Corona stood still for one moment by the very chair where they had sat so long.
"I forgive you wholly.

I pray that all blessings may be upon you always, in life and in death, for ever." Giovanni bowed his head reverently.

It seemed as though the woman he so loved was speaking a benediction upon his death, a last _in pace_ which should follow him for all eternity.
"In life and in death, I will honour you truly and serve you faithfully for ever," he answered.

As he raised his head, Corona saw that there were tears in his eyes, and she felt that there were tears in her own.
"Come," she said, and they passed on in silence.
She found her husband at last in the supper-room.

He was leisurely discussing the wing of a chicken and a small glass of claret-and-water, with a gouty ambassador whose wife had insisted upon dancing the cotillon, and who was revenging himself upon a Strasbourg _pate_ and a bottle of dry champagne.
"Ah, my dear," said Astrardente, looking up from his modest fare, "you have been dancing?
You have come to supper?
You are very wise.