Ippolita,' said Andrea Sperelli as
he look leave of her to get ready for the next race, which was for
gentlemen riders--'_Tibi, Hippolyta, Semper!_'

She pressed his hand warmly for luck, never remembering that Giannetto
Rutolo was also among the competitors. When, a moment later, she noticed
him going down the stairs, pale and alone, the unconcealed cruelty of
indifference shone in her beautiful dark eyes. The old love had fallen
away from her like a useless garment, and had given place to the new.
This man was nothing to her, had no claims of any kind upon her now that
she no longer loved him. It is inconceivable how quickly a woman regains
entire possession of her own heart once she has ceased to love a man.

'He has stolen her from me!' he thought to himself, as he made his way
to the Jockey Club tent, and the grass seemed to give beneath his feet
like sand. At a little distance in front of him walked the other with a
firm and elastic step. In his long gray overcoat his tall and shapely
figure had that peculiar and inimitable air of elegance which only
breeding can give. He was smoking, and Giannetto Rutolo, coming up
behind him, caught the delicate aroma of the cigarette with every puff,
causing him an intolerable nausea as if it had been poison.

The Duke di Beffi and Paolo Caligaro were at the entrance, already in
racing dress. The duke was making gymnastic movements to test the
elasticity of his leather breeches and the strength of his knees. Little
Caligaro was execrating last night's rain, which had made the ground
heavy.

'You have a very good chance with _Miching Mallecho_, I consider,' he
remarked to Sperelli when he came up.

Giannetto Rutolo heard this forecast with a bitter pang. He had founded
a vague hope on the event of his own victory. He represented to himself
the advantage he might gain over his enemy by a victorious race and a
successful duel. As he changed his clothes his every movement betrayed
his preoccupation.

'Here is a man who before getting on horseback sees the grave open
before him,' said the duke, laying his hand on the young man's shoulder
with a serio-comic air--'_Ecce homo novus_.'

Andrea Sperelli, who felt in the best of spirits at that moment, gave
vent to one of those frank bursts of laughter which were the most
engaging trait of his youth.

'What are you laughing at?' demanded Rutolo, lividly pale, glaring at
him from under frowning brows.

'It seems to me, my dear f