Front matter (continued 7)

The professor, too, had become decidedly less cynical on the subject of his son's matrimonial aspirations since his conversation with Monsignor Lelli. To be sure, he did not encourage Giacinta to talk about it; and when she attempted to do so, he put the whole question quietly but decidedly away from him, as he did any question threatening to lead to social unpleasantness in private life. But Giacinta realized that her father also had modified his views as to the folly of Silvio's devotion to a girl whom he had seen only a few times in his life; and that, though he did not intend to move any further in the affair than he had already done, he was not so actively opposed to it as he had at first shown himself to be.

Giacinta had always been doubtful as to whether Bianca Acorari would have sufficient force of character to hold out against the pressure that would certainly be brought to bear upon her in order to make her relinquish all idea of becoming Silvio's wife. It was quite natural that Silvio himself should entertain no doubts on the subject; but then he was in love with Bianca, and she, Giacinta, was not so. But such passages as Silvio chose to read to her from the brief note he had that day received from Bianca finally removed all fears from her mind lest her brother might be exposed to the disappointment and mortification of finding that Donna Bianca had yielded to the influences by which she was surrounded.

"You see, Giacinta," Silvio said, triumphantly, "I was right. I have always told you that Bianca would never give way. And now, after being shut up in that dreary hole for nearly six weeks, she takes the first opportunity of repeating the promises she made to me at the Villa Acorari. If she has to wait three years to marry me, ebbene, she will wait three years—and nothing that they can say or do to her in the mean time will make the slightest difference. Oh, I know what you will say—that it is impossible to know what a person's character may be whom one has only seen a few times, and only talked to once. But sometimes two people know each other's character by instinct, by—by—oh, well, by something or other, though God knows what the something is."

Giacinta laughed. "There may be a scientific explanation of the phenomenon," she remarked; "perhaps Babbo will find one. No, Silvio," she continued, more gravely, "I confess I seem to have underrated Donna Bianca's character. She is apparently as much in earnest as you are, and I am glad she is so. It is at least a sign that, if you both succeed in attaining your object, you should be happy together, and your happiness is all that concerns me, Silvio mio."

"And Bianca's happiness," added Silvio, "that should concern you, too."

"It will concern me henceforth," returned Giacinta, "because, though I do not know Donna Bianca, I understand now that her happiness and yours is the same thing."

Silvio looked at her with a quick smile. "You will know Bianca some day," he said, "and then you will see how right I was."

Two mornings afterwards, Silvio received a second letter from Bianca, and from it he learned how it had happened that Don Agostino had so quickly been able to communicate with her. Bianca told him many other things as well; and among them was a piece of information which, while it gave him a considerable amount of satisfaction, at the same time made him uneasy and restless in his mind.

There was, she wrote, a threatening of disturbances among the people at Montefiano in consequence of the Abbé Roux having persuaded her step-mother to dismiss the fattore and to consent to the rents being raised. Bianca did not understand very well what was the matter, but it was evident that the Abbé Roux and her step-mother feared that things might become serious, for they had discussed in her presence the advisability of asking for soldiers to be sent to Montefiano if there was any more trouble with the contadini. Moreover, Concetta Fontana, the fattore's daughter, to whom Bianca had already alluded as being her and Silvio's friend and channel of communication, had told her that the people were angry because they suspected she was being kept as a kind of prisoner at Montefiano until she should consent to marry Baron d'Antin, and that her engagement to Silvio was perfectly well known in the paese. The peasants were going to send a deputation to the castle, and to insist not only on the increase in the rents being abandoned and the agent, Fontana, reinstated in his post, but also, according to Concetta, on seeing her, Bianca, and speaking with her as their padrona.

The intelligence certainly carried with it food for reflection. Silvio's first feeling on reading Bianca's words was one of satisfaction. If it were known or suspected at Montefiano that Donna Bianca Acorari was being kept in seclusion in order to force her to marry a foreigner old enough to be her father; if it were supposed that her property and interests were being tampered with by strangers for their own benefit, at the expense of her own people, a situation might easily develop which would compel Princess Montefiano to allow her step-daughter to marry the man she wished to marry. It was certainly no bad thing if Bianca were rescued from her present position by the force of public opinion; and if her own people gathered round her, Monsieur l'Abbé Roux and Monsieur le Baron d'Antin might very possibly find themselves obliged to retire from the scene. If this occurred, it might reasonably be hoped that the princess would listen to other counsels than those by which she had hitherto been influenced.

So far, Silvio felt he had no cause to be otherwise than pleased at the thought that Bianca's own people at Montefiano were likely to interfere with the plans of the Abbé Roux and Monsieur d'Antin. His sense of satisfaction, however, was quickly succeeded by a feeling of uneasiness. Young as he was, he had some experience of what an uneducated mob, with grievances real or fancied, might be capable of doing. He had witnessed strikes in more than one part of Italy; and though it was true that, at Montefiano, disturbances which might occur would be made by peasants and not artisans, he knew how frequently it happened that the uneducated of all classes and occupations lost their heads and went to lengths which neither they nor their leaders perhaps ever contemplated. If Bianca were right, and the rents at Montefiano had been raised through the abbé's instrumentality, and a popular agent dismissed for venturing to oppose the increase, then much would depend on the princess's attitude towards the suggested deputation from her step-daughter's tenants. Should her attitude be unconciliatory, who could tell whether the anger and discontent of the peasantry might not be wreaked on Bianca herself, in whose name these grievances had been inflicted?

Silvio remembered having seen the agent, Fontana, on one occasion during the few days he had spent in the neighborhood of Montefiano; and he had likewise heard Don Agostino mention him as a fattore who was just towards the people as well as honest to his employers. At a crisis such as Bianca's letter pointed to as being imminent, the advice and services of a man like Fontana would have been invaluable to Princess Montefiano; for if the peasants were clamoring for his reinstatement, they certainly would have been more likely to be influenced by him than by strangers.

The idea that Bianca Acorari might be exposed to any danger, however problematical, was quite sufficient to render Silvio restless and uneasy. He wondered whether Don Agostino had been thinking of possible disturbances on the part of the peasants of Montefiano when he had written that in a few days he might have something of importance to communicate. To be sure, Don Agostino had not written again, and now nearly three days had passed since Silvio had received his first letter, enclosing the few lines Bianca had sent him by Concetta Fontana. He would certainly, Silvio told himself, have written, or even perhaps telegraphed, had anything alarming occurred at Montefiano. There was, it would appear, nothing to be done except to wait for Don Agostino's promised letter, or at least until Bianca herself should write again and give him further particulars of how matters were going.

