relative.

If his aunt did not drive him to blow out his brains in a fit of
impatience, there was no reason why Guido should not go on living, as he
lived now, to the far end of a long and sufficiently well-fed life. And
if he married Cecilia and her fortune, it would certainly not be because
he wished to give other women rubies and pearls, nor for the sake of
keeping a couple of hunters, two or three carriages, and a coach; still
less, because he could ever wish to lose money again at baccara, or
poker, or bridge. He had done all those things, and they had not amused
him long. If he ever married Cecilia, it would be because he fell in
love with her, which, thank goodness, had not happened yet. Inclination
was quite sure of that, but was willing to admit the possibility in the
future, merely for the sake of argument.

Before it was time to dress for dinner that evening, Guido received a
long letter from his aunt, written with her own hand, which probably
meant that Monsieur Leroy knew little or nothing of its contents. Guido
glanced at the pages, one after another, and saw that the whole letter
was in the writer's most affectionate manner. Then he read it carefully.
It had been so kind of him to be civil to her friends on the previous
day, said the Princess. He reminded her of his poor father, her dear
brother, who, in all his many misfortunes, had never once lost his
beautiful affability of temper and unfailing courtesy to every one about
him.

This was very pretty, but Guido had heard that his father's beautiful
affability had sometimes been ruffled so far as to allow a certain
harmless violence, such as hurling a light chair at the head of a
faithful courtier and friend who gave him advice that was too good to be
taken, or summarily boxing the ears of his son and heir when the latter
was already over thirty years old.

Guido sometimes wondered why he had not inherited some of that very
unroyal temper, which must have been such a thoroughly satisfactory
relief to the ex-king's feelings. He never felt the least desire to
dance with rage and throw the furniture about the room.

His aunt's letter was evidently meant to please him and flatter his
vanity, and she did not once refer to matters of business. She asked his
opinion about a new novel he had not read yet, and had he thought of
leaving a card on the Countess Fortiguerra? She lived in the Palazzo
Massimo. What a strange girl the daughter was, to be sure! so v