nd again looked at his father. "I am sorry we always
quarrel about this question," he said. "I do not really want to marry,
but I wish to oblige you, and I will try. Why do we always come to words
over it?"

"I am sure I do not know," said the Prince, with a pleasant smile. "I
have such a diabolical temper, I suppose."

"And I have inherited it," answered Don Giovanni, with a laugh that was
meant to be cheerful. "But I quite see your point of view. I suppose I
ought to settle in life by this time."

"Seriously, I think so, my son. Here is to your future happiness," said
the old gentleman, touching his glass with his lips.

"And here is to our future peace," returned Giovanni, also drinking.

"We never really quarrel, Giovanni, do we?" said his father. Every trace
of anger had vanished. His strong face beamed with an affectionate smile
that was like the sun after a thunderstorm.

"No, indeed," answered his son, cordially. "We cannot afford to quarrel;
there are only two of us left."

"That is what I always say," assented the Prince, beginning to eat the
orange he had carefully peeled since he had grown calm. "If two men like
you and me, my boy, can thoroughly agree, there is nothing we cannot
accomplish; whereas if we go against each other--"

"Justitia non fit, coelum vero ruet," suggested Giovanni, in parody of
the proverb.

"I am a little rusty in my Latin, Giovanni," said the old gentleman.

"Heaven is turned upside down, but justice is not done."

"No; one is never just when one is angry. But storms clear the sky, as
they say up at Saracinesca."

"By the bye, have you heard whether that question of the timber has been
settled yet?" asked Giovanni.

"Of course--I had forgotten. I will tell you all about it," answered his
father, cheerfully. So they chatted peacefully for another half-hour; and
no one would have thought, in looking at them, that such fierce passions
had been roused, nor that one of them felt as though his death-warrant
had been signed. When they separated, Giovanni went to his own rooms, and
locked himself in.

He had assumed an air of calmness which was not real before he left his
father. In truth he was violently agitated. He was as fiery as his
father, but his passions were of greater strength and of longer duration;
for his mother had been a Spaniard, and something of the melancholy of
her country had entered into his soul, giving depth and durability to the
hot Italian character