That evening the spell of damp, hot weather, which so often makes Rome almost intolerable in the middle of September, broke. A heavy thunder-storm passed over the city, accompanied by torrents of rain, which descended in white sheets as if in the tropics. A steamy fog rose from the ground, parched by the long summer drought. Masses of inky-black clouds began to drift up from the sea; and at nightfall, long after the storm had rolled away to the mountains, a continuous flicker of lightning illumined the entire sky. In the caffès, or safely in the shelter of their own houses, people congratulated one another that the end of the heat had come, and that when the weather should mend again the first breath of autumn would be felt in the lighter, crisper air.

Silvio dined at home that night with his father and Giacinta, and afterwards, contrary to his usual custom, Professor Rossano did not go to the Piazza Colonna for his cup of coffee and to read his evening paper. The Piazza Colonna, indeed, would have been nothing but an exaggerated puddle, with streams of muddy water running through it from the higher level of Montecitorio; and, besides, it would have been unwise to be abroad in the streets while the first rains after the summer were falling—the only time during the whole year when a genuine malarial fever, and not the "Roman fever" of the overfed and overtired tourist, might possibly be picked up within the walls of Rome.

Dinner had been over some time, and they were smoking and talking together in the drawing-room, when the hoarse cries of the news-venders calling the evening papers came from the street without, and a few minutes later a servant entered the room with copies of the newspapers, which he gave to the professor. Giacinta took up a book and began to read, while Silvio walked restlessly up and down the room, every now and then going to the window to see if the rain had stopped.

The professor turned over the pages of his newspapers in a vain endeavor to extract some news from them. There might be, and no doubt there were, important events happening in the world, even in the month of September—events more important, for instance, than the fall from his bicycle of a student, or the drinking by a servant-girl of a solution of corrosive sublimate in mistake for water. If there were more noteworthy matters to chronicle, however, they had escaped the notice of the press that evening. Professor Rossano was about to betake himself to other and more profitable reading, when a paragraph containing a telegram dated from Montefiano caught his eye and arrested his attention.

"So," he observed, suddenly, "it seems that our padrona di casa has got herself into trouble with the people at Montefiano, or, rather, I suppose that meddlesome abbé has got her into trouble with them. Look, Silvio," he added, pointing to the paragraph in question, "read this," and he handed the newspaper to his son.

Silvio took the paper quickly, and eagerly read the telegram. It was very short, and merely stated that in consequence of disorder among the peasantry on the estates belonging to Casa Acorari at Montefiano, and the fear of these disorders assuming more serious proportions, military assistance has been requested by the civil authorities; and that a detachment of infantry would in all probability be despatched from Civitacastellana if the situation did not become more satisfactory.

Silvio uttered an exclamation of dismay.

"What did I tell you, Giacinta?" he said. "I was certain from Bianca's last letter that some mischief was brewing. Now there will probably be a collision with the military authorities; and we all know what that means."

"Well," observed the professor placidly, "it is no affair of yours, Silvio, so far as I can see, if there are disturbances at Montefiano. Not but what you have done your best to add to their number! All the same," he continued, "it is a foolish thing, and a wrong thing, to drag the soldiery into these disputes if their intervention can possibly be avoided. I suppose the princess and the Abbé Roux are frightened. But surely there must be a fattore at Montefiano who can manage the people?"

"That is the point," returned Silvio. "The princess has dismissed the fattore because he objected to the raising of the rents; and the peasants are insisting on his being recalled."

The professor glanced at him. "It seems," he remarked, dryly, "that you know all about it."

"No, I don't," answered Silvio, bluntly. "But I want to know all about it," he added. "To-morrow I shall take the first train to Attigliano, and I shall drive from there to Montefiano. Don Agostino will tell me what it all means, and perhaps I shall see for myself what is going on."

"Sciocchezze!" exclaimed the professor. "Why the devil should you go and interfere in the matter? It is no concern of yours, and you will only get a bullet put into you by a soldier, or a knife by a peasant. You are an imbecile, Silvio."

"But it does concern me," Silvio replied, obstinately, "and, imbecile or not, by twelve o'clock to-morrow I will be at Montefiano. Who knows? Perhaps I might be of use. In any case, I go there to-morrow. No, Giacinta, it is perfectly useless to argue about it. I wish I had gone at once, when I received Bianca's last letter. I can guess what has happened. The princess has been advised not to receive the deputation from the peasants, or she has received it and refused to grant what was asked, and now the people are exasperated."

The professor shrugged his shoulders. "Of course you will go," he said. "When people are in love they cease to be reasonable human beings, and you have not been a reasonable human being—oh, not since Easter. It is useless to talk to you, as useless as it would be to talk to a donkey in spring," and Professor Rossano got up from his chair and walked off to his library.

Giacinta looked at her brother as the door closed behind the professor.

"Do you suppose the disturbances at Montefiano are serious?" she asked.

"Who can tell?" responded Silvio. "Those things are apt to become serious at a moment's notice. Anyhow," he continued, "I wish to be near Bianca, in case of any danger threatening her. The people might think she was responsible for the troops being summoned, and then, if any casualty were to happen, they might turn upon her as well as upon others at the castle. Of course I must go, Giacinta! Besides, who knows what this business may not lead to? Of one thing you may be certain. If Bianca is in any danger, I shall save her from it—I shall take her away from Montefiano."

Giacinta stared at him. "You mean that you will make her run away with you?" she asked.

Silvio shook his head. "I do not know," he replied. "It will all depend upon circumstances. But if I asked her to come with me, she would come. And there are those at Montefiano, Giacinta, who would help her to do so."

Giacinta did not reply for a moment. Then she said again, quietly: "Of course you will go, Silvio. After all," she added, "if I were a man, and in your place, I should do the same."

XXIX

It was Sunday; and on Sunday and other feasts Don Agostino celebrated an additional mass at the principal altar in the parish church of Montefiano at half-past seven o'clock. This function was neither a high mass nor a messa cantata, for, except on very special occasions, when extraneous talent from Civitacastellana, or from some other larger ecclesiastical centre in the neighborhood, was forthcoming, the difficulties both musical and ceremonial of either form would have been beyond the powers of the faithful at Montefiano satisfactorily to surmount. The funzione, as it was generally called, at half-past nine on a festa was doubtless an inartistic and even an irreligious affair, if regarded from the point of view of the purist in piety or musical art. At intervals during the celebration of the mass, the organist would rattle out from the wheezy pipes such stirring airs from popular operas, comic and otherwise, as might seem to him likely to please the saint to whom the day was dedicated.

