Nobody ever yet explained away the distinct statement “I love you,” upon any pretence of a mistake.  Giovanni almost laughed at the idea, and yet he conceived that some kind of apology would be necessary, though he could not imagine how he was to frame one.  He reflected that few women would consider a declaration, even as sudden as his had been, in the light of an insult; but he knew how little cause Corona had given him for speaking to her of love, and he judged from her manner that she had been either offended or frightened, or both, and that he was to blame for it.  He was greatly disturbed, and the sweat stood in great drops upon his forehead as he sat there upon the steps of St. Peter’s in the cold night wind.  He remained nearly an hour without changing his position, and then at last he rose and slowly retraced his steps, and went home by narrow streets, avoiding the theatre and the crowd of carriages that stood before it.

He had almost determined to go away for a time, and to let his absence speak for his contrition.  But he had reckoned upon his former self, and he doubted now whether he had the strength to leave Rome.  The most that seemed possible was that he should keep out of Corona’s way for a few days, until she should have recovered from the shock of the scene in the theatre.  After that he would go to her and tell her quite simply that he was very sorry, but that he had been unable to control himself.  It would soon be over.  She would not refuse to speak to him, he argued, for fear of attracting the attention of the gossips and making an open scandal.  She would perhaps tell him to avoid her, and her words would be few and haughty, but she would speak to him, nevertheless.

Giovanni went to bed.  The next day he gave out that he had a touch of fever, and remained in his own apartments.  His father, who was passionately attached to him, in spite of his rough temper and hasty speeches, came and spent most of the day with him, and in the intervals of his kindly talk, marched up and down the room, swearing that Giovanni was no more ill than he was himself, and that he had acquired his accursed habit of staying in bed upon his travels.  As Giovanni had never before been known to spend twenty-four hours in bed for any reason whatsoever, the accusation was unjust; but he only smiled and pretended to argue the case for the sake of pleasing the old prince.  He really felt exceedingly uncomfortable, and would have been glad to be left alone at any price; but there was nothing for it but to pretend to be ill in body, when he was really sick at heart, and he remained obstinately in bed the whole day.  On the following morning he declared his intention of going out of town, and by an early train he left the city.  No one saw Giovanni again until the evening of the Frangipani ball.