He heard the words, and observed with inward pleasure his wife's calm look of indifference.
"Madam," he said, placing himself suddenly in Madame Mayer's way, "my wife's partners do not go home while she remains." "Oh, I see," returned Donna Tullia, flushing quickly; "the Duchessa is dancing the cotillon with you.

I beg your pardon--I had forgotten that you still danced." "Indeed it is long since I did myself the honour of asking you for a quadrille, madam," answered Astrardente with a polite smile; and so saying, he turned and presented the little tiger to his wife with a courtly bow.

There was good blood in the old _roue_.
Corona was touched by his thoughtfulness in wishing to get her the little keepsake of the dance, and she was still more affected by his ready defence of her.

He was indeed sometimes a little ridiculous, with his paint and his artificial smile--he was often petulant and unreasonable in little things; but he was never unkind to her, nor discourteous.

In spite of her cold and indifferent stare at Donna Tullia, she had keenly felt the insult, and she was grateful to the old man for taking her part.
Knowing what she knew of herself that night, she was deeply sensible to his kindness.