"Giovanni and you!" repeated the prince gloomily. "But for his folly—what is the use of talking? I have much to do. If he comes to you this afternoon please tell him that I want him."
Corona was glad when the meal was ended, and she went back to her own room. She had promised to go and see Faustina again, but otherwise she did not know how to occupy herself. A vague uneasiness beset her as the time passed and her husband did not come home. It was unlike him to stay away all day without warning her, though she was obliged to confess to herself that she had of late shown very little interest in his doings, and that it would not be very surprising if he began to do as he pleased without informing her of his intentions. Nevertheless she wished he would show himself before evening. The force of habit was still strong, and she missed him without quite knowing it. At last she made an effort against her apathy, and went out to pay the promised visit.
The Montevarchi household was subdued under all the outward pomp of a ponderous mourning. The gates and staircases were hung with black. In the vast antechamher the canopy was completely hidden by an enormous hatchment before which the dead prince had lain in state during the previous night and a part of the day. According to the Roman custom the body had been already removed, the regulations of the city requiring that this should be done within twenty-four hours. The great black pedestals on which the lights had been placed were still standing, and lent a ghastly and sepulchral appearance to the whole. Numbers of servants in mourning liveries stood around an immense copper brazier in a corner, talking together in low tones, their voices dying away altogether as the Princess Sant' Ilario entered the open door of the hall. The man who came forward appeared to be the person in charge of the funeral, for Corona had not seen him in the house before.
"Donna Faustina expects me," she said, continuing to walk towards the entrance to the apartments.
"Your Excellency's name?" inquired the man. Corona was surprised that he should ask, and wondered whether even the people of his class already knew the result of the suit.
"Donna Corona Saracinesca," she answered in distinct tones. The appellation sounded strange and unfamiliar.
"Donna Corona Saracinesca," the man repeated in a loud voice a second later. He had almost run into San Giacinto, who was coming out at that moment. Corona found herself face to face with her cousin.
"You—princess!" he exclaimed, putting out his hand. In spite of the relationship he was not privileged to call her by her name. "You—why does the man announce you in that way?"
Corona took his hand and looked quietly into his face. They had not met since the decision.
"I told him to do so. I shall be known by that name in future. I have come to see Faustina." She would have passed on.