Chapter X: The Game Begins

I

Friend Molesin did not believe a syllable of the story Momi told him--that he had not seen his daughter, or anything else. But the worthy doctor, nevertheless, pretended to grasp and hold fast the two infinitives--to wait and to hope. There was not the slightest doubt, he said, but that matters would mend. At lunch he ate little, saying it was too late and that he had lost his appetite, but he displayed great good-humour, talked of the surrounding country and of the villa with increased approval, and having told Momi of his conversation at the parsonage concerning the funeral service, found no difficulty in persuading him to write and beg the archpriest to have the service read at the earliest possible date. He expressed the friendly intention of attending it, should he not be obliged to leave after the two days, and if his lengthened visit were agreeable to his friend. He was growing to like the place, and--poor doctor!--he was sadly in need of rest. Sior Momi ejaculated, "Of course! Delighted!" but he was blinking rapidly, nevertheless. After luncheon Molesin proposed a short walk, and he and his friend started up the path under the pleasant shade of the chestnut-trees. But he sat down on the first bench they came to, and motioned solemnly to Momi to do the same.

"Sit down, man," said he, and after a short silence he felt moved to recognise the beauty of his surroundings.

"Belo, belo! Beautiful, beautiful!" he said.

Then suddenly he turned on Momi and sprang the following proposal upon him.

"See here, Momi--let us do a little business."

Sior Momi assumed his most idiotic expression, and answered:

"What did you say? Business?"

He saw at once that Molesin intended to propose a figure for the famous adjustment with his creditors, and quickly assumed the defensive.

"Now you, most worthy Sior Momi," the doctor went on, using the Italian diluted with Venetian that he reserved for solemn occasions, "are the parent and master, so to speak, of a fine fortune--I may even say of a large fortune."

"Aho, aho!" giggled Momi ironically, but his friend went on, unmoved:

"And now you are in a position to make yourself comfortable for ever, and set your conscience at peace as well by paying one hundred per cent."

"Son of a...!" cried Momi, with another grotesque laugh.

"What ails you?" Molesin demanded. "Ain't I right? Go along with you! I am only trying to befriend you, after all, and I will undertake to get my clients to accept seventy-five per cent."

Sior Momi could not repress an exclamation.

"Bravo putèlo! Good lad!" said he, and having offered this tribute to his friend's childlike simplicity, Sior Momi for the first time became heated, both in face and language. He was no longer Sior Momi. Two burning spots appeared upon his yellow cheek-bones, he frowned heavily, his head wagged upon his neck as he talked, while from his lips, as from an inverted bottle, there gushed a stream of talk, uninterrupted by a single "aho," or rather, perhaps, resembling a swift river of "ahos," which swept the wreckage of many words along with it. They asked for seventy-five per cent. now, when he was no longer in a position to pay even the twenty-five he had once offered! He was amazed that Molesin did not see this! He had made his offer at a time when he had a right to believe that his daughter, on coming into her fortune, would be willing to make some sacrifice for her father. Then he could have found some one to advance the money for the twenty-five per cent. But now, when the girl had proclaimed her hostility, refusing even to live with her father--now they had the face to demand seventy-five per cent! He had made his humble offer precisely because he knew he could not count, to any great extent, upon the help of an eccentric girl, who had never shown the slightest affection for him. And now there was proof of this. To any great extent, indeed! To no extent whatsoever! And where was he to find the money? Did they expect him to steal it? To rob his own daughter? He had one comfort left, and that was, that he could prove himself to be an honest man, in spite of the calumnies that had been spread by certain persons. He had another comfort also, and he was willing to admit it was a great one--that he should never want for bread, for his daughter, willingly or unwillingly, would be obliged by law to support him.

"Enough, enough!" cried Molesin. He rose, and intentionally omitting the _da_ from the other's name, said:

"Listen to me, Camin! I warn you that at home I have the numbers of all the Government bonds held by this old gentleman here."

Momi declared that he did not care a rap if he had, and made an offer of five per cent.

"Drop that, I tell you!" the other retorted.

Molesin started to walk away, but presently stopped, turned half round, planted his stick firmly, and flung a glance over his shoulder out of the corner of his eye.

"We will make it seventy," said he.

"We will make it seven," said Camin.

For the time being the conversation ended here. In Momi's mind a hope was born that Molesin would now alter his plans, and take himself off that very evening.

