Chapter VIII: Holy Alliances

I

Three days later, on the Friday, Girolamo Camin, Auditor, Francesco Molesin, Doctor-at-Law, and Carolina Gorlago, Camin's housekeeper, reached Arsiero together by the first train, and packed themselves, with all their bags and umbrellas, into one of the small carriages that abound at that station for driving travellers to Tonezza and Lavarone. Dr. Molesin hesitated somewhat when about to get in, on account of Carolina, but, encouraged by his friend Momi,[4] friend Checco[5] finally took the second inside seat. Carolina, a vulgar-looking woman about five-and-thirty, climbed up beside the driver, making no effort to hide her vexation. Then the driver whipped up his horse, and they started off in the direction of the Montanina.

Auditor Camin, whose claim to kinship with the ancient and honourable family of da Camin was purely fictitious, was ugly with an ugliness not so much the fault of his features as the bloated unhealthiness of his complexion and red eyes, a dyed, parti-coloured beard adding little to his beauty. He wore a straw hat, a long olive-green overcoat that had seen better days, and a red and yellow muffler as a protection against any bleak winds that might blow from the mountains of Val d'Astico. For the same reason Molesin had also enveloped himself in a long brown coat, and had wound a heavy black and white shawl around his neck. There was not much resemblance between the two friends. Sior[6] Momi's small and bleary eyes were always fixed in an expressionless stare. Sior Checco's, on the other hand, which were larger and darker, looked out from beneath his respectable felt hat with a grave melancholy, even when he smiled. Molesin wore a moustache only, a fair moustache, which was growing grey, and though he was older than Camin he looked healthier. The woman loomed large beside the small driver, whose extreme youth seemed to cause the two inside passengers considerable anxiety. Molesin, who was especially, nervous, did not dare to lean back, and kept hurling instructions at the boy in a manner that was not in keeping with his usual grave demeanour. "Be careful, I tell you! Go slow, I say!" Nor was Camin what might be called a fearless traveller, but the idea of being upset was not his greatest anxiety at that moment. He had noted Carolina's vexation, and was now intent on stroking her broad back affectionately at frequent intervals. "Are you quite comfortable? Hold tight! Hold tight, I say!" he kept on saying. Carolina gripped the iron encircling the box-seat, and deigned no reply. When they had crossed the Posina bridge, a proceeding which made Molesin shudder, the horse subsided into a walking pace.

"Thank the Lord!" Sior Checco murmured, and upon learning that the Montanina was near at hand, he once more resumed the business talk that had been interrupted by leaving the train. The driver, who had as much curiosity as any newspaper reporter, finding that they were discussing things he was unable to understand, turned his attention to his neighbour. Who was the gentleman behind him? The woman answered dryly:

"I don't know."

"Are you a relative of that other gentleman who is sitting behind you?"

"I don't know."

"You don't belong to these parts, do you?"

"I belong to much better parts!" she retorted, and the boy was afraid to ask any more questions.

She was really a native of Cantù. A master-mason from Como, who had known her as an inn-servant, had married her and taken her with him to Padua. Having separated from her husband, she took service with Sior Momi, first as cook and then as housekeeper, and now she both served and ruled, besides holding a position in his household which constituted something of a stumbling-block to Camin's ambitions of ingratiating himself with the Clerical party.

"Is this the famous Montanina?" asked Molesin, raising his eyes to the green hillside along which the carriage was driving. And being impressed by the villa's high and pointed roof, and the lower ones of the outbuildings and the church, of the so-called _casoni_ of the plains, certain large cabins with straw-thatched roofs, he gave vent to the following memorable criticism:

"Un cason che gà famegia--a big house with a family of children."

Sior Momi laughed his own peculiar laugh--"Aho! aho!"--his mouth opening wide.

"Good, good! Very good!" said he. "A big house with ... aho, aho!"

It was his habit to re-echo other people's clever sayings as a delicate form of flattery.

Teresina and Giovanni received the party at the south entrance. Giovanni could hardly keep a straight face at the sight of the bundle of overcoats and many-coloured scarves, but Teresina's expression was funereal. She accompanied the new master's housekeeper to a room on the second floor which she had chosen for her, and on the way Carolina informed her that she was aware she was the "girl's" maid--Süra[7] Lella's maid. It was perhaps because _el Leila_ is a popular personage in Lombardy that Carolina could never get Leila's name straight.

