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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>THE PASSPORT</title> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Passport" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Passport" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="46693" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2014-08-23" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1905" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Richard Bagot" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="The Passport" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/passport/passport.rst" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.language" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" content="en" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.modified" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2014-08-28T02:31:02.510586+00:00" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46693" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="Richard Bagot" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.created" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2014-08-23" /> -<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" /> -<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a2 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-passport"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE PASSPORT</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you -are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws -of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Passport -<br /> -<br />Author: Richard Bagot -<br /> -<br />Release Date: August 23, 2014 [EBook #46693] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE PASSPORT</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="xx-large">THE PASSPORT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">RICHARD BAGOT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">NEW YORK AND LONDON -<br />HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS -<br />MCMV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Copyright, 1905, by HARPER & BROTHERS.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">All rights Reserved.</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">Published September, 1905.</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="i"><span class="bold x-large">THE PASSPORT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The fierce heat of the mid-day hours was waning, and -the leaves stirred in the first faint breath of the -evening breeze stealing over the Roman Campagna from the sea -that lay like a golden streak along the western horizon. It -was the month of the </span><em class="italics">sollione</em><span>--of the midsummer sun -"rejoicing as a giant to run his course." From twelve -o'clock till four the little town of Montefiano, nestling among -the lower spurs of the Sabine Hills, had been as a place from -which all life had fled. Not a human creature had been -visible in the steep, tufa-paved street leading up to the -square palace that looked grimly down on the little -township clustering beneath it--not even a dog; only some -chickens dusting themselves, and a strayed pig.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">cicale</em><span>, hidden among the branches of a group of -venerable Spanish chestnuts on the piazza in front of the -church, had never ceased their monotonous rattle; otherwise -silence had reigned at Montefiano since the church bells had -rung out </span><em class="italics">mezzogiorno</em><span>—that silence which falls on all -nature in Italy during the hours when the </span><em class="italics">sollione</em><span> blazes in -the heavens and breeds life on the earth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But now, with the first coming of the evening breeze, -casements were thrown open, green shutters which had -been hermetically closed since morning were flung back -and Montefiano awoke for the second time in the -twenty-four hours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A side door of the church opened, and Don Agostino, the -parish priest, emerged from it, carrying his breviary in one -hand and an umbrella tucked under the other arm. Crossing -the little square hurriedly, for the western sun still beat -fiercely upon the flag-stones, he sought the shade of the -chestnut-trees, under which he began pacing slowly -backwards and forwards, saying his office the while.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tall, handsome man, Don Agostino was scarcely the -type of priest usually to be met with in hill villages such as -Montefiano. His black silk </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span> was scrupulously clean -and tidy; and its button-holes stitched with red, as well as -the little patch of violet silk at his throat, proclaimed him to -be a </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>. Nobody at Montefiano called him so, -however. To his parishioners he was simply Don Agostino; -and, in a district in which priests were none too well looked -upon, there was not a man, woman, or child who had not a -good word to say for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was the more remarkable inasmuch as Don Agostino -was evidently of a very different social grade from even the -most well-to-do among his flock. At first sight, a stranger -would have thought that there could not be much in -common between him and the peasants and farmers who stood -in a little crowd at the doors of his church on a </span><em class="italics">festa</em><span> while -he said mass, and still less with the women and children -who knelt within the building. There was, however, the -most important thing of all in common between them, and -that was sympathy—human sympathy—so simple a thing, -and yet so rare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This, again, was remarkable; for no one could glance at -Don Agostino's countenance without at once realizing that -it belonged to a man who was probably intellectual and -certainly refined. It would not be imagined, for instance, -that there could be any fellow-feeling between him and the -woman a few yards down the street who, indifferent as to -the scantiness of the garments by way of clothing a -well-developed bust, was leaning out of a window screaming -objurgations at a small boy for chasing the strayed pig. -Nevertheless, Don Agostino would doubtless have entered -into the feelings of both the woman and the boy—and, -probably, also into those of the pig—had he noticed the -uproar, which, his thoughts being concentrated for the -moment on the saying of his office, he did not do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been at Montefiano some years now, and the -stories current at the time of his arrival in the place as to -the reason why he had been sent there from Rome were -wellnigh forgotten by his parishioners. At first they held -aloof from him suspiciously, as from one who was not -of their condition in life, and who had only been sent to -Montefiano because—well, because of some indiscretion -committed at Rome. Some said it was politics, others that -it was women, and others, again, that it was neither the one -nor the other. All agreed that an </span><em class="italics">instruito</em><span> like Don -Agostino, with his air of a </span><em class="italics">gran signore</em><span>, and money behind -that air, too, was not sent to a place like Montefiano for -nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino, however, had not troubled himself as to -what was said or thought, but had taken up his duties with -that unquestioning obedience which spiritual Rome has -incorporated with the rest of her heritage from the Cæsars. -He neither offered any explanations nor made any -complaints concerning the surroundings to which he found -himself relegated. For two or three years after his first coming -to Montefiano strangers had sometimes visited him, and -once or twice a cardinal had come from Rome to see him—but -that was ten years ago and more, and now nobody came. -Probably, the Montefianesi said, the Vatican had forgotten -him; and they added, with a shrug of the shoulders, that -it was better for a priest to be forgotten in Montefiano than -remembered in a cup of chocolate in Rome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As to any little affair of morals—well, it was certain that -twenty, nay, even fifteen, years ago Don Agostino must -have been a very good-looking young man, priest or no -priest; and shoulders were shrugged again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whatever had been the cause of it, morals or politics, -Monsignor Agostino was </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano, a Sabine -village forty miles from Rome, with a population of some -three thousand souls—a gray mass of houses clustering on -a hill-side, crowned by the feudal fortress of its owners who -had not slept a night within its walls since Don Agostino -had taken over the spiritual interests of their people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To be sure, Montefiano was a commune, and petty officialism -was as rampant within its bounds as in many a more -important place. But the princes of Montefiano were lords -of the soil, and lords also of its tillers, as they were of other -possessions in the Agro Romano. There had been a time, -not so very many years ago, when a prince of Montefiano -could post from Rome to Naples, passing each night on one -of the family properties; but building-contractors, cards, -and cocottes had combined to reduce the acreage in the late -prince's lifetime, and Montefiano was now one of the last of -the estates left to his only child, a girl of barely eighteen -summers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Montefiano family had been singularly unlucky in its -last two generations. The three younger brothers of the -late prince had died—two of them when mere lads, and -the third as a married but childless man. The prince -himself had married early in life the beautiful daughter of a -well-known Venetian house, who had brought a considerable -dowry with her, and whom he had deceived and neglected -from the first week of his marriage with her until her death, -which had occurred when the one child born of the union -was but a few months old.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, after some years, the prince had married again. -He had taken to religion in later life, when health had -suddenly failed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His second wife was a Belgian by birth, and had gained -a considerable reputation for holiness in "black" circles in -Rome. Indeed, it was generally supposed that it was a -mere question of time before Mademoiselle d'Antin should -take the veil. Other questions, however, apparently -presented themselves for her consideration, and she took the -Principe di Montefiano instead. It appeared that, after all, -this, and not the cloister, was her true vocation; for she -piloted the broken-down </span><em class="italics">roué</em><span> skilfully, and at the same time -rapidly to the entrance, at all events, to purgatory, where -she left the helm in order to enjoy her widow's portion, and -to undertake the guardianship of her youthful step-daughter -Donna Bianca Acorari, now princess of Montefiano in her -own right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some people in Rome said that the deceased Montefiano -was bored and prayed to death by his pious wife and the -priests with whom she surrounded him. These, however, -were chiefly the boon companions of the prince's unregenerate -days, whose constitutions were presumably stronger -than his had proved itself to be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rome—respectable Rome—was edified at the ending that -the Prince of Montefiano had made, at the piety of his widow, -and also at the fact that there was more money in the Montefiano -coffers than anybody had suspected could be the case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The portion left to the widowed princess was, if not -large, at least considerably larger than had been anticipated -even by those who believed that they knew the state of her -husband's affairs better than their neighbors; and by the -time Donna Bianca should be of an age to marry, her fortune -would, or should, be worth the attention of any husband, -let alone the fiefs and titles she would bring into that -husband's family.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Princess of Montefiano, since her widowhood, had -continued to live quietly on the first floor of the gloomy old -palace behind the Piazza Campitelli, in Rome, which had -belonged to the family from the sixteenth century. The -months of August, September, and October she and her -step-daughter usually spent at a villa near Velletri, but -except for this brief period Rome was their only habitation. -The princess went little into the world, even into that of the -"black" society, and it was generally understood that she -occupied herself with good works. Indeed, those who -professed to know her intimately declared that had it not -been for the sense of her duty towards her husband's little -girl, she would have long ago retired into a convent, and -would certainly do so when Donna Bianca married.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mean time, the great, square building, with its -Renaissance façade which dominated the little town of -Montefiano, remained unvisited by its possessors, and occupied -only by the agent and his family, who lived in a vast -apartment on the ground-floor of the palace. The agent -collected the rents and forwarded them to the princess's man -of business in Rome, and to the good people of Montefiano -the saints and the angels were personalities far more -realizable than were the owners of the soil on which they labored.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not that Don Agostino knew the princess any better than -did his parishioners. He always insisted that he had -never seen her. His attitude, indeed, had been a perpetual -cause of surprise to the agent, who, when Don Agostino first -came to the place, had not unreasonably supposed that -whenever the priest went to Rome, which he did at long -intervals, becoming ever longer as time went on, one of his first -objects would be to present himself at the Palazzo Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Apparently, however, Don Agostino did not deem it -necessary to know the princess or Donna Bianca personally. -Possibly he considered that so long as his formal -letters to the princess on behalf of his flock in times of -distress or sickness met with a satisfactory response, there -was no reason to obtrude himself individually on their -notice. This, at least, was the conclusion that the agent and -the official classes of Montefiano arrived at. As to the -humbler members of Don Agostino's flock, they did not -trouble themselves to draw any conclusions except the most -satisfactory one involved in the knowledge that, as the -Madonna and the saints stood between them and Domeneddio -without their being personally acquainted with him, -so Don Agostino stood between them and the excellencies -in Rome, who, of course, could not spare the time to visit so -distant a place as Montefiano.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ii"><span class="bold large">II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Don Agostino, his office completed, closed his breviary -and stood gazing across the plain below to where -Rome lay. On a clear day, and almost always in the -early mornings in summer, the cupola of St. Peter's could -be seen from Montefiano, hung, as it were, midway between -earth and heaven; but now only a low-lying curtain of haze -marked the position of the city. Down in the valley, -winding between low cliffs clothed with brushwood and stunted -oaks, the waters of the Tiber flashed in the slanting -sun-rays, and the bold outline of Soracte rose in the blue -distance, like an island floating upon a summer sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Don Agostino stood and gazed, and as he did so -he thought of the restless life forever seething in the far-off -city he knew so well—the busy brains that were working, -calculating, intriguing in the shadow of that mighty dome -which bore the emblem of self-sacrifice and humility on its -summit, and of all the good and all the evil that was being -wrought beneath that purple patch of mist that hid—Rome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>None knew the good and the evil better than he, and the -mysterious way in which the one sprang from the other -in a never-ending circle, as it had sprung now for wellnigh -twenty centuries—ever since the old gods began to wear -halos and to be called saints.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino, or, to give him his proper name and -ecclesiastical rank, Monsignor Lelli, had been a canon of the -basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, in Rome, before he fell -into disgrace at the Vatican.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Notwithstanding the gossip which had been rife concerning -the reasons for his exile from Rome to Montefiano, -private morals had had nothing to do with the matter. For -several years he had filled a post of some confidence at the -Vatican—a post, like that held by Judas Iscariot, involving -considerable financial responsibility.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Judas Iscariot, however, had been more fortunate than -Monsignor Lelli, inasmuch as he was attached to the -financial service of Christ, and not to that of Christ's vicar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To make a long story short, certain loans, advanced -for political purposes, though private social interests were -not extraneous to the transactions, lightened the money-bags -to an unforeseen extent, and the securities which -Monsignor Lelli held in their stead soon proved to be little -better than waste paper. It was known that Monsignor -Lelli had acted under protest, and, moreover, that he had -obeyed instructions which he had no choice but to obey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Vatican, however, differs in no way from any other -organization to carry on which the rules of discipline must -be strictly maintained; and when a superior officer blunders, -a subordinate must, if possible, be found to bear the blame. -In this case Monsignor Lelli was manifestly the fit and -proper scape-goat; and here all comparison with Judas -Iscariot ended, for he had walked off with his burden to -Montefiano without uttering so much as a protesting bleat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But at Rome the true motives for actions both public and -private are rarely to be discovered on the surface. Nominally, -Monsignor Lelli's disgrace was the direct consequence of -his negligence in safeguarding the sums of money for the -sound investment of which he was supposed to be -responsible. Practically, its cause lay elsewhere. He was -known to be a Liberal in his political views, the friend of a -prominent foreign cardinal resident in Rome, to whose -influence, indeed, he owed his canonry of Santa Maria -Maggiore, and whose attitude towards the Italian government, -and also towards various dogmatic questions, had for some -time aroused the ill-will of a pontiff who was even more -anti-Italian than his predecessor. Unfortunately for himself, -Monsignor Lelli had published his views on the relations -between Church and State, and had drawn down upon his -head the wrath of the clerical party in consequence. His -enemies, and they were many, left no means untried to bring -about his disgrace, fully aware that by doing so they would -at the same time be striking a blow at the obnoxious -cardinal who supported not only Monsignor Lelli but also -every Liberal ecclesiastic in Rome. When it became -evident that more than one grave financial blunder had been -committed by others in authority, it was equally obvious -that the moment to strike this blow had arrived, and it -was delivered accordingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All these things, however, had happened years ago. The -cardinal was dead—of one of those mysteriously rapid -illnesses which he made no secret to his more intimate -friends as being likely some day to overtake him—and -Monsignor Lelli remained at Montefiano, forgotten, as his -parishioners declared, though he himself knew well that at -Rome nothing is forgotten, and that so long as his enemies -lived, so long would he, Monsignor Lelli, be required to -devote his learning and his intellect to the needs of a peasant -population. Afterwards—well, it was of the afterwards -he was thinking, as he gazed dreamily over the great plain -stretching away to Rome, when the sound of horses' hoofs -in the street below attracted his attention, and, looking -round, he saw the agent, Giuseppe Fontana—Sor Beppe, -as he was commonly called in Montefiano—riding towards -him apparently in some haste.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino moved out of the shade to meet him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Fattore, good-evening!" he said, courteously, -knowing that the man liked to be given his full official title -as administrator of the Montefiano fief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe rode up alongside of him, raising his felt hat -as he returned the salutation. He wore his official coat -of dark-blue cloth, on the silver buttons of which were -engraved the arms and coronet of the Montefiano. He was -a powerfully made man with a dark, grizzled beard, inclining -to gray, and he sat his horse—a well-built black stallion—as -one who was more often in the saddle than out of it. On -ordinary days he would carry a double-barrelled gun slung -across his shoulders, but to-day the weapon was absent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino noted the fact, and also that the agent's -face was lighted up with unusual excitement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what is there new, Signor Fontana?" he asked, -briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Perbacco</em><span>! What is there new?" repeated Fontana. -"There is a whole world of new—but your reverence will -never guess what it is! Such a thing has not happened for -fifteen years—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what is it?" insisted Don Agostino, tranquilly. -"I quite believe that nothing new has happened in Montefiano -for fifteen years. I have been here nearly ten, and—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have ridden down to tell you. The letter came only -an hour ago. Her excellency the princess—their excellencies -the princesses, I should say—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," interrupted Don Agostino, "what about them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The agent took a letter from his pocket and spread it out -on the pommel of his saddle. Then he handed it to Don -Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There!" he exclaimed. "It is her excellency herself -who writes. They are coming here—to the palace—to stay -for weeks—months, perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino uttered a sudden ejaculation. It was -difficult to say whether it was of surprise or dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here!" he said—"to Montefiano? But the place is -dismantled—a barrack!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do I not know it—I?" returned Sor Beppe. "There -are some tables and some chairs—and there are things -that once were beds; but there is nothing else, unless it -is some pictures on the walls—and the prince—blessed -soul—took the best of those to Rome years ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino read the letter attentively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The princess says that all the necessary furniture will -be sent from Rome at once," he observed, "and servants—everything, -in fact. The rooms on the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span> are to -be made ready—and the chapel. Well, Signor Fontana," -he continued, "you will have plenty to occupy your time if, -as the princess says, everything is to be ready in a fortnight -from to-day. After all, the palace was built to be lived -in—is it not true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very true, reverence; but it is so sudden. After so -many years, to want everything done in fifteen days—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Women, my dear Signor Fontana—women!" said Don -Agostino, deprecatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The agent laughed. "That is what I said to my wife," -he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was not a wise thing to say," observed Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is an incredible affair," resumed the other, brushing -a fly from his horse's flank as he spoke; "and no reception by -the people—as little notice as possible to be taken of their -excellencies' arrival. You see what the letter says, -reverence?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Don Agostino, meditatively. "It is -unusual, certainly, under the circumstances."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," he added, "the princess has undoubtedly some -good reason for wishing to arrive at Montefiano in as quiet a -manner as possible. Perhaps she is ill, or her daughter is -ill—who knows?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They say she is a saint," observed Fontana.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him; the tone of Sor Beppe's -voice implied that such a fact would account for any -eccentricity. Then he smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is at all events the mistress of Montefiano, until -the young princess is of age or marries," he remarked; "so, -Signor Fontana, there is nothing more to be said or done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except to obey her excellency's instructions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly—except to obey her instructions," repeated -Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is strange that your reverence, the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of -Montefiano, should never have seen our </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is still stranger that you—her representative -here—should never have seen her," returned Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," said the agent; "but"—and his white -teeth gleamed in his beard as he smiled—"saints do not -often show themselves, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>! My respects," he added, -lifting his hat and gathering up his reins. "I have to ride -down to Poggio to arrange with the station-master there for -the arrival of the things which will be sent from Rome." And -settling himself in his saddle, Sor Beppe started off -at an easy canter and soon disappeared round a turn of the -white road, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked after him for a moment or two, and -then returned thoughtfully to his house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The intelligence the agent had brought him was news, -indeed, and he wondered what its true purport might be. It -was certainly strange that, after studiously avoiding -Montefiano for all these years, the princess should suddenly take -it into her head to come there for a prolonged stay. Hitherto, -Don Agostino had been very happy in his exile, chiefly -because that exile was so complete. There had been -nobody at Montefiano to rake up the past, to open old wounds -which the passing of years had cicatrized, and which only -throbbed now and again when memory insisted upon -asserting her rights.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The petty jealousies and malignities which poison the -atmosphere of most courts, and which in that of the Vatican -are the more poisonous inasmuch as they wear a religious -mask, could not penetrate to Montefiano, or, if they did, -could not long survive out of the air of Rome. Monsignor -Lelli had quickly realized this; and, the confidence of his -parishioners once gained, he had learned to appreciate the -change of air. The financial conditions of the Vatican did -not interest Montefiano. Consequently, the story of Don -Agostino's financial indiscretions had not reached the little -room in the Corso Garibaldi, which was the nightly resort -of the more wealthy among the community, and in which -high political matters were settled with a rapidity that -should have made the parliaments of Europe blush—were -any one of them capable of blushing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As to the other stories—well, Don Agostino had soon lived -them down. Montefiano had declared—with some cynicism, -perhaps, but with much justice—that there were those -who were lucky in their adventures and those who were -unlucky, and that priests, when all was said and done, were -much the same as other people. Nevertheless, Montefiano -had kept its eyes on Don Agostino for a while, in case of -accidents—for nobody likes accidents to happen at home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was not entirely of these matters that Don Agostino -was thinking as he let himself into the little garden by -the side of the church. His house, connected with the -sacristy by a </span><em class="italics">pergola</em><span> over which vines and roses were -struggling for the mastery, stood at the end of this garden, and -Don Agostino, opening the door quietly lest his housekeeper -should hear and descend upon him, passed into his study.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The news Sor Beppe had brought had awakened other -memories—memories which took him back to the days -before he was a priest; when he had been a young fellow of -three or four and twenty, very free from care, very good to -look upon, and very much in love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was strange, perhaps, that the impending arrival at -Montefiano of an elderly lady and a girl of seventeen, -neither of whom Don Agostino had ever seen, should arouse -in him memories of his own youth; but so it was. Such -links in the chain that binds us to the past—a chain that -perhaps death itself is powerless to break—are perpetually -forging themselves in the present, and often trifles as light -as air rivet them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this case the link had been forged long ago. Don -Agostino remembered the forging of it every time he donned -the sacred vestments to say mass, and was conscious that -the years had riveted it only more firmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was, perhaps, as well that his housekeeper was busy -plucking a chicken in the back premises; and it was certainly -as well that none of his flock could have observed their -pastor's actions when he had shut himself into his study, -otherwise unprofitable surmises, long rejected as such, -would have cropped up again round the measures of wine in -the Caffè Garibaldi that evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For some time Don Agostino sat in front of his writing-table -thinking, his face buried in his hands. The joyous -chattering of the house-martins flying to and from their -nests came through the open windows, and the scent of -roses and Madonna lilies. But presently the liquid notes -of the swallows changed into the soft lapping of waters -rising and falling on marble steps; the scent of the lilies -was there, but mingling with it was the salt smell of the -lagoons, the warm, silky air blowing in from the Adriatic. -The distant sounds from the village street became, in Don -Agostino's ears, the cries of the gondoliers and the -fishermen, and Venice rose before his eyes—Venice, with the rosy -light of a summer evening falling on her palaces and her -churches, turning her laughing waters into liquid flame; -Venice, with her murmur of music in the air as the gondolas -and the fishing-boats glided away from the city across the -lagoons to the Lido and the sea; Venice, holding out to him -youth and love, and the first sweet dawning of the passion -that only youth and love can know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Don Agostino raised his head and looked about -him as one looks who wakes from a dream. His eyes fell -upon the crucifix standing on his table and on the ivory -Christ nailed to it. And then his dream passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rising, he crossed the room, and, unlocking a cabinet, -took from it a tiny miniature and one letter—the only one -left to him, for he had burned the rest. The keeping of this -letter had been a compromise. For do not the best of us -make a compromise with our consciences occasionally?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The face in the miniature was that of a young girl—a -child almost—but exceedingly beautiful, with the red-gold -hair and creamy coloring of the Venetian woman of the -Renaissance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at it long; afterwards, almost -mechanically, he raised the picture towards his lips. Then, -with a sudden gesture, as though realizing what he was -about to do, he thrust it back into the drawer of the cabinet. -But he kissed the letter before he replaced it beside the -miniature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was merely another compromise, this time not so much -with his conscience, perhaps, as with his priesthood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bianca!" he said, aloud, and his voice dwelt on the name -with a lingering tenderness. "Bianca! And she—that -other woman—she brings your child here—here, where I -am! Well, perhaps it is you who send her—who knows? -Perhaps it was you who sent me to Montefiano—you, or -the blessed Mother of us all—again, who knows? It was -strange, was it not, that of all places they should send me -here, where your child was born, the child that should have -been—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door was flung open hastily, and Don Agostino's -housekeeper filled the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Madonna mia Santissima!</em><span>" she exclaimed. "It is your -reverence, after all. I thought I heard voices—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Ernana, it is I," said Don Agostino, quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Accidente!</em><span> but you frightened me!" grumbled the -woman. "I was plucking the chicken for your reverence's -supper, and—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I perceive," remarked Don Agostino, watching -feathers falling off her person to the floor. "And you heard -voices," he added. "Well, I was talking to myself. You -can return to the chicken, Ernana, in peace!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The chicken is a fat chicken," observed Ernana, reflectively. -"</span><em class="italics">A proposito</em><span>," she added, "will your reverence -eat it boiled? It sits more lightly on the stomach at -night—boiled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will eat it boiled," said Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And with a </span><em class="italics">contorno</em><span> of rice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rice?" he repeated, absently. "Of course, Ernana; -with rice, certainly with rice."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="iii"><span class="bold large">III</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Palazzo Acorari, the residence in Rome of the -princes of Montefiano, was situated, as has already -been said, in that old quarter of the city known as the -Campitelli. It stood, indeed, but a few yards away from -the piazza of the name, in a deserted little square through -which few people passed save those whose business took -them into the squalid streets and </span><em class="italics">vicoli</em><span> opening out of the -Piazza Montanara.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not one of the well-known palaces of Rome, -although it was of far greater antiquity than many described -at length in the guide-books; neither was it large in -comparison with some of its near neighbors. Nine people out -of ten, if asked by a stranger to direct them to Palazzo -Acorari, would have been unable to reply, although, from -a mingled sense of the courtesy due to a </span><em class="italics">forestiero</em><span>, and fear -of being taken for </span><em class="italics">forestiero</em><span> themselves, they would probably -have attempted to do so all the same, to the subsequent -indignation of the stranger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no particular reason why Palazzo Acorari -should be well known. It contained no famous works of -art, and its apartments, though stately in their way, were -neither historic nor on a large enough scale to have ever -been rented by rich foreigners as a stage on which they -could play at being Roman nobles to an appreciative if -somewhat cynical audience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A narrow and gloomy </span><em class="italics">porte cochère</em><span> opened from the street -into the court-yard round which the Palazzo Acorari was -built. Except for an hour or two at mid-day no ray of -sunlight ever penetrated into this court, which, nevertheless, -was picturesque enough with its graceful arches and its -time-worn statues mounting guard around it. A porter -in faded livery dozed in his little office on one side of the -entrance, in the intervals of gossiping with a passer-by -on the doings and misdoings of the neighbors, and he, -together with a few pigeons and a black cat, were generally -the only animate objects to be seen by those who happened -to glance into the quadrangle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess and her step-daughter inhabited the first -floor of the palace, while the ground-floor was apportioned -off into various </span><em class="italics">locali</em><span> opening on to the streets, in which -a cobbler, a retail charcoal and coke vender, a mattress-maker, -and others plied their respective trades.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the second floor, immediately above the princess's -apartment, was another suite of rooms. This apartment -had been unlet for two or three years, and it was only some -six or eight months since it had found a tenant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess was not an accommodating landlady. Possibly -she regarded concessions to the tenants of her second -floor as works of supererogation—laudable, perhaps, -but not necessary to salvation. Moreover, the tenants -on the second floor never went to mass—at least, so the -Abbé Roux had gathered from the porter, whose business -it was to know the concerns of every one dwelling in or near -Palazzo Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There had been, consequently, passages of arms concerning -responsibility for the repairs of water-pipes and similar -objects, in which it was clearly injurious to the glory of God -and the interests of the Church that the princess should be -the one to give way. She had been, indeed, on the point -of declining the offer of Professor Rossano to take the -vacant apartment. He was a well-known scientist, with -a reputation which had travelled far beyond the frontiers -of Italy, and, in recognition of his work in the domain -of physical science, had been created a senator of the -Italian kingdom. But a scientific reputation was not a -thing which appealed to the princess, regarding as she did -all scientific men as misguided and arrogant individuals in -league with the freemasons and the devil to destroy faith -upon the earth. The Abbé Roux, however, had counselled -tolerance, accompanied by an addition of five hundred francs -a year to the rent. The apartment had been long unlet, and -was considerably out of repair; but the professor had taken -a fancy to it, as being in a quiet and secluded position where -he could pursue his studies undisturbed by the noise of the -tram-cars, which even then were beginning to render the -chief thoroughfares of Rome odious to walk and drive in, -and still more odious to live in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he was a man of some means, he had not demurred at -the extra rent which the princess's agent had demanded at -the last moment before the signing of the lease. Apart -from the fact that he was a scientist and a senator of that -kingdom of which the princess affected to ignore the -existence, there had seemed to be nothing undesirable about -Professor Rossano as a tenant. He was a widower, with -a son of four-and-twenty and a daughter a year or two -older who lived with him; and, after her tenant's furniture -had been carried in and the upholsterers had done their -work, the princess had been hardly conscious that the -apartment immediately above her own was occupied. On rare -occasions she had encountered the professor on the -staircase, and had bowed in answer to his salutation; but there -was no acquaintance between them, nor did either show -symptoms of wishing to interchange anything but the most -formal of courtesies. Sometimes, too, when going out for, -or returning from, their daily drive, the princess and her -step-daughter would meet Professor Rossano's daughter, -who was usually accompanied by her maid, a middle-aged -person of staid demeanor who seemed to act as a companion -to the Signorina Giacinta, as, according to the porter, -Senator Rossano's daughter was called. The girls used to -look at each other curiously, but weeks went by before a -word passed between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are not of our world," the princess had said, -decisively, to Bianca shortly after the Rossanos' arrival, "and -there is no necessity for us to know them"—and the girl -had nodded her head silently, though with a slight sigh. -It was not amusing to be princess of Montefiano in one's -own right and do nothing but drive out in a closed carriage -every afternoon, and perhaps walk for half an hour outside -one of the city gates or in the Villa Pamphili with one's -stepmother by one's side and a footman ten paces behind. -Bianca Acorari thought she would like to have known -Giacinta Rossano, who looked amiable and </span><em class="italics">simpatica</em><span>, -and was certainly pretty. But though there was only the -thickness of a floor between them, the two establishments -were as completely apart as if the Tiber separated them, and -Bianca knew by experience that it would be useless to -attempt to combat her step-mother's prejudices. Indeed, she -herself regarded the professor and his daughter with a -curiosity not unmixed with awe, and would scarcely have -been surprised if a judgment had overtaken them even on -their way up and down the staircase; for had not Monsieur -l'Abbé declared that neither father nor daughter ever went -to mass?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This assertion was not strictly true—at any rate, so far as -the Signorina Giacinta was concerned. The professor, no -doubt, seldom went inside a church, except, perhaps, on -special occasions, such as Easter or Christmas. He possessed -a scientific conscience as well as a spiritual conscience, and -he found an insuperable difficulty in reconciling the one with -the other on a certain point of dogma which need not be -named. He was not antichristian, however, though he -might be anticlerical, and he encouraged Giacinta to go to -the churches rather than the reverse, as many fathers of -families in his position do, both in Italy and elsewhere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Professor Rossano and his daughter had inhabited the -Palazzo Acorari nearly three months before Bianca made -the discovery that the girl at whom she had cast stolen -glances of curiosity, as being the first heretic of her own -nationality she had ever beheld, was, if appearances spoke -the truth, no heretic at all. She had actually seen Giacinta -kneeling in the most orthodox manner at mass in the -neighboring church of Santa Maria dei Campitelli. Bianca had -informed the princess of her discovery that very day at -breakfast in the presence of the Abbé Roux, who was an -invariable guest on Sundays and feast-days. She nourished a -secret hope that her step-mother might become more favorably -disposed towards the family on the second floor if it -could satisfactorily be proved not to be entirely heretical. -The princess, however, did not receive the information in -the spirit Bianca had expected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"People of that sort," she had responded, coldly, "often -go to mass in order to keep up appearances, or sometimes to -meet—oh, well"—she broke off, abruptly—"to stare about -them as you seem to have been doing this morning, Bianca, -instead of saying your prayers. Is it not so, Monsieur -l'Abbé?" she added to the priest, with whom she generally -conversed in French, though both spoke Italian perfectly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux sighed. "Ah, yes, madame," he replied, -"unluckily it is undoubtedly so. The Professor Rossano, -if one is to judge by certain arrogant and anticatholic -works of which he is the author, is not likely to have brought -up his children to be believers. And if one does not believe, -what is the use of going to mass?—except—except—" And -here he checked himself as the princess had done, feeling -himself to be on the verge of an indiscretion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You hear, Bianca, what Monsieur l'Abbé says," -observed the princess. "You must understand once for all, -that what Professor Rossano and his daughter may or may -not do is no concern of ours—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So long as they pay their rent," added the Abbé, -pouring himself out another glass of red wine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So long as they pay their rent," the princess repeated. -"They are not of our society—" she continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do not dance," interrupted Bianca.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess looked at her a little suspiciously. She was -never quite sure whether Bianca, notwithstanding her quiet -and apparently somewhat apathetic disposition, was -altogether so submissive as she seemed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dance!" she exclaimed. "Why should they dance? -I don't know what you mean, Bianca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is against the contract to dance on the second floor. -The guests might fall through on to our heads," observed -Bianca, tranquilly. "Bettina told me so, and the porter -told her—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess frowned. "Bettina talks too much," she -said, with an unmistakable air of desiring that the subject -should drop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca relapsed into silence. It was very evident that, -however devout the Rossano girl might be, she would not -be allowed to make her acquaintance. Her observant eyes -had watched the Abbé Roux's countenance as she made her -little effort to further that desired event, for she was very -well aware that no step was likely to be taken in this, or, -indeed, in any other matter unless the Abbé approved of it. -Privately, Bianca detested the priest, and with a child's -unerring instinct—for she was still scarcely more than a -child in some things—she felt that he disliked her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nor was this state of things of recent origin. Ever since -the Abbé Roux had become, as it were, a member of the -Montefiano household, Bianca Acorari had entertained the -same feeling towards him. Her obstinacy on this point, -indeed, had first awakened the princess to the fact that her -step-daughter had a very decided will of her own, which, -short of breaking, nothing was likely to conquer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This stubbornness, as the princess called it, had shown -itself in an unmistakable manner when Bianca, though only -twelve years old, had firmly and absolutely refused to -confess to Monsieur l'Abbé. In vain the princess had threatened -punishment both immediate and future, and in vain the -Abbé Roux had admonished her. Make her confession to -him, she would not. To any other priest, yes; to him, -no—not then or ever. There was nothing more to be said -or done—for both the princess and Monsieur l'Abbé knew -well enough that the child was within her rights according -to the laws of the Church, though of course she herself was -unaware of the fact. There had been nothing for it, as -weeks went on and Bianca never drew back from the -position she had taken up, but to give way as gracefully as -might be—but it was doubtful if the Abbé Roux had ever -forgiven the want of confidence in him which the child had -displayed, although he had afterwards told her that the -Church left to all penitents the right of choice as to their -confessors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Bianca grew older, the princess had intended to -send her to the Convent of the Assumption in order to -complete her education, and at the same time place her under -some discipline. The girl was delicate, however, and it was -eventually decided that it was better that she should be -educated at home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps it was the gradual consciousness that she was -debarred from associating with any one of her own age -which had made Bianca think wistfully that it would be -pleasant to make the acquaintance of the attractive-looking -girl whom she passed occasionally on the staircase, and who -had come to live under the same roof as herself. She could -not but notice that the older she became the more she -seemed to be cut off from the society of others of her years. -Formerly she had occasionally been allowed to associate -with the children of her step-mother's friends and acquaintances, -and, at rare intervals, they had been invited to some -childish festivity at Palazzo Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By degrees, however, her life had become more and more -isolated, and for the last year or two the princess, a -governess who came daily to teach her modern languages and -music, and her maid and attendant, Bettina, had been her -only companions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rightly or wrongly, Bianca associated the restriction of -her surroundings with the influence of the Abbé Roux, and -the suspicion only increased the dislike she had always -instinctively borne him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It never entered into her head, however, to suggest to the -princess that her life was an exceedingly dull one. Indeed, -having no means of comparing it with the lives of other -girls of her age, she scarcely realized that it was dull, and -she accepted it as the natural order of things. It had not -been until she had seen Giacinta Rossano that an indefinable -longing for some companionship other than that of those -much older than herself began to make itself felt within her, -and she had found herself wondering why she had no -brothers and sisters, no cousins, such as other girls must -have, with whom they could associate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mean time, life in Palazzo Acorari went on as usual -for Bianca. She fancied that, when they passed each other, -the daughter of the mysterious old professor on the second -floor who wrote wicked books looked at her with increasing -interest; and that once or twice, when Bianca had been -accompanied only by Bettina, she had half-paused as though -about to speak, but had then thought better of it and walked -on with a bow and a slight smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On one occasion she had ventured to sound Bettina as to -whether it would not be at least courteous on her part -to do something more than bow as she passed the Signorina -Rossano. But Bettina was very cautious in her reply. The -princess, it appeared, had been resolute in forbidding any -communication between the two floors, excepting such as -might have to be carried on through the medium of the -porter, in the case of such a calamity as pipes bursting or -roofs leaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>December was nearly over, and Rome was </span><em class="italics">sotto Natale</em><span>. -People were hurrying through the streets buying their -Christmas presents, and thronging the churches to look -at the representations of the Holy Child lying in the -manger of Bethlehem; for it was Christmas Eve, and the -great bells of the basilicas were booming forth the tidings -of the birth of Christ. In every house in Rome, among -rich and poor alike, preparations were going on for the -family gathering that should take place that night, and for -the supper that should be eaten after midnight when the -strict fast of the Christmas vigil should be over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The majority, perhaps, paid but little heed to the fasting -and abstinence enjoined by the priests, unless the addition -of fresh fish to the bill of fare—fish brought from Anzio and -Nettuno the day before by the ton weight and sold at the -traditional </span><em class="italics">cottìo</em><span> throughout the night—could be taken as -a sign of obedience to the laws of the Church. But the -truly faithful conformed rigidly throughout the day, -reserving themselves for the meats that would be permissible on -the return from the midnight masses, when the birth of a -God would be celebrated, as it has ever been, by a larger -consumption than usual of the flesh of His most innocent -creatures on the part of those who invoke Him as a merciful -and compassionate Creator.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This particular Christmas Eve it so happened that the -princess was confined to her bed with a severe cold and -fever, which made attendance at the midnight masses an -impossibility so far as she was concerned. Bianca, -however, was allowed to go, accompanied by Bettina, and -shortly after half-past eleven they left Palazzo Acorari, meaning -to walk to the church of San Luigi dei Francesi in the Piazza -Navona, one of the few churches in Rome to which the -public were admitted to be present at the three masses -appointed to be said at the dawning hours of Christmas Day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was raining in torrents as they emerged from the -</span><em class="italics">portone</em><span> of the </span><em class="italics">palazzo</em><span>, and to get a cab at that hour of -night on Christmas Eve appeared to be an impossibility, -except, perhaps, in the main streets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca and her attendant consulted together. They -would certainly be wet through before they could reach the -Piazza Navona, and it seemed as though there was nothing -to be done but to remain at home. Bettina, however, -suddenly remembered that at the little church of the -Sudario, less than half-way to the Piazza Navona, the midnight -masses were also celebrated. To be sure, it was the church -of the Piedmontese, and chiefly attended by members of -the royal household, and often by the queen herself. The -princess would not be altogether pleased, therefore, at the -substitution; but, under the circumstances, Bianca -expressed her determination of going there, and her maid was -obliged to acquiesce.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Five minutes plunging through puddles and mud, and -battling with a warm sirocco wind which blew in gusts at -the corners of every street, brought them to the little -church hidden away behind the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A side door communicating with the building was open, -and they passed from the darkness and the driving rain into -a blaze of warm light and the mingled scent of incense and -flowers. The high altar, adorned with priceless white-and-gold -embroideries, sparkled in the radiance of countless wax-candles. -Overhead, from a gallery at the opposite end of -the church, the organ was playing softly, the player -reproducing on the reed-stops the pastoral melodies of the -</span><em class="italics">pifferari</em><span>, in imitation of the pipes of the shepherds watching -over their flocks through that wonderful night nineteen -centuries ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Although it wanted yet twenty minutes to midnight the -church was nearly full, and Bianca and her companion made -their way to some vacant seats half-way up it. Glancing at -her neighbors immediately in front of her, Bianca gave a -start of surprise as she recognized Giacinta Rossano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bettina's gaze was fixed on the altar, and Bianca hesitated -for a moment. Then she leaned forward and whispered -timidly, "</span><em class="italics">Buona Natale, buona feste</em><span>"—with a little smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pair of soft, dark eyes smiled back into her own. -"</span><em class="italics">Buona Natale, e buona anno, Donna Bianca</em><span>." Giacinta -Rossano replied, in a low, clear voice which caused Bettina -to withdraw her eyes from the altar and to look sharply -round to see whence it proceeded. Somebody else turned -round also—a young man whom Bianca had not noticed, -but who was sitting next to Giacinta. For a moment their -eyes met, and then she looked away quickly, half conscious -of a sensation of effort in doing so that caused her a vague -surprise. The gaze she had suddenly encountered had -seemed to enchain her own. The eyes that had looked into -hers with a wondering, questioning look were like Giacinta -Rossano's, only they were blue—Bianca felt quite sure of -that. They had seemed to shut out for a second or two the -blaze of light on the altar. The momentary feeling of -surprise passed, she turned her head towards the altar again, -and as she did so she overheard Giacinta Rossano's -companion whisper to her, "</span><em class="italics">Chiè?</em><span>" accompanied by a rapid -backward motion of his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta's reply was inaudible, for at that moment a clear -alto voice from the gallery rang out with the opening notes -of the </span><em class="italics">Adeste Fideles</em><span>. The doors of the sacristy opened, -and the officiating priest, glittering in his vestments of -gold-and-white, knelt before the altar. </span><em class="italics">Venite Adoremus</em><span> burst -forth triumphantly from the choir, the alto voice rising -above the rest like an angel's song. Presently, as the strains -of the Christmas hymn died away, and the soft reed-notes of -the organ resumed the plaintive refrain of the </span><em class="italics">pifferari</em><span>, the -celebrant rose, and then kneeling again on the lowest step of -the altar, murmured the </span><em class="italics">Confiteor</em><span>—and the first mass of the -Nativity began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the elevation, Bianca Acorari rose from her knees -and resumed her seat. The mellow light from the -wax-candles glinted upon the tawny gold of her hair and her -creamy complexion, both of which she had inherited from -her Venetian mother. Many eyes were turned upon her, -for though, so far as regularity of features was concerned, -she could not be called beautiful, yet her face was striking -enough, combining as it did the Italian grace and mobility -with a coloring that, but for its warmth, might have stamped -her as belonging to some Northern race.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Owing to the general shuffling of chairs consequent upon -the members of the congregation resuming their seats after -the elevation, Bianca suddenly became aware that Giacinta -Rossano's companion had somewhat changed his position, -and that he was now sitting where he could see her without, -as before, turning half round in his seat. Apparently, too, -he was not allowing the opportunity to escape him, for more -than once she felt conscious that his eyes were resting upon -her; and, indeed, each time she ventured to steal a glance in -Giacinta's direction that glance was intercepted—not rudely -or offensively, but with the same almost wondering look in -the dark-blue eyes that they had worn when they first met -her own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca glanced furtively from Giacinta's companion to -Giacinta herself as soon as the former looked away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Decidedly, she thought, they were very like each other, -except in the coloring of the eyes, for Giacinta's eyes were -of a deep, velvety brown. Suddenly a light dawned upon -her. Of course! this must be Giacinta Rossano's brother—come, -no doubt, to spend Christmas with his father and -sister. She had always heard that the professor had a son; -but as this son had never appeared upon the scene since the -Rossanos had lived in the Palazzo Acorari, Bianca had -forgotten that he had any existence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How she wished she had a brother come to spend Christmas -with her! It would, at all events, be more amusing -than sitting at dinner opposite to Monsieur l'Abbé, which -would certainly be her fate the following evening. From all -of which reflections it may be gathered that Bianca was not -deriving as much spiritual benefit from her attendance at -mass as could be desired. Perhaps the thought struck her, -for she turned somewhat hastily to Bettina, only to see an -expression on that worthy woman's face which puzzled her. -It was a curious expression, half-uneasy and half-humorous, -and Bianca remembered it afterwards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three masses came to an end at last, and to the calm, -sweet music of the Pastoral symphony from Händel's -</span><em class="italics">Messiah</em><span> (for the organist at the Sudario, unlike the -majority of his colleagues in Rome, was a musician and an artist) -the congregation slowly left the church, its members -exchanging Christmas greetings with their friends before -going home to supper. Bettina hurried her charge through -the throng, never slackening speed until they had left the -building and turned down a by-street out of the crowd -thronging the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele. Even then she -glanced nervously over her shoulder from time to time, as -though to make sure they were not being followed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rain had ceased by this time, and the moon shone in a -deep violet sky, softening the grim mass of the Caetani and -Antici-Mattei palaces which frowned above them. Presently -Bettina halted under a flickering gas-lamp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fine thing, truly," she exclaimed, abruptly, "to go to -a midnight mass to stare at a good-looking boy—under the -very nose, too, speaking with respect, of the </span><em class="italics">santissimo</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca flushed. "He looked at me!" she said, indignantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the same thing," returned Bettina—"at least," -she added, "it is generally the same thing—in the end. -Holy Virgin! what would her excellency say—and -Monsieur l'Abbé—if they knew such a thing? And the -insolence of it! He looked—and looked! Signorina, it is a -thing unheard of—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What thing?" interrupted Bianca, tranquilly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What thing?" repeated Bettina, somewhat taken aback. -"Why—why—oh, well," she added, hastily, "it doesn't -matter what thing—only, for the love of God, signorina, do -not let her excellency know that you spoke to the Signorina -Rossano to-night!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no harm," replied Bianca. "I only wished -her a good Christmas—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No harm—perhaps not!" returned Bettina; "but, signorina, -I do not wish to find myself in the street, you -understand—and it is I who would be blamed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca raised her head proudly. "You need not be -afraid," she said. "I do not allow others to be blamed for -what I do. As to the Signorina Rossano, I have made her -acquaintance, and I mean to keep it. For the rest, it is not -necessary to say when or how I made it. Come, Bettina, I -hear footsteps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will make the acquaintance of the other one, too," -Bettina said to herself—"but who knows whether you will -keep it? Mali!" and with a sharp shrug of the shoulders -she walked by Bianca's side in silence until they reached -Palazzo Acorari, where the porter, who was waiting for -them at the entrance, let them through the gateway and -lighted them up the dark staircase to the doors of the </span><em class="italics">piano -nobile</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="iv"><span class="bold large">IV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I tell you that it is a </span><em class="italics">pazzia</em><span>—a madness," said -Giacinta Rossano. "The girl is a good girl, and I am sorry -for her—shut up in this dreary house with a step-mother -and a priest. But we are not of their world, and they are -not of ours. The princess has made that very clear from -the first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what does it matter?" Silvio Rossano exclaimed, -impetuously. "We are not princes, but neither are we -beggars. Does not everybody know who my father is, -Giacinta? And some day, perhaps, I shall make a name -for myself, too—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta glanced at her brother proudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said, "I believe you will—I am sure you will, -if—" And then she hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If what?" demanded Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you do not make an imbecile of yourself first," his -sister replied, dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio Rossano flung the newspaper he had been reading -on to the floor, and his eyes flashed with anger. In a -moment, however, the anger passed, and he laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All men are imbeciles once in their lives," he said, "and -most men are imbeciles much more frequently—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, with these last it does not matter," observed -Giacinta, sapiently; "they do themselves no harm. But -you—you are not of that sort, Silvio </span><em class="italics">mio</em><span>. So before making -an imbecile of yourself, it will be better to be sure that it is -worth the trouble. Besides, the thing is ridiculous. People -do not fall in love at first sight, except in novels—and if -they do, they can easily fall out of it again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not the other ones," said Silvio, briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The other ones? Ah, I understand," and Giacinta -looked at him more gravely. She was very fond of this only -brother of hers, and very proud of him—proud of his -already promising career and of his frank, lovable -disposition, as well as of his extreme good looks. In truth, when -she compared Silvio with the large majority of young men -of his age and standing, she had some reason for her pride. -Unlike so many young Romans of the more leisured classes, -Silvio Rossano had never been content to lead a useless and -brainless existence. Being an only son, he had been exempt -from military service; but, instead of lounging in the Corso -in the afternoons and frequenting music-halls and other -resorts of a more doubtful character at night, he had turned -his attention at a comparatively early age to engineering. -At the present moment, though barely five-and-twenty, he -had just completed the erection of some important -water-works at Bari, during the formation of which he had been -specially chosen by one of the most eminent engineers in -Italy to superintend the works during the great man's -repeated absences elsewhere. Thanks to Silvio Rossano's -untiring energy and technical skill, as well as to his -popularity with his subordinates and workmen, serious difficulties -had been overcome in an unusually short space of time, and -a government contract, which at one moment looked as if -about to be unfulfilled by the company with whom it had -been placed, was completed within the period agreed upon. -There could be little doubt that, after his last success, Silvio -would be given some lucrative work to carry out, and, in -the mean time, after an absence of nearly a year, he had -come home for a few weeks' rest and holiday, to find his -father and sister installed in Palazzo Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was, perhaps, not to be wondered at if Giacinta Rossano -felt uneasy in her mind on her brother's account. She -knew his character as nobody else could know it, for he was -barely two years younger than she, and they had grown up -together. She knew that beneath his careless, good-natured -manner there lay an inflexible will and indomitable energy, -and that once these were fully aroused they would carry him -far towards the end he might have in view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The interest that Donna Bianca Acorari had aroused in -Silvio had not escaped Giacinta's notice. She had observed -where his gaze had wandered so frequently during the -midnight mass a few nights previously, and, knowing that -Silvio's life had been too busy a one to have left him much -time to think about love, she had marvelled at the effect that -Bianca Acorari seemed suddenly to have had upon him. -Since that night, whenever they were alone together, he -would begin to question her as to the surroundings of their -neighbors on the floor below them, and urge her to make -friends with Donna Bianca. It was in vain that Giacinta -pointed out that she had only interchanged a word or two -with the girl in her life, and that there was evidently a fixed -determination on the princess's part not to permit any -acquaintance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This last argument, she soon discovered, was the very -worst that she could use. Like most Romans of the -</span><em class="italics">bourgeoisie</em><span> to which he by birth belonged—and, indeed, like -Romans of every class outside the so-called nobility—Silvio -was a republican at heart so far as social differences -were concerned; nor—in view of the degeneracy of a class -which has done all in its power in modern days to vulgarize -itself in exchange for dollars, American or otherwise, and to -lose any remnant of the traditions that, until a generation -ago, gave the Roman noblesse a claim upon the respect of -the classes nominally below it—could this attitude be -blamed or wondered at.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At first, Giacinta had laughed at her brother for the way -in which he had fallen a victim to the attractions of a young -girl whom he had never seen before, but she had very soon -begun to suspect that Silvio's infatuation was no mere -passing whim. She was well aware, too, that passing whims -were foreign to his nature. Since that Christmas night, he -had been more silent and thoughtful than she had ever seen -him, except, perhaps, in his student days, when he had been -working more than usually hard before the examinations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of Bianca Acorari herself he spoke little, but Giacinta -understood that the drift of his conversation generally -flowed towards the family on the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span> and how its -members occupied their day. Moreover, Silvio, she -observed, was much more frequently </span><em class="italics">in casa</em><span> than was -altogether natural for a young fellow supposed to be taking a -holiday, and he appeared to be strangely neglectful of -friends and acquaintances to whose houses he had formerly -been ready to go. Another thing, too, struck Giacinta as -unusual, and scarcely edifying. Silvio had never been -remarkable for an alacrity to go to mass, and Giacinta knew -that he shared the professor's views on certain subjects, and -that he had little partiality for the clergy as a caste. -Apparently, however, he had suddenly developed a devotion -to some saint whose relic might or might not be in the -church of Santa Maria in Piazza Campitelli, for Giacinta, -to her surprise, had met him face to face one morning as -she had gone to mass there, and on another occasion she -had caught a glimpse of his figure disappearing behind a -corner in the same church. It was only charitable, she -thought, casually to inform this devout church-goer that -the Princess Montefiano had a private chapel in her -apartment, in which the Abbé Roux said mass every morning at -half-past eight o'clock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mean time, the professor, occupied with his scientific -research, was in happy ignorance of the fact that disturbing -elements were beginning to be at work within his small -domestic circle, and Giacinta kept her own counsel. She -hoped that Silvio would soon get some employment which -would take him away from Rome, for she was very sure that -nothing but mortification and unhappiness would ensue -were he to make Bianca Acorari's acquaintance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some days had elapsed since Christmas, and Giacinta -Rossano had not again seen either Bianca or the princess. -Under the circumstances, she by no means regretted the fact, -for she rather dreaded lest she and her brother might -encounter them on the staircase, and then, if Silvio behaved -as he had behaved in the Sudario, the princess would -certainly suspect his admiration for her step-daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In Rome, however, families can live under the same roof -for weeks, or even months, without necessarily encountering -each other, or knowing anything of each other's lives or -movements; and it so happened that no opportunity was -given to Giacinta, even had she desired it, again to -interchange even a formal greeting with the girl who had -evidently made such an impression at first sight on her -brother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of late, too, Silvio's interest in their neighbors had -apparently diminished, for he asked fewer questions concerning -them, and occasionally, Giacinta thought, almost seemed -as though desirous of avoiding the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was not altogether pleased, however, when, after he -had been at home about a month, Silvio one day announced -that he had been offered work in Rome which would certainly -keep him in the city for the whole summer. It was delightful, -no doubt, to have him with them. She saw that her -father was overjoyed at the idea, and, had it not been for -other considerations, Giacinta would have desired nothing -better than that Silvio should live permanently with them, -for his being at home made her own life infinitely more -varied. She could not help wondering, however, whether -Bianca Acorari had anything to do with Silvio's evident -satisfaction at remaining in Rome. Hitherto, he had -shown eagerness rather than disinclination to get away -from Rome, declaring that there was so little money or -enterprise in the capital that any young Roman wishing to -make his way in the world had better not waste his time -by remaining in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, however, to judge of Silvio's contented attitude, he -had found work which would be remunerative enough without -being obliged to seek it in other parts of Italy or abroad. -And so the weeks went by. Lent was already over, and -Easter and spring had come, when Giacinta made a -discovery which roused afresh all her uneasiness on her -brother's behalf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In some way or another she began to feel convinced that -Silvio had managed either to meet Bianca Acorari, or, at all -events, to have some communication with her. For some -little time, indeed, she had suspected that his entire -cessation from any mention of the girl or her step-mother was not -due to his interest in Bianca having subsided. Silvio's -interest in anything was not apt easily to subside when once -fully aroused, and that it had been fully aroused, Giacinta -had never entertained any doubt. Chance furnished her -with a clew as to where Silvio's channels of communication -might possibly lie, if indeed he could have any direct -communication with Donna Bianca, which, under the -circumstances, would seem to be almost incredible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It so happened that one April morning, when summer -seemed to have entered into premature possession of its -inheritance, when the Banksia roses by the steps of the Ara -Coeli were bursting into bloom and the swifts were chasing -each other with shrill screams in the blue sky overhead, -Giacinta was returning from her usual walk before the -mid-day breakfast, and, as she turned into the little piazza in -which Palazzo Acorari was situated, she nearly collided with -Silvio, apparently engaged in lighting a cigarette. There -was nothing unusual in his being there at that hour, for he -sometimes returned to breakfast </span><em class="italics">a casa</em><span>, especially on -Thursdays, when little or no work is done in Rome in the -afternoons, and this was a Thursday. It struck her, -nevertheless, that Silvio seemed to be somewhat embarrassed by her -sudden appearance round the corner of the narrow lane -which connected the piazza with the Piazza Campitelli. -His embarrassment was only momentary, however, and -he accompanied her to the </span><em class="italics">palazzo</em><span>. The cannon at San -Angelo boomed mid-day as they turned into the </span><em class="italics">portone</em><span>, -and was answered by the bells of the churches round. As -they slowly mounted the staircase, a lady came down it. -Giacinta did not know her by sight, and, after she had -passed them, she half-turned to look at her, for she fancied -that a glance of mutual recognition was exchanged between -her and Silvio, though the latter raised his hat only with the -formality usual in passing an unknown lady on a staircase. -The stranger seemed to hesitate for a moment, as though -she were disconcerted at seeing Silvio in another person's -company. The lady continued her way, however, and if -Giacinta had not happened to look round as she and Silvio -turned the corner of the staircase, she probably would have -thought no more of her, for she was not particularly -remarkable, being merely a quietly dressed woman, -perhaps eight-and-twenty or thirty years of age, neither -good-looking nor the reverse. But, as Giacinta looked, the lady -coughed, and the cough re-echoed up the staircase. At -the same time she dropped a folded piece of paper. -Apparently she was unconscious that she had done so, for she -continued to descend the stairs without turning her head, -and disappeared round the angle of the court-yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has dropped something, Silvio," Giacinta said. -"Had you not better go after her? It is a letter, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course!" Silvio answered, a little hastily. "I will -catch up with her and give it to her," and he turned and -ran down the staircase as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta, leaning over the balustrade, saw him pick up the -piece of paper. Then he crumpled it up and thrust it into -his pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," said Giacinta to herself, "was not prudent of -Silvio. One does not crumple up a letter and pocket it if -one is about to restore it to its owner, unless one's pocket -is its proper destination."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, Silvio continued to pursue the lady, and -three or four minutes or more elapsed before he rejoined his -sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," Giacinta observed, tranquilly. "You gave her -back her letter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was not a letter," said Silvio, "it was only a—a -memorandum—written on a scrap of paper. A thing of no -importance, Giacinta."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad it was of no importance," returned Giacinta, -not caring to press her original question. "Do you know -who she is?" she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," answered Silvio, carelessly, "that she must be -the lady who comes to teach the princess's daughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Step-daughter," corrected Giacinta, dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course—step-daughter—I had forgotten. Do you -know, Giacinta," he continued, "that we shall be very late -for breakfast?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a silent affair, that breakfast. The professor had -been occupied the whole of the morning in correcting the -proofs of a new scientific treatise, and he had even brought -to the table some diagrams which he proceeded to study -between the courses. Silvio's handsome face wore a -thoughtful and worried expression, and Giacinta was -engrossed with her own reflections.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently Professor Rossano broke the silence. He was -eating asparagus, and it is not easy to eat asparagus and -verify diagrams at the same time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silvio," he said, mildly, "may one ask whether it is true -that you have fallen in love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio started, and looked at his father with amazement. -Then he recovered himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One may ask it, certainly," he replied, "but—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But one should not ask indiscreet questions, eh?" -continued the professor. "Well, falling in love is a disease -like any other—infectious in the first stage—after that, -contagious—decidedly contagious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed a little nervously. "And in the last -stage?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, in the last stage one—peels. H one does not, the -affair is serious. I met Giacomelli yesterday—your </span><em class="italics">maestro</em><span>. -He said to me: 'Senator, our excellent Silvio is in love. -I am convinced that he is in love. It is a thousand pities; -because, when one is in love, one is apt to take false -measurements; and for an engineer to take false measurements -is a bad thing!' That is what Giacomelli said to me in -Piazza Colonna yesterday afternoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked evidently relieved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And may one ask whom I am supposed to be in love -with?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to that," observed the professor, dryly, "you -probably know best. All that I would suggest is, that you do -not allow the malady to become too far advanced in the -second stage—unless"—and here he glanced at Giacinta—"well, -unless you are quite sure that you will peel." And -with a quiet chuckle he turned to his diagrams again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio caught his sister's eyes fixed upon him. Giacinta -had perhaps not entirely understood her father's metaphors, -but it was very clear to her that others had noticed the -change she had observed in Silvio. He had evidently been -less attentive to his work than was his wont; and the -eminent engineer under whom he had studied and made a -name for himself, becoming aware of the fact, had -unconsciously divined the true cause of it. The Commendatore -Giacomelli had doubtless spoken in jest to the father of his -favorite pupil, thinking that a parental hint might be useful -in helping Silvio to return to his former diligence. Giacinta -knew her father's good-natured cynicism well enough, and -felt certain that, though treating the matter as a joke, he -had intended to let Silvio know that his superiors had -noticed some falling off in his work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Giacinta was, unfortunately, only too sure that the -right nail had been hit on the head, even if the blow had -fallen accidentally. She did not feel uneasy lest her father -should discover the fact, nor, if he did so, that he would -make any efforts to discover the quarter in which Silvio's -affections were engaged. The professor lived a life very -much of his own, and his nature was a singularly detached -one. His attitude towards the world was that of a quiet -and not inappreciative spectator of a high comedy. His -interests were centred in the stage, and also in the -stage-machinery, and he was always ready to be amused or to -sympathize as the case might be, in the passing scenes -which that complex machinery produced. Giacinta often -wondered whether her father ever thought of the possibility -of her marriage, or ever considered that her position as an -only daughter was somewhat a lonely one. He had never -made the faintest allusion to the subject to her; but she was -sure that if she were suddenly to announce to him that she -was going to marry, he would receive the information -placidly enough, and, when once he had satisfied himself -that she had chosen wisely, would think no more about the -matter. And it would be the same thing as far as Silvio -was concerned—only, in Silvio's case, if Donna Bianca -Acorari were the object on which he had set his affections, -Giacinta was certain that the professor would not consider -the choice a wise one. He had a great dislike to anything -in the nature of social unpleasantness, as have many clever -people who live in a detached atmosphere of their own. In -print, or in a lecture-room, he could hit hard enough, and -appeared to be utterly indifferent as to how many enemies -he made, or how many pet theories he exploded by a logic -which was at times irritatingly humorous and at times -severely caustic. But, apart from his pen and his conferences, -the Senator Rossano was merely a placid individual, -slightly past middle age, with a beard inclining to gray, and -a broad, intellectual forehead from under which a pair of -keen, brown eyes looked upon life good-naturedly enough. -Perhaps the greatest charm about Professor Rossano was -his genuine simplicity—the simplicity which is occasionally, -but by no means always, the accompaniment of intellectual -power, and the possession of which usually denotes that -power to be of a very high order. This simplicity deceived -others not infrequently, but it never deceived him; on the -contrary, it was perpetually adding to his knowledge, -scientific and otherwise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both Professor Rossano's children had inherited something -of their father's nature, but Silvio had inherited it in -a more complex way, perhaps, than his sister. In him the -scientific tendency had shown itself in the more practical -form of a love for the purely mechanical and utilitarian. -Nevertheless, he had the same detached nature, the same -facility for regarding life from the objective point of view, -as his father, and the same good-humored if slightly cynical -disposition. Of the two, Giacinta was probably the more -completely practical, and had, perhaps, the harder -disposition. Nor was this unnatural; for their mother had died -when Silvio was a child between five and six years old, and -Giacinta, being then nearly eight, had speedily acquired -a certain sense of responsibility, which, owing to the -professor's absorption in his scientific researches, largely -increased as time went on. But Giacinta, also, had her full -share of good-nature and sympathy, though she was -incapable of, as it were, holding herself mentally aloof from -the world around her as did her father and, to a certain -degree, her brother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Breakfast over, Professor Rossano soon retired again to -the correction of his proofs, leaving Giacinta and Silvio -alone together. For a short time neither of them spoke, -and Silvio apparently devoted his whole attention to the -proper roasting of the end of a "Verginia" cigar in the -flame of a candle. Giacinta meditated on the possible -contents of the piece of paper that she felt positive was still -lying in a crumpled condition in her brother's pocket, and -wondered what particular part the lady who had passed them -on the staircase might be playing in the business—though -she had already made a very natural guess at it. She would -have given a good deal to know whether the note—or the -memorandum, as Silvio had called it, with a possibly -unconscious humor that had made Giacinta smile—was -written by Bianca Acorari herself or by the quietly dressed -young person who was, no doubt, Bianca's daily governess. -If it were from Donna Bianca, then things must have -advanced to what the professor would have termed the -contagious stage—only Giacinta did not employ that simile, -its suggestiveness having escaped her—which would be -a decidedly serious affair. If, however, as was far more -probable, the missive came from the governess, who had -been disappointed of the expected opportunity to give it to -Silvio unobserved, and so had dropped it for him to pick -up, the matter was serious, too, but not so serious. If -Silvio had won over the governess to aid him in furthering -his plans, Giacinta thought that she, too, might manage -to do a little corrupting on her own account with the same -individual. It did not immediately strike her that Silvio's -sex, as well as his particularly attractive face and personality, -might have removed many difficulties out of his path -in dealing with the demure-looking female who devoted -three hours a day to the improvement of Donna Bianca's -education.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently, Giacinta became restive under the prolonged -silence which followed the professor's departure from the -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, Silvio," she observed, as though she were -merely continuing an interrupted conversation, "it is not -only I who notice that you have had your head in the -clouds lately—oh, ever since Christmas. And first of all, -people will say: 'He is in love'—as Giacomelli said to -papa yesterday; and then they will begin to ask: 'Who is -the girl?' And then, very soon, some busybody will find -out. It is always like that. And then—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Giacinta—and then?" repeated Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you!" returned Giacinta, decidedly. "Then -that priest, Monsieur l'Abbé Roux, as they call him, will -be sent by the princess to see papa, and there will be well, -a terrible </span><em class="italics">disturbo</em><span>—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Abbé Roux can go to hell," observed Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afterwards—yes, perhaps. Papa has several times -given him a similar permission. But in the mean time he -will make matters exceedingly unpleasant. After all, -Silvio," Giacinta continued, "let us be reasonable. The -girl is an heiress—a princess in her own right, and -we—we are not noble. You know what the world would -say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio Rossano glanced at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are Romans," he said, "of a family as old as the -Acorari themselves. It is true that we are not noble. -Perhaps, when we look at some of those who are, it is as -well! But we are not poor, either, Giacinta—not so poor -as to have to be fed by rich American and English -adventurers at the Grand Hôtel, like some of your nobles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta shrugged her shoulders. "Donna Bianca -Acorari is of that class," she said, quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio instantly flew into a rage. "That is so like a -woman!" he retorted. "Do you suppose I meant to imply -that all our nobles are like that? Each class has its </span><em class="italics">canaglia</em><span>, -and the pity of it is that the foreigners as a rule see more -of our </span><em class="italics">canaglia</em><span> than they do of the rest, and judge us -accordingly. As to Donna Bianca Acorari, we can leave -her name out of the discussion—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta laughed. "Scarcely," she said; "but, Silvio -</span><em class="italics">mio</em><span>, you must not be angry. You know that I do not care -at all whether people are noble by birth or whether they are -not. All the same, I think you are preparing for yourself -a great deal of mortification; and for that girl, if you make -her care for you, a great deal of unhappiness. You see how -she is isolated. Does anybody, even of their own world, -ever come to visit the princess and Donna Bianca? A few -old women come occasionally, and a few priests—but that -is all. Who or what the girl is being kept for I do not -know—but it is certainly not for marriage with one not of -her condition. Besides, except as her </span><em class="italics">fidanzato</em><span>, what -opportunity could you have, or ever hope to have, of seeing her -or of knowing what her feelings might be towards you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I know them already?" burst out Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta looked grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you know them already," she said, "it means—well, -it means that somebody has been behaving like an idiot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I, for instance!" exclaimed Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, you—before anybody, you. Afterwards—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afterwards—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The woman who dropped the note that you have in your -pocket."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Giacinta!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I am not an imbecile, you know, Silvio. You were -waiting for that woman to come away from her morning's -lessons with Bianca, and I do not suppose it is the first time -that you have waited for her—and—and, what is to be the -end of it all, Heaven only knows," concluded Giacinta. It -was a weak conclusion, and she was fully aware of the fact; -but a look on Silvio's face warned her that she had said -enough for the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took his cigar from his lips and threw it out of the -open window. Then, rising from his chair, he came and -stood by his sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you the end of it," he said, very quietly—and -his eyes seemed to send forth little flashes of light as he -spoke. "The end of it will be that I will marry Bianca -Acorari. You quite understand, Giacinta? Noble or not, -heiress or not, I will marry her, and she will marry me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Silvio—it is impossible—it is a madness—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Basta</em><span>! I say that I will marry her. Have I failed yet -in anything that I have set myself to do, Giacinta? But -you," he added, in a sterner voice than Giacinta had ever -heard from him—"you will keep silence. You will know -nothing, see nothing. If the time comes when I need your -help, I will come to you and ask you to give it me, as I -would give it you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta was silent for a moment. Then she plucked up -her courage to make one more effort to stem the current of -a passion that she felt would carry Silvio away with it, she -knew not whither.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the girl," she said, "she is almost a child still, -Silvio. Have you thought what unhappiness you may -bring upon her if—if the princess, and that priest who, they -say, manages all her affairs, should prove too strong for you? -You do not know; they might put her in a convent—anywhere—to -get her away from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio Rossano swore under his breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Basta</em><span>, Giacinta!" he exclaimed again. "I say that -I will marry her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, before Giacinta had time to reply, he suddenly -kissed her and went quickly out of the room.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="v"><span class="bold large">V</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Giacinto Rossano was quite mistaken in supposing -the piece of paper she had seen her brother thrust into -his pocket to have been still there when he returned to her -after its pretended restoration to its rightful owner. As -a matter of fact, a capricious April breeze was blowing its -scattered remnants about the court-yard of Palazzo Acorari, -for Silvio had torn it into little shreds so soon as he had read -the words written upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been perfectly correct, however, in her other -suppositions, for since Silvio had first beheld Donna Bianca -in the church of the Sudario on Christmas night, he had -certainly not wasted his time. He had been, it is true, -considerably dismayed at learning from Giacinta who the girl -was who had so immediate and so powerful an attraction for -him. Had she been almost anything else than what she -was, he thought to himself impatiently, the situation would -have been a far simpler one; but between him and the heiress -and last remaining representative of the Acorari, princes -of Montefiano, there was assuredly a great gulf fixed, not -in rank only, but in traditional prejudices of caste, in -politics—even, it might be said, in religion—since Bianca Acorari -no doubt implicitly believed all that the Church proposed -to be believed, while he, like most educated laymen, -believed—considerably less.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps the very difficulties besetting his path made Silvio -Rossano the more determined to conquer them and tread -that path to the end. What he had said of himself to his -sister, not in any spirit of conceit, but rather in the confident -assurance which his youth and ardent temperament gave -him, was true. When he had set his mind on success, he -had always gained it in the end; and why should he not -gain it now?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After all, there were things in his favor. Although he -might not be of noble blood, his family was a good and an -old one. There had been Rossano in Rome before a peasant -of the name of Borghese became a pope and turned his -relations into princes. One of these early Rossano, indeed, -had been a cardinal. But, unluckily for the family, he had -also been a conscientious priest and an honest man—a -combination rarely to be met with in the Sacred College of -those days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But there were other things to which Silvio attached -more weight—things of the present which must ever appeal -to youth more than those of the past. His father was a -distinguished man; and he himself might have—nay, would -have—a distinguished career before him. Money, too, was -not wanting to him. The professor was not a rich man; but -he had considerably more capital to divide between his two -children than many people possessed who drove up and -down the Corso with coronets on their carriages, while their -creditors saluted them from the pavements.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And there were yet other things which Silvio, reflecting -upon the wares he had to go to market with, thought he -might fairly take into account, details such as good -character, good health, and—well, for some reason or other, -women had never looked unfavorably upon him, though he -had hitherto been singularly indifferent as to whether they -did so or not. Something—the professor would no doubt -have found a scientific explanation of a radio-active nature -for it—told him, even in that instant when he first met her -glance, that Bianca Acorari did not find him </span><em class="italics">antipatico</em><span>. -He wondered very much how far he had been able to -convey to her his impressions as regarded herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In an incredibly short space of time it had become -absolutely necessary to him to satisfy his curiosity on this -point—hence that sudden desire to attend the early masses -at Santa Maria in Campitelli, which had done more than -anything else to arouse Giacinta's suspicions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For some weeks, however, Silvio had been absolutely -foiled in his attempts again to find himself near Bianca -Acorari. He had very quickly realized that any efforts on -his sister's part to improve her acquaintance with the girl -would be detrimental rather than the reverse to his own -objects, and he had, consequently, soon ceased to urge -Giacinta to make them. But Silvio Rossano had not spent -several years of his boyhood in drawing plans and making -calculations for nothing; and he had set himself to think -out the situation in much the same spirit as that in which he -would have grappled with a professional problem demanding -accurate solution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Occasionally he had caught glimpses of Bianca as she -went out driving with the princess, and once or twice he had -seen her walking in the early morning, accompanied by the -same woman who had been with her in the Sudario. It had -been impossible, of course, for him to venture to salute -her, even if he had not fancied that her companion eyed him -sharply, as though suspecting that his proximity was not -merely accidental.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bettina was probably unconscious that she had been more -than once the subject of a searching study on the part of the -</span><em class="italics">signorino</em><span> of the second floor, as she called him. But the -results of the study were negative, for Silvio had instinctively -felt that any attempt to suborn Donna Bianca's maid -would almost certainly prove disastrous. The woman was -not young enough to be romantic, he thought, with some -shrewdness, nor old enough to be avaricious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so he had found himself obliged to discover a weaker -point in the defences of Casa Acorari, and this time fortune -favored him; though in those calmer moments, when -scruples of conscience are apt to become so tiresome, he felt -somewhat ashamed of himself for taking advantage of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had not escaped Silvio's notice that punctually at nine -o'clock every morning a neatly dressed Frenchwoman -entered Palazzo Acorari, and was admitted into the princess's -apartment, and the porter informed him that she was the -</span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> governess, who came from nine o'clock till -twelve every day, excepting Sundays and the great </span><em class="italics">feste</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio studied Donna Bianca's governess as he had -studied her maid. Mademoiselle Durand was certainly much -younger than the latter, and better looking. Moreover, -unlike Bettina, she did not look at Silvio witheringly when -she happened to meet him in or near Palazzo Acorari, but -perhaps a little the reverse. At any rate, after a few -mornings on which bows only were exchanged between them, -Silvio felt that he might venture to remark on the beauty -of the spring weather. He spoke French fluently, though -with the usual unmistakable Italian accent, and his -overtures were well received.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand smiled pleasantly. "Monsieur -lived in Palazzo Acorari, did he not? A son of the famous -Professor Rossano? Ah, yes—she had heard him lecture -at the Collegio Romano. But perhaps it would be as well -not to say so to Madame la Princesse. Madame la Princesse -did not approve of science"—and Mademoiselle Durand -looked at him, smiling again. Then she colored a little, for -her glance had been one of obvious admiration, though -Silvio, full of his own thoughts, was not aware of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After that, the ice once broken, it had been an easy -matter to become fairly intimate with Donna Bianca's -instructress. Knowing the precise hour at which she was -accustomed to leave Palazzo Acorari, Silvio frequently -managed to meet her as she crossed the Piazza Campitelli -on her way back to her abode in the Via d'Ara Coeli, where -she occupied a couple of rooms over a small curiosity shop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fortunately, probably, for Silvio, Mademoiselle Durand -very soon discovered that it was due to no special interest -in herself if this good-looking young Roman sought her -acquaintance. It had scarcely struck him that his advances -might easily be misinterpreted; and, indeed, for the space of -a few days there had been not a little danger of this -misinterpretation actually occurring. The shrewdness of her -race, however, had prevented Mademoiselle Durand from -deceiving herself; and Silvio's questions, which he flattered -himself were triumphs of subtle diplomacy, speedily -revealed to her how and where the land lay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the whole, the thought of lending herself to a little -intrigue rather commended itself to the Frenchwoman. -Life in Rome was not very amusing, and to be the confidante -in a love-affair, and especially in such an apparently -hopeless love-affair, would add an interest to it. Perhaps -a little of the sentimentality, the existence of which in -Bettina Silvio had doubted, entered into the matter. -Mademoiselle Durand liked her pupil, and had always -secretly pitied her for the dulness and isolation of her life; -and as for Silvio—well, when he looked at her with his soft -Roman eyes, and seemed to be throwing himself upon her -generosity and compassion, Mademoiselle Durand felt that -she would do anything in the world he asked her to do. The -Princess of Montefiano she regarded as a mere machine in -the hands of the Abbé Roux. Though she had only been a -few moments in her present position, Mademoiselle Durand -had fully realized that the Abbé Roux was master in the -Montefiano establishment; and, though she had been highly -recommended to the princess by most pious people, she -entertained a cordial dislike to priests except in church, -where, she averred, they were necessary to the business, -and no doubt useful enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Monsieur l'Abbé of whom you must beware," she -insisted to Silvio, after she was in full possession of his -secret. "The princess is an imbecile—so engaged in trying -to secure a good place in the next world that she has made -herself a nonentity in this. No—it is of the priest you must -think. I do not suppose it would suit him that Donna -Bianca should marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he want to put her in a convent, then?" asked -Silvio, angrily, on hearing this remark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But no, Monsieur Silvio! Convents are like -husbands—they want a dowry." She looked at Silvio sharply as she -spoke, but it was clear to her that he was quite unconscious -of any possible allusion to himself in her words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true, mademoiselle," he answered, thoughtfully. "I -forgot that. It is a very unlucky thing that Donna Bianca -Acorari has not half a dozen brothers and as many sisters; -for then she would have very little money, I should imagine, -and no titles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand hesitated for a moment. Then she -looked at him again, and this time her black eyes no longer -had the same shrewd, suspicious expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Tiens!</em><span>" she muttered to herself; and then she said, aloud: -"And what do you want me to do for you, Monsieur Silvio? -You have not confided in me for nothing—</span><em class="italics">hein</em><span>? Am I to -take your proposals for Donna Bianca's hand to Madame la -Princesse? It seems to me that monsieur your father is the -fit and proper person to send on such an errand, and not -a poor governess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Per Carità!</em><span>" exclaimed Silvio, relapsing in his alarm -into his native tongue. "Of course I do not mean that, -mademoiselle. I thought perhaps—that is to say, I -hoped—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked so disconcerted that Mademoiselle Durand -laughed outright.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she replied. "I may call you that, -Monsieur Silvio, may I not, since conspirators should be -friends? I promise you I will not give your secret away. -All the same, unless I am mistaken, there is one person to -whom you wish me to confide it—is it not so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Silvio; "there is certainly one person."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it will not be easy," continued Mademoiselle -Durand, "and it will take time. Yes," she added, as -though to herself—"it will be fairly amusing to outwit -Monsieur l'Abbé—only—only—" and then she paused, -hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only?" repeated Silvio, interrogatively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ma foi</em><span>, monsieur, only this," exclaimed his companion, -energetically, "that I like the child, and I do not wish any -harm to come to her through me. Have you thought well, -Monsieur Silvio? You say that you love her, and that she -can learn to love you; you will marry her if she be twenty -times Princess of Montefiano. Well, I believe that you love -her; and if a good countenance is any proof of a good -heart, your love should be worth having. But if you make -her love you, and are not strong enough to break down the -barriers which will be raised to prevent her from marrying -you, will you not be bringing on her a greater unhappiness -than if you left her to her natural destiny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio was silent for a moment. Was this not what -Giacinta had said to him more than once? Then a dogged -expression came over his face—his eyes seemed to harden -suddenly, and his lips compressed themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her destiny is to be my wife," he said, briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand shot a quick glance of approval at -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Diable!</em><span>" she exclaimed, "but you Romans have wills -of your own even in these days, it seems. And suppose -the girl never learns to care for you—how then, Monsieur -Silvio? Will you carry her off as your ancestors did the -Sabine women?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio shrugged his shoulders. "She will learn to care -for me," he said, "if she is properly taught."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand laughed. "</span><em class="italics">Tiens!</em><span>" she murmured -again. "And I am to give her a little rudimentary -instruction—to prepare her, in short, for more advanced -knowledge? Oh, la, la! Monsieur Silvio, you must know that -such things do not come within the province of a daily -governess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you see her for three hours every day," returned -Silvio, earnestly. "In three hours one can do a great deal," -he continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A great deal too much sometimes!" interrupted -Mademoiselle Durand rapidly, under her breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when it is day after day," proceeded Silvio, "it is -much easier. A word here, and a word there, and she -would soon learn that there is somebody who loves -her—somebody who would make her a better husband than some -brainless idiot of her own class, who will only want her -money and her lands. And then, perhaps, if we could meet—if -she could hear it all from my lips, she would understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand gave a quick little sigh. "Oh," -she said, "if she could learn it all from your lips, I have no -doubt that she would understand very quickly. Most -women would, Monsieur Silvio."