“But she is our cousin—­you cannot do that,” objected Giovanni.

“Indeed I will.  I am angry.  Do not try to stop me.  Do you suppose I care anything for the relationship in comparison with repaying her for all this trouble?  You are not going to turn merciful, Giovanni?  I should not recognise you.”

There was a sort of mournful reproach about the old Prince’s tone, as though he were reproving his son for having fallen from the paths of virtue.  Corona laughed; she was not hard-hearted, but she was not so angelic of nature as to be beyond feeling deep and lasting resentment for injuries received.  At that moment the idea of bringing Donna Tullia to justice was pleasant.

“Well,” said Giovanni, “no human being can boast of having ever prevented you from doing whatever you were determined to do.  The best thing that can happen will be, that you should find the papers genuine, and my namesake alive.  I wish Aquila were Florence or Naples,” he added, turning to Corona; “you might manage to go at the same time.”

“That is impossible,” she answered, sadly.  “How long will you be gone, do you think?”

Giovanni did not believe that, if the papers were genuine, and if they had to search for the man mentioned in them, they could return in less than a fortnight.

“Why not send a detective—­a sbirro?” suggested Corona.

“He could not accomplish anything,” replied the Prince.

“He would be at a great disadvantage there; we must go ourselves.”

“Both?” asked Corona, regretfully, gazing at Giovanni’s face.

“It is my business,” replied the latter.  “I can hardly ask my father to go alone.”

“Absurd!” exclaimed the old Prince, resenting the idea that he needed any help to accomplish his mission.  “Do you think I need some one to take care of me, like a baby in arms?  I will go alone; you shall not come even if you wish it.  Absurd, to talk of my needing anybody with me!  I will show you what your father can do when his blood is up.”

Protestations were useless after that.  The old man grew angry at the opposition, and, regardless of all propriety, seized his hat and left the room, growling that he was as good as anybody, and a great deal better.

Corona and Giovanni looked at each other when he was gone, and smiled.

“I believe my father is the best man alive,” said Giovanni.  “He would go in a moment if I would let him.  I will go after him and bring him back—­I suppose I ought.”

“I suppose so,” answered Corona; but as they stood side by side, she passed her hand under his arm affectionately, and looked into his eyes.  It was a very tender look, very loving and gentle—­such a look as none but Giovanni had ever seen upon her face.  He put his arm about her waist and drew her to him, and kissed her dark cheek.

“I cannot bear to go away and leave you, even for a day,” he said, pressing her to his side.