ed by Del Ferice,
who had made use of this worthless bribe in order to extort from her a
promise of marriage. She felt very ill, as very vain people often do
when they feel that they have been made ridiculous. She lay upon the
sofa in her little boudoir, where everything was in the worst possible
taste--from the gaudy velvet carpet and satin furniture to the gilt clock
on the chimney-piece--and she turned red and pale and red again, and
wished she were dead, or in Paris, or anywhere save in Rome. If she went
out she might meet one of the Saracinesca at any turn of the street, or
even Corona herself. How they would bow and smile sweetly at her,
enjoying her discomfiture with the polite superiority of people who
cannot be hurt!

And she herself--she could not tell what she should do. She had announced
her engagement to Del Ferice, but she could not marry him. She had been
entrapped into making him a promise, into swearing a terrible oath;
but the Church did not consider such oaths binding. She would go to Padre
Filippo and ask his advice.

But then, if she went to Padre Filippo, she would have to confess all she
had 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 of
her revengeful projects into a less questionable shape. No--she could not
confess all that just yet. Surely such an oath was not binding; at all
events, she could not marry Del Fence, whether she broke her promise or
not. In the first place, she would send for him and vent her anger upon
him 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 fine
attitude of disdain as she heard his step outside the door. She intended
to impress him with a full and sudden view of her just anger. He did not
seem 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 could
concentrate in the gaze of her blue eyes. It was a good comedy. Del
Ferice, who had noticed as soon as he entered the room that something was
wrong, and had already half guessed the cause, affected to spring back in
horror when she refused to give her hand. His pale face expressed
sufficiently well a mixture of indignation and sorrow at the harsh
treatment he received. Still Donna Tullia's cold eye rested upon him in a
fixed stare.

"Wha