“I could say a great deal more, Duchessa,” he said, as she came back towards him.  “I could say that the marriage is not only fitting in every other way, but is also advantageous from a worldly point of view.  You are sole mistress of Astrardente; my son will before long be sole master of Saracinesca.  Our lands are near together—­that is a great advantage, that question of fortune.  Again, I would observe that, with your magnificent position, you could not condescend to accept a man of lower birth than the highest in the country.  There is none higher than the Saracinesca—­pardon my arrogance,—­and among princes there is no braver, truer gentleman than my son Giovanni.  I ask no pardon for saying that; I will maintain it against all comers.  I forego all questions of advantage, and base my argument upon that.  He is the best man I know, and he loves you devotedly.”

“Is he aware that you are here for this purpose?” asked Corona, suddenly.  She spoke with a great effort.

“No.  He knows that I am here, and was glad that I came.  He desired me to ascertain if you would see him.  He would certainly not have thought of addressing you at present.  I am an old man, and I feel that I must do things quickly.  That is my excuse.”

Corona was again silent.  She was too truthful to give an evasive answer, and yet she hesitated to speak.  The position was an embarrassing one; she was taken unawares, and was terrified at the emotion she felt.  It had never entered her mind that the old Prince could appear on his son’s behalf, and she did not know how to meet him.

“I have perhaps been too abrupt,” said Saracinesca.  “I love my son very dearly, and his happiness is more to me than what remains of my own.  If from the first you regard my proposition as an impossible one, I would spare him the pain of a humiliation,—­I fear I could not save him from the rest, from a suffering that might drive him mad.  It is for this reason that I implore you, if you are able, to give me some answer, not that I may convey it to him, but in order that I may be guided in future.  He cannot forget you; but he has not seen you for six months.  To see you again if he must leave you for ever, would only inflict a fresh wound.”  He paused, while Corona slowly walked by his side.

“I do not see why I should conceal the truth, from you,” she said at last.  “I cannot conceal it from myself.  I am not a child that I should be ashamed of it.  There is nothing wrong in it—­no reason why it should not be.  You are honest, too—­why should we try to deceive ourselves?  I trust to your honour to be silent, and I own that I—­that I love your son.”

Corona stood still and turned her face away, as the burning blush rose to her cheeks.  The answer she had given was characteristic of her, straightforward and honest.  She was not ashamed of it, and yet the words were so new, so strange in their sound, and so strong in their meaning, that she blushed as she uttered them.  Saracinesca was greatly surprised, too, for he had expected some evasive turn, some hint that he might bring Giovanni.  But his delight had no bounds.