The princess fastened a little yellow mink collar around her throat over her black cloth dress, selected the better of two pairs of cleaned white kid gloves, picked up her hard, round, little yellow muff, and then went over and sat on the sofa beside Nina.  “By the way, darling, I have something to say to you.  The Marchese Valdeste has approached your uncle in regard to a marriage between his son Carlo and you.  Not being an Italian, I suppose you want to give your answer yourself.  What do you say?”

“What do I say!” Nina’s eyes and mouth opened together.  “Why, I have never seen the man!”

The princess smiled.  “The offer is made in the same way in which it would be if you were an Italian.  Your parents not being here, I ask you in their stead—­or as I might ask you if you were a widow.  To begin, then,—­no, I am perfectly in earnest—­I am authorized to offer you a young man of unquestionable birth.  He has in his own right three castles.  Two will need a great deal of repair, but one is in excellent condition and contains three hundred rooms, more than half of which are furnished.  He has an annual income of twenty thousand lire and no—­debts!  That he is fairly good-looking, medium-sized, has black hair and brown eyes, and is said to have a very amiable disposition, are details.”

As the princess concluded, Nina added:  “And he has also a most charming mother.  My answer is—­my regret that I cannot marry her instead.”

“You are sure you do not care to consider this offer?”

Nina looked steadily into her aunt’s eyes.  “I am sure you married Uncle Sandro through no such courtship as this!”

“I did not think you would accept, my dear child; yet such marriages often turn out for the best—­at least it was my duty to ask for your answer.  You have given it—­and now let us go out.  The carriage has been waiting some time.”

Shortly afterward they were in the Pincio—­for the custom still prevails among Roman ladies and gentlemen of slowly driving up and down or standing for a chat with friends.  The dome of St. Peter’s looked like a globe of gold set in the center of the celebrated frame of the Pincio trees, but as the sun went down it grew chilly, and the Sansevero landau rolled briskly up the Corso.  At Nina’s suggestion they stopped at a tea shop.

No sooner were they seated at a little table when they were joined by the Duchess Astarte.  The duchess had most graceful manners, but she talked to the princess across Nina, and about her, as though she were an article of furniture, or at least a small child who could not understand what was said.  She spoke frankly of Nina’s suitors.  Scorpa’s was an excellent title, but Scorpa was a widower and no longer young.  Then she begged the princess to consider her nephew, the young Prince Allegro.

It would be a brilliant match, for he was one of the mediatized princes and ranked with royalty.  But his properties took such an immense amount of money to keep up that an added fortune would be a great relief to the whole family.  Her consummate naturalness did away with much of the bluntness of her speech; but even so, this was too much for Nina’s calmness.