Chapter XIII: Part 13

It was certainly from no personal motives that Don Agostino, as he walked back to his house that morning, felt almost nervously anxious lest he should be refused admittance to Princess Montefiano's presence. When he had sought to defend her against the accusations which he was well aware had been made against her of unmotherly conduct towards her step-daughter, he had done so because he believed these accusations to be, if not altogether unfounded, at least erroneous. He had always felt confident that the princess was a victim to her own religious enthusiasm; she had fallen an easy prey to a type of ecclesiastic with which his experience in Rome had brought him into contact on several occasions, and of which the Abbe Roux was no uncommon example. He was convinced that the moment had arrived when the Princess Montefiano's eyes might be opened, and when it might be demonstrated to her, beyond any possibility of doubt, that the counsellor in whom she had trusted had never been worthy of her confidence.

At the same time it was clear that the Abbe Roux was master of the actual situation, and that, having succeeded in getting rid of the one official at Montefiano who for thirty years had had the true interests of his employers at heart, it was not likely he would permit the princess to be approached by the _parroco_ of Montefiano, who was known to regard the agent's dismissal as both a mistake and an injustice. The position, however, was serious; and all the more so because it was quite evident that neither the princess nor the abbe realized its gravity. Any rebellious attitude that the peasants might be driven by exasperation to assume could, it was true, be ultimately suppressed by the intervention of the military at the instance of the civil authorities of the commune. But Don Agostino well knew the legacy of hatred and smouldering resentment which such intervention almost invariably left behind it. If he could save his lost Bianca's child from the enduring unpopularity which her step-mother and the Abbe Roux were certainly doing their best to bring upon her by their mistaken policy regarding the administration of her property, he would certainly do so, at whatever cost to himself. Yes, at four o'clock that afternoon he would go to the castle. By that hour the princess would certainly be visible, if she chose to be visible. He would send up his card to her with an urgent request that she would see him on a matter of grave importance. If she refused to do so, he would write to her--but such a letter as would leave her no possibility of mistaking his meaning.

The afternoon's task was certainly neither an easy nor an agreeable one; but it must in some way or another be accomplished. At least, Don Agostino reflected, he would have done his duty to his people at Montefiano, to Bianca Acorari, and to that absent Bianca who had assuredly willed that he should strive to protect her child.

Don Agostino entered his garden through the little gate by the side of the church. As he approached the house, he was surprised to hear, through the open window of his study, Ernana talking in earnest tones inside the room. His surprise was still greater, however, when at the sound of his footsteps on the gravel-path, Silvio Rossano's form appeared at the window. For a moment, indeed, Don Agostino felt something very like dismay. There were complications enough and to spare without fresh material being added to increase their number. He had purposely delayed writing again to Silvio, thinking that in a day or two the threatened disturbances would have either subsided or assumed proportions which might make his presence at Montefiano desirable in his own and Bianca Acorari's interest. Don Agostino doubted very much, however, whether this was the moment for Silvio to be seen at Montefiano. If his presence became known at the castle, it would probably be regarded by the princess as a proof that the agitation among the peasants had a further scope than merely to obtain the redress of their own and Fontana's grievances. She would not unreasonably suspect that he, Don Agostino, was using the agitation as a means whereby to help Silvio Rossano in renewing his endeavors to marry her step-daughter. As a matter of fact, Don Agostino was quite prepared so to use it, if its results were such as to encourage him to do so. But it would most certainly not further Bianca's or Silvio's interests were it to be supposed that these interests were in any way connected with the business that would take Don Agostino to the castle that afternoon.

He hurried into the house and met Silvio in the little passage outside his study.

"Am I an unwelcome guest?" Silvio said to him, quickly. "I hope not, because--"

"You are always welcome," interrupted Don Agostino, "but--well, to tell you the truth, Silvio, I am not sure that I am very pleased to see you. But if I am not pleased, it is on your own account, not on mine. May one ask what has brought you here so unexpectedly, _ragazzo mio_?"

Silvio took a crumpled newspaper out of his pocket--the number of the _Tribuna_ that his father had shown him the night before.

"That," he replied, briefly, handing the paper to Don Agostino, and pointing to the telegram dated from Montefiano.

Don Agostino read it. Then he uttered an exclamation of anger.

"Idiots!" he exclaimed; "idiots, and cowards, too! This is the Abbe Roux's doing, of course. Well, it is another blunder, an irremediable blunder. In two or three hours' time the report will be all over Montefiano that troops have been sent for. The afternoon post will bring the _Tribuna_--" He paused in evident agitation.

"I could not remain quietly in Rome after reading that," said Silvio. "So I took the morning train, and here I am. At first I could not understand what it all meant; for Bianca, though she mentioned that there was some trouble with the people because the Abbe Roux had persuaded her step-mother to dismiss the _fattore_, certainly did not write as if it was anything serious. All the same, I was uneasy, for one never knows what a small matter of this kind may not develop into. But Ernana, to whom I have been talking while waiting for you, has given me to understand that it is by no means a small matter, but that the people are really angry and threatening to force their way into the castle."

Don Agostino nodded. "Ernana is right," he said; "it is not a small thing. I fear, directly this telegram in the _Tribuna_ becomes known, that it will speedily become a very much bigger thing."

"Then I am doubly glad that I am here," observed Silvio, quietly.

