he inherited from his father. Nor did the latter
suspect the cause of his son's sudden change of tone in regard to the
marriage. It was precisely the difference in temperament which made
Giovanni incomprehensible to the old Prince.

Giovanni had realised for more than a year past that he loved Corona
d'Astrardente. Contrary to the custom of young men in his position, he
determined from the first that he would never let her know it; and herein
lay the key to all his actions. He had, as he thought, made a point of
behaving to her on all occasions as he behaved to the other women he met
in the world, and he believed that he had skilfully concealed his passion
from the world and from the woman he loved. He had acted on all occasions
with a circumspection which was not natural to him, and for which he
undeniably deserved great credit. It had been a year of constant
struggles, constant efforts at self-control, constant determination that,
if possible, he would overcome his instincts. It was true that, when
occasion offered, he had permitted himself the pleasure of talking to
Corona d'Astrardente--talking, he well knew, upon the most general
subjects, but finding at each interview some new point of sympathy.
Never, he could honestly say, had he approached in that time the subject
of love, nor even the equally dangerous topic of friendship, the
discussion of which leads to so many ruinous experiments. He had never by
look or word sought to interest the dark Duchessa in his doings nor in
himself; he had talked of books, of politics, of social questions, but
never of himself nor of herself. He had faithfully kept the promise he
had made in his heart, that since he was so unfortunate as to love the
wife of another--a woman of such nobility that even in Rome no breath had
been breathed against her--he would keep his unfortunate passion to
himself. Astrardente was old, almost decrepit, in spite of his
magnificent wig; Corona was but two-and-twenty years of age. If ever her
husband died, Giovanni would present himself before the world as her
suitor; meanwhile he would do nothing to injure her self-respect nor to
disturb her peace--he hardly flattered himself he could do that, for he
loved her truly--and above all, he would do nothing to compromise the
unsullied reputation she enjoyed. She might never love him; but he was
strong and patient, and would do her the only honour it was in his power
to do her, by waiting patiently.

But Gi