Such was the Duchess of Palma, the famous singer of San Carlo, whom we find dying in this unknown and obscure retreat. The hand of God, who does not always punish the soul of the criminal alone, but who sometimes strikes the living body, weighed heavily on her. The Duke, weary of the ties imposed by marriage on him, and becoming more and more infatuated with his thin _danseuse_, sought for an opportunity to throw off his chains. He soon found one. Feigning to be jealous, the Duke, in consequence of some vague rumors, obtained the key of the bureau in which the Duchess kept the "confessions of the heart," as she called the detail of her brief amour with Monte-Leone. Having gotten possession of this paper, the Duke made a great noise, threatened her with a suit, and easily obtained the separation he desired so much. There was a general burst of indignation. The nobles who had been furious at the _mesalliance_ of the Duke, were more so at the ingratitude of the guilty wife and low-born woman, who had usurped a rank and title of which she showed herself so unworthy. The Duchess disappeared suddenly from the world, which gladly rejected one it had so unwillingly received. La Felina took refuge in a small house in the retired quarter we have mentioned. For, like _Venus attached to her prey_, she would not leave Paris, in which she could not divest herself of the idea that Monte-Leone, completely reinstated, would some day become Aminta's husband. Sickness had gradually enfeebled her, and Salvatori, who was master of her secrets, had established himself in her house. Taking advantage of her complicity, he had, by means of cunning and terror, became in a manner the master and tyrant, now that her health was gone, of one to whom he had been an abject slave. For this reason he had, as we have seen, treated her with such cruel disdain. On the very day this scene took place, Monte-Leone received the following note: "A woman, whose handwriting you will recognize, has but a few hours to live. Come to see her for the sake of that pity she deserves. Do not resist the prayers of one who is on her death-bed." Below was the address of the Duchess. The Count had long lost sight of La Felina; he knew she was separated from her husband, but was so indifferent that he had not even asked why. Always kind and generous, he thought duty required him to go, and on the next day at noon, rang at La Felina's door. Stenio had preceded him a few moments, and in the next room prepared to enjoy the scene. No sooner had the Count entered the bedroom than Salvatori thought he heard steps in a boudoir connected with it, and which opened on a back stairway. Uneasy at this noise, for which he could not account, he was yet unable to satisfy himself; for to do so, he would have been again obliged to cross the Duchess's room, and the Count was already with her.