her own mortification, and the disgrace of him who, at least, had been her lover. Still the disclosure was inevitable—she would be obliged to explain the cessation of intercourse between Evelyn and herself; and even without that, she owed confidence to Madame de Mercœur's kindness.
The account was received with more regret and surprise than she had expected; the Duchesse could scarcely listen for her own exclamations—all the while begging Francesca to go on. Suddenly she started from her seat, for the Duke entered the room: passing her hand through his arm, she made him sit down in the fauteuil, while in the same breath she told Francesca to tell her story, and at the same time went on telling it for her, only interrupted by the angry or contemptuous ejaculations of her husband.
"Mademoiselle da Carrara," said he, when the narrative was ended, "I never heard of a more gratuitous insult—of a more unmerited calumny; allow me at least to say, that your friends feel that it is offered to themselves. But now let us dismiss so worthless a subject. We will find you a better cavalier in our belle France." So saying, he rose to depart; while a most painful suspicion, suggested by the sudden paleness of the Duchesse,
