From: tapri@kolumbus. Fi (Tapio Riikonen)

A SIREN

By Thomas Adolphus Trollope

CONTENTS

BOOK IAsh Wednesday MorningCHAPTERI The Last Night of CarnivalII Apollo VindexIII St. Apollinare in ClasseIV Father FabianoV "The Hours passed, and still she came not"VI Gigia's OpinionVII An Attorney-at-Law in the Papal StatesVIII Lost in the ForestIX "Passa la bella Donna e par che dorma"

BOOK IIFour Mmonth Before That Ash Wednesday MorningCHAPTERI How the Good News came to RavennaII The Marchese Lamberto di CastelmareIII The Impresario's ReportIV Paolina FoscarelliV RivalryVI The Beginning of TroubleVII The Teaching of a Great LoveVIII A Change in the SituationIX Uncle and NephewX The Coutessa ViolanteXI The Cardinal's Reception, and the Marchese's BallXII The Arrival of the "Diva"

BOOK III"Sirenum Pocula"CHAPTERI "Diva Potens"II An Adopted Father and an Adopted DaughterIII "Armed at All Points"IV Throwing the LineV After-thoughtsVI At the CircoloVII Extremes MeetVIII The Diva shows her CardsIX One Struggle more

BOOR IVThe Last Days of the Carnival

CHAPTERI In the Cardinal's ChapelII The CorsoIII "La Sonnambula"IV The Marchese Lamberto's CorrespondenceV Bianca at HomeVI Paolina at HomeVII Two InterviewsVIII A Carnival ReceptionIX Paolina's Return to the City

BOOK VWho Did The Deed?CHAPTERI At the City GateII SuspicionIII Guilty or Not Guilty?IV The Marchese hears the Ill NewsV Doubts and PossibilitiesVI At the Circolo againVII A Prison VisitVIII Signor Giovacchino Fortini at HomeIX The Post-Mortem ExaminationX Public OpinionXI In Father Fabiano's CellXII The Case against Paolina

BOOK VIPoena Pede ClaudoCHAPTERI Signor Fortini receives the Signora Steno in his StudioII Was it Paolina after all?III Could it have been the Aged Friar?IV What Ravenna thought of itV "Miserrimus"VI The TrialVII The Friar's TestimonyVIII The Truth!IX Conclusion

A SIREN

By Thomas Adolphus Trollope

BOOK I

Ash Wednesday Morning

CHAPTER I

The Last Night of Carnival

It was Carnival time in the ancient and once imperial, but nowprovincial and remote, city of Ravenna. It was Carnival time, andthe very acme and high-tide of that season of mirth and revel. Forthe theory of Carnival observance is, that the life of it, unlikethat of most other things and beings, is intensified with aconstantly crescendo movement up to the last minutes of itsexistence. And there now remained but an hour before midnight on theTuesday preceding the first day of Lent, Ash Wednesday--DiesCinerum!--that sad and sober morrow which has brought with it"sermons and soda-water" to so many generations of revellers. 

Of course Carnival, according to the Calendar and Time's hour-glass, is over at twelve o'clock on the night of Shrove Tuesday. Generally, however, in the pleasure-loving cities of Italy, a few hours' laware allowed or winked at. The revellers are not supposed to becomeaware that it is past midnight till about three or four in themorning. 

Very generally the wind-up of the season of fun and frolic consistsof what is called a "Veglione, " or "great making a night of it, "which means a masked ball at the theatre. And the great centralchandelier does not begin to descend into the body of the house, tohave its lights flapped out by the handkerchiefs of the revellersamid a last frantic rondo, till some four hours after midnight. Butin provincial Ravenna, a Pope's city under the rule of a CardinalLegate, there is--or was in the days when the Pope held sway there--no Veglione. Its place was supplied, as far as "the society" of thecity was concerned, by a ball at the "Circolo dei Nobili. "

It was not, therefore, till four o'clock in the morning, or perhapseven a little later, that the lights would be extinguished on thenight in question at the "Circolo dei Nobili, " and Carnival would, in truth, be over, and the tired holiday-makers would go home totheir beds. 

A few hours more remained, and the revelry was at its height, andthe dancers danced as knowing that their minutes were numbered. 

There had been a ball on the previous night at the Palazzo of theMarchese Lamberto di Castelmare. But the scene at the Circolo was amuch more brilliant, animated, and varied one than that of the nightbefore at the Castelmare palace. The Marchese Lamberto was thewealthiest noble in Ravenna, and--putting aside his friend theCardinal Legate--was, in many other respects, the first and foremostman of the city. He was a bachelor of some fifty years old. Andbachelors' houses and bachelors' balls have the reputation ofenjoying the privilege of a somewhat freer and more unreservedgaiety and jollity than those of their neighbours more heavilyweighted with the cares and responsibilities of life. But such wasnot the case at the Palazzo Castelmare. Presided over on suchoccasions as that of the great annual Carnival ball by a widowedsister-in-law of the Marchese, the Castelmare palace was the mostdecorous and respectable house, as its master was the most decorousand respectable man, in Ravenna. 

Not that it was a dull house. The Marchese Lamberto, though a graveand dignified personage in the eyes of the "jeunesse doree" ofRavenna, was looked up to as one of the best loved, as well as mostrespected, men in the city. And there was not a member of the"society" who would not have been sadly hurt at not being invited tothe great annual Carnival ball at the Castelmare palace. But thesame degree of laissez aller jollity would not have been "de mise"there as was permissible at the Circolo. The fun was not so fast andfurious as it was wont to be at the club of the nobles on the lastnight of Carnival. 

The whole society were at the latter gathering. All the nobles ofRavenna were the hosts. And everybody was there solely and entirelyto amuse and enjoy themselves. Host and guests, indeed, were almostidentical. There were but few persons present, and those strangersto the town, who did not belong to their own class. 

To the Marchese, on the previous night, most of the company hadcontented themselves with going in "domino. " At the Circolo ball avery large proportion of the dancers were in costume. The ConteLeandro Lombardoni, --lady-killer, Don Juan, and poet, whose fortunesand misfortunes in these characters had made him the butt of theentire society, and had perhaps contributed, together with his well-known extraordinarily pronounced propensity for cramming himselfwith pastry, to give him the pale, puffed, pasty face, swellingaround a pair of pale fish-like eyes, that distinguished him, --theConte Leandro Lombardoni; indeed, had gone to the Castelmare palaceas "Apollo, " in a costume which young Ludovico Castelmare, theMarchese Lamberto's nephew, would insist on mistaking for that ofAesop; and had now, according to a programme perfectly well knownpreviously throughout the city, come to the Circolo as "Dante. " TheTuscan "lucco, " or long flowing gown, had at least the advantage ofconcealing from the public eye much that the Apollo costume hadinjudiciously exhibited. 

Ludovico Castelmare had adopted the costume of a Venetian noble ofthe sixteenth century; and very strikingly handsome he looked inthat most picturesque of all dresses. The Marchese Lamberto was atthe ball, of course, but not in costume. Perhaps the most strikingfigure in the rooms, however, was one of those few persons who havebeen mentioned as present, but not belonging to Ravenna, or to theclass of its nobles. This was a lady, well known at that daythroughout Italy as Bianca Lalli--"La Lalli, " or "La Bianca, " intheatrical parlance--for she was one of the first singers of theday. Special circumstances--to be explained at a future page--hadrendered it possible for remote little Ravenna to secure thecelebrated artist for the Carnival, which was now expiring. TheMarchese Lamberto, who, among many other avocations and occupations, all of them contributing in some way or other to the welfare andadvantage of his native city, was a great lover and connoisseur ofmusic, and patron of the theatre, had been mainly instrumental inbringing La Lalli to Ravenna. The engagement had been a mostsuccessful one. The "Diva Bianca" had sung through the Carnival, charming all ears and hearts in Ravenna with her voice, and all eyeswith her very remarkable and fascinating beauty. And now, on thislast night of the festive season, she was the cynosure of all eyesat the ball. 

Bianca had, as it so happened, also chosen a Venetian costume of thesame period as that of Ludovico--about the middle of the sixteenthcentury. In truth, it was mere chance that had led to thissimilarity. And neither of them, as it happened, had mentioned tothe other the dress they intended to wear. Bianca, in fact, used asshe was to wear costumes of all sorts, and to outshine all beautiesnear her in all or any of them, had thought nothing about her dress, till the evening before; and then had consulted the MarcheseLamberto on the subject: but had been so much occupied with himduring nearly the whole of that evening at his ball, that she hadnot said a word about it to any one else. 

It could not but seem, however, to everybody that the MarcheseLudovico and La Lalli had agreed together to represent a pairbelonging to the most gorgeous and picturesque days of Venetianhistory. And a most magnificently handsome pair they made. Bianca'sdress, or at least the general appearance and effect of it, willreadily be imagined by those acquainted with the full-lengthportraits of Titian or Tintoretto. A more strictly "proper" costumeno lady could wish to wear. And the jeunesse doree of Ravenna, whohad thought it likely that the Diva would appear as some light-skirted Flora, or high-kirtled Diana, were altogether disappointed. 

But there was much joking and raillery about the evident and notablepair-ship of Ludovico and Bianca; and it came to pass that, almostwithout any special intention on their own part, they were thrownmuch together, and danced together frequently. And this, under thecircumstances, was still more the case than it would have otherwisebeen, in consequence of the Marchese Lamberto not dancing. It was along time since he had done so. There were many men dancing lessfitted than he, as far as appearance and capability, and even as faras years went, to join in such amusements. Nevertheless, all Ravennawould have been almost as much surprised to see the MarcheseLamberto dressed in mumming costume, and making one among Carnivalrevellers, as to see the Cardinal himself doing the same things. Hehad made for himself a social position, and a life so much apartfrom any such levities, that his participation in them would haveseemed a monstrosity. 

It may be doubted, however, whether on this occasion, at least, thedignified Marchese was satisfied with the position he had thus madefor himself. It would have been too absurd and remarkable for LaBianca to have abstained from dancing and attached herself to him inthe ball-room, instead of consorting with the younger folks. Ofcourse that was entirely out of the question. But none the less forthat was the evening a time of cruel suffering and martyrdom to theMarchese. Of course he believed that the adoption of so singularlysimilar a costume by Bianca and his nephew was the result of pre-arranged agreement. And the thought, and all that his embitteredfancy built upon the thought, were making everything around him, andall the prospect of his life before him, utterly intolerable to him. 

Ludovico and Bianca had been dancing together for the third time--awaltz fast and furious, which they had kept up almost incessantlytill the music had ceased. Heated and breathless, he led her out ofthe ball-room to get some refreshment. There was a large supper-roomwhich, on the cessation of the waltz, immediately became crowded byother couples bent on a similar errand. But there had also beenestablished a little subsidiary buffet in a small cabinet at thefurthest end of the suite of rooms, for the purpose of drawing offsome of the crowd from the main supper-room. And thither Ludovicoled Bianca, thinking to avoid the crush of people rushing in to thelarger room. 

The young Marchese--the "Marchesino, " as he was often called, todistinguish him from his uncle, the Marchese Lamberto--was one ofthe small committee of the Circolo, who had had the management ofall the arrangements for the ball; and was, accordingly, well awareof the whereabouts of this little "succursale" to the supper-room. But it is probable that the existence of it was unknown to the greatmajority of the company. At all events, so it happened, that whenLudovico and Bianca reached it, it was wholly untenanted, save byDante, in his long red gown, solitarily occupied in cramming himselfwith pastry. 

"What, Dante in exile!" cried Ludovico. "Pray, Sir Poet, whichbolgia was set apart for those who are lost by the `peccato dellagola?' or is a bilious fit in the more immediate future bolgiafearful enough?"

"It is not so bad a bolgia as that appointed some other sins, " saidthe Conte Leandro, with mouth stuffed with cake, as he moved out ofroom. 

"What an animal it is!" said Ludovico, laughing, as he gave Bianca aglass of champagne, and filled another for himself. 

"Take some of this woodcock pie, Signora Bianca? You must be starvedby this time; and I can recommend it. "

"How so? You have not tasted it yourself yet. "

"No; but I am going to do so. And my recommendation is based on myknowledge of the qualities of our woodcocks. They are the finest inthe world. The marshes in the neighbourhood of the Pineta breed themin immense quantities. "

"Oh, I have heard so much of the Pineta. They say it is so lovely. "

"The most beautiful forest in the world. And this is just the timewhen it is in its greatest beauty, --the early spring, when the wildflowers are all beginning to blossom, and the birds are all singing. There is nothing like our Pineta!"

"I should so like to see it. It does seem really a shame to leaveRavenna without ever having seen the Pineta. "

"Oh, you must not dream of doing so. You must make a littleexcursion one of these fine spring days. It is just the time for it. Some morning, the earlier the better. But I dare say your habits arenot very matutinal, Signora?"

"Well, not very, for the most part. But I would willingly make themmatutinal for such a purpose at any time. How far is it?"

