Chapter V: Part 5

Silvio Rossano had quickly made up his mind that, as was only fitting and proper, he would tell his father without further delay of the situation in which he and Bianca found themselves. It would be the professor's duty to call on Princess Montefiano and make a formal proposal on the part of his son for Donna Bianca's hand. That the proposal would not be listened to by the princess, Silvio was convinced. He had never attempted to deceive himself upon that subject, and less than ever after hearing from Giacinta what she had learned. But, at all events, once having sent his father as his ambassador, he would have conformed to the usages of society, and would afterwards be free to take his own line.

Mademoiselle Durand, to whom he had of course confided the successful result of his interview with Bianca in the grounds of the Villa Acorari, had counselled patience. There was no reason, she thought, why, with the exercise of ordinary prudence, Silvio and the girl whom he now looked upon as his betrothed wife should not repeatedly meet each other in the same manner, and there was surely no necessity to be in a hurry to explode the mine they had laid--more especially as it was not so easy to calculate what the effects of the explosion might be. But Silvio was firm. Had there been the slightest hope of being able to accomplish his object in any other way, he would never, as he told Mademoiselle Durand, have approached Bianca secretly, and already he blamed himself for having placed the girl in so unusual a position. Now, however, that he had heard from her own lips that Bianca returned his love, and since they had mutually vowed to marry each other, or not to marry at all, he would have no more concealment. If the princess refused to accept him as a husband for her step-daughter, then he should feel that he and Bianca were at liberty to carry out their future plans in their own way.

Mademoiselle Durand expostulated in vain. Silvio begged her to deliver a letter to Bianca when she next went to the Villa Acorari. In this letter he explained all his reasons for not risking another interview with her until they should have learned the result of his father's visit to the princess, and these reasons he put before Bianca in the simple, straightforward way which was part of his nature. Mademoiselle Durand promised to deliver the letter the very next day, and in the mean time Silvio had carried his story to his father.

Professor Rossano had received his son's intelligence with a blank dismay which was almost ludicrous; for never, surely, had a task for which he was so absolutely ill-fitted been thrust upon him. At first he had positively declined to interfere, or to be by way of knowing anything at all about the matter. Silvio had chosen to fall in love in an impossible quarter, and the best thing he could do was to fall out of love again as quickly as possible. As to thinking that the Principessa di Montefiano would allow her step-daughter and the last representative of the Acorari to marry the son of the tenant of her second floor, that was altogether an absurdity. Giacomelli had been quite right when he said Silvio was in love, and would be taking false measurements in consequence. He had taken them--deplorably false measurements.

"But," Silvio observed quietly, after the first stream of objection had somewhat subsided, "I do not the least think the princess will consent to our marriage."

"Then, may I ask, what is the use of sending me on a fool's errand?" the professor retorted, witheringly.

"Nevertheless, whether she consents or not, Bianca Acorari and I shall marry each other. All the same," continued Silvio, "if she gives her consent, it will, of course, obviate a great many difficulties."

His father gazed at him with an expression half angry and half humorous.

"_Diamine!_" he observed, "I imagine that it would! It appears to me, Silvio, you forget that marrying an heiress is not the same thing as building a bridge. In the mean time, as I say, you wish to send me on a fool's errand. Well, you may 'go out fishing!' These people are noble, and I am not going to expose myself and my son to certain prejudices which an old-fashioned woman like Princess Montefiano probably entertains. Moreover, they are clericals--fervent Catholics--and when people are fervent Catholics--_mah!_" and the professor shrugged his shoulders.

Silvio laughed. "It is a mere formality, Babbo," he said, "and it is the only thing I shall ask you to do in the matter. If you like, you can go to the princess and say to her, 'My son has fallen in love with your step-daughter, and means to marry her. I have told him he is an imbecile, and that I will not give my consent; but he declares he will marry her all the same.'"

"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the professor, "so you would marry without my consent, would you? And pray, what would you live upon?"

"My wits."

"It seems to me that you are a pumpkin-head, and that you have lost them," returned the professor. "Does Giacinta know of this folly?"

"She knows that I am going to marry Donna Bianca Acorari."

"The devil she does!" observed Professor Rossano. "Go and talk it over with Giacinta, Silvio," he continued; "she is a sensible girl, and will tell you that you are going to make a fool of yourself, and of your family as well. As for me, I will have nothing to do with it. I have no time to spend on such trifles."

"But if I have already talked it over with Giacinta?" said Silvio. He knew very well how to manage his father. The professor would certainly end by doing what either of his children asked him to do. It was his method of carrying out his sense of parental duty. His children, whenever he remembered to think about them, puzzled him considerably; or rather, it puzzled him to know what was expected of him as a father. Occasionally he would sit and look at Giacinta with much the same expression on his face as may be seen on that of a retriever bitch whose puppies are beginning to assert their independence. He often felt that it was probably incumbent upon him to do something on her behalf, but he did not at all know what it might be, and still less how to do it. In Silvio's case things had been different. The boy had so early given unmistakable proofs of having both the brains and the character to take a line of his own in the world, that the professor had never had seriously to think of possible responsibilities towards him.

