done
anything that would take her thoughts from herself. Her husband looked at
her curiously. The suspicion crossed his mind that Don Giovanni had said
something which had either frightened or offended her, but on second
thoughts the theory seemed absurd. He regarded Saracinesca as little
more than a mere acquaintance of his wife's.

"As you please, my love," he answered, drawing his chair a little nearer
to hers. "I am glad that fellow is gone. We can talk at our ease now."

"Yes; I am glad he is gone. We can talk now," repeated Corona,
mechanically.

"I thought his excuse slightly conventional, to say the least of it,"
remarked Astrardente. "An important engagement!--just a little _banal_.
However, any excuse was good enough which took him away."

"Did he say that?" asked Corona. "I did not hear. Of course, any excuse
would do, as you say."

CHAPTER IX.

Giovanni left the theatre at once, alone, and on foot. He was very much
agitated. He had done suddenly and unawares the thing of all others he
had determined never to do; his resolutions had been broken down and
carried away as an ineffectual barrier is swept to the sea by the floods
of spring. His heart had spoken in spite of him, and in speaking had
silenced every prompting of reason. He blamed himself bitterly, as he
strode out across the deserted bridge of Sant' Angelo and into the broad
gloom beyond, where the street widens from the fortress to the entrance
of the three Borghi: he walked on and on, finding at every step fresh
reason for self-reproach, and trying to understand what he had done. He
paused at the end of the open piazza and looked down towards the black
rushing river which he could hear, but hardly see; he turned into the
silent Borgo Santo Spirito, and passed along the endless wall of the
great hospital up to the colonnades, and still wandering on, he came to
the broad steps of St. Peter's and sat down, alone in the darkness, at
the foot of the stupendous pile.

He was perhaps not so much to blame as he was willing to allow in his
just anger against himself. Corona had tempted him sorely in that last
question she had put to him. She had not known, she had not even faintly
guessed what she was doing, for her own brain was intoxicated with a new
and indescribable sensation which had left no room for reflection nor for
weighing the force of words. But Giovanni, who had been willing to give
up everything, even to his personal liberty, f