"You and I are sure to get on together," said she, in her broad Lombard dashed with Paduan. Then she proceeded to sing the praises of her master, whom she pronounced a good-hearted creature enough.

"However," she added with a smile worthy of her public-house education, "you had better be careful of him, for he has a weakness for fine women."

"Tut, tut!" said Teresina, with flaming cheeks, "this is no talk for me to listen to!" And in her heart she added, "Gèsu! What company for me!"

Carolina Gorlago was not satisfied with the room, which, although spacious and lofty, had only a roof-window, and in a most deliberate fashion she proceeded to take possession of another room in the front of the house, above the salon. This apartment was known as the "swallow-room" in allusion to its decorations, and many years before, when his son was still a boy, poor Signor Marcello had told Teresina that it would one day be the nursery for Andrea's children. Teresina had never forgotten this, and now, at sight of this Carolina boldly establishing herself here as mistress, the tears came to her eyes, and she hurried to her own room to relieve her feelings. But Giovanni soon came in search of her. The master wanted her. "Master, indeed! The Signorina is our mistress!" she cried angrily. "I don't believe we shall get our wages from the Signorina," said Giovanni. "He will pay us, and so I am bound to call him master."

Sior Momi had chosen for himself the corner room on the first floor looking towards the kitchen. Little did he care for a fine view; this room was admirably situated for watching the servants, for spying, and for eavesdropping. He inquired if coffee had been prepared for his housekeeper also, and which room she would occupy. Upon hearing that she had not been satisfied with the one prepared for her, his heavy face betrayed no surprise. "Bad, bad, bad!" came mechanically from his lips, prompted by his habit of seeking to please, at least in the beginning, whoever might be speaking to him. At last he inquired for Leila. Teresina had a letter for him from Donna Fedele. She gave it to him and then withdrew, saying she would take the coffee to the dining-room. But she had hardly closed the door when she opened it again hesitatingly. Would the housekeeper come to the dining-room for her coffee also? This time the mask-like face and the bleary eyes smiled slightly.

"No, no! She will have her meals with you, with you!"

The man impressed Teresina as a perfect fool. Had she not been aware of the affair of the jewels, she would have found it hard to believe he was the cunning rascal whose very name had been so hateful to Signor Marcello.

Molesin took an especial interest in friend Momi's affairs, and Momi was full of attentions for friend Checco. Sior Momi had extorted money from many people by means of numberless tricks, but, at the same time, he had got into debt. One fine day he had declared his inability to pay, and had made his creditors an offer of twenty per cent. The creditors having called a meeting and consulted together, had entrusted the defence of their interests to Molesin. Many of the unhappy victims who had been duped by Momi were priests, and in the ecclesiastical world the forensic and financial abilities of Dr. Molesin were very highly esteemed. This man, who, having devoted two years to the study of law, and spent much time hanging about the courts, now gave himself out as a Doctor-at-Law, accepted the defence on the understanding that he was to have thirty per cent. of whatever sum he might be able to squeeze out of Momi over and above his offer. Upon being invited to consult with him, Momi, who was in ignorance of this arrangement, fancied he would be able to get round his friend by the offer of a handsome present. Molesin feigned intense scrupulosity, for he believed Momi to be possessed of hidden means, and he had also great hopes that Leila, now an heiress, would be induced to save the honour of her name.

Upon hearing that Leila, who was still a minor, had come into her fortune, Molesin hugged himself.

Now was the time to watch Momi, for that sly rogue would certainly try to get all he could, and give out as little as possible. Now was the time to watch the daughter also. He had already interested himself from a distance in her affairs. Having been a fellow-student of the archpriest of Velo d'Astico, he kept up a fairly active correspondence with him, his declared purpose being to obtain news of Signorina da Camin for his friend Momi, who was cut off from communication with the Montanina. The archpriest honestly credited this explanation of his old friend's curiosity, and promptly answered his letters. And in this way Checco had learned of the arrival at the Montanina of the famous young Modernist. He became alarmed, fearing, not his Modernism, but his youth. Should Leila marry, his fondest hopes would be frustrated, and it was he who found means of conveying the news to Signor Camin. On the very night of Signor Marcello's death the archpriest had written to Molesin that Alberti had fled, and that damaging information concerning him which had been received from Milan had probably led to this happy solution. Then, with but slight ceremony, the cunning doctor had proceeded to drag an invitation to the Montanina from the heiress's father.

