As soon as he had left the room, Mr. Lindsay accompanying him, Mrs. Lindsay turned with an almost impatient vivacity to Aurora.  “At last I can tell you!” she exclaimed.  “Do you know who is in Venice, who sent me a note while you were at church, and who will dine with us this evening?”

She looked triumphant and joyful.

Aurora was silent a moment.  “I can guess,” she said.  “And yet—­”

“D’Rubiera has come!” Madama announced.  “What other coming could be so joyful to us?  He has left the boy in England, has himself been to Rome on a flying visit for business purposes, and is come back to see us.  Is it not delightful?  That was all I needed to make this the loveliest day of my life.”

“Did you see him?” Aurora asked.

“Why, no!  His note was left immediately after you started.  I sent a reply instantly to his hotel, asking him to dine with us.  His acceptance was handed me while we were taking coffee.  Did you not see Febiano present the note?  It was a comedy.  That man cannot resign the idea that we are official people, I and John both, and he never lets a note wait, whoever may be with me.  He comes with a solemn, gliding discretion, a sort of secret-stairway manner, and half presents, half slides the note to me, as if it were a call to a council of inquisitors in the ducal palace.”

“I hope that the duke is not so unhappy as he was when last I saw him,” Aurora said gravely.

“What should he be unhappy about?” demanded Madama, who seemed indeed to be in the highest of spirits.  “He has youth, health, wealth, rank, a character worthy all these blessings, and a beautiful boy.  Do you imagine that he is going to mourn forever for a woman whom he never really loved, and who disgraced and tormented him?  Poor thing! let her rest.  It is almost a year since she died, and he has paid sufficient respect to her memory.  I take it for granted that the duke is as full of life and spirit and joy as a man can be.”

“Madama Teresa mia,” said Aurora, “whom are you scolding?  Allow me to remind you that I expressed a wish that the duke would not prove to be unhappy.”

“And the wish implied a doubt,” her friend retorted.  “And your reference to the past was a shadow.  And I will have no shadows to-day.  Now I am going to have my repose, and I advise you to do the same.  And you will wear the same dress at dinner, will you not?  It is so pretty.  Besides, you are looking rather pale, and it gives you a glow.”

She went; and Aurora, instead of following her advice to go to rest, took refuge in the ball-room, which was her in-door promenade.  She was never interrupted there.  When she was in the ball-room, and they heard her light step going to and fro, it was taken for granted that she was composing, and the room became a sanctuary.  No profane foot must cross the threshold.

She was very far from composing verses on this May afternoon.  She was trying to tranquillize her mind, which Mrs. Lindsay’s news had disturbed.  She would be glad to see the duke, surely, dear kind friend that he was!  Yet what meant the shrinking which accompanied that pleasant anticipation?  She felt that she should tremble at his approach, and that her voice would falter.  It would be a strange folly; and yet she feared that it would be impossible to control herself.