Giovanni was very thoughtful as he walked home that night.  He was happy, and he had cause to be, for the long-desired day was at hand.  He had nearly attained the object of his life, and there was now no longer any obstacle to be overcome.  The relief he felt at his father’s return was very great; for although he had known that the impediment raised would be soon removed, any impediment whatever was exasperating, and he could not calculate the trouble that might be caused by the further machinations of Donna Tullia and her affianced husband.  All difficulties had, however, been overcome by his father’s energetic action, and at once Giovanni felt as though a load had fallen from his shoulders, and a veil from his eyes.  He saw himself wedded to Corona in less than a fortnight, removed from the sphere of society and of all his troubles, living for a space alone with her in his ancestral home, calling her, at last, his wife.  Nevertheless he was thoughtful, and his expression was not one of unmingled gladness, as he threaded the streets on his way home; for his mind reverted to Del Ferice and to Donna Tullia, and Corona’s fierce look was still before him.  He reflected that she had been nearly as much injured as himself, that her wrath was legitimate, and that it was his duty to visit her sufferings as well as his own upon the offenders.  His melancholic nature easily fell to brooding over any evil which was strong enough to break the barrier of his indifference; and the annoyances which had sprung originally from so small a cause had grown to gigantic proportions, and had struck at the very roots of his happiness.

He had begun by disliking Del Ferice in an indifferent way whenever he chanced to cross his path.  Del Ferice had resented this haughty indifference as a personal insult, and had set about injuring Giovanni, attempting to thwart him whenever he could.  Giovanni had caught Del Ferice in a dastardly trick, and had been so far roused as to take summary vengeance upon him in the duel which tools place after the Frangipani ball.  The wound had entered into Ugo’s soul, and his hatred had grown the faster that he found no opportunity of revenge.  Then, at last, when Giovanni’s happiness had seemed complete, his enemy had put forward his pretended proof of a former marriage; knowing well enough that his weapons were not invincible—­were indeed very weak—­but unable to resist any longer the desire for vengeance.  Once more Giovanni had triumphed easily, but with victory came the feeling that it was his turn to punish his adversary.  And now there was a new and powerful motive added to Giovanni’s just resentment, in the anger his future wife felt and had a good right to feel, at the treachery which had been practised upon both.  It had taken two years to rouse Giovanni to energetic action against one whom he had in turn regarded with indifference, then despised, then honestly disliked, and finally hated.  But his hatred had been doubled each time by a greater injury, and was not likely to be easily satisfied.  Nothing short of Del Fence’s destruction would be enough, and his destruction must be brought about by legal means.