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"The boy is in love!" he exclaimed abruptly, and a laugh that was still deep and ringing followed the words. Orsino recovered his self-possession and smiled carelessly. Corona was thoughtful during the remainder of the meal. The Princess Sant' Ilario's early life had been deeply stirred by the great makers of human character, sorrow and happiness.
There was an almost imperceptible shade of surprise in the tone which did not escape Giovanni. On the other hand it was perfectly clear to Gouache that Sant' Ilario's interest in the matter was connected with Orsino. "I cannot find any one who knows anything definite," said Giovanni after a pause. "Have you tried Spicca?" asked the artist, examining his work critically. "No. Why Spicca?"
Gouache had been pushed by the crowd into one of the angles of the pilaster while the two speakers stood before one of the four pillars of which it was built up. The words astonished him so much that he forced his way out until he could see the Princess of Sant' Ilario's beautiful profile dark against the bright light of the street.
The rich blood softly coloured the child's dark cheeks, and the black lashes, already long, like his mother's, gave a singularly expressive look to the small face. Giovanni tenderly kissed his wife and then they softly left the room. As soon as they were outside Sant' Ilario's thoughts returned to Faustina. "She was certainly not in the drawing-room," he said, "I am quite sure.
And I always hated Corona, ever since I was a little girl and she was the Astrardente, because she used to say I did not behave well and that Faustina was much prettier I heard her say so when I was behind the curtains. Why did you not find it out ever so long ago? Think what a wedding we should have had, just like Sant' Ilario's!
The palace itself was a stern old fortress in the midst of the older part of the city, but within there was a genial atmosphere of generous living, and, since Sant' Ilario's marriage with Corona, an air of refinement and good taste such as only a woman can impart to the house in which she dwells. The residence of the Montevarchi was very different.
If we can trust Fra Ilario's letter as a genuine record, which is unhappily a matter of some doubt, we have in this narration not only a picturesque, almost a melodramatically picturesque glimpse of the poet's apparition to those quiet monks in their seagirt house of peace, but also an interesting record of the destiny which presided over the first great work of literary art in a distinctly modern language.
But he was both willing and ready to consult San Giacinto, and went to the latter's house immediately on leaving Sant' Ilario's study. As for Giovanni, he was dimly conscious that he had made a mistake, though he did not care to acknowledge it. He was a good horseman and he was aware that he would have used a very different method with a restive colt.
She had seemed exhausted by the struggle she had already endured, but at Sant' Ilario's question, she straightened herself and came forward again one or two steps. Giovanni thought her eyes very strange, but she spoke collectedly and clearly. "I can only say what I have said before," she answered. "My father sent for me this afternoon, I should think about three o'clock.
Then Sant' Ilario's clear, strong voice, rang like a clarion through the room. "Bar the gates. Shut the blinds all over the house it is of no use to let them break good windows. Don't stand there shivering like a fool. It is only a mob."
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