But as a subject for speculation it is very pleasant. It is delightful to me to think of being your husband; it is equally delightful to you to think of the humiliation of an enemy. I took the liberty of uniting the two thoughts in one dream--a dream of unspeakable bliss for myself."

Donna Tullia's gay humour returned.

"You have certainly amused me very well for a quarter of an hour with your dreams," she answered. "I wish you would tell me what you know of Don Giovanni. It must be very interesting if it can really seriously influence his life."

"I cannot tell you. The secret is too valuable."

"But if the thing you know has such power, why do you not use it yourself? You must hate him far more than I do."

"I doubt that," answered Del Ferice, with a cunning smile. "I do not use it, I do not choose to strike the blow, because I do not care enough for retribution merely on my own account. I do not pretend to generosity, but I am not interested enough in him to harm him, though I dislike him exceedingly. We had a temporary settlement of our difficulties the other day, and we were both wounded. Poor Casalverde lost his head and did a foolish thing, and that cold-blooded villain Spicca killed him in consequence. It seems to me that there has been enough blood spilled in our quarrel. I am prepared to leave him alone so far as I am concerned.

But for you it would be different. I could do something worse than kill him if I chose."

"For me?" said Donna Tullia. "What would you do for me?" She smiled sweetly, willing to use all her persuasion to extract his secret.

"I could prevent Don Giovanni from marrying the Astrardente, as he intends to do," he answered, looking straight at his companion.

"How in the world could you do that?" she asked, in great surprise.

"That, my dear friend, is my secret, as I said before. I cannot reveal it to you at present."

"You are as dark as the Holy Office," said Donna Tullia, a little impatiently. "What possible harm could it do if you told me?"

"What possible good either?" asked Del Ferice, in reply. "You could not use it as I could. You would gain no advantage by knowing it. Of course,"

he added, with a laugh, "if we entered into the alliance we were jesting about, it would be different."

"You will not tell me unless I promise to marry you?"

"Frankly, no," he answered, still laughing.

It exasperated Donna Tullia beyond measure to feel that he was in possession of what she so coveted, and to feel that he was bargaining, half in earnest, for her life in exchange for his secret. She was almost tempted for one moment to a.s.sent, to say she would marry him, so great was her curiosity; it would be easy to break her promise, and laugh at him afterwards. But she was not a bad woman, as women of her cla.s.s are considered. She had suffered a great disappointment, and her resentment was in proportion to her vanity. But she was not prepared to give a false promise for the sake of vengeance; she was only bad enough to imagine such bad faith possible.

"But you said you never seriously thought I could accept such an engagement," she objected, not knowing what to say.

"I did," replied Del Ferice. "I might have added that I never seriously contemplated parting with my secret."

"There is nothing to be got from you," said Donna Tullia, in a tone of disappointment. "I think that when you have nearly driven me mad with curiosity, you might really tell me something."

"Ah no, dear lady," answered her companion. "You may ask anything of me but that--anything. You may ask that too, if you will sign the treaty I propose."

"You will drive me into marrying you out of sheer curiosity," said Donna Tullia, with an impatient laugh.

"I wish that were possible. I wish I could see my way to telling you as it is, for the thing is so curious that it would have the most intense interest for you. But it is quite out of the question."

"You should never have told me anything about it," replied Madame Mayer.

"Well, I will think about it," said Del Ferice at last, as though suddenly resolving to make a sacrifice. "I will look over some papers I have, and I will think about it. I promise you that if I feel that I can conscientiously tell you something of the matter, you may be sure that I will."

Donna Tullia's manner changed again, from impatience to persuasion. The sudden hope he held out to her was delicious to contemplate. She could not realise that Del Ferice, having once thoroughly interested her, could play upon her moods as on the keys of an instrument. If she had been less anxious that the story he told should be true, she might have suspected that he was practising upon her credulity. But she seized the idea of obtaining some secret influence over the life of Giovanni, and it completely carried her away.

"You must tell me--I am sure you will," she said, letting her kindest glance rest upon her companion. "Come and dine with me,--do you fast?

No--nor I. Come on Friday--will you?"

"I shall be delighted," answered Del Ferice, with a quiet smile of triumph.

"I will have the old lady, of course, so you cannot tell me at dinner; but she will go to sleep soon afterwards--she always does. Come at seven.

Besides, she is deaf, you know."

The old lady in question was the aged Countess whom Donna Tullia affected as a companion in her solitary magnificence.

"And now, will you take me back to the ball-room? I have an idea that a partner is looking for me."

Del Ferice left her dancing, and went home in his little coupe. He was desperately fatigued, for he was still very weak, and he feared lest his imprudence in going out so soon might bring on a relapse from his convalescence. Nevertheless, before he went to bed he dismissed Temistocle, and opened a shabby-looking black box which stood upon his writing-table. It was bound with iron, and was fastened by a patent lock which had frequently defied Temistocle's ingenuity. Prom this repository he took a great number of papers, which were all neatly filed away and marked in the owner's small and ornamented handwriting. Beneath many packages of letters he found what he sought for, a long envelope containing several folded doc.u.ments.

