"I will try--if it is possible. It will be easier now that San
Giacinto is to be away. He knows everything, I am sure."
"San Giacinto?" It was Gouache's turn to be astonished. But
explanations were impossible in such a crowd, and Faustina was
already moving away.
"Say nothing about what I have told you," Anastase whispered as
she left him. She bowed her lovely head in silence and passed on.
And so the Marchese di San Giacinto took Flavia Montevarchi for
his wife, and all Rome looked on and smiled, and told imaginary
stories of his former life, acknowledging, nevertheless, that
Flavia had done very well--the stock phrase--since there was no
doubt whatever but that the gigantic bridegroom was the cousin of
the Saracinesca, and rich into the bargain. Amidst all the gossip
and small talk no one, however, was found who possessed enough
imagination to foretell what in reality was very imminent, namely,
that the Marchese might turn out to be the prince.
The last person to suspect such a revelation was San Giacinto
himself. He had indeed at one time entertained some hopes of
pushing forward a claim which was certainly founded upon justice
if not upon good law, but since Montevarchi had kept the documents
relating to the case for many days, and had then returned them
without mentioning the subject to his future son-in-law, the
latter had thought it wiser to let the matter rest for the
present, shrewdly suspecting that such a man as Montevarchi would
not readily let such an opportunity of enriching his own daughter
slip through his fingers.
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