This particular Sunday happened to fall within the octave of the 8th of September, the day on which the Church commemorates the Nativity of the Madonna, and, during the consecration and elevation of the sacred elements at the mass, strains from "La Traviata" assisted the spiritual aspirations of the kneeling worshippers. The remarkable infelicity, under the circumstances, of the selection, certainly never suggested itself either to the organist or to the congregation, and Don Agostino, remembering that "to the pure all things are pure," was far too wise to think of pointing it out afterwards in the sacristy. Nevertheless, his sense of humor was acute, and not entirely to be suppressed, even when he was ministering at the altar.

But to-day the organist's doubtful compliment to the Madonna passed almost unnoticed by Don Agostino. He knew that his people gave of their best to their religion; and, if that best were not of a standard to satisfy more artistic or more pious conceptions, the fact did not greatly concern him. The truth was that it was not the first time by many that Don Agostino had heard selections from "La Traviata" at the half-past nine o'clock mass, and on this occasion he had more important matters to occupy his mind than the lack both of perception of the fitness of things and of a sense of humor on the part of the organist.

A glance round the church as he had entered it and made his way to the altar, showed him that there was scarcely a man, and certainly none of the younger men, among the congregation. The fact was all the more noticeable because Don Agostino invariably had a good attendance of men at that mass. They did not, to be sure, penetrate very far into the church, and the majority showed a determination to stand as near the door as possible. But the great point was that they came; and they came, moreover, not only to attend mass, but also to listen to the short, practical address—it was certainly not a sermon, for Don Agostino never built imaginary edifices on the foundation of a passage from Scripture—to which they knew that ten minutes were sometimes devoted by their parroco before the canon of the mass was begun.

To-day, however, the male element was conspicuous by its absence, and Don Agostino said mass in the presence of women and children only. That very morning an answer had been sent by Princess Montefiano to the request made by its leading members that she would receive a deputation from the tenants on the Montefiano lands to protest against the raising of their rents and the dismissal of Giuseppe Fontana, the fattore. The answer had been brief and decided. The princess caused it to be conveyed to the tenants and peasants that she would do nothing of the kind. Any reasonable complaints would be received by the ex-fattore Fontana's successor, and would be forwarded by him to the administration, to the Eccellentissima Casa Acorari, for consideration.

Montefiano was in no mood for a mass that morning, even though it was a Sunday and within the octave of the Madonna di Settembre. Don Agostino had heard the news as he was vesting himself in the sacristy, and had heard it with no little dismay. He had watched the storm brewing, and though he felt that a storm was much needed to clear the air, he did not wish it to burst with too great a fury. He had, indeed, prepared a discourse which he had intended to deliver at mass that morning, counselling obedience to all lawful authority, and pointing out that any attempt to redress grievances by unlawful means was not only wrong, but impolitic. The discourse remained undelivered; and when Don Agostino had read the Gospel for the day, he proceeded to recite the Credo and passed on to the canon of the mass. Those for whom his words had been specially prepared were thronging the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, eagerly debating as to what steps they should take to show the princess and her foreign advisers that they intended to persist in their determination to place their grievances before her and the principessina in person.

The curt refusal to receive the proposed deputation had, as was but natural, provoked intense indignation in and about Montefiano. Had it been a working-day, the news that the princess, as acting for Donna Bianca, had declined to listen to the representatives of the peasants would have circulated more slowly, for there were tenute belonging to the estate, some of which were several miles distant from Montefiano. But on a festa everybody who could walk, or who had a beast to carry him, came into the paese; and after being present, at any rate, during a portion of Don Agostino's half-past-nine o'clock mass, the remainder of the day was spent in gossiping with friends and acquaintances and putting hardly earned money into the pockets of the keepers of the trattorie and the wine-shops.

The error in judgment committed by Princess Montefiano in allowing her decision not to receive the deputation which had asked permission to wait upon her to be publicly known in the morning of a festa was already bearing fruit. Don Agostino, indeed, had uttered an exclamation of surprise and annoyance when he was told the news, and heard of the excitement and ill-feeling that was being already shown in the paese. He had always thought that Princess Montefiano would decline to see the deputation, for it would most probably not suit the Abbé Roux that she and Bianca Acorari should receive it. The abbé, no doubt, had counselled the showing of a firm front and an unconditional refusal to admit that the tenants had any right to interfere with the administration of the estates of the Casa Acorari. But why, in the name of common-sense and prudence, had not the Abbé Roux so arranged that the princess's reply should not be known till Monday? Don Agostino asked himself the question impatiently, and the only reply he could find to it was that the abbé, being a foreigner, had not sufficient knowledge of the customs of the people; and that he probably understood neither the character nor the temper of the Montefianesi.

The mass was scarcely concluded when, after unrobing himself of his vestments, Don Agostino hurried down the flight of steps which formed a short cut from the piazza where the church stood to the main street of the town. As he expected, he found the Corso Vittorio Emanuele thronged by an excited crowd of peasants and farmers. Among them were not a few women. Little groups were angrily discussing the event of the day, and the countenances of many of those composing them wore an expression not very pleasant to look upon.

Don Agostino noted every little detail as he passed down the street, returning salutations made to him. He intended to see Stefano Mazza, and learn from him what steps the people proposed to take now that their deputation had been refused audience. He knew the man's influence in the district, and also the strong foundations on which that influence had been built up. Casa Acorari might raise its tenants' rents, and the fact would doubtless mean a harder struggle than ever to make two ends come within reasonable distance of meeting. But if Sor Stefano called in his mortgages and refused to renew his cambiali, the fact would spell ruin not only to the poorer among the peasantry, but also to many in the district who were regarded by their neighbors as well-to-do men, farming their hundreds of acres. Don Agostino knew this very well. Confidences were occasionally made to him which were outside the confessional—confidences made to a friend by men who would never dream of confessing to a priest; or who, if they did so in order to please their women, would certainly not tell that priest more than a fraction of the truth.

As he knew would be the case, Don Agostino found Sor Stefano busily occupied in attending to his customers at the Caffè Garibaldi. A sudden silence, succeeded by a murmur of surprise, greeted the priest's appearance at the entrance to the caffè. Every man there, from Sor Stefano downward, knew what had caused Don Agostino to make his appearance in such a quarter. It was but another proof of the importance and gravity of the situation.

