bravelyagainst her overwhelming love for Giovanni; and she had so far got themastery of herself, that she would have endured to the end if herhusband's death had not set her at liberty. Perhaps, too, while she feltthe necessity of fighting against that love, she attained for a time toan elevation of character which would have made such personal injuriesas Donna Tullia could inflict seem insignificant in comparison with thegreat struggle she sustained against an even greater evil. But in therealisation of her freedom, in suddenly giving the rein to her nature, solong controlled by her resolute will, all passion seemed to break out atonce with renewed force; and the conviction that her anger against hertwo enemies was perfectly just and righteous, added fuel to the fire. Hereyes gleamed fiercely as she spoke of Del Ferice and his bride, and nopunishment seemed too severe for those who had so treacherously tried todash the cup of her happiness from her very lips. 

"I wish they would marry, " she repeated, "and I wish the Cardinal wouldturn them out of Rome the next day. "

"That might be done, " said Giovanni, who had himself revolved more thanone scheme of vengeance against the evil-doers. "The trouble is, that theCardinal despises Del Ferice and his political dilettanteism. He does notcare a fig whether the fellow remains in Rome or goes away. I confess itwould be a great satisfaction to wring the villain's neck. "

"You must not fight him again, Giovanni, " said Corona, in sudden alarm. "You must not risk your life now--you know it is mine now. " She laid herhand tenderly on his, and it trembled. 

"No, dearest--I certainly will not. But my father is very angry. I thinkwe may safely leave the treatment of Del Fence in his hands. My father isa very sudden and violent man. "

"I know, " replied Corona. "He is magnificent when he is angry. I have nodoubt he will settle Del Ferice's affairs satisfactorily. " She laughedalmost fiercely. Giovanni looked at her anxiously, yet not without pride, as he recognised in her strong anger something akin to himself. 

"How fierce you are!" he said, with a smile. 

"Have I not cause to be? Have I not cause to wish these people anevil end? Have they not nearly separated us? Nothing is bad enough forthem--what is the use of pretending not to feel? You are calm, Giovanni?Perhaps you are much stronger than I am. I do not think you realise whatthey meant to do--to separate us--_us!_ As if any torture were bad enoughfor them!"

Giovanni had never seen her so thoroughly roused. He was angry himself, and more than angry, for his cheek paled, and his stern features grewmore hard, while his voice dropped to a hoarser tone. 

"Do not mistake me, Corona, " he said. "Do not think I am indifferentbecause I am quiet. Del Ferice shall expiate all some day, and bitterlytoo. "

"Indeed I hope so, " answered Corona between her teeth. Had Giovanniforeseen the long and bitter struggle he would one day have to endurebefore that expiation was complete, he would very likely have renouncedhis vengeance then and there, for his wife's sake. But we mortals see butin a glass; and when the mirror is darkened by the master-passion ofhate, we see not at all. Corona and Giovanni, united, rich and powerful, might indeed appear formidable to a wretch like Del Ferice, dependentupon a system of daily treachery for the very bread he ate. But in thosedays the wheel of fortune was beginning to turn, and far-sighted menprophesied that many an obscure individual would one day be playing thepart of a great personage. Years would still elapse before the change, but the change would surely come at last. 

Giovanni was very thoughtful as he walked home that night. He was happy, and he had cause to be, for the long-desired day was at hand. He hadnearly attained the object of his life, and there was now no longer anyobstacle to be overcome. The relief he felt at his father's return wasvery great; for although he had known that the impediment raised would besoon removed, any impediment whatever was exasperating, and he could notcalculate the trouble that might be caused by the further machinations ofDonna Tullia and her affianced husband. All difficulties had, however, been overcome by his father's energetic action, and at once Giovanni feltas though a load had fallen from his shoulders, and a veil from his eyes. He saw himself wedded to Corona in less than a fortnight, removed fromthe sphere of society and of all his troubles, living for a space alonewith her in his ancestral home, calling her, at last, his wife. Nevertheless he was thoughtful, and his expression was not one ofunmingled gladness, as he threaded the streets on his way home; for hismind reverted to Del Ferice and to Donna Tullia, and Corona's fierce lookwas still before him. He reflected that she had been nearly as muchinjured as himself, that her wrath was legitimate, and that it was hisduty to visit her sufferings as well as his own upon the offenders. Hismelancholic nature easily fell to brooding over any evil which was strongenough to break the barrier of his indifference; and the annoyances whichhad sprung originally from so small a cause had grown to giganticproportions, and had struck at the very roots of his happiness. 

He had begun by disliking Del Ferice in an indifferent way whenever hechanced to cross his path. Del Ferice had resented this haughtyindifference as a personal insult, and had set about injuring Giovanni, attempting to thwart him whenever he could. Giovanni had caught DelFerice in a dastardly trick, and had been so far roused as to takesummary vengeance upon him in the duel which tools place after theFrangipani ball. The wound had entered into Ugo's soul, and his hatredhad grown the faster that he found no opportunity of revenge. Then, atlast, when Giovanni's happiness had seemed complete, his enemy had putforward his pretended proof of a former marriage; knowing well enoughthat his weapons were not invincible--were indeed very weak--but unableto resist any longer the desire for vengeance. Once more Giovanni hadtriumphed easily, but with victory came the feeling that it was his turnto punish his adversary. And now there was a new and powerful motiveadded to Giovanni's just resentment, in the anger his future wife feltand had a good right to feel, at the treachery which had been practisedupon both. It had taken two years to rouse Giovanni to energetic actionagainst one whom he had in turn regarded with indifference, thendespised, then honestly disliked, and finally hated. But his hatred hadbeen doubled each time by a greater injury, and was not likely to beeasily satisfied. Nothing short of Del Fence's destruction would beenough, and his destruction must be brought about by legal means. 

Giovanni had not far to seek for his weapons. He had long suspected DelFerice of treasonable practices; he did not doubt that with smallexertion he could find evidence to convict him. He would, then, allow himto marry Donna Tullia; and on the day after the wedding, Del Fericeshould be arrested and lodged in the prison of the Holy Office as apolitical delinquent of the meanest and most dangerous kind--as apolitical spy. The determination was soon reached. It did not seem cruelto Giovanni, for he was in a relentless mood; it would not have seemedcruel to Corona, --Del Ferice had deserved all that, and more also. 

So Giovanni went home and slept the sleep of a man who has made up hismind upon an important matter. And in the morning he rose early andcommunicated his ideas to his father. The result was that they determinedfor the present to avoid an interview with Donna Tullia, and tocommunicate to her by letter the result of old Saracinesca's rapidjourney to Aquila. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

When Donna Tullia received Saracinesca's note, explaining the existenceof a second Giovanni, his pedigree and present circumstances, she almostfainted with disappointment. It seemed to her that she had compromisedherself before the world, that all Rome knew the ridiculous part she hadplayed in Del Ferice's comedy, and that her shame would never beforgotten. Suddenly she saw how she had been led away by her hatred ofGiovanni into believing blindly in a foolish tale which ought not to havedeceived a child. So soon as she learned the existence of a secondGiovanni Saracinesca, it seemed to her that she must have been mad not toforesee such an explanation from the first. She had been duped, she hadbeen made a cat's-paw, she had been abominably deceived by Del Ferice, who had made use of this worthless bribe in order to extort from her apromise of marriage. She felt very ill, as very vain people often dowhen they feel that they have been made ridiculous. She lay upon thesofa in her little boudoir, where everything was in the worst possibletaste--from the gaudy velvet carpet and satin furniture to the gilt clockon the chimney-piece--and she turned red and pale and red again, andwished she were dead, or in Paris, or anywhere save in Rome. If she wentout she might meet one of the Saracinesca at any turn of the street, oreven Corona herself. How they would bow and smile sweetly at her, enjoying her discomfiture with the polite superiority of people whocannot be hurt!

And she herself--she could not tell what she should do. She had announcedher engagement to Del Ferice, but she could not marry him. She had beenentrapped into making him a promise, into swearing a terrible oath;but the Church did not consider such oaths binding. She would go to PadreFilippo and ask his advice. 

But then, if she went to Padre Filippo, she would have to confess all shehad done, and she was not prepared to do that. A few weeks would pass, and that time would be sufficient to mellow and smooth the remembrance ofher revengeful projects into a less questionable shape. No--she could notconfess all that just yet. Surely such an oath was not binding; at allevents, she could not marry Del Fence, whether she broke her promise ornot. In the first place, she would send for him and vent her anger uponhim while it was hot. 

Accordingly, in the space of three-quarters of an hour, Ugo appeared, smiling, smooth and persuasive as usual. Donna Tullia assumed a fineattitude of disdain as she heard his step outside the door. She intendedto impress him with a full and sudden view of her just anger. He did notseem much moved, and came forward as usual to take her hand and kiss it. But she folded her arms and stared at him with all the contempt she couldconcentrate in the gaze of her blue eyes. It was a good comedy. DelFerice, who had noticed as soon as he entered the room that something waswrong, and had already half guessed the cause, affected to spring back inhorror when she refused to give her hand. His pale face expressedsufficiently well a mixture of indignation and sorrow at the harshtreatment he received. Still Donna Tullia's cold eye rested upon him in afixed stare. 

"What is this? What have I done?" asked Del Ferice in low tones. 

"Can you ask? Wretch! Read that, and understand what you have done, "answered Donna Tullia, making a step forward and thrusting Saracinesca'sletter in his face. 

Del Ferice had already seen the handwriting, and knew what the contentswere likely to be. He took the letter in one hand, and without looking atit, still faced the angry woman. His brows contracted into a heavy frown, and his half-closed eyes gazed menacingly at her. 

"It will be an evil day for any man who comes between you and me, " hesaid, in tragic tones. 

Donna Tullia laughed harshly, and again drew herself up, watching hisface, and expecting to witness his utter confusion. But she was no matchfor the actor whom she had promised to marry. Del Ferice began to read, and as he read, his frown relaxed; gradually an ugly smile, intended torepresent fiendish cunning, stole over his features, and when he hadfinished, he uttered a cry of triumph. 

"Ha!" he said, "I guessed it! I hoped it--and it is true! He is found atlast! The very man--the real Saracinesca! It is only a matter of time--"

Donna Tullia now stared in unfeigned surprise. Instead of crushing him tothe ground as she had expected, the letter seemed to fill him withboundless delight. He paced the room in wild excitement, chattering likea madman. In spite of herself, however, her own spirits rose, and heranger against Del Ferice softened. All was perhaps not lost--who couldfathom the intricacy of his great schemes? Surely he was not the man tofall a victim to his own machinations. 

