were undeniably genuine, it seemed wiser to accept him from the first as a member of the family and unhesitatingly to treat him as such.  After all, he demanded nothing to which he had not a clear right from the moment he announced his intention of taking his place in the world, and it was certainly far wiser to receive him cordially at once, than to draw back from acknowledging the relationship because he had been brought up in another sphere.

This was the substance of what Prince Saracinesca communicated to his daughter-in-law a few minutes later.  She listened patiently to all he had to say, only asking a question now and then in order to understand more clearly what had happened.  She was curious to see the man whose name had once been so strangely confounded with her husband’s by the machinations of the Conte Del Ferice and Donna Tullia Mayer, and she frankly confessed her curiosity and her satisfaction at the prospect of meeting San Giacinto that evening.  While she was talking with the prince, Giovanni unexpectedly returned from his walk.  He had turned homewards as soon as he had sent the military surgeon to Gouache.  “Well, Giovannino,” cried the old gentleman, “the prodigal innkeeper has returned to the bosom of the family.”

“What innkeeper?”

“Your worthy namesake, and cousin, Giovanni Saracinesca, formerly of Aquila.”

“Does Madame Mayer want to prove that it is he who has married Corona?” inquired Sant ’Ilario with a laugh.

“No, though I suppose he is a candidate for marriage.  I never was more surprised in my life.  His wife is dead.  He is rich, or says he is.  He has his card printed in full, ’Giovanni Saracinesca, Marchese di San Giacinto,’ in the most correct manner.  He wears an excellent coat, and announces his intention of being presented to the Pope and introduced to Roman society.”

Sant’ Ilario stared incredulously at his father, and then looked inquiringly at his wife as though to ask if it were not all a jest.  When he was assured that the facts were true he looked grave and slowly stroked his pointed black beard, a gesture which was very unusual with him, and always accompanied the deepest meditation.

“There is nothing to be done but to receive him into the family,” he said at last.  “But I do not wholly believe in his good intentions.  We shall see.  I shall be glad to make his acquaintance.”

“He is coming to dinner.”

The conversation continued for some time and the arrival of San Giacinto was discussed in all its bearings.  Corona took a very practical view of the question, and said that it was certainly best to treat him well, thereby relieving her father-in-law of a considerable anxiety.  He had indeed feared lest she should resent the introduction of a man who might reasonably be supposed to have retained a certain coarseness of manner from his early surroundings, and he knew that her consent was all-important in such a case,