"Oh, a mere nothing--at the city gates almost a couple of miles, perhaps. You may go out by the Porta Nuova, at the end of the Corso, and so to that part of the forest which lies to the southward of thecity; or by the northern road, which very soon enters the wood onthat side. Perhaps the finest part of the Pineta is that to thesouthwards. Of all places in the world it is the spot for acolazione al fresco. "

"I should so like it. I have heard of the Pineta di Ravenna all mylife. "

"What do you say to going this very morning?" said Ludovico, afterthinking for a minute. "There is no time like the present. It willbe a charming finish to our Carnival--new and original, too! Do youfeel as if you had go enough left for it?"

"Oh, as for that, " said Bianca, laughing with lips and eyes, "I amup to anything. I should like it of all things. But--"

"Ah! what a terrible word that 'but' is. But what?" said Ludovico, who had no sooner conceived the idea than he became eager to put itinto execution. "But what?"

"But--a great many things. Unhappily, there is no word comes oftenerinto one's life than that odious 'but. ' But who is to go with me? Icannot go all alone by myself?"

"Oh, that's no but at all. Of course, Signora, I did not proposesuch an expedition to you without proposing to myself the honour ofaccompanying you, " said Ludovico with a profound bow. 

"What a scappata! I should like it of all things. But--there itcomes again! `But' the second; will not the good people say allsorts of ill-natured and absurd things?"

"Not a bit of it--in my case, Signora. Everybody knows that we havebeen very good friends; and that I have not been coxcomb enough tohave ever hoped to be aught more to you, having been protected, asthey all know, from such danger in the only way in which a man couldpossibly be protected from it, " said Ludovico, bowing again. 

"Dear me! What way is that? It might be so useful to know. Would itbe equally applicable to a lady, I wonder?" said Bianca, looking athim half laughingly, half-poutingly, with her head on one side. "Ohyes! perfectly applicable in all cases, Signora. It is only to haveno heart to lose, having lost it already, " returned he. 

"Oh, come! This is a confidence dans les regles! And in return forit, Signor Ludovico, do you know--speaking in all seriousness--that--if we really do put this wild scheme into execution--I have aconfidence to give you, and may take that opportunity of making it--a confidence, not which may or may not be made, like yours, butwhich I ought to make to you, the necessity of making whichfurnishes, to say the truth, a very plausible reason for ourprojected tete-a-tete. "

"Davvero, Signora! Better and better; I shall be charmed to receivesuch a mark of your friendship, " said Ludovico, thinking and caringlittle on what subject it might be that the Diva purposed speakingto him: "and then, the fact is, " he continued, "that to-morrowmorning will be the best morning for the purpose of all the days ofthe year. For we shall be quite sure that every soul here will be inbed and asleep. On the first morning in Lent one is tolerably safenot to fall in with early risers. Our little trip, you may be verysure, will never be heard of by anybody, unless we choose to tell ofit ourselves. "

"And I am sure that I do not see why we should not, " said Bianca. 

"I see no reason against telling all the town, for my part, "rejoined Ludovico; "afterwards though--you understand; and notbeforehand, or our little escapade would be spoilt by some blockheador other insisting on joining us. Our friend Leandro there, forinstance; think of it!"

"The idea is a nightmare! No; we will not say a word tillafterwards. 'Tis the most charming notion for a finale to a Carnivalthat ever was conceived. I make you my compliments on it, SignorLudovico. "

"So, then, all the `buts' have been butted and rebutted?" said he. 

"Well, I suppose so, "--by the help of a strong desire to yield tothe temptation of so pleasant a scheme, the way `buts' generally areanswered. "But we cannot go on the expedition as we are, I suppose?"said she. 

"I don't see why not. I dare say the old pines have seen similarfigures beneath them before now. But you would not be comfortablewithout changing your dress, and the mornings are still sharp. Thisis how it must be. I will slip away before long, and make allpreparation necessary. I will get a bagarino and a pony--not fromthe Castelmare stables, you understand, but from a man I know andcan trust--and I will come with it to the door of your lodging atsix o'clock. You will stay at the ball till the end. Everybody willgo by four o'clock, or soon after. That will give you plenty of timeto change your dress. By six o'clock every soul in Ravenna will befast asleep. We shall drive to a little farm-house I know on theborder of the forest, leave our bagarino there, and have our strollunder the trees just as long and as far as is agreeable to you. Won't that do?"

"Perfect! I shall enjoy it amazingly. I will be sure to be readywhen you come at six o'clock. "

"I will be there at six or thereabouts. Now we will go back to theball-room; but don't dance till you have not a leg left to stand on. We must have a good long stroll in the Pineta. "

"Lascia fare a me! I dare say I shan't dance another dance--unless, indeed, we have one more turn together before you go. Is theretime?"

"Oh yes, for that plenty of time. If you are not afraid of tiringyourself, one more last dance by all means. "

So giving her his arm, the Marchesino led his beautiful andfascinating companion back to the ballroom, where the music wasagain making the most of the time with another waltz. 

CHAPTER II

Apollo Vindex

The Conte Leandro Lombardoni had not passed a pleasant Carnival. Reconciled, as he had recently professed himself to be--after someone of the frequent misfortunes that happened to his intercoursewith them--with the fair sex, he had begun his Carnival byattempting to make his merit acceptable in the eyes of La Lalli; andhad failed to obtain any recognition from her, even as a poet, tosay nothing of his pretensions as a Don Juan. To a certain limiteddegree, it had been forced upon his perception, that he had beenmaking an ass of himself; and the appreciation of that fact by theother young men among whom he lived had been indicated with thatcoarse brutality, as the poet said to himself, which was the outcomeof minds not "softened by the study of the ingenuous arts, " as hisown was. He had been consistently snubbed and flouted, he and hispoetry, and his love-making, and his carefully prepared Carnivalcostumes. 

The result was, that at the ball on that last night of the Carnival, the Conte Leandro was not in charity with all men, and, indeed, hardly with any man. He was feeling very sore, and would fain haveavenged his pain by making any one else feel equally sore, if he hadit in his power to do so. 

He was especially angry with Ludovico di Castelmare. Had he notchaffed him unmercifully about the verses he had sent to La Bianca?Was it not, to all appearance, due to him that the Diva had nevercondescended to cast a glance on either him or his poetry? Had henot called him Aesop, when it was plain to all the world that herepresented Apollo? And now this night, again, he had taken theopportunity of turning him into ridicule in the presence of LaBianca; and he and she had spoken of the possibility of their beingtroubled with his company as of a nightmare. For the painful factwas that their uncomplimentary expressions had been heard by thepoet; who, when he had left Ludovico and Bianca in the littlesupper-room together, had retreated no further than just to theother side of a curtain, which hung, Italian fashion, by the side ofthe open door. Finding that there was nobody there--for the littlebuffet was at the end of the entire suite of rooms, and all thosewho were not either in the ball-room, or in the card-room, were atthat moment in the principal supper-room--it had seemed well to theConte Leandro, in his dudgeon and spite against all the world, toensconce himself quietly behind the curtain, and hear what useLudovico and Bianca would make of their tete-a-tete. 

The first advantage he obtained was to hear himself spoken of as anightmare; and that naturally: prompted him to prick up his ears tohear more. But when he had thus learned the whole secret of theprojected expedition, it struck him, as well worth considering, whether there might not be found in this the means of making histormentor pay him for some of the annoyances he had suffered at hishands. 

So! the Marchese Ludovico, who ought to be paying his addresses tothe Contessa Violante in the sight of all Ravenna--the ContessaViolante Marliani was great niece of the Cardinal Legate, betweenwhom and the Marchese Ludovico their respective families hadprojected an alliance--was, instead of that, going off on a partiefine with the notorious Bianca Lalli! A tete-a-tete in the Pineta!Mighty fine, indeed! So sure, too, that nobody in the world wouldfind them out on Ash Wednesday morning! And he is to be at her doorat six o'clock in the morning! Very good! Capitally well arranged--were it not that Leandro Lombardoni may perhaps think fit to put aspoke in the wheel. 

A little further consideration of the manner in which such spokemight be most effectually supplied, decided the angry and maliciouspoet--(poets, like women, will become malicious when scorned)--toseek out the Marchese Lamberto, whom he thought he should probablyfind in the card-room. For though the Marchese was no great card-player, and never touched a card in his own house, he was wont, atthe Circolo, on such occasions as the present, to cast in his lotwith those who so consoled themselves for the years that made theball-room no longer their proper territory. 

But the Conte Leandro did not find the Marchese among the card-players. 

The events of the evening had already thrown him back again into avery miserable state of mind, from which the Marchese had beensuffering such torments as the jealous only know, during all thelatter half of the Carnival. It was strange that such a man as theMarchese Lamberto--it would have seemed passing strange to any ofthose his fellow-citizens who had known him, thoroughly as theysupposed, all his life; very strange that such a man, so calm, sojudicious, so little liable to the gusts of passion of any sort; aman, the even tenor of whose well-regulated life had ever been suchas to expose him rather to the charge of almost apathetic placidityof temper, should thus suddenly, in the full meridian time of hismature years, become subject to such violent oscillations ofpassion; to such buffetings by storms, blowing now from one and nowfrom the opposite quarter of the sky. But no length of prosperousnavigation in the quiet waters of a land-locked harbour will giveevidence of the vessel's fitness to encounter the storms and thewaves of the open sea. The storm-wind of a strong passion had, allat once for the first time, blown in upon the sheltered harbour inwhich that placid life had been led. 

And yet that storm-wind did not produce the same effect, as it wouldhave produced, and is seen to produce every day on the strong, wide-spread canvas of some young navigator on the ocean of life, puttingout into the open waters at the time when such storms are frequent. Every day we see such craft scudding with all sails spread beforethe blast without attempt at reefing or tacking. Right ahead theydrive before the wind with no doubtful course. But it was not andcould not be so in the case of the Marchese Lamberto. The wholehabits of a life--the ways, notions, hopes, desires, ambitions, thattime had made into a part of the nature of the man; the passions, which though calm and unviolent in their nature, had become strong, not by forcible energy, but by the deep and unconscious sinking oftheir roots into the depths of his character--all these thingsopposed a resistance to the new and suddenly-loosed passion-wind, such as that which the deep-rooted oak opposes to the tempest withno result of conquering it, only with the result of causing its ownleaves and branches to be buffeted to and fro, torn, broken, andwrecked. 

Thus it was that the unhappy Marchese was violently driven to andfro from hour to hour between the extremities of love and hate, tillhis brain reeled in the terrible conflict; and alternate attractionand repulsion bandied his soul backwards and forwards between them. 

A ball-room is not a pleasant exercise-ground for a jealous man whodoes not dance. No "bolgia" of the hell invented by the sombreimagination of the great poet could have surpassed, in torment, theCircolo ball-room on that last Carnival night to the MarcheseLamberto. 

The sight of the sorceress who had bewitched him, as he watched herin the dance, had once again scattered to the winds all resolution, all hope of the possibility of escaping from the toils. What was allelse that he desired to be put in comparison with that raging, craving desire that he felt and sickened with for her? That was whathe really wanted--what he must have or die. It was madness to seeher, as he saw her then, in the arms of other men, laughing, sparkling, brilliant with animation and enjoyment. Worst hell of allto see her thus with his nephew, her admiration for whom she hadfrankly confessed; whose ways with women he knew, and whose intimacywith Bianca had already become suspicious to him. 

Yet not the less did he stand and gaze, as they danced together, clearly the handsomest and best-matched couple in the room--matchedso admirably evidently by design and forethought. 

He had seen Ludovico and Bianca leave the ball-room, after the lastdance, together with the crowd of most of those who had been joiningin it, and had begun fluttering, poor moth, after the irresistibleattraction, to follow them towards the supper-room. Missing sight ofthem in the throng for a minute, he had followed on to the principalsupper-room, and not finding them there (for the reason the readerwots of) had returned on his steps, and was sitting on the end of adivan, by the door of the next room to the ball-room, through whichall had to pass who wished to go thence to the supper-room. Therewere people passing through the centre of the room from door todoor; but there was no other, save the Marchese, sitting down in it. 

There the Conte Leandro found him, and came and sat down by hisside; much, at first, to the Marchese's annoyance. 

"What! you not in the supper-room, Signor Leandro. I thought yourplace was always there?" said the Marchese. 

"I'm no greater a supper-eater than another; let them say what theyplease. But I have just been getting a glass of wine and a biscuitin the little supper-room at the further end there. "

"What, are there two supper-rooms? I did not know that!"

"Only a buffet in the little room at the end, where the papersgenerally are. It was mainly Ludovico's doing, --in order to haveless crowd in the supper-room, --and perhaps to have a quiet placefor a tete-a-tete supper himself. Oh! I knew better than not toclear out, when he and La Diva Bianca came in; specially as therewas nobody else there. Faith! I left them there alone together. "

"Oh! that's where he is supping, then?" said the Marchese, in themost unconcerned tone he could manage. 

"Yes; supping, --or enjoying himself in some other way, quite asdelightful. The fact is, Signor Marchese, " continued the poet, in alowered voice, and rapidly glancing around to see that there were noears within such a distance as to overhear his words, --"the fact is, that I am afraid Signor Ludovico is less cautious than it would bewell for him to be, circumstanced as he is! I am sure I did not wantto listen to what he and the Lalli were saying to each other. It isnothing to me. But they spoke with such little precaution, that Icould not help overhearing what they said; and what do you thinkLudovico is up to now?"

