“You speak strong words, Duchessa,” said the Prince, evidently annoyed at her tone.

“If I speak strongly, it is because I think you acted shamefully in permitting this disgraceful butchery.”

Saracinesca suddenly lost his temper, as he frequently did.

“Madam,” he said, “it is certainly not for you to accuse me of crime, lack of decency, and what you are pleased to call disgraceful butchery, seeing who was the probable cause of the honourable encounter which you characterise in such tasteful language.”

“Honourable indeed!” said Corona, very scornfully.  “Let that pass.  Who, pray, is more to blame than you?  Who is the probable cause?”

“Need I tell you?” asked the old man, fixing his flashing eyes upon her.

“What do you mean?” inquired Corona, turning white, and her voice trembling between her anger and her emotion.

“I may be wrong,” said the Prince, “but I believe I am right.  I believe the duel was fought on your account.”

“On my account!” repeated Corona, half rising from her chair in her indignation.  Then she sank back again, and added, very coldly, “If you have come here to insult me, Prince, I will send for my husband.”

“I beg your pardon, Duchessa,” said old Saracinesca.  “It is very far from my intention to insult you.”

“And who has told you this abominable lie?” asked Corona, still very angry.

“No one, upon my word.”

“Then how dare you—­”

“Because I have reason to believe that you are the only woman alive for whom my son would engage in a quarrel.”

“It is impossible,” cried Corona.  “I will never believe that Don Giovanni could—­” She checked herself.

“Don Giovanni Saracinesca is a gentleman, madam,” said the old Prince, proudly.  “He keeps his own counsel.  I have come by the information without any evidence of it from his lips.”

“Then I am at a loss to understand you,” returned the Duchessa.  “I must beg you either to explain your extraordinary language, or else to leave me.”

Corona d’Astrardente was a match for any man when she was angry.  But old Saracinesca, though no diplomatist, was a formidable adversary, from his boldness and determination to discover the truth at any price.

“It is precisely because, at the risk of offending you, I desired an explanation, that I have intruded myself upon you to-day,” he answered.  “Will you permit me one question before I leave you?”

“Provided it is not an insulting one, I will answer it,” replied Corona.

“Do you know anything of the circumstances which led to this morning’s encounter?”

“Certainly not,” Corona answered, hotly.  “I assure you most solemnly,” she continued in calmer tones, “that I am wholly ignorant of it.  I suppose you have a right to be told that.”

“I, on my part, assure you, upon my word, that I know no more than you yourself, excepting this:  on some provocation, concerning which he will not speak, my son seized Del Ferice by the throat and used strong words to him.  No one witnessed the scene.  Del Ferice sent the challenge.  My son could find no one to act for him and applied to me, as was quite right that he should.  There was no apology possible—­Giovanni had to give the man satisfaction.  You know as much as I know now.”