Valdarno remained seated in the cafe, rather disturbed at what he had done.  He certainly had had no intention of raising such a storm; he was a weak and good-natured fellow, whose vanity was easily wounded, but who was not otherwise very sensitive, and was certainly not very intelligent.  Astrardente had laughed at him and his friends in a way which touched him to the quick, and with childish petulance he had retaliated in the easiest way which presented itself.  Indeed there was more foundation for his tale than Astrardente would allow.  At least it was true that the story was in the mouths of all the gossips that morning, and Valdarno had only repeated what he had heard.  He had meant to annoy the old man; he had certainly not intended to make him so furiously angry.  As for the deliberate insult he had received, it was undoubtedly very shocking to be told that one lied in such very plain terms; but on the other hand, to demand satisfaction of such an old wreck as Astrardente would be ridiculous in the extreme.  Valdarno was incapable of very violent passion, and was easily persuaded that he was in the wrong when any one contradicted him flatly; not that he was altogether devoid of a certain physical courage if hard pushed, but because he was not very strong, not very confident of himself, not very combative, and not very truthful.  When Astrardente was gone, he waited a few minutes, and then sauntered up the Corso again towards the club, debating in his mind how he should turn a good story out of his morning’s adventure without making himself appear either foolish or pusillanimous.  It was also necessary so to turn his narrative that in case any one repeated it to Giovanni, the latter might not propose to cut his throat, though it was not probable that any one would be bold enough to desire a conversation with the younger Saracinesca on such a subject.

When he again entered the smoking-room of the club, he was greeted by a chorus of inquiries concerning his interview with Astrardente.

“What did he ask?  What did he say?  Where is he?  What did you tell him?  Did he drop his eyeglass?  Did he blush through his paint?”

Everybody spoke together in the same breath.  Valdarno’s vanity rose to the occasion.  Weak and insignificant by nature, he particularly delighted in being the centre of general interest, if even for a moment only.

“He really dropped his eyeglass,” he answered, with a gay laugh, “and he really changed colour in spite of his paint.”

“It must have been a terrible interview, then,” remarked one or two of the loungers.

“I shall be happy to offer you my services in case you wish to cut each other’s throats,” said a French officer of the Papal Zouaves who stood by the fireplace rolling a cigarette.  Whereupon everybody laughed loudly.

“Thanks,” answered Valdarno; “I am expecting a challenge every minute.  If he proposes a powder-puff and a box of rouge for the weapons, I accept without hesitation.  Well, it was very amusing.  He wanted to know all about it, and so I told him about the scene in Casa Frangipani.  He did not seem to understand at all.  He is a very obtuse old gentleman.”