San Giacinto and Flavia were married on Saturday the thirtieth of
November, thereby avoiding the necessity of paying a fee for being
united during Advent, much to the satisfaction of Prince Montevarchi.
The wedding was a brilliant affair, and if the old prince's hospitality
left something to be desired, the display of liveries, coaches and
family silver was altogether worthy of so auspicious an occasion.
Everybody was asked, and almost everybody went, from the Saracinesca to
Anastase Gouache, from Valdarno to Arnoldo Meschini. Even Spicca was
there, as melancholy as usual, but evidently interested in the
proceedings. He chanced to find himself next to Gouache in the crowd.
"I did not expect to see you here," he remarked.
"I have been preserved from a variety of dangers in order to assist at
the ceremony," answered the Zouave, with a laugh. "At one time I
thought it more likely that I should be the person of importance at a
funeral."
"So did I. However, it could not be helped." Spicca did not smile.
"You seem to regret it," observed Gouache, who knew his companion's
eccentric nature.
"Only on general principles. For the rest, I am delighted to see you.
Come and breakfast with me when this affair is over. We will drink to
the happiness of two people who will certainly be very unhappy before
long."
"Ourselves?"
"No. The bride and bridegroom. 'Ye, who enter, leave all hope behind!'
How can people be so foolish as to enter into an engagement from which
there is no issue? The fools are not all dead yet."
"I am one of them," replied Gouache.
"You will probably have your wish. Providence has evidently preserved
you from sudden death in order to destroy you by lingering torture. Is
the wedding day fixed?"
"I wish it were."
"And the bride?"
"How can I tell?"
"Do you mean to say that, as an opinion, you would rather be married
than not? The only excuse for the folly of marrying is the still
greater folly of loving a woman enough to marry her. Of course, a man
who is capable of that, is capable of anything. Here comes the bride
with her father. Think of being tied to her until a merciful death part
you. Think of being son-in-law to that old man, until heaven shall be
pleased to remove him. Think of calling that stout English lady,
mother-in-law, until she is at last overtaken by apoplexy. Think of
calling all those relations brothers and sisters, Ascanio, Onorato,
Andrea, Isabella, Bianca, Faustina! It is a day's work to learn their
names and titles. She wears a veil--to hide her satisfaction--a wreath
of orange flowers, artificial, too, made of paper and paste and wire,
symbols of innocence, of course, pliable and easily patched together.
She looks down, lest the priest should see that her eyes are laughing.
Her father is whispering words of comfort and encouragement into her
ear. 'Mind your expression,' he is saying, no doubt--'you must not look
as though you were being sacrificed, nor as though you were too glad to
be married, for everybody is watching you. Do not say, I will, too
loudly nor inaudibly either, and remember that you are my daughter.'
Very good advice. Now she kneels down and he crosses to the other side.
She bends her head very low. She is looking under her elbow to see the
folds of her train. You see--she moves her heel to make the gown fall
better--I told you so. A pretty figure, all in white, before the great
altar with the lights, and the priest in his robes, and the organ
playing, and that Hercules in a black coat for a husband. Now she looks
up. The rings are there on the gold salver upon the altar. She has not
seen hers, and is wondering whether it is of plain gold, or a band of
diamonds, like the Princess Valdarno's. Now then--ego conjungo vos--the
devil, my friend, it is an awful sight!"
"Cynic!" muttered Gouache, with a suppressed laugh.
"There--it is done now, and she is already thinking what it will be
like to dine alone with him this evening, and several thousand evenings
hereafter. Cynic, you say? There are no more cynics. They are all
married, and must turn stoics if they can. Let us be off. No--there is
mass. Well then, go down on your knees and pray for their souls, for
they are in a bad case. Marriage is Satan's hot-house for poisonous
weeds. If anything can make a devil of an innocent girl it is marriage.
