e no right to repeat such hearsay tales to me," answered Corona.
But the blush rose to her pale dark cheeks, and she suddenly dropped her
eyes.

"Can you deny it, Duchessa?" asked the Prince a third time, insisting
roughly.

"Since you are so certain, why need you care for my denial?" inquired
Corona.

"Duchessa, you must forgive me," answered Saracinesca, his tone suddenly
softening. "I am rough, probably rude; but I love my son dearly. I cannot
bear to see him running into a dangerous and hopeless passion, from which
he may issue only to find himself grown suddenly old and bitter,
disappointed and miserable for the rest of his life. I believe you to be
a very good woman; I cannot look at you and doubt the truth of anything
you tell me. If he loves you, you have influence over him. If you have
influence, use it for his good; use it to break down this mad love of
his, to show him his own folly--to save him, in short, from his fate. Do
you understand me? Do I ask too much?"

Corona understood well enough--far too well. She knew the whole extent of
Giovanni's love for her, and, what old Saracinesca never guessed, the
strength of her own love for him, for the sake of which she would do all
that a woman could do. There was a long pause after the old Prince had
spoken. He waited patiently for an answer.

"I understand you--yes," she said at last. "If you are right in your
surmises, I should have some influence over your son. If I can advise
him, 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 shown
little courtesy in the way you have spoken to me; but I will try to do as
you request me, if the opportunity offers, for the sake of--of turning
what is very bad into something which may at last be good."

"Thank you, thank you, Duchessa!" cried the Prince. "I will never
forget--"

"Do not thank me," said Corona, coldly. "I am not in a mood to appreciate
your gratitude. There is too much blood of those honest gentlemen upon
your hands."

"Pardon me, Duchessa, I wish there were on my hands and head the blood of
that gentleman you call honest--the gentleman who twice tried to murder
my 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 halting
and his sword was hanging lowered in his hand; and once again he threw
himself upon his knee