en, 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.

"_Favorisca_, dear Don Paolo, come in." And he bowed to the Prince as he
opened the door which led into a small sitting-room reserved for the
innkeeper's family.

When they had entered, Saracinesca looked at his son's namesake. He saw
before him a man whose face and figure he long remembered with an
instinctive dislike. Giovanni the innkeeper was of a powerful build. Two
generations of peasant blood had given r