If anything can turn an honest man into a fiend it is matrimony. Pray
for them, poor creatures, if there is any available praying power left
in you, after attending to the wants of your own soul, which,
considering your matrimonial intentions, I should think very
improbable."
Gouache looked at his companion curiously, for Spicca's virulence
astonished him. He was not at all intimate with the man and had never
heard him express his views so clearly upon any subject. Unlike most
people, he was not in the least afraid of the melancholy Italian.
"From the way you talk," he remarked, "one might almost imagine that
you had been married yourself."
Spicca looked at him with an odd expression, in which there was
surprise as well as annoyance, and instead of making any answer,
crossed himself and knelt down upon the marble pavement. Gouache
followed his example instinctively.
Half an hour later the crowd moved slowly out of the church, and those
who had carriages waited in the huge vestibule while the long line of
equipages moved up to the gates. Gouache escaped from Spicca in the
hope of getting a sight of Faustina before she drove away with her
mother in one of the numerous Montevarchi coaches. Sant' Ilario and
Corona were standing by one of the pillars, conversing in low tones.
"Montevarchi looked as though he knew it," said Giovanni.
"What?" asked Corona, quietly.
"That his daughter is the future Princess Saracinesca."
"It remains to be seen whether he is right."
Gouache had been pushed by the crowd into one of the angles of the
pilaster while the two speakers stood before one of the four pillars of
which it was built up. The words astonished him so much that he forced
his way out until he could see the Princess of Sant' Ilario's beautiful
profile dark against the bright light of the street. She was still
speaking, but he could no longer hear her voice, some acoustic
peculiarity of the columns had in all probability been the means of
conveying to him the fragment of conversation he had overheard.
Avoiding recognition, he slipped away through an opening in the throng
and just succeeded in reaching the gate as the first of the Montevarchi
carriages drew up. The numerous members of the family were gathered on
the edge of the crowd, and Gouache managed to speak a few words with
Faustina.
The girl's delicate face lighted up when she was conscious of his
presence, and she turned her eyes lovingly to his. They met often now
in public, though San Giacinto did his best to keep them apart.
"Here is a secret," said Gouache in a quick whisper. "I have just heard
Sant' Ilario telling his wife that your sister is the future Princess
Saracinesca. What does it mean?"
Faustina looked at him in the utmost astonishment. It was clear that
she knew nothing of the matter at present.
"You must have heard wrong," she answered.
"Will you come to early mass to-morrow?" he asked hurriedly, for he had
no time to lose.
"I will try--if it is possible. It will be easier now that San Giacinto
is to be away. He knows everything, I am sure."
"San Giacinto?" It was Gouache's turn to be astonished. But
explanations were impossible in such a crowd, and Faustina was already
moving away.
"Say nothing about what I have told you," Anastase whispered as she
left him. She bowed her lovely head in silence and passed on.
And so the Marchese di San Giacinto took Flavia Montevarchi for his
wife, and all Rome looked on and smiled, and told imaginary stories of
his former life, acknowledging, nevertheless, that Flavia had done very
well--the stock phrase--since there was no doubt whatever but that the
gigantic bridegroom was the cousin of the Saracinesca, and rich into
the bargain. Amidst all the gossip and small talk no one, however, was
found who possessed enough imagination to foretell what in reality was
very imminent, namely, that the Marchese might turn out to be the
prince.
The last person to suspect such a revelation was San Giacinto himself.
He had indeed at one time entertained some hopes of pushing forward a
claim which was certainly founded upon justice if not upon good law,
but since Montevarchi had kept the documents relating to the case for
many days, and had then returned them without mentioning the subject to
his future son-in-law, the latter had thought it wiser to let the
matter rest for the present, shrewdly suspecting that such a man as
Montevarchi would not readily let such an opportunity of enriching his
own daughter slip through his fingers. It has been already seen that
Montevarchi purposely prevented San Giacinto from seeing the papers in
order that he might be in reality quite innocent of any complicity in
the matter when the proceedings were instituted, a point very important
for the success of the suit.
