XIV
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.
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 villeggiatura 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.
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.
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.
"That one?" he said. "Why, that is the signorino of the second floor, a bel ragazzo– is it not true, monsignore?"
The Montefiano establishment always gave the Abbé Roux the title of monsignore, not being quite clear as to what an abbé might be.
"Ah, of course," returned the abbé, "the signorino of the second floor" – and he followed Silvio's retreating form with his eyes.
"Un bel ragazzo davvero – proprio bello!" 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.
"Yes, the Signorino Rossano was living at home now," the porter declared. "He was a very quiet young man —molto serio. Indeed, he, the porter, had never seen him engaged in any adventures, unless – "
"Unless – what?" asked the abbé, smiling. "A young man cannot be expected to be always molto serio," he added, leniently.
"Sicuro! especially so handsome a lad as the signorino. Naturally the women made up to him. The French mademoiselle who came to the principessina, for instance; he had met the signorino 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?"
The Abbé Roux checked the porter's garrulity with a slight gesture, and appeared to take but little interest in the matter.
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 palazzo, 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.
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.
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.
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.
It was at this period that she happened to be thrown in the society of Prince Montefiano, who had taken to appearing in the salons 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.
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 ennui. It was certain, however, that he soon succumbed under the process, and that the abbé became more than ever indispensable to his widow.
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.
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 mercante di campagna 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.
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 mercante di campagna 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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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 fattori 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.
XV
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.
He was scarcely prepared, however, for what had really happened.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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."
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 soutane, and read it through a second time.
"Well?" asked the princess, impatiently. "Are you not as much amazed as I am?"
The abbé hesitated for a moment. Then he said, quietly: "No, madame, I am not amazed at all."
The princess stared at him. "Not amazed at all?" she re-echoed. "But – "
"May I ask," he interrupted, "if you have spoken to Donna Bianca of this – this offer?"
"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 – "
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."
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."
"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."
Princess Montefiano started visibly.
"Mon Dieu, monsieur, what do you mean?" she exclaimed.
The Abbé Roux carefully refolded the letter, and, placing it in the envelope, returned it to her.
"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."
"You knew it, then?" asked the princess, more bewildered than ever.
"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."
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."
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."
"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 – "
"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."
The princess turned a horrified gaze upon him.
"And you call that a simple matter!" she exclaimed, so soon as she could find words.
The abbé shrugged his shoulders.
"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."
"Monsieur l'Abbé!" exclaimed the princess.
"Precisely," he proceeded – "in its results. It is from these results that we must try to save Donna Bianca."
Princess Montefiano seemed as though she were about to give way to uncontrollable agitation.
"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!"
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."
The princess groaned. "That is what my brother has told me more than once of late," she said.
"He has said the same to me," remarked the abbé. "Monsieur your brother is, as one may say, a keen observer," he added.
"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!"
"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."
"Ah! And who is this individual?" asked the princess, hastily. "Is he a person whose silence can be bought?"
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."
"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."
The abbé thought that the paternal strain might also be taken into account; but he very naturally kept the reflection to himself.
"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 – "
"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."
"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."
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."
"But it would be an absolute mésalliance!" exclaimed Princess Montefiano.
"Of course it would be a mésalliance, from the worldly point of view," said the abbé. "It would also be a crime," he added.
"A crime!"
"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!"
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."
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."
"I do not see the solutions you speak of," returned the princess, with a sigh.
"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?"