Corona was surprised at the size of the old fortress.  It seemed an endless irregular mass of towers and buildings, all of rough grey stone, surrounded by battlements and ramparts, kept in perfect repair, but destitute of any kind of ornament whatever.  It might have been even now a military stronghold, and it was evident that there were traditions of precision and obedience within its walls which would have done credit to any barracks.  The dominant temper of the master made itself felt at every turn, and the servants moved quickly and silently about their duties.  There was something intensely attractive to Corona in the air of strength that pervaded the place, and Giovanni had never seemed to her so manly and so much in his element as under the grey walls of his ancestral home.  The place, too, was associated in history with so many events,—­the two men, Leone and Giovanni Saracinesca, stood there beside her, where their ancestors of the same names had stood nearly a thousand years before, their strong dark faces having the same characteristics that for centuries had marked their race, features familiar to Romans by countless statues and pictures, as the stones of Rome themselves—­but for a detail of dress, it seemed to Corona as though she had been suddenly transported back to the thirteenth century.  The idea fascinated her.  The two men led her up the broad stone staircase, and ushered her and Sister Gabrielle into the apartments of state which had been prepared for them.

“We have done our best,” said the Prince, “but it is long since we have entertained ladies at Saracinesca.”

“It is magnificent!” exclaimed Corona, as she entered the ante-chamber.  The walls were hung from end to end with priceless tapestries, and the stone floor was covered with long eastern carpets.  Corona paused.

“You must show us all over the castle by-and-by,” she said.

“Giovanni will show you everything,” answered the Prince.  “If it pleases you, we will breakfast in half-an-hour.”  He turned away with his son, and left the two ladies to refresh themselves before the mid-day meal.

Giovanni kept his word, and spared his guests no detail of the vast stronghold, until at last poor Sister Gabrielle could go no farther.  Giovanni had anticipated that she would be tired, and with the heartlessness of a lover seeking his opportunity, he had secretly longed for the moment when she should, be obliged to stop.

“You have not yet seen the view from the great tower,” he said.  “It is superb, and this is the very best hour for it.  Are you tired, Duchessa?”

“No—­I am never tired,” answered Corona.

“Why not go with Giovanni?” suggested the Prince.  “I will stay with Sister Gabrielle, who has nearly exhausted herself with seeing our sights.”

Corona hesitated.  The idea of being alone with Giovanni for a quarter of an hour was delightful, but somehow it did not seem altogether fitting for her to be wandering over the castle with him.  On the other hand, to refuse would seem almost an affectation:  she was not in Rome, where her every movement was a subject for remark; moreover, she was not only a married woman, but a widow, and she had known Giovanni for years—­it would be ridiculous to refuse.