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what I thought," observed Silvio, naïvely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Frenchwoman tapped her foot impatiently on the -ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she said, after a pause, "I will see what I can do. -But you must be patient. Only, do not blame me if things -go wrong—for they are scarcely likely to go right, I should -say. For me it does not matter. I came to Rome to learn -Italian and to teach French—and other things. I have -done both; and in any case, when my engagement with -Madame la Princesse is over, I shall return to Paris, and -then perhaps go to London or Petersburg—who knows? So -if my present engagement were to end somewhat abruptly, -I should be little the worse. Yes—I will help you, </span><em class="italics">mon -ami</em><span>—if I can. Oh, not for money—I am not of that -sort—but for—well, for other things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What other things?" asked Silvio, absently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand fairly stamped her foot this time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Peste!</em><span>" she exclaimed, sharply. "What do they matter—the -other things? Let us say that I want to play a trick -on the princess; to spite the priest—by-the-way, Monsieur -l'Abbé sometimes looks at me in a way that I am sure you -never look at women, Monsieur Silvio! Let us say that -I am sorry for that poor child, who will lead a stagnant -existence till she is a dried-up old maid, unless somebody -rescues her. All these things are true, and are they not -reasons enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Silvio was quite satisfied that they were so.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="vi"><span class="bold large">VI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Bianca Acorari was sitting by herself in the room -devoted to her own especial use, where she studied in -the mornings with Mademoiselle Durand, and, indeed, spent -most of her time. It was now the beginning of June—the -moment in all the year, perhaps, when Rome is the most -enjoyable; when the hotels are empty, and the foreigners -have fled before the imaginary spectres of heat, malaria, and -other evils to which those who remain in the city during the -late spring and summer are popularly supposed to fall -victims.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Entertainments, except those of an intimate character, -being at an end, the American invasion has rolled northward. -The gaunt English spinsters, severe of aspect, and with -preposterous feet, who have spent the winter in the environs of -the Piazza di Spagna with the double object of improving -their minds and converting some of the "poor, ignorant -Roman Catholics" to Protestantism, have gone northward -too, to make merriment for the inhabitants of Perugia, or -Sienna, of Venice, and a hundred other hunting-grounds. -Only the German tourists remain, carrying with them the -atmosphere of the </span><em class="italics">bierhalle</em><span> wherever they go, and generally -behaving themselves as though Italy were a province of the -fatherland. In the summer months Rome is her true self, -and those who know her not then know her not at all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Bianca Acorari, however, all seasons of the year were -much the same, excepting the three months or so that she -passed in the villa near Velletri. To these months she -looked forward with delight. The dull routine of her life in -Rome was interrupted, and any variety was something in -the nature of an excitement. It was pleasanter to be able -to wander about the gardens and vineyards belonging to the -villa than to drive about Rome in a closed carriage, waiting -perhaps for an hour or more outside some convent or -charitable institution while her step-mother was engaged in pious -works. At the Villa Acorari, she could at all events walk -about by herself, so long as she did not leave its grounds. -But these grounds were tolerably extensive, and there were -many quiet nooks whither Bianca was wont to resort and -dream over what might be going on in that world around -her, of which she supposed it must be the natural lot of -princesses to know very little. The absence of perpetual -supervision, the sense of being free to be alone out-of-doors -if she chose to be so, was a luxury all the more enjoyable -after eight months spent in Palazzo Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But within the last few weeks Bianca Acorari had become -vaguely conscious of the presence of something fresh in her -life, something as yet indefinable, but around which her -thoughts, hitherto purely abstract, seemed to concentrate -themselves. The world was no longer quite the unknown -realm peopled with shadows that it had till recently appeared -to her to be. It held individuals; individuals in whom -she could take an interest, and who, if she was to believe -what she was told, took an interest in her. That it was a -forbidden interest—a thing to be talked about with bated -breath, and that only to one discreet and sympathizing -friend, did not by any means diminish its fascination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had spoken well for Mademoiselle Durand's capabilities -of reading the characters of her pupils that she had at once -realized that what Bianca Acorari lacked in her life was -human sympathy. This the girl had never experienced; -but, all the same, it was evident to any one who, like -Mademoiselle Durand, had taken the trouble to study her nature, -that she was unconsciously crying out for it. There was, -indeed, not a person about her with whom she had anything -in common. The princess, wrapped up in her religion and -in her anxiety to keep her own soul in a proper state of -polish, was an egoist, as people perpetually bent upon -laying up for themselves treasure in heaven usually are. And -Bianca practically had no other companion than her -stepmother except servants, for the few people she -occasionally saw at rare intervals did not enter in the smallest -degree into her life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand had very soon discovered Bianca's -desire to know the girl who lived in the apartment above -her, and her annoyance that she had not been allowed to -make any acquaintance with the Signorina Rossano. This -very natural wish on her pupil's part to make friends with -some one of her own sex, and more nearly approaching her -own age than the people by whom she was surrounded, had -afforded Mademoiselle Durand the very opening she -required in order to commence her campaign in Silvio -Rossano's interests. As she had anticipated, it had proved no -difficult matter to sing the praises of the brother while -apparently conversing with Bianca about the sister, and it -must be confessed that she sang Silvio's praises in a manner -by no means half-hearted. Nor did Mademoiselle Durand -find that her efforts fell upon altogether unwilling ears. It -was evident that in some way or another Bianca's curiosity -had been already aroused, and that she was not altogether -ignorant of the fact that the heretical professor's -good-looking son regarded her with some interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand, indeed, was somewhat surprised at -the readiness displayed by her pupil to discuss not only -Giacinta, but also Giacinta's brother, and she at first -suspected that things were a little further advanced than -Silvio had pretended to be the case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She soon came to the conclusion, however, that this was -not so, and that Bianca's curiosity was at present the only -feeling which had been aroused in her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand was not particularly well-read in -her Bible; but she did remember that curiosity in woman -had, from the very beginning of things, been gratified by -man, and also that the action of a third party had before -now been necessary in order to bring the desired object -within the reach of both. She was aware that the action -of the third party had not been regarded as commendable; -nevertheless, she quieted any qualms of conscience by the -thought that, after all, circumstances in this case were -somewhat different.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On this particular June afternoon Bianca Acorari was free -to amuse herself in-doors as she chose until five o'clock, at -which hour the princess had ordered the carriage, and -Bianca would have to accompany her to visit an orphanage -outside the Porta Pia. She was not at all sorry for those -orphans. An orphan herself, she had always thought their -life must be certainly more amusing than her own, and she -had once ventured to hint as much, to the manifest annoyance -of her step-mother, who had reproved her for want of -charity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The afternoon was warm, and Bianca, tired of reading, -and still more tired of a certain piece of embroidery destined -to serve as an altar-frontal for a convent-chapel, sat -dreaming in the subdued light coming through closed </span><em class="italics">persiennes</em><span>. -Through the open windows she could hear the distant noise -of the traffic in the streets, the monotonous cry of </span><em class="italics">Fragole! -Fragole!</em><span> of the hawkers of fresh strawberries from Nemi -and the Alban Hills, and now and again the clock of some -neighboring church striking the quarters of the hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a little more than a fortnight, Bianca was saying to -herself with satisfaction—when St. Peter's day was over, -before which festival the princess would never dream of -leaving Rome—she would be at the Villa Acorari, away -from the dust and the glare of the city, passing those hot -hours of the day in the deep, cool shade of the old -ilex-trees, and listening to the murmur of the moss-grown -fountains in the quiet grounds, half garden and half wilderness, -that surrounded the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The view from the ilex avenue seemed to unfold itself -before her—the vine-clad ridges melting away into the plain -beneath, Cori, Norma, and Sermoneta just visible, perched -on the distant mountain-sides away towards the south; and, -rising out of the blue mist, with the sea flashing in the -sunlight around it, Monte Circeo, the scene of so many -mysterious legends both in the past and in the present. Far -away over the Campagna the hot summer haze quivered -over Rome. Bianca could see it all in her imagination as -she sat with her hands clasped behind her tawny mass of -curling hair; though, in reality, her eyes were fastened upon -an indifferent painting of a Holy Family, in which -St. Joseph appeared more conscious than usual of being </span><em class="italics">de trop</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three hours of studies with Mademoiselle Durand -that morning had been frequently interrupted by conversation. -Of late, indeed, this had often been the case. Bianca -had been delighted when she learned that Mademoiselle -Durand was intimate with the Rossano family, and the -governess had not thought it necessary to explain that -Silvio was the only member of it with whom she was on -speaking terms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fact was that Silvio had been becoming impatient -lately, and Mademoiselle Durand's task grew more difficult -in consequence. To afford him any opportunity of meeting -Bianca, or of interchanging even a single word with her, -appeared to be impossible. The girl was too well guarded. -Mademoiselle Durand had once suggested to her that she -should take her some morning to the galleries in the Vatican -which Bianca had never seen. The princess's permission -had, of course, to be obtained, and Bianca broached the -subject one day at breakfast. For a moment her step-mother -had hesitated, and seemed disposed to allow her to -accept Mademoiselle Durand's proposition. Unfortunately, -however, Monsieur l'Abbé was present, and, true to her -practice, the princess appealed to him as to whether there -could be any objections.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Apparently there were objections, although the Abbé -Roux did not specify them. But Bianca knew by his -manner that he disapproved of the idea, and was not -surprised, therefore, when the princess said it could not -be—adding that she would herself take her through the Vatican -some day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was but another instance, Bianca thought, of the -priest's interference in her life, and she resented it -accordingly. Latterly she had become much more friendly with -Mademoiselle Durand, who had at first confined herself -almost entirely to lessons during the hours she was at Palazzo -Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, after it became evident that she would -never be allowed to go out under her escort, Bianca thought -it prudent not to let it be supposed that Mademoiselle -Durand talked with her on any other subject but those she -was engaged to talk about, lest she should be dismissed and -a less agreeable woman take her place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whether it was that Mademoiselle Durand was urged to -stronger efforts by Silvio Rossano's increasing impatience, -or whether she considered the time arrived when she could -safely venture to convey to her pupil that Giacinta -Rossano's good-looking brother was madly in love with her, the -fact remained on this particular morning that never before -had she spoken so much or so openly of Silvio, and of the -happiness that was in store for any girl sensible enough -to marry him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca Acorari sat listening in silence for some time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is certainly very handsome," she observed, -presently—"and he looks good," she added, meditatively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Handsome!" ejaculated Mademoiselle Durand. "There -is a statue in the Vatican—a Hermes, they call it— Well, -never mind—of course he is handsome. And as to being -good, a young man who is a good son and a good brother -makes a good husband—if he gets the wife he wants. If -not, it does not follow. I am sorry for that poor -boy—truly sorry for him!" she added, with a sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca pushed away a French history book and became -suddenly more interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, mademoiselle?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand pursed up her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I fear that he will certainly be very unhappy. -</span><em class="italics">Enfin</em><span>, he </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> very unhappy, so there is no more to be said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did not look it when I saw him," observed Bianca, -tranquilly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand glanced at her. Like Princess -Montefiano, she was never quite sure how much might be -concealed beneath Bianca's quiet manner. But, like most -of her race, she was quick to seize a point in conversation -and use it to advance her own argument.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course he did not look it—when you saw him," she -repeated, "or when he saw you," she added, significantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca knitted her brows. "If he is unhappy," she said, -"and I am very sorry he should be unhappy—I do not see -how a person he does not know can make him less so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," said Mademoiselle Durand, "all depends on -who the person is. It is certainly very sad—poor young -man!" and she sighed again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," Bianca said, thoughtfully, "that he is in -love with somebody—somebody whom he cannot marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," returned Mademoiselle Durand, dryly, "he is in -love with somebody. He could marry her, perhaps—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why doesn't he?" Bianca asked, practically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand was a little taken aback at the -abruptness of the question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you," she replied, after hesitating for a -moment or two. "He has no opportunity of seeing the -girl, except sometimes as she is driving in her carriage, or -well, in church. By-the-way, I believe he first saw her in a -church, and fell in love with her. That was odd, was it not? -But what is the use of seeing people if you can never speak -to them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He could speak to her parents," said Bianca, who -apparently knew what was proper under such circumstances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand shrugged her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scarcely," she said, "since they are in heaven. Besides, -he would not be allowed to ask for this girl's hand in any -case. She is like you, of noble birth; and, like you again, -she is rich. Those about her, I dare say, are not very -anxious that she should marry at all. It is possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca Acorari did not speak for a few moments. At -length she said, slowly: "I wonder what you would do, -mademoiselle, if you knew somebody was in love with you, -and you were not allowed to see or speak to that person?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand looked at her critically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It entirely depends," she replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And upon what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon what? Oh, upon something very simple. It -would depend upon whether I were in love with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think it is at all simple," observed Bianca. "How -would you know if you were in love with him or not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand laughed outright. Then she became -suddenly grave. "Well," she replied, after hesitating -a moment, "I will tell you. If I thought I did not know—if -I were not sure—I should say to myself: 'Marie, you are -in love. Why? Because, if you are not, you would be -sure of the fact—oh, quite sure!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And supposing you were in love with him?" demanded -Bianca. She looked beyond Mademoiselle Durand as she -spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—if I were, then—well, then I should leave the rest -to him to manage. Between ourselves, I believe that to be -what is troubling the poor young Rossano. He does not -know if the girl he loves has any idea that he does so, and -still less if she could ever return his love. It is very sad. -If I were that girl, I should certainly find some means of -letting him know that I cared for him—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you say she cannot—that she would never be -allowed—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand sang the first few bars of the -</span><em class="italics">habanera</em><span> in "Carmen" to herself. "When two people are in -love," she observed, "they do not always stop to think of -what is allowed. But, if you please, Donna Bianca, we will -go on with our history—I mean, our French history, not -that of Monsieur Silvio Rossano," and Mademoiselle -Durand suddenly reassumed her professional demeanor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was of this little interlude in her morning's studies that -Bianca Acorari was meditating as she sat waiting for the -hour when she would have to accompany her step-mother -in her afternoon drive. She wished that Mademoiselle -Durand would have been more communicative. It was -certainly interesting to hear about Giacinta Rossano's -brother. Silvio! Yes, it was a nice name, decidedly—and -somehow, she thought, it suited its owner. It must be an -odd sensation—that of being in love. Perhaps one always -saw in the imagination the person one was in love with. -One saw a well-built figure and a sun-tanned face with dark, -curling hair clustering over a broad brow, and a pair of -dark-blue eyes that looked—but, how they looked! as -though asking a perpetual question.... How pleasant it -would be there in the gardens of Villa Acorari!—so quiet and -cool in the deep shade of the ilex-trees, with the sound of -the water falling from the fountains. But it was a little -dull to be alone—always alone. What a difference if she -had had a brother, as Giacinta Rossano had. He would -have wandered about with her sometimes, perhaps, in these -gardens ... and he and she would have sat and talked -together by the fountains where the water was always making -a soft music of its own. What was the story she had heard -the people tell of some heathen god of long ago who haunted -the ilex grove? How still it was—and how the water -murmured always ... and the eyes looked at her, always -with that question in their blue depths—and the graceful -head with its short, close curls bent towards her ... the -god, of course—they said he often came—and how his sweet -curved lips smiled at her as he stood in that chequered ray -of sunlight slanting through the heavy foliage overhead....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And with a little sigh Bianca passed from dreaming into -sleep; her face, with its crown of tawny gold hair, thrown -into sharp relief by the red damask cushions of the chair on -which she was sitting, and her lips parted in a slight smile.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="vii"><span class="bold large">VII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Bianca is certainly a strange child," the Princess -Montefiano was saying. "I confess I do not understand -her; but then, I never did understand children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baron d'Antin looked at his sister, and then he smiled -a little satirically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all," he replied, "the fact is not surprising. You -married too late in your life—or, shall we say, too late in -your husband's life—but it does not matter! No, Bianca is -decidedly not like other girls of her age, in certain ways. -But I think, Jeanne, that you make a mistake in regarding -her as a child. She seems to me to be a fairly well-developed -young woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Physically so, perhaps," returned the princess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her brother smiled again—not a very pleasant smile. -Monsieur d'Antin was scarcely middle-aged, being a good -many years younger than his sister. He was tall for a -Belgian, and tolerably handsome, with well-cut, regular -features, and iron-gray hair as yet fairly plentiful. But he -was a man who looked as though he had "lived." His eyes -had a worn, faded expression, which every now and then -turned to a hard glitter when they became animated; and -his small, well-shaped hands were apt to move restlessly, as -though their owner's nerves were not always in the best of -order.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Physically?" he repeated. "Precisely, my dear Jeanne. -Physically, your step-daughter is—well, no longer a child, -we will suppose. Some young man will probably suppose -the same thing one of these days; and he will presumably -not wish to confine himself to suppositions," and -Monsieur d'Antin blinked his eyes interrogatively at his -sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the last couple of years, Baron d'Antin had abandoned -Brussels and Paris, where he had hitherto passed the -greater part of his time, for Rome. He had certainly not -chosen Rome as a place of residence on account of its -worldly attractions, and its other claims to interest did not -particularly appeal to him. As a matter of fact, Monsieur -d'Antin found Rome exceedingly dull, as a city. It is, -indeed, scarcely the capital that a man of pleasure would -elect to live in. Now Monsieur d'Antin had certainly been -a man of pleasure while his constitution and years had -allowed him to be so, and he still liked amusing himself and -being amused. Unfortunately, however, when necessity -obliged him to pursue other pastimes with greater -moderation, he had given way more and more to a passion for -gambling, and he had left the larger portion of his patrimony -in clubs, both in his own capital, in Paris, and in Nice. -It was not unnatural, perhaps, that, on financial disaster -overtaking him, he should have remembered his sister, the -Princess of Montefiano, and have been seized with a desire -to pass a season or two in Rome; and it had never, somehow -or other, been quite convenient to return to Belgium or to -Paris since.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had come to Rome, he told his acquaintances, to -economize; which, in plainer language, meant to say that he -had come there to live upon his sister. The princess, indeed, -was not unconscious of the fact; but her brother carried out -his intention with such unfailing tact and consideration -that she had no excuse for resenting it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin did not often invade the austere seclusion -of Palazzo Acorari. It would, no doubt, have been more -economical to breakfast and dine at his sister's table, when -not bidden elsewhere, than to eat at a restaurant or club. -But Monsieur d'Antin liked to be independent; and, moreover, -the pious atmosphere of Palazzo Acorari did not at all -appeal to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His sister bored him, and her entourage bored him still -more. It was infinitely more convenient every now and -then to borrow sums of money from her to meet current -expenses, on the tacit understanding that such loans would -never be repaid, than to take up his abode in Palazzo -Acorari, as the princess had at first more than once -suggested he should do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin was an egoist, pure and simple, but he -could be a very agreeable egoist—so long as he was supplied -with all he wanted. Fortunately, perhaps, for his -popularity, his egoism was tempered by an almost imperturbable -good-humor, which, as a rule, prevented it from ruffling the -nerves of others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are some men, and a great many women, who -invariably succeed in obtaining what they want out of daily -life. Their needs are trifling, possibly, but then life is made -up of trifles—if one chooses to live only for the present. -But to be a really successful egoist, it is necessary at all -events to acquire a reputation for good-humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin had acquired this reputation in Rome, -as he had acquired it elsewhere; and he was shrewd enough -to make it one of his most useful possessions. Indeed, it was -almost a pleasure to lose money to Monsieur d'Antin at -cards, or to place at his disposal any convenience of which -he might momentarily be in need, such was his invariable -</span><em class="italics">bonhomie</em><span> in society. He had very soon made a place for -himself in the Roman world, and in this it must be confessed -that he had shown remarkable ingenuity. Had he arrived -in the Eternal City possessed of ready money, it would have -made no difference whether he was a Belgian gentleman -or an English or American "bounder," for all Rome would -have willingly allowed him to entertain it at the Grand -Hotel or elsewhere, provided he got the right society women -to "run him." But Baron d'Antin had arrived in Rome -with no reputation at all, beyond that of being an elderly -</span><em class="italics">viveur</em><span> who happened to be the brother of the Principessa di -Montefiano. He had studied his ground, however, and it -had not taken him long to come to the conclusion that an -unofficial foreigner, to be a social success in modern Rome, -must usually be either an adventurer or a snob, and that the -two almost invariably went together. Being a gentleman -in his own country, albeit in somewhat straitened -circumstances, Monsieur d'Antin had at first been amazed at -the apparent inability of the average Romans of society to -distinguish between a foreigner, man or woman, who was -well-bred and one who was not. Finally, he had come to -the conclusion that good-breeding was not expected from -the unofficial foreigner, nor, indeed, any other of the usual -passports to society—but merely a supply of ready money -and a proper appreciation of the condescension on the part -of the Roman nobility in allowing it to be spent on their -entertainment. This, however, was not a condition of -affairs that suited Monsieur d'Antin's plans. He had come -to Rome not to be lived upon by the society he found there, -but to make that society useful to him. That he had done -so was entirely due to his own social talents, and to his -apparently amiable disposition. He had no need of the -Palazzo Acorari, so far as his society and his food were -concerned, for there were few evenings of the week during the -winter and spring that he had not a dinner invitation; and -if by any chance he had no engagement for that meal, there -were various methods at his disposal of supplying the -deficiency.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Altogether, Baron d'Antin had become </span><em class="italics">persona grata</em><span> in -Roman society, and in his good-humored, careless way he -had deliberately laid himself out to be so, even waiving his -prejudices and suppressing a certain nervous irritation -which the Anglo-Saxon race generally produced in him, -sufficiently to dine with its Roman members in their rented -palaces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Jeanne," he would say to his sister, "you have -no sense of humor—absolutely none at all. I dined the -other night with some of my Anglo-Saxon friends—I should -rather say that I passed some hours of the evening in eating -and drinking with them. The wines were -execrable—execrable!—and the man who poured them out told us -their supposed dates. Some of them, I believe, had been -purchased when Noah sold off his cellar after the subsidence -of the flood—although, if I remember rightly, he liked his -wine, and his—well, sacred history is more in your line -than mine, Jeanne. In any case, it was very amusing—and -when one looked at the fine old rooms—the </span><em class="italics">mise en -scène</em><span> of the comedy, you know—it was more amusing still."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Monsieur d'Antin was much too shrewd to laugh at -any of the component parts of the society he had determined -to exploit. Had he wanted nothing out of it, as he -frequently told himself, he could have afforded to laugh a good -deal; and, being possessed of a very keen sense of humor, he -would probably have done so. As it was, however, he -concealed his amusement, or, at the most, allowed himself to -give it rein when calling upon his sister, who was unable to -appreciate his sarcasms, living as she did, completely apart -from the cosmopolitan society in which her brother -preferred to move.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin had been paying the princess one of his -occasional visits, which he did at regular intervals. To say -the truth, he did not by any means approve of the -compatriot he as often as not would find sitting with his sister -when he was announced. He was well aware that Jeanne -was a very pious woman; and very pious women, especially -those who had reached a certain age, liked to have a priest -at their beck and call. This, Monsieur d'Antin considered, -was very natural—pathetically natural, indeed. All the -same, he wished that the Abbé Roux had been an Italian, -and not a Belgian priest. When Monsieur d'Antin had -first appeared upon the scene in Rome, he had instantly felt -that the director of his sister's spiritual affairs was not over -well pleased at his coming. Accustomed as he was to study -those with whom he was likely at any time to be brought -much into contact, Baron d'Antin had at once arrived at the -conclusion that the abbé probably did not confine himself to -the direction of Princess Montefiano's spiritual concerns -only; otherwise the advent of her brother would have left -him profoundly indifferent. A sudden instinct told -Monsieur d'Antin that he and the priest must clash—and then -he had reflected, not without some humor, that, after all, -there might be such a thing as honor among thieves. He -had done his best to conciliate the Abbé Roux whenever -they had chanced to meet at Palazzo Acorari, but the priest -had not responded in any way to his advances. Monsieur -d'Antin knew that the late Prince Montefiano had left as -much as the law allowed him to leave in his wife's hands, -and that she was his daughter's sole guardian until the girl -should marry or come of age. The princess, however, had -never written to her brother concerning her affairs—neither -had there been any particular reason why she should -do so. Rome had absorbed her, and even for some years -before her marriage she had practically become Roman in -everything but in name. There are many, both women -and men, whom Rome has absorbed in a similar way; nor -can an explanation of her magnetic attraction always be -found in religion or in art, since the irreligious and the -inartistic are equally prone to fall under her spell. Rather, -perhaps, is the secret of her power to be found in the -mysterious sense of universal motherhood which clings -around her name—in the knowledge, at once awe-inspiring -and comforting, that there is no good and no evil, no joy -and no sorrow which humanity can experience, unknown -to her; and that however heavily the burden may bear upon -our shoulders as we walk through her streets, multitudes -more laden than we have trod those stones before us, and -have found—rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It could hardly be supposed, however, that the burden -borne by Princess Montefiano was of a nature requiring the -psychological assistance of Rome to lighten it. So far -as she was concerned—and in this she differed in no -respect from many other pious people of both sexes—Rome -merely suggested itself to her as a place offering peculiar -facilities for the keeping of her soul in a satisfactory state -of polish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he saw more of his sister in her home life, Monsieur -d'Antin became convinced that the Abbé Roux, as he had -at once suspected, by no means confined himself to directing -her spiritual affairs. It was very evident that the Abbé -managed Palazzo Acorari, and this was quite sufficient to -account for his distant attitude towards a possible intruder. -As a matter of fact, Monsieur d'Antin had no great desire to -intrude. He intended to benefit by the accident of having -a sister who was also a Roman princess with a comfortable -dowry, and he had very quickly made up his mind not to -attempt to interfere with the Abbé Roux so long as that -ecclesiastic did not attempt to interfere with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the last few months, Monsieur d'Antin had often -found himself wondering what his sister's position would be -should her step-daughter marry. In any case, scarcely four -years would elapse before Donna Bianca Acorari must enter -into absolute possession of the Montefiano estates, and yet it -was evident that the princess regarded her as a mere child -who could be kept in the background. It had not escaped -his notice that it was clearly his sister's wish that Donna -Bianca should not receive any more attention than would -naturally be paid to a child. Nevertheless, when Monsieur -d'Antin looked at the girl, he would say to himself that -Jeanne was shutting her eyes to obvious facts, and that at -some not very distant day they would probably be opened -unexpectedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had tried to make friends with Bianca, but the -princess had markedly discouraged any such efforts; and -latterly he had observed that his sister almost invariably -sent her step-daughter out of the room if she happened to -be in it when he was announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca Acorari herself had shown no disinclination to be -friendly with her newly arrived step-uncle. Anybody who -was not the Abbé Roux was welcome in her eyes. When -Monsieur d'Antin had first come to Rome, before he had -realized the monotony of domestic life in Palazzo Acorari, -he had been in the habit of coming there more frequently -than was now the case, and had repeatedly dined with his -sister Bianca, and occasionally the Abbé Roux, making a -little </span><em class="italics">partie carrée</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had amused him to address no small part of his -conversation to his step-niece during these little dinners, and -Bianca had talked to him readily enough. She was pleased, -possibly, at having the opportunity to show the Abbé Roux -that she could talk, if there was anybody she cared to talk -with. Perhaps Monsieur d'Antin, with his accustomed -penetration, had already guessed that the relations between -the girl and her step-mother's spiritual director were those -of a species of armed neutrality, at all events upon Bianca's -side. However this might be, he had affected not to perceive -the obvious disapproval with which his sister regarded his -endeavors always to draw Bianca into the conversation, -nor the offended demeanor of the priest at being sometimes -left out of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To say the truth, Monsieur d'Antin was by no means -insensible to Bianca Acorari's physical attractions. He -flattered himself that he had an eye for female beauty in its -developing stages; and he had arrived at an age when such -stages have a peculiar fascination for men of a certain -temperament. Perhaps the observant eyes of the Abbé -Roux detected more warmth in his lay compatriot's glance, -as the latter laughed and talked with the girl, than -altogether commended itself to his priestly sense of what was -due to innocence. In any case it was certain that on the -last two occasions on which Monsieur d'Antin had proposed -himself to dinner at Palazzo Acorari, Bianca had -presumably dined in her own apartment; for she did not appear, -and when Monsieur d'Antin inquired after her, the princess -had said dryly that her step-daughter was scarcely old -enough to dine with grown-up people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin felt this banishment to be due to -clerical suggestion; and so, it must be confessed, did Bianca -herself. He was bound to admit, however—and he -admitted it with decided complacency—that his sister was -right in safeguarding her step-daughter from premature -masculine admiration. He reflected, too, that in Italy—as, -indeed, in Belgium, or other Catholic countries—uncles -and nieces were permitted to marry under dispensations -comparatively easy to obtain; and that in the case of a -step-uncle, no consanguinity existed. The reflection had -been a pleasant one to Monsieur d'Antin, and he looked -upon the uneasiness he had apparently inspired in the mind -of the Abbé Roux as a proof that he might still consider -himself as dangerous to female peace of mind—whereby he -showed himself to possess to the full that peculiar form of -male vanity supposed to be inherent in the Gallic races.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="viii"><span class="bold large">VIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Yes," continued Monsieur d'Antin, as his sister gazed -at him in a slightly bewildered manner, "Bianca has -only got to be seen, and to see a few men who do not cover -their legs with a cassock, and she will very soon find out, -Jeanne, that she is no child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Philippe!" expostulated Princess Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no necessity to be shocked," proceeded -Monsieur d'Antin, tranquilly. "I know what I am talking -about. There are certain temperaments—female -temperaments—one has come across them, you know. </span><em class="italics">Bien</em><span>, your -step-daughter is one of these, unless I am much mistaken. -Mark my words, Jeanne, if you keep her as though she -were going to be a nun, everything will go on quietly for -a time, and then one fine day you will discover that she has -had an affair with the footman. What would you have?" -and Monsieur d'Antin shrugged his shoulders philosophically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano appeared thoroughly alarmed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you really think so?" she asked, hurriedly. "I have -always looked upon Bianca as—well, as quite a child still -in all these ways, you know. I wonder," she added, -suddenly, looking at her brother, "what makes you think she -is not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," repeated Monsieur d'Antin, meditatively, "what -makes me think she is not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His meditations seemed to afford him some pleasure, for -he did not hurry himself to answer the question. "Well, -really," he continued, at length, with a little chuckle, "I -could hardly explain what it is that makes me think so, my -dear Jeanne—not to you, at all events, for I do not at all -suppose you would understand. But all the same, I think -so—oh yes—I certainly think so!" and, rising from his -chair, Monsieur d'Antin began to walk up and down the -room, gently rubbing his hands together the while.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess looked perplexed. "After all, Philippe," -she said, "Bianca is only just seventeen. Of course she -is tall for her age, and, as you say—er—well developed. -I suppose men only judge by what they see—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely," interrupted Monsieur d'Antin; "it is the -only way we have of forming an idea of—what we do not -see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have thought only of her mind—her nature," continued -the princess. "I suppose," she added, "that is -what you mean? I cannot say that I understand her. I -find her silent—apathetic. She seems to me to interest -herself in nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Probably because you do not provide her with sufficient -material."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I try to do my duty by her," returned the princess, a -little stiffly. "A step-mother is always placed in a difficult -position. Of course, Bianca being, as it were, like an only -son, and everything going to her, does not make things -easier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin looked at his sister curiously. She had -very rarely spoken to him of family affairs, and he had very -little idea how the Montefiano property was settled, beyond -a natural conclusion that the old prince would have left the -bulk of it to his only child and representative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But of course," he observed, "you are always well -provided for—in the event of Bianca marrying, I mean—or, -as she must do before very long, taking over the estates -into her own hands?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is my jointure, certainly," said the princess, "but -it is not large. I do not understand business matters very -well, but naturally, so long as Bianca is a minor and -unmarried, I must be better off than I shall be afterwards. -A great deal will depend upon Bianca's husband. That -is what Monsieur l'Abbé always says to me—that we -must not be in a hurry to marry Bianca. She must not -marry a man who simply wants her titles and money to -use them for his own purposes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur l'Abbé is perfectly right," said Baron d'Antin, -with a dry little laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess glanced at him. "You do not like him," -she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin hesitated for a moment. Then he -laughed again, easily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not like him?" he repeated. "But, my dear Jeanne, -I like him very much. I am not fond of priests as a rule. -They are not—well, not what I am accustomed to, you -know. But your tame abbé, I should say that he was -a most estimable person, and, no doubt, to a woman in your -position, a most useful adviser."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess sighed. "Oh, most useful!" she exclaimed. -"He is a good man of business, too," she continued. "I -feel that he acts as a kind of intermediary between me, as -Bianca's representative, and the agents and people. After -all, Philippe, I am a foreigner, you know—though I scarcely -feel myself to be one—and Bianca is not. So I am doubly -glad of Monsieur l'Abbé's advice sometimes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he is as much a foreigner as you are, Jeanne," -remarked Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but then he is a priest!" exclaimed the princess. -"That makes such a difference. You see, he was brought -up in Rome, and went through his studies here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An admirable training," said Monsieur d'Antin, suavely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, admirable," assented the princess. "It gives -such a grasp of, such an insight into, human nature. That -is one of the strange things about Bianca, for instance," -she added, suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That she has an insight into human nature?" demanded -Monsieur d'Antin. "If she has, Jeanne, it must be a -miraculous gift, for she can have seen little enough of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no! I mean that she cannot bear Monsieur l'Abbé. -Would you believe it, Philippe, that notwithstanding all his -kindness, that child positively refuses to go to confession to -him? She refused years ago, and now I never mention the -subject."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Tiens!</em><span>" observed Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is incredible," continued his sister, "but nevertheless -it is true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It appears," he said, enigmatically, "that your -step-daughter also has studied in Rome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess dropped her voice mysteriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe," she said, "that the mother, my blessed -husband's first wife, you know, was an odd woman—or -child, rather—for she was little more. There was some -story—she was in love with some other man who was not -thought a good enough match for her, and her family -obliged her to marry my poor husband. It was not a happy -marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," observed Monsieur d'Antin, "was no doubt his -reason for marrying again. He was determined to find -happiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, well!" Princess Montefiano replied, with a sigh—"he -needed rest. His life had been a troubled one, and he -needed rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin smiled sympathetically. He had heard -it remarked in Rome that the late Montefiano had indeed -worn himself out at a comparatively early period in life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not wonder," he said, presently, "that you feel the -responsibility of selecting a suitable husband for Bianca. -All the same," he added, "I think you will be wise to -contemplate the possibility of her not remaining a child -indefinitely. If you do not, I should be inclined to regard the -footmen as a perpetual source of anxiety."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Philippe!" exclaimed the princess. "You are really -perfectly scandalous! One does not allude to such things, -even in jest. But I see what you mean, although I must -say that I think you put it rather grossly. I will consult -Monsieur l'Abbé about the advisability of gradually letting -Bianca see a few more people. I don't want it to be -supposed that I am keeping her from marrying when the proper -time comes for her to do so; and my only object would be to -find her a suitable husband. Of course, as Monsieur l'Abbé -says her marriage must almost certainly alter my own -circumstances, but one must not allow one's self to think -of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Monsieur d'Antin, thoughtfully, "Monsieur -l'Abbé says so, does he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is natural that he should look at the matter from all -points of view," returned the princess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly natural—from all points of view," repeated -Monsieur d'Antin; "and," he added to himself, "more -particularly from his own, I imagine. Well," he continued, -"I must leave you, Jeanne. I should consult Monsieur -Roux, by all means. He looks as though he knew -something about feminine development—your little abbé; and -you tell me that he has studied in Rome. </span><em class="italics">Au revoir</em><span>, my -dear Jeanne—</span><em class="italics">à bientot</em><span>! Ah, by-the-way, there is one little -matter I had nearly forgotten. Could you without -inconvenience—but absolutely without inconvenience—lend -me a thousand francs or so? Two thousand would be more -useful—I do not say no. In a few weeks my miserable -rents must come in, and then we will settle our accounts—but, -in the mean time, it would be a great convenience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess looked uneasy. "I will try," she said; "but, -to say the truth, it is not a very favorable moment—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin waved his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a word—not a word more, I beg of you, my dear -Jeanne!" he exclaimed. "You will think the matter over; -and if two thousand is not convenient, I must make one -thousand suffice. In the mean time, </span><em class="italics">di nuovo</em><span>, as the -Italians say," and he kissed his sister affectionately and -hurried from the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he walked from the Palazzo Acorari to his little -apartment in the Ludovisi quarter of the city, Monsieur d'Antin -was unusually preoccupied, and more than once he chuckled -to himself. His sister Jeanne was certainly not gifted with -a sense of humor, but he found himself wondering whether -she was quite as incompetent to look after her own affairs as -she wished him to believe. Experience taught him that -while piety and humor seldom went together, piety and a -shrewd eye to worldly advantage were by no means unfrequently -to be found working very harmoniously side by side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somebody in Palazzo Acorari, Monsieur d'Antin felt convinced, -had an interest in maintaining the </span><em class="italics">status quo</em><span>, so far -as the existing constitution of the Montefiano establishment -was concerned. Jeanne might be a bad woman of business, -but, when all was said and done, at thirty-five or so, with no -money—with nothing, in short, except a local reputation -for holiness—she had succeeded in marrying a man who had -been able to give her a very substantial position in the -world, and who had had the tact to leave her a good many -years in which to enjoy its full advantages without the -incubus of his company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was more likely that Jeanne allowed herself to be -swayed by the counsels of the priest whom, according to her -own account, she always consulted. It was conceivable, -nay, it was even probable, that Monsieur l'Abbé Roux -might desire that Donna Bianca Acorari should remain as -much as possible secluded from the world for reasons of his -own. So long as she remained unmarried, so long would -she, no doubt, be content that the Montefiano properties -should be managed more or less as they had been hitherto -managed; and who could tell how much benefit the Abbé -Roux might not, directly or indirectly, gain from the present -system of management.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Bianca Acorari? Monsieur d'Antin allowed his -thoughts to dwell upon her dreamy face, with its eyes that -seemed always to be looking into an unexplored distance, -upon the curved mouth and firm, rounded throat, upon the -graceful lines of the figure just melting into womanhood, and -came to the conclusion that Jeanne and her abbé were a -couple of fools. Why, the girl had something about her -that stirred even his well-worn passions—and how would -it not be with a younger man? She had some idea, too, -of her own power, of her own charm, unless he was very -much mistaken. It was a vague, undefined consciousness, -perhaps, but none the less fascinating on that account. A -child? Nonsense! A peach almost ripe for the plucking.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ix"><span class="bold large">IX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was very still in the ilex grove of the Villa Acorari. -The air was sultry, and not a leaf stirred; yet angry-looking -clouds occasionally drifted across the sky from the -sea, and cast moving patches of purple shadow on the plain -stretching away from below Velletri to the coast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sunbeams glanced here and there through the heavy -foliage. They threw quaint, checkered patterns on the -moss-grown flag-stones surrounding a group of fountains, and -flashed upon the spray falling over sculptured nymphs and -river-gods wantoning in cool green beds of arum leaves and -water-lilies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A gentle, drowsy murmur of insects filled the air, and the -splashing of the fountains—otherwise deep silence reigned. -Lizards, green and golden-brown, darted out of the crevices -in the old stone seats, paused abruptly with little heads -poised in a listening attitude, and darted away again; while -blue dragon-flies hawked over the waters of the fountains, -now giving mad chase to a fly, now resting—jewels set in -green enamel—on a lily leaf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not to be wondered at if the gardens of the Villa -Acorari were reputed to be haunted by spirits of the old -gods. On this July afternoon some mysterious influence, -infinitely peaceful but infinitely sad, seemed to brood over -them. All the glamour of a mighty past seemed to enfold -them—such a past as many an old villa in the neighborhood -of Rome has witnessed, in which every passion, good -and bad, has played its part; in which scenes of love and -hate, of joy and sorrow, of highest virtue and foulest crime -have succeeded each other through the centuries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tradition declared that a shrine sacred to the rites of the -</span><em class="italics">Lupercalia</em><span> once stood in the midst of this ilex grove, on -the very spot where the fountains now murmured and the -water-lilies lifted their pure whiteness to the hot caress of -the sunbeams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If this were so, it was certainly as well that times had -changed; that lizards and dragon-flies had usurped the -place of the </span><em class="italics">Luperci</em><span>, and that lascivious Pan slept with the -rest of the joyous company of Olympus; else had Bianca -Acorari, quietly reading her book in the deep shadows of -the ilex-trees, run grievous risk of receiving the sacred blow -from the thong of some lustful votary of the god.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>St. Peter's festival had come and gone, and Bianca, to -her great satisfaction, had already been some days at the -Villa Acorari. It was an untold relief to her to feel that -for at least three months she was free to wander about these -old gardens instead of driving through the hot, dusty -streets of Rome. This year, too, she would not be quite -so much alone as she had usually been. The princess had -consented to a scheme whereby Mademoiselle Durand was -to continue giving her lessons, at any rate for another -month; and it had been duly arranged that she should -come to the villa three times a week from Albano, where, -it appeared, she was going to pass the remainder of the -summer. The proposition had come from Mademoiselle -Durand herself. She had other pupils, she had informed -the princess, who would be in </span><em class="italics">villeggiatura</em><span> at Albano and -Ariccia, and it would be very easy for her to come over to -the Villa Acorari if the princess wished it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somewhat to her step-mother's surprise, Bianca jumped -eagerly at the idea. There could be no objection, the -princess thought, to the girl pursuing her studies with -Mademoiselle Durand for a few more weeks; and she saw, -moreover, that Bianca welcomed the thought of occasionally -having the governess as a companion. She would not -have wished Bianca to walk with Mademoiselle Durand in -Rome, certainly; but at the villa it was a very different -thing; and, after all, it was better for her than being -perpetually alone, or merely having Bettina's society.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand had already been over twice, and -Bianca had shown her all her favorite walks, and the -places where she liked to sit and read or work during the -heat of the afternoons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had struck Bianca that the Frenchwoman displayed -considerable curiosity as to her movements. Mademoiselle -Durand insisted upon being taken all over the grounds of -the villa, and almost appeared as though she were studying -the topography of the spots which Bianca pointed out as -being her usual resorts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had talked of many things only a couple of days -ago—things which, it must be confessed, had nothing -whatever to do with Bianca's education. In the course of the -last few weeks the girl had lost much of the reserve she -had formerly displayed towards her governess. The -Rossano family had been, as it were, a sympathetic link -between Mademoiselle Durand and Bianca, a subject to -which it was refreshing to both to turn after wrestling with -French history or German poetry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand had talked of Silvio on this very -spot where Bianca was now giving herself up to the -pleasant feeling of drowsiness induced by the murmur of the -fountains and the fragrant warmth of the July afternoon, -and she had shaken her head sadly and significantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That young man, she assured Bianca, was breaking his -heart and ruining his health. It did not at the moment -strike either her or her listener that Silvio could hardly do -the one without doing the other. It was certainly very -sad, and Bianca had confided to Mademoiselle Durand that -she wished she could do something to avert such a catastrophe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," the Frenchwoman said, tentatively, "if you -were to make his acquaintance, he might become more -reasonable," and Bianca had gazed at her with a startled air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know, mademoiselle," she said, a little impatiently, -"that I can never make his acquaintance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never is a long time," returned Mademoiselle Durand, -smiling. "Supposing—I only say supposing—you -met him somewhere, on one of your walks, for instance, -and that he spoke to you, would you not try to—well, -to give him some good advice—to be kind to -him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He probably would not ask me for my advice," replied -Bianca, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand looked at her and hesitated for a -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think he would," she said, slowly. "You see, Donna -Bianca, there is such a close resemblance between your own -position and that of the girl with whom the poor boy is so -madly in love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder," persisted Mademoiselle Durand, "what you -would do. It would be very interesting to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—" began Bianca.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean," interrupted Mademoiselle Durand, "if by any -chance you happened to meet Monsieur Silvio and he asked -you for your advice, as, </span><em class="italics">du reste</em><span>, he has asked me. You -would not run away—no?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Bianca, thoughtfully, "I don't think I should -run away. I think I should try to help him if I could. I -am very sorry for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand suddenly sprang up with a little -scream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A scorpion!" she exclaimed. "I am sure I saw a -scorpion! It ran in there—into that hole close to my -foot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare say," said Bianca, indifferently. "It is the time -of year when one finds them, but I have never seen one just -here. It is too damp for them, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand had made no further allusion after -this either to Silvio Rossano or to the scorpion. Indeed, -she turned the conversation into professional channels -with some abruptness, and shortly afterwards she -returned to the house preparatory to going back to Albano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle's question returned to Bianca's mind as she -sat under her ilex-tree. It was all nonsense, of course, for -how could she meet Silvio Rossano and talk to him about -his love-affair? Mademoiselle Durand knew perfectly well -that there could be no question of such a thing. But still -it would be very interesting to hear all about this -mysterious girl with whom he was so hopelessly in love. And, -yes, she would certainly like to meet him and talk to him. -It was odd how well she remembered his features, though -she had never dared to look at him very much. Nevertheless, -since that Christmas night in the Sudario they had -seemed to be impressed upon her mind. And that other -girl, the one he was in love with, whose name Mademoiselle -Durand declared she was bound in honor not to mention, -did she think much about him—remember the look of his -eyes and the expression of his mouth? Perhaps she never -thought about him at all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this stage of her reflections Bianca suddenly found -herself becoming angry. She had just paused to ask herself -why this should be, when a soft, pattering sound which was -not that of the fountains fell upon her ear. Looking up, -she became aware that the sunlight had faded, and that the -shade around her had grown suddenly deeper. The air felt -heavier and more stifling, and the pattering noise that had -at first attracted her attention seemed to come nearer and -nearer as the light grew more dim. From somewhere in the -underwood a frog began to croak contentedly:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Or s'ode su tutta la fronda</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>crosciare</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>l'argentea pioggia</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>che monda,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>il croscio che varia</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>secondo la fronda</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>più folta, men folta</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Ascolta.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>La figlia del aria</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>è muta; ma la figlia</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>del limo lontana,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>la rana,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>canta nell'ombra più fonda,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>chi sa dove, chi sa dove!"[#]</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] </span><em class="italics small">Le laudi; (Pioggia nel Pineto) Gabriele d'Annunzio.</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Bianca rose hurriedly and looked at the sky. The -</span><em class="italics">campagna</em><span> below, and even the vineyards on the slopes of -the hill immediately beneath the park of the Villa Acorari, -still lay bathed in sunshine. The light rain that was falling -was evidently only a passing summer-shower, and not, as she -had for a moment feared, the immediate precursor of one of -those violent hail-storms that sometimes sweep over the -Alban hills, devastating in a few minutes the crops of a -whole district, and turning smiling vineyards, laden with -fruit, into brown and barren wildernesses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca picked up her neglected book and made her way -towards a little casino which stood at the end of the ilex -avenue, inside which she proposed to shelter herself until -the shower should have passed over. She had scarcely -taken a few steps under the sombre green branches when -she started back with a little cry. A man stepped from -behind one of the gnarled trunks and stood before her, -bare-headed. In an instant she recognized him. He was not -the god—no. For a second she had almost thought that he -might be. Then she looked at him again. Not the god—no; -but surely the god could scarcely be fairer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned aside hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Donna Bianca!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The low voice, very gentle, very pleading, seemed to -mingle its tones with the murmur of the fountains and the -</span><em class="italics">croscio</em><span> of the rain-drops among the ilex-leaves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio Rossano stood and looked at her. Bianca put her -hand up to her throat. Something seemed to rise in it and -choke back her words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You!" she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled a little. "I, Silvio," he said, simply. "Donna -Bianca," he continued hurriedly, as though anxious not to -give her time to say more, "if you tell me to go, I will go, -and you shall never see me again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great silence seemed to follow his words, as though all -the sylvan deities in their lurking-places were listening for -her answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only the frog croaked:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Chi sa dove, chi sa dove!"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Presently Bianca Acorari spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not tell you to go," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Silvio moved a few steps nearer to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Bianca started, as though rousing herself from -a dream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What am I saying?" she exclaimed. "Of course you -must go! You should never have come here. If they were -to find you—alone with me—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio's eyes flashed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said; "alone with you—at last!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca drew back from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At last!" she repeated. Then she smiled. "Of course," -she continued, "you wished to talk to me. Mademoiselle -Durand told me—though I do not understand what I can do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at her in bewilderment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You knew!" he exclaimed; "and yet—you do not -understand what you can do? Donna Bianca," he added, -earnestly, "please do not laugh at me. Surely you -understand that you can do—everything—for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca shook her head. "I do not laugh at you," she -said slowly. "I am sorry for you. I would help you if I -could; but how can I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She moved towards the casino as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen!" she added, "the rain is coming on more -heavily. Do you not hear it on the leaves? And it grows -darker again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He followed her to the summer-house, but as she pushed -open the door he drew back, and glanced at her hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will remain here," he said. "Afterwards, when the -shower is over, if you will let me speak to you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca Acorari looked at him. "Come," she said, briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was an unheard of proceeding. Verily, as Monsieur -d'Antin had said, Bianca was no child—unless, indeed, she -was more childish than her years warranted. Any behavior -more diametrically opposed to all the rules and customs that -so strictly regulate the actions of a young girl in Italy could -scarcely be conceived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio Rossano himself was taken aback at her confidence -in him. Her demeanor was so natural, however, and her -manner, after the first surprise of seeing him had passed, -had become so self-possessed, that he never for an instant -misunderstood her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca seated herself upon a dilapidated chair—the only -one, indeed, having its full complement of legs that the -casino contained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle Durand said that if I—if we ever met, you -would perhaps ask me for my advice," she said, gravely. -"I cannot understand why you should think any advice of -mine could help you. Perhaps she made a mistake, and -you are here by accident."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio almost laughed at her gravity, but she spoke with -a certain dignity of manner which contrasted very -charmingly with her fresh, girlish beauty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said quietly, "I am not here by accident, -Donna Bianca. I am here to see you—to tell you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, I know!" interposed Bianca, hurriedly. "It is -very sad, and, believe me, I am very sorry for you—very -sorry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio's bronze face grew suddenly white.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry!" he exclaimed. "That means you can give me -no hope—that you think me presumptuous—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca glanced at him. "I can give no opinion," she -replied; "but I think—" and she paused, hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" asked Silvio, eagerly. "What do you think, -Donna Bianca?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That if I were a man," returned Bianca, slowly, "I -would marry whom I chose, no matter how many difficulties -stood in my way—that is to say," she added, "if I knew the -woman whom I cared for cared for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," exclaimed Silvio, quickly, "but supposing you -didn't know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I should ask her," said Bianca Acorari, bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio started violently. Then he came and stood beside -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Donna Bianca," he said, in a low, eager voice, "do you -know what you are saying?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca looked at him a little wonderingly. She could not -but notice his agitation. "Certainly I do," she replied. -"You see, Monsieur Silvio," she added, and then stopped -in confusion. "I beg your pardon," she said, blushing -violently. "I am very rude—but I have so often heard -Mademoiselle Durand speak of you as 'Monsieur Silvio,' -that I fear—I am afraid—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio Rossano's head began to swim. He looked at her -and said nothing. Then he swore at himself for being a -fool and losing his opportunities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see," proceeded Bianca, picking up the train of her -thoughts again, "I am afraid I am not like other girls. -I have lived most of my life alone, and I suppose I have -odd ideas. When I am of age, I shall certainly please -myself—but until then, I have to please other people. Of -course, I know that a man is obliged to speak to a girl's -parents before he can tell her that he loves her. But I -am quite sure that if I were a man and wanted to know if -my love were returned, I should ask the person I loved."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at her curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And is that your advice to me, Donna Bianca?" he -said. "You advise me to ask the girl I love—whom I have -loved ever since I first saw her seven months ago, though -I have scarcely spoken to her in my life—whether she -returns my love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were in your place—yes," returned Bianca. "Why -not, Mons—Signor Rossano?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio drew a long breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is what I came here this afternoon to do," he said, -quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca looked at him with a bewildered expression. The -blood left her face and she became very pale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—you came here to do?" she repeated, slowly—"here? -I do not understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no? You do not understand? Then I will take -your advice—I will make you understand." The words -came to his lips fast enough now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear," he burst out, "you shall understand. I love -you! Do you know what it means—love? I have loved -you ever since that night—that Christmas night—when -you looked into my eyes with yours. Do you understand -now? I know I have no right to love you—no right to ask -you to be my wife—for you are Donna Bianca Acorari, -Princess of Montefiano, and I am—nobody. But this is -what I have come to ask you—only this—whether you -love me? If you do, I swear by God and by the Son of -God that I will marry you, or I will marry no woman. If -you do not love me, or will not love me, send me away -from you—now, at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca Acorari sprang up from her chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me?" she exclaimed. "You love me? Ah, but it is -absurd—how can you love me? You are mad—or dreaming. -You have forgotten. It is she you love—that other -one—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio seized her hand almost roughly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bianca!" he said, hoarsely, "what, in God's name, do -you mean? I love you—you only. I have never looked -at another woman—I never knew what love meant till I -saw you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Bianca began to tremble violently. In a -moment Silvio's arms were round her, and he was pressing -hot, passionate kisses to her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bianca!" he exclaimed. "Tell me—for God's sake, tell -me—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a quick gesture she yielded herself wholly to him, -drawing his face to hers and running her hands through his -close, curly hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silvio," she whispered, "ah, Silvio! And it was I all -the time! I thought—Mademoiselle Durand pretended -that it was somebody else—some girl like me—and all the -time I wondered why I cared—why I was angry—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His arms were round her again, and he crushed her to -him, while his lips blinded her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Silvio </span><em class="italics">mio</em><span>," she sighed, "it is too much—you hurt -me—ah, but it is sweet to be hurt by you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly she wrenched herself from him, crimson and -trembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God!" she exclaimed. "What have I done—what -must you think of me? I did not know love was like that. -It—hurts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed aloud in the very intoxication of his joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beloved," he said, "that is only the beginning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Bianca shook her head. "I must be very wicked," -she said. "I did not know I was quite so wicked. Silvio," -she added, looking at him, shyly, "for the love of God, go! -It is getting late. At any moment they may be coming to -look for me. No—not again—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I must speak with you here to-morrow—the day -after," urged Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Bianca, hurriedly. "I must think," she -added. "We must confide everything now to Mademoiselle -Durand. Ah, Silvio, you should not have loved -me—I shall bring you unhappiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at her gravely. "If we are true to each -other," he said, "everything must come right. Even if -we have to wait till you are of age and free to do as you -choose, that is not a very long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had left the casino as Silvio was speaking, and -Bianca glanced uneasily down the avenue. Not a soul was -visible. The rain had cleared away, and the sun, sinking -westward, was streaming into the darkest recesses of the -ilex grove. No sound broke the stillness except the splashing -of the fountains, and now and again the notes of birds -announcing that the hot hours were passed and the cool of -evening was approaching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca turned and laid her hands on Silvio's. "Go, -beloved," she said. "We must not be seen together—yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio drew her to him once more. "Do you know," he -said, "that you have never told me whether you will marry -me or not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca Acorari looked at him for a moment. Then she -answered, simply:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I do not marry you, Silvio, I will marry no man. I -swear it! Now go," she added, hastily—"do not delay -a moment longer. I will communicate with you through -Mademoiselle Durand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all," said Silvio, "even if we have to wait three -years—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca stamped her foot on the turf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silvio," she exclaimed, "if you do not go, now—at -once—I will not marry you for six years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned away from him and sped down the avenue, -while Silvio vanished through the undergrowth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the ilex grove was left in possession of the spirits of -Pan and his </span><em class="italics">Luperci</em><span>; also in that of Monsieur d'Antin, who, -with a little chuckle, stepped from behind the casino and -emerged into the sunlight.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="x"><span class="bold large">X</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"You do not congratulate me, Giacinta."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio and his sister were sitting alone together after -a late dinner which was practically merely a supper. In -the summer months in Rome, to be compelled by fashion to -sit down to a meal at the pleasantest hour in all the twenty-four -is a weariness to the flesh and a vexation to the spirit. -Entirely in opposition to all the orthodox ideas inculcated -by the guide-books and received by the British tourist, the -Romans do not labor under the delusion that death stalks -abroad with the sunset, and that deadly diseases dog the -footsteps of those who wander through the streets or -gardens when the shadows of evening are beginning to fall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those whose duties or inclinations keep them in Rome -during the summer months do not, as a rule, complain of -their lot, knowing full well that of all the larger Italian cities, -and, indeed, of all southern capitals, it is on the whole by far -the coolest and healthiest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Rossano family, like the majority of Romans, adapted -their hours to the various seasons, and dinner, which was -at any time from half-past seven to half-past eight in winter, -became supper at nine or so in summer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This evening the professor, as was his usual habit on fine -nights at this season of the year, had gone out immediately -after supper to smoke his cigar and read his evening papers, -seated outside one of the </span><em class="italics">caffè's</em><span> in Piazza Colonna, where -a band would be playing till between ten and eleven o'clock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had never again alluded to the subject of Silvio having -presumably fallen in love. Indeed, he had forgotten all -about it immediately after he had startled Silvio by -accusing him of it. Giacinta, however, had by no means -forgotten it. Silvio's silence, or rather his marked disinclination -to discuss either Bianca or anything to do with Casa -Acorari, only increased Giacinta's suspicions that he was -at work upon his plans in his own way. That he would -abandon his determination to make Bianca Acorari's -acquaintance she never for a moment contemplated, knowing -his strength of will. It was, in Giacinta's eyes, a most -unlucky infatuation. In all probability, Donna Bianca -Acorari's future husband had been chosen long ago, not -by the girl herself, of course, but by the princess and her -friends. Silvio's appearance on the scene as a suitor must -infallibly lead to trouble, for the difference in their social -position was too great to be overcome, except by a very -much larger fortune than Silvio could ever hope to possess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta Rossano's pride was aroused. It would be -intolerable to feel that her brother was regarded as not good -enough to be the husband of an Acorari, or of anybody else, -for that matter. Knowing Silvio's contemptuous -indifference to merely hereditary rank, she wondered that he -did not realize the false position into which he was -apparently doing his best to put himself. That Donna Bianca -Acorari would fall in love with Silvio, if any reasonable -opportunity were given her, Giacinta had very little doubt. -Any woman might fall in love with him, if it were only -for his good looks. But what would be gained if Donna -Bianca did fall in love with him? There would be a great -</span><em class="italics">disturbo</em><span>—a family consultation—probably a dozen family -consultations—a great many disagreeable things said on -all sides, and after the girl had had one or two fits of crying, -she would give up all thoughts of Silvio, and allow herself -to be engaged to some man of her own world. And, in the -mean time, Silvio's life would be wrecked, for he would -never stand the mortification of a refusal on the part of -Princess Montefiano to regard him as a suitable husband for -her daughter. He would probably become soured and -embittered, and as likely as not take to wild habits. -Altogether, Giacinta Rossano had a very unfavorable opinion of -the whole business. She devoutly wished that the fates -had led her father to choose any other apartment than the -second floor of Palazzo Acorari; for in that case Silvio -would certainly not have gone to mass at the Sudario on -Christmas Eve, and lost his heart and his common-sense -when he got there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This process of reasoning was scarcely logical, perhaps—but -Giacinta had quite made up her mind that the midnight -mass was responsible for the whole affair. She believed -that if Silvio had happened to see Donna Bianca Acorari for -the first time under more ordinary circumstances, he would -not have thought twice about her. Besides, to fall in love -with a person in church, she considered, was certainly -improper, and very likely unlucky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta had listened to Silvio's account of his meeting -with Donna Bianca in the grounds of the Villa Acorari, -complete details of which, it is hardly necessary to add, -he did not give his sister, with something approaching -consternation. She had never doubted that sooner or later -Silvio would succeed in obtaining some interview with the -girl, but she had certainly not expected to hear that Bianca -Acorari was so ready to give everything he asked of her. -She had thought that at first Bianca would be bewildered, -and scarcely conscious of what love might be, and that -it would require more than one meeting before Silvio would -succeed in fully arousing a corresponding passion in her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Evidently, however, from Silvio's words, reticent though -he was when he touched upon Bianca's avowed love for -him, it had been a case of love at first sight on both sides, -and not only, as she had always hoped, on that of Silvio -only. This, Giacinta felt, complicated matters considerably; -and it was natural, perhaps, if, at the conclusion of -Silvio's confidences, she remained silent, engrossed in her -own reflections.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not congratulate me," repeated Silvio, as her -silence continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta hesitated. "I would congratulate you," she -replied, "if I were sure that what you have done will be for -your happiness. But as yet," she added, "there is nothing -to congratulate you upon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you mean—nothing to congratulate me upon," -said Silvio, with an unruffled good-humor that almost -annoyed Giacinta, "when I tell you that she loves me—that -she has promised to be my wife? Is not that reason -enough for you to congratulate me? But, of course, I -always told you I was sure she returned my love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never told me anything of the kind," said Giacinta -curtly. "Until this evening, I do not think you have -mentioned Donna Bianca Acorari's name to me for three -months."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I not?" asked Silvio, carelessly. "Well, it was no -good talking about the matter until I was sure of my ground, -you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you are sure of it now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But of course I am sure of it! Has she not promised to -marry me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that—yes," returned Giacinta; "but, Silvio, you -know as well as I do that in our country engagements are -not made like that. Bianca Acorari is not an English miss. -It all reminds me of English novels I have read, in which -young men always go for long walks with young girls, and -come back to the five-o'clock saying that they are going -to be married. This is just what you have done; but, -unluckily for you, we are not in England."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed. Nothing could shake his serenity, for -had not Bianca sworn that if she did not marry him, she -would never marry?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget," he said, "that Bianca and I can afford -to wait. Even if Princess Montefiano makes difficulties, -it is a mere question of time. In three years Bianca will -be her own mistress, accountable to nobody for her actions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta shook her head. "That is all very well, Silvio," -she replied, "but a great many disagreeable things may -happen in three years. Do you think that Donna Bianca -loves you enough to keep her promise to you, whatever -opposition she may encounter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio smiled. "Yes," he said, simply, "I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta was silent for a moment. Silvio was strangely -confident, she thought. Perhaps she underrated Bianca -Acorari's strength of character. It might be that this girl -was really in love with Silvio, and that her character and -Silvio's were alike in tenacity of purpose and loyalty. At -any rate, she had no right to judge Bianca until she knew -her, or at least had had some opportunity of observing -how she behaved by Silvio when the storm which they -had brewed finally burst, which it certainly must do very -quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very sure of her, Silvio </span><em class="italics">mio</em><span>," she said, at length, -with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very sure," responded Silvio, tranquilly. "After all, -Giacinta," he continued, "what can the princess or her -advisers do? They can but refuse to allow the engagement, -but Bianca and I shall not consider ourselves the -less engaged on that account. And when they saw that -opposition was useless, that Bianca intended to marry me, -and me only, they would have to give way. Otherwise, -we should simply wait till Bianca was of age."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But pressure might be brought to bear upon her," -objected Giacinta.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pressure!" exclaimed Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; there are many ways. She might be placed in -a convent, for instance. Such things have been done -before now. Or they might force her to marry somebody -else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or kill me! Go on, Giacinta," said Silvio, laughing. -"We are not in the Middle Ages, </span><em class="italics">cara mia sorellina</em><span>. In -these days, when people disappear, inquiries are made by -the police. It is a prosaic system, perhaps, but it has -certain advantages."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silvio," exclaimed Giacinta, suddenly, "it is all very -well for you to laugh, but have you considered how isolated -that girl is? She has absolutely no relations on her father's -side. Babbo says there are no Acorari left, and that the -old prince quarrelled with his first wife's family—Donna -Bianca's mother's people. She is alone in the world with -a step-mother who is entirely under the thumb of her -priest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And with me," interrupted Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta glanced at him. "They will keep you at a safe -distance," she said, "if it does not suit the Abbé Roux that -Donna Bianca should marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Cristo!</em><span>" swore her brother, between his teeth. "What -do you mean, Giacinta? Do you know what you are implying?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta Rossano's eyes flashed. She looked very like -Silvio at that moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know perfectly well what I am implying," she said, -quickly. "You have not chosen to trust me, Silvio, and -perhaps you were right. After all, I could not have done -so much for you as that Frenchwoman has done. God -knows why she has done it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked a little abashed. "How did you know -about the Frenchwoman?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta laughed dryly. "Never mind how I know," -she replied, "and do not think I have been spying upon -your actions. I have been making a few inquiries about -the Montefiano </span><em class="italics">ménage</em><span> on my own account—about things -that perhaps Mademoiselle Durand—is not that her name?—might -never be in a position to hear, as she does not live -in the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed Silvio. "Go on, Giacinta."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The princess," proceeded Giacinta, "must be a strange -woman. From what I can hear of her, I should doubt -whether anybody knows her the least intimately, except -the Abbé Roux. Oh no, Silvio, I do not mean to imply -any intimacy of that nature between them," she added, -hastily, suddenly becoming aware of the expression on her -brother's face. "She is, I imagine, a curious mixture of -worldliness and piety, but not worldliness in the sense of -caring for society. She would have made an excellent -abbess or mother-superior, I should think, for she loves -power. At the same time, like many people who love to -rule, she is weak, and allows herself to be ruled, partly -because she is a fanatic as far as her religion is concerned, and -partly—well, partly, I suppose, because she has a weak -side to her nature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at his sister, curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did you learn all this?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta shrugged her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might ask—Why did I learn it?" she said. "I -learned it because I wished to analyze the kind of -psychologic atmosphere into which you might find yourself -plunged!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed. Giacinta often amused him; she was -so like the professor in some ways.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," continued Giacinta, "had it not been that -Prince Montefiano developed a conscience late in life, the -princess would have been ruling nuns at this moment -instead of managing the Montefiano estates."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A quick look of intelligence passed across Silvio Rossano's -face. They were Romans, these two, of the sixth -generation and more, and were accustomed to the Roman -conversational habit of leaving </span><em class="italics">i</em><span>'s to be dotted and </span><em class="italics">t</em><span>'s to be -crossed at discretion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, she would not be very ready to give up her -interest in them," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not," returned Giacinta. "Moreover," she -added, "the priest would do his best to prevent her from -giving it up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Si capisce</em><span>," said Silvio, briefly. "But how in the -world do you know all this, Giacinta?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she replied, "I know a good deal more! I know -that the Abbé Roux keeps his eye upon everything; that -the princess does not spend a thousand francs without -consulting him. She is tenacious of her rights to administer -the Montefiano fiefs during Donna Bianca's minority, that -is true. But the real administrator is the Abbé Roux. -There is another person, too, with whom you ought to be -brought into contact, Silvio—and that is the princess's -brother, Baron d'Antin. He is </span><em class="italics">niente di buono</em><span>, so my -informant tells me. But I do not imagine that Monsieur -l'Abbé allows him to have any great influence with his -sister. Apparently he comes here but seldom, and then -only when he wants something. I do not suppose that he -would concern himself very much about you and Donna Bianca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you think all the opposition would come from the -princess and that infernal priest?" said Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But naturally! They do not want the girl to marry—at -any rate, before she is of age. Why two or three years -should make so much difference I have no idea. I should -like to find out, but it would not be easy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot imagine how you have found out so much," -said Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta laughed. "I have stooped to very low methods," -she said, "but it was for your sake, Silvio. If you -must know, my maid has chosen to engage herself to one -of the Acorari servants, and she tells me all these little -things. Of course, she has told me considerably more than -I have told you, but, allowing for exaggerations and for all -the misconstructions that servants invariably place upon -our actions, I believe what I have told you is fairly correct. -It is not very much, certainly, but—rightly or wrongly—there -appears to be an impression that Donna Bianca is -being purposely kept in the background, and that neither -the princess nor Monsieur Roux intends that she should -marry. Perhaps it is all nonsense and merely gossip, but -it is as well you should know that such an impression -exists.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May one ask what you and Donna Bianca mean to -do next, Silvio?" concluded Giacinta, a little satirically. -"The proceedings up to now have been—well, a little -</span><em class="italics">all' Inglese</em><span>, as I think we agreed; and I do not quite see -how you propose to continue the affair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A look half of amusement and half of perplexity came -into Silvio's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To tell you the truth, Giacinta," he said, "neither do I. -Of course, I must see Bianca again, and then we must -decide when and how I am to approach the princess. I -shall have to tell my father, of course. The usual thing -would be for him to speak to Princess Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor Babbo!" exclaimed Giacinta. "It seems to me, -Silvio," she added, severely, "that you have landed us -all in a </span><em class="italics">brutto impiccio</em><span>. I certainly wish that I had never -thought it would be good for your soul to go to mass last -Christmas Eve!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xi"><span class="bold large">XI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Monsieur d'Antin did not immediately return to -the house after having been an unobserved spectator -of the parting scene between Bianca and her lover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His presence in the ilex groves of the Villa Acorari that -afternoon had been due to the merest chance—if, indeed, -it were not one of those malicious tricks so frequently -performed by the power that we call Fate or Providence, -according to our own mood and the quality of the practical -jokes played upon us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been spending the day at Genzano, where he had -breakfasted with a well-known Roman lady possessing an -equally well-known villa lying buried in its oak and chestnut -woods. The breakfast-party had been a pleasant one, -and Monsieur d'Antin had enjoyed himself so much that -he felt disinclined to return to Rome as early as he had -at first intended. It would be agreeable, he thought, to -drive from Genzano to the Villa Acorari, spend two or -three hours there, and drive back to Rome, as he had been -invited to do late in the evening, instead of returning by -train.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin had duly arrived at the Villa Acorari -about four o'clock, only to find that the princess had gone to -Rome for the day on business, and was not expected back -until six. Donna Bianca, the servants told him, was at -home, but she was in the gardens. Monsieur d'Antin was -not so disappointed as he professed to be on hearing this -intelligence. He would rest for a little while in the house, -as it was still very hot—and—yes, an iced-lemonade would -be very refreshing after his dusty drive from Genzano. -Afterwards, perhaps, he would go into the gardens and see -if he could find Donna Bianca.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A stroll through the ilex walks with Bianca would not -be an unpleasing ending to his day among the Castelli -Romani. Hitherto he had never been alone with her, and -he was not sorry that chance had given him an opportunity -of being so. The girl might be amusing when she was no -longer under supervision. At any rate, she was attractive -to look upon, and—oh, decidedly she sometimes had made -him feel almost as though he were a young man again. That -was always a pleasurable sensation, even if nothing could -come of it. It was certainly a pity that he was not twenty -years younger—nay, even ten years would be sufficient. -Had he been so—who knows?—things might have been -arranged. It would have been very suitable—very -convenient in every way, and would have kept the Montefiano -estates and titles in the family, so to speak. And Bianca -was certainly a seductive child—there was no doubt about -it. That mouth, that hair, and the lines of the figure just -shaping themselves into maturity—Bah! they would make -an older man than he feel young when he looked at them. -Yes, it was certainly a pity. Jeanne, no doubt, would -delay matters until—well, until those charms were too fully -developed. That was the worst of these Italian girls—they -were apt to develop too fast—to become too massive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin leaned back in an arm-chair in the -cool, darkened </span><em class="italics">salone</em><span> of the Villa Acorari, and abandoned -himself to these and various other reflections of a similar -nature. He found the mental state a very pleasant one -after his somewhat ample breakfast and hot drive. There -was something, too, in the subdued light of the marble -saloon, with its statues and groups of palms, and in the -soothing sound of a fountain playing in the court-yard -without, that gently stimulated such reflections.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At length, however, a striking clock had roused Monsieur -d'Antin, and he sallied forth into the gardens, directed by -a servant to the broad, box-bordered walk that led up the -hill to the ilex groves where, as the man informed him, -Donna Bianca usually went.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Probably, had it not been for that self-same shower of rain -which had disturbed Bianca's meditations and caused her to -seek the shelter of the avenue and the casino, he would have -found her sitting in the open space near the fountains, where, -as a matter of fact, Silvio Rossano had been watching her -for some little time, wondering how he should best accost -her. Silvio, concealed behind his tree, would certainly -have seen Monsieur d'Antin approaching, and would have -waited for another opportunity to accomplish his object. -But, as usual, Puck or Providence must needs interfere and -cause the rain to descend more heavily just as Monsieur -d'Antin arrived at the fountains. Seeing that the avenue -would afford him shelter he had entered it, and, after waiting -for a few minutes, had bent his steps in the direction of the -casino he observed at the farther end of it. The sound -of voices coming from within the summer-house had caused -him to stop and listen; and what he overheard, although he -could not entirely follow the rapid Italian in which its -occupants were speaking, was enough to tell him that Bianca -Acorari was one of the speakers, that the other was a man, -and that love was the topic of the conversation. Very -quietly, and crouching down so as to be invisible from the -window of the casino, Monsieur d'Antin had stepped past -the half-closed door and concealed himself behind the little -building. Through the open window he had been able -from his hiding-place to hear every word that was said, and -also to hear the sounds which certainly could not be called -articulate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin's face, during the quarter of an hour he -spent behind the casino, would have provided an interesting -and instructive study to anybody who had been there to see -it; it would also have made the fortune of any actor who -could have reproduced its varied expressions. Astonishment, -envy, lust, and malicious amusement, all were depicted -upon his countenance in turn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last, when Bianca and her companion left the summer-house, -Monsieur d'Antin was able to see what manner of -man he was who had had the good fortune to arouse her -passion. A single glance at Silvio, as the boy stood in the -centre of the avenue with the sunlight falling on his -well-built figure and comely face, explained the whole matter. -If Bianca had such a lover as this, all that he had just -overheard was fully accounted for. Nevertheless, a gust of envy, -all the more bitter from the consciousness of its impotence, -swept through Monsieur d'Antin's middle-aged soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wondered who this good-looking lover of Bianca's -might be. The lad was a gentleman, evidently; but -Monsieur d'Antin could not remember ever having seen him in -society in Rome. </span><em class="italics">Diable!</em><span> but he had been right, as usual. -He, Philippe d'Antin, always was right about women. And -this was Jeanne's "child"—this girl who gave herself to be -kissed, and told her lover it was sweet to be hurt by him! -Ah! he had heard that. The words had made the blood -leap in his veins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched Silvio disappear through the tangled brush-wood -growing between the avenue and the park-wall, and -Bianca's figure vanish in the direction of the villa, before he -finally emerged from his hiding-place. Then he walked -slowly several times up and down the avenue, thinking -about what might be the best use to make of his discovery. -Should he keep silence, and allow Bianca Acorari to -compromise herself a little more irrevocably, or should he -speak to Jeanne at once? He wished he had some means -of knowing whether the meeting he had witnessed was a -first interview, or only one of many. Unluckily his -knowledge of Italian was not sufficient to enable him clearly to -learn all he might have learned from the lovers' conversation. -If it were a first meeting only, the matter could be -the more easily nipped in the bud—and then— Here -Monsieur d'Antin paused. He hardly ventured, even to -himself, to cast the thoughts that were beginning to revolve -in his mind into concrete form.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The worst of it was that Jeanne must be utterly incompetent -to deal with anything of the nature of a love affair. -He did not believe that in all his sister's life she had ever -known what love was. Certainly her marriage with the -Principe di Montefiano had not let her into the mystery, for -everybody knew that it was a marriage which had, so to -say, stopped short at the altar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who could tell, moreover, who this young fellow might -be? It was certainly not likely that he was a suitable -match for Bianca, or the two would not behave in so -absolutely </span><em class="italics">bourgeois</em><span> a manner. No; the boy was much more -probably some adventurer—some shopkeeper from Rome, -with the </span><em class="italics">faux airs</em><span> of a gentleman about him. In this case -the matter would be very simple. It would not be a very -easy thing to find a husband for a girl who was known to -have had a </span><em class="italics">liaison</em><span> with a man out of her class; and, this -being so, Bianca Acorari would either have to remain single -or marry some man who would be willing to overlook such -a scandal in her past.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus reflecting, Monsieur d'Antin came to the conclusion -that, for the moment at all events, he would say nothing to -his sister. The first thing to be done would be to find out -who this young man was. Afterwards, it would be easier -to decide how long the little love-idyl he had assisted at -that afternoon should be allowed to continue. If he had -to take anybody into his confidence before speaking to -Jeanne, why should the Abbé Roux not be that person?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was a good idea—an excellent idea. The priest -could manage Jeanne, and, perhaps, he, Philippe d'Antin, -could manage the priest. It was possible, but he was not -sure; for priests were—priests. In any case, it would be -as well to have the abbé on his side if he found he was able -to derive any personal benefit out of the </span><em class="italics">bouleversement</em><span> that -must be the immediate result of the discovery of Bianca's -conduct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, he would warn the Abbé Roux that it would be well -to keep an eye on Bianca's movements, and how she passed -her hours at the Villa Acorari. Of course the boy would -come again—and small blame to him! And if spying -were to be done, it had better be done by the priest. In -that case he, Monsieur d'Antin, would not incur Bianca's -odium as being the destroyer of her romance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having arranged his programme to his satisfaction, -Monsieur d'Antin strolled back to the villa. He found Bianca -in the saloon, and greeted her with an airy good-humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been looking for you in the gardens," he said. -"They said you were walking there—but where you have -been hiding yourself I do not know! Certainly I failed to -discover the spot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Monsieur d'Antin had been so foolish as to allow himself -to look at the girl as he spoke, he would have seen the -quick look of relief on her face. As it was, he looked at his -watch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The servants told me you were here," she replied. -"How you did not find me in the gardens, I cannot think. -Did you go up to the ilex grove—the wood at the top of -the hill?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The keen note of anxiety in her voice was not lost upon -Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he returned. "I looked down the avenue, but -I saw nobody. Then it began to rain heavily, and I tried -to get back to the house. But I lost my way, and found -myself—oh, close to the high road. So I took refuge under -a tree, and—here I am!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca laughed nervously. "What a dull way of spending -the afternoon!" she said. "But mamma will be back -presently—she had to go to Rome. You are going to stop -for dinner, of course? Perhaps to sleep here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible!" said Monsieur d'Antin, consulting his -watch again. "I must drive back to Genzano. I told the -</span><em class="italics">vetturino</em><span> to wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But mamma," said Bianca, "she will be so disappointed -to miss you! Surely you can stay to dinner?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible," repeated Monsieur d'Antin. "I have -promised to drive back to Rome from Genzano with one of -the secretaries of our legation, and we were to start at -seven o'clock. Make my excuses to my sister, and tell her -that I shall be back again soon to pay her a visit—oh, very -soon. But, my dear child, you look pale—you have been -too much in the sun, perhaps—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I?" asked Bianca, hastily. "It is nothing—my -head aches a little. Yes, I suppose it is the sun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin laughed merrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt!" he said. "His kisses are too warm just -now—decidedly too warm. You must beware of them, -my dear child. Do not let him kiss you too often, or he -will spoil that delicate skin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And laughing always, he bade Bianca good-bye, and -went to the entrance-door where a servant was engaged in -trying to rouse his slumbering driver.