The pallor in his face had given way to a slight flush that gave colour and animation to his cheeks, and though his eyes were bright their expression was more natural than it had been for many days.  He was in one of the strangest humours which can have sway over that unconsciously humorous animal, man.  In the midst of the deepest self-abasement his heart was overflowing with joy.  The combination of sorrow and happiness is a rare one, not found every day, but the condition of experiencing both at the same time and in the highest degree is very possible.

Giovanni, indeed, could not feel otherwise than he did.  Had he suspected Corona and accused her on grounds wholly frivolous and untenable, in the unreasoning outbreak of a foolish jealousy, he could not have been so persuaded of her guilt as to feel the keenest joy on finding her innocent.  In that case his remorse would have outweighed his satisfaction.  Had he, on the other hand, suspected her without making the accusation, he would have been happy on discovering his mistake, but could have felt little or no remorse.  As it was, he had accused her upon evidence which most tribunals would have thought sufficient for a conviction, and on seeing all doubt cleared away he realised with terrible force the extent of the pain he had inflicted.  While he had still believed that she had fallen, he had still so loved her as to wish that he could take the burden of her guilt upon his own shoulders.  Now that her innocence was proved beyond all doubt, he had no thought but to ask her forgiveness.

He let himself in with a latch-key and ran up the dim stairs.  A second key opened the polished door into the dark vestibule, and in a moment more he was in the ante-chamber of Corona’s apartment.  Two or three women, pale with watching, were standing round a table, upon which something was heating over a spirit lamp.  Giovanni stopped and spoke to them.

“How is she?” he asked, his voice unsteady with anxiety.

The women shook their heads, and one of them began to cry.  They loved their mistress dearly and had little hope of her recovery.  They had been amazed, too, at Giovanni’s apparent indifference during the whole week, and seemed surprised when he went towards the door.  One motioned to him to make no noise.  He turned the latch very gently and advanced into the darkened chamber.

Corona was lying as he had seen her on the previous evening, and there seemed to be little or no change in her state.  Her eyes were closed and her breathing was scarcely perceptible.  A nurse was nodding in a chair near the night light and looked up as Giovanni entered.  He pointed to the door and she went out.  All was so exactly as it had been twelve hours earlier that he could hardly realise the immense change that had taken place in his own heart during the interval.  He stood looking at his wife, scarcely breathing for fear of disturbing her and yet wishing that she might