“You seem to associate our comfort entirely with religious services,” laughed Corona.  “But you are very considerate.”

“I see the most charming evidence of devotion at your side,” he replied; “Sister Gabrielle is both the evidence of your piety and is in herself an exposition of the benefits of religion.  There shall be other attractions, however, besides masses and litanies.”

Breakfast being ended, Sister Gabrielle left the two together.  They went from the dining-room to the great vaulted hall of the inner building.  It was cool there, and there were great old arm-chairs ranged along the walls.  The closed blinds admitted a soft green light from the hot noonday without.  Corona loved to walk upon the cool marble floor; she was a very strong and active woman, delighting in mere motion—­not restless, but almost incapable of weariness; her movements not rapid, but full of grace and ease.  Saracinesca walked by her side, smoking thoughtfully for some minutes.

“Duchessa,” he said at last, glancing at her beautiful face, “things are greatly changed since we met last.  You were angry with me then.  I do not know whether you were so justly, but you were very angry for a few moments.  I am going to return to the subject now; I trust you will not be offended with me.”

Corona trembled for a moment, and was silent.  She would have prevented him from going on, but before she could find the words she sought he continued.

“Things are much changed, in some respects; in others, not at all.  It is but natural to suppose that in the course of time you will think of the possibility of marrying again.  My son, Duchessa, loves you very truly.  Pardon me, it is no disrespect to you, now, that he should have told me so.  I am his father, and I have no one else to care for.  He is too honest a gentleman to have spoken of his affection for you at an eailier period, but he has told me of it now.”

Corona stood still in the midst of the great hall, and faced the old Prince.  She had grown pale while he was speaking.  Still she was silent.

“I have nothing more to say—­that is all,” said Saracinesca, gazing earnestly into the depths of her eyes.  “I have nothing more to say.”

“Do you then mean to repeat the warning you once gave me?” asked Corona, growing whiter still.  “Do you mean to imply that there is danger to your son?”

“There is danger—­great danger for him, unless you will avert it.”

“And how?” asked Corona, in a low voice.

“Madam, by becoming his wife.”

Corona started and turned away in great agitation.  Saracinesca stood still while she slowly walked a few steps from him.  She could not speak.