This affair of Silvio's, however, would, as Professor Rossano was quick to realize, need some careful handling on a father's part. He was very fond of his children, notwithstanding all his apparent absorption in his scientific occupations, and he was proud as well as fond of his son. He might laugh at Silvio, and call him an "imbecile," and he might pretend to regard his love for this Acorari girl as a foolish fancy that need not be seriously discussed. But in his heart Professor Rossano was uneasy. He knew that Silvio was not a susceptible lad, and that he had hitherto appeared to be remarkably indifferent to women. But he knew, too, his tenacity of character, and how when he had once fairly made up his mind to attain some object he would pursue his purpose with an energy that was almost dogged.

Added to these traits in Silvio's character, the professor knew the gentleness and loyalty of his nature and his simple, affectionate disposition. It would go very hard with the boy, he thought, if he were deceived or played with by any woman upon whom he had really set his affections. Notwithstanding his assertion that he would have nothing to say or do in the matter, Professor Rossano had not the slightest intention of allowing Silvio's life to be made unhappy if he could prevent it. The boy had a career before him, and it should most certainly not be wrecked by a priest-ridden woman and the daughter of so poor a specimen of humanity as the late Principe di Montefiano was reputed to have been. What Donna Bianca Acorari might be, the professor neither knew nor cared. Though they lived under the same roof, he had never set eyes upon the girl. She was probably bored to death with her step-mother and her step-mother's pious practices, and had encouraged the first good-looking young man she saw to make love to her, which young man had unfortunately happened to be Silvio.

Perhaps Silvio guessed something of what was passing in his father's mind. "I have already talked it over with Giacinta," he repeated, as the professor remained silent. "She does not think, any more than I think, that there is the slightest chance of Princess Montefiano listening to any proposal coming from us."

"And why not, I should like to know?" exclaimed the professor with sublime inconsistency.

"For various reasons," returned Silvio, suppressing an inclination to laugh. "Giacinta knows more about Casa Montefiano than any of us," he continued. "I told her some time ago how it was with me, and she has been making some inquiries. It appears that there is a priest--the Abbe Roux, they call him--"

"May the devil take him!" interrupted the professor. "He puts his nose everywhere. When we took this apartment the princess had agreed to make certain alterations, but the porter told my lawyer that the Abbe Roux--well, never mind!--what were you going to say about him, Silvio?"

"Only that, as you say, he puts his foot everywhere. Giacinta has heard that neither the princess nor he really wish Donna Bianca to marry at all."

"Which means to say that the priest does not wish it, for some reasons of his own--money reasons, probably. The princess will do what he tells her to do, of course."

"Of course," repeated Silvio, dryly.

"And do you mean me to go and bribe the Abbe Roux?" asked the professor, "for I shall most decidedly do nothing of the kind!"

"Oh, not at all!" returned Silvio, quietly; "I tell you, it does not matter, Babbo. Bianca and I shall wait three years, unless we get tired of waiting and run away with each other before. We could be married in a church, you know, and the legal marriage might be postponed till she was of age, but I think it would be better to wait the three years."

"_Diamine!_" ejaculated the professor, "but you seem to be very certain of your arrangements, _figlio mio_, and of the girl."

Silvio nodded. "You see," he said, "I don't want to put her in any false position, and if we ran away with each other before she is of age, people would say I had done it in order eventually to get her money. Besides, in the course of three years she will have ample time to be quite sure that she has not made a mistake," added Silvio, with a smile.

The professor looked at him. "Yes," he said, "you are quite right, but not many young men would be so thoughtful or so confiding. In the mean time, you think--Giacinta thinks there is no chance of your being allowed to pay your addresses to Donna Bianca Acorari, because, I suppose, you would not be considered well-born enough nor rich enough. You might be a contractor risen from nothing, or a _mercante di campagna_ whose father had herded pigs, and, if you had money, no objections would be made to your marrying into the Acorari or any other family. _Figlio mio_, take my advice. Leave these people alone, and take your wife from a class that has good brains and healthy blood, not from these worn-out families of which the country has very little further need. You are only preparing for yourself trouble and disappointment."

Silvio shook his head. "I will marry Bianca Acorari, or I will marry nobody," he said.

The professor shrugged his shoulders.

"That being the case," he observed, mildly, "what is the use of discussing the matter any further? Why send me to the girl's step-mother? It is a waste of time."

"You could write," suggested Silvio.

"Of course I should write!" returned his father testily. "You don't suppose I should spend a whole day in going to Velletri and back on such an affair, do you? All the same, I see why you think the formal proposal should be made in the usual way. If it is declined by the princess--as, of course, it will be--you and the girl will consider yourselves to be justified in taking the matter into your hands--is it not true?"

"Exactly," answered Silvio. "Moreover," he added, "I want to be certain that Giacinta's informant is right, and that there is some reason why Donna Bianca will not be allowed to marry either me or anybody else, if it can be prevented."

The professor nodded his head slowly. "Depend upon it, the priest is at the bottom of it," he said. "He is probably feathering his nest, or somebody else's nest, well out of the Montefiano revenues, and does not want any premature change in the situation. And that reminds me," he added, laughing, "that you had better have been anybody's son than mine. The priests--I mean those of the Abbe Roux type--regard me as a freemason, a heretic, anything you please that is damnable, because--well, because I believe Domeneddio to have given us minds in order that we should use them. I am afraid, Silvio _mio_, that Donna Bianca Acorari would never be allowed to marry the son of a senator, who also happens to be a scientist in a modest way."

