f an exigent society.

At last the conversation turned again upon recent events, and especially
upon the part Del Ferice and Donna Tullia had played in attempting to
prevent the marriage. Corona asked what Giovanni intended to do about the
matter.

"I do not see that there is much to be done," he answered. "I will go to
Donna Tullia to-morrow, and explain that there has been a curious
mistake--that I am exceedingly obliged to her for calling my attention to
the existence of a distant relative, but that I trust she will not in
future 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 they
really proved my former marriage. She will perhaps blame him for her
failure, but he will defend himself, never fear; he will make her
marry him."

"I wish they would marry and go away," said Corona to whom the very name
of Del Ferice was abhorrent, and who detested Donna Tullia almost as
heartily. Corona was a very good and noble woman, but she was very far
from that saintly superiority which forgets to resent injuries. Her
passions were eminently human, and very strong. She had struggled bravely
against her overwhelming love for Giovanni; and she had so far got the
mastery of herself, that she would have endured to the end if her
husband's death had not set her at liberty. Perhaps, too, while she felt
the necessity of fighting against that love, she attained for a time to
an elevation of character which would have made such personal injuries
as Donna Tullia could inflict seem insignificant in comparison with the
great struggle she sustained against an even greater evil. But in the
realisation of her freedom, in suddenly giving the rein to her nature, so
long controlled by her resolute will, all passion seemed to break out at
once with renewed force; and the conviction that her anger against her
two enemies was perfectly just and righteous, added fuel to the fire. Her
eyes gleamed fiercely as she spoke of Del Ferice and his bride, and no
punishment seemed too severe for those who had so treacherously tried to
dash the cup of her happiness from her very lips.

"I wish they would marry," she repeated, "and I wish the Cardinal would
turn them out of Rome the next day."

"That might be done," said Giovanni, who had himself revolved more than
one scheme of vengeance against the evil-doers. "The trouble is, that the
Cardina