Don Agostino glanced at him. "A moment ago," he said, "I wished that you had not appeared upon the scene. I did not think the time had arrived for you to do so. It was for this reason I delayed writing to you. I had hoped that, whatever might occur, no military aid would be asked for in order to settle a question which only needed to be handled with a little tact and in a conciliatory spirit. This telegram, however, alters the aspect of affairs considerably, and, on the whole, yes, Silvio, I think I am glad you have come. But for the next few hours, at any rate, you must not show yourself. Do you think your arrival here has been observed?" he added.

Silvio shook his head. "I think not," he replied. "Indeed, I hardly met a soul on my way here from Attigliano."

"The people are all in the _paese_," said Don Agostino. "The peasants have come in from miles around. No, you must certainly not be seen--at all events, till I have been to the castle."

"You are going to the castle?" Silvio asked, in some surprise.

Don Agostino briefly related to him the events of the morning, and explained how, as a last hope of bringing about a pacific solution of the situation, and of making the princess realize the danger of the policy the Abbe Roux had made her adopt, he had volunteered to ask to see her and Bianca Acorari personally.

"It was by no means easy," he said, "to persuade the more excited among the people to consent to my going to the princess. They suspected me of being in sympathy with the Abbe Roux," he added, with a smile. "Fortunately, however, the _sindaco_ supported me, and I persuaded a certain Mazza, who is practically the money-lender to all this district, and who for some reasons of his own is backing up the peasants, to advise the people to refrain from any further action until I had communicated to them the results of my interview with the princess. One thing is very certain," he continued, "I must, if possible, see Princess Montefiano before the news that troops have been asked for is known in the place. There is no saying what may not happen, in the mood the peasants are now in, should it be known that the princess has sought the intervention of the authorities rather than consent to receive a deputation."

"The telegram does not say that troops have actually been requisitioned," said Silvio; "it alludes to the probability of their being so, if the situation at Montefiano should not improve. It appears to me," he continued, "that the communication is something in the nature of a warning, or a threat, whichever you like to call it."

Don Agostino read the paragraph in the _Tribuna_ again.

"That is true," he said, "and you are right, Silvio. Whoever communicated the intelligence to the _Tribuna_ probably intended it both as a warning and as a threat. Well, as the former, it will have very little effect. As the latter, it will have a very bad effect, for it will be bitterly resented, unless I am much mistaken. In the mean time, there is no time to be lost. We must trust to the people keeping quiet for another few hours, until I have been to the castle. But you, my friend, must remain quietly here, unseen by anybody. I shall tell Ernana she must hold her tongue about your arrival. For you have become a celebrity in Montefiano, Silvio," he added, with a smile, "and everybody would know what had brought you here."

"Ah," exclaimed Silvio, "that is a thing I do not understand! How in the world have the people here got to know about Bianca and myself? Certainly the princess would not allow it to be talked about by anybody belonging to her household; and who else, except yourself, knows of it?"

Don Agostino shrugged his shoulders. "It is known by everybody that Donna Bianca has declared that she will marry nobody if she does not marry you," he replied. "Indeed," he continued, "I believe it is this love-affair of the _principessina_, as they call her, that has done more than anything else to arouse the indignation of the people against the princess and her brother and against the Abbe Roux. As yet they have not seen the young Roman whom their _padrona_ wishes for a husband instead of Baron d'Antin. When they do see him-- But do not let us waste any more time in talking, Silvio. Before we do anything else, let us have breakfast. You must be quite ready for it after your journey, and it is nearly one o'clock."

A couple of hours later Don Agostino left his house, and, choosing a lane leading through the outskirts of the town, in order to avoid the groups of peasants which would still be thronging the main street, made his way to the castle, having extracted a promise from Silvio that the latter would not go into the _paese_ until he had returned from his visit to the princess.

He could not help suspecting that his appearance at the entrance-gate of the castle was not altogether unexpected; for the two servants who, in response to his ringing the bell, drew back a lattice and surveyed him from the inside, promptly closed it, and threw open the great wooden doors studded with heavy iron nails, and as promptly closed and bolted them again as soon as he had passed into the court-yard.

Don Agostino informed them that he had come to see her excellency the princess on important business, and producing his card, asked that it might be taken to her at once, with the urgent request that she would receive him.

He was conducted across the court and up a flight of steps leading into a large hall on the first floor of the building, where he was left while the domestics went to execute their commission. In a few minutes one of the men returned. He was desired by her excellency to tell his reverence that she regretted being unable to receive him in person, but her brother, Baron d'Antin, and the Abbe Roux would be happy to see him in her place.

Don Agostino attempted to demur. It was of the greatest importance, he said, that he should see her excellency personally.

The venerable _maggior-domo_ spread out his hands with an apologetic gesture. He was grieved, he declared, to be obliged to disappoint his reverence, but her excellency had given strict orders that she was not to be disturbed--that she could receive no one. The Signor Barone and the Abbe Roux were ready to receive his reverence, if he would be pleased to follow him.

Don Agostino hesitated for a moment. Then he came to the conclusion that he had better accept the compromise that had evidently been made. Perhaps, indeed, the princess's absence might be an advantage. He could speak very plainly to Monsieur d'Antin and to the Abbe Roux if it became necessary to do so--more plainly, perhaps, than he could have done had Princess Montefiano been present. At any rate, he was inside the castle, and had been offered an opportunity of discussing the situation with those who were chiefly responsible for its existence, and this was something gained.

