“I should not call it enjoyment to be built up every day by one’s valet, like a card-house, merely to tumble to pieces again when the pins are taken out,” said Giovanni.

“You do not seem so enthusiastic in his defence as you were a few minutes ago,” said the Prince, with a smile.

Giovanni was so much disturbed at the surprising news that he hardly knew what he said.  He made a desperate attempt to be sensible.

“It appears to me that moral goodness and personal appearance are two things,” he said, oracularly.  The Prince burst into a loud laugh.

“Most people would say that!  Eat your dinner, Giovanni, and do not talk such arrant nonsense.”

“Why is it nonsense?  Because you do not agree with me?”

“Because you are too much excited to talk sensibly,” said his father.  “Do you think I cannot see it?”

Giovanni was silent for a time.  He was angry at his father for detecting the cause of his vagueness, but he supposed there was no help for it.  At last Pasquale left the room.  Old Saracinesca gave a sigh of relief.

“And now, Giovannino,” he said familiarly, “what have you got to say for yourself?”

“I?” asked his son, in some surprise.

“You!  What are you going to do?”

“I will stay at home,” said Giovanni, shortly.

“That is not the question.  You are wise to stay at home, because you ought to get yourself healed of that scratch.  Giovanni, the Astrardente is now a widow.”

“Seeing that her husband is dead—­of course.  There is vast ingenuity in your deduction,” returned the younger man, eyeing his father suspiciously.

“Do not be an idiot, Giovannino.  I mean, that as she is a widow, I have no objection to your marrying her.”

“Good God, sir!” cried Giovanni, “what do you mean?”

“What I say.  She is the most beautiful woman in Rome.  She is one of the best women I know.  She will have a sufficient jointure.  Marry her.  You will never be happy with a silly little girl just out of a convent You are not that sort of man.  The Astrardente is not three-and-twenty, but she has had five years of the world, and she has stood the test well.  I shall be proud to call her my daughter.”

In his excitement Giovanni sprang from his seat, and rushing to his father’s side, threw his arms round his neck and embraced him.  He had never done such a thing in his life.  Then he remained standing, and grew suddenly thoughtful.

“It is heartless of us to talk in this way,” he said.  “The poor man is not buried yet.”

“My dear boy,” said the old Prince, “Astrardente is dead.  He hated me, and was beginning to hate you, I fancy.  We were neither of us his friends, at any rate.  We do not rejoice at his death; we merely regard it in the light of an event which modifies our immediate future.  He is dead, and his wife is free.  So long as he was alive, the fact of your loving her was exceedingly unfortunate:  it was injuring you and doing a wrong to her.  Now, on the contrary, the greatest good fortune that can happen to you both is that you should marry each other.”