Good night." "_Au revoir_," said Giovanni, and went on his way.
He found Corona in an inner sitting-room, reading beside a great wood-fire.

There were soft shades of lilac mingled with the black of her dress.

The year of mourning was past, and so soon as she could she modified her widow's weeds into something less solemnly; black.

It was impossible to wear funeral robes on the eve of her second marriage; and the world had declared that she had shown an extraordinary degree of virtue in mourning so long for a death which every one considered so highly appropriate.

Corona, however, felt differently.