Sor Stefano came forward and greeted his unusual customer. It was certainly suffocatingly hot—dogs' weather, in fact—he observed airily, as if the parroco were a daily visitor to his establishment. No doubt Don Agostino would drink a quarter of white wine?—and he escorted him to a little table in the centre of the caffè.

No, Don Agostino would not have wine. A little vermouth and seltzer—he had not yet dined.

Sicuro! The weather was hot, and the heat was much more trying than in the middle of summer. But there were signs of a change. The rain must come soon, and then—Don Agostino was as airy and indifferent in his manner as was his host. Nevertheless, he knew, and Sor Stefano knew, and all the other occupants of the caffè knew, that these were mere empty phrases demanded by the exigencies of the situation.

Sor Stefano brought a bottle of vermouth and a siphon, and set them down before Don Agostino.

"Your reverence has heard the news?" he asked. "The princess refuses to receive our deputation. It is an incredible thing, but it is true. Well, the deputation will go to the castle all the same. Only it will be a larger deputation—is it not so?" He turned and appealed to the groups sitting around, as he spoke the last words, and immediately a babel of voices arose within the caffè.

"Yes, yes, we will all go to the castle, and then we will see if these cursed foreigners will dare to prevent us from seeing and speaking with the principessina! It is the principessina we mean to see, not the foreigners!"

Sor Stefano nodded. "Sicuro, we will all go!" he repeated, and then he looked at Don Agostino. The rest paused and looked at the parroco also.

Don Agostino poured a small quantity of vermouth into his glass. Then he added some seltzer-water to it, and drank it off slowly and deliberately.

"Benissimo!" he observed, quietly. "But how will you get to the castle?"

The remark was received with a burst of laughter. How would they get there? Oh, bello! on their feet, of course—how else?

Don Agostino looked at Sor Stefano gravely.

"Signor Mazza," he said, "if somebody tried to force their way into your house against your will, what would you do?"

"Perbacco! lock the door and close the shutters, I suppose," replied Sor Stefano, staring at him.

"Precisely," returned Don Agostino, dryly. "That is what I imagine the princess will do. And then?" he added, abruptly.

A shout, almost a howl, of indignation greeted his words. In a moment every man in the caffè had started to his feet, and each one was trying to make his voice heard above that of his neighbors.

"If they lock us out, we will break the doors down!" shouted a tall, well-made young peasant, with a chest and a pair of arms evidently capable of affording valuable assistance towards the carrying out of his suggestion.

A round of applause greeted his words, followed by cries of "Abbasso gli stranieri! Abbas so gli sfruttatori! Evviva la Principessina Bianca!"—cries which were taken up by those outside the caffè till presently the whole street rang with them.

Don Agostino waited for a lull in the excitement raging around him. Then, seizing his opportunity, he got up from his seat and looked round the room calmly and composedly.

"Yes, my friends," he said, in clear, penetrating tones, which could be heard by the crowd gathered outside the caffè, "yes, Evviva la Principessina Bianca! You are her people, and you wish her well—is it not so?"

"We wish ourselves well also!" shouted a voice from without; and another round of applause, mingled with laughter, burst from the audience.

Sor Stefano came forward and placed himself at Don Agostino's side.

"Your reverence is right," he said, "and the signore who just spoke is right also. Sicuro! It is because we wish the Principessina Bianca well that we mean to see her and speak with her; because, too, we believe that she wishes her people well. Do I speak truly?"

"Bene! bene! Evviva Casa Acorari—non vogliamo gli stranieri!"

"Your reverence," Sor Stefano continued, as soon as there was silence again, "you come among us no doubt to hear our intentions. It is right. You have our confidence and our esteem."

"Evviva il parroco! Evviva Don Agostino!"

Don Agostino smiled.

"I come among you as one of yourselves," he said, "as one of the deputation to which an audience has been refused. You invited me to join the deputation, and I did so gladly, knowing that its object was a just object. You, Signor Mazza, are perfectly right. I have come here this morning to hear what my fellow-members propose to do next."

Sor Stefano shrugged his shoulders.

"Diavolo!" he exclaimed. "It seems to me that your reverence has already heard the intentions of these signori."

"I have heard them, yes," returned Don Agostino, "but I do not think that they are wise intentions. Let us reflect a little. These things need consideration, and a little patience does no harm. You say that you wish well to Donna Bianca Acorari, and to yourselves? Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you wish well to yourselves, and to Donna Bianca Acorari; more accurate, and more natural. The question is, however, whether the course you propose to adopt will result in any good, either to you or to her. You tell me that I possess your confidence and your esteem. Believe me, I value both the one and the other; and I think the fact that during the years I have been your parroco I have succeeded in gaining this esteem and confidence should be a proof that I am not likely to betray either."

Don Agostino paused for a moment, as a murmur of approval ran round the room.

"If you had come to mass this morning," he proceeded, not without a touch of humor in his voice, "I should have told you in a church what I now tell you in a caffè. Oh, do not be alarmed, my friends, you are not going to hear a sermon. I quite understand that if you had wanted anything of that nature you would have come to mass. Ebbene! one is not always in the mood to go to church. And when one is not in the mood, who knows whether it is not better to stay away than to go, and to pay Domeneddio the bad compliment of being bored with him when one gets there? No, I am not going to preach you a sermon; but I am going to make one or two suggestions to you, with your permission, and that of our worthy host," and Don Agostino turned with a smile to Sor Stefano.

"Evviva Don Agostino! Speak, speak!" resounded from all parts of the room, and from the street without people pressed nearer to the open doors of the caffè in order to hear more distinctly what the parroco had to say.

"My first suggestion," proceeded Don Agostino, "is, that we should not act hastily—that we should stop to think. To-day we are unquestionably in the right; to-morrow, by ill-considered action, we may place ourselves in the wrong. The princess has refused to receive our deputation, and, consequently, she has refused to you, the people of Montefiano, your legitimate request to explain your grievances in the presence of Donna Bianca Acorari, who is the legal owner of these lands, although as yet the law does not permit her the full privileges of her position. Well, so far, the princess is unquestionably in the wrong. That is to say, her excellency has no doubt acted by the advice of those who are not, perhaps, competent to advise her. But we must remember that the princess is placed in a difficult position. She cannot help being a foreigner, nor the fact that Donna Bianca is not her own child."

"She can help bringing foreigners here to interfere in our affairs!" interrupted Sor Stefano. "Why cannot she trust those who have always been loyal to Casa Acorari? And why must she dismiss an old official like Fontana, a man who had the full confidence of the late prince?"

