“I wish they would marry,” she repeated, “and I wish the Cardinal would turn them out of Rome the next day.”

“That might be done,” said Giovanni, who had himself revolved more than one scheme of vengeance against the evil-doers.  “The trouble is, that the Cardinal despises Del Ferice and his political dilettanteism.  He does not care a fig whether the fellow remains in Rome or goes away.  I confess it would be a great satisfaction to wring the villain’s neck.”

“You must not fight him again, Giovanni,” said Corona, in sudden alarm.  “You must not risk your life now—­you know it is mine now.”  She laid her hand tenderly on his, and it trembled.

“No, dearest—­I certainly will not.  But my father is very angry.  I think we may safely leave the treatment of Del Fence in his hands.  My father is a very sudden and violent man.”

“I know,” replied Corona.  “He is magnificent when he is angry.  I have no doubt he will settle Del Ferice’s affairs satisfactorily.”  She laughed almost fiercely.  Giovanni looked at her anxiously, yet not without pride, as he recognised in her strong anger something akin to himself.

“How fierce you are!” he said, with a smile.

“Have I not cause to be?  Have I not cause to wish these people an evil end?  Have they not nearly separated us?  Nothing is bad enough for them—­what is the use of pretending not to feel?  You are calm, Giovanni?  Perhaps you are much stronger than I am.  I do not think you realise what they meant to do—­to separate us—­us! As if any torture were bad enough for them!”

Giovanni had never seen her so thoroughly roused.  He was angry himself, and more than angry, for his cheek paled, and his stern features grew more hard, while his voice dropped to a hoarser tone.

“Do not mistake me, Corona,” he said.  “Do not think I am indifferent because I am quiet.  Del Ferice shall expiate all some day, and bitterly too.”

“Indeed I hope so,” answered Corona between her teeth.  Had Giovanni foreseen the long and bitter struggle he would one day have to endure before that expiation was complete, he would very likely have renounced his vengeance then and there, for his wife’s sake.  But we mortals see but in a glass; and when the mirror is darkened by the master-passion of hate, we see not at all.  Corona and Giovanni, united, rich and powerful, might indeed appear formidable to a wretch like Del Ferice, dependent upon a system of daily treachery for the very bread he ate.  But in those days the wheel of fortune was beginning to turn, and far-sighted men prophesied that many an obscure individual would one day be playing the part of a great personage.  Years would still elapse before the change, but the change would surely come at last.