"How should I know!" said the Marchese, with the tips of his palelips; for he was grinding his teeth together to prevent them fromchattering in his head. 

"He is off at six o'clock to-morrow morning tete-a-tete with LaBianca, on an excursion to the Pineta. Coming it strong, isn't it?"

"To-morrow morning!" said the Marchese under his breath, and withdifficulty; for his blood seemed suddenly to rush back cold to hisheart, and he was shivering all over. 

"Niente meno! I heard them arrange it all. He is to slip away fromthe ball presently, in order to make all needful preparations, andto be at her door with a bagarino at six o'clock in the morning. Doing the thing nicely, isn't it?"

For a minute or two the Marchese was utterly unable to answer him aword. His head swam round. He felt sick. A cold perspiration brokeout all over him; and he feared that he should have fallen from hisseat. 

"He is a great fool for his pains, " he said at last, masteringhimself by a great effort, sufficiently to enable himself to utterthe words in an ordinary voice and manner. 

"Well, it seemed to me a mad scheme, considering all things. And thetruth is, that I thought your lordship would very likely think itwell to put a stop to it. And that is why I have bored your lordshipby mentioning it to you. "

"At six o'clock, you say?" asked the Marchese. 

"Yes; that was the hour they fixed. Then he is to drive her to afarm-house on the border of the forest, leave the bagarino there, and go into the wood for a stroll. Not a bad idea for a wind-up ofthe Carnival, upon my word!"

"I think you have done very wisely and kindly in telling me this, Signor Conte, " said the Marchese, in as quiet tones as he couldcommand; "and if you will complete your kindness by saying no wordof it to anybody else, I shall esteem myself much obliged to you. "

"Oh! for that you may depend on me, Signor Marchese. I should neverhave thought of mentioning it to you, but for thinking that it wouldbe a real kindness to Ludovico to put a stop to it. "

"Thanks, Signor Conte. A rivederla!" said the Marchese, rising. 

"Felicissima notte, Signor Marchese, " returned Leandro, rising also, and bowing to his companion. 

CHAPTER III

St. Apollinare in Classe

The Marchese remained at the ball to see one more dance betweenLudovico and Bianca after their supper; and then left the rooms. There was nothing at all to cause remark in his thus retiring beforethe evening. He never danced;--he happened not to be playing cardson that evening. It was quite natural that such a man should prefergoing home to bed to remaining with the jeunes gens till the break-up of the ball. 

How he enjoyed that last dance, which he stayed to see, the readermay perhaps imagine. Standing by a chimney-piece, on one corner ofwhich he rested his elbow, he in great measure shaded his face withhis hand, yet not so as to prevent him from seeing every movement ofthe persons, and every expression of the faces of the couple he waswatching. There was a raging hell in his heart. And yet he stoodthere, and gazed eagerly, greedily one would have said. And everyminute, and every movement blasted his eyes and stabbed his heart, and poured poison into his veins. 

When the dance was over he did not move for some time; for hedoubted his power to hold himself upright and walk steadily. Presently, however, when Ludovico and Bianca had again quitted theball-room together, he gathered himself up, and moved slowly away, shaking in every limb, pale, fever-lipped, and haggard. 

The man who gave him his cloak in the ante-room remarked to anotherservant, as soon as he was gone, that he would bet that the MarcheseLamberto would not be at the next Carnival ball. 

At six o'clock, with wonderful punctuality for an Italian, Ludovico, with a neat little bagarino and fast-trotting pony, was at the doorof the Diva's lodging. But Bianca was not ready. Her maid came downto the door with all sorts of apologies, and assurances that hermistress would be ready in a few minutes. The few minutes, however, became half an hour, as minutes will under such circumstances. Andthe result of this delay was that Ludovico and his companion werenot the first travellers out of the Porta Nuova that morning. 

During the whole of the past Carnival and the latter months of theprevious year there had been living in Ravenna a young girl, --anartist from Venice, who had come to Ravenna with a commission givenher by a travelling Englishman to make copies of some of the moreremarkable of the very extraordinary and unique series of mosaicswhich exist in the old imperial city. She had brought with her aletter of introduction from her employer to the Marchese Lamberto, --a circumstance which had led to a degree of intimacy between theMarchesino Ludovico and the extremely attractive young artist, whichthreatened to stand more or less in the way of the match which hadbeen arranged by the high-contracting parties between Ludovico andthe Lady Violante, the great niece of the Cardinal. The girl's namewas Paolina Foscarelli. 

It is probable that in due time and season the reader may becomebetter acquainted with Paolina. But at present there is no need oftroubling him with more particulars respecting her than the above, save to mention that, having industriously and successfullycompleted the greater portion of her task in the churches within thecity, she had determined to make her first visit to the strange oldBasilica of St. Apollinare in Classe, on that same Ash Wednesdaymorning. She did not purpose beginning her task there on that day;but intended merely to reconnoitre the ground, look to the needfulpreparations that had been made for her work, and ascertain how farthe spot was within her powers of walking. 

Paolina, too, had felt that the morning of Ash Wednesday was afavourable time for the first experiment of an undertaking that alittle alarmed her. For she also had calculated that on such amorning she should be little likely to meet anybody. It was justabout six o'clock when Paolina started on her proposed walk; and shepassed through the Porta Nuova, therefore, a little more than half-an-hour before Ludovico and his companion passed, travelling in thesame direction. 

The road, which it was necessary for her to follow in order to reachSt. Apollinare in Classe, is the same for the whole of the distancebetween the city and the ancient church as that which Ludovico andBianca would follow to reach the celebrated pine forest. The soil onwhich the forest stands is composed of the accumulation of sandwhich the rivers--mainly the Po--have brought from distantmountains, and deposited in the bed of the Adriatic since the oldchurch was built "in Classe, "--where the fleet once used to bemoored. The building thus stands nearly at the edge of the forest, hardly more than a stone's throw from the furthest advancedsentinels of the wood. The road coming out from the city by thePorta Nuova, on its way to the little town of Cervia, a few miles tothe southward, traverses ground once thickly covered with palaces, streets, and churches, now open fields, --and passes by the westernfront and doorway of the almost deserted old Basilica, a littlebefore it reaches the turning off towards the left, which enters theforest. 

The walk before Paolina, when she had passed the city gate, wasabout two miles or rather more. So that had La Bianca taken a fewless minutes to put the finishing touches to the charming morningtoilette which replaced the gorgeous Venetian costume she had takenoff, the bagarino which carried her and Ludovico would infalliblyhave overtaken the young artist. As it was, however, having morethan half-an-hour's start of it, she reached the church before theycame within sight of it. 

Little Paolina had felt rather nervous when first stepping into thecool fresh morning air from the door of the lodging she occupied. But the street was utterly empty, and she took courage. The firsthuman beings she saw on her way were the octroi officers at thegate. They sat apparently half asleep at the doorway of their den, by the side of the city gate, wrapped in huge cloaks; and took noteven so much heed of her as to say "Good morning. "

The long bit of straight flat road outside the gate was equallydeserted; and Paolina, braced by the morning air, stepped outvigorously, and began to enjoy her walk. 

There is little enough, however, in the country through which shewas passing to delight the eye. The fields in the immediateneighbourhood of the city are cultivated, and not devoid of trees. But the cheerfulness thence arising does not last long. Very soonthe trees cease, and there are no more hedge-rows. Large flatfields, imperfectly covered with coarse rank grass, and divided bythe numerous branches of streams, all more or less diked to save theland from complete inundation, succeed. The road is a causewayraised above the level of the surrounding district; and presently ahuge lofty bank is seen traversing the desolate scene for miles, andstretching away towards the shore of the neighbouring Adriatic. Thisis the dike which contains the sulkily torpid but yet dangerousMontone. 

Gradually, as the traveller proceeds, the scene grows worse andworse. Soon the only kind of cultivation to be seen from the roadconsists of rice-grounds, looking like--what in truth they are--poisonous swamps. Then come swamps pure and simple, too bad even tobe turned into rice grounds, --or rather simply swamps impure; for astench at most times of the year comes from them, like a warning oftheir pestilential nature, and their unfitness for the sojourn ofman. A few shaggy, wild-looking cattle may be seen wandering overthe flat waste, muddy to the shoulders from wading in the softswamps. A scene of more utter desolation it is hardly possible tomeet with in such close neighbourhood to a living city. 

Paolina shivered, and drew her little grey cloak more closely aroundher shoulders; not from cold, though a bleak wind was blowing acrossthe marshes. She was warmed by walking; but the aspect of the scenebefore her almost frightened the Venetian girl by the savagery ofits desolation. 

The raised causeway, however, keeps on its course amid the low-lyingmarshes on either side of it; and presently the peculiar form ofoutline belonging to a forest composed entirely of the maritime pineis distinguishable on the horizon to the left. The road quicklydraws nearer to it; and the large, heavy, velvet-like masses of darkverdure become visible. In a forest such as the famous Pineta, consisting of the maritime pine only, the lines, especially whenseen at a distance, have more of horizontal and less ofperpendicular direction than in any other assemblage of trees. Andthe effect produced by the continuity of spreading umbrella-liketops is peculiar. 

Then, soon after the forest has become visible, the road brings thewayfarer within sight of a vast lonely structure heaving its hugelong back against the low horizon, like some monster antidiluviansaurian, the fit denizen of this marsh world. It is the venerableBasilica of St. Apollinare in Classe. 

Through all this dismal scene Paolina tripped lightly along with aquick step through the crisp morning air, no little awed by thedreary, voiceless desolation of it, but yet encouraged and notunpleased by the solitude of it. 

The walk she found to be quite within her powers, at all events atthat hour of the morning and in that season of the year; and whenshe stood before the western door of the ancient church, in front ofwhich the road passes, Ludovico and Bianca were only then on thepoint of starting from the quarters of the latter, in the Strada diPorta Sisi. 

Though knowing but little of the long and strangely diversifiedstory which presses on the mind of a stranger read in history as hestands before the door of that desolate old church, Paolina couldnot but be much struck by the appearance of the building and of thescene around it. If ever a spot was expressive in every way by whicha locality can speak to the imagination of the abomination ofdesolation, the view which spreads before the eye at the hugedoorway of the Basilica of St. Apollinare in Classe is so. Thegeneral character of the country around it has been described. Butthe church itself is the most dreary and melancholy feature in thelandscape. No desolation resulting solely from the operations ofNature, even in her least kindly mood, can ever suffice to speak tothe imagination as the change and decay of the works of man's handspeak. To produce the effect of desolation in its highest degree manmust have at some former period been present on the scene, and theremains of his work must be there to show that activity, life, energy, has once existed where it exists no more. Nature is alwaysand everywhere progressive, and no sentiment of sadness belongs toprogress. Man's ruined work alone imparts the suggestion--(adelusive one, indeed, but most forcible)--of falling back from thebetter to the worse. 

Wonderfully eloquent after this fashion are the temples of Paestum, far away there to the south beyond Naples, on the flat strip ofmiserably cultivated soil between the Apennines and theMediterranean. But they are too far gone in ruin and decay to speakwith so living a voice of sadness as does this old Byzantine church. The human element is at Paestum too far away, --too utterly dead andforgotten. In St. Apollinare life still lingers. Life, flickering inits last spark, like the twinkling of a lamp which the next momentwill extinguish, is still there. Life more suggestive of death, thanany utter absence of life could be. 

There are some dilapidated remains of conventual buildings on thesouthern side of the church, mean, and of a date some thousand yearssubsequent to that of the Basilica. They are nearly ruinous, but arestill--or were till within a few years--inhabited by one Capucinfriar, and one lay brother of the order, whose duty it was to muttera mass, with ague-chattering jaws, at the high altar, and act asguardians of the building. 

Small guardianship is needed. The huge ancient doors--made of planksfrom vine trunks which grew fifteen hundred years ago on theBosphorus--are never closed; probably because their weight woulddefy the efforts of the two poor old friars, to whom the keeping ofthe building is committed, to move them. But a poor and mean lowgate of iron rails has been fitted to the colossal marble door-posts, which suffices to prevent the wandering cattle of the wastefrom straying into the church, but does not prevent the fever-ladenmists from the marshes from drifting into the huge nave, anddepositing their unwholesome moisture in great trickling drops uponthe green-stained walls. 

But not even the low iron gateway was closed when Paolina reachedthe church. It stood partially open. After having stood a minute ortwo before the building to look round upon the scene, Paolinastepped up to the gate and looked into the church, but could see nohuman being. Within, as without, all was utter death-like silence. She shivered, and drew her cloak more closely round her, as shestood at the gate; for the healthy blood was running rapidly throughher veins after her brisk walk, and the deadly cold damp air fromthe church struck her with a shudder, which was but the physicalcomplement of the moral impression produced by the aspect of theplace. 

After a minute, however, wondering at the stillness, half frightenedat the utter solitude, and awed by the vast gloomy grandeur of thenaked but venerable building, she pushed the gate, and entered. 