"I tell you again, Babbo," said Silvio, "that it doesn't matter. All I want is to be refused by the princess, after a formal proposal has been made in the recognized manner. That will quite satisfy me. Do you not see, too, that we should be placing ourselves in a humiliating position if we did not approach the Princess Montefiano? She has the right to expect it, and by not conforming to the usage it would appear as though we knew ourselves to be in an entirely different class; whereas we are not that. We do not happen to possess a title, but for all that we can show as good blood as the Acorari; while you are a senator, and your name is known throughout Italy."

The professor passed his hand through his hair. "Yes," he replied, "I believe you are right, Silvio. I imagine that you will very quickly be satisfied if a refusal is all you want. But remember, I will have nothing more to do with the matter after I have informed Princess Montefiano that you wish to marry her step-daughter, and have conveyed her answer to you. You are very obstinate, and I suppose you and this girl are in love with each other. That being the case, you must make fools of yourselves in your own way. Only, don't expect me to help you. I am going to the Lincei."

And without waiting for Silvio to reply, Professor Rossano took up his soft felt hat and his walking-stick, which were lying on a table near him, and walked out of his study, leaving Silvio satisfied that he would do as he had asked him.

*XIV*

Four days only had elapsed since the Abbe Roux's interview with Monsieur d'Antin in the Via Ludovisi, when he received a telegram from Princess Montefiano, begging him to come to the Villa Acorari at once, as she wished to consult him on urgent business.

The abbe had endeavored to find out, by judicious inquiries from the porter at Palazzo Montefiano, and from one or two servants who were left in charge of the princess's apartments, whether any stranger who might answer to Monsieur d'Antin's description of the young man he had seen with Donna Bianca had ever presented himself there. He had intended going to the Villa Acorari himself under some excuse of business, and, without saying anything for the moment to Princess Montefiano, to cause the grounds to be watched, and the intrusion of any stranger duly reported to him. Indeed, he had determined, so far as time permitted, to do a little watching on his own account. It was clearly advisable, as Monsieur d'Antin had said, to know with whom one was dealing. It might be, though it was not at all likely, that Bianca Acorari's Romeo was a son of some well-known Roman house, living in _villeggiatura_ at his family palace or villa in the neighborhood; and that the scene at which Monsieur d'Antin had assisted was merely the escapade of some thoughtless youth at a loss how to pass his time in the country.

It was curious that, in turning over in his mind all the possible men who could have had any opportunity of seeing enough of Donna Bianca to fall in love with her, the Abbe Roux never thought of the son of the obnoxious senator who lived in Palazzo Acorari. As a matter of fact, he had never seen Silvio Rossano, for he had never happened to encounter him on the staircase or in the court-yard of Palazzo Acorari on the occasion of his frequent visits there, though he was very well aware of his existence.

It was, therefore, a pure coincidence that Silvio should happen to enter the palace at the very moment when the abbe was in deep conversation with the porter at the foot of the staircase. Probably the priest would scarcely have noticed him, had it not been that Silvio had looked at him with, as he fancied, some curiosity. Monsieur l'Abbe asked the porter who Silvio was, and the man seemed surprised.

"That one?" he said. "Why, that is the _signorino_ of the second floor, a _bel ragazzo_--is it not true, _monsignore_?"

The Montefiano establishment always gave the Abbe Roux the title of _monsignore_, not being quite clear as to what an abbe might be.

"Ah, of course," returned the abbe, "the _signorino_ of the second floor"--and he followed Silvio's retreating form with his eyes.

"_Un bel ragazzo davvero--proprio bello!_" he continued, giving Silvio a prolonged look, as the latter turned the angle of the staircase, and enabled the abbe to see his face distinctly. "He is always in Rome?" he inquired, carelessly.

"Yes, the Signorino Rossano was living at home now," the porter declared. "He was a very quiet young man--_molto serio_. Indeed, he, the porter, had never seen him engaged in any adventures, unless--"

"Unless--what?" asked the abbe, smiling. "A young man cannot be expected to be always _molto serio_," he added, leniently.

"_Sicuro!_ especially so handsome a lad as the _signorino_. Naturally the women made up to him. The French mademoiselle who came to the _principessina_, for instance; he had met the _signorino_ and her walking together--oh, more than once. Not that there was anything in it, probably--for it was in the daytime he had met them--in the morning, indeed--and who wanted to make love on an empty stomach?"

The Abbe Roux checked the porter's garrulity with a slight gesture, and appeared to take but little interest in the matter.

Nevertheless, as he left Palazzo Acorari he wondered whether by any chance this young Rossano could be the individual he was looking for. His personal appearance answered to Monsieur d'Antin's description of Donna Bianca's lover--and what more probable than that the two had met repeatedly in this way in and out of the _palazzo_, and had managed to communicate with each other? The Frenchwoman, of course! She had been the channel of communication! The abbe thought that he must have been very dull not to think at once of so simple an explanation of the affair. But he had momentarily forgotten that Professor Rossano's son was living at home. He had heard all about Silvio, and knew that he was an engineer who was rapidly making a considerable reputation for himself in his profession.

