man by a clever tailor--and she in the bloom of her glory
beside him! What he would have given to have old Saracinesca's strength
and fresh vitality--old Saracinesca whom he hated! Yes, with all that
hair--it was white, but a little dye would change it. What was a little
dye compared with the profound artificiality of his own outer man? How
the 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 his
fiery black eyes! He hated him for the greenness of his age--he hated him
for his stalwart son, another of those long-lived fierce Saracinesca, who
seemed destined to outlive time. He himself had no children, no
relations, no one to bear his name--he had only a beautiful young wife
and much wealth, with just enough strength left to affect a gay walk when
he 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. They
went up-stairs, and as she took his arm, she gently tried to help him
rather than be helped. He noticed it, and made an effort, but he was
very tired. He paused upon the landing, and looked at her, and a gentle
and 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; "or
will you come into my smoking-room? I would like to smoke a little before
going to bed."

"You may smoke in my boudoir, of course," she answered kindly, though she
was surprised at the request. It was half-past three o'clock. They went
into the softly lighted little room, where the embers of the fire were
still glowing upon the hearth. Corona dropped her furs upon a chair, and
sat down upon one side of the chimney piece. Astrardente sank wearily
into a deep easy-chair opposite her, and having found a cigarette,
lighted it, and began to smoke. He seemed in a mood which Corona had
never 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 other
man 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 to
you. I think you believe it. You are good, but you do not love me--no, do