“You have a young gentleman and lady—­a young married couple—­staying with you?” said the duke, but speaking in the Italian language.

“No, Excellenzo.  The signora is here.  The signor went away on the same day on which he brought the signora,” deferentially answered the peasant, with a profound bow.

“The man has gone!” exclaimed the duke, losing his caution and his politeness in the phrenzy of baffled vengeance.

“Si, signer, the man has gone!” with another deep bow.

“Where, then, has he gone?”

“To Paris, signor; but the signora is still here.  Will the signor deign to come into my poor house and see the signora, then?”

“See her!  No!” vehemently exclaimed the duke.  Then recollecting himself, he inquired: 

“Are you sure the man has gone to Paris?”

“Si, signor; I drove him myself, in my little cart, to San Stephano, where he took the train.”

“You say that he left on the same day in which he brought the lady here?” inquired the duke, with more interest.

“Si, signor.  They arrived in the afternoon, and he went away again in the evening.”

“Hum.  Why did he go so soon?”

“Affairs, signor.  It is not to be thought he would have left the signora so sick if it had not been for affairs.”

“The lady is sick, then?”

“Very sick, signor.”

“What is the matter with her?”

“We do not know, signor.  She will not have a doctor, but sits and pines.”

“Ah! no doubt,” said the duke to himself.

“Will the signor condescend to honor our poor shed by coming under its roof, where he may for himself see the signora?” said the vine-dresser, with much courtesy.

“Thanks, no.  Back to the hotel!” he added, to the driver, who immediately turned his horse’s head to the village.

With a parting nod to the courteous vine-dresser, the duke sank back on his seat, closed his eyes, and gave his mind up to thought.

Volaski had gone back to Paris.  Why had he left Valerie and gone there?  To resign his position in the embassy?  To settle up business previous to taking up his permanent abode in Italy?  Or had he returned so quickly to Paris only to conceal his crime and deceive the world into the opinion that he had not been out of Paris.

The duke did not know what his motive for so sudden a return could be; but judged the last-mentioned theory of causes to be the most probable.

“I do not know what else the caitiff has gone back for; but I know one thing—­he has gone there to give me satisfaction,” said the duke, grimly, to himself.

The horse, with the prospect of stall and fodder before him, made much better time in going home than in coming away, and so, in less than half an hour, the rumbling vehicle drew up before the little hotel.

The landlord himself came out to meet the returning traveler.