He had thought it more than likely that he would not be admitted within the castle walls, and that he would have to return to the _paese_ with the intelligence that he had failed in his mission.

He followed the _maggior-domo_ through the long gallery, with which the hall where he had waited communicated, and was ushered into the room used by the Abbe Roux as his study. The abbe, however, was not present, and Monsieur d'Antin came forward and introduced himself. His sister, he assured Don Agostino, much regretted her inability to receive him, but the events of the last day or two had somewhat upset her--and, after all, if he were not mistaken, Monsignor Lelli's business was more suitable for discussion by himself and Monsieur l'Abbe Roux than by ladies--was it not so? Monsieur l'Abbe would join them in a few minutes. In the mean time, anything that Monsignor Lelli might wish to say, he, Baron d'Antin, would faithfully refer to the princess. _Monsignore_ spoke French, of course? That was well, for Monsieur d'Antin's Italian was not sufficiently fluent to embark upon a business conversation. A cigarette? No? Well, if it was permitted, he would smoke one himself, and he was all attention, if _monsignore_ would proceed.

Don Agostino sat and watched the baron quietly. Monsieur d'Antin was very suave--very polite, and nothing could be more conciliatory than his attitude. It seemed, indeed, as though he were tacitly apologizing for his sister's refusal to receive the _parroco_, and that he was only anxious to do his best to remove all misunderstandings. Don Agostino recognized the diplomatic manner, and, so to speak, took Baron d'Antin's measure before he had uttered a dozen words.

"Doubtless, monsieur," he said, "you are aware of the object of my visit. The importance of that object must be my excuse for seeking to intrude myself upon Madame la Princesse. I regret that she is unable to receive me, because it is to her and to Donna Bianca Acorari that I am, as it were, accredited by the people of Montefiano. However, one cannot question a lady's right to receive or to refuse to receive a visitor, especially if that visitor comes on an unpleasant errand.

"Monsieur le Baron, I think there is no necessity to waste words, and this is not the moment to discuss the rights and the wrongs of the questions which are agitating the minds of the people here at Montefiano. I have come to ask--nay, to implore the princess to reconsider her refusal to receive the deputation suggested by the peasants, and to allow me to tell the people that she and Donna Bianca will listen to their representatives. The people are within their rights, monsieur, and it is I, their priest, who tell you so. They have been treated unjustly in the name of Casa Acorari, and they appeal to the princess and to Donna Bianca Acorari for permission personally to represent their grievances."

Monsieur d'Antin nodded gravely. "I quite understand your view of the matter, Monsieur le Cure," he said. "It is natural that the sympathies of a priest should be with his people; but you must remember that my sister has to regard the question from a business, and not from the sentimental, point of view. Her position obliges her to think, first of all, of her step-daughter, Donna Bianca's, interests. Those in whom my sister confides to advise her in business matters connected with the Montefiano property, do not share your view as to any injustice having been committed."

"Because, monsieur," returned Don Agostino, bluntly, "Madame la Princesse confides in individuals who are ignorant as to the condition in which the people live, and who are, therefore, incompetent to advise her--"

At this moment the door opened, and the Abbe Roux entered the room. The greeting between him and Monsignor Lelli, if courteous, was certainly not cordial. It was some years since they had last beheld each other, but no allusion was made by either to their past acquaintance.

Monsieur d'Antin looked quickly at the abbe as he came into the room, and Don Agostino fancied that, as he returned the glance, the Abbe Roux shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Monsignor Lelli," Monsieur d'Antin observed airily, "has come this afternoon as an ambassador from--what shall we call them, Monsieur l'Abbe--the rebels, eh? He wishes my sister to reconsider her refusal to receive their deputation."

"It would seem scarcely necessary for madame to do so," said the abbe, coldly. "Monsignor Lelli," he continued, "has apparently taken upon himself the functions of the deputation."

"Precisely, monsieur," observed Don Agostino, tranquilly. "It seemed to me not impossible that the princess and Donna Bianca Acorari might listen to my representations as _parroco_ of Montefiano, even though the reception of a deputation might not be permitted by their advisers."

The Abbe Roux frowned angrily.

"Permitted, monsieur!" he repeated. "I do not understand you. The princess stands in no need of permission to act as she thinks fit and as may be advantageous to Donna Bianca's future interests. Nor do I understand why you assume Donna Bianca Acorari to have any voice in what the princess may choose to do as her guardian. You must surely be well aware that, until she is of age, Donna Bianca has absolutely nothing to say in the management of her properties. It is, therefore, absurd to drag her name into any question arising in connection with that management."

Don Agostino looked at him steadily. "I am aware that Donna Bianca does not enter into the full possession of her estates until she is of age--or until she marries," he said. "Nevertheless, the fact does not prevent her from being regarded by the people in and round Montefiano as their mistress--as the only child of and successor to the late Prince of Montefiano. And the people will insist on regarding her as such, and upon being permitted access to her.

"It is not for me, Monsieur l'Abbe, to discuss what may be your motives for advising the princess to pursue a course which is not only unjust to the people, but injurious to her step-daughter's true interests. I have come here this afternoon to warn the princess that the people intend to insist upon being heard, not by her only, but by Donna Bianca Acorari. They are loyal to Donna Bianca--but--you must pardon me for my plain speaking--they look upon the princess as a foreigner who allows foreign influence to interfere between them and their lawful _padrona_. At any moment, Monsieur l'Abbe, unless you advise the princess to adopt a more conciliatory course, you may hear this from the people themselves. They will tell it you more roughly than I have told it you."