"Will you please explain your extraordinary satisfaction at this news?"said Madame Mayer. Between her late anger, her revived hopes, and hernewly roused curiosity, she was in a terrible state of suspense. 

"Explain?" he cried. "Explain what, most adorable of women? Does it notexplain itself? Have we not found the Marchese di San Giacinto, the realSaracinesca? Is not that enough?"

"I do not understand--"

Del Ferice was now by her side. He seemed hardly able to control himselffor joy. As a matter of fact he was acting, and acting a desperate parttoo, suggested on the spur of the moment by the risk he ran of losingthis woman and her fortune on the very eve of marriage. Now he seized herhand, and drawing her arm through his, led her quickly backwards andforwards, talking fast and earnestly. It would not do to hesitate, for bya moment's appearance of uncertainty all would be lost. 

"No; of course you cannot understand the vast importance of thisdiscovery. I must explain. I must enter into historic details, and I amso much overcome by this extraordinary turn of fortune that I can hardlyspeak. Remove all doubt from your mind, my dear lady, for we have alreadytriumphed. This innkeeper, this Giovanni Saracinesca, this Marchese diSan Giacinto, is the lawful and right Prince Saracinesca, the head of thehouse--"

"What!" screamed Donna Tullia, stopping short, and gripping his arm as ina vice. 

"Indeed he is. I suspected it when I first found the signature at Aquila;but the man was gone, with his newly married wife, no one knew whither;and I could not find him, search as I might. He is now returned, andwhat is more, as this letter says, with all his papers proving hisidentity. This is how the matter lies. Listen, Tullia _mia_. The oldLeone Saracinesca who last bore the title of Marquis--"

"The one mentioned here?" asked Donna Tullia, breathlessly. 

"Yes--the one who took service under Murat, under Napoleon. Well, it isperfectly well known that he laid claim to the Roman title, and withperfect justice. Two generations before that, there had been an amicablearrangement--amicable, but totally illegal--whereby the elder brother, who was an unmarried invalid, transferred the Roman estates to hisyounger brother, who was married and had children, and, in exchange, tookthe Neapolitan estates and title, which had just fallen back to the mainbranch by the death of a childless Marchese di San Giacinto. Late in lifethis old recluse invalid married, contrary to all expectation--certainlycontrary to his own previous intentions. However, a child was born--aboy. The old man found himself deprived by his own act of hisprincipality, and the succession turned from his son to the son of hisyounger brother. He began a negotiation for again obtaining possession ofthe Roman title--at least so the family tradition goes--but his brother, who was firmly established in Rome, refused to listen to his demands. Atthis juncture the old man died, being legally, observe, still the head ofthe family of Saracinesca; his son should have succeeded him. But hiswife, the young daughter of an obscure Neapolitan nobleman, was not morethan eighteen years of age, and the child was only six months old. Peoplemarried young in those days. She entered some kind of protest, which, however, was of no avail; and the boy grew up to be called the Marchesedi San Griacinto. He learned the story of his birth from his mother, andprotested in his turn. He ruined himself in trying to push his suit inthe Neapolitan courts; and finally, in the days of Napoleon's success, hetook service under Murat, receiving the solemn promise of the Emperorthat he should be reinstated in his title. But the Emperor forgot hispromise, or did not find it convenient to keep it, having perhaps reasonsof his own for not quarrelling with Pius the Seventh, who protected theRoman Saracinesea Then came 1815, the downfall of the Empire, therestoration of Ferdinand IV. In Naples, the confiscation of property fromall who had joined the Emperor, and the consequent complete ruin of SanGiacinto's hopes. He was supposed to have been killed, or to have madeaway with himself. Saracinesea himself acknowledges that his grandson isalive, and possesses all the family papers. Saracinesca himself hasdiscovered, seen, and conversed with the lawful head of his race, who, bythe blessing of heaven and the assistance of the courts, will before longturn him out of house and home, and reign in his stead in all the gloriesof the Palazzo Saracinesca, Prince of Rome, of the Holy Roman Empire, grandee of Spain of the first class, and all the rest of it. Do youwonder I rejoice, now that I am sure of putting an innkeeper over myenemy's head? Fancy the humiliation of old Saracinesca, of Giovanni, whowill have to take his wife's title for the sake of respectability, of theAstrardente herself, when she finds she has married the penniless son ofa penniless pretender!"

Del Ferice knew enough of the Saracinesca's family history to know thatsomething like what he had so fluently detailed to Donna Tullia hadactually occurred, and he knew well enough that she would not rememberevery detail of his rapidly told tale. Hating the family as he did, hehad diligently sought out all information about them which he couldobtain without gaining access to their private archives. His ready withelped him to string the whole into a singularly plausible story. Soplausible, indeed, that it entirely upset all Donna Tullia'sdetermination to be angry at Del Ferice, and filled her with something ofthe enthusiasm he showed. For himself he hoped that there was enough inhis story to do some palpable injury to the Saracinesca; but his moreimmediate object was not to lose Donna Tullia by letting her feel anydisappointment at the discovery recently made by the old Prince. DonnaTullia listened with breathless interest until he had finished. 

"What a man you are, Ugo! How you turn defeat into victory! Is it allreally true? Do you think we can do it?"

"If I were to die this instant, " Del Ferice asseverated, solemnly raisinghis hand, "it is all perfectly true, so help me God!"

He hoped, for many reasons, that he was not perjuring himself. 

"What shall we do, then?" asked Madame Mayer. 

"Let them marry first, and then we shall be sure of humiliating themboth, " he answered. Unconsciously he repeated the very determinationwhich Giovanni had formed against him the night before. "Meanwhile, you and I can consult the lawyers and see how this thing can best beaccomplished quickly and surely, " he added. 

"You will have to send for the innkeeper--"

"I will go and see him. It will not be hard to persuade him to claim hislawful rights. "

Del Ferice remained some time in conversation with Donna Tullia. Themagnitude of the scheme fascinated her, and instead of thinking ofbreaking her promise to Ugo as she had intended doing, she so far fellunder his influence as to name the wedding-day, --Easter Monday, theyagreed, would exactly suit them and their plans. Indeed the idea ofrefusing to fulfil her engagement had been but the result of a transitoryfit of anger; if she had had any fear of making a misalliance in marryingDel Ferice, the way in which the world received the news of theengagement removed all such apprehension from her mind. Del Ferice wasalready treated with increased respect--the very servants began to callhim "Eccellenza, " a distinction to which he neither had, nor could everhave, any kind of claim, but which pleased Donna Tullia's vain soul. Theposition which Ugo had obtained for himself by an assiduous attention tothe social claims and prejudices of social lights and oracles, wassuddenly assured to him, and rendered tenfold more brilliant by the newsof his alliance with Donna Tullia. He excited no jealousies either; forDonna Tullia's peculiarities were of a kind which seemed to haveinterfered from the first with her matrimonial projects. As a young girl, a relation of the Saracinesca, whom she now so bitterly hated, she shouldhave been regarded as marriageable by any of the young Roman nobles, fromValdarno down. But she had only a small dowry, and she was said to beextravagant--two objections then not so easily overcome as now. Moreover, she was considered to be somewhat flighty; and the social jury decidedthat when she was married, she would be excellent company, but would makea very poor wife. Almost before they had finished discussing her, however, she had found a husband, in the shape of the wealthy foreigncontractor, Mayer, who wanted a wife from a good Roman house, and carednot at all for money. She treated him very well, but was speedilydelivered from all her cares by his untimely death. Then, of all herfellow-citizens, none was found save the eccentric old Saracinesca, who believed that she would do for his son; wherein it appeared thatGiovanni's father was the man of all others who least understoodGiovanni's inclinations. But this match fell to the ground, owing toGiovanni's attachment to Corona, and Madame Mayer was left with theprospect of remaining a widow for the rest of her life, or of marryinga poor man. She chose the latter alternative, and fate threw into her waythe cleverest poor man in Rome, as though desiring to compensate her fornot having married one of the greatest nobles, in the person of Giovanni. Though she was always a centre of attraction, no one of those she mostattracted wanted to marry her, and all expressed their unqualifiedapproval of her ultimate choice. One said she was very generous to marrya penniless gentleman; another remarked that she showed wisdom inchoosing a man who was in the way of making himself a good position underthe Italian Government; a third observed that he was delighted, becausehe could enjoy her society without being suspected of wanting to marryher; and all agreed in praising her, and in treating Del Ferice with therespect due to a man highly favored by fortune. 

Donna Tullia named the wedding-day, and her affianced husband departed inhigh spirits with himself, with her, and with his scheme. He felt still alittle excited, and wanted to be alone. He hardly realised the magnitudeof the plot he had undertaken, and needed time to reflect upon it; butwith the true instinct of an intriguing genius he recognised at once thathis new plan was the thing he had sought for long and ardently, and thatit was worth all his other plans put together. Accordingly he went home, and proceeded to devote himself to the study of the question, sending anote to a friend of his--a young lawyer of doubtful reputation, but ofbrilliant parts, whom he at once selected as his chief counsellor in theimportant affair he had undertaken. 

