“I would rather be in Italy,” answered Corona.  “I do not care for the Alps.  Our own mountains are as beautiful, and are not infested by tourists.”

“You are a tourist to-day,” said Giovanni.  “And it has pleased Heaven to make me your guide.”

“I will listen to your explanations of the sights with interest.”

“It is a reversal of the situation, is it not?  When we last met, it was you who guided me, and I humbly followed your instructions.  I did precisely as you told me.”

“Had I doubted that you would do as I asked, I would not have spoken,” answered Corona.

“There was one thing you advised me to do which I have not even attempted.”

“What was that?”

“You told me to forget you.  I have spent six months in constantly remembering you, and in looking forward to this moment.  Was I wrong?”

“Of course,” replied the Duchessa, with a little laugh.  “You should by this time have forgotten my existence.  They said you were gone to the North Pole—­why did you change your mind?”

“I followed my load-star.  It led me from Rome to Saracinesca by the way of Paris.  I should have remained at Saracinesca—­but you also changed your mind.  I began to think you never would.”

“How long do you think of staying up there?” asked Corona, to turn the conversation.

“Just so long as you stay at Astrardente,” he answered.  “You will not forbid me to follow you to Rome?”

“How can I prevent you if you choose to do it?”

“By a word, as you did before.”

“Do you think I would speak that word?” she asked.

“I trust not.  Why should you cause me needless pain and suffering?  It was right then, it is not right now.  Besides, you know me too well to think that I would annoy you or thrust myself upon you.  But I will do as you wish.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.  But she turned her dark face toward him, and looked at him for a moment very gently, almost lovingly.  Where was the use of trying to conceal what would not be hidden?  Every word he spoke told of his unchanged love, although the phrases were short and simple.  Why should she conceal what she felt?  She knew it was a foregone conclusion.  They loved each other, and she would certainly marry him in the course of a year.  The long pent up forces of her nature were beginning to assert themselves; she had conquered and fought down her natural being in the effort to be all things to her old husband, to quench her growing interest in Giovanni, to resist his declared love, to drive him from her in her widowhood; but now it seemed as though all obstacles were suddenly removed.  She saw clearly how well she loved him, and it seemed folly to try and conceal it.  As she sat by his side she was unboundedly happy, as she had never been in her life before:  the cool morning breeze fanned her cheeks, and the music of his low voice soothed her, while the delicious sense