The Abbe Roux laughed disagreeably. "You are very disinterested, _monsignore_," he remarked, "but I regret that I cannot accept your views upon business matters--and this affair of the peasants is purely a business--a financial--matter. You may very possibly be mistaken in your judgment, _monsignore_. It would not be the first time, I think, that you were mistaken in your estimate of sound finance. No, Madame la Princesse will not, I imagine, be disposed to accept your advice on such matters."

The sneer and the insinuation contained in the abbe's words were patent enough, and for a moment Don Agostino reddened with anger. He restrained himself with an effort, however. It was very evident that the Abbe Roux was losing his temper; and time, valuable time, was passing.

Don Agostino shrugged his shoulders, and then, turning his back upon the abbe, he addressed Monsieur d'Antin, whose face he had noticed with some surprise had worn a sudden but unmistakable look of disgust and contempt while the Abbe Roux was speaking.

"Monsieur le Baron," he said, quietly, "I appeal to you as to one who is not a professional man of business in the employ of Madame la Princesse, but who is her brother, and who may therefore not be altogether influenced by pecuniary considerations. I entreat you to take my warning to the princess, and to persuade her to allow me to return, while there is yet time, to the people, with the news that I have spoken with her and with Donna Bianca, and that she is prepared to make some concessions. I entreat you, also, to recall, in her name, the application which has been made for military aid--"

The abbe and Monsieur d'Antin both started. "How, monsieur?" exclaimed the abbe. "Military aid! What folly is this? Who talks of military aid having been applied for?"

Don Agostino drew Silvio's _Tribuna_ from his _soutane_ and gave it to Monsieur d'Antin.

"If it has not been actually applied for," he said, pointing to the telegram from Montefiano, "its requisition is threatened. That newspaper arrives in Montefiano every afternoon from Rome," he added, "and by this time the telegram will have been read by everybody in the _paese_."

The Abbe Roux muttered something very like an oath under his breath. Then he looked furtively, almost apologetically, at Don Agostino.

"Absurd!" he exclaimed. "A mere canard! Probably some occasional correspondent to the _Tribuna_, in Montefiano thought he would be very clever and anticipate events."

Don Agostino looked at him narrowly. It was clear that, whoever had sent the telegram to the _Tribuna_, the abbe was disagreeably surprised by its publication. He looked, indeed, both taken aback and ill at ease. Don Agostino, always watching him, saw him take out his watch and look at it, glancing at Monsieur d'Antin as he did so.

"_Enfin_, monsieur," said Don Agostino, again addressing Monsieur d'Antin, "once more I appeal to you as the brother of Madame la Princesse. Am I to go back to the people and tell them that I have obtained nothing, and that I have not been permitted to see either the princess or Donna Bianca? Monsieur," he added, earnestly, "let me beg of you to consider. So little is demanded of the princess--so much bitterness and misery will be the result of not giving way. At least send a telegram to countermand any despatch of troops to Montefiano, and authorize me to tell the people that the telegram in the _Tribuna_ was communicated without there being any foundation for it."

Monsieur d'Antin rose from the arm-chair in which he had been smoking cigarettes unremittingly.

"One moment, my dear monsieur," he said to Don Agostino; "believe me, if the matter rested with me, you should go back to your peasants with hands full of concessions. But I have no influence with my sister in these matters. I do not think she understands them; that is true. But unfortunately she knows that I understand them even less than she does. After all, it is natural. We are not Italians, as you pointed out to Monsieur l'Abbe just now."

"It is not necessary to be Italian, monsieur, in order to understand when injustices are being committed. A little common sympathy and a little common-sense are all that is required in this instance; and these qualities are not the exclusive attribute of my compatriots," said Don Agostino, dryly.

The Abbe Roux came forward and placed himself between Don Agostino and Monsieur d'Antin.

"Monsieur le Baron," he said, casting an angry glance at Don Agostino, "it seems to me that we are wasting time. Monsignor Lelli has come here, apparently, with the object of attempting to induce the princess to give way to the insolent demands of these ignorant peasants, and to dictate to her what she should and should not do. Well, I, Monsieur le Baron, as you well know, am honored by the princess's confidence; and, as you also know, I am deputed by her excellency to give Monsignor Lelli her final and definite answer to his representations on behalf of the peasants and their friends."

Don Agostino interrupted him.

"How did the princess know that I was coming here to-day on behalf of the peasants?" he asked, abruptly.

The Abbe Roux looked suddenly perplexed; and Monsieur d'Antin joined the tips of his fingers together and laughed softly to himself. Don Agostino glanced at him keenly. Baron d'Antin's manner puzzled him. It was the manner that an amused spectator of a comedy might display, but it was certainly not fitting to one of the characters on the stage.

The abbe scowled. "_Parbleu!_" he exclaimed, roughly, "we are not all imbeciles here; and we are better informed as to what has been going on than Monsignor Lelli is aware! We know, for instance, that he did not hesitate to compromise his position as _parroco_ by encouraging with his presence a meeting held this morning in a _caffe_ by the leaders of this agitation, and that he took upon himself the responsibility of being their spokesman. Ah, yes, _monsignore_, the princess expected your visit this afternoon; but, as you see, she altogether declines to receive you in person."

