and tried to stab him in the body--which is a
dastardly trick not permitted in any country. Even in duelling, such
things are called murder; and it is their right name."

Corona was very pale. Giovanni's danger had been suddenly brought before
her in a very vivid light, and she was horror-struck at the thought of
it.

"Is--is Don Giovanni very badly wounded?" she asked.

"No, thank heaven; he will be wall in a week. But either one of those
attempts might have killed him; and he would have died, I think--pardon
me, no insult this time--I think, on your account. Do you see why for
him I dread this attachment to you, which leads him to risk his life at
every turn for a word about you? Do you see why I implore you to take the
matter into your serious consideration, and to use your influence to
bring him to his senses?"

"I see; but in this question of the duel you have no proof that I was
concerned."

"No,--no proof, perhaps. I will not weary you with surmises; but even if
it was not for you this time, you see that it might have been."

"Perhaps," said Corona, very sadly.

"I have to thank you, even if you will not listen to me," said the
Prince, rising. "You have understood me. It was all I asked. Good night."

"Good night," answered Corona, who did not move from her seat nor extend
her hand this time. She was too much agitated to think of formalities.
Saracinesca bowed low and left the room.

It was characteristic of him that he had come to see the Duchessa not
knowing what he should say, and that he had blurted out the whole truth,
and then lost his temper in support of it. He was a hasty man, of noble
instincts, but always inclined rather to cut a knot than to unloose
it--to do by force what another man would do by skill--angry at
opposition, and yet craving it by his combative nature.

His first impulse on leaving Corona was to go to Giovanni and tell him
what he had done; but he reflected as he went home that his son was ill
with his wounds, and that it would be bad for him to be angry, as of
course he would be if he were told of his father's doings. Moreover, as
old Saracinesca thought more seriously of the matter, he wisely concluded
that it would be better not to speak of the visit; and when he entered
the room where Giovanni was lying on his couch with a novel and a
cigarette, he had determined to conceal the whole matter.

"Well, Giovanni," he said, "we are the talk of the town, of course."

"It was