The gallery was again deserted.  The cotillon had begun, and those who were not dancing were at supper.  Corona stood still for one moment by the very chair where they had sat so long.

“I forgive you wholly.  I pray that all blessings may be upon you always, in life and in death, for ever.”

Giovanni bowed his head reverently.  It seemed as though the woman he so loved was speaking a benediction upon his death, a last in pace which should follow him for all eternity.

“In life and in death, I will honour you truly and serve you faithfully for ever,” he answered.  As he raised his head, Corona saw that there were tears in his eyes, and she felt that there were tears in her own.

“Come,” she said, and they passed on in silence.

She found her husband at last in the supper-room.  He was leisurely discussing the wing of a chicken and a small glass of claret-and-water, with a gouty ambassador whose wife had insisted upon dancing the cotillon, and who was revenging himself upon a Strasbourg pate and a bottle of dry champagne.

“Ah, my dear,” said Astrardente, looking up from his modest fare, “you have been dancing?  You have come to supper?  You are very wise.  I have danced a great deal myself, but I have not seen you—­the room was so crowded.  Here—­this small table will hold us all, just a quartet.”

“Thanks—­I am not hungry.  Will you take me home when you have finished supper?  Or are you going to stay?  Do not wait, Don Giovanni; I know you are busy in the cotillon.  My husband will take care of me.  Good night.”

Giovanni bowed, and went away, glad to be alone at last.  He had to be at home in half an hour according to his engagement, and he had to look about him for a friend.  All Rome was at the ball; but the men upon whom he could call for such service as he required, were all dancing.  Moreover, he reflected that in such a matter it was necessary to have some one especially trustworthy.  It would not do to have the real cause of the duel known, and the choice of a second was a very important matter.  He never doubted that Del Ferice would send some one with a challenge at the appointed time.  Del Ferice was a scoundrel, doubtless; but he was quick with the foils, and had often appeared as second in affairs of honour.

Giovanni stood by the door of the ball-room, looking at the many familiar faces, and wondering how he could induce any one to leave his partner at that hour, and go home with him.  Suddenly he was aware that his father was standing beside him and eyeing him curiously.

“What is the matter, Giovanni?” inquired the old Prince.  “Why are you not dancing?”

“The fact is—­” began Giovanni, and then stopped suddenly.  An idea struck him.  He went close to his father, and spoke in a low voice.

“The fact is, that I have just taken a man by the throat and otherwise insulted him, by calling him a dog.  The fellow seemed annoyed, and so I told him he might send to our house in an hour for an explanation.  I cannot find a friend, because everybody is dancing this abominable cotillon.  Perhaps you can help me,” he added, looking at his father rather doubtfully.  To his surprise and considerable relief the old Prince burst into a hearty laugh.