Half an hour afterwards San Giacinto was closeted with the old prince
in the latter's study, which looked more than usually dismal by
contrast with the brilliant assemblage in the drawing-rooms.
"Now that we are alone, my dear son," began Montevarchi, who for a
wonder had not changed his coat since the ceremony, "now that you are
really my son, I have an important communication to make."
San Giacinto sat down and any one might have seen from the expression
of his square jaw and determined mouth that he was prepared for battle.
He did not trust his father-in-law in the least, and would not have
been surprised if he had made an attempt to get back the money he had
paid into the lawyer's hands as Flavia's dowry. But San Giacinto had
taken all precautions and knew very well that he could not be cheated.
Montevarchi continued in a bland voice.
"I have kept the matter as a surprise for you," he said. "You have of
course been very busy during these last weeks in making your
preparations for the solemn ceremony at which we have just assisted. It
was therefore impossible for you to attend to the multifarious details
which it has been my care, my privilege, to sift and examine. For it is
a privilege we should value highly to labour for those we love, for
those with whom we share our dearest affections. I am now about to
communicate to you an affair of the highest importance, which, when
brought to a successful termination will exercise a tremendous
influence over all your life. Let me say beforehand, however, and lest
you should suspect me of any unworthy motives, that I expect no thanks,
nor any share in the immense triumph in store for you. Do not be
surprised if I use somewhat strong language on such an occasion. I have
examined everything, preserved everything, taken the best legal advice,
and consulted those without whose spiritual counsel I enter upon no
weighty undertaking. My dear son, you, and none other, are the real and
rightful Prince Saracinesca."
The climax to the long preamble was so unexpected that San Giacinto
uttered a loud exclamation of surprise.
"Do not be amazed at what I have told you," said Montevarchi. "The
documents upon which the claims of the Saracinesca rest were drawn up
by a wise man. Although he had not at that time any intention of
marrying, he was aware that with heaven all things are possible, and
introduced a clause to the effect that if he should marry and leave
heirs direct of his body, the whole deed was to be null, void and
ineffectual. I do not know enough of your family history to understand
why neither he nor his son nor his grandson ever made any attempt to
recover their birthright, but I know enough of law to affirm that the
clause is still good. It is identical"--the prince smiled
pleasantly--"it is identical in the original and in the copy preserved
in the Chancery archives. In my opinion you have only to present the
two documents before a competent court, in order to obtain a unanimous
verdict in your favour."
San Giacinto looked hard from under his overhanging brows at the old
man's keen face. Then, suddenly, he stuck his heavy fist into the palm
of his left hand, and rose from his chair, a gleam of savage triumph in
his eyes. For some time he paced the room in silence.
"I wish Giovanni no ill, nor his father either," he said at last.
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Montevarchi, crossing himself. "And besides,
as the property is all yours, that would be of no use."
San Giacinto stared a minute, and then his deep voice rang out in a
hearty laugh. He had an intimate conviction that his devout
father-in-law was quite capable, not only of wishing evil to his
neighbour, but of putting his wishes into execution if his interests
could be advanced thereby.
"No," he said, when his merriment had subsided, "I wish them no evil.
But, after all, they must know what is contained in the papers they
have in their possession, and they must know that I am the prince, and
that they have kept me out of my inheritance. I will go and tell them
so. Since there is no doubt about the case, I do not see why I should
wait."
"Nor I," answered Montevarchi, with the air of a man who has done his
part and expects others to finish what he has begun.
"It is fortunate that we have decided to go to Frascati instead of
making a journey to the end of Europe. Not but that, as I have never
seen Paris, I would have liked the trip well enough."
"You will find Paris pleasanter when you are Prince Saracinesca."
"That is true," replied San Giacinto, thoughtfully. There was the deep
light of anticipated triumph in his eyes. "Will you see that the proper
preliminary steps are taken?" he asked presently.