"Bravo—Benissimo!" applauded Sor Stefano's customers and clients, and they looked at Don Agostino curiously, as though anxious to see how he would reply to so crushing an argument.

He hesitated for a moment. Sor Stefano's remark was, in truth, sufficiently to the point.

"But, Signor Mazza," he said, at length, "we must remember that these affairs also concern the princess. She is responsible for the administration of the property until Donna Bianca attains her majority. I do not doubt, indeed, I am convinced, that her excellency is badly advised. But if this is the case, she is not likely to listen to wiser counsels at a moment's notice. It must be proved to her absolutely, and beyond a possibility of doubt, that those whom she trusts are not competent to advise her. You, my friends, declare that you wish well to the Principessina Bianca and to Casa Acorari. If that is the case, do not let us forget that though the princess is a foreigner, she is, nevertheless, in a sense, the principessa madre, and as such is entitled to respect and consideration. It will be a strange method of showing your loyalty to Casa Acorari if you present yourselves with threats and violence at the gates of the castle of Montefiano. Nor, believe me, will you be doing yourselves any good by such a proceeding. If the princess is a woman of any spirit, and if those who have advised her are not cowards, she will only persist the more firmly in the course she has adopted. The increase in the rents will be enforced, and our friend Signor Fontana's dismissal will certainly not be recalled. Moreover, it is scarcely likely that her excellency would be disposed to allow Donna Bianca to be interviewed by those who had threatened to dispute the authority of Donna Bianca's guardian."

As Don Agostino proceeded with his arguments, the faces of his audience gradually became more lowering, and more than once murmurs of disapproval and impatience were audible. Sor Stefano himself looked at first disconcerted, and then suspicious.

"Your reverence appears to be very anxious to defend the princess," he said, "but we Montefianesi want no foreigners. If her excellency has evil counsellors round her, it is because she listens to strangers in preference to trusting her husband's people. No, reverendo, we do not forget that she is, as you say, the late prince's wife—but she is not the principessina's mother. And by all accounts she is not acting by the principessina as a mother would act by her child. We have approached her excellency with fair words, and in a respectful and legitimate manner. She has thought fit to answer us—in the way she has answered us."

Sor Stefano stopped abruptly; then, turning from Don Agostino to the crowd, ever growing more and more dense in the street, he raised his voice yet louder.

"His reverence," he exclaimed, "does not quite understand us, my friends! Oh, it is natural; for, after all, he is a priest, and it is a priest who is at the bottom of the whole business! Si capisce! the Church must support the Church. But Don Agostino does not understand us. He thinks that we are considering our interests only—that our only object in going to the castle is to insist on the rents remaining as they were, and on Sor Beppe being recalled to his post. If that were all, reverendo, we should not take the trouble to go to the castle—niente affato! The rents would not be paid—and as to the new fattore whom the foreign priest has appointed—well, he would be a brave man to remain long in Montefiano. He would receive hints—oh, that the air of Montefiano was unhealthy for strangers. And if he did not take the hints and remove himself, the air would no doubt prove fatal. No, we go to the castle because we wish to see and to speak with the principessina—because we wish to know what truth there is in certain stories we have heard—that the principessina is, as it were, a prisoner here at Montefiano until she gives herself up to the lust of an old foreigner instead of to the love of a Roman youth she wants to marry. We wish to learn if it is true that the Abbé Roux is in reality the lessee of the rents on the Montefiano latifondo, and that he means to force the principessina to marry her uncle for reasons of his own. These are our reasons, reverendo, for insisting on seeing the principessina herself, and for being determined to force our way into the castle, if we are compelled to do so. Have I spoken well, or ill?"

A shout from the crowd answered Sor Stefano's speech.

"Al castello—andiamo al castello! Fuori gli stranieri—evviva la Principessina Bianca!"

Sor Stefano looked at Don Agostino. "You hear, reverendo?" he asked.

"I hear," Don Agostino replied, quietly, and then, drawing himself up to his full height, he added, "And I repeat, with you, 'Evviva la Principessina Donna Bianca Acorari!' You, Signor Mazza, have spoken, and much that you have said is just. But you have also said what is not just. If I defend the princess, it is because I believe that lady to be innocent of the conduct towards her step-daughter which you impute to her. I believe her to be influenced by dishonest persons who have succeeded in gaining her entire confidence, and in persuading her that she is doing her duty by Donna Bianca. It makes no difference to me that one of these dishonest persons—the chief among them—happens to be a priest. I have not defended his conduct, but merely that of the princess, who has, I believe, been deceived by his advice. It is true, Signor Mazza, that the Church must support the Church; and concerning the Abbé Roux as a priest, I have nothing to say. It is with the Abbé Roux as a man of business that I am concerned—and I have already expressed my opinion of him in that respect. But these things are beside the point. I came here to learn your intentions, my friends, as regards the action of the deputation of which I consented to be a member. I speak frankly. If that action is to be such as you seem to be bent upon, I will not be a party to it. To give my approval to a course which must almost inevitably lead to disorder, if not to worse, would not be consistent with my duty either to you as my parishioners or to myself as a priest. I tell you that you will gain nothing by threats and demonstrations, and the position of the principessina will certainly not be improved by any interference of such a character. All that will happen will be that the princess—who, remember, is within her rights and has the law behind her—will call upon the authorities to assist her and to maintain order at Montefiano. You, Signor Mazza, know as well as I do what would be the result of continued resistance under such circumstances. They are not results which any one who wishes well to Montefiano cares to contemplate, and certainly not results which I, a priest, can assist in bringing about. No, my friends, let us be reasonable! You have done me the honor to say that you trust me. Well, I am going to ask you to trust me a little longer—for a few hours longer. I told you that I had one or two suggestions to make to you, and I should like to make my second suggestion."

Don Agostino's audience was apparently undecided. The younger and more excited among the crowd seemed eager for instant action, but the older heads were evidently ready to listen to the parroco's advice.

At this juncture no less a person than the sindaco intervened. The avvocato Ricci had taken no part in the proceedings, though he had been present when Don Agostino entered the caffè. He was, indeed, in a lamentable position of embarrassment and difficulty, what with his fear of offending Sor Stefano on the one hand, and his anxiety lest he should be compromised in the eyes of the authorities on the other. Don Agostino's last sentences, however, had given him the courage to open his lips and to join the parroco in dissociating himself from a movement which threatened to become prolific of disorder. Don Agostino's allusion to the danger of so acting as to oblige the princess and her advisers to seek the aid of the authorities had finally decided the sindaco of Montefiano to brave the resentment of the man who held so much of his paper locked away in his strong-box.

