“If you refuse, you shall leave my house a month from to-day,” said the Prince, savagely.

“Whereby I shall be fulfilling your previous commands, in setting up an establishment for myself and living like a gentleman,” returned Giovanni, with a bitter laugh.  “It is nothing to me—­if you turn me out.  I am rich, as you justly observed.”

“You will have the more leisure to lead the life you like best,” retorted the Prince; “to hang about in society, to go where you please, to make love to—­” the old man stopped a moment.  His son was watching him fiercely, his hand clenched upon the table, his face as white as death.

“To whom?” he asked with a terrible effort to be calm.

“Do you think I am afraid of you?  Do you think your father is less strong or less fierce than you?  To whom?” cried the angry old man, his whole pent-up fury bursting out as he rose suddenly to his feet.  “To whom but to Corona d’Astrardente—­to whom else should you make love?—­wasting your youth and life upon a mad passion!  All Rome says it—­I will say it too!”

“You have said it indeed,” answered Giovanni, in a very low voice.  He remained seated at the table, not moving a muscle, his face as the face of the dead.  “You have said it, and in insulting that lady you have said a thing not worthy for one of our blood to say.  God help me to remember that you are my father,” he added, trembling suddenly.

“Hold!” said the Prince, who, with all his ambition for his son, and his hasty temper, was an honest gentleman.  “I never insulted, her—­she is above suspicion.  It is you who are wasting your life in a hopeless passion for her.  See, I speak calmly—­”

“What does ’all Rome say’?” asked Giovanni, interrupting him.  He was still deadly pale, but his hand was unclenched, and as he spoke he rested his head upon it, looking down at the tablecloth.

“Everybody says that you are in love with the Astrardente, and that her husband is beginning to notice it.”

“It is enough, sir,” said Giovanni, in low tones.  “I will consider this marriage you propose.  Give me until the spring to decide.”

“That is a long time,” remarked the old Prince, resuming his seat and beginning to peel an orange, as though nothing had happened.  He was far from being calm, but his son’s sudden change of manner had disarmed his anger.  He was passionate and impetuous, thoughtless in his language, and tyrannical in his determination; but he loved Giovanni dearly for all that.

“I do not think it long,” said Giovanni, thoughtfully.  “I give you my word that I will seriously consider the marriage.  If it is possible for me to marry Donna Tullia, I will obey you, and I will give you my answer before Easter-day.  I cannot do more.”

“I sincerely hope you will take my advice,” answered Saracinesca, now entirely pacified.  “If you cannot make up your mind to the match, I may be able to find something else.  There is Bianca Valdarno—­she will have a quarter of the estate.”