Before long he beard that the marriage of Don Giovanni Saracinesca to theDuchessa d'Astrardente was to take place the next week, in the chapel ofthe Palazzo Saracinesca. At least popular report said that the ceremonywas to take place there; and that it was to be performed with greatprivacy was sufficiently evident from the fact that no invitationsappeared to have been issued. Society did not fail to comment upon suchexclusiveness, and it commented unfavourably, for it felt that it wasbeing deprived of a long-anticipated spectacle. This state of thingslasted for two days, when, upon the Sunday morning precisely a weekbefore the wedding, all Rome was surprised by receiving an imposinginvitation, setting forth that the marriage would be solemnised in theBasilica of the Santi Apostoli, and that it would be followed by a statereception at the Palazzo Saracinesca. It was soon known that the ceremonywould be performed by the Cardinal Archpriest of St Peter's, that theunited choirs of St Peter's and of the Sixtine Chapel would sing the HighMass, and that the whole occasion would be one of unprecedented solemnityand magnificence. This was the programme published by the 'OsservatoreRomano, ' and that newspaper proceeded to pronounce a eulogy of somelength and considerable eloquence upon the happy pair. Rome was fairlytaken off its feet; and although some malcontents were found, who said itwas improper that Corona's marriage should be celebrated with such pompso soon after her husband's death, the general verdict was that the wholeproceeding was eminently proper and becoming to so important an event. Sosoon as every one had been invited, no one seemed to think it remarkablethat the invitations should have been issued so late. It was notgenerally known that in the short time which elapsed between the namingof the day and the issuing of the cards, there had been severalinterviews between old Saracinesca and Cardinal Antonelli; that theformer had explained Corona's natural wish that the marriage should beprivate, and that the latter had urged many reasons why so great an eventought to be public; that Saracinesca had said he did not care at all, and was only expressing the views of his son and of the bride; that theCardinal had repeatedly asseverated that he wished to please everybody;that Corona had refused to be pleased by a public ceremony; and that, finally, the Cardinal, seeing himself hard pressed, had persuaded hisHoliness himself to express a wish that the marriage should take place inthe most solemn and public manner; wherefore Corona had reluctantlyyielded the point, and the matter was arranged. The fact was that theCardinal wished to make a sort of demonstration of the solidarity of theRoman nobility: it suited his aims to enter into every detail which couldadd to the importance of the Roman Court, and which could help to impressupon the foreign Ministers the belief that in all matters the Romans asone man would stand by each other and by the Vatican. No one knew betterthan he how the spectacle of a religious solemnity, at which the wholenobility would attend in a body, must strike the mind of a stranger inRome; for in Roman ceremonies of that day there was a pomp andmagnificence surpassing that found in any other Court of Europe. Thewhole marriage would become an event of which he could make an impressiveuse, and he was determined not to forego any advantages which might arisefrom it; for he was a man who of all men well understood the value ofdetails in maintaining prestige. 

But to the two principal actors in the day's doings the affair was anunmitigated annoyance, and even their own great and true happiness couldnot lighten the excessive fatigue of the pompous ceremony and of thestill more pompous reception which followed it. To describe that daywould be to make out a catalogue of gorgeous equipages, gorgeouscostumes, gorgeous decorations. Many pages would not suffice to enumeratethe cardinals, the dignitaries, the ambassadors, the great nobles, whosemagnificent coaches drove up in long file through the Piazza dei SantiApostoli to the door of the Basilica. The columns of the 'OsservatoreRomano' were full of it for a week afterwards. There was no end to thedescriptions of the costumes, from the white satin and diamonds ofthe bride to the festal uniforms of the Cardinal Arch-priest's retinue. Not a personage of importance was overlooked in the newspaper account, not a diplomatist, not an officer of Zouaves. And society read the praiseof itself, and found it much more interesting than the praise of thebride and bridegroom; and only one or two people were offended becausethe paper had made a mistake in naming the colours of the hammer-clothsupon their coaches: so that the affair was a great success. 

But when at last the sun was low and the guests had departed from thePalazzo Saracinesca, Corona and Giovanni got into their travellingcarriage under the great dark archway, and sighed a sigh of infiniterelief. The old Prince put his arms tenderly around his new daughter andkissed her; and for the second time in the course of this history, it isto be recorded that two tears stole silently down his brown cheeks to hisgrey beard. Then he embraced Giovanni, whose face was pale and earnest. 

"This is not the end of our living together, _padre mio, _" he said. "Weshall expect you before long at Saracinesca. "

"Yes, my boy, " returned the old man; "I will come and see you afterEaster. But do not stay if it is too cold; I have a little business toattend to in Rome before I join you, " he added, with a grim smile. 

"I know, " replied Giovanni, a savage light in his black eyes. "If youneed help, send to me, or come yourself. "

"No fear of that, Giovannino; I have got a terrible helper. Now, be off. The guards are growing impatient. "

"Good-bye. God bless you, _padre mio!_"

"God bless you both!" So they drove off, and left old Saracinescastanding bareheaded and alone under the dim archway of his ancestralpalace. The great carriage rolled out, and the guard of mountedgendarmes, which the Cardinal had insisted upon sending with the youngcouple, half out of compliment, half for safety, fell in behind, andtrotted down the narrow street, with a deafening clatter of hoofs andclang of scabbards. 

But Giovanni held Corona's hand in his, and both were silent for a time. Then they rolled under the low vault of the Porta San Lorenzo and outinto the evening sunlight of the Campagna beyond. 

"God be praised that it has come at last!" said Giovanni. 

"Yes, it has come, " answered Corona, her strong white fingers closingupon his brown hand almost convulsively; "and, come what may, you aremine, Giovanni, until we die!"

There was something fierce in the way those two loved each other; forthey had fought many fights before they were united, and had overcomethemselves, each alone, before they had overcome other obstaclestogether. 

Relays of horses awaited them on their way, and relays of mounted guards. Late that night they reached Saracinesca, all ablaze with torches andlanterns; and the young men took the horses from the coach and yokedthemselves to it with ropes, and dragged the cumbrous carriage up thelast hill with furious speed, shouting and singing like madmen in thecool mountain air. Up the steep they rushed, and under the grand oldgateway, made as bright as day with flaming torches; and then therewent up a shout that struck the old vaults like a wild chord of fiercemusic, and Corona knew that her journey was ended. 

So it was that Giovanni Saracinesca brought home his bride. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

The old Prince was left alone, as he had often been left before, whenGiovanni was gone to the ends of the earth in pursuit of his amusements. On such occasions old Saracinesca frequently packed up his traps andfollowed his son's example; but he rarely went further than Paris, wherehe had many friends, and where he generally succeeded in findingconsolation for his solitude. 

Now, however, he felt more than usually lonely. Giovanni had not gonefar, it is true, for with good horses it was scarcely more than eighthours to the castle; but, for the first time in his life, old Saracinescafelt that if he had suddenly determined to follow his son, he would notbe welcome. The boy was married at last, and must be left in peace for afew days with his bride. With the contrariety natural to him, oldSaracinesca no sooner felt that his son was gone than he experienced themost ardent desire to be with him. He had often seen Giovanni leave thehouse at twenty-four hours' notice on his way to some distant capital, and had not cared to accompany him, simply because he knew he might do soif he pleased; but now he felt that some one else had taken his place, and that, for a time at least, he was forcibly excluded from Giovanni'ssociety. It is very likely that but for the business which detained himin Rome he would have astonished the happy pair by riding into thegateway of the old castle on the day after the wedding: that business, however, was urgent, secret, and, moreover, very congenial to the oldman's present temper. 

He had discussed the matter fully with Giovanni, and they had agreed uponthe course to be pursued. There was, nevertheless, much to be done beforethe end they both so earnestly desired could be attained. It seemed asimple plan to go to Cardinal Antonelli and to demand the arrest of DelFerice for his misdeeds; but as yet those misdeeds were undefined, and itwas necessary to define them. The Cardinal rarely resorted to suchmeasures except when the case was urgent, and Saracinesca knew perfectlywell that it would be hard to prove anything more serious against DelFerice than the crime of joining in the silly talk of Valdarno and hisset. Giovanni had told his father plainly that he was sure Del Fericederived his living from some illicit source, but he was wholly unable toshow what that source was. Most people believed the story that Del Fericehad inherited money from an obscure relative; most people thought he wasclever and astute, but were so far deceived by his frank and unaffectedmanner as to feel sure that he always said everything that came into hishead; most people are so much delighted when an unusually clever mandeigns to talk to them, that they cannot, for vanity's sake, suspect himof deceiving them. Saracinesca did not doubt that the mere statement ofhis own belief in regard to Del Ferice would have considerable weightwith the Cardinal, for he was used to power of a certain kind, and wasaccustomed to see his judgment treated with deference; but he knew theCardinal to be a cautious man, hating despotic measures, because by hisuse of them he had made himself so bitterly hated--loth always to do byforce what might be accomplished by skill, and in the end far more likelyto attempt the conversion of Del Ferice to the reactionary view, than toorder his expulsion because his views were over liberal. Even if oldSaracinesca had possessed a vastly greater diplomatic instinct than hedid, coupled with an unscrupulous mendacity which he certainly had not, he would have found it hard to persuade the Cardinal against his will;but Saracinesca was, of all men, a man violent in action and averse toreflection before or after the fact. That he should ultimately berevenged upon Del Ferice and Donna Tullia for the part they had latelyplayed, was a matter which it never entered his head to doubt; but whenhe endeavoured to find means which should persuade the Cardinal to assisthim, he seemed fenced in on all sides by impossibilities. One thing onlyhelped him--namely, the conviction that if the statesman could be inducedto examine Del Ferice's conduct seriously, the latter would prove to benot only an enemy to the State, but a bitter enemy to the Cardinalhimself. 

The more Saracinesca thought of the matter, the more convinced he wasthat he should go boldly to the Cardinal and state his belief that DelFerice was a dangerous traitor, who ought to be summarily dealt with. Ifthe Cardinal argued the case, the Prince would asseverate, after hismanner, and some sort of result was sure to follow. As he thus determinedupon his course, his doubts seemed to vanish, as they generally do in themind of a strong man, when action becomes imminent, and the confidencethe old man had exhibited to his son very soon became genuine. It wasalmost intolerable to have to wait so long, however, before doinganything. Giovanni and he had decided to allow Del Ferice's marriageto take place before producing the explosion, in order the more certainlyto strike both the offenders; now it seemed best to strike at once. Supposing, he argued with himself, that Donna Tullia and her husbandchose to leave Rome for Paris the day after their wedding, half thetriumph would be lost; for half the triumph was to consist in DelFerice's being imprisoned for a spy in Rome, whereas if he once crossedthe frontier, he could at most be forbidden to return, which would be buta small satisfaction to Saracinesca, or to Giovanni. 

A week passed by, and the gaiety of Carnival was again at its height; andagain a week elapsed, and Lent was come. Saracinesca went everywhere andsaw everybody as usual, and then after Ash-Wednesday he occasionallyshowed himself at some of those quiet evening receptions which his son somuch detested. But he was restless and discontented. He longed to beginthe fight, and could not sleep for thinking of it. Like Giovanni, he wasstrong and revengeful; but Giovanni had from his mother a certainslowness of temperament, which often deterred him from action just longenough to give him time for reflection, whereas the father, when roused, and he was roused easily, loved to strike at once. It chanced oneevening, in a great house, that Saracinesca came upon the Cardinalstanding alone in an outer room. He was on his way into the reception;but he had stopped, attracted by a beautiful crystal cup of oldworkmanship, which stood, among other objects of the kind, upon a marbletable in one of the drawing-rooms through which he had to pass. The cupitself, of deeply carved rock crystal, was set in chiselled silver, andif not the work of Cellini himself, must have been made by one of hispupils. Saracinesca stopped by the great man's side. 

