“You have it, with all my heart,” said Saracinesca warmly, for he was a little ashamed of his coldness.

San Giacinto took his leave and went away well satisfied with what he had accomplished, as indeed he had good cause to be.  Montevarchi’s consent to the marriage was not doubtful, now that San Giacinto was assured that he was able to fulfil the conditions which would be asked, and the knowledge that he was able to do even more than was likely to be required of him gave him additional confidence in the result.  To tell the truth, he was strongly attracted by Flavia; and though he would assuredly have fought with his inclination had it appeared to be misplaced, he was pleased with the prospect of marrying a woman who would not only strengthen his position in society, but for whom he knew that he was capable of a sincere attachment.  Marriage, according to his light, was before all things a contract entered into for mutual advantage; but he saw no reason why the fulfilment of such a contract should not be made as agreeable as possible.

The principal point was yet to be gained, however, and as San Giacinto mounted the steps of the Palazzo Montevarchi he stopped more than once, considering for the last time whether he were doing wisely or not.  On the whole he determined to proceed, and made up his mind that he would go straight to the point.

Flavia’s father was sitting in his study when San Giacinto arrived, and the latter was struck by the contrast between the personalities and the modes of life of his cousin whom he had just left and of the man to whom he was about to propose himself as a son-in-law.  The Saracinesca were by no means very luxurious men, but they understood the comforts of existence better than most Romans of that day.  If there was massive old-fashioned furniture against the walls and in the corners of the huge rooms, there were on the other hand soft carpets for the feet and cushioned easy-chairs to sit in.  There were fires on the hearths when the weather was cold, and modern lamps for the long winter evenings.  There were new books on the tables, engravings, photographs, a few objects of value and beauty not jealously locked up in closets, but looking as though they were used, if useful, or at least as if some one derived pleasure from looking at them.  The palace itself was a stern old fortress in the midst of the older part of the city, but within there was a genial atmosphere of generous living, and, since Sant’ Ilario’s marriage with Corona, an air of refinement and good taste such as only a woman can impart to the house in which she dwells.