"I remember," interrupted Astrardente. The mention of that evening was but a random shot. Valdarno had been in the club-box, and had seen Giovanni when he made his visit to the Astrardente; he had not seen him again till the Frangipani ball.
"Well, as I was saying, we spoke of Giovanni, and every one had something to say about his absence. The Duchessa expressed her curiosity, and Del Ferice, who was with us, proposed calling him—he was at the other end of the room, you see—that he might answer for himself. So I went and brought him up. He was in a very bad humour—"
"What has all this absurd story got to do with the matter?" asked the old man, impatiently.
"It is the matter itself. The irascible Giovanni is angry at being questioned, treats us all like mud under his feet, sits down by the Duchessa and forces us to go away. The Duchessa tells him the story, with a laugh no doubt, and Giovanni's wrath overflows. He goes in search of Del Ferice, and nearly strangles him. The result of these eccentricities is the first duel, leading to the second."
Astrardente was very angry, and his thin gloved hands twitched nervously at the handle of his stick.
"And this," he said, "this string of trivial ball-room incident, seems to you a sufficient pretext for stating that the duel was about my wife?"
"Certainly," replied Valdarno, coolly. "If Saracinesca had not been for months openly devoting himself to the Duchessa—who, I assure you, takes no kind of notice of him—"
"You need not waste words—"
"I do not,—and if Giovanni had not thought it worth while to be jealous of Del Ferice, there would have been no fighting."
"Have you been telling your young friends that my wife was the cause of all this?" asked Astrardente, trembling with a genuine rage which lent a certain momentary dignity to his feeble frame and painted face.