CHAPTER IV

Father Fabiano

Paolina entered hesitatingly, and starting at the echoes of herfootsteps on the flagstones, wet and green, and slimy from thewater, which often in every year lies many inches deep on the floorof the church. She advanced towards a small marble altar whichstands quite isolated in the middle of the huge nave. And as sheneared it she perceived, with a violent start, that there was aliving figure kneeling at it. So still, so utterly motionless hadthis solitary worshipper been, so little visible in the dim lightwas the hue of the Franciscan's frock that entirely covered him, that Paolina had not imagined that there had been any livingcreature in the church. She saw, however, in the same instant thatshe became aware of his presence, that the figure was that of aCapucin friar, and doubted not that he must be the guardian of thechurch, whom she had been told she would find there. 

The little low altar, of an antiquity coeval with that of thechurch, which stands in the centre of the nave, is the soleexception to the entire and utter emptiness of the place. There are, indeed, ranged along the walls of the side aisles, several ancientmarble coffins, curiously carved, and with semi-circular covers, which contain the bodies of the earliest Bishops of the See. But thelittle altar is the sole object that breaks the continuity of theopen floor. The body of St. Apollinare was originally laid beneathit, but was in a subsequent age removed to a more speciallyhonourable position under the high altar at the eastern end of thechurch. There is still, however, the slab deeply carved with lettersof ancient form, which tells how St. Romauld, the founder of theorder of Camaldoli, praying by night at that altar, saw in a visionSt. Apollinare, who bade him leave the world, and become the founderof an order of hermits. 

It was on the same stones that the knees of St. Romauld had pressed, that the Capucin was kneeling, as Paolina walked up the nave of thechurch. The peaked hood of his brown frock was drawn over his head, for the air of the church was deadly cold, and the fever and ague ofmany a successive autumn had done their work upon him. He was calledPadre Fabiano, and was said to be, and looked to be, upwards ofeighty years old. Probably, however, his age was much short of that. For the nature of his dwelling-place was such as to stand in theplace of time, in its power to do worse than time's work on thehuman frame. 

Of course, it can be no matter of question, why a monk is here or isthere, does this or does that. Obedience to the will of hissuperiors is the only reason for all that, in the case of otherhuman beings, depends on their own volition. The monk has novolition. 

No human being who had, it might be supposed, would consent to liveat St. Apollinare in Classe, with one lay brother for a companion, and discharge the duties assigned to the Padre Fabiano. But thequestion why his superiors sent him there, was still one that mightsuggest itself, though it was little likely ever to be answered. Andthe absence of all answer to such question was supplied by thegossips of Ravenna, by tales of some terrible crime againstecclesiastical discipline of which the Padre Fabiano had been guiltysome sixty years or so ago. Certain it was that be had occupied hisdreary position for many years; and it was wonderful that fever andague and the marsh pestilence had not long since dismissed him tothe reward of his long penitence on earth. 

He rose from his knees as Paolina approached him, and gravely benthis cowled head to her in salutation. 

"You are early, Signora, " he said. "I suppose you are the person forwhom yonder scaffold has been prepared. "

"Yes, father, I am the artist for whom leave has been obtained tocopy some of your mosaics. "

"You will find it cold work, daughter. The church is damp somewhat. You would do better, methinks, not to begin your day's work till thesun has had time to warm the air a little. "

"I had no thought, father, of beginning to-day. I have broughtnothing with me. I only thought that I would walk out and have alook at the job before me. It is not so far from the city as Ithought. "

"It is far enough to be as lonely and as deserted as if it were athousand miles from a human habitation, " said the monk, looking intothe girl's face with a grave smile. 

"Yet you live here, from year's end to year's end all alone, Padremio, " said Paolina, timidly. 

"Not quite so, daughter, " replied he. "Brother Barnaba, a laybrother of our order, is my companion. But he is ill with a touch ofague at present. "

"And how early would it be not inconvenient to you, Padre mio, toopen the church for me?" asked Paolina. 

"I spoke not of your being early on my account, daughter. If youcome here at sunrise, you will find the gate open, and me where youfound me this morning; and if you come at midnight you will find thesame. "

"At midnight, father!" said Paolina, with a glance of surprise andpity. 

"Last October I was down with the fever, " returned the monk; "butsince that time I have not failed one night to be on my knees wherethe blessed St. Romauld knelt at the stroke of midnight. But I havenot had his reward;--doubtless because I am not worthy of it. "

"What was the reward of St. Romauld, father?" demanded Paolina. 

"His midnight prayers were rewarded by the vision of St. Apollinarein glory, who spoke to him, and gave him the counsel he sought. Night after night, and hour after hour, have I knelt and prayed. AndI have heard the moaning of the wind from the Adriatic among thepines of the forest yonder, and I have seen the great crucifix abovethe high altar sway and move in the moonlight when it comesstreaming through the southern windows; and sometimes I have hoped--and prayed--and hoped--but no vision came!"

The old monk sighed, and dropped his head upon his bosom; andPaolina gazed at him with a feeling of awe, mingled with a suddenlyrising fear, that the tall and emaciated old man, whose light-blueeyes gleamed out from beneath his cowl, was not wholly right in hismind. She would have been more alarmed had she been aware that theold Padre Fabiano of St. Apollinare was generally considered inRavenna to be crazed by all those who did not, instead of that, deemhim a saint. 

Before she had gained courage to answer him, however, he lifted hishead, with another deep sigh, and said, in a very quiet and ordinarytone and manner, "Your scaffold is all prepared for you there, Signora, according tothe directions of the Signor Marchese Ludovico di Castelmare, whobrought with him an order from the Archbishop's Chancellor. Will youlook at it, and see if it is as you wish, and say where you wish tohave it placed. "

The mosaics in the apse of the centre nave are the most remarkableof those that remain at St. Apollinare, though many of the series ofmedallion portraits of the Bishops of the See from the foundation ofit, which circle the entire nave, are very curious. Paolina hadengaged to copy two or three of the most remarkable of these; butshe intended to begin her work by attacking the larger figures inthe apse. And the scaffolding had been placed there on the southernside. 

"I think that is just where I should wish to have it, " said Paolina, looking up at the vault. "If I may, I will go up and see whether itis near enough to the figure I have to copy. "

"Do so, my daughter. It looks a great height, but I have no doubtthat it is quite safe. The Signor Marchese was very particular inseeing to it himself. See, I will go up first to give you courage. "

And so saying, the old man with a slow but firm step began to ascendthe ladder of the scaffolding. And when he had reached the platformat the top, Paolina, more used to such climbing than he, and who intruth had felt no alarm whatever, followed him with a lighter step. 

"Yes, this will do nicely, Padre mio!" she said, when she hadreached the top; "it is placed just where it should be, and thislarge window gives just all the light I want. It is a much betterlight than I had to work by in San Vitale. "

"I never was in San Vitale, " replied the monk. "I have been herefourteen years next Easter, and I have never once been in Ravenna inall that time, nor, indeed, further away from this church than justa stroll within the edge of the Pineta. "

"That is the Pineta we see from this window, of course, Padre mio. What a lovely view of it! And how beautiful it is! Where does thatroad go to, Padre? To Venice?"

"No, figliuola mia. It goes in exactly the opposite direction, southwards, to Cervia. The Venice road lies away to the northward, through the wood that you can see on the furthest horizon. It was bythat road I came to Ravenna. I shall never travel it again. "

"From Venice, father? Did you come from Venice?" asked Paolina, eagerly. 

"From La bella Venezia I came, daughter--fourteen years ago. Andonce in every month I indulge myself by going to the top of ourtower--you can't see it from this window, it is on the northern sideof the church--and looking out over the north Pineta as far as I cansee towards it. May God and St. Mark grant that no tempter everoffer me the sight of Venice again at the price of my soul'ssalvation! I shall never, never see Venice more!"

"You must be a Venetian, father, surely, to love it so well?" saidPaolina, after a minute or two of silence. 

"A Venetian I am--or was, daughter; as I well knew you were when youfirst spoke. Might I ask your name?"

"Paolina Foscarelli, father. I am an orphan, " said she, softly. 

"No!" said the monk, shaking his head, with a deep sigh, and lookingearnestly into the girl's face, but without any appearance ofsurprise, --"No; you are not Paolina Foscarelli. "

"Indeed, father, that is my name, " said Paolina, again recurring toher doubt whether the monk was altogether of sound mind, andspeaking very quietly and gently; "my father's name was Foscarelli, and the baptismal name of my mother was the same as mine--Paolina. "

"Jacopo and Paolina Foscarelli, who lived in the little house at thecorner of the Campo di San Pietro and Paolo, " rejoined the monk, speaking in a dreamy far-away kind of manner. 

"I have truly heard that they lived there, " said she; "but I wasonly four years old when they died, one very soon after the other, and since that I have lived with a friend of my mother's, SignoraSteno. "

"The child of Jacopo and Paolina Foscarelli, " said the monk, in thesame dreamy tone, and pressing his thin emaciated hands before hiseyes as he spoke; "and you have come here to find me?"

"Nay, father, not to find you. I knew not that the padre guardianoof St. Apollinare was a Venetian. I came only to copy these picturesfor my employer. "

"Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful are the ways of God! PaolinaFoscarelli, daughter of Jacopo and Paolina, I Fabiano---"

"Look, padre min!" cried Paolina, suddenly and sharply, turning verypale, and grasping the parapet rung of the scaffolding as she spoke, "look! in the bagarino there on the road, just passing the church;certainly that must be the Signor Marchese Ludovico!--And with him--that lady?--yes, it is--it certainly is La Lalli--the prima donna, who has been singing at the theatre this Carnival. "

She pointed as she spoke to a bagarino that had just passed thewestern front of the church, and was now moving along the bit ofroad visible from the high window at which the monk and Paolina werestanding. 

The tone in which she spoke caused the friar to look at her first, before turning his glance in the direction to which she pointed. Shewas pale, and evidently much moved, after a fashion that, takentogether with the nature of the objects to which she drew hisattention, and the fact that it was the Marchese Ludovico who hadcome to St. Apollinare to make the arrangements needed for theartist's work there, left but little doubt in the old man's mind asto the nature of her emotion. 

He looked shrewdly and earnestly into her face for a moment; andthen turning his eyes to the stretch of road below, answered her:

"Certainly, my daughter, that is the Marchese Ludovico. The lady Inever saw before as far as I am aware. They are going towardsCervia. "

"No! See, father! They are turning off from the road to the left. Where does that turning to the left go?"

"Only into the forest, daughter, --or to that little farm-house yousee there just at the edge of it. You may get as far as the sea-shore through the Pineta; but the road is very bad for a carriage. "

"To the sea-shorn!" said Paolina, dreamily. 

"Yes, by keeping the track due east. The shore is not above a coupleof miles away. But there is no port, or even landing-place there. And there are many tracks through the forest. You may get to Cervia, too, that way. But it is hardly likely that any one would leave theroad to find a longer way by worse ways through the forest. Morelikely the object of the Signor Marchese is only to show the ladythe famous Pineta. "

Paolina, while the monk was thus speaking, had kept her eyes fixedupon the little carriage, which was making its way along a by-roadconstructed on the top of a dike by the side of one of the numerousstreams that intersect all the district; and she continued to watchit till she saw it stop at the entrance to the yard of the littlefarmhouse, to which the monk had called her attention. She then sawLudovico and his companion descend from the carriage, and leave itapparently in the charge of a man, who came out from the farm-yard. And they then left the spot where they had alighted on foot, and inanother minute were no longer visible from the window at whichPaolina and the monk stood. 

"How long a walk is it, father, from here into the wood?" askedPaolina, musingly. 

"It is a very short distance, daughter. There is a footpathpracticable in dry weather like this, a good deal nearer than theroad we saw the bagarino follow. You might get to the edge of thePineta in that way in less than ten minutes. "

"And would it be possible to return to the city that way, instead ofcoming back to the road?" enquired Paolina. 

"Yes; for a part of the way there is a path along the border of thewood. Then you must fall back into the road. The way lies by thegate of the farm-house. "

"I think I will go back to the city now, father. This scaffold isjust where it will suit me. And tomorrow, a little later perhapsthan this, I hope to come and begin my work. I shall have to come ina carriage, at all events, the first time, because of bringing mythings. I am so much obliged to you, father, for your kindness. AndI am so glad that you are a Venetian. I little thought to find afellow-countryman here. "

"Or I to see this morning a Venetian--much less--but we will speakmore of that another time--if you will permit an old man sometimesto speak to you when you are at your work?"

"Ma come--I can talk while I work. It will be a real pleasure to meto hear the dear home tongue. I will go down the ladder first. I amnot the least afraid. "

So Paolina left the church, and the monk stood at the yawning ever-open western door, looking after her as she took the path he hadindicated to her towards the forest. 

CHAPTER V

"The Hours passed, and still she came not"

There was misgiving in the heart of the old man as he stood at thedoor of the Basilica looking after the light little form of Paolinaas she moved along the path, raised above the swamp on either side, that led towards the edge of the forest. 