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xii"><span class="bold large">XII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"The thing is absolutely incredible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the Abbé Roux who was speaking. He sat -with his hands folded on his lap. They were puffy hands, -and looked unnaturally white against the black -background of his </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin sat a few paces away from him, smoking -a cigarette. The two had been in earnest conversation -together in Monsieur d'Antin's little apartment in the Via -Ludovisi, where the Abbé Roux had arrived half an hour -before very much exercised in his mind as to why the -princess's brother should have made such a point of -wishing to speak with him in private.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin looked at his visitor, and his face -contracted with one of his satirical little smiles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think so, my dear abbé?" he said, dryly. "That -is because you are so infinitely superior to the weaknesses -of the flesh. To me, on the contrary, the thing is perfectly -credible; it is even natural. But we must endeavor to -save Donna Bianca Acorari from the consequences this -particular weakness would entail. I am glad I decided to -confide in you before speaking to my sister. Of course, -had Bianca been her own child, it would have simplified -matters considerably; but as it is, I am sure you will agree -with me, my dear abbé, that we must help my sister in this -very difficult position."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux unfolded his hands and began rubbing -them gently together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, Monsieur le Baron, certainly," he replied. -"It is, indeed, a duty to assist the princess in this—this -exceedingly painful affair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, and looked at Monsieur d'Antin inquiringly, -as though to intimate that he was only waiting to hear how -the latter proposed to act.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin proceeded with some deliberation to -light another cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I felt convinced that you would agree with me," he said, -at length. "I am quite aware—my sister has often told -me, indeed—what confidence she has in your judgment. -I regard it as very fortunate that she has so reliable a -counsellor. A woman left in her position needs some man -at her side who will give her disinterested advice; and you, -of course, Monsieur l'Abbé, enjoy two great advantages. -In the first place, you have the influence of your sacred -calling, which, as we both know, my sister regards with -extreme reverence; and, in the next place, though a -foreigner by birth, you are as much at home in Italy and with -Italians as though you were one of themselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux bowed. "Madame la Princesse has, indeed, -chosen to honor me by asking my advice occasionally -on matters quite apart from my profession," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin blew a cloud of smoke into the air. -There was, perhaps, the faintest suspicion of impatience in -the action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely," he returned. "Knowing this, I feel that -we can discuss the peculiar situation in which Donna Bianca -has placed herself—or, I should rather say, in which an -unscrupulous young man has placed her—as two men of -the world. Is it not so? My sister," he continued, without -giving the priest time to reply, "would naturally merely -look at the affair from the moral point of view. She would -be deeply scandalized by it, and shocked at what she would -regard almost as depravity in one whom she has hitherto -considered to be still a child. All that is very well—but -we men, my dear abbé, know that there are other things -to be thought of in these cases of indiscretion on the part -of young girls."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The deception," said the Abbé Roux, shaking his head; -"the princess will feel the deception practised by her -step-daughter very acutely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin tapped a neatly shod foot on the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Monsieur l'Abbé," he observed, gently, "let us -ignore the deception as being one of those moral points of -the case which, I think, we have agreed to leave out of our -discussion. The question is, does my sister wish Donna -Bianca to marry, or does she not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most decidedly not!" exclaimed the Abbé Roux, hastily, -almost angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin glanced at him. "I do not necessarily -allude to Donna Bianca's marriage with this unknown -lover," he returned, "but to her marriage in the abstract."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The princess, I believe, considers that it would be very -unadvisable for Donna Bianca to marry too young," he -said. "She has her good reasons, no doubt," he added—"women's -reasons, Monsieur le Baron, with which you and -I need not concern ourselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin laughed softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It appears to me," he said, "that Donna Bianca has -proved them to be mere ideas, not reasons. I do not think -my sister need be uneasy on that score. I should say, on -the contrary, that in this instance marriage was advisable—very -advisable indeed. You have often, I have no doubt, -had to recommend it to your penitents, Monsieur l'Abbé."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux spread out his hands with a deprecatory -gesture. "In the present case," he said, "there are, I -believe, other considerations which madame your sister, -as guardian to Donna Bianca Acorari, has to take into -account."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin nodded his head. "I understand," he -observed. "Pecuniary considerations."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé looked at him. "In a sense—yes," he said. -"The prince," he continued, "was not a man of business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I have always heard," remarked Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He left his affairs in a very involved state. The -princess, since she has had the management of them, has been -endeavoring to bring them into better order during Donna -Bianca's minority."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," said Monsieur d'Antin again. "So -that," he added, "it is, from a business point of view, very -desirable that Donna Bianca should not marry before she -is twenty-one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly!" assented the abbé. "From a business point -of view it is more than desirable, it is important," he added. -"In the event of Donna Bianca's marrying, even as a minor, -she would bring to her husband the Montefiano properties, -and their administration by madame your sister would cease. -These were the terms of the prince's will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is perfectly clear," observed Monsieur d'Antin. "My -sister and I have never discussed these matters," he -continued. "There would have been no object in her talking -to me about them, for I am absolutely ignorant of Roman -customs where landed property is concerned. As I say, it is -fortunate that she has had you to advise her as to how to act -for the best in her step-daughter's interest. I fully -understand the situation, however; or, if I do not, you will correct -me—is it not so? </span><em class="italics">Bien</em><span>! I will proceed to explain -myself—with your permission."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé bowed silently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For business reasons, into which it is unnecessary to -enter in detail, it is not convenient that Donna Bianca -Acorari should marry for, at all events, three years. But -surely, my dear Monsieur l'Abbé, it would very much -depend upon whom she married, whether these business -calculations were upset or not? An accommodating -husband—or one who was in a position to be independent of -any fortune his wife might bring him, need not necessarily, -so far as I can see, interfere with arrangements you may -have thought it wise to suggest to my sister for the better -administration of her step-daughter's property."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin looked penetratingly at his visitor as he -said these words, and the abbé returned his gaze. Then -something like a smile crossed the faces of both men -simultaneously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt," the priest replied, tranquilly, "very much -would depend upon the husband. But I do not see your -argument, monsieur," he continued. "You surely are -not suggesting that Donna Bianca's very deplorable -entanglement with a young man, whose identity, I must -remind you, is as yet unknown to us, should be permitted -to go on? The very fact of this individual meeting your -niece—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not my niece, Monsieur l'Abbé—not my niece!" interrupted -Monsieur d'Antin. "The accident of Donna Bianca -Acorari's father having married my sister </span><em class="italics">en secondes noces</em><span>, -does not make that young lady any relation to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon!" said the abbé; "I forgot. Of course, as you -say, Donna Bianca is absolutely no relation to you—not -even a connection, indeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely—not even a connection," repeated Monsieur -d'Antin. "But pray proceed—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was about to say," resumed the abbé, "that no -young man of good family would place a young girl in -such an unheard-of position as to make love to her before -speaking to her relations. The man is no doubt some -adventurer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," said Monsieur d'Antin, "I must leave to you to -ascertain. As I have just observed, I am no relation of -Donna Bianca Acorari. I therefore prefer not to interfere -further than to utter a private warning to those who have -the right to move in the matter as to what has accidentally -come to my knowledge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will not be difficult to identify the individual whom -you saw in Donna Bianca's company," said the priest. -"As you remarked, he is sure to repeat his visit to the -Villa Acorari. For this reason I should be inclined to say -nothing to the princess until we have ascertained who it is -with whom we have to deal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly!" exclaimed Monsieur d'Antin. "I thoroughly -agree with you. You will admit, however, my dear abbé, -that the matter is serious. For instance, what is to prevent -the young couple from taking the law into their own hands -and running away? If the young man is merely an -adventurer, he might persuade Donna Bianca to take such a -step. There has been an example of the kind in Rome not -so very long ago, if I am not mistaken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is nothing to prevent them from doing so, -certainly," replied the Abbé Roux. "They could get -themselves married ecclesiastically, no doubt, but not legally. -It would hardly be worth an adventurer's while to burden -himself with a wife over whose fortune he would have no -legal rights."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He might prefer to establish rights over her person," -said Monsieur d'Antin, dryly. "Young men—are young -men; and this one, unless I am greatly mistaken, thinks -more of Donna Bianca's face than her fortune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux shrugged his shoulders. "He seems to -be on the high road to establish those rights already," he -observed, "if one is to judge by what you overheard. The -blessing of the Church is not invariably sought in cases of -this kind," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin chuckled. "True," he replied, "the -girl is inexperienced, and of a temperament—oh, but of a -temperament—" He paused abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé looked at him quickly. Then he smiled a curious -little smile not altogether in keeping with his clerical -attire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," he said, "I think, Monsieur le Baron, that you -have had occasion to remark on this—this delicate subject -before, have you not? The princess mentioned to me some -time ago that you had told her you thought she was mistaken -in believing her step-daughter to be still a child. You -have evidently been studying Donna Bianca attentively. -After all, she is a very attractive young lady, and is -developing greater beauty every few months. But your warning to -Madame la Princesse has turned out to be singularly -justified by subsequent events. One sees that you have an -insight into female character, Monsieur le Baron."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin looked at him suspiciously for a -moment, and then he laughed good-humoredly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you have, my dear abbé?" he asked. -"I am not such an old man—yet; and I am not a priest. -I have my little experiences—yes—and I am not often -mistaken about a woman," and Monsieur d'Antin slapped -himself encouragingly on the breast. "I will make you a -little confession, my friend," he continued, gayly. "It is of -no consequence that I am smoking a cigarette, and that you -do not happen to have your stole on—you can give me -absolution all the same. I find my 'niece,' as you choose -to call her, charming—absolutely charming. It is a -thousand pities that she has so hopelessly compromised -herself with this mysterious young man, for if the story -becomes known, when my sister wants to find a husband -for her it will not be such an easy matter to do so. Ah, -my dear Monsieur l'Abbé, had I only been younger, a -very few years younger, I would have come forward -and said: 'I, Philippe d'Antin, will marry you, and -protect you from the evil tongues of the world. I pardon -your youthful indiscretion, and I make you the Baroness -d'Antin.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin paused and looked at the Abbé Roux -gravely. He appeared to be almost overcome by a sense -of his own magnanimity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé was apparently engrossed in his own thoughts. -He sat silently rubbing his hands together, and it was some -moments before he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I agree with you, monsieur," he said, presently. "It -is not every man who will marry a young lady who has -placed herself in an equivocal position. You are very -generous. I offer you my congratulations on your chivalrous -spirit; and though, as you remark, I have not my stole -on, I shall respect your confidence. All the same, </span><em class="italics">nous -sommes toujours là</em><span>! Donna Bianca Acorari's marriage -would not be advisable for the present. The princess, I -feel convinced, would not countenance it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, my dear abbé," exclaimed Monsieur d'Antin, "I -assure you that I thoroughly understand! I was merely -stating what I should have been prepared to do had I only -been a slightly younger man. I do not conceal the fact -from you that I have a certain admiration for Donna -Bianca, which you, with your knowledge of frail human -nature, will readily pardon as a mere weakness of the -flesh—is it not so? At the same time, I should have been -prepared to sacrifice myself in order to prevent any scandal; -and, moreover, perhaps there would not be the same -objections to me as a husband for Donna Bianca as there -might be in the case of a stranger. We should, so to speak, -be keeping the Montefiano properties in the family, should -we not, Monsieur l'Abbé? and there would have been no -reason to fear that your and my sister's excellent schemes -for the benefit of the estates would not have had ample -time to be realized. However, these are mere </span><em class="italics">châteaux -en Espagne</em><span>. We need not discuss so unlikely a -contingency any further. I consider that I have done my duty -in warning you, as my sister's confidential adviser and -spiritual director, as to what is taking place; and, as I -have said, I must leave it to you to take such steps as you -think proper regarding when and how the princess is to -be made acquainted with the story. After what I have -confided to you of my personal feelings, I am sure you will -understand my determination not to mix myself up in the -matter—unless I am wanted. If I can be of any use -eventually, you know, my dear Monsieur l'Abbé, what I -am prepared to do in order to protect Donna Bianca from -any scandal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux rose from his chair. "I think, Monsieur -le Baron," he said, "that you may safely leave this very -delicate matter to me. The first thing to be done is to -find out who this young man may be. When I have -accomplished this, we can discuss what may be the best -course to be taken. For the moment, I shall say nothing -to the princess. A day or two's delay can do no harm, -and may do good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin accompanied his visitor to the door of -the staircase, where he took leave of him. Then he -returned to his sitting-room, and, having closed the door, -gave vent to quiet but genuine merriment.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xiii"><span class="bold large">XIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Silvio Rossano had quickly made up his mind that, -as was only fitting and proper, he would tell his father -without further delay of the situation in which he and -Bianca found themselves. It would be the professor's -duty to call on Princess Montefiano and make a formal -proposal on the part of his son for Donna Bianca's hand. -That the proposal would not be listened to by the princess, -Silvio was convinced. He had never attempted to deceive -himself upon that subject, and less than ever after hearing -from Giacinta what she had learned. But, at all events, -once having sent his father as his ambassador, he would -have conformed to the usages of society, and would -afterwards be free to take his own line.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand, to whom he had of course confided -the successful result of his interview with Bianca in the -grounds of the Villa Acorari, had counselled patience. There -was no reason, she thought, why, with the exercise of -ordinary prudence, Silvio and the girl whom he now looked upon -as his betrothed wife should not repeatedly meet each other -in the same manner, and there was surely no necessity to be -in a hurry to explode the mine they had laid—more especially -as it was not so easy to calculate what the effects of -the explosion might be. But Silvio was firm. Had there -been the slightest hope of being able to accomplish his -object in any other way, he would never, as he told -Mademoiselle Durand, have approached Bianca secretly, and already -he blamed himself for having placed the girl in so unusual -a position. Now, however, that he had heard from her own -lips that Bianca returned his love, and since they had -mutually vowed to marry each other, or not to marry at all, he -would have no more concealment. If the princess refused -to accept him as a husband for her step-daughter, then he -should feel that he and Bianca were at liberty to carry out -their future plans in their own way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle Durand expostulated in vain. Silvio -begged her to deliver a letter to Bianca when she next -went to the Villa Acorari. In this letter he explained all -his reasons for not risking another interview with her until -they should have learned the result of his father's visit to -the princess, and these reasons he put before Bianca in -the simple, straightforward way which was part of his -nature. Mademoiselle Durand promised to deliver the -letter the very next day, and in the mean time Silvio -had carried his story to his father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Professor Rossano had received his son's intelligence with -a blank dismay which was almost ludicrous; for never, -surely, had a task for which he was so absolutely ill-fitted -been thrust upon him. At first he had positively declined to -interfere, or to be by way of knowing anything at all about -the matter. Silvio had chosen to fall in love in an -impossible quarter, and the best thing he could do was to fall out -of love again as quickly as possible. As to thinking that the -Principessa di Montefiano would allow her step-daughter and -the last representative of the Acorari to marry the son of the -tenant of her second floor, that was altogether an absurdity. -Giacomelli had been quite right when he said Silvio was -in love, and would be taking false measurements in consequence. -He had taken them—deplorably false measurements.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," Silvio observed quietly, after the first stream of -objection had somewhat subsided, "I do not the least think -the princess will consent to our marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, may I ask, what is the use of sending me on a -fool's errand?" the professor retorted, witheringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nevertheless, whether she consents or not, Bianca -Acorari and I shall marry each other. All the same," -continued Silvio, "if she gives her consent, it will, of course, -obviate a great many difficulties."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His father gazed at him with an expression half angry -and half humorous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Diamine!</em><span>" he observed, "I imagine that it would! It -appears to me, Silvio, you forget that marrying an heiress is -not the same thing as building a bridge. In the mean time, -as I say, you wish to send me on a fool's errand. Well, you -may 'go out fishing!' These people are noble, and I am -not going to expose myself and my son to certain prejudices -which an old-fashioned woman like Princess Montefiano -probably entertains. Moreover, they are clericals—fervent -Catholics—and when people are fervent Catholics—</span><em class="italics">mah!</em><span>" -and the professor shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed. "It is a mere formality, Babbo," he -said, "and it is the only thing I shall ask you to do in the -matter. If you like, you can go to the princess and say to -her, 'My son has fallen in love with your step-daughter, and -means to marry her. I have told him he is an imbecile, and -that I will not give my consent; but he declares he will -marry her all the same.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the professor, "so you would marry -without my consent, would you? And pray, what would -you live upon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My wits."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me that you are a pumpkin-head, and that -you have lost them," returned the professor. "Does -Giacinta know of this folly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She knows that I am going to marry Donna Bianca Acorari."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil she does!" observed Professor Rossano. "Go -and talk it over with Giacinta, Silvio," he continued; "she -is a sensible girl, and will tell you that you are going to make -a fool of yourself, and of your family as well. As for me, I -will have nothing to do with it. I have no time to spend on -such trifles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if I have already talked it over with Giacinta?" said -Silvio. He knew very well how to manage his father. The -professor would certainly end by doing what either of his -children asked him to do. It was his method of carrying -out his sense of parental duty. His children, whenever he -remembered to think about them, puzzled him considerably; -or rather, it puzzled him to know what was expected -of him as a father. Occasionally he would sit and look at -Giacinta with much the same expression on his face as may -be seen on that of a retriever bitch whose puppies are -beginning to assert their independence. He often felt that it -was probably incumbent upon him to do something on -her behalf, but he did not at all know what it might be, -and still less how to do it. In Silvio's case things had been -different. The boy had so early given unmistakable proofs -of having both the brains and the character to take a line -of his own in the world, that the professor had never had -seriously to think of possible responsibilities towards him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This affair of Silvio's, however, would, as Professor -Rossano was quick to realize, need some careful handling -on a father's part. He was very fond of his children, -notwithstanding all his apparent absorption in his scientific -occupations, and he was proud as well as fond of his son. -He might laugh at Silvio, and call him an "imbecile," and -he might pretend to regard his love for this Acorari girl as a -foolish fancy that need not be seriously discussed. But in -his heart Professor Rossano was uneasy. He knew that -Silvio was not a susceptible lad, and that he had hitherto -appeared to be remarkably indifferent to women. But he -knew, too, his tenacity of character, and how when he had -once fairly made up his mind to attain some object he would -pursue his purpose with an energy that was almost dogged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Added to these traits in Silvio's character, the professor -knew the gentleness and loyalty of his nature and his -simple, affectionate disposition. It would go very hard with -the boy, he thought, if he were deceived or played with by -any woman upon whom he had really set his affections. -Notwithstanding his assertion that he would have nothing to -say or do in the matter, Professor Rossano had not the slightest -intention of allowing Silvio's life to be made unhappy if -he could prevent it. The boy had a career before him, and -it should most certainly not be wrecked by a priest-ridden -woman and the daughter of so poor a specimen of humanity -as the late Principe di Montefiano was reputed to have been. -What Donna Bianca Acorari might be, the professor neither -knew nor cared. Though they lived under the same roof, -he had never set eyes upon the girl. She was probably -bored to death with her step-mother and her step-mother's -pious practices, and had encouraged the first good-looking -young man she saw to make love to her, which young man -had unfortunately happened to be Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps Silvio guessed something of what was passing in -his father's mind. "I have already talked it over with -Giacinta," he repeated, as the professor remained silent. -"She does not think, any more than I think, that there is -the slightest chance of Princess Montefiano listening to any -proposal coming from us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not, I should like to know?" exclaimed the -professor with sublime inconsistency.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For various reasons," returned Silvio, suppressing an -inclination to laugh. "Giacinta knows more about Casa -Montefiano than any of us," he continued. "I told her -some time ago how it was with me, and she has been making -some inquiries. It appears that there is a priest—the Abbé -Roux, they call him—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May the devil take him!" interrupted the professor. -"He puts his nose everywhere. When we took this apartment -the princess had agreed to make certain alterations, -but the porter told my lawyer that the Abbé Roux—well, -never mind!—what were you going to say about him, -Silvio?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only that, as you say, he puts his foot everywhere. -Giacinta has heard that neither the princess nor he really -wish Donna Bianca to marry at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which means to say that the priest does not wish it, for -some reasons of his own—money reasons, probably. The -princess will do what he tells her to do, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," repeated Silvio, dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do you mean me to go and bribe the Abbé Roux?" -asked the professor, "for I shall most decidedly do nothing -of the kind!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not at all!" returned Silvio, quietly; "I tell you, it -does not matter, Babbo. Bianca and I shall wait three -years, unless we get tired of waiting and run away with each -other before. We could be married in a church, you know, -and the legal marriage might be postponed till she was of -age, but I think it would be better to wait the three -years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Diamine!</em><span>" ejaculated the professor, "but you seem to -be very certain of your arrangements, </span><em class="italics">figlio mio</em><span>, and of the -girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio nodded. "You see," he said, "I don't want to put -her in any false position, and if we ran away with each other -before she is of age, people would say I had done it in order -eventually to get her money. Besides, in the course of -three years she will have ample time to be quite sure that -she has not made a mistake," added Silvio, with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor looked at him. "Yes," he said, "you are -quite right, but not many young men would be so thoughtful -or so confiding. In the mean time, you think—Giacinta -thinks there is no chance of your being allowed to pay your -addresses to Donna Bianca Acorari, because, I suppose, you -would not be considered well-born enough nor rich enough. -You might be a contractor risen from nothing, or a </span><em class="italics">mercante -di campagna</em><span> whose father had herded pigs, and, if you had -money, no objections would be made to your marrying into -the Acorari or any other family. </span><em class="italics">Figlio mio</em><span>, take my -advice. Leave these people alone, and take your wife from a -class that has good brains and healthy blood, not from -these worn-out families of which the country has very little -further need. You are only preparing for yourself trouble -and disappointment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio shook his head. "I will marry Bianca Acorari, or -I will marry nobody," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That being the case," he observed, mildly, "what is the -use of discussing the matter any further? Why send me -to the girl's step-mother? It is a waste of time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You could write," suggested Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I should write!" returned his father testily. -"You don't suppose I should spend a whole day in going to -Velletri and back on such an affair, do you? All the same, -I see why you think the formal proposal should be made -in the usual way. If it is declined by the princess—as, of -course, it will be—you and the girl will consider yourselves -to be justified in taking the matter into your hands—is it -not true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly," answered Silvio. "Moreover," he added, "I -want to be certain that Giacinta's informant is right, and -that there is some reason why Donna Bianca will not be -allowed to marry either me or anybody else, if it can be -prevented."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor nodded his head slowly. "Depend upon -it, the priest is at the bottom of it," he said. "He is -probably feathering his nest, or somebody else's nest, well -out of the Montefiano revenues, and does not want any -premature change in the situation. And that reminds me," -he added, laughing, "that you had better have been -anybody's son than mine. The priests—I mean those of the -Abbé Roux type—regard me as a freemason, a heretic, -anything you please that is damnable, because—well, because -I believe Domeneddio to have given us minds in order that -we should use them. I am afraid, Silvio </span><em class="italics">mio</em><span>, that Donna -Bianca Acorari would never be allowed to marry the son -of a senator, who also happens to be a scientist in a modest -way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you again, Babbo," said Silvio, "that it doesn't -matter. All I want is to be refused by the princess, after a -formal proposal has been made in the recognized manner. -That will quite satisfy me. Do you not see, too, that we -should be placing ourselves in a humiliating position -if we did not approach the Princess Montefiano? She -has the right to expect it, and by not conforming to the -usage it would appear as though we knew ourselves to be in -an entirely different class; whereas we are not that. We -do not happen to possess a title, but for all that we can -show as good blood as the Acorari; while you are a senator, -and your name is known throughout Italy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor passed his hand through his hair. "Yes," -he replied, "I believe you are right, Silvio. I imagine that -you will very quickly be satisfied if a refusal is all you -want. But remember, I will have nothing more to do with -the matter after I have informed Princess Montefiano that -you wish to marry her step-daughter, and have conveyed -her answer to you. You are very obstinate, and I suppose -you and this girl are in love with each other. That being -the case, you must make fools of yourselves in your own -way. Only, don't expect me to help you. I am going to -the Lincei."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And without waiting for Silvio to reply, Professor Rossano -took up his soft felt hat and his walking-stick, which -were lying on a table near him, and walked out of his study, -leaving Silvio satisfied that he would do as he had asked him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xiv"><span class="bold large">XIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Four days only had elapsed since the Abbé Roux's -interview with Monsieur d'Antin in the Via Ludovisi, -when he received a telegram from Princess Montefiano, -begging him to come to the Villa Acorari at once, as she -wished to consult him on urgent business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé had endeavored to find out, by judicious -inquiries from the porter at Palazzo Montefiano, and from one -or two servants who were left in charge of the princess's -apartments, whether any stranger who might answer to -Monsieur d'Antin's description of the young man he had -seen with Donna Bianca had ever presented himself there. -He had intended going to the Villa Acorari himself under -some excuse of business, and, without saying anything for the -moment to Princess Montefiano, to cause the grounds to be -watched, and the intrusion of any stranger duly reported to -him. Indeed, he had determined, so far as time permitted, -to do a little watching on his own account. It was clearly -advisable, as Monsieur d'Antin had said, to know with whom -one was dealing. It might be, though it was not at all -likely, that Bianca Acorari's Romeo was a son of some -well-known Roman house, living in </span><em class="italics">villeggiatura</em><span> at his family -palace or villa in the neighborhood; and that the scene at -which Monsieur d'Antin had assisted was merely the -escapade of some thoughtless youth at a loss how to pass his -time in the country.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was curious that, in turning over in his mind all the -possible men who could have had any opportunity of seeing -enough of Donna Bianca to fall in love with her, the Abbé -Roux never thought of the son of the obnoxious senator -who lived in Palazzo Acorari. As a matter of fact, he had -never seen Silvio Rossano, for he had never happened to -encounter him on the staircase or in the court-yard of Palazzo -Acorari on the occasion of his frequent visits there, though -he was very well aware of his existence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was, therefore, a pure coincidence that Silvio should -happen to enter the palace at the very moment when the -abbé was in deep conversation with the porter at the foot -of the staircase. Probably the priest would scarcely have -noticed him, had it not been that Silvio had looked at him -with, as he fancied, some curiosity. Monsieur l'Abbé asked -the porter who Silvio was, and the man seemed surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That one?" he said. "Why, that is the </span><em class="italics">signorino</em><span> of -the second floor, a </span><em class="italics">bel ragazzo</em><span>—is it not true, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Montefiano establishment always gave the Abbé -Roux the title of </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, not being quite clear as to -what an abbé might be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, of course," returned the abbé, "the </span><em class="italics">signorino</em><span> of -the second floor"—and he followed Silvio's retreating form -with his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Un bel ragazzo davvero—proprio bello!</em><span>" he continued, -giving Silvio a prolonged look, as the latter turned the -angle of the staircase, and enabled the abbé to see his -face distinctly. "He is always in Rome?" he inquired, -carelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, the Signorino Rossano was living at home now," -the porter declared. "He was a very quiet young man—</span><em class="italics">molto -serio</em><span>. Indeed, he, the porter, had never seen him -engaged in any adventures, unless—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless—what?" asked the abbé, smiling. "A young -man cannot be expected to be always </span><em class="italics">molto serio</em><span>," he -added, leniently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span> especially so handsome a lad as the </span><em class="italics">signorino</em><span>. -Naturally the women made up to him. The French mademoiselle -who came to the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>, for instance; he had -met the </span><em class="italics">signorino</em><span> and her walking together—oh, more than -once. Not that there was anything in it, probably—for -it was in the daytime he had met them—in the -morning, indeed—and who wanted to make love on an empty -stomach?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux checked the porter's garrulity with a -slight gesture, and appeared to take but little interest in the -matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, as he left Palazzo Acorari he wondered -whether by any chance this young Rossano could be the -individual he was looking for. His personal appearance -answered to Monsieur d'Antin's description of Donna -Bianca's lover—and what more probable than that the two -had met repeatedly in this way in and out of the </span><em class="italics">palazzo</em><span>, -and had managed to communicate with each other? The -Frenchwoman, of course! She had been the channel of -communication! The abbé thought that he must have been -very dull not to think at once of so simple an explanation of -the affair. But he had momentarily forgotten that -Professor Rossano's son was living at home. He had heard all -about Silvio, and knew that he was an engineer who was -rapidly making a considerable reputation for himself in his -profession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the thing was absurd—preposterous! There could -be no difficulty in at once putting a stop to this young man's -presumption. Moreover, the princess would be horrified at -the bare idea of her step-daughter marrying the son of an -infidel scientist who had ventured to attack certain dogmas -of the Church. At any rate, if the princess were not -properly horrified at the notion of such an alliance, he, the -Abbé Roux, would have little difficulty in making her so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Altogether, it was perhaps very fortunate that Donna -Bianca's lover had turned out to be young Rossano and not -somebody of higher rank, whose proposals might not be so -easy to dismiss as unsuitable. He must try to get definite -proof of Silvio Rossano being the suitor, however, and once -he had this proof in his hands, he could speak to the princess -as Monsieur d'Antin had proposed. And Monsieur d'Antin? -The Abbé Roux laughed softly to himself as he thought of -Monsieur d'Antin. It was certainly droll. Monsieur le -Baron was—well, it was very evident what he was. But he -was shrewd, too! He wished to gratify two passions at -once. After all, his proposal was worthy of consideration; -for if his scheme were carried out, everybody's little -passions might be gratified and nobody would be the -worse—except, perhaps, Donna Bianca Acorari. Yes, it was -certainly worth thinking about—this self-sacrifice offered by -Monsieur d'Antin. If the princess could be brought to see -it, a marriage between her step-daughter and her brother -would, as Monsieur d'Antin had frequently remarked, keep -the Montefiano possessions in the family, where it was very -advisable from his—the abbé's—point of view that they -should be kept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux had not been virtually the manager of -Donna Bianca Acorari's future inheritance for nearly ten -years without having developed a very keen personal -interest in it. The princess, as she said of herself, was not, -and never had been, a woman of business. If she had -displayed a certain amount of worldly acumen in inducing the -late Prince Montefiano to make her his wife, there had been, -it is only fair to say, no undue pecuniary motives in her -manoeuvres. Her life was a lonely one, with absolutely no -interests in it except those supplied by her religion. These, -indeed, might have been wide enough—so wide as to -embrace all humanity, had Mademoiselle d'Antin's religion -been other than a purely egoistical affair. But, like many -other ultra-pious people of all creeds, she labored under a -conviction that future happiness was only to be purchased -at the cost of much present mortification. Her own soul, -consequently, was a perpetual burden to her; and so, -although in a very much less degree, were the souls of -others. Hence, at one moment of Mademoiselle d'Antin's -life, a convent had seemed to be the most fitting place in -which to retire, and she had come to Rome almost persuaded -that she had a vocation to save herself and others, -by a life of seclusion and prayer, from the future evils which -she honestly imagined a Divine Creator petty and vindictive -enough to be capable of inflicting on His creatures.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was at this period that she happened to be thrown in -the society of Prince Montefiano, who had taken to appearing -in the </span><em class="italics">salons</em><span> of the "black" world, perhaps as a sincere -though tardy means of mortifying that flesh which he had -invariably indulged so long as it had been able to respond -to the calls made upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Very soon after her marriage with the reclaimed sheep, -Mademoiselle d'Antin, now Principessa di Montefiano, had -made the acquaintance of her compatriot, the Abbé Roux—at -that time acting as secretary to a leading cardinal of the -Curia, well-known for his irreconcilable and ultramontane -principles. It was, perhaps, an exaggeration to declare, as -did the gossips in the clubs, that the princess and the Abbé -Roux between them had wrestled so hard for the salvation -of Prince Montefiano's soul as to cause him to yield it up -from sheer </span><em class="italics">ennui</em><span>. It was certain, however, that he soon -succumbed under the process, and that the abbé became -more than ever indispensable to his widow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prince Montefiano had, as the Abbé Roux soon found, left -his affairs in a very unsatisfactory state. The lands -remaining in his possession were heavily mortgaged, and a -large proportion of the income derived from the fief of -Montefiano—the only property of any importance left -was swallowed up in payment of interest on the mortgages.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like many other landed proprietors in the Roman -province, the prince farmed out his rents to a middle-man, -who paid him a fixed sum yearly, and took what he might -be able to make out of the estate over and above this sum -as his own profit. An agent at Montefiano collected the -rents, in money or kind, from the tenants, and paid them -over to this middle-man, who was himself a well-to-do -</span><em class="italics">mercante di campagna</em><span> with a fair amount of capital at his -back, and this individual was bound to pay in to the prince's -account the sum agreed upon, whether the season and the -crops were bad or good. After Prince Montefiano's death, -this system had been continued, by the advice of the Abbé -Roux, to whom the princess—feeling herself to be at a -disadvantage in dealing with it—not only as a foreigner, but -also as merely the second wife of her husband and not the -mother of his only child and heiress had very soon confided -the superintendence of all the business connected with the -estates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé, it is true, had, after the course of two or three -years, made a slight alteration in the system. On the -expiration of the contract with the middle-man who had -hitherto farmed the rents, his offer to renew on similar -terms for a further number of years was not accepted. The -abbé had assured Princess Montefiano that, if she would -intrust the matter fully to him, he would find her a -middleman who would pay a larger yearly sum than had hitherto -been given for the rights. The princess had consented, and -Monsieur l'Abbé had been as good as his word. He -produced an individual who offered some ten thousand francs -a year more than the </span><em class="italics">mercante di campagna</em><span> had offered; -and, as the abbé pointed out, though not a very large -addition to income, it was not a sum to be thrown away in -such critical times. This new arrangement had worked so -satisfactorily that, by degrees, the system was extended to -other portions of the Montefiano property, and not merely -to the fief which gave the princely title to its owners.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Abbé Roux had been perfectly frank with the princess -when he proposed this extension of the "farming" system -to the whole of her step-daughter's property. It would not, -he declared, be possible, unless it could be guaranteed, or, at -any rate promised, that the contracts should be renewable -at the expiration of the legal period of their validity. It -was, as he explained, an offer of a decidedly speculative -nature on the part of his friend the middle-man, and one -which could only be made on the understanding that its -tenderer should not be disturbed in his contract until -Donna Bianca Acorari should come of age, which would -give him some ten years' rights over the produce of the -estates in question. This proviso, the abbé assured -Princess Montefiano, was, in his opinion, fair enough. The -risks of bad seasons had to be taken into account; the -inability of tenants to pay their rents; the vicissitudes to -which live stock was always liable; and many other -considerations of a similar nature. Moreover, there was the -risk that Donna Bianca might die, or that the mortgagees -might foreclose and sell land—risks, in fact, of every kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess had hesitated. The advantages of the -proposal were obvious if the few thousand francs' addition to -yearly income was the only point to be looked at. She did -not, however, feel quite comfortable in her mind as to -whether she had any right to pledge Bianca not to interfere -or refuse to renew the contracts until she should be of age. -Supposing the girl were to marry before she was of age? -In that case, according to the prince's will, the estates were -to be considered as Bianca's dowry, and he had only added -a stipulation (which, indeed, the Abbé Roux had suggested), -empowering his widow, Bianca's step-mother, to give or -withhold her consent in the event of a proposal of marriage -being made to his daughter while she was still a minor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess had put her scruples clearly before her -adviser. She meant to do her duty by Bianca according to -her lights, although these, perhaps, were not very brilliant. -The abbé, however, had pointed out that Donna Bianca -would be in an altogether unusual position for a young girl -when she was a few years older. She would be an heiress, -not perhaps to a very large fortune, but, at all events, to -one worth bringing to any husband, and also to titles which -would descend to her children, certainly one of which, -moreover, she would have the right of bestowing upon the man -she married. It would be a mere question of settling a -certain ruined castle and village upon him which carried a title -with them, and of going through the necessary formalities -required by the Italian government before a title so -acquired became legal and valid. This being the case, the -danger of Donna Bianca Acorari becoming the prey of some -needy fortune-hunter, or even of some rich adventurer who -would marry her for the sake of her titles, was undoubtedly -great.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The danger would be great even when she was twenty-one, -and might be supposed to have gained some knowledge -of the world and to know her own mind. How much -greater would it not be if she were to be allowed to marry -when she was seventeen or so?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé reminded Princess Montefiano of the clause in -her husband's will leaving it to her discretion to accept or -refuse any proposal made for Donna Bianca's hand while -the girl was a minor. Surely, he argued, it was wiser, under -the circumstances, to take full advantage of the powers -given her. So far as the guaranteeing of the contracts for -the farming of the rents until Donna Bianca was of age was -concerned, this, the abbé declared, was not only a safeguard -and protection against Donna Bianca making an undesirable -marriage, but it should also, with good management, -enable the princess to spend more money on the improvement -of her step-daughter's property while it was under her -control. Donna Bianca would, therefore, be all the better -off when she came of age—and Madame la Princesse would -feel, when that time arrived, that she had been a faithful -steward of her interests.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess was convinced, and more than convinced, -by these arguments. She had wondered how it was that -she could even have entertained a doubt as to the -advisability of adopting Monsieur l'Abbé's proposals. It was -very true. Bianca would be placed in a very unusual -position when she arrived at a marriageable age. It could -do no harm to delay her marriage a year or two—and if, as -Monsieur l'Abbé said, the scheme he proposed would benefit -the estates, she, the princess, should feel she was not doing -her duty by Bianca were she to oppose it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this had happened six or seven years ago, and -Princess Montefiano had not since had any reason to doubt the -soundness of the advice she then received. The sums -required by the terms of the contract were paid in half yearly -by the "farmer" of the rents with unfailing regularity, and -a great deal of trouble and responsibility was lifted from -her own shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the Abbé Roux, he also had every reason to be -satisfied with the arrangement. It gave him no doubt a -great deal of work to do which was certainly not of a strictly -professional character—but, as he told the princess, having -undertaken the supervision of her worldly affairs, and -having given her advice as to their conduct, he felt it to be -his duty personally to look into them. The </span><em class="italics">fattori</em><span> on the -different properties had to be interviewed, and their accounts -checked at certain seasons of the year; and though all these -matters were regulated by the head-agent and administrator -to the "Eccellentissima Casa Acorari" in the estates -office in Rome, nothing was finally approved of until it had -been submitted to the Abbé Roux, as directly representing -their excellencies the Principessa and the Principessina -Bianca.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xv"><span class="bold large">XV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On his arrival at the Villa Acorari, the Abbé Roux was -at once ushered into Princess Montefiano's private -sitting-room, where she was waiting him with evident anxiety. -It was clear that something had occurred to upset and -annoy her, and the abbé was at once convinced that, as he -had suspected when he received her telegram, she had by -some means discovered her step-daughter's secret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was scarcely prepared, however, for what had really -happened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That morning's post had brought the Princess Montefiano -a letter from the Senator Rossano. To say that its contents -had filled her with amazement would be but a meagre -description of her feelings. It was a very short letter, but, -like the learned senator's discourses, very much to the point, -and couched in a terseness of language very unusual in -Italian missives of so formal a character.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor briefly apologized for addressing the -Princess Montefiano personally, without having the honor of -knowing her otherwise than as a tenant in her house, but -added that the personal nature of the matter he had to -lay before her must be his excuse. He then proceeded, -without any further circumlocution, to inform the princess -that his only son, Silvio, had fallen desperately in love with -her step-daughter, Donna Bianca Acorari; that his son had -some reason to believe Donna Bianca might return his -attachment were he permitted to address her; and finally, -that he, the Senator Rossano, at his son's desire, begged -to make a formal request that the latter should be allowed -to plead his own cause with Donna Bianca. The princess -had, not unnaturally, been petrified with astonishment on -reading this letter, and her amazement had quickly been -succeeded by indignation. The thing was absurd, and -more than absurd; it was impertinent. Evidently this -young man had seen Bianca going in and out of the Palazzo -Acorari, and had imagined himself to have fallen in love -with her—if, indeed, it was not simply a barefaced attempt -to secure her money without love entering at all into the -matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her first impulse had been to send for Bianca and ask her -what it all meant. On second thoughts, however, she -decided not to mention the subject to her until she had -consulted the Abbé Roux. If, as was probable, Bianca -knew nothing about it, and the whole affair were only the -silly action of a boy who had persuaded his father that -he was desperately in love with a young girl upon whom -he believed himself to have made an impression, it would be -very imprudent to put any ideas of the kind into her head. -No, the only wise course, the princess reflected, was to hear -what Monsieur l'Abbé might advise, though naturally there -could be but one answer to the Senator Rossano's letter. -Indeed, she would not reply to it in person. Such an -impertinence should be treated with silent contempt; or, -if some answer had to be given, she would depute the -abbé to interview these Rossanos.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door had hardly closed behind the servant who -showed him into the room when Princess Montefiano put -the letter into the abbé's hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever read anything so extraordinary in your -life?" she asked him. "Yes, it was about this I -telegraphed to beg you to come to me. It is an unheard-of -impertinence, and I think the professor, senator—or -whatever he might be—Rossano must be a fool, and not the -clever man you say he is, or he would never have listened -to this ridiculous son of his."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano was evidently thoroughly angry, -as, indeed, from her point of view, she had every right to be. -The Abbé Roux read the letter through attentively. -Then he coughed, arranged his </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span>, and read it through -a second time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" asked the princess, impatiently. "Are you not -as much amazed as I am?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé hesitated for a moment. Then he said, quietly: -"No, madame, I am not amazed at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess stared at him. "Not amazed at all?" she -re-echoed. "But—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I ask," he interrupted, "if you have spoken to -Donna Bianca of this—this offer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Offer!" exclaimed the princess, scornfully. "I do not -call it an offer; I call it an insult—at least, it would be -an insult if it were not a stupidity. No, I have not as yet -mentioned the subject to Bianca. I thought I would wait -until I had consulted with you. You see, Monsieur l'Abbé, -it is a delicate matter to discuss with a young girl, because, -if there is any love at all in the matter, it can only be a case -of love at first sight on the part of this youth—and for love -at first sight there is another name—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé smiled. "Exactly, madame," he said. "You -are very wise not to mention the senator's letter to Donna -Bianca. It would be better that she should never know -it had been written. At the same time, if you read the -letter carefully, you will observe that the young man believes -his affection to be reciprocated."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess shrugged her shoulders. "The vanity of a -youth who no doubt thinks himself irresistible," she -observed. "How could it be reciprocated? I dare say he has -seen Bianca driving, or, at the most, passed her on the -staircase."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am inclined to think," said the abbé, "that he has -more reason than this to believe Donna Bianca to be not -indifferent to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano started visibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>, monsieur, what do you mean?" she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux carefully refolded the letter, and, placing -it in the envelope, returned it to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame la Princesse," he said, after a pause, "the -subject, as you observed just now, is a delicate one. I regret -that I should be obliged to give you pain. Even had I not -received your telegram, I should have felt it to be my duty -to come to see you on this matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You knew it, then?" asked the princess, more bewildered -than ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I knew it," replied the priest. "It came to my -knowledge only three or four days since. I fear, madame, -that Donna Bianca has given this young man every reason -to feel himself justified in persuading his father to address -this letter to you. That does not excuse his -presumption—certainly not! But, as I say, it makes it more -reasonable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano turned to him with some dignity. -"Monsieur l'Abbé," she said, "are you aware what your -words imply? You are speaking of my step-daughter, of -Donna Bianca Acorari."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux spread out his hands apologetically. -"Alas, madame!" he replied, "I am fully aware of it. But -I consider it to be my duty to speak to you of Donna -Bianca. I think," he added, "that you have never had -cause to complain of my failing in my duty towards Casa -Acorari, or of any lack of discretion on my part, since you -honored me with your confidence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," said Princess Montefiano, hurriedly; "I -ask your pardon, Monsieur l'Abbé. I am sure that whatever -you may have to tell me is prompted by your sense of -the confidence I repose in you. But, Bianca! I do not -understand—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a very simple matter," interrupted the abbé. "A -person of my acquaintance was an accidental witness of an -interview between Donna Bianca and young Rossano—here -in the grounds of the Villa Acorari—a few days ago. It -appears that there can be no doubt it was a lover's -interview, and probably not the first of its kind between these -two young people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess turned a horrified gaze upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you call that a simple matter!" she exclaimed, -so soon as she could find words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he replied, "between two people who are -young and good-looking, love is always a simple matter! -It is in its results that complications arise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur l'Abbé!" exclaimed the princess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely," he proceeded—"in its results. It is from -these results that we must try to save Donna Bianca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano seemed as though she were about to -give way to uncontrollable agitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it is impossible!" she cried. "Great God—it is -impossible! Bianca is little more than a child still. You do -not mean to suggest—what can I say? The thought is too -horrible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux rubbed his hands gently together. "We -will trust things are not quite so serious as that," he said, -slowly. "Indeed," he added, "I do not for a moment -believe that they are so. Nevertheless, my informant -declares that the interview between the two lovers was—well, -of a very passionate nature. I fear, madame, you have -been mistaken in looking upon Donna Bianca as merely a -child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess groaned. "That is what my brother has -told me more than once of late," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has said the same to me," remarked the abbé. -"Monsieur your brother is, as one may say, a keen -observer," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what can we do?" exclaimed Princess Montefiano, -almost hysterically. "Good Heavens!" she continued; -"how thankful I am that I telegraphed to you! I can rely -on your discretion, monsieur, as a friend—as a priest!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As both, madame," returned the abbé, bowing. "The -situation is certainly a difficult one, and Donna Bianca, -through her inexperience, has no doubt placed herself in an -equivocal position. Unfortunately, the world never forgets -an indiscretion committed by a young girl; and, as I have -said, there was a witness to Donna Bianca's last interview -with this young man. That is to say, this individual could -hear, though he could not see, all that passed between them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! And who is this individual?" asked the princess, -hastily. "Is he a person whose silence can be bought?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux shook his head. "I am pledged not to -reveal the name," he replied. "I must beg of you, madame, -not to ask me to do so. As regards his silence, that is not -to be bought—and even if it were, I should not advise such -a course. It would be equivalent to admitting—well, that -the worst construction could be placed on Donna Bianca's -unfortunate actions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good Heavens!" repeated the princess. "What can be -done? What course can we pursue with that unhappy -child? Ah! it is the mother's blood coming out in her, -Monsieur l'Abbé."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé thought that the paternal strain might also be -taken into account; but he very naturally kept the reflection -to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The responsibility is a terrible one for me," continued -Princess Montefiano. "If anything happens to Bianca, if -she were to make a bad marriage—and, still more, if there -were to be any scandal about her, people would say I had -neglected her because she was not my own child—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, madame," interposed the abbé, quietly, "but -there must be no bad marriage, and there must be no scandal. -It will be my task to assist you in making both things -impossible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but how? She has put herself in the power of -these Rossanos. Probably the father is quite aware that the -child has compromised herself with his son by the very fact -of meeting him alone and secretly—otherwise he would not -have ventured to write this letter. And then, there is this, -other person—your informant. Do you not see, monsieur, -that my step-daughter's good name is seriously compromised -by being at the mercy of people like these Rossanos, -who are not of our world? They would be quite capable -of revenging themselves for my treating their proposal -with the contempt it deserves by spreading some story -about Bianca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé did not reply for a moment or two. "I do not -think they will do that," he said, presently. "The senator -is too well-known a man to care to place himself and his son -in a false position. Though the story, if it became known, -would certainly be injurious to Donna Bianca, it would not -redound to the credit of the Rossanos. A young man with -any sense of honor does not place an inexperienced girl in -such an equivocal position. No—I should be much more -afraid that, unless Donna Bianca is removed from all -possibility of being again approached by the young Rossano, he -will acquire such an influence over her that sooner or later -he will oblige her to marry him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it would be an absolute </span><em class="italics">mésalliance</em><span>!" exclaimed -Princess Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course it would be a </span><em class="italics">mésalliance</em><span>, from the worldly -point of view," said the abbé. "It would also be a crime," -he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A crime!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, certainly, madame. Would you give a young girl, -for whose spiritual welfare you are responsible, to the son of -Professor Rossano—a man whose blasphemous writings and -discourses have perverted the minds and ruined the faith of -half the youth of Italy? Why, Bruno was burned for -hazarding opinions which were orthodox in comparison with the -assertions made by Rossano on the authority of his -miserable science!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess shuddered. "Of course!" she replied. "I -forgot for the moment whom we were discussing. No -matter what might happen, I would never give my consent to -Bianca's marriage with a free-thinker. I would rather see -her dead, and a thousand times rather see her in a -convent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux smiled. "Fortunately," he said, "there -are other solutions. Donna Bianca has shown very clearly -that she has no vocation for conventual life, and of the other -we need not speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not see the solutions you speak of," returned the -princess, with a sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is only one which presents itself to my mind as -being not only simple, but absolutely necessary for the -moment," said the abbé. "Donna Bianca," he continued, -looking at the princess gravely, "must be removed where -there can be no danger of her again seeing this young -Rossano. She is young, and evidently impressionable, and -in time she will forget him. It is to be hoped that he, too, -will forget her. Do you recollect, madame, my telling you -that for a young lady in Donna Bianca Acorari's position, -anything that protected her against marrying before she -attained years of discretion was an advantage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess nodded. "I do, indeed," she replied. "I see -now how right you were. A young girl with the prospects -Bianca has is always in danger of falling a prey to some -fortune-hunter, such as, no doubt, this Rossano is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope," continued the abbé, "that my present advice -to you will prove as sound as the advice I gave you then, and -as advantageous to Donna Bianca's true interests. I, -personally, am convinced that it will prove so—and I offer it -as the only solution I can see to the problem with which we -have to deal—I mean, madame, the problem of how to -extricate Donna Bianca from the position in which she has -been placed, without further difficulties arising. May I -make my suggestion?" he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, of course, Monsieur l'Abbé!" replied Princess -Montefiano. "It is what I asked you here to do—to give -me your assistance in this very painful matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must take Donna Bianca away from here, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," said the princess; "I had already thought -of that. But the question is, where can I take her? To -return to Palazzo Acorari is impossible. She would be -exposed to the probability of meeting this young man every -day. I cannot turn the Rossanos out of their apartment, -for, so far as I recollect, the lease has still two years to run. -And if I take Bianca to some other town, or to some sea-side -place, what is to prevent the young man from following us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very true," assented the Abbé Roux. "I also have -thought of these difficulties," he added. "I have considered -the matter well, and it seems to me that there is only one -place in which Donna Bianca could satisfactorily be -guarded from further annoyance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And where is that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her own castle at Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Montefiano?" the princess exclaimed. "But, Monsieur -l'Abbé, Montefiano, as you well know, is practically -deserted—abandoned. There is, I believe, no furniture in the -house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The furniture could be sent there," said the abbé. -"There could be no better place for Donna Bianca to remain -for a few months, or until she has forgotten this youthful -love-affair. It would not be easy for a stranger to obtain -access to the castle at Montefiano without it being known—and, -as you are aware, madame, the domain is of considerable -extent. It would not be an imprisonment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have only once been at Montefiano," said the princess, -"and then only for the day. It struck me as being a very -dreary place, except, perhaps, in the summer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The air is good," observed the abbé, a little dryly, "and, -as I say, it has the advantage of being out of the way. My -advice would be to take Donna Bianca there as soon as -possible. In a week or ten days the rooms could be made -quite comfortable, and servants could be sent from Rome. -After all, there would be nothing strange in the fact of your -having decided to spend a few weeks at Montefiano, -especially at this season of the year."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you are right, monsieur," said the Princess -Montefiano. "At any rate," she added, "I can think of no -better plan for the moment. What distresses me now is -that I do not know what to say to Bianca, or how to say it. -I cannot let her think that I know nothing of what has -happened—and I am still in the dark, Monsieur l'Abbé, as -to—well, as to how much has happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé pondered for a moment. "I should be inclined, -madame, not to give Donna Bianca any definite reason -for your visit to Montefiano. You can scarcely tell her your -real object in taking her there without letting her know that -young Rossano has made you a formal proposal for her -hand. You must remember she is quite unaware that -her meeting with him was observed, and she would, -therefore, at once guess that you must have had some -communication from the Rossano family."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess looked doubtful. From the Abbé Roux -she would, to quote Shakespeare, "take suggestion as a -cat laps milk." Nevertheless, to pretend to Bianca that -she was in complete ignorance of her conduct seemed to -be derogatory to her own position as the girl's step-mother -and guardian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must certainly speak to Bianca sooner or later," she -began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, madame," said the abbé, "let it be later, I beg -of you. There will be time enough when you are at -Montefiano to explain to Donna Bianca your reasons for -your actions. If you go into the subject with her now -she may communicate with her lover, and warn him that -she is being taken to Montefiano. When she is once safely -there, it will not matter. It will, of course, be known that -you are residing at Montefiano, but Montefiano is not Villa -Acorari. A convent itself could not be a more secure -retreat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," returned the princess, "perhaps you are right. -But I must say I do not like the idea of meeting Bianca -as if nothing at all had happened. It appears to me to be -scarcely—scarcely honorable on my part, and to be -encouraging her in maintaining a deception towards me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Chère madame</em><span>," said the Abbé Roux, blandly, "I fully -understand your scruples, and they do you credit. But we -must remember the end we have in view. This absurd love-affair -between a boy and a girl—for it is, after all, nothing -more serious—must be put an end to in such a way as -to preserve Donna Bianca Acorari's name from any breath -of scandal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," replied Princess Montefiano, "you advise me to -say nothing to Bianca at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At present I should say nothing. There is one thing, -however, that you should do, madame—a necessary -precaution against any further communication passing between -Donna Bianca and young Rossano. I believe that -Mademoiselle Durand continues giving Donna Bianca lessons, -does she not? I think you told me that she was at Albano, -and that you had arranged for her to come here two or three -days weekly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed Princess Montefiano, "Mademoiselle -Durand! Do you mean to say that she has been the -go-between in this affair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know nothing for certain," replied the abbé, "but -I have been told that young Rossano and she are on -intimate terms—that they walk together in Rome—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A respectable company, truly, for my step-daughter -to find herself in!" said Princess Montefiano—"a professor's -son and a daily governess!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux sighed. "I fear," he said, "that this -woman has played a very mischievous part, but I cannot be -certain. It would be as well, perhaps, not to give her any -explanations, but merely to inform her that you no longer -require her for Donna Bianca. All these details, madame," -he added, "you will learn later on, no doubt, from Donna -Bianca herself. But for the moment, believe me, the less -said to any one on the subject, the better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, I quite see that you are right, Monsieur -l'Abbé," said the princess, hurriedly. "Your advice is -always sound, and whenever I have not taken it I have always -regretted the fact. There is one person, however, to whom -I must give some explanation of my sudden move to -Montefiano, and that is my brother. He was coming to spend -a fortnight or so here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Monsieur le Baron," observed the Abbé Roux. -"No, there would, of course, be no objection in your -confiding in Monsieur le Baron. Indeed, it would be but -natural to do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly," returned Princess Montefiano. "My brother -is, after all, the child's uncle, so to speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé smiled. "Scarcely, madame," he replied; -"there is not the slightest connection between them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not, really," the princess said, "but a kind of -relationship through me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," observed the abbé, hesitatingly—"it has -seemed to me that monsieur your brother takes a great -interest in Donna Bianca. He has certainly been very quick -to discern things in her which have escaped the notice of -others."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano directed a quick glance at him, and -then she looked away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid," proceeded the priest, "that this affair will -be quite a blow to him; yes, indeed, quite a blow. Monsieur -le Baron, after all, is a comparatively young man, and—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated again, and then stopped abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess glanced at him nervously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is strange that you should say this, Monsieur l'Abbé," -she said. "I have, I confess, sometimes thought, -sometimes wondered— Ah, but certain things cross one's mind -occasionally which are better left unspoken!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux looked at her. "We may leave our -present thoughts unspoken, Madame la Princesse," he said, -with a smile. "I imagine," he continued, "that the same -idea has struck both of us. Well, supposing such a thing to -be the case, what then? There is nothing unnatural in the -situation—nothing at all. A disparity of age, very likely; -but, again, what is disparity of age? An idea—a sentiment. -A man who has arrived at the years of Monsieur le -Baron may be said to have gained his experience—to have -had time </span><em class="italics">de se ranger</em><span>. Such husbands are often more -satisfactory than younger men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess checked him with a gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it is an imagination!" she exclaimed—"a mere idea. -I confess I have once or twice thought that my brother -looked at Bianca in—in rather a peculiar way, you -know—as if he admired her very much; and, yes, I have even -made an excuse sometimes to send Bianca out of the room -when he was calling on me. I did not think she should -be exposed to anything which might put ideas into her head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It appears to me, madame, that your precautions were -unnecessary," said the Abbé Roux, dryly. "The ideas, as -we now know, were already there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alas, yes!" sighed the princess. "But," she added, -"do you really think that there can be anything in it, -Monsieur l'Abbé? It seems too strange—too unnatural, I was -about to say; but that would not be quite true, as you -pointed out just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux made a gesture with outspread hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he said, "I know as much as you do of what -may be in monsieur your brother's mind. It is probable, -however, that he has some thoughts of the kind concerning -Donna Bianca, or we should not both have suspected -their existence. Does the idea shock you so much?" he -added, suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—no," returned Princess Montefiano, confusedly. -"I can hardly tell. Do not let us talk any more about it, -Monsieur l'Abbé—not, at all events, at present. We have -so much else to occupy our thoughts. Of course, I must let -my brother know what has happened, and explain to him -that I shall not be able to receive him here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," assented the Abbé Roux. "I have no -doubt," he added, "that Monsieur le Baron will be quite as -pleased to pay his visit to you at Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess apparently did not hear him. She stooped -and picked up Professor Rossano's letter, which had fallen -from her lap onto the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this?" she asked, holding the missive out to the -abbé. "What reply am I to send to this—if, indeed, any -reply is necessary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is only one reply to make; namely, that the -proposal cannot be entertained either now or at any future -time," replied the abbé. "It is not necessary to enter into -any explanations," he continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, after discussing for some time longer with the -princess the necessary arrangements to be made for moving -to Montefiano with as little delay as possible, the Abbé -Roux took his leave and returned by an afternoon train -to Rome.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xvi"><span class="bold large">XVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I told you how it would be, Silvio," Giacinta Rossano -said to her brother. "I don't see what else you could -have expected."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not expect anything else," returned Silvio, -placidly. "At all events," he added, "we now know where we -are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta laughed dryly. "Do you?" she asked. "It -appears to me that you are—nowhere! Nothing could be -more explicit than Princess Montefiano's reply to Babbo's -letter—and nothing could be more marked than the brief -way she dismisses your proposals. I can assure you that -Babbo is very much annoyed. I do not think I have ever -seen him so annoyed about anything—unless it was when -a servant we had last season lighted the fire with some -proof-sheets he had left lying on the floor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not the slightest use his being annoyed," said -Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least you must admit that it is not a pleasant position -for a father to be placed in," observed Giacinta. "He told -me this morning, Silvio," she added, "that nothing could -induce him to do anything more in the matter. He says -you have had your answer, and that the best thing you can -do is to try to forget all that has happened. After all, -there are plenty of other girls to choose from. Why need -you make your life unhappy because these Acorari will not -have anything to say to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Princess Montefiano is not an Acorari," replied Silvio, -obstinately. "There is only one Acorari concerned in the -matter, and she has everything to say to me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta sighed. She knew by experience that it was of -no use to argue with this headstrong brother of hers when -once an idea was fixed in his mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May one ask what you propose to do next?" she -inquired, after a pause. "Your communications in the -shape of Mademoiselle Durand having been cut, and Villa -Acorari no doubt probably watched and guarded, I do not -see how you are going to approach Donna Bianca in the -future. At any rate, you mustn't count upon Babbo -doing anything, Silvio, for he told me to-day he did not -wish to hear the subject mentioned any more. You know -what he is about anything disagreeable—how he simply -ignores its existence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio Rossano smiled. "I know well," he replied. -"It is not a bad plan, that of simply brushing a disagreeable -thing to one side. But few people are able to carry -it out so consistently as Babbo does. In this case, -Giacinta, it is the best thing he can do. There is nothing to -be said or done, for the moment. When there is, you will -see that Bianca and I will manage it. It is certainly a bore -about Mademoiselle Durand having been told to -discontinue giving her lessons at Villa Acorari."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta shrugged her shoulders. "Considering the -subject chosen for instruction, it is not to be wondered at -if the princess thought they had better cease," she -remarked, dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio smiled. Knowing that Bianca Acorari loved him, -nothing seemed to matter very much. It had been the -uncertainty whether she had observed and understood his -passion for her, and the longing to be sure that, if so, it had -awakened in her some response, which had seemed so -difficult to insure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Luckily," he said, "the princess played her card a day -or two too late. Bianca had my letter, and Mademoiselle -Durand brought me back her answer to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed Giacinta, "you never told me that you -had corresponded with each other since you met."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think you and I have discussed the subject -since I told you of our meeting," said Silvio. "I told -Babbo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He said I was an imbecile—no, a pumpkin-head," -answered Silvio, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Also, he -said I was like a donkey in the month of May, and that he -did not wish to hear any more asinine love-songs—and, oh, -several other observations of the kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His opinion is generally looked upon as being a very -good one," observed Giacinta, tranquilly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed outright. Giacinta's satirical remarks -always amused him, even when they were made at his -expense. "It is certainly a misfortune that Mademoiselle -Durand is no longer to go to Villa Acorari," he said. "I -must say," he added, "she has proved herself to be a most -loyal friend—and an entirely disinterested one, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta glanced at him. "I suppose," she said, "that -Mademoiselle Durand likes a little romance. I believe -most single women who are over thirty and under fifty do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so," observed Silvio, carelessly. "She -seemed quite upset when she told me of the note she had -received from Princess Montefiano. I thought, of course, -that she felt she had lost an engagement."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But did the princess give a reason for dispensing with -her services?" asked Giacinta.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. The note merely said that as Donna Bianca's -studies would not be continued, there was no necessity for -Mademoiselle Durand to come any more to Villa Acorari. -The princess enclosed money for the lessons given—and -that was all. But, of course, Giacinta," continued Silvio, -"I felt that Mademoiselle Durand had lost her engagement -through befriending me. Though the princess for some -reason did not allude to anything of the kind, I am sure -she must know, or suspect, the part Mademoiselle Durand -has played."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think so, undoubtedly," remarked Giacinta.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And naturally," Silvio proceeded, "I felt very uncomfortable -about it. I did not quite know what to do, and I -offered—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" said his sister, as he paused, hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Giacinta, you see, she had probably lost money -through me, so I offered to—to make her loss good, so -to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, and then she was very angry, and said that I -insulted her. After that she cried. One does not like to -see grown-up people cry; it is very unpleasant. She said -that I did not understand; that what she had done was out -of mere friendship and sympathy—for me and for Bianca. -I knew she had grown attached to Bianca, Giacinta; she -had told me so once before. After all, nobody who saw -much of Bianca could help being fond of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta looked at him for a moment or two without -speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not surprised that she was angry," she said, at -length. "As to her being attached to Donna Bianca—well, -it appears that even people who have not seen much -of her become attached to that girl. It is a gift, I suppose. -But all this does not tell me what you mean to do, now -you can no longer employ Mademoiselle Durand to fetch -and carry for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We mean to wait," said Silvio, quietly. "Bianca and -I are quite agreed as to that. Three years are soon over, -and then, if she still chooses to marry me, neither the -princess nor anybody else can prevent her. It is the best -way, Giacinta, for it leaves her free, and then none can say -that I took advantage of her inexperience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And in the mean time, if they marry her to somebody else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they will not. They cannot force her to marry. -If they tried to do so, then we would not wait three years, -nor even three weeks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you might know nothing about it, Silvio," said -Giacinta. "And they might tell her you had given her up, -or that you were in love with some one else—anything, in -fact, to make her think no more about you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio smiled. "You are full of objections," he said; -"but you need not be uneasy. It is true that we no longer -have Mademoiselle Durand to depend upon, but we shall -find other means of communicating with each other. After -all, shall we not be under the same roof here all the winter -and spring? The princess will not remain at the Villa -Acorari forever. No—if there should be any pressure put -upon Bianca to make her give me up against her will I shall -very soon know it. We are agreed on all those points. -If the princess keeps quiet, we shall keep quiet also. She -has a perfect right to refuse her consent to Bianca marrying -me—for the present. But in course of time that right -will no longer hold good. While it does, however, Bianca -and I have agreed to respect it, unless, in order to protect -ourselves, we are forced to set it at defiance, get some priest -to marry us, and delay the legal marriage till afterwards. -This is what I have explained to Babbo—and he calls it -the braying of donkeys in May. Well, at least the -donkeys know what one another mean, which, after all, is -something gained—from their point of view!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta laughed, and then became suddenly grave again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Silvio </span><em class="italics">mio</em><span>," she replied, "you seem to have -settled everything in your own mind, and I only hope it -will all be as easy as you think. So much depends on -the girl herself. If you are sure of her, then, as you say, -three years soon pass. In the mean time, if I were you, I -would watch very carefully. As I have told you before, -for some reason which we know nothing of, it is not -intended that the girl should marry; and when I say they -might marry her to somebody else, I do not believe it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio shrugged his shoulders. "All the better for me," -he observed; and Giacinta, with a slight gesture of -impatience, was about to reply, when the professor entered the -room.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xvii"><span class="bold large">XVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The </span><em class="italics">sollione</em><span> had ran his course. Already the vines -on the slopes below Montefiano were showing patches -of ruddy gold among their foliage, and the grapes were -beginning to color, sometimes a glossy purple, sometimes -clearest amber. Figs and peaches were ripe on the fruit -trees rising from among the vines, and here and there tall, -yellow spikes of Indian-corn rattled as the summer breeze -passed over them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Solitary figures prowled about the vineyard with guns—no -brigands, but merely local sportsmen lying in wait for the -dainty </span><em class="italics">beccafichi</em><span> which visit the fig-trees at this season and -slit open the ripest figs with their bills. In the evening a -half-dozen of the plump little brown-and-white birds will -make a succulent addition to the dish of </span><em class="italics">polenta</em><span> on which -they will repose. Perhaps, if fortune favor, a turtle-dove, -or even a partridge, may find its way into the oven for the -sportsman's evening meal. In the mean time, a few purple -figs, from which the sun has scarcely kissed away the chill -of the night dew, a hunch of brown bread and a draught of -white wine from a flask left in the shade and covered with -cool, green vine leaves, form a breakfast not to be despised -by one who has been out with his gun since the dawn was -spreading over the Sabine hills and the mists were rolling -back before it across the Roman Campagna to the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who that has not wandered through her vineyards and -forests, among her mountains and by the side of her waters -in the early hours of a summer dawn, or the late hours of a -summer night, knows the beauty of Italy? Then the old -gods live again and walk the earth, and nature triumphs. -The air is alive with strange whisperings: the banks and the -hedgerows speak to those who have ears to hear—of things -that lie hidden and numbed during the hot glare of the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gray shadows lying over the </span><em class="italics">campagna</em><span> were fast -dissolving before a light that seemed to change almost -imperceptibly from silver into gold, as the first rays of the -rising sun stole over the Sabine mountains. Across the -plain, the summit of Soracte was already bathed in light, -while its base yet lay invisible, wreathed in the retreating -mists. The air was fresh with the scent of vines and -fig-trees, and long threads of gossamer, sparkling with a million -dew-drops, hung from grassy banks rising above a narrow -pathway between the terraces of the vineyards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A black figure suddenly appeared round an angle of the -winding path. Don Agostino Lelli, his cassock brushing -the blossoms of wild geranium and purple mallow as he -passed, was making his way in the dawn of the summer -morning back to Montefiano. He had been sitting through -the night with a dying man—a young fellow whom an -accident with a loaded wagon had mortally injured. The -end had come an hour or two before the dawn, and Don -Agostino had speeded the parting soul with simple human -words of hope and comfort, which had brought a peace and -a trust that all the rites enjoined by the Church had failed -to do. Perhaps he was thinking of the failure, and -wondering why sympathy and faith in the goodness of God had -seemed to be of more avail at the death-bed he had just left -than ceremonies and sacraments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His refined, intellectual countenance wore a very thoughtful -expression as he walked leisurely through the vineyards. -It was not an anxious nor an unhappy expression, but -rather that of a man trying to think out the solution of an -interesting problem. As a matter of fact, he had been -brought face to face with a problem, and it was not the -first time he had been confronted by it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had, as in duty bound, administered the last sacrament -of the Church to a dying man who had made due -confession to him. But he had known perfectly well in his -own mind that those sacraments had been regarded by his -penitent as little else than a formality to be observed under -the circumstances. He knew that if he had asked that lad -when he was in health whether he honestly believed the -</span><em class="italics">santissimo</em><span> to be what he had been told it was, the answer -would not have been satisfactory to a priest to hear. He -had asked the question that night, and two words had been -whispered back to him in reply—"</span><em class="italics">Chi sa?</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were very simple words, but Don Agostino felt that -they contained a truth which could not be displeasing to the -God of Truth. Moreover, he honored the courage of the lad -more than he did that of many who dared not confess -inability to believe what reason refused to admit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knows?" he had said to himself, half-smiling, -repeating the young fellow's answer. And then he had added -aloud, "You will know very soon—better than any of us. -Until then, only trust. God will teach you the rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Afterwards, answered by the look on the dying lad's face, -he had given the sacrament.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now Don Agostino was walking homeward in the -peaceful summer dawn, and if there was pity in his heart for -the strong young life suddenly taken away from the beautiful -world around him, there was also some joy. Even now -the veil was lifted, and the boy—knew. Perhaps the simple, -human understanding, which could have no place in theology, -had not led him so far astray, and had already found -favor in the eyes of Him who gave it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Don Agostino looked at the landscape around him, -waking up to a new day and laughing in the first rays of -a risen sun. As he looked he crossed himself, and the lad -who had been summoned from all this beauty was followed -to his new home by a prayer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Don Agostino's meditations were interrupted -by the report of a gun fired some yards in front of him, -immediately succeeded by a pattering of spent shot among the -leaves on the bank above him. He called out quickly, in -order to warn the unseen </span><em class="italics">cacciatore</em><span> of his propinquity; for -there was a sharp bend in the pathway immediately ahead -of him, and he by no means wished to receive the contents -of a second barrel as he turned it. A reassuring shout -answered him, and he quickened his pace until, after turning -the corner, a brown setter came up and sniffed at him -amicably, while its owner appeared among the vines -close by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino lifted his hat in response to the sportsman's -salutation and regrets at having startled him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was safe enough where I was, </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span>," he said, -smiling; "but it was as well to warn you that there was -somebody on the path. I did not wish to be taken for a crow," -he added, with a downward glance at his </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">cacciatore</em><span> laughed. "Your reverence would have -been even safer as a crow," he replied; "but indeed there -was no danger. I was firing well above the path at a -turtledove, which I missed badly. But it is better to miss than -to wound."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at the speaker, and there was approval -in his glance, either of the sentiment or of the appearance -of the sportsman—perhaps of both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sicuro</em><span>," he replied, "it is better to miss than to wound. -For my part, I should prefer always to miss; but then I am -not a sportsman, as you see. All the same, I am glad you -</span><em class="italics">cacciatori</em><span> do not always miss—from the point of view of the -stomach, you know. The </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span> is from Rome, I conclude?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other hesitated for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From Rome—yes," he replied,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino glanced at him again, and thought how -good-looking the young man was. A gentleman, evidently, -by his manner and bearing—but a stranger, for he had -certainly never seen him in Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I," he said, "am the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano—Agostino -Lelli, </span><em class="italics">per servirla</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young </span><em class="italics">cacciatore</em><span> started slightly, and then he -hesitated again. Courtesy necessitated his giving his own -name in return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>," he replied, after a slight pause, "am -Silvio Rossano, of Rome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rossano?" he said. "A relative, perhaps, of the Senator -Rossano?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My father," replied Silvio. "Your reverence knows him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Altrocchè</em><span>!" exclaimed Don Agostino, holding out his -hand. "Your father is an old friend—one of my oldest -friends in days gone by. But I have not seen anything of -him for years. </span><em class="italics">Che vuole</em><span>! When one lives at Montefiano -one does not see illustrious professors. One sees -peasants—and pigs. Not but what there are things to be learned -from both of them. And so you are the son of Professor -Rossano? But you have not come to Montefiano for -sport—no? There is not much game about here, as no -doubt you have already discovered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at Silvio's game-bag as he spoke. Three or -four </span><em class="italics">beccafichi</em><span> and a turtle-dove seemed to be its entire -contents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked embarrassed, though he had felt that the -priest's question must come. His embarrassment did not -escape Don Agostino, who jumped at the somewhat hasty -conclusion that either this young man must be hiding from -creditors, or else that he must be wandering in unfrequented -places with a mistress. In this latter case, however, Don -Agostino thought it improbable that he would be out so -early in the morning. It was, no doubt, a question of -creditors. Young men went away from Montefiano when -they could scrape up enough money to emigrate, but he -had never known one to come there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio's answer tended to confirm his suspicions -concerning the creditors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not come to Montefiano for the sport, -certainly," he said; "and, indeed, I am not living in -Montefiano itself. I am staying at Civitacastellana for the -moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Civitacastellana!" exclaimed Don Agostino. "Pardon -my curiosity, my dear Signor Rossano, but how in the -world do you occupy yourself at Civitacastellana—unless, -indeed, you are an artist? It is a beautiful spot, certainly, -with its neighboring ravines and its woods, but—well, after -Rome you must find it quiet, decidedly quiet. And the -inn—I know that inn. One feels older when one has passed -a night there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot call myself an artist," said Silvio, laughing, -"though I certainly draw a great deal. I am an engineer -by profession, and Civitacastellana is—well, as you say, a -very quiet place. Sometimes one likes a quiet place, after -Rome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, that is true," returned Don Agostino, thoughtfully. -"I, too, have come to a quiet place after Rome, but -then I have been in it more than ten years. I think the -change loses its effect when one tries it for so long a time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio glanced at him. He had at once realized that this -was no ordinary village priest, scarcely, if at all removed -from the peasant class. The quiet, educated voice, the -polished Italian, the clear-cut, intellectual features, all told -their own tale quickly enough. And this Don Lelli was an -old friend of his father. Silvio was well aware that his -father did not number very many priests among his friends, -and that the few whom he did so number were distinguished -for their wide learning and liberal views.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know Rome, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>?" he inquired, with some -curiosity, though he knew well enough that he was talking -to a Roman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "Yes," he replied, "I know Rome. -That is to say," he added, "if anybody can assert that he -knows Rome. It is a presumptuous assertion to make. -Perhaps I should rather say that I know one or two -features of Rome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You no doubt studied there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I studied there. I was also born there—like -yourself, no doubt. We are both </span><em class="italics">Romani di Roma</em><span>—one -cannot mistake the accent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And it was then you knew my father, of course," said -Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I was a seminarist? No, some years after that -period of my life. I knew your father when—well, when -I was something more than I am now," concluded Don -Agostino, with a slight smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you were a parish priest in the city?" asked -Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I was at the Vatican," replied Don Agostino, -quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At the Vatican!" Silvio exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino laughed quietly. "Why not?" he returned. -"You are thinking to yourself that members of -the pontifical court are not usually sent to such places as -Montefiano. Well, it is a long story, but your father will -tell it you. He will not have forgotten it—I am quite sure -of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had walked on together while they were talking, -and presently emerged on the steep road leading up the -hill to Montefiano. From this point Silvio could see the -little town clustering against the face of the rock some mile -or so above them, and the great, square castle of the Acorari -dominating it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have been to Montefiano?" Don Agostino asked his -companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Silvio, "several times. But," he -added, "the Montefianesi do not seem very communicative -to strangers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino laughed. "They are unaccustomed to -them," he said, dryly; "but they are good folk when once -you know them. For the rest, there is not much for them -to be communicative about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has the castle no history?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It has much the same history as all our mediæval and -renaissance strongholds—that is to say, a mixture of -savagery, splendor, and crime. But the Montefianesi would -not be able to tell you much about it. I doubt if nine out -of every ten of them have ever been inside it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it is inhabited now," said Silvio, quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino glanced at him, struck by a sudden change -in the tone of his companion's voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he replied, "for the first time for many years. -The princess and her step-daughter, Donna Bianca Acorari, -are there at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know them, of course, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not that honor," replied Don Agostino. "My -professional duties do not bring me into communication -with them, except occasionally upon paper. But," he -continued, "will you not come to my house? You can see it -yonder—near the church, behind those chestnut-trees. It -is getting late for your shooting, and I dare say you have -walked enough. I have to say mass at six o'clock, but -this morning I shall be late, for it is that now. -Afterwards we will have some coffee and some eggs. We have -both been occupied for the last few hours, though in -different ways; and I, for one, need food."