"But you said there was nothing ridiculous in it," objected the Duchessa.
"But I did not say there was any truth in it, either," answered his Excellency with a reassuring smile. "What made you think of duelling?" he asked, turning to Astrardente.
"Spicca," said the latter. "Wherever Spicca is concerned there is a duel. He is a terrible fellow, with his death's-head and dangling bones—one of those extraordinary phenomena—bah! it makes one shiver to think of him!" The old fellow made the sign of the horns with his forefinger and little finger, hiding his thumb in the palm of his hand, as though to protect himself against the evil eye—the sinister influence invoked by the mention of Spicca. Old Astrardente was very superstitious. The ambassador laughed, and even Corona smiled a little.
"Yes," said the diplomatist, "Spicca is a living memento mori; he occasionally reminds men of death by killing them."
"How horrible!" exclaimed Corona.
"Ah, my dear lady, the world is full of horrible things."
"That is not a reason for making jests of them."
"It is better to make light of the inevitable," said Astrardente. "Are you ready to go home, my dear?"
"Quite—I was only waiting for you," answered Corona, who longed to be at home and alone.
"Let me know the result of old Saracinesca's warlike undertakings," said Astrardente, with a cunning smile on his painted face. "Of course, as he consulted you, he will send you word in the morning."