“Then you have made up your mind to the humiliation of the man you love?” asked Donna Tullia, looking up from her book with a sneer on her face.

Corona vouchsafed no answer, but her eyes turned towards the door in expectation.  Presently there were steps heard without.  The servant entered, and announced Prince Saracinesca and Don Giovanni.  Corona rose.  The old man came in first, followed by his son.

“An unexpected pleasure,” he said, gaily.  “Such good luck!  We were both at home.  Ah, Donna Tullia,” he cried, seeing Madame Mayer, “how are you?” Then seeing her face, he added, suddenly, “Is anything the matter?”

Meanwhile Giovanni had entered, and stood by Corona’s side near the fireplace.  He saw at once that something was wrong, and he looked anxiously from the Duchessa to Donna Tullia.  Corona spoke at once.

“Donna Tullia,” she said, quietly, “I have the honour to offer you an opportunity of explaining yourself.”

Madame Mayer remained seated by the table, her face red with anger.  She leaned back in her seat, and half closing her eyes with a disagreeable look of contempt, she addressed Giovanni.

“I am sorry to cause you such profound humiliation,” she began, “but in the interest of the Duchessa d’Astrardente I feel bound to speak.  Don Giovanni, do you remember Aquila?”

“Certainly,” he replied, coolly—­“I have often been there.  What of it?”

Old Saracinesca stared from one to the other.

“What is this comedy?” he asked of Corona.  But she nodded to him to be silent.

“Then you doubtless remember Felice Baldi—­poor Felice Baldi,” continued Donna Tullia, still gazing scornfully up at Giovanni from where she sat.

“I never heard the name, that I can remember,” answered Giovanni, as though trying to recall some memory of the past.  He could not imagine what she was leading to, but he was willing to answer her questions.

“You do not remember that you were married to her at Aquila on the 19th of June—­”

“I—­married?” cried Giovanni, in blank astonishment.

“Signora Duchessa,” said the Prince, bending his heavy brows, “what is the meaning of all this?”

“I will tell you the meaning of it,” said Donna Tullia, in low hissing tones, and rising suddenly to her feet she assumed a somewhat theatrical attitude as she pointed to Giovanni.  “I will tell what it means.  It means that Don Giovanni Saracinesca was married in the church of San Bernardino, at Aquila, on the 19th of June 1863, to the woman Felice Baldi—­who is his lawful wife to-day, and for aught we know the mother of his children, while he is here in Rome attempting to marry the Duchessa d’Astrardente—­can he deny it?  Can he deny that his own signature is there, there in the office of the State Civile at Aquila, to testify against him?  Can he—?”

“Silence!” roared the Prince.  “Silence, woman, or by God in heaven I will stop your talking for ever!” He made a step towards her, and there was a murderous red light in his black eyes.  But Giovanni sprang forward and seized his father by the wrist.