"I will engage lawyers for you. But you will have to do the rest
yourself. The lawyers might go out and talk it over with you in
Frascati. After all, you are a young man of good sense, and will not
have any sentiment about being alone with your wife."
"For the matter of that, I anticipate much pleasure in the society of
my wife, but when there is so much meat boiling, somebody must watch
the pot, as we used to say in Naples. I am a practical man, you know."
"Ah, that is a great quality, one of the very greatest! If I had spent
my life in a perpetual honeymoon with the princess, Casa Montevarchi
would not be what it is, my son. I have always given my best attention
to the affairs of my household, and I expect that you will continue the
tradition."
"Never fear! If, by continuing the tradition, you mean that I should
get what is mine, I will not disappoint you. Can you tell me when the
case can be tried, and in what court it will be heard?"
"With my influence," replied Montevarchi, "the case may be put through
at once. A month will suffice for the preliminaries, a day for the
hearing. Everything is settled at once by the exhibition of the
documents which provide for you in the most explicit terms. You can
come in from the country and see them for yourself if you please. But I
consider that quite unnecessary. The lawyers will settle everything."
"Pardon my curiosity, but I would like to know why you thought it best
not to tell me anything of the matter until now."
"My dear son, you were so busy with the preparations for your marriage,
and the questions involved seemed at first so doubtful that I thought
it best not to trouble you with them. Then, when I knew the whole truth
the time was so near that I preferred to give you the information as a
sort of wedding present."
"A magnificent one indeed, for which I cannot find words to express my
gratitude."
"No, no! Do not talk of gratitude. I feel that I am fulfilling a sacred
duty in restoring to the fatherless his birthright. It is an act of
divine justice for the execution of which I have been chosen as the
humble instrument. Do your duty by my dear daughter, and render your
gratitude to heaven--quoe sunt Coesaris, Coesari, et quoe sunt Dei,
Deo! Would that we could all live by that rule!"
"To Saracinesca what is his, and to San Giacinto that which belongs to
him--that is what you mean?"
"Yes, my good son. I am glad to see that you understand Latin. It does
you credit that amidst the misfortunes of your early life you should
have so improved yourself as to possess the education necessary to the
high rank you are about to assume. I tell you frankly that, in spite of
your personal qualities, in spite of the great name and possessions
which will soon be yours, if I had not distinguished in you that
refinement and instruction without which no gentleman is worthy of the
name, I would not have bestowed upon you the hand of that sweet
creature whom I have cherished as a flower in the house of my old age."
San Giacinto had made a study of old Montevarchi during a month past,
and was not in the least deceived by his rounded periods and well
expressed moral sentiments. But he smiled and bowed, enjoying the idea
of attributing such flattery to himself in proportion as he felt that
he was unworthy of it. He had indeed done his best to acquire a certain
amount of instruction, as his father-in-law called it, and his tastes
were certainly not so coarse as might have been expected, but he was
too strong a man to be easily deceived concerning his own powers, and
he knew well enough that he owed his success to his fortune. He saw,
too, that Montevarchi, in giving him Flavia, had foreseen the
possibility of his claiming the rights of his cousins, and if he had
not been thoroughly satisfied with his choice he would have now felt
that he had been deceived. He had no regrets, however, for he felt that
even had he already enjoyed the titles and wealth he was so soon to
claim, he would nevertheless have chosen Flavia for his wife. Of all
the young girls he had seen in Rome she was the only one who really
attracted him; a fact due, perhaps, to her being more natural than the
rest, or at least more like what he thought a woman should naturally
be. His rough nature would not have harmonised with Faustina's
character; still less could he have understood and appreciated a woman
like Corona, who was indeed almost beyond the comprehension of
Giovanni, her own husband. San Giacinto was almost a savage, compared
with the young men of the class to which he now belonged, and there was
something wild and half-tamed in Flavia Montevarchi which, had
fascinated him from the first, and held him by that side of his
temperament by which alone savages are governed.
