“That is true,” returned Giovanni.  In the suddenness of the news, it had not struck him that his father would ever look favourably upon the match, although the immediate possibility of the marriage had burst upon him as a great light suddenly rising in a thick darkness.  But his nature, as strong as his father’s, was a little more delicate, a shade less rough; and even in the midst of his great joy, it struck him as heartless to be discussing the chances of marrying a woman whose husband was not yet buried.  No such scruple disturbed the geniality of the old Prince.  He was an honest and straightforward man—­a man easily possessed by a single idea—­and he was capable of profound affections.  He had loved his Spanish wife strongly in his own fashion, and she had loved him, but there was no one left to him now but his son, whom he delighted in, and he regarded the rest of the world merely as pawns to be moved into position for the honour and glory of the Saracinesca.  He thought no more of a man’s life than of the end of a cigar, smoked out and fit to be thrown away.  Astrardente had been nothing to him but an obstacle.  It had not struck him that he could ever be removed; but since it had pleased Providence to take him out of the way, there was no earthly reason for mourning his death.  All men must die—­it was better that death should come to those who stood in the way of their fellow-creatures.

“I am not at all sure that she will consent,” said Giovanni, beginning to walk up and down the room.

“Bah!” ejaculated his father.  “You are the best match in Italy.  Why should any woman refuse you?”

“I am not so sure.  She is not like other women.  Let us not talk of it now.  It will not be possible to do anything for a year, I suppose.  A year is a long time.  Meanwhile I will go to that poor man’s funeral.”

“Of course.  So will I.”

And they both went, and found themselves in a vast crowd of acquaintances.  No one had believed that Astrardente could ever die, that the day would ever come when society should know his place no more; and with one consent everybody sent their carriages to the funeral, and went themselves a day or two later to the great requiem Mass in the parish church.  There was nothing to be seen but the great black catafalque, with Corona’s household of servants in deep mourning liveries kneeling behind it.  Relations she had none, and the dead man was the last of his race—­ she was utterly alone.

“She need not have made it so terribly impressive,” said Madame Mayer to Valdarno when the Mass was over.  Madame Mayer paused beside the holy-water basin, and dipping one gloved finger, she presented it to Valdarno with an engaging smile.  Both crossed themselves.

“She need not have got it up so terribly impressively, after all,” she repeated.

“I daresay she will miss him at first,” returned Valdarno, who was a kind-hearted fellow enough, and was very far from realising how much he had contributed to the sudden death of the old dandy.  “She is a strange woman.  I believe she had grown fond of him.”