Silvio did ample justice to her cookery, however, and indeed Don Agostino's house-keeper looked with scarcely concealed admiration and approval at him as she served the various dishes. She also wondered what this bel giovanotto was doing at Montefiano, and several times came very near to asking him the question, being only restrained therefrom by the thought that she would learn all she wanted to know from Don Agostino so soon as the visitor should have departed.
After dinner, Don Agostino produced a bottle of old wine—such wine as seldom comes to the market in Italy, and which, could it only travel, would put the best French vintages to shame. Ernana served the coffee and then departed to her kitchen, and Don Agostino proceeded to prepare cigars by duly roasting the ends in the flame of a candle before handing one of them to his guest to smoke.
"And so," he observed, presently, "you actually live in the Palazzo Acorari at Rome. Your father, no doubt, knows the princess and Donna Bianca?"
Silvio shook his head. "No," he replied. "You must remember—" he added, and then paused, abruptly.
Don Agostino blew a ring of smoke into the air.
"What must I remember?" he asked, smiling at Silvio's obvious embarrassment.
"You know my father's opinions," continued Silvio, "and perhaps you have read some of his works. He is not—I speak with all respect—of the Neri, and Princess Montefiano is, they say, a very good Catholic."
Don Agostino laughed. "Ah, I forgot," he said. "No, I never looked upon your father as a good Catholic. It really was never any business of mine whether he was so or not. But the princess—yes, I believe she is very strict in her opinions, and your father is, very naturally, not beloved by the Vatican party."
Silvio glanced at him. "You have read his books, Don Agostino?" he asked.
"Certainly I have read them—all of them."