“Is that all you could learn?” asked the Prince.

“Except that the Signora Duchessa was overcome with grief,” returned the servant, gravely.

“I should think so—­her husband dead of an apoplexy!  It is natural,” said the Prince, looking at Giovanni.  The latter was silent, and tried to eat as though, nothing had happened—­inwardly endeavouring not to rejoice too madly at the terrible catastrophe.  In his effort to control his features, the blood rushed to his forehead, and his hand trembled violently.  His father saw it, but made no remark.

“Poor Astrardente!” he said.  “He was not so bad as people thought him.”

“No,” replied Giovanni, with a great effort; “he was a very good man.”

“I should hardly say that,” returned his father, with a grim smile of amusement.  “I do not think that by the greatest stretch of indulgence he could be called good.”

“And why not?” asked the younger man, sharply snatching at any possible discussion in order to conceal his embarrassment.

“Why not, indeed!  Why, because he had a goodly share of original sin, to which he added others of his own originating but having an equal claim to originality.”

“I say I think he was a very good man,” repeated Giovanni, maintaining his point with an air of conviction.

“If that is your conception of goodness, it is no wonder that you have not attained to sanctity,” said the old man, with a sneer.

“It pleases you to be witty,” answered his son.  “Astrardente did not gamble; he had no vices of late.  He was kind to his wife.”

“No vices—­no.  He did not steal like a fraudulent bank-clerk, nor try to do murder like Del Ferice.  He did not deceive his wife, nor starve her to death.  He had therefore no vices.  He was a good man.”

“Let us leave poor Del Ferice alone,” said Giovanni.

“I suppose you will pity him now,” replied the Prince, sarcastically.  “You will talk differently if he dies and you have to leave the country at a moment’s notice, like Spicca this morning.”

“I should be very sorry if Del Ferice died.  I should never recover from it.  I am not a professional duellist like Spicca.  And yet Casalverde deserved his death.  I can quite understand that Del Ferice might in the excitement of the moment have lunged at me after the halt was cried, but I cannot understand how Casalverde could be so infamous as not to cross his sword when he himself called.  It looked very much like a preconcerted arrangement.  Casalverde deserved to die, for the safety of society.  I should think that Rome had had enough of duelling for a while.”

“Yes; but after all, Casalverde did not count for much.  I am not sure I ever saw the fellow before in my life.  And I suppose Del Ferice will recover.  There was a story this morning that he was dead; but I went and inquired myself, and found that he was better.  People are much shocked at this second duel.  Well, it could not be helped.  Poor old Astrardente!  So we shall never see his wig again at every ball and theatre and supper-party!  There was a man who enjoyed his life to the very end!”