"I knew her story well, princess," replied Don Agostino, quietly. "Perhaps I ought to tell you that very few people knew it better."
"You knew her?" the princess asked, with surprise.
"Yes – I knew her."
Princess Montefiano hesitated for a moment.
"Ah!" she said, at length. "You were, perhaps, in her confidence, monsignore– 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."
"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?"
Princess Montefiano bent her head without speaking.
"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?
"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?"
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.
"I want my step-daughter to marry happily," she repeated; "and – yes, I will see this young man, monsignore. 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 – "
"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."
"Certainly, monsignore!" exclaimed Princess Montefiano, hurriedly. "There is much that I wish to learn
XXXV
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 paese, where all the Montefianesi – men, women, and children – were busy discussing the events of the last few hours at the tops of their voices.
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.
"The princess wishes to see you," Don Agostino said to Silvio. "I have come to take you to her."
Concetta clapped her hands.
"Vittoria!" she exclaimed. "What have I been telling the signorino? That once her excellency's eyes were opened, there would be no more difficulties."
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.
"Come, Silvio," he said, briefly, "you will find the princess alone."
"And Monsieur d'Antin?" asked Silvio.
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?"
"Sicuro! 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."
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."
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 – "
"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 soutane, he placed it in Silvio's hand.
"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 mio," 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."
Silvio took the case, and as he did so he kissed Don Agostino's hand.
"If somebody had done by you as you have done by me!" he burst out, passionately.
Don Agostino smiled. "Ragazzo mio," he interrupted, "the whole of life is an 'if.' Come." And mounting the steps together, they entered the vestibule of the piano nobile, where the maggior-domo advanced towards them, saying that he had orders to conduct them to the princess's private sitting-room.
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.
"My friend, Silvio Rossano, will tell you his own story, principessa," 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.
"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."
Silvio started to his feet from the chair to which Princess Montefiano had motioned him.
"Signora Principessa," he exclaimed, "you forget that your consent was asked in the usual way."
"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, signore."
Silvio was silent for a moment. The princess was certainly right, and he could not deny it.
"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."
"Which offer was declined by me," returned the princess.
"By you, Signora Principessa, yes – "
"And should not that have been sufficient?"
In spite of himself, Silvio's eyes twinkled. "Well, no!" he replied. "It was sufficient neither for Donna Bianca nor for me."
"Signor Rossano!" exclaimed the princess, in amazement.
"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."
Princess Montefiano tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. Bianca had said the very same words to her more than once.
"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 – "
"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."
"Ah, your mother was noble?" asked Princess Montefiano. "I did not know that – "
"Oh, not of the alta nobiltà," 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."
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.
"And why not?" she asked.
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 – "
"You allude to my brother, signore," 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."
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."
"Wait, signore!" exclaimed the princess, suddenly, as, with a low bow, Silvio moved towards the door. "There are certain things I wish to ask you."
"Ask me anything," Silvio replied. "I am entirely at your service."
"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."
"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."
The princess winced. "But why are you here – at such a time?" she insisted.
"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."
"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, signore?"
"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 fattore's daughter went to Donna Bianca's room by the secret passage, in order to implore her to come out and speak to the people – "
The princess stared at him. "By the secret passage!" she repeated. "Signor Rossano, what fables are these?"
"Ah – you do not know – they have not explained to you yet?" asked Silvio, quickly. "Sicuro– by the secret passage which leads into Donna Bianca's room – where the portrait of the cardinal is – "
"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 – "
"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 – "
"Sciocchezze!" exclaimed Princess Montefiano. "Why should she be locked in her room?"
"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."
"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."
"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."
"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?"
"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."
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.
"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."
"Monsignor Lelli considers that he has a certain responsibility towards Donna Bianca," said Silvio; and then he paused.
"But why, signore– why? It is inexplicable. Am I to understand that this strange idea forms one of his reasons for so obviously supporting your suit?"
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?"
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.
"Signor Rossano," she exclaimed, "I thought that you believed in nothing – I mean, that you were an atheist."
Silvio laughed. "Why, princess?" he asked.
"Why? Oh, because – well, because you are your father's son."
"My father is not an atheist," returned Silvio, simply. "He knows too much – or not enough – to be one."
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.
"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."
"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.
Princess Montefiano opened it, and then she suddenly turned very pale.
"It is Bianca!" she exclaimed. "It is Bianca herself! Signor Rossano," she added, "what does this mean?"
"No," returned Silvio, in a low voice, "it is not Bianca."
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.
"Can you not guess, princess?" asked Silvio, gravely.
Princess Montefiano looked at him. "You mean – " she began, and then she paused.
Silvio nodded. "Yes," he said.
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.
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."
"Your passport?" repeated Princess Montefiano.
"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 parroco's 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.
Princess Montefiano listened to him without uttering a word; but she never took her eyes off his countenance as he spoke.
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."
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."
A happy light shone in his eyes as he spoke. The princess looked at him again and smiled slightly.
"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."
With a slight inclination of her head, Princess Montefiano turned towards the bell and rang it. A moment or two afterwards the maggior-domo, who had been waiting in the adjoining room, opened the double doors and conducted Silvio to the apartment where Don Agostino was awaiting him.