II

Towards five o'clock Molesin received a note from Don Tita, begging him to come to the parsonage. He started at once, and was received by Don Emanuele, for the archpriest had gone to Seghe, leaving the field clear for his chaplain, who had been anxious for this interview, but had not wished to ask for it directly, in order not to place himself before his superior in a spiritual matter. He regretted that, during his conversation with Molesin, his superior had not laid sufficient stress upon the moral necessity of removing Signorina Camin, no matter at what cost, from under the evil influence of Signora Vayla. The young priest's soul was full of rancour against Donna Fedele, a rancour he justified to himself by calling it proper zeal against one whose unseemly attitude of disregard of ecclesiastical authority in matters of religion and morals was well known--against one who presumed to read and explain the Gospels to her dependents, who had formed a warm friendship with a priest of doubtful orthodoxy like Don Aurelio, and who shielded a rascally Modernist like young Alberti. Whenever a sharp point of this suppressed rancour pushed upwards and pierced these holy wrappings, Don Emanuele made honest efforts to press it under again, and salved his conscience by praying for the eternal salvation of the soul of this woman who was both in danger and dangerous, the more so because, in her life and in the observance of the practices of religion, she appeared irreproachable. He himself now proposed to undertake the task of snatching the girl from her, the archpriest being too good-natured and easy-going.

When the servant announced Dr. Molesin, Don Emanuele, who was reading his breviary, had a vision of his meeting with Signora Vayla in the sacristy, and of the scene upon the Mea road, and he crossed himself piously in order to rid himself of any spirit of vengeance, and prepare himself to inflict injury upon her in the cause of righteousness. His compunction betrayed itself upon his brow, in his melancholy and watery eyes, and even in his stately tread and the slow movements of his lean person.

"What the deuce can this long, lean creature want!" thought Molesin, and he made him a low bow, to which the long, lean creature responded by a slight inclination of his head and a sweep of his hand that was full of prelatical condescension. Immediately and respectfully Molesin inquired for the archpriest, adding a few words of warm satisfaction at his prospective advancement. Don Emanuele ignored this subject, and having apologised for his superior's absence, stated that he had been charged to represent him. The archpriest, he said, had been deeply gratified on hearing of Signor da Camin's good intentions towards his church and the poor of his parish. The needs of both were indeed great. But what pleased the archpriest most were the pious inclinations his new parishioner displayed. He would strive to show his gratitude in the way best befitting a Churchman and a parish-priest, by helping him in his domestic difficulties, and acting as intermediary between father and daughter, that they might be brought to a peaceful understanding, which would be greatly to the advantage both of their temporal and spiritual interests.

Thus far worthy Dr. Molesin, seated opposite the chaplain, with legs apart, hands resting on his knees, and eyes downcast, had confined himself to raising and lowering his head like a polar-bear--now with a simple movement of assent, now with waggings to right and left, that testified to his abundant approbation. But on catching the closing words of the second part of Don Emanuele's speech, his bowed head suddenly ceased to saw the air.

The chaplain felt constrained to touch upon a very delicate subject. Neither the archpriest nor he himself would be able to do anything to promote Signor da Camin's domestic peace, unless a certain scandal were put an end to. Did Signor Molesin understand his meaning? Molesin, who had ceased his waggings, but still sat gazing downwards between his knees at the cracks in the brick floor, suddenly straightened himself, laid the fingers of one hand flat upon his mouth, fixed his eyes on one corner of the room, puckered his brow, and sat stiffly silent in a mighty effort at comprehension. He might have been seeking to grasp the meaning of some Babylonian inscription or trying to recall the name of some prehistoric ancestor.

"No," said he, raising troubled eyes to Don Emanuele's. "I fail to understand."

Don Emanuele, in his turn, fixed his eyes on his companion's troubled ones, and Molesin instinctively began to pucker them slowly to avoid the penetrating gaze. "No, you must excuse me, but I really do not understand," he repeated.

"That unfortunate creature," Don Emanuele suggested slowly and almost in a whisper, "who, I believe, is also at the Montanina----"

"Ah!... Yes!" Molesin admitted at last. "Yes, I understand. You allude to the housekeeper. It would be better for her to go away. I see, I see! Her presence might interfere with the peace that should reign between parent and child. The daughter might be led to believe ... that ... so to speak ... and so forth and so on.... You wish Momi to send her away. Very well, he shall do so. I will answer for him, although, as a matter of fact, I really do not believe----"

"She must go, and that at once," Don Emanuele put in.

