of possibility.  It had been a terrible blow to her to discover that she cared for Don Giovanni even in the way she believed she did, as a man whose society she preferred to that of other men, and whose face it gave her pleasure to see.  She, too, had spent a sleepless night; and when she had risen in the morning, she had determined to forget Giovanni, and if she could not forget him, she had sworn that more than ever she would be all things to her husband.

She wondered now, as Giovanni had known she would, why he had suddenly thrown over his day’s hunting in order to spend his time with Donna Tullia; but she would not acknowledge, even to herself, that the dull pain she felt near her heart, and that seemed to oppress her breathing, bore any relation to the scene she had just witnessed.  She shut her lips tightly, and arranged the blanket for her husband.

“Madame Mayer is vulgar,” she answered.  “I suppose she cannot help it.”

“Women can always help being vulgar,” returned Astrardente.  “I believe she learned it from her husband.  Women are not naturally like that.  Nevertheless she is an excellent match for Giovanni Saracinesca.  Rich, by millions.  Undeniably handsome, gay—­well, rather too gay; but Giovanni is so serious that the contrast will be to their mutual advantage.”

Corona was silent.  There was nothing the old man disliked so much as silence.

“Why do you not answer me?” he asked, rather petulantly.

“I do not know—­I was thinking,” said Corona, simply.  “I do not see that it is a great match after all, for the last of the Saracinesca.”

“You think she will lead him a terrible dance, I daresay,” returned the old man.  “She is gay—­very gay; and Giovanni is very, very solemn.”

“I did not mean that she was too gay.  I only think that Saracinesca might marry, for instance, the Rocca girl.  Why should he take a widow?”

“Such a young widow.  Old Mayer was as decrepit as any old statue in a museum.  He was paralysed in one arm, and gouty—­gouty, my dear; you do not know how gouty he was.”  The old fellow grinned scornfully; he had never had the gout.  “Donna Tullia is a very young widow.  Besides, think of the fortune.  It would break old Saracinesca’s heart to let so much money go out of the family.  He is a miserly old wretch, Saracinesca!”

“I never heard that,” said Corona.

“Oh, there are many things in Rome that one never hears, and that is one of them.  I hate avarice—­it is so extremely vulgar.”

Indeed Astrardente was not himself avaricious, though he had all his life known how to protect his interests.  He loved money, but he loved also to spend it, especially in such a way as to make a great show with it.  It was not true, however, that Saracinesca was miserly.  He spent a large income without the smallest ostentation.

“Really, I should hardly call Prince Saracinesca a miser,” said Corona.  “I cannot imagine, from what I know of him, why he should be so anxious to get Madame Mayer’s fortune; but I do not think it is out of mere greediness.”