"Never, Madame. They do not abound in Rome—nor even, I believe, in Albano. My father killed one when he was a young man."
"Prince Saracinesca?"
"Sant' Ilario. My grandfather is still alive."
"How splendid! I adore strong races."
"It is very interesting," observed Gouache, poking the stick of a brush into the eye of his picture. "I have painted three generations of the family, I who speak to you, and I hope to paint the fourth if Don Orsino here can be cured of his cynicism and induced to marry Donna—what is her name?" He turned to the young man.
"She has none—and she is likely to remain nameless," answered Orsino gloomily.
"We will call her Donna Ignota," suggested Madame d'Aragona.
"And build altars to the unknown love," added Gouache.
Madame d'Aragona smiled faintly, but Orsino persisted in looking grave.
"It seems to be an unpleasant subject, Prince."