"Good evening, Eminence, " he said. 

"Good evening, Prince, " returned the Cardinal, who recognisedSaracinesca's voice without looking up. "Have you ever seen thismarvellous piece of work? I have been admiring it for a quarter of anhour. " He loved all objects of the kind, and understood them with rareknowledge. 

"It is indeed exceedingly beautiful, " answered Saracinesca, who longed totake advantage of the opportunity of speaking to Cardinal Antonelli uponthe subject nearest to his heart. 

"Yes--yes, " returned the Cardinal rather vaguely, and made as though hewould go on. He saw from Saracinesca's commonplace praise, that he knewnothing of the subject. The old Prince saw his opportunity slippingfrom him, and lost his head. He did not recollect that he could see theCardinal alone whenever he pleased, by merely asking for an interview. Fate had thrust the Cardinal in his path, and fate was responsible. 

"If your Eminence will allow me, I would like a word with you, " he saidsuddenly. 

"As many as you please, " answered the statesman, blandly. "Let us sitdown in that corner--no one will disturb us for a while. "

He seemed unusually affable, as he sat himself down by Saracinesca'sside, gathering the skirt of his scarlet mantle across his knee, andfolding his delicate hands together in an attitude of restful attention. 

"You know, I daresay, a certain Del Ferice, Eminence?" began the Prince. 

"Very well--the _deus ex machinâ_ who has appeared to carry off DonnaTullia Mayer. Yes, I know him. "

"Precisely, and they will match very well together; the world cannot helpapplauding the union of the flesh and the devil. "

The Cardinal smiled. 

"The metaphor is apt, " he said; "but what about them?"

"I will tell you in two words, " replied Saracinesca. "Del Ferice is ascoundrel of the first water--"

"A jewel among scoundrels, " interrupted the Cardinal, "for being ascoundrel he is yet harmless--a stage villain. "

"I believe your Eminence is deceived in him. "

"That may easily be, " answered the statesman. "I am much more oftendeceived than people imagine. " He spoke very mildly, but his small blackeyes turned keenly upon Saracinesca. "What has he been doing?" he asked, after a short pause. 

"He has been trying to do a great deal of harm to my son and to my son'swife. I suspect him strongly of doing harm to you. "

Whether Saracinesca was strictly honest in saying "you" to the Cardinal, when he meant the whole State as represented by the prime minister, is amatter not easily decided. There is a Latin saying, to the effect that aman who is feared by many should himself fear many, and the saying istrue. The Cardinal was personally a brave man; but he knew his danger, and the memory of the murdered Rossi was fresh in his mind. Nevertheless, he smiled blandly as he answered--

"That is rather vague, my friend. How is he doing me harm, if I may ask?"

"I argue in this way, " returned Saracinesca, thus pressed. "The fellowfound a most ingenious way of attacking my son--he searched the wholecountry till he found that a man called Giovanni Saracinesca had been, married some time ago in Aquila. He copied the certificates, and producedthem as pretended proof that my son was already married. If I had notfound the man myself, there would have been trouble. Now besides this, Del Ferice is known to hold Liberal views--"

"Of the feeblest kind, " interrupted the statesman, who neverthelessbecame very grave. 

"Those he exhibits are of the feeblest kind, and he takes no trouble tohide them. But a fellow so ingenious as to imagine the scheme hepractised against us is not a fool. "

"I understand, my good friend, " said the Cardinal. "You have been injuredby this fellow, and you would like me to revenge the injury by lockinghim up. Is that it?"

"Precisely, " answered Saracinesca, laughing at his own simplicity. "Imight as well have said so from the first. "

"Much better. You would make a poor diplomatist, Prince. But what in theworld shall I gain by revenging your wrongs upon that creature?"

"Nothing--unless when you have taken the trouble to examine his conduct, you find that he is really dangerous. In that case your Eminence will beobliged to look to your own safety. If you find him innocent, you willlet him go. "

"And in that case, what will you do?" asked the Cardinal with a smile. 

"I will cut his throat, " answered Saracinesca, unmoved. 

"Murder him?"

"No--call him out and kill him like a gentleman, which is a great dealbetter than he deserves. "

"I have no doubt you would, " said the Cardinal, gravely. "I think yourproposition reasonable, however. If this man is really dangerous, I willlook to him myself. But I must really beg you not to do anything rash. Ihave determined that this duelling shall stop, and I warn you thatneither you nor any one else will escape imprisonment if you are involvedin any more of these personal encounters. "

Saracinesca suppressed a smile at the Cardinal's threat; but he perceivedthat he had gained his point, and was pleased accordingly. He had, hefelt sure, sown in the statesman's mind a germ of suspicion which wouldbefore long bring forth fruit. In those days danger was plentiful, andpeople could not afford to overlook it, no matter in what form itpresented itself, least of all such people as the Cardinal himself, who, while sustaining an unequal combat against superior forces outside theState, felt that his every step was encompassed by perils from within. That he had long despised Del Ferice as an idle chatterer did not preventhim from understanding that he might have been deceived, as Saracinescasuggested. He had caused Ugo to be watched, it is true, but only fromtime to time, and by men whose only duty was to follow him and to seewhether he frequented suspicious society. The little nest of talkers atGouache's studio in the Via San Basilio was soon discovered, and provedto be harmless enough. Del Ferice was then allowed to go on his wayunobserved. But the half-dozen words in which Saracinesca had describedUgo's scheme for hindering Giovanni's marriage had set the Cardinalthinking, and the Cardinal seldom wasted time in thinking in vain. Hisinterview with Saracinesca ended very soon, and the Prince and thestatesman entered the crowded drawing-room and mixed in the throng. Itwas long before they met again in private. 

The Cardinal on the following day gave orders that Del Ferice's letterswere to be stopped--by no means an uncommon proceeding in those times, nor so rare in our own day as is supposed. The post-office was then inthe hands of a private individual so far as all management was concerned, and the Cardinal's word was law. Del Ferice's letters were regularlyopened and examined. 

The first thing that was discovered was that they frequently containedmoney, generally in the shape of small drafts on London signed by aFlorentine banker, and that the envelopes which contained money nevercontained anything else. They were all posted in Florence. With regardto his letters, they appeared to be very innocent communications from allsorts of people, rarely referring to politics, and then only in the mostgeneral terms. If Del Ferice had expected to have his correspondenceexamined, he could not have arranged matters better for his own safety. To trace the drafts to the person who sent them was not an easy business;it was impossible to introduce a spy into the banking-house in Florence, and among the many drafts daily bought and sold, it was almost impossibleto identify, without the aid of the banker's books, the person whochanced to buy any particular one. The addresses were, it is true, uniformly written by the same hand; but the writing was in no waypeculiar, and was certainly not that of any prominent person whoseautograph the Cardinal possessed. 

The next step was to get possession of some letter written by Del Fericehimself, and, if possible, to intercept everything he wrote. But althoughthe letters containing the drafts were regularly opened, and, afterhaving been examined and sealed again, were regularly transmittedthrough the post-office to Ugo's address, the expert persons set to catchthe letters he himself wrote were obliged to own, after three weeks'careful watching, that he never seemed to write any letters at all, andthat he certainly never posted any. They acknowledged their failure tothe Cardinal with timid anxiety, expecting to be reprimanded for theircarelessness. But the Cardinal merely told them not to relax theirattention, and dismissed them with a bland smile. He knew, now, that hewas on the track of mischief; for a man who never writes any letters atall, while he receives many, might reasonably be suspected of having asecret post-office of his own. For some days Del Ferice's movements werenarrowly watched, but with no result whatever. Then the Cardinal sent forthe police register of the district where Del Ferice lived, and in whichthe name, nationality, and residence of every individual in the "Rione"or quarter were carefully inscribed, as they still are. 

Running his eye down the list, the Cardinal came upon the name of"Temistocle Fattorusso, of Naples, servant to Ugo dei Conti del Ferice:"an idea struck him. 

"His servant is a Neapolitan, " he reflected. "He probably sends hisletters by way of Naples. "

Accordingly Temistocle was watched instead of his master. It was foundthat he frequented the society of other Neapolitans, and especially thathe was in the habit of going from time to time to the Ripa Grande, theport of the Tiber, where he seemed to have numerous acquaintances amongthe Neapolitan boatmen who constantly came up the coast in their"martingane"--heavy, sea-going, lateen-rigged vessels, bringing cargoesof oranges and lemons to the Roman market. The mystery was now solved. One day Temistocle was actually seen giving a letter into the hands of ahuge fellow in a red woollen cap. The _sbirro_ who saw him do it markedthe sailor and his vessel, and never lost sight of him till he hoistedhis jib and floated away down stream. Then the spy took horse andgalloped down to Fiumicino, where he waited for the little vessel, boarded her from a boat, escorted by a couple of gendarmes, and had nodifficulty in taking the letter from the terrified seaman, who was gladenough to escape without detention. During the next fortnight severalletters were stopped in this way, carried by different sailors, and thewhole correspondence went straight to the Cardinal. It was not often thathe troubled himself to play the detective in person, but when he did so, he was not easily baffled. And now he observed that about a week afterthe interception of the first letter the small drafts which used to comeso frequently to Del Ferice's address from Florence suddenly ceased, proving beyond a doubt that each letter was paid for according to itsvalue so soon as it was received. 

With regard to the contents of these epistles little need be said. Sosure was Del Ferice of his means of transmission that he did not even usea cipher, though he, of course, never signed any of his writings. Thematter was invariably a detailed chronicle of Roman sayings and doings, arecord as minute as Del Ferice could make it, of everything that tookplace, and even the Cardinal himself was astonished at the accuracy ofthe information thus conveyed. His own appearances in public--the namesof those with whom he talked--even fragments of his conversation--weregiven with annoying exactness. The statesman learned with infinitedisgust that he had for some time past been subjected to a system ofespionage at least as complete as any of his own invention; and, what wasstill more annoying to his vanity, the spy was the man of all others whomhe had most despised, calling him harmless and weak, because he cunninglyaffected weakness. Where or how Del Ferice procured so much informationthe Cardinal cared little enough, for he determined there and then thathe should procure no more. That there were other traitors in the camp wasmore than likely, and that they had aided Del Ferice with their counsels;but though by prolonging the situation it might be possible to track themdown, such delay would be valuable to enemies abroad. Moreover, if DelFerice began to find out, as he soon must, that his privatecorrespondence was being overhauled at the Vatican, he was not a man tohesitate about attempting his escape; and he would certainly not be aneasy man to catch, if he could once succeed in putting a few miles ofCampagna between himself and Rome. There was no knowing what disguise hemight not find in which to slip over the frontier; and indeed, as heafterwards proved, he was well prepared for such an emergency. 

