Presently, Giacinta became restive under the prolonged silence which followed the professor's departure from the room.
"You see, Silvio," she observed, as though she were merely continuing an interrupted conversation, "it is not only I who notice that you have had your head in the clouds lately—oh, ever since Christmas. And first of all, people will say: 'He is in love'—as Giacomelli said to papa yesterday; and then they will begin to ask: 'Who is the girl?' And then, very soon, some busybody will find out. It is always like that. And then—"
"Yes, Giacinta—and then?" repeated Silvio.
"I will tell you!" returned Giacinta, decidedly. "Then that priest, Monsieur l'Abbé Roux, as they call him, will be sent by the princess to see papa, and there will be well, a terrible disturbo—"
"The Abbé Roux can go to hell," observed Silvio.
"Afterwards—yes, perhaps. Papa has several times given him a similar permission. But in the mean time he will make matters exceedingly unpleasant. After all, Silvio," Giacinta continued, "let us be reasonable. The girl is an heiress—a princess in her own right, and we—we are not noble. You know what the world would say."
Silvio Rossano glanced at her.
"We are Romans," he said, "of a family as old as the Acorari themselves. It is true that we are not noble. Perhaps, when we look at some of those who are, it is as well! But we are not poor, either, Giacinta—not so poor as to have to be fed by rich American and English adventurers at the Grand Hôtel, like some of your nobles."
Giacinta shrugged her shoulders. "Donna Bianca Acorari is of that class," she said, quietly.
Silvio instantly flew into a rage. "That is so like a woman!" he retorted. "Do you suppose I meant to imply that all our nobles are like that? Each class has its canaglia, and the pity of it is that the foreigners as a rule see more of our canaglia than they do of the rest, and judge us accordingly. As to Donna Bianca Acorari, we can leave her name out of the discussion—"