But the thing was absurd--preposterous! There could be no difficulty in at once putting a stop to this young man's presumption. Moreover, the princess would be horrified at the bare idea of her step-daughter marrying the son of an infidel scientist who had ventured to attack certain dogmas of the Church. At any rate, if the princess were not properly horrified at the notion of such an alliance, he, the Abbe Roux, would have little difficulty in making her so.

Altogether, it was perhaps very fortunate that Donna Bianca's lover had turned out to be young Rossano and not somebody of higher rank, whose proposals might not be so easy to dismiss as unsuitable. He must try to get definite proof of Silvio Rossano being the suitor, however, and once he had this proof in his hands, he could speak to the princess as Monsieur d'Antin had proposed. And Monsieur d'Antin? The Abbe Roux laughed softly to himself as he thought of Monsieur d'Antin. It was certainly droll. Monsieur le Baron was--well, it was very evident what he was. But he was shrewd, too! He wished to gratify two passions at once. After all, his proposal was worthy of consideration; for if his scheme were carried out, everybody's little passions might be gratified and nobody would be the worse--except, perhaps, Donna Bianca Acorari. Yes, it was certainly worth thinking about--this self-sacrifice offered by Monsieur d'Antin. If the princess could be brought to see it, a marriage between her step-daughter and her brother would, as Monsieur d'Antin had frequently remarked, keep the Montefiano possessions in the family, where it was very advisable from his--the abbe's--point of view that they should be kept.

The Abbe Roux had not been virtually the manager of Donna Bianca Acorari's future inheritance for nearly ten years without having developed a very keen personal interest in it. The princess, as she said of herself, was not, and never had been, a woman of business. If she had displayed a certain amount of worldly acumen in inducing the late Prince Montefiano to make her his wife, there had been, it is only fair to say, no undue pecuniary motives in her manoeuvres. Her life was a lonely one, with absolutely no interests in it except those supplied by her religion. These, indeed, might have been wide enough--so wide as to embrace all humanity, had Mademoiselle d'Antin's religion been other than a purely egoistical affair. But, like many other ultra-pious people of all creeds, she labored under a conviction that future happiness was only to be purchased at the cost of much present mortification. Her own soul, consequently, was a perpetual burden to her; and so, although in a very much less degree, were the souls of others. Hence, at one moment of Mademoiselle d'Antin's life, a convent had seemed to be the most fitting place in which to retire, and she had come to Rome almost persuaded that she had a vocation to save herself and others, by a life of seclusion and prayer, from the future evils which she honestly imagined a Divine Creator petty and vindictive enough to be capable of inflicting on His creatures.

It was at this period that she happened to be thrown in the society of Prince Montefiano, who had taken to appearing in the _salons_ of the "black" world, perhaps as a sincere though tardy means of mortifying that flesh which he had invariably indulged so long as it had been able to respond to the calls made upon it.

Very soon after her marriage with the reclaimed sheep, Mademoiselle d'Antin, now Principessa di Montefiano, had made the acquaintance of her compatriot, the Abbe Roux--at that time acting as secretary to a leading cardinal of the Curia, well-known for his irreconcilable and ultramontane principles. It was, perhaps, an exaggeration to declare, as did the gossips in the clubs, that the princess and the Abbe Roux between them had wrestled so hard for the salvation of Prince Montefiano's soul as to cause him to yield it up from sheer _ennui_. It was certain, however, that he soon succumbed under the process, and that the abbe became more than ever indispensable to his widow.

Prince Montefiano had, as the Abbe Roux soon found, left his affairs in a very unsatisfactory state. The lands remaining in his possession were heavily mortgaged, and a large proportion of the income derived from the fief of Montefiano--the only property of any importance left was swallowed up in payment of interest on the mortgages.

Like many other landed proprietors in the Roman province, the prince farmed out his rents to a middle-man, who paid him a fixed sum yearly, and took what he might be able to make out of the estate over and above this sum as his own profit. An agent at Montefiano collected the rents, in money or kind, from the tenants, and paid them over to this middle-man, who was himself a well-to-do _mercante di campagna_ with a fair amount of capital at his back, and this individual was bound to pay in to the prince's account the sum agreed upon, whether the season and the crops were bad or good. After Prince Montefiano's death, this system had been continued, by the advice of the Abbe Roux, to whom the princess--feeling herself to be at a disadvantage in dealing with it--not only as a foreigner, but also as merely the second wife of her husband and not the mother of his only child and heiress had very soon confided the superintendence of all the business connected with the estates.

The abbe, it is true, had, after the course of two or three years, made a slight alteration in the system. On the expiration of the contract with the middle-man who had hitherto farmed the rents, his offer to renew on similar terms for a further number of years was not accepted. The abbe had assured Princess Montefiano that, if she would intrust the matter fully to him, he would find her a middleman who would pay a larger yearly sum than had hitherto been given for the rights. The princess had consented, and Monsieur l'Abbe had been as good as his word. He produced an individual who offered some ten thousand francs a year more than the _mercante di campagna_ had offered; and, as the abbe pointed out, though not a very large addition to income, it was not a sum to be thrown away in such critical times. This new arrangement had worked so satisfactorily that, by degrees, the system was extended to other portions of the Montefiano property, and not merely to the fief which gave the princely title to its owners.