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio accepted the invitation with alacrity, and they -proceeded to mount the long hill together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought," he observed, presently, "that you would -certainly be acquainted with Princess Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you acquainted with her?" asked Don Agostino, -somewhat abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Silvio, "except by sight. My father lives -in Palazzo Acorari in Rome—we have the second floor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino said nothing, and they walked on for some -minutes in silence. The heat of the sun was by this time -becoming considerable, and both of them felt that they -would not be sorry to arrive at their journey's end. Twenty -minutes more brought them to the little piazza in front -of the church, and here Don Agostino paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must say the mass at once," he said; "the people will -have been waiting half an hour or more. There," he added, -"is the house. You can go through the garden and wait -for me if you do not care to assist at the mass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio, however, declared that he wished to be present, -and Don Agostino led the way into the church. Half a -dozen peasant women and one or two old men formed the -congregation, and Silvio sat down on a bench near the altar, -while Don Agostino disappeared into the sacristy to vest -himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mass did not take long, and at its conclusion Don -Agostino beckoned to his guest to follow him into the -sacristy, whence a passage communicated with the house. -By this time Don Agostino was fairly exhausted. He had -eaten nothing since the evening before, and his long walk -and sad vigil through the night had left him weary both in -body and mind. His mass over, however, he was at liberty -to eat and drink; and the </span><em class="italics">caffè e latte</em><span>, fresh-laid eggs, and -the rolls and butter his housekeeper had prepared were -most acceptable. Even Silvio, who had already breakfasted -on figs and bread, needed no pressing to breakfast a -second time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The food and rest quickly revived his host's strength, and -very soon Silvio could hardly believe that he was sitting -at the table of a parish priest in the Sabina. Don Agostino -proved himself to be a courteous and agreeable host. He -talked with the easy assurance of one who was not only -a man of God, but also a man of the world. Silvio found -himself rapidly falling under the spell of an individuality -which was evidently strong and yet attractive. As he sat -listening to his host's conversation, he wondered ever more -and more why such a man should have been sent by the -authorities of the Church to live, as he had himself -expressed it, among peasants and pigs in a Sabine town. He was -scarcely conscious that Don Agostino, while talking -pleasantly on all sorts of topics, had succeeded in quietly -eliciting from him a considerable amount of information -concerning himself, his profession, and, indeed, his personality -generally. And yet, so it was. Monsignor Lelli had not -occupied an official position in the Vatican for some years -without learning the art of being able to extract more -information than he gave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this instance, however, Don Agostino's curiosity -concerning his guest was largely due to the favorable -impression Silvio's good looks and frank, straightforward -manner had made upon him; as well as to the fact that he -was the son of a man for whose learning he had a deep -admiration, and with whom he had in former years been very -intimate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The more he talked to Silvio, the more he felt his first -impressions had not been wrong. He would have liked -very much to know, all the same, why this handsome lad -was wandering about the neighborhood of Montefiano. He -shrewdly suspected that a few birds and a possible hare -were not the true inducement; and that, unless he were -hiding himself, this young Rossano must have some other -game in view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The expression which had passed over Silvio's face on -hearing that he was not acquainted with the owners of -Montefiano had not escaped Don Agostino's notice. He -had observed, moreover, that his young guest more than -once brought the conversation round to Princess -Montefiano, but that he never alluded to her step-daughter. -Monsignor Lelli had been young himself—it seemed to him -sometimes that this had happened not so very long ago—and -he had not always been a priest. As he talked to Silvio -Rossano, he thought of the days when he had been just such -another young fellow—strong, enthusiastic, and certainly -not ill-looking. Meeting the frank glance of Silvio's blue -eyes, Don Agostino did not believe that their owner was -hiding from anything or from anybody. He felt strangely -drawn towards this chance acquaintance, the only educated -human being, the only individual of his own class in life -with whom he had interchanged a word for months—nay, -for more, for it was now more than two years since some -private business had taken him to Rome, where he had seen -one or two of his old friends.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their light breakfast over, Silvio Rossano presently rose, -and thanking the priest for his hospitality, was about to -depart. Don Agostino, however, pressed him to remain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not have so many visitors," he said, with a smile, -"that I can afford to lose one so quickly. You will give me -great pleasure by staying as long as you can. It is hot now -for walking, and if you are returning to Civitacastellana, -you can do that just as well in the evening. I have a -suggestion to make to you," he added, "which is, that we should -smoke a cigar now, and afterwards I will have a room -prepared for you, and you can rest till </span><em class="italics">mezzogiorno</em><span>, when -we will dine. When one has walked since dawn, a little rest -is good; and as for me, I have been up all the night, so I -have earned it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio hesitated. "But I cannot inflict my company -upon you for so long," he said. "You have been already -too hospitable to me, Don Agostino."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino rose from the table, and, opening a drawer, -produced some cigars. "I assure you," he replied, "that -it is I who will be your debtor if you will remain. As I say, -I seldom have a visitor, and it is a great pleasure to me to -have made your acquaintance. I think, perhaps," he -continued, looking at Silvio with a smile, "that it is an -acquaintance which will become a friendship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope so, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>," replied Silvio, heartily, "and -I accept your invitation with pleasure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is well," returned Don Agostino; "but," he added, -laughing, "at Montefiano there are no </span><em class="italics">monsignori</em><span>. There -is only the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span>—Don Agostino."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xviii"><span class="bold large">XVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Don Agostino was quite right when he said that -a little rest after walking since daybreak would be -a good thing. Silvio, at any rate, found it so, for he very -soon fell fast asleep in the room that had been prepared for -him—so fast, indeed, that even the church-bells ringing -</span><em class="italics">mezzogiorno</em><span> did not awaken him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino, fearing for the omelette his house-keeper -had already placed on the table as the first dish of the -mid-day meal, had gone up-stairs to rouse his guest, and, -receiving no response to his knock, had quietly entered the -bedroom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio was lying as he had flung himself on the bed, after -having divested himself of most of his clothes. He lay on -his back, with one arm under his head and the hand -half-buried in the short, curly hair, in face and form resembling -some Greek statue of a sleeping god, his well-made, graceful -limbs relaxed, and his lips just parted in a slight smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino stood and watched him for a moment or -two. It seemed a pity to rouse him—almost sacrilege to -wake the statue into life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the Hermes of the Vatican," he said to himself, -smiling—"the Hermes reposing after taking a message from -the gods. Well, well, one must be young to sleep like that! -I would let him sleep on, but then Ernana will say that -the dinner is spoiled," and he laid his hand gently on Silvio's -arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Apparently the sleeper was more sensitive to touch than -to sound, for he opened his eyes instantly, and then started -up with a confused apology.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I who should apologize for waking you," said Don -Agostino; "but it is past twelve o'clock, and my -housekeeper is a tyrant. She is afraid her dishes will be -spoiled!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio sprang from the bed. "I will be ready in a few -minutes," he said; and before Don Agostino could beg him -not to hurry himself, he had filled a basin with cold water, -into which he plunged his face as a preliminary to further -ablutions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In ten minutes he had rejoined Don Agostino in the little -dining-room, and the two sat down to the dinner which -Ernana had produced, not without some grumbling at the -delay, which, she declared, had turned the omelette into -a piece of donkey's hide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">bel giovanotto</em><span> -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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so," he observed, presently, "you actually live in -the Palazzo Acorari at Rome. Your father, no doubt, -knows the princess and Donna Bianca?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio shook his head. "No," he replied. "You must -remember—" he added, and then paused, abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino blew a ring of smoke into the air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What must I remember?" he asked, smiling at Silvio's -obvious embarrassment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">Neri</em><span>, and Princess -Montefiano is, they say, a very good Catholic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio glanced at him. "You have read his books, Don -Agostino?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly I have read them—all of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet you continue to regard him as a friend?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "Why not?" he asked. "I do -not always agree with his conclusions on certain subjects. -If I did, I should not wear this dress; it would be to me as -the shirt of Nessus. But is it necessary always to agree -with one's friends? I think the best friends and the best -lovers are those who know how to disagree. However, we -were talking of Princess Montefiano. I can quite understand -that she would not desire to be on friendly terms with -Professor Rossano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or with any of his family," added Silvio, bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino gave him a scrutinizing glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," he said, "you mean that she visits the sins of the -father upon the son."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio hesitated. There was something very sympathetic -about this priest—something that seemed to ask, almost -to plead, for his trust and confidence. And yet could -he, knowing so little of him, dare to confide to him why he -was in the neighborhood of Montefiano? Certainly this -Don Agostino was a friend of his father, and, as such, might -be disposed to help him. Moreover, Silvio could not help -seeing that his host was disposed to like him for his own -sake, and that for some reason or other there was a current -of sympathy between them, though as yet they were almost -strangers to each other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps Don Agostino observed his companion's hesitation, -for he spoke again, and this time it was to ask a -question which did not tend to diminish it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," he said, "that you have seen Donna Bianca -Acorari? I do not ask you if you know her personally, -after what you have just told me; but no doubt, as you live -under the same roof, so to speak, you know her by sight?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio felt the color rising in his face, and felt, too, that -Don Agostino's eyes were fixed upon him with a strange -intensity. Could it be, he wondered, that the priest -suspected the truth, or had, perhaps, been warned about him -by the princess herself? The thought was a disagreeable -one, for it made him mistrust his host's good faith, as Don -Agostino had distinctly denied any acquaintance with -Princess Montefiano. The expression of Don Agostino's -face puzzled him. It spoke of pain, as well as of curiosity, -and he seemed to be anxiously hanging upon the answer to -his question. That the priest should be curious, Silvio could -well understand, but there was no apparent reason why -Bianca Acorari's name should call forth that look of pain on -his countenance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," Silvio replied, guardedly. "I know Donna -Bianca Acorari by sight, extremely well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino leaned forward in his chair. "Ah," he -exclaimed, eagerly, "you know her by sight! Tell me about -her. I saw her once—once only—and then she was quite a -little child. It was in Rome—years ago. She is, no doubt, -grown into a beautiful girl by now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at him with surprise. The eagerness in his -voice was unmistakable, but there was the same strange -expression of pain on his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But surely," he replied, "your reverence must have seen -her here at Montefiano, or, at least, others must have seen -her who could tell you about her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino shook his head. "Nobody has seen her -since her arrival here," he said. "The castle is large, and -the park behind it is very extensive. There is no reason -why its inmates should ever come into the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>, and they -never do come into it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the servants—the household?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The servants were all brought from Rome. Most of -the provisions also are sent from Rome. There is -practically no communication with the town of Montefiano, and, -except the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span>, I have heard of nobody who has been -admitted inside the castle walls since the princess and -Donna Bianca arrived."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very strange," said Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," returned Don Agostino, "it is certainly strange. -But," he added, "you do not tell me of Donna Bianca—what -she is like; whether she is beautiful, as beautiful as—" -he stopped abruptly and passed his hand almost impatiently -across his eyes, as though to shut out some vision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beautiful?" repeated Silvio, in a low voice. "I do not -know—yes, I suppose that she is beautiful—and—and— But -why do you ask me?" he suddenly burst out, impetuously, -and the hot color again mounted to his cheeks -and brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino suddenly turned and looked at him keenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I not ask you?" he replied, quietly. "You -have seen her," he added, "and I—I am interested in her. -Oh, not because she is the Princess of Montefiano—that does -not concern me at all—but—well, for other reasons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio was silent. Indeed, he did not know how to -answer. What he had just heard confirmed his suspicions -that Bianca was practically isolated from the world, as -though she were within the walls of a convent. He had -asked in Montefiano about the castle and its inmates, and -had learned absolutely nothing, save what might be implied -by the shrugging of shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Don Agostino spoke again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" he said, laying his hand for a moment on -Silvio's—"forgive me if I am inquisitive—but you, also, are -interested in Donna Bianca Acorari—is it not true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio started. "I!" he exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. His agitation seemed to have -passed, and he looked at the boy beside him searchingly, but -very kindly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I am mistaken," he repeated, "you must forgive me; -but if I am not, I think that you will not regret telling me -the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at him steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true," he said, slowly, "that I am interested in -Donna Bianca—very much interested. You have been -very good to me, Don Agostino," he added, "and I will be -quite open with you. I feel that you will not betray a -confidence, even though it may not be told you in the -confessional."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino made a slight gesture, whether of -impatience Silvio could not quite be sure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A confidence between gentlemen," he said, "and, I -hope, between friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," returned Silvio, quietly, "I will confide to you -that it is my interest in Donna Bianca Acorari which brings -me to Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And she?" asked Don Agostino, quickly. "Is -she—interested—in you, Signor Rossano?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio blushed. "Please," he said, "do not address me -so formally. Surely, as an old friend of my father, it is -not necessary! Yes," he added, simply, "we are going to -marry each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Diamine!</em><span>" ejaculated Don Agostino; and then he -seemed to be studying Silvio's face attentively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what made you suspect this?" asked Silvio, -presently; "for it is evident that you have suspected it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "I hardly know," he replied. -"Your manner, perhaps, when I mentioned Donna Bianca's -name, coupled with the fact that, though you asked me -many questions about Montefiano and the princess, you -studiously avoided any allusion to her step-daughter. But -there was something besides this—some intuition that I -cannot explain, though I know the reason of it well enough. -I am glad you have told me, Silvio—I may call you Silvio, -may I not? And now, as you have told me so much, you -will tell me all your story; and afterwards, perhaps, I will -explain to you why you will not regret having done so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a very few words Silvio related all there was to tell. -Don Agostino listened attentively, and every now and -then he sighed, and Silvio, glancing at him, saw the pained -look occasionally flit across his countenance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," he said, as Silvio finished his story, "they -have brought the girl here to be out of your way, and they -will keep her here. I suspected something of the kind when -I first heard that the princess was coming to Montefiano. -And when I saw you, an instinct seemed to tell me that -in some way you were connected with Bianca Acorari -being here. When you told me who you were, and that you -lived in Palazzo Acorari, I was certain, or nearly certain of -it. You wonder why I am interested in Donna Bianca, as I -have only once seen her as a child, and why I should wish to -know what she is like now, do you not? Well, you have -given me your confidence, Silvio, and I will give you mine. -Come with me into my study," and Don Agostino led the -way into a little room beyond the dining-room, in which -they were still sitting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio followed him in silence, greatly wondering what -link there could be between Bianca and this newly found -friend who had so unexpectedly risen up at Montefiano, -where a friend was so badly needed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino went to the cabinet standing in the corner -of his little study, and, unlocking a drawer, took out the -miniature, which he had not again looked at since the day, -now nearly two months ago, when he had heard that the -Princess Montefiano and her step-daughter were coming -to inhabit the castle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I asked you to tell me what Donna Bianca Acorari is -like now," he said, quietly. "At least," he added, "you -can tell me if there is a resemblance between her and this -miniature." And, opening the case, he placed it in Silvio's -hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio uttered an exclamation of astonishment as he -looked at the portrait.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it is Bianca—Bianca herself!" he said, looking -from the miniature to Don Agostino in amazement. "The -same hair, the same eyes and mouth, the same coloring. -It is Bianca Acorari."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," interrupted Don Agostino, "she was Bianca -Acorari afterwards. Then, when the miniature was -painted, she was Bianca Negroni."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand," muttered Silvio, in bewilderment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino took the case from him. "She was Bianca -Negroni then," he repeated, in a low voice, as though -speaking to himself. "She should have been Bianca -Lelli—my wife. We were engaged. Afterwards she was called -Bianca Acorari, Principessa di Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at him in silence. He understood now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We were engaged," continued Don Agostino, "as you -and her child are engaged, without the consent of her -family. They forced her to marry Prince Montefiano. It was -an unhappy marriage, as, perhaps, you have heard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he turned away, and gently, reverently, as though -replacing some holy relic in its shrine, put the miniature -back into the drawer of the cabinet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can understand now," he said, quietly, "why -I wished to know what her child is like. As for you, -Silvio—" he paused, and looked at Silvio Rossano -earnestly. "Well," he continued, "I have had one intuition -to-day which did not mislead me, and I think my second -intuition will prove equally true. I believe that you -would make any woman a good husband—that your -character does not belie your face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at him with a quick smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will make her a good husband," he said, simply. The -words were few, but they appealed to Don Agostino more -than any lover's protestations would have appealed to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And she?" asked Don Agostino, suddenly. "You are -sure that she would make you a good wife? If her nature -is like her mother's she will be faithful to you in her heart. -I am sure of that. But she is her father's daughter as well, -and—well, he is dead, so I say no more. And no doubt the -knowledge that he had married a woman whose love was -given elsewhere accounted for much of his conduct after his -marriage. We will not speak of him, Silvio. But you are -sure that you have chosen wisely?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very sure!" exclaimed Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled—a somewhat pathetic smile. "I -am very sure, also," he said. "It is strange," he added, -thoughtfully, "that your story should be an exact repetition -of my own. Almost one would think that she"—and he -glanced towards the cabinet—"had sent me here to -Montefiano to help her child; that everything during these years -had been foreordained. I wondered, when they sent me -to Montefiano, whether it were not for some purpose that -would one day be made clear to me; for at Montefiano her -child was born, and at Montefiano she died, neglected, and -practically alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino sat down at his writing-table. He -covered his eyes with his hands for a moment or two, and -above him the ivory Christ gleamed white in the sunlight -which filtered through the closed Venetian blinds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is strange—yes," said Silvio, in a low voice; "and -I, too," he added—"I have felt some power urging me to tell -you my story, and my true reason for being here. But," -he continued, "our case—Bianca's and mine—is different -from yours in one particular, Don Agostino."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked up. "Yes," he replied; "Donna -Bianca Acorari's mother, though she had money, was not -the heiress to estates and titles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not mean that," returned Silvio. "I forgot it," -he added. "I am always forgetting it. Perhaps you do -not believe me, but when I do remember it I wish that -Bianca Acorari were penniless and not noble. There would -be nothing then to keep us apart. No; I mean that, in her -case, there can be no forcing of another marriage upon her, -because I am very sure that Bianca would never submit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino glanced at him. "Are you so sure?" he -asked. "That is well. But, Silvio, we can hardly realize -the pressure that may be placed upon a young girl by her -family."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has no family," observed Silvio, tranquilly. "It is -true," he continued, "that there is her step-mother, who -is her guardian until she is of age. But Bianca is not a -child, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>. She will not allow herself to be coerced."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him for a moment and appeared -to be considering something in his mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How come you to know her character so well?" he -asked, presently. "How can you know it? You guess at -it, that is all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio shook his head. "Her character is written on her -face," he said. "Besides, when one loves, one knows those -things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "Yes," he observed, "or one -thinks one knows them, which does quite as well, so long -as one is never undeceived. So," he continued, "you think -that the girl has sufficient strength of will to resist any -pressure that might be brought to compel her to marry -somebody else. That is well; for, unless I am mistaken, -she has been brought to Montefiano for no other purpose -than to be exposed to pressure of the kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio started. "What do you mean?" he exclaimed. -"I thought you said you knew nothing of the princess and -Donna Bianca—that nobody went inside the castle. Do -you mean to say that they are already trying to coerce her -in some way? But not by forcing her into another -marriage. Giacinta declares they do not want her to marry, -and she knows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Giacinta?" said Don Agostino, inquiringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sister. Ah, I forgot; I have not spoken to you -about her. She is sure that a priest whom the princess -confides in does not wish Bianca to marry at all, for some -reason—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," interrupted Don Agostino; "the Abbé Roux—a -Belgian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know him?" asked Silvio, surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes, I know him," replied Don Agostino, dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Therefore," Silvio continued, "you see that I have not -to fear anything of that kind, as—as you had."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at him inquiringly. "You think that I -have?" he asked, hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is possible," returned Don Agostino. "I do not -know for certain. I have no means of knowing for certain," -he added, "but I hear rumors—suppositions. Perhaps -they are purely imaginary suppositions. In a small place -like Montefiano people like to gossip, especially about what -they do not understand. Apparently the princess and her -daughter are not alone in the castle. A brother of the -princess, Baron d'Antin, is staying with them, and also -the Abbé Roux, who says mass in the chapel every morning. -So, you see, my services are not required."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her brother!" said Silvio. "I did not know the -Princess Montefiano had a brother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino nodded. "Yes," he returned, "and—well, -it is precisely about this brother that people talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at him with amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About him!" he exclaimed. "What could there be to -say about him and Bianca? It is too ridiculous—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino interrupted him. "I should not call it -ridiculous," he said, "if the suppositions I have heard are -true. I should rather call it revolting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it would be an unheard-of thing—an impossibility!" -said Silvio, angrily, and his eyes flashed ominously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," Don Agostino observed, quietly, "it would be -neither the one nor the other, Silvio. Such alliances have -been made before now—in Rome, too. There is no -consanguinity, you must remember. No dispensation even -would be required. But if it is true that such a crime is in -contemplation, the child must be saved from it—ah, yes, -she must be saved from it at all costs!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio suddenly grasped the priest's hand. "You will -help me to save her, Don Agostino!" he exclaimed. "For -her own sake and for her mother's sake—who, as you said -a few minutes ago, perhaps sent you here to protect -her—you will help me to save her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino, still holding Silvio's hand in his own, -looked into his eyes for a moment without speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have seen you to-day," he said, at length, "for the -first time, but I trust you for your father's sake and also for -your own. Yes, I will help you, if I can help you, to save -Bianca Acorari from being sacrificed, for the sake of her -mother, </span><em class="italics">anima benedetta</em><span>. But we must act prudently, and, -first of all, I have a condition to make."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Make any condition you please," said Silvio, eagerly, -"so long as you do what I ask of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is your father aware that you are here—I mean, that -you are in the neighborhood of Montefiano?" asked Don -Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot tell you," he -replied. "My sister, Giacinta, knows it, and she may have -told him. My father, Don Agostino, told me that he had -done all he could in asking the consent of the princess to an -engagement between his son and her step-daughter, and -that, as this consent had been unconditionally refused, I -must in future manage my own affairs in my own way. -This is what I am doing to the best of my ability."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled slightly. "I understand," he said. -"Well, Silvio, my condition is that I should see your father -and discuss the matter with him before doing anything here. -He will give you a good character, I have no doubt, and will -assure me that you would make Bianca Acorari a good -husband. I owe it to—well, you know now to whom, to make -this condition."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio smiled. "Is that all, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>?" he asked. "It -is a condition very easily carried out," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will go to Rome, you and I, to-morrow," said Don -Agostino, "and for to-night you will stop with me here. In -the evening, when it is cooler, we will go to Civitacastellana, -and we will bring your things back with us. No; I am -doing you no kindness—I am doing a kindness to myself. -As I told you before, it is not often that I have a friend to -talk to at Montefiano, and in this case, well—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino did not complete his sentence. His gaze -fixed itself upon the cabinet before him, and Silvio -understood all that he had left unsaid.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xix"><span class="bold large">XIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Although Rome is supposed to be abandoned during -the months of August and September by all who can -afford the time and the money to leave it, there is always -a certain number of people who from choice remain within -its walls throughout the summer, declaring, not without -reason, that the heat is felt far less in the vast, thick-walled -palaces than in country villas and jerry-built hotels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among this number was the Senator Rossano. He had -fitted up for himself a library in Palazzo Acorari, a long, -high room looking to the north, which, if difficult to keep -heated in winter, was always deliciously cool even on the -hottest of summer days. Here he did the greater part of -his writing, and passed the weeks when Rome is deserted, -both pleasantly and profitably. Usually he was quite alone -during these weeks, for Giacinta as a rule went with friends -to one or another of the summer resorts in the Apennines -or the north of Italy, or perhaps southward to the fresh -sea-breezes of Sorrento.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This year, however, she had delayed her </span><em class="italics">villeggiatura</em><span> -later than usual, and was still in Rome. The professor was -engaged upon a new scientific work, dealing with no less -complicated a theme than the moral responsibility of -criminals for the crimes they happened to have committed. -Giacinta had been busily engaged in making a clear copy of -her father's manuscript. The wealth of detail and example -which the professor had brought to bear in order to support -certain of his theories did not, it must be owned, always -form suitable reading for even the comparatively young, -and certainly not for an unmarried woman of Giacinta's age.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Professor Rossano did not trouble himself about such -a trifle as this. He regarded his illustrations as -illustrations, mere accidents necessary to his arguments; and it -would never have entered into his head that his daughter -might not look at them from the same detached point of -view. As a matter of fact, Giacinta did so look at them; -consequently, no harm was done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was sitting with her father in his library, engaged in -sorting some papers. It was nearly five o'clock and the -great heat of the day was nearly over; in another hour or -so she would insist on dragging the professor away from -his work, and making him accompany her in a drive outside -one of the gates of the city. She was contemplating some -suggestion of the kind when her father suddenly looked up -from his writing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you what we will do this evening, Giacinta," he -observed. "We will go and dine at the Castello di -Costantino. I have not been there yet this summer. Perhaps we -shall find some friends there. The Countess Vitali—she -often dines there at this time of year, and nobody can be -more amusing when she is in the vein. Her dry humor is -most refreshing; it is like something that has been sealed up -in an Etruscan tomb and suddenly brought to light with -all the colors fresh upon it. Yes, we will go to the Castello -di Costantino, and you can tell the servants we shall not -eat here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta was more than ready to fall in with the idea. -She was about to ring the bell in order to tell the servants -not to prepare dinner, when the door opened and Silvio -walked into the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor gazed at him placidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought that you were at Terni," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I was," replied Silvio, smiling, "a fortnight ago. -But I completed my business there, and placed the order -for the steel girders. Since then I have been in the Sabina. -I came from Montefiano this morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta started. "From Montefiano?" she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From Montefiano—yes," repeated Silvio. "I have not -been staying at the castle there," he added, dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have been committing some folly, I suppose," -remarked the professor, "and I do not wish to hear about -it. You will have the goodness, Silvio, not to mention the -subject."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been staying with a friend of yours, Babbo," -Silvio replied, laughing. "Don Agostino—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don Agostino?" repeated his father. "The devil take -your Don Agostino! I do not know whom you mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsignor Lelli, then," returned Silvio. "He has come -to Rome with me, and he is here—in the house. I left him -in the drawing-room. I suppose you will go there to see -him; or shall I tell him that you hope the devil may take -him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor burst out laughing. "Lelli! Here?" he -exclaimed. "Certainly I will go. I have not seen him -for years. I remember now, of course—they sent him to -Montefiano—those </span><em class="italics">imbroglioni</em><span> at the Vatican! And so you -have been staying with Lelli? Well, at least you have been -in good company. I hope he has succeeded in putting a -little common-sense into your head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hurried out of the room to greet his old friend, leaving -Silvio and Giacinta alone together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," said the latter, "that you have seen Donna -Bianca again—otherwise I cannot imagine what you have -found to do at Civitacastellana for nearly a fortnight? I am -told there is nothing to see there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very picturesque," observed Silvio. "The river, -and the situation—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt; but I never supposed you went there to -look at the river. When I heard it was only four or five -miles from Montefiano, then I understood! But who is this -Monsignor Lelli, Silvio? I think I have heard Babbo tell -some story about him, but I have forgotten what it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano," replied Silvio, "and -he used to be at the Vatican some years ago. I do not -know the story—he would not tell it me; but Babbo knows -it well, and we will ask him—the history of his earlier -life—that he did tell me. Imagine, Giacinta, he was -engaged to Bianca Acorari's mother. They forced her to -marry the Principe di Montefiano, and then he became a -priest. But he never ceased to love her, although he did -become a priest; that I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta looked at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now he has come to ask Babbo for my character," -answered Silvio, smiling. "If he gets a good one, he will -help me to marry Bianca. Do you know, Giacinta, that -they want to marry her to a brother of the princess—a -Baron d'Antin? Did you ever hear of anything so -outrageous? As Don Agostino—he will not be called -</span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>—says, such a thing must be prevented, and, of -course, I am the proper person to prevent it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must admit that it is strange, Giacinta, that Don -Agostino should have been engaged to Bianca's mother—and -her name was Bianca also—just as I am engaged to the -daughter, and that he should be at Montefiano. It seems -like a destiny. As for this Baron d'Antin—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have seen him several times," observed Giacinta. "He -always stares very hard. I asked the porter who he was. -He is not so very old, Silvio; he looks younger than the -princess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had better marry him," returned Silvio; "then you -will become my step-aunt by marriage as well as being my -sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta laughed. "Don't talk nonsense," she said; -"but tell me what you and Monsignor Lelli propose to do. -I never expected that you would confide your love affairs -to a priest. First of all a French governess, and now -a </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>. You are certainly an original person, -Silvio."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but Don Agostino is not like most priests—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because he has been in love himself?" interrupted -Giacinta, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not at all! There would be nothing unusual in -that," answered Silvio, dryly. "Priests are no different -from other people, I suppose, although they may profess -to be so. No; Don Agostino is not like the majority of -his brethren, because he has the honesty to be a man first -and a priest afterwards. He does not forget the priest, -but one hears and feels the man all the time he is talking -to one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to what I am going to do, Giacinta," Silvio continued, -tranquilly, "I am going to marry Bianca Acorari, -as I have told you before—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very often," added Giacinta.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how I am going to do it, is certainly not quite clear -at present. I would have waited, and so would she; but -how can we wait now that they are trying to force her to -marry this old baron in order to prevent her from marrying -me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very strange," said Giacinta, thoughtfully. "I -certainly believed they did not intend her to marry at -all—at any rate, for some years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but that was before I appeared on the scene," -observed Silvio. "Now they are afraid of her marrying -me, and so would marry her to anybody who happened to -be noble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta shook her head. "There is some other reason -than that," she replied. "The princess could find scores -of husbands for the girl without being obliged to fall back -on her own brother, who must be nearly thirty years older -than Donna Bianca. A marriage between those two would -be a marriage only in name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio stared at her. "What in the world do you mean, -Giacinta?" he exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she returned, hurriedly, "I don't mean—well, -what you think I mean! I meant to say that, supposing -Bianca Acorari were married to this old baron, everything -would go on as before in Casa Acorari. It would be, so -to speak, merely a family arrangement, which would, -perhaps, be very convenient."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Perbacco</em><span>!" exclaimed Silvio, "but you have your head -upon your shoulders, Giacinta! I never thought of that. -I thought it was simply a scheme to marry Bianca as soon -as possible, in order to get her away from me. But very -likely you are quite right. There is probably some intrigue -behind it all. We will hear what Don Agostino thinks -of your supposition—ah, here they come!" he broke off -suddenly as his father and Don Agostino entered the -library together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio made the priest acquainted with his sister, and -then turned to the professor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope, Babbo," he said, "that you have given me a -fairly good character."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have explained that you are as obstinate as a mule," -replied his father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino laughed. "I have heard a few other things -about you also," he said, laying his hand on Silvio's -shoulder. "After all," he added, "they were only things I -expected to hear, so I might quite as well have stopped -at Montefiano instead of coming to Rome—except for the -pleasure of seeing an old friend again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don Agostino will spend the evening with us," said -Silvio to his father, "and early to-morrow morning I am -going back with him to Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta looked somewhat perplexed. "Do you know," -she said, "we had settled to dine at the Castello di -Costantino this evening? You see, Silvio, I had no idea you -were coming back, and still less that we should have a -visitor—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we will all go and dine at the Costantino," -interposed the professor, jovially. "Why not? We shall be -a party of four—and four is a very good number to sit at -table, but not to drive in a </span><em class="italics">botte</em><span>—so we will have two </span><em class="italics">botti</em><span>, -and then nobody need sit on the back seat. You will go -with Silvio, Giacinta, and </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span> and I will go -together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino hesitated for a moment. "It is a place -where one may meet people," he said, "and nobody knows -that I am in Rome—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," returned the professor, hastily, "you are not -likely to meet any one you know at the Costantino, unless -it be Countess Locatelli—and you certainly would not mind -meeting her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary," said Don Agostino. "It is always -a pleasure to meet her—and to talk to her. Doubly so," he -added, "after so long an exile at Montefiano. I do not find -the female society of Montefiano very—what shall I -say? sharpening to the intellect. My house-keeper is occasionally -amusing—but limited as to her subjects."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio and his father both laughed. "At any rate, she -gives you a better dinner than you will get to-night," said -the former.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A quarter of an hour's drive brought them to the Aventine, -the most unspoiled and picturesque of the seven hills -of Rome, with its secluded convent-gardens and ancient -churches, its wealth of tradition and legend. In no other -quarter of Rome—not even in the Forum, nor among the -imperial ruins of the Palatine—does the spirit of the past -seem to accompany one's every step as on the almost -deserted Aventine. Especially as evening draws on, and -the shadows begin to creep over the vineyards and -fruit-gardens beyond the city walls; as the scattered ruins that -have glowed rose-red in the rays of the setting sun now -stand out—purple masses against the green background -of the </span><em class="italics">campagna</em><span>, and Tiber reflects the orange and saffron -tints of the sky, the dead present seems to be enwrapped -by the living past in these groves and gardens hidden away -on the Aventine and far removed from the turmoil and -vulgarity of modern Rome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In those years the so-called Castello di Costantino was -not the well-known resort that it has recently become. It -was, indeed, little more than a somewhat superior </span><em class="italics">trattoria</em><span>, -where one ate a bad Roman dinner and drank good Roman -wine on a terrace commanding one of the most picturesque, -as it is assuredly one of the most interesting, views in the -world. In those days it was not the scene of pompous -gatherings in honor of foreign or home celebrities, followed -by wearisome speeches breathing mutual admiration in -hackneyed phrases. A few artists, a few secretaries of -embassies left to conduct international affairs while their -chiefs were in cooler climates; a few ladies of the Roman -world who happened to be still left in the city, these, and -a family party or two of the Roman </span><em class="italics">mezzo-ceto</em><span>, were its -occasional visitors in the hot summer evenings when it is -pleasant to get away from the baked pavements and streets -of the town, and to breathe the fresh, sweet air stealing in -from the open country and the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The terrace behind the restaurant was almost deserted, -and Professor Rossano selected a table at one corner of it, -whence an uninterrupted view could be obtained over a -part of the city, and across the </span><em class="italics">campagna</em><span> to the Sabine -mountains in the nearer background; while between these -and the Alban Hills the higher summits of the Leonessa -range glowed red against the far horizon as they caught -the last rays of the setting sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsignor Lelli cast a rapid glance around him as he -seated himself at the little table, while the professor -discussed the ordering of the dinner with the waiter. There -was nobody, however, who would be likely to know him -by sight, and comment on his presence in Rome in quarters -where he would prefer it to remain unknown. A few -couples, already half-way through their meal, or smoking -their cigars over a measure of white wine, were the only -visitors to the Castello di Costantino that evening besides -Professor Rossano and his party, and these were evidently -students either of art or of love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so," observed Professor Rossano to his guest, as -the waiter retired with his order, "you have come to Rome -to tell me that you mean to help my son to make an idiot -of himself. I suppose you are a little short of something -to occupy you at Montefiano?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino laughed. "There was certainly more to -occupy me when I lived in Rome," he said, dryly. "As for -helping Silvio to make an idiot of himself, I am inclined to -think he would make a worse idiot of himself without my -assistance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Grazie</em><span>, Don Agostino!" murmured Silvio, placidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder when they will call you back?" the professor -said; "not," he added, with a quick movement of the head -towards the Vatican, "as long as—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Caro senatore!</em><span>" interrupted Don Agostino, deprecatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course—of course!" returned Professor Rossano, -hastily. "I forgot your </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span>—I always did, in the old -days, if you recollect. We will talk of something else. It -is always like that—when a man insists upon his right to -use his own reason and to think for himself—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you proposed to talk of something else," -suggested Giacinta, mildly, to her father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at her and laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is the same as he was twenty years ago—our dear -professor," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are quite right, Giacinta," returned Professor -Rossano. "When I think of the intellects—God-given—that -have been warped and crushed in the name of God, -it makes me fly into a rage. Yes, it is certainly better to -talk of something else. All the same, Monsignor Lelli -understands what I mean. If he did not, he would still be -at the Vatican, and not at Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am particularly glad that Don Agostino understands," -interposed Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You!" exclaimed the professor, witheringly. "I have -told you more than once that you are a pumpkin-head. A -fine thing, truly, to make my old friend Monsignor Lelli -a confidant of your love affairs! Not but what you appear -to have confided them to him at a tolerably early stage. It -is usually at a later stage that a priest hears of a love -affair—is it not so, </span><em class="italics">caro monsignore</em><span>?" he added, with a twinkle -of amusement in his brown eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "Yes," he replied, "at a much -later stage;" and then he paused and glanced across the -table at Giacinta.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor saw the look and misinterpreted it. "Oh," -he observed, carelessly, "my daughter knows all about -Silvio's folly. But I do not wish to hear anything more -about that. You have asked me certain questions about -Silvio, and I have answered them, and that is enough. If -you choose to help the boy in making an idiot of himself, -my dear friend, I suppose you must do so, but I do not wish -to know anything of the matter. There will be disturbances, -and I am too busy for disturbances. I am preparing -my work on criminal responsibility. It will be followed -by another volume on responsibility in mental diseases. -By-the-way, if I had the time I would study Silvio's case. -It might be useful to me for my second volume. No; -Giacinta and I are decidedly too busy to be troubled with -Silvio's love affairs. Giacinta, you must know, acts as my -secretary and copies out my manuscripts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino raised his eyebrows slightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All of them?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, all of them. Her handwriting is exceedingly -clear, whereas mine is frequently almost illegible. If -it were not for Giacinta, I should have to employ a -typewriter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino said nothing, but he glanced again at the -girl, and wondered how much she understood of the -professor's physiological arguments, and of the examples upon -which many of them were based. The few minutes' -conversation he had had alone with Professor Rossano had -speedily convinced him that the professor was both proud -and fond of his son. He had given Silvio the character -which Don Agostino, a practised reader of countenances and -the natures those countenances reflected, had felt sure would -be given. At the same time, the professor had expressed -his opinion of his son's passion for Donna Bianca Acorari -in very decided terms, and had upbraided his old friend for -encouraging the boy in his folly. Don Agostino had not -explained his motives for espousing Silvio's cause. He had -learned all he wanted to know, and was satisfied that he had -gauged Silvio's nature and character correctly. He felt, -indeed, an unconquerable aversion from explaining the -motives which prompted him to interest himself in a love -affair between two headstrong young people. Everybody -knew why he had left the Vatican; but very few people -knew why, some four-and-twenty years ago, a good-looking -young fellow, by name Agostino Lelli, became a priest. -Most of us have an inner recess in our hearts—unless we are -of that fortunate number who have no hearts—a recess -which we shrink from unlocking as we would shrink from -desecrating a tomb over which we are ever laying fresh -flowers. Something which he could scarcely define had impelled -Don Agostino to allow Silvio Rossano to glance into his -jealously guarded shrine. He felt as though he had received -some message from his beloved dead that the boy had a right -to do so. He was convinced, moreover, in his own mind that -the living spirit of the woman he had loved was urging him -to save her child from the unhappiness that had fallen upon -herself. Perhaps he had brooded too long and too deeply -over the strange change of coincidences which had brought -him and Silvio together—at the strange similarity between -his own life's story and that of his old friend Professor -Rossano's son, between the dead Bianca, Princess of Montefiano, -and the child who bore her name and bodily likeness. In -any case, it seemed to Don Agostino as though he were living -over again those far-off years in Venice; as though he saw -in Silvio Rossano his own youth, with all its hopes and all its -joys, and yet with the same dark shadows—shadows that -only youth itself had prevented him from realizing—threatening -to overwhelm and destroy both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy is in earnest," he had said to Professor Rossano -during their conversation together before setting out for the -Castello di Costantino. "Cannot you see that he is in -earnest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke almost angrily, the more so, perhaps, on account -of that strange feeling which never left him—the feeling -that he was pleading his own cause and that of his dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear friend," the professor had responded, with a -slight shrug of the shoulders, "when one is young and -in love, one is always in earnest—each time. Are you -so old that you cannot remember? Ah, I forgot, you had -no experience of such things—at least, no official -experience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "No," he repeated, "no official -experience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor glanced at him with a gleam of satirical -amusement. He fancied he had detected a note of irony in -the other's voice, but in his interpretation of it he was very -wide of the mark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Don Agostino had found that the result of his -conversation with Silvio's father was exactly what Silvio himself -had foretold. The professor had dismissed the whole affair -with airy good-humor as a </span><em class="italics">pazzia</em><span>, a folly in which he had -so far participated as to have made formal overtures on his -son's behalf for Donna Bianca Acorari's hand, and of which -he did not wish to hear anything more. If Silvio thought -the girl would make him a good wife, then by all means let -him marry her, if he could. If he could not, there were -plenty of other girls to choose from, and any one of them -who married Silvio would be a great deal luckier than she -most probably deserved to be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino had very soon come to the conclusion that -the professor would place no serious obstacles in the way -to hinder his son from marrying Donna Bianca Acorari, -should Silvio find means to accomplish that object. During -the remainder of their dinner at the Castello di Costantino -he threw himself, as it were, into Professor Rossano's -humor, and it soon became evident to Silvio and Giacinta -that their father and his guest were mutually enjoying one -another's conversation. Giacinta, indeed, was not a little -astonished at hearing the professor discourse so readily with -a priest. But then, as she noted the facility with which -Monsignor Lelli met her father on his favorite ground, the -knowledge which he displayed of the scientific and political -problems of the day, the serene tolerance with which he -would discuss questions which she knew to be anathema to -the ecclesiastical temperament, it was at once revealed to -her that this was no ordinary priest, whose mental vision was -limited by the outlook of the sacristy. The professor, as -the evening wore on, seemed to be in his element. From -subject to subject he flew with a rapidity which would have -been bewildering had it not been for the conciseness and -pungency of the arguments he brought to bear upon each of -them. But Monsignor Lelli met him at every turn, -agreeing with him often, but often parrying his thrusts with -rapier-like stabs of keenest satire. The summer twilight -was already fading into dusk, and the moon was rising over -the Aventine, casting long shadows from the cypress-trees -over the gardens and vineyards stretching away beneath -the terrace, and still the two continued their discussions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>People seated at little tables near them ceased from -laughing and talking, and turned round to listen, for the waiters -had whispered that the </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span> with the beard was the -famous Senator Rossano, and that the priest was without -doubt a cardinal who had dressed as an ordinary priest -lest he should be compromised by being seen in public -in such company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly, in the midst of a more than usually brilliant -sally, provoked by some observation from his host, -Monsignor Lelli stopped abruptly and addressed an entirely -irrelevant remark to Giacinta. Silvio, who happened to -be looking at him, saw his face change slightly as he looked -beyond the professor towards the door leading from the -restaurant on to the terrace. A small group of new -arrivals was issuing from this door, and its members began to -make their way to a vacant table a short distance from -that occupied by the professor and his party.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta also had caught sight of the new-comers. -"Look, Silvio!" she exclaimed, in a low tone; "look, -father, there is Princess Montefiano's brother, Monsieur -d'Antin, with those people!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Giacinta," returned the professor, vexed at -the interruption; "he can go to the devil! Go on with what -you were saying," he added to Don Agostino. "It was -well put—very well put, indeed—but I think that I have -an argument—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Caro senatore</em><span>," observed Don Agostino, tranquilly, -"are you aware that it grows late? We can continue our -discussion as we return to the city. </span><em class="italics">Signorina</em><span>," he -continued, turning to Giacinta, "you are sitting with your -back to the view. Is it not beautiful, with the moonlight -falling on those ruins?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose from his chair as he spoke, and motioned to -Giacinta to accompany him to the parapet of the terrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring your father away," he said to her, in a low voice, -"and Silvio. It is as well for us not to be seen together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Baron d'Antin does not know Silvio by sight," -returned Giacinta, "and I doubt if he knows either my -father or me by sight. Do you know him, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>?" -she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have never seen him," said Don Agostino, "and it is -not of him I am thinking—but of the other, the young man -who is with him. No, do not look round, </span><em class="italics">signorina</em><span>! At -present I think that we are unobserved. It will be more -prudent for me to leave you without any further ceremony. -We can meet again outside the restaurant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But who is he—that other one?" asked Giacinta, -quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A person I would rather not meet," replied Don -Agostino—"at least," he added, "I would rather not be seen -by him under the present circumstances, </span><em class="italics">signorina</em><span>. I beg -of you to explain to your father that he will find me waiting -for him outside," and, turning from her, Don Agostino -walked rapidly towards the door, having satisfied himself -that the new-comers were occupied with the head-waiter in -ordering their dinner, and that he could probably leave the -terrace unobserved by them.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xx"><span class="bold large">XX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On emerging from the restaurant, the Rossanos found -Don Agostino awaiting them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Giacinta told me I must pay the bill and come away," -the professor said to him. "For myself," he added, "I -should have preferred to remain another half-hour. That -white wine is certainly good. May one ask, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, -what made you leave us so suddenly? Did you discover a -cardinal of the holy office in disguise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino laughed. "Not quite a cardinal," he -replied, "but somebody very near to a cardinal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean the man who was with Baron d'Antin—the -young man?" asked Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely," returned Don Agostino. "He is not quite -so young as he looks, however," he continued. "In fact, -he must be certainly ten or twelve years older. Do you -know him, Silvio?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By sight, yes. I do not know who he is, but one sees -him in the world here in Rome—sometimes with English -people—old ladies with odd things on their heads, and their -daughters who walk like </span><em class="italics">carabinieri</em><span> pushing their way -through a crowd. </span><em class="italics">Diamine</em><span>, but how they walk, the -English girls! Everything moves at once—arms, shoulders, -hips—everything! It is certainly not graceful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind the English girls, Silvio, since you are not -going to marry one," interrupted Giacinta. "Who is -Baron d'Antin's friend, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>?" she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino hesitated. "His name is Peretti," he -replied, "the Commendatore Peretti. He is very intimate -with the cardinal secretary of state. Some people say that -he supplies his eminence with useful information which he -acquires in the world outside the Vatican. He gives Italian -lessons, I am told, to Silvio's English ladies; also to -members of the embassies to the king."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A spy, in fact," observed Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino shrugged his shoulders. "</span><em class="italics">Mah!</em><span>" he -ejaculated. "In any case," he continued, "I did not -particularly wish to be seen by him, for it would at once -be known at the Vatican that I had been in Rome in your -and your father's company, and—well, the less </span><em class="italics">quelli signori</em><span> -of the Vatican interest themselves in your affairs, Silvio, -the better for you. For me it does not matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me that it has mattered very much," growled -the professor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you think he did not see you?" said Silvio. "Ah, -but you are mistaken, Don Agostino. He did see you, -and he pointed you out to Baron d'Antin; and the baron -saw me, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you told me that Monsieur d'Antin did not know -you by sight," he exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought he did not know me, because I did not know -him by sight," returned Silvio; "but I was mistaken," he -added. "It is true that I never saw Monsieur d'Antin -before to-night, to my knowledge, but he has seen me. I -saw that he knew me by the expression in his eyes when he -looked at me, and I am quite sure that he whispered my -name to his friend—Peretti, is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said Don Agostino, "it is certainly unfortunate -that they should have seen us together. One never -knows—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They looked at me in such a way that for two </span><em class="italics">soldi</em><span> I -would have gone up to them and asked what they wanted of -me—and then there would have been a row. Yes, Giacinta, -for two </span><em class="italics">soldi</em><span> I would have boxed both their ears—a </span><em class="italics">soldo</em><span> -for each of them," and Silvio's eyes began to flash ominously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Less than a </span><em class="italics">soldo</em><span>," observed his father, quietly. "They -have four ears, Silvio. That would be at the rate of two -</span><em class="italics">centesimi</em><span> and a half for each ear. All the same, I am glad -you did not do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought he would have done it," said Giacinta, in an -undertone to Don Agostino, "but I made him come away -at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked grave. "I do not understand," he -said to Silvio. "How could Monsieur d'Antin know you if -you had never seen him before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Che ne so io?</em><span>" answered Silvio, carelessly—"and what -does it matter?" he added, with a laugh. "He probably -knows now that I should like to break his head, just as I -know that he would like to break mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for anything that he would find inside it," interposed -the professor, dryly. "</span><em class="italics">Via</em><span>, Silvio, what is there to -wonder at if Baron d'Antin looks at you with some curiosity? -He has probably heard his sister speak of you as a -lunatic!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio and Don Agostino glanced at each other. The -latter laid his hand on Professor Rossano's arm. "</span><em class="italics">Caro -senatore</em><span>," he said, "we shall do well not to discuss these -things here. Let us walk back to Palazzo Acorari; or, still -better, let us prolong our walk a little and go to the Forum. -I honestly admit that by daylight I detest the Forum—the -archæologists have turned it into a hideous affair. But by -moonlight it is another matter. I think Domeneddio must -have made the moonlight in order to allow the Romans to -forget for a few hours that archæologists exist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Professor Rossano laughed. "Let us go to the Forum, -by all means," he observed. "There will be no archæologists -at this hour. They will all be calling one another -idiots and impostors elsewhere—perhaps in the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span> of the -Countess Vitali."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not to be supposed that the professor and Giacinta -would walk from the Castello di Costantino to the Foro -Romano; although Don Agostino, accustomed to long -expeditions on foot in the Sabines, and Silvio, who could -walk the whole day provided that he were carrying a gun, -would have thought nothing of doing so. Professor Rossano -however, seldom used his legs if he could avail himself of -any other means of locomotion, and on the first opportunity -he stopped a passing </span><em class="italics">botte</em><span> and directed the driver to set -them down at the Colosseum. Guttural shouts from a -party of German tourists about to enter the building caused -the professor to turn away from it with an impatient shrug -of the shoulders. Much as he admired the scientific and -philosophical attainments of the Germans, in common with -most Italians he disliked them intensely as a nation. The -offending Teutons disappeared into the Colosseum as -Professor Rossano and his companions walked slowly towards -the arch of Titus. The ruins in the Forum looked ghostly -and unreal in the moonlight. In front, the great square -mass of the Capitol loomed grimly, while from the dark, -cypress-crowned Palatine on their left came the mournful -cries of owls flitting to and fro in the roofless halls of the -palace of the Cæsars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure that Baron d'Antin recognized you?" Don -Agostino asked of Silvio, who had stopped to light a cigar, -while his sister and the professor walked on a little ahead of -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As sure as I am that you were recognized by your little -spy, Peretti," Silvio replied. "What puzzles me," he -added, "is how he could know me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not very strange, considering that you live in -Palazzo Acorari."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I am sure that I have never seen him," insisted -Silvio. "After all," he continued, "it does not matter very -much; and I do not suppose it matters if Peretti recognized -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except that the accident of his having seen me in your -company might lead to my being moved from Montefiano to -some other still more remote place," said Don Agostino, -quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked blank. "Why should it do that?" he -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "One never knows," he said. -"The Princess Montefiano has no doubt many friends at the -Vatican. If it were suggested to her that I was on friendly -terms with you and your family, she might very easily -bring about my removal from Montefiano. I wish we had -not gone to the Costantino, Silvio. I have a presentiment -that our encounter with Monsieur d'Antin and that little -busybody, Peretti, may add to our difficulties."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At any rate," said Silvio, "we will return to Montefiano -to-morrow, Don Agostino, and I must find some means of -communicating with Bianca. We know now that Baron -d'Antin is in Rome and not at Montefiano. Probably," he -added, "he has understood by this time that Bianca would -not be induced to listen to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he has," observed Don Agostino, "the fact is not -likely to make him feel very friendly towards a more -successful suitor. No, Silvio, be guided by me; and do not do -anything in a hurry. Remember that if it were discovered -that you are living with me at Montefiano, I should -certainly be removed from my duties there, of that I am quite -sure; and my removal would be a misfortune. Perhaps I -can do more for you at Montefiano than you can do for -yourself—yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if you never go to the castle," began Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have never been as yet," returned Don Agostino, "but -that does not mean to say that I am never going there. -Besides, sooner or later what happens in the castle will be -talked about in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>. It is a mere question of time. -And what is talked about in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> sooner or later is -talked about to Ernana," he added, with a smile. "How, -for instance, do you suppose I knew that Monsieur d'Antin -proposed to marry Donna Bianca Acorari? I do not often -listen to Ernana's gossip, for if she were encouraged she -would doubtless tell a great deal, and some of it would -probably be true—not much, but some of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio gave an impatient exclamation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can the princess tolerate the idea of such a -marriage?" he burst out, angrily. "I can understand her -objecting to me—but surely it is more natural that her -step-daughter should marry a young man than that -old—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely!" interrupted Don Agostino. "You have -exactly defined the situation. I, too, understand the -objection to you—from a worldly point of view—as a husband -for Donna Bianca Acorari. But you are not the only -young man in the world, my dear Silvio. There are many -others, possessing better social qualifications, from whom -the princess could select a husband for her step-daughter. -It was assuredly not necessary to fall back upon Baron -d'Antin, even in order to get rid of you! No, there must -be some other reason for sacrificing the girl—for indeed I -call it a sacrifice. It seems to me, Silvio, that we should -discover that reason before you attempt to communicate -again with Donna Bianca. Until we know it, we are -working in the dark. I have my suspicions what the reasons -may be; but they are at the best but vague suspicions, -which probably I have no right to entertain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at him keenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are they?" he asked, briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino hesitated. "I said that I had probably -no right to entertain them," he repeated. "I do not wish -to wrong anybody, but it has sometimes struck me that -possibly there may be money difficulties—that it would not -be convenient to the administrators of the Montefiano -estates were Donna Bianca to marry a stranger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Money difficulties!" repeated Silvio. "You mean that -perhaps Bianca's property has been interfered with—that -she would not be as rich as she was supposed to be when she -comes of age? Is that what you mean, Don Agostino?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Partly—yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio's eyes gleamed blue in the moonlight. "</span><em class="italics">Magari!</em><span>" -he exclaimed, simply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him for a moment, and then he -smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would be glad?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I should be glad—I should be delighted," -returned Silvio. "If it were not for her money," he -continued, "it would all have been so simple—do you not see -what I mean? Of course there are the titles—but anybody -can have titles. I know a cab-driver in Naples who is a -</span><em class="italics">marchese</em><span>, an absolutely genuine </span><em class="italics">marchese</em><span>, of Bourbon -creation. But the money makes it another affair altogether."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The money makes it another affair altogether," repeated -Don Agostino; "that is very true." He spoke more as -though talking to himself than to Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," continued Silvio, "if the princess and her -Belgian confessor could be made to understand that I do -not want Bianca's money—that I have enough of my own -both for her and for myself—they would not be so anxious -to marry her to that old baron. So you see, Don Agostino, -my reason for being glad if there has been some mismanagement -of the Montefiano properties."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Silvio," he said, "I see your reason—it is one that -I should have expected from you. But it is not a good -reason."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio glanced at him with surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a good reason!" he repeated. "And why not? It -seems to me to be a very natural reason. I want Bianca -Acorari herself. I do not want her money, and I would not -accept one of her titles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a very natural reason, yes—for a </span><em class="italics">galantuomo</em><span>," -returned Don Agostino, "but it is not one that will appeal -to those who are not </span><em class="italics">galantuomini</em><span>. You must remember -that dishonest people do not easily credit others with -honesty. In this case I cannot help suspecting—it is a -suspicion only—that Monsieur d'Antin has some hold over -his sister, and perhaps also over the Abbé Roux. -Moreover, you must recollect that Donna Bianca has evidently -aroused—well, a certain passion in him; and the passion of -an elderly man for a young girl—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio Rossano muttered something under his breath. It -was not complimentary to Baron d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is no use to fly into a rage—none at all," proceeded -Don Agostino, tranquilly. "We must look at things as -they are, and human nature is a complicated affair. What -we have to do is to find out, so to speak, all the cards that -Monsieur d'Antin holds in his hand. I do not wish to be -uncharitable, but it is scarcely credible that the princess -would encourage, or even tolerate, her brother's aspirations, -were he not able to bring some more convincing argument -to bear upon her and the Abbé Roux than the mere fact -that he had conceived a sudden passion for her step-daughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Silvio, thoughtfully; "I see what you mean. -You are more clever at reasoning than I am," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "I am considerably older than -you are, </span><em class="italics">ragazzo mio</em><span>," he replied; "and," he continued, "I -am not in love with Bianca Acorari, though her welfare is -very dear to me, for—for her mother's sake." He paused, -and Silvio saw him make the sign of the cross almost -imperceptibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," Don Agostino continued, "that you would do -well not to return with me to Montefiano to-morrow. If -Baron d'Antin knew that you were in the neighborhood, -and especially if he knew that you were in my house—it -would certainly not make things easier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio's face fell. "But what am I to do?" he exclaimed. -"I had meant—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," interrupted Don Agostino, "let us hear what you -had meant to do at Montefiano—or rather, I will tell you. -You had meant by some means to obtain another interview -with Donna Bianca—to persuade her to escape with -you, perhaps—and that I should marry you. In fact, you -had a whole romance in your head. Is it not true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed. "Something of the sort, I admit," he -answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," continued Don Agostino, decidedly, "it will not -do; it will not do at all. We are not characters in a novel, -and we can afford to act like ordinary human beings who -are face to face with a difficulty, but who are also not quite -sure of their ground. In real life it is wonderful how things -settle themselves if we will only be patient and allow them -to do so. No; you are not the hero in a romance, and it is -not necessary for you to bring about a situation lest the -public should become tired of you. The situation will -probably come of itself—</span><em class="italics">per forza maggiore</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And am I to sit down and do nothing, and leave the -field clear for Baron d'Antin?" asked Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For a short time—for a few days, perhaps—yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you forget," Silvio interrupted, quickly. "Bianca -is expecting to hear from me in some way. I promised her -I would communicate with her. That is now nearly a -month ago, and as yet I have been unable to send her a -single word, for a letter would certainly never reach her—that -is to say, until I can find some trustworthy person who -would give it to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Write your letter, and I will undertake that it reaches -her," said Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You!" exclaimed Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; I will be your messenger. Yesterday I would not -have undertaken to help you so far. You can probably -guess why, Silvio."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you were not sure of me—that I was worthy -of your help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, as to that, I was always sure from the first," said -Don Agostino, quietly. "I am very seldom mistaken in -my first impressions of people whom I care to study, and I -studied you. But I was determined not to act on my -impressions until they should have been confirmed by -your father. I always told you as much, if you remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now they are confirmed? I am glad," said Silvio, -simply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "Amply," he replied, laying his -hand affectionately on Silvio's shoulder. "Be guided by -me, </span><em class="italics">figlio mio</em><span>," he continued. "Remain quietly here in -Rome until I tell you to come to Montefiano. In the mean -time, I will do all I can for you. It may be very little, or it -may be more than you think; I cannot tell as yet. Write -your letter to-night, and I will take it with me to-morrow -morning. You quite understand, however, that it may -be some days before I have an opportunity of conveying -it safely to its destination, so you must not be impatient."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will see that I shall be patient," said Silvio. "It -was the apparent impossibility of being able to -communicate with Bianca that has made me impatient. It was -natural, for the weeks were passing, and after what you -told me about Baron d'Antin, I dared not leave Bianca -much longer without fulfilling my promise that she should -hear from me. However, now that I know that our affairs -are in your hands, I will be as patient as you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is well," replied Don Agostino, briefly. "And, -above all, Silvio," he added, "do not confide in anybody. -Do not move from Rome until you receive a letter from -me bidding you come to Montefiano, or to some other place -in its neighborhood that I will name in the letter. </span><em class="italics">Dunque, -siamo intesi</em><span>? Then let us catch up with the others. It is -growing late, and I must return to my hotel. You can bring -me your letter to-morrow morning. I shall leave Rome by -the eight-o'clock train, and it will be wiser for you to come -only to the hotel, and not accompany me to the railway -station. The less we are seen together now the better. It is a -strange thing, but the accident of having met those two -individuals to-night has made me feel uncomfortable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What harm can they do?" said Silvio, carelessly. "If -Monsieur d'Antin had seen us together at Montefiano, then -he might well have been suspicious; but here, in Rome, we -are—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Rome," interrupted Don Agostino, dryly; and he -said no more than might be implied by a slight shrug of -the shoulders and a quick gesture with the hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor and Giacinta had halted at this moment. -By this time they had reached the upper end of the Forum, -and a few paces more would bring them out into the Via -S. Teodoro, close to the narrow flight of steps leading up to -the piazza of the Capitol.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as Don Agostino and Silvio joined them, Professor -Rossano begged the former to return with them to Palazzo -Acorari, but Don Agostino declined. It was time for him to -go back to his hotel, he declared, and Silvio, rightly guessing -that he did not wish to run any risks of again being seen -with them, forebore from seconding his father's invitation. -After bidding the professor and Giacinta a cordial farewell, -Don Agostino stopped a passing cab, and directed the driver -to the Albergo Santa Chiara, a modest little hotel near the -Minerva, largely frequented by foreign priests and pilgrims.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will be with you at seven o'clock to-morrow morning," -said Silvio to him as he got into the cab. Don Agostino -nodded, and, raising his broad beaver hat, drove away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There," said the professor, jerking his head in the -direction of the disappearing </span><em class="italics">botte</em><span>, "is another of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Another of whom, Babbo?" asked Giacinta.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, another honest man, with a head upon his -shoulders, too, whom those priests across the Tiber have -driven away!" replied Professor Rossano, angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did he leave the Vatican?" asked Silvio. "He -would never tell me his story at Montefiano, but always said -that you would remember it well enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember it? Of course I remember it!" returned the -professor. "At one time all Rome was talking of Monsignor -Lelli. They declared at the Vatican that he had speculated -and lent money on bad security from the funds intrusted -to him; accused him, in short, of a carelessness -almost equivalent to fraud. But everybody knew that he -had been forced to use the money in the way it was used, -and that he was afterwards disgraced when things went -contrary to expectations. </span><em class="italics">Che vuoi?</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio said nothing. His thoughts were occupied with the -letter he would write to Bianca Acorari that night, and he -wondered how Don Agostino would find the means of -giving it, or causing it to be safely delivered. It was a -disappointment to him not to return to Montefiano on the -morrow, but he could not but feel that Don Agostino was -right in advising him to remain quietly in Rome. It would -certainly not help matters were his only friend at -Montefiano to be suddenly transferred to some other post; and -Silvio knew enough of his world fully to realize how -important a part intrigue and personal animosities played, not -only at the Vatican, but also in every phase of Roman life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clocks were striking ten when they reached Palazzo -Acorari, and though nobody thinks of going home at ten -o'clock on a summer night in Rome, or anywhere else in -Italy, Silvio Rossano accompanied his father and sister up -the dimly lighted staircase to their apartment. The -professor was anxious to continue the correction of his proofs, -and Silvio was longing to begin his letter to Bianca Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Apparently, however, he had something else on his mind; -for, after the professor had retired to his library, he followed -Giacinta into her sitting-room, a little room opening off the -drawing-room. Giacinta, who was tired after her walk, -took off her hat and the light wrap she was wearing, and -settled herself comfortably in an arm-chair; while Silvio, -after lighting a cigarette, began to pace somewhat restlessly -up and down the room. It was very evident that he had -something to say, and Giacinta, who knew her brother's -moods, sat waiting for it in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not going back to Montefiano with Don Agostino -to-morrow," he began, presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not know that you intended to do so," observed -Giacinta.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I intended to do so!" Silvio returned. "However," -he continued, "Don Agostino thinks it wiser that I -should not return just yet, and I believe he is right. He is -going to take a letter from me to Bianca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta glanced at him with a smile. "No doubt you -think he is right in that also," she observed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed. "How like you are to Babbo, sometimes!" -he exclaimed. "Yes, I think he is quite right. -The only thing is, Giacinta—" and he paused, hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That you would not know what to say in the letter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no! Well, perhaps I do not know what to say. If -it amuses you to think so, I am quite content. The -question is, that I want to send something to Bianca—something -that I value. You understand? I have given her nothing -as yet—I have not even written to her. I want to send her -something—with my letter—something that belonged to -our mother. It is so easy to walk into a shop and buy a bit -of jewelry, but it is not the same thing—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," said Giacinta, quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so," continued Silvio, a little hurriedly, "I thought -that if I sent her one of our mother's rings—you have all -her jewelry, Giacinta, have you not? You could spare me -one of the rings, perhaps?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are as much yours as mine," answered Giacinta. -"Babbo gave the jewelry into my charge; you know -there are pearls and other things. Wait, and I will bring -you the case from my room, and then you can see for -yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She got up from her chair and went into the next room, -returning presently with an old case covered with faded red -velvet and fastened with heavy clasps of gilded metal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ecco!" she said, holding out to Silvio an elaborately -ornamented key, also heavily gilded. "You must turn it -three times in the lock before it will open the box. In the -upper tray there are the rings, and below are the pearls."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The pearls can remain where they are," observed Silvio. -"You will want them when you marry," he added, as he -unlocked and opened the case. "I will take this ring," he -continued, pointing to an old "marquise" ring, on which a -sapphire was mounted in the centre of a cluster of white -Brazilian diamonds. "The rest you will keep, but this one -I will send to Bianca and tell her that it belonged to my -mother. You do not mind, Giacinta?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a sudden movement Giacinta turned and kissed -him. "Why should I mind?" she exclaimed; "only—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only what?" asked Silvio, as she paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only I wish you had sought for a wife elsewhere," she -continued, earnestly. "Those people—they will despise you, -because they are noble and we are not. You will never be -allowed to marry Donna Bianca Acorari, Silvio! Never, I -tell you! That priest and Baron d'Antin, they will never -permit it. The girl will not be allowed to marry anybody, -unless it be Monsieur d'Antin. You will see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sciocchezze!</em><span>" exclaimed Silvio, contemptuously. "What -have I often told you, Giacinta?" he continued. "Bianca -and I can afford to wait until she is her own mistress. If -they were to attempt to force her to marry Baron d'Antin or -anybody else, then we would go away and get some priest to -marry us. The civil marriage could wait. I have told you -so a hundred times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta was silent for a moment. Then she said, suddenly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad you are not going back to Montefiano. It -was wise of Don Agostino, as you call him, to advise you to -remain here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but I shall go back there very soon," returned -Silvio. "In a few days Don Agostino will write to me to -come. You see, Bianca must be protected from that old -baron. She will be glad to know that I am near her, even -if we cannot see each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not go, Silvio!" Giacinta exclaimed, almost -passionately. "You will be mad to go! Ah, but I saw Baron -d'Antin's expression when he recognized you! I could see -that he recognized you—and you, you looked at him as if -you would have struck him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed. "And I could have struck him—very -hard," he replied, "for he stared at me in an insolent -manner. Of course, I shall return to Montefiano, Giacinta, -whenever Don Agostino writes to me that I can do so. I -cannot imagine what you are afraid of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta smiled slightly. "After all," she said, "I hardly -know myself! But there is some mystery—something I do -not understand. I am afraid that it is money—that they -want to keep Donna Bianca's money. Oh, not the princess! -She is only a fool. But these others, the Abbé Roux -and Monsieur d'Antin, they are not fools. And if it is -money, and you stand in their way—well, who knows what -people will not do for money? They might murder you at -Montefiano, and who would be the wiser?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed again. "Scarcely, Giacinta </span><em class="italics">mia</em><span>," he -replied. "If they tried to put me out of the way, several -people would be the wiser, and some of them—Don -Agostino, for instance—would make awkward inquiries. </span><em class="italics">Via!</em><span> -we are not in the Middle Ages; and the son of the Senator -Rossano is not a completely obscure person who could be -made away with with impunity. I assure you that you -need not be alarmed. Now I must go and write my letter, -for at seven o'clock to-morrow morning I have to be at the -Albergo Santa Chiara, for Don Agostino leaves Rome at -eight. </span><em class="italics">Buona notte</em><span>, Giacinta, </span><em class="italics">e buon riposo</em><span>, and do not get -foolish ideas into your head, or you will lie awake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so saying, Silvio went off to his own room, taking -with him the ring he had selected from his mother's jewel-case.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxi"><span class="bold large">XXI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Bianca was walking slowly up and down the terrace -beneath the castle of Montefiano. Every now and -then she would pause and lean over the low stone parapet, -gazing thoughtfully into the deep ravine below, or across the -ridges of the Sabines to the towns and villages perched upon -their rocky eminences commanding the upper valley of the -Tiber. It was late in the afternoon, and cool enough upon -the terrace, which was sheltered from the westering sun by -the shadow of the mass of building above it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>More than a month had passed since she had been brought -to Montefiano, and no word had come to her from Silvio. -That a letter should not have reached her in the ordinary -way, did not surprise her. She had very rarely received a -letter in her life, save, perhaps, some words of greeting at -Easter or at the New Year; and under the circumstances -it was not very likely that any missive could arrive for her -by the post without being intercepted and confiscated by -those who were so evidently determined to guard against -any renewal of communication between her and her lover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The days had passed slowly enough at Montefiano. The -great suite of rooms on the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span> of the palace had -been put into a certain order, as the princess had directed; -but the furniture sent from Palazzo Acorari at Rome made -a sorry show of comfort in the huge rooms of the Montefiano -fortress. Indeed, it was only the corners of the living-room -which could be made habitable—little oases, as it were, in a -desert of marble floors, of walls from which faded damask -was hanging in tattered strips, and upon which hung mirrors -that had long ago ceased to reflect, or such pictures as the -late prince had left as not being worth the trouble and -expense of being moved to Rome to be sold to foreign -collectors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An indescribable atmosphere of dreariness seemed to -pervade the interior of Montefiano, that dreariness which is -produced by the sense of departed strength and grandeur. -The apartments occupied by the princess and Bianca were -entirely on one floor. A large vestibule formed the centre -of the suite, approached by a double flight of stone steps -leading up from the quadrangle or inner court of the palace. -On one side of this hall were high double doors opening into -an immense drawing-room, and opposite to them similar -doors led into a gallery, at the farther extremity of which -were two other sitting-rooms. Beyond these, again, was -the princess's bedroom, and a smaller room beyond it, -and at the end of the suite was Bianca's room, which could -only be reached by passing through her step-mother's -sleeping apartment. There were other rooms on the -opposite side of the court-yard, which were occupied by the -Abbé Roux and Monsieur d'Antin; while the servants -inhabited a part of the house to get to which endless corridors -and unused chambers had to be traversed. If life at the -Palazzo Acorari and at the villa near Velletri had been -quiet, it was amusing compared with that led by the -princess and her step-daughter at Montefiano. Even the horses -and the carriage had been left behind at Rome. Except a -daily walk about a few acres of brushwood and coppices -behind the castle—an enclosed piece of ground dignified by -the name of a park, access to which was only possible by -descending a damp, moss-grown flight of steps at the end -of the terrace—Bianca never left the immediate precincts of -the old dwelling, half palace and half mediæval fortress, of -which she was nominally the mistress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux had been quite right when he had declared -that no convent could afford a more secure retreat from -the world than the castle of Montefiano. The little town, -nestling beneath the grim, battlemented walls and flanking -round towers on the southern side of the building, might -have been a hundred miles away, for not a sound from -it ever penetrated to that part of the castle in which the -princess and Bianca lived, nor was so much as a roof-top -visible. The cries of the jackdaws, or the scream of a -hawk during the daytime, or, after dusk, the melancholy -note of the little gray owls haunting the </span><em class="italics">macchia</em><span>, the -monotonous croaking of the frogs in a swampy piece of -ground in its recesses, were the only sounds audible, except -that of the bell of Cardinal Acorari's clock over the -Renaissance façade, tolling the passage of the hours and -half-hours, as it had tolled them for over two centuries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had been some weeks at Montefiano, and the -princess had never spoken to Bianca on the subject of what -she termed the imprudent attempt of an adventurer to lead -her into an entanglement in which she might have seriously -compromised herself. Perhaps Princess Montefiano had -never before felt how far removed from Bianca she was, how -little sympathy and confidence existed between her and her -step-daughter, as during the period immediately following -the discovery of what, in her conversations with the Abbé -Roux and with her brother, she called Bianca's indiscretion. -She felt that she did not understand the girl; and, more -keenly than she had ever done before, she felt conscious -that Bianca regarded her as a foreigner. Had it been -consistent with her sense of duty, Princess Montefiano would -very readily have relegated the office of explaining to her -step-daughter the gravity of her offence against all the -rules that should guide the conduct of a young girl, and the -utter impossibility of any alliance being tolerated between -the heiress and representative of Casa Acorari and the son -of a professor, however illustrious that professor might -be. But to whom could she relegate the task? Certainly -not to the Abbé Roux, although the subject was one in -which fatherly advice from a priest would surely be better -than any advice, save that of a mother, and she was not -the girl's mother—all the difficulty lay in that point. But -to expect Bianca to open her heart to the Abbé Roux, or -to tolerate any open interference from him in her actions, -was, as the princess had learned from experience, an -altogether hopeless idea. The situation was certainly -embarrassing, all the more so because Bianca shut herself up -in an impenetrable reserve. She had accepted the sudden -move to Montefiano without making any comment, or uttering -any protest. Under any other circumstances, Princess -Montefiano would have attributed this attitude to that -apathy which she had until lately honestly believed to be -one of Bianca's characteristics. Unluckily, recent events -had conclusively proved this belief to be an illusion. As -Monsieur d'Antin had pointed out to his sister, in language -admitting of no misconstruction, young girls who were -apathetic did not allow young men to make love to them -in a manner that had—well, certainly nothing of apathy -about it. And the princess had sighed and shaken her -head. She felt herself to be out of her depth. Her -experiences of love had been limited to the short period of -married life passed with the Principe di Montefiano, -experiences which of necessity were very limited indeed. As -was her invariable practice when confronted by any -difficulty, she had sought counsel of the Abbé Roux, and the -abbé had readily understood and sympathized with her in -her embarrassment. He could not offer to speak to Donna -Bianca and point out to her the grave dangers, both worldly -and spiritual, to which she had exposed herself, and the still -greater unhappiness which was certainly in store for her -were she to continue in her present unfortunate state of -mind. Donna Bianca, he reminded the princess, had -shown too plainly her want of confidence in him, both as a -priest and as an individual, to allow of his making any -attempt to force that confidence. But there was another -person to whom, perhaps, she would be more communicative, -and who might possibly succeed in distracting her -thoughts from their present object. Donna Bianca had, at -all events, shown symptoms of being more at her ease with -Monsieur le Baron than she had with himself, or even—madame -must pardon his frankness—with her step-mother. -Why not, the Abbé Roux had concluded, refrain from pointing -out to Donna Bianca the impossibility of the situation -into which she had drifted until Monsieur d'Antin had -endeavored to make her see matters in a different light? It -might well be, considering the obvious sympathy which had -existed between Monsieur le Baron and Donna Bianca, that -the former might succeed where he himself would certainly, -and Madame la Princesse possibly, fail. In the mean time, -a rigorous seclusion at Montefiano would not cease to be -advisable. The very dulness of this seclusion, the gradual -certainty that no communication with young Rossano -would ever be permitted, would doubtless soon break down -Donna Bianca's obstinacy; while very probably the young -man himself would realize the hopelessness of his suit and -turn his attentions elsewhere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano had not received this suggestion -without considerable misgivings. Her brother's interest in -Bianca had certainly not diminished since the day when she -had discovered that the Abbé Roux shared her suspicions -that this interest was not altogether platonic. She was in -some ways a sensitive woman, always thinking what people -might or might not say of her and her actions. Ever since -her marriage to the late Prince Montefiano, she had been -haunted by a nervous dread lest she should be supposed to -neglect his daughter; and though she scarcely realized it -herself, it had been this feeling, rather than any affection for -Bianca, that had made her almost timidly anxious not to -fail in anything which she might conceive to be her duty -towards the girl. Bianca, however, had realized when -quite a child, with all that quick intuition which children -share with other animals, that however kind her -step-mother might be to her, it was a kindness certainly not -born of love. Strangely enough, it would never have -entered Princess Montefiano's head that her step-daughter -was capable of detecting the difference. Like many -conscientious people, she was quite satisfied by the constant -reflection that she was doing her duty. That Bianca was -not equally satisfied with and duly appreciative of the fact, -she had long ago accustomed herself to attribute to the -girl being possessed of a cold and indifferent nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After duly considering the abbé's advice, Princess Montefiano -had decided to act upon it. It was true that, should he -be correct in his calculations that a policy of seclusion and -of a quiet but determined ignoring of the pretensions of the -Rossano family would result in Bianca's submission, everything -would be gained. At the same time, the world would -think it strange, and not altogether seemly, that the girl -should marry a man old enough to be her father, and who -was also the brother of her father's second wife. But, as -the abbé had pointed out, similar marriages, though -possibly unusual, were not unheard of; and in Rome there had -certainly been instances in which they had turned out -satisfactorily to all parties. Moreover, even were the world to -criticise her for allowing Bianca to contract such an alliance, -criticism, as the Abbé Roux rightly insisted, would instantly -cease were it suspected that the affair had been arranged -in order to prevent the heiress of the Acorari from marrying -a man who was not of her own social condition, but who -had presumed to ask for her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Altogether it had seemed better to the princess to take -the unbiased advice of a man of the world, who was at the -same time a priest, and to wait patiently to see whether -Bianca would not in time come to her senses, and be glad to -accept the devotion of a man of her own order, even if there -was some disparity of age between him and her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Matters had not, however, gone quite so smoothly as -Monsieur l'Abbé had anticipated. For the first few days -after his arrival at Montefiano it had appeared as if Bianca -rather welcomed Baron d'Antin's attentions to her than -otherwise. The princess even began to ask herself whether, -after all, the Abbé Roux had not been right when he had -hinted that her step-daughter's clandestine love-affair with -a young man must not be taken too seriously—that Donna -Bianca was of a temperament which demanded certain -things—oh, but certain things that one husband could -supply as well as another. Princess Montefiano had felt -somewhat shocked at the idea. Nevertheless, when she -observed that Bianca seemed to take pleasure in her brother -Philippe's society, and that she was less silent and reserved -when talking to him than she was at other times, she -wondered whether the Abbé Roux had not read the girl's -nature accurately, and she began to congratulate herself -on having listened to his advice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was with not a little anxiety and disappointment, -therefore, that Princess Montefiano noticed a sudden but -unmistakeable change in Bianca's demeanor towards -Monsieur d'Antin. Whereas she had always been ready to talk -to him, she now seemed anxious to avoid him. If he -addressed her at meals, she would answer in monosyllables, -or perhaps not at all. Her manner betrayed an uneasiness -and suspicion whenever she was in company, and at times -would become almost sullen. If he proposed to walk with -her on the terrace, or in the park, instead of consenting -almost with alacrity, as she had usually done, she would -answer coldly that she was not going out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This state of things had lasted some days, and one evening -at dinner Monsieur d'Antin suddenly announced his -intention of going to Rome the following morning, as he had -some business to do there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess, who happened to glance at Bianca, saw an -expression of intense relief pass over her countenance. The -look surprised and then shocked her. It was the look that -some trapped animal might give when just set at liberty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing more was said at that moment, however, and -very soon after dinner Bianca went to her own room. The -next morning Monsieur d'Antin left early, in order to catch -a train which would enable him to reach Rome by twelve -o'clock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the mid-day breakfast Bianca and her step-mother -were alone together, for the Abbé Roux, as the princess -explained, was occupied with the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> on business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very annoying," she observed, presently, to Bianca, -when the servants had brought in the coffee and left the -room. "I have had to discharge Fontana—the agent, you -know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca looked up from a fig she was peeling. "Ah," she -said, quickly, "what has he done?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is rather a case of what he has not done," replied -Princess Montefiano. "Monsieur l'Abbé," she continued, -"has been occupying himself with going about the estate -since we have come here. He finds everything in a very -unsatisfactory condition, I am sorry to say. Apparently the -</span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span>, this Fontana, has resented any inquiries being made -into his management. Monsieur l'Abbé is quite sure -Fontana has ruled here too long, and that it will be better -to make a change. He knows of a man—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course!" interposed Bianca, dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess glanced at her. "It is very fortunate for -you," she observed, "and for me, that we have a shrewd -man of business like Monsieur l'Abbé to advise us. That -is what you will never understand, Bianca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca Acorari pushed her plate from her impatiently. -"No," she said, abruptly, "I shall never understand it. I -think I should prefer priests who were not shrewd men of -business, and men of business who were not priests."