h a sense of the great man's virtues, indirectly contributed to
increase her aversion. Nevertheless, when he sent word that he desired to
be received by her, she did not hesitate a moment, but expressed her
willingness at once. Punctually as the gun of Sant Angelo roared out the
news that the sun was on the meridian, Cardinal Antonelli entered
Corona's house. She received him in the great drawing-room. There was an
air of solemnity about the meeting. The room itself, divested of a
thousand trifles which had already been sent into the country, looked
desolate and formal; the heavy curtains admitted but little light; there
was no fire on the hearth; Corona stood all in black--a very incarnation
of mourning--as her visitor trod softly across the dark carpet towards
her.

The Cardinal's expressive face was softened by a look of gentle sympathy,
as he came forward and took her hand in both of his, and gazed for a
moment into her beautiful eyes.

"I am an ambassador, Duchessa," he said softly. "I come to tell you how
deeply our Holy Father sympathises in your great sorrow."

Corona bent her head respectfully, and motioned to the Cardinal to be
seated.

"I beg that your Eminence will convey to his Holiness my most sincere
gratitude for this expression of his paternal kindness to one so
unhappy."

"Indeed I will not fail to deliver your message, Duchessa," answered the
Cardinal, seating himself by her side in one of the great arm-chairs
which had been placed together in the middle of the room. "His Holiness
has promised to remember you in his august prayers; and I also, for my
own part, entreat you to believe that my poor sympathy is wholly with you
in your distress."

"Your Eminence is most kind," replied Corona, gravely.

It seemed as though there were little more to be said in such a case.
There was no friendship between the two, no bond of union or fellowship:
it was simply a formal visit of condolence, entailed as a necessity by
Corona's high position. The Pope had sent her a gift at her wedding; he
sent her a message of sympathy at her husband's death. Half-a-dozen
phrases would be exchanged, and the Cardinal would take his leave,
accompanied by a file of the Duchessa's lackeys--and so it would all be
over. But the Cardinal was a statesman, a diplomatist, and one of the
best talkers in Europe; moreover, he never allowed an opportunity of
pursuing his ends to pass unimproved.

"Ah, Duchessa!" he said, folding his