Abbe Roux had been perfectly frank with the princess when he proposed this extension of the "farming" system to the whole of her step-daughter's property. It would not, he declared, be possible, unless it could be guaranteed, or, at any rate promised, that the contracts should be renewable at the expiration of the legal period of their validity. It was, as he explained, an offer of a decidedly speculative nature on the part of his friend the middle-man, and one which could only be made on the understanding that its tenderer should not be disturbed in his contract until Donna Bianca Acorari should come of age, which would give him some ten years' rights over the produce of the estates in question. This proviso, the abbe assured Princess Montefiano, was, in his opinion, fair enough. The risks of bad seasons had to be taken into account; the inability of tenants to pay their rents; the vicissitudes to which live stock was always liable; and many other considerations of a similar nature. Moreover, there was the risk that Donna Bianca might die, or that the mortgagees might foreclose and sell land--risks, in fact, of every kind.

The princess had hesitated. The advantages of the proposal were obvious if the few thousand francs' addition to yearly income was the only point to be looked at. She did not, however, feel quite comfortable in her mind as to whether she had any right to pledge Bianca not to interfere or refuse to renew the contracts until she should be of age. Supposing the girl were to marry before she was of age? In that case, according to the prince's will, the estates were to be considered as Bianca's dowry, and he had only added a stipulation (which, indeed, the Abbe Roux had suggested), empowering his widow, Bianca's step-mother, to give or withhold her consent in the event of a proposal of marriage being made to his daughter while she was still a minor.

The princess had put her scruples clearly before her adviser. She meant to do her duty by Bianca according to her lights, although these, perhaps, were not very brilliant. The abbe, however, had pointed out that Donna Bianca would be in an altogether unusual position for a young girl when she was a few years older. She would be an heiress, not perhaps to a very large fortune, but, at all events, to one worth bringing to any husband, and also to titles which would descend to her children, certainly one of which, moreover, she would have the right of bestowing upon the man she married. It would be a mere question of settling a certain ruined castle and village upon him which carried a title with them, and of going through the necessary formalities required by the Italian government before a title so acquired became legal and valid. This being the case, the danger of Donna Bianca Acorari becoming the prey of some needy fortune-hunter, or even of some rich adventurer who would marry her for the sake of her titles, was undoubtedly great.

The danger would be great even when she was twenty-one, and might be supposed to have gained some knowledge of the world and to know her own mind. How much greater would it not be if she were to be allowed to marry when she was seventeen or so?

The abbe reminded Princess Montefiano of the clause in her husband's will leaving it to her discretion to accept or refuse any proposal made for Donna Bianca's hand while the girl was a minor. Surely, he argued, it was wiser, under the circumstances, to take full advantage of the powers given her. So far as the guaranteeing of the contracts for the farming of the rents until Donna Bianca was of age was concerned, this, the abbe declared, was not only a safeguard and protection against Donna Bianca making an undesirable marriage, but it should also, with good management, enable the princess to spend more money on the improvement of her step-daughter's property while it was under her control. Donna Bianca would, therefore, be all the better off when she came of age--and Madame la Princesse would feel, when that time arrived, that she had been a faithful steward of her interests.

The princess was convinced, and more than convinced, by these arguments. She had wondered how it was that she could even have entertained a doubt as to the advisability of adopting Monsieur l'Abbe's proposals. It was very true. Bianca would be placed in a very unusual position when she arrived at a marriageable age. It could do no harm to delay her marriage a year or two--and if, as Monsieur l'Abbe said, the scheme he proposed would benefit the estates, she, the princess, should feel she was not doing her duty by Bianca were she to oppose it.

All this had happened six or seven years ago, and Princess Montefiano had not since had any reason to doubt the soundness of the advice she then received. The sums required by the terms of the contract were paid in half yearly by the "farmer" of the rents with unfailing regularity, and a great deal of trouble and responsibility was lifted from her own shoulders.

As for the Abbe Roux, he also had every reason to be satisfied with the arrangement. It gave him no doubt a great deal of work to do which was certainly not of a strictly professional character--but, as he told the princess, having undertaken the supervision of her worldly affairs, and having given her advice as to their conduct, he felt it to be his duty personally to look into them. The _fattori_ on the different properties had to be interviewed, and their accounts checked at certain seasons of the year; and though all these matters were regulated by the head-agent and administrator to the "Eccellentissima Casa Acorari" in the estates office in Rome, nothing was finally approved of until it had been submitted to the Abbe Roux, as directly representing their excellencies the Principessa and the Principessina Bianca.

*XV*

On his arrival at the Villa Acorari, the Abbe Roux was at once ushered into Princess Montefiano's private sitting-room, where she was waiting him with evident anxiety. It was clear that something had occurred to upset and annoy her, and the abbe was at once convinced that, as he had suspected when he received her telegram, she had by some means discovered her step-daughter's secret.

He was scarcely prepared, however, for what had really happened.

That morning's post had brought the Princess Montefiano a letter from the Senator Rossano. To say that its contents had filled her with amazement would be but a meagre description of her feelings. It was a very short letter, but, like the learned senator's discourses, very much to the point, and couched in a terseness of language very unusual in Italian missives of so formal a character.