The Cardinal did not hesitate. He had just received the fourth letter, and if he waited any longer Del Ferice would take alarm, and slip throughhis fingers. He wrote with his own hand a note to the chief of police, ordering the immediate arrest of Ugo dei Conti del Ferice, withinstructions that he should be taken in his own house, without anypublicity, and conveyed in a private carriage to the Sant' Uffizio by menin plain clothes. It was six o'clock in the evening when he wrote theorder, and delivered it to his private servant to be taken to itsdestination. The man lost no time, and within twenty minutes the chief ofpolice was in possession of his orders, which he hastened to execute withall possible speed. Before seven o'clock two respectable-looking citizenswere seated in the chief's own carriage, driving rapidly in the directionof Del Fence's house. In less than half an hour the man who had caused somuch trouble would be safely lodged in the prisons of the Holy Office, tobe judged for his sins as a political spy. In a fortnight he was to havebeen married to Donna Tullia Mayer, --and her trousseau had just arrivedfrom Paris. 

It can hardly be said that the Cardinal's conduct was unjustifiable, though many will say that Del Fence's secret doings were easilydefensible on the ground of his patriotism. Cardinal Antonelli hadprecisely defined the situation in his talk with Anastase Gouache bysaying that the temporal power was driven to bay. To all appearancesEurope was at peace, but as a matter of fact the peace was but an armedneutrality. An amount of interest was concentrated upon the situation ofthe Papal States which has rarely been excited by events of much greaterapparent importance than the occupation of a small principality byforeign troops. All Europe was arming. In a few months Austria was tosustain one of the most sudden and overwhelming defeats recorded inmilitary history. In a few years the greatest military power in the worldwas to be overtaken by an even more appalling disaster. And theseevents, then close at hand, were to deal the death-blow to papalindependence. The papacy was driven to bay, and those to whom the lastdefence was confided were certainly justified in employing every means intheir power for strengthening their position. That Rome herself wasriddled with rotten conspiracies, and turned into a hunting-ground forpolitical spies, while the support she received from Louis Napoleon hadbeen already partially withdrawn, proves only how hard was the task ofthat man who, against such odds, maintained so gallant a fight. It is nowonder that he hunted down spies, and signed orders forcing suspiciouscharacters to leave the city at a day's notice; for the city waspractically in a state of siege, and any relaxation of the irondiscipline by which the great Cardinal governed would at any moment inthose twenty years have proved disastrous. He was hated and feared; morethan once he was in imminent danger of his life, but he did his duty inhis post. Had his authority fallen, it is impossible to say what evilmight have ensued to the city and its inhabitants--evils vastly more tobe feared than the entrance of an orderly Italian army through the PortaPia. For the recollections of Count Rossi's murder, and of the short andlawless Republic of 1848, were fresh in the minds of the people, andbefore they had faded there were dangerous rumours of a rising even lesstruly Republican in theory, and far more fatal in the practical socialanarchy which must have resulted from its success. Giuseppe Mazzini hadsurvived his arch-enemy, the great Cavour, and his influence wasincalculable. 

But my business is not to write the history of those uncertain days, though no one who considers the social life of Rome, either then or now, can afford to overlook the influence of political events upon theeveryday doings of men and women. We must follow the private carriagecontaining the two respectable citizens who were on their way to DelFerice's house. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Now it chanced that Del Ferice was not at home at the hour when thecarriage containing the detectives drew up at his door. Indeed he wasrarely to be found at that time, for when he was not engaged elsewhere, he dined with Donna Tullia and her old countess, accompanying themafterwards to any of the quiet Lenten receptions to which they desired togo. Temistocle was also out, for it was his hour for supper, a meal whichhe generally ate in a small _osteria_ opposite his master's lodging. There he sat now, finishing his dish of beans and oil, and debatingwhether he should indulge himself in another _mezza foglietta_ of hisfavourite white wine. He was installed upon the wooden bench against thewall, behind the narrow table on which was spread a dirty napkin with theremains of his unctuous meal. The light from the solitary oil-lamp thathung from the black ceiling was not brilliant, and he could see wellenough through the panes of the glass door that the carriage which hadjust stopped on the opposite side of the street was not a cab. Suspectingthat some one had called at that unusual hour in search of his master, herose from his seat and went out. 

He stood looking at the carriage. It did not please him. It had thatpeculiar look which used to mark the equipages of the Vatican, and whichto this day distinguishes them from all others in the eyes of a bornRoman. The vehicle was of rather antiquated shape, the horses were black, the coachman wore a plain black coat, with a somewhat old-fashioned hat;withal, the turnout was respectable enough, and well kept. But it did notplease Temistocle. Drawing his hat over his eyes, he passed behind it, and having ascertained that the occupants, if there had been any, hadalready entered the house, he himself went in. The narrow staircase wasdimly lighted by small oil-lamps. Temistocle ascended the steps ontiptoe, for he could already hear the men ringing the bell, and talkingtogether in a low voice. The Neapolitan crept nearer. Again and againthe bell was rung, and the men began to grow impatient. 

"He has escaped, " said one angrily. 

"Perhaps--or he has gone out to dinner--much more likely. "

"We had better go away and come later, " suggested the first. 

"He is sure to come home. We had better wait. The orders are to take himin his lodgings. "

"We might go into the _osteria_ opposite and drink a _foglietta_. "

"No, " said the other, who seemed to be the one in authority. "We mustwait here, if we wait till midnight. Those are the orders. "

The second detective grumbled something not clearly audible, and silenceensued. But Temistocle had heard quite enough. He was a quick-wittedfellow, as has been seen, much more anxious for his own interests thanfor his master's, though he had hitherto found it easy to consult both. Indeed, in a certain way he was faithful to Del Ferice, and admired himas a soldier admires his general. The resolution he now formed did honourto his loyalty to Ugo and to his thievish instincts. He determined tosave his master if he could, and to rob him at his leisure afterwards. If Del Ferice failed to escape, he would probably reward Temistocle forhaving done his best to help him; if, on the other hand, he got away, Temistocle had the key of his lodgings, and would help himself. But therewas one difficulty in the way. Del Ferice was in evening dress at thehouse of Donna Tullia. In such a costume he would have no chance ofpassing the gates, which in those days were closed and guarded all night. Del Ferice was a cautious man, and, like many another in those days, keptin his rooms a couple of disguises which might serve if he was hardpressed. His ready money he always carried with him, because hefrequently went into the club before coming home, and played a game ofécarté, in which he was usually lucky. The question was how to enter thelodgings, to get possession of the necessary clothes, and to go outagain, without exciting the suspicions of the detectives. 

Temistocle's mind was soon made up. He crept softly down the stairs, soas not to appear to have been too near, and then, making as much noise ashe could, ascended boldly, drawing the key of the lodgings from hispocket as he reached the landing where the two men stood under thelittle oil-lamp. 

"_Buona sera, signori_, " he said, politely, thrusting the key into thelock without hesitation. "Did you wish to see the Conte del Ferice?"

"Yes, " answered the elder man, affecting an urbane manner. "Is the Countat home?"

"I do not think so, " returned the Neapolitan. "But I will see. Come in, gentlemen. He will not be long--_sempre verso quest'ora_--he always comeshome about this time. "

"Thank you, " said the detective. "If you will allow us to wait--"

"_Altro_--what? Should I leave the _padrone's_ friends on the stairs?Come in, gentlemen--sit down. It is dark. I will light the lamp. " Andstriking a match, Temistocle lit a couple of candles and placed them uponthe table of the small sitting-room. The two men sat down, holding theirhats upon their knees. 

"If you will excuse me, " said Temistocle, "I will go and make thesignore's coffee. He dines at the restaurant, and always comes home forhis coffee. Perhaps the signori will also take a cup? It is the same tomake three as one. "

But the men thanked Temistocle, and said they wanted none, which was justas well, since Temistocle had no idea of giving them any. He retired, however, to the small kitchen which belongs to every Roman lodging, andmade a great clattering with the coffee-pot. Presently he slipped intoDel Ferice's bedroom, and extracted from a dark corner a shabby blackbag, which he took back with him into the kitchen. From the kitchenwindow ran the usual iron wire to the well in the small court, bearing aniron traveller with a rope for drawing water. Temistocle, clatteringloudly, hooked the bag to the traveller and let it run down noisily; thenhe tied the rope and went out. He had carefully closed the door of thesitting-room, but he had been careful to leave the door which opened uponthe stairs unlatched. He crept noiselessly out, and leaving the doorstill open, rushed down-stairs, turned into the little court, unhookedhis bag from the rope, and taking it in his hand, passed quietly out intothe street. The coachman was dozing upon the box of the carriage whichstill waited before the door, and would not have noticed Temistocle hadhe been awake. In a moment more the Neapolitan was beyond pursuit. Inthe Piazza di Spagna he hailed a cab and drove rapidly to Donna Tullia'shouse, where he paid the man and sent him away. The servants knew himwell enough, for scarcely a day passed without his bringing some note ormessage from his master to Madame Mayer. He sent in to say that he mustspeak to his master on business. Del Ferice came out hastily inconsiderable agitation, which was by no means diminished by the sight ofthe well-known shabby black bag. 

Temistocle glanced round the hall to see that they were alone. 

"The _forza_--the police, " he whispered, "are in the house, Eccellenza. Here is the bag. Save yourself, for the love of heaven!"

Del Ferice turned ghastly pale, and his face twitched nervously. 

"But--" he began, and then staggering back leaned against the wall. 

