It was an outburst that startled the domestics above and below stairs, and carried ominously to the Duke himself, who had just entered the house and was about to greet Tarsis in the reception hall. Guessing that the trouble concerned his appointed son-in-law, he turned away from him, dreading an appeal for assistance. To his sister’s resonant signals of distress, however, he started to respond, but with more deliberation than eagerness. He could not have made his way up the staircase with less haste if the wonted calm of the villa had been undisturbed. Instinctively he paused in the ante-chamber of Donna Beatrice’s apartments, hesitating to become a part of the catastrophe, whatever it might be. “What is the meaning of this awful affair?” he heard his sister ask of Hera. “It means that my love is for Mario Forza. To be the wife of another is impossible unless he bids me do so.” “Unless who bids you do so?” Donna Beatrice gasped. “Mario Forza.” “Heaven and the saints!” exclaimed the elder woman. “What new madness is this? And when do you expect to have his permission?” she asked, with all the sarcasm she could summon to the words. “Signor Tarsis says we may have his answer by midnight.” “Signor Tarsis! Oh, spare me these mysteries!” “At the request of Signor Tarsis,” Hera explained, “I shall send a telegram to Signor Forza, who is on the way to Rome. In the message I shall ask him what to do.” “And your promised husband?” said Donna Beatrice. “Is he by chance to be consulted--to have a voice in the matter?” “He has agreed to abide by what Signor Forza says,” Hera answered. “Agreed to abide! Monstrous! Perfectly monstrous! Abide, indeed! Will you be good enough to tell me what alternative he has when you are capable of breaking your promise in this conscienceless manner? But it is not you. The daughter of my brother, a Barbiondi, could not commit this crime of her will. It is the man under whose dreadful influence she has fallen.” “Dear aunt,” Hera pleaded, going up to her, “try to calm yourself. There has been no influence. Believe me, I do but obey the prompting of my heart.” “Prompting of the heart!” the other repeated, vixenishly. “That is a luxury we cannot afford. Oh, where is your father?” She rang for a servant, and unconsciously sounded as well the signal for Don Riccardo to withdraw from the ante-room. The Duke was well content with the step Hera had taken. It was the one he had longed to advise since the night of Mario’s visit in the villa, but always he had lacked the courage. Like Hera, he felt confident that Mario, his love alone inspiring the answer to the telegram, would tell her to be true to the call of her soul; and he had no misgiving for the outcome of his daughter’s adventure.