“I should suppose not, indeed.  Go on.”

“Do you really care to hear the story?” asked the young man.

“I intend to hear it, and at once,” replied Astrardente.

“You will not have to employ force to extract it from me, I can assure you,” said Valdarno, settling himself in his chair, but avoiding the angry glance of the old man.  “Everybody has been repeating it since the day before yesterday, when it occurred.  You were at the Frangipani ball—­you might have seen it all.  In the first place, you must know that there exists another of those beings to whom you extend your merciful toleration—­a certain Giovanni Saracinesca—­you may have noticed him?”

“What of him?” asked Astrardente, fiercely.

“Among other things, he is the man who wounded Del Ferice, as I daresay you have heard.  Among other things concerning him, he has done himself the honour of falling desperately, madly in love with the Duchessa d’Astrardente, who—­”

“What?” cried the old man in a cracked voice, as Valdarno paused.

“Who does you the honour of ignoring his existence on most occasions, but who was so unfortunate as to recall him to her memory on the night of the Frangipani ball.  We were all sitting in a circle round the Duchessa’s chair that night, when the conversation chanced to turn upon this same Giovanni Saracinesca, a fire-eating fellow with a bad temper.  He had been away for some days; indeed he was last seen at the Apollo in your box, when they gave ’Norma’—­”

“I remember,” interrupted Astrardente.  The mention of that evening was but a random shot.  Valdarno had been in the club-box, and had seen Giovanni when he made his visit to the Astrardente; he had not seen him again till the Frangipani ball.

“Well, as I was saying, we spoke of Giovanni, and every one had something to say about his absence.  The Duchessa expressed her curiosity, and Del Ferice, who was with us, proposed calling him—­he was at the other end of the room, you see—­that he might answer for himself.  So I went and brought him up.  He was in a very bad humour—­”

“What has all this absurd story got to do with the matter?” asked the old man, impatiently.

“It is the matter itself.  The irascible Giovanni is angry at being questioned, treats us all like mud under his feet, sits down by the Duchessa and forces us to go away.  The Duchessa tells him the story, with a laugh no doubt, and Giovanni’s wrath overflows.  He goes in search of Del Ferice, and nearly strangles him.  The result of these eccentricities is the first duel, leading to the second.”

Astrardente was very angry, and his thin gloved hands twitched nervously at the handle of his stick.

“And this,” he said, “this string of trivial ball-room incident, seems to you a sufficient pretext for stating that the duel was about my wife?”

“Certainly,” replied Valdarno, coolly.  “If Saracinesca had not been for months openly devoting himself to the Duchessa—­who, I assure you, takes no kind of notice of him—­”