d appear unfavourably to the woman he loved, and whom he was
determined to renounce; but he realised for the first time how bitter it
would be to stand thus always in the appearance of weakness and
self-contradiction in the eyes of the only human being whose good opinion
he coveted, and for whose dear sake he was willing to do all things. As
he stood by her, his hand rested upon the side of the carriage, and he
stared blankly at the distant hounds and the retreating riders.

"Come, Don Giovanni, we must be going," said Donna Tullia. "What in the
world are you thinking of? You look as though you had been turned into a
statue!"

"I beg your pardon," returned Saracinesca, suddenly called back from
the absorbing train of his unpleasant thoughts. "Good-bye, Duchessa;
good-bye, Astrardente--a pleasant drive to you."

"You will always regret not having come, you know," cried Madame Mayer,
shaking hands with both the occupants of the carriage. "We shall probably
end by driving to Albano, and staying all night--just fancy! Immense
fun--not even a comb in the whole party! Good-bye. I suppose we shall all
meet to-night--that is, if we ever come back to Rome at all. Come along,
Giovanni," she said, familiarly dropping the prefix from his name. After
all, he was a sort of cousin, and people in Rome are very apt to call
each other by their Christian names. But Donna Tullia knew what she was
about; she knew that Corona d'Astrardente could never, under any
circumstances whatever, call Saracinesca plain "Giovanni." But she had
not the satisfaction of seeing that anything she said produced any change
in Corona's proud dark face; she seemed of no more importance in the
Duchessa's eyes than if she had been a fly buzzing in the sunshine.

So Giovanni and Madame Mayer joined their noisy party, and began to climb
into their places upon the drag; but before they were prepared to start,
the Astrardente carriage turned and drove rapidly out of the field. The
laughter and loud talking came to Corona's ears, growing fainter and more
distant every second, and the sound was very cruel to her; but she set
her strong brave lips together, and leaned back, adjusting the blanket
over her old husband's knees with one hand, and shading the sun from her
eyes with the parasol she held in the other.

"Thank you, my dear; you are an angel of thoughtfulness," said the old
dandy, stroking his wife's hand. "What a singularly vulgar woman Madame
Mayer is! And