"Quick--fly!" urged Temistocle, shaking him roughly by the arm. "It isthe Holy Office--you have time. I told them you would be back, and theyare waiting quietly--they will wait all night. Here is your overcoat, " headded, almost forcing his master into the garment--"and your hat--here!Come along, there is no time to lose. I will take you to a place whereyou can dress. "

Del Ferice submitted almost blindly. By especial good fortune the footmandid not come out into the hall. Donna Tullia and her guests had finisheddinner, and the servants had retired to theirs; indeed the footman hadcomplained to Temistocle of being called away from his meal to open thedoor. The Neapolitan pushed his master out upon the stairs, urging him touse all speed. As the two men hurried along the dark street theyconversed in low tones. Del Ferice was trembling in every joint. 

"But Donna Tullia, " he almost whined. "I cannot leave her so--she mustknow--"

"Save your own skin from the Holy Office, master, " answered Temistocle, dragging him along as fast as he could. "I will go back and tell yourlady, never fear. She will leave Rome to-morrow. Of course you will goto Naples. She will follow you. She will be there before you. "

Del Ferice mumbled an unintelligible answer. His teeth were chatteringwith cold and fear; but as he began to realise his extreme peril, terrorlent wings to his heels, and he almost outstripped the nimble Temistoelein the race for safety. They reached at last the ruined part of the citynear the Porta Maggiore, and in the shadow of the deep archway where theroad branches to the right towards Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, Temistoclehalted. 

"Here, " he said, shortly. Del Ferice said never a word, but began toundress himself in the dark. It was a gloomy and lowering night, theroads were muddy, and from time to time a few drops of cold rain fellsilently, portending a coming storm. In a few moments the transformationwas complete, and Del Ferice stood by his servant's side in the shabbybrown cowl and rope-girdle of a Capuchin monk. 

"Now comes the hard part, " said Temistocle, producing a razor and a pairof scissors from the bottom of the bag. Del Ferice had too oftencontemplated the possibility of flight to have omitted so important adetail. 

"You cannot see--you will cut my throat, " he murmured plaintively. 

But the fellow was equal to the emergency. Retiring deeper into therecess of the arch, he lit a cigar, and holding it between his teeth, puffed violently at it, producing a feeble light by which he could justsee his master's face. He was in the habit of shaving him, and had nodifficulty in removing the fair moustache from his upper lip. Then, making him hold his head down, and puffing harder than ever, he croppedhis thin hair, and managed to make a tolerably respectable tonsure. Butthe whole operation had consumed half an hour at the least, and DelFerice was trembling still. Temistocle thrust the clothes into his bag. 

"My watch!" objected the unfortunate man, "and my pearl studs--give themto me--what? You villain! you thief! you--"

"No _chiacchiere_, no talk, _padrone_, " interrupted Temistocle, snappingthe lock of the bag. "If you chance to be searched, it would ill become amendicant friar to be carrying gold watches and pearl studs. I will givethem to Donna Tullia this very evening. You have money--you can say thatyou are taking that to your convent. "

"Swear to give the watch to Donna Tullia, " said Del Ferice. WhereuponTemistocle swore a terrible oath, which he did not fail to break, ofcourse. But his master had to be satisfied, and when all was completedthe two parted company. 

"I will ask Donna Tullia to take me to Naples on her passport, " said theNeapolitan. 

"Take care of my things, Temistoele. Burn all the papers if youcan--though I suppose the _sbirri_ have got them by this time. Bring myclothes--if you steal anything, remember there are knives in Rome, and Iknow where to write to have them used. " Whereat Temistocle broke into atorrent of protestations. How could his master think that, after savinghim at such risk, his faithful servant would plunder him?

"Well, " said Del Ferice, thoughtfully, "you are a great scoundrel, youknow. But you have saved me, as you say. There is a scudo for you. "

Temistocle never refused anything. He took the coin, kissed his master'shand as a final exhibition of servility, and turned back towards the citywithout another word. Del Ferice shuddered, and drew his heavy cowl overhis head as he began to walk quickly towards the Porta Maggiore. Then hetook the inside road, skirting the walls through the mud to the Porta SanLorenzo. He was perfectly safe in his disguise. He had dined abundantly, he had money in his pocket, and he had escaped the clutches of the HolyOffice. A barefooted friar might walk for days unchallenged through theRoman Campagna and the neighbouring hills, and it was not far to thesouth-eastern frontier. He did not know the way beyond Tivoli, but hecould inquire without exciting the least suspicion. There are fewdisguises more complete than the garb of a Capuchin monk, and Del Fericehad long contemplated playing the part, for it was one which eminentlysuited him. His face, much thinner now than formerly, was yet naturallyround, and without his moustache would certainly pass for a harmlessclerical visage. He had received an excellent education, and knew vastlymore Latin than the majority of mendicant monks. As a good Roman he waswell acquainted with every convent in the city, and knew the names of allthe chief dignitaries of the Capuchin order. When a lad he had frequentlyserved at Mass, and was acquainted with most of the ordinary details ofmonastic life. The worst that could happen to him might be to be calledupon in the course of his travels to hear the dying confession of somepoor wretch who had been stabbed after a game of _mora_. His case wasaltogether not so bad as might seem, considering the far greater evils hehad escaped. 

At the Porta San Lorenzo the gates were closed as usual, but the dozingwatchman let Del Ferice out of the small door without remark. Any onemight leave the city, though it required a pass to gain admittance duringthe night. The heavily-ironed oak clanged behind the fugitive, and hebreathed more freely as he stepped upon the road to Tivoli. In an hour hehad crossed the Ponte Mammolo, shuddering as he looked down through thedeep gloom at the white foam of the Teverone, swollen with the winterrains. But the fear of the Holy Office was behind him, and he hurried onhis lonely way, walking painfully in the sandals he had been obliged toput on to complete his disguise, sinking occasionally ankle-deep in mud, and then trudging over a long stretch of broken stones where the road hadbeen mended; but not noticing nor caring for pain and fatigue, while hefelt that every minute took him nearer to the frontier hills where hewould be safe from pursuit. And so he toiled on, till he smelled thefetid air of the sulphur springs full fourteen miles from Rome; and atlast, as the road began to rise towards Hadrian's Villa, he sat down upona stone by the wayside to rest a little. He had walked five hours throughthe darkness, seeing but a few yards of the broad road before him as hewent. He was weary and footsore, and the night was growing wilder withgathering wind and rain as the storm swept down the mountains and throughthe deep gorge of Tivoli on its way to the desolate black Campagna. Hefelt that if he did not die of exposure he was safe, and to a man in hiscondition bad weather is the least of evils. 

His reflections were not sweet. Five hours earlier he had been dressed asa fine gentleman should be, seated at a luxurious table in the company ofa handsome and amusing woman who was to be his wife. He could stillalmost taste the delicate _chaud froid_, the tender woodcock, the drychampagne; he could still almost hear Donna Tullia's last noisy sallyringing in his ears--and behold, he was now sitting by the roadside inthe rain, in the wretched garb of a begging monk, five hours' journeyfrom Rome. He had left his affianced bride without a word of warning, hadabandoned all his possessions to Temistocle--that scoundrelly thiefTemistocle!--and he was utterly alone. 

But as he rested himself, drawing his monk's hood closely over his headand trying to warm his freezing feet with the skirts of his rough brownfrock, he reflected that if he ever got safely across the frontier hewould be treated as a patriot, as a man who had suffered for the cause, and certainly as a man who deserved to be rewarded. He reflected thatDonna Tullia was a woman who had a theatrical taste for romance, and thathis present position was in theory highly romantic, however uncomfortableit might be in the practice. When he was safe his story would be told inthe newspapers, and he would himself take care that it was madeinteresting. Donna Tullia would read it, would be fascinated by the taleof his sufferings, and would follow him. His marriage with her would thenadd immense importance to his own position. He would play his cards well, and with her wealth at his disposal he might aspire to any distinction hecoveted. He only wished the situation could have been prolonged for threeweeks, till he was actually married. Meanwhile he must take courage andpush on, beyond the reach of pursuit. If once he could gain Subiaco, hecould be over the frontier in twelve hours. From Tivoli there were_vetture_ up the valley, cheap conveyances for the country people, inwhich a barefooted friar could travel unnoticed. He knew that he mustcross the boundary by Trevi and the Serra di Sant' Antonio. He wouldinquire the way from Subiaco. 

While Del Ferice was thus making his way across the Campagna, Temistoclewas taking measures for his own advantage and safety. He had the bag withhis master's clothes, the valuable watch and chain, and the pearl studs. He had also the key to Del Ferice's lodgings, of which he promisedhimself to make some use, as soon as he should be sure that thedetectives had left the house. In the first place he made up his mind toleave Donna Tullia in ignorance of his master's sudden departure. There was nothing to be gained by telling her the news, for she wouldprobably in her rash way go to Del Ferice's house herself, as she haddone once before, and on finding he was actually gone she would takecharge of his effects, whereby Temistocle would be the loser. As hewalked briskly away from the ruinous district near the Porta Maggiore, and began to see the lights of the city gleaming before him, his couragerose in his breast. He remembered how easily he had eluded the detectivesan hour and a half before, and he determined to cheat them again. 

But he had reckoned unwisely. Before he had been gone ten minutes the twomen suspected, from the prolonged silence, that something was wrong, andafter searching the lodging perceived that the polite servant who hadoffered them coffee had left the house without taking leave. One of thetwo immediately drove to the house of his chief and asked forinstructions. The order to arrest the servant if he appeared again cameback at once. The consequence was that when Temistocle boldly openedthe door with a ready framed excuse for his absence, he was suddenlypinioned by four strong arms, dragged into the sitting-room, and told tohold his tongue in the name of the law. And that is the last that washeard of Temistocle for some time. But when the day dawned the menknew that Del Ferice had escaped them. 

The affair had not been well managed. The Cardinal was a good detective, but a bad policeman. In his haste he had made the mistake of ordering DelFerice to be arrested instantly and in his lodgings. Had the statesmansimply told the chief of police to secure Ugo as soon as possible withoutany scandal, he could not have escaped. But the officer interpreted theCardinal's note to mean that Del Ferice was actually at his lodgings whenthe order was given. The Cardinal was supposed to be omniscient byhis subordinates, and no one ever thought of giving any interpretationnot perfectly literal to his commands. Of course the Cardinal was at onceinformed, and telegrams and mounted detectives were dispatched in alldirections. But Del Ferice's disguise was good, and when just aftersunrise a gendarme galloped into Tivoli, he did not suspect that thetravel-stained and pale-faced friar, who stood telling his beads beforethe shrine just outside the Roman gate, was the political delinquent whomhe was sent to overtake. 

