Giovanni went from his wife’s presence to his father’s study.  The prince sat at his writing-table, a heap of dusty parchments and papers piled before him.  He was untying the rotten strings with which they were fastened, peering through his glasses at the headings written across the various documents.  He did not unfold them, but laid them carefully in order upon the table.  When San Giacinto had gone away, the old gentleman had nothing to do for an hour or more before dinner.  He had accordingly opened a solid old closet in the library which served as a sort of muniment room for the family archives, and had withdrawn a certain box in which he knew that the deeds concerning the cession of title were to be found.  He did not intend to look them over this evening, but was merely arranging them for examination on the morrow.  He looked up as Giovanni entered, and started from his chair when he saw his son’s face.

“Good heavens!  Giovannino! what has happened?” he cried, in great anxiety.

“I came to tell you that Corona and I are going to Saracinesca to-morrow,” answered Sant’ Ilario, in a low voice.

“What?  At this time of year?  Besides, you cannot get there.  The road is full of Garibaldians and soldiers.  It is not safe to leave the city!  Are you ill?  What is the matter?”

“Oh—­nothing especial,” replied Giovanni with an attempt to assume an indifferent tone “We think the mountain air will be good for my wife, that is all.  I do not think we shall really have much difficulty in getting there.  Half of this war is mere talk”

“And the other half consists largely of stray bullets,” observed the prince, eyeing his son suspiciously from under his shaggy brows.  “You will allow me to say, Giovanni, that for thoughtless folly you have rarely had your equal in the world.”

“I believe you are right,” returned the younger man bitterly.  “Nevertheless I mean to undertake this journey.”

“And does Corona consent to it?  Why are you so pale?  I believe you are ill?”

“Yes—­she consents.  We shall take the child.”

“Orsino?  You are certainly out of your mind.  It is bad enough to take a delicate woman—­”

“Corona is far from delicate.  She is very strong and able to bear anything”

“Don’t interrupt me.  I tell you she is a woman, and so of course she must be delicate.  Can you not understand common sense?  As for the boy, he is my grandson, and if you are not old enough to know how to take care of him, I am.  He shall not go.  I will not permit it.  You are talking nonsense.  Go and dress for dinner, or send for the doctor—­in short, behave like a human being!  I will go and see Corona myself”

The old gentleman’s hasty temper was already up, and he strode to the door.  Giovanni laid his hand somewhat heavily upon his father’s arm.

“Excuse me,” he said, “Corona cannot see you now.  She is dressing”

“I will talk to her through the door.  I will wait in her boudoir till she can see me”