“Then you must be laughing at your father or your mother, or both, since there is no one else here to laugh at.  You are concocting sharp speeches for your abominable tongue.  I know it.  I can see it in your eyes.  That is the way you have brought up your children, Giovanni.  I congratulate you.  Upon my word, I congratulate you with all my heart!  Not that I ever expected anything better.  You addled your own brains with curious foreign ideas on your travels—­the greater fool I for letting you run about the world when you were young.  I ought to have locked you up in Saracinesca, on bread and water, until you understood the world well enough to profit by it.  I wish I had.”

None of the three could help laughing at this extraordinary speech.  Orsino recovered his gravity first, by the help of the historical tapestry.  The old gentleman noticed the fact.

“Come here, Orsino, my boy,” he said.  “I want to talk to you.”

Orsino came forward.  The old prince laid a hand on his shoulder and looked up into his face.

“You are twenty-one years old to-day,” he said, “and we are all quarrelling in honour of the event.  You ought to be flattered that we should take so much trouble to make the evening pass pleasantly for you, but you probably have not the discrimination to see what your amusement costs us.”

His grey beard shook a little, his rugged features twitched, and then a broad good-humoured smile lit up the old face.

“We are quarrelsome people,” he continued in his most Cheerful and hearty tone.  “When Giovanni and I were young—­we were young together, you know—­we quarrelled every day as regularly as we ate and drank.  I believe it was very good for us.  We generally made it up before night—­for the sake of beginning again with a clear conscience.  Anything served us—­the weather, the soup, the colour of a horse.”

“You must have led an extremely lively life,” observed Orsino, considerably amused.

“It was very well for us, Orsino.  But it will not do for you.  You are not so much like your father, as he was like me at your age.  We fought with the same weapons, but you two would not, if you fought at all.  We fenced for our own amusement and we kept the buttons on the foils.  You have neither my really angelic temper nor your father’s stony coolness—­he is laughing again—­no matter, he knows it is true.  You have a diabolical tongue.  Do not quarrel with your father for amusement, Orsino.  His calmness will exasperate you as it does me, but you will not laugh at the right moment as I have done all my life.  You will bear malice and grow sullen and permanently disagreeable.  And do not say all the cutting things you think of, because with your disposition you will get into serious trouble.  If you have really good cause for being angry, it is better to strike than to speak, and in such cases I strongly advise you to strike first.  Now go and amuse yourself, for you must have had enough of our company.  I do not think of any other advice to give you on your coming of age.”