The curate shrugged his shoulders and spread out the palms of his hands, smiling incredulously.
"The lands, he says, have fallen into the hands of certain patriots. There is no chance of getting them back. It is of little use to be a Marchese without property. What he possesses is a modest competence; it is wealth, even, in his present position. For a nobleman it would be nothing. Besides, he is half a peasant by blood and tradition."
"He is not the only nobleman in that position," laughed Saracinesca. "But are you aware—"
He stopped short. He was going to say that if he himself and his son both died, the innkeeper of Aquila would become Prince Saracinesca. The idea shocked him, and he kept it to himself.
"After all," he continued, "the man is of my blood by direct descent. I would like to see him."
"Nothing easier. If you will come with me, I will present him to your
Excellency," said the priest. "Do you still wish to see the documents?"
"It is useless. The mystery is solved. Let us go and see this new-found relation of mine."
Don Paolo wrapped his cloak around him, and ushering his guest from the room, led the way down-stairs. He carried a bit of wax taper, which he held low to the steps, frequently stopping and warning the Prince to be careful. It was night when they went out. The air was sharp and cold, and Saracinesca buttoned his greatcoat to his throat as he strode by the side of the old priest. The two walked on in silence for ten minutes, keeping straight down the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele. At last the curate stopped before a clean, new house, from the windows of which the bright light streamed into the street. Don Paolo motioned to the Prince to enter, and followed him in. A man in a white apron, with his arms full of plates, who was probably servant, butler, boots, and factotum to the establishment, came out of the dining-room, which was to the left of the entrance, and which, to judge by the noise, seemed to be full of people. He looked at the curate, and then at the Prince.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Don Paolo mio," he said, supposing the priest had brought a customer—"very sorry; there is not a bed in the house."
"That is no matter, Giacchino," answered the curate. "We want to see Sor
Giovanni for a moment." The man disappeared, and a moment later Sor
Giovanni himself came down the passage.