“I was caught in the rain this afternoon,” remarked the Prince.

“I hope you will not have a cold,” replied his son, civilly.  “Why do you walk in such weather?”

“And you—­why do you walk?” retorted his father.  “Are you less likely to take cold than I am?  I walk because I have always walked.”

“That is an excellent reason.  I walk because I do not keep a carriage.”

“Why do not you keep one if you wish to?” asked the Prince.

“I will do as you wish.  I will buy an equipage tomorrow, lest I should again walk in the rain and catch cold.  Where did you see me on foot?”

“In the Orso, half an hour ago.  Why do you talk about my wishes in that absurd way?”

“Since you say it is absurd, I will not do so,” said Giovanni, quietly.

“You are always contradicting me,” said the Prince.  “Some wine, Pasquale.”

“Contradicting you?” repeated Giovanni.  “Nothing could be further from my intentions.”

The old Prince slowly sipped a glass of wine before he answered.

“Why do not you set up an establishment for yourself and live like a gentleman?” he asked at length.  “You are rich—­why do you go about on foot and dine in cafes?”

“Do I ever dine at a cafe when you are dining alone?”

“You have got used to living in restaurants in Paris,” retorted his father.  “It is a bad habit.  What was the use of your mother leaving you a fortune, unless you will live in a proper fashion?”

“I understand you very well,” answered Giovanni, his dark eyes beginning to gleam.  “You know all that is a pretence.  I am the most home-staying man of your acquaintance.  It is a mere pretence.  You are going to talk about my marriage again.”

“And has any one a more natural right to insist upon your marriage than I have?” asked the elder man, hotly.  “Leave the wine on the table, Pasquale—­and the fruit—­here.  Give Don Giovanni his cheese.  I will ring for the coffee—­leave us.”  The butler and the footman left the room.  “Has any one a more natural right, I ask?” repeated the Prince when they were alone.

“No one but myself, I should say,” answered Giovanni, bitterly.

“Yourself—­yourself indeed!  What have you to say about it?  This a family matter.  Would you have Saracinesca sold, to be distributed piecemeal among a herd of dogs of starving relations you never heard of, merely because you are such a vagabond, such a Bohemian, such a break-neck, crazy good-for-nothing, that you will not take the trouble to accept one of all the women who rush into your arms?”

“Your affectionate manner of speaking of your relatives is only surpassed by your good taste in describing the probabilities of my marriage,” remarked Giovanni, scornfully.

“And you say you never contradict me!” exclaimed the Prince, angrily.

“If this is an instance, I can safely say so.  Comment is not contradiction.”