e hour fixed for their work. Already the daybreak reddened the
casement. The old timepiece was more faithful in its master's service than
Don Juan had been in his duty to Bartholomeo. This instrument was composed
of wood, pulleys, cords and wheels, while he had that mechanism peculiar
to man, called a heart.

In order to run no further risk of losing the mysterious liquid the
skeptical Don Juan replaced it in the drawer of the little Gothic table.
At this solemn moment he heard a tumult in the corridor. There were
confused voices, stifled laughter, light footsteps, the rustle of silk, in
short, the noise of a merry troop trying to collect itself in some sort of
order. The door opened and the prince, the seven women, the friends of Don
Juan and the singers, appeared, in the fantastic disorder of dancers
overtaken by the morning, when the sun disputes the paling light of the
candles. They came to offer the young heir the conventional condolences.

"Oh, oh, is poor Don Juan really taking this death seriously?" said the
prince in la Brambilla's ear.

"Well, his father was a very good man," she replied.

Nevertheless, Don Juan's nocturnal meditations had printed so striking an
expression upon his face that it commanded silence. The men stopped,
motionless. The women, whose lips had been parched with wine, threw
themselves on their knees and began to pray. Don Juan could not help
shuddering as he saw this splendor, this joy, laughter, song, beauty, life
personified, doing homage thus to Death. But in this adorable Italy
religion and revelry were on such good terms that religion was a sort of
debauch and debauch religion. The prince pressed Don Juan's hand
affectionately, then all the figures having given expression to the same
look, half-sympathy, half-indifference, the phantasmagoria disappeared,
leaving the chamber empty. It was, indeed, a faithful image of life! Going
down the stairs the prince said to la Rivabarella:

"Heigho! who would have thought Don Juan a mere boaster of impiety? He
loved his father, after all!"

"Did you notice the black dog?" asked la Brambilla.

"He is immensely rich now," sighed Bianca Cavatolini.

"What is that to me?" cried the proud Veronese, she who had broken the
comfit dish.

"What is that to you?" exclaimed the duke. "With his ducats he is as much a
prince as I am!"

At first Don Juan, swayed by a thousand thoughts, wavered toward many
different resolutions. After having ascerta