As the artist thought the matter over, he became more and more convinced that he had understood the princess’s conduct, and the reflection made him redden with shame and anger.  He determined to seize the first moment that presented itself for an explanation with the woman who had wronged him.  He unexpectedly found himself at liberty towards five o’clock in the afternoon and made haste at once to reach the Palazzo Saracinesca.  Knowing that no one would be allowed to be in the streets after dark, he felt sure of finding Corona without visitors, and expected the most favourable opportunity for talking over the subject which distressed him.

After waiting several minutes in one of the outer halls he was ushered in, and to his extreme annoyance found himself in the midst of a family party.  He had not counted upon the presence of the men of the household, and the fact that the baby was also present did not facilitate matters.  Old Saracinesca greeted him warmly; Sant’ Ilario looked grave; Corona herself looked up from her game with little Orsino, nodded and uttered a word of recognition, and then returned to her occupation.

Conversation under these circumstances was manifestly impossible, and Gouache wished he had not had the unlucky idea of calling.  There was nothing to be done, however, but to put on a brave face and make the best of it.

“Well, Monsieur Gouache,” inquired the old prince, “and how did you spend the night?”

He could scarcely have asked a question better calculated to disturb the composure of everyone present except the baby.  Anastase could not help looking at Corona, who looked instinctively at her husband, while the latter gazed at Gouache, wondering what he would say.  All three turned a shade paler, and during a very few seconds there was an awkward silence.

“I spent the night very uncomfortably,” replied Anastase, after hesitating a little.  “We were driven from pillar to post, repelling attacks, doing sentry duty, clearing the streets, marching and countermarching.  It was daylight when I was relieved.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Sant’ Ilario.  “I had supposed that you had remained all night at the Porta San Paolo.  But there are many contradictory accounts.  I was in some anxiety until I was assured that you had not been blown up in that infernal plot.”

Gouache was on the point of asking who had told Giovanni that he had escaped, but fortunately checked himself, and endeavoured to turn the conversation to the disaster at the barracks.  Thereupon old Saracinesca, whose blood was roused by the atrocity, delivered a terrible anathema against the murderous wretches who had ruined the building, and expressed himself in favour of burning them alive, a fate, indeed, far too good for them.  Anastase profited by the old gentleman’s eloquence to make advances to the baby.  Little Orsino, however, struck him a vigorous blow in the face with his tiny fist and yelled lustily.