So Del Ferice was a very successful man, and it need scarcely be said that he was now not only independent of his wife’s help but very much richer than she had ever been.  They lived in a highly decorated, detached modern house in the new part of the city.  The gilded gate before the little plot of garden, bore their intertwined initials, surmounted by a modest count’s coronet.  Donna Tullia would have preferred a coat of arms, or even a crest, but Ugo was sensitive to ridicule, and he was aware that a count’s coronet in Rome means nothing at all, whereas a coat of arms means vastly more than in most cities.

Within, the dwelling was somewhat unpleasantly gorgeous.  Donna Tullia had always loved red, both for itself and because it made her own complexion seem less florid by contrast, and accordingly red satin predominated in the drawing-rooms, red velvet in the dining-room, red damask in the hall and red carpets on the stairs.  Some fine specimens of gilding were also to be seen, and Del Ferice had been one of the first to use electric light.  Everything was new, expensive and polished to its extreme capacity for reflection.  The servants wore vivid liveries and on formal occasions the butler appeared in short-clothes and black silk stockings.  Donna Tullia’s equipage was visible at a great distance, but Del Fence’s own coachman and groom wore dark green with, black epaulettes.

On the morning which Orsino and Madame d’Aragona had spent in Gouache’s studio the Countess Del Ferice entered her husband’s study in order to consult him upon a rather delicate matter.  He was alone, but busy as usual.  His attention was divided between an important bank operation and a petition for his help in obtaining a decoration for the mayor of the town he represented.  The claim to this distinction seemed to rest chiefly on the petitioner’s unasked evidence in regard to his own moral rectitude, yet Del Ferice was really exercising all his ingenuity to discover some suitable reason for asking the favour.  He laid the papers down with a sigh as Donna Tullia came in.

“Good morning, my angel,” he said suavely, as he pointed to a chair at his side—­the one usually occupied at this hour by seekers for financial support.  “Have you rested well?”

He never failed to ask the question.

“Not badly, not badly, thank Heaven!” answered Donna Tullia.  “I have a dreadful cold, of course, and a headache—­my head is really splitting.”

“Rest—­rest is what you need, my dear—­”

“Oh, it is nothing.  This Durakoff is a great man.  If he had not made me go to Carlsbad—­I really do not know.  But I have something to say to you.  I want your help, Ugo.  Please listen to me.”

Ugo’s fat white face already expressed anxious attention.  To accentuate the expression of his readiness to listen, he now put all his papers into a drawer and turned towards his wife.

“I must go to the Jubilee,” said Donna Tullia, coming to the point.