"Good heavens! Giovannino! what has happened?" he cried, in great anxiety.
"I came to tell you that Corona and I are going to Saracinesca to-morrow," answered Sant' Ilario, in a low voice.
"What? At this time of year? Besides, you cannot get there. The road is full of Garibaldians and soldiers. It is not safe to leave the city! Are you ill? What is the matter?"
"Oh—nothing especial," replied Giovanni with an attempt to assume an indifferent tone "We think the mountain air will be good for my wife, that is all. I do not think we shall really have much difficulty in getting there. Half of this war is mere talk."
"And the other half consists largely of stray bullets," observed the prince, eyeing his son suspiciously from under his shaggy brows. "You will allow me to say, Giovanni, that for thoughtless folly you have rarely had your equal in the world."
"I believe you are right," returned the younger man bitterly.
"Nevertheless I mean to undertake this journey."
"And does Corona consent to it? Why are you so pale? I believe you are ill?"
"Yes—she consents. We shall take the child."
"Orsino? You are certainly out of your mind. It is bad enough to take a delicate woman—"
"Corona is far from delicate. She is very strong and able to bear anything."