Molesin made a silent bow of assent. Then Don Emanuele, with a gesture that savoured of mature age, as indeed did all his rare and measured movements, gathered the five fingers of his left hand into a point, and holding them up before his face, stared intently at them.

"As soon as that unfortunate creature is out of the house, the daughter must return."

Having restored his fingers to their normal position, he gazed at Molesin with deep melancholy in his watery eyes.

"The thought of that young girl in the hands of that woman," said he, "is the archpriest's greatest anxiety. And the archpriest does not know all I know."

Neither did Molesin, who, nevertheless, heaved a sigh for the archpriest's anxiety, in order to be on the right side no matter what might follow. The sigh was so deep that, for an instant, the watery eyes were raised; then Don Emanuele dropped them again, and returned to the subject of his superior's ignorance of facts. The archpriest was unaware that, influenced by the atmosphere of Signora Vayla's home, the poor child had gone the length of contemplating the perpetration of a horrible crime. "Good Lord! Had she proposed to murder Momi?" Molesin asked himself, terrified at the bare idea of Momi slipping through his fingers. But Don Emanuele gave no further particulars of the crime, and contented himself with deploring at length the poisonous atmosphere of Signora Vayla's home. The girl, who was his penitent, had been both virtuous and pious. They might still hope for a strong reaction in her, such a reaction as sometimes brings a heart, wounded by the world, to devote itself entirely to God. But this reaction must be encouraged, and that it would be impossible to do in the present surroundings. Leila's father must interfere, and, if needs be, make use of the paternal authority given to him by law. It was Don Emanuele's opinion that the girl's rebellion was due entirely to Donna Fedele's influence.

Once in her own home--when that other person should have left, of course--Leila would change completely. The archpriest, Don Emanuele himself, and Don Tita's sister-in-law, a woman of exemplary piety, would do all in their power to cultivate the latent piety in the girl's soul, a soul that already sought to sever itself from the world, and was above the love of riches.

"I assure you that child would surrender all she possesses to her father, without so much as a sigh of regret."

The chaplain was anxious to impress these words on Molesin's mind, but that worthy hardly gave him time to finish before he began discussing the spiritual interest involved, as if the other side of the question did not exist for him. He referred to a great-aunt of Signor Momi's, who had been a nun, and raising his eyebrows as if testifying, from philosophical experience, to the recurrence of great events in history, and the hidden workings of Providence, he blew a trumpet blast into his cotton handkerchief as a signal that he was about to make his departure.

III

During dinner, which was very late, Sior Momi announced his intention of inviting the archpriest to dine with them on the morrow in honour of his friend. Molesin thanked him, but a certain note of hesitation and of coolness in his answer revealed the anxious state of his mind. He had learnt from the cook the very unpleasant cause of the delay in serving dinner. There had been a scene between Carolina and Teresina, and all about a glass of Marsala which Teresina had given to the cook for cooking purposes. Sior Momi's housekeeper, on one of her frequent incursions into the kitchen, had nearly drained the glass, whereupon Teresina had "given notice," and all Sior Momi's earnest entreaties had failed to alter her angry determination.

Teresina leaving, and Carolina triumphant! A fine moment for inviting the archpriest, thought Molesin. After dinner Sior Momi led the way into the drawing-room, and proposed a game of cards. He felt bound to soothe this adversary, whom he could not get rid of, and who was capable of diabolical plottings and of inciting the Velo priests to influence his daughter in a way that would be disastrous to himself.

Molesin was unacquainted with the game Momi proposed, and could only play whist and a game called _terziglio_. Presently Giovanni came in with the steps to light the lamps.

"Be off with those confounded steps!" cried Sior Checco, in an angry tone. "A small lamp, any small oil lamp, will do. I like oil lamps." But there were none in the house, and so Giovanni brought a couple of candles. With a timid "Aho!" Momi inquired if his friend would like a game of _terziglio_.

"What?" snapped Molesin, for _terziglio_ is a three-handed game.

Momi uttered another timid "Aho!" There was a third person in the house who could play, he said.

