Giovanni glanced across her at the fair pale man, whose fat face, however, expressed nothing.  Seeing he was not enlightened, Saracinesca civilly turned the subject.

“Are you going to the meet to-morrow, Duchessa?” he asked.

“That depends upon the weather and upon the Duke,” she answered.  “Are you going to follow?”

“Of course.  What a pity it is that you do not ride!”

“It seems such an unnatural thing to see a woman hunting,” remarked Del Ferice, who remembered to have heard the Duchessa say something of the kind, and was consequently sure that she would agree with him.

“You do not ride yourself,” said Don Giovanni, shortly.  “That is the reason you do not approve of it for ladies.”

“I am not rich enough to hunt,” said Ugo, modestly.  “Besides, the other reason is a good one; for when ladies hunt I am deprived of their society.”

The Duchessa laughed slightly.  She never felt less like laughing in her life, and yet it was necessary to encourage the conversation.  Giovanni did not abandon the subject.

“It will be a beautiful meet,” he said.  “Many people are going out for the first time this year.  There is a man here who has brought his horses from England.  I forget his name—­a rich Englishman.”

“I have met him,” said Del Ferice, who was proud of knowing everybody.  “He is a type—­enormously rich—­a lord—­I cannot pronounce his name—­not married either.  He will make a sensation in society.  He won races in Paris last year, and they say he will enter one of his hunters for the steeplechases here at Easter.”

“That is a great inducement to go to the meet, to see this Englishman,” said the Duchessa rather wearily, as she leaned back in her chair.  Giovanni was silent, but showed no intention of going.  Del Ferice, with an equal determination to stay, chattered vivaciously.

“Don Giovanni is quite right,” he continued.  “Every one is going.  There will be two or three drags.  Madame Mayer has induced Valdarno to have out his four-in-hand, and to take her and a large party.”

The Duchessa did not hear the remainder of Del Ferice’s speech, for at the mention of Donna Tullia—­now commonly called Madame Mayer—­she instinctively turned and looked at Giovanni.  He, too, had caught the name, though he was not listening in the least to Ugo’s chatter; and as he met Corona’s eyes he moved uneasily, as much as to say he wished the fellow would stop talking.  A moment later Del Ferice rose from his seat; he had seen Donna Tullia passing near, and thought the opportunity favourable for obtaining an invitation to join the party on the drag.  With a murmured excuse which Corona did not hear, he went in pursuit of his game.

“I thought he was never going,” said Giovanni, moodily.  He was not in the habit of posing as the rival of any one who happened to be talking to the Duchessa.  He had never said anything of the kind before, and Corona experienced a new sensation, not altogether unpleasant.  She looked at him in some surprise.