The rays of the sun slanting from the eastward lighted up all thepath on which she was walking; and though the western front of thechurch was still in shade, had begun to suck up the mists, and tomake the air feel at least somewhat more genial and wholesome. Themonk pushed back the cowl of his frock, which had hitherto beendrawn over his head, the better to watch the receding figure of thegirl as she moved slowly along the path; and still, as he gazedafter her, he shook his head from time to time with an uneasy senseof misgiving. 

It was not that the mere fact of the girl's entering the Pinetaalone seemed to him, accustomed as he was to the place and itssurroundings, to involve any danger to her of any sort, beyond, indeed, the possibility of losing herself for a few hours in theforest. The whole extent of it is very frequently traversed by themen in the employment of the farmers to whom the Papal governmentwas in the practice of letting out the right of pasturage andmanagement of the wood. And these people were all known. There were, it is true, encroachers on these rights, who might well be lessknown, and less responsible persons; and possibly the forest pathsmight sometimes be traversed by people bound on some errand ofsmuggling. But nothing had ever happened of late years in the forestto suggest the probability of any danger. 

It was rather the nature of Paolina's own motives for herexpedition, as they were patent to the old monk, that disquieted himon her behalf. He had marked the expression of her face when she hadseen the bagarino with Ludovico and his companion pass along theroad towards the forest, and the change in her whole manner afterthat. And monk, and octogenarian as he was, he had been at no lossto comprehend the nature of the emotions which had been aroused inher mind by the sight. And he feared that evil might arise from thecollision of passions, which it seemed likely were about to bebrought into the presence of each other. 

Perhaps, monk and aged as he was, the apprehensions with which hismind was busy seemed more big with possible evil than they might toanother. Perhaps it was so long since he had had aught to do withstormy passions that the contemplation of them affrighted hisstagnant mind all the more by reason of the long years ofpassionless placidity to which it was accustomed. Perhaps he hadknown passions stormy enough in the long long past, and hadexperience of the harvest of evils which might be expected to beproduced by them. 

Report said, that when Father Fabiano had been sent by his superiorsto occupy the miserable and forlorn sentinel's post at the church-door of St. Apollinare, amid inundations in winter, and fever andague in summer, his appointment to the dreary office had been of thenature of a penance and an exile. It was said, too, that thesentence of exile, which placed him in his present position, hadbeen an alleviation of a more rigorous punishment; that he had beenallowed, after a period of many years of imprisonment in a monasteryof his order at Venice, to change that punishment for the duty towhich he had been appointed, and which would scarcely have seemed anamelioration of destiny to any one save a man who had for years beendeprived of the light of the sun and the scent of the free air. Somedeed there had been in that life which had called for such monasticdiscipline; some outcome of human passion when the blood, that nowcrept slowly, while the aged monk passed the hours in waiting forvisions before the altar of St. Apollinare, was running in his veinstoo rapidly for monastic requirements. 

It was evident from the few words that he had let drop, when hebecame aware who the young Venetian visitor to the church under hiscare was, that some special circumstances caused him to feel a morethan ordinary interest in her. Some connection there must have beenbetween some portion of his life and that of some member or membersof her family. Of what nature was it? Monkish tribunals, howeverelse they may treat those subjected to them, at least keep theirsecrets. Frailties must be expiated; but they need not be exposed. And the true story of the fault which condemned Father Fabiano toend his days amid the swamps of St. Apollinare, as well as theprecise nature of the connection which had existed between him andPaolina's parents, can be only matter of conjecture. 

Paolina, as has been said, pursued her path slowly. She had trippedalong much more lightly on her way from the city to St. Apollinare. And yet she was urged on by a burning anxiety to know whitherLudovico and Bianca had gone, and for what purpose they had comethither. But, despite this nervous anxiety, she stepped slowly, because her heart disapproved of the course she was taking. Itseemed as if she was drawn on towards the forest by some mysteriousmechanical force, which she had not the strength to resist. Againand again she had well nigh made up her mind to turn aside from thepath she was following. She would go only a few steps furthertowards the edge of the forest. She looked out eagerly before her, standing on tip-toe on every little bit of vantage ground which thepath afforded. She would only go as far as that next bend in thepath. But the bend in the path disclosed a stile a little furtheron, from which surely a view of all the ground between the path shewas on and the farmhouse at which Ludovico and his companion haddescended, might be had. She would go so far and no further. Andthus, poor child, she went on and on, long and long after the monkhad lost sight of her, and with a deep sigh, had turned to go backagain into the church. 

It had been six o'clock when Paolina started on her walk to thechurch, and nothing had been settled with any accuracy between herand the old friend and protectress, with whom she had come toRavenna, and lived during her stay there, as to the exact time atwhich she might be expected to return. The name of the protectressin question was Signora Orsola Steno, an old friend of her mother's, who, when Paolina Foscarelli had been left an orphan, had, for purecharity and friendship's sake, taken the child, and brought her up. Latterly, by the exercise of the talent inherited from her father, Paolina had been able to do something, not only towards meeting herown expenses, but towards making some return for all that the goodOrsola had done for her out of her own poverty. And now thiscommission of the Englishman who had sent her to Ravenna would gofar towards improving the prospects of both Paolina and her oldfriend. 

Old Orsola did not know exactly at what time to expect Paolina back;but she knew that Paolina's purpose on that Ash Wednesday morningwas merely to walk to the church, and, having seen the preparationsthat had been made for her work, to return, without on that occasionremaining to begin her task. So that when the hour of the middaymeal arrived, and her young friend had not returned, old Orsolabegan to be a little uneasy about her. 

Nor was her uneasiness lessened by her entire ignorance as to therebeing little or much, or no cause at all for it. Never having leftVenice before in her life, old Orsola was as much a stranger inRavenna, and felt herself to be in an unknown world, as completelyas an Englishman would in Japan. Since she had been in Ravenna shehad frequently heard the Pineta spoken of, and the old church outthere in which her young friend was to do a portion of her task. Butshe had heard them both mentioned as strange and wild places, notexactly like all the rest of the world. And the old woman felt, that, for aught she knew, this Pineta, and the old church in thewilderness on the borders of it, might be a place full of dangersfor a young girl all by herself. 

And as the hours crept on, and no Paolina came, her uneasinessincreased till she felt it impossible to sit quietly at home waitingfor her any longer. She must go out, and--do what? The poor oldwoman did not in the least know what to do; or of whom to make anyinquiry. The only person with whom the two Venetian strangers hadbecome at all intimate in Ravenna was the Marchese Ludovico. And theonly step in her difficulty which old Orsola could think of taking, after much doubt and hesitation, was to go to the PalazzoCastelmare, and endeavour to speak with the Marchesino. The letterof introduction, which they had brought from the English patron, wasaddressed to the Marchese Lamberto. But the acquaintance of theVenetians with him had remained very slight; and Orsola felt so muchawe of so grand and reverend a Signor, that it was to the nephewonly that she thought of applying. 

So, not without much doubt and misgiving, the old woman put on herbonnet and cloak and made the best of her way to the Castelmarepalace. There she found a porter lounging before the door, to whomshe made her petition to be allowed to speak to the Signor MarcheseLudovico. 

"My name is Orsola Steno, " said the old woman humbly, a little inawe of the majestic porter, chosen for that situation for his size;"and the Signor Marchesino knows me very well. I am sure he wouldnot refuse to see me. "

Insolent servants in a great house are generally a sure symptom ofsomething amiss in the moral nature of their masters. Good andkindly masters have and make civil and kindly servants; and the bigporter of the palazzo Castelmare was accordingly by no means aterrible personage. 

"Signora Orsola Steno! To be sure. I remember you very well, Signora, when you called on the padrone last summer. I am sure theSignor Marchesino would have pleasure in seeing you, if he were athome. But he is not here. And to tell you the truth, we have no ideawhere he is. He came home early this morning after the ball, andinstead of going to bed, changed his dress, and went out again atonce; and has not been back since. Some devilry or other! Che vuole!We were all young once upon a time, eh, Signora Orsola? And as forthe Marchesino, he is as good a gentleman as any in Ravenna or outof it, for that matter. But he is young, Signora, he is young! Andthat's all the fault he has. Can I give him any message for you, Signora?"

"The fact is, " said old Orsola, after a few moments of rapidreflection as to the expediency of telling her trouble to theporter, and a decision prompted by the good-natured manner of theman, and by the poor woman's extreme need of some one to tell hertrouble to, --"the fact is, that I wanted to ask the advice of theSignor Marchesino about a young friend of mine, the Signora PaolinaFoscarelli, who went out of the city early this morning to go to St. Apollinare in Classe, and ought to have been back hours ago. And Iam quite uneasy about her. "

"Why, your trouble, Signora, is of a piece with our own, " said theporter, with a burly laugh; "and it seems to me like enough we canhelp each other. You miss a young lady; and we miss a younggentleman. When I used to go out into the marshes a-shooting withthe Marchese, we used to be sure, when we had put up the cock bird, that the hen was not far off; or, if we got the hen, we knew we hadnot far to look for the cock. Do you see, Signora? Two to one thepair of runaways are together; and they'll come home safe enoughwhen they've had their fun out. I dare say the Signor Marchesino andthe Signorina you speak of are old friends?"

"Why, yes, Signore. For that matter they are old friends!" repliedOrsola, adopting the porter's phrase for want of one which couldexpress the meaning she had in her mind more desirably. 

"To be sure--to be sure. And if you will take my advice, Signora, you will go home, and give yourself no trouble at all about theyoung lady. Lord bless us! what though 'tis Lenten-tide? Young folkswill be young, Signora Orsola. They'll come home safe enough. Andmaybe I might as well say nothing to the Signor Marchesino aboutyour coming here, you know. When folks have come to that time oflife, Signora, as brings sense with it, they mostly learn that leastsaid is soonest mended, " said the old porter, with a nod of deepmeaning. 

And Signora Orsola was fain to take the porter's advice, so far asreturning to her home went. But it was not equally easy to giveherself no further trouble about Paolina. It might be as the portersaid; and if she could have been sure that it was so the old ladywould have been perfectly easy. But it was not at all like Paolinato have planned such an escapade without telling her old friendanything about it. She felt sure that when Paolina said she wasgoing to St. Apollinare to look after the preparations for hercopying there, she had no other or further intention in herthoughts. To be sure there was the possibility that Ludovico mighthave known her purpose of going thither, and might have planned toaccompany her on her expedition, without having apprized her of anysuch scheme. And it might not be unlikely that in such a case theyhad been tempted to spend a few hours in the Pineta. And with thesepossibilities Signora Steno was obliged to tranquillize herself asshe best might. 

She returned home not without some hope that she might find thatPaolina had returned during her absence; but such was not the case--Paolina was still absent. And though it was now some eight or ninehours from the time she had left home, old Orsola had nothing for itbut to wait for tidings of her as patiently as she could. 

CHAPTER VI

Gigia's Opinion

The aged monk of St. Apollinare, after watching Paolina as shedeparted from the Basilica, and took the path towards the forest, returned into the church to his devotions at the altar of the saint, as has been said. But he found himself unable to concentrate hisattention as usual, not on the meaning of the words of the litanieshe uttered, --that, it may be imagined, few such worshippers do, oreven attempt to do, --but on such devotional thoughts as, on otheroccasions, constituted his mental attitude during the hours he spentbefore the altar. 

He could not prevent his mind from straying to thoughts of the girlwho had just left him; of certain long-sleeping recollections of hisown past, which her name had recalled to him; of her very manifestemotion at the sight of the couple in the bagarino, and the too easyinterpretation of the meaning of that emotion; and specially of herimplied intention of taking the same route that they had taken. 

He thought of these things, and a certain sense of uneasiness andmisgiving came over him. The young artist had spoken kindly andsweetly to him. She had seemed to him wonderfully pretty, --and thatis not without its influence even on eyes over which the cowl hadbeen drawn for more than three-score years; she was a fellow-Venetian too, --and that with Italians, who find themselves in astranger city, is a stronger tie of fellowship than the people ofless divided nations can readily appreciate; and, above all, therewere motives connected with those awakened remembrances of the oldman which made her an object of interest to him. And the result ofall this was, that he was uneasy at seeing her depart on the errandon which he suspected that she had gone. 

After awhile he arose from his knees, and, returning to the greatopen door of the church, stood awhile irresolutely gazing outtowards the forest to the southward. He could not see the farmhouse, which has been so frequently mentioned, from where he stood, becauseit is to the eastward of the church. After awhile he strolled outand along the road, till he came in sight of the house on the borderof the forest. But there was no human being to be seen. Then, apparently having taken a resolution, he went into the dilapidatedremains of the old convent, and ascended a stair to the room wherehis sole companion, the lay brother, was ill in bed. He gave thesick man a potion, placed a cup with drink by his side, smoothed hispillow, and replaced a crucifix at the bed-foot before the patient'seyes; and then, with a word of consolation, descended again to theroad, and after a long look towards the forest, slowly moved off thenearest border of it. 

It was between eight and nine when Father Fabiano, moving slowly andirresolutely, thus sauntered off in the direction of the forest; butit was nearly time for him to sound the "Angelus" at midday beforehe returned. 