"Ah, no!" gasped Molesin, taken aback for the moment. "Ah, no! No, indeed! By the rogue Bacchus, no! The very idea of such a thing! No, thanks!" He blew out one of the candles angrily. "Catch hold of that other candle," he commanded in a fierce tone, and, regardless of Sior Momi's oft-repeated question, "What is up? What is the matter now?" kept on ordering him to "Catch hold of that other candle," until Momi, grumbling, "Well, well! Have your own way," finally obeyed. He would have liked to utter an "aho!" of pacification, but lacked courage to do so. Besides, he did not understand the turn things had taken.

"And what now?" said he, gazing at Molesin, and clasping the candlestick.

"Now we will go into the study."

* * * * *

There was no light nor sound in the drawing-room. A pale moonbeam illumined the gallery at the head of the double stairway. Teresina, who was busy collecting her belongings preparatory to her departure the next day, passed along with a light, and looked down into the shadows, thinking of the former master and of the present one, and then hastened away, her eyes big with tears, and feeling that the walls, the furniture, the very shadows that flickered round her little lamp were echoing her own sadness.

One, two, three quarters of an hour passed. An hour crept away, and still the drawing-room remained silent and empty. Giovanni came in with a note that had arrived from the archpriest. Finding the room in darkness, he hesitated, and then went out to the open verandah. There was no one there. Could they be in the garden? He went forward a few steps, and then caught sight of the light in the study. Returning to the house, he entered the billiard-room, and heard Molesin's voice. The doctor was talking softly, but angrily. Giovanni knocked gently at the study door. Molesin himself opened it, and said, in an irritable voice:

"What is the matter now? What do you want? You can't come in. Go away! Be off!"

Giovanni handed him the note and stole away, without waiting to ask if there was an answer, for he had learnt from the messenger that the note simply contained the information that the funeral service for Signor Marcello would be held on the following Monday. He returned to the kitchen to tell of the secret confabulation that was going on between Molesin and the master. Carolina, who had ere this cast languishing glances upon him, on hearing this news, caught the young man boldly by the hand, ordering him to take her where she could hear; and as he showed honest reluctance to do as she asked, the woman inquired, with a meaning smile, if he were afraid of the master? But Giovanni stood his ground, and with a contemptuous shrug, Carolina went off by herself. That old fright of a Molesin, on whom she had wasted more than one of her wiles and graces, was simply odious to her now. She ran into a door, fell over several chairs, but reached her goal at last.

Before leaving the kitchen she had ordered coffee, but long after it was ready and waiting she had not returned. Giovanni went to look for her, but neither he nor Carolina came back. At last, however, the footman burst into the kitchen, in a state between fear and mirth, and announced that an awful row was going on in the study. Carolina was raving like a wild beast, and he thought he had heard blows. The entire staff--cook, gate-keeper, gate-keeper's wife, and Giovanni--started for the scene of the quarrel. On tiptoe they entered the billiard-room, and immediately heard Carolina, shouting her own praises, "I would have you know that I am" this and that, while Sior Momi brayed, "Hold your tongue! Be quiet! Have done!" and Molesin groaned, "Yes, yes, my good creature! I know, I know, my good creature!" Giovanni rushed into the garden and peered in at the window. There was Sior Momi standing between the table and the easy-chair, and stretching imploring hands towards Carolina, who was advancing, with shoulders thrown forward and clenched fists resting on her hips, towards the unhappy doctor, who, whiter than his own shirt, was edging backwards in the direction of poor Signor Marcello's bedroom. Giovanni saw him clutch the door-handle and escape through the bedroom to the salon. He himself rushed into the house and gave the alarm to his companions, who fled back, as hard as they could go, to the kitchen again. Then Giovanni, who had overheard much and guessed more, gathered them around him, and proceeded to explain. This is what had evidently happened: When Carolina had applied her ear to the door the new master and Molesin had been discussing her. The new master had praised her, and probably, afterwards, Molesin had abused her. Hereupon she must have rushed into the room and kicked up a row. Giovanni had come away while the master was still speaking, but on going back he had heard the woman shouting, "Me? Me? Send me away, would you?" At this point Giovanni's story was interrupted by Molesin's voice calling, "Hallo there! Some one bring a light!" The group broke up and Giovanni, seizing a lighted candle, started to find the doctor. He came upon him in the drawing-room. He was trembling and appeared quite upset, and muttering, "What a confoundedly dark house this is!" he took the candle and started upstairs, calling back to Giovanni to wake him at five on the following morning.