Had the bringing of the suit been somewhat hastened it is not
impossible that San Giacinto and his wife might have driven up to the
ancient towers of Saracinesca on that Saturday afternoon, as Giovanni
and Corona had done on their wedding day two years and a half earlier.
As it was, they were to go out to Frascati to spend a week in
Montevarchi's villa, as the prince and princess and all their married
children had done before them.
"Eh! what a satisfaction!" exclaimed Flavia, with a sigh of relief as
the carriage rolled out of the deep archway under the palace. Then she
laughed a little and looked up at her husband out of the corners of her
bright black eyes, after which she produced a very pretty silver
scent-bottle which her mother had put into her hand as a parting gift.
She looked at it, turned it round, opened it and at last smelled the
contents.
"Ugh!" she cried, shutting it up quickly and making a wry face. "It is
full of salts--horrible! I thought it was something good to smell! Did
she think I was going to faint on the way?"
"You do not look like fainting," remarked San Giacinto, who looked
gigantic in a wide fur pelisse. He put out his great hand, which closed
with a sort of rough tenderness over hers, completely hiding it as well
as the smelling-bottle she held. "So it is a satisfaction, is it?" he
asked, with a gleam of pleasure in his deep-set eyes.
"If you had been educated under the supervision of the eccellentissima
casa Montevarchi, you would understand what a blessed institution
marriage is! You--what shall I call you--your name is Giovanni, is it
not?"
"Yes--Giovanni. Do you like the name?"
"No--it reminds me of the head of John the Baptist. I will call
you--let me see--Nino. Yes--that sounds so small, and you are so
immensely big. You are Nino, in future. I am glad you are big. I do not
like little men." She nestled close to the giant, with a laugh that
pleased him.
San Giacinto suddenly found that he was very much more in love than he
had supposed. His life had been very full of contrasts, but this was
the greatest which had yet presented itself. He remembered a bright
summer's morning a few years earlier, when he had walked back from the
church in Aquila with Felice Baldi by his side. Poor Felice! She had
worn a very pretty black silk frock with a fine gold chain around her
neck, and a veil upon her head, for she was not of the class "that wear
hats," as they say in Rome. But she had forced her stout hands into
gloves, and Giovanni the innkeeper had been somewhat proud of her
ladylike appearance. Her face was very red and there were tears of
pleasure and timidity in her eyes, which he remembered very well. It
was strange that she, too, should have been proud of her husband's size
and strength. Perhaps all women were very much alike. How well he
remembered the wedding collation, the little yellow cakes with a drop
of hard pink sugar in the middle of each, the bottles of sweet cordial
of various flavours, cinnamon, clove, aniseseed and the like, the
bright red japanned tray, and the cheaply gaudy plates whereon were
painted all manner of impossible flowers.
Felice was dead, buried in the campo santo of Aquila, with its
whitewashed walls of enclosure and its appalling monuments and mortuary
emblems. Poor Felice! She had been a good wife, and he had been a good
husband to her. She was such a simple creature that he could almost
fancy her spirit shedding tears of satisfied pride at seeing her
Giovanni married to a princess, rich and about to be metamorphosed into
a prince himself. She had known that he was a Marchese of a great
family, and had often begged him to let her be called the Signora
Marchesa. But he had always told her that for people in their position
it was absurd. They were not poor for their station; indeed, they were
among the wealthiest of their class in Aquila. He had promised to
assert his title when they should be rich enough, but poor Felice had
died too soon. Then had come that great day when Giovanni had won in
the lottery--Giovanni who had never played before and had all his life
called it a waste of money and a public robbery. But, playing once, he
had played high, and all his numbers had appeared on the following
Saturday. Two hundred thousand francs in a day! Such luck only falls to
the lot of men who are born under destiny. Giovanni had long known what
he should do if he only possessed the capital. The winnings were paid
in cash, and in a fortnight he had taken up a government contract in
the province of Aquila. Then came another and another. Everything
turned to gold in his hands, and in two years he was a rich man.
