“Indeed, yes,” answered Donna Tullia, who had listened with intense interest to the story.  “But what could have induced him to marry that woman?”

“One of those amiable eccentricities peculiar to his family,” replied Del Ferice, shrugging his shoulders.  “The interesting thing would be to discover what became of Felice Baldi—­Donna Felice Saracinesca, as I suppose she has a right to be called.”

“Let us find her—­Giovanni’s wife,” exclaimed Donna Tullia, eagerly.  “Where can she be?”

“Who knows?” ejaculated Del Ferice.  “I would be curious to see her.  The name of her native village is given, and the names of her parents.  Giovanni described himself in the paper as ‘of Naples, a landholder,’ and omitted somehow the details of his parentage.  Nothing could be more vague; everybody is a landholder, from the wretched peasant who cultivates one acre to their high-and-mightinesses the Princes of Saracinesca.  Perhaps by going to the village mentioned some information might be obtained.  He probably left her sufficiently provided for, and, departing on pretence of a day’s journey, never returned.  He is a perfectly unscrupulous man, and thinks no more of this mad scrape than of shooting a chamois in the Tyrol.  He knows she can never find him—­never guessed who he really was.”

“Perhaps she is dead,” suggested Donna Tullia, her face suddenly growing grave.

“Why?  He would not have taken the trouble to kill her—­a peasant girl in the Abruzzi!  He would have had no difficulty in leaving her, and she is probably alive and well at the present moment, perhaps the mother of the future Prince Saracinesca—­who can tell?”

“But do you not see,” said Donna Tullia, “that unless you have proof that she is alive, we have no hold upon him?  He may acknowledge the whole thing, and calmly inform us that she is dead.”

“That is true; but even then he must show that she came to a natural end and was buried.  Believe me, Giovanni would relinquish all intentions of marrying the Astrardente rather than have this scandalous story published.”

“I would like to tax him with it in a point-blank question, and watch his face,” said Donna Tullia, fiercely.

“Remember your oath,” said Del Ferice.  “But he is gone now.  You will not meet him for some months.”

“Tell me, how could you make use of this knowledge, if you really wanted to prevent his marriage with the Astrardente?”

“I would advise you to go to her and state the case.  You need mention nobody.  Any one who chooses may go to Aquila and examine the registers.  I think that you could convey the information to her with as much command of language as would be necessary.”

“I daresay I could,” she answered, between her teeth.  “What a strange chance it was that brought that register under your hand!”

“Heaven sends opportunities,” said Del Ferice, devoutly; “it is for man to make good use of them.  Who knows but what you may make a brilliant use of this?”