Saracinesca Part 54

"So, if I die without children the innkeeper will be prince."

"Precisely. And now, Giovanni, you must be married next week."

"As soon as you please--to-morrow if you like."

"What shall we do with Del Ferice?" asked the old prince.

"Ask him to the wedding," answered Giovanni, magnanimously.

"The wedding will have to be a very quiet one, I suppose," remarked his father, thoughtfully. "The year is hardly over--"

"The more quiet the better, provided it is done quickly. Of course we must consult Corona at once."

"Do you suppose I am going to fix the wedding-day without consulting her?" asked the old man. "For heaven's sake order dinner, and let us be quick about it."

The Prince was evidently in a hurry, and moreover, he was tired and very hungry. An hour later, as both the men sat over the coffee in the dining-room, his mood was mellower. A dinner at home has a wonderful effect upon the temper of a man who has travelled and fared badly for eight-and-forty hours.

"Giovannino," said old Saracinesca, "have you any idea what the Cardinal thinks of your marriage?"

"No; and I do not care," answered the younger man. "He once advised me not to marry Donna Tullia. He has not seen me often since then."

"I have an idea that it will please him immensely," said the Prince.

"It would be very much the same if it displeased him."

"Very much the same. Have you seen Corona today?"

"Yes--of course," answered Giovanni.

"What is the use of my going with you this evening?" asked his father, suddenly. "I should think you could manage your own affairs without my help."

"I thought that as you have taken so much trouble, you would enjoy telling her the story yourself."

"Do you think I am a vain fool, sir, to be amused by a woman's praise?

Nonsense! Go yourself."

"By all means," answered Giovanni. He was used to his father's habit of being quarrelsome over trifles, and he was much too happy to take any notice of it now.

"You are tired," he continued. "I am sure you have a right to be. You must want to go to bed."

"To bed indeed!" growled the old man. "Tired! You think I am good for nothing; I know you do. You look upon me as a doting old cripple. I tell you, boy, I can--"

"For heaven's sake, _padre mio_, do precisely as you are inclined. I never said--"

"Never said what? Why are you always quarrelling with me?" roared his father, who had not lost his temper for two days, and missed his favourite exercise.

"What day shall we fix upon?" asked Giovanni, unmoved.

"Day! Any day. What do I care? Oh!--well, since you speak of it, you might say a week from Sunday. To-day is Friday. But I do not care in the least."

"Very well--if Corona can get ready."

"She shall be ready--she must be ready!" answered the old gentleman, in a tone of conviction. "Why should she not be ready, I would like to know?"

"No reason whatever," said Giovanni, with unusual mildness.

"Of course not. There is never any reason in anything you say, you unreasonable boy."

"Never, of course." Giovanni rose to go, biting his lips to keep down a laugh.

"What the devil do you mean by always agreeing with me, you impertinent scapegrace? And you are laughing, too--laughing at me, sir, as I live!

Upon my word!"

Giovanni turned his back and lighted a cigar. Then, without looking round, he walked towards the door.

"Giovannino," called the Prince.

"Well?"

"I feel better now. I wanted to abuse somebody. Look here--wait a moment." He rose quickly, and left the room.

Giovanni sat down and smoked rather impatiently, looking at his watch from time to time. In five minutes his father returned, bringing in his hand an old red morocco case.

"Give it to her with my compliments, my boy," he said. "They are some of your mother's diamonds--just a few of them. She shall have the rest on the wedding-day."

"Thank you," said Giovanni, and pressed his father's hand.

"And give her my love, and say I will call to-morrow at two o'clock,"

added the Prince, now perfectly serene.

With the diamonds under his arm, Giovanni went out. The sky was clear and frosty, and the stars shone brightly, high up between the tall houses of the narrow street. Giovanni had not ordered a carriage, and seeing how fine the night was, he decided to walk to his destination. It was not eight o'clock, and Corona would have scarcely finished dinner at that hour. He walked slowly. As he emerged into the Piazza di Venezia some one overtook him.

"Good evening, Prince." Giovanni turned, and recognised Anastase Gouache, the Zouave.

"Ah, Gouache--how are you?"

"I am going to pay you a visit," answered the Frenchman.

"I am very sorry--I have just left home," returned Giovanni, in some surprise.

"Not at your house," continued Anastase. "My company is ordered to the mountains. We leave tomorrow morning for Subiaco, and some of us are to be quartered at Saracinesca."

"I hope you will be among the number," said Giovanni. "I shall probably be married next week, and the d.u.c.h.essa wishes to go at once to the mountains. We shall be delighted to see you."

"Thank you very much. I will not fail to do myself the honour. My homage to Madame la d.u.c.h.esse. I must turn here. Good night."

"_Au revoir_," said Giovanni, and went on his way.

He found Corona in an inner sitting-room, reading beside a great wood-fire. There were soft shades of lilac mingled with the black of her dress. The year of mourning was past, and so soon as she could she modified her widow's weeds into something less solemnly; black. It was impossible to wear funeral robes on the eve of her second marriage; and the world had declared that she had shown an extraordinary degree of virtue in mourning so long for a death which every one considered so highly appropriate. Corona, however, felt differently. To her, her dead husband and the man she now so wholly loved belonged to two totally distinct cla.s.ses of men. Her love, her marriage with Giovanni, seemed so natural a consequence of her being left alone--so absolutely removed from her former life--that, on the eve of her wedding, she could almost wish that poor old Astrardente were alive to look as her friend upon her new-found happiness.