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Valdarno was still standing, and his chair beside Corona was vacant. Giovanni calmly installed himself upon it, and began to talk as though nothing had happened. "You are not dancing, Duchessa," he remarked. "I suppose you have been in the ball-room?" "Yes but I am rather tired this evening. I will wait."
"Not in the least. We did not stay late," replied Corona, secretly wondering why he had come. "It was really magnificent," he answered. "There has been no such ball for years. Very unfortunate that it should have terminated in such an unpleasant way," he added, making a bold dash at the subject of which he wished to speak. "Very. You did a bad morning's work," said the Duchessa, severely.
That evening, among the letters Peter received from England, there was one from his friend Mrs. Winchfield, which contained certain statistics. "Your Duchessa di Santangiolo 'was' indeed, as your funny old servant told you, English: the only child and heiress of the last Lord Belfont.
He would see for himself whether she was all that his dreaming fancy had painted her, or whether she was what men said a heartless coquette. He went to Rome, and found her, as usual, queen of all that was most brilliant and gay. It was at a soiree given by the Duchessa Sforza. He saw her again, beautiful, radiant and magnificent.
"It is n't half so extraordinary as it would be if it were true, my dear," said the Duchessa. "Oh? Non e poi vero?" murmured Emilia, and her eyes darkened with disappointment. Peter meanwhile was looking at the snuffbox, which the priest still held in his hand, and admiring its brave repousse work of leaves and flowers, and the escutcheon engraved on the lid.
Indeed there was very little of the best blood which Europe had produced in the last dozen centuries of which some small proportion was not running in his veins. He was too the eldest son of his father, who, though he possessed the most magnificent palace in Verona, had another equally magnificent in Venice, in which it suited him to live with his Duchessa.
Light as a gazelle she rushed into his embrace, pressing her cheek to his. "Oh, my soldier! my soldier!" she murmured. "My soldier and my Love!" "What a circuit I have made to reach you!" D'Rubiera said at length, holding her back at arm's length to look at her. "Are you glad to have me back, signora duchessa? Are you happy, my red rose?"
The letter is reproduced in Zucchetti's Lucrezia Borgia, Duchessa di Ferrara, Milan, 1869. Ed altre cose che egli disse per maggiormente magnificare il fatto. Matteo Canale to the Duke of Ferrara, Rome, September 11, 1501. Quale mi pare gi
I have come by the information without any evidence of it from his lips." "Then I am at a loss to understand you," returned the Duchessa. "I must beg you either to explain your extraordinary language, or else to leave me." Corona d'Astrardente was a match for any man when she was angry.
A sound, confused, embarrassed, something composite, between an oh and ayes, seemed to expire in his throat. But the Duchessa did n't appear to heed it. "Don't you think it would be a touching episode for your friend to write a story round?" she asked. We may guess whether he was relieved. "Oh oh, yes," he agreed, with the precipitancy of a man who, in his relief, would agree to anything.
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