"Do you think I am past enjoying the world, then?" asked the old man, sourly.
"No indeed," replied Corona, patiently. "Why should I think that? I see how much you like going out."
"Of course I like it. A rational man in the prime of life always likes to see his fellow-creatures. Why should not I?"
The Duchessa did not smile. She was used to hearing her aged husband speak of himself as young. It was a harmless fancy.
"I think it is quite natural," she said.
"What I cannot understand," said Astrardente, muffling his thin throat more closely against the keen bright tramontana wind, "is that such old fellows as Saracinesca should still want to play a part in the world."
Saracinesca was younger than Astrardente, and his iron constitution bade fair to outlast another generation, in spite of his white hair.
"You do not seem to be in a good humour with Saracinesca to-day," remarked Corona, by way of answer.
"Why do you defend him?" asked her husband, in a new fit of irritation.
"He jars on my nerves, the sour old creature!"
"I fancy all Rome will go to the Frangipani ball," began Corona again, without heeding the old man's petulance.