"In my opinion," he said, "his reverence is right. If it is inconsistent with his duty as parroco of Montefiano to associate himself with a movement which tends to create disorder, it is equally inconsistent that I who, as sindaco, am responsible to the civil authorities for the maintenance of law and order in the commune should in any way countenance a course which, as Don Agostino justly says, might lead to very deplorable consequences. His reverence, however, has some other suggestion to offer. Is it not so?" he added, turning to Don Agostino.

The intervention was opportune, and Don Agostino felt it to be so. He was determined to prevent, if possible, the proposed march upon the castle by an angry and excited crowd of uneducated peasants and petty farmers. It was not that he feared any violence or excesses on their part, beyond that of perhaps forcing an entrance into the courtyard of the castle, if they found the gates barred against them. He dreaded lest a further blunder should be committed by the Princess Montefiano and those who were advising her. The refusal to receive the deputation and the manner of that refusal were blunders enough; but a still graver error in judgment would be committed were the princess to allow the matter to pass out of her own hands into those of the authorities, civil or military. Don Agostino was determined that if more blunders were committed, he would at all events do all that lay in his power to prevent the people themselves from furnishing any excuse for these blunders.

"Yes, my friends," he said, after considering for a few moments, "I have another suggestion to make to you. It is this. It is possible that the princess, although unwilling to receive a deputation, would consent to receive your sindaco and myself, and listen to our representations on your behalf. I think, indeed, that her excellency could scarcely decline to receive us under the circumstances; and we could request that the Principessina Donna Bianca should be present at the interview and hear what we have to say on behalf of her people. At least, no reasonable objection could be taken to this step by her excellency's advisers, and it is possible that we might succeed in demonstrating to the princess that these advisers have misled her. I am ready to go to the castle this afternoon," he continued. "and ask to see her excellency and Donna Bianca. Doubtless, Signor Sindaco, you will accompany me," he added.

The avvocato Ricci glanced nervously at Sor Stefano, then he shook his head. "I think not, Don Agostino," he said. "That you should go and attempt to arrange matters with her excellency is very right and proper. But I am not inclined to interfere unless I should be called upon to do so in my official capacity—a thing which I trust may not happen. No, signori," he added, turning to the listening crowd, "I feel sure that your interests are safe in Don Agostino's hands, and his advice is good. Let him go this afternoon to the castle as your representative. The princess has the reputation of being a very devout lady. She will doubtless, therefore, be pleased to receive a visit from the parroco of Montefiano. In the mean time, my friends, let us be calm and patient, and await the result of his reverence's interview with the princess and Donna Bianca."

It was evident that Don Agostino's suggestion, seconded as it was by the official influence of the sindaco, found favor with the majority of the assembly both within and outside the Caffè Garibaldi. There were a few dissentient voices, and Sor Stefano himself seemed to sympathize with those who were clamoring for more immediate and united action.

Don Agostino took Stefano Mazza aside for a minute or two and spoke earnestly with him. He pointed out how imprudent it would be to encourage the people to go to the castle in their present excited frame of mind. Delay, he argued, was everything, for it would also afford those at the castle time to realize their mistake; and very likely he, Don Agostino, would be able to bring matters at any rate to a compromise, which should satisfy both parties.

To his great relief, Sor Stefano yielded to his persuasions, although he did so with a bad grace. For some reason or other it was clear that Sor Stefano was anxious that matters should come to a crisis; and Don Agostino had throughout wondered what his object might be in so openly supporting the peasants and the more violent faction of the community in their desire to present themselves in person at the castle and force the princess to give way.

A few words from Sor Stefano were sufficient to silence the objections of the minority to the parroco's proposal, and after promising that he would go that very afternoon to the castle, Don Agostino left the caffè, saluted as he made his way through the crowd by friendly cheers from his parishioners.

XXX

It was not to be expected that the excitement and ill-feeling produced by Princess Montefiano's curt refusal to receive the deputation which had been formed to wait upon her should be unknown in the castle. The Abbé Roux, indeed, was not without his means of information as to what was going on in the paese; but it so happened that the intelligence supplied to him was not infrequently both inaccurate and misleading. As he had said to Monsieur d'Antin, he was aware that the dismissal of the agent Fontana had aroused a certain amount of opposition and even of indignation; but he was certainly ignorant of the extent and depth of the feeling his action had excited in the commune. In his opinion, the ill-feeling that he had been told was being manifested by the peasants was merely the result of an attempt on the part of the dismissed fattore and his friends to frighten the princess and lead her to recall Fontana to his post and to give way on the question of the raising of the rents. He was persuaded that it was only necessary to be firm, and not to listen to any attempt on the part of the contadini to discuss the matter with the administration of Casa Acorari, and in a few days things would quiet down. He had not, therefore, thought fit to tell Princess Montefiano more than was absolutely necessary of the state of affairs prevailing in the paese, and he had represented the whole matter as a trifle which was not worthy of her consideration. It is possible that had the abbé been better informed he would have regarded the situation in a different light. If he had known, for instance, of the stories assiduously circulated throughout the district during the last few weeks concerning Donna Bianca Acorari, and the treatment to which she was being subjected—stories which certainly had lost nothing in the process of diffusion—if he had suspected that it was being openly asserted that he and none other was the new lessee of the Montefiano rents, that mysterious affittuario, who had never hitherto been seen in the flesh, he would doubtless have proceeded more cautiously. But the Abbé Roux was not well informed. Indeed, could he but have known it, he was being wilfully misled by those whom he believed to be his friends, not only at Montefiano, but also at Palazzo Acorari in Rome, where the business of Casa Acorari was transacted. Long as he had lived in Italy, he had got to learn that he was no match for a certain class of Italians, and more especially of Romans, at petty intrigue. Not a syllable had reached his ears which could lead him to suspect that not only was his actual position with regard to the Acorari estates known, but that the entire scheme by which he hoped to retain that position for a period long enough to enable him to make a considerable sum of money out of it was known also.

