“You defend him!” screamed Astrardente, leaning far forward in his chair and clenching his hands.  “You dare to support him—­you acknowledge that you care for him!  Does he not pursue you everywhere, so that the town rings with it?  You ought to long to be rid of him, to wish he were dead, rather than allow his name to be breathed with yours; and instead, you defend him to me—­you say he is right, that you prefer his odious devotion to your good name, to my good name!  Oh, it is not to be believed!  If you loved him yourself you could not do worse!”

“If half you say were true—­” said Corona, in terrible distress.

“True?” cried Astrardente, who would not brook interruption.  “It is all true—­and more also.  It is true that he loves you, true that all the world says it, true—­by all that is holy, from your face I would almost believe that you do love him!  Why do you not deny it?  Miserable woman!” he screamed, springing towards her and seizing her roughly by the arm, as she hid her face in her hands.  “Miserable woman! you have betrayed me—­”

In the paroxysm of his rage the feeble old man became almost strong; his grip tightened upon his wife’s wrist, and he dragged her violently from her seat.

“Betrayed!  And by you!” he cried again, shaking with passion.  “You whom I have loved!  This is your gratitude, your sanctified devotion, your cunning pretence at patience!  All to hide your love for such a man as that!  You hypocrite, you—­”

By a sudden effort Corona shook off his grasp, and drew herself up to her full height in magnificent anger.

“You shall hear me,” she said, in deep commanding tones.  “I have deserved much, but I have not deserved this.”

“Ha!” he hissed, standing back from her a step, “you can speak now—­I have touched you!  You have found words.  It was time!”

Corona was as white as death, and her black eyes shone like coals of fire.  Her words came slowly, every accent clear and strong with concentrated passion.

“I have not betrayed you.  I have spoken no word of love to any man alive, and you know that I speak the truth.  If any one has said to me what should not be said, I have rebuked him to silence.  You know, while you accuse me, that I have done my best to honour and love you; you know well that I would die by my own hand, your loyal and true wife, rather than let my lips utter one syllable of love for any other man.”

Corona possessed a supreme power over her husband.  She was so true a woman that the truth blazed visibly from her clear eyes; and what she said was nothing but the truth.  She had doubted it herself for one dreadful moment; she knew it now beyond all doubting.  In a moment the old man’s wrath broke and vanished before the strong assertion of her perfect innocence.  He turned pale under his paint, and his limbs trembled.  He made a step forward, and fell upon his knees before her, and tried to take her hands.