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess sighed. "When you are older, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>," -she remarked, "you will understand many things better -than you do at present. I am sorry that you are vexed -about Fontana. I am annoyed also, for I do not like -turning off an old servant who has been here many years. But -we, Monsieur l'Abbé and I, have to think of your interests."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca raised her eyebrows. "Monsieur l'Abbé is, no -doubt, very disinterested," she observed; and then she -relapsed into silence, idly stirring her little cup of black coffee. -Suddenly she rose from her chair, and, crossing to the -opposite side of the table, stood beside her step-mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long do you—you and Monsieur l'Abbé—propose -to keep me imprisoned here at Montefiano?" she asked, -abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess set down her coffee-cup hastily—so hastily, -indeed, that she spilled some of its contents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bianca!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean? -Imprisonment? That is an altogether absurd expression to -use. You are here because—well, because I think it for -your good that you should be here; and you must remember -that, until you are of age, I am your guardian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Until I am of age, or marry," interrupted Bianca.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You cannot marry without my consent before you are -of age," the princess returned, quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca laughed—a hard little laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Without your consent, and that of Monsieur l'Abbé -Roux," she replied. "Oh, but I understand that very -well. It is the reason why I am here. No? A proposal -of marriage was made to you for me, and you—you and -Monsieur l'Abbé—refused your consent. Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano gazed at her step-daughter with an -amazement nearly amounting to stupefaction. She had -thought Bianca apathetic, perhaps even sullen, and had -believed that she would probably never speak of her own -accord about her love for Silvio Rossano. She had certainly -not calculated upon her suddenly assuming an aggressive -attitude, and that it was an aggressive attitude a glance at -the girl's face, and the quiet, determined tone of her voice, -showed clearly enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment or two the princess remained silent, -astonishment and indignation striving for mastery in her -mind. It was not long before indignation triumphed. The -absolute disregard which Bianca had shown for all the -convenances had been bad enough; the manner in which she -had allowed herself to become entangled in a love-affair, to -have words of love spoken to her—and more than words, if -Philippe was to be believed—by the son of an infidel -professor, as though she had been some girl of the </span><em class="italics">borghesia</em><span>, -was a horrible and an unheard-of thing. Nevertheless, -nothing, at least in Princess Montefiano's eyes, was so -culpable as want of submission to authority. All that -intolerance of disobedience and defiance, which would have made -the princess so admirable a mother-superior, arose within -her at Bianca's words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I refused it—yes," she said, curtly. "We need not -discuss the matter, Bianca. I do not intend to reprove you -for your want of confidence in me, nor for your conduct. -Your conscience should tell you how wrong, how—I must -use the term—immodest that conduct has been. Yes; the -proposal which the Professor Rossano had the insolence to -make on behalf of his son was refused by me, and that is -enough. In the mean time, you wish to know how long we -remain here at Montefiano. The question is easily -answered. You will remain here as long as I consider it fit -that you should do so. You must learn to submit your will -to those whom God has placed in authority over you. I -shall certainly not shrink from doing what I know to be my -duty towards you, although you have shown me very plainly -that it is likely to be a thankless task. You have never -given me your confidence, Bianca, never—not even when -you were a child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The defiant look on Bianca's face melted suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was not my fault," she said, slowly; "at least, I do -not think it was my fault. I wanted to give it to you so -often; but you did not love me, even when I was a child. -You did your duty by me, but duty is not love; I understood -that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess knitted her brows, as though she were -considering the point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is nonsense," she said, presently. "The duty of -a parent to a child, and of a child to a parent, is the same -as love; and though I am not your mother, I have always -tried to behave towards you as though you were my own -child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca did not answer, but a little smile stole over her -face and played about her lips. The hardness was all gone -now, and there was only tenderness in her expression. -Perhaps she was thinking that within the last few weeks she -had learned the difference between love and duty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Bianca," continued Princess Montefiano, "if you -had wanted to give me your confidence—if you had ever -felt enough affection for me to make you wish to give it -me—there could be no reason why you should persistently -have withheld it. Nevertheless," she added, "your -ingratitude towards me will not deter me from doing my duty. -You must be protected against your own inexperience of the -world, and against those who would take advantage of that -inexperience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca looked at her almost wistfully. "You think me -ungrateful," she said. "I am not that. But to confide -in you meant confiding in Monsieur l'Abbé. He has -always come between you and me—oh, ever since I was -a child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano made a gesture of impatience. "If -I have found Monsieur l'Abbé worthy of my confidence and -my esteem, it should be a proof that he is also worthy of -yours," she said. "You have a rebellious nature, Bianca, -and God will punish you for it, both in this world and in the -next."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A quick gleam of amusement flashed from Bianca's eyes. -"How do you know?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess stared at her. Assuredly, she thought, -Bianca became every day more difficult to deal with.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to Monsieur l'Abbé," she said, preferring to leave her -step-daughter's question unanswered, "your dislike to him -is unreasonable—it is unreasonable and wrong. Setting -aside his devotion to your worldly interests, which, when -you are of an age to understand, you will appreciate better -than you are able to do now, you owe him respect as a -priest, the respect due to his sacred calling. I am deeply -grieved at your attitude towards him; but there again your -rebellious nature is at fault. As to saying that he comes -between you and me, that is absurd. What does come -between us is your own self-will—your own arrogance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca looked at her step-mother steadily for a moment, -and the hard expression on her face returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">E sia!</em><span>" she replied. "Do not let us discuss Monsieur -l'Abbé Roux; it is a waste of time. As you say, when -I am of an age to understand his devotion to my worldly -interests I shall be able to appreciate them. I am sorry that -Fontana is dismissed," she continued. "To be sure, I have -only seen him a few times, but he appears an honest man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess glanced at her, and her countenance -displayed more displeasure than ever. "These business -matters need not concern you for nearly three years to come," -she said, coldly. "Your interests are in my hands, Bianca, -as you very well know. Luckily for you, you have no voice -in the management of your affairs. If you had, I fear you -would very soon fall a prey to some adventurer like -this—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped abruptly, a look on Bianca's face warning -her that it would be more prudent not to complete her -sentence. Nevertheless, Princess Montefiano was -angry—seriously angry—and, though perhaps she scarcely realized -it, alarmed. Her authority was very dear to her, and she -clung to it more than she knew. She had always known -there must come a time when that authority must cease; -but she had certainly no intention of yielding it up before -she was legally obliged to do so. Moreover, she felt -perfectly assured that she divined the motives which lay -behind Bianca's remark. Had she any doubts upon the -point, they were speedily removed by her step-daughter's -next words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whereas the princess was both angry and alarmed, -Bianca Acorari showed no symptoms of being either the one -or the other. She raised her head proudly, and a look -came into her eyes that Princess Montefiano had seen on -other occasions—a quiet, resolute look, which had generally -preluded her own discomfiture when she had attempted to -exercise her authority over her step-daughter beyond its -justifiable limits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what I wanted to say to you," Bianca observed, -calmly. "It is much better that you should understand. -In three years' time I shall have the management of my own -affairs. Well, three years is not a very long time. We, -Silvio and I, can afford to wait; and at the end of three -years, when I am of age, I shall marry him. But I will not -marry Monsieur d'Antin—my uncle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bianca!" exclaimed the princess, "you are either mad, -or you are a wicked girl! For the sake of a disgraceful -passion for a man in an inferior position of life to your own -you rebel against those whom God has placed in authority -over you. Yes, it is quite true, my brother loves you. I -have suspected it for some time. And why should he not? -At least, in marrying him you would be marrying a man -of your own order, and not— But what is the use of -discussing the matter? You shall never marry this young -Rossano with my consent—never, never, I tell you! and -without my consent you cannot marry anybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca smiled. "Never is a long time," she observed, -tranquilly; "whereas, three years— You quite -understand," she added, after a pause, "I will marry Silvio -Rossano, or I will marry nobody. You have chosen to -refuse his offer, and you have a perfect right to do so. I, -too, shall have my rights some day. But in the mean -time you will tell my uncle that I do not wish for his society -any more. I do not want his love. It—it disgusts me. -Besides, he has deceived me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess stared at her in dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Deceived you?" she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He pretended to be my friend," answered Bianca, -bitterly, "and, like an imbecile, I confided in him. Who -else was there for me to confide in? He pretended to know -Silvio, and that he would be able by degrees to remove -your objections to our marriage. Well, it was all a lie. At -first I did not understand; but now—" and Bianca gave a -shudder which told, better than any words could have done, -all that was passing in her mind of physical repulsion and -disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano looked, as indeed she felt, sorely -perplexed. A certain sense of justice made her sympathize -with the girl. Although love was to her an unknown and -unexplored element in life, she could not but recollect -that when first she had suspected her brother's interest -in Bianca not to be of a purely Platonic nature, the idea -had shocked her as being almost an unnatural one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the same time, the Abbé Roux had never ceased to -remind her of the gravity of the position in which Bianca -had placed herself, of the hopeless manner in which her -step-daughter would be compromised in the eyes of the -world should it ever be known that she had formed an -attachment for a man in whose company she had been -alone and unprotected. By degrees Princess Montefiano -had come to regard her brother's passion for Bianca as -a possible safeguard, not only against the presumption -of the Rossano family, but also against a scandal, for -which she herself would certainly be blamed by the world, -as being the result of a lack of proper supervision on her -part towards her step-daughter. Not once, but many times, -had the Abbé Roux descanted upon the generosity of Baron -d'Antin in being ready to shield Bianca from any troubles -which her folly might bring upon her in the future. -Princess Montefiano had not stopped to reason that her -brother's generosity might be exaggerated by the priest, and that -he would receive a good return for it. There were certain -things beyond her comprehension, mentally as well as -physically, and passion was one of those things. People -fell in love, of course; but, in Princess Montefiano's eyes, -falling in love was a mere accident, necessary to the -carrying-on of human society. She quite believed that she had -loved the late Principe di Montefiano, and that he had loved -her; and, in itself, this belief was harmless enough. The -pity of it was that she was unable to realize any variations -in the human temperament, or to understand that what -had satisfied her, when at the mature age of five-and-thirty -or so she had married a man considerably older than his -years, would not be likely to satisfy Bianca. As to her -brother's love for the girl, after the first impression caused -by its discovery had passed, Princess Montefiano had been -only too ready to accept the view of it that the Abbé Roux -had more than once delicately hinted to her—namely, -that it was a love similar to that of Bianca's father for -herself—a placid, protective love, altogether disinterested, -and admirable both from a worldly and a spiritual stand-point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is possible that the late Principe di Montefiano's point -of view would have been different. But, fortunately, -perhaps, for herself, Mademoiselle Jeanne d'Antin had not -made the acquaintance of her husband until he had already, -like King David and King Solomon, experienced misgivings -of a religious character, and hence the Abbé Roux's -</span><em class="italics">apologia</em><span> for her brother's state of mind seemed to her to be -perfectly reasonable and satisfactory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Bianca's abrupt pause and little shiver of disgust -passed unobserved by the princess. It was evident to her -that the girl did not realize the generosity of Philippe's -affection. Bianca was, no doubt, contrasting him with that -insolent young Rossano, and the thought added to her -irritation and displeasure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think you understand, Bianca," she began, -after hesitating for a moment or two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I assure you that I understand well—perfectly well," -returned Bianca, dryly. "I am not a child any longer: -for the matter of that, I do not recollect ever having been -a child, and it is useless to treat me as though I were one. -You may keep me here at Montefiano three years, if you -wish. It will be the same thing in the end. But I will -not be made love to by my uncle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess rose from the table and began to walk -rapidly up and down the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bianca," she cried, "your language is disgraceful, -indelicate! Besides," she added, weakly, "he is not your -uncle. It is absurd, and, as usual, you are ungrateful. He -wished to save you from the consequences of your conduct. -Oh, you need not think that he has said anything to me of -his motives. He is too much of a gentleman to do so. But -he has confided them to Monsieur l'Abbé, and Monsieur -l'Abbé has been profoundly touched. A disinterested affection -is not such an easy thing to find, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>," she added, -more gently. "Take care that, in despising it, you do not -throw away a great blessing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca did not reply. She seemed to be thinking over -her step-mother's last words. A note of kindness found an -instant response in her. Princess Montefiano noticed her -hesitation, and decided that the moment was opportune for -pressing her point. It might quite well be, she thought, -that Bianca was really unconscious of the equivocal -position in which she might find herself placed before the -world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, Bianca," she continued, gravely, "a young girl -cannot act as you have done without laying herself open to -very disagreeable things being said of her. Do you -suppose that any man would wish to marry you were it to be -known that—well, that any such episode as has occurred -had happened to you? Most decidedly he would not. -Nevertheless, my brother is ready to overlook what -another would not overlook, on account of the affection he -entertains for you. He knows that you were not to blame -so much as that thoughtless young man who ventured -to—to persuade you to give him an interview."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was not to blame," interrupted Bianca, quickly. -"He would have gone away if I had told him to do so, but -I did not tell him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does not matter," continued the princess, hurriedly, -anxious to avoid a discussion on the subject at that -particular moment. "You may be sure that it was only an -impudent attempt to compromise you. But the world would -never take that into consideration. With my brother, -however, it is different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Unluckily, Princess Montefiano had struck a wrong chord.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was nothing of the sort," Bianca exclaimed, indignantly. -"It is perfectly true that we met, there in the ilex -grove at the Villa Acorari, and I suppose our meeting was -seen, and that you were told of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," interrupted the princess. "My brother -saw you. Did you not know it was he who heard voices -in the casino, and then saw you and—and that young man -emerge from it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca started violently. "Liar!" she exclaimed, under -her breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me that it is a further proof of my brother's -generosity," continued Princess Montefiano. "Knowing -all the circumstances, he has from the first endeavored to -shield you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca laughed a quiet but not very pleasant laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span>" she said. "It is a further proof of Monsieur -d'Antin's generosity. It appears that everybody at -Montefiano is disinterested—my uncle, Monsieur l'Abbé, -everybody! But you will explain to them that I need no -sacrifices. Ah, it is of no use to interrupt me now! I have -learned all I wanted to know, and you—you will learn -something from me—something final, definite. It is this: I -will marry Silvio Rossano when I am Principessa di Montefiano -and my own mistress, and until that time I will wait, -unless—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano turned towards her, her face quivering -with anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless—what?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless he wishes me to marry him before," answered -Bianca, quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will not dare—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca laughed again, and threw her head up like a -young horse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dare!" she said, scornfully. "When I have given my -word, I do not break it—and do you suppose that I shall -break my word when I have given my love? Ah, no, </span><em class="italics">per -esempio</em><span>! I am not so vile as that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but the girl is mad, possessed!" ejaculated Princess -Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca looked at her almost indifferently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not!" she said, quietly—and then her eyes -flashed with sudden contempt, as she added: "And as for -Monsieur d'Antin, you will tell him from me that I have no -need of the generosity of a coward and a liar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And turning on her heel, Bianca walked slowly from the -room without another word, leaving Princess Montefiano in -a condition of speechless astonishment and dismay.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxii"><span class="bold large">XXII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After leaving her step-mother, Bianca went to her -own room, where she shut herself up in order to be able -to think quietly. Although she felt that she had been by -no means the vanquished party in the unexpected skirmish -which had just taken place, she was far more ill at ease in -her own mind than she had allowed herself to show to the -princess. Whatever might be Bianca Acorari's faults, lack -of courage, moral or physical, was certainly not among -them; and during the time she had been at Montefiano, her -courage and her pride combined had forbidden her to show -any external sign of the doubt and uncertainty ever increasing -in her heart as the days lengthened into weeks, and yet -no word from Silvio Rossano had reached her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That Silvio's father had written to her step-mother -making a formal proposal of marriage on his son's behalf, and -that this proposal had been indignantly rejected by the -princess, Bianca was already well aware. Monsieur d'Antin -had informed her of the fact a very few days after his -arrival at Montefiano. It had been this information, -indeed, and the kindly and sympathetic manner of its -conveyance, that had caused Bianca to regard Monsieur -d'Antin as the one person about her to whom she might -venture to confide her hopes and difficulties. It had not -been long, however, before vague and fleeting suspicions, -which she had at first dismissed from her mind as not only -absurd, but almost wrong to entertain, as to Monsieur -d'Antin's motives for seeking her society, developed into -certainties, before which she had recoiled with fear and -disgust. Her instinct had very soon told her that there was -more in her uncle's—for she had begun to regard him in -that relationship—manner towards her than was justified -by his professed compassion and sympathy. Sometimes, -when alone with her, he had made certain observations -which, although apparently in connection with her and -Silvio's love for each other, had offended her sense, if not -of modesty, at least of propriety and good taste. She -could hardly explain to herself why they should have done -so, but she was conscious that they did do so. Sometimes, -too, she had surprised an expression on Monsieur -d'Antin's countenance as he looked at her which had made -her shrink from him, as she might have shrunk from some -evil thing that meant to harm her. Her suspicions once -aroused, Bianca had been quick to perceive that the more -she was alone with Monsieur d'Antin, the more apt he -became to assume a manner towards her which caused her -no little embarrassment as well as distaste. The result had -been an ever-growing feeling of distrust, which soon made -her regret bitterly that she had ever allowed herself to talk -to her uncle about Silvio, and latterly she had sought every -pretext to avoid being alone with him. Sometimes, too, -she reproached herself deeply for having disregarded her -promise to Silvio that she would confide in nobody until he -had an opportunity of again communicating with her. This -promise, however, as she repeatedly told herself, had been -given when they had still a channel of communication in the -person of Mademoiselle Durand, and before she had become, -to all intents and purposes, a prisoner at Montefiano. -But now Mademoiselle Durand had utterly vanished from -the scene—gone, as Monsieur d'Antin informed her, to -Paris with the wife and children of a secretary of the French -embassy in Rome, and Bianca had quickly realized that no -communication, direct or indirect, from her lover would be -allowed to reach her as long as she was within the walls of -Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin, moreover, had certainly played the -opening moves of his game very well, and a more -experienced person than Bianca might have been deceived -by them. He had extracted her confidence by impressing -upon Bianca that he, and he alone, could by degrees overcome -the objections that his sister entertained to an alliance -with the Rossano family. He had explained to her how -these objections came in reality much more from the Abbé -Roux than from the princess, and that the latter would -infallibly relent if the abbé's good-will could be secured. -It had been Monsieur d'Antin, too, who had warned Bianca -that her step-mother had decided, always by the Abbé -Roux's advice, absolutely to ignore, at any rate for the -present, the fact of her having met Silvio and allowed him to -propose to her. He had carefully impressed upon her that -any attempt on her part to overcome the princess's -objections, any allusion, indeed, to the subject, would only -result in failure; and that Bianca's best plan, in her own -and her lover's interests, would be to maintain an absolute -silence, except, of course, to himself. No questions, he told -her, would be asked her by her step-mother, and no lectures -on her conduct given to her. Therefore, there would be no -need for her to give her confidence in a quarter where it was -not demanded, and where the giving of it could only -prejudice her cause. And everything had happened as -Monsieur d'Antin had foretold. The princess had not made the -slightest allusion to her step-daughter regarding the meeting -in the grounds of the Villa Acorari, and, save for the sense of -being continually guarded and watched, Bianca could not -truthfully say to herself that her life at Montefiano differed -in any particular degree from the life she had been -accustomed from childhood to lead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At first, when Bianca had finally decided to yield to her -uncle's suggestions and confide in him, she had more than -once asked him to assist her in sending or in receiving some -communication from Silvio. But Monsieur d'Antin had -always declared this to be impossible. He had explained -plausibly enough that if his sister and the Abbé Roux were -once to suspect him of such a course, all the influence he -might be able to use with them in order to overcome their -objections would be hopelessly destroyed. Moreover, his -sister would certainly ask him to leave Montefiano, and -then Bianca would be left without her only friend and -sympathizer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so long as Monsieur d'Antin, counselling patience, -had himself been patient, matters had progressed fairly well -for the furtherance of the object he and the Abbé Roux had -in view. Bianca was, if not easy in her mind, at least -satisfied that there was no other course open to her but -to keep silence and wait for her uncle's influence to do its -work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Monsieur d'Antin had not had patience. The success -attending his first efforts to gain Bianca's confidence -had been his undoing. The constant companionship of -the young girl, whose very youth and inexperience had -kindled afresh his well-worn passions, had brought about -its almost inevitable psychological result. Monsieur d'Antin -began to lose his head, and to be unable, or at any rate -unwilling, to place the restraint upon himself that a younger -man would probably have done. He believed that Bianca -would certainly in the end be compelled by force of -circumstances to see that a marriage with Silvio Rossano was -impossible for the heiress of the Acorari. It was true that -she might come to realize this, and yet make up her mind -to marry some other young man who might present -himself—some flaccid, Roman youth with empty pockets, -but the possessor of a spurious title which would render him, -in the eyes of the little, but strangely snobbish Roman -world, an eligible husband for Donna Bianca Acorari. But -Baron d'Antin felt comfortably convinced that even should -this contingency arise, he still held in his hand the -trump-card which would win him the game. If such a young man -were to present himself—well, a few words spoken in a few -Roman drawing-rooms, a hint or two dropped at the clubs -of what had recently occurred at the Villa Acorari, a -suggestion that the Princess Montefiano was anxious to marry her -step-daughter in order to prevent her making a </span><em class="italics">mésalliance</em><span> -in a quarter in which she had already compromised herself—and -the young man's family would at once break off negotiations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But there had come a day when Monsieur d'Antin, in the -course of a walk with Bianca in the parco at Montefiano, had -allowed his passion momentarily to get the better of him, -and in that moment Bianca had understood all. She had -entertained no suspicions since that instant—only the -certainty that she was the object of Monsieur d'Antin's -desires. Indignation rather than fear, or even aversion, -had been her first sensation—indignation at the cowardice -of this elderly hypocrite who had tricked her into giving -him her confidence. Monsieur d'Antin probably never -knew how near he had been to receiving a blow in the face -from Bianca's clinched fist, as, with a few scathing words of -anger and disgust, she had left him and almost run back -to the terrace, where Princess Montefiano was sitting -reading in the shade under the castle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nor had this episode been all that had occurred during -the last few days to confirm Bianca Acorari's suspicions -and make her doubly uneasy in her mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It so happened that, while wandering through some of -the disused apartments of the castle, in the wing opposite -to that occupied by the princess and herself, she had -overheard a portion of a conversation between domestics, -certainly not intended for her ears. Her attention was -arrested by the mention of her own name in a loud and rather -excited female voice; and approaching nearer to the room -whence the voices proceeded, she saw her own maid, Bettina, -and a girl whom she recognized as the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> Fontana's -daughter, engaged in mending some linen. They were -also, apparently, occupied in a discussion of which she -herself was the object, and the agent's daughter appeared -to be taking her part with some vigor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a shame," Bianca heard the girl exclaim, "that -the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> should be forced to marry an old man like -the baron, when there was a </span><em class="italics">bel giovanotto</em><span> who loved her -and whom she loved. For her part, if she were the -Principessina Bianca she would box the baron's ears—</span><em class="italics">uno, -due</em><span>—so! and marry the lad she loved. What was the use of -being a princess if one could not do as one chose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then had followed some words in a lower tone from -Bettina, the sense of which Bianca could not catch, but -which appeared to have the effect of still further arousing -Concetta Fontana's indignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the poor girl!" Bianca heard her reply. "They shut -her up here in this dreary place, and they will keep her -here until she lets that old he-goat have his own way. And -the priest is at the bottom of it—oh, certainly, the priest -is at the bottom of it! It is useless to tell me. I have -heard him and the Signor Barone talking together—and I -know. If one could ever approach the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> to get -a word with her, I would warn her that it is a trap they are -laying for her—just as though she were a bird, the poor -child!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca Acorari turned away, sick at heart. The -servants, then, and the people about Montefiano, knew for a -fact what she had never even suspected. She had regarded -Monsieur d'Antin's attempt to make love to her as odious -and cowardly, and also, perhaps, as ludicrous—but she had -not until then suspected that others were aware of his -passion for her, and still less that her having been brought to -Montefiano was part of a deliberately laid plan to force her -to yield to that passion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta Fontana's words seemed suddenly to make -everything clear to her, and to reveal Monsieur d'Antin's -treachery in its full light. She understood now, or she -thought that she understood. She had been purposely -allowed to confide in her uncle, purposely thrown in his -company, in the hope that she might in time consent to -relinquish her love for Silvio as a thing out of the question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And her step-mother? Of course her step-mother would -do what the Abbé Roux counselled. She had always done -so ever since Bianca could remember, and she always would -do so. What the priest's motives might be for desiring that -she should marry Baron d'Antin, Bianca did not stop to -consider. Monsieur l'Abbé had always tried to interfere -in her life; and the fact that he knew she wished to marry -Silvio Rossano was quite sufficient to account for his -determination to marry her to somebody else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, they should see that she, Bianca Acorari, was not -to be forced to marry anybody against her will. She was -not a foreigner, not a Belgian, thank Heaven—but an -Italian—a Roman, the head of an ancient Roman house. -And so her pride came to her rescue, as, indeed, it had -often done before. And with it had come the courage to -face her new difficulties. She could give her step-mother -plainly to understand that she knew what steps had been -taken and what plans had been made to compel her to -abandon all idea of marrying the man she intended to -marry. After that, the abbé and Monsieur d'Antin might -do their worst. She had only to be firm and patient for -three years, and then they could have no more power to -interfere with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been a certain comfort to her to discover that -there was one person at Montefiano, however humbly -placed, who was her friend. Bettina, she knew well, had -an eye only to her own interests, and would not hesitate -to betray any confidences Bianca might be tempted to -make to her, were she to consider it to her advantage to do -so. She had several times noticed Concetta Fontana since -her arrival at Montefiano, and had been struck by the -honest and straightforward bearing both of the girl and of her -father. Fontana himself, indeed, had been very marked in -the deference and attention he paid to his young mistress. -As a matter of fact, he regarded both the princess and -Monsieur d'Antin in the light of foreign intruders, while -for the Abbé Roux he felt nothing but the suspicion and -dislike with which priests, as a general rule, Don Agostino -always excepted, inspired him. The Principessina Bianca, -on the contrary, he regarded as his liege lady, the daughter -and representative of the princes of Montefiano whom he -and his forefathers had served for several generations in one -capacity or another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca Acorari could not have explained why the thought -that the agent's daughter took a friendly interest in her -was a consolation, but it certainly was so. She had -scarcely spoken to the girl beyond wishing her "Good-morning" -or "Good-evening" if they met in the passages or the -courtyard of the castle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she sat alone in her room after the stormy scene with -her step-mother, Bianca thought long and calmly over the -situation in which that scene must inevitably have placed -her. On the whole, she felt rather relieved than -otherwise that it had taken place. The keeping up for so many -weeks of a pretence that there was nothing unusual in -the position between the princess and herself had become -more than irksome; and Bianca would certainly not have -submitted to Silvio's proposal being passed over in silence -by her step-mother, had it not been for Monsieur d'Antin's -assurances that nothing but harm would result were she -to insist on discussing it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her amazement and indignation had been great, however, -at hearing from her that it had been no other than Monsieur -d'Antin himself who had been a witness to her interview -with Silvio in the ilex grove of the Villa Acorari. She had -always concluded that one of the servants of the place had -been her step-mother's informant, and Monsieur d'Antin had -never said anything to lead her to suppose the contrary. It -was, of course, but another instance of his treachery and -double-dealing towards her; but all the same, Bianca was -glad to know the truth. She could understand the course -of events more clearly now, and the last discovery, -immediately following the remarks she had overheard from -Concetta Fontana, pointed without doubt to the existence -of some intrigue between her uncle and the Abbé Roux of -which she was to be the victim. It was certainly as well -that she had that day spoken plainly to her step-mother. -In a day or two Monsieur d'Antin would return from Rome, -and then she supposed there would be war to the knife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, they should see that she would not give way—not -one centimetre. Better to have open war to the knife than -to continue to be surrounded by an atmosphere of intrigue -and deception.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, but if she could only have one line from Silvio, one -word to assure her that he was faithful to her as she was to -him! She could afford to wait patiently then—to wait, if -need be, till three years were over and she was accountable -to nobody for her actions. She could not doubt Silvio—not -for one moment; but it was strange that he had not as yet -discovered some means of communicating with her. Sometimes -a deadly fear struck her that he had believed her -step-mother's rejection of his offer to have been written with her -knowledge and consent. It was more than likely that an -attempt would have been made to induce him to believe -this. But she put the thought away from her persistently. -Silvio and she had known from the first that his offer would -be declined—it had only been made, indeed, as a formality, -and as being in accordance with the usages of society.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, she longed for some message, some word to -comfort her and give her courage to face the weary months -in front of her. Surely he would find some means of -sending her this word! It seemed so long ago since his arms -were round her and his lips lay upon hers—so long ago and -yet she felt their pressure still. What had he said to her -"I will marry no woman if I do not marry you." Ah, but -she was sure of that—very sure. And so it was ridiculous -to be afraid—cowardly to be afraid and not to trust in his -word, that as soon as he could possibly do so with the -certainty that his message would reach her, he would -communicate with her as to what their next step should be.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxiii"><span class="bold large">XXIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Don Agostino was sitting in his study the evening -after his return to Montefiano from Rome. His -housekeeper, Ernana, had waited upon him during his supper, -and in the interval of carrying in the dishes from the kitchen -had entertained him with all that had occurred in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> -during his absence. Not very much had occurred; but then -occurrences of any import at Montefiano were apt to be few -and far between. The wife of the baker who supplied the -house with bread had had a baby; and Ernana, counting up -upon her fingers the number of months that had elapsed -since the baker's marriage, could only get as far as the little -finger of one hand, and shook her head accordingly. There -had been a dispute in the </span><em class="italics">osteria</em><span> kept by Stefano Mazza, and -Stefano's son, while attempting to put an end to it, had -been stabbed. But it was </span><em class="italics">una cosa di niente</em><span>; and it served -Stefano's son right, and would teach him that no good ever -came of trying to interfere in other folks' quarrels. -Nothing else had happened—at any rate, nothing that had -reached Ernana's ears. But it certainly was very -unfortunate about the baby, and a great pity that the baker -had delayed his marriage so long; though, after all, he might -have delayed it altogether, which would have been worse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino listened in silence as he ate his </span><em class="italics">frittura</em><span> and -salad. He rather agreed with Ernana as to the futility in -this world of trying to play the part of a peacemaker, -however advantageous having done so might prove to be in the -world to come. As to the baby, he had heard about it -before, at a very early stage of its creation; and he had -nothing further to say regarding it than he had already had -occasion to whisper from behind the grille of his -confessional.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His supper over, and Ernana having retired into the -kitchen to wash up, Don Agostino had betaken himself to -his favorite arm-chair in his study, after carefully roasting -the end of a Virginia cigar in the flame of a candle on his -writing-table, and ascertaining that it drew satisfactorily. -On that same writing-table lay the little packet containing -the ring and letter which Silvio had intrusted to him, and -which he had undertaken should, by one means or another, -be conveyed safely into Bianca Acorari's own hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino glanced at the packet more than once as he -sat and smoked his cigar. A work by Professor Rossano -was lying on his lap. He had taken the volume from his -bookshelves in order to refresh his memory as to certain -arguments propounded in it which had especially roused the -indignation of the Sacred Congregation of the Index, some -months after the work had appeared. As a matter of fact, -however, he was thinking far more of how he should fulfil -his promise to Professor Rossano's son, than of the learned -senator's unorthodox propositions in print.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The more he thought over the strange combination of -circumstances which had led him to interest himself in Silvio's -case, the more he became convinced that he had been -called upon to save the only child of the woman he had -loved from unhappiness, and perhaps from worse. It was -scarcely conceivable, he argued to himself, that the -similarity between his own youthful love affair and that of -Silvio should be a mere coincidence. Indeed, he had long -ago rejected the idea as impossible, and to one of his nature, -partly philosophical but also largely mystical, there was -nothing incongruous or improbable in the thought that his -departed love remembered his devotion to her, and was -calling upon him from her place in the world beyond the -veil to shield her child from evil, and bidding him labor to -procure her the happiness which had been denied to her -mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Don Agostino did not doubt that a woman who -loved Silvio Rossano, and could call him her husband, would -be happy. He had never doubted it from the first day that -he had talked with Silvio, when the boy had been, as it -were, but a chance acquaintance. Much knowledge of -human nature had made Don Agostino singularly quick at -reading both countenances and character, and experience -had taught him that his first impressions, especially of a -man, were very seldom wrong impressions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had not been satisfied, however, until he had learned -from Silvio's father all that the professor had to tell him -concerning his son. As Don Agostino had said to Silvio, -that "all" was only what he had felt convinced that he -should hear. It had told him that the lad was a good son -and a good brother, that he had proved himself to be worthy -of trust, as well as clever and hard-working, and Don -Agostino knew enough of matrimony to realize that such -men, when they loved, and if they were loved, made good -husbands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not doubt Silvio's love for Bianca Acorari; -nor had he any reason to think that Silvio was deceiving -himself as to its depth and sincerity. The professor, to -be sure, had declared that it was a case of love at first -sight—only he had defined it more cynically, if -somewhat less gracefully—and had argued that similar -affections were not apt to be of very long duration. This -argument, however, had not appealed to Don Agostino as -being by any means conclusive. When he had first met -Bianca Negroni, Bianca Acorari's mother, he had fallen in -love with her there and then, and that love had dominated -his whole life. It had not, it was true, been realized, but -had it been realized he knew that it would have endured -the test of supreme satisfaction—that test which, in love, -is the severest of any. He would not have been what -he was—the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano! Nor was there -anything unnatural or improbable in Bianca Acorari having -fallen in love at first sight with Silvio. Such things might -not occur with the colder natures of the north, perhaps, or -they might occur but rarely. But in the south, among the -Latin races, Don Agostino knew very well that such a thing -was very far from being uncommon. All the same, -however desirable it may be that Bianca Acorari and Silvio -should find happiness in living their lives together, Don -Agostino did not see how the affair could be managed. -None knew better than he how hard a thing to break down, -especially among the Roman "nobility," was the prejudice -of caste. Money, indeed, provided there was enough of it, -could always break it down; but otherwise the line between -the so-called aristocracy and the </span><em class="italics">bourgeoisie</em><span> was -irremediably fixed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino was revolving all these thoughts in his -mind, when he was suddenly disturbed by the sound of the -bell at the entrance-door. Somebody, no doubt, was ill, -and had sent to summon him, for it was nearly nine o'clock, -and no one would be likely to wish to see him on any other -business at so late an hour. A moment or two passed, -and then Ernana hurried into the room. It was Sor -Beppe, she explained, Signor Fontana, who wished to -speak with Don Agostino—if the hour was not too inconvenient.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fontana!" exclaimed Don Agostino. "Of course, -Ernana; bring Signor Fontana in here. And bring some -wine, too, and glasses," and he rose from his chair to greet -his visitor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe entered the room hastily, and Don Agostino -could see at a glance that he had not come at that hour, -uninvited, merely to discuss the affairs of Montefiano. It was -evident that Fontana was considerably upset in his mind, or -else extremely angry. Don Agostino was not sure whether -it was the one or the other, or perhaps both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He quickly came to the conclusion, however, that it was -both. Sor Beppe, indeed, was trembling with ill-suppressed -excitement. He scarcely waited to return Don Agostino's -greeting; but, after a hasty apology for disturbing him at -such an hour, seemed at a loss for words to explain the -object of his visit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have heard?" he burst out at length.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino motioned to him to sit down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have heard nothing," he replied, quietly. "I only -returned from Rome this morning—or, rather, early this -afternoon. Is there anything wrong, Signor Fontana? -You look disturbed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything wrong!" exclaimed Fontana. "There is this -that is wrong. I am dismissed!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino started. "Dismissed?" he repeated. "Dismissed -from what? I do not understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Perbacco</em><span>, it is very simple!" returned Sor Beppe, -sullenly. "I am dismissed from my office. I am no longer -</span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> to the Eccellentissima Casa Acorari at Montefiano. I -have said it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him. "When, and why?" he -asked, abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When? Two days ago. The day your reverence went -to Rome. Why? Because I am an honest man, and because -I and my people have been faithful servants to Casa -Acorari for a hundred years and more. Is it not reason -enough?" and Sor Beppe laughed bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino poured out a glass of wine and pushed -it towards him. "Tell me how it has come about," he -said. "If I am not mistaken," he added, looking at the -agent keenly, "Casa Acorari has too much need of honest -men just now to be able to spare one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed Fontana, quickly, "you know that, too? -You have heard it in Rome, perhaps?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know nothing," replied Don Agostino. "I only guess. -And I have heard nothing in Rome concerning the affairs -of Casa Acorari—nothing, that is, connected with the -estates. May I ask," he added, "apart from the reason -you have just given, on what grounds you have been -dismissed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe drank off his glass of wine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>," he replied. "Some days ago -I received instructions from the estate office in Rome that -the rents of certain small holdings here at Montefiano were -to be raised five per cent. I represented to the administration -that the rents were already high enough, and that to -increase them would certainly create much ill-feeling. The -people can barely live like Christians and pay the rents they -are paying, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>; and who should know it better than -I, who have lived on the land for fifty years?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino nodded. "I know it, too," he observed. -"Go on, Signor Fontana."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought my protest had been accepted," continued -Fontana, "as I heard no more from Rome. But four or -five days ago that foreign priest, the Abbé Roux, as they -call him, came into my office and asked what I meant by -refusing to obey the instructions I had received from the -administration. I replied that I had sent my reasons to -the administration; and, moreover, that however many -instructions to raise the rents in question might be sent to me -from Rome, I should not obey them until I had explained -the truth of the matter to the princess in person, and had -received her orders as the Principessina Bianca's -representative. Was I right, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, or wrong?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino shrugged his shoulders. "You were right, -decidedly, I should say," he replied; "but whether you were -wise in your own interests is another matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My interests have always been those of Casa Acorari," -returned Sor Beppe, simply, "and it certainly is not to the -interest of Casa Acorari to arouse ill-feeling among the -tenants at Montefiano for the sake of a few hundred francs -a year. That is what I intended to have explained to her -excellency the princess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why did you not explain it to her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I was dismissed by that </span><em class="italics">mascalzone</em><span> of a priest!" -exclaimed Fontana, angrily. "I beg your pardon, Don -Agostino, I should have remembered that there are priests -and priests."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "Yes," he observed, "for -precisely the same reason that there are men—and men! So -the Abbé Roux dismissed you in the princess's name, I -conclude?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In her excellency's name—yes. Everything is done -by the Abbé Roux in her name. For some time past I have -been </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> at Montefiano only nominally. It is no longer -any secret that the Abbé Roux is the chief administrator -of the estate. Two years ago, as your reverence probably -knows, the lease of the rents at Montefiano expired, and the -holder of it offered to renew on the same terms. His offer -was declined because the Abbé Roux had a friend, a -</span><em class="italics">mercante di campagna</em><span>, who offered to pay a rather larger -annual sum. Since this man has farmed the rents they -have been gradually increased, and now the people -cannot pay and make enough out of their </span><em class="italics">tenute</em><span> to live -decently."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino leaned forward in his chair. "I did not -know," he said. "I thought the same individual held the -contract. To be sure, I did know that the rents have, in -many cases, been raised of late. The peasants have -grumbled, and I have heard you blamed for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was not generally known that there had been any -change," said Fontana. "I had my instructions not to -talk about the matter, and I obeyed them. It was no -affair of mine who farmed the rents; that is the business of -the administration at Palazzo Acorari in Rome. My duty -was to see that they were paid, and that the tenants -cultivated the land properly. It is quite true—I have been -called a hard man, especially lately. But there were very -few complaints of any kind, and I think still fewer -reasonable ones, before this change took place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who is this friend of the Abbé Roux, who has -taken over the lease of the rents?" asked Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe hesitated; then, looking round the room as -though afraid of being overheard, he leaned forward and -whispered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know; I only suspect. But my belief is that -the Abbé Roux's friend is—himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Accidente!</em><span>" ejaculated Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span>" continued Sor Beppe. "I suspect it, but I -have no means of proving it. One thing is certain, and -that is, that the individual who received the rents has -never presented himself in the flesh at Montefiano; -whereas the Abbé Roux has presented himself very frequently. -There is not a metre of land that he has not been over—not -a farm or a cottage that he has not visited, inside and -out—and always in the name of their excellencies, </span><em class="italics">si capisce</em><span>—so -what could anybody say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino remained silent for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you have appealed to the princess," he asked, -presently, "and perhaps to Donna Bianca? It is true that -she has no voice in the management of her affairs as yet, -but she is the </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>, when all is said and done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I have appealed to the princess," replied -Fontana. "I saw her personally, but the priest was -always with her, listening to every word I said. She was -very affable, very sympathetic; but, as she explained, the -business matters of the administration lay in other hands -than her own. She was merely acting in the interests of -the Principessina Bianca, and could only take the advice -of those who understood business matters better than she -did herself. She regretted the present affair, oh, very -much; but it was evident that I was not in accord with the -administration of Casa Acorari, and therefore she could not -do otherwise than confirm my dismissal from the post of -</span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> at Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>, Donna Bianca?" said Don -Agostino, quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe made an expressive gesture with both hands. -"The </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>," he repeated; "</span><em class="italics">ma che vuole</em><span>? The -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">poveretta</em><span>, is like a fly in a spider's web. I -have seen her half a dozen times, but never to speak to, -except a few words of respect. The </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>? Ah, -no! As your reverence says, she has no voice in the -management of her own affairs, none at all. And she never -will have any, for before she is of age they will marry her -to her uncle! Of course he is not her uncle really, but it is -much the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino drew his chair closer to the other, and at -the same time poured out another glass of wine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," he said, "so you believe that gossip? I had -heard it, but it seemed incredible that it should be anything -else but gossip."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I believe it!" exclaimed Fontana. "Of course I -believe it! My daughter Concetta works at the castle, -and they all—all the household—talk of it. It seems that -there is somebody else whom the poor child wants to marry—the -son of some professor in Rome; but she will never be -allowed to marry him. She will marry the </span><em class="italics">principessa's</em><span> -brother; you will see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That she will not!" exclaimed Don Agostino, emphatically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe drank half of his glass of wine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They have brought her here to Montefiano," he said, -"and they will keep her here till she gives way. For the -rest, the baron, as they call him, is madly in love with the -girl—at least, he is—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," Don Agostino, interrupted. "It is -monstrous," he added—"a crime!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Altrocchè</em><span>! Who knows what may be the motives?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino glanced at Sor Beppe quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The motives?" he repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sicuro</em><span>! Concetta has heard things—oh, but very -strange things. </span><em class="italics">Sa, reverendo</em><span>, the castle is a curious -building, and especially that part of it in which the family -resides. There is not one of them who knows it; but we -know it—I and Concetta. </span><em class="italics">Diamine</em><span>! We have lived in it -for more than twenty years, so how should we not know -it? </span><em class="italics">Ebbene</em><span>! Concetta has overheard things—conversations -between the baron and that cursed priest, carried on -when they thought themselves secure. At first she could -not understand very clearly, for they talked in French; -and Concetta understands a little French, but not much. -She learned all she knows when she went to a family in -Rome. Occasionally, however, the Abbé Roux and the -princess spoke in Italian, and by degrees she has been able -to learn a great deal of what is going on. The baron and -the Abbé Roux are working together, I tell you; the one -for lust, the other for money—or both for money. </span><em class="italics">Che -ne so io</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Adagio</em><span>, Signor Fontana!" he said, quietly. "These -are very serious allegations to make. Are you sure that in -your very natural indignation at being dismissed for no -offence but that of doing what your conscience told you was -just, you are not exaggerating? Your daughter may have -been mistaken, and the things she overheard may not have -applied to Donna Bianca at all. As to the Baron d'Antin, -it is possible that he may have conceived a passion for -Donna Bianca, who is, I believe, a very beautiful girl. -After all, the fact, although perhaps somewhat repugnant, -would not be unprecedented."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe shook his head. "Concetta made no mistake," -he replied, doggedly. "What she heard, she heard -not once only, but many times. Donna Bianca is to -marry the baron; and the princess believes by consenting -to the marriage she will prevent the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> from -marrying the other—the son of the Roman professor. But -in the mean time, Concetta tells me that the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> -has found out the intrigue, and has realized that her uncle -wants to make love to her. How Concetta has learned that, -I do not know. Perhaps from the Principessina Bianca's -maid—or perhaps she has heard Donna Bianca talking to -herself in her own room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino turned his head with a movement of impatience. -"One would imagine," he said, "that the walls -of the castle had ears."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe glanced at him with a curious expression in -his eyes. "The castle was not built yesterday," he -observed, enigmatically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked round. "What do you mean to -imply?" he asked, quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other laughed. "Only this," he replied; "that there -are those who know their way about the castle of Montefiano -better than its owners—better than its present owners, -at all events. The late prince knew—oh, very well, if -all the stories are true! But nobody in the castle now has -an idea—except myself and my children—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An idea of what?" asked Don Agostino. "</span><em class="italics">Andiamo</em><span>, -Signor Fontana, do not let us play at mysteries! It seems -that your castle is a dangerous place for confidential -conversations."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And a convenient place for clandestine meetings," -added Fontana. "It used to be said that the late prince -found it so—blessed soul!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The suspicion of a smile played round Don Agostino's -lips. Then he seemed as though a sudden thought struck -him, and he looked at his visitor inquiringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" he exclaimed, almost sharply. -"You need not be afraid that anything you say to me will -be repeated in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe got up from his chair. "Of course you do -not understand," he said. "How should you? Well, I -will tell you how it is that it is not always safe to talk -secrets in the castle. One should know where one is—oh, -decidedly! I will tell you something, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, and then, -perhaps, you will understand better. If I chose, this very -night I could enter the sleeping apartment of the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> -without a soul being any the wiser—yes, even if all -the doors of the rooms on the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span> were locked. -No one would see me enter that wing of the castle or leave -it. Concetta could do the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you joking, my friend?" he exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Niente affatto</em><span>! It is as I say. There is a secret passage -in the inside wall, dividing the whole length of the </span><em class="italics">piano -nobile</em><span> which their excellencies occupy from the outer -gallery. It is in the thickness of the wall itself, so nobody -suspects its existence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Perbacco</em><span>!" ejaculated Don Agostino. "And the -entrance to the passage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is by a trap-door in the floor of a room in the -basement—a little room close to the outer gateway, which has -long been uninhabited. My own apartment opens out of -it on one side, but the door of communication was blocked -up years ago—before I can remember. </span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span> the -entrance to the passage is there, and a narrow staircase -leads up to the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span> above."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the egress," asked Don Agostino, eagerly; "where -is that, Signor Fontana?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe's white teeth gleamed from behind his dark -beard. "That is the strange part of it," he replied. "The -passage leads directly into the room at the extreme end of -the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span>, the room in which the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> sleeps. -The princess's room is next to it, and there is no other -means of entry visible, except by passing through this. No -doubt the princess chose it for Donna Bianca's sleeping -apartment as being more secure. But, as I say, anybody -acquainted with the passage could enter it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By a trap-door in the floor?" Don Agostino asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe shook his head. "By a much more artistic -contrivance," he replied—"absolutely artistic, you -understand. On pressing a spring in the passage a door slides -back noiselessly into a groove in the wall of the bedroom. -Ah, but those who made it were artists! The door is -covered by a picture, the frame of which is so contrived as -completely to conceal the groove into which it slides. A -person might inhabit the room for a lifetime and not be -aware that there was any means of entering or leaving it, -except through the adjoining apartment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino leaned back in his chair and gazed at -Fontana in silence. What he had just heard did not very -much surprise him. He knew an old Medicean villa in -Tuscany in which a secret entrance existed almost similar -to that described by Sor Beppe, although it was not in so -serviceable a state as its counterpart at Montefiano -appeared to be. Perhaps the late Prince Montefiano had -restored and repaired this one for purposes of his own. -However that might be, the main point was that here, -under his hand, if Sor Beppe was not romancing, was the -very opportunity he had been searching for, to convey -Silvio's packet to Bianca Acorari. Don Agostino felt almost -bewildered at the way in which difficulties, which appeared -at one moment to be insurmountable, were removed. No -doubt, he argued to himself, this fresh situation was -nothing but a coincidence. There was no reason why a -mediæval fortress such as Montefiano, to which a Renaissance -palace has been attached, should not have a dozen secret -passages concealed in its walls. But it was, at any rate, a -very fortunate circumstance, and one which, cautiously -made use of, might considerably assist the ends he had in -view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at Fontana silently for a few moments as -though trying to read the man's thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you have told me is very interesting," he -observed, presently; "but I do not understand how your -daughter comes to overhear what may be said while in -the secret passage. She does not, I conclude, spend all -her time in the vicinity of Donna Bianca's room; and even -if she did, how could she hear through a stone wall?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Altro</em><span>! Your reverence is quite right," returned Sor -Beppe. "But that is easily explained, only I forgot to -explain it. Every word spoken in certain of the apartments -on the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span> can be distinctly heard by any -one standing in the secret passage if, </span><em class="italics">ben inteso</em><span>, that person -is in that part of it immediately outside the room in which -the conversation takes place. It is managed very cleverly. -One has only to know where to stand. For example, the -passage runs the whole length of the dining-room. That -was a wise thought of those who made it, for who knows -what secrets the spies of the old Acorari may not have -learned? Food and wine open men's mouths. And the -room next to the dining-room, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, is occupied by the -Abbé Roux as his study. It is there that he and the baron -sit and smoke at nights when their excellencies have -retired to their rooms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino nodded. "As you say," he observed, "the -castle of Montefiano is not a safe place for confidences."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or for rogues," added Sor Beppe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That depends," returned Don Agostino, dryly. "But -why," he added, "did you not warn the princess of the -existence of this secret entrance? Surely it is scarcely safe -if people are aware of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But nobody knows of it," replied Fontana. "All that -the people know is that once upon a time there was -supposed to be a secret communication between the castle and -the town; and when I was a lad, it used to be said that -the prince had availed himself of it for certain adventures, -for everybody knew that he had an eye for every -good-looking woman except his own wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind the prince," interrupted Don Agostino, -abruptly. "Nobody else knows of the passage, you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They think it no longer exists," continued Sor Beppe. -"I have always said that it was built up years ago. It -was a lie, of course; but it was not necessary to let people -think they could get into the castle unobserved. I forbade -Concetta ever to mention it. As to naming the matter to -the princess, I saw no necessity to do that. I would have -told the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> of it if I had ever had the chance of -speaking with her alone. But Concetta implored me not to -mention it even to the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>. It would make her -nervous, she said, to sleep in a room with a sliding-door in -the wall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," remarked Don Agostino, "you would have mentioned -it to Donna Bianca; then why not to the princess?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe shrugged his shoulders. "She is not the -</span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>—that other one," he said; "and, besides, she is -only a foreigner, and a second wife. I would do anything to -serve the Principessina Bianca—anything!—for she is an -Acorari and Principessa di Montefiano. Who knows," he -continued, angrily, "whether it is not because I am loyal to -the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> that I am dismissed? I have only seen -her a few times, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, but I give you my word that I -would rather have a smile and a </span><em class="italics">buon giorno</em><span>, from Donna -Bianca than—well, I do not know what to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "I am glad to hear it," he said. -"After all, it is very natural that you should feel so. Donna -Bianca is your </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was!" interrupted Sor Beppe, swallowing a curse in -his beard at the same time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! but let us wait, my friend," proceeded Don Agostino. -"Perhaps the princess will discover that she has been -ill-advised, and then you will be reinstated. In the mean -time, you will not be doing either yourself or Donna Bianca -Acorari any harm by continuing to be loyal to her. You -may, perhaps, be able to serve her, to have an opportunity -of showing your loyalty—who knows?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe passed the back of his brown hand across his -eyes. "</span><em class="italics">Magari!</em><span>" he said, warmly; "</span><em class="italics">magari!</em><span> if I could -serve her! </span><em class="italics">Poveretta</em><span>, I fear she needs friends badly enough. -It is all very fine of the Abbé Roux to talk about Donna -Bianca being in </span><em class="italics">villeggiatura</em><span> at Montefiano. </span><em class="italics">Ma che -villeggiatura</em><span>! It is an imprisonment, pure and simple. Do I -not know it—I? The poor child! She is shut up here to -keep her away from her lover in Rome; the maid, Bettina, -has said as much to Concetta. And there are strict orders -that no one is to enter the castle—no stranger, that is. -All the letters are taken to the princess, both the post that -arrives and that which goes out. It would have been more -humane to have put the girl into a convent. At any rate, -she would have had companions, and there would presumably -be no old he-goat to make love to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino listened to Sor Beppe's flow of language -with a certain amount of satisfaction. The man was -evidently sincere in his devotion to Bianca Acorari, and it -was pleasant to him, moreover, to hear that Bianca was one -of those who were able to inspire personal devotion. That -Fontana knew, or at least suspected, more than he divulged -of the state of affairs at the castle, and of the intrigues of -which Bianca formed the central figure, he had not the -slightest doubt. Many whispers had already reached his -ears as to the close watch which was being kept over the -young princess, how she was always accompanied by either -her step-mother or the Baron d'Antin, and how the baron -was evidently deeply in love with her. He had often -wondered how these rumors were spread, for he happened to -know that there was little or no communication between -the small household the princess had brought with her -and the town of Montefiano. There were no young -men-servants, indeed, to go out and gossip in the </span><em class="italics">osteria</em><span>; for -Princess Montefiano had only brought her </span><em class="italics">maggior-domo</em><span> -from Palazzo Acorari, a venerable person of sedate habits, -and one scarcely less venerable man in livery; and neither -of these had ever been known to leave the castle walls -or to exchange a word with the Montefianesi.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No doubt the rumors in question, and more particularly -the rumors concerning Baron d'Antin, had been circulated -by Concetta Fontana, and Don Agostino was not altogether -sorry if this were really the case. It would be no bad thing -were public opinion at Montefiano to be aroused to -sympathy with Bianca Acorari and distrust of the princess's -advisers. It was more than probable that Monsieur l'Abbé -Roux, in bringing about Fontana's dismissal, had -committed an impolitic act. Although the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> might have -lost some of his popularity owing to recent events, he was, -nevertheless, a native of the district, and well known -throughout the Sabina.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does your reverence really think that the princess will -reconsider my dismissal?" asked Sor Beppe, as Don -Agostino did not speak. "You can understand," he continued, -"that it is a hard thing for me. I am not an old man, that -is true; but I am too old to be transplanted. Besides, we -Fontana have served Casa Acorari for four generations or -more, and it is a bitter thing to be turned away by a -foreign woman and an </span><em class="italics">imbroglione</em><span> of a priest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino nodded sympathetically. "It is a hard -thing, certainly," he replied, "and it is also, so far as I can -see, an unjust thing. As to whether the princess will -reconsider the matter, that I cannot tell you. You must -remember that, as I think I have told you before, I have -never seen the princess. But her rule will not last forever; -and when Donna Bianca has the management of her own -affairs, things may be very different. She is not a foreigner, -and is not at all likely to be influenced by priests, I should -say. Probably she will reward those who have been loyal -to her, and her own people will come before strangers, unless -I am very much mistaken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe looked at him shrewdly. "I thought you -said you did not know the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither do I," answered Don Agostino, "but I know -something about her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you know her lover—oh, I do not mean that -Belgian goat, but the other one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I know him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! And he is worthy of the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel convinced that he is thoroughly worthy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what is the objection? He has no money, perhaps?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is not noble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Diamine!</em><span> and what does that matter if he is worthy in -other ways? I do not suppose he is a </span><em class="italics">contadino</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Don Agostino, smiling, "he is an engineer, -and some day he will be a great man, I believe. His father -is a great man already, the famous Senator Rossano. You -have perhaps heard of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Altro</em><span>! So it is he whom the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> is in love -with! Well, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, is it not better than marrying that -old baron with ink-pots under his eyes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino laughed. "Certainly!" he replied. "But -the baron and the Abbé Roux think otherwise. That is -the difficulty; and what they think, the princess thinks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Si capisce!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Fontana," said Don Agostino, suddenly, "you -said just now that you would do anything for Donna -Bianca. Were you in earnest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bene</em><span>! You have the opportunity of proving your -loyalty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose from his chair, and, taking Silvio's packet from -the writing-table, placed it in Sor Beppe's hands. "I -have promised Signor Rossano, Donna Bianca's affianced -husband, that this should reach her without delay. She has -been waiting for it for weeks. Will you undertake that it -shall be given into her hands, and into her hands only?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe's eyes flashed. "I swear it!" he said. -"Concetta shall give it to her this very night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Concetta? But is she to be trusted?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As much as I am to be trusted, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>. Concetta -would do anything to serve the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>. You need -not be afraid. Donna Bianca shall have her lover's letter -this very night. You can guess how?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. But will she not be terrified at seeing your -daughter enter her room in such a manner? Remember -that the princess sleeps next door to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Concetta will know what to do," returned Sor Beppe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. But there must be no failure—no risk of the -packet falling into other hands, or its delivery being -suspected."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be none."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino held out his hand. "You will not regret -what you have undertaken," he said, "and you may be -sure that the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> will not forget it, either. We -must save her from a great unhappiness, my friend, and -perhaps from, worse than that. Now, I must be inhospitable -and ask you to go; for it is late, and you have to -arrange matters with Concetta, who by this time is -probably asleep. Who knows what led you to visit me this -evening? I had been turning over in my mind every -means I could imagine to insure that packet reaching -Donna Bianca safely. It is certainly very strange."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe buttoned up the little parcel securely in the -corner pocket of his coat. "To-morrow I will come again," -he said, "and who knows that I shall not bring with me -an acknowledgment from the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> that she has -received the packet safely? Then you can write to her -lover and tell him so. All the same, if I were that young -man, I would come to Montefiano and take Donna Bianca -away with me—even if I had to slit the throats of the -baron and the Abbé Roux in the doing of it." And muttering -a string of expletives under his breath, Sor Beppe passed -out into the garden. Don Agostino let him out through -the door, opening to the piazza in front of the church; -and then, after standing for a few moments to watch his -tall figure striding away down the white road towards the -castle, he went slowly back into his house, bidding Ernana, -whose curiosity as to Sor Beppe's visit had brought her -out to the threshold, lock up the door and go to bed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxiv"><span class="bold large">XXIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Monsieur d'Antin's visit to Rome was not of -long duration. He returned to Montefiano two days -after the evening when he had dined at the Castello di -Costantino, in close proximity to Professor Rossano and -his little party. That evening had certainly been an -entertaining one to him, for many reasons. He had, of -course, instantly recognized Silvio and Giacinta Rossano, -while his host and companion, Peretti, had as quickly -identified the professor. Except for the brief glimpse Monsieur -d'Antin had caught of Silvio on the staircase of Palazzo -Acorari, he had never had an opportunity of watching him -with any attention; yet the boy's form and features were -well impressed on his memory, and he would in any case -have known he must be Giacinta Rossano's brother by -the strong likeness existing between the two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been his ill-disguised interest in him, and the -marked manner in which he stared, that had nearly provoked -Silvio into openly resenting this liberty on the part -of a stranger; and probably Monsieur d'Antin had very -little idea that he had narrowly escaped bringing about a -scene which he might afterwards have had cause to regret. -His glance and attitude had been so insolent, indeed, that -for a moment or two Silvio had wondered whether he did -not intend to provoke a public quarrel, which could have -had but one result—a meeting with pistols or swords in -some secluded villa garden, where the police were not likely -to interfere. Had Giacinta, confident from her brother's -face that a storm was brewing, and knowing that though -storms were rare with Silvio they were apt to be violent -if they burst, not taken Monsieur Lelli's advice and hurried -him and her father away from the terrace, there was no -saying what complication might not have arisen still further -to increase the difficulties of the general situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As a matter of fact, Monsieur d'Antin's vanity had -received a violent shock. He had known that Silvio Rossano -was extremely good-looking, for he had gathered as much -when he had seen him ascending the staircase at Palazzo -Acorari. But he had not realized it as fully as he did that -evening at the Castello di Costantino. The discovery -annoyed him exceedingly, for obvious reasons. He had, up -to that moment, felt no particular personal antipathy -towards a presumptuous young man of the </span><em class="italics">bourgeois</em><span> class, -who had ventured to consider himself a fitting husband for -Bianca Acorari. On the contrary, Monsieur d'Antin had -felt most grateful to him for having, by his presumption and -want of knowledge of the ways of good society, placed -Bianca in an equivocal position, and at the mercy of anybody -who might choose to set a scandal abroad concerning her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But that night, as he looked across the restaurant at the -table where Silvio was sitting, he hated him for his youth, -for his tall, well-knit form, for his good-looking face; and -perhaps, more than all, for a certain indefinable air of -high-breeding and easy grace, which Monsieur d'Antin angrily -told himself a person of the middle class had no right to -possess. Nothing escaped him. He watched Silvio's -manner, his mode of eating and drinking, his dress, -everything, in short, which could betray the cloven hoof he was -longing to discover. He could overhear, too, snatches of -the conversation from Professor Rossano's table, and he was -disagreeably surprised by what he heard. There was none -of the loud, vulgar intonation of the voices usually the -accompaniment of any gathering together of Romans of the -middle and lower orders, and none of the two eternal topics -of conversation—food and money—from which the Roman -of the middle classes can with difficulty be persuaded to tear -himself away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin could not but confess that, so far, at -any rate, as appearance and manner were concerned, Silvio -was a great deal more of a gentleman than very many of the -young men of rank and fashion he was accustomed to meet -in the drawing-rooms of </span><em class="italics">la haute societé</em><span> in Rome; and that -he had another advantage that these, as a rule, did not -possess—he looked intelligent and manly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The reflection was not pleasing. He would have far -preferred to be able to detect some trace of vulgarity in -Bianca's presumptuous lover, and he could discover none. -He was disagreeably conscious, too, of his own disadvantages -as he looked at Silvio—of his years, of his figure, -and of other details beside these.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But if the Rossano family, and especially Silvio, had -occupied his attention and interest that evening, Monsieur -d'Antin had been hardly less concerned with the personality -of Monsignor Lelli. His companion had immediately -detected the latter's presence and had pointed him out, at the -same time rapidly explaining who he was and his past -history at the Vatican.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">commendatore</em><span>—he was </span><em class="italics">commendatore</em><span> of the papal -Order of St. Gregory—made it his business to know as -much as he could find out about everybody in Rome, and -his information—when it happened to be of sufficient -interest, personal, political, or religious—having been for -some time placed at the disposal of his patron at the -Vatican, the cardinal secretary of state, had been duly paid -for by the bestowal of a clerical order of chivalry. It was -rumored that he had been the instrument of making more -than one wealthy English and American convert to Catholicism -among the fair sex; which, as he was not ill-looking, -and occupied some of his spare time by giving Italian -lessons in eligible quarters, was not improbable. At any rate, -the </span><em class="italics">commendatore</em><span> knew all about Monsignor Lelli and the -history of his falling into disgrace at the Vatican, though he -was very careful only to give Monsieur d'Antin the official -version of the affair. The story did not interest Monsieur -d'Antin very much. Moreover, as it turned upon political -and financial matters, in which clerics and their money -were concerned, he did not believe more than a very small -proportion of what he was told. What interested him far -more, was the fact that Monsignor Lelli had been sent to -work out his repentance at Montefiano; and that he was -undoubtedly on intimate terms with the Rossano family.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The departure from the restaurant of the Rossanos and -the priest had not escaped the quick eye of the </span><em class="italics">commendatore</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He does not want it known that he is in Rome," he had -whispered to Monsieur d'Antin, as Don Agostino -disappeared from the terrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin did not reply. He thought it far -more probable that Monsignor Lelli did not wish to be seen -in Silvio's society by anybody connected with the Montefiano -household. He kept his own counsel, however, and -allowed his companion to think that it was his appearance -on the scene that had frightened the priest away. The -time had not yet arrived for letting the outside world into -the secret of Bianca Acorari's indiscretion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall certainly let them know at the Vatican that -Lelli is in Rome," Peretti said to Monsieur d'Antin. "Who -knows why he is here, instead of attending to his duties at -Montefiano? I am almost sure it was to Montefiano he -was sent, but I will make certain to-morrow, when I shall -see the cardinal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did they choose Montefiano?" asked Monsieur -d'Antin. "It is a dreary place; and whenever I have driven -through the town, I have seen nothing but pigs and old -women—very ugly old women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Peretti laughed. "That is why he was sent there," he -replied. "The Holy Father concluded that he was better -fitted to deal with pigs and old women than with finance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long will he be kept there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other lifted his eyebrows. "</span><em class="italics">Mah!</em><span>" he said. "Who knows?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had not suited Monsieur d'Antin's purpose to discuss -Monsignor Lelli any further with the host that evening. -He reflected that whatever Peretti might know about him, -the Abbé Roux would know also, and possibly considerably -more. He wondered that the abbé had never mentioned -the fact that the parish priest at Montefiano had once been -a member of the papal court, or alluded to him in any way. -It did not surprise him that Monsignor Lelli should never -have presented himself at the castle, for he quite -understood that the Abbé Roux would not allow any opportunity -of poaching over his ground on the part of a brother -cleric. Besides, there was a chapel in the castle, and mass, -and the Abbé Roux said the mass; at which latter thought -Monsieur d'Antin smiled, as if it afforded him some amusement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so he returned, the next day but one, to Montefiano, -resolved to lose no time in acquainting the Abbé Roux with -the news that he had seen Monsignor Lelli dining at a -Roman restaurant in the company of the Rossano family, -and apparently on terms of intimate friendship both with -the Senator Rossano and with his son. There could be no -kind of doubt that this intimacy, so providentially -discovered, might seriously compromise the ultimate success -of the scheme which had been so carefully devised for -compelling Bianca to give up all thoughts of young Rossano, -and accept what was offered to her in the place of his -presumptuous attachment. Nothing but a separation from -her lover, which should be complete in every detail, could -accomplish this object; and if Silvio Rossano had a friend -at Montefiano, and that friend the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span>, there could be -no saying what means might not be resorted to for the -purpose of establishing the very communications between him -and Bianca which it was so imperative to render absolutely -impracticable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was nearly mid-day before Monsieur d'Antin, who had -taken the early morning train from Rome to Attigliano, -arrived at Montefiano, and he had barely time to wash, and -change his dusty clothes, before joining his sister at -breakfast. A glance at the princess's face showed him that -something had certainly occurred during his absence to -upset her. The Abbé Roux, who was also at the table, -looked both preoccupied and cross. Only Bianca appeared -serene, and, to Monsieur d'Antin's surprise, altogether -contented. There was a light in her eyes and an expression -of scarcely suppressed happiness on her face that he never -remembered to have seen there, certainly not since he had -been at Montefiano. It reminded him of the look she had -worn on the afternoon of his visit to the Villa Acorari, when -he had found her alone in the Marble Hall, fresh from her -stolen interview with her lover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Expression and demeanor changed, however, as Monsieur -d'Antin greeted Bianca with an airy compliment on her -appearance. His salutation was scarcely replied to, and -every subsequent attempt to draw her into conversation -failed ignominiously. The meal was decidedly not a -cheerful one, and it had scarcely concluded when Bianca got up -from her chair, and, making a slight courtesy to her -step-mother, left the room without a word. The Abbé Roux -lifted his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh, and the princess -looked pained and uncomfortable. The men-servants were -already bringing in the coffee, and Monsieur d'Antin was -constrained to wait until they had served and retired before -seeking for an explanation of the state of the social -atmosphere in which he found himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess drank a few mouthfuls of her coffee, and left -the table almost as soon as the door had closed upon the -servants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will excuse me, Philippe," she said to her -brother, "I am going to my room. I am nervous—unwell. -That unhappy child—" Her voice trembled, and it was -evident that Princess Montefiano was very near to tears. -"Monsieur l'Abbé will explain to you," she continued; "he is -entirely in my confidence. You can talk together over your -cigars, and we will meet afterwards, when I am calmer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She left the room hastily, and Monsieur d'Antin looked -across the table to the abbé.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Que diable!</em><span>" he exclaimed. "Might one ask what has -happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux cleared his throat. "Let us go into -the next room," he said. "We can talk quietly there -without being overheard by the servants"—and he led the way -into the apartment specially devoted to his use.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my dear monsieur," he said, as soon as they had -shut the double doors behind them, "it is not to be -wondered at if Madame la Princesse is upset! Since you -have been away, Donna Bianca has made a scene—a -veritable scene, you understand. It appears that she has -asserted her fixed determination to marry this impossible -young man, and has announced that she will wait till she is -her own mistress, if—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If what?" asked Monsieur d'Antin, as he paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parbleu</em><span>! If her lover does not choose that she should -marry him before—the religious marriage, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin lit a cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A girl's enthusiasm," he observed. "It will pass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé glanced at him. "I think not," he replied. "I -have known Donna Bianca since she was a child. When -she has made up her mind to do or not to do a thing, -it is not easy to make her alter it. She is -undisciplined—completely undisciplined," he added, almost angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt. It is all the more reason that she should -learn what discipline means. She will make a better wife -for knowing it," and Monsieur d'Antin chuckled softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, as to that, monsieur, there can be, I suppose, no -question. But what I have already told you is not all. -The princess, perhaps, would not have taken Donna Bianca's -refusal to submit her will to the direction of those who are -her lawful guardians so deeply to heart, if that had been -all. She would have trusted to time and—and to Donna -Bianca's conscience, to make her step-daughter see reason -and realize that obedience is the first of all duties."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin fidgeted uneasily in his chair. "I -think, Monsieur l'Abbé," he said, dryly, "that you and I can -afford to dispense with moralities, can we not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé looked angry for an instant. Then he smiled. -"Perhaps," he replied. "After all, we have to regard -Donna Bianca's position from a business point of view."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely, my dear friend, from a business point of view. -Let us confine it to that, if you please. Let us assume, for -example, that you are—a layman. It will simplify matters -very much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé looked at him suspiciously, and his black -eyebrows contracted disagreeably. He was never quite sure -whether he were managing Monsieur d'Antin or whether -Monsieur d'Antin were managing him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would appear," he observed, presently, "from what -Donna Bianca has said to Madame la Princesse, that you -have introduced—what shall I say!—a little too much -sentiment into your business point of view."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin smiled complacently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you have, my dear abbé?" he replied. -"You know my little secret. If I remember rightly, I -confessed to you, and you gave me absolution—is it not so? -Yes. I admit that I have perhaps been a little indiscreet, -a little premature. But one cannot always control one's -feelings. The </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span> is one thing, and the pantalons are -another. You must make allowance for those who do not -wear the </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The question is," said the Abbé Roux, a little irritably, -"that Donna Bianca will have none of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None of which, my dear friend?" asked Monsieur -d'Antin, imperturbably. "Of the </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span>, or—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé laughed in spite of himself. "You have -frightened her," he said. "She understands; and she has -told the princess—oh, told her very plainly! It was a -mistake. You should have waited—a month—six months. -Moreover, she has found out that it was you who saw her -and young Rossano together at the Villa Acorari; and -now she feels that you have deceived her throughout the -whole business. She will never forgive that. It would have -been better to have told her that it was through you the -affair became known, that you had felt bound to warn -Madame la Princesse of what you believed to be a great peril -threatening her step-daughter. Now, Donna Bianca has -said that even if she is kept here for three years it will make -no difference; that she will not be made love to by you; and -that you are a liar and a coward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin started up from his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur l'Abbé!" he exclaimed, furiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I am quoting Donna Bianca's words. You cannot -be surprised that madame your sister should be upset. It -is now three days ago—that little scene—and the girl has -scarcely spoken a word to the princess since. She is -hard—hard as a piece of stone when she chooses to be so. Now, -I ask you, what is to be done? She will wait three years, -six years, if necessary, or she will find some means of -running away with her lover—who knows? But she will never -allow you to approach her, Monsieur le Baron; of that I am -convinced."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin swore, softly. "She must give way!" -he exclaimed. "It is a mere question of time. The girl -has a spirit, that I do not deny, but it can be broken. -Bah! it is not worth while </span><em class="italics">de se faire de la bîle</em><span> about a girl's -sentimental passion for a good-looking young man who -has once kissed her, and whom she will never see again. -We have only to remain firm, and all will turn out as we -propose. It will take time, perhaps, but from a business -point of view—always from a business point of view, my -dear Monsieur l'Abbé—time is exactly what we wish -to gain, is it not? I admit that, from the other point -of view—mine, you understand—delay is not so satisfactory."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé looked up quickly. "Ah, certainly," he said, -eagerly, "you are perfectly right; to gain time is everything! -And if Donna Bianca does not mind waiting for her -lover, well, from a business point of view, delay will be very -advantageous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin lit another cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To you," he said, quietly. "To you, dear Monsieur -l'Abbé; but, as I said before, to me not quite so much so. -There is my part of the bargain to be considered, is there -not? And if I am not to marry Donna Bianca Acorari, I -confess that I do not particularly care whether she marries -young Rossano or goes into a convent. All the same, I -do not imagine that she will go into a convent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin paused, and looked steadily at his -companion. His voice and manner were suaveness itself; -nevertheless, the abbé was conscious that his words implied -something very like a threat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," he replied, "there is your part of the -question to be considered. I do not forget it. But what you -want is not so easy to obtain. I fear that Donna Bianca, -even were she finally to renounce all hopes of Rossano, -would never be induced to listen to your proposal to take -his place. Besides, I very much doubt if Madame la -Princesse would go so far as to attempt to force upon her -step-daughter an alliance apparently so distasteful to her. -No, Monsieur le Baron, I speak frankly. Donna Bianca's -sudden assertion of the course she intends to adopt has -materially altered the situation. Who has any influence -over her? Certainly not the princess, certainly not myself, -to whom she never addresses a word if she can avoid doing -so. The only person who, until recently, seemed to have -gained her confidence, was yourself. What has caused -her to declare, as she has declared, that she will not allow -you to approach her, you must know better than I. In the -mean time, the field is as clear to you as it was before, and -we will hope that this little outburst on the part of Donna -Bianca may not be of much importance. At least, you -must admit that I have done my best to further your object. -You owe it entirely to me if the princess, against her own -inclinations, was persuaded to countenance that object."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, my dear Monsieur l'Abbé," returned Monsieur -d'Antin, airily, "I fully realize the efforts you have made on -my behalf. Why not? As to Donna Bianca having taken -me </span><em class="italics">en grippe</em><span>, well, I assure you that I rather enjoy it. I -like a woman to show some fight. I shall do my best to -remove the bad impression I have made. Apparently, she -enjoys it also. I never saw her look so animated as she did -to-day. The little scene with my sister, that you tell me -of, must have acted as a tonic—and no doubt she will be the -better for it, and more amenable to reason. Do not let -us talk any more about it for the present. Apropos, how -do your little matters of business progress? I think you -told me before I left that my sister had some trouble with -the agent here, and that you had advised her to dismiss -him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé frowned. "Yes," he said, curtly, "the man is -dismissed, and I have another </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> ready to take his -place. But there is some little difficulty. It appears that -the people are angry at his dismissal. I am told it has -created great ill-feeling in Montefiano. There is a -meddlesome </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> here—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Diable!</em><span>" exclaimed Monsieur d'Antin; "I had quite -forgotten about him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What? You know him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my dear friend, no. But I happened to see him -two or three evenings ago in Rome, and in whose company -do you suppose he was? You will never guess. Well, he -was dining at a restaurant with Professor Rossano and his -son and daughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux gave an exclamation of surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Lelli</em><span>! Dining with the Rossanos? Are you sure that -it was he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely sure. I was dining with Peretti—you know -whom I mean?—and Peretti knew Monsignor Lelli perfectly -well. He left the restaurant very soon after he saw us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lelli!" repeated the Abbé Roux, with a scowl. "Yes, -he is the priest at Montefiano. Peretti will have told you -his story. He fell into disgrace at the Vatican—in fact, he -embezzled money, and rather than have a public scandal, -he was sent here to get him out of the way. What was he -doing with the Rossanos?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eating his dinner," replied Monsieur d'Antin, -tranquilly; "at least, if you call such a thing a dinner. </span><em class="italics">Ciel!</em><span> -what filth one eats in a Roman restaurant, even in the best -of them. Oh, la, la! Yes, your </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> was dining with -the Rossano family. It would appear that he is an -intimate friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt," observed the abbé, with a sneer. "Lelli -was always hand and glove with all the </span><em class="italics">canaille</em><span> in Rome of -the literary and scientific world. He is simply a -free-thinker—nothing more nor less. -It does not at all surprise me that -he should be a friend of Professor Rossano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it is a little unfortunate that a friend of the -Rossanos should be curé at Montefiano, is it not?" asked -Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé started. "Assuredly," he said. "You are -right. It is a danger. For the moment I did not think of -it. Yes, it might be a grave danger. Moreover, the man -is mischievous. He is always siding with the peasants. -Only yesterday I heard that he had declared Fontana's—the -agent's—dismissal to be an injustice. We do not want -men of that sort. They spoil the people and make them -discontented."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is clear that he is very intimate with Professor -Rossano and his son," returned Monsieur d'Antin, "and in his -position here at Montefiano as parish priest, what is to -prevent him from inducing one of the people about to deliver -some letter or some message to Donna Bianca? And once -she realizes that she can receive communications from the -outside world, all our precautions will be useless. The -knowledge that she could do so would make her more -obstinate than ever in her determination not to give up -young Rossano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé frowned. "Leave it to me, monsieur," he -replied. "Lelli will not succeed in entering the castle of -Montefiano, however much he may be the village priest. -I put a stop to any idea of the kind long ago. Indeed, it -was necessary to warn the princess against him. She had -never heard his history, and I discovered—oh, two or three -years ago—that he was getting money out of her for the -poor; and, moreover, that he was always urging Fontana -to appeal for a reduction in the rents. Of course, directly -the princess realized that he had been sent to Montefiano in -disgrace, and heard all the scandal concerning his removal -from the Vatican, she ceased to allow him to interfere -between the people and the administration of the estates. -No, I do not think we need fear Monsignor Lelli."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least it will do no harm to be on our guard," -insisted Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, as to that, of course! Moreover, should there be -any cause to suspect that he was helping young Rossano, it -would not be difficult to obtain his removal. There are -many hill villages which are even more isolated than -Montefiano—in the Abruzzi, for instance. And I do not imagine -that the Holy Father cares where Lelli is, so long as he is -safely out of the way until it pleases Providence to remove -him altogether." And the Abbé Roux laughed harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin yawned. "I shall go to my room," -he said, throwing away his cigarette and rising from his -chair. "Travelling on one of these horrible Italian -railways is bad enough at any time, with the dirt and the -unpunctuality, but in hot weather it is doubly fatiguing. -Then it appears to me, my dear friend," he added, "that -notwithstanding Donna Bianca's charming display of petulancy, -we remain as before. A little stricter discipline, -perhaps—a little more precaution against any possible -interference on the part of this </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, is it not so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely, monsieur—and patience, always patience!