Sant' Ilario looked, up in some surprise as his son entered.
"Well, Orsino? Is anything the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing serious, father. I want to borrow your tiger's skin for Gouache. Will you lend it to me?"
"Of course. But what in the world does Gouache want of it? Is he painting you in skins—the primeval youth of the forest?"
"No—not exactly. The fact is, there is a lady there. Gouache talks of painting her as a modern Omphale, with a tiger's skin and a cast of Hercules in the background—"
"Hercules wore a lion's skin—not a tiger's. He killed the Nemean lion."
"Did he?" inquired Orsino indifferently. "It is all the same—they do not know it, and they want a tiger. When I left they were debating whether they wanted it alive or dead. I thought of buying one at the Prati di Castello, but it seemed cheaper to borrow the skin of you. May I take it?"
Sant' Ilario laughed. Orsino rolled up the great hide and carried it to the door.
"Who is the lady, my boy?"
"I never saw her before—a certain Donna Maria d'Aranjuez d'Aragona. I fancy she must be a kind of cousin. Do you know anything about her?"