heard it he ground his teeth as he lay upon his bed, and swore that if it were possible to prevent the Duchessa d’Astrardente from leaving town he would do it.  In his judgment it would be a dangerous thing to let Corona and Giovanni part, and to allow Donna Tullia free play in her matrimonial designs.  Of course Giovanni would never marry Madame Mayer, especially as he was now at liberty to marry the Astrardente; but Madame Mayer herself might become fatally interested in him, as she already seemed inclined to be, and this would be bad for Del Ferice’s own prospects.  It would not do to squander any of the advantages gained by the death of the old Duca.  Giovanni must be hastened into a marriage with Corona; it would be time enough to think of revenge upon him afterwards for the ghastly wound that took so long to heal.

It was a pity that Del Ferice and Donna Tullia were not allies, for if Madame Mayer hated Corona d’Astrardente, Ugo del Ferice detested Giovanni with equal virulency, not only because he had been so terribly worsted by him in the duel his own vile conduct had made inevitable, but because Donna Tullia loved him and was doing her very best to marry him.  Evidently the best thing to be done was to produce a misunderstanding between the two; but it would be dangerous to play any tricks with Giovanni, for he held Del Ferice in his power by his knowledge of that disagreeable scene behind the plants in the conservatory.  Saracinesca was a great man in society and celebrated for his honesty; people would believe him rather than Del Ferice, if the story got abroad.  This would not do.  The next best thing was to endeavour to draw Giovanni and Corona together as quickly as possible, to precipitate their engagement, and thus to clear the field of a dangerous rival.  Del Ferice was a very obstinate and a very intelligent man.  He meant more than ever to marry Donna Tullia himself, and he would not be hindered in the accomplishment of his object by an insignificant scruple.

He was not allowed to speak much, lest the effort should retard the healing of his throat; but in the long days and nights, when he lay silent in his quiet lodging, he had ample time to revolve many schemes in his brain.  At last he no longer needed the care of the Sister of Mercy; his servant took charge of him, and the surgeon came twice a-day to dress his wound.  He lay in bed one morning watching Temistocle, who moved noiselessly about the room.

“Temistocle,” he said, “you are a youth of intelligence:  you must use the gifts nature has given you.”

Temistocle was at that time not more than five-and-twenty years of age.  He had a muddy complexion, a sharp hooked nose, and a cast in one eye that gave him a singularly unpleasant expression.  As his master addressed him, he stood still and listened with a sort of distorted smile in acknowledgment of the compliment made him.

“Temistocle, you must find out when the Duchessa d’Astrardente means to leave Rome, and where she is going.  You know somebody in the house?”