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" observed Monsieur d'Antin. "It is an admirable -quality—but the exercising of it is apt to become monotonous."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxv"><span class="bold large">XXV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The evening before Monsieur d'Antin's return to -Montefiano from Rome, Bianca Acorari had dined alone. The -princess had been invisible most of the day. Although she -appeared at breakfast, she had retired to her room later on -in the afternoon, a victim to a violent nervous headache, the -result, as Bianca was only too well aware, of the agitation -she had been in ever since the scene on the previous day. -The Abbé Roux had announced at breakfast that he should -be away until late that evening, having, as he explained, to -go to Orvieto to visit a friend who lived near that city. As -Bianca sat alone at dinner, she felt grateful to the abbé for -having had the tact to absent himself. She did not feel -inclined for a </span><em class="italics">tête-à-tête</em><span> meal with anybody, and certainly -not with the Abbé Roux.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To say the truth, her step-mother's evident distress had -made Bianca almost regret that she had allowed herself -to speak so plainly as she had done the day before. Resolute -and strong-willed as she could be when she chose, her -nature was both sensitive and warm-hearted; and although -she would not have retracted one word that she had said, or -retreated one inch from the attitude she had taken up, she -felt sorry and disturbed in her mind at the pain she had -evidently occasioned the princess. After all, it was not -unnatural that her step-mother should consider it to be her -duty to impede by every means in her power a marriage -of which she disapproved. It was not unnatural, either, -that she should disapprove. Bianca, whose sense of justice -was unusually strong, would have scorned to be unjust to -any individual simply because she happened not to be in -agreement with that individual. She was quite aware, too, -that her conduct had been certainly not in accordance with -that which was considered fitting to a young girl in any -position. She should, of course, have refused to allow -Silvio to speak a word of love to her until he should first -have gained the consent of her step-mother. No doubt she -had been wrong—immodest, perhaps, as her step-mother -had said—but all the same, she was glad she had not -repulsed Silvio that day in the ilex grove. Glad, did she say? -But that was an untruth. She had never thought of -repulsing him, could not have done so, for she wanted love. -She had wanted it for so long, and she had understood that -Silvio had it to give her. And she wanted somebody whom -she could love, not merely some one towards whom she was -perpetually being told she should be dutiful. No, it was -absurd to say she was glad she had listened to him, and had -let him tell her his love in his own way. It was worse than -absurd—it was a lie told to herself. Ever since that -Christmas night when she had seen him in the church of the -Sudario, she had understood that she loved, and that he -loved her. And she had never thought of repulsing him. -She had thought only of the moment when she should hear -him tell her of his love; when she should feel his arms -around her and his lips on hers; when she could show him -that she, too, knew what love was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From which reflections it was evident that Monsieur -d'Antin had been right in his diagnosis of Bianca Acorari's -temperament, and in coming to the conclusion that his sister -and the Abbé Roux would be preparing for themselves a -disillusion if they continued to regard her as little more than -a child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca retired to her room early that night. It was -certainly not cheerful to sit alone in the drawing-room after -dinner, trying to read a book by the light of one or two -old-fashioned moderator lamps, which only served to cast -gloomy shadows into the corners of the vast apartment. -The princess had caused a pianoforte to be sent from Rome; -for the Érard which stood at one end of the drawing-room -was reduced by age and damp to a compass of some two -octaves of notes which, when played upon, produced sounds -that were strange but scarcely musical; while the upper and -lower octaves of the key-board had ceased to produce any -sound whatever, save a spasmodic, metallic tapping as the -hammer struck the broken wires. Bianca used to touch the -instrument sometimes, and wonder whether it had belonged -to her mother, and if her hands had pressed the yellow keys. -She knew that her mother had passed the last year or two of -her life at Montefiano, and that she herself had first seen the -light there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But to-night she was not in the humor for either reading -or playing the piano. She felt weary, mentally and bodily; -for, after the excitement of the discussion the previous day -with her step-mother, reaction had set in. She was -depressed, and, a thing very unusual to her, nervous. An -almost intolerable sensation of loneliness haunted her. It -seemed strange to think that a few hundred metres away, -down in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>, people were talking and laughing and -living their lives. She was not living hers; life was going on -all around her, but she had no part or share in it. Ah, if -only she could hear something from Silvio!—hear of him, -even—she would not feel quite so lonely. She would feel -sure then, though they were separated, though probably -they would be divided for months and years to come, that -they were together in their thoughts; that he was faithful -and true to her, as she was struggling with all her force to -be faithful and true to the promise she had made him there, -under the ilex-trees at the Villa Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Passing quietly through her step-mother's apartment, -lest she should be perhaps already asleep, Bianca was -about to enter her own room, when the princess called to -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>," she said, gently, "I am not -asleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca approached the bed and remained standing by -it. Princess Montefiano took her hand and held it in hers -for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think me very cruel, do you not, Bianca?" she -said; "like the cruel step-mothers in the fairy-tales," she -added, with a little attempt at a laugh. "Well, some day -you will understand that if I am unkind, it is for your good. -But there is something else I want to say to you. I do not -intend to discuss the other matter—the Rossano matter. -I shall never change my opinion on that point—never! -And so long as you are under my authority, so long shall -I absolutely forbid any question of a marriage between -you and a son of Professor Rossano, and communication -of any sort to pass between you. What I wish to say to -you is this. Because I will not consent to your marriage -with this young Rossano, you must not think that I wish to -influence you or compel you to listen to my brother. That -would not be my idea of what is my duty towards you as my -husband's child, for whose happiness I am responsible, both -before God and before the world. You must understand -that you are free, Bianca, absolutely free to do as you choose -as regards accepting or not the affection my brother offers -you. It may be, perhaps, that when you are in a more -reasonable frame of mind, and have realized that under no -circumstances would you be allowed to marry out of your -own sphere in life—and certainly not the son of an infidel -professor, who, no doubt, shares his father's abominable -principles and ideas—you will hesitate before throwing -away my brother's love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca shook her head. "It is useless to think of that," -she said, "and it is useless to tell me that under no -circumstances shall I marry Silvio Rossano. Unless one of -us dies, I shall marry him. I have nothing more to say -than what I said yesterday, and nothing to unsay. You -ask me if I think you unkind. No; I do not think that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely," exclaimed the princesse, almost wistfully—"surely -you can understand that in all this miserable -business I am only doing what my conscience tells me to -be my duty towards you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca withdrew her hand. "Yes," she said; "I quite -understand. I have always understood." Then, wishing -her step-mother good-night, she bent down and kissed her, -and passed into her own room, gently closing both of the -double set of doors which separated the two apartments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had not been in bed long before sleep came to her, for -she was, in fact, more weary in body and mind than she had -realized. For four or five hours she slept soundly enough, -but after that her slumbers became disturbed by dreams. -She dreamed that Silvio was near her, that she could see -him but could not speak to him, and that he had some -message for her, some letter which the Abbé Roux was -trying to take from him. In her sleep she seemed to hear -strange noises and her own name called softly at intervals. -Suddenly she awoke with a start. A gleam of moonlight -was shining through the window-curtains and half-closed -</span><em class="italics">persiennes</em><span>. It made a broad track across the floor to the -wall opposite her bed, and fell on the face of a picture -hanging near the corner of the room—a portrait of that very -Cardinal Acorari who had caused the Renaissance palace -to be added to the Montefiano fortress, in order that he -might have a villa in the Sabine Mountains in which to pass -the hot summer months away from Rome. The moonlight -glanced upon his scarlet robes and skull-cap and on his -heavy countenance. Time had caused the flesh colors to -fade, and the full mouth, with the sensual lips, looked -unnaturally red against the waxy whiteness of the rest of the -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca lay and looked at the streak of moonlight on the -floor. Presently her gaze followed the track until it rested -on the picture. For some moments she looked at the -portrait with a certain fascination. She had never seen it in -the moonlight before; it looked ghostly. She had once seen -a cardinal lying in state when she was a child, and the sight -had frightened her. She was not at all frightened now, for -she was no longer a child; but all the same, she could not -take her eyes off the picture. She found herself wondering -what relation she was to that old Cardinal -Acorari—great-great-what? Granddaughter would not do, for -cardinals, of course, never had children; certainly not -cardinal-priests; and Cardinal Acorari had been bishop of -Ostia and cardinal vicar of Rome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly she sat up in her bed. Surely she had seen the -face move? Yes; it had certainly moved; it was quite ten -centimetres more to the right of the moonlight than it had -been a moment ago. Now half the features were in shadow, -and the cardinal's </span><em class="italics">biretta</em><span> was half red and half black. -</span><em class="italics">Sciocchezze</em><span>! Of course, it was the moon that had moved, -not the picture; or, rather, she supposed it was the earth -that had moved, or the sun! Something had moved, at any -rate, but not the cardinal. And smiling at her own stupidity, -Bianca withdrew her gaze from the picture, and, turning -on her side, tried to compose herself to sleep once more. But -it soon became evident that sleep would not return to her. -She felt restless, and the night, too, was hot. Rising from -her bed, she threw a light wrap over her shoulders and -went to one of the windows, the curtains of which she drew -gently aside; and then, taking care not to make any noise -that could be heard in the room beyond, she opened the -green </span><em class="italics">persiennes</em><span> outside the window and leaned out. Not -a breath of air was stirring, and the September night was -oppressively warm. A silvery haze hung over the </span><em class="italics">macchia</em><span> -below the terrace, and far away, under the encircling -mountains, Bianca could see the wreaths of mist rising in the -valley of the Tiber. The two flanking wings of the palace -stood out cold and white in the moonlight, while the double -avenue of lofty cypresses on each side of the great night -of stone steps leading down from the terrace into the park -looked black and sombre in the nearer foreground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The splashing of a fountain in the centre of the avenue, -and the occasional cry of some bird, alone broke the intense -stillness. Bianca rested her arms on the ledge of the -window, gazing out upon the scene below her. The moonlight -fell full upon her and glanced upon the tawny gold of her -hair. For some moments she remained immovable. Then, -with a gesture of passionate abandonment, she flung her -white arms out into the silver night. "Silvio!" she -whispered; "Silvio, not one word? Ah, my beloved, if you -knew how I want you, if you knew the loneliness! Ah, but -I will be patient, I will be brave, for your sake and for my -own—only—</span><em class="italics">Dio!</em><span>—" She turned suddenly with a little -cry. Surely she had heard her own name again, spoken -very softly from somewhere within the room behind her. -She looked hastily round, but could see nobody. Only her -own shadow fell across the floor in the moonlight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Eccellenza</em><span>! Donna Bianca!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, this time she was not mistaken! It was her name -she had heard whispered, and the voice came from the -cardinal's portrait. Bianca started back. For a second -or two she felt fear. If she could only see the person who -had called her, she would not be frightened, she was certain -of that. Gathering her wrap round her she came forward -into the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am Bianca Acorari," she said, in a low, clear voice. -"What do you want with me, and how have you ventured -to come here? Speak, or I will call for help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">per carità</em><span>! do not call—do not be afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not afraid," interrupted Bianca Acorari, quietly. -"Why should I be afraid? Besides, it—you are a woman, -are you not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Eccellenza</em><span>—yes! It is I, Concetta Fontana, and I -bring a message—a letter. Ah, but I have been waiting -for an hour before I dared speak. I called you, but you -were sleeping, and then, when I saw you at the window, I -was frightened—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The white face of Cardinal Acorari disappeared noiselessly -into the wall, and Concetta's form occupied its place. She -carried in her hand a small oil-lamp; and, balancing -herself for an instant, she dropped lightly down the three -or four feet from where the picture had hung, to the -floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca rushed towards her. "Concetta!" she exclaimed. -Then she tottered a little, and, dropping into a chair, began -to sob convulsively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a moment Concetta was by her side and had thrown -her arms round her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the love of God, </span><em class="italics">eccellenza</em><span>, do not cry!" she -exclaimed. "Do not make a sound—the princess—she -might hear. Yes, it is Concetta—Concetta who has brought -you this—who will do anything for you," and she thrust -Silvio's packet into Bianca's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca looked at it for a moment as if she scarcely -understood her. Then she tore it open eagerly. A smaller -packet fell from it to the floor, but Bianca let it lie there. -Her eyes had caught sight of the letter in which it was -enclosed, and she wanted that and nothing else. Hurriedly -unfolding it, she darted to the window again and held the -closely written sheets to the moonlight. "Ah, Silvio!" she -exclaimed, "I knew, I knew!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta, practically, lighted a candle, and waited in -silence while Bianca devoured the contents of her lover's -letter. Every now and then she cast anxious glances -towards the princess's apartment. Then, when Bianca had -finished feverishly reading through the letter for the first -time and was about to begin it again, she stooped, and -picking up the packet from the floor, gave it to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca undid the paper, and, opening the little box -inside, took out the ring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, look!" she said. "Look what he sends me—his -mother's ring! Look how the diamonds sparkle in the -moonlight, Concetta—and the sapphire—how blue the -sapphire is! Blue, like—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped suddenly, and a hot wave of color mounted -to her face. Replacing the ring in its case, she thrust -it and the letter into her bosom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she turned to Concetta quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did you come here, and why should you do this -thing for me?" she asked, almost fiercely. "Are you sent -to lay a trap for me? Speak!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta Fontana flung herself upon her knees, and -taking Bianca's hand, covered it with kisses. "No, no," -she exclaimed. "I have come because my father sent -me—my father and Don Agostino—because you are the -</span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>—not—not that other one—the foreigner. </span><em class="italics">Eccellenza</em><span>, you -have no right to mistrust me. I swear to God that there -is no deceit, no trap. Nobody knows of the secret -passage—only my father and I. My father could not come -here—in the dead of night—so I came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The secret passage!" repeated Bianca, wonderingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta pointed to the hole in the wall where the -cardinal's portrait had been. "It is there," she said, "and -it runs the whole length of the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span> and down into -the entrance-court. See!" Going to the aperture, she -pressed a spring concealed in the groove, and slowly, -noiselessly, the picture of Cardinal Acorari glided back into its -original position.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can come and go when I please," said Concetta, with a -smile, "so the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> is no longer a prisoner who -cannot communicate with the world outside. Oh, and -there are those outside who mean to help her—Don -Agostino, and my father, and others besides. We will not have -our </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span> shut up in the castle of Montefiano to please a -foreign priest. </span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span> very soon—in a few days -perhaps—the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> will understand that she is at -Montefiano—among her own people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca scarcely heard Concetta Fontana's latter words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is Don Agostino?" she asked, suddenly. "Silvio—this -letter—says that the packet will be brought or -conveyed to me by Monsignor Lelli."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don Agostino—Lelli—it is all one," replied Concetta. -"He is our </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">eccellenza</em><span>; and he is good, oh, he is -good! If all priests were like Don Agostino—</span><em class="italics">mah</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca took out her letter again. As yet she could -hardly realize her happiness. A few minutes ago she had -felt utterly alone, almost without hope, save the hope that -her own courage and her trust in Silvio gave her. Now the -world seemed different. She had got her message from -that great world outside, which until just now had seemed -so far away from her own—that world where life and love -were waiting for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly she turned to Concetta and took both the girl's -hands in hers. "Forgive me," she said, softly; "I was -wrong to doubt you, but I think I have begun to suspect -everybody lately. When one has once been deceived, it is -not easy to trust again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta's eyes flashed. "Who has dared to deceive -you, </span><em class="italics">signorina</em><span>?" she asked, hastily. "Not—" she pointed -to the letter Bianca was still holding against her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca smiled. "No, Concetta; ah, no, not he! How -could he deceive me? I was thinking of somebody -else—somebody here at Montefiano. But it does not matter. I -do not care at all now. Indeed, I do not think that I shall -care about anything again. Ah, Concetta, some day you -will know that I am grateful for what you have done -to-night. I shall not forget. I shall ask you what I can do -for you in return, when I am really Principessina di -Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta looked at her quickly. "It will not be difficult -to repay me," she said; "but I don't want repayment, -</span><em class="italics">eccellenza</em><span>; it is not for repayment I mention it. But, some -day, if you will remember that my father has been -dismissed from your service because he would not consent to -an injustice being done in your name to the people, that -will be repayment enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca started. "Of course!" she exclaimed. "I recollect. -Your father has been dismissed from his post, has he -not? Well, when I have power to recall him, he shall be -recalled. It is enough for me to know that he has been -dismissed by Monsieur l'Abbé Roux to suspect that he has -been unjustly treated. But what do you mean by injustice -to the people done in my name, Concetta? I do not -understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta hesitated. "You will understand very soon, -perhaps," she replied, mysteriously. "But do not be -alarmed, </span><em class="italics">eccellenza</em><span>, it is not you with whom the people -are angry. They know you cannot help what is being done, -although it may be done in your name. </span><em class="italics">Basta!</em><span> if you have -no further orders for me, I will go. It is nearly morning, -and I have been here too long. If the princess were to -awake and think of coming into your room—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She never comes into my room after I have wished her -good-night," said Bianca, "and you must not go yet, -Concetta—at least, not before I have given you a letter which -you will take back to Monsignor Lelli—Don Agostino—for -me. You will do that, will you not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Altro</em><span>! But, </span><em class="italics">eccellenza</em><span>, do not be long writing your -letter. If I were to be found here—well—" and Concetta -shrugged her shoulders significantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca suddenly looked round the room in despair. -"</span><em class="italics">Madonna mia!</em><span>" she exclaimed, "I have nothing to write -with—no ink or paper—only a little pencil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The pencil must serve for this time, </span><em class="italics">signorina</em><span>," said -Concetta. "To-morrow you can bring some writing-materials -here and hide them in the passage outside, for -I will show you how to work the spring. Anything you -place in the passage is as if Domeneddio had it in his own -pocket. But for to-night write a few words on the blank -half-sheet of that letter you have, and early to-morrow -morning I will give it myself to Don Agostino."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca looked at her doubtfully. She was loath to part -with even a scrap of paper that had come from Silvio. -But time pressed, and if she did not return an immediate -reply to his missive, Silvio would think it had been -intercepted. She sat down and wrote a few lines hurriedly, and, -folding up her half-sheet of paper, confided it to Concetta's -keeping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will tell Don Agostino that I shall send another -letter to-morrow by you," she said, "and you will thank -him for all he is doing, Concetta, from me. And tell him -also that I shall write to him myself, because—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated for a moment, then, drawing herself up, she -looked Concetta full in the face. "Because my future -husband wishes me to do so," she concluded, quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta Fontana took her hand, and, raising it to her -lips, kissed it. "I will go to Don Agostino at seven o'clock -this morning, before he says his mass, and I will give him -the letter. Ah, </span><em class="italics">signorina</em><span>, if the Signorino Rossano is Don -Agostino's friend, it is proof enough that, speaking with -respect, you have chosen your husband wisely. </span><em class="italics">Sicuro</em><span>! -Don Agostino is a good man. There are many at Montefiano -who distrust the priests; but there is nobody who -does not trust Don Agostino. It is I, Concetta, who say it -to you—and I know. But look, </span><em class="italics">signorina</em><span>, the dawn will -soon be here. Let me go now—for who knows that her -excellency might not awake. You will not be frightened -if you see the picture move again? It will only be Concetta -looking into the room to make sure that you are alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca turned to her quickly. "Ah, Concetta," she -exclaimed, "I am so happy—you do not know how happy! -And I shall not forget what you have done for me—you -will see that I shall not forget. Yes—go—go! I am not -alone any longer now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta lifted up a chair and placed it under the picture. -Then, standing upon it, she pressed the spring concealed -behind the heavy, carved frame, and slowly, noiselessly, the -portrait of Cardinal Acorari slid back into the wall. -Another moment, and Concetta was standing in the aperture -where the painted panel had been. "Sleep well now, -</span><em class="italics">signorina</em><span>," she whispered to Bianca, "and do not be afraid. -There are those watching that no harm shall come to you at -Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew back into the passage as she spoke, pressing -the corresponding spring on the other side of the wall as -she did so; and once more the cardinal looked down on -Bianca from the spot where Concetta had been standing -but an instant before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca gazed at the picture for a few moments, and -listened for any faint echo of Concetta's footsteps. Not the -slightest sound was audible from the passage. Only the -twittering of waking birds came through the open window; -and Bianca, turning away, went again to it and leaned out. -A faint breeze was stirring the trees in the macchia below -the terrace, and the drooping tops of the cypresses were -swaying softly. The moon was sinking behind the lofty -ridges of Soracte, and away in the east the violet sky of -night was already streaked with the first pale messengers -heralding the coming of the dawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Bianca leaned from the window and watched till the -pearly whiteness in the eastern sky deepened into rose red; -till the wreaths of mist floating away from the valley of the -Tiber rose, and, clinging to the mountain-sides, glided -slowly upward till they caught the first golden rays of the -yet hidden sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the woodland below came the distant notes of a -reed-pipe, and then a boy's voice singing one of the strange -minor cadences learned, probably, centuries ago of slaves -from the East, and sung still by the peasants and shepherds -of the Latin province. In the present instance, Bianca -knew that the lad was no shepherd—for the sheep had not -yet been brought down from the higher pastures—but -that he was engaged in the less poetical occupation of -tending pigs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she watched, a wave of golden light seemed to spread -over the face of the landscape below her, and the sun rose. -And Bianca Acorari flung out her arms once more; this time -not in doubt and almost in despair, but in a passion of joy, -thankfulness, and love.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxvi"><span class="bold large">XXVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Caffè Garibaldi, which was situated in the main -street of Montefiano—a street that bore, as a matter of -course, the name of Corso Vittorio Emanuele—was doing an -unusually brisk business. At each little marble-topped -table a group of excited men was sitting, each member of -which was talking at the top of his voice. Nobody was -listening to his neighbor; but then, as all the world knows, -there are occasions when no Italian ever does listen to his -neighbor during a discussion; the whole aim and object of -each speaker being to talk the other down. A considerable -amount of wine was being drunk, and some of it was new -wine, the process of fermentation being scarcely over. No -doubt this fact accounted for much of the heat with which -the sole topic of conversation in the Caffè Garibaldi that -evening was being discussed. There was an argument, -indeed, and, taking into consideration the number of -half-litres consumed and the quality of at any rate a large -proportion of the wine, it was perhaps as well that -everybody was of the same opinion, though each strove to -express that opinion more forcibly than his companion. A -difference on the main issue in question would have certainly -led to quarrels, and quarrels would as likely as not have -resulted in the flow of other liquid than Stefano Mazza's -red wine at eight </span><em class="italics">soldi</em><span> the litre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a room at the back of the </span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span>—a room wherein was -to be found the solitary billiard-table in Montefiano, and -where the choicer and more exclusive elements of Montefianese -society were wont to gather—the conversation was -as animated and scarcely less noisy than in the portion -communicating directly with the street bearing the name -of the Re Galantuomo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stefano Mazza, the host, was himself attending to the -wants of his clients in this more select part of his premises; -and Stefano Mazza was a person of considerable weight in -Montefiano, not only bodily but, what was far more -important, socially. The </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> of Montefiano himself, with -all the importance of bureaucracy at his back, was not so -influential a man as Stefano Mazza; for Mazza, so to speak, -held the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> in the hollow of his hand, as he did a very -considerable proportion of the </span><em class="italics">sindaco's</em><span> municipal -councillors and of the inhabitants of Montefiano generally. -There were few, very few of the Montefianesi, from officials -to peasants, whose signatures to certain pieces of paper -bearing the government stamp and setting forth that -the signatories were in his debt to amounts ranging from -thousands to tens of </span><em class="italics">lire</em><span>, Stefano did not possess. He -was, in short, the money-lender, not only to Montefiano, -but to a considerable portion of the agricultural district -surrounding it, and, as such, his opinion on most questions -was listened to with unfailing respect by all members of the -community.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the whole, </span><em class="italics">strozzino</em><span> though he was, Stefano was -neither an unjust nor a hard man. To be sure, he charged -a six-per-cent. interest for the money he loaned; but he was -content with getting this interest and never departed from -his conditions. He had been known to wait for his money, -too, when, owing to bad seasons, some of his poorer clients -were unable to pay their interest at the proper dates. The -consequence was that Sor Stefano was regarded by his -neighbors of all degrees as a personage with whom it was -to their advantage to stand well; the more so as even the -most prosperous among them could never tell when they -might not want to borrow his money, or renew a bill for -money already advanced by him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden hail-storm which would devastate the crops or -the vineyards in the space of a few minutes; an unfortunate -season with the lambs or the pigs; a failure with the maize -or the grain—and it was as likely as not that Sor Stefano's -assistance would have to be sought in order to tide over the -winter months; and often, too, in order to have the rent -ready for Sor Beppe, the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span>, when he should come to -collect it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was certain, therefore, that nobody, not excepting Sor -Beppe himself, was so thoroughly acquainted with the -financial conditions of the tenants on the Montefiano -estates as Stefano Mazza, the proprietor of the Caffè -Garibaldi. Moreover, Sor Stefano and Sor Beppe were good -and intimate friends, as their fathers had been before -them. Sor Stefano, indeed, had recently stood by the -</span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> on more than one occasion, when, after the rents -had been farmed out to the new lessee, Sor Beppe had been -compelled to obey instructions from Rome and increase -them, thereby incurring the dislike of the small holders, -who not unnaturally regarded him as the primary cause of -the extra burden laid upon them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The news of Sor Beppe's dismissal from the office of -</span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> had stirred public opinion in and around Montefiano -to its depths. Notwithstanding its Corso Vittorio -Emanuele, its Via Giordano Bruno, and other outward and -visible signs of a desire to tread the path of independence and -liberty, Montefiano was conservative enough in maintaining -its own traditions, and in not welcoming any changes -in the order of things to which it had become accustomed. -For five-and-twenty years Sor Beppe had been </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> at -Montefiano to Casa Acorari; while, for fifty years before he -succeeded to the post, it had been occupied by Sor Pompilio, -his father. This fact was in itself sufficient to cause -the news that another </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> was to be appointed in the -place of Giuseppe Fontana to be received with astonishment -and not a little indignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When it became known, however, that Sor Beppe had -been dismissed because he had flatly declined to obey -instructions of the administration in Rome to raise the rents -of certain small holdings without laying the matter -personally before the princess, popular indignation had -increased until it became a deep and bitter anger. As Sor -Beppe had pointed out to Don Agostino, it had been -generally known in Montefiano for some time that the -</span><em class="italics">principessa's</em><span> foreign priest was practically the head of the -administration to the Eccellentissima Casa Acorari; and during -the last few weeks, since the sudden arrival at the castle of -the princess and the Principessina Bianca, rumor had -insisted that the new </span><em class="italics">affittuario</em><span> of the Montefiano estate -was no other than the priest himself. If this were not so, -it was argued, why did the new </span><em class="italics">affittuario</em><span> never show -himself in the flesh, and why did the foreign </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span> make -a point of personally examining every holding on the -property? But that Sor Beppe should be dismissed from a -post that he had honorably filled for five-and-twenty years -because he would not lend himself to furthering this -interloper's schemes for enriching himself at the expense of the -poor, and of the good name of Casa Acorari, was an -abominable thing. Men and women had talked of nothing else -in the streets of the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> during the day, and at night the -men flocked to the Caffè Garibaldi to hear what Sor Stefano -and the more influential members of the community might -have to say on the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was evident that these worthies had much to say; and, -like their inferiors in the social scale of Montefiano, they -said it loudly and decidedly. Such a thing could not be -tolerated; and the voice of the majority was in favor of -forming a deputation that should wait upon their excellencies -at the castle and point out to them the injustice of Sor -Beppe's dismissal, and the ill-feeling among the peasants -that insistence on the raising of their rents would infallibly -produce. There was, indeed, a secondary motive in the -minds of those who, headed by Sor Stefano, had suggested -the expediency of a deputation. For some little time -mysterious rumors had circulated in Montefiano—rumors -of which the Principessina Bianca was the central object. -It was whispered, especially among the women, that there -was something going on in the castle that was not -satisfactory; that the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> had been brought to -Montefiano because she wanted to marry a </span><em class="italics">bel giovane</em><span> in Rome, -whose only fault was that he had not a title; that instead -of being allowed to marry the man she loved she was being -forced to receive the attentions of the princess's brother—a -worn-out foreign baron, old enough to be the poor child's -father. It was insisted that the Principessina Bianca was -unhappy, that she was practically a prisoner, and that the -priest was at the bottom of it all. Who circulated these -stories among the women, Sor Stefano knew perfectly well. -It was certain that they became more definite from day -to day, and that by degrees a very wide-spread feeling of -suspicion had been aroused among all classes at Montefiano -that the Principessina Bianca was being made the victim -of an intrigue on the part of her step-mother's foreign -advisers to possess themselves both of her person and her -estates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why, it was asked, was the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> never seen? -The very few people who had happened to see her at the -castle had come away full of enthusiasm concerning her -beauty and her kindness of manner. When it became -known that Sor Beppe had been dismissed, these stories -had been repeated with greater insistence than ever. -Probably the women had determined to excite the -compassion and indignation of their menkind on the -</span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> behalf; for several of the leading peasants and -small farmers in and around Montefiano had openly talked -of going to the castle and demanding an interview with the -Principessina Donna Bianca, in order to see for themselves -whether their young </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span> were in reality exposed to -the treatment they suspected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was in order to consult together concerning the -suggested deputation that the leading spirits of Montefiano -had assembled at the Caffè Garibaldi that evening. -Notwithstanding the noise, and the totally irrelevant side -issues raised by many of his customers, it was clear to -Stefano Mazza that the general consensus of public opinion -was on his side. The dismissal of Sor Beppe should not be -allowed to pass without a protest being made to the -</span><em class="italics">principessa</em><span> in person; and at the same time it should be clearly -conveyed to her that any </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> who should be appointed -to succeed Sor Beppe would find his task by no means -easy, inasmuch as the people would with truth conclude -that he had been sent to Montefiano to carry out changes -which were obnoxious and unjust. Sor Stefano, anxious -to please all parties, had further suggested that the -deputation in question should insist upon the Principessina -Bianca being present when its members were received by -her step-mother. Her presence, he pointed out, would -enable the representatives of the Montefiano people to -ascertain whether Donna Bianca was or was not aware of -what was being done in her name, whether it was true that -she was merely a victim of the unscrupulous designs of -this Belgian priest, and of another stranger who was, to -all intents and purposes, her uncle. Donna Bianca Acorari -was their legitimate </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>, the daughter and heiress of -the princes of Montefiano; and as such her own people at -Montefiano had a right to approach her and hear from her -own lips whether all that was said concerning her was -truth or fiction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was late that night when the Caffè Garibaldi put out -its lights and barred its doors after the last of Sor -Stefano's clients had left the premises. The chief point under -discussion during the evening had been settled, however, -and it was unanimously decided that a deputation, headed -by the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> and Sor Stefano, should send a letter to the -castle requesting to be received by the princess and the -Principessina Donna Bianca. Perhaps the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> of -Montefiano was the only one to display some hesitation as -to the advisability of the course determined upon. He -had no desire to compromise himself by lending his official -sanction to any movement which might end in disturbance -and in possible collision with the civil authorities. It was -impossible to foretell what might take place were the -princess and her adviser to oppose the wishes of the already -suspicious and excited peasants, and refuse to entertain -the objections of the deputation to the dismissal of the -</span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span>, Giuseppe Fontana. The </span><em class="italics">avvocato</em><span> Ricci, </span><em class="italics">syndic</em><span> of -Montefiano, like many other petty Italian lawyers, nourished -an ambition to enter political life as a means whereby -to fill his empty pockets at the expense of those who might -send him to join the large number of his fellow-lawyers in -the Chamber of Deputies. It was a somewhat exalted -ambition, no doubt; but the </span><em class="italics">avvocato</em><span> Ricci, after all, was in -no more obscure a position than many another local -attorney now calling himself </span><em class="italics">onorevole</em><span> and making the best -of his opportunities as a deputy to rob with both hands, -until such time as he should either be made a minister of -state or fail to be re-elected by a disillusioned constituency.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It would certainly not add to his prospects were he, as -</span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> of Montefiano, to compromise himself with the -authorities of the Home Office in Rome for the sake of some -discontented peasants in his commune, and he had already -done his best that evening to throw cold water on Sor -Stefano's suggestions, and to dissociate himself from any -part in the movement in question. A few words, however, -spoken in his ear by Stefano Mazza, conveying a gentle but -pointed allusion to certain bills, more than once renewed -which Sor Stefano happened to have in his keeping, had -effectually silenced the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> Ricci's official objections -to making one of the proposed deputation to the castle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gathering at the Caffè Garibaldi had taken place on -the very evening of Concetta Fontana's delivery to Bianca -Acorari of her lover's missive. Concetta, indeed, knew -well enough that the meeting was to take place, and also -what its object was. As a matter of fact, it was largely, -if not entirely, owing to her that public interest in -Montefiano had been aroused concerning the motives for the -Principessina Bianca's confinement—for so Concetta had -not hesitated to qualify it—in the castle and the park -behind the castle. She had let fall mysterious hints as to what -she had seen and heard during the hours she was employed -in helping the </span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> maid in mending the linen -and in other household duties; and her tales had certainly -not lost in the telling during the long summer evenings -when the women of the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> had little to do but to sit and -gossip outside their doors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doubtless, like most gossip, the stories woven round -Concetta Fontana's suggestion would soon have been -replaced by others of closer interest. The premature -appearance of the baker's baby, which had upset the ideas of Don -Agostino's house-keeper as to the fitness of things, had -been for some days relegated to an altogether secondary -place; nor would the men have paid much attention to -the tales told them by their womenkind of the treatment to -which the Principessina Bianca was being subjected, had -it not been for Sor Beppe's sudden dismissal from office. -It needed very little to impress upon the farmers and -peasantry on the </span><em class="italics">latifondo</em><span> belonging to Casa Acorari -that the latter circumstance was in direct connection -with the former; and that it had evidently been found -necessary to get rid of Giuseppe Fontana and replace him -by another agent who would be nothing more nor less than -a tool in the hands of the foreign priest who had already -persuaded the princess to consent to their rents being -materially increased. It must be confessed that Concetta -Fontana had lost no opportunity of duly impressing her -friends and acquaintances with this plausible explanation of -the reasons which had led to her father's dismissal. She -had conceived an enthusiastic devotion to the Principessina -Bianca almost from the first moment she had seen her and -Bianca had spoken a few kindly words to her. This devotion -had been further increased by realizing the loneliness of the -girl's position, by sympathy with her for her enforced -separation from the man she wished to marry, as well as by the -discovery that Bianca was being exposed to the joint -intrigues of Monsieur d'Antin and the Abbé Roux. The -thought that her young </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span> had need of her devotion -had kindled Concetta's sense of loyalty, in which, as in that -of her father, there was much that was nothing short of -feudal feeling for the young head of the house of the -Acorari of Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta, however, could hardly be blamed if, in addition -to her genuine desire to rescue Bianca Acorari from the fate -into which she felt convinced that Baron d'Antin and the -Abbé Roux were trying to force her, she hoped at the same -time to benefit her father and bring about his reinstatement. -Sor Beppe had been, as it were, stunned by the -suddenness of the blow which had fallen upon him. As he had -said to Don Agostino, he was too old for transplantation. -The interests of Casa Acorari had been his interests ever -since he could remember. However unsatisfactory the -late Principe di Montefiano might have been in other -relations of life—however neglectful he might have been of -the fact that he was taking all he could get out of his -properties and was putting nothing into them again—he -had always been a just and considerate landlord towards -the people of the place from which he took his principal -title, and which had been the cradle of his race.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the thought of how the late Prince Montefiano -would have disapproved of the course taken by the Abbé -Roux, and by the so-called administration of the affairs of -Casa Acorari, that made the injustice of his dismissal all the -harder for Sor Beppe to bear. If he had received his -dismissal at the hands of the Principessina Bianca, it would -have been bad enough; but to receive it from foreigners who, -as he more than suspected, were only bent upon filling their -own pockets during the </span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> minority, was -altogether intolerable. The sympathy which had been shown -him in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>, and the general indignation aroused by -the facts which had led to his dismissal had certainly been -very pleasant to Sor Beppe's wounded feelings. He had -made no secret of his conviction that so soon as the -Principessina Bianca had the control of her affairs he would be -reinstated, and public opinion in Montefiano quickly -exonerated Donna Bianca Acorari from all responsibility in -the matter. That such a thing had happened was, in the -eyes of the Montefianesi, only a further proof of the bad -foreign influence by which their young princess was -surrounded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe had carefully abstained from going to the -Caffè Garibaldi that evening. It was his custom to spend -an hour or two there on most nights, taking a hand at -</span><em class="italics">tresette</em><span> or playing a game of billiards. He was aware, of -course, of the discussion that was to take place on that -particular evening, and it certainly would not have been -seemly for him to be present. Moreover, there was no -reason to suppose that his cause would suffer by his absence -from the gathering. He knew that his friend, Stefano -Mazza, would take care that this was not the case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, Sor Beppe had taken the opportunity of paying an -evening visit to Don Agostino. He had attempted to see -him immediately after his interview with the princess, when -he had learned that she declined to interfere in his dismissal, -but Don Agostino had already departed for Rome. After -leaving Don Agostino, Sor Beppe had returned to his own -set of rooms in the castle—the home of so many years, which -he would now have to leave—and he had found Concetta -awaiting him. The girl had required no pressing to deliver -the packet Don Agostino had intrusted to her father. She -had many times, she told him, wished to go to the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> and offer to take some message for her to her -lover—oh, many times, if only to spite the baron and Monsieur -l'Abbé, who thought they had laid their plans so well. But -she had not dared to take the liberty. Now, of course, she -had an excuse; and if Don Agostino was interesting himself -in the </span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> love-affairs, it was certainly a -proof that the young man was worthy of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Sor Beppe had accompanied Concetta to the disused -room next to the entrance-gate of the castle, where -he kept his firewood and his coke, and had seen her pass -through the trap-door and mount the narrow stone steps -leading into the secret passage above. Then he had awaited -her return, not without some misgivings at the length of -time which elapsed before he saw her reappear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta returned from her expedition flushed and -excited, and, indeed, very nearly weeping. Her voice -trembled as she recounted all that had passed between the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> and herself; how she had watched the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> standing at the window of her room, and had -heard her cry to her absent lover; and how the poor child -had seemed almost dazed when she gave her the packet, -and had then broken down and cried in her, Concetta's, -arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She told her father how the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> was aware of -his dismissal, but evidently knew nothing of the raising -of the rents and his refusal to further acts of injustice, -committed nominally in her interests; and how she had -declared that, when she had the power to do so, she would -reinstate him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe listened attentively. "She is her father's -daughter," he said, when Concetta had concluded, "and she -will not allow her people to be wronged."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta's eyes flashed. "And we," she exclaimed—"we -will not allow her to be wronged! </span><em class="italics">Vedete</em><span>, it is not the -princess, she wants to do her duty by the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>—oh, -I have heard that a hundred times from the maid, -Bettina. It is the Abbé Roux. He makes the princess -believe that her duty is to force the poor girl to do what he -wants. But he will go too far, and then we shall see is -it not true, Babbo?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Beppe nodded. "He has gone too far already," -he said. "Listen, Concetta: the peasants are angry—very -angry; and not the peasants only, but also those who are -more highly placed than they. There will certainly be -trouble if the increase in the rents is insisted upon. -Moreover, they suspect something, some foul play towards the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>, and it is as likely as not that there will be a -demonstration. Well, if there is, and the Abbé Roux, as -you call him, attempts to carry out his plans, I would not -answer for the consequences. They are patient, our -people—very patient; but when their patience is exhausted, they -are not easy to manage. Why, in the Castelli Romani, a -few years ago, at Genzano and Ariccia, the peasants held -their own against the soldiers, and got what they wanted, -too—but there was blood spilled in the getting of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta Fontana glanced at her father quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I not know it?" she replied. "Yes, the people are -angry. Well, let them be angry. Perhaps, if there is a -demonstration, the princess will understand that there is -something wrong, and Monsieur l'Abbé will be frightened. -But the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> will not be frightened, I am sure of -that. She will know that it is only her own people, who -will not be ruled by strangers. To-day we shall know what -has happened at the Caffè Garibaldi," and Concetta smiled -with a satisfied air. "As to the Abbé Roux—" she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curse the </span><em class="italics">pretaccio</em><span>!" growled Sor Beppe, under his -breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He would be wiser to return to Rome," concluded Concetta, -"if he does not want to take </span><em class="italics">delle belle bastonate</em><span> some -fine day!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxvii"><span class="bold large">XXVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Punctually at half-past seven on the morning after -Sor Beppe's nocturnal visit to him, Don Agostino, -robed in his vestments and accompanied by a small but -sturdy acolyte, who was to act as server at the low mass he -was about to celebrate, emerged from the sacristy of his -church and ascended the steps of one of the side altars. -The attendance was not large, the congregation consisting -of a few peasant women and two old men; for the day was -not a </span><em class="italics">festa</em><span>, and, consequently, the population of Montefiano -was pursuing its usual occupations in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>, or in the -fields and vineyards beyond it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Don Agostino, after having arranged the sacred vessels -and adjusted the markers in the missal to the proper pages, -turned from the altar to commence the opening portion of -the mass, his quick eyes fell upon Concetta Fontana, who -was kneeling in the body of the church some little way -behind the group of women gathered round the marble -balustrade in front of the altar. It could not be said that -Concetta was a frequent attendant at the half-past seven -o'clock mass, and her presence had already excited -whispered comments among the rest of the congregation, who -had at once recognized Sor Beppe's daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mass over, Don Agostino retired to the sacristy again -to disrobe, and thither, after a few minutes had elapsed, -Concetta Fontana followed him. Don Agostino was not -surprised to see her. Indeed, he had risen earlier than usual -that morning in expectation of a visit either from Fontana -or his daughter. He had spent an hour or two in his garden -tying up refractory branches of his rose-trees and generally -attending to the needs of his fellow-beings of the vegetable -world—for it was one of Agostino's theories that any form -of life was an attribute of the God whom he worshipped as -a God of sympathy and of love, and he regarded his trees -and his flowers as sentient beings who had a right to his -tenderness and care. It was certainly not a theory of -which he spoke in the world; but then most of us who are -not content with looking only at the binding of God's book -of life probably have our little intimate thoughts and -theories which, knowing our world, we are prudent enough -to keep for our own use and enjoyment, and, perhaps, as -stepping-stones on the path we have to tread.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta waited until she and Don Agostino were alone in -the sacristy, and then she gave him the folded sheet of -paper that Bianca Acorari had intrusted to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow," she said, "the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> will send -another letter by me. There were no writing-materials in -her room, so she could only send a few lines, which your -reverence will no doubt forward to their destination."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino took the paper and placed it carefully in -his pocket-book. "I shall send it to the Signorino Rossano -to-day," he replied. "Donna Bianca need have no fear of -its not reaching him safely. So you took the packet to her -last night?" he continued. "You had no difficulty in -giving it into Donna Bianca's own hands?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta quickly related to him all that had passed -between Bianca and her the night before. "And I was to -tell your reverence," she concluded, "from the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>, -that she would write to you herself, because her </span><em class="italics">fidanzato</em><span> -wished her to do so. Ah, but you should have seen the -proud way the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> drew herself up and looked—a -look that a queen might give—when she spoke of her -</span><em class="italics">fidanzato</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino glanced at her with a smile. "You will be -faithful to the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>?" he asked. "She -needs friends, the poor child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faithful to her!" exclaimed Concetta. "I would do -anything—anything, for the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>. Imagine if I -was glad when my father came home last night and told -me I must take her the packet you had given him. I had -wanted to go to her, and to tell her that I would do -anything she bade me—oh, so often! But how could I -venture? Besides, I was afraid of frightening her if I -appeared in her room from the cardinal's portrait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she was not frightened?" Don Agostino asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Niente affatto!</em><span>" returned Concetta, emphatically. "It -was I who was frightened when I saw her leaning out of -the window in the moonlight and calling to her lover. I -feared she might be walking in her sleep, and that she might -throw herself down on the terrace. Ah, but she knows now -that there are those who are ready to help her—and she -will know it better in a few days' time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at her. "How do you mean? -Why should she know it better in a few days than she does -now?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta pursed up her lips. "She will know it," she -repeated, "and so will the principessa and the Abbé Roux. -I am nothing—only a woman—but there are men who will -help her—all Montefiano, if it comes to that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at her with greater attention. He -had already heard through Ernana something concerning -the ill-feeling the dismissal of Sor Beppe had aroused in -Montefiano; and something, too, of the part the Abbé Roux -was supposed to have played in bringing about the </span><em class="italics">fattore's</em><span> -dismissal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" he repeated. "You may speak -openly to me, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>," he continued, "for I also would -do all I could to help Donna Bianca Acorari and to protect -her from any evil designs against her. Moreover, Donna -Bianca's </span><em class="italics">fidanzato</em><span> is my friend, and his father and I have -been friends for many years. After all, it is I, is it not, who -have asked your father to convey that packet to the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>? And he told me of the means whereby it might -be conveyed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta started. "Ah! he told you of the passage?" -she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," replied Don Agostino. "So you see," he -added, "I am aware that it is possible to communicate -with Donna Bianca without the fact being known to those -who are trying to isolate her from the outer world. If you -have the </span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> welfare at heart, as I am sure that -you have, you will take me entirely into your confidence, -will you not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta nodded. "I know nothing for certain as yet," -she said, after hesitating for a moment, "but the people are -angry, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, very angry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I have heard something of that," said Don -Agostino, as Concetta paused. "They are angry at the rents -having been raised, and at your father's having been -dismissed for his opposition to the increase. But his dismissal -has nothing to do with Donna Bianca's position, and the -people's anger will not help her, so far as I can see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but it will help her," replied Concetta, eagerly. -"They are angry about the rents and about my father, that -is true; but they are also indignant at the way in which the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> is shut up and not allowed to see anybody. -They have heard that she is in love with somebody whom -she is forbidden to see any more, and that the princess's -brother wants to force her to marry him instead. And they -have put the dots upon the i's, and believe that the foreign -priest is at the bottom of the whole affair. You must -remember, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, that we Montefianesi look upon the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> as our </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>. We do not want foreigners -to interfere between us and the Principessina Bianca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand that perfectly well," Don Agostino -observed, quietly. "But how do the Montefianesi propose to -remedy matters? After all, Donna Bianca is a minor, and -as such she is not yet her own mistress; nor," he added, "can -her people here, however devoted to her they may be, make -her so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they can make the </span><em class="italics">principessa</em><span> get rid of those who -are advising her badly," said Concetta. "I do not know -what has been decided," she continued, lowering her voice, -"but last night there was a meeting at the Caffè Garibaldi. -Of course, my father would not be present, for it was his -dismissal that they were by way of discussing—that and the -raising of the rents. But I am certain that they will have -talked about other things besides these; and I know that -Sor Stefano meant to propose that a deputation should go -to the princess and insist on the rents being lowered to their -original amount, and on my father being retained as </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely," interrupted Don Agostino. "But in what -way will Donna Bianca be helped by all this talk? That -is what I do not understand, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta directed a shrewd glance at him. "In this -way," she replied, "Sor Stefano—oh, and many others, -too—intend to see the Principessina Bianca herself, and to -explain to her that she and nobody else is </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span> at -Montefiano, and that they will hear from her own lips, when they -have explained matters to her, whether what has been done -in her name has her approval or not. This they will do, -</span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, not because they do not understand that the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> is still a child, so to speak, but because they -intend Monsieur l'Abbé and the baron to understand that -their schemes are known and will not be tolerated. </span><em class="italics">Mi -spiego reverendo</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino's face flushed and his eyes sparkled with an -unusual excitement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you explain yourself?" he said, repeating Concetta's -last words. "Certainly, you explain yourself very well. -Ah, if your Montefianesi do that, they will, indeed, be -helping their </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused suddenly, and his countenance became grave -and preoccupied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this deputation to the princess," he said, -presently—"does your father know of the proposal?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly he knows of it," answered Concetta; "but -naturally," she added, "he can take no part in it. It is -Sor Stefano who will be at the head of it, or perhaps the -</span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span>—oh, and representatives chosen by the </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span>. -And you, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, you will surely be asked to join it as -the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span>. </span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span> it will all have been settled last night; -but as yet I have seen nobody, for until I had delivered the -</span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> letter, as I promised her I would do, I could -not be easy in my mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino's expression remained grave and thoughtful. -That the people of Montefiano should resent the -interference of the Abbé Roux in their relations with Casa -Acorari was certainly natural, and might in the end turn out -to be a good thing for both Donna Bianca and Silvio. But -Don Agostino well knew the danger that must attend any -demonstration of hostility towards the princess and her -advisers on the part of the peasants. Such demonstrations -were apt unexpectedly to assume serious proportions. If -the enraged </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span> felt that they had the moral support -of men like Sor Stefano, they might easily lose their -heads, and, should their demands be refused, attempt to -enforce them by measures which would necessitate the -intervention of the civil authorities, if not of the military. -What military intervention too frequently ended in, Don -Agostino was fully aware, and he felt every effort should be -made to prevent the threatened demonstration assuming -any attitude that might furnish an excuse for obtaining it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The question was, whether Princess Montefiano would -consent to receive this deputation, and to hear what its -members had to say. Her decision would evidently be -inspired by the Abbé Roux, and the abbé's recent action -in causing the rents to be increased, and in the dismissal of -an old, popular official for venturing to oppose that increase, -convinced Don Agostino that the foreign priest, as the Abbé -Roux was called, did not understand the character of the -people he was attempting to rule.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino's experience of human nature made him -at once realize the danger of a misunderstanding on either -side, in the present condition of public opinion in -Montefiano. The abbé might easily underrate the force of that -opinion and persuade the princess to decline to listen to, or -even to receive a deputation formed to protest against his -policy. If he were so to persuade Princess Montefiano, the -situation would infallibly become critical, and very likely -perilous. All would then depend on whether the Abbé Roux -had the nerve and the tact to deal with it, or whether he -would oblige the princess to appeal to the authorities to -suppress the demonstration. In this latter case a collision -would become inevitable; and it was this collision between -his people—for was he not their </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span>?—and the -authorities, that Don Agostino was determined to use all his -influence to avert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta Fontana watched his countenance, as for a few -moments Don Agostino stood, apparently deep in thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would join the deputation, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, would you -not?" she asked him, presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It depends," he replied. "You see, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>," he -continued, "we must be careful that in trying to do good we -do not bring about a great deal of harm and unhappiness. -I should like to talk with your father, and to-day I will go -to see Stefano Mazza. The </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span> are within their -rights—I do not deny that—and a grave injustice has been done, -both to them and to your father. </span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span> they are in the -right, but it should be the duty of those who have influence -to prevent them from doing anything to put themselves in -the wrong. Yes, tell your father that I should like to see -him to-day. At </span><em class="italics">mezzogiorno</em><span> he will find a place ready for -him if he likes to come to breakfast. We could talk -afterwards—while Ernana is washing the dishes. You will go to -see Donna Bianca again—as you did last night, will you not? -You will tell her that her letter goes to-day to her </span><em class="italics">fidanzato</em><span>, -and that he will receive it to-morrow morning in Rome. -And you will tell her, also, that I am awaiting the letter she -is going to write to me; and when I have it, I will answer -her. In the mean time, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>, be prudent—if you wish -to serve the Principessina Bianca. You and your father -have influence with the people—they wish you well. Talk -to the women. It is the women who can often lead the -men—is it not? Anything that is done must be done cautiously, -moderately. There must be no folly—no threats employed -in order to enforce demands that in themselves are just. -You must tell the women that I, Don Agostino, will support -all that is done to obtain justice in a just way—but I will -not countenance any measures that may provoke disorder, -and perhaps violence. Now go, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>, and give my -message to your father this morning—and to the Principessina -Bianca when you think it safe to go again to her -apartment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Don Agostino, opening the door of the sacristy, -accompanied Concetta through the empty church, and then -returned to his own house, and to his morning coffee which -Ernana always prepared for him after he had said his early -mass.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxviii"><span class="bold large">XXVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Silvio Rossano had quite made up his mind that -some days must in all probability elapse before Don -Agostino might be able to find a safe opportunity of -conveying the letter and ring he had intrusted to him to Bianca. -When, therefore, he found on his table, on returning to -Palazzo Acorari as usual for breakfast, a notice from the -post-office informing him that a registered packet addressed -to him was lying at the central office, he did not suppose -for a moment that the said packet had come from -Montefiano. Indeed, it was not until late in the afternoon that -he went to San Silvestro in order to get the packet, as -he had some work to do at home which he was anxious -to complete. His heart gave a sudden leap when he -recognized Don Agostino's handwriting on the registered -envelope. The arcade running round the court-yard and -garden of palms at San Silvestro, thronged as it was with -people asking for their correspondence at the </span><em class="italics">poste-restante</em><span>, -with soldiers and men of business, priests and peasants, -was certainly not the place to investigate the contents of -Don Agostino's missive, which would scarcely have been -registered had the contents not been important.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio hurried out of the building, and, crossing the Corso, -plunged into the comparative quiet of the little side streets -behind Montecitorio, where he eagerly tore open the sealed -envelope. There were only a few lines written by Don -Agostino himself, and Silvio, hastily glancing at them, -gathered that he had had an opportunity of sending the -letter and ring to Bianca Acorari by a safe hand, and that -her reply was enclosed. He added that he should write -more fully in a day or two, by which time he believed he -should have something of importance to communicate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca's letter, too, was short and hastily written in -pencil on a half-sheet of paper that Silvio recognized as -having been torn from his own lengthy epistle to her. -Brief as this letter was, however, it told him much that he -was longing to know, and, indeed, repeated Bianca's words -to him in the garden of the Villa Acorari, with which she had -vowed that she would marry nobody if she did not marry -him. But what set his mind at ease more than anything -else was her assurance that means of communication were -open to them. Bianca did not explain what these means -were, but told him that she would write him a long letter -the following day, and that he also could continue to write -to her under cover to Monsignor Lelli, as there was now -no danger of his letters being intercepted. This, at least, -was a comforting piece of news, and Silvio wondered how it -had come about that Don Agostino had been able to so -quickly find the necessary channel of communication. It -was scarcely likely, he reflected, that Don Agostino would -venture to go himself to the castle at Montefiano after -having been seen by Monsieur d'Antin in his company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He returned to Palazzo Acorari full of hope, and in better -spirits than he had been for many a day. The uncertainty -of the last few weeks had begun to tell upon him; and at -the same time his complete separation from Bianca Acorari -had only increased his love, and had made him more -determined than ever to defeat the machinations of those who -were trying to break down Bianca's love for him. The -first thing to be done was to write to Bianca. She would -be expecting to hear from him again, and to know that he -had received her pencilled note safely. Silvio shut himself -in his room and proceeded to write an epistle longer, if -anything, than that he had confided to Don Agostino. -The contents were much the same as the contents of other -love-letters, and scarcely likely to be of interest to any one -except himself and the person to whom they were -addressed. Of course, he longed to see her again; and he -implored her not to lose any opportunity of allowing him to -do so that could be seized upon without risk to herself. -He could always, he explained to her, come to Montefiano -at any moment, and Monsignor Lelli doubtless would -arrange that his presence in the place should be unsuspected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was useless, he felt, to attempt to form a plan, until he -should have heard again from her and from Don Agostino. -He read the latter's note again and again with great -attention. It was evident that Don Agostino had something -more to communicate than he was able at that moment to -write. No doubt he was making sure of his ground before -summoning Silvio to Montefiano. In any case, there was -nothing to do but to wait patiently for further light upon -the situation; and in the mean time he might do more harm -than good by suggesting any one of the expedients for -obtaining another meeting with Bianca that came into his -head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His letter written, he sought Giacinta's counsel as usual, -and told her of what that day's post had brought to him. -Giacinta was duly sympathetic. She had, indeed, long ago -recognized that Silvio's passion for Bianca Acorari was not -to be diminished by any amount of practical reasoning as -to its folly. Perhaps the discovery that Monsignor Lelli, -whom her father held in such high esteem, not only -approved of Silvio's love for Donna Bianca, but had also -undertaken to help him, so far as he might be able, to -remove the difficulties that stood in the way of his marrying -her, had caused Giacinta to take a less pessimistic view of -her brother's infatuation; at any rate, since Monsignor -Lelli's visit she had regarded the matter as one which must -take its course, for better or for worse, since not only was -there no apparent likelihood of Silvio being disheartened -by the obstacles in his way, but it seemed that Donna -Bianca Acorari also knew her own mind, and had no -intention of allowing others to alter it for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor, too, had become decidedly less cynical on -the subject of his son's matrimonial aspirations since his -conversation with Monsignor Lelli. To be sure, he did not -encourage Giacinta to talk about it; and when she attempted -to do so, he put the whole question quietly but decidedly -away from him, as he did any question threatening to lead -to social unpleasantness in private life. But Giacinta -realized that her father also had modified his views as to the -folly of Silvio's devotion to a girl whom he had seen only a -few times in his life; and that, though he did not intend to -move any further in the affair than he had already done, -he was not so actively opposed to it as he had at first shown -himself to be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta had always been doubtful as to whether Bianca -Acorari would have sufficient force of character to hold out -against the pressure that would certainly be brought to -bear upon her in order to make her relinquish all idea of -becoming Silvio's wife. It was quite natural that Silvio -himself should entertain no doubts on the subject; but then -he was in love with Bianca, and she, Giacinta, was not so. -But such passages as Silvio chose to read to her from the -brief note he had that day received from Bianca finally -removed all fears from her mind lest her brother might be -exposed to the disappointment and mortification of finding -that Donna Bianca had yielded to the influences by which -she was surrounded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, Giacinta," Silvio said, triumphantly, "I was -right. I have always told you that Bianca would never -give way. And now, after being shut up in that dreary -hole for nearly six weeks, she takes the first opportunity of -repeating the promises she made to me at the Villa Acorari. -If she has to wait three years to marry me, </span><em class="italics">ebbene</em><span>, she will -wait three years—and nothing that they can say or do to -her in the mean time will make the slightest difference. Oh, I -know what you will say—that it is impossible to know what -a person's character may be whom one has only seen a few -times, and only talked to once. But sometimes two people -know each other's character by instinct, by—by—oh, well, -by something or other, though God knows what the -something is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta laughed. "There may be a scientific explanation -of the phenomenon," she remarked; "perhaps Babbo -will find one. No, Silvio," she continued, more gravely, -"I confess I seem to have underrated Donna Bianca's -character. She is apparently as much in earnest as you -are, and I am glad she is so. It is at least a sign that, if -you both succeed in attaining your object, you should be -happy together, and your happiness is all that concerns -me, Silvio </span><em class="italics">mio</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Bianca's happiness," added Silvio, "that should -concern you, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will concern me henceforth," returned Giacinta, -"because, though I do not know Donna Bianca, I understand -now that her happiness and yours is the same thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at her with a quick smile. "You will -know Bianca some day," he said, "and then you will see -how right I was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two mornings afterwards, Silvio received a second letter -from Bianca, and from it he learned how it had happened -that Don Agostino had so quickly been able to communicate -with her. Bianca told him many other things as well; and -among them was a piece of information which, while it gave -him a considerable amount of satisfaction, at the same time -made him uneasy and restless in his mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was, she wrote, a threatening of disturbances -among the people at Montefiano in consequence of the Abbé -Roux having persuaded her step-mother to dismiss the -</span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> and to consent to the rents being raised. Bianca -did not understand very well what was the matter, but it -was evident that the Abbé Roux and her step-mother feared -that things might become serious, for they had discussed -in her presence the advisability of asking for soldiers to be -sent to Montefiano if there was any more trouble with the -</span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span>. Moreover, Concetta Fontana, the </span><em class="italics">fattore's</em><span> -daughter, to whom Bianca had already alluded as being her and -Silvio's friend and channel of communication, had told -her that the people were angry because they suspected she -was being kept as a kind of prisoner at Montefiano until she -should consent to marry Baron d'Antin, and that her -engagement to Silvio was perfectly well known in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>. -The peasants were going to send a deputation to the castle, -and to insist not only on the increase in the rents being -abandoned and the agent, Fontana, reinstated in his post, -but also, according to Concetta, on seeing her, Bianca, and -speaking with her as their </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The intelligence certainly carried with it food for -reflection. Silvio's first feeling on reading Bianca's words was -one of satisfaction. If it were known or suspected at -Montefiano that Donna Bianca Acorari was being kept in seclusion -in order to force her to marry a foreigner old enough to be -her father; if it were supposed that her property and -interests were being tampered with by strangers for their own -benefit, at the expense of her own people, a situation might -easily develop which would compel Princess Montefiano to -allow her step-daughter to marry the man she wished to -marry. It was certainly no bad thing if Bianca were -rescued from her present position by the force of public -opinion; and if her own people gathered round her, -Monsieur l'Abbé Roux and Monsieur le Baron d'Antin might -very possibly find themselves obliged to retire from the -scene. If this occurred, it might reasonably be hoped that -the princess would listen to other counsels than those by -which she had hitherto been influenced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So far, Silvio felt he had no cause to be otherwise than -pleased at the thought that Bianca's own people at -Montefiano were likely to interfere with the plans of the Abbé -Roux and Monsieur d'Antin. His sense of satisfaction, -however, was quickly succeeded by a feeling of uneasiness. -Young as he was, he had some experience of what an -uneducated mob, with grievances real or fancied, might be -capable of doing. He had witnessed strikes in more than -one part of Italy; and though it was true that, at -Montefiano, disturbances which might occur would be made by -peasants and not artisans, he knew how frequently it -happened that the uneducated of all classes and occupations lost -their heads and went to lengths which neither they nor their -leaders perhaps ever contemplated. If Bianca were right, -and the rents at Montefiano had been raised through the -abbé's instrumentality, and a popular agent dismissed for -venturing to oppose the increase, then much would depend -on the princess's attitude towards the suggested deputation -from her step-daughter's tenants. Should her attitude be -unconciliatory, who could tell whether the anger and -discontent of the peasantry might not be wreaked on Bianca -herself, in whose name these grievances had been inflicted?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio remembered having seen the agent, Fontana, on -one occasion during the few days he had spent in the -neighborhood of Montefiano; and he had likewise heard Don -Agostino mention him as a </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> who was just towards -the people as well as honest to his employers. At a crisis -such as Bianca's letter pointed to as being imminent, the -advice and services of a man like Fontana would have been -invaluable to Princess Montefiano; for if the peasants were -clamoring for his reinstatement, they certainly would have -been more likely to be influenced by him than by strangers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The idea that Bianca Acorari might be exposed to any -danger, however problematical, was quite sufficient to -render Silvio restless and uneasy. He wondered whether -Don Agostino had been thinking of possible disturbances on -the part of the peasants of Montefiano when he had written -that in a few days he might have something of importance -to communicate. To be sure, Don Agostino had not -written again, and now nearly three days had passed since -Silvio had received his first letter, enclosing the few lines -Bianca had sent him by Concetta Fontana. He would -certainly, Silvio told himself, have written, or even perhaps -telegraphed, had anything alarming occurred at Montefiano. -There was, it would appear, nothing to be done except to -wait for Don Agostino's promised letter, or at least until -Bianca herself should write again and give him further -particulars of how matters were going.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That evening the spell of damp, hot weather, which so -often makes Rome almost intolerable in the middle of -September, broke. A heavy thunder-storm passed over the -city, accompanied by torrents of rain, which descended in -white sheets as if in the tropics. A steamy fog rose from -the ground, parched by the long summer drought. Masses -of inky-black clouds began to drift up from the sea; and at -nightfall, long after the storm had rolled away to the -mountains, a continuous flicker of lightning illumined the -entire sky. In the caffès, or safely in the shelter of their -own houses, people congratulated one another that the end -of the heat had come, and that when the weather should -mend again the first breath of autumn would be felt in the -lighter, crisper air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio dined at home that night with his father and Giacinta, -and afterwards, contrary to his usual custom, Professor -Rossano did not go to the Piazza Colonna for his cup of -coffee and to read his evening paper. The Piazza Colonna, -indeed, would have been nothing but an exaggerated -puddle, with streams of muddy water running through it from -the higher level of Montecitorio; and, besides, it would have -been unwise to be abroad in the streets while the first rains -after the summer were falling—the only time during the -whole year when a genuine malarial fever, and not the -"Roman fever" of the overfed and overtired tourist, might -possibly be picked up within the walls of Rome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dinner had been over some time, and they were smoking -and talking together in the drawing-room, when the hoarse -cries of the news-venders calling the evening papers came -from the street without, and a few minutes later a servant -entered the room with copies of the newspapers, which he -gave to the professor. Giacinta took up a book and began -to read, while Silvio walked restlessly up and down the -room, every now and then going to the window to see if the -rain had stopped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor turned over the pages of his newspapers in -a vain endeavor to extract some news from them. There -might be, and no doubt there were, important events -happening in the world, even in the month of September—events -more important, for instance, than the fall from his -bicycle of a student, or the drinking by a servant-girl of a -solution of corrosive sublimate in mistake for water. If -there were more noteworthy matters to chronicle, however, -they had escaped the notice of the press that evening. -Professor Rossano was about to betake himself to other and -more profitable reading, when a paragraph containing a -telegram dated from Montefiano caught his eye and -arrested his attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So," he observed, suddenly, "it seems that our </span><em class="italics">padrona -di casa</em><span> has got herself into trouble with the people at -Montefiano, or, rather, I suppose that meddlesome abbé has -got her into trouble with them. Look, Silvio," he added, -pointing to the paragraph in question, "read this," and he -handed the newspaper to his son.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio took the paper quickly, and eagerly read the -telegram. It was very short, and merely stated that in -consequence of disorder among the peasantry on the estates -belonging to Casa Acorari at Montefiano, and the fear of -these disorders assuming more serious proportions, military -assistance has been requested by the civil authorities; and -that a detachment of infantry would in all probability be -despatched from Civitacastellana if the situation did not -become more satisfactory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio uttered an exclamation of dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did I tell you, Giacinta?" he said. "I was certain -from Bianca's last letter that some mischief was brewing. -Now there will probably be a collision with the military -authorities; and we all know what that means."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," observed the professor placidly, "it is no affair -of yours, Silvio, so far as I can see, if there are disturbances -at Montefiano. Not but what you have done your best to -add to their number! All the same," he continued, "it is a -foolish thing, and a wrong thing, to drag the soldiery into -these disputes if their intervention can possibly be avoided. -I suppose the princess and the Abbé Roux are frightened. -But surely there must be a </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> at Montefiano who can -manage the people?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is the point," returned Silvio. "The princess has -dismissed the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> because he objected to the raising of -the rents; and the peasants are insisting on his being -recalled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor glanced at him. "It seems," he remarked, -dryly, "that you know all about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't," answered Silvio, bluntly. "But I want -to know all about it," he added. "To-morrow I shall -take the first train to Attigliano, and I shall drive from -there to Montefiano. Don Agostino will tell me what it -all means, and perhaps I shall see for myself what is -going on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sciocchezze!</em><span>" exclaimed the professor. "Why the devil -should you go and interfere in the matter? It is no concern -of yours, and you will only get a bullet put into you by -a soldier, or a knife by a peasant. You are an imbecile, -Silvio."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it does concern me," Silvio replied, obstinately, -"and, imbecile or not, by twelve o'clock to-morrow I will -be at Montefiano. Who knows? Perhaps I might be of -use. In any case, I go there to-morrow. No, Giacinta, it -is perfectly useless to argue about it. I wish I had gone at -once, when I received Bianca's last letter. I can guess what -has happened. The princess has been advised not to -receive the deputation from the peasants, or she has received -it and refused to grant what was asked, and now the people -are exasperated."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The professor shrugged his shoulders. "Of course you -will go," he said. "When people are in love they cease to -be reasonable human beings, and you have not been a -reasonable human being—oh, not since Easter. It is useless -to talk to you, as useless as it would be to talk to a donkey -in spring," and Professor Rossano got up from his chair and -walked off to his library.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta looked at her brother as the door closed behind -the professor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you suppose the disturbances at Montefiano are -serious?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who can tell?" responded Silvio. "Those things are -apt to become serious at a moment's notice. Anyhow," he -continued, "I wish to be near Bianca, in case of any danger -threatening her. The people might think she was -responsible for the troops being summoned, and then, if any -casualty were to happen, they might turn upon her as well -as upon others at the castle. Of course I must go, Giacinta! -Besides, who knows what this business may not lead to? -Of one thing you may be certain. If Bianca is in any -danger, I shall save her from it—I shall take her away from -Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta stared at him. "You mean that you will make -her run away with you?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio shook his head. "I do not know," he replied. -"It will all depend upon circumstances. But if I asked her -to come with me, she would come. And there are those at -Montefiano, Giacinta, who would help her to do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giacinta did not reply for a moment. Then she said -again, quietly: "Of course you will go, Silvio. After all," -she added, "if I were a man, and in your place, I should do -the same."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxix"><span class="bold large">XXIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was Sunday; and on Sunday and other feasts Don Agostino -celebrated an additional mass at the principal altar -in the parish church of Montefiano at half-past seven o'clock. -This function was neither a high mass nor a </span><em class="italics">messa cantata</em><span>, -for, except on very special occasions, when extraneous -talent from Civitacastellana, or from some other larger -ecclesiastical centre in the neighborhood, was forthcoming, -the difficulties both musical and ceremonial of either form -would have been beyond the powers of the faithful at -Montefiano satisfactorily to surmount. The </span><em class="italics">funzione</em><span>, as it was -generally called, at half-past nine on a </span><em class="italics">festa</em><span> was doubtless -an inartistic and even an irreligious affair, if regarded from -the point of view of the purist in piety or musical art. At -intervals during the celebration of the mass, the organist -would rattle out from the wheezy pipes such stirring airs -from popular operas, comic and otherwise, as might seem -to him likely to please the saint to whom the day was dedicated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This particular Sunday happened to fall within the octave -of the 8th of September, the day on which the Church -commemorates the Nativity of the Madonna, and, during the -consecration and elevation of the sacred elements at the -mass, strains from "La Traviata" assisted the spiritual -aspirations of the kneeling worshippers. The remarkable -infelicity, under the circumstances, of the selection, certainly -never suggested itself either to the organist or to the -congregation, and Don Agostino, remembering that "to the -pure all things are pure," was far too wise to think of pointing -it out afterwards in the sacristy. Nevertheless, his sense -of humor was acute, and not entirely to be suppressed, even -when he was ministering at the altar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But to-day the organist's doubtful compliment to the -Madonna passed almost unnoticed by Don Agostino. He -knew that his people gave of their best to their religion; -and, if that best were not of a standard to satisfy more -artistic or more pious conceptions, the fact did not greatly -concern him. The truth was that it was not the first time -by many that Don Agostino had heard selections from "La -Traviata" at the half-past nine o'clock mass, and on this -occasion he had more important matters to occupy his mind -than the lack both of perception of the fitness of things and -of a sense of humor on the part of the organist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A glance round the church as he had entered it and made -his way to the altar, showed him that there was scarcely a -man, and certainly none of the younger men, among the -congregation. The fact was all the more noticeable because -Don Agostino invariably had a good attendance of men at -that mass. They did not, to be sure, penetrate very far -into the church, and the majority showed a determination -to stand as near the door as possible. But the great point -was that they came; and they came, moreover, not only to -attend mass, but also to listen to the short, practical -address—it was certainly not a sermon, for Don Agostino -never built imaginary edifices on the foundation of a -passage from Scripture—to which they knew that ten minutes -were sometimes devoted by their </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> before the canon -of the mass was begun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-day, however, the male element was conspicuous by -its absence, and Don Agostino said mass in the presence of -women and children only. That very morning an answer -had been sent by Princess Montefiano to the request made -by its leading members that she would receive a deputation -from the tenants on the Montefiano lands to protest against -the raising of their rents and the dismissal of Giuseppe -Fontana, the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span>. The answer had been brief and -decided. The princess caused it to be conveyed to the -tenants and peasants that she would do nothing of the kind. -Any reasonable complaints would be received by the -</span><em class="italics">ex-fattore</em><span> Fontana's successor, and would be forwarded by -him to the administration, to the Eccellentissima Casa -Acorari, for consideration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Montefiano was in no mood for a mass that morning, even -though it was a Sunday and within the octave of the -</span><em class="italics">Madonna di Settembre</em><span>. Don Agostino had heard the news -as he was vesting himself in the sacristy, and had heard -it with no little dismay. He had watched the storm -brewing, and though he felt that a storm was much needed to -clear the air, he did not wish it to burst with too great a -fury. He had, indeed, prepared a discourse which he had -intended to deliver at mass that morning, counselling -obedience to all lawful authority, and pointing out that -any attempt to redress grievances by unlawful means was -not only wrong, but impolitic. The discourse remained -undelivered; and when Don Agostino had read the Gospel -for the day, he proceeded to recite the </span><em class="italics">Credo</em><span> and passed -on to the canon of the mass. Those for whom his words -had been specially prepared were thronging the Corso -Vittorio Emanuele, eagerly debating as to what steps they -should take to show the princess and her foreign advisers -that they intended to persist in their determination to -place their grievances before her and the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> in -person.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The curt refusal to receive the proposed deputation had, -as was but natural, provoked intense indignation in and -about Montefiano. Had it been a working-day, the news -that the princess, as acting for Donna Bianca, had declined -to listen to the representatives of the peasants would have -circulated more slowly, for there were </span><em class="italics">tenute</em><span> belonging to -the estate, some of which were several miles distant from -Montefiano. But on a </span><em class="italics">festa</em><span> everybody who could walk, -or who had a beast to carry him, came into the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>; and -after being present, at any rate, during a portion of Don -Agostino's half-past-nine o'clock mass, the remainder of -the day was spent in gossiping with friends and acquaintances -and putting hardly earned money into the pockets -of the keepers of the </span><em class="italics">trattorie</em><span> and the wine-shops.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The error in judgment committed by Princess Montefiano -in allowing her decision not to receive the deputation which -had asked permission to wait upon her to be publicly -known in the morning of a </span><em class="italics">festa</em><span> was already bearing fruit. -Don Agostino, indeed, had uttered an exclamation of -surprise and annoyance when he was told the news, and heard -of the excitement and ill-feeling that was being already -shown in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>. He had always thought that Princess -Montefiano would decline to see the deputation, for it would -most probably not suit the Abbé Roux that she and Bianca -Acorari should receive it. The abbé, no doubt, had -counselled the showing of a firm front and an unconditional -refusal to admit that the tenants had any right to interfere -with the administration of the estates of the Casa Acorari. -But why, in the name of common-sense and prudence, had -not the Abbé Roux so arranged that the princess's reply -should not be known till Monday? Don Agostino asked -himself the question impatiently, and the only reply he -could find to it was that the abbé, being a foreigner, had -not sufficient knowledge of the customs of the people; and -that he probably understood neither the character nor the -temper of the Montefianesi.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mass was scarcely concluded when, after unrobing -himself of his vestments, Don Agostino hurried down the -flight of steps which formed a short cut from the piazza -where the church stood to the main street of the town. As -he expected, he found the Corso Vittorio Emanuele thronged -by an excited crowd of peasants and farmers. Among -them were not a few women. Little groups were angrily -discussing the event of the day, and the countenances of -many of those composing them wore an expression not -very pleasant to look upon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino noted every little detail as he passed down -the street, returning salutations made to him. He -intended to see Stefano Mazza, and learn from him what -steps the people proposed to take now that their deputation -had been refused audience. He knew the man's influence -in the district, and also the strong foundations on which -that influence had been built up. Casa Acorari might raise -its tenants' rents, and the fact would doubtless mean a -harder struggle than ever to make two ends come within -reasonable distance of meeting. But if Sor Stefano called -in his mortgages and refused to renew his </span><em class="italics">cambiali</em><span>, the -fact would spell ruin not only to the poorer among the -peasantry, but also to many in the district who were -regarded by their neighbors as well-to-do men, farming their -hundreds of acres. Don Agostino knew this very well. -Confidences were occasionally made to him which were -outside the confessional—confidences made to a friend by men -who would never dream of confessing to a priest; or who, -if they did so in order to please their women, would certainly -not tell that priest more than a fraction of the truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he knew would be the case, Don Agostino found Sor -Stefano busily occupied in attending to his customers at the -Caffè Garibaldi. A sudden silence, succeeded by a -murmur of surprise, greeted the priest's appearance at the -entrance to the </span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span>. Every man there, from Sor Stefano -downward, knew what had caused Don Agostino to make -his appearance in such a quarter. It was but another -proof of the importance and gravity of the situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano came forward and greeted his unusual customer. -It was certainly suffocatingly hot—dogs' weather, -in fact—he observed airily, as if the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> were a daily -visitor to his establishment. No doubt Don Agostino -would drink a quarter of white wine?—and he escorted -him to a little table in the centre of the </span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, Don Agostino would not have wine. A little -vermouth and seltzer—he had not yet dined.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Sicuro</em><span>! The weather was hot, and the heat was much -more trying than in the middle of summer. But there were -signs of a change. The rain must come soon, and -then—Don Agostino was as airy and indifferent in his manner as -was his host. Nevertheless, he knew, and Sor Stefano -knew, and all the other occupants of the </span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span> knew, that -these were mere empty phrases demanded by the exigencies -of the situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano brought a bottle of vermouth and a siphon, -and set them down before Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your reverence has heard the news?" he asked. "The -princess refuses to receive our deputation. It is an -incredible thing, but it is true. Well, the deputation will -go to the castle all the same. Only it will be a larger -deputation—is it not so?" He turned and appealed to -the groups sitting around, as he spoke the last words, -and immediately a babel of voices arose within the -</span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, we will all go to the castle, and then we will -see if these cursed foreigners will dare to prevent us from -seeing and speaking with the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>! It is the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> we mean to see, not the foreigners!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano nodded. "</span><em class="italics">Sicuro</em><span>, we will all go!" he -repeated, and then he looked at Don Agostino. The rest -paused and looked at the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> also.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino poured a small quantity of vermouth into -his glass. Then he added some seltzer-water to it, and -drank it off slowly and deliberately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Benissimo!</em><span>" he observed, quietly. "But how will you -get to the castle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The remark was received with a burst of laughter. How -would they get there? Oh, </span><em class="italics">bello!</em><span> on their feet, of -course—how else?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at Sor Stefano gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Mazza," he said, "if somebody tried to force -their way into your house against your will, what would -you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Perbacco!</em><span> lock the door and close the shutters, I -suppose," replied Sor Stefano, staring at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely," returned Don Agostino, dryly. "That is -what I imagine the princess will do. And then?" he added, -abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shout, almost a howl, of indignation greeted his words. -In a moment every man in the </span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span> had started to his feet, -and each one was trying to make his voice heard above -that of his neighbors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If they lock us out, we will break the doors down!" -shouted a tall, well-made young peasant, with a chest and -a pair of arms evidently capable of affording valuable -assistance towards the carrying out of his suggestion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A round of applause greeted his words, followed by cries -of "Abbasso gli stranieri! </span><em class="italics">Abbas so gli sfruttatori</em><span>! -</span><em class="italics">Evviva la Principessina Bianca</em><span>!"