It was natural, therefore, that the letter announcing to Princess Montefiano that a deputation from the peasantry proposed to wait upon her, and stating that its members were commissioned particularly to request a personal interview with the Principessina Donna Bianca, should have caused both its recipient and the Abbé Roux considerable surprise. It had been surprise only, however, and that feeling had been quickly followed by one of contemptuous indifference. The princess, indeed, was not a little indignant. The pointed request that her step-daughter should be personally approached by the tenantry of Montefiano seemed to her to be a reflection upon herself and her position; a stone, as it were, cast against her authority. The Abbé Roux had certainly not attempted to soothe her ruffled feelings. He had, on the contrary, inveighed against the insolence of the peasantry in venturing to send such a document to her excellency, and against the obvious disrespect towards her rule conveyed in the request that the deputation should speak with Donna Bianca in person. He had assured the princess and Monsieur d'Antin, to whom she had shown the letter, that the whole affair was a trifle—a mere ballon d'essai on the part of Fontana and his friends to intimidate her excellency with a view to regaining his post. As to the grievance about the rents, that was nonsense. The holdings in question had been for many years under-rented; and the tenants could perfectly well afford to pay the trifling addition imposed. Had he, the abbé, not gone thoroughly into the question, he would not have counselled any increase, but Fontana had been very lax, very behind the times, and he had evidently thought more of keeping on good terms with the contadini than of the legitimate interests of his employers.

Monsieur d'Antin had shrugged his shoulders and declined to give an opinion. He did not understand Italian peasants, and he did not want to understand them. He was quite convinced in his own mind that the abbé was making a purse for himself, but doubtless the abbé knew what he was about, and it was no part of Baron d'Antin's programme to interfere in the priest's little arrangements. His sister's indignation at the allusion to Bianca rather amused him. Jeanne was certainly tenacious of her rights. She would have made an admirable mother-superior—yes, admirable.

The princess, who did not lack spirit, had required no advice as to the manner in which she should reply to the letter in question. To do her justice, she was not a woman to be intimidated by what she fully believed to be a blow levelled at her authority by a body of uneducated peasants, instigated to disaffection by a dismissed servant.

The Abbé Roux had scornfully pointed out to her the name of Don Agostino Lelli as being one of the proposed deputation. It was quite sufficient, he declared, that such an individual should be one of its leaders to prove the real character of the movement. The parroco of Montefiano had persistently interfered, as Madame la Princesse well knew, in affairs that were quite outside his province, and no doubt he and the dismissed agent were acting in concert. Besides, a priest who had so notoriously fallen into disgrace at Rome was certainly not a fitting person to be received by the princess at the bidding of a few peasants.

In this latter sentiment Monsieur d'Antin had heartily supported the abbé. It was decidedly not advisable that Monsignor Lelli should succeed in obtaining even a single interview with Bianca Acorari. Monsieur d'Antin and the abbé had exchanged a rapid but significant glance when they observed that among those whom the peasants had designated to represent their cause was the name of Don Agostino Lelli; and both of them had resolved that Monsignor Lelli should have no opportunity of even seeing Bianca.

Princess Montefiano had wished to despatch her reply at once to the signatories of the letter she had received, but the abbé counselled delay. Although he affected to regard the whole matter with contempt, he was not quite easy in his mind as to what the effects of so curt a refusal to receive the peasants' deputation might be. He had persuaded the princess, therefore, to keep back her answer until the following morning. He wished to ascertain the exact state of public opinion in Montefiano, and also to prepare for possible emergencies. It had not been without some difficulty that he had succeeded in persuading the princess not at once to send her reply, and it was only when her brother added his representations to those of the abbé that Princess Montefiano had finally consented to any delay. In the mean time, all knowledge of what was happening was carefully kept from Bianca Acorari. The Abbé Roux found it easy enough to point out the advisability of not allowing the fact of there being any difficulty with the people to transpire to Donna Bianca, and more especially that a personal interview with her had been sought by their representatives. The princess had no desire to bring her step-daughter forwards, since by so doing, she would only diminish her own authority to which she was legally entitled. It was absurd to suppose that Bianca could possibly understand business matters; and, as the abbé pointed out, the endeavor to drag an inexperienced girl into such questions was only another proof that the whole agitation had been formed with a view to intimidation. It would be wiser, Monsieur l'Abbé argued, to leave Donna Bianca in complete ignorance of the situation; and so, by common consent, not a word was said in her presence that could lead her to suspect that anything unusual was taking place.

In the mean time, the Abbé Roux sent a private note to the sindaco of Montefiano, begging that official to come to see him that evening after dusk at the castle, and enjoining him to keep his visit a secret, as, for obvious reasons, it would not be advisable that it should be known in the paese that they had conferred together.

The sindaco's report had certainly not diminished the Abbé Roux's growing apprehensions. It was evident that the avvocato Ricci regarded the agitation as wide-spread and likely to assume serious proportions. It was headed, as he assured the abbé, by influential members of the community, whose support would undoubtedly encourage the contadini to persist in their attitude. He himself had been approached, and it was true that he had consented to join the proposed deputation to the princess; but he had done so in the hope of exerting his official influence to keep the agitation within legitimate bounds. Among the chief supporters of the peasantry he could assure the abbé that the parroco, Don Agostino Lelli, was one of the most active, and, by virtue of his position, perhaps the most influential. It was, of course, well known that the parroco was taking this part out of friendship for and sympathy with the fattore, Giuseppe Fontana. The Abbé Roux made a gesture of impatience and anger.

"Don Agostino Lelli had better confine himself to his duties," he exclaimed, "otherwise he will find himself removed from Montefiano, as, years ago, he was removed from his post in Rome. You are of opinion, then," he continued, "that this affair is likely to become serious; that disorders, in short, might break out if her excellency the princess refuses to receive this deputation?"

The sindaco hesitated. "It depends," he replied.

"And upon what?" asked the abbé, sharply.

"Upon—well, upon whether her excellency is prepared to stand firm, and to take the possible consequences of her refusal. After all, she has the force of the law on her side—"

"And the force of public opinion on the other side," interrupted the abbé.

The mayor of Montefiano shrugged his shoulders. "Caro signore," he observed, "the sight of a few bayonets soon changes public opinion. I believe that the peasants will very quickly turn round and disown their own supporters, if they once realize that her excellency will not give way to their demands. In any case, you can rely upon my doing my duty in safeguarding the public order in this commune. Her excellency has only to request the aid of the authorities in the event of the contadini proceeding to any excesses, and a telegram to the military authorities at Civitacastellana will do the rest. In the space of three or four hours troops could be on the spot."

"Ah!" repeated the Abbé Roux, thoughtfully; "in the space of three or four hours, you say?"

"Sicuro! perhaps less. In my opinion there would be nothing to fear. The sight of the soldiers would soon reduce the peasants to reason."

