“Do you see, Corona, there is no doubt of it!  It is just as I told you,” exclaimed the aged dandy, in a voice so audible that Giovanni frowned and Donna Tullia blushed slightly.  Both of them bowed as they passed the carriage.  Don Giovanni looked straight into Corona’s face as he took off his hat.  He might very well have made her a little sign, the smallest gesture, imperceptible to Donna Tullia, whereby he could have given her the idea that his position was involuntary.  But Don Giovanni was a gentleman, and he did nothing of the kind; he bowed and looked calmly at the woman he loved as he passed by.  Astrardente watched him keenly, and as he noticed the indifference of Saracinesca’s look, he gave a curious little snuffling snort that was peculiar to him.  He could have sworn that neither his wife nor Giovanni had shown the smallest interest in each other.  He was satisfied.  His wife was above suspicion, as he always said; but he was an old man, and had seen the world, and he knew that however implicitly he might trust the noble woman who had sacrificed her youth to his old age, it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that she might become innocently interested, even unawares, in some younger man—­in some such man as Giovanni Saracinesca-and he thought it worth his while to watch her.  His little snort, however, was indicative of satisfaction.  Corona had not winced at the mention of the marriage, and had nodded with the greatest unconcern to the man as he passed.

“Ah, Donna Tullia!” he cried, as he returned their greeting, “you are preventing Don Giovanni from mounting; the riders will be off in a moment.”

Being thus directly addressed, there was nothing to be done but to stop and exchange a few words.  The Duchessa was on the side nearest to the pair as they passed, and her husband rose and sat opposite her, so as to talk more at his ease.  There were renewed greetings on both sides, and Giovanni naturally found himself talking to Corona, while her husband and Donna Tullia conversed together.

“What man could think of hunting when he could be talking to you instead?” said old Astrardente, whose painted face adjusted itself in a sort of leer that had once been a winning smile.  Every one knew he painted, his teeth were a miracle of American dentistry, and his wig had deceived a great portrait-painter.  The padding in his clothes was disposed with cunning wisdom, and in public he rarely removed the gloves from his small hands.  Donna Tullia laughed at what he said.

“You should teach Don Giovanni to make pretty speeches,” she said.  “He is as surly as a wolf this morning.”

“I should think a man in his position would not need much teaching in order to be gallant to you,” replied the old dandy, with a knowing look.  Then lowering his voice, he added confidentially, “I hope that before very long I may be allowed to congrat—­”

“I have prevailed upon him to give up following the hounds to-day,” interrupted Donna Tullia, quickly.  She spoke loud enough to be noticed by Corona.  “He is coming with us to picnic at the Capannelle instead.”