The short journey, to take place on the following morning, had then and there been planned at Camin's house and in Carolina's presence. That night the honest doctor slept but little. He knew that he was about to begin a game of cunning with the "sly rogue," whom he knew to be a sharp-witted adversary, despite a weakness for women that Checco, minus this defect, regarded as a lamentable flaw in an otherwise peerless composition.

* * * * *

Molesin was somewhat worried by the fact that, as yet, he had failed to catch a glimpse of Leila, and that her father had not mentioned her. He questioned Giovanni, who was taking him to the room that had been prepared for him, "Where is the Signorina?" Giovanni told him she was out, and Molesin naturally concluded she had gone for a walk. On his way down to coffee he met Teresina on the stairs, and put the same question to her, "Where is the Signorina?"

"She is not here."

"Not here? What do you mean by that?"

Teresina stared at him, somewhat nettled by his tone.

"She is with Signora Vayla, sir."

"Strange that Momi should not have said so," Molesin reflected, going towards the dining-room. As he entered by one door Carolina disappeared through another, her face wearing an angry scowl, and Sior Momi was still muttering impatiently:

"You have your orders! Be a good creature and obey!" He had been ordering her to vacate the "swallow-room," and take the one Teresina had prepared for her.

Molesin had no idea who this Signora Vayla might be nor where she lived, but his keen insight put him on the scent of some trouble existing between father and daughter. As he sat silently sipping his coffee it was borne in upon him that probably the girl had refused to come in contact with Carolina. He longed to know the truth--it was important that he should know it. If father and daughter were going to lead a cat-and-dog life, Sior Momi would undoubtedly wish to make the most of these few months before the girl became mistress of her own fortune, and grab as much as possible--money, bonds, jewels, everything in fact that could not easily be traced, and then ... why, he, Molesin, would find himself in no better position than before.

"Tell me, my good Momi," said he, between calm sips of coffee, "when shall we have the pleasure of seeing your daughter?"

Momi replied that she was indisposed.

"Oh, poor girl! Poor girl!" Molesin became tenderly solicitous. "I do hope we have not upset her!"

Momi reassured him. Leila was not in the house. She was staying with a friend at Arsiero--an old friend of Signor Marcello's. She had insisted upon going to this lady's house immediately after the sad event. He went on to declare that this friendship between his daughter and Signora Vayla was a thorn in his flesh. The obstinate and eccentric girl had always been prejudiced against her father, first by her own mother and then by the Trentos, and he had no doubt that her Arsiero friend had now undertaken to encourage this prejudice. In fact, a letter he had just received from the lady as good as proved the truth of this suspicion. Sior Momi herewith drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to Molesin with a great show of candour. The man of law reflected that the very act of showing it to him proved this to be a first move on his adversary's part. He read as follows:

"_Villino delle Rose, July sixth._

"DEAR SIR,--I regret to be obliged to inform you that during the night of July fourth your daughter had a violent attack of fever. The doctor declared it to be of a rheumatic nature. At present her temperature is almost normal, but she is very weak. The doctor wishes her to be spared all excitement, and for this reason I feel that a visit from you at the present moment would be inopportune.

"I take the liberty of adding that the mental shocks Leila has so recently received have certainly affected her general health, and the doctor shares my opinion that a change to other surroundings, for a time at least, would greatly benefit her. Your own affairs, I expect, will keep you here for the present, but as I am going to Turin on business, I should be delighted if you would allow me to take Leila with me. Her company would be a great pleasure to me. Trusting you may see your way to consent to this proposal, I am,

"Yours very truly,
"FEDELE VAYLA DI BREA."

"But I'll go and see her, all the same ... eh?... I had better go, don't you think so?... I am her father.... It is my right!... The rights of paternal authority.... Don't you think so?... Eh?... Hadn't I better go, all the same?"

Momi appeared now to be stating a proposition, now to be asking for advice, and the change of tone, the words, and the smile were but so many blandishments lavished upon the watchful cat, who, having laid aside the letter, sat for some time watching his rat in silence. At last, with a slight shrug, Molesin replied:

"Benon! All right!"

Sior Momi thought he noted a tone of disapproval.

