But, with all his failings, Astrardente was a man of considerable acuteness of moral vision.  He had made a shrewd guess at Saracinesca’s business, and had further gathered from a remark dropped by his diplomatic friend, that if there was to be a duel at all, it would be fought by Giovanni.  As a matter of fact, the ambassador himself knew nothing certainly concerning the matter, or it is possible that, for the sake of observing the effect of the news upon the Duchessa, he would have told the whole truth; for he had of course heard the current gossip concerning Giovanni’s passion for her, and the experiment would have been too attractive and interesting to be missed.  As it was, she had started at the mention of Saracinesca’s son.  The diplomatist only did what everyone else who came near Corona attempted to do at that time, in endeavouring to ascertain whether she herself entertained any feeling for the man whom the gossips had set down as her most devoted admirer.

Poor Duchessa!  It was no wonder that she had started at the idea that Giovanni was in trouble.  He had played a great part in her life that day, and she could not forget him.  She had hardly as yet had time to think of what she felt, for it was only by a supreme effort that she had been able to bear the great strain upon her strength.  If she had not loved him, it would have been different; and in the strange medley of emotions through which she was passing, she wished that she might never have loved—­that, loving, she might be allowed wholly to forget her love, and to return by some sudden miracle to that cold dreamy state of indifference to all other men, and of unfailing thoughtfulness for her husband, from which she had been so cruelly awakened.  She would have given anything to have not loved, now that the great struggle was over; but until the supreme moment had come, she had not been willing to put the dangerous thought from her, saving in those hours of prayer and solitary suffering, when the whole truth rose up clearly before her in its undisguised nakedness.  So soon as she had gone into the world, she had recklessly longed for Giovanni Saracinesca’s presence.

But now it was all changed.  She had not deceived herself when she had told him that she would rather not see him any more.  It was true; not only did she wish not to see him, but she earnestly desired that the love of him might pass from her heart.  With a sudden longing, her thoughts went back to the old convent-life of her girlhood, with its regular occupations, its constant religious exercises, its narrowness of view, and its unchanging simplicity.  What mattered narrowness, when all beyond that close limitation was filled with evil?  Was it not better that the lips should be busy with singing litanies than that the heart should be tormented by temptation?  Were not those simple tasks, that had seemed so all-important then, more sweet in the performance than the manifold duties of this complicated social existence, this vast