expectation of the arrival of Del Ferice, she entirely acted out in her imagination the circumstances of the approaching crisis, the blood beat hotly in her temples, and she lost all sense of prudence in the delicious anticipation of violent words.  Del Ferice had cruelly calculated upon her temperament, and he had hoped that in the excitement of the moment she would lose her head, and irrevocably commit herself to him by the betrayal of the secret.  This was precisely what occurred.  On being told that he was out of town, she could no longer contain herself, and with a sudden determination to risk anything blindly, rather than to forego the pleasure and the excitement she had been meditating, she ordered her carriage and drove to the Palazzo Astrardente.

Corona was surprised at the unexpected visit.  She was herself on the point of going out, and was standing in her boudoir, drawing on her black gloves before the fire, while her furs lay upon a chair at her side.  She wondered why Donna Tullia called, and it was in part her curiosity which induced her to receive her visit.  Donna Tullia, armed to the teeth with the terrible news she was about to disclose, entered the room quickly, and remained standing before the Duchessa with a semi-tragic air that astonished Corona.

“How do you do, Donna Tullia?” said the latter, putting out her hand.

“I have come to speak to you upon a very serious matter,” answered her visitor, without noticing the greeting.

Corona stared at her for a moment, but not being easily disconcerted, she quietly motioned to Donna Tullia to sit down, and installed herself in a chair opposite to her.

“I have just heard the news that you are to marry Don Giovanni Saracinesca,” said Madame Mayer.  “You will pardon me the interest I take in you; but is it true?”

“It is quite true,” answered Corona.

“It is in connection with your marriage that I wish to speak, Duchessa.  I implore you to reconsider your decision.”

“And why, if you please?” asked Corona, raising her black eyebrows, and fixing her haughty gaze upon her visitor.

“I could tell you—­I would rather not,” answered Donna Tullia, unabashed, for her blood was up.  “I could tell you—­but I beseech you not to ask me.  Only consider the matter again, I beg you.  It is very serious.  Nothing but the great interest I feel in you, and my conviction—­”

“Donna Tullia, your conduct is so extraordinary,” interrupted Corona, looking at her curiously, “that I am tempted to believe you are mad.  I must beg you to explain what you mean by your words.”

“Ah, no,” answered Madame Mayer.  “You do me injustice.  I am not mad, but I would save you from the most horrible danger.”

“Again I say, what do you mean?  I will not be trifled with in this way,” said the Duchessa, who would have been more angry if she had been less astonished, but whose temper was rapidly rising.