The professor briefly apologized for addressing the Princess Montefiano personally, without having the honor of knowing her otherwise than as a tenant in her house, but added that the personal nature of the matter he had to lay before her must be his excuse. He then proceeded, without any further circumlocution, to inform the princess that his only son, Silvio, had fallen desperately in love with her step-daughter, Donna Bianca Acorari; that his son had some reason to believe Donna Bianca might return his attachment were he permitted to address her; and finally, that he, the Senator Rossano, at his son's desire, begged to make a formal request that the latter should be allowed to plead his own cause with Donna Bianca. The princess had, not unnaturally, been petrified with astonishment on reading this letter, and her amazement had quickly been succeeded by indignation. The thing was absurd, and more than absurd; it was impertinent. Evidently this young man had seen Bianca going in and out of the Palazzo Acorari, and had imagined himself to have fallen in love with her--if, indeed, it was not simply a barefaced attempt to secure her money without love entering at all into the matter.

Her first impulse had been to send for Bianca and ask her what it all meant. On second thoughts, however, she decided not to mention the subject to her until she had consulted the Abbe Roux. If, as was probable, Bianca knew nothing about it, and the whole affair were only the silly action of a boy who had persuaded his father that he was desperately in love with a young girl upon whom he believed himself to have made an impression, it would be very imprudent to put any ideas of the kind into her head. No, the only wise course, the princess reflected, was to hear what Monsieur l'Abbe might advise, though naturally there could be but one answer to the Senator Rossano's letter. Indeed, she would not reply to it in person. Such an impertinence should be treated with silent contempt; or, if some answer had to be given, she would depute the abbe to interview these Rossanos.

The door had hardly closed behind the servant who showed him into the room when Princess Montefiano put the letter into the abbe's hands.

"Did you ever read anything so extraordinary in your life?" she asked him. "Yes, it was about this I telegraphed to beg you to come to me. It is an unheard-of impertinence, and I think the professor, senator--or whatever he might be--Rossano must be a fool, and not the clever man you say he is, or he would never have listened to this ridiculous son of his."

Princess Montefiano was evidently thoroughly angry, as, indeed, from her point of view, she had every right to be. The Abbe Roux read the letter through attentively. Then he coughed, arranged his _soutane_, and read it through a second time.

"Well?" asked the princess, impatiently. "Are you not as much amazed as I am?"

The abbe hesitated for a moment. Then he said, quietly: "No, madame, I am not amazed at all."

The princess stared at him. "Not amazed at all?" she re-echoed. "But--"

"May I ask," he interrupted, "if you have spoken to Donna Bianca of this--this offer?"

"Offer!" exclaimed the princess, scornfully. "I do not call it an offer; I call it an insult--at least, it would be an insult if it were not a stupidity. No, I have not as yet mentioned the subject to Bianca. I thought I would wait until I had consulted with you. You see, Monsieur l'Abbe, it is a delicate matter to discuss with a young girl, because, if there is any love at all in the matter, it can only be a case of love at first sight on the part of this youth--and for love at first sight there is another name--"

The abbe smiled. "Exactly, madame," he said. "You are very wise not to mention the senator's letter to Donna Bianca. It would be better that she should never know it had been written. At the same time, if you read the letter carefully, you will observe that the young man believes his affection to be reciprocated."

The princess shrugged her shoulders. "The vanity of a youth who no doubt thinks himself irresistible," she observed. "How could it be reciprocated? I dare say he has seen Bianca driving, or, at the most, passed her on the staircase."

"I am inclined to think," said the abbe, "that he has more reason than this to believe Donna Bianca to be not indifferent to him."

Princess Montefiano started visibly.

"_Mon Dieu_, monsieur, what do you mean?" she exclaimed.

The Abbe Roux carefully refolded the letter, and, placing it in the envelope, returned it to her.

"Madame la Princesse," he said, after a pause, "the subject, as you observed just now, is a delicate one. I regret that I should be obliged to give you pain. Even had I not received your telegram, I should have felt it to be my duty to come to see you on this matter."

"You knew it, then?" asked the princess, more bewildered than ever.

"Yes, I knew it," replied the priest. "It came to my knowledge only three or four days since. I fear, madame, that Donna Bianca has given this young man every reason to feel himself justified in persuading his father to address this letter to you. That does not excuse his presumption--certainly not! But, as I say, it makes it more reasonable."

Princess Montefiano turned to him with some dignity. "Monsieur l'Abbe," she said, "are you aware what your words imply? You are speaking of my step-daughter, of Donna Bianca Acorari."

The Abbe Roux spread out his hands apologetically. "Alas, madame!" he replied, "I am fully aware of it. But I consider it to be my duty to speak to you of Donna Bianca. I think," he added, "that you have never had cause to complain of my failing in my duty towards Casa Acorari, or of any lack of discretion on my part, since you honored me with your confidence."

"That is true," said Princess Montefiano, hurriedly; "I ask your pardon, Monsieur l'Abbe. I am sure that whatever you may have to tell me is prompted by your sense of the confidence I repose in you. But, Bianca! I do not understand--"

"It is a very simple matter," interrupted the abbe. "A person of my acquaintance was an accidental witness of an interview between Donna Bianca and young Rossano--here in the grounds of the Villa Acorari--a few days ago. It appears that there can be no doubt it was a lover's interview, and probably not the first of its kind between these two young people."

