“Who is Don Teodoro?” asked the Duchessa, nervously, and still altogether horrified.

“The parish priest,” said Veronica.  “A very learned and charitable old man.  He dines with me every evening.”

“Then,” replied the Duchessa, with a beginning of relief, “then you, and your good priest, and your woman, make a sort of—­of what shall I say—­a sort of little religious community here?  Is that it?”

“We are not irreligious,” Veronica replied, still at the point of laughter.  “Most of us hear mass every morning—­the church is close by the gate, on the other side of the great tower, you know—­and we do not eat meat on fast days—­”

“Yes, yes, I understand!” interrupted the Duchessa, grasping at any straw by which she could drag the extraordinary young princess within conceivable distance of what she herself considered socially proper.  “And you spend your time in good works, in the village, of course, and in edifying conversation with Don Teodoro.  Yes—­I see!  As you put it at first, it was a little startling, but I understand it better now.  You understand it, Pompeo, do you not?  It is quite clear, now.”

The Duca rejoiced in the baptismal name of Pompey, like many of his class in the south, whereas the name of Caesar is more common about Rome.

“I have at least done something for the village,” said Veronica.  “It was in a bad state when I came here.”

“It is a very clean village,” observed the Duca, whose eyes still had a puzzled look in them, though his jaw had slowly recovered from its fall of amazement.  “I saw no pigs in the streets.  One generally sees a great many pigs in these mountain towns.”

“I turned them out,” said Veronica.

She went on to give a little account of the improvements she had introduced, not in vanity, but to keep them from returning to the subject of her living alone.  They listened with profound interest, and with almost as much astonishment as they had shown at first.

“But do you find no opposition here?” asked the Duca.  “You seem to do just as you please.”

“Of course,” answered Veronica.  “The place belongs to me.  Why should I not do as I like?  There are a few tolerably well-to-do people here, who own a little property.  Everything I do is to their advantage as well as to that of the poor peasants, so that they all side with me.  No,” she concluded thoughtfully, “I do not think that any one would oppose me in Muro.  But if any one should, I have decided what to do!”

“And what should you do?” asked the Duchessa, rather nervously.

“I should send the whole family to America, with a little money in their pockets.  They are always glad to emigrate, and the opposition would be quite out of the way in the Argentine Republic.”  Veronica laughed quietly.

When the Duca and his wife went to dress for dinner they had some very disturbing ideas concerning the character of the young Princess of Acireale.