aresay it will be very pleasant," she said gently, looking far out
over the Campagna. In the next field the pack was moving away, followed
at a little distance by a score of riders in pink; one or two men who had
stayed behind in conversation, mounted hastily and rode after the hunt;
some of the carriages turned out of the field and began to follow slowly
along the road, in hopes of seeing the hounds throw off; the party who
were going with Valdarno gathered about the drag, waiting for Donna
Tullia; the grooms who were left behind congregated around the men who
sold boiled beans and salad; and in a few minutes the meet had
practically dispersed.

"Why will you not join us, Duchessa?" asked Madame Mayer. "There is lunch
enough for everybody, and the more people we are the pleasanter it will
be." Donna Tullia made her suggestion with her usual frank manner, fixing
her blue eyes upon Corona as she spoke. There was every appearance of
cordiality in the invitation; but Donna Tullia knew well enough that
there was a sting in her words, or at all events that she meant there
should be. Corona, however, glanced quietly at her husband, and then
courteously refused.

"You are most kind," she said, "but I fear we cannot join you to-day. We
are very regular people," she explained, with a slight smile, "and we are
not prepared to go to-day. Many thanks; I wish we could accept your kind
invitation."

"Well, I am sorry you will not come," said Donna Tullia, with a rather
hard laugh. "We mean to enjoy ourselves immensely."

Giovanni said nothing. There was only one thing which could have rendered
the prospect of Madame Mayer's picnic more disagreeable to him than it
already was, and that would have been the presence of the Duchessa. He
knew himself to be in a thoroughly false position in consequence of
having yielded to Donna Tullia's half-tearful request that he would join
the party. He remembered how he had spoken to Corona on the previous
evening, assuring her that he would not marry Madame Mayer. Corona knew
nothing of the change his plans had undergone during the stormy interview
he had had with his father; he longed, indeed, to be able to make the
Duchessa understand, but any attempt at explanation would be wholly
impossible. Corona would think he was inconsistent, or at least that he
was willing to flirt with the gay widow, while determined not to marry
her. He reflected that it was part of his self-condemnation that he
shoul