Donna Tullia spent an anxious night. She sent down to Del Ferice'slodgings, as Temistocle had anticipated, and the servant brought backword that he had not seen the Neapolitan, and that the house was held inpossession by strangers, who refused him admittance. Madame Mayerunderstood well enough what had happened, and began to tremble forherself. Indeed she began to think of packing together her own valuables, in case she should be ordered to leave Rome, for she did not doubt thatthe Holy Office was in pursuit of Del Ferice, in consequence of somediscovery relating to her little club of malcontents. She trembled forUgo with an anxiety more genuine than any feeling of hers had been formany a day, not knowing whether he had escaped or not. But on thefollowing evening she was partially reassured by hearing from Valdarnothat the police had offered a large reward for Del Ferice's apprehension. Valdarno declared his intention of leaving Rome at once. His life, he said, was not safe for a moment. That villain Gouache, who had turnedZouave, had betrayed them all, and they might be lodged in the Sant'Uffizio any day. As a matter of fact, after he discovered how egregiouslyhe had been deceived by Del Ferice, the Cardinal grew more suspicious, and his emissaries were more busy than they had been before. But Valdarnohad never manifested enough wisdom, nor enough folly, to make him a causeof anxiety to the Prime Minister. Nevertheless he actually left Rome andspent a long time in Paris before he was induced to believe that he mightsafely return to his home. 

Roman society was shaken to its foundations by the news of the attemptedarrest, and Donna Tullia found some slight compensation in becoming for atime the centre of interest. She felt, indeed, great anxiety for the manshe was engaged to marry; but for the first time in her life she feltalso that she was living in an element of real romance, of which she hadlong dreamed, but of which she had never found the smallest realisation. Society saw, and speculated, and gossiped, after its fashion; but itsgossip was more subdued than of yore, for men began to ask who was safe, since the harmless Del Ferice had been proscribed. Old Saracinesca saidlittle. He would have gone to see the Cardinal and to offer him hiscongratulations, since it would not be decent to offer his thanks; butthe Cardinal was not in a position to be congratulated. If he had caughtDel Ferice he would have thanked the Prince instead of waiting for anyexpressions of gratitude; but he did not catch Del Ferice, for certainvery good reasons which will appear in the last scene of this comedy. 

Three days after Ugo's disappearance, the old Prince got into hiscarriage and drove out to Saracinesca. More than a month had elapsedsince the marriage, and he felt that he must see his son, even at therisk of interrupting the honeymoon. On the whole, he felt that hisrevenge had been inadequate. Del Fence had escaped the Holy Office, noone knew how; and Donna Tullia, instead of being profoundly humiliated, as she would have been had Del Ferice been tried as a common spy, wasbecome a centre of attraction and interest, because her affianced husbandhad for some unknown cause incurred the displeasure of the greatCardinal, almost on the eve of her marriage--a state of thingssignificant as regards the tone of Roman society. Indeed the wholecircumstance, which, was soon bruited about among all classes with themost lively adornment and exaggeration, tended greatly to increase thefear and hatred which high and low alike felt for Cardinal Antonelli--theman who was always accused and never heard in his own defence. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

People wondered that Giovanni and Corona should have chosen to retireinto the country for their honeymoon, instead of travelling to France andEngland, and ending their wedding-trip in Switzerland. The hills were sovery cold at that early season, and besides, they would be utterly alone. People could not understand why Corona did not take advantage of thetermination of her widowhood to mix at once with the world, and indemnifyherself for the year of mourning by a year of unusual gaiety. But therewere many, on the other hand, who loudly applauded the action, which, itwas maintained, showed a wise spirit of economy, and contrasted veryfavourably with the extravagance recently exhibited by young couples whoin reality had far more cause to be careful of their money. Those whoheld this view belonged to the old, patriarchal class, the stillflourishing remnant of the last generation, who prided themselves upongood management, good morals, and ascetic living; the class of people inwhose marriage-contracts it was stipulated that the wife was to have meattwice a-day, excepting on fast days, a drive--the _trottata_, as it usedto be called--daily, and two new gowns every year. Even in our times, when most of that generation are dead, these clauses are oftenintroduced; in the first half of the century they were universal. Alittle earlier it used to be stipulated that the "meat" was not to becopra, goat's-flesh, which was considered to be food fit only forservants. But the patriarchal generation were a fine old class in spiteof their economy, and they loudly aplauded Giovanni's conduct. 

No one, however, understood that the solitude of Saracinesca was reallythe greatest luxury the newly-married couple could desire. They wanted tobe left alone, and they got their wish. No one had known of thepreparations Giovanni had made for his wife's reception, and had anyidea of the changes in the castle reached the ears of the aforesaidpatriarchs, they would probably have changed their minds in regard toGiovanni's economy. The Saracinesca were not ostentatious, but they spenttheir money royally in their own quiet way, and the interior of the oldstronghold had undergone a complete transformation, while the ancientgrey stones of the outer walls and towers frowned as gloomily as everupon the valley. Vast halls had been decorated and furnished in a stylesuited to the antiquity of the fortress, small sunny rooms had beenfitted up with the more refined luxury which was beginning to beappreciated in Italy twenty years ago. A great conservatory had beenbuilt out upon the southern battlement. The aqueduct had been completedsuccessfully, and fountains now played in the courts. The old-fashionedfireplaces had been again put into use, and huge logs burned upon hugefire-dogs in the halls, shedding a ruddy glow upon the trophies of oldarmour, the polished floors, and the heavy curtains. Quantities ofmagnificent tapestry, some of which had been produced when Corona firstvisited the castle, were now hung upon the stairs and in the corridors. The great _baldacchino_, the canopy which Roman princes are privileged todisplay in their antechambers, was draped above the quartered arms ofSaracinesca and Astrardente, and the same armorial bearings appeared inrich stained glass in the window of the grand staircase. The solidity andrare strength of the ancient stronghold seemed to grow even more imposingunder the decorations and improvements of a later age, and for the firsttime Giovanni felt that justice had been done to the splendour of hisancestral home. 

Here he and his dark bride dwelt in perfect unity and happiness, in themidst of their own lands, surrounded by their own people, and whollydevoted to each other. But though much of the day was passed in thatunceasing conversation and exchange of ideas which seem to belongexclusively to happily-wedded man and wife, the hours were not whollyidle. Daily the two mounted their horses and rode along the level stretchtowards Aquaviva till they came to the turning from which Corona hadfirst caught sight of Saracinesca. Here a broad road was already brokenout; the construction was so far advanced that two miles at least werealready serviceable, the gentle grade winding backwards and forwards, crossing and recrossing the old bridle-path as it descended to the valleybelow; and now from the furthest point completed Corona could distinguishin the dim distance the great square palace of Astrardente crowning thehills above the town. Thither the two rode daily, pushing on the work, consulting with the engineer they employed, and often looking forwardto the day when for the first time their carriage should roll smoothlydown from Saracinesca to Astrardente without making the vast detour whichthe old road followed as it skirted the mountain. There was aninexpressible pleasure in watching the growth of the work they had solong contemplated, in speculating on the advantages they would obtain byso uniting their respective villages, and in feeling that, being at lastone, they were working together for the good of their people. For the menwho did the work were without exception their own peasants, who wereunemployed during the winter time, and who, but for the timely occupationprovided for them, would have spent the cold months in that state ofhalf-starved torpor peculiar to the indigent agricultural labourer whenhe has nothing to do--at that bitter season when father and mother andshivering little ones watch wistfully the ever-dwindling sack of maize, as day by day two or three handfuls are ground between the stones of thehand-mill and kneaded into a thick unwholesome dough, the only food ofthe poorer peasants in the winter. But now every man who could handlepickaxe and bore, and sledge-hammer and spade, was out upon the road fromdawn to dark, and every Saturday night each man took home a silver scudoin his pocket; and where people are sober and do not drink their wages, asilver scudo goes a long way further than nothing. Yet many a lean andswarthy fellow there would have felt that he was cheated if besides hismoney he had not carried home daily the remembrance of that tall darklady's face and kindly eyes and encouraging voice, and they used to watchfor the coming of the "_gran principessa_" as anxiously as they expectedthe coming of the steward with the money-bags on a Saturday evening. Often, too, the wives and daughters of the rough workers would bring themen their dinners at noonday, rather than let them carry away their foodwith them in the morning, just for the sake of catching a sight ofCorona, and of her broad-shouldered manly husband. And the men workedwith a right good will, for the story had gone abroad that for years tocome there would be no lack of work for willing hands. 

So the days sped, and were not interrupted by any incident for severalweeks. One day Gouache, the artist Zouave, called at the castle. He hadbeen quartered at Subiaco with a part of his company, but had not beensent on at once to Saracinesca as he had expected. Now, however, he hadarrived with a small detachment of half-a-dozen men, with instructions towatch the pass. There was nothing extraordinary in his being sent in thatdirection, for Saracinesca was very near the frontier, and lay on one ofthe direct routes to the Serra di Sant' Antonio, which was the shortesthill-route into the kingdom of Naples; the country around was thought tobe particularly liable to disturbance, and though no one had seen abrigand there for some years, the mountain-paths were supposed to beinfested with robbers. As a matter of fact there was a great deal ofsmuggling carried on through the pass, and from time to time somepolitical refugee found his way across the frontier at that point. 

Gouache was received very well by Giovanni, and rather coldly by Corona, who knew him but slightly. 

"I congratulate you, " said Giovanni, noticing the stripes on the youngman's sleeves; "I see that you have risen in grade. "

"Yes. I hold an important command of six men. I spend much time instudying the strategy of Condé and Napoleon. By the bye, I am here on avery important mission. "

"Indeed!"

"I suppose you give yourselves the luxury of never reading the papers inthis delightful retreat. The day before yesterday the Cardinal attemptedto arrest our friend Del Ferice--have you heard that?"

"No--what--has he escaped?" asked Giovanni and Corona in a breath. Buttheir tones were different. Giovanni had anticipated the news, and wasdisgusted at the idea that the fellow had got off. Corona was merelysurprised. 

"Yes. Heaven knows how--he has escaped. I am here to cut him off if hetries to get to the Serra di Sant' Antonio. "

Giovanni laughed. 

"He will scarcely try to come this way--under the very walls of myhouse, " he said. 

"He may do anything. He is a slippery fellow. " Gouache proceeded to tellall he knew of the circumstances. 

