to set foot out of the house until he heard that Donna Tullia had committed herself.  He knew that when she had once spoken she would make a desperate attempt to obtain the papers, for he knew that such an assertion as hers would need to be immediately proved, at the risk of her position in society.  His plot had succeeded so far.  His only anxiety was to know whether she had mentioned his name in connection with the subject, but he guessed, from his knowledge of her character, that she would not do so:  she would respect her oath enough to conceal his name, even while breaking her promise; she would enjoy taking the sole credit of the discovery upon herself, and she would shun an avowal which would prove her to have discussed with any one else the means of preventing the marriage, because it would be a confession of jealousy, and consequently of personal interest in Don Giovanni.  Del Ferice was a very clever fellow.

He put on his coat, and in five minutes was seated in a cab on his way to Donna Tullia’s house, with a large envelope full of papers in his pocket.  He found her as she had left him, her face still wrapped in a veil, walking up and down her drawing-room in great excitement.  He advanced and saluted her courteously, maintaining a dignified gravity of bearing which he judged fitting for the occasion.

“And now, my dear lady,” he said, gently, “will you tell me exactly what you have done?”

“This morning,” answered Madame Mayer, in a stifled voice, “I heard of the Astrardente’s engagement to Don Giovanni.  It seemed such a terrible thing!”

“Terrible, indeed,” said Del Ferice, solemnly.

“I sent for you at once, to know what to do:  they said you were gone to Naples.  I thought, of course, that you would approve if you were here, because we ought to prevent such a dreadful crime—­of course.”  She waited for some sign of assent, but Del Ferice’s pale face expressed nothing but a sort of grave reproach.

“And then,” she continued, “as I could not find you, I thought it was best to act at once, and so I went to see the Astrardente, feeling that you would entirely support me.  There was a terrific scene.  She sent for the two Saracinesca, and I—­waited till they came, because I was determined to see justice done.  I am sure I was right,—­was I not?”

“What did they say?” asked Del Ferice, quietly watching her face.

“If you will believe it, that monster of villany, Don Giovanni, was as cold as stone, and denied the whole matter from beginning to end; but his father was very angry.  Of course they demanded the proofs.  I never saw anything like the brazen assurance of Don Giovanni.”

“Did you mention me?” inquired Del Ferice.

“No, I had not seen you:  of course I did not want to implicate you.  I said I would show them the papers tomorrow at the same hour.”

“And then you came to see me,” said Del Ferice.  “That was very rash.  You might have seriously compromised yourself.  I would have come if you had sent for me.”