"Is that all you could learn?" asked the Prince.
"Except that the Signora Duchessa was overcome with grief," returned the servant, gravely.
"I should think so—her husband dead of an apoplexy! It is natural," said the Prince, looking at Giovanni. The latter was silent, and tried to eat as though, nothing had happened—inwardly endeavouring not to rejoice too madly at the terrible catastrophe. In his effort to control his features, the blood rushed to his forehead, and his hand trembled violently. His father saw it, but made no remark.
"Poor Astrardente!" he said. "He was not so bad as people thought him."
"No," replied Giovanni, with a great effort; "he was a very good man."
"I should hardly say that," returned his father, with a grim smile of amusement. "I do not think that by the greatest stretch of indulgence he could be called good."
"And why not?" asked the younger man, sharply snatching at any possible discussion in order to conceal his embarrassment.
"Why not, indeed! Why, because he had a goodly share of original sin, to which he added others of his own originating but having an equal claim to originality."
"I say I think he was a very good man," repeated Giovanni, maintaining his point with an air of conviction.
"If that is your conception of goodness, it is no wonder that you have not attained to sanctity," said the old man, with a sneer.