u despise Del Ferice as much as you say," he remarked, "I wonder
that you tolerate him as you do."

"I tolerate him. Toleration is the very word--it delightfully expresses
my feelings towards him. He is a perfectly harmless creature, who affects
immense depth of insight into human affairs, and who cannot see an inch
before his face. Dear me! yes, I shall always tolerate Del Ferice, poor
fellow!"

"You may not be called upon to do so much longer," replied Valdarno.
"They say he is in a very dangerous condition."

"Ah!" ejaculated Astrardente, putting up his eyeglass at his companion.
"Ah, you don't say so!"

There was something so insolent in the old man's affected stare that even
the foolish and good-natured Valdarno lost his temper, being already
somewhat irritated.

"It is a pity that you should be so indifferent. It is hardly becoming.
If you had not tolerated him as you have, he might not be lying there at
the point of death."

Astrardente stared harder than ever.

"My dear young friend," he said, "your language is the most extraordinary
I ever heard. How in the world can my treatment of that unfortunate man
have had anything to do with his being wounded in a duel?"

"My dear old friend," replied Valdarno, impudently mimicking the old
man's tone, "your simplicity surpasses anything I ever knew. Is it
possible that you do not know that this duel was fought for your wife?"

Astrardente looked fixedly at Valdarno; his eyeglass dropped from his
eye, and he turned ashy pale beneath his paint. He staggered a moment,
and steadied himself against the door of a shop. They were just passing
the corner of the Piazza di Sciarra, the most crowded crossing of the
Corso.

"Valdarno," said the old man, his cracked voice dropping to a hoarser and
deeper tone, "you must explain yourself or answer for this."

"What! Another duel!" cried Valdarno, in some scorn. Then, seeing that
his companion looked ill, he took him by the arm and led him rapidly
through the crowd, across the Arco dei Carbognani. Entering the Caffe
Aragno, a new institution in those days, both men sat down at a small
marble table. The old dandy was white with emotion; Valdarno felt that he
was enjoying his revenge.

"A glass of cognac, Duke?" he said, as the waiter came up. Astrardente
nodded, and there was silence while the man brought the cordial. The Duca
lived by an invariable rule, seeking to balance the follies of his youth
by excessive care in hi