CHAPTER IX.

Orsino’s twenty-first birthday fell in the latter part of January, when the Roman season was at its height, but as the young man’s majority did not bring him any of those sudden changes in position which make epochs in the lives of fatherless sons, the event was considered as a family matter and no great social celebration of it was contemplated.  It chanced, too, that the day of the week was the one appropriated by the Montevarchi for their weekly dance, with which it would have been a mistake to interfere.  The old Prince Saracinesca, however, insisted that a score of old friends should be asked to dinner, to drink the health of his eldest grandson, and this was accordingly done.

Orsino always looked back to that banquet as one of the dullest at which he ever assisted.  The friends were literally old, and their conversation was not brilliant.  Each one on arriving addressed to him a few congratulatory and moral sentiments, clothed in rounded periods and twanging of Cicero in his most sermonising mood.  Each drank his especial health at the end of the dinner in a teaspoonful of old “vin santo,” and each made a stiff compliment to Corona on her youthful appearance.  The men were almost all grandees of Spain of the first class and wore their ribbons by common consent, which lent the assembly an imposing appearance; but several of them were of a somnolent disposition and nodded after dinner, which did not contribute to prolong the effect produced.  Orsino thought their stories and anecdotes very long-winded and pointless, and even the old prince himself seemed oppressed by the solemnity of the affair, and rarely laughed.  Corona, with serene good humour did her best to make conversation, and a shade of animation occasionally appeared at her end of the table; but Sant’ Ilario was bored to the verge of extinction and talked of nothing but archaeology and the trial of the Cenci, wondering inwardly why he chose such exceedingly dry subjects.  As for Orsino, the two old princesses between whom he was placed paid very little attention to him, and talked across him about the merits of their respective confessors and directors.  He frivolously asked them whether they ever went to the theatre, to which they replied very coldly that they went to their boxes when the piece was not on the Index and when there was no ballet.  Orsino understood why he never saw them at the opera, and relapsed into silence.  The butler, a son of the legendary Pasquale of earlier days, did his best to cheer the youngest of his masters with a great variety of wines; but Orsino would not be comforted either by very dry champagne or very mellow claret.  But he vowed a bitter revenge and swore to dance till three in the morning at the Montevarchi’s and finish the night with a rousing baccarat at the club, which projects he began to put into execution as soon as was practicable.

In due time the guests departed, solemnly renewing their expressions of good wishes, and the Saracinesca household was left to itself.  The old prince stood before the fire in the state drawing-room, rubbing his hands and shaking his head.  Giovanni and Corona sat on opposite sides of the fireplace, looking at each other and somewhat inclined to laugh.  Orsino was intently studying a piece of historical tapestry which had never interested him before.