since she was virtually the mistress of the house.  But Corona regarded the matter in much the same light as the old gentleman himself, feeling that nothing of such a nature could possibly injure the imposing position of her husband’s family, and taking it for granted that no one who had good blood in his veins could ever behave outrageously.  Of all the three, Sant’ Ilario was the most silent and thoughtful, for he feared certain consequences from the arrival of this new relation which did not present themselves to the minds of the others, and was resolved to be cautious accordingly, even while appearing to receive San Giacinto with all due cordiality.  Later in the day he was alone with his father for a few minutes.

“Do you like this fellow?” he asked, abruptly.

“No,” answered the prince.

“Neither do I, though I have not seen him.”

“We shall see,” was the old gentleman’s answer.

The evening came, and at the appointed hour San Giacinto was announced.  Both Corona and her husband were surprised at his imposing appearance, as well as at the dignity and self-possession he displayed.  His southern accent was not more noticeable than that of many Neapolitan gentlemen, and his conversation, if neither very brilliant nor very fluent, was not devoid of interest.  He talked of the agricultural condition of the new Italy, and old Saracinesca and his son were both interested in the subject.  They noticed, too, that during dinner no word escaped him which could give any clue to his former occupation or position, though afterwards, when the servants were not present, he alluded more than once with a frank smile to his experiences as an innkeeper.  On the whole, he seemed modest and reserved, yet perfectly self-possessed and conscious of his right to be where he was.

Such conduct on the part of such a man did not appear so surprising to the Saracinesca household, as it would have seemed to foreigners.  San Giacinto had said that he had an adaptable character, and that adaptability is one of the most noticeable features of the Italian race.  It is not necessary to discuss the causes of this peculiarity.  They would be incomprehensible to the foreigner at large, who never has any real understanding of Italians.  I do not hesitate to say that, without a single exception, every foreigner, poet or prose-writer, who has treated of these people has more or less grossly misunderstood them.  That is a sweeping statement, when it is considered that few men of the highest genius in our century have not at one time or another set down upon paper their several estimates of the Italian race.  The requisite for accurately describing people, however, is not genius, but knowledge of the subject.  The poet commonly sees himself in others, and the modern writer upon Italy is apt to believe that he can see others in himself.  The reflection of an Italian upon the mental retina of the foreigner is as deceptive as his own outward image is when seen