had a vague suspicion that, for the sake of obtaining them, she would
even be willing to promise to marry Del Ferice. It would be very wrong,
perhaps; but it would be for the sake of accomplishing good, by
preventing Corona from falling into the trap--Corona, whom she hated!
Still, it would be a generous act to save her. The minds of women like
Madame Mayer are apt to be a little tortuous when they find themselves
hemmed in between their own jealousies, hatreds, and personal interests.

"If you refused--no; if you refused, I am afraid I could not give you the
papers," replied Del Ferice, musing as he gazed at the fire. "I love you
too much to lose that chance of winning you, even for the sake of saving
the Duchessa d'Astrardente from her fate. Why do you refuse? why do you
bargain?" he asked, suddenly turning towards her. "Does all my devotion
count for nothing--all my love, all my years of patient waiting? Oh, you
cannot be so cruel as to snatch the cup from my very lips! It is not for
the sake of these miserable documents: what is it to me whether Don
Giovanni appears as the criminal in a case of bigamy--whether he is
ruined now, as by his evil deeds he will be hereafter, or whether he goes
on unharmed and unthwarted upon his career of wickedness? He is nothing
to me, nor his pale-faced bride either. It is for you that I care, for
you that I will do anything, bad or good, to win you that I would risk my
life and my soul. Can you not see it? Have I not been faithful for very
long? Take pity on me--forget this whole business, forget that you have
promised anything, forget all except that I am here at your feet, a
miserable man, unless you speak the word, and turn all my wretchedness
into joy!"

He slipped from his seat and knelt upon one knee before her, clasping one
of her hands passionately between both his own. The scene was well
planned and well executed; his voice had a ring of emotion that sounded
pleasantly in Donna Tullia's ears, and his hands trembled with
excitement. She did not repulse him, being a vain woman and willing to
believe in the reality of the passion so well simulated. Perhaps, too, it
was not wholly put on, for she was a handsome, dashing woman, in the
prime of youth, and Del Ferice was a man who had always been susceptible
to charms of that kind. Donna Tullia hesitated, wondering what more he
could say. But he, on his part, knew the danger of trusting too much to
eloquence when not backed by a