"Why not, then?"

"I said, 'All right,'" his friend repeated, this time in a more encouraging tone. "Meanwhile," he added, rising, "let us go over the house."

Camin rose also, but his eyes were blinking nervously, this being the only external sign of internal discomfort to which he was subject. He persisted in seeking his friend's advice.

"No, no! Come now! Tell me--had I better go or not?"

"Have I not just said 'All right'?" Molesin reiterated. "Go or stay away--it is all the same to me." And he added that, should Sior Momi decide to pay his visit, he himself would go and call upon the archpriest.

This time it was Momi who said "All right!" but, as a matter of fact, he did so coldly enough. He was conscious of the suspicions the letter and his comments upon it had aroused in his formidable guest, and he was wondering what machinery he could set in motion through the archpriest to help in carrying out his own plan, which was, to allow it to appear that the relations between his daughter and himself were strained, while, secretly, he would be winning her over to his side. He blinked nervously two or three times before he could control himself, and then he and his guest started on their round of inspection, Momi never failing to emphasise Molesin's comments with his sycophantic laugh. Carolina's bag was still in the "swallow-room." Molesin noticed this, and Sior Momi saw that he had done so. The woman was on a round of inspection on her own account, and the couple met her on the stairs as they were coming down.

"I say!" cried Momi, in harsh and commanding tones, "put that bag where it belongs, will you?"

Carolina looked at him furiously and passed on. Molesin followed her with his eyes as far as the upper landing.

"My dear Momi," said he, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder and emphasising his words, "I am afraid your daughter's personality and this lady's--their personalities, you understand--will be likely to clash!"

"Aho! aho! What is the matter now?"

"Oh, nothing!"

"Aho, aho! You son of a dog...!" laughed Sior Momi, expressing by his epithet his admiration for his companion's sharp-sightedness.

II

Towards eleven o'clock the worthy Camin, having held a brief consultation with Teresina in the study, informed his friend that he was ready to start for the Villino delle Rose, and invited him to go part of the way, if he still meant to call upon the archpriest. At the point where three roads meet and the path from the Montanina joins the main road, Momi pointed out the campanile of Velo, glittering in the sunshine, and then betook himself to his own road. Molesin went slowly forward for a few yards, then, looking behind him to make sure that Momi was no longer in sight, he turned and retraced his steps. Had Momi seen this manœuvre he would most certainly have repeated his last epithet with real feeling this time, and would, moreover, have congratulated himself that he had anticipated that while he was out of the way Molesin would try to cross-examine Teresina, and that he had had the forethought to instruct her accordingly.

Molesin returned to the Montanina to fetch his scarf, which he had purposely left in the vestibule. Then he went in search of Teresina, and having found her, he carefully explained the reason for his unexpected return, and then asked her to show him the little church, which he had not yet visited. While they walked through the garden he inquired, with great affability, what she thought of her new master. Teresina avoided the question, and Molesin went on to assure her that he was a "most excellent man--the best of men! But unfortunate, very unfortunate! Unfortunate in his wife and in business. And how about this daughter of his?" he rambled on. "How about the daughter? Is she glad to have her father to live with her again? She must be delighted. I can imagine how glad she is--is she not?"

Dr. Molesin's honeyed tones failed to have any effect upon Teresina, not because she felt bound by any loyalty towards Sior Momi, who had, however, exerted himself to the utmost to win her confidence, but because Molesin's face, voice, and blandishments were odious to her. She answered shortly enough that she knew nothing about it, and could give him no information. Molesin entered the church, and having dipped his fingers in the holy water, made the sign of the cross devoutly, and knelt down for a moment before starting out to make a minute examination of all that the church contained. He accepted all the doctrines of the Church blindly, and conformed to all its practices, but as he did not take people's money directly from their pockets and strong-boxes, it never occurred to him that there was the least discrepancy between his religious practices and his worldly dealings. On the contrary, success in his worldly dealings only made him more zealous in religious ones. When he had swindled and despoiled his neighbour, he would seek to swindle the Almighty as well, by means of various _paters_, _aves_, and _glorias_, or by a few extra Masses. He was quite unconscious, however, of being a hypocrite, and looked forward quite confidently to occupying a small corner in Paradise. He belonged to the Clerical party, but his dubious reputation caused many of his fellow-members to look upon him askance, though he always pretended to be unaware of this. He relied greatly on the friendship of a few priests, who were unacquainted with his true character, and these friendships he was continually bringing forward in terms of boastful exaggeration. One of these was with the archpriest of Velo, Molesin's contemporary and school companion.

