Part 10

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.