er uncertainly, as
things look when one falls from a height. Almost unconsciously she spoke,
hardly knowing that she turned her head, and that her dark eyes rested
upon Giovanni's pale face.

"And yet there must be some reason why you tell me that little, and why
you do not tell me more." When she had spoken, she would have given all
the world to have taken back her words. It was too late. Giovanni
answered in a low thick voice that sounded as though he were choking,
his face grew white, and his teeth seemed almost to chatter as though he
were cold, but his eyes shone like black stars in the shadow of the box.

"There is every reason. You are the woman I love."

Corona did not move for several seconds, as though not comprehending what
he had said. Then she suddenly shivered, and her eyelids drooped as she
leaned back in her chair. Her fingers relaxed their tight hold upon her
fan, and the thing fell rattling upon the floor of the box.

Old Astrardente, who had taken no notice of the pair, being annoyed at
Giovanni's visit, and much interested in the proceedings of Madame Mayer
in the box opposite, heard the noise, and stooped with considerable
alacrity to pick up the fan which lay at his feet.

"You are not well, my love," he said quickly, as he observed his wife's
unusual pallor.

"It is nothing; it will pass," she murmured, with a terrible effort.
Then, as though she had not said enough, she added, "There must be a
draught here; I have a chill."

Giovanni had sat like a statue, utterly overcome by the sense of his own
folly and rashness, as well as by the shock of having so miserably failed
to keep the secret he dreaded to reveal. On hearing Corona's voice, he
rose suddenly, as from a dream.

"Forgive me," he said hurriedly, "I have just remembered a most important
engagement--"

"Do not mention it," said Astrardente, sourly. Giovanni bowed to the
Duchessa and left the box. She did not look at him as he went away.

"We had better go home, my angel," said the old man. "You have got a bad
chill."

"Oh no, I would rather stay. It is nothing, and the best part of the
opera is to come." Corona spoke quietly enough. Her strong nerves had
already recovered from the shock she had experienced, and she could
command her voice. She did not want to go home; on the contrary, the
brilliant lights and the music served for a time to soothe her. If there
had been a ball that night she would have gone to it; she would have