Alone in the world, with his two little boys, and possessed of
considerable wealth, the longing had come over him to take the position
to which he had a legitimate right, a position which, he supposed,
would not interfere with his increasing his fortune if he wished to do
so. He had left the children under the supervision of old Don Paolo,
the curate, and had come to Rome, where he had lodged in an obscure
hotel until he had fitted himself to appear before his cousins as a
gentleman. His grave temper, indomitable energy, and natural astuteness
had done the rest, and fortune had crowned all his efforts. The old
blood of the Saracinesca had grown somewhat coarse by the admixture of
a stream very far from blue; but if it had lost in some respects it had
gained in others, and the type was not wholly low. The
broad-shouldered, dark-complexioned giant was not altogether unworthy
of the ancient name, and he knew it as his wife nestled to his side. He
loved the wild element in her, but most of all he loved the
thoroughbred stamp of her face, the delicacy of her small hands, the
aristocratic ring of her laughter, for these all told him that, after
three generations of obscurity he had risen again to the level whence
his fathers had fallen.
The change in his life became very dear to him, as all these things
passed quickly through his mind; and with the consciousness of vivid
contrast came the certainty that he loved Flavia far better than he had
believed possible.
"And what shall I call you?" he asked, rather bluntly. He did not quite
know whether it would be wise to use any term of endearment or not.
Indeed, this was the weak point in his experience, but he supplemented
the deficiency by a rough tenderness which was far from disagreeable to
Flavia.
"Anything you like, dear," she answered. San Giacinto felt the blood
rush to his head with pleasure as he heard the epithet.
"Anything?" he asked, with a very unwonted tremour in his voice.
"Anything--provided you will love me," she replied. He thought he had
never seen such wicked, fascinating eyes. He drew her face to his and
looked into them a moment, his own blazing suddenly with a passion
wholly new to him.
"I will not call you anything--instead of calling you, I will kiss
you--so--is it not better than any name?"
A deep blush spread over Flavia's face and then subsided suddenly,
leaving her very pale. For a long time neither spoke again.
"Did your father tell you the news before we left?" asked San Giacinto
at last, when they were rolling over the Campagna along the Via Latina.
"No--what?"
"It is somewhat remarkable news. If you are afraid of fainting," he
added, with rough humour, "hold your bottle of salts ready."
Flavia looked up uneasily, wondering whether there were anything wrong
about San Giacinto. She knew very well that her father had been glad to
get rid of her.
"I am not San Giacinto after all," he said quietly. Flavia started and
drew back.
"Who are you then?" she asked quickly.
"I am Prince Saracinesca, and you are the princess." He spoke very
calmly, and watched her face to see the effect of the news.
"I wish you were!" she exclaimed nervously. She wondered whether he was
going mad.
"There seems to be no doubt about it," he answered, "your father
informed me of the fact as a wedding present. He has examined all the
papers and will send the lawyers out to Frascati to prepare the case
with me."
He told her the whole story in detail. As he proceeded, a singular
expression came into Flavia's face, and when he had finished she broke
out into voluble expressions of joy.
"I always knew that I was born to be a princess--I mean a real one! How
could I be anything else? Oh! I am so happy, and you are such a darling
to be a prince! And to think that if papa had not discovered the
papers, those horrid Sant' Ilario people would have had everything.
Princess Saracinesca! Eh, but how it sounds! Almost as good as Orsini,
and much nicer with you, you great big, splendid lion! Why did they not
call you Leone? It is too good to be true! And I always hated Corona,
ever since I was a little girl and she was the Astrardente, because she
used to say I did not behave well and that Faustina was much
prettier--I heard her say so when I was behind the curtains. Why did
you not find it out ever so long ago? Think what a wedding we should
have had, just like Sant' Ilario's! But it was very fine after all, and
of course there is nothing to complain of. Evviva! Evviva! Do give me
one of those cigarettes--I never smoked in my life, and I am so happy
that I know it will not hurt me!"