"And the young man?" said he as they were leaving the church--"the young man from Milan who was staying here? A fine fellow, eh? A very fine fellow! I should have thought he might have suited the Signorina. A splendid fellow, I tell you! And so they could not arrange it? What a pity! Do you mean to say it could really not be arranged?"

"I wonder what he knows about the young man from Milan," thought Teresina. This time she answered impatiently. How did he expect her to know about things that were no business of hers?

Molesin started forward once more along the Velo road, his head bowed, meditating upon his next move in the game. He was annoyed at having to carry the shawl. His journey back to fetch it had been to no purpose, and it weighed upon his arm and looked out of place at eleven in the morning and beneath the blazing sun.

"Damn the woman and the shawl too!" he muttered.

The archpriest was not at home; he was in church. Molesin inquired for the sister-in-law. She was in church. And the chaplain? In church also.

"Your name, if you please," said the servant, seeing he was annoyed. Upon hearing that revered name--Dr. Molesin--her face brightened. She knew he was a great friend of the archpriest's, and she had posted many letters to him from her master. She detained him, saying she would call the archpriest, and then, assuming an air of mystery, and in strictest confidence, he being a friend of her master's, she confided to him the fact that the chaplain had just received a letter from his uncle the Cardinal, announcing that the archpriest was about to be made a Bishop. The master had been deeply moved, mainly on account of the prospective bishopric, but also somewhat because he feared he might be sent to some place in the neighbourhood of Naples, and he had long entertained a violent dislike of those parts. On receipt of the news, the master, Signora Bettina, and the chaplain had immediately, gone to the church, and were there still.

"Then, in a way, you will be a sort of female bishop," said the merry doctor. And he asked himself: "Does she know anything that can interest me, and will she be as secretive as the other?" He begged her not to announce his arrival, not to disturb any one. He was quite willing to wait, he said, and went on to praise the virtues of Don Tita, who was deserving, most deserving. The servant showed him into the reception-room, and there, seated on the sofa, he amused her with anecdotes of the days when he and the archpriest had been at school together. "It is a wise choice!" he cried at last, "a very wise choice! Do you know, I believe I will go and join them in the church. But first I wish you would satisfy my curiosity on one point."

He proceeded to ask her if she knew Signorina Camin, who had lived with old Signor Trento? The woman's face became stern. Of course the gentleman knew what had happened? No, he had not heard! Blessed Mother! Why, she had tried to run away!

"To run away?" Molesin cried in amazement. But the servant had heard voices outside, and with a hurried, "Here they are!" she was off. The archpriest and his two companions had returned from church. They held a short confabulation with the servant outside the door, and presently the archpriest came in alone.

He saw the astonishment depicted on Molesin's face, and concluded without hesitation that "that chatterbox has been blabbing!" He was conscious also that his own expression was rather a tell-tale one, and that there was no need for him to confirm the woman's news in so many words. His only greeting was, "My dear friend!" and it was with tears in his eyes that he embraced the man who he had always refused to believe was either a hypocrite or a knave. His were honest tears, arising from various emotions. There was first the comforting sense of his promotion, by the will of God and of the Vicar of Christ, to a dignity whose religious importance really appealed to him more than the external and worldly glory connected with it, and the warm appreciation of the mark of confidence from his superiors. The tears sprang, too, from a revival of his religious fervour, a yearning determination to lead a simple, austerely pious and exemplary life, the life befitting a shepherd of shepherds, and there came, also, the sad feeling of breaking with old habits and saying farewell to familiar places. Dr. Molesin, despite his amazement at the servant's information, saw the mistake under which the archpriest was labouring, and took advantage of the embrace, which he protracted as long as possible, that he might have time to settle his line of action, and, like the archpriest himself, he produced a yard of coarse, blue handkerchief, with which he wiped his eyes vigorously.

"A fine choice!" he exclaimed, folding his handkerchief again. "A very fine choice!" Meanwhile the archpriest had also regained his composure. He begged Molesin not to divulge his secret, and when the good doctor inquired the name of the diocese over which his friend was to preside, declared that he had no idea, not the slightest idea which it would be. Thereupon he thought it advisable to change the subject by a decisive "Well, then?" to which the doctor responded.