Don Agostino turned to him with quiet dignity.

"So be it, Monsieur l'Abbe," he said, tranquilly. "The princess must take the responsibility of declining to receive me in person, and to allow me access to Donna Bianca Acorari. Nevertheless, I am here as the representative of Donna Bianca's people, and I will discharge my duty. I shall say, boldly--"

"To the princess and Donna Bianca? No, _monsignore_, you will not have the opportunity. It would be well that you should understand this finally."

"No, not to the princess and Donna Bianca, but to you!" continued Don Agostino. "You tell me that you are honored with the princess's entire confidence. I hope that she equally enjoys your own, Monsieur l'Abbe. If so, you will repeat to her what I say. As you are aware that I attended the meeting held this morning in the principal _caffe_ of Montefiano, you are, no doubt, also aware of the attitude of the people towards the princess, towards Monsieur le Baron d'Antin, and towards yourself. You no doubt know that they regard you, Monsieur l'Abbe Roux, as a foreigner who has abused the confidence the princess has had in you as a priest, in order by degrees to fill your own pockets out of Donna Bianca Acorari's possessions and at the expense of the people. You doubtless know that they accuse you of being the real lessee of the rents paid by the tenants on this estate, and believe that the recent raising of those rents and the dismissal of the _fattore_ Fontana, for having protested against any increase in the rent, was due to you. You will have heard, also, that you are credited with having devised a scheme whereby Donna Bianca Acorari is to marry Monsieur le Baron d'Antin in order to keep her patrimony in the family--so to speak--and enable you to continue to administer the properties for some years to come. Of course, Monsieur l'Abbe, you know all this, since you are well informed of what is being said and done in Montefiano."

The Abbe Roux's face while Don Agostino was speaking presented a study in some of the various feelings capable of being reflected on the human countenance. Anger, mortification, dismay--all these displayed themselves in turn as he listened to Don Agostino's words, each one of which was delivered with a calm incisiveness which added to the force of his speech.

"_Monsignore!_" he exclaimed, furiously. "Are you aware of what you are saying? Monsieur le Baron," he added, turning to Monsieur d'Antin, "this is an insult--not to me only, but to the princess and to yourself--"

Monsieur d'Antin looked from one to the other curiously, almost as if he enjoyed the situation.

"I think not, Monsieur l'Abbe," he said, with a little smile, and rubbing his white hands gently together. "I think not, my dear friend. Monsignor Lelli is merely stating the opinion that others hold concerning you--or concerning us, perhaps I should say. He does not, I am convinced, mean us to suppose that he shares this opinion."

Don Agostino was silent.

"In any case," continued Monsieur d'Antin, with a slight shrug of the shoulders as the silence became markedly prolonged, "it is not worth your while to be angry, my dear abbe, for Monsignor Lelli might regard your anger as a proof that the peasants at Montefiano are a very shrewd race--ha, ha, ha!" and he broke into a gentle laugh which sounded genuine enough, but certainly did not tend to allay the abbe's fury.

"No," he continued. "Let us remain calm, I beg of you, and let us hear what else Monsignor Lelli has to tell us from these admirable peasants."

"I have little else to add to what I have already said," observed Don Agostino, "and I make no apologies for the words I have used. They are plain words, and even the Abbe Roux will not, I think, misunderstand them. As to my own opinion--well, I agree with you, Monsieur le Baron, that the people of Montefiano are shrewd, and I believe their accusations to be just."

The Abbe Roux made a step forward, and, purple with rage, shook his clinched fist in Don Agostino's face.

"And you," he exclaimed, "you, whom the Holy Father sent to minister to these pigs of peasants in order to avoid the scandal of proceeding against you for fraudulent speculation with money intrusted to you, you dare to bring these accusations against me! Liar, hypocrite, pig--like the peasants you represent!"

"My dear friend," remonstrated Monsieur d'Antin, laying his hand on the abbe's arm, "let me implore you to be calm. Recollect that you and Monsignor Lelli are priests--that you both wear the _soutane_. You cannot demand satisfaction of each other in the usual way--you cannot challenge each other to a duel. It would be--excessively funny," and Monsieur d'Antin laughed again, in evident enjoyment of the idea. "Besides," he continued, "Monsignor Lelli has, no doubt, more to tell us. We have not yet heard what it is that the peasants require of my sister."

"Monsieur," said Don Agostino, "I can answer for the peasants that, if they are allowed to see and speak with Donna Bianca Acorari, they will certainly not proceed to any excesses. They will probably return quietly to their occupations."

"And you," interrupted the Abbe Roux, in a voice that was hoarse and trembling with anger, "can take back to the peasants the princess's answer which I am commissioned to give in her name. The answer is, that they will not be permitted to see Donna Bianca Acorari, who has nothing to say in the matter of the administration of these lands, or to approach her with any story of their grievances. The princess, _monsignore_, is perfectly well aware of all that underlies this agitation, and that it is directed chiefly against myself. She will not be intimidated into recalling Giuseppe Fontana, or into lowering the rents. She--"

He stopped abruptly. A confused sound of voices came from the gallery outside, and a moment afterwards the door was flung hastily open and the old _maggior-domo_ burst into the room, followed by several of the servants, who stood in a frightened group on the threshold.