San Giacinto had his case in his hand, and laughed as he presented it
to her. Quiet as he was in his manner he was far the happier of the
two, as he was far more capable of profound feeling than the wild girl
who was now his wife. He was glad, too, to see that she was so
thoroughly delighted, for he knew well enough that even after he had
gained the suit he would need the support of an ambitious woman to
strengthen his position. He did not believe that the Saracinesca would
submit tamely to such a tremendous shock of fortune, and he foresaw
that their resentment would probably be shared by a great number of
their friends.
Flavia looked prettier than ever as she put the bit of rolled paper
between her red lips and puffed away with an energy altogether
unnecessary. He would not have believed that, being already so
brilliant and good to see, a piece of unexpected good news could have
lent her expression so much more brightness. She was positively
radiant, as she looked from his eyes at her little cigarette, and then,
looking back to him again, laughed and snapped her small gloved fingers.
"Do you know," she said presently, with a glance that completed the
conquest of San Giacinto's heart, "I thought I should be dreadfully shy
with you--at first--and I am not in the least! I confess, at the very
moment when you were putting the ring on my finger I was wondering what
we should talk about during the drive."
"You did not think we should have such an agreeable subject of
conversation, did you?"
"No--and it is such a pretty ring! I always wanted a band of
diamonds--plain gold is so common. Did you think of it yourself or did
some one else suggest the idea?"
"Castellani said it was old-fashioned," answered San Giacinto, "but I
preferred it."
"Would you have liked one, too?"
"No. It would be ridiculous for a man."
"You have very good taste," remarked Flavia, eyeing him critically.
"Where did you get it? You used to keep a hotel in Aquila, did you not?"
San Giacinto had long been prepared for the question and did not wince
nor show the slightest embarrassment. He smiled calmly as he answered
her.
"You would hardly have called it a hotel, it was a country inn. I
daresay I shall manage Saracinesca all the better for having kept a
hostelry."
"Of course. Oh, I have such a delightful idea! Let us go to Aquila and
keep the hotel together. It would be such fun! You could say you had
married a little shop-keeper's daughter in Rome, you know. Just for a
month, Nino--do let us do it! It would be such a change after society,
and then we would go back for the Carnival. Oh, do!"
"But you forget the lawsuit--"
"That is true. Besides, it will be just as much of a change to be
Princess Saracinesca. But we can do it another time. I would like so
much to go about in an apron with a red cotton handkerchief on my head
and see all the queer people! When are the lawyers coming?"
"During the week, I suppose."
"There will be a fight," said Flavia, her face growing more grave.
"What will Sant' Ilario and his father say and do? I cannot believe
that it will all go so smoothly as you think. They do not look like
people who would give up easily what they have had so long. I suppose
they will be quite ruined."
"I do not know. Corona is rich in her own right, and Sant' Ilario has
his mother's fortune. Of course, they will be poor compared with their
present wealth. I am sorry for them--"
"Sorry?" Flavia looked at her husband in some astonishment. "It is
their own fault. Why should you be sorry?"
"It is not exactly their fault. I could hardly have expected them to
come to me and inform me that a mistake had been made in the last
century, and that all they possessed was mine."
"All they possessed!" echoed Flavia, thoughtfully. "What a wonderful
idea it is!"
"Very wonderful," assented San Giacinto, who was thinking once more of
his former poverty.
The carriage rolled on and both were silent for some time, absorbed in
dreaming of the greatness which was before them in the near future, San
Giacinto enumerating in his mind the titles and estates which were soon
to be his, while Flavia imagined herself in Corona's place in Rome,
grown suddenly to be a central figure in society, leading and
organising the brilliant amusements of her world, and above all,
rejoicing in that lavish use of abundant money which had always seemed
to her the most desirable of all enjoyments.