“Perfectly.  There is one circumstance, connected with our great-grandfathers, which you have not mentioned, but which I am sure you remember.”

“What is that?” asked the prince, fixing his keen eyes on his companion’s face.

“It is only this,” replied San Giacinto, calmly.  “My great-grandfather was two years older than yours.  You know he never meant to marry, and resigned the title to his younger brother, who had children already.  He took a wife in his old age, and my grandfather was the son born to him.  That is why you are so much older than I, though we are of the same generation in the order of descent.”

“Yes,” assented the prince.  “That accounts for it.  Will you smoke?”

Giovanni Saracinesca, Marchese di San Giacinto, looked curiously at his cousin as he took the proffered cigar.  There was something abrupt in the answer which attracted his attention and roused his quick suspicions.  He wondered whether that former exchange of titles, and consequent exchange of positions were an unpleasant subject of conversation to the prince.  But the latter, as though anticipating such a doubt in his companion’s mind, at once returned to the question with the boldness which was natural to him.

“There was a friendly agreement,” he said, striking a match and offering it to the Marchese.  “I have all the documents, and have studied them with interest.  It might amuse you to see them, some day.”

“I should like to see them, indeed,” answered San Giacinto.  “They must be very curious.  As I was saying, I am going to establish myself in Rome.  It seems strange to me to be playing the gentleman—­it must seem even more odd to you.”

“It would be truer to say that you have been playing the innkeeper,” observed the prince, courteously.  “No one would suspect it,” he added, glancing at his companion’s correct attire.

“I have an adaptable nature,” said the Marchese, calmly.  “Besides, I have always looked forward to again taking my place in the world.  I have acquired a little instruction—­not much, you will say, but it is sufficient as the times go; and as for education, it is the same for every one, innkeeper or prince.  One takes off one’s hat, one speaks quietly, one says what is agreeable to hear—­is it not enough?”

“Quite enough,” replied the prince.  He was tempted to smile at his cousin’s definition of manners, though he could see that the man was quite able to maintain his position.  “Quite enough, indeed, and as for instruction, I am afraid most of us have forgotten our Latin.  You need have no anxiety on that score.  But, tell me, how comes it that, having been bred in the south, you prefer to establish yourself in Rome rather than in Naples?  They say that you Neapolitans do not like us.”

“I am a Roman by descent, and I wish to become one in fact,” returned the Marchese.  “Besides,” he added, in a peculiarly grave tone of voice, “I do not like the new order of things.  Indeed, I have but one favour to ask of you, and that is a great one.”