“That does not help me to understand why you accuse me of having caused the quarrel,” said Corona.  “What have I to do with Del Ferice, poor man?”

“This—­any one can see that you are as indifferent to my son as to any other man.  Every one knows that the Duchessa d’Astrardente is above suspicion.”

Corona raised her head proudly and stared at Saracinesca.

“But, on the other hand, every one knows that my son loves you madly—­can you yourself deny it?”

“Who dares to say it?” asked Corona, her anger rising afresh.

“Who sees, dares.  Can you deny it?”

“You have no right to repeat such hearsay tales to me,” answered Corona.  But the blush rose to her pale dark cheeks, and she suddenly dropped her eyes.

“Can you deny it, Duchessa?” asked the Prince a third time, insisting roughly.

“Since you are so certain, why need you care for my denial?” inquired Corona.

“Duchessa, you must forgive me,” answered Saracinesca, his tone suddenly softening.  “I am rough, probably rude; but I love my son dearly.  I cannot bear to see him running into a dangerous and hopeless passion, from which he may issue only to find himself grown suddenly old and bitter, disappointed and miserable for the rest of his life.  I believe you to be a very good woman; I cannot look at you and doubt the truth of anything you tell me.  If he loves you, you have influence over him.  If you have influence, use it for his good; use it to break down this mad love of his, to show him his own folly—­to save him, in short, from his fate.  Do you understand me?  Do I ask too much?”

Corona understood well enough—­far too well.  She knew the whole extent of Giovanni’s love for her, and, what old Saracinesca never guessed, the strength of her own love for him, for the sake of which she would do all that a woman could do.  There was a long pause after the old Prince had spoken.  He waited patiently for an answer.

“I understand you—­yes,” she said at last.  “If you are right in your surmises, I should have some influence over your son.  If I can advise him, and he will take my advice, I will give him the best counsel I can.  You have placed me in a very embarrassing position, and you have shown little courtesy in the way you have spoken to me; but I will try to do as you request me, if the opportunity offers, for the sake of—­of turning what is very bad into something which may at last be good.”

“Thank you, thank you, Duchessa!” cried the Prince.  “I will never forget—­”

“Do not thank me,” said Corona, coldly.  “I am not in a mood to appreciate your gratitude.  There is too much blood of those honest gentlemen upon your hands.”

“Pardon me, Duchessa, I wish there were on my hands and head the blood of that gentleman you call honest—­the gentleman who twice tried to murder my son this morning, and twice nearly succeeded.”

“What!” cried Corona, in sudden terror.