Perhaps it was the fear that he might be late for this duty, --a taskwhich devolved on him, the lay brother being ill, --that made hissteps, as he returned, very different from those with which he hadset forth. He came back hurrying, with a haggard, wild terror in hiseyes, shaking in every limb, and with great drops of perspirationstanding on his brow. One would have said that all this evidentperturbation could not be caused only by the fear of being late toring the "Angelus. " His first care, however, was to pay anothervisit to his patient. 

"Ah! Padre, you are going to have your turn again. It is early thisyear. All this wet weather. Why, your hand is shaking worse thanmine!" said the sick man, as the old monk handed him his draught. And it was true enough that not only Father Fabiano's hands wereshaking, but he was, indeed, trembling all over; and any one but asick man, lying as the fevered lay-brother was lying, could not havefailed to see that it was from mental agitation, rather than fromthe shivering of incipient ague, that he was suffering. 

"You think of getting well yourself, brother Simone. I have not gotthe fever yet, " said the monk, making an effort to control himselfand speak in his ordinary manner. 

"May the saints grant that your reverence do not fall ill before Iam able to get up, or I don't know what we should do. "

"It is years, brother Simone, that make my hand shake, more thanague this time, years, and many a former touch of the fever. I amnot ill this time yet. And now I must go and ring the 'Angelus. '"

And the old monk did go, and the "Angelus" was duly rung. ButBrother Simone, as he lay upon his fevered bed, was very well ableto tell that the rope was pulled by a very uncertain and unsteadyhand. "Poor old fellow! he's going fast! I wonder whether there'sany chance of their moving me when he's gone?" thought BrotherSimone to himself. 

But Father Fabiano, for his own part, judged that prayer and penancewere more needed for the healing of his present disorder, thaneither bark or quinine. And when he had rung the bell, he betookhimself again to the altar of St. Apollinare, and with cowl drawnover his head, and frequent prostrations till his forehead touchedthe marble flags of the altar-step, spent before it most of theremaining hours of that day. Nevertheless, it was true that, be thecause what it might, the aged friar was ill, not in mind only, butalso in the body. And before the hour of evensong came, --hiscoadjutor, Fra Simone, the lay-brother, being by that time so muchbetter as to be able to crawl out, --Father Fabiano was fain tostretch himself on the pallet in his cell. And Fra Simone took itquite as a matter of course in the ordinary order of things, thatthe father was laid up in his turn with an attack of fever and ague. 

It was much about the same time that Father Fabiano had set out onthat walk to the forest, from which he had returned in such a stateof agitation, that old Quinto Lalli, the prima donna's travellingcompanion, was made acquainted with the escapade of his adopteddaughter. Though she bore his name, the fact was that the old manwas in no way related to the famous singer. But they had livedtogether in the relationship first of teacher and pupil, and then offather and daughter, by mutual adoption ever since the firstbeginning of the singer's public career; and they mutuallyrepresented to each other the only family ties which either of themknew or recognized in the world. The old man had been several hoursin bed, when Bianca had returned from the ball, at about five in themorning of that Ash Wednesday. And it was not till he came from hisroom, between eight and nine, that he heard from Gigia, Bianca'smaid, that her mistress had not gone to bed, but had only changedher dress, and taken a cup of coffee before going out with theMarchese Ludovico more than an hour ago in a bagarino. 

There was nothing sufficiently strange to the former habits of hisadopted daughter in such an escapade, or so unlike to many anotherfrolic of the brilliant Diva in former days, as to cause any verygreat surprise to the old singing-master--for such had been theoriginal vocation of Signor Lalli. Yet he seemed on this occasion tobe not a little annoyed at what she had done. 

"And a very great fool she is for her pains, " cried the old man, with an oath; "it is just the last thing she ought to have done--thevery last. I really thought she had more sense!"

"I am sure, Signor Quinto, she has not had one bit of pleasure allthis Carnival. A nun couldn't have lived a quieter life, nor moreshut up than she has. With the exception of the old gentleman andthe Marchese Ludovico, she has never seen a soul!"

The old gentleman thus alluded to, it may be necessary to explain, was the Marchese Lamberto. "And where's the use of never seeing asingle soul, if she throws all that she has gained by it away inthis manner?"

"Why, Santa Virgine, Signor Quinto! Where's the harm? Isn't theSignor Ludovico the old one's own nephew?" expostulated Gigiashrilly. 

"The old one, as you call him, is not a bit the more likely to likeit for that. It is just the very last thing she should have done. Ido wonder she should not have more sense, " grumbled Quinto. 

"Misericordia! why what a piece of work about nothing! The oldgentleman will never know anything about it, you may be very sure. He is safe enough in bed and asleep after his late hours, you mayswear. Besides, it's both best and honestest to begin as you mean togo on, and accustom him to what he's got to expect, " said Gigia, fighting loyally for her side. 

"All very well in good time. But it would be as well for Bianca tomake sure first what she has got to expect. "

"Why, you don't suppose, Signor Quinto, nor yet that old Marchesedon't suppose, I should think, that he's going to marry a woman likemy mistress, to keep her caged up like a bird that's never to sing, except for him?"

"I tell you, Gigia, and you would do well to tell her, and make herunderstand, that she is not Marchesa di Castelmare yet, and is notlikely to be, if this morning's work were to come to the ears of theMarchese. It is just the very worst thing she could have done; and Ishould have thought she must know that. I had rather that she shouldhave gone with any other man in the town. "

"I am sure, " said Gigia, with a virtuous toss of the head, "shewould not wish to go with any one of them. "

"And she would wish to go with the Marchese Ludovico! There's allthe mischief. Just what I am afraid of. I tell you, Gigia, that ifthe Marchese Lamberto hears of her going off in this manner with hisnephew, the game is all up. He would never forgive it. "

"You will excuse me, Signor Quinto, " said Gigia, with a demure airof speaking modestly on a subject which she perfectly wellunderstood--"You will excuse me, if I tell you that I know a greatdeal better than that. There's men, Signor Quinto, who are in lovebecause they like it; and there's others who are in love whetherthey like it or no, because they can't help themselves!"

"And you fancy the Marchese Lamberto is one of those who can't helphimself, eh?" grumbled Quinto discontentedly. 

"If I ever saw a man who was so limed that he couldn't help himself, it's that poor creature of a Marchese! He's caught safe enough, youmay take my word for that, Signor Quinto. He's caught, and can'tbudge, I tell you--hand nor foot, body nor soul! Lord bless you, Iknow 'em. Why, do you think he'd ever have come near my mistress asecond time if he could have helped himself? He's not like youryoung 'uns, who come to amuse themselves. Likely enough, he'd givehalf of all he's worth this day never to have set eyes on her; but, as for giving her up, he could as soon give himself up!"

"Humph!" grunted the old singer, with a shrug, and a sound that washalf a sneer and half a chuckle. "I suppose he don't above half likethe price he has to pay for his plaything! But that don't make itwise in Bianca to drive him to the wall more than need be. Limed andcaught as he is, he's one that may give her some trouble yet. For mypart, I wish she had not gone on this fool's errand this morning. Now, I will go and get my breakfast. I shall be back in half-an-hour. I expect Signor Ercole Stadione here this morning. "

Signor Ercole Stadione was the impresario of the Ravenna theatre. 

"And if he comes before you are back, Signor Quinto?" asked Gigia. 

"If he should come before I am back, let the boy call me from thecafe. And, Gigia, whenever he comes, you can let him understand, youknow, that your mistress is in her own room, --resting after theball, you know. He's hand and glove with the Marchese. "

"I wasn't born yesterday, Signor Quinto, though you seem to thinkso, " returned Gigia, as the old man began to descend the stairs. 

Signor Quinto went to the cafe, and consumed his little cup of blackcoffee, with its abominable potion of so-called "rhum" in it, andthe morsel of dry bread, which constituted his accustomed breakfast;and then, as he was returning to his lodging, encountered the"impresario" in the street. 

"Well met, Signor Lalli!" cried little Signor Ercole, cheerily. "Iwas on my way to your house to settle our little matters. I have notseen you, I think, since Sunday night. The bustle of these last daysof the Carnival! How divinely she sang that night! If Bellini couldhave heard her, it would have been the happiest day of his life. "

"I am glad that you were contented, Signor Ercole. "

"Contented! The whole city was enraptured. There never was such asuccess. You have got that little memorandum of articles--?"

"No. I've got the paper signed at Milan; but not--"

"Stay, let me see. True, true. I remember now. It remained with theMarchese. We shall want it, you know, just to put all in order. Wecan call at the Palazzo Castelmare on our way, and ask the Marchesefor it?"

"Will he be up at this hour, after last night's ball?" asked Quinto. 

"He? The Marchese? One sees you are a stranger in Ravenna, my dearsir. I don't suppose the Marchese has ever been in bed after eighto'clock the last quarter of a century. He is an early man, theMarchese, --an example to us all in that, as in all else. "

"Very well; then we can call for the paper on our way to my lodging;it is not much out of the way. "

So they walked together to the Palazzo Castelmare, talking of thebrilliant success of the past theatrical season, and of the eminentqualities and virtues of the Marchese Lamberto; and when theyreached the door the impresario desired the servant who answered thebell to tell the Marchese that he, Signor Ercole, wished to speakwith him, but would not detain him a moment. 

The Marchese, the man said, was not up yet. He, the servant, hadbeen to his door at the usual hour, but had received no answer tohis knock; so that it was evident that his master was stillsleeping. He had been very late the night before, --far later thanwas usual with him, --and no doubt he would ring his bell as soon ashe waked. 

"The fact is, " said Signor Ercole, as he and Quinto Lalli turnedaway from the door, "that the Marchese has not been well of late. Hevery often does me the honour of conversing with me, --I may sayindeed of consulting me on subjects of art;--and I grieve to saythat I have of late observed a change in him. He is not like thesame man. "

"Getting old, I suppose, like the rest of us, " said Quinto. 

"Like some of us, " corrected Signor Ercole; "but, Lord bless you!the Marchese is a young man--a young man, so to speak, --he's notabove fifty, and a very young man of his years; at least he was so amonth or two ago. But changed he is. Everybody has seen it. Let ushope that it is merely some temporary indisposition. Ravenna can'tafford to lose the Marchese. "

"I suppose we had better put off settling our little bit of businesstill another time?" said Quinto. "Shall we say to-morrow, at thesame hour? And I will get that paper from the Marchese in themeantime, " returned Signor Ercole. 

"That will suit me perfectly well; to-morrow, then, at my lodgingsat ten, shall we say?"

"At ten; I will not fail to wait upon you, Signor Lalli, at thathour. In the meantime I beg you to present my most distinguishedhomage to the divina Cantatrice, " said the little impresario, takingoff his hat and holding it at arm's length above his head, as hemade a very magnificent bow. 

"Servitore suo, stimatissimo Signor Ercole! A dimane!" replied oldQuinto, as he returned the impresario's salutation, with a slighterand less provincial bow. 

"A dimane alle dieci!" rejoined the impresario; and so the two menparted. 

"Not a bad bit of luck, " thought the old singing master to himself, as he sauntered towards his lodging, "that the Marchese should be inbed this morning. It gives a chance that he may never hear of thismad scappata with the Signor Ludovico. Lose the Marchese Lamberto!No, per Bacco! there are other people, beside the good folks of thecity of Ravenna, who can't afford to lose the Marchese Lamberto justyet!"

CHAPTER VII

An Attorney-at-law in the Papal States

At a little after twelve o'clock on that same Ash Wednesday morning, a servant in the Castelmare livery brought a verbal message to the"studio" of Signor Giovacchino Fortini, "procurators, "--attorney-at-law, as we should say, --requesting that gentleman to step as far asthe Palazzo Castelmare, as the Marchese would be glad to speak withhim. 

The message was not one calculated to excite any surprise either inthe servant who carried it, or in Signor Fortini himself. SignorGiovacchino was, and had been for many years, the confidentiallawyer of the Castelmare family. And the various business connectedwith large landed possessions made frequent conferences necessarybetween the lawyer and such a client as the Marchese, who, among hisother activities, had always been active in the management and careof his estates. 

Signor Giovacchino Fortini was very decidedly the first man of hisprofession in Ravenna, as indeed might be expected of the person whohad been honoured for more than one generation by the confidence ofthe Castelmare family. For the lawyer was a much older man than theMarchese, and had been the confidential adviser of his father. Andold Giovacchino Fortini's father and grandfather had sat in the same"studio" before him, and had held the same position towards previousgenerations of the Castelmare family. 

For three generations also the Fortini, grandfather, father, andson, had been lawyers to the Chapter of Ravenna; a fact whichvouched the very high standing and consideration they held in thecity, and at the same time explained the circumstances under whichit had come to pass that the "studio" they had occupied for so manyyears, seemed more like some public building than the privateoffices of a provincial attorney. 

