d
with his own unruffled existence and far from desirous of any change.
The feudalism of it all was still real in fact, though abolished in
theory, and the old prince was as much a great feudal lord as ever,
whose interests were almost tribal in their narrowness, almost sordid in
their detail, and altogether uninteresting to his presumptive heir in
the third generation. What was the peasant of Aquaviva, for instance, to
Orsino? Yet Sant' Ilario and old Saracinesca took a lively interest in
his doings and in the doings of four or five hundred of his kind, whom
they knew by name and spoke of as belongings, much as they would have
spoken of books in the library. To collect rents from peasants and to
ascertain in person whether their houses needed repair was not a career.
Orsino thought enviously of San Giacinto's two sons, leading what seemed
to him a life of comparative activity and excitement in the Italian
army, and having the prospect of distinction by their own merits. He
thought of San Giacinto himself, of his ceaseless energy and of the
great position he was building up. San Giacinto was a Saracinesca as
well as Orsino, bearing the same name and perhaps not less respected
than the rest by the world at large, though he had sullied his hands
with finance. Even Del Ferice's position would have been above
criticism, but for certain passages in his earlier life not immediately
connected with his present occupation. And as if such instances were not
enough there were, to Orsino's certain knowledge, half a dozen men of
his father's rank even now deeply engaged in the speculations of the
day. Montevarchi was one of them, and neither he nor the others made any
secret of their doings.

"Surely," thought Orsino, "I have as good a head as any of them, except,
perhaps, San Giacinto."

And he grew more and more discontented with his lot, and more and more
angry at himself for submitting to be bound hand and foot and sacrificed
upon the altar of feudalism. Everything had disappointed and irritated
him on that day, the weariness of the dinner, the sight of his parents'
placid felicity, the advice his grandfather had given him--good of its
kind, but lamentably insufficient, to say the least of it. He was
rapidly approaching that state of mind in which young men do the most
unexpected things for the mere pleasure of surprising their relations.

He grew tired of the ball, because Madame d'Aranjuez was not there. He
longed to dance