A few stolen moments of happiness was all the lovers dared now to allow themselves.  The Duke of Modena was in the palace, and the situation was full of danger.  But on the morrow he was going away on a hunting expedition, and then—­well, then they might meet without fear.

On the following day, the coast now clear, behold our “hawker” once more at the palace door, with a bundle of books under his arm for the inspection of Her Highness, and being ushered into the Duchess’s reading-room, full of souvenirs of the happy days they had spent together in distant Paris and Versailles.  Among them, most prized of all, was a lock of his own hair, enshrined on a small altar, and surmounted by a crown of interlocked hearts.  This lock, the Duchess told him, she had kissed and wept over every day since they had parted.

Each day now brought its hours of blissful meeting, so seemingly short that the Princess would throw her arms around her “hawker’s” neck and implore him to stay a little longer.  One day, however, he tarried too long; the Duke returned unexpectedly from his hunting, and before the lovers could part, he had entered the room—­just in time to see the pedlar bowing humbly in farewell to his Duchess, and to hear him assure her that he would call again with the further books she wished to see.

Certainly it was a strange spectacle to greet the eyes of a home-coming Duke—­that of his lady closeted with a shabby pedlar of books; but at least there was nothing suspicious in it, and, getting into conversation with the “hawker,” the Duke found him quite an entertaining fellow, full of news of what was going on in the world outside his small duchy.

In his curious jargon of French and Italian, Gasparini had much to tell His Highness apart from book-talk.  He entertained him with the latest scandals of the French Court; with gossip about well-known personages, from the Regent to Dubois.  “And what about that rascal, the Duc de Richelieu?” asked the great man.  “What tricks has he been up to lately?” “Oh,” answered Gasparini, with a wink at the Duchess, who was crimson with suppressed laughter, “he is one of my best customers.  Ah, Monsieur le Duc, he is a gay dog.  I hear that all the women at the Court are madly in love with him; that the Princesses adore him, and that he is driving all the husbands to distraction.”

“Is it as bad as that?” asked the Duke, with a laugh.  “He is a more dangerous fellow even than I thought.  And what is his latest game?”

“Oh,” answered the hawker, “I am told that he has made a wager that he will come to Modena, in spite of you; and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he does!”

“As for that,” said the Duke, with a chuckle, “I am not afraid.  I defy him to do his worst; and I am willing to wager that I shall be a match for him.  However,” he added, “you’re an entertaining fellow; so come and see me again whenever you please.”

And thus, by the wish of the Duchess’s husband himself, the ducal “hawker” became a daily visitor at the palace, entertaining His Highness with his chatter, and, when his back was turned, making love to his wife, and joining her in shrieks of laughter at his easy gullibility.