—cries which were taken up -by those outside the </span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span> till presently the whole street -rang with them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino waited for a lull in the excitement raging -around him. Then, seizing his opportunity, he got up -from his seat and looked round the room calmly and -composedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my friends," he said, in clear, penetrating tones, -which could be heard by the crowd gathered outside the -</span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span>, "yes, </span><em class="italics">Evviva la Principessina Bianca</em><span>! You are her -people, and you wish her well—is it not so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We wish ourselves well also!" shouted a voice from -without; and another round of applause, mingled with -laughter, burst from the audience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano came forward and placed himself at Don -Agostino's side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your reverence is right," he said, "and the </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span> who -just spoke is right also. </span><em class="italics">Sicuro</em><span>! It is because we wish the -Principessina Bianca well that we mean to see her and -speak with her; because, too, we believe that she wishes her -people well. Do I speak truly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bene! bene! Evviva Casa Acorari—non vogliamo gli -stranieri!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your reverence," Sor Stefano continued, as soon as -there was silence again, "you come among us no doubt -to hear our intentions. It is right. You have our -confidence and our esteem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Evviva il parroco! Evviva Don Agostino!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I come among you as one of yourselves," he said, "as -one of the deputation to which an audience has been refused. -You invited me to join the deputation, and I did so gladly, -knowing that its object was a just object. You, Signor -Mazza, are perfectly right. I have come here this morning -to hear what my fellow-members propose to do next."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Diavolo!</em><span>" he exclaimed. "It seems to me that your -reverence has already heard the intentions of these </span><em class="italics">signori</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have heard them, yes," returned Don Agostino, "but I -do not think that they are wise intentions. Let us reflect a -little. These things need consideration, and a little patience -does no harm. You say that you wish well to Donna Bianca -Acorari, and to yourselves? Perhaps it would be more -accurate to say that you wish well to yourselves, and to -Donna Bianca Acorari; more accurate, and more natural. -The question is, however, whether the course you propose -to adopt will result in any good, either to you or to her. -You tell me that I possess your confidence and your esteem. -Believe me, I value both the one and the other; and I think -the fact that during the years I have been your </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> I -have succeeded in gaining this esteem and confidence -should be a proof that I am not likely to betray either."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino paused for a moment, as a murmur of -approval ran round the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you had come to mass this morning," he proceeded, -not without a touch of humor in his voice, "I should have -told you in a church what I now tell you in a caffè. Oh, do -not be alarmed, my friends, you are not going to hear a -sermon. I quite understand that if you had wanted anything -of that nature you would have come to mass. </span><em class="italics">Ebbene!</em><span> one -is not always in the mood to go to church. And when one -is not in the mood, who knows whether it is not better to -stay away than to go, and to pay Domeneddio the bad -compliment of being bored with him when one gets there? -No, I am not going to preach you a sermon; but I am going -to make one or two suggestions to you, with your -permission, and that of our worthy host," and Don Agostino -turned with a smile to Sor Stefano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Evviva Don Agostino</em><span>! Speak, speak!" resounded -from all parts of the room, and from the street without -people pressed nearer to the open doors of the caffè in order -to hear more distinctly what the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> had to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My first suggestion," proceeded Don Agostino, "is, that -we should not act hastily—that we should stop to think. -To-day we are unquestionably in the right; to-morrow, by -ill-considered action, we may place ourselves in the wrong. -The princess has refused to receive our deputation, and, -consequently, she has refused to you, the people of Montefiano, -your legitimate request to explain your grievances in the -presence of Donna Bianca Acorari, who is the legal owner -of these lands, although as yet the law does not permit -her the full privileges of her position. Well, so far, the -princess is unquestionably in the wrong. That is to say, -her excellency has no doubt acted by the advice of those -who are not, perhaps, competent to advise her. But we -must remember that the princess is placed in a difficult -position. She cannot help being a foreigner, nor the fact -that Donna Bianca is not her own child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She can help bringing foreigners here to interfere in -our affairs!" interrupted Sor Stefano. "Why cannot she -trust those who have always been loyal to Casa Acorari? -And why must she dismiss an old official like Fontana, a -man who had the full confidence of the late prince?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bravo—Benissimo!" applauded Sor Stefano's customers -and clients, and they looked at Don Agostino curiously, -as though anxious to see how he would reply to so -crushing an argument.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated for a moment. Sor Stefano's remark was, -in truth, sufficiently to the point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Signor Mazza," he said, at length, "we must remember -that these affairs also concern the princess. She is -responsible for the administration of the property until -Donna Bianca attains her majority. I do not doubt, indeed, -I am convinced, that her excellency is badly advised. But -if this is the case, she is not likely to listen to wiser counsels -at a moment's notice. It must be proved to her absolutely, -and beyond a possibility of doubt, that those whom she -trusts are not competent to advise her. You, my friends, -declare that you wish well to the Principessina Bianca and -to Casa Acorari. If that is the case, do not let us forget -that though the princess is a foreigner, she is, nevertheless, -in a sense, the </span><em class="italics">principessa madre</em><span>, and as such is entitled to -respect and consideration. It will be a strange method of -showing your loyalty to Casa Acorari if you present -yourselves with threats and violence at the gates of the castle of -Montefiano. Nor, believe me, will you be doing yourselves -any good by such a proceeding. If the princess is a woman -of any spirit, and if those who have advised her are not -cowards, she will only persist the more firmly in the course -she has adopted. The increase in the rents will be enforced, -and our friend Signor Fontana's dismissal will certainly not -be recalled. Moreover, it is scarcely likely that her -excellency would be disposed to allow Donna Bianca to be -interviewed by those who had threatened to dispute the -authority of Donna Bianca's guardian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Don Agostino proceeded with his arguments, the faces -of his audience gradually became more lowering, and more -than once murmurs of disapproval and impatience were -audible. Sor Stefano himself looked at first disconcerted, -and then suspicious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your reverence appears to be very anxious to defend -the princess," he said, "but we Montefianesi want no -foreigners. If her excellency has evil counsellors round -her, it is because she listens to strangers in preference to -trusting her husband's people. No, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, we do not -forget that she is, as you say, the late prince's wife—but she -is not the </span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> mother. And by all accounts she -is not acting by the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> as a mother would act by -her child. We have approached her excellency with fair -words, and in a respectful and legitimate manner. She has -thought fit to answer us—in the way she has answered us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano stopped abruptly; then, turning from Don -Agostino to the crowd, ever growing more and more dense -in the street, he raised his voice yet louder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His reverence," he exclaimed, "does not quite understand -us, my friends! Oh, it is natural; for, after all, he -is a priest, and it is a priest who is at the bottom of the -whole business! </span><em class="italics">Si capisce!</em><span> the Church must support the -Church. But Don Agostino does not understand us. He -thinks that we are considering our interests only—that -our only object in going to the castle is to insist on the rents -remaining as they were, and on Sor Beppe being recalled -to his post. If that were all, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, we should not take -the trouble to go to the castle—</span><em class="italics">niente affato</em><span>! The rents -would not be paid—and as to the new </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> whom the -foreign priest has appointed—well, he would be a brave -man to remain long in Montefiano. He would receive -hints—oh, that the air of Montefiano was unhealthy for -strangers. And if he did not take the hints and remove himself, -the air would no doubt prove fatal. No, we go to the castle -because we wish to see and to speak with the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>—because -we wish to know what truth there is in certain -stories we have heard—that the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> is, as it were, -a prisoner here at Montefiano until she gives herself up to -the lust of an old foreigner instead of to the love of a Roman -youth she wants to marry. We wish to learn if it is true -that the Abbé Roux is in reality the lessee of the rents on -the Montefiano </span><em class="italics">latifondo</em><span>, and that he means to force the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> to marry her uncle for reasons of his own. -These are our reasons, </span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>, for insisting on seeing the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> herself, and for being determined to force our -way into the castle, if we are compelled to do so. Have I -spoken well, or ill?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shout from the crowd answered Sor Stefano's speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Al castello—andiamo al castello! Fuori gli -stranieri—evviva la Principessina Bianca!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano looked at Don Agostino. "You hear, -</span><em class="italics">reverendo</em><span>?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hear," Don Agostino replied, quietly, and then, drawing -himself up to his full height, he added, "And I repeat, -with you, '</span><em class="italics">Evviva la Principessina Donna Bianca Acorari!</em><span>' -You, Signor Mazza, have spoken, and much that you have -said is just. But you have also said what is not just. If -I defend the princess, it is because I believe that lady to be -innocent of the conduct towards her step-daughter which -you impute to her. I believe her to be influenced by -dishonest persons who have succeeded in gaining her entire -confidence, and in persuading her that she is doing her duty -by Donna Bianca. It makes no difference to me that one -of these dishonest persons—the chief among them—happens -to be a priest. I have not defended his conduct, but -merely that of the princess, who has, I believe, been -deceived by his advice. It is true, Signor Mazza, that the -Church must support the Church; and concerning the Abbé -Roux as a priest, I have nothing to say. It is with the -Abbé Roux as a man of business that I am concerned—and -I have already expressed my opinion of him in that respect. -But these things are beside the point. I came here to -learn your intentions, my friends, as regards the action of -the deputation of which I consented to be a member. I -speak frankly. If that action is to be such as you seem to -be bent upon, I will not be a party to it. To give my -approval to a course which must almost inevitably lead to -disorder, if not to worse, would not be consistent with my -duty either to you as my parishioners or to myself as a -priest. I tell you that you will gain nothing by threats and -demonstrations, and the position of the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> will -certainly not be improved by any interference of such a -character. All that will happen will be that the -princess—who, remember, is within her rights and has the law -behind her—will call upon the authorities to assist her and -to maintain order at Montefiano. You, Signor Mazza, -know as well as I do what would be the result of continued -resistance under such circumstances. They are not results -which any one who wishes well to Montefiano cares to -contemplate, and certainly not results which I, a priest, can -assist in bringing about. No, my friends, let us be -reasonable! You have done me the honor to say that you trust -me. Well, I am going to ask you to trust me a little longer—for -a few hours longer. I told you that I had one or two -suggestions to make to you, and I should like to make my -second suggestion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino's audience was apparently undecided. The -younger and more excited among the crowd seemed eager -for instant action, but the older heads were evidently ready -to listen to the </span><em class="italics">parroco's</em><span> advice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this juncture no less a person than the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> -intervened. The </span><em class="italics">avvocato</em><span> Ricci had taken no part in the -proceedings, though he had been present when Don Agostino -entered the </span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span>. He was, indeed, in a lamentable position -of embarrassment and difficulty, what with his fear of -offending Sor Stefano on the one hand, and his anxiety -lest he should be compromised in the eyes of the -authorities on the other. Don Agostino's last sentences, -however, had given him the courage to open his lips and to -join the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> in dissociating himself from a movement -which threatened to become prolific of disorder. Don -Agostino's allusion to the danger of so acting as to oblige -the princess and her advisers to seek the aid of the authorities -had finally decided the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> of Montefiano to brave -the resentment of the man who held so much of his paper -locked away in his strong-box.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In my opinion," he said, "his reverence is right. If it -is inconsistent with his duty as </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano to -associate himself with a movement which tends to create -disorder, it is equally inconsistent that I who, as </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span>, am -responsible to the civil authorities for the maintenance of -law and order in the commune should in any way countenance -a course which, as Don Agostino justly says, might -lead to very deplorable consequences. His reverence, however, -has some other suggestion to offer. Is it not so?" he -added, turning to Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The intervention was opportune, and Don Agostino felt it -to be so. He was determined to prevent, if possible, the -proposed march upon the castle by an angry and excited -crowd of uneducated peasants and petty farmers. It was -not that he feared any violence or excesses on their part, -beyond that of perhaps forcing an entrance into the -courtyard of the castle, if they found the gates barred against -them. He dreaded lest a further blunder should be -committed by the Princess Montefiano and those who were -advising her. The refusal to receive the deputation and the -manner of that refusal were blunders enough; but a still -graver error in judgment would be committed were the -princess to allow the matter to pass out of her own hands into -those of the authorities, civil or military. Don Agostino was -determined that if more blunders were committed, he would -at all events do all that lay in his power to prevent the -people themselves from furnishing any excuse for these -blunders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my friends," he said, after considering for a few -moments, "I have another suggestion to make to you. It -is this. It is possible that the princess, although unwilling -to receive a deputation, would consent to receive your -</span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> and myself, and listen to our representations on -your behalf. I think, indeed, that her excellency could -scarcely decline to receive us under the circumstances; and -we could request that the Principessina Donna Bianca -should be present at the interview and hear what we have to -say on behalf of her people. At least, no reasonable -objection could be taken to this step by her excellency's -advisers, and it is possible that we might succeed in -demonstrating to the princess that these advisers have misled her. -I am ready to go to the castle this afternoon," he continued. -"and ask to see her excellency and Donna Bianca. Doubtless, -Signor Sindaco, you will accompany me," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">avvocato</em><span> Ricci glanced nervously at Sor Stefano, -then he shook his head. "I think not, Don Agostino," -he said. "That you should go and attempt to arrange -matters with her excellency is very right and proper. But -I am not inclined to interfere unless I should be called upon -to do so in my official capacity—a thing which I trust may -not happen. No, </span><em class="italics">signori</em><span>," he added, turning to the -listening crowd, "I feel sure that your interests are safe in Don -Agostino's hands, and his advice is good. Let him go this -afternoon to the castle as your representative. The -princess has the reputation of being a very devout lady. She -will doubtless, therefore, be pleased to receive a visit from -the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano. In the mean time, my friends, -let us be calm and patient, and await the result of his -reverence's interview with the princess and Donna Bianca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was evident that Don Agostino's suggestion, seconded -as it was by the official influence of the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span>, found favor -with the majority of the assembly both within and outside -the Caffè Garibaldi. There were a few dissentient voices, -and Sor Stefano himself seemed to sympathize with those -who were clamoring for more immediate and united action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino took Stefano Mazza aside for a minute or -two and spoke earnestly with him. He pointed out how -imprudent it would be to encourage the people to go to the -castle in their present excited frame of mind. Delay, he -argued, was everything, for it would also afford those at the -castle time to realize their mistake; and very likely he, Don -Agostino, would be able to bring matters at any rate to -a compromise, which should satisfy both parties.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To his great relief, Sor Stefano yielded to his persuasions, -although he did so with a bad grace. For some reason -or other it was clear that Sor Stefano was anxious that -matters should come to a crisis; and Don Agostino had -throughout wondered what his object might be in so openly -supporting the peasants and the more violent faction of the -community in their desire to present themselves in person -at the castle and force the princess to give way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few words from Sor Stefano were sufficient to silence -the objections of the minority to the </span><em class="italics">parroco's</em><span> proposal, -and after promising that he would go that very afternoon -to the castle, Don Agostino left the </span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span>, saluted as he -made his way through the crowd by friendly cheers from -his parishioners.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxx"><span class="bold large">XXX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was not to be expected that the excitement and -ill-feeling produced by Princess Montefiano's curt refusal -to receive the deputation which had been formed to wait -upon her should be unknown in the castle. The Abbé -Roux, indeed, was not without his means of information as -to what was going on in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>; but it so happened that -the intelligence supplied to him was not infrequently both -inaccurate and misleading. As he had said to Monsieur -d'Antin, he was aware that the dismissal of the agent -Fontana had aroused a certain amount of opposition and -even of indignation; but he was certainly ignorant of the -extent and depth of the feeling his action had excited in the -commune. In his opinion, the ill-feeling that he had been -told was being manifested by the peasants was merely the -result of an attempt on the part of the dismissed </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> and -his friends to frighten the princess and lead her to recall -Fontana to his post and to give way on the question of the -raising of the rents. He was persuaded that it was only -necessary to be firm, and not to listen to any attempt on the -part of the </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span> to discuss the matter with the -administration of Casa Acorari, and in a few days things -would quiet down. He had not, therefore, thought fit to -tell Princess Montefiano more than was absolutely necessary -of the state of affairs prevailing in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>, and he had -represented the whole matter as a trifle which was not -worthy of her consideration. It is possible that had the -abbé been better informed he would have regarded the -situation in a different light. If he had known, for instance, -of the stories assiduously circulated throughout the -district during the last few weeks concerning Donna Bianca -Acorari, and the treatment to which she was being -subjected—stories which certainly had lost nothing in the -process of diffusion—if he had suspected that it was being -openly asserted that he and none other was the new lessee -of the Montefiano rents, that mysterious </span><em class="italics">affittuario</em><span>, who had -never hitherto been seen in the flesh, he would doubtless -have proceeded more cautiously. But the Abbé Roux was -not well informed. Indeed, could he but have known it, -he was being wilfully misled by those whom he believed -to be his friends, not only at Montefiano, but also at Palazzo -Acorari in Rome, where the business of Casa Acorari was -transacted. Long as he had lived in Italy, he had got to -learn that he was no match for a certain class of Italians, -and more especially of Romans, at petty intrigue. Not a -syllable had reached his ears which could lead him to -suspect that not only was his actual position with regard to -the Acorari estates known, but that the entire scheme by -which he hoped to retain that position for a period long -enough to enable him to make a considerable sum of money -out of it was known also.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was natural, therefore, that the letter announcing to -Princess Montefiano that a deputation from the peasantry -proposed to wait upon her, and stating that its members -were commissioned particularly to request a personal -interview with the Principessina Donna Bianca, should have -caused both its recipient and the Abbé Roux considerable -surprise. It had been surprise only, however, and that -feeling had been quickly followed by one of contemptuous -indifference. The princess, indeed, was not a little -indignant. The pointed request that her step-daughter -should be personally approached by the tenantry of Montefiano -seemed to her to be a reflection upon herself and her -position; a stone, as it were, cast against her authority. -The Abbé Roux had certainly not attempted to soothe her -ruffled feelings. He had, on the contrary, inveighed -against the insolence of the peasantry in venturing to send -such a document to her excellency, and against the obvious -disrespect towards her rule conveyed in the request that -the deputation should speak with Donna Bianca in person. -He had assured the princess and Monsieur d'Antin, to -whom she had shown the letter, that the whole affair was -a trifle—a mere </span><em class="italics">ballon d'essai</em><span> on the part of Fontana and -his friends to intimidate her excellency with a view to -regaining his post. As to the grievance about the rents, -that was nonsense. The holdings in question had been -for many years under-rented; and the tenants could -perfectly well afford to pay the trifling addition imposed. -Had he, the abbé, not gone thoroughly into the question, he -would not have counselled any increase, but Fontana had -been very lax, very behind the times, and he had evidently -thought more of keeping on good terms with the </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span> -than of the legitimate interests of his employers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin had shrugged his shoulders and -declined to give an opinion. He did not understand Italian -peasants, and he did not want to understand them. He -was quite convinced in his own mind that the abbé was -making a purse for himself, but doubtless the abbé knew -what he was about, and it was no part of Baron d'Antin's -programme to interfere in the priest's little arrangements. -His sister's indignation at the allusion to Bianca rather -amused him. Jeanne was certainly tenacious of her rights. -She would have made an admirable mother-superior—yes, -admirable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess, who did not lack spirit, had required no -advice as to the manner in which she should reply to the -letter in question. To do her justice, she was not a woman -to be intimidated by what she fully believed to be a blow -levelled at her authority by a body of uneducated peasants, -instigated to disaffection by a dismissed servant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux had scornfully pointed out to her the -name of Don Agostino Lelli as being one of the proposed -deputation. It was quite sufficient, he declared, that such -an individual should be one of its leaders to prove the real -character of the movement. The </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano -had persistently interfered, as Madame la Princesse well -knew, in affairs that were quite outside his province, and -no doubt he and the dismissed agent were acting in concert. -Besides, a priest who had so notoriously fallen into -disgrace at Rome was certainly not a fitting person to be -received by the princess at the bidding of a few peasants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this latter sentiment Monsieur d'Antin had heartily -supported the abbé. It was decidedly not advisable that -Monsignor Lelli should succeed in obtaining even a single -interview with Bianca Acorari. Monsieur d'Antin and the -abbé had exchanged a rapid but significant glance when -they observed that among those whom the peasants had -designated to represent their cause was the name of Don -Agostino Lelli; and both of them had resolved that -Monsignor Lelli should have no opportunity of even seeing -Bianca.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano had wished to despatch her reply at -once to the signatories of the letter she had received, but the -abbé counselled delay. Although he affected to regard the -whole matter with contempt, he was not quite easy in his -mind as to what the effects of so curt a refusal to receive the -peasants' deputation might be. He had persuaded the -princess, therefore, to keep back her answer until the -following morning. He wished to ascertain the exact state of -public opinion in Montefiano, and also to prepare for possible -emergencies. It had not been without some difficulty that -he had succeeded in persuading the princess not at once to -send her reply, and it was only when her brother added his -representations to those of the abbé that Princess -Montefiano had finally consented to any delay. In the mean -time, all knowledge of what was happening was carefully -kept from Bianca Acorari. The Abbé Roux found it easy -enough to point out the advisability of not allowing the fact -of there being any difficulty with the people to transpire to -Donna Bianca, and more especially that a personal -interview with her had been sought by their representatives. -The princess had no desire to bring her step-daughter -forwards, since by so doing, she would only diminish her own -authority to which she was legally entitled. It was absurd -to suppose that Bianca could possibly understand business -matters; and, as the abbé pointed out, the endeavor to drag -an inexperienced girl into such questions was only another -proof that the whole agitation had been formed with a view -to intimidation. It would be wiser, Monsieur l'Abbé -argued, to leave Donna Bianca in complete ignorance of the -situation; and so, by common consent, not a word was said -in her presence that could lead her to suspect that -anything unusual was taking place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mean time, the Abbé Roux sent a private note to -the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> of Montefiano, begging that official to come to -see him that evening after dusk at the castle, and enjoining -him to keep his visit a secret, as, for obvious reasons, it -would not be advisable that it should be known in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> -that they had conferred together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">sindaco's</em><span> report had certainly not diminished the -Abbé Roux's growing apprehensions. It was evident that -the </span><em class="italics">avvocato</em><span> Ricci regarded the agitation as wide-spread and -likely to assume serious proportions. It was headed, as he -assured the abbé, by influential members of the community, -whose support would undoubtedly encourage the </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span> -to persist in their attitude. He himself had been -approached, and it was true that he had consented to join the -proposed deputation to the princess; but he had done so in -the hope of exerting his official influence to keep the -agitation within legitimate bounds. Among the chief supporters -of the peasantry he could assure the abbé that the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span>, -Don Agostino Lelli, was one of the most active, and, by -virtue of his position, perhaps the most influential. It -was, of course, well known that the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> was taking this -part out of friendship for and sympathy with the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span>, -Giuseppe Fontana. The Abbé Roux made a gesture of -impatience and anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don Agostino Lelli had better confine himself to his -duties," he exclaimed, "otherwise he will find himself -removed from Montefiano, as, years ago, he was removed -from his post in Rome. You are of opinion, then," he -continued, "that this affair is likely to become serious; that -disorders, in short, might break out if her excellency the -princess refuses to receive this deputation?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> hesitated. "It depends," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And upon what?" asked the abbé, sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon—well, upon whether her excellency is prepared -to stand firm, and to take the possible consequences of her -refusal. After all, she has the force of the law on her -side—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the force of public opinion on the other side," -interrupted the abbé.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mayor of Montefiano shrugged his shoulders. "</span><em class="italics">Caro -signore</em><span>," he observed, "the sight of a few bayonets soon -changes public opinion. I believe that the peasants will -very quickly turn round and disown their own supporters, if -they once realize that her excellency will not give way to -their demands. In any case, you can rely upon my doing -my duty in safeguarding the public order in this commune. -Her excellency has only to request the aid of the authorities -in the event of the </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span> proceeding to any excesses, and -a telegram to the military authorities at Civitacastellana -will do the rest. In the space of three or four hours troops -could be on the spot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" repeated the Abbé Roux, thoughtfully; "in the -space of three or four hours, you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span> perhaps less. In my opinion there would be -nothing to fear. The sight of the soldiers would soon -reduce the peasants to reason."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé looked at him quickly. "The princess has -already decided to refuse to receive this deputation," he -said. "She has written a very abrupt refusal. I have -persuaded her to delay its despatch for a few hours. It -appears, however, that there is no reason why it should not -be sent to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will increase the ill-feeling, no doubt," said the -</span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span>—"very seriously increase it, I fear. Still, if her -excellency has the courage to stand firm, there can be but -one issue. In the end the </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span> will have to give way, -and then they will infallibly turn against those who have -encouraged them to create disturbances. It is always like -that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux did not reply for a moment or two. Then -he said, suddenly: "There is one thing I do not quite -understand, Signor Ricci. Why does this deputation insist upon -seeing Donna Bianca Acorari? The people must surely -know that Donna Bianca, being a minor, has no voice in -matters connected with the administration of her property. -This insistence on speaking with her is scarcely respectful to -the princess, who alone has any authority in the matter. As -you were to be a member of the deputation, no doubt you -can explain the meaning of this request to interview Donna -Bianca?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> hesitated. Then, having made up his mind -to lie, he lied soundly but plausibly, as only an Italian -official of the bureaucracy can lie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very simple," he said, with a laugh. "The peasants -have got an idea into their heads that Donna Bianca would -take their part and intercede for them, because—well, -because she is an Acorari, and her excellency the princess is, -after all, a stranger. It is mere sentiment, of course, with a -certain amount of shrewdness at the back of it. No doubt -the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span>, Don Agostino, has put the idea into their heads. -But there is nothing in it but sentiment—nothing at all, -Signor Abate, I can assure you. I objected to the -introduction of Donna Bianca's name into the business, but it was -better to let the </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span> have their own way about what -is, after all, a mere trifle. They do not realize that the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> has, as you say, no voice in such matters, -being a minor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé nodded. "I quite understand," he said, pleasantly. -"No doubt it has been part of the scheme of these -agitators to work upon the sentiment of the peasantry for -Donna Bianca, as being their future </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>. But, luckily -for her, she has those about her who know how to protect -her interests and to guard her against being imposed upon. -Well, Signor Sindaco, to-morrow morning the princess will -send her answer. It is, as I have already told you, a refusal -to receive the deputation, or to discuss its objects. You may -be sure that her excellency will not give way, no matter -what attitude the people may assume. If that attitude -should become threatening, we may have to seek the aid of -the authorities through you. </span><em class="italics">A proposito</em><span>, would it not be -as well to warn the military authorities that a handful of -soldiers might be required to keep order at Montefiano? On -the receipt of a telegram they could then be despatched -without delay. You can doubtless arrange to do this without -the matter becoming known; and then, should it be necessary, -we would request you to send the telegram regarding -the immediate presence of the troops. By these means we -could give the idiots the unpleasant surprise of finding that -we were prepared for any folly they might attempt to -commit. At least the display of a little force could do no -harm, and would probably have an excellent moral effect. -But not a word, </span><em class="italics">caro signore</em><span>, of our conference to-night. I -trust that your visit to the castle will not have been -observed by any of the people. By-the-way, should there -be any fresh development in the situation to-morrow morning, -after the tenor of the princess's reply has become known, -I must beg that you will communicate with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> of Montefiano took his leave, assuring the -Abbé Roux that all should be done as he had suggested. -The evening was dark and rainy, and he encountered -nobody on the steep road leading up to the castle from the -town below. At any rate, the </span><em class="italics">avvocato</em><span> Ricci thought to -himself, he had secured himself against any misrepresentation -at Rome of his conduct. If Sor Stefano and the -peasantry insisted upon continuing the agitation, there -would infallibly be mischief, and in that case it was as well -to be on the winning side, which side must inevitably be -supported by the authorities. It was certainly no affair -of his to enlighten the </span><em class="italics">abate</em><span> as to the real object of the -deputation in having insisted upon seeing Donna Bianca -Acorari. His affair was to avoid compromising himself -in the eyes of the authorities in Rome, and the Abate Roux -would have to weather the storm he had created as best -he could. The lawyer was not a little struck by the Abbé -Roux's caution in providing for a speedy and unexpected -appearance on the scene of military force, should its -presence be desirable. "Even Sor Stefano," he said to himself, -with a chuckle, "would talk less loudly if he were suddenly -to find himself confronted by a company of infantry with -fixed bayonets, and he, Augusto Ricci, might earn the -approval of the minister of the interior and head of the -government in Rome for his promptitude in suppressing -threatened disorder in the commune of which he was </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span>."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxi"><span class="bold large">XXXI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After leaving the Caffè Garibaldi, Don Agostino -returned to his house in a very thoughtful frame of mind. -He had promised to go himself to Princess Montefiano and -put the peasants' case before her. He had promised, also, -that he would speak with Donna Bianca Acorari personally. -The question now arose how he was to accomplish what he -had undertaken. The princess, it was true, could scarcely -refuse to receive him without that refusal being a marked -rudeness to him as </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano; at the same time, -Don Agostino was perfectly aware that she had certainly -not displayed any desire to make his personal acquaintance. -He had duly left his card, as politeness required, after her -arrival at the castle, and had received no invitation to -repeat his visit. The fact had not surprised or annoyed -him. He had been tolerably well acquainted with the -Abbé Roux in the days when that ecclesiastic was the -secretary to a cardinal who had always been his bitter -enemy, and who, he well knew, had been more active than -any one else at the Vatican in clamoring for his removal -and disgrace. The acquaintance had not been a pleasant -one, and certain details in the abbé's career which happened -to have come to his knowledge had not made Don Agostino -desirous of improving it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not likely, therefore, that the Abbé Roux would -welcome his presence at the castle of Montefiano, and he -would doubtless have used his influence with the princess -to prevent her from knowing him in any way than as a -priest on Acorari property, who might sometimes have -occasion to address a letter to her concerning the needs of -his parishioners.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was certainly from no personal motives that Don -Agostino, as he walked back to his house that morning, felt -almost nervously anxious lest he should be refused -admittance to Princess Montefiano's presence. When he had -sought to defend her against the accusations which he was -well aware had been made against her of unmotherly -conduct towards her step-daughter, he had done so because he -believed these accusations to be, if not altogether unfounded, -at least erroneous. He had always felt confident that -the princess was a victim to her own religious enthusiasm; -she had fallen an easy prey to a type of ecclesiastic with -which his experience in Rome had brought him into -contact on several occasions, and of which the Abbé Roux was -no uncommon example. He was convinced that the -moment had arrived when the Princess Montefiano's eyes -might be opened, and when it might be demonstrated to -her, beyond any possibility of doubt, that the counsellor -in whom she had trusted had never been worthy of her -confidence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the same time it was clear that the Abbé Roux was -master of the actual situation, and that, having succeeded -in getting rid of the one official at Montefiano who for -thirty years had had the true interests of his employers at -heart, it was not likely he would permit the princess to be -approached by the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano, who was known -to regard the agent's dismissal as both a mistake and an -injustice. The position, however, was serious; and all the -more so because it was quite evident that neither the -princess nor the abbé realized its gravity. Any rebellious -attitude that the peasants might be driven by exasperation -to assume could, it was true, be ultimately suppressed -by the intervention of the military at the instance of the -civil authorities of the commune. But Don Agostino -well knew the legacy of hatred and smouldering resentment -which such intervention almost invariably left behind -it. If he could save his lost Bianca's child from the -enduring unpopularity which her step-mother and the Abbé -Roux were certainly doing their best to bring upon her by -their mistaken policy regarding the administration of her -property, he would certainly do so, at whatever cost to -himself. Yes, at four o'clock that afternoon he would go -to the castle. By that hour the princess would certainly -be visible, if she chose to be visible. He would send up -his card to her with an urgent request that she would see -him on a matter of grave importance. If she refused to do -so, he would write to her—but such a letter as would leave -her no possibility of mistaking his meaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The afternoon's task was certainly neither an easy nor -an agreeable one; but it must in some way or another be -accomplished. At least, Don Agostino reflected, he would -have done his duty to his people at Montefiano, to Bianca -Acorari, and to that absent Bianca who had assuredly willed -that he should strive to protect her child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino entered his garden through the little gate -by the side of the church. As he approached the house, he -was surprised to hear, through the open window of his -study, Ernana talking in earnest tones inside the room. -His surprise was still greater, however, when at the sound -of his footsteps on the gravel-path, Silvio Rossano's form -appeared at the window. For a moment, indeed, Don -Agostino felt something very like dismay. There were -complications enough and to spare without fresh material -being added to increase their number. He had purposely -delayed writing again to Silvio, thinking that in a day or -two the threatened disturbances would have either subsided -or assumed proportions which might make his presence -at Montefiano desirable in his own and Bianca Acorari's -interest. Don Agostino doubted very much, however, -whether this was the moment for Silvio to be seen at -Montefiano. If his presence became known at the castle, it -would probably be regarded by the princess as a proof that -the agitation among the peasants had a further scope than -merely to obtain the redress of their own and Fontana's -grievances. She would not unreasonably suspect that he, -Don Agostino, was using the agitation as a means whereby -to help Silvio Rossano in renewing his endeavors to marry -her step-daughter. As a matter of fact, Don Agostino -was quite prepared so to use it, if its results were such as -to encourage him to do so. But it would most certainly -not further Bianca's or Silvio's interests were it to be -supposed that these interests were in any way connected with -the business that would take Don Agostino to the castle -that afternoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hurried into the house and met Silvio in the little -passage outside his study.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I an unwelcome guest?" Silvio said to him, quickly. -"I hope not, because—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are always welcome," interrupted Don Agostino, -"but—well, to tell you the truth, Silvio, I am not sure -that I am very pleased to see you. But if I am not pleased, -it is on your own account, not on mine. May one ask what -has brought you here so unexpectedly, </span><em class="italics">ragazzo mio</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio took a crumpled newspaper out of his pocket—the -number of the </span><em class="italics">Tribuna</em><span> that his father had shown him the -night before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," he replied, briefly, handing the paper to Don -Agostino, and pointing to the telegram dated from -Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino read it. Then he uttered an exclamation -of anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Idiots!" he exclaimed; "idiots, and cowards, too! This -is the Abbé Roux's doing, of course. Well, it is another -blunder, an irremediable blunder. In two or three hours' -time the report will be all over Montefiano that troops have -been sent for. The afternoon post will bring the -</span><em class="italics">Tribuna</em><span>—" He paused in evident agitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could not remain quietly in Rome after reading that," -said Silvio. "So I took the morning train, and here I am. -At first I could not understand what it all meant; for -Bianca, though she mentioned that there was some trouble -with the people because the Abbé Roux had persuaded her -step-mother to dismiss the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span>, certainly did not write -as if it was anything serious. All the same, I was uneasy, -for one never knows what a small matter of this kind may -not develop into. But Ernana, to whom I have been -talking while waiting for you, has given me to understand -that it is by no means a small matter, but that the people -are really angry and threatening to force their way into the -castle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino nodded. "Ernana is right," he said; "it -is not a small thing. I fear, directly this telegram in the -</span><em class="italics">Tribuna</em><span> becomes known, that it will speedily become a -very much bigger thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I am doubly glad that I am here," observed Silvio, -quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino glanced at him. "A moment ago," he -said, "I wished that you had not appeared upon the scene. -I did not think the time had arrived for you to do so. It -was for this reason I delayed writing to you. I had hoped -that, whatever might occur, no military aid would be asked -for in order to settle a question which only needed to be -handled with a little tact and in a conciliatory spirit. -This telegram, however, alters the aspect of affairs considerably, -and, on the whole, yes, Silvio, I think I am glad you -have come. But for the next few hours, at any rate, you -must not show yourself. Do you think your arrival here -has been observed?" he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio shook his head. "I think not," he replied. "Indeed, -I hardly met a soul on my way here from Attigliano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The people are all in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>," said Don Agostino. -"The peasants have come in from miles around. No, you -must certainly not be seen—at all events, till I have been -to the castle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are going to the castle?" Silvio asked, in some -surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino briefly related to him the events of the -morning, and explained how, as a last hope of bringing -about a pacific solution of the situation, and of making the -princess realize the danger of the policy the Abbé Roux had -made her adopt, he had volunteered to ask to see her and -Bianca Acorari personally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was by no means easy," he said, "to persuade the -more excited among the people to consent to my going to -the princess. They suspected me of being in sympathy with -the Abbé Roux," he added, with a smile. "Fortunately, -however, the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> supported me, and I persuaded a -certain Mazza, who is practically the money-lender to all this -district, and who for some reasons of his own is backing -up the peasants, to advise the people to refrain from any -further action until I had communicated to them the -results of my interview with the princess. One thing is very -certain," he continued, "I must, if possible, see Princess -Montefiano before the news that troops have been asked -for is known in the place. There is no saying what may -not happen, in the mood the peasants are now in, should it -be known that the princess has sought the intervention -of the authorities rather than consent to receive a deputation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The telegram does not say that troops have actually -been requisitioned," said Silvio; "it alludes to the -probability of their being so, if the situation at Montefiano -should not improve. It appears to me," he continued, -"that the communication is something in the nature of a -warning, or a threat, whichever you like to call it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino read the paragraph in the </span><em class="italics">Tribuna</em><span> again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," he said, "and you are right, Silvio. -Whoever communicated the intelligence to the </span><em class="italics">Tribuna</em><span> -probably intended it both as a warning and as a threat. -Well, as the former, it will have very little effect. As the -latter, it will have a very bad effect, for it will be bitterly -resented, unless I am much mistaken. In the mean time, -there is no time to be lost. We must trust to the people -keeping quiet for another few hours, until I have been to -the castle. But you, my friend, must remain quietly here, -unseen by anybody. I shall tell Ernana she must hold her -tongue about your arrival. For you have become a celebrity -in Montefiano, Silvio," he added, with a smile, "and -everybody would know what had brought you here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," exclaimed Silvio, "that is a thing I do not -understand! How in the world have the people here got to know -about Bianca and myself? Certainly the princess would -not allow it to be talked about by anybody belonging to -her household; and who else, except yourself, knows of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino shrugged his shoulders. "It is known by -everybody that Donna Bianca has declared that she will -marry nobody if she does not marry you," he replied. -"Indeed," he continued, "I believe it is this love-affair of the -</span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span>, as they call her, that has done more than -anything else to arouse the indignation of the people against -the princess and her brother and against the Abbé Roux. -As yet they have not seen the young Roman whom their -</span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span> wishes for a husband instead of Baron d'Antin. -When they do see him— But do not let us waste any more -time in talking, Silvio. Before we do anything else, let -us have breakfast. You must be quite ready for it after -your journey, and it is nearly one o'clock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A couple of hours later Don Agostino left his house, and, -choosing a lane leading through the outskirts of the town, in -order to avoid the groups of peasants which would still be -thronging the main street, made his way to the castle, -having extracted a promise from Silvio that the latter -would not go into the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> until he had returned from his -visit to the princess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not help suspecting that his appearance at the -entrance-gate of the castle was not altogether unexpected; -for the two servants who, in response to his ringing the bell, -drew back a lattice and surveyed him from the inside, -promptly closed it, and threw open the great wooden doors -studded with heavy iron nails, and as promptly closed and -bolted them again as soon as he had passed into the court-yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino informed them that he had come to see her -excellency the princess on important business, and producing -his card, asked that it might be taken to her at once, -with the urgent request that she would receive him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was conducted across the court and up a flight of -steps leading into a large hall on the first floor of the -building, where he was left while the domestics went to execute -their commission. In a few minutes one of the men -returned. He was desired by her excellency to tell his -reverence that she regretted being unable to receive him in -person, but her brother, Baron d'Antin, and the Abbé Roux -would be happy to see him in her place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino attempted to demur. It was of the greatest -importance, he said, that he should see her excellency -personally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The venerable </span><em class="italics">maggior-domo</em><span> spread out his hands with an -apologetic gesture. He was grieved, he declared, to be -obliged to disappoint his reverence, but her excellency had -given strict orders that she was not to be disturbed—that -she could receive no one. The Signor Barone and the Abbé -Roux were ready to receive his reverence, if he would be -pleased to follow him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino hesitated for a moment. Then he came to -the conclusion that he had better accept the compromise -that had evidently been made. Perhaps, indeed, the -princess's absence might be an advantage. He could speak -very plainly to Monsieur d'Antin and to the Abbé Roux if it -became necessary to do so—more plainly, perhaps, than he -could have done had Princess Montefiano been present. At -any rate, he was inside the castle, and had been offered an -opportunity of discussing the situation with those who were -chiefly responsible for its existence, and this was something -gained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had thought it more than likely that he would not be -admitted within the castle walls, and that he would have -to return to the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> with the intelligence that he had -failed in his mission.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He followed the </span><em class="italics">maggior-domo</em><span> through the long gallery, -with which the hall where he had waited communicated, -and was ushered into the room used by the Abbé Roux as -his study. The abbé, however, was not present, and -Monsieur d'Antin came forward and introduced himself. His -sister, he assured Don Agostino, much regretted her -inability to receive him, but the events of the last day or two -had somewhat upset her—and, after all, if he were not -mistaken, Monsignor Lelli's business was more suitable for -discussion by himself and Monsieur l'Abbé Roux than by -ladies—was it not so? Monsieur l'Abbé would join them -in a few minutes. In the mean time, anything that -Monsignor Lelli might wish to say, he, Baron d'Antin, would -faithfully refer to the princess. </span><em class="italics">Monsignore</em><span> spoke French, -of course? That was well, for Monsieur d'Antin's Italian -was not sufficiently fluent to embark upon a business -conversation. A cigarette? No? Well, if it was permitted, -he would smoke one himself, and he was all attention, if -</span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span> would proceed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino sat and watched the baron quietly. Monsieur -d'Antin was very suave—very polite, and nothing -could be more conciliatory than his attitude. It seemed, -indeed, as though he were tacitly apologizing for his sister's -refusal to receive the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span>, and that he was only anxious -to do his best to remove all misunderstandings. Don -Agostino recognized the diplomatic manner, and, so to speak, -took Baron d'Antin's measure before he had uttered a dozen -words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doubtless, monsieur," he said, "you are aware of the -object of my visit. The importance of that object must be -my excuse for seeking to intrude myself upon Madame la -Princesse. I regret that she is unable to receive me, -because it is to her and to Donna Bianca Acorari that I am, -as it were, accredited by the people of Montefiano. -However, one cannot question a lady's right to receive or to -refuse to receive a visitor, especially if that visitor comes -on an unpleasant errand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur le Baron, I think there is no necessity to -waste words, and this is not the moment to discuss the -rights and the wrongs of the questions which are agitating -the minds of the people here at Montefiano. I have come -to ask—nay, to implore the princess to reconsider her -refusal to receive the deputation suggested by the peasants, -and to allow me to tell the people that she and Donna -Bianca will listen to their representatives. The people are -within their rights, monsieur, and it is I, their priest, who -tell you so. They have been treated unjustly in the name -of Casa Acorari, and they appeal to the princess and to -Donna Bianca Acorari for permission personally to -represent their grievances."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin nodded gravely. "I quite understand -your view of the matter, Monsieur le Curé," he said. "It is -natural that the sympathies of a priest should be with his -people; but you must remember that my sister has to -regard the question from a business, and not from the -sentimental, point of view. Her position obliges her to think, -first of all, of her step-daughter, Donna Bianca's, interests. -Those in whom my sister confides to advise her in business -matters connected with the Montefiano property, do not -share your view as to any injustice having been committed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because, monsieur," returned Don Agostino, bluntly, -"Madame la Princesse confides in individuals who are -ignorant as to the condition in which the people live, and -who are, therefore, incompetent to advise her—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment the door opened, and the Abbé Roux -entered the room. The greeting between him and Monsignor -Lelli, if courteous, was certainly not cordial. It was -some years since they had last beheld each other, but no -allusion was made by either to their past acquaintance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin looked quickly at the abbé as he came -into the room, and Don Agostino fancied that, as he -returned the glance, the Abbé Roux shook his head almost -imperceptibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsignor Lelli," Monsieur d'Antin observed airily, -"has come this afternoon as an ambassador from—what -shall we call them, Monsieur l'Abbé—the rebels, eh? He -wishes my sister to reconsider her refusal to receive their -deputation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would seem scarcely necessary for madame to do -so," said the abbé, coldly. "Monsignor Lelli," he -continued, "has apparently taken upon himself the functions -of the deputation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely, monsieur," observed Don Agostino, tranquilly. -"It seemed to me not impossible that the princess -and Donna Bianca Acorari might listen to my representations -as </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano, even though the reception -of a deputation might not be permitted by their advisers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux frowned angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Permitted, monsieur!" he repeated. "I do not understand -you. The princess stands in no need of permission -to act as she thinks fit and as may be advantageous to -Donna Bianca's future interests. Nor do I understand -why you assume Donna Bianca Acorari to have any voice -in what the princess may choose to do as her guardian. -You must surely be well aware that, until she is of age, -Donna Bianca has absolutely nothing to say in the -management of her properties. It is, therefore, absurd to drag -her name into any question arising in connection with that -management."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him steadily. "I am aware -that Donna Bianca does not enter into the full possession -of her estates until she is of age—or until she marries," he -said. "Nevertheless, the fact does not prevent her from -being regarded by the people in and round Montefiano as -their mistress—as the only child of and successor to the -late Prince of Montefiano. And the people will insist on -regarding her as such, and upon being permitted access to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not for me, Monsieur l'Abbé, to discuss what may -be your motives for advising the princess to pursue a course -which is not only unjust to the people, but injurious to her -step-daughter's true interests. I have come here this -afternoon to warn the princess that the people intend to -insist upon being heard, not by her only, but by Donna -Bianca Acorari. They are loyal to Donna Bianca—but—you -must pardon me for my plain speaking—they look -upon the princess as a foreigner who allows foreign -influence to interfere between them and their lawful </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>. -At any moment, Monsieur l'Abbé, unless you advise the -princess to adopt a more conciliatory course, you may -hear this from the people themselves. They will tell it you -more roughly than I have told it you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux laughed disagreeably. "You are very -disinterested, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>," he remarked, "but I regret -that I cannot accept your views upon business matters—and -this affair of the peasants is purely a business—a -financial—matter. You may very possibly be mistaken in your -judgment, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>. It would not be the first time, I -think, that you were mistaken in your estimate of sound -finance. No, Madame la Princesse will not, I imagine, be -disposed to accept your advice on such matters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sneer and the insinuation contained in the abbé's -words were patent enough, and for a moment Don Agostino -reddened with anger. He restrained himself with an effort, -however. It was very evident that the Abbé Roux was -losing his temper; and time, valuable time, was passing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino shrugged his shoulders, and then, turning -his back upon the abbé, he addressed Monsieur d'Antin, -whose face he had noticed with some surprise had worn a -sudden but unmistakable look of disgust and contempt -while the Abbé Roux was speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur le Baron," he said, quietly, "I appeal to you -as to one who is not a professional man of business in the -employ of Madame la Princesse, but who is her brother, and -who may therefore not be altogether influenced by pecuniary -considerations. I entreat you to take my warning -to the princess, and to persuade her to allow me to return, -while there is yet time, to the people, with the news that -I have spoken with her and with Donna Bianca, and that -she is prepared to make some concessions. I entreat you, -also, to recall, in her name, the application which has been -made for military aid—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé and Monsieur d'Antin both started. "How, -monsieur?" exclaimed the abbé. "Military aid! What -folly is this? Who talks of military aid having been applied -for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino drew Silvio's </span><em class="italics">Tribuna</em><span> from his </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span> and -gave it to Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it has not been actually applied for," he said, -pointing to the telegram from Montefiano, "its requisition is -threatened. That newspaper arrives in Montefiano every -afternoon from Rome," he added, "and by this time the -telegram will have been read by everybody in the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux muttered something very like an oath -under his breath. Then he looked furtively, almost -apologetically, at Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absurd!" he exclaimed. "A mere canard! Probably -some occasional correspondent to the </span><em class="italics">Tribuna</em><span>, in -Montefiano thought he would be very clever and anticipate -events."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him narrowly. It was clear -that, whoever had sent the telegram to the </span><em class="italics">Tribuna</em><span>, the -abbé was disagreeably surprised by its publication. He -looked, indeed, both taken aback and ill at ease. Don -Agostino, always watching him, saw him take out his -watch and look at it, glancing at Monsieur d'Antin as he -did so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Enfin</em><span>, monsieur," said Don Agostino, again addressing -Monsieur d'Antin, "once more I appeal to you as the -brother of Madame la Princesse. Am I to go back to the -people and tell them that I have obtained nothing, and -that I have not been permitted to see either the princess or -Donna Bianca? Monsieur," he added, earnestly, "let me -beg of you to consider. So little is demanded of the -princess—so much bitterness and misery will be the result of -not giving way. At least send a telegram to countermand -any despatch of troops to Montefiano, and authorize me to -tell the people that the telegram in the </span><em class="italics">Tribuna</em><span> was -communicated without there being any foundation for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin rose from the arm-chair in which he -had been smoking cigarettes unremittingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, my dear monsieur," he said to Don Agostino; -"believe me, if the matter rested with me, you should -go back to your peasants with hands full of concessions. -But I have no influence with my sister in these matters. -I do not think she understands them; that is true. But -unfortunately she knows that I understand them even less -than she does. After all, it is natural. We are not Italians, -as you pointed out to Monsieur l'Abbé just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not necessary to be Italian, monsieur, in order to -understand when injustices are being committed. A little -common sympathy and a little common-sense are all that -is required in this instance; and these qualities are not the -exclusive attribute of my compatriots," said Don Agostino, -dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux came forward and placed himself -between Don Agostino and Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur le Baron," he said, casting an angry glance -at Don Agostino, "it seems to me that we are wasting time. -Monsignor Lelli has come here, apparently, with the object -of attempting to induce the princess to give way to the -insolent demands of these ignorant peasants, and to dictate -to her what she should and should not do. Well, I, -Monsieur le Baron, as you well know, am honored by the -princess's confidence; and, as you also know, I am deputed by -her excellency to give Monsignor Lelli her final and definite -answer to his representations on behalf of the peasants -and their friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino interrupted him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did the princess know that I was coming here -to-day on behalf of the peasants?" he asked, abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux looked suddenly perplexed; and -Monsieur d'Antin joined the tips of his fingers together and -laughed softly to himself. Don Agostino glanced at him -keenly. Baron d'Antin's manner puzzled him. It was -the manner that an amused spectator of a comedy might -display, but it was certainly not fitting to one of the -characters on the stage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé scowled. "</span><em class="italics">Parbleu!</em><span>" he exclaimed, roughly, -"we are not all imbeciles here; and we are better informed -as to what has been going on than Monsignor Lelli is aware! -We know, for instance, that he did not hesitate to -compromise his position as </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> by encouraging with his -presence a meeting held this morning in a </span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span> by the -leaders of this agitation, and that he took upon himself the -responsibility of being their spokesman. Ah, yes, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, -the princess expected your visit this afternoon; but, -as you see, she altogether declines to receive you in person."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino turned to him with quiet dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So be it, Monsieur l'Abbé," he said, tranquilly. "The -princess must take the responsibility of declining to receive -me in person, and to allow me access to Donna Bianca -Acorari. Nevertheless, I am here as the representative of -Donna Bianca's people, and I will discharge my duty. I -shall say, boldly—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the princess and Donna Bianca? No, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, -you will not have the opportunity. It would be well that -you should understand this finally."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not to the princess and Donna Bianca, but to you!" -continued Don Agostino. "You tell me that you are -honored with the princess's entire confidence. I hope that -she equally enjoys your own, Monsieur l'Abbé. If so, you -will repeat to her what I say. As you are aware that -I attended the meeting held this morning in the principal -</span><em class="italics">caffè</em><span> of Montefiano, you are, no doubt, also aware of the -attitude of the people towards the princess, towards -Monsieur le Baron d'Antin, and towards yourself. You no -doubt know that they regard you, Monsieur l'Abbé Roux, -as a foreigner who has abused the confidence the princess -has had in you as a priest, in order by degrees to fill your -own pockets out of Donna Bianca Acorari's possessions and -at the expense of the people. You doubtless know that -they accuse you of being the real lessee of the rents paid by -the tenants on this estate, and believe that the recent -raising of those rents and the dismissal of the </span><em class="italics">fattore</em><span> -Fontana, for having protested against any increase in the rent, -was due to you. You will have heard, also, that you are -credited with having devised a scheme whereby Donna -Bianca Acorari is to marry Monsieur le Baron d'Antin in -order to keep her patrimony in the family—so to speak—and -enable you to continue to administer the properties -for some years to come. Of course, Monsieur l'Abbé, you -know all this, since you are well informed of what is being -said and done in Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux's face while Don Agostino was speaking -presented a study in some of the various feelings capable of -being reflected on the human countenance. Anger, -mortification, dismay—all these displayed themselves in turn -as he listened to Don Agostino's words, each one of which -was delivered with a calm incisiveness which added to the -force of his speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Monsignore!</em><span>" he exclaimed, furiously. "Are you aware -of what you are saying? Monsieur le Baron," he added, -turning to Monsieur d'Antin, "this is an insult—not to me -only, but to the princess and to yourself—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin looked from one to the other curiously, -almost as if he enjoyed the situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not, Monsieur l'Abbé," he said, with a little -smile, and rubbing his white hands gently together. "I -think not, my dear friend. Monsignor Lelli is merely -stating the opinion that others hold concerning you—or -concerning us, perhaps I should say. He does not, I am -convinced, mean us to suppose that he shares this opinion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In any case," continued Monsieur d'Antin, with a slight -shrug of the shoulders as the silence became markedly -prolonged, "it is not worth your while to be angry, my dear -abbé, for Monsignor Lelli might regard your anger as a -proof that the peasants at Montefiano are a very shrewd -race—ha, ha, ha!" and he broke into a gentle laugh which -sounded genuine enough, but certainly did not tend to -allay the abbé's fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he continued. "Let us remain calm, I beg of -you, and let us hear what else Monsignor Lelli has to tell -us from these admirable peasants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have little else to add to what I have already said," -observed Don Agostino, "and I make no apologies for the -words I have used. They are plain words, and even the -Abbé Roux will not, I think, misunderstand them. As -to my own opinion—well, I agree with you, Monsieur le -Baron, that the people of Montefiano are shrewd, and I -believe their accusations to be just."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux made a step forward, and, purple with -rage, shook his clinched fist in Don Agostino's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you," he exclaimed, "you, whom the Holy Father -sent to minister to these pigs of peasants in order to avoid -the scandal of proceeding against you for fraudulent -speculation with money intrusted to you, you dare to bring these -accusations against me! Liar, hypocrite, pig—like the -peasants you represent!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear friend," remonstrated Monsieur d'Antin, -laying his hand on the abbé's arm, "let me implore you to be -calm. Recollect that you and Monsignor Lelli are priests—that -you both wear the </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span>. You cannot demand -satisfaction of each other in the usual way—you cannot -challenge each other to a duel. It would be—excessively -funny," and Monsieur d'Antin laughed again, in evident -enjoyment of the idea. "Besides," he continued, "Monsignor -Lelli has, no doubt, more to tell us. We have not -yet heard what it is that the peasants require of my sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur," said Don Agostino, "I can answer for the -peasants that, if they are allowed to see and speak with -Donna Bianca Acorari, they will certainly not proceed to -any excesses. They will probably return quietly to their -occupations."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you," interrupted the Abbé Roux, in a voice that -was hoarse and trembling with anger, "can take back to the -peasants the princess's answer which I am commissioned -to give in her name. The answer is, that they will not be -permitted to see Donna Bianca Acorari, who has nothing -to say in the matter of the administration of these lands, -or to approach her with any story of their grievances. -The princess, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, is perfectly well aware of all that -underlies this agitation, and that it is directed chiefly -against myself. She will not be intimidated into recalling -Giuseppe Fontana, or into lowering the rents. She—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped abruptly. A confused sound of voices came -from the gallery outside, and a moment afterwards the door -was flung hastily open and the old </span><em class="italics">maggior-domo</em><span> burst into -the room, followed by several of the servants, who stood in -a frightened group on the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The </span><em class="italics">contadini</em><span>!" he exclaimed. "There is a crowd of -three hundred or more outside the entrance-gates, and they -declare that if the gates are not opened, they will break -them down, Signor Abate! Ah, </span><em class="italics">Madonna mia</em><span>! It is a -</span><em class="italics">repubblica</em><span>—a revolution—listen!" and rushing across the -gallery, he threw open one of the windows looking into the -court-yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thick walls of the castle had effectually prevented -any sound from penetrating to the apartments on the -other side of the gallery, all of which were situated in the -portion of the building added to the mediæval fortress by -Cardinal Acorari, and overlooked the terrace and open -country beneath it. From the gallery, however, the angry -roar of an excited mob could distinctly be heard; and, -when the windows were opened by the old </span><em class="italics">maggior-domo</em><span>, -shouts of "Down with the foreigners! Long live the -Principessina Bianca!" became plainly audible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at the abbé and Monsieur d'Antin. -"You see, monsieur," he said, quietly, to the latter, "I -did not exaggerate matters. But even now it is not too -late. If the princess and Donna Bianca will show -themselves to the peasants, and allow me to address the people -in their name, I am confident that order will quickly be -restored. Hark!" he added. "They are attempting to -break open the gates." And even as he spoke, the noise -of heavy blows falling on wood-work re-echoed through the -court-yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin, to do him justice, appeared to be far -more composed than the Abbé Roux. He listened for a -moment or two almost impassively to the shouts and the -uproar which were growing ever louder and more violent. -The abbé, on the contrary, was trembling with an -excitement that might have proceeded either from fear or from -rage, and probably, as Don Agostino thought, from both. -He had his watch in his hand, and looked at it repeatedly, -as though counting every minute that passed. Don Agostino -noticed his action, and as he did so a sudden suspicion -dawned upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin drew the abbé aside, and spoke with -him for a minute or so in an undertone. The Abbé Roux, -it was evident, dissented energetically from his remarks, -and finally, with a shrug of the shoulders, Monsieur -d'Antin left him and advanced to Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur le Curé," he said, "as I have already told you, -my sister does not take advice from me as to the management -of her affairs, and I frankly confess to you that I do -not understand the situation sufficiently to make -interference on my part warrantable. The Abbé Roux is my -sister's adviser in all that concerns her affairs. I must -refer you to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin approached the window again; and -then, taking his cigarette-case from his pocket, he proceeded -to light a cigarette with quiet deliberation. Don Agostino -glanced at him almost with approval. At any rate, he -reflected, Baron d'Antin, whatever else he might be, was no -coward, and knew how to </span><em class="italics">se tirer d'affaires</em><span> like a gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," exclaimed the Abbé Roux, "you, Monsieur le -Curé, have to refer to me in this matter. And I tell you -again that it is useless that you and the </span><em class="italics">canaille</em><span> attempt to -intimidate the princess—absolutely useless. What did I say -to you a few minutes ago? We are not imbeciles here—certainly -not imbeciles, monsieur; as you and your friends -outside will find out—if they dare to continue this violence -much longer. No; go to these insolent peasants, and tell -them that your mission has failed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked the abbé steadily in the face for -a moment, and then, without a word, turned his back upon -him for the second time that afternoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur le Baron," he said, coldly, "it would be well -that you should inform the princess what is taking place, -and you will doubtless know how to prevent her and Donna -Bianca Acorari from being unduly alarmed. I have done -my office here, and it is not my fault if I have failed. -My place now is with my people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino was about to pass Monsieur d'Antin with a -formal bow, when the latter suddenly held out his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Monsignore</em><span>," he said, "you came as a peacemaker; -and, believe me, I regret that you do not take away with -you terms of peace. I regret it, I repeat, and I am not -responsible for what has occurred, or for what may occur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino scarcely heard him. He hurried down the -gallery and across the entrance-hall, followed by two -trembling domestics, who unbarred the doors opening on to -the court-yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By this time the fury of the crowd at finding itself -prevented from entering the castle had passed all bounds of -control. Blow after blow rained upon the wooden gates -leading into the court; and suddenly, while Don Agostino -was in the act of crossing the court-yard, the gates burst -open with a crash, having given way before the impetus -of a mad rush from the mob without.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment the peasants stood undecided—surprised, -perhaps, at the sudden yielding of the gates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino, seeing their indecision, advanced towards -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My friends—" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great shout drowned his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Traditore! Vigliacco d'un prete!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then a stone struck him, and, with a hoarse roar like -that of an angry beast, the crowd surged into the court-yard.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxii"><span class="bold large">XXXII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The stone hurled at Don Agostino had fortunately only -hit him on the body, for, owing to the violence with -which it had been thrown, it certainly would have stunned -him had it struck him on the head. As it was, however, -the folds of his </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span> somewhat broke the force of the -blow. Don Agostino was scarcely conscious that he had -been struck, so great was his amazement at the savage -reception he had met with at the hands of his parishioners. -Looking round on the angry faces and threatening gestures -of the mob of peasants in front of him, Don Agostino -speedily realized that neither Sor Stefano nor any of the -more prominent supporters of the peasantry were among -those who had forced their way into the court-yard. A -feeling of anger and indignation took possession of him -as he noted the fact. It was the usual thing, he thought -bitterly—the invariable system of the incitement of the -poor and the ignorant to do the dirty work by those who -would instantly desert them in the hour of danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Disgust at what he believed to be treachery on the part of -those who had been mainly instrumental in instigating the -peasants to their present action quickly took the place of -the surprise and indignation that Don Agostino had felt -at the way in which the people had suddenly turned against -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without hesitation, and with a demeanor as calm and -composed as though he were mounting the steps of his -pulpit, he ascended the double stone staircase leading from the -court-yard to the doors from which he had issued only a -minute or two previously. The doors were shut and -bolted now. The servants had fled precipitately at the -sight of the entrance-gates giving way before the assault -of the mob, and Don Agostino found himself alone with an -angry and menacing crowd confronting him, and behind -him the great Renaissance palace of Cardinal Acorari, with -its portal barred, and the wooden shutters outside the -windows on the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span> already closed by its inmates. -He stopped at the top of the first flight of steps; and, -advancing to the stone balustrade, looked down on the -peasants below him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were still crowded together round the entrance-gates, -and seemed as though uncertain what their next -move should be. Possibly, too, they were taken aback at -finding themselves within a deserted court-yard, with closed -windows all round them, and nothing but the solitary -black figure of Don Agostino standing in front of the -entrance to that portion of the castle inhabited by the -princess and Bianca Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drawing himself up to his full height, Don Agostino made -a gesture as though to wave back a group of peasants who, -detaching themselves from the rest, were approaching the -flight of steps on which he stood—a gesture that was -almost imperious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have broken your word to me," he cried; "you, -and those who have sent you here and are afraid to come -themselves! You promised that you would make no move -until I returned from the castle—" Shouts of "</span><em class="italics">Abbasso -il pretaccio</em><span>! Liar—traitor!" interrupted and drowned his -words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino's eyes flashed with anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence!" he exclaimed. "And if there is a man among -you, let him stand out and tell me what you mean—what -you accuse me of. Choose your spokesman. I am waiting -to hear what he has to say." He folded his arms and leaned -against the balustrade almost indifferently. His demeanor -was not lost on the crowd, composed of peasants though it -was. Its members fell to talking excitedly among -themselves, and presently one of the younger men came -forward. Don Agostino recognized him as the speaker at -the Caffè Garibaldi that morning, who had advocated no -delay in going to the castle and insisting on seeing Donna -Bianca Acorari in person.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ask us what it is we accuse you of!" he exclaimed, -in a threatening voice. "</span><em class="italics">Porca Madonna</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no necessity to be blasphemous," interrupted -Don Agostino, sternly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it had not been for your promises, and because we -believed that you would not deceive us, we should have -been here this morning. You persuaded us to delay, -because all the time you knew that the soldiers had been sent -for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not know it," said Don Agostino, in a voice that -rang through the court-yard. "I swear that I did not -know it until I read the telegram in the paper that you have -probably all seen. Even now I do not know that the -report is true. In the castle they deny that there has ever -been any idea of sending for troops, and, still more, that -they have been actually sent for. You accuse me of -having deceived you. I tell you that until a few minutes ago -I have been doing my best to persuade the princess to give -you a hearing. But other counsels have prevailed, and I -have not succeeded in seeing either her or the Principessina -Donna Bianca. No—I have deceived you in nothing, but -you have been deceived all the same. You have been -deceived by those who have encouraged you to come here -and commit acts of violence, but who have, nevertheless, -taken good care not to compromise themselves. Now, -my friends, I have answered your accusations. What -further reasons have you to give for turning against me, -who have never done anything to deserve your want of -confidence?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cries of "</span><em class="italics">È vero! È vero!</em><span>" greeted Don Agostino's words, -and a few shouts of "</span><em class="italics">Evviva il parroco!</em><span>" were raised from -the back of the crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino slowly descended the steps, and advanced -towards the foremost group of peasants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen to me, </span><em class="italics">ragazzi miei</em><span>," he said. "Be wise and go -back to the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>, quietly. I told you this morning that -you would obtain nothing by violence, and I tell it you -again. There are other means—better means—of obtaining -your rights than by committing wrongs. Have I ever -deceived you? I think not. Did I deceive </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, Angelo -Frassi, when you were nearly crippled for life, and I sent -you to the hospital in Rome, and you came back cured? -Or </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, Pietro Santucci, when your mother was dying, and -you had not money left in the house to buy a piece of meat -to make her a cup of broth? </span><em class="italics">Via, figli miei</em><span>, you have called -me some hard names, but I think, all the same, that you -will trust me for a little yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino paused, and an outburst of cheering came -from his audience. The peasants he had named, who were -among the most threatening of the younger men among the -mob, shrunk back shamefaced and abashed. The </span><em class="italics">parroco's</em><span> -appeal was true, and they knew it to be so. There were -few in the crowd, moreover, who, in some way or another, -had not experienced Don Agostino's sympathy and generosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Almost mechanically they made way for him to pass between -their ranks, and followed him over the debris of the -broken gates out on to the square-paved piazza, in front of -the walls and round battlemented towers flanking the -main entrance to the castle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino had just breathed a sigh of relief at the -effects of his appeal, when a band of some fifty or sixty -men, accompanied by as many women and children, rushed -into the piazza out of the steep road leading up to the castle -from the town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The troops!" they shouted. "The troops! They are -entering the town now. In a few minutes they will be here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A howl of rage answered them from the mob of peasants -behind and around Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Traditore—traditore! porco d'un prete</em><span>! It was for this -you were waiting—deceiving us with your lies till you knew -the soldiers would be here! Ah, </span><em class="italics">vigliacco</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A rush was made at him by those nearest, and Don Agostino -had just time to defend himself from a blow dealt with -the handle of a broken spade, the end of which was still -covered by the rusty iron ferrule. His suspicions were -verified now. The Abbé Roux had lied to him, and when -Don Agostino had seen him glancing every now and again -at his watch, he had been calculating how many minutes -might elapse before the appearance of the troops he had -caused to be summoned. It had been the knowledge that -these troops were in the vicinity that had doubtless given -the abbé courage to refuse to listen to any representations, -even from Monsieur d'Antin, as to the advisability of -treating with the peasants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been the suspicion—nay, almost the certainty, -that the Abbé Roux was lying, and that troops had already -been requisitioned, which had made Don Agostino determined -if possible to persuade the peasants to leave the -court-yard of the castle. If the troops should arrive when -the mob was within the walls, the peasants would be caught, -as it were, in a trap, and any additional act of violence on -their part, or error of judgment on the part of the officers -of the </span><em class="italics">pubblica sicurezza</em><span>, who, in accordance with the -law, would have to accompany the officer commanding -and call upon him to order the soldiers to charge or fire -on the crowd, might lead to appalling results.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been of the safety of his people that Don Agostino -had been thinking, far more than of his own safety, and even -now, with the angry mob shouting execrations and threats -upon him for his treachery, he reproached himself bitterly -for having played into the Abbé Roux's hands, by delaying -his exit from the castle until the peasants had already -commenced their assault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had little time to think of this now, however. It was -in vain that he attempted for a moment to make his voice -heard above the din. The mob was too angry now, too -certain that it had been deceived, to listen to him a second -time, and Don Agostino knew it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned and faced the crowd in silence, and the -thought of the irony of his situation brought a fleeting smile -to his lips. How could the peasants know that he -sympathized with them—that it was not he who had deceived -them, but that he himself had been deceived?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Morte—morte al pretaccio! Morte all 'assassino!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, death must come some time; and, at any rate, he -had tried to do his duty. Death, perhaps, would come to -him as it had done to his Master, at the hands of those who -knew not what they did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Morte—morte al traditore!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A heavy blow struck from behind him fell upon his head, -causing him to reel and totter back. Don Agostino shut -his eyes, and his lips moved silently. Surely, death was -very near now. Surely—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly another voice sounded in his ears. His name -was shouted out loudly; yes, but in very different accents -from those of the peasants now closing round him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino opened his eyes in time to see two men with -raised reaping-hooks, who were apparently about to strike -him a more deadly blow than the rest, hurled right and left, -and the next moment Silvio Rossano stood by his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand back!" Silvio shouted. "Back, I say, or by -God, I will blow the brains out of the first man who comes -within a metre of Don Agostino!" and as he spoke he -covered the nearest peasant with a revolver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Coraggio</em><span>, Don Agostino!" he said, quickly, "you are -not hurt—no? In a minute or two the troops will be here. -Ah, I could stay no longer. I knew the mob had gone to -the castle, and that you were still there. And then, on -my way here, I met Fontana and his daughter, and they -told me the peasants had turned against you. When I -heard that I ran as hard as I could—and here I am!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino felt sick and dizzy from the blow he had -received. "You are just in time, Silvio </span><em class="italics">mio</em><span>," he said. -"Another minute, and who knows whether you would have -found me alive? Oh, but it is not their fault, the poor -people—they think that I knew the troops had been sent -for, and that I meant to deceive them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The peasants, who had fallen back at Silvio's -unexpected appearance and at the sight of his revolver, now -began to crowd round Don Agostino again, and once more -cries of "</span><em class="italics">Morte al pretaccio!</em><span>" were raised, coupled with -threats against Silvio and curses at his interference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly a woman's voice rose above the uproar. "Fools!—idiots! -Are you trying to murder your best friend, Don -Agostino? And that other—-do you know who he is? -He is the </span><em class="italics">fidanzato</em><span> of the Principessina Bianca!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The voice was Concetta Fontana's. Accompanied by -her father and Sor Stefano, she forced her way through the -crowd to where Don Agostino and Silvio were standing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," roared out Sor Beppe, "my daughter is right—and -you—you are pigs and beasts, and it is I who say it! -Don Agostino knew no more than I did that the soldiers -had been summoned. </span><em class="italics">Evviva il fidanzato della principessina!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The effect of Sor Beppe's intervention was instantaneous, -and the mob took up his cry, while Concetta, after whispering -a few words in her father's ear, disappeared within the -gateway of the castle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly a cry arose from the end of the piazza. "The -troops—the troops!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The leaders of the peasants shouted to the rest to follow -them. "Back to the castle!" they cried. "The soldiers -shall find us there!" and the crowd surged again through -the broken-down gates into the court-yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the love of God, come!" exclaimed Don Agostino -to his companions. "We must put ourselves between them -and the soldiers, or who knows what may happen? You, -Signor Mazza, speak to the peasants—they will listen to -you." Accompanied by Silvio, Fontana, and Sor Stefano, -Don Agostino hurried to the gateway and entered the -court-yard. Already the mob had swarmed up the staircase -at the opposite end of the court, and the foremost -were attempting to break in the great double doors in the -centre of the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were scarcely inside the court, when the quick -tramp of armed men was heard in the piazza; a sharp word -of command re-echoed through the gateway, and then a -long metallic rattle of steel, as a company of grenadiers -and a detachment of infantry fixed bayonets. A moment -afterwards the </span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span> marched through the gateway, -the officer in command of them being accompanied by a -delegate of public safety wearing the tricolor scarf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delegate stepped forward, and in the name of the -law called upon the rioters to desist. A shout of defiance -answered his words. "We go to see our </span><em class="italics">padrona! Evviva -la principessina, abbasso gli stranieri!</em><span>" and a volley of -blows resounded on the doors at the top of the double flight -of steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment the outside shutters of a window in the -gallery were thrown open, and the Abbé Roux appeared -at it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Delegate," he cried, "in the name of the Principessa -di Montefiano, I call upon you to protect the inhabitants -of this castle from the assault of a disorderly mob. -Those men," he added, pointing to Don Agostino and his -companions, "are the ringleaders—they are responsible for -this agitation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A howl of execration from the mob followed the Abbé -Roux's speech, and sticks and stones were hurled at the -window at which he was standing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delegate looked from the abbé to Don Agostino and -Silvio Rossano, who was standing by his side, in some -perplexity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your names, </span><em class="italics">signori</em><span>," he said, curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Agostino Lelli, </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silvio Rossano, son of the Senator Rossano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Evviva! Evviva il fidanzato della nostra principessina!</em><span>" -shouted the crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The official looked up to the window again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is surely some mistake—" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you, Signor Delegate, that there is no mistake," -shouted the Abbé Roux. "Is this a time to waste words, -when in a moment the mob will be inside the castle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delegate shrugged his shoulders. Then he turned to -Don Agostino and Silvio. "Signori," he said, courteously, -"I must ask you to consider yourselves under arrest -pending further inquiries. Have the kindness to place -yourselves behind the troops!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The peasants began to leave the staircase and flock into -the body of the court-yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Morte al prele straniero!</em><span>" they shouted. "We will -have no arrests!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delegate made a sign to the officer in command of the -grenadiers, and immediately the three bugle-calls which the -law ordains shall precede any action on the part of troops -against the public resounded through the court-yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moved partly by rage and partly by fear, the peasants -made another rush towards the staircase. The delegate -called upon the officer in command to order his men to -charge. The captain hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Delegate," he said, "a little patience; it maybe -that my men may be saved from having to perform a -disagreeable duty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino went up to him. "You are right, Signor -Capitano. For God's sake, let us have patience! Let me -see if I can make them hear reason—ah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Cristo!</em><span>" swore the officer, drawing in his breath sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden silence had fallen on the mob, and those who -were half-way up the stone staircase paused and stood still.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, Sor Stefano's voice rang out:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ecco la principessina! Evviva la nostra padrona!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great shout answered him. The doors at the top of the -staircase had opened, and in the centre of them stood -Bianca Acorari. She remained for a moment or two -looking steadily down on the astonished crowd of peasants -and the double line of </span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span> drawn up at the back of -the court-yard. Then, raising her head proudly, she -moved forward and rested her hands on the stone -balustrade. It was perhaps no wonder that a silence had fallen -on the crowd; that the captain of </span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span> had sworn, and -that one of his men had let his musket fall with a clatter -to the ground. The sudden appearance of a young girl, -simply dressed in white, with the light falling on her tawny -gold hair, and her creamy complexion flushed with a glow -of excitement, her every movement full of high-bred grace -and dignity, among a mob of angry peasants, formed a -picture that certainly could not be seen every day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They tell me that you want to see me—to speak with -me. Well, I am here to speak with you. I am Bianca -Acorari."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The low, clear voice could be heard all over the -court-yard. There was no tremor of fear, no trace of -excitement, even, in its tones. For a few moments soldiers and -peasants gazed, as though spellbound, at the girlish figure -standing alone upon the steps against the background -formed by the columns and heavy mouldings of the portico. -Then the silence which succeeded her appearance was -broken; and when she ceased speaking, the peasants greeted -her with an outburst of cheering, in which—did discipline -permit—the soldiers looked as though they would willingly -join.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If the delegate representing the law had been perplexed -before, he was fairly bewildered now at the turn events -had taken. The message received that morning from the -</span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> of Montefiano had been urgent, and the instant -despatch of an armed force had been requested by that -official for the purpose both of maintaining public order -and of protecting the Princess Montefiano and Donna -Bianca Acorari from violence at the hands of their unruly -tenants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">delegato</em><span>, indeed, was about to demand an explanation -from the </span><em class="italics">avvocato</em><span> Ricci, who had waited for the arrival -of the troops before venturing to show himself among the -mob in his official capacity as </span><em class="italics">syndic</em><span>, when the Abbé Roux, -livid with rage and excitement, rushed from the doorway -down the steps to where Bianca was standing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Delegato," he cried, "once more I request that -the castle be cleared of these rioters. In the name of her -excellency, the princess—" A woman's voice interrupted -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Eccolo—Ecco l'Abate! Fuori gli stranieri!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A cry of execration rose from the crowd, and in an -instant its passions were kindled afresh. A sudden rush was -made for the staircase, but the captain in command of the -</span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span> had watched his opportunity, and by a rapid -movement his men had placed themselves between the -mob and its base. At the same time a detachment of the -infantry left outside the court-yard filed through the -gateway and occupied the space in the rear of the mob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The peasants, as Don Agostino had foreseen would probably -be the case were they to be surprised in the court-yard -by the troops, were trapped; and it was the discovery that -they were so which redoubled their fury against the -foreign priest. Uttering a volley of curses and blasphemies, a -group of the younger men attempted to force their way to -the staircase. For the second time the bugle sounded the -three warning blasts. At that instant both Silvio and Don -Agostino hurled themselves against the foremost of the -peasants who were struggling to break through the ranks of -the </span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span>. They tried to force them back, imploring -them at the same time not to oblige the troops to use their -weapons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delegate misunderstood the action of the two men -whom he had a few minutes previously told to consider -themselves as under arrest, and a further furious appeal -from the Abbé Roux did not help him to keep his head or -his temper. He turned angrily to the officer in command, -and ordered him to give the word to his men to charge the -crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes!" shouted the abbé. "Drive the </span><em class="italics">canaglia</em><span> out -of the court-yard! Donna Bianca Acorari, Signor Delegate, -has no business to be here. She is a minor, and has no -authority. She is being deceived by certain adventurers -who have incited the peasants to revolt. You, Signor -Capitano, give the order to charge, as the law requires you -to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delegate stamped his foot angrily. "In the name -of the law, charge the crowd!" he shouted to the soldiers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No! I, Bianca Acorari, Principessina di Montefiano, -forbid it! I will not have the people—my people—touched."