That night Giovanni insisted on going out.

His wounds no longer pained him, he said; there was no danger whatever, and he was tired of staying at home.

But he would dine with his father as usual.

He loved his father's company, and when the two omitted to quarrel over trifles they were very congenial.

To tell the truth, the differences between them arose generally from the petulant quickness of the Prince; for in his son his own irascible character was joined with the melancholy gravity which Giovanni inherited from his mother, and in virtue of which, being taciturn, he was sometimes thought long-suffering.
As usual, they sat opposite each other, and the ancient butler Pasquale served them.