He spread out the papers and read them carefully over.

"It is a very singular thing," he said to himself; "but there can be no doubt about it. There it is."

He folded the papers again, returned them to their envelope, and replaced the latter deep among the letters in his box. He then locked it, attached the key to a chain he wore about his neck, and went to bed, worn out with fatigue.

CHAPTER XXI.

Del Ferice had purposely excited Donna Tullia's curiosity, and he meant before long to tell more than he had vouchsafed in his first confidence.

But he himself trembled before the magnitude of what he had suddenly thought of doing, for the fear of Giovanni was in his heart. The temptation to boast to Donna Tullia that he had the means of preventing Giovanni from marrying was too strong; but when it had come to telling her what those means were, prudence had restrained him. He desired that if the scheme were put into execution it might be by some one else; for, extraordinary as it was, he was not absolutely certain of its success. He was not sure of Donna Tullia's discretion, either, until by a judicious withholding of the secret he had given her a sufficient idea of its importance. But on mature reflection he came to the conclusion that, even if she possessed the information he was able to give, she would not dare to mention it, nor even to hint at it.

The grey light of Ash-Wednesday morning broke over Rome, and stole through the windows of Giovanni Saracinesca's bedroom. Giovanni had not slept much, but his restlessness was due rather to his gladness at having performed the last of his social duties than to any disturbance of mind.

All night he lay planning what he should do,--how he might reach his place in the mountains by a circuitous route, leaving the general impression that he was abroad--and how, when at last he had got to Saracinesca un.o.bserved, he would revel in the solitude and in the thought of being within half a day's journey of Corona d'Astrardente. He was willing to take a great deal of trouble, for he did not wish people to know his whereabouts; he would not have it said that he had gone into the country to be near Corona and to see her every day, as would certainly be said if his real movements were discovered. Accordingly, he fulfilled his programme to the letter. He left Rome on the afternoon of Ash-Wednesday for Florence; there he visited several acquaintances who, he knew, would write to their friends in Rome of his appearance; from Florence he went to Paris, and gave out that he was going upon a shooting expedition in the Arctic regions, as soon as the weather was warm enough.

As he was well known for a sportsman and a traveller, this statement created no suspicion; and when he finally left Paris, the newspapers and the gossips all said he had gone to Copenhagen on his way to the far north. In due time the statement reached Rome, and it was supposed that society had lost sight of Giovanni Saracinesca for at least eight months.

It was thought that he had acted with great delicacy in absenting himself; he would thus allow the first months of Corona's mourning to pa.s.s before formally presenting himself to society as her suitor.

Considering the peculiar circ.u.mstances of the case, there would be nothing improper, from a social point of view, in his marrying Corona at the expiration of a year after her husband's death. Of course he would marry her; there was no doubt of that--he had been in love with her so long, and now she was both free and rich. No one suspected that Giovanni, instead of being in Scandinavia, was quietly established at Saracinesca, a day's journey from Rome, busying himself with the management of the estate, and momentarily satisfied in feeling himself so near the woman he loved.

Donna Tullia could hardly wait until the day when Del Ferice was coming to dinner: she was several times on the point of writing a note to ask him to come at once. But she wisely refrained, guessing that the more she pressed him the more difficulties he would make. At last he came, looking pale and worn--interesting, as Donna Tullia would have expressed it. The old Countess talked a great deal during dinner; but as she was too deaf to hear more than a quarter of what was said by the others, the conversation was not interesting. When the meal was over, she established herself in a comfortable chair in the little sitting-room, and took a book. After a few minutes, Donna Tullia suggested to Del Ferice that they should go into the drawing-room. She had received some new waltz-music from Vienna which she wanted to look over, and Ugo might help her. She was not a musician, but was fond of a cheerful noise, and played upon the piano with the average skill of a well-educated young woman of the world. Of course the doors were left open between the drawing-room and the boudoir, where the Countess dozed over her book and presently fell asleep.

Donna Tullia sat at the grand piano, and made Del Ferice sit beside her.

She struck a few chords, and played a fragment of dance-music.

"Of course you have heard that Don Giovanni is gone?" she asked, carelessly. "I suppose he is gone to Saracinesca; they say there is a very good road between that and Astrardente."

"I should think he would have more decency than to pursue the d.u.c.h.essa in the first month of her mourning," answered Del Ferice, resting one arm upon the piano, and supporting his pale face with his hand as he watched Donna Tullia's fingers move upon the keys.

"Why? He does not care what people say--why should he? He will marry her when the year is out. Why should he care?"

"He can never marry her unless I choose to allow it," said Del Ferice, quietly.

"So you told me the other night," returned Donna Tullia. "But you will allow him, of course. Besides, you could not stop it, after all. I do not believe that you could." She leaned far back in her chair, her hands resting upon the keys without striking them, and she looked at Del Ferice with a sweet smile. There was a moment's pause.