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux attempted to restrain her; but, breaking -away from him, Bianca rushed down the steps. The soldiers -mechanically made way for her to pass between their -ranks; and erect, defiant, she stood between the troops and -the excited mob confronting them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delegate, like the majority of the officials of Italian -bureaucracy, was extremely sensitive in any thing which -touched his official dignity or prerogative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Signorina</em><span>," he exclaimed, "you will have the goodness -to retire. We are not here to play a comedy. Signor -Capitano, order your men to dislodge the mob from the -court-yard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca turned to the officer, her eyes flashing with anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Signore</em><span>," she said, "your men are not assassins, and -you—you will not give that order! The people have come -to see me—to speak with me. Who has any right, -excepting myself, to turn them away? That priest"—and -she pointed with a scornful gesture to the Abbé Roux -standing on the steps above—"has lied!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The officer lowered the point of his sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Delegato," he said, "I protest. My men shall -not charge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are here to obey my orders," shouted the </span><em class="italics">delegato</em><span>, -angrily. "I shall report you to headquarters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I undertake the responsibility of disobeying your -orders," returned the officer, coldly. "My men shall not -move. Signorina," he added, "you need not be afraid. -As you say, we are not assassins."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A murmur ran through the ranks of the </span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span>. -Every man's eyes were fixed upon Bianca Acorari.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Sor Beppe forced his way through the -struggling crowd and approached Bianca.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Excellenza," he said, quickly, "speak to the people. -They will do what you tell them—you will see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mean time, neither Silvio nor Don Agostino had -seen Bianca's descent into the court-yard, so occupied had -they been in reasoning and almost fighting with the leaders -of that faction of the peasants which was in favor of trying -to force a passage through the cordon of troops in front of -the staircase.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a stentorian voice Fontana shouted out that the -Principessina Bianca wished to speak to the people, and Sor -Stefano seconded his efforts to obtain silence. Bianca -moved slowly forward, until she was within a few paces of -her lover and Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Evviva la nostra principessina</em><span>! Speak, speak!" shouted -those nearest to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca smiled. "I have little to say," she said, simply, -"but I have heard that things have been done in my name -that are unjust things. You have come here to tell my -step-mother, the princess, this; is it not so? Well, I shall -tell her; and I, Bianca Acorari, promise you that there shall -be no increase in the rents, and that a faithful servant of -Casa Acorari, who has been dismissed because he would not -consent to injustice being done in my step-mother's and my -name, shall be—no—is recalled to his post," and she turned -to Sor Beppe with a quiet smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A dead silence greeted her words. The peasants forgot -to cheer her. They could only look at her, open-mouthed -and wonder-struck. Don Agostino started forward and -gazed at her almost wildly for a moment. Then, staggering -back, and placing his hands to his head, he seemed as -though he would have fallen to the ground had it not been -for Silvio, who supported him in his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," Bianca continued, tranquilly, "for I do not -wish you, the people of Montefiano, to think what is not -the truth. My step-mother is not responsible for what has -been done, any more than I am responsible. She is good, -and she would never have consented to anything which -was unjust. But she has been deceived—yes—deceived -by that priest in whom she trusted, who summoned the -soldiers here, and who, as you have heard, has called upon -them to charge you with their bayonets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An outburst of hisses and groans followed her last -words, and once more the crowd made a movement as -though to force its way to the staircase. The soldiers -closed up, lowering their muskets with fixed bayonets to -the charge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio Rossano and Don Agostino, who by a supreme -effort over himself had regained his composure, sprang to -Bianca's side. The color mounted to her face as she looked -at Silvio, and their eyes met. Then she turned from him to -the crowd that was swaying like the swell of the sea before -a coming storm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" she called out, imperatively. "There must be no -more violence. You say that you will do what I ask -you—that you trust me? Well, I ask you to go quietly to your -homes, secure in having my word that the injustices -committed by the Abate Roux will be removed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She speaks well! </span><em class="italics">Evviva la Principessina Bianca!</em><span>" -shouted the crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—long live the Principessina Bianca, and long live -her betrothed husband, Signor Silvio Rossano! </span><em class="italics">Evviva</em><span>! -</span><em class="italics">Evviva</em><span>!" cried Sor Beppe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His words were taken up with an almost frenzied -enthusiasm. It was evident that the peasants had been -waiting for some allusion to the </span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> own troubles, -now that they had obtained their desire and had heard -from her lips that she disapproved of what had been done in -the princess's and her name. Concetta Fontana's reports -had indeed been cleverly circulated, with a view of securing -to Bianca the sympathy and support of the people. The -women of the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> had poured into the ears of their -husbands, brothers, and lovers such stories of the -</span><em class="italics">principessina's</em><span> unhappiness at being forbidden to marry the man -she loved, and at the prospect of being sacrificed to the -lust of an old man and the dishonest schemes of the -Abbé Roux, as had aroused local indignation to the highest -pitch. At the same time, Bianca's defence of the princess -and her decided refusal to allow her step-mother to be -blamed, had only coincided with the sentiments of the -large majority of her hearers. Public opinion in -Montefiano had long ago exonerated the princess from any other -offence than that of being a foreigner who allowed her own -compatriots to interfere in the management of her -step-daughter's affairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sight of Silvio Rossano standing by their young -</span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>, who had shown them that she could fearlessly -take the part of her people against injustice, was all that -had been needed to evoke an unmistakable demonstration -that, whatever the princess and her advisers might do, -the Montefianesi approved of Bianca's choice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Evviva i fidanzati!</em><span>" rang from all parts of the court-yard, -while there were also not wanting premature shouts of -"</span><em class="italics">Evviva gli sposi!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca blushed scarlet. She stood for a moment hesitating -and uncertain, almost unnerved by the acclamations of -the crowd of peasants whose threatening attitude a few -minutes before had only served to kindle her spirit and -rouse her courage. Then, shyly, she turned to Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak to them," she said, pushing him gently forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio was about to obey her, when a sudden movement -among the soldiers at the foot of the staircase arrested the -attention of the crowd. At a word from their officer, the -ranks of the </span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span> parted, and Princess Montefiano -approached her step-daughter. Monsieur d'Antin was by her -side, and the Abbé Roux followed immediately behind them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca rushed up to her step-mother. "Ah," she -exclaimed, quickly, in a low voice, "I am glad you have -come! See, the people are quite quiet now. There is no -more danger. You must not blame me; I was told that -nothing would happen if I came and spoke to them, but -that if I did not, then they would be more angry than -ever, and the troops would charge—and then—" and she -shuddered visibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess looked at her, and apparently was unable to -summon her words for a moment or two. That she was not -suffering from fear was evident, for she gazed at the crowd -of peasants almost indifferently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are angry," said Bianca. "I am sorry; but I did -what I thought—what I was told—was for the best. After -all," she added, "they are my father's people, and they -wanted me. Surely it was better to try to calm them than -to allow a fight with the soldiers! Why should you be -angry if I have prevented that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, Bianca, hush!" exclaimed Princess Montefiano. -"I am not angry. You did right. I would have come -before, but Monsieur l'Abbé Roux persuaded me not to -show myself, and until five minutes ago I believed you were -in your own room. I have seen and heard everything during -the last few minutes from the gallery, but I do not quite -understand. Now I have come to learn the truth. Monsignor -Lelli," she continued, raising her voice so as to be -heard by the crowd, which was now dumb from wonder -and curiosity, "you came to see me this afternoon, and -I was advised not to receive you. Will you now say -what you would have said had I not listened to that -advice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux started forward, and was about to -speak, but Princess Montefiano waved him back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, monsieur," she said, with dignity, "the people shall -hear you afterwards. </span><em class="italics">Monsignore</em><span>," she added, again -addressing Don Agostino, "will you have the kindness to -explain to me your reasons for wishing to see me this -afternoon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino bowed to her. "My object in asking you -to see me, principessa, was to communicate to you personally -the requests which would have been made by the deputation -you declined to receive. I had, it is true, another -and even more pressing object. This was to interest you -to prevent the despatch of troops to Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess did not reply for a moment. Then she said, -slowly and emphatically:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The requests of the deputation which I was advised -not to receive, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, have been answered by Donna -Bianca Acorari. She has promised that certain acts of -injustice which have been committed in my name and in -hers shall be remedied, and I shall see that her promise is -duly carried into effect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A murmur of applause interrupted her. Monsieur d'Antin, -standing a little apart, watched his sister critically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Tiens!</em><span>" he said to himself, "Jeanne is a capable -woman—more capable than I imagined. She can rise -to a situation. If she would only think less of the -next world and more of this, she would be more capable -still."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to the despatch of troops to Montefiano," the -princess added, "until five minutes ago I was in ignorance that -any such step had been taken. The requisition for -military intervention was made without consulting me and -without my authority."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Evviva la principessina! Viva l'esercito!</em><span>" shouted the -peasants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Signori</em><span>," Princess Montefiano continued, addressing -the delegate and the officer in command of the </span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span>, -"perhaps you will be so good as to tell me at whose request -you are here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delegate of public safety bustled forward, full of the -consciousness of his own importance and dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am here at the request of the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> of Montefiano," -he replied, "to enforce order and respect for the law in this -commune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess turned from him abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Commandante," she said to the military officer, -"I thank you for your discretion in refusing to allow the -people to be attacked at the bidding of a civilian. My -brother has told me of your declining to order your men -to charge the crowd. You may be sure that your conduct -will be represented in its proper light to the authorities. -In the mean time, perhaps you will tell me who summoned -you to Montefiano?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The captain shrugged his shoulders. "Your </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span>, -Signora Principessa, telegraphed to the military authorities -at Civitacastellana for troops to be despatched at once. -An official of the </span><em class="italics">pubblica sicurezza</em><span> accompanied me, -according to the requirements of the law in these -circumstances, and the law places me at the Signor Delegate's -orders for the time being. Nevertheless, an officer is -allowed to use a certain discretion as to carrying out any -orders that may in his opinion be inopportune—and I -merely exercised that discretion. I may add," he continued, -with a glance of admiration at Bianca, "that had it not -been for the timely arrival of Donna Bianca Acorari on -the scene, and her courage in facing the crowd at a very -critical moment, I should probably have been reluctantly -compelled to order my men to clear the court-yard. We -soldiers do not like that kind of work, Signora Principessa; -and both I and my men are grateful to Donna Bianca for -having spared us the unpleasant duty of performing it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano looked round her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span>?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A movement took place in the rear of the crowd, and -presently the </span><em class="italics">avvocato</em><span> Ricci advanced into the open space.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand, Signor Sindaco," the princess said, "that -the troops are here at your request. With the arrangements -of the municipal authorities regarding the town of -Montefiano I have nothing to do. But within the castle of -Montefiano I am mistress. Why was I not informed that -troops had been sent for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin rubbed his hands together. "Jeanne -is superb," he said to himself, "absolutely superb!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> looked petrified with astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," he stammered, "it was after consultation with the -Signor Abate that I made the official application for troops -to be sent. The abate assured me that he was acting in -your </span><em class="italics">eccellenza's</em><span> name. He declared it to be your wish that -troops should at once be despatched to protect the castle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur l'Abbé," said the princess, quietly, "is this true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," replied the Abbé Roux, sullenly, "I have -already explained that if I did not inform you of the fact -that I had applied for military protection against a possible -assault on the castle by the peasants, it was because I did -not wish unduly to alarm you and the inmates of the castle. -I believed that I had full authority to act as I might think -best in this as in other matters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were mistaken, monsieur," the princess returned, -coldly. "This matter," she continued, "has been from -the beginning misrepresented to me. What proof have -I that in other matters, also, I have not been deceived?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your excellency has been deceived all down the line!" -shouted a voice from the crowd. "It is I, Stefano Mazza, -who say it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano turned to Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stefano Mazza?" she repeated, inquiringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano came forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your excellency, perhaps, is not aware that the Abate -Roux is the lessee of the rents of the property belonging to -Casa Acorari at Montefiano," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess started violently, and Monsieur d'Antin -drew nearer to where she was standing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does this mean?" she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It means, madame, that the man is a liar!" cried the -abbé, hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano laughed. "If her excellency desires it," he -said, "I will this evening put positive proofs into her hands -that it is as I say. </span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span> the </span><em class="italics">affittuario</em><span> of these lands -is nominally one Signor Oreste Francavalli; is it not so, -</span><em class="italics">eccellenza</em><span>? But the Signor Oreste Francavalli is a poor -devil of a bankrupt </span><em class="italics">mercante di campagna</em><span>, who has not a -lira left in the world, as I know to my cost, and the real -holder of the rents is at this moment the Abate Roux. It -is not surprising, </span><em class="italics">eccellenza</em><span>, that the </span><em class="italics">abate</em><span> should have -wished to increase his profits."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxiii"><span class="bold large">XXXIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Princess Montefiano seemed to be almost stunned -by Sor Stefano's assertion. Once or twice she tried to -speak, but appeared to be unable to collect her words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux turned furiously to Stefano Mazza. "It -is a lie!" he exclaimed. "You cannot prove your -assertion. What have I to do with this Oreste Francavalli?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano laughed scornfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mah!</em><span>" he returned. "It seems that you have a -great deal to do with him, Signor Abate. And I, too, have -had a great deal to do with him, as I shall be happy to -prove to you from certain documents which I do not carry -about with me but which I can produce for her excellency's -inspection, should she care to see them. </span><em class="italics">Sicuro</em><span>! -Francavalli is an old acquaintance of mine—an old client, I -may say. You are probably unaware, Signor Abate, that -I found myself reluctantly obliged to make him a -bankrupt. It was naturally, therefore, somewhat of a surprise -to me to learn that Signor Francavalli had become the new -lessee of the </span><em class="italics">latifondo</em><span> of Montefiano. A man does not offer -himself as </span><em class="italics">affittuario</em><span> of a large property unless he has some -capital at his back—or, if he does do so, his offer is not -usually accepted by the administration of that property. -It was news to me—interesting news—that Francavalli had -capital; for he had certainly not discharged all his liabilities -to his creditors, of whom I am not the least important. -Do you understand, Signor Abate?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is untrue," the abbé repeated. "Francavalli has -never been a bankrupt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no?" returned Stefano Mazza, dryly. "But I tell -you that he is a bankrupt—and I will tell you something -more, Signor Abate. If Francavalli were the real </span><em class="italics">affittuario</em><span> -of these lands, then he would be a fraudulent bankrupt, for -he would be in possession of capital and of income which -would belong to his creditors. But he is not the real lessee -of the lands belonging to Casa Acorari."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who says that he is not so?" asked the abbé.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano shrugged his shoulders. "He says so -himself," he replied. "Or, rather," he added, "I happen to -possess a document signed by him, declaring that he is -merely the nominal lessee; that in consideration of a sum of -money advanced by you, Signor Abate, he allowed you to -use his name, but that the real lessee is yourself. Had it -not been for Francavalli's readiness to sign the said -document, I should have been compelled to proceed against him -for fraud. </span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span> you have been very cautious, Signor -Abate, but not quite cautious enough. If you had happened -to consult me, I could have told you that in selecting the -Signor Oreste Francavalli as your confidant, you had made -a bad choice;" and Sor Stefano laughed dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment the Abbé Roux remained silent. He was -evidently unable to refute Sor Stefano's words, spoken as -they were with the calm conviction of a man who knew -that he was in a position to substantiate them. Then he -turned to Princess Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he said, "it is true that, in a sense, I am the -purchaser of the right to take the rents of these lands; -and also that, as I did not wish to appear as the lessee, I -arranged with Francavalli that the affair should be carried -out in his name. You are aware, madame, that a larger -annual sum is now paid by the lessee than has hitherto -been the case, and that the half-yearly payments of this -sum have been punctually made. This being so, I do not -see that the fact of my being the real lessee instead of -Francavalli or another need concern anybody but myself. You, -Madame la Princesse, are better off in consequence of my -having taken over the lease; and when I told you that a -friend of mine was disposed to pay more for the lease of -the rents than the lessee whose tenure was just expiring, I -only spoke the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano hesitated, and then turned to her -brother with a distressed look on her face. "It is true," -she said, in a low voice. "Monsieur l'Abbé advised me not -to give the late </span><em class="italics">affittuario</em><span> a renewal of his term, promising -me that he would find a more satisfactory lessee. As he -says, we have been better off since the change, and I do not -see—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Eccellenza</em><span>," interrupted Sor Stefano, "there is more to -say, and with your permission, it had better be said now! -The peasants are here not only to obtain justice for -themselves, but to support their </span><em class="italics">padrona</em><span>, the Principessina -Bianca—is it not so?" he added, turning towards the -crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes! Long live the Principessina Bianca!" -resounded from all parts of the court-yard. Princess -Montefiano bit her lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does he mean?" she asked, abruptly, of Don -Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Evviva la principessina! Evviva! Abbasso gli -stranieri! Evviva il fidanzato della principessina!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shouts were raised again and again, and among them -were others, in which Baron d'Antin was alluded to in -terms neither delicate nor complimentary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess flushed with anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Monsignore</em><span>," she exclaimed, turning again to Don -Agostino, "am I to understand that you, the </span><em class="italics">parroco</em><span> of -Montefiano, encourage your people to insult my brother -and myself? I insist upon an explanation, but I will not -listen to it from peasants—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Signora principessa</em><span>," said Don Agostino, quietly, "you -are quite right. Explanations are necessary, but not -here—not in the presence of the crowd. Let the Signor -Delegato here dismiss the troops, and at a word from you and -from Donna Bianca Acorari, the people will disperse quietly. -Afterwards," he added, "I shall be entirely at your service -to give what explanations I can of the attitude of the -peasants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano considered for a moment. "So be -it, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>," she said, at length; and then, turning to -the delegate, she added: "</span><em class="italics">Signore</em><span>, as I observed a few -minutes ago, I have no right to interfere with the arrangements -of the authorities outside these walls; but inside the -castle of Montefiano I am mistress, and I beg of you to order -the troops to retire. We, I and my step-daughter, have no -need of their protection. We are among our own people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The officer hesitated and looked at Monsieur d'Antin, -who had preserved an imperturbable demeanor of good-humor -even during the uncomplimentary epithets cast at -him by the crowd—epithets, indeed, that he had scarcely -understood so well as did the princess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sister is right, </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span>," Monsieur d'Antin observed, -tranquilly. "If there are explanations to be made, it is -scarcely necessary that the whole population of Montefiano, -a company of grenadiers and a detachment of infantry -should assist at them. That gentleman," he continued, -indicating Sor Stefano, "appears to have considerable -authority with the peasants. No doubt he will persuade -them to leave the castle quietly, now that they have -received assurances that their grievances will be removed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sor Stefano turned to the crowd. "Her excellency, the -princess, has requested the troops to retire," he said, in a -loud voice. "Since she and the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> are here at -Montefiano they need no soldiers to protect them. Therefore -you will leave the castle quietly and go to your own homes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will go if the </span><em class="italics">principessina</em><span> and her </span><em class="italics">fidanzato</em><span> tell us -to go!" shouted a voice from among the group of younger men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano drew back suddenly, and her face -flushed. For a moment she seemed as if about to resent so -obvious an affront to her position and authority.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin advanced towards her. "Jeanne," he -said, in a low voice, "I think you would be wise to allow -Bianca to complete her office of peacemaker. The -peasants evidently are ready to listen to her, and to do what -she tells them. Is it not so, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>?" he added, -turning to Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino glanced at him with some surprise, and the -Abbé Roux's countenance exhibited both astonishment -and anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are quite right, monsieur," Don Agostino replied. -"The people will listen to Donna Bianca, and in these cases -it is generally prudent to seize every opportunity of -bringing matters to a peaceful solution. Moreover," he -continued, "if I may presume to say so, the fact of Madame -la Princesse putting Donna Bianca forward will have an -excellent effect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano looked at him quickly. "You -mean—" she began, and then she paused, abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," Don Agostino said, returning her look and -making a slight gesture of apology, "I mean that your -encouraging Donna Bianca Acorari to take her rightful -position before the people of Montefiano will remove many -misunderstandings and stop much idle gossip."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess gazed inquiringly at him for a moment, then -she turned to Bianca. "Speak to them, </span><em class="italics">figlia mia</em><span>," she -said, quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca shook her head. "No," she replied; "now that -you are here, it is for you to speak to them. I came -because I knew—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You knew what?" interrupted Princess Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that Monsieur l'Abbé had told you nothing—that -you did not even know the soldiers had been sent for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">La principessina</em><span>!" shouted the crowd, impatient with -a colloquy in a language it could not understand. "</span><em class="italics">Vogliamo -sentire la principessina</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano took her step-daughter by the hand -and led her forward. "Speak to them," she repeated, in -Italian; and as she spoke, she drew back, leaving Bianca -standing in front of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words and the action accompanying them met with -an immediate response from the peasants. </span><em class="italics">"Evviva la -principessa!</em><span>" they cried, and then pressed forward until -Bianca was almost surrounded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go," she said, in a quiet, clear voice—"go back to -your homes, now you know that neither my step-mother -nor I will allow any injustice to be done to our people. -</span><em class="italics">Signori</em><span>," she added, addressing the delegate and the officer -in command of the </span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span>, "you will order the troops -to retire, is it not true? You see well that we are in no -danger here at Montefiano."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An outburst of approval drowned the remainder of her -words, and with a shrug of the shoulders the civil official -turned to the officer in command and bade him give the -order to his men to leave the court-yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The peasants fell back to allow the troops to pass through -their midst, and cheered the captain of the </span><em class="italics">granatieri</em><span> as he -marched through the gateway at the head of his company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the last of the soldiers disappeared under the archway, -the majority of the peasants prepared tranquilly to follow -them. A certain number lingered, however, talking -eagerly among themselves, and presently shouts of "</span><em class="italics">Evviva i -fidanzati!</em><span>" were raised, succeeded by cries of "</span><em class="italics">Evviva -Rossano!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano turned hastily, and a look of -astonishment and anger crossed her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, madame," said the Abbé Roux, quickly, "the -whole affair has another scope than that which you have -been made to believe to be the case. There is the true -ringleader of the peasants"—and he pointed scornfully to -Silvio Rossano, who was urging the remainder of the crowd -to leave the castle without making any further -demonstration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess did not answer, but she looked intently at -Silvio for a moment. Then she turned to her brother. -"Philippe," she said, coldly, "you will have the goodness -to inform Signor Rossano that his presence here is unwelcome, -and that he must leave the castle with—his friends!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca started forward. "No," she exclaimed, abruptly; -"if you send that message, Monsieur d'Antin shall not be -the bearer of it! It is an insult, a—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano waved her back indignantly. "Have -you no shame?" she said, rapidly, beneath her breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin smiled. "Bianca is right, Jeanne," he -observed. "I prefer not to be the bearer of your message. -No doubt Monsieur l'Abbé will undertake to deliver it," -and then he laughed gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca looked at him for a moment in evident perplexity, -and then quickly averted her gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait," she said to her step-mother, earnestly—"wait -till you have heard—till you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano gave a gesture of impatience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you are all mad!" she exclaimed, angrily. -"And in this, at least, I will be obeyed. Philippe—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino interrupted her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he said, "let me entreat you not to insist. -Donna Bianca is right—it would be an insult. When you -have heard all Donna Bianca has to tell you—all that -others have to tell you—you will understand better, and -perhaps you will form a different opinion. But this is not -the place for explanations. It is not necessary to discuss a -scandal in public."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, a scandal!" exclaimed Princess -Montefiano, indignantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I repeat it, madame—a scandal," returned Don -Agostino, looking at the Abbé Roux and Monsieur d'Antin -steadily. "Donna Bianca Acorari and yourself have been -the victims of a dishonorable intrigue. Ah, I am not afraid -to use the expression, for I can prove my words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you may be mistaken, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>—you may be -mistaken," observed Monsieur d'Antin, airily, gently -rubbing his hands as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I am so, monsieur, it is for you and the Abbé Roux -to prove it," returned Don Agostino, coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, as to that," Monsieur d'Antin said, composedly, "I -can only speak for myself. Monsieur l'Abbé Roux must -make his own defence. I am not responsible for his -actions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé's face grew livid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" he exclaimed, hoarsely. "Do -you mean to say that your honor is less attacked than mine -by this disgraced priest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Honor?" repeated Monsieur d'Antin; "honor, Monsieur -l'Abbé? Oh, la, la! Monsignor Lelli is right, Jeanne," -he continued. "This is not the place for explanations. -I would suggest retiring in-doors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess looked from one to the other. "I do not -understand," she said, at length, "but if I am to hear of -more deceptions—more abuses of my trust and confidence—this -is certainly not the moment to discuss them. Come, -Bianca! </span><em class="italics">Monsignore</em><span>," she continued, "you will doubtless -explain to me your words in the presence of Monsieur -l'Abbé Roux and my brother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino bowed. "I desire nothing better, madame," -he said, and then he paused and glanced at Silvio. -"I must ask that Signor Rossano may also be present," he -added, "since what I and others have to say concerns him -nearly, and it is only fair to him and to Donna Bianca that -he should hear it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess gave a gesture of dissent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she replied, "Signor Rossano is a stranger. I -cannot admit that he is in any way concerned with my -step-daughter's affairs or with my own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino hesitated for a moment. Then he said, -quietly: "I cannot press the subject, madame. It is -possible, however, that you may change your opinion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I do so, I will send for Signor Rossano," returned -Princess Montefiano, obdurately. "Come, Bianca," she -repeated, "we will hear what Monsignor Lelli has to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The court-yard was by this time nearly empty. Fontana -and Sor Stefano, together with a few of the older and more -prominent tenants, alone remained. Princess Montefiano -turned away, and, accompanied by Bianca, who, now that -she had played her part, seemed to be overcome by a -nervous shyness, slowly ascended the flight of steps leading -up to the portico of the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span>. Monsieur d'Antin -and the Abbé Roux followed them in silence, but Don -Agostino lingered for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Approaching Silvio, who was standing apart, he said to -him, hurriedly: "Do not go away, </span><em class="italics">figlio mio</em><span>, you may be -wanted to plead your own cause."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And without waiting to offer any further explanations, -he followed the princess and the others into the castle.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxiv"><span class="bold large">XXXIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Of those who accompanied Princess Montefiano into -one of the drawing-rooms on the </span><em class="italics">piano nobile</em><span> of the -castle, Monsieur d'Antin certainly appeared to be the least -embarrassed. Throughout the crisis which had just been -overcome he had preserved an imperturbable air of -composure, and almost, indeed, of indifference. The Abbé -Roux glanced at his confederate every now and then with -an expression at once of bewilderment and resentment on -his countenance. Nevertheless, to judge by his demeanor, -Monsieur d'Antin appeared to be completely at his ease, -and even, in a quiet way, to be enjoying the situation in -the development of which he found himself called upon to -assist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you have no objection, my dear Jeanne," he observed -airily, to his sister, "I will smoke. It calms the nerves." And, -producing his case, he proceeded to light a cigarette -in a leisurely and deliberate manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin's action seemed to break the spell of -embarrassment that had fallen upon those around him. -The princess, it was true, had already shown herself to be no -longer the weak, pliable individual that even her brother -had been accustomed to consider her. The suspicion, now -almost a conviction, that she had been deceived, that her -authority had been exploited and undermined by the -person in whom she had placed all her confidence and reliance, -appeared to have had the effect of arousing in Princess -Montefiano that spirit of imperiousness which in reality -was inherent in her nature, as it has almost invariably been -in that of the deeply religious of both sexes and of all -creeds—being, after all, but a form of intellectual vanity wearing -the garb of holiness. To say the truth, Monsieur d'Antin -had been not a little surprised at the change in his sister's -attitude. He had expected that she would altogether -decline to listen to any evidence that should tell against -the Abbé Roux. He had not quite understood that great -as was the glamour of the priesthood in his sister's eyes, -her own authority and power were yet greater, and that -she would not readily condone any action tending to -infringe or diminish them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moreover, Baron d'Antin had not fully realized how -strong was Princess Montefiano's sense of her duty towards -her husband's child, or how genuine was her desire fully -to act up to that sense. He had always regarded Jeanne's -marriage as one of those desperate remedies which single -women of a certain age were apt to take as a palliative for -evils not invariably of a physical nature; and, being quite -aware that his sister had very little real affection for her -step-daughter, he had often wondered whether Bianca's -existence must not be, as it were, something of a thorn in -the flesh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But if Monsieur d'Antin was surprised at his sister's -change of attitude, he was still more astonished at the -blunder committed by the Abbé Roux in basing his schemes -to enrich himself at Bianca Acorari's expense on so -unsound a foundation. He had always taken it for granted -that the Abbé Roux was feathering his own nest, but he -had never troubled himself to ascertain the details of the -process adopted by that ecclesiastic, though he was -convinced that in some way or another the abbé had succeeded -in making money out of his position in the Montefiano -household. Indeed, Monsieur l'Abbé had not attempted -to deny that Donna Bianca's marriage to a stranger would -not at all suit the objects he had in view. Monsieur -d'Antin was perfectly aware that he was dealing with a -rogue—but he had at least given the abbé the credit of being a -clever rogue, though perhaps not quite as clever as himself. -He certainly would not have believed that the priest would -have allowed himself to be outwitted, as he evidently had -been outwitted, by a bankrupt </span><em class="italics">mercante di campagna</em><span>, to -whom he had been presumably paying a commission for -the use of his name. This was a folly and an irretrievable -blunder; and Monsieur d'Antin, who was certainly not -lacking in astuteness, on hearing Stefano Mazza's confident -assertions, had at once realized that the game had reached -the stage of </span><em class="italics">rien ne va plus</em><span>. If he were to continue to -maintain friendly relations with Jeanne—and it certainly would -not be to his advantage that these relations should cease—he -must walk warily. And the Abbé Roux? Well, the -Abbé Roux must pay the penalty usually inflicted upon -the unsuccessful—he must be disowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To be sure, he would have liked to possess Bianca; but, -as Monsieur d'Antin had told himself more than once -lately, this was obviously impossible of attainment. He -was conscious of being no match for the girl's quiet, -determined will, and he dared not make any second attempt -to force his passion upon her. No, it would be better, -more diplomatic, to retire gracefully from the contest -while there was yet time; and the present moment surely -afforded opportunity for a man of ready resource to do so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mean while, Princess Montefiano had been the -object of a keener observation than that of Monsieur -d'Antin. Don Agostino had noted every expression of her -countenance, every inflection of her voice, almost every -movement of her person since she had descended into the -court-yard. He had marked the succession of feelings -called forth by the discovery that she had been deceived -where she had most trusted; he had followed the struggle -between her sense of justice, her wounded pride, her disgust -and mortification at finding that her confidence had been -abused by one whose sacred calling had been used as a -means whereby to exploit it. And Don Agostino, far -from blaming her former weakness, had sympathized with -her in his heart, for he felt that he understood all she was -suffering, every phase of her trial. Perhaps it had been -some sense of this silent sympathy that had made Princess -Montefiano more than once turn to him as though intuitively -seeking the aid of the man she had so short a time before -refused to receive. If Monsieur d'Antin had found his -sister's attitude when brought face to face with her -difficulties superb, as he had expressed it, Don Agostino had -been scarcely less struck by her courage and unexpected -assumption of dignity; and he was fully able to appreciate -both the one and the other. It was clear to him that -there was nothing mean about Princess Montefiano, and -that, once persuaded that wrong had been done, she would -right it at whatever cost to her own feelings. Indeed, Don -Agostino was fain to admit that both the princess and -Monsieur d'Antin showed </span><em class="italics">sang de race</em><span> in a difficult and -embarrassing situation. Nevertheless, he felt himself -entirely unable to account for Monsieur d'Antin's apparent -composure and indifference, knowing, as he now did, of the -pact existing between him and the Abbé Roux, whereby -Bianca Acorari was, if possible, to be sacrificed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino's reflections were disturbed by the -princess addressing him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Monsignore</em><span>," she said, quietly, "we can now discuss, -in private, matters which it was not fitting to discuss before -my step-daughter. I must ask you to explain the -meaning of certain expressions you have used regarding Donna -Bianca Acorari. I do not wish you to be under any -misapprehension, so it will be perhaps as well that I should -tell you that my brother has had my full consent in wishing -to make Donna Bianca his wife. You appear to be aware -that my step-daughter has allowed herself to form another -attachment in—in an entirely undesirable quarter. I am -her guardian, and without my consent she cannot marry -until she is twenty-one. This, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, was a special -clause to her father's will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I am under no misapprehension," returned -Don Agostino. "It is rather you who are so and I -regret to be obliged to say what will give you pain to -hear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Continue, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>," said Princess Montefiano, as he -paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to know, madame, that if you have been -persuaded to sanction a union between Baron d'Antin and -your step-daughter, it is because such a union would have -enabled the Abbé Roux to continue for some years to farm -the rents of Donna Bianca's lands. Briefly, madame, you -have been tricked by the Abbé Roux, and, I regret to say, -by your brother, who, in return for the abbé's assistance in -persuading you to allow such a marriage, engaged not to -interfere with his lease of the rents for a certain period, -before the expiration of which Donna Bianca would long -have attained her majority. The danger of her marrying -an honest gentleman of good family, who has been -represented to you as an adventurer and a nobody, has been -perpetually put forward with the object of gaining your -consent to what your own sense of justice, of propriety, -madame, would otherwise have forbidden you to contemplate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano started up from her chair. "</span><em class="italics">Monsignore!</em><span>" -she exclaimed; "do you know what you are -saying? You forget that you are accusing my brother of -a villanous action! Philippe," she continued, passionately, -"tell Monsignor Lelli that he is mistaken—tell him -that he lies, if you like—but do not let me think that you, -my brother, have also deceived me—that you could lend -yourself to such a horrible intrigue—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Jeanne!" interrupted Monsieur d'Antin. "My -dear Jeanne!" he repeated, and then he laughed softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is incredible—monstrous! I will not believe it!" -Princess Montefiano exclaimed, with increasing agitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin blew a ring of smoke into the air from -his cigarette. "Monsignor Lelli is mistaken, Jeanne," he -observed, tranquilly; "one can say as much to him without -offence. But to say that he lies would not be permissible. -It would be—well, an exaggeration. Before replying to his -accusation, I should like to ask Monsignor Lelli on what -grounds he bases it. He does not, I presume, derive his -information from Monsieur l'Abbé Roux?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I derive my information from those who have overheard -conversations between you and the Abbé Roux—conversations -carried on, as you believed, in private—in -which your plans were very fully discussed. Can you -deny, monsieur, that the arrangement I have named exists -between you and the Abbé Roux?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin shrugged his shoulders. "I have not -the least intention of denying it," he observed, calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Philippe!" exclaimed the princess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abbé started forward. "</span><em class="italics">Imbécile!</em><span>" he muttered, -under his breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is perfectly true," pursued Monsieur d'Antin, -ignoring him. "I entered into the compact with Monsieur -l'Abbé, the nature of which Monsignor Lelli has described -fairly accurately. You see, my dear Jeanne," he -continued, "I have not your reverence for the clergy, and I -thought it possible—just possible—that Monsieur l'Abbé -Roux was—well, taking advantage of your belief in the -apostolic succession. Is not that the correct term? By -degrees I became convinced of it. It amused me to see -how far Monsieur l'Abbé, with a little encouragement, -would go; and I—yes, I myself—proposed to him the -arrangement which Monsignor Lelli has just disclosed. It -was eagerly jumped at, my little proposal," and Monsieur -d'Antin rubbed his hands together gently, with a quiet -chuckle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a lie!" cried the abbé, furiously. "You confessed -to me that you were in love with Donna Bianca, and asked -me to use my influence with the princess to remove her -objections to your becoming the husband of her -step-daughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you gave me absolution," returned Monsieur -d'Antin, dryly. "Ah, yes, you certainly gave me absolution—but -conditionally, Monsieur l'Abbé, always conditionally, -you know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Philippe," interrupted Princess Montefiano, "I do -not understand. You told me yourself that you loved -Bianca—that you would only be happy when she consented -to be your wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite true, my dear Jeanne," Monsieur d'Antin replied. -"What would you have? I do not wear the </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span>, so -I have no protection against the weaknesses of the flesh. -Yes, your step-daughter is charming, adorable—but her -charms are not for me. She has made that very clear to -me. It is deplorable, but I have failed, and there is nothing -left for me but to retire in favor of a more fortunate rival. -But my failure has nothing to do with the point—nothing -at all. If Monsieur l'Abbé wants further explanations of -my conduct in allowing him to believe that in return for -his assistance in my unlucky affair of the heart I should -not interfere with his affairs of the pocket, I am quite ready -to give them to him. But, monsieur," he added, as the -Abbé Roux, white with rage and mortification, attempted -to interrupt him, "do not forget that in giving me -absolution when I made my little confession to you of my -passion for Donna Bianca, you stipulated for something -in return. It is always so, is it not? One is not supposed -to come to </span><em class="italics">le bon Dieu</em><span> empty handed. You made it clear -that without your support I could never hope to gain my -sister's consent to my object, and that you were only -disposed to accord this support on the condition of my not -interfering with your rights over the rents of the Montefiano -lands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I agreed; but I agreed under that most convenient -of all compromises—a mental reservation. </span><em class="italics">A la guerre -comme à la guerre, n'est-ce pas</em><span>, Monsieur l'Abbé? Ha, ha, -ha!" and Monsieur d'Antin laughed good-humoredly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux remained silent. Perhaps he was thinking -that the suspicions he had at times entertained as to -whether it were not Monsieur d'Antin who was manipulating -him rather than he Monsieur d'Antin, had turned out -to be entirely justifiable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mean time, Don Agostino had been regarding -Monsieur d'Antin with a peculiar expression, which was -certainly not that of a person convinced of the truth of what -he had just heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wish me to understand, then," he said to him, -dryly, "that you merely pretended to fall in with the -Abbé Roux's suggestions, in order to ascertain how far -your suspicions that he was abusing his position as -confidential adviser to Madame la Princesse were correct?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin turned to him with admirable dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Assuredly, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>," he replied. "Do you presume, -then, to suppose that I should lend myself to a -conspiracy to deceive my own sister, and to enrich an unworthy -individual at her and Donna Bianca Acorari's expense? -No, monsieur! I may have my little weaknesses where -women are concerned, and I frankly admit that had -Donna Bianca not rejected my advances I should have -considered myself a very happy man. But where my -honor is concerned, Monsieur le Curé, or the honor of my -family, I, Philippe d'Antin, have no weaknesses!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him hard, and his finely moulded -lips curved in an ironical smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I make you my compliments, Monsieur le Baron," he -said, quietly. "One sees that you have done your best -to protect yourself from possible misconstructions being -placed upon your actions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin bowed and smiled benignly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely," he said, suavely. "You, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, as a -man of the world, will understand—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything," interposed Don Agostino, with a slight -shrug of the shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Princess Montefiano, who had been -listening attentively to all that had passed, suddenly rose -from her chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur l'Abbé," she said, coldly, "I have heard -enough to convince me that I need no longer trouble you -for your advice or assistance in the management of my -affairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, monsieur," she continued, as the abbé tried to -speak, "excuses are useless. My confidence has been -abused; and you have presumed to mislead me in the -exercise of my authority over my step-daughter and her -affairs for motives of your own. You may return to Rome, -monsieur, since your services here are no longer required. -You will have ample time to drive to Attigliano and take -the evening train."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame!" exclaimed the Abbé Roux.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a word, sir," returned the princess, imperiously. -"I trusted you as a friend and as a priest. You have -proved yourself unworthy of that trust, and it is enough. -Until the last moment—until the troops were within these -walls—you have lied to me—yes, lied. And for what? -In order to make money; in order—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano's voice failed her, and, suddenly -overcome, she sat down in her chair. The Abbé Roux -advanced towards her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said, in accents trembling with anger and -mortification—"yes, I will go to Rome, and all Rome shall -hear how Donna Bianca Acorari has compromised herself, -and how she has given herself to the first man who crossed -her path. You may turn me out of your house, madame, -but you cannot close my mouth. And you," he added, -turning to Monsieur d'Antin, "you are a liar and a coward!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baron d'Antin shrugged his shoulders. "And you, -Monsieur l'Abbé," he replied, "are a priest; otherwise—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Philippe," said the princess, in a hard, dry voice, "will -you be so kind as to ring the bell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame!" vociferated the abbé again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess took no notice of him, and the </span><em class="italics">maggior-domo</em><span> -answered the summons with suspicious promptitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Giovanni," Princess Montefiano said, "a carriage will -be wanted to take the Signor Abate and his luggage to -Attigliano in time for the evening train to Rome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur," continued the princess, "I will detain you -no longer. You have doubtless arrangements to make -for your departure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment the Abbé Roux seemed as though about -to make an appeal to her. Then, without uttering a word, -he walked hastily across the apartment and disappeared -through the double doors leading into the dining-room, -beyond which the room he had occupied as his study was -situated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had scarcely gone when Princess Montefiano turned -to her brother and Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will ruin that poor girl's reputation!" she -exclaimed, bitterly, "and all Rome will say that I have -neglected my duty towards her because she is not my own -child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will be very easy to prevent anything of the kind, -princess," said Don Agostino, quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess looked at him. "And how, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>?" -she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By allowing Donna Bianca to marry the man she loves," -returned Don Agostino, "the man who would make her an -absolutely worthy husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The son of an infidel professor? Never, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>!" -exclaimed Princess Montefiano, emphatically. "Besides," -she added, and then, pausing abruptly, she glanced at -Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked at him also, and as their eyes met -Baron d'Antin averted his own. He read an expression of -warning in Don Agostino's glance, a silent hint that, -however successfully he might have deceived his sister in his -adroit repudiation of any genuine compact having existed -between the Abbé Roux and himself, he had not for an -instant deceived Monsignor Lelli.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur le Baron has already announced his readiness -to accept Donna Bianca's refusal to entertain his offer," -Don Agostino observed. "Is it not so?" he added, -addressing Monsieur d'Antin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The latter nodded. "You surely would not wish me to -force my love upon Bianca?" he said to his sister. "You -know, Jeanne, that she will have none of it, and I—well, I -must submit," and he sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Philippe, of course I should not wish that," the -princess replied, hurriedly. "Indeed," she continued, "I -am relieved. I never approved of your proposal, and I -would never have consented to it, had not the Abbé Roux -insisted that Bianca had hopelessly compromised herself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how compromised herself, madame?" interrupted -Don Agostino, almost angrily. "Because your step-daughter -has given her love to one who loves and respects her, -whom she, too, loves, and who is worthy of her love, in -what or how has she compromised herself? But these -are fables, princess, malicious insinuations, invented for -the purpose of advancing the schemes of that—that -</span><em class="italics">imbroglione</em><span> who has just left us. At least, receive young -Rossano, madame, and hear what he has to say for himself. -It is only justice—justice to him and to Donna Bianca. -Why ruin the happiness of two young lives because of -caste prejudices, and especially when the difference is -one of rank only—for the Rossano are an old and -well-born family, lacking nothing but a title to make them the -equals of the Acorari."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A man may take his wife from the </span><em class="italics">bourgeoisie</em><span>," she -said, "and it does not matter so much. But a woman loses -caste by marrying beneath her. But it is not the question -of difference in position only," she continued. "You, -</span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, cannot expect a stanch Catholic, such as I -am, to consent to my step-daughter's marriage to the son -of a notorious sceptic and freemason."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Senator Rossano may be a sceptic," said Don -Agostino, "but he is certainly not a freemason, and he is -certainly not antichristian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a freemason?" repeated the princess. "But, -</span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, I have been told that he is one of the most -prominent of that abominable organization. I have heard -that he is a frequent attendant at those blasphemous orgies -in Rome in which sacrileges are committed that I dare not -name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "The Abbé Roux was no doubt -your informant," he observed. "I have known Professor -Rossano for many years, and he is most certainly not a -freemason. The statement that he is so is as false and -fantastic as the legends concerning the orgies and sacrileges -to which you have just alluded. May I suggest, princess, -that you would do well not to take the assertions of the -Abbé Roux too seriously?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano colored. "It would indeed seem -so," she replied, bitterly. "Philippe," she added, suddenly, -turning to her brother, "what is your advice? Shall I -do as Monsignor Lelli wishes, and receive Signor Rossano?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin glanced at Don Agostino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Jeanne," he replied, "you are putting my -generosity to a severe test, and I should prefer, under the -circumstances, to offer no advice. However, I will be -generous; and since the young man is here—well, you -might take the opportunity of forming your own judgment -as to his suitability to become the husband of your -step-daughter. At least, I beg of you to spare me the ordeal -of being present at your interview. Really, the events -of this afternoon have been sufficiently disturbing to the -nerves. With your permission, I will retire to my own -room and leave Monsignor Lelli to support you during -your conversation with my fortunate rival. But, before I -leave you, there are one or two little points that I should -like to have explained to me, and no doubt Monsignor Lelli -can explain them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the first place," continued Monsieur d'Antin, "you, -</span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, say that you derive your information from -some person or persons who overheard conversations -between me and the Abbé Roux—conversations which we -believed to be held in private. I confess that I do not -understand how this could be the case; although I can -perfectly understand how any third person overhearing -certain conversations I have had with the abbé would very -naturally conclude that I was his confederate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may not understand," replied Don Agostino; -"nevertheless, you were overheard, and much of what -passed between you and the Abbé Roux has been repeated -in Montefiano. It was owing to this fact, and to Stefano -Mazza's assurances that the abbé was in reality the -</span><em class="italics">affittuario</em><span> of the rents, that the peasantry were so determined -to see and speak with Donna Bianca. The whole </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> -knew, madame," he added to the princess, "what you were -in ignorance of. I was very certain that you were being -deceived, and it was this certainty which made me so -anxious to see you personally, before any disturbance -should break out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin was silent for a moment. He had -never contemplated the possibility of his conversations -with the abbé becoming known. They had been, as he -was well aware, compromising enough, and he now felt -more convinced than ever that Monsignor Lelli had not -been deceived by his disavowal of any genuine intention -to make himself a partner in the Abbé Roux's schemes, -nor by his declaration that he had only feigned to agree -with them in order to prove to himself the priest's -unworthiness to enjoy his sister's confidence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin, however, was not wanting in assurance. -Its possession had on more than one occasion stood -him in good Stead, and the present situation was certainly -one in which assurance and </span><em class="italics">aplomb</em><span> were needed. It did -not greatly concern him what Monsignor Lelli might or -might not privately think of him. He had no intention, -however, of forfeiting his sister's good opinion, and her -summary dismissal of the Abbé Roux had shown him very -plainly that Jeanne's character was not quite so weak as -he had supposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One must conclude that the walls of Montefiano have -ears," he said at length; "but since the eavesdroppers, -whoever they may have been, placed a wrong, though very -natural, interpretation on what they overheard—at least, -so far as my part in the affair was concerned—it does not -appear to me greatly to matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Philippe," exclaimed the princess, "for a moment I -wronged you. I thought you, too, had deceived me. -That would have been a hard thing to bear, for—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Jeanne," interrupted Monsieur d'Antin, "do -not think of it again, I beg of you. I saw that you -suspected me, but I assure you that I made every allowance -for you under the circumstances. Let us trust that now -you are relieved of the Abbé Roux's presence, there will be -no more misunderstandings. After all, Jeanne, a brother -is more likely to be disinterested than a stranger who is -paid for his services; is it not so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino looked from Baron d'Antin to the princess, -but he said nothing. Indeed, it was only by a slightly -ironical smile that he betrayed any sign of having listened -to Monsieur d'Antin's remarks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur d'Antin did not continue the subject. He -kissed his sister affectionately, and then observed: "I -leave you, my dear Jeanne. As I said before, the last -hour or so has been sufficiently trying to the nerves, and -in any case, I do not feel equal to assisting at your -interview with Monsieur Silvio Rossano. All the same, I am -generous enough to say that, in my opinion, you do quite -right to receive him. It may be that our friend the abbé -has painted him in blacker colors that he deserves, and -perhaps your interview with him will remove other -misunderstandings. My only desire, Jeanne, is for Bianca's -happiness," and Monsieur d'Antin placed his hand on his -heart and sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Au revoir</em><span>, monsieur," he continued, bowing to Don -Agostino; "</span><em class="italics">à bientôt</em><span>, I hope," and then, humming a little -tune to himself, he left the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My brother has certainly a generous nature," remarked -Princess Montefiano. Don Agostino did not consider -himself called upon to reply to her observation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have known this young Rossano for some time, -</span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, is it not so?" she asked, presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For some time—yes," Don Agostino replied; "not for -long, certainly," he added, "but I know enough of him -from his father, who, as I told you, madame, is an old friend -of mine, to make me confident that he would make any -woman a good husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Professor Rossano is not an individual of whom -I could approve," the princess said, dryly. "Such men do -much to create unhappiness in family life by their teaching. -You must pardon me if I say that I should not accept -his opinion concerning a young man's character."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you do not know him, princess," returned -Don Agostino, bluntly. "If I had not full confidence both -in Professor Rossano and in his son," he added, "I should -certainly not sympathize with the latter in his desire to -marry Donna Bianca Acorari. The responsibility would -have been too great, and—" He hesitated for a moment, -and then was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano glanced at him with some curiosity. -"My responsibility is great," she said, "for my step-daughter -is certainly not like other girls. She has a peculiar -disposition—inherited, I fear, from her mother—my poor -husband's first wife. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, -</span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, but—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," exclaimed Don Agostino, abruptly, "no, madame! -Let the dead rest in peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano made the sign of the cross. "Of -course," she said, gravely. "But I have a duty towards -the living, and I cannot forget that my step-daughter's -mother was—well, not all she should have been as a wife. -Oh, I do not mean to imply that, after her marriage, she was -guilty of any misconduct," she continued, hurriedly, "but -she did not make her husband happy—it was a wretched -marriage. At any rate, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>, I am not injuring her -memory by saying that she never loved my poor husband. -She had formed an unfortunate attachment, before her -marriage, for somebody who was not, I believe, quite her -equal, and this seems to have ruined her whole life. You -cannot wonder if I am determined to prevent her daughter -from falling into the same unhappy circumstances. -Indeed, I have sometimes felt an almost superstitious alarm -lest the mother's story were destined to be repeated in her -daughter's life. It is certainly strange that Bianca also -should have formed this violent attachment for a young -man who, however worthy he may be individually, is not -of her own order."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino did not answer immediately. He leaned -his arm upon a table beside him, and his face was partially -concealed by his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently he raised his head and looked earnestly at -Princess Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he said, in a low voice, "you bear the name -and have succeeded to the place of her who is no longer -here to speak in her own behalf. Do not, I beg of you, -misjudge her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess started. "</span><em class="italics">Monsignore!</em><span>" she exclaimed. -"What do you know of my husband's first wife? You speak -as though her story were known to you. But I forgot. -No doubt, during the years you were in Rome you heard -stories concerning the disagreements between her and -the prince; for I believe there was much gossip at one -time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew her story well, princess," replied Don Agostino, -quietly. "Perhaps I ought to tell you that very few people -knew it better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You knew her?" the princess asked, with surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I knew her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano hesitated for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" she said, at length. "You were, perhaps, in her -confidence, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>—in your priestly capacity, I mean. -If that is the case, of course we will not discuss the subject -any more. You must forgive me, but I was quite unaware -that you even knew her history, and still less that you had -been personally acquainted with her. Naturally, under -the circumstances, you would not wish to hear her conduct -discussed, especially by me. Believe me, it is only my desire -to do my duty by the child she left which makes me dread -taking any action which might lead to that child following -in her mother's footsteps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was in her confidence—yes," said Don Agostino, -after a pause, "but not in the sense you mean, princess—not -as a priest. I knew her—ah, many years ago—and -you are right: I cannot discuss the subject. At the same -time, will you permit me to ask you a question?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano bent her head without speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure," proceeded Don Agostino, "that in your -determination to oppose Donna Bianca's love for Silvio -Rossano you are not running the grave risk of bringing -about the very state of things you wish to avoid? Ah, -madame," he continued, earnestly, "I must ask for your -patience—for your pardon—if I seem to interfere in matters -which you might justly tell me can be no concern of mine. -You fear lest your step-daughter may have inherited her -mother's nature. Well, I believe your fears to be justified. -Her mother loved once, and once only, during her lifetime, -and, strangely enough, under circumstances almost -identical with those accompanying Donna Bianca's attachment. -She was forced to marry a man she did not love, in order -to satisfy the prejudices and the ambition of her family. -What was the result, madame? Disaster—unhappiness. -What will be the result of pursuing the same course with -the daughter as that pursued with the mother—in the case -of two natures so similar?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And whom will you bring forward in the place of young -Rossano? Some Roman with a title borrowed from his -father, but with nothing else; some young spendthrift who, -like many we could name, has paid his court to every rich -American, to every wealthy foreign girl, Christian or -Jewess, in the hope of buying her fortune with his name—and -who will use his wife's money to pay off his creditors -and to support a mistress. We need not—we who know -Rome—seek far in order to find such examples, princess. -You talk of responsibility. Do you venture to contemplate -what responsibility for such a course would mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke earnestly, gravely, with a note of warning in -his voice which silenced the objections already rising to -Princess Montefiano's lips. The princess did not know -very much of the under-currents of life, but she was -sufficiently well acquainted with the world to be aware that -Monsignor Lelli had not exaggerated his presentment of -them. Perhaps, too, she contrasted in her own mind his -simple, straightforward statements with the more flowery -moral speeches she had been accustomed to hear from -the Abbé Roux.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want my step-daughter to marry happily," she -repeated; "and—yes, I will see this young man, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>. -But I will not give my consent to my step-daughter marrying -him until I have satisfied myself that he is worthy to -be her husband. The fact of the Rossanos not being noble, -is, after all, not an insuperable difficulty—one hears of -cases every day in which traditions of class are departed -from—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a mere question of money," interrupted Don -Agostino. "And money, to make a very banal remark, does -not always bring happiness; whereas love— Princess," he -added, abruptly, "I feel sure that you will not repent your -action in receiving this young Rossano. I will bring him -to you; and then, if you will permit me, I will leave you to -speak with him alone. Afterwards, if you wish to see me, -I shall be entirely at your service."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, </span><em class="italics">monsignore</em><span>!" exclaimed Princess Montefiano, -hurriedly. "There is much that I wish to learn</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxv"><span class="bold large">XXXV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Don Agostino was amused to find Silvio engaged in -earnest conversation with Concetta Fontana outside -the court-yard of the castle. The open space beyond the -gateway, lately the scene of so much confusion, was now -entirely deserted; for the peasants had retired into the -</span><em class="italics">paese</em><span>, where all the Montefianesi—men, women, and -children—were busy discussing the events of the last few hours -at the tops of their voices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was evident that Silvio was making the best of his -opportunities to learn from Concetta all that she might be -able to tell him concerning Bianca, and also as to how she -had acquired her information concerning the understanding -between the Abbé Roux and Monsieur d'Antin. It was -evident, also, that Concetta was readily imparting all the -information she had to give on the subject, for the pair were -so engrossed in their conversation that they were unaware -of Don Agostino's approach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The princess wishes to see you," Don Agostino said to -Silvio. "I have come to take you to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Concetta clapped her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vittoria!" she exclaimed. "What have I been telling -the </span><em class="italics">signorino</em><span>? That once her excellency's eyes were -opened, there would be no more difficulties."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. He thought to himself that if her -excellency were to look at Silvio through Concetta's eyes, -difficulties would in all probability quickly be smoothed -away. But the question yet remained to be proved -whether she would do so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Silvio," he said, briefly, "you will find the -princess alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Monsieur d'Antin?" asked Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino took his arm and turned into the -court-yard. "Monsieur d'Antin?" he repeated. "Ah, Monsieur -d'Antin's nerves are upset; he has gone to his room. For -the rest, he will not interfere with you. No, indeed; he -will probably give you his blessing! Do you know, Silvio, -that I cannot make up my mind as to which is the greater -scoundrel of the two, Monsieur le Abbé or Monsieur le -Baron. But there can be no question as to which has the -better head—oh, none at all! The Abbé Roux put all -his eggs in one basket; but Monsieur d'Antin divided his -with admirable judgment. All the same, with it all, -Monsieur d'Antin is a gentleman in his villanies, and a man of -courage. The abbé is neither the one nor the other. -Moreover, Monsieur d'Antin has a decided sense of humor; -and humor, like charity, covers many sins. No, you need -not fear Monsieur d'Antin. And now, Silvio, before we -go to the princess, tell me what you have heard from -Fontana's daughter. Everything, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sicuro!</em><span> everything. She repeated to me the conversation -between the abbé and Monsieur d'Antin she had overheard -while standing in the secret passage, and also some of -those between the abbé and the princess—so far as she was -able to follow those last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino nodded. "It is as well that you should -know of them," he said. "But, Silvio," he added, "do not -say anything to the princess further to shake her confidence -in what she believes to be her brother's generosity. She -must suffer enough, poor woman, from the discovery of -the abbé's treachery, and it would be cruel to give her -another disillusion. You and Donna Bianca can afford to -pretend that you both realize Monsieur d'Antin's -disinterested conduct."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed. "I could, perhaps," he replied, "but -Bianca—Concetta Fontana says that Bianca has declared -she will never speak to him again; and when Bianca has -made up her mind to do a thing—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She will do it," concluded Don Agostino. "One sees -that very plainly," and then he paused and sighed. -"Silvio," he said, suddenly, "there is one other thing I wish to -say to you. It may be that the princess will ask you how -it has come about that I have pleaded your cause with her. -If she does so, tell her that I have pleaded it in the name of -her whose name she bears. She will know what I mean. -And show her this—as my credentials," and, drawing the -little case containing the miniature of Bianca Acorari's -mother from beneath his </span><em class="italics">soutane</em><span>, he placed it in Silvio's -hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will bring it back to me," he said. "Yes, I took -it with me to-day, thinking that if anything happened—if -the soldiers had fired on the people—it would have been -with me at the last—for they would have had to fire through -me. There would have been a scandal afterwards, I -suppose," he added, "when the portrait was found upon me; -but by that time I should have been nearer to her—far -away from the judgments of men. Come, Silvio </span><em class="italics">mio</em><span>," he -continued, with a smile. "It is your passport, I hope—and -it is not I only who give it to you, but one who has a -better right than I to do so, and whose envoy I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio took the case, and as he did so he kissed Don -Agostino's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If somebody had done by you as you have done by -me!" he burst out, passionately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Don Agostino smiled. "</span><em class="italics">Ragazzo mio</em><span>," he interrupted, -"the whole of life is an 'if.' Come." And mounting the -steps together, they entered the vestibule of the </span><em class="italics">piano -nobile</em><span>, where the </span><em class="italics">maggior-domo</em><span> advanced towards them, -saying that he had orders to conduct them to the princess's -private sitting-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano, as Don Agostino had told Silvio she -would be, was alone. She received Silvio with a distant -courtesy, which, nevertheless, was not unkindly, as he was -presented to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My friend, Silvio Rossano, will tell you his own story, -</span><em class="italics">principessa</em><span>," Don Agostino observed. "With your -permission I will wait for him in the drawing-room, for he will -return with me to my house," and he left them together. -The princess did not speak for a few moments. She -appeared to be thinking deeply, and every now and then Silvio -felt that her eyes were fixed upon him, while, as he met her -glance, he saw an inquiring and almost surprised expression -in them. A more embarrassing situation it would certainly -have been hard to conceive; but Silvio, who was accustomed -to being interviewed by all sorts and conditions of -people, comforted himself with the reflection that if he -were ill at ease, Princess Montefiano could scarcely be less -so. At length the princess broke the silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Rossano," she said, "we need not waste words -in coming to our point. I have consented to receive you -because—you must pardon me if I speak plainly you -have placed my step-daughter, Donna Bianca Acorari, in -an intolerable position for a young girl—a position which -exposes her to the mercy of any malicious gossip who may -choose to make free with her name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio started to his feet from the chair to which Princess -Montefiano had motioned him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signora Principessa," he exclaimed, "you forget that -your consent was asked in the usual way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I do not forget," interrupted the princess. "It -was asked after you had spoken to my step-daughter -spoken to her alone—a thing unheard of, </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio was silent for a moment. The princess was -certainly right, and he could not deny it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Had I not spoken to Donna Bianca," he said, presently, -"I could never have been certain that she returned my -love. From the instant that I knew she did so, I never -attempted to see her again until my father had made a -formal offer on my behalf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which offer was declined by me," returned the princess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By you, Signora Principessa, yes—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And should not that have been sufficient?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In spite of himself, Silvio's eyes twinkled. "Well, no!" -he replied. "It was sufficient neither for Donna Bianca -nor for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Rossano!" exclaimed the princess, in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither for Donna Bianca nor for me," repeated Silvio, -tranquilly; "because, princess, we love each other, and we -mean to marry—oh, not this year, or next year, perhaps—but -when Donna Bianca is of an age to do as she chooses. -Until that time arrives we are quite content to wait, if -necessary. It will make no difference in the end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano tapped her foot impatiently on the -floor. Bianca had said the very same words to her more -than once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But surely," she began, "you must see for yourself the -drawbacks—the difficulties! It is a delicate subject, and -I do not wish to offend you, Signor Rossano, but—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I am not noble? I understand that," interrupted -Silvio. "It is doubtless a drawback in your eyes," he -continued, quickly; "but as to difficulties, I have never been -afraid of those. One can always surmount them. And -I am not here to make excuses for not having a title," he -added, a little haughtily. "We Rossanos have no need -to be ashamed of our blood; and, if it comes to that, my -mother was of a noble family. I have no need of Donna -Bianca's money. My father is not a poor man, and I can -earn money if I choose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, your mother was noble?" asked Princess Montefiano. -"I did not know that—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not of the </span><em class="italics">alta nobiltà</em><span>," said Silvio, "but of a noble -family of the Romagna, of older descent than most of the -Roman houses. But, Signora Principessa, as you said a -few minutes ago, we need not waste words in discussion. -Donna Bianca Acorari has done me the honor to say that -she will marry me, and I am content to wait until she is -in a position to do so. I thank you for having received me, -if only because you have given me the opportunity of -saying to you that under no circumstances will I seek to make -Donna Bianca act against your consent and authority. -We both recognize that authority, princess, and while it -exists I shall certainly not be the one to dispute it. I -should not, it is true, have promised as much twelve hours -ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano looked at him quickly, and there -was an expression of approval in her glance. Had Silvio -Rossano known it, he could not have uttered words more -likely to ingratiate himself with her than those in which he -expressed his recognition of her authority.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio hesitated. "Because I knew that Donna Bianca -was the object of an intrigue—that an arrangement had -been made whereby she was to marry a man much older -than herself whom she could not love—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You allude to my brother, </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span>," the princess said, -hastily. "But there was no intrigue on his part. He has -behaved throughout this painful affair with a marvellous -generosity and unselfishness. I must be frank with you, -Signor Rossano, and tell you that my brother's primary -object was to save Donna Bianca from the possible consequences -of the false position in which your thoughtlessness—for -I do you the justice, now that I have seen you -and spoken with you, to believe it was nothing more had -placed her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio bowed. "The fact remains," he said, "that Donna -Bianca rejected Baron d'Antin's offer, knowing that she -was already engaged to me. It is not a matter which I -need discuss—the more so, as Don Agostino informs me -that the baron has declared his determination to withdraw -his suit. It is sufficient for me, Signora Principessa, to -know that you no longer regard me as an adventurer, as -a man whose birth and character do not permit of his -aspiring to be the husband of Donna Bianca Acorari. For -the rest, there is no more to be said. Time will prove that -I do not seek Donna Bianca because she is heiress to lands -and titles, but because I love her, and I know that she -loves me. Signora Principessa, I have the honor to -salute you, and with your permission I will rejoin Don -Agostino."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait, </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span>!" exclaimed the princess, suddenly, as, -with a low bow, Silvio moved towards the door. "There -are certain things I wish to ask you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask me anything," Silvio replied. "I am entirely at -your service."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What brings you here—to Montefiano—at this moment?" -she continued, looking at him keenly. "It has -been said that this disturbance of the peasantry has been -largely fomented by you, for obvious reasons—that you -wished to enlist public sympathy on your behalf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It has been said so, yes," returned Silvio, "by the Abbé -Roux. But the Abbé Roux has said many things which -will not bear investigation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess winced. "But why are you here—at such -a time?" she insisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I knew from Donna Bianca that there were -threatenings of a rising on the part of the peasants, and -yesterday evening I read in a newspaper in Rome that troops -had been asked for, to proceed to Montefiano. When I -saw that, I determined to come by the first available train, -lest there should be danger to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You heard from my step-daughter!" repeated the -princess in amazement. "But she knew nothing. Besides, -how could she communicate with you, or you with her? -There is some fresh mystery here, some new deception that -I do not yet understand. Will you be so good as to -explain yourself, </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Donna Bianca knew everything," said Silvio, "except -that the troops had been summoned. This she did not -know. When the mob burst into the court-yard of the -castle, your </span><em class="italics">fattore's</em><span> daughter went to Donna Bianca's room -by the secret passage, in order to implore her to come out -and speak to the people—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess stared at him. "By the secret passage!" -she repeated. "Signor Rossano, what fables are these?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—you do not know—they have not explained to you -yet?" asked Silvio, quickly. "</span><em class="italics">Sicuro</em><span>—by the secret -passage which leads into Donna Bianca's room—where the -portrait of the cardinal is—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maria Santissima!" ejaculated the princess. "How -do you know," she continued, angrily, "that there is such -a portrait in my step-daughter's room? It is an outrage—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it because Donna Bianca has described it to -me," returned Silvio, who did not at the moment -understand what it might be that had so suddenly aroused the -princess's indignation. "The picture moves into the wall, -and behind it is the secret entrance. Concetta Fontana, -when she went to warn Donna Bianca that the peasants -were forcing their way into the castle, found her locked -in her room—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sciocchezze!</em><span>" exclaimed Princess Montefiano. "Why -should she be locked in her room?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For a very simple reason. The Abbé Roux did not -want Donna Bianca to know what was going on. She -had retired to her room after breakfast, and when the -disturbances began, he turned the key of the door opening -into your apartment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true," said the princess, as if to herself. "The -child complained of a headache, and had gone to her room. -I thought she was there, until, to my astonishment, I heard -that she was speaking to the peasants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Concetta Fontana took her down the concealed passage," -said Silvio, "and it is fortunate she did so, princess, -or there would certainly have been bloodshed at -Montefiano to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Virgin! how many more things am I to hear?" -exclaimed Princess Montefiano. "As to this mysterious -passage," she continued, "why have I never been told of -its existence? Even now I will not believe it until I see it. -Concetta Fontana must be romancing. At any rate, I will -investigate the matter for myself. And so it was by means -of this unknown passage that you communicated—by -letter, of course—with my step-daughter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Silvio, simply. "I sent a letter to Don -Agostino, begging him to get it conveyed to Donna Bianca -if he possibly could do so. The agent—Fontana—told him -of the passage, and how Donna Bianca's room could be -entered at any time by a person knowing the secret -communication. Concetta delivered the letter, and another -subsequent one, and took Donna Bianca's replies to Don -Agostino. He posted them to me. You see, Signora -Principessa," added Silvio, "that I have answered your -questions frankly. And you will not blame Concetta, for she -only did as she was told."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano looked at him with something like -a smile on her face. Possibly the straightforward manner -in which Silvio had spoken to her throughout their -conversation had impressed her more favorably than she was -fully aware of.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand why Monsignor Lelli—Don Agostino, -as you call him—should have taken upon himself to -help you so untiringly," she observed, presently. "In -your case I conclude his friendship with your father to -have been the motive. But he seems to be equally -concerned for my step-daughter's happiness. To be sure he -tells me that he knew her mother, many years ago. He -seemed to be under a strange emotion when he spoke of -her, and hinted at some kind of responsibility he felt -towards my step-daughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsignor Lelli considers that he has a certain responsibility -towards Donna Bianca," said Silvio; and then he -paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why, </span><em class="italics">signore</em><span>—why? It is inexplicable. Am I to -understand that this strange idea forms one of his reasons -for so obviously supporting your suit?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio looked at her quickly. "It is not inexplicable," -he replied, quietly. "It is an idea—a sentiment, -perhaps—or perhaps it is more than that. If one does not believe -that the dead are conscious beings, princess, what is the -use of praying for them? And, if they are conscious -beings, why may they not exercise an influence over those -who are dear to them, and whom they have left behind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano regarded him with surprise—but at -the same time with evident approval. She had certainly -not expected to hear any such arguments from the lips of -a son of Professor Rossano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Rossano," she exclaimed, "I thought that you -believed in nothing—I mean, that you were an atheist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio laughed. "Why, princess?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why? Oh, because—well, because you are your -father's son."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My father is not an atheist," returned Silvio, simply. -"He knows too much—or not enough—to be one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess stared at him. Perhaps she scarcely understood -the full significance of his answer; but all the same his -words, coupled with his preceding remark, gave her a sense -both of satisfaction and of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad," she said, somewhat irrelevantly, "very -glad. But as regards Monsieur Lelli, and this strange idea -of responsibility towards the daughter of one whom he -knew many years ago—how can you explain that? I feel -sure that Monsignor Lelli is a good man, though I have -heard him much abused. But I have also heard people -say that he has been very hardly treated; and possibly his -long exile here at Montefiano may have made him -somewhat morbid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signora Principessa," said Silvio, approaching the -armchair in which she was sitting, "Don Agostino has -authorized me to answer your question, in the event of your -asking it. Had it not been for this authorization, I must have -kept silence. It may be that his idea is a morbid idea; -or it may be that, as he is firmly convinced, he is being -guided by another intelligence than his own. Of that, -princess, you must be the judge," and taking the case Don -Agostino had confided to him from his pocket, he gave it -into her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano opened it, and then she suddenly -turned very pale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Bianca!" she exclaimed. "It is Bianca herself! -Signor Rossano," she added, "what does this mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," returned Silvio, in a low voice, "it is not Bianca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano did not notice his unconscious -departure from the formalities. She bent over the miniature -and examined it attentively. "No," she said, after a -pause, "it is not Bianca—the face has not her character in -its expression. It is a weaker face. It is strange," she -continued, as though speaking to herself, "but I have never -seen any portrait of my husband's first wife; there is none -at Palazzo Acorari—and, of course, this is she. But how -did the miniature come into Monsignor Lelli's possession?" -she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you not guess, princess?" asked Silvio, gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano looked at him. "You mean—" she -began, and then she paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio nodded. "Yes," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The princess remained silent. She appeared to be -deeply moved, for her hands trembled as, after another -intent look at the portrait, she closed the case and returned -it to Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took it from her almost reverently. "Don Agostino -told me to say to you that you were to regard the miniature -as his credentials; and," he added, "as he hoped, my passport."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your passport?" repeated Princess Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. If he had not known me to be worthy of -Bianca—to be one who would make her a good husband—he -would not have delivered it to me," continued Silvio, -quickly. "Listen, princess," and he rapidly told her all -that had passed between him and Don Agostino from the -day when he had first come to Montefiano and had been -received into the </span><em class="italics">parroco's</em><span> house. He told her how Don -Agostino had shown him the miniature on that occasion; -and how the priest had from the first been convinced that -he was only obeying some unseen but powerful influence in -giving him his friendship and support.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Princess Montefiano listened to him without uttering a -word; but she never took her eyes off his countenance as -he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he ceased, she rose from her chair and held out her -hand. "Thank you, Signor Rossano," she said, gravely, -but very courteously—"thank you. You have been very -frank with me, and I appreciate your confidence. You stay -with Monsignor Lelli to-night, is it not so? Well, you and -he will, I hope, give me the pleasure of seeing you here -at breakfast at twelve to-morrow. You will find me alone—me -and Bianca—for my brother will most probably be -returning to Rome in the morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio bent over her hand and kissed it. "I will come -with great pleasure, princess," he said, "and I think I can -answer for Don Agostino that he also will do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A happy light shone in his eyes as he spoke. The princess -looked at him again and smiled slightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must think," she said, slowly. "Monsignor Lelli has -fulfilled his responsibilities, and you must both allow me to -fulfil mine. To-morrow we can talk of many things, and -in a few days, Signor Rossano, I promise you that I will -give you an answer to a question which I know you are -longing to ask me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a slight inclination of her head, Princess Montefiano -turned towards the bell and rang it. A moment or two -afterwards the </span><em class="italics">maggior-domo</em><span>, who had been waiting in the -adjoining room, opened the double doors and conducted -Silvio to the apartment where Don Agostino was awaiting him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxvi"><span class="bold large">XXXVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A year had passed; and on the anniversary of the day -that had witnessed the forcible entry of the peasants -into the court-yard of the castle at Montefiano, a still larger -and scarcely less noisy crowd was assembled on the same -spot. Now, however, instead of angry discussions and -threatening cries, laughter and jests resounded in the still -air of a mellow September morning. The entire population -of Montefiano was gathered together inside or around -the castle walls, and the peasants and farmers had come -into the </span><em class="italics">paese</em><span> from many an outlying village and hamlet -in the Sabina to assist at the wedding of the young Princess -of Montefiano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The year that had passed had been a year of probation. -True to her word, the </span><em class="italics">principessa madre</em><span>, as she was now -termed by the retainers and dependants of Casa Acorari, -had given Silvio her answer to his unasked question some -ten days or so after he had shown her Don Agostino's -so-called credentials. There had been, indeed, no doubt in -Princess Montefiano's mind from the moment of her -interview with Silvio that he and Bianca Acorari would marry -one another in the future, even were she to insist on -withholding her consent to their union for the present. -Monsieur d'Antin had been right when he said to himself that -his sister was capable of rising to a situation. In this -instance she had done so at considerably less cost, either to -her feelings or to her authority than she had anticipated, -for she had speedily come to conceive a strong liking for -Silvio, a liking which had only increased as she grew better -acquainted with him. Nevertheless, in withdrawing her -opposition to his marriage to her step-daughter, she had -insisted that a year should elapse before it should take -place: and in this stipulation she had been supported not -only by Don Agostino, who, indeed, had counselled her -to make it, but also by the Senator Rossano. Professor -Rossano was determined that nobody should be able to -say that his son was over eager to ally himself with Casa -Acorari, or with any other noble house; and there was, -moreover, another motive for delay, which neither he nor -Monsignor Lelli deemed it advisable to explain to the -princess, although they had been obliged to do so to Silvio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Abbé Roux had apparently been as good as his word -when he declared that he would cause all Rome to learn -that Donna Bianca Acorari had compromised herself by -receiving, unknown to her relatives, the addresses of a -young man. Carefully veiled paragraphs had even -appeared in various Roman journals of the second rank, in -which the clandestine love-affair between the only daughter -and last representative of a princely house and the son of a -well-known senator and scientist was mysteriously hinted -at. It did not need any great knowledge of the world to -realize what would infallibly be whispered were a marriage -between Donna Bianca Acorari and Silvio Rossano to be -celebrated too speedily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silvio himself had been the first to see the wisdom of -allowing twelve months to expire before Bianca should -become his wife; and he, no less than his father, had no -desire to be supposed to be over anxious for the alliance on -account of its worldly advantages.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so everything had been arranged satisfactorily for -all the parties chiefly concerned. Bianca herself, now that -opposition to her engagement was withdrawn, was quite -content to listen to the advice of those round her, especially -as Silvio pointed out to her the wisdom of delay. After the -uncertainty of the past, the assurance that in a short year -they would be united for the remainder of their lives had -seemed almost too good to be true.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the months had sped quickly enough. Silvio had -pursued his profession, and had won for himself an -increased reputation; and Bianca Acorari and the princess -had been happier together than they had ever been before, -passing the time between Montefiano and the Villa Acorari -near Velletri, and visiting only at rare intervals the old -palace in Rome. Bianca had developed a great affection -for her home at Montefiano; and, much to the satisfaction -of the population, the castle had been gradually refurnished -and put in order, and she had announced her intention of -making it her almost constant residence in future. -Afterwards, when she and Silvio were married, the princess -dowager would occupy an apartment in Palazzo Acorari at -Rome, and, if she so chose, the villa at Velletri, to both -of which she had a right for her lifetime. She and her -brother, Baron d'Antin, had already decided that they -would live together until such time as Monsieur d'Antin -should elect to return to his native country.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A day or two before their wedding, Bianca had received a -letter from Monsieur d'Antin. It was a gay letter, full of -congratulations and airy trifles, but containing not even the -most indirect allusion to the past. Monsieur d'Antin was -vexed beyond words—he assured his dear niece—that he -would be unable to interrupt the course of his baths at Aix, -and thus be present at her wedding; but the pores of his -skin being now well opened, it would be absolutely dangerous -to travel so far. Bianca showed the note to Silvio, who -laughed and said nothing; but Don Agostino, to whom -he subsequently recounted the condition of Monsieur -d'Antin's skin, shrugged his shoulders and observed that -the material in question was assuredly too thick to be -porous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now the year of waiting had passed. In Cardinal -Acorari's chapel, inside the castle, Monsignor Lelli was -saying the few brief words that would make Silvio Rossano -and Bianca Acorari man and wife. The civil marriage had -already been performed by the </span><em class="italics">sindaco</em><span> of Montefiano, the -day before, and now the crowd was waiting in the -court-yard for the appearance of the </span><em class="italics">sposi</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the doors at the top of the stone staircase were -thrown back, and shout after shout rent the air as Bianca -and Silvio, followed by the princess and Professor Rossano, -Giacinta, and the remainder of the witnesses of the religious -ceremony appeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bianca led her husband forward, and for a few moments -they stood together, bowing and smiling in response to the -vociferous applause from below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently the cries of "</span><em class="italics">Evviva gli sposi!</em><span>" died away, to -be succeeded by cheers for the </span><em class="italics">principessa madre</em><span> and for -the Senator Rossano. Then shouts of </span><em class="italics">"Evviva Don -Agostino—evviva il nostro parroco</em><span>!" were raised, as Don -Agostino, more popular and beloved by his people than ever, -since the attack made upon him in that very place a year -before, advanced to where the young couple were standing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had removed his vestments, and his tall, black form -stood out in sombre contrast with the color of the bridal -dresses and the flowers round him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment or two he paused, holding both Silvio's and -Bianca's hands in his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, and the spirits of God, protect you both, in this life -and in the life to come," he said; and, dropping their hands, -he made the sign of the cross over them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he turned, and, descending the steps, made his way -quickly through the crowd, and passed through the dark -gateway into the golden sunlight beyond.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE PASSPORT</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46693"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46693</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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