In fact the "Studio Fortini" was a portion of an ancient buildingattached to the Cathedral, in which some of the less dignifiedmembers of the Chapter had their residences. The building inquestion encircled a small cloistered court, the soil of which wason a lower level than that of the street outside it; and theresidences, to which a series of little doors around this cloistergave access, looked as if they must have been miserably damp andunwholesome. But the "Studio Fortini" was not situated in any partof this damp lower floor. In the corner of the cloister nearest tothe Cathedral, there was a wide and picturesque old stone staircase, which led to an upper cloister, as sunny and pleasant looking as thelower one was the reverse. There, near the head of the stair, was around arched deeply sunk stone doorway, closed by a black door, bearing a bright brass plate on it, conveying the information, altogether superfluous to every man, woman, and child in Ravenna, that there was situated the "Studio Fortini. "

This black door was never quite closed during the day. It admittedanybody who chose to push it into a small ante-room, on one side ofwhich might be seen through a glass door a long low vaulted room, orgallery rather, running over some half dozen of the inhabited cellsbelow. And along the whole length of it on either side, up to theheight of the small round arched windows placed high up in the wall, were ranges of shelves occupied by many hundreds of volumes, all ofthe same size, and all bound alike in parchment, with two red bandsof Russian leather running across the backs of them, and alllettered and dated in black ink, of gradually shaded degrees offadedness. The place looked like the archive-room of some publicestablishment, which kept its archives in very unusually good order. 

All these were the documents and pleadings in all the lawsuits andother legal transactions of all the clients of the three generationsof the Fortini. And it would not have been too much to say, thatSignor Giovacchino Fortini would have deemed the destruction of thismass of papers as a misfortune to be paralleled only by that of theAlexandrian library. 

On the opposite side to the long gallery the anteroom gave access toa large and lofty vaulted chamber, about one-sixth part of the spaceof which--that is, a third of the floor and a half of the height--was partitioned off by a slight modern wall and ceiling. Two youngclerks occupied the larger unenclosed portion of the large hall, --for such its size entitled it to be called, --and Signor Fortini'ssenior and confidential clerk sat on the top of the ceiling, whichenclosed the smaller portion. A small wooden stair gave access tothis lofty position, which was admirably adapted for keeping an eyeon the youngsters on the floor below. Under the same ceiling, in thesnug little room thus divided off, sat Signor Fortini himself. And avery snug and bright-looking little room it was, with a prettystone-mullioned three-lighted casement window opening to the south;and in the wall at right angles to it another window, offeringaccommodation of a much more unusual and peculiar kind. It opened, in fact, into the transept of the cathedral, and had been intendedto enable the occupier or occupiers of the apartment, now inhabitedby the lawyer, to enjoy the benefit of attending mass without thetrouble of descending into the church for that purpose. If SignorGiovacchino Fortini did not often use it for that purpose, it, atall events, had the effect of imparting an ecclesiastical air to hishabitat, which seemed to have a certain propriety in the case of agentleman whose business connections with the hierarchy were soclose, and unquestionably added to the savour of unimpeachablerespectability which appertained to Signor Fortini and all belongingto him. 

Signor Fortini was a tall, thin, adust old man, with a large, well-developed forehead, a keen, bright hazel eye, and bristling, iron-grey hair, which had once been black, and a beard to match, whichseemed as if the barber entrusted with the care of it were alwaystwo or three days in arrear with his work. By some incomprehensiblecombination of circumstances it seemed as if Signor Fortini's facewere never seen fresh shaven. His sharp chin and lanthorn jawsappeared to be perennially clothed with a two days' old crop ofgrisly stubble, --two days' growth, --neither more nor less!

Long years ago he had buried a childless wife, who was said to havebeen a wonderful beauty, and to have been in many ways a troublegreater than Signor Fortini knew how to manage, and a trial thatmade his life a burthen to him. Those old troubles were now, however, long since past and gone; and Signor Fortini lived only forhis law and his artistic and antiquarian collections. He was likemany of his peers in the provincial cities of the Papal dominions--agreat antiquary and virtuoso. Antiquarianism is a "safe" pursuitunder a government the nature of which makes and finds very manyintellectual occupations unsafe. And this may account for the fact, that very many competent historical antiquaries and collectors arefound in the Pope's territories among such men as Signor Fortini. 

The son and grandson of thriving lawyers, who had for nearly anhundred years managed the affairs of the Chapter and the estates ofthe principal landed proprietors of the neighbourhood, was notlikely to be otherwise than well off; and it was generallyunderstood that Signor Fortini was a wealthy man. He loudlyprotested on all occasions that this was a most mistaken notion; butthere never occurred an opportunity of adding to his very remarkablecollection of drawings of the old masters, or his unrivalled seriesof mediaeval seals, or his all but perfect library of the MunicipalStatutes of the mediaeval Communes of Italy, which found SignorFortini unprepared to outbid most competitors. 

There were very few among his clients whom Signor Fortini would nothave expected to call on him at his "studio, " instead of summoninghim to wait on them. But the Marchese di Castelmare was one of thesefew, --perhaps as much, or more, on the score of old friendship as onthat of rank and social importance. 

The old lawyer was not more importantly occupied when he receivedthe Marchese's message, than by intently examining a bronze medalthrough a magnifying-glass; and he sent back word that he would bewith the Marchese immediately. The fact was he did not like the lookof this summons at all. He, too, had observed the unmistakablechange in his old friend; and jumped to the conclusion that what hewas wanted for was to make, or to be consulted about making, theMarchese's will. 

"To think of his breaking up so suddenly, in such a way as this. Nostamina! Why, he must be twenty years my junior; and I don't feel aday older than I did ten years ago, not a day. He has led a steadylife too; and seemed as likely a man to last as one would wish tolook at. I suppose everything will go to the nephew, --legacies toservants, and something, I should not wonder, to the town hospital, --not that I think he can have saved much, if any thing. I shouldlike that little cabinet Guido and I don't suppose Signor Ludovicowould care a rush about it. "

With these thoughts in his mind Signor Fortini presented himself atthe door of the Castelmare palace within ten minutes of the timewhen he had received the summons of the Marchese, and wasimmediately ushered into the library. 

A bright ray of sunshine was streaming in at the large window, andflooding half the room with its comfortable warmth and cheerfullight. But the Marchese, though he held a scaldino (a littleearthenware pot filled with burning braise) in his hand, and wasapparently shivering with cold, sat in his large library-chair, drawn into the darkest corner of the room, cowering over thisscaldino, which be held between his knees. He jumped up from hisseat, however, to receive his visitor with an air, one would havesaid, of having been startled by his entrance. 

"It is kind of you to come to me so quickly, Signor Giovacchino, " hesaid; and then turning angrily to the servant, who was leaving theroom, added in a cross and irritable voice, very unlike his usualmanner, "Why are not those persiane shut? Close them directly, andthen begone--quick!"

The man, with a startled look, did as he was bid; and the heavywooden jalousies thus shut reduced the room to comparative darkness. 

"I am afraid I find you very far from well, Signor Marchese. Wouldnot a little sun be pleasant this bright morning? the air is quitefresh despite the sunshine. "

"I don't like the sun indoors! I don't know how my rascals came toleave the persiane open. "

"I thought you seemed cold, Signor Marchese, " said the lawyer, kindly. 

"So I am cold--very cold, " he said, and his teeth chattered as hesaid it; "but the light hurts my eyes. "

"It very often does so when one is not well. "

"Not well! I'm well enough, man alive. But I think I must havecaught a little cold at the ball last night, " rejoined the Marchese, striving hard to speak in his usual manner. 

The lawyer, whose eyes had by this time become accustomed to thediminished light, looked hard at his old friend from beneath hisgreat shaggy black eye-brows, with a shrewdly examining glance, andthen slightly shook his head. 

"Well, I daresay you'll be all right again in a day or two. But anyway, I am glad you sent for me all the same. These things have to bedone, you know. And a man does not die a bit the sooner for doingthem. For my part, I always advise my friends to have all suchmatters settled while they are in health. "

"What, in Heaven's name, are you talking about? I don't know whatyou mean, " said the Marchese, with an angry irritability that wastotally unlike his usual manner. I sent for the lawyer; and you comeand talk to me as if you wanted to play the doctor. "

"I assure you, Signor Marchese, I have not the slightest desire toplay any part but my own. And that I am perfectly ready to enter on. I am ready to take your instructions, and will draw up theinstrument to-morrow or the next day. Thank God there is no causefor hurry. And that is one of the advantages of arranging alltestamentary dispositions while we are in health. My own will, Signor Marchese, has been made these ten years. "

"What is that to me? I may make my will ten years hence, and yet getit done in quite as good time as you have, Signor Fortini. Prayallow me to judge for myself, when I think it right to make my will. I have usually been able to manage my own affairs. " He spoke with adegree of anger and petulance, jumping up from his chair, and takinga turn to the window and back again, which seemed to conquer theshivering fit from which he had been suffering. 

"Manage your own affairs, Signor Marchese! Who would dream ofinterfering with your management of them? But did you not send forme to make your will?" said the lawyer, standing also. 

"Send for you to make my will! No. Devil told you I wanted to makemy will? I said nothing about making my will. "

"I beg your pardon, Signor Marchese. Perhaps I jumped at aconclusion over hastily. I thought it a wise thing to do, and soimagined that you were going to do it;--that's all. Let us say nomore about it. What commands have you then to give me?"

The Marchese took another turn across the room before replying; andthe observant lawyer saw him, when his back was turned, pass hishand across his brow, with the action of one ill at ease. Thenresuming his seat, and motioning the lawyer to take a chair, hesaid--

"If you will take a chair, Signor Giovacchino, I will tell you thebusiness for which I have sent for you. I have thought it my duty--family considerations--in fact, I've been thinking on the subjectfor a long time--in short, Signor Fortini, I am about to bemarried. "

"Whew--w--w!" whistled the lawyer, without the least attempt atconcealing the extremity of his astonishment; and pushing back hischair a couple of feet, as he raised his head to stare into hiscompanion's face. 

"And pray, Signor, what is there to be astonished at in such anintention?" said the Marchese, evidently wincing under the lawyer'slook. 

"I beg your pardon, Signor Marchese, but--the fact is--one is alwaysastonished at what one does not expect, you know. You may depend onit, I am not one bit more astonished than every human being inRavenna will be, " said the lawyer, looking hard at him. 

"I am not aware, Signor Fortini, that I have to answer to any onesave myself for the wisdom of my resolution, " said the Marchese, with a dignity more like his usual manner than he had yet spoken. 

"Certainly not, Signor Marchese. Certainly not. But the exception isan important one. You will have to answer for the wisdom of yourresolution to yourself, " rejoined Fortini, drily. 

"That, Signor Fortini, is my affair. As I told you, I haveconsidered the matter well; and I have made up my mind. "

"May I ask, Signor Marchese, whether your intention has beencommunicated to your nephew?" asked the lawyer. 

"As yet I have announced it to no one save yourself. As soon as thenecessary arrangements with regard to matters of property have beendetermined on, it will be the fitting time to do so. "

"Before any word can be said on that head, of course, it isnecessary that your lordship should mention, what you have not yetconfided to me, --the name of the lady with whom you are about toally yourself. "

"Of course; and it is for the purpose of doing so that I haverequested your presence here this morning, Signor Fortini. Beforenaming the lady, I will merely remark to you, that a man at my timeof life may be expected to know his own mind, and has a right toplease himself. And bearing these remarks in mind, you willunderstand that I do not wish to hear any observations on thesubject of the choice I have made. My choice is made; and that issufficient. "

The Marchese looked up into the lawyer's face, and paused for somereply to these preliminary observations before proceeding to tellhis secret; but the lawyer maintained a look and attitude of silentexpectation. 

"It is my intention, " proceeded the Marchese, "to marry the SignoraBianca Lalli;--the lady whose conduct, as well as her talent, haswon the good opinion of the entire city. "

The old lawyer flung down on the table, with a clatter, a paper-knife which he had taken into his hand while speaking, and risingabruptly from his chair, took one or two turns across the roombefore he answered a word. Then coming in front of the Marchese, andstill continuing to stand, he said, "You have warned me, Signor Marchese, not to make any remarks on thecommunication you have just made to me. There is one, however, whichperforce I must make. It is that I must decline to take anyinstructions, or to act in any way, for the forwarding of such apurpose. "

"There are other attorneys in Ravenna, Signor Fortini. "

"Plenty, Signor Marchese; plenty who will be abundantly ready to doyour bidding. But Giovacchino Fortini will not. Good heaven! Ishould expect to have my dear and honoured old friend and patron, your father, coming out of his grave to upbraid me. Signor Marchese, you know right well--as well as I do myself--that at this time ofday, I don't care two straws, as a mere matter of gain, whether Icontinue to be honoured with the transaction of your legal affairsor not. But I do care on other grounds. And I do implore you tobelieve that I am speaking to you more as a friend than as alawyer;--that I am speaking to you as the whole city would speak, and will speak when it hears of this--this incredible--thismonstrous notion, --when I entreat you to think yet further on thismost disastrous purpose. "

Of course when a man speaks as Signor Fortini spoke to the Marchese, he does it not without some hope that his words may produce aneffect on the person he addresses. But the lawyer had not muchexpectation that in the present case what he said would be listenedto. He spoke more for the discharge of his own conscience, andbecause the feelings he expressed were strong within him, than forany other reason. And he fully expected that he should be answeredwith words of anger and uncompromising rejection of hisinterference. 

