“Donna Tullia,” continued Giovanni, “I am willing to believe from your manner that you are really sure that I am the man mentioned in your papers; but permit me to inform you that you have been made the victim of a shallow trick, probably by the person who gave those same papers into your hands, and suggested to you the use you have made of them.”

“I?  I, the victim of a trick?” repeated Donna Tullia, frightened at last by his obstinately calm manner.

“Yes,” he replied.  “I know Aquila and the Abruzzi very well.  It chances that although we, the Saracinesca of Rome, are not numerous, the name is not uncommon in that part of the country.  It is the same with all our great names.  There are Colonna, Orsini, Caetani all over the country—­there are even many families bearing the name of the Medici, who are extinct.  You know it as well as I, or you should know it, for I believe your mother was my father’s cousin.  Has it not struck you that this same Giovanni Saracinesca herein mentioned, is simply some low-born namesake of mine?”

Donna Tullia had grown very pale, and she leaned upon the table as though she were faint.  The others listened breathlessly.

“I do not believe it,” said Madame Mayer, in a low and broken voice.

“Now I will tell you what I will do,” continued Giovanni.  “I will go to Aquila at once, and I daresay my father will accompany me—­”

“Of course I will,” broke in the old Prince.

“We will go, and in a fortnight’s time we will produce the whole history of this Giovanni Saracinesca, together with his wife and himself in his own person, if they are both alive; we will bring them here, and they will assure you that you have been egregiously deceived, played upon and put in a false position by—­by the person who furnished you with these documents.  I wonder that any Roman of common-sense should not have seen at once the cause of this mistake.”

“I cannot believe it,” murmured Donna Tullia.  Then raising her voice, she added, “Whatever may be the result of your inquiry, I cannot but feel that I have done my duty in this affair.  I do not believe in your theory, nor in you, and I shall not, until you produce this other man.  I have done my duty—­”

“An exceedingly painful one, no doubt,” remarked old Saracinesca.  Then he broke into a loud peal of laughter.

“And if you do not succeed in your search, it will be my duty, in the interests of society, to put the matter in the hands of the police.  Since you have the effrontery to say that those papers are of no use, I demand them back.”

“Not at all, madam,” replied the Prince, whose laughter subsided at the renewed boldness of her tone.  “I will not give them back to you.  I intend to compare them with the originals.  If there are no originals, they will serve very well to commit the notary whose seal is on them, and yourself, upon a well-founded indictment for forgery, wilful calumniation, and a whole list of crimes sufficient to send you to the galleys for life.  If, on the other hand, the originals exist, they can be of no possible value to you, as you can send to Aquila and have fresh copies made whenever you please, as you yourself informed me.”