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Updated: May 3, 2025
But his father threw his arms round him and held him tightly. "Do you think I will lose another child?" he cried. "No, no, no figlio mio you shall never go out into the midst of a revolution." Sant' Ilario looked on gravely, though he inwardly despised the poor old man for his weakness. San Giacinto stood against the wall, waiting, with, a grim smile of amusement on his face.
"Perhaps she has been loose for some years," observed Sant' Ilario, speaking of her as though she were a dangerous wild animal. "We should have heard of her," objected the other. "She has the sort of personality which is noticed anywhere and which makes itself felt." "Then you incline to the belief that she dropped the Signor Aragno quietly overboard in the neighbourhood of the equator?"
They do not abound in Rome nor even, I believe, in Albano. My father killed one when he was a young man." "Prince Saracinesca?" "Sant' Ilario. My grandfather is still alive." "How splendid! I adore strong races." "It is very interesting," observed Gouache, poking the stick of a brush into the eye of his picture.
Sant' Ilario stared incredulously at his father, and then looked inquiringly at his wife as though to ask if it were not all a jest. When he was assured that the facts were true he looked grave and slowly stroked his pointed black beard, a gesture which was very unusual with him, and always accompanied the deepest meditation.
"Have you any reason to believe that there is anything irregular about this Madame d'Aranjuez?" asked Sant' Ilario. "No. Stories of that kind are generally inventions. She has not been presented at Court but that means nothing here. And there is a doubt about her nationality but no one has asked her directly about it." "May I ask who told you the stories?"
Sant' Ilario was somewhat taken aback by the Zouave's polite astonishment. He seemed even more angry than surprised, however; and his black eyebrows bent together fiercely. "Let us waste no words," he said imperiously. "If I had found you last night, the affair might have been over by this time." "What affair?" asked Gouache, more and more mystified.
Sant' Ilario had guessed rightly that the place of safety and secrecy to which he was to be conveyed was no other than the Holy Office, or prison of the Inquisition. He was familiar with the interior of the building, and knew that it contained none of the horrors generally attributed to it, so that, on the whole, he was well satisfied with the cardinal's choice.
Orsino strolled back to his father's side. "Who is she?" inquired Sant' Ilario with some curiosity. "The lady who wanted the tiger's skin Aranjuez I told you of her." "The portrait you gave me was not flattering. She is handsome, if not beautiful." "Did I say she was not?" asked Orsino with a visible irritation most unlike him. "I thought so. You said she had yellow eyes, red hair and a squint."
He felt a strange, almost uncontrollable longing to spring upon one of the tribunes, to raise his voice, to speak to the great multitude, to fire all those men to break out and carry everything before them. He laughed audibly at himself. Sant' Ilario looked at his son with some curiosity. "What amuses you?" he asked. "A dream," answered Orsino, still smiling.
And indeed he seemed to be, as he stood wringing his hands, stamping his feet, and vociferating incoherently, while the tears began to flow down his cheeks. "We are going in search of your daughter," said Sant' Ilario. "Pray calm yourself. She will certainly be found." "Perhaps I had better go too," suggested Ascanio Bellegra, rather timidly.
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