"I will stay," said d'Harcourt; and, despite of the entreaties of his friend and the orders of his physician, he wrapped himself more closely in his cloak, leaned against the wall, and waited. Von Apsberg followed his example.... Taddeo went to the embassy. Few persons had been there during the evening, but the rooms were brilliant with light, and contrasted with the darkness of the vast courtyard of which Monte-Leone's driver had spoken. It was almost midnight, but like most Italians the Duchess lived as much by night as day. The hour, too, at which Taddeo came was not unusually late, for at this hour he was in the habit of visiting the Duchess. Therefore, she was not surprised to see him. She lay negligently on an ottoman in that boudoir where we have already seen her receive Count Monte-Leone. There too she had probably received company during the evening, for the chairs were in a kind of ring around the ottoman. She said: "Ah, Signor Rovero, you are welcome. I have been kept long waiting this evening for you and for one of your best friends, who expected to find you here." "Who, Signora, is that friend?" asked Taddeo, with deep curiosity. "Can you not guess?" said the Duchess. "Whom should we call Pylades' friend but Orestes?" "Is it the Count you mean?" "Yes." "Has he been here?" "Certainly," said La Felina. "Certainly," repeated Taddeo, "you kept him a long time with you." "Taddeo," said La Felina, "you are indulging in that villanous habit of jealousy. Ah!" said she, "I am learned in that." She did not give him time to reply. "It is a pity you yet love a poor woman that chagrin and suffering overwhelm, and whose heart is now as withered as her face." "To me you are what you always were, and what you will ever be," said Taddeo. "Deign, though, to tell me, I beg you, when did the Count go?" "The Count, again. Did you come hither to speak of him alone?" "Not so; but an imperious reason forces me to know when he left the hotel." "About an hour ago," said the Duchess, looking at Taddeo. Taddeo grew pale and his fingers grasped the back of the ottoman convulsively. His head fell on his bosom, and his eyes became motionless and fixed upon the carpet. He was convinced, and in despair. From this dreary state he was aroused by the pressure of a soft hand. "Taddeo," said a voice musical as the song of the angels, "you suffer." "Yes," said the young man. "I see you do. Can friendship do nothing to soothe you?" "Nothing!" "Thus it is with men," said La Felina; "they think of us in their pleasure and happiness, but never in their sorrow." Taddeo looked towards the Duchess, whose features expressed so much sympathy and devotion that he felt his heart give way, and he was about to give vent to his secret--an innate and noble sentiment of generosity restrained him. It seemed to him that La Felina might fancy he took a base revenge, should he dishonor one she had loved so passionately, and, perhaps, was yet devoted to.