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Updated: May 31, 2025
It takes a woman of great experience," insinuated the contessa, "to parry Giovanni's fencing with the foils of love." Nina was goaded into answering. "You seem to know a great deal about his love-making," she said at last, with the breathy calm of controlled temper. Half shutting her eyes, the contessa replied: "It is common hearsay.
Without Giovanni's intervention, the achievement of Niccola might possibly have been as unproductive of immediate results as the Tuscan Romanesque, that mediaeval effort after the Renaissance, was in architecture.
In a quarter of an hour, while she stood in her doorway, and he in the passage without, he had told her all he knew of Giovanni's evil intentions against Zorzi, including the few words which the Governor had spoken audibly. The torn sleeve was an invention. Giovanni was visibly elated at supper, a circumstance which pleased his wife but inspired Marietta with some distrust.
But amongst the very first the King was on the spot with half-a-dozen superior officers, and in the briefest possible time the search for dead and wounded began. The story of Giovanni's splendid presence of mind and heroic courage ran from mouth to mouth.
"You speak as though you were a friend of Don Giovanni's," said the Cardinal. "No; I have a very slight acquaintance with him. I admire him, he has such a fine head. I should be sorry if anything happened to him." "Do you think Del Ferice is capable of murdering him?" "Oh no! He might annoy him a great deal." "I think not," answered the Cardinal, thoughtfully.
Under the brilliant electric light in the main hall, the Mother Superior recognised Giovanni's unconscious face; his crushed arm, hanging down like a doll's, and his torn and soiled uniform, told the rest. He was taken at once to the room his brother had occupied so long. The Mother Superior herself helped the surgeon and another Sister to do all that could be done then.
He took up his lodgings at the Sforza Palace, so lately vacated by Giovanni the palace where Lucrezia Borgia had held her Court when, as Giovanni's wife, she had been Countess of Pesaro and Cotignola. Early on the morrow he visited the citadel, which was one of the finest in Italy, rivalling that of Rimini for strength.
"Who knows, who knows," sighed the padre, "if any of us have found it so? But now let us go to the library." The signora followed them, since she could not do otherwise. They stopped before the carved door, which the padre said was undoubtedly Fra Giovanni's own work, and he pointed out the details of the beautiful workmanship.
"I have no thanks," she ended warmly, "that can match the deeds by which you earned them, Messer Biancomonte." My eyes drifting to Giovanni's face surprised its sudden darkening. "Madonna Paola," said he, in an icy voice, "you have uttered a name that must not be heard within my walls of Pesaro, if you would prove yourself the friend of Boccadoro.
But there was nothing, and after two or three minutes Angela rose deliberately, went up the remaining steps, and pressed her lips upon the first letters of Giovanni's name. She turned and descended the steps with a serene expression, as Madame Bernard got up from her knees. 'Death was jealous of me, Angela said.
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