"Well," said Molesin, speaking in Italian, to add weight to his remarks, "the famous Modernist has had to take himself off, and his friend the priest has gone too, they tell me."

The archpriest laughed.

"Ancient history!" said he. "Ancient history, my dear friend. Let us come down to modern times."

Molesin asked for nothing better than to come down to the present, but what could he say of the present that the archpriest did not know already? There was old Signor Trento's death, his will, Momi Camin's presence at the Montanina----

"Until the grand sweep-out comes!"

The archpriest had no idea how unbearable Molesin was finding his priestly reserve, but the worthy doctor bore it without flinching. He said that Momi had invited him to come and see the villa, and that he had accepted mainly that he might have the pleasure of seeing the archpriest again; but, of course, he had been glad to please Momi also. At this point he thought fit to speak in high praise of Momi, who had been so unfortunate both in his family and in business, who had perhaps gone slightly astray in politics, but who was a good creature at bottom, and a good Christian--oh, an exemplary Christian--one of the old sort.

"Hold on there!" cried Don Tita. "I have been told that at his home in Padua there are pretty goings-on."

Molesin frowned, pursed his lips, and uttered a long, low groan, interrupted at intervals by outbursts of denial--no, no, no! "I really cannot believe it! It is only what people say!" Then he went on to extol the excellence of his friend's principles and practices. He was sure he would prove a good parishioner, a most generous parishioner towards the church and the poor, whereas, should the Montanina, sooner or later, fall into the hands of a certain other person, of that Signor Alberti----

"Alas, my friend!" moaned Don Tita, "it has fallen into those hands already!"

"You don't say so!"

For a moment Molesin lost command of himself.

"It has fallen into them already," Don Tita repeated. And he went on to tell of Leila's attempted flight.

"It was all arranged, you see," he declared. "Everything was arranged."

It was his belief, he said, that the girl had absolutely refused to live with her father. Donna Fedele had taken her part, but she would not be able to keep her with her should her father insist upon having her. In a few months Leila would come of age, and be her own mistress. What mattered to her abettors was only to get through these few months, and they had fixed upon a clever plan. The girl was to have run away--she was a daring creature, one might even say she was shamelessly bold--and to have hidden herself in Piedmont, where Donna Fedele had hosts of friends with whom she could have stayed until her minority was over. Meanwhile her accomplice would have laboured on behalf of Signor Alberti, who was another of her favourites. She had even had him back at Seghe since his flight. They had been seen plotting together in a deserted spot on the banks of the Astico. But Providence was on the watch. Providence had made use of a rascally heretic to upset their cunning plans. One night this heretic had been led to take refuge from the storm in a place where the girl had certainly not expected to find him, and this accident had brought about the scheme's complete failure.

Don Tita described the nature of the failure, and then proceeded to point the moral. The trick would most certainly be tried again, and Signor Camin or _da_ Camin must find a means of preventing its accomplishment if he also wished to prevent the "grand sweep-out."

This cleverly-constructed story was not the fruit of Don Tita's genius, but of Don Emanuele's, and Don Emanuele had even withheld some of the facts. The chaplain had told only what he deemed it good for Don Tita to know, and what might be freely repeated without undesirable results. As a matter of fact, Don Emanuele knew quite well that the servants at the Villino had been led to suspect an attempt at suicide by certain remains of a letter they had found in the Signorina's room. But it gave the chaplain a pleasant sense of superiority to retain this information, besides placing him in a position to direct matters. Don Tita was not deceived, though he appeared to be so. He saw through Don Emanuele's little game, but he realised that the tale he had just told Molesin would do as well as any other to sow discord between the new master of the Montanina and Signora Vayla, and to promote an alliance with the former that might prove advantageous to the church, which was sadly in need of funds. Molesin followed the story with great attention. If matters really stood thus, and should Momi consent to his daughter's going away with Donna Fedele, they might prepare for the worst. That woman would help Leila to escape, and there would be no finding her again. And the "grand sweep-out" would take place in a few months now. The girl would assign a pension to her father--she would probably refuse to do more--and that would not amount to anything. She must be induced to return to the Montanina, and Momi must be persuaded to make every effort to regain her confidence. This would be the most difficult point!