The princess turned a horrified gaze upon him.

"And you call that a simple matter!" she exclaimed, so soon as she could find words.

The abbe shrugged his shoulders.

"Madame," he replied, "between two people who are young and good-looking, love is always a simple matter! It is in its results that complications arise."

"Monsieur l'Abbe!" exclaimed the princess.

"Precisely," he proceeded--"in its results. It is from these results that we must try to save Donna Bianca."

Princess Montefiano seemed as though she were about to give way to uncontrollable agitation.

"But it is impossible!" she cried. "Great God--it is impossible! Bianca is little more than a child still. You do not mean to suggest--what can I say? The thought is too horrible!"

The Abbe Roux rubbed his hands gently together. "We will trust things are not quite so serious as that," he said, slowly. "Indeed," he added, "I do not for a moment believe that they are so. Nevertheless, my informant declares that the interview between the two lovers was--well, of a very passionate nature. I fear, madame, you have been mistaken in looking upon Donna Bianca as merely a child."

The princess groaned. "That is what my brother has told me more than once of late," she said.

"He has said the same to me," remarked the abbe. "Monsieur your brother is, as one may say, a keen observer," he added.

"But what can we do?" exclaimed Princess Montefiano, almost hysterically. "Good Heavens!" she continued; "how thankful I am that I telegraphed to you! I can rely on your discretion, monsieur, as a friend--as a priest!"

"As both, madame," returned the abbe, bowing. "The situation is certainly a difficult one, and Donna Bianca, through her inexperience, has no doubt placed herself in an equivocal position. Unfortunately, the world never forgets an indiscretion committed by a young girl; and, as I have said, there was a witness to Donna Bianca's last interview with this young man. That is to say, this individual could hear, though he could not see, all that passed between them."

"Ah! And who is this individual?" asked the princess, hastily. "Is he a person whose silence can be bought?"

The Abbe Roux shook his head. "I am pledged not to reveal the name," he replied. "I must beg of you, madame, not to ask me to do so. As regards his silence, that is not to be bought--and even if it were, I should not advise such a course. It would be equivalent to admitting--well, that the worst construction could be placed on Donna Bianca's unfortunate actions."

"Good Heavens!" repeated the princess. "What can be done? What course can we pursue with that unhappy child? Ah! it is the mother's blood coming out in her, Monsieur l'Abbe."

The abbe thought that the paternal strain might also be taken into account; but he very naturally kept the reflection to himself.

"The responsibility is a terrible one for me," continued Princess Montefiano. "If anything happens to Bianca, if she were to make a bad marriage--and, still more, if there were to be any scandal about her, people would say I had neglected her because she was not my own child--"

"Yes, madame," interposed the abbe, quietly, "but there must be no bad marriage, and there must be no scandal. It will be my task to assist you in making both things impossible."

"Yes, but how? She has put herself in the power of these Rossanos. Probably the father is quite aware that the child has compromised herself with his son by the very fact of meeting him alone and secretly--otherwise he would not have ventured to write this letter. And then, there is this, other person--your informant. Do you not see, monsieur, that my step-daughter's good name is seriously compromised by being at the mercy of people like these Rossanos, who are not of our world? They would be quite capable of revenging themselves for my treating their proposal with the contempt it deserves by spreading some story about Bianca."

The abbe did not reply for a moment or two. "I do not think they will do that," he said, presently. "The senator is too well-known a man to care to place himself and his son in a false position. Though the story, if it became known, would certainly be injurious to Donna Bianca, it would not redound to the credit of the Rossanos. A young man with any sense of honor does not place an inexperienced girl in such an equivocal position. No--I should be much more afraid that, unless Donna Bianca is removed from all possibility of being again approached by the young Rossano, he will acquire such an influence over her that sooner or later he will oblige her to marry him."

"But it would be an absolute _mesalliance_!" exclaimed Princess Montefiano.

"Of course it would be a _mesalliance_, from the worldly point of view," said the abbe. "It would also be a crime," he added.

"A crime!"

"Yes, certainly, madame. Would you give a young girl, for whose spiritual welfare you are responsible, to the son of Professor Rossano--a man whose blasphemous writings and discourses have perverted the minds and ruined the faith of half the youth of Italy? Why, Bruno was burned for hazarding opinions which were orthodox in comparison with the assertions made by Rossano on the authority of his miserable science!"

The princess shuddered. "Of course!" she replied. "I forgot for the moment whom we were discussing. No matter what might happen, I would never give my consent to Bianca's marriage with a free-thinker. I would rather see her dead, and a thousand times rather see her in a convent."

The Abbe Roux smiled. "Fortunately," he said, "there are other solutions. Donna Bianca has shown very clearly that she has no vocation for conventual life, and of the other we need not speak."

"I do not see the solutions you speak of," returned the princess, with a sigh.

