manner whether the interview had been an interesting one.  The Astrardente was so very devout that she probably had difficulty in inventing sins to confess.  One might perhaps tell from her face whether she had felt any emotion.  At all events the opportunity should not be lost.  Besides, if Donna Tullia found that she herself was really not in a proper frame of mind for religious exercises, she could easily spend a few moments in the church and then proceed upon her way.  She stopped her carriage and went in.  She had just entered when she was aware of the tall figure of Corona d’Astrardente coming towards her, magnificent in the simplicity of her furs, a short veil just covering half her face, and an unwonted colour in her dark cheeks.

Corona was surprised at meeting Madame Mayer, but she did not show it.  She nodded with a sufficiently pleasant smile, and would have passed on.  This would not have suited Donna Tullia’s intentions, however, for she meant to have a good look at her friend.  It was not for nothing that she had made up her mind to go to confession at a moment’s notice.  She therefore stopped the Duchessa, and insisted upon shaking hands.

“What an extraordinary coincidence!” she exclaimed.  “You must have been to see Padre Filippo too?”

“Yes,” answered Corona.  “You will find him in the sacristy.”  She noticed that Madame Mayer regarded her with great interest.  Indeed she could hardly be aware how unlike her usual self she appeared.  There were dark rings beneath her eyes, and her eyes themselves seemed to emit a strange light; while an unwonted colour illuminated her olive cheeks, and her voice had a curiously excited tone.  Madame Mayer stared at her so hard that she noticed it.

“Why do you look at me like that?” asked the Duchessa, with a smile.

“I was wondering what in the world you could find to confess,” replied Donna Tullia, sweetly.  “You are so immensely good, you see; everybody wonders at you.”

Corona’s eyes flashed darkly.  She suspected that Madame Mayer noticed something unusual in her appearance, and had made the awkward speech to conceal her curiosity.  She was annoyed at the meeting, still more at being detained in conversation within the church.

“It is very kind of you to invest me with such virtues,” she answered.  “I assure you I am not half so good as you suppose.  Good-bye—­I must be going home.”

“Stay!” exclaimed Donna Tullia; “I can go to confession another time.  Will not you come with me to Gouache’s studio?  I am going to sit.  It is such a bore to go alone.”

“Thank you very much,” said Corona, civilly.  “I am afraid I cannot go.  My husband expects me at home.  I wish you a good sitting.”

“Well, good-bye.  Oh, I forgot to tell you, we had such a charming picnic yesterday.  It was so fortunate—­the only fine day this week.  Giovanni was very amusing:  he was completely en train, and kept us laughing the whole day.  Good-bye; I do so wish you had come.”