"Happy? Happy with her? No indeed. Do you think life would be bearable with such a woman?" "I do not know. Many men would marry her if they could--" "Then you think I should?" asked Giovanni. Corona hesitated; she could not understand why she should care, and yet she was conscious that there had been no such struggle in her life since the day she had blindly resolved to sacrifice herself to her father's wishes in accepting Astrardente. Still there could be no doubt what she should say: how could she advise any one to marry without the prospect of the happiness she had never had? "Will you not give me your counsel?" repeated Saracinesca. He had grown very pale, and spoke with such earnestness that Corona hesitated no longer. "I would certainly advise you to think no more about it, if you are sure that you cannot be happy with her." Giovanni drew a long breath, the blood returned to his face, and his hands unlocked themselves. "I will think no more about it," he said. "Heaven bless you for your advice, Duchessa!" "Heaven grant I have advised you well!" said Corona, almost inaudibly. "How cold this house is! Will you put down my cup of tea? Let us go near the fire; Strillone is going to sing again." "I would like him to sing a 'Nune dimittis, Domine,' for me," murmured Giovanni, whose eyes were filled with a strange light. Half an hour later Corona d'Astrardente went down the steps of the Embassy wrapped in her furs and preceded by her footman. As she reached the bottom Giovanni Saracinesca came swiftly down and joined her as her carriage drove up out of the dark courtyard. The footman opened the door, but Giovanni put out his hand to help Corona to mount the step. She laid her small gloved fingers upon the sleeve of his overcoat, and as she sprang lightly in she thought his arm trembled. "Good night, Duchessa; I am very grateful to you," he said. "Good night; why should you be grateful?" she asked, almost sadly. Giovanni did not answer, but stood hat in hand as the great carriage rolled out under the arch. Then he buttoned his greatcoat, and went out alone into the dark and muddy streets. The rain had ceased, but everything was wet, and the broad pavements gleamed under the uncertain light of the flickering gas-lamps. CHAPTER III.