“For the sake of getting such a fine fellow for a husband,” he said.

“Why is she not already married?” inquired San Giacinto with a very slight inclination of his head, as an acknowledgment of the flattering speech whereby the prince had helped himself out of his difficulty.

“Who knows!” ejaculated the latter enigmatically.

“Is there any story about her?  Was she ever engaged to be married?  It is rather strange when one thinks of it, for she is a handsome girl.  Pray be quite frank—­I have taken no steps in the matter.”

“The fact is that I do not know.  She is not like other girls, and as she gives her father and mother some trouble in society, I suppose that young men’s fathers have been afraid to ask for her.  No.  I can assure you that there is no story connected with her.  She has a way of stating disagreeable truths that terrifies Montevarchi.  She was delicate as a child and was brought up at home, so of course she has no manners.”

“I should have thought she should have better manners for that,” remarked San Giacinto.  The prince stared at him in surprise.

“We do not think so here,” he answered after a moment’s pause.  “On the whole, I should say that for a hundred and twenty thousand you might marry her, if you are so inclined—­and if you can manage her.  But that is a matter for you to judge.”

“The Montevarchi are, I believe, what you call a great family?”

“They are not the Savelli, nor the Frangipani—­nor the Saracinesca either.  But they are a good family—­good blood, good fortune, and what Montevarchi calls good principles.”

“You think I could not do better than marry Donna Flavia, then?”

“It would be a good marriage, decidedly.  You ought to have married Tullia Mayer.  If she had not made a fool of herself and an enemy of me, and if you had turned up two years ago—­well, there were a good many objections to her, and stories about her, too.  But she was rich—­eh! that was a fortune to be snapped up by that scoundrel Del Ferice!”

“Del Ferice?” repeated San Giacinto.  “The same who tried to prove that your son was married by copying my marriage register?”

“The same.  I will tell you the rest of the story some day.  Then at that time there was Bianca Valdarno—­but she married a Neapolitan last year; and the Rocca girl, but Onorato Cantalupo got her and her dowry—­Montevarchi’s second son—­and—­well, I see nobody now, except Flavia’s sister Faustina.  Why not marry her?  It is true that her father means to catch young Frangipani, but he will have no such luck, I can tell him, unless he will part with half a million.”

“Donna Faustina is too young,” said San Giacinto, calmly.  “Besides, as they are sisters and there is so little choice, I may say that I prefer Donna Flavia, she is more gay, more lively.”

“Vastly more, I have no doubt, and you will have to look after her, unless you can make her fall in love with you.”  Saracinesca laughed at the idea.