"The _contadini_!" he exclaimed. "There is a crowd of three hundred or more outside the entrance-gates, and they declare that if the gates are not opened, they will break them down, Signor Abate! Ah, _Madonna mia_! It is a _repubblica_--a revolution--listen!" and rushing across the gallery, he threw open one of the windows looking into the court-yard.

The thick walls of the castle had effectually prevented any sound from penetrating to the apartments on the other side of the gallery, all of which were situated in the portion of the building added to the mediaeval fortress by Cardinal Acorari, and overlooked the terrace and open country beneath it. From the gallery, however, the angry roar of an excited mob could distinctly be heard; and, when the windows were opened by the old _maggior-domo_, shouts of "Down with the foreigners! Long live the Principessina Bianca!" became plainly audible.

Don Agostino looked at the abbe and Monsieur d'Antin. "You see, monsieur," he said, quietly, to the latter, "I did not exaggerate matters. But even now it is not too late. If the princess and Donna Bianca will show themselves to the peasants, and allow me to address the people in their name, I am confident that order will quickly be restored. Hark!" he added. "They are attempting to break open the gates." And even as he spoke, the noise of heavy blows falling on wood-work re-echoed through the court-yard.

Monsieur d'Antin, to do him justice, appeared to be far more composed than the Abbe Roux. He listened for a moment or two almost impassively to the shouts and the uproar which were growing ever louder and more violent. The abbe, on the contrary, was trembling with an excitement that might have proceeded either from fear or from rage, and probably, as Don Agostino thought, from both. He had his watch in his hand, and looked at it repeatedly, as though counting every minute that passed. Don Agostino noticed his action, and as he did so a sudden suspicion dawned upon him.

Monsieur d'Antin drew the abbe aside, and spoke with him for a minute or so in an undertone. The Abbe Roux, it was evident, dissented energetically from his remarks, and finally, with a shrug of the shoulders, Monsieur d'Antin left him and advanced to Don Agostino.

"Monsieur le Cure," he said, "as I have already told you, my sister does not take advice from me as to the management of her affairs, and I frankly confess to you that I do not understand the situation sufficiently to make interference on my part warrantable. The Abbe Roux is my sister's adviser in all that concerns her affairs. I must refer you to him."

Monsieur d'Antin approached the window again; and then, taking his cigarette-case from his pocket, he proceeded to light a cigarette with quiet deliberation. Don Agostino glanced at him almost with approval. At any rate, he reflected, Baron d'Antin, whatever else he might be, was no coward, and knew how to _se tirer d'affaires_ like a gentleman.

"Yes," exclaimed the Abbe Roux, "you, Monsieur le Cure, have to refer to me in this matter. And I tell you again that it is useless that you and the _canaille_ attempt to intimidate the princess--absolutely useless. What did I say to you a few minutes ago? We are not imbeciles here--certainly not imbeciles, monsieur; as you and your friends outside will find out--if they dare to continue this violence much longer. No; go to these insolent peasants, and tell them that your mission has failed."

Don Agostino looked the abbe steadily in the face for a moment, and then, without a word, turned his back upon him for the second time that afternoon.

"Monsieur le Baron," he said, coldly, "it would be well that you should inform the princess what is taking place, and you will doubtless know how to prevent her and Donna Bianca Acorari from being unduly alarmed. I have done my office here, and it is not my fault if I have failed. My place now is with my people."

Don Agostino was about to pass Monsieur d'Antin with a formal bow, when the latter suddenly held out his hand.

"_Monsignore_," he said, "you came as a peacemaker; and, believe me, I regret that you do not take away with you terms of peace. I regret it, I repeat, and I am not responsible for what has occurred, or for what may occur."

Don Agostino scarcely heard him. He hurried down the gallery and across the entrance-hall, followed by two trembling domestics, who unbarred the doors opening on to the court-yard.

By this time the fury of the crowd at finding itself prevented from entering the castle had passed all bounds of control. Blow after blow rained upon the wooden gates leading into the court; and suddenly, while Don Agostino was in the act of crossing the court-yard, the gates burst open with a crash, having given way before the impetus of a mad rush from the mob without.

For a moment the peasants stood undecided--surprised, perhaps, at the sudden yielding of the gates.

Don Agostino, seeing their indecision, advanced towards them.

"My friends--" he began.

A great shout drowned his voice.

"_Traditore! Vigliacco d'un prete!_"

Then a stone struck him, and, with a hoarse roar like that of an angry beast, the crowd surged into the court-yard.

*XXXII*

The stone hurled at Don Agostino had fortunately only hit him on the body, for, owing to the violence with which it had been thrown, it certainly would have stunned him had it struck him on the head. As it was, however, the folds of his _soutane_ somewhat broke the force of the blow. Don Agostino was scarcely conscious that he had been struck, so great was his amazement at the savage reception he had met with at the hands of his parishioners. Looking round on the angry faces and threatening gestures of the mob of peasants in front of him, Don Agostino speedily realized that neither Sor Stefano nor any of the more prominent supporters of the peasantry were among those who had forced their way into the court-yard. A feeling of anger and indignation took possession of him as he noted the fact. It was the usual thing, he thought bitterly--the invariable system of the incitement of the poor and the ignorant to do the dirty work by those who would instantly desert them in the hour of danger.

Disgust at what he believed to be treachery on the part of those who had been mainly instrumental in instigating the peasants to their present action quickly took the place of the surprise and indignation that Don Agostino had felt at the way in which the people had suddenly turned against him.

