“Something very like it, I should say,” answered Del Ferice’s oily voice.  “He has probably been ill since you saw him.  Saracinesca is an unhealthy place.”

Giovanni turned sharply round.

“Yes; we were speaking of you, Don Giovanni,” said Donna Tullia, with some scorn.  “Does it strike you that you were exceedingly rude in not letting me know that you were going out of town when you had promised to dance with me at the Valdarno ball?” She curled her small lip and showed her sharp white teeth.  Giovanni was a man of the world, however, and was equal to the occasion.

“I apologise most humbly,” he said.  “It was indeed very rude; but in the urgency of the case, I forgot all other engagements.  I really beg your pardon.  Will you honour me with a dance this evening?”

“I have every dance engaged,” answered Madame Mayer, coldly staring at him.

“I am very sorry,” said Giovanni, inwardly thanking heaven for his good fortune, and wishing she would go away.

“Wait a moment,” said Donna Tullia, judging that she had produced the desired effect upon him.  “Let me look.  I believe I have one waltz left.  Let me see.  Yes, the one before the last—­you can have it if you like.”

“Thank you,” murmured Giovanni, greatly annoyed.  “I will remember.”

Madame Mayer laid her hand upon Del Ferice’s arm, and moved away.  She was a vain woman, and being in love with Saracinesca after her own fashion, could not understand that he should be wholly indifferent to her.  She thought that in telling him she had no dances she had given him a little wholesome punishment, and that in giving one after all she had conferred a favour upon him.  She also believed that she had annoyed Del Ferice, which, always amused her.  But Del Ferice was more than a match for her, with his quiet ways and smooth tongue.

They went into the ball-room together and danced a few minutes.  When the music ceased, Ugo excused himself on the plea that he was engaged for the quadrille that followed.  He at once set out in search of the Duchessa d’Astrardente, and did not lose sight of her again.  She did not dance before the cotillon, she said; and she sat down in a high chair in the picture-gallery, while three or four men, among whom was Valdarno, sat and stood near her, doing their best to amuse her.  Others came, and some went away, but Corona did not move, and sat amongst her little court, glad to have the time pass in any way until the cotillon.  When Del Ferice had ascertained her position, he went about his business, which was manifold—­dancing frequently, and making a point of speaking to every one in the room.  At the end of an hour, he joined the group of men around the Duchessa and took part in the conversation.

It was an easy matter to make the talk turn upon Giovanni Saracinesca.  Every one was more or less curious about the journey he had made, and especially about the cause of his absence.  Each of the men had something to say, and each, knowing the popular report that Giovanni was in love with Corona, said his say with as much wit as he could command.  Corona herself was interested, for she alone understood his sudden absence, and was anxious to hear the common opinion concerning it.