“Oh, I know all that,” said Donna Tullia, as they left the church.

“Yes,” answered her companion, with a significant smile, “I presume you do.”  Donna Tullia laughed harshly as she got into her carriage.

“You are detestable, Valdarno—­you always misunderstand me.  Are you going to the ball tonight?”

“Of course.  May I have the pleasure of the cotillon?”

“If you are very good—­if you will go and ask the news of Del Ferice.”

“I sent this morning.  He is quite out of danger, they believe.”

“Is he?  Oh, I am very glad—­I felt so very badly, you know.  Ah, Don Giovanni, are you recovered?” she asked coldly, as Saracinesca approached the other side of the carriage.  Valdarno retired to a distance, and pretended to be buttoning his greatcoat; he wanted to see what would happen.

“Thank you, yes; I was not much hurt.  This is the first time I have been out, and I am glad to find an opportunity of speaking to you.  Let me say again how profoundly I regret my forgetfulness at the ball the other night—­”

Donna Tullia was a clever woman, and though she had been very angry at the time, she was in love with Giovanni.  She therefore looked at him suddenly with a gentle smile, and just for one moment her fingers touched his hand as it rested upon the side of the carriage.

“Do you think it was kind?” she asked, in a low voice.

“It was abominable.  I shall never forgive myself,” answered Giovanni.

“I will forgive you,” answered Donna Tullia, softly.  She really loved him.  It was the best thing in her nature, but it was more than balanced by the jealousy she had conceived for the Duchessa d’Astrardente.

“Was it on that account that you quarrelled with poor Del Ferice?” she asked, after a moment’s pause.  “I have feared it—­”

“Certainly not,” answered Giovanni, quickly.  “Pray set your mind at rest.  Del Ferice or any other man would have been quite justified in calling me out for it—­but it was not for that.  It was not on account of you.”

It would have been hard to say whether Donna Tullia’s face expressed more clearly her surprise or her disappointment at the intelligence.  Perhaps she had both really believed herself the cause of the duel, and had been flattered at the thought that men would fight for her.

“Oh, I am very glad—­it is a great relief,” she said, rather coldly.  “Are you going to the ball to-night?”

“No; I cannot dance.  My right arm is bound up in a sling, as you see.”

“I am sorry you are not coming.  Good-bye, then.”

“Good-bye; I am very grateful for your forgiveness.”  Giovanni bowed low, and Donna Tullia’s brilliant equipage dashed away.

Giovanni was well satisfied at having made his peace so easily, but he nevertheless apprehended danger from Donna Tullia.