Without hesitation, and with a demeanor as calm and composed as though he were mounting the steps of his pulpit, he ascended the double stone staircase leading from the court-yard to the doors from which he had issued only a minute or two previously. The doors were shut and bolted now. The servants had fled precipitately at the sight of the entrance-gates giving way before the assault of the mob, and Don Agostino found himself alone with an angry and menacing crowd confronting him, and behind him the great Renaissance palace of Cardinal Acorari, with its portal barred, and the wooden shutters outside the windows on the _piano nobile_ already closed by its inmates. He stopped at the top of the first flight of steps; and, advancing to the stone balustrade, looked down on the peasants below him.

They were still crowded together round the entrance-gates, and seemed as though uncertain what their next move should be. Possibly, too, they were taken aback at finding themselves within a deserted court-yard, with closed windows all round them, and nothing but the solitary black figure of Don Agostino standing in front of the entrance to that portion of the castle inhabited by the princess and Bianca Acorari.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Don Agostino made a gesture as though to wave back a group of peasants who, detaching themselves from the rest, were approaching the flight of steps on which he stood--a gesture that was almost imperious.

"You have broken your word to me," he cried; "you, and those who have sent you here and are afraid to come themselves! You promised that you would make no move until I returned from the castle--" Shouts of "_Abbasso il pretaccio_! Liar--traitor!" interrupted and drowned his words.

Don Agostino's eyes flashed with anger.

"Silence!" he exclaimed. "And if there is a man among you, let him stand out and tell me what you mean--what you accuse me of. Choose your spokesman. I am waiting to hear what he has to say." He folded his arms and leaned against the balustrade almost indifferently. His demeanor was not lost on the crowd, composed of peasants though it was. Its members fell to talking excitedly among themselves, and presently one of the younger men came forward. Don Agostino recognized him as the speaker at the Caffe Garibaldi that morning, who had advocated no delay in going to the castle and insisting on seeing Donna Bianca Acorari in person.

"You ask us what it is we accuse you of!" he exclaimed, in a threatening voice. "_Porca Madonna_!"

"There is no necessity to be blasphemous," interrupted Don Agostino, sternly.

"If it had not been for your promises, and because we believed that you would not deceive us, we should have been here this morning. You persuaded us to delay, because all the time you knew that the soldiers had been sent for."

"I did not know it," said Don Agostino, in a voice that rang through the court-yard. "I swear that I did not know it until I read the telegram in the paper that you have probably all seen. Even now I do not know that the report is true. In the castle they deny that there has ever been any idea of sending for troops, and, still more, that they have been actually sent for. You accuse me of having deceived you. I tell you that until a few minutes ago I have been doing my best to persuade the princess to give you a hearing. But other counsels have prevailed, and I have not succeeded in seeing either her or the Principessina Donna Bianca. No--I have deceived you in nothing, but you have been deceived all the same. You have been deceived by those who have encouraged you to come here and commit acts of violence, but who have, nevertheless, taken good care not to compromise themselves. Now, my friends, I have answered your accusations. What further reasons have you to give for turning against me, who have never done anything to deserve your want of confidence?"

Cries of "_E vero! E vero!_" greeted Don Agostino's words, and a few shouts of "_Evviva il parroco!_" were raised from the back of the crowd.

Don Agostino slowly descended the steps, and advanced towards the foremost group of peasants.

"Listen to me, _ragazzi miei_," he said. "Be wise and go back to the _paese_, quietly. I told you this morning that you would obtain nothing by violence, and I tell it you again. There are other means--better means--of obtaining your rights than by committing wrongs. Have I ever deceived you? I think not. Did I deceive _you_, Angelo Frassi, when you were nearly crippled for life, and I sent you to the hospital in Rome, and you came back cured? Or _you_, Pietro Santucci, when your mother was dying, and you had not money left in the house to buy a piece of meat to make her a cup of broth? _Via, figli miei_, you have called me some hard names, but I think, all the same, that you will trust me for a little yet."

Don Agostino paused, and an outburst of cheering came from his audience. The peasants he had named, who were among the most threatening of the younger men among the mob, shrunk back shamefaced and abashed. The _parroco's_ appeal was true, and they knew it to be so. There were few in the crowd, moreover, who, in some way or another, had not experienced Don Agostino's sympathy and generosity.

Almost mechanically they made way for him to pass between their ranks, and followed him over the debris of the broken gates out on to the square-paved piazza, in front of the walls and round battlemented towers flanking the main entrance to the castle.

Don Agostino had just breathed a sigh of relief at the effects of his appeal, when a band of some fifty or sixty men, accompanied by as many women and children, rushed into the piazza out of the steep road leading up to the castle from the town.

"The troops!" they shouted. "The troops! They are entering the town now. In a few minutes they will be here!"

A howl of rage answered them from the mob of peasants behind and around Don Agostino.

"_Traditore--traditore! porco d'un prete_! It was for this you were waiting--deceiving us with your lies till you knew the soldiers would be here! Ah, _vigliacco_!"

