But the impulse really arose from a deep-rooted desire for revenge, which, having resisted, he regretted bitterly--very much as Shakespeare's murderer complained to his companion that the devil was at his elbow bidding him not murder the duke.

Giovanni spared his enemy solely to please his wife, and half-a-dozen words from her had produced a result which no consideration of mercy or pity could have brought about.
Corona and Gouache had halted at the top of the road to wait for him.

By an imperceptible nod, Giovanni informed his wife that Del Ferice was safe.
"I am sorry to have cut short our ride," he said, coldly.

"My wife found it chilly in the valley." Anastase looked curiously at Giovanni's pale face, and wondered whether anything was wrong.

Corona herself seemed strangely agitated.
"Yes," answered Gouache, with his gentle smile; "the mountain air is still cold." So the three rode silently back to the castle, and at the gate Gouache dismounted and left them, politely declining a rather cold invitation to come in.