“What?”

“Montevarchi coming to his end on the very day he had won the suit.  In good old times it would have been Giovanni who would have cut his throat, after which we should have all retired to Saracinesca and prepared for a siege.  Less civilised but twice as human.  No doubt they will say now—­even now—­that we paid a man to do the work.”

“But it was San Giacinto who brought the suit—­”

“It was Montevarchi.  I have seen my lawyer this morning.  He says that Montevarchi sent the people out to Frascati to see San Giacinto and explained the whole matter to them beforehand.  He discovered the clause in the deeds first.  San Giacinto never even saw them until everything was ready.  And on the evening of the very day when it was settled, Montevarchi is murdered.  I wonder that it has not struck any one to say we did it.”

“You did not oppose the suit.  If you had, it would have been different.”

“How could I oppose the action?  It was clear from the beginning that we had no chance of winning it.  The fact remains that we are turned out of our home.  The sooner we leave this the better.  It will only be harder to go if we stay here.”

“Yes,” answered Corona sadly.  “It will be harder.”

“I believe it is a judgment of heaven on Giovanni for his outrageous conduct,” growled the prince, suddenly running away with a new idea.

“On Giovanni?” Corona was roused immediately by the mention of her husband in such a connection.

“Yes, for his behaviour to you, the young scoundrel!  I ought to have disinherited him at once.”

“Please do not talk in that way.  I cannot let you say—­”

“He is my own son, and I will say what I please,” interrupted Saracinesca fiercely.  “He treated you outrageously, I say.  It is just like a woman to deny it and defend her husband.”

“Since there is no one else to defend him, I must.  He was misled, and naturally enough, considering the appearances.  I did not know that you knew about it all.”

“I do not know all, nor half.  But I know enough.  A man who suspects such, a woman as you deserves to be hanged.  Besides,” he added irrelevantly, but with an intuitive keenness that startled Corona, “besides, you have not forgiven him.”

“Indeed I have—­”

“In a Christian spirit, no doubt.  I know you are good.  But you do not love him as you did.  It is useless to deny it.  Why should you?  I do not blame you, I am sure.”

The prince fixed his bright eyes on her face and waited for her answer.  She turned a little paler and said nothing for several moments.  Then as he watched her he saw the colour mount slowly to her olive cheeks.  She herself could hardly have accounted for the unwonted blush, and a man capable of more complicated reasoning than her father-in-law would have misinterpreted it.  Corona had at first been angry at the thought that he could speak as he did of Giovanni, saying things she would not say to herself concerning him.  Then she felt a curious sensation of shame at being discovered.  It was true that she did not love her husband, or at least that she believed herself unable to love him; but she was ashamed that any one else should know it.