“That is the worst of it,” was the answer.  “I am so miserable, because I know he never would have allowed it, and now—­I am ashamed to tell you, it is so heartless!” She hid her face on her friend’s shoulder.

“You will never be heartless, my dear Faustina,” said Corona.  “What you think, is not your fault, dear.  Love is master of the world and of us all.”

“But my love is not like yours, Corona.  Perhaps yours was once like mine.  But you are married—­you are happy.  You were saying so just now.”

“Yes, dear.  I am very, very happy, because I love very, very dearly.  You will be as happy as I am some day.”

“Ah, that may be—­but—­I am dreadfully wicked, Corona!”

“You, child?  You do not know what it is to think anything bad!”

“But I do.  I am so much ashamed of it that I can hardly tell you—­ only I tell you everything, because you are my friend.  Corona—­it is horrible—­it seems easier, more possible—­now that he is gone—­ oh!  I am so glad I have told you!” Faustina began to sob passionately, as though she were repenting of some fearful crime.

“Is that all, darling?” asked Corona, smiling at the girl’s innocence, and pressing her head tenderly to her own breast.  “Is that what makes you so unhappy?”

“Yes—­is it not—­very, very dreadful?” A fresh shower of tears accompanied the question.

“Perhaps I am very bad, too,” said Corona.  “But I do not call that wickedness.”

“Oh no!  You are good.  I wish I were like you!”

“No, do not wish that.  But, I confess, it seems to me natural that you should think as you do, because it is really true.  Your father, Faustina, may have been mistaken about your future.  If—­if he had lived, you might perhaps have made him change his mind.  At all events, you can hope that he now sees more clearly, that he understands how terrible it is for a woman to be married to a man she does not love—­when she is sure that she loves another.”

“Yes—­you told me.  Do you remember?  It was the other day, after Flavia had been saying such dreadful things.  But I know it already.  Every woman must know it.”

There was a short pause, during which Corona wondered whether she were the same person she had been ten days earlier, when she had delivered that passionate warning.  Faustina sat quite still, looking up into the princess’s face.  She was comforted and reassured and the tears had ceased to flow.

“There is something else,” she said at last.  “I want to tell you everything, for I can tell no one else.  I cannot keep it to myself either.  He has written to me, Corona.  Was it very wrong to read his letter?” This time she smiled a little and blushed.

“I do not think it was very wrong,” answered her friend with a soft laugh.  She was so happy that she would have laughed at anything.

“Shall I show you his letter?” asked the young girl shyly.  At the same time her hand disappeared into the pocket of her black gown, and immediately afterwards brought out a folded piece of paper which looked as though it had been read several times.