"That is very strange, " said Corona, thoughtfully. Then after a pause, she added, "We are going to visit our road, Monsieur Gouache. Will younot come with us? My husband will give you a horse. "

Gouache was charmed. He preferred talking to Giovanni and looking atCorona's face to returning to his six Zouaves, or patrolling the hills insearch of Del Ferice. In a few minutes the three were mounted, and ridingslowly along the level stretch towards the works. As they entered the newroad Giovanni and Corona unconsciously fell into conversation, as usual, about what they were doing, and forgot their visitor. Gouache droppedbehind, watching the pair and admiring them with true artisticappreciation. He had a Parisian's love of luxury and perfect appointmentsas well as an artist's love of beauty, and his eyes rested withunmitigated pleasure on the riders and their horses, losing no detail oftheir dress, their simple English accoutrements, their firm seats andgraceful carriage. But at a turn of the grade the two riders suddenlyslipped from his field of vision, and his attention was attracted to themarvellous beauty of the landscape, as looking down the valley towardsAstrardente he saw range on range of purple hills rising in a deepperspective, crowned with jagged rocks or sharply defined brown villages, ruddy in the lowering sun. He stopped his horse and sat motionless, drinking in the loveliness before him. So it is that accidents in naturemake accidents in the lives of men. 

But Giovanni and Corona rode slowly down the gentle incline, hardlynoticing that Gouache had stopped behind, and talking of the work. Asthey again turned a curve of the grade Corona, who was on the inside, looked up and caught sight of Gouache's motionless figure at the oppositeextremity of the gradient they had just descended. Giovanni lookedstraight before him, and was aware of a pale-faced Capuchin friar whowith downcast eyes was toiling up the road, seemingly exhausted; aparticularly weather-stained and dilapidated friar even for those wildmountains. 

"Gouache is studying geography, " remarked Corona. 

"Another of those Capuccini!" exclaimed Giovanni, instinctively feelingin his pocket for coppers. Then with a sudden movement he seized hiswife's arm. She was close to him as they rode slowly along side by side. 

"Good God! Corona, " he cried, "it is Del Ferice!" Corona looked quicklyat the monk. His cowl was raised enough to show his features; but shewould, perhaps, not have recognised his smooth shaven face had Giovanninot called her attention to it. 

Del Ferice had recognised them too, and, horror-struck, he paused, trembling and uncertain what to do. He had taken the wrong turn from themain road below; unaccustomed to the dialect of the hills, he hadmisunderstood the peasant who had told him especially not to take thebridle-path if he wished to avoid Saracinesca. He stopped, hesitated, andthen, pulling his cowl over his face, walked steadily on. Giovanniglanced up and saw that Gouache was slowly descending the road, stillabsorbed in contemplating the landscape. 

"Let him take his chance, " muttered Saracinesca. "What should I care?"

"No--no! Save him, Giovanni, --he looks so miserable, " cried Corona, withready sympathy. She was pale with excitement. 

Giovanni looked at her one moment and hesitated, but her pleading eyeswere not to be refused. 

"Then gallop back, darling. Tell Gouache it is cold in thevalley--anything. Make him go back with you--I will save him since youwish it. "

Corona wheeled her horse without a word and cantered up the hill again. The monk had continued his slow walk, and was now almost at Giovanni'ssaddle-bow. The latter drew rein, staring hard at the pale featuresunder the cowl. 

"If you go on you are lost, " he said, in low distinct tones. "The Zouavesare waiting for you. Stop, I say!" he exclaimed, as the monk attempted topass on. Leaping to the ground Giovanni seized his arm and held himtightly. Then Del Ferice broke down. 

"You will not give me up--for the love of Christ!" he whined. "Oh, if youhave any pity--let me go--I never meant to harm you--"

"Look here, " said Giovanni. "I would just as soon give you up to the HolyOffice as not; but my wife asked me to save you--"

"God bless her! Oh, the saints bless her! God render her kindness!"blubbered Del Ferice, who, between fear and exhaustion, was by this timehalf idiotic. 

"Silence!" said Giovanni, sternly. "You may thank her if you ever have achance. Come with me quietly. I will send one of the workmen round thehill with you. You must sleep at Trevi, and then get over the Serra asbest you can. " He ran his arm through the bridle of his horse and walkedby his enemy's side. 

"You will not give me up, " moaned the wretched man. "For the love ofheaven do not betray me--I have come so far--I am so tired. "

"The wolves may make a meal of you, for all I care, " returned Giovanni. "I will not. I give you my word that I will send you safely on, if youwill stop this whining and behave like a man. "

At that moment Del Ferice was past taking offence, but for many a yearafterwards the rough words rankled in his heart. Giovanni was brutal foronce; he longed to wring the fellow's neck, or to give him up to Gouachoand the Zouaves. The tones of Ugo's voice reminded him of injuries not soold as to be yet forgotten. But he smothered his wrath and strode on, having promised his wife to save the wretch, much against his will. Itwas a quarter of an hour before they reached the works, the longestquarter of an hour Del Ferice remembered in his whole life. Neither spokea word. Giovanni hailed a sturdy-looking fellow who was breaking stonesby the roadside. 

"Get up, Carluccio, " he said. "This good monk has lost his way. You musttake him round the mountain, above Ponza to Arcinazzo, and show him theroad to Trevi. It is a long way, but the road is good enough afterPonza--it is shorter than to go round by Saracinesca, and the good friaris in a hurry. "

Carluccio started up with alacrity. He greatly preferred roaming aboutthe hills to breaking stones, provided he was paid for it. He picked uphis torn jacket and threw it over one shoulder, setting his battered hatjauntily on his thick black curls. 

"Give us a benediction, _padre mio_, and let us be off--_non è mica unpasso_--it is a good walk to Trevi. "

Del Ferice hesitated. He hardly knew what to do or say, and even if hehad wished to speak he was scarcely able to control his voice. Giovannicut the situation short by turning on his heel and mounting his horse. Amoment later he was cantering up the road again, to the considerableastonishment of the labourers, who were accustomed to see him spend atleast half an hour in examining the work done. But Giovanni was in nohumour to talk about roads. He had spent a horrible quarter of an hour, between his desire to see Del Ferice punished and the promise he hadgiven his wife to save him. He felt so little sure of himself that henever once looked back, lest he should be tempted to send a second man tostop the fugitive and deliver him up to justice. He ground his teethtogether, and his heart was full of bitter curses as he rode up the hill, hardly daring to reflect upon what he had done. That, in the eyes of thelaw, he had wittingly helped a traitor to escape, troubled his consciencelittle. His instinct bade him destroy Del Ferice by giving him up, and hewould have saved himself a vast deal of trouble if he had followed hisimpulse. But the impulse really arose from a deep-rooted desire forrevenge, which, having resisted, he regretted bitterly--very much asShakespeare's murderer complained to his companion that the devil was athis elbow bidding him not murder the duke. Giovanni spared his enemysolely to please his wife, and half-a-dozen words from her had produced aresult which no consideration of mercy or pity could have brought about. 

Corona and Gouache had halted at the top of the road to wait for him. Byan imperceptible nod, Giovanni informed his wife that Del Ferice wassafe. 

"I am sorry to have cut short our ride, " he said, coldly. "My wife foundit chilly in the valley. "

Anastase looked curiously at Giovanni's pale face, and wondered whetheranything was wrong. Corona herself seemed strangely agitated. 

"Yes, " answered Gouache, with his gentle smile; "the mountain air isstill cold. "

So the three rode silently back to the castle, and at the gate Gouachedismounted and left them, politely declining a rather cold invitation tocome in. Giovanni and Corona went silently up the staircase together, andon into a small apartment which in that cold season they had set apart asa sitting-room. When they were alone, Corona laid her hands uponGiovanni's shoulders and gazed long into his angry eyes. Then she threwher arms round his neck and drew him to her. 

"My beloved, " she cried, proudly, "you are all I thought--and more too. "

"Do not say that, " answered Giovanni. "I would not have lifted a fingerto save that hound, but for you. "

"Ah, but you did it, dear, all the same, " she said, and kissed him. 

On the following evening, without any warning, old Saracinesca arrived, and was warmly greeted. After dinner Giovanni told him the story of DelFerice's escape. Thereupon the old gentleman flew into a towering rage, swearing and cursing in a most characteristic manner, but finallydeclaring that to arrest spies was the work of spies, and that Giovannihad behaved like a gentleman, as of course he could not help doing, seeing that he was his own son. 

 * * * * *

And so the curtain falls upon the first act. Giovanni and Corona arehappily married. Del Ferice is safe across the frontier among his friendsin Naples, and Donna Tullia is waiting still for news of him, in the lastdays of Lent, in the year 1866. To carry on the tale from this pointwould be to enter upon a new series of events more interesting, perhaps, than those herein detailed, and of like importance in the history of theSaracinesca family, but forming by their very nature a distinctnarrative--a second act to the drama, if it may be so called. I amcontent if in the foregoing pages I have so far acquainted the readerwith those characters which hereafter will play more important parts, asto enable him to comprehend the story of their subsequent lives, and insome measure to judge of their future by their past, regarding them asacquaintances, if not sympathetic, yet worthy of some attention. 

Especially I ask for indulgence in matters political. I am not writingthe history of political events, but the history of a Roman family duringtimes of great uncertainty and agitation. If any one says that I have setup Del Ferice as a type of the Italian Liberal party, carefullyconstructing a villain in order to batter him to pieces with theartillery of poetic justice, I answer that I have done nothing of thekind. Del Ferice is indeed a type, but a type of a depraved class whichvery unjustly represented the Liberal party in Rome before 1870, andwhich, among those who witnessed its proceedings, drew upon the greatpolitical body which demanded the unity of Italy an opprobrium that bodywas very far from deserving. The honest and upright Liberals were waitingin 1866. What they did, they did from their own country, and they did itboldly. To no man of intelligence need I say that Del Ferice had no moreaffinity with Massimo D'Azeglio, with the great Cavour, with Cavour'sgreat enemy Giuseppe Mazzini, or with Garibaldi, than the jackal has withthe lion. Del Ferice represented the scum which remained after therevolution of 1848 had subsided. He was one of those men who were usedand despised by their betters, and in using whom Cavour himself wasprovoked into writing "Se noi facessimo per noi quel che faciamo perl'Italia, saremmo gran bricconi"--if we did for ourselves what we do forItaly, we should be great blackguards. And that there were honourableand just men outside of Rome will sufficiently appear in the sequel tothis veracious tale. 

THE END.