"Poor Momi!" he sighed gloomily, and without mentioning Donna Fedele's letter, passed on to another subject. He inquired if Momi had had the funeral service read on the seventh day after Signor Marcello's death. No, nothing had been said about it. Under ordinary circumstances the archpriest would have consulted the family, but in this case, Signor Camin having left without making any arrangements, and his daughter being away, he himself had taken no steps. The chaplain perhaps knew something about it, but he was doubtful as to this.

"We shall see," he said, and ringing the bell, sent to summon the chaplain.

Molesin had met Don Emanuele once before in Padua, and had then fancied that the priest's bearing was hostile. He had felt ill at ease under the gaze of that cold and watery eye. His suspicions were correct, for Don Emanuele knew him well, and had purposely kept him at a distance. Molesin would gladly have avoided meeting him again, but when the chaplain entered the salon and greeted the visitor, Checco was secretly pleased to perceive that the watery eye was less cold than on the previous occasion. The fact was that Don Emanuele now saw in Molesin only the person who had warned that pious lady Signora Camin of Massimo's dangerous presence at the Montanina, and, through her, certain ecclesiastics who were friends and advisers of his own. As he bowed to Molesin, the priest's face wore a slight smile, which seemed to say, "Ah, so it is you, is it!" Having ascertained that Don Emanuele had not spoken to any one concerning the funeral service, and that, moreover, in consequence of a previous arrangement of services which the archpriest had forgotten, it would not be possible to celebrate it on the seventh day, Molesin declared that he would assume the responsibility of ordering it in his friend's name, and that they could fix the day later on. In his friend's name also he begged them to help him to find a priest who would celebrate Mass on Sunday at the church connected with the Montanina. The archpriest would have answered cordially had he not been checked by a shadowy hint upon his chaplain's face. He therefore answered vaguely that he would see about it. Then Molesin, who had not been blind to Don Emanuele's expression, proceeded to give them a further glimpse, by means of certain vague allusions, of the fine things Momi Camin might be capable of doing should he meet with encouragement and find peace in his own family. He did not venture, however, to specify the nature of these same fine things, and the archpriest, who, indeed, was glad he had not done so--had not put forward any kind of contract--punctuated his confused and involved discourse with certain ejaculations of approval that were as balm to the spirit of the speaker.

But Don Emanuele, evidently uneasy lest his own secret plans should be frustrated and his superior should be compromised by incautious language, here reminded Don Tita of certain pressing business they must attend to together, and thus Molesin found him obliged to take his departure. The archpriest asked him if he were leaving that same day. He answered that such had, indeed, been his intention on leaving home, but that the place was so charming, and his friend Momi so determined to keep him, that he had decided to remain. Thereupon he said goodbye, and trotted off towards the Montanina, now meditating upon the archpriest's story and the mysterious shadow that had darkened Don Emanuele's face, now wondering what sort of an interview Momi had had with that Signora Baila, or Balia, or whatever her name was. On reaching the Montanina he found that Sior Momi had not yet returned, but he came in presently, and Molesin, who was in the kitchen inquiring about lunch, heard him calling down the corridors, "Doctor! Sior Checco!" Having criticised the cook's method of cooking a salt-cod she was preparing, and instructed her according to his own taste, Molesin went into the house again, shouting in his turn, "Momi, Momi! Here I am!" They met in the vestibule.

"Bad--bad--very bad!" grumbled Momi, blinking rapidly.

The girl would not see him, and the Signora had given him to understand that, if he attempted to make use of his legal right to have his daughter with him, he might be prepared for the worst. Signor Camin had been obliged to consent to the journey. "We must wait and hope for the best," he repeated in a nasal voice, his stupid, mask-like face looking at his friend. "Wait and hope!"

On learning that Momi had consented to the journey with Signora Vayla, Molesin's first impulse was to exclaim, "You stupid fool!" But on second thoughts he changed his mind and said, "Yes, yes! Quite right!" as if it were not worth while to get excited over such a trifling matter. "Such a dish of codfish as we are going to have!" he added. "And you will have me to thank for it!"

FOOTNOTES:

[4] Momi: diminutive of Girolamo.

[5] Checco: diminutive of Francesco.

[6] Sior: dialect for Signor.

[7] Süra: dialect for Signorina.