“I thought he was gone,” he said, quietly enough.

“So did I,” replied Corona, in a cooler tone than she generally used in speaking to her husband.

She, too, was annoyed, for she suspected that Giovanni had been watching her; and since, on the previous evening he had promised to trust her altogether in this affair, she looked upon his coming almost in the light of an infringement upon the treaty, and resented it accordingly.  She did not reflect that it was unlikely that Giovanni should expect her to try to meet Gouache on his way out, and would therefore not think of lying in wait for her.  His accidental coming seemed premeditated.  He, on his side, had noticed her marked coldness to Anastase in the sitting-room and thought it contrasted very strangely with the over-friendly parting of which he had chanced to be a witness.  Corona, too, knew very well that the last words spoken were capable of misinterpretation, and as she had no intention of telling her husband Faustina’s story at present she saw no way of clearing up the situation, and therefore prepared to ignore it altogether.

They turned together and walked slowly back in the direction of the sitting-room, neither speaking a word until they had almost reached the door.  Then Giovanni stopped and looked at his wife.

“Is it part of last night’s secret?” he asked, almost indifferently.

“Yes,” answered Corona.  “What could you suppose it was?  I met him by accident and we exchanged a few words.”

“I know.  I heard you say good-bye.  I confess I was surprised.  I thought you meant to be rude to him when we were all together, but I was mistaken.  I hope your blessing will profit him, my dear!” He spoke quite naturally and without effort.

“I hope so too,” returned Corona.  “You might have added yours, since you were present.”

“To tell the truth,” said Giovanni, with a short laugh, “I fancy it might not have been so acceptable.”

“You talk very strangely, Giovanni!”

“Do I?  It seems to me quite natural.  Shall we go into the sitting-room?”

“Giovanni—­you promised to trust me last night, and I promised to explain everything to you some day.  You must keep your promise wholly or not at all.”

“Certainly,” answered Sant’ Ilario, opening the door for his wife and thus forcing the conversation to end suddenly, since old Saracinesca must now hear whatever was said.

He would not allow the situation to last, for fear lest he should say something of which he might repent, for in spite of his words he did not wish to seem suspicious.  Unfortunately, Corona’s evident annoyance at having been overheard did more to strengthen the feeling of resentment which was growing in him than what he had heard and seen a few moments earlier.  The way in which she had reproached him with not adding his blessing to hers showed plainly enough, he thought, that she was angry at what had occurred.  They both entered the room, but before they had been long together Giovanni left his wife and father and retired to his own room under pretext of writing letters until dinner-time.