The porter replied that she was not visible, and that the prince had gone out.  There was nothing to be done, and he turned to go away.  Suddenly he stopped as he stood under the deep arch, facing the blank wall on the opposite side of the street.  That same wall was broad and smooth and dark in colour.  He only looked at it a moment, and then to excuse his hesitation in the eyes of the porter, he took out a cigarette, and lit it before going out.  As he passed through the Piazza Colonna a few minutes later he went into a shop and bought two large tubes of paint with a broad brush.  That night, when he was relieved from duty, he went back to the Palazzo Montevarchi.  It was very late, and the streets were deserted.  He stood before the great closed doors of the palace and then walked straight across the street to the blank wall with his paint and brush in his hands.

On the following morning when the Montevarchi porter opened the gates his eyes were rejoiced by some most extraordinary specimens of calligraphy executed upon the dark stones with red paint of a glaringly vivid hue.  The letters A. G. were drawn at least four feet high in the centre, and were repeated in every size at irregular intervals for some distance above, below, and on each side.  The words “Domenica,” Sunday, and “Messa,” mass, were scrawled everywhere in capitals, in roundhand, large and small.  Then to give the whole the air of having been designed by a street-boy, there were other words, such as “Viva Pio IX.,” “Viva il Papa Re,” and across these, in a different manner, and in green paint, “Viva Garibaldi,” “Morte a Antonelli,” and similar revolutionary sentiments.  The whole, however, was so disposed that Gouache’s initials and the two important words stood out in bold relief from the rest, and could not fail to attract the eye.

Of the many people who came and went that day through the great gate of the Palazzo Montevarchi two only attached any importance to the glaring scrawls on the opposite wall.  One of these was Faustina herself, who saw and understood.  The other was San Giacinto, who stared at the letters for several seconds, and then smiled faintly as he entered the palace.  He, too, knew what the signs meant, and remarked to himself that Gouache was an enterprising youth, but that, in the interest of the whole tribe of Montevarchi, it would be well to put a stop to his love-making as soon as possible.  It was now Saturday afternoon and there was no time to be lost.

San Giacinto made a short visit, and, on leaving, went immediately to the Palazzo Saracinesca.  He knew that at four o’clock Corona would probably not yet be at home.  This turned out to be the case, and having announced his intention of waiting for her return he was ushered into the sitting-room.  As soon as the servant was gone he went to Corona’s writing-table and took from it a couple of sheets of her paper and two of her envelopes.  These latter were stamped with a coronet and her initials.  He folded the paper carefully and put the four bits into his pocket-book.  He waited ten minutes, but no one came.  Then he left the house, telling the servant to say that he had called and would return presently.  In a few minutes he was at his lodgings, where he proceeded to write the following note.  He had taken two sheets in case the first proved a failure:—­