"There is only one which presents itself to my mind as being not only simple, but absolutely necessary for the moment," said the abbe. "Donna Bianca," he continued, looking at the princess gravely, "must be removed where there can be no danger of her again seeing this young Rossano. She is young, and evidently impressionable, and in time she will forget him. It is to be hoped that he, too, will forget her. Do you recollect, madame, my telling you that for a young lady in Donna Bianca Acorari's position, anything that protected her against marrying before she attained years of discretion was an advantage?"

The princess nodded. "I do, indeed," she replied. "I see now how right you were. A young girl with the prospects Bianca has is always in danger of falling a prey to some fortune-hunter, such as, no doubt, this Rossano is."

"I hope," continued the abbe, "that my present advice to you will prove as sound as the advice I gave you then, and as advantageous to Donna Bianca's true interests. I, personally, am convinced that it will prove so--and I offer it as the only solution I can see to the problem with which we have to deal--I mean, madame, the problem of how to extricate Donna Bianca from the position in which she has been placed, without further difficulties arising. May I make my suggestion?" he added.

"Why, of course, Monsieur l'Abbe!" replied Princess Montefiano. "It is what I asked you here to do--to give me your assistance in this very painful matter.

"You must take Donna Bianca away from here, madame."

"Of course," said the princess; "I had already thought of that. But the question is, where can I take her? To return to Palazzo Acorari is impossible. She would be exposed to the probability of meeting this young man every day. I cannot turn the Rossanos out of their apartment, for, so far as I recollect, the lease has still two years to run. And if I take Bianca to some other town, or to some sea-side place, what is to prevent the young man from following us?"

"Very true," assented the Abbe Roux. "I also have thought of these difficulties," he added. "I have considered the matter well, and it seems to me that there is only one place in which Donna Bianca could satisfactorily be guarded from further annoyance."

"And where is that?"

"Her own castle at Montefiano."

"Montefiano?" the princess exclaimed. "But, Monsieur l'Abbe, Montefiano, as you well know, is practically deserted--abandoned. There is, I believe, no furniture in the house."

"The furniture could be sent there," said the abbe. "There could be no better place for Donna Bianca to remain for a few months, or until she has forgotten this youthful love-affair. It would not be easy for a stranger to obtain access to the castle at Montefiano without it being known--and, as you are aware, madame, the domain is of considerable extent. It would not be an imprisonment."

"I have only once been at Montefiano," said the princess, "and then only for the day. It struck me as being a very dreary place, except, perhaps, in the summer."

"The air is good," observed the abbe, a little dryly, "and, as I say, it has the advantage of being out of the way. My advice would be to take Donna Bianca there as soon as possible. In a week or ten days the rooms could be made quite comfortable, and servants could be sent from Rome. After all, there would be nothing strange in the fact of your having decided to spend a few weeks at Montefiano, especially at this season of the year."

"Perhaps you are right, monsieur," said the Princess Montefiano. "At any rate," she added, "I can think of no better plan for the moment. What distresses me now is that I do not know what to say to Bianca, or how to say it. I cannot let her think that I know nothing of what has happened--and I am still in the dark, Monsieur l'Abbe, as to--well, as to how much has happened."

The abbe pondered for a moment. "I should be inclined, madame, not to give Donna Bianca any definite reason for your visit to Montefiano. You can scarcely tell her your real object in taking her there without letting her know that young Rossano has made you a formal proposal for her hand. You must remember she is quite unaware that her meeting with him was observed, and she would, therefore, at once guess that you must have had some communication from the Rossano family."

The princess looked doubtful. From the Abbe Roux she would, to quote Shakespeare, "take suggestion as a cat laps milk." Nevertheless, to pretend to Bianca that she was in complete ignorance of her conduct seemed to be derogatory to her own position as the girl's step-mother and guardian.

"I must certainly speak to Bianca sooner or later," she began.

"Then, madame," said the abbe, "let it be later, I beg of you. There will be time enough when you are at Montefiano to explain to Donna Bianca your reasons for your actions. If you go into the subject with her now she may communicate with her lover, and warn him that she is being taken to Montefiano. When she is once safely there, it will not matter. It will, of course, be known that you are residing at Montefiano, but Montefiano is not Villa Acorari. A convent itself could not be a more secure retreat."

"Well," returned the princess, "perhaps you are right. But I must say I do not like the idea of meeting Bianca as if nothing at all had happened. It appears to me to be scarcely--scarcely honorable on my part, and to be encouraging her in maintaining a deception towards me."

"_Chere madame_," said the Abbe Roux, blandly, "I fully understand your scruples, and they do you credit. But we must remember the end we have in view. This absurd love-affair between a boy and a girl--for it is, after all, nothing more serious--must be put an end to in such a way as to preserve Donna Bianca Acorari's name from any breath of scandal."

"Then," replied Princess Montefiano, "you advise me to say nothing to Bianca at present."

"At present I should say nothing. There is one thing, however, that you should do, madame--a necessary precaution against any further communication passing between Donna Bianca and young Rossano. I believe that Mademoiselle Durand continues giving Donna Bianca lessons, does she not? I think you told me that she was at Albano, and that you had arranged for her to come here two or three days weekly."

"Ah!" exclaimed Princess Montefiano, "Mademoiselle Durand! Do you mean to say that she has been the go-between in this affair?"

"I know nothing for certain," replied the abbe, "but I have been told that young Rossano and she are on intimate terms--that they walk together in Rome--"