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Updated: May 15, 2025
"It is simple enough, Signora Duchessa," he said, gently. "He is quite dead. It was only the day before yesterday that I warned him that the heart disease was worse. Can you tell me how it happened?" "Yes, exactly," answered Corona, in a low voice. She was calm enough now. "He came into my room two hours ago, and suddenly, in conversation, he became very angry.
He would laugh now, would laugh heartily within the next half hour with Corona herself, at the mere thought of supposing that she could love Gouache, Gouache, a painter! Gouache, a Zouave! Gouache, a contemptibly good-natured, harmless little foreigner! and Corona del Carmine, Duchessa d'Astrardente, Principessa di Sant' Ilario, mother of all the Saracinesca yet to come!
"Del Ferice was afraid that Don Giovanni would marry Donna Tullia and spoil his own projects. But Giovanni will not think of that again." "No; I suppose Don Giovanni will marry the Duchessa d'Astrardente." "Of course," replied the Cardinal. For some minutes there was silence.
"What's the good of telling me her heart is in the right place, if the right place is inaccessible?" But Marietta only looked bewildered. He lived in his garden, he haunted the riverside, he made a daily pilgrimage to the village post, he thoroughly neglected the work he had come to this quiet spot to do. But a week passed, during which he never once beheld so much as the shadow of the Duchessa.
Being thus directly addressed, there was nothing to be done but to stop and exchange a few words. The Duchessa was on the side nearest to the pair as they passed, and her husband rose and sat opposite her, so as to talk more at his ease. There were renewed greetings on both sides, and Giovanni naturally found himself talking to Corona, while her husband and Donna Tullia conversed together.
He knew how of all things a proud woman hates to know that where she has placed her heart there is no response, and that if she fails to awaken an affection akin to her own, what has been love may be turned to loathing, or at least to indifference. The strong character of the Duchessa d'Astrardente responded to his touch as he expected.
"I would certainly advise you to think no more about it, if you are sure that you cannot be happy with her." Giovanni drew a long breath, the blood returned to his face, and his hands unlocked themselves. "I will think no more about it," he said. "Heaven bless you for your advice, Duchessa!" "Heaven grant I have advised you well!" said Corona, almost inaudibly. "How cold this house is!
I should forget anything to-night, except that I am to dance with you." The Duchessa looked away, and fanned herself slowly; but she sighed, and checked the deep-drawn breath as by a great effort. The waltz was over, and the dancers streamed through the intervening rooms towards the gallery in quest of fresher air and freer space.
It was not till Corona was suddenly left a widow, that Donna Tullia began to realise the hopelessness of her position; and when she found how determinately Saracinesca avoided her wherever they met, the affection she had hitherto felt for him turned into a bitter hatred, stronger even than her jealousy against the Duchessa.
"I shall probably be married next week, and the Duchessa wishes to go at once to the mountains. We shall be delighted to see you." "Thank you very much. I will not fail to do myself the honour. My homage to Madame la Duchesse. I must turn here. Good night." "Au revoir," said Giovanni, and went on his way. He found Corona in an inner sitting-room, reading beside a great wood-fire.
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