Giovanni bit his lip, remembering his imprudence.
"I hardly know. I believe it suggested something to my mind. One says all sorts of foolish things in moments of excitement."
"It struck me as a very odd remark," answered the Prince, still walking about. "By the bye," he added, pausing before the writing-table, "here is that letter you wrote for me. Do you want me to read it?"
"No," said Giovanni, with a laugh. "It is of no use now. It would seem absurd, since I am alive and well. It was only a word of farewell."
The Prince laughed too, and threw the sealed letter into the fire.
"The last of the Saracinesca is not dead yet," he said. "Giovanni, what are we to say to the gossips? All Rome will be ringing with this affair before night. Of course, you must stay at home for a few days, or you will catch cold, in your arm. I will go out and carry the news of our victory."
"Better to say nothing about it—better to refer people to Del Ferice, and tell them he challenged me. Come in!" cried Giovanni, in answer to a knock at the door. Pasquale, the old butler, entered the room.
"The Duca d'Astrardente has sent to inquire after the health of his
Excellency Don Giovanni," said the old man, respectfully.
The elder Saracinesca paused in his walk, and broke out into a loud laugh.
"Already! You see, Giovannino," he said. "Tell him, Pasquale, that Don Giovanni caught a severe cold at the ball last night—or no—wait! What shall we say, Giovannino?"