A rush was made at him by those nearest, and Don Agostino had just time to defend himself from a blow dealt with the handle of a broken spade, the end of which was still covered by the rusty iron ferrule. His suspicions were verified now. The Abbe Roux had lied to him, and when Don Agostino had seen him glancing every now and again at his watch, he had been calculating how many minutes might elapse before the appearance of the troops he had caused to be summoned. It had been the knowledge that these troops were in the vicinity that had doubtless given the abbe courage to refuse to listen to any representations, even from Monsieur d'Antin, as to the advisability of treating with the peasants.

It had been the suspicion--nay, almost the certainty, that the Abbe Roux was lying, and that troops had already been requisitioned, which had made Don Agostino determined if possible to persuade the peasants to leave the court-yard of the castle. If the troops should arrive when the mob was within the walls, the peasants would be caught, as it were, in a trap, and any additional act of violence on their part, or error of judgment on the part of the officers of the _pubblica sicurezza_, who, in accordance with the law, would have to accompany the officer commanding and call upon him to order the soldiers to charge or fire on the crowd, might lead to appalling results.

It had been of the safety of his people that Don Agostino had been thinking, far more than of his own safety, and even now, with the angry mob shouting execrations and threats upon him for his treachery, he reproached himself bitterly for having played into the Abbe Roux's hands, by delaying his exit from the castle until the peasants had already commenced their assault.

He had little time to think of this now, however. It was in vain that he attempted for a moment to make his voice heard above the din. The mob was too angry now, too certain that it had been deceived, to listen to him a second time, and Don Agostino knew it.

He turned and faced the crowd in silence, and the thought of the irony of his situation brought a fleeting smile to his lips. How could the peasants know that he sympathized with them--that it was not he who had deceived them, but that he himself had been deceived?

"_Morte--morte al pretaccio! Morte all 'assassino!_"

Well, death must come some time; and, at any rate, he had tried to do his duty. Death, perhaps, would come to him as it had done to his Master, at the hands of those who knew not what they did.

"_Morte--morte al traditore!_"

A heavy blow struck from behind him fell upon his head, causing him to reel and totter back. Don Agostino shut his eyes, and his lips moved silently. Surely, death was very near now. Surely--

Suddenly another voice sounded in his ears. His name was shouted out loudly; yes, but in very different accents from those of the peasants now closing round him.

Don Agostino opened his eyes in time to see two men with raised reaping-hooks, who were apparently about to strike him a more deadly blow than the rest, hurled right and left, and the next moment Silvio Rossano stood by his side.

"Stand back!" Silvio shouted. "Back, I say, or by God, I will blow the brains out of the first man who comes within a metre of Don Agostino!" and as he spoke he covered the nearest peasant with a revolver.

"_Coraggio_, Don Agostino!" he said, quickly, "you are not hurt--no? In a minute or two the troops will be here. Ah, I could stay no longer. I knew the mob had gone to the castle, and that you were still there. And then, on my way here, I met Fontana and his daughter, and they told me the peasants had turned against you. When I heard that I ran as hard as I could--and here I am!"

Don Agostino felt sick and dizzy from the blow he had received. "You are just in time, Silvio _mio_," he said. "Another minute, and who knows whether you would have found me alive? Oh, but it is not their fault, the poor people--they think that I knew the troops had been sent for, and that I meant to deceive them."

The peasants, who had fallen back at Silvio's unexpected appearance and at the sight of his revolver, now began to crowd round Don Agostino again, and once more cries of "_Morte al pretaccio!_" were raised, coupled with threats against Silvio and curses at his interference.

Suddenly a woman's voice rose above the uproar. "Fools!--idiots! Are you trying to murder your best friend, Don Agostino? And that other---do you know who he is? He is the _fidanzato_ of the Principessina Bianca!"

The voice was Concetta Fontana's. Accompanied by her father and Sor Stefano, she forced her way through the crowd to where Don Agostino and Silvio were standing.

"Yes," roared out Sor Beppe, "my daughter is right--and you--you are pigs and beasts, and it is I who say it! Don Agostino knew no more than I did that the soldiers had been summoned. _Evviva il fidanzato della principessina!_"

The effect of Sor Beppe's intervention was instantaneous, and the mob took up his cry, while Concetta, after whispering a few words in her father's ear, disappeared within the gateway of the castle.

Suddenly a cry arose from the end of the piazza. "The troops--the troops!"

The leaders of the peasants shouted to the rest to follow them. "Back to the castle!" they cried. "The soldiers shall find us there!" and the crowd surged again through the broken-down gates into the court-yard.

"For the love of God, come!" exclaimed Don Agostino to his companions. "We must put ourselves between them and the soldiers, or who knows what may happen? You, Signor Mazza, speak to the peasants--they will listen to you." Accompanied by Silvio, Fontana, and Sor Stefano, Don Agostino hurried to the gateway and entered the court-yard. Already the mob had swarmed up the staircase at the opposite end of the court, and the foremost were attempting to break in the great double doors in the centre of the _piano nobile_.

They were scarcely inside the court, when the quick tramp of armed men was heard in the piazza; a sharp word of command re-echoed through the gateway, and then a long metallic rattle of steel, as a company of grenadiers and a detachment of infantry fixed bayonets. A moment afterwards the _granatieri_ marched through the gateway, the officer in command of them being accompanied by a delegate of public safety wearing the tricolor scarf.

The delegate stepped forward, and in the name of the law called upon the rioters to desist. A shout of defiance answered his words. "We go to see our _padrona! Evviva la principessina, abbasso gli stranieri!_" and a volley of blows resounded on the doors at the top of the double flight of steps.