“I would not have married you against my will, Lotario,” observed the princess.

“For my part, I had no choice.  My dear father said simply, ’My son, you will pay your respects to that young lady, who is to be your wife.  If you wish to marry anyone else, I will lock you up.’  And so I did.  Have I not been a faithful husband to you, Guendalina, through more than thirty years?”

The argument was unanswerable, and Montevarchi had employed it each time one of his children was married.  In respect of faithfulness, at least, he had been a model husband.

“It is sufficient,” he added, willing to make a concession to his wife’s foreign notions, “that there should be love on the one side, and Christian principles on the other.  I can assure you that San Giacinto is full of love, and as for Flavia, my dear, has she not been educated by you?”

“As for Flavia’s Christian principles, my dear Lotario, I only hope they may suffice for her married life.  She is a terrible child to have at home.  But San Giacinto looks like a determined man.  I shall never forget his kindness in searching for Faustina last night.  He was devotion itself, and I should not have been surprised had he wished to marry her instead.”

“That exquisite creature is reserved for a young friend of ours, Guendalina.  Do me the favour never to speak of her marrying anyone else.”

The princess was silent for a moment, and then began to make a series of inquiries concerning the proposed bridegroom, which it is unnecessary to recount.

“And now we will send for Flavia,” said Montevarchi, at last.

“Would it not be best that I should tell her?” asked his wife.

“My dear,” he replied sternly, “when matters of grave importance have been decided it is the duty of the head of the house to communicate the decision to the persons concerned.”

So Flavia was sent for, and appeared shortly, her pretty face and wicked black eyes expressing both surprise and anticipation.  She was almost as dark as San Giacinto himself, though of a very different type.  Her small nose had an upward turn which disturbed her mother’s ideas of the fitness of things, and her thick black hair waved naturally over her forehead.  Her figure was graceful and her movements quick and spontaneous.  The redness of her lips showed a strong vitality, which was further confirmed by the singular brightness of her eyes.  She was no beauty, especially in a land where the dark complexion predominates, but she was very pretty and possessed something of that mysterious quality which charms without exciting direct admiration.

“Flavia,” said her father, addressing her in solemn tones, “you are to be married, my dear child.  I have sent for you at once, because there was no time to be lost, seeing that the wedding must take place before the beginning of Advent.  The news will probably give you pleasure, but I trust you will reflect upon the solemnity of such engagements and lay aside—–­”