“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.”  Sant’ Ilario laughed.

“Perhaps I did.  But the effect seems to be harmonious.”

“Decidedly so.  You might have introduced me.”

To this Orsino said nothing, but relapsed into a moody silence.  He would have liked nothing better than to bring about the acquaintance, but he had only met Maria Consuelo once, though that interview had been a long one, and he remembered her rather short answer to his offer of service in the way of making acquaintances.

Maria Consuelo on her part was quite unconscious that she was sitting in front of the Princess Sant’ Ilario, but she had seen the lady by her side bow to Orsino’s companion in passing, and she guessed from a certain resemblance that the dark, middle-aged man might be young Saracinesca’s father.  Donna Tullia had seen Corona well enough, but as they had not spoken for nearly twenty years she decided not to risk a nod where she could not command an acknowledgment of it.  So she pretended to be quite unconscious of her old enemy’s presence.

Donna Tullia, however, had noticed as she turned her head in sitting down that Orsino was piloting a strange lady to the tribune, and when the latter sat down beside her, she determined to make her acquaintance, no matter upon what pretext.  The time was approaching at which the procession was to make its appearance, and Donna.  Tullia looked about for something upon which to open the conversation, glancing from time to time at her neighbour.  It was easy to see that the place and the surroundings were equally unfamiliar to the newcomer, who looked with evident interest at the twisted columns of the high altar, at the vast mosaics in the dome, at the red damask hangings of the nave, at the Swiss guards, the chamberlains in court dress and at all the mediaeval-looking, motley figures that moved about within the space kept open for the coming function.

“It is a wonderful sight,” said Donna Tullia in Trench, very softly, and almost as though speaking to herself.

“Wonderful indeed,” answered Maria Consuelo, “especially to a stranger.”

“Madame is a stranger, then,” observed Donna Tullia with an agreeable smile.

She looked into her neighbour’s face and for the first time realised that she was a striking person.

“Quite,” replied the latter, briefly, and as though not wishing to press the conversation.

“I fancied so,” said Donna Tullia, “though on seeing you in these seats, among us Romans—­”

“I received a card through the kindness of a friend.”

There was a short pause, during which Donna Tullia concluded that the friend must have been Orsino.  But the next remark threw her off the scent.