"A few days ago. I was forced to remain yet longer in Rome to get possession of the remnant of the Cardinal's fortune. My mother also came to Rome to tell Aminta of her misfortune." "How cruelly the young _Marquise_ must suffer," said the Duchess; "how she must need compassion and care!" "She will have ours; and her father-in-law, overcoming his own sorrow, is as tender and fond of her as ever." "Then," said the Duchess, concealing a distress she could not lay aside, "she yet has true and excellent friends--the Count Monte-Leone, for instance, who was so fond of her--" "The Count," said Taddeo, looking strangely at the Duchess, who did not meet his glance, "was received a few days ago by the Marquise." "He will make up for lost time," said La Felina, bitterly, "for now, or perhaps some day, his old hopes may again arise, and perhaps be realized." Taddeo understood why she spoke thus. For a long time his forbearance had been pushed to extremities, and this passion of the Duchess for his friend had given rise to new tortures, too severe to repress the idea of vengeance. He was cruel and barbarous; but he had too severely suffered from La Felina. By a violent course, also, he perhaps wished to crush the love which tortured him. He remarked: "Even though I afflict you, I must say your fancy is likely enough to be realized. The Count possesses rank and a spotless reputation--for without the latter--" "With but the latter," said the Duchess, "he could not enter our family." "Certainly, the Count prepares the Marquise for a future courtship by very constant visits now." "He comes every day to the Hotel to see the Prince and myself. My sister loves to hear him speak of Italy, of which you know he talks so well." La Felina could bear no more. She gave her hand to Taddeo, and with a voice trembling with emotion said: "For the present, adieu! You owe me some compensation for your long absence, and if the lonely life I lead does not afflict you, if you are not too much afraid of an anchorite, come to see me, and you will find me always glad to see you." Taddeo kissed her hand and left her, almost repenting in his generous mind that he had spoken as he did. He was fully avenged, for the Duchess's grief was so great that she felt her heart grow chilled, her limbs stiffen, and her eyes close. Her conversation with Taddeo soon returned to her mind, and she uttered a cry of agony. Her _femme de chambre_ bore her to the Hotel. When alone in her room she said to herself: "He swore to me that he would never be her lover. She may now be his wife. Ah!" continued she, "with cruel and sombre fury, it would have been better for both of us had he let me die." "Tell him who waits to come," said she to the servant.