Carolina reappeared in the kitchen in dignified gloom, and drank her coffee in silence. Sior Momi came into the drawing-room, rang the bell, and inquired for Dr. Molesin. That worthy had hung about the gallery in the hope of catching a glimpse of the master and his housekeeper, should they leave the study together, and of overhearing what they might say. From between two columns he now peered down into the room below, and flung an angry "I am here!" into Sior Momi's upturned face.

"She has been persuaded!" Momi answered in an undertone.

Molesin glared down upon him for some seconds, and then informed him that, for his part, he was persuaded only of his own intention to leave on the following morning at six. Hereupon he withdrew his head from between the columns, but a moment afterwards he reappeared, his lighted candle in his hand.

"Good-night," said he.

Signor Momi hurried upstairs and confronted him.

"Don't you believe me? She is really persuaded. She will go."

Wrapped in gloom, Molesin answered:

"We shall see."

"You _will_ see!" Momi retorted. Suddenly the doctor remembered another promise Momi had made just before Carolina's furious entrance into the study.

"And the girl?"

With the same calm assurance with which he had said "She will go," in speaking of Carolina, he now said, referring to his daughter:

"She will come."

"We shall see!" Molesin repeated emphatically.

Sior Momi assumed a tone of affectionate familiarity, and, placing his hand on his friend's arm, persuaded him, by dint of many blandishments, to return to the drawing-room, and then proposed that they should end the evening in peace at the card-table. They could play a game resembling _tresette_, that needed only two players. They began their game, Molesin frowning over the bad cards that fell to his lot, Sior Momi laughing his foolish laugh over the good ones he held. Neither alluded to the all-important "affair," although neither thought of anything else, Molesin often forgetting to play his trumps and turn up his cards, but not so Sior Momi. Molesin, indeed, was reflecting that his adversary was certainly trying to get the better of him, and reading, both in his expression and in his friendly bearing, a malicious certainty of success, he began to wonder what sort of a trap his enemy had set, and to cast about in his mind for the best means of bringing Momi to reasonable terms. His thoughts were struggling towards this goal much as an ironclad may proceed at night through a channel beset with danger, cautiously, with all hands at their posts, throwing its searchlight in all directions athwart the encircling darkness. Carolina would go--he was sure of that. She would only pretend to leave, but that mattered little so long as she went. But the girl! Would she return? And would she really enter a convent, leaving all to her father, as Don Emanuele had suggested? But the chief thing was, he admitted, to get her home, and then it would be time enough to make further plans. After reaching this conclusion, Molesin turned his attention to the cards and no longer forgot to play his trumps.

Sior Momi, on his part, found the pleasing aspect of his hand in keeping with the inward visions he was enjoying. Molesin, with many distortions of the priest's words, had told him Don Emanuele's idea concerning a religious life for his daughter, but he did not believe for a moment that such would be Leila's choice. Her nature was much too passionate. "We shall see if I am mistaken," he thought. Meanwhile he would pretend to share the chaplain's conviction, and cautiously second the priest's actions. He could not avoid insisting upon his daughter's return. Should she resist--then he would make different arrangements. To-morrow morning Carolina would take herself off, not to Cantù, as would be given out, but to Padua, with the house and cellar keys and a nice little pile of money. She would lead a quiet life there, until matters were settled in one way or another. This was the compact that had been sealed by an affectionate embrace, after Molesin's retreat from the study. "We have a sly knave to deal with!" Momi had said to his Moma, as he called her at moments of especial tenderness.

He would write to his daughter saying he had changed his mind, and wished her to return home. Should she take this quietly, which was not probable, it would be a step in the right direction, and all to the good. Should she make a fuss--well, there were other means.... Sior Momi, reposing upon a soft, thick layer of Government bonds, "payable to bearer," which had emigrated from the Montanina to Padua, smiled complacently upon the good cards he held.

When the game was over he rang for Giovanni, and, his eyes fixed on his friend, hesitatingly ordered the footman to call Dr. Molesin at five. Giovanni replied that he had his orders already, but Molesin, calmly stretching out his hand towards the servant, said:

"Call me at seven. No, I am tired. Call me at eight."