“Here is a secret,” said Gouache in a quick whisper.  “I have just heard Sant’ Ilario telling his wife that your sister is the future Princess Saracinesca.  What does it mean?”

Faustina looked at him in the utmost astonishment.  It was clear that she knew nothing of the matter at present.

“You must have heard wrong,” she answered.

“Will you come to early mass to-morrow?” he asked hurriedly, for he had no time to lose.

“I will try—­if it is possible.  It will be easier now that San Giacinto is to be away.  He knows everything, I am sure.”

“San Giacinto?” It was Gouache’s turn to be astonished.  But explanations were impossible in such a crowd, and Faustina was already moving away.

“Say nothing about what I have told you,” Anastase whispered as she left him.  She bowed her lovely head in silence and passed on.

And so the Marchese di San Giacinto took Flavia Montevarchi for his wife, and all Rome looked on and smiled, and told imaginary stories of his former life, acknowledging, nevertheless, that Flavia had done very well—­the stock phrase—­since there was no doubt whatever but that the gigantic bridegroom was the cousin of the Saracinesca, and rich into the bargain.  Amidst all the gossip and small talk no one, however, was found who possessed enough imagination to foretell what in reality was very imminent, namely, that the Marchese might turn out to be the prince.

The last person to suspect such a revelation was San Giacinto himself.  He had indeed at one time entertained some hopes of pushing forward a claim which was certainly founded upon justice if not upon good law, but since Montevarchi had kept the documents relating to the case for many days, and had then returned them without mentioning the subject to his future son-in-law, the latter had thought it wiser to let the matter rest for the present, shrewdly suspecting that such a man as Montevarchi would not readily let such an opportunity of enriching his own daughter slip through his fingers.  It has been already seen that Montevarchi purposely prevented San Giacinto from seeing the papers in order that he might be in reality quite innocent of any complicity in the matter when the proceedings were instituted, a point very important for the success of the suit.

Half an hour afterwards San Giacinto was closeted with the old prince in the latter’s study, which looked more than usually dismal by contrast with the brilliant assemblage in the drawing-rooms.

“Now that we are alone, my dear son,” began Montevarchi, who for a wonder had not changed his coat since the ceremony, “now that you are really my son, I have an important communication to make”

San Giacinto sat down and any one might have seen from the expression of his square jaw and determined mouth that he was prepared for battle.  He did not trust his father-in-law in the least, and would not have been surprised if he had made an attempt to get back the money he had paid into the lawyer’s hands as Flavia’s dowry.  But San Giacinto had taken all precautions and knew very well that he could not be cheated.  Montevarchi continued in a bland voice.