The abbé looked at him quickly. "The princess has already decided to refuse to receive this deputation," he said. "She has written a very abrupt refusal. I have persuaded her to delay its despatch for a few hours. It appears, however, that there is no reason why it should not be sent to-morrow."

"It will increase the ill-feeling, no doubt," said the sindaco—"very seriously increase it, I fear. Still, if her excellency has the courage to stand firm, there can be but one issue. In the end the contadini will have to give way, and then they will infallibly turn against those who have encouraged them to create disturbances. It is always like that."

The Abbé Roux did not reply for a moment or two. Then he said, suddenly: "There is one thing I do not quite understand, Signor Ricci. Why does this deputation insist upon seeing Donna Bianca Acorari? The people must surely know that Donna Bianca, being a minor, has no voice in matters connected with the administration of her property. This insistence on speaking with her is scarcely respectful to the princess, who alone has any authority in the matter. As you were to be a member of the deputation, no doubt you can explain the meaning of this request to interview Donna Bianca?"

The sindaco hesitated. Then, having made up his mind to lie, he lied soundly but plausibly, as only an Italian official of the bureaucracy can lie.

"It is very simple," he said, with a laugh. "The peasants have got an idea into their heads that Donna Bianca would take their part and intercede for them, because—well, because she is an Acorari, and her excellency the princess is, after all, a stranger. It is mere sentiment, of course, with a certain amount of shrewdness at the back of it. No doubt the parroco, Don Agostino, has put the idea into their heads. But there is nothing in it but sentiment—nothing at all, Signor Abate, I can assure you. I objected to the introduction of Donna Bianca's name into the business, but it was better to let the contadini have their own way about what is, after all, a mere trifle. They do not realize that the principessina has, as you say, no voice in such matters, being a minor."

The abbé nodded. "I quite understand," he said, pleasantly. "No doubt it has been part of the scheme of these agitators to work upon the sentiment of the peasantry for Donna Bianca, as being their future padrona. But, luckily for her, she has those about her who know how to protect her interests and to guard her against being imposed upon. Well, Signor Sindaco, to-morrow morning the princess will send her answer. It is, as I have already told you, a refusal to receive the deputation, or to discuss its objects. You may be sure that her excellency will not give way, no matter what attitude the people may assume. If that attitude should become threatening, we may have to seek the aid of the authorities through you. A proposito, would it not be as well to warn the military authorities that a handful of soldiers might be required to keep order at Montefiano? On the receipt of a telegram they could then be despatched without delay. You can doubtless arrange to do this without the matter becoming known; and then, should it be necessary, we would request you to send the telegram regarding the immediate presence of the troops. By these means we could give the idiots the unpleasant surprise of finding that we were prepared for any folly they might attempt to commit. At least the display of a little force could do no harm, and would probably have an excellent moral effect. But not a word, caro signore, of our conference to-night. I trust that your visit to the castle will not have been observed by any of the people. By-the-way, should there be any fresh development in the situation to-morrow morning, after the tenor of the princess's reply has become known, I must beg that you will communicate with me."

The sindaco of Montefiano took his leave, assuring the Abbé Roux that all should be done as he had suggested. The evening was dark and rainy, and he encountered nobody on the steep road leading up to the castle from the town below. At any rate, the avvocato Ricci thought to himself, he had secured himself against any misrepresentation at Rome of his conduct. If Sor Stefano and the peasantry insisted upon continuing the agitation, there would infallibly be mischief, and in that case it was as well to be on the winning side, which side must inevitably be supported by the authorities. It was certainly no affair of his to enlighten the abate as to the real object of the deputation in having insisted upon seeing Donna Bianca Acorari. His affair was to avoid compromising himself in the eyes of the authorities in Rome, and the Abate Roux would have to weather the storm he had created as best he could. The lawyer was not a little struck by the Abbé Roux's caution in providing for a speedy and unexpected appearance on the scene of military force, should its presence be desirable. "Even Sor Stefano," he said to himself, with a chuckle, "would talk less loudly if he were suddenly to find himself confronted by a company of infantry with fixed bayonets, and he, Augusto Ricci, might earn the approval of the minister of the interior and head of the government in Rome for his promptitude in suppressing threatened disorder in the commune of which he was sindaco."

XXXI

After leaving the Caffè Garibaldi, Don Agostino returned to his house in a very thoughtful frame of mind. He had promised to go himself to Princess Montefiano and put the peasants' case before her. He had promised, also, that he would speak with Donna Bianca Acorari personally. The question now arose how he was to accomplish what he had undertaken. The princess, it was true, could scarcely refuse to receive him without that refusal being a marked rudeness to him as parroco of Montefiano; at the same time, Don Agostino was perfectly aware that she had certainly not displayed any desire to make his personal acquaintance. He had duly left his card, as politeness required, after her arrival at the castle, and had received no invitation to repeat his visit. The fact had not surprised or annoyed him. He had been tolerably well acquainted with the Abbé Roux in the days when that ecclesiastic was the secretary to a cardinal who had always been his bitter enemy, and who, he well knew, had been more active than any one else at the Vatican in clamoring for his removal and disgrace. The acquaintance had not been a pleasant one, and certain details in the abbé's career which happened to have come to his knowledge had not made Don Agostino desirous of improving it.

It was not likely, therefore, that the Abbé Roux would welcome his presence at the castle of Montefiano, and he would doubtless have used his influence with the princess to prevent her from knowing him in any way than as a priest on Acorari property, who might sometimes have occasion to address a letter to her concerning the needs of his parishioners.

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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé Roux as his study. The abbé, 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'Abbé Roux than by ladies—was it not so? Monsieur l'Abbé 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 Curé," 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 Abbé 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 abbé as he came into the room, and Don Agostino fancied that, as he returned the glance, the Abbé 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'Abbé—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 abbé, 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 Abbé 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'Abbé, 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'Abbé, 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 Abbé 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 abbé'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 Abbé Roux was losing his temper; and time, valuable time, was passing.

Don Agostino shrugged his shoulders, and then, turning his back upon the abbé, 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 Abbé 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 abbé and Monsieur d'Antin both started. "How, monsieur?" exclaimed the abbé. "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 Abbé 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 abbé 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'Abbé 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 Abbé 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 Abbé 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 abbé 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 caffè 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'Abbé," 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'Abbé. 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 caffè 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'Abbé 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'Abbé, you know all this, since you are well informed of what is being said and done in Montefiano."