ni and Corona continued to
walk slowly along the tiled path.

"Why did you say I was good just now?" asked Corona at last. Her voice
sounded cold.

"I should not have said it, perhaps," answered Giovanni. "I say many
things which I cannot help saying. I am very sorry."

"I am very sorry too," answered the Duchessa, quietly.

"Ah! if you knew, you would forgive me. If you could guess half the
truth, you would forgive me."

"I would rather not guess it."

"Of course; but you have already--you know it all. Have I not told you?"
Giovanni spoke in despairing tones. He was utterly weak and spellbound;
he could hardly find any words at all.

"Don Giovanni," said Corona, speaking very proudly and calmly, but not
unkindly, "I have known you so long, I believe you to be so honourable a
man, that I am willing to suppose that you said--what you said--in a
moment of madness."

"Madness! It was madness; but it is more sweet to remember than all the
other doings of my life," said Saracinesca, his tongue unloosed at last.
"If it is madness to love you, I am mad past all cure. There is no
healing for me now; I shall never find my senses again, for they are lost
in you, and lost for ever. Drive me away, crush me, trample on me if you
will; you cannot kill me nor kill my madness, for I live in you and for
you, and I cannot die. That is all. I am not eloquent as other men are,
to use smooth words and twist phrases. I love you--"

"You have said too much already--too much, far too much," murmured
Corona, in broken tones. She had withdrawn her hand from his during his
passionate speech, and stood back from him against the dark wall of green
plants, her head drooping upon her breast, her fingers clasped fast
together. His short rude words were terribly sweet to hear, it was
fearful to think that she was alone with him, that one step would bring
her to his side, that with one passionate impulse she might throw her
white arms about his neck, that one faltering sigh of overwhelming love
might bring her queenly head down upon his shoulder. Ah, God! how gladly
she would let her tears flow and speak for her! how unutterably sweet it
would be rest for one instant in his arms, to love and be loved as she
longed to be!

"You are so cold," he cried, passionately. "You cannot understand. All
spoken words are not too much, are not enough to move you, to make you
see that I do really worship and adore you; you, the whole of you--your
glorious