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."
"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.
"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.
"You must take Donna Bianca away from here, madame."
"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?"
"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."
"And where is that?"
"Her own castle at Montefiano."
"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."
"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."
"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."
"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."
"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."
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."
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.
"I must certainly speak to Bianca sooner or later," she began.
"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."
"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."
"Chère madame," 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."
"Then," replied Princess Montefiano, "you advise me to say nothing to Bianca at present."
"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."
"Ah!" exclaimed Princess Montefiano, "Mademoiselle Durand! Do you mean to say that she has been the go-between in this affair?"
"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 – "
"A respectable company, truly, for my step-daughter to find herself in!" said Princess Montefiano – "a professor's son and a daily governess!"
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."
"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."
"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."
"Exactly," returned Princess Montefiano. "My brother is, after all, the child's uncle, so to speak."
The abbé smiled. "Scarcely, madame," he replied; "there is not the slightest connection between them."
"Of course not, really," the princess said, "but a kind of relationship through me."
"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."
Princess Montefiano directed a quick glance at him, and then she looked away.
"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 – "
He hesitated again, and then stopped abruptly.
The princess glanced at him nervously.
"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!"
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 de se ranger. Such husbands are often more satisfactory than younger men."
The princess checked him with a gesture.
"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."
"It appears to me, madame, that your precautions were unnecessary," said the Abbé Roux, dryly. "The ideas, as we now know, were already there."
"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."
The Abbé Roux made a gesture with outspread hands.
"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.
"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."
"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."
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.
"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?"
"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.
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.
XVI
"I told you how it would be, Silvio," Giacinta Rossano said to her brother. "I don't see what else you could have expected."
"I did not expect anything else," returned Silvio, placidly. "At all events," he added, "we now know where we are."
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."
"It is not the slightest use his being annoyed," said Silvio.
"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?"
"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!"
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.
"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."
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."
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.
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.
"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."
"Ah!" exclaimed Giacinta, "you never told me that you had corresponded with each other since you met."
"I don't think you and I have discussed the subject since I told you of our meeting," said Silvio. "I told Babbo."
"What did he say?"
"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."
"His opinion is generally looked upon as being a very good one," observed Giacinta, tranquilly.
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."
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."
"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."
"But did the princess give a reason for dispensing with her services?" asked Giacinta.
"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."
"I should think so, undoubtedly," remarked Giacinta.
"And naturally," Silvio proceeded, "I felt very uncomfortable about it. I did not quite know what to do, and I offered – "
"Yes?" said his sister, as he paused, hesitatingly.
"Well, Giacinta, you see, she had probably lost money through me, so I offered to – to make her loss good, so to say."
"And then?"
"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."
Giacinta looked at him for a moment or two without speaking.
"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."
"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."
"And in the mean time, if they marry her to somebody else?"
"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."
"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."
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!"
Giacinta laughed, and then became suddenly grave again.
"Well, Silvio mio," 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."
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.