Nina was trying to do a sum in mental arithmetic; she could not quite make the diminished interest account for her aunt’s evident lack of income, but did not like to ask for more details.  However, something else happened that diverted her attention.  They went through innumerable rooms, always to the distant droning sing-song of the guide’s explanations.

Finally they came to the picture gallery.  It was not a notable collection, with one or two exceptions; and one of these exceptions was strikingly absent.  The guide left the group and approached the princess, exclaiming, “Excellency!  The Raphael!”

“It has been sent to be repaired.”  Her hesitation was scarcely perceptible.  “The background was sinking a little.”

The man quite forgot himself and in his excitement dared a retort—­“It was one of the best preserved Raphaels extant.”  But the expression in the princess’ straight-gazing eyes held his further speech in check, and though she said no word the man cringed.

“Pardon, Excellency,” he said, and went back to explain to the waiting group that the great painting of the Sansevero collection at that moment was being carefully examined, by experts, as to its preservation.  Nevertheless, there was a look in his face that caused Nina to turn to her aunt with an apprehension, that gave rise to a vague suspicion that the princess, who was walking slowly, her head very high and her beautiful shoulders well back, was struggling to hide some strong emotion.  She thought later that she might have been mistaken, for a moment later her aunt asked with her usual composure, “Have you a watch on?  What time is it?”

Nina consulted the diamond and enamel trinket hanging on a chain around her neck.  “It is ten minutes to one.  Is it lunch time?”

“Nearly.  Are you hungry?  We are not having lunch to-day until half after.  I have a surprise for you.”

“For me?  What is it to be?”

“My young brother-in-law, Giovanni, comes home to-day.  I expect him on the twelve-thirty train.  Your uncle has gone to the station to fetch him—­they ought to arrive at any moment.”

Nina’s face looked brightly expectant.  “Tell me something about him!  Is he half as good-looking as his pictures?”

“Ah?  So she has been examining his photographs!”

“Of course!” Nina laughed.  “Oh, please tell me something about him!  Does he speak English?  French?  Or shall I have to struggle in broken Italian?  Is he like Uncle Sandro?”

“Wait until you see him.”

“At least tell me does he speak English?”

“He speaks beautiful French.”

“Which means, I suppose, that he speaks monkey English!”

But the princess vouchsafed no reply.

“Well, but really, I do think you might tell me something!  Is he attractive?”

The Princess assumed a tantalizing air—­“That also I am going to leave you to find out when you see him.  At all events he is young—­that is compared to your uncle and me.  It has been dull for you, darling, with no one your own age.”