It was not without considerable surprise, therefore, that he heardthe Marchese's moderate answer to the strong opposition he hadoffered to his intention. "Well, Signor Fortini, I cannot doubt thatwhat you have said has been, at all events, dictated by a strongregard for my welfare, as you understand it. I have, as I told you, made up my mind upon the subject. Nevertheless, counsel cannot butbe useful, and it is well not to be precipitate. I will, therefore, so far accept your advice as to promise you that I will give myselftime to deliberate yet further on the step. In the meantime you willnote that my first communication to you on the subject was made onthis first day of Lent; so that when I again seek your assistance inthe matter, you will know that I have at least not acted in a hurry, but have given myself due time for mature reflection. "

"I am delighted, Signor Marchese, to have obtained from you at leastthus much. It is at all events something gained. And I shall stillhope, that further reflection may lead you to change your purpose. Hoping that, I shall, you may depend upon it, breathe no word ofwhat you have said to me to any living soul. But you must understandthat, without such hope, I should have deemed it my duty to speak onthe subject with the Marchese Ludovico. "

"How so, Signor Fortini? A lawyer--"

"Very true, Signor Marchese. A lawyer, as you would observe, isaddressed by his client in confidence, and the confidence should besacred. But you must remember that I have the honour to act in this, as I and my father have done on all other occasions for now threegenerations, not only for your lordship, but for the whole of thefamily. I am the legal adviser of the Marchese Ludovico, as I washis father's, and as I am yours. It is my duty, therefore, as Iunderstand it, to look upon myself as bound to consider the welfareand interests of the entire family; and I need not remark to you howcruelly those of the Marchese Ludovico would be compromised by suchan event as we were contemplating just now. "

"With regard to speaking to my nephew on the subject, SignorFortini, I can have no objection to your doing so, if you think ityour duty. He will, of course, be informed of my intention bymyself. Do not forget, however, that my first communication to youon this subject was on the first day of Lent, Ash Wednesday. "

"Forget it, Signor Marchese! I am not likely to forget it for a longtime to come, I assure you, " said the lawyer, not a littlesurprised. 

"I mention it because I am anxious that you should not accuse me ofacting with precipitancy in this matter; that when I shall renew myapplication to you, you may remember that I have had due andsufficient time for reflection. Addio, Signor Giovacchino, " said theMarchese, reverting to the more friendly form of address; "addio, eda rivederci fra poco!"

"Servo suo, Lustrissimo Signor Marchese. A rivederci!"

VIII

Lost in the Forest

Signor Fortini went straight home to his pleasant little snuggeryunder the wing, --it might almost be said, under the roof, --of theCathedral, and sat down in his easy chair to resume the occupationthat had been interrupted by the summons from the Marchese. He tookup the medal he had been examining, and the magnifying glass, in amanner that implied a sort of ostentatious protest to himself thatthe calm and even tenour of his own life and occupations was not tobe disturbed from its course by all the follies and extravagances ofthe world around him. 

But "mentem mortalia tangunt!" The glass was soon laid aside: themedal remained idly in his hand, and his mind would recur to thethings he had just seen and heard. 

That an old bachelor should be caught at last by a pretty face, andmake a fool of himself in his mature age, was no unprecedentedphenomenon. That a man, who had never in any way made a fool ofhimself at the proper age for such an operation, should, after all, do so when those who did so in their salad days have become wise, was not unheard of. Nevertheless, Signor Fortini, who, in the courseof his seventy years, had had a tolerably wide experience ofmankind, was astonished that the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmareshould have been tempted to act as he proposed to act. 

"The very last man, " said Signor Fortini musingly to himself, "thatI could have suspected of such a thing! The man who has the highestreputation in the city for sound judgment and unexceptionableconduct, to turn out the greatest fool! An old ass! How little bedreams of what he is bringing upon himself. Let alone the terriblefall, the disgrace, --in every way, disgrace and contempt andridicule! It seems impossible, even now, that he should be inearnest. He must be mad! And, davvero, his manner was at times sostrange, that I could almost believe he really is not quite in hisright mind. Very strange his manner was, --very! And very ill helooked, too. Everybody has been saying that be looked ill, --that helooked old, --that there must be something wrong with him. Wrong witha vengeance! So this was the cause of it all: the Marchese Lambertois in love! Bah!--Bah!!--Bah!!!--(with crescendo expression ofdisgust). Poor devil! Well, I was in love once, or fancied myselfso. But then. I was twenty-five years old. Un altro paio di maniche!And I very soon found out my mistake. But he, at his time of life!And such a woman! Well, the Emperor Justinian married Theodora. So, I suppose we Ravennati have authority for madness in that kind. Andthat poor good fellow, the Marchese Ludovico, too! It is too bad. And all because such a creature as that is cunning enough to knowhow to drive a hard bargain for the painted face she has to sell. But that is the sort of woman who can make that sort of conquest. Agood woman now, who would have made him an honoured and good wife, would never have made such a blind, abject slave of him. He isbewitched! He is mad! and ought not to be allowed to carry out soinsane a project! Perhaps it may still be possible to induce him tohear reason. It was very odd, that way, that just at last hepromised me he would think of it again before he finally decided. Very odd. Just as if a man has not finally decided in such a matterbefore he sends to his lawyer! It is all very--very strange. And Ihave a good mind to speak to Signor Ludovico at once. I think itwould be the right thing to do, --I do think that would be the mostproper thing to do. The old fool ought to be treated as one noncompos!"

And then the old lawyer, after spending nearly an hour in suchmusings, got up and went to his house, --not two minutes' walk fromhis "studio"--to his solitary but comfortable two-o'clock dinner. 

By the time he had finished his repast, he had made up his mind thathe would at once confer with the Marchese Ludovico on the subject ofhis uncle's disastrous project. It was by that time nearly half-pastthree; and Signor Fortini walked out towards the Circolo, havinglittle doubt that he should find Ludovico there at that hour. 

But on his way thither he met the man he was in search of in thestreet. The young Marchese was walking at a hurried pace, andappeared to be scared, troubled, and heated. Nothing could be moreunlike his usual easy, lounging, poco-curante bearing. The lawyersaw at once that something was the matter; and thought that, in allprobability, the Marchese Lamberto had been already forestallinghim, by speaking to his nephew himself on the subject of hisprojected marriage. 

"Oh, Signor Ludovico, " said Fortini, as he met him, "I was on myway, to the Circolo, on purpose to see if I could meet with youthere. "

"Why, what is it? Have you any news to tell me?" said the young manin a hurried manner, that the lawyer thought odd. 

"Yes. I wished to speak to you on rather an important matter. Haveyou seen the Marchese Lamberto this morning?"

"No. I have been out of the town. I am but this moment come back, "replied Ludovico, evidently anxiously. 

"I should be glad to speak to you for a few minutes before you go tothe Palazzo Castelmare. If you are going to the Circolo, I wouldwalk with you, and we could speak there, " said Fortini. 

"I'll be there in less than ten minutes. But I want first to runjust as far as La Lalli's lodging in the Strada di Porta Sisi, onlyto ask a question, " said Ludovico. 

"La Lalli again! The devil fly away with her! It was about her thatI wanted to speak to you, " said the lawyer. 

"What about her? Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?" askedLudovico, hurriedly and anxiously. 

"I seen her! No. Where she is? In her bed most likely, after dancingall last night, I should think!"

"Well, I must run and just ascertain whether she is at home!" saidLudovico, again trying to escape. But the old lawyer, partly put alittle bit out of temper by the young man's evident wish to get ridof him, partly angered by finding the nephew thus running after thesame mischief that was threatening to ruin his uncle, and partlythinking that it was desirable that the news he had to tell shouldbe told before Ludovico should come to speech with his uncle, wasdetermined not to let him escape till he had said what he had tosay. 

"Very well, Signor. I can say what I have to say in the street aswell as anywhere else. Though I confess I expected a somewhat moreready reception of information which concerns you nearly, SignorMarchese, and which I am prompted to tell you by my interest in yourwelfare. Listen! Your uncle sent for me this morning for the purposeof announcing to me his intention of marrying this Bianca Lalli!"

"So I have been told this very morning, " said Ludovico. 

"I thought you said that you had not seen your uncle this morning!"returned the lawyer. 

"No more I have; but are there not two persons from whom such anintention may be learned?" said Ludovico, with a slight approach toa sneer. 

"The lady, you mean?" said Fortini. 

"Exactly so--the lady!" rejoined Ludovico. 

"The lady herself told you that the Marchese Lamberto had proposedmarriage to her?" persisted the lawyer. 

"The lady herself told me so, " replied the Marchese. 

"But I thought you said that you had only just now returned to thecity?" objected the lawyer again. 

"Really, Signor Fortini, one would think that I was being examinedbefore a police-magistrate! However, since my tongue has let the catout of the bag, you may take the creature, and make the most of her!I did receive the intelligence in question from the lady concerned, and I have just returned to the city. She communicated the fact tome during a little excursion we made together to the Pineta thismorning, after the ball. Now you know all about it, " said Ludovico, still in a hurry to get away. 

"Not quite!" rejoined Fortini, quite imperturbably. "If you went tothe Pineta with her--(did anybody ever hear of such a mad thing?)--and returned this morning, how can you want to go now to her houseto ask whether she is there?"

"Because, you very clever inquisitor, though I went to the Pinetawith her, I did not say that I had come back with her. "

"The deuce you did not! Did another gentleman undertake the duty ofescorting the lady back to town? It is all exceedingly pleasant forthe Marchese Lamberto, upon my word!--oh, exceedingly!--and really aforetaste to him of the joys to come, quite frankly offered to himon the part of the lady!" sneered the old lawyer. 

"Pshaw! how she may have come back, or with whom, I don't know, andcan't guess; and that is just what I am anxious to find out, " saidLudovico, in provoked impatience. 

"I don't understand. Where did you part with the lady?" persistedthe lawyer, interested rather by the evident uneasiness of theMarchese Ludovico, than by any care how and in what company Biancamight have found her way back to the city. 

"Well, that's just the curious part of the matter. If you want toknow how the thing happened, since you know so much already, walkwith me to the Strada di Porta Sisi, and I will tell you how ithappened. At the ball we spoke of the Pineta, --she had never seenit, --asked me to show it to her. In short, we agreed to start onleaving the ball, instead of going to bed. I got a bagarino, anddrove her to the farmhouse by the edge of the wood, just behind St. Apollinare; left the bagarino there, and strolled into the wood. Itwas there that she told me of my uncle's purpose. And I was not alittle taken aback, as you may suppose. However, that is matter fortalk by-and-by. We strolled about a good while, then sat down. Shetold me a good deal of the history of her life. We must have beentalking--I don't know how long; but a long time. Then she said shewas so sleepy, she must have a little sleep; she could keep her eyesopen no longer. Natural enough! She had been dancing all night--hadnever closed her eyes for a minute since. The bank we were sittingon was the most delicious place for a siesta that can be conceived. In two minutes she was fast asleep. She slept on and on till I wastired of waiting. No doubt I should have slept too, had not theintelligence she had given me been of a sort to keep me waking, forone while at least. Having my mind full of this, and not being ableto sleep, I strayed away from her, and returned in a few minutes, asI think, to the place where I had left her, but could not find her. I could not be sure about the place. One bit of the forest is somuch like another, --just the same thing over and over again, --that Icould not feel quite sure of the spot. I still think I went back tothe right place; but there she was not. Then I searched the wood allround, far and near, for, I should think, a couple of hours or more. I called aloud, again and again, all to no purpose. And what onearth has become of her I cannot imagine. "

"And why you need trouble your head about it, I don't see. I wishedthe devil might fly away with her just now! And if the devil hastaken the hint and done so, I confess it seems to me about the bestthing that could happen! Why on earth you, of all people in theworld, Signor Ludovico, should be so anxious to recover the lady, Iconfess I cannot understand. Would it not be the best thing in theworld for you if she were never heard of again?"

"Oh, per amore di Dio, Signor Giovacchino, don't talk in that way. Never heard of again! I shall be really uneasy if I don't hear ofher again in a very few minutes. It is so extraordinary. What canhave become of her?"

"Become of her! Why, she waited, of course: got tired of waiting foryou, and so strolled back to the town. That sort of lady does notmuch like waiting, I fancy. "

"That sort of lady does not much like walking so far as from thePineta here, I fancy. Besides, I should have overtaken her on theroad. "

"In any case what is there to be uneasy about. No harm can havehappened to her. No such luck, per Bacco!"

"Harm! No; no harm can have happened to her, beyond losing herselfin the forest. What I am afraid of is that she has strayed and notbeen able to find her way. And God knows how far she may wander. When I tell you that in wandering away from the place where I lefther, for not above a quarter of an hour, I lost my way, and thatwhen I found, as I supposed, the place where we had been, I couldnot be sure whether it was the same spot or not; you may suppose howeasy it is to lose oneself. And I don't suppose the poor girl wouldbe able to walk very far. If she has not returned, I must get helpand go back to the forest and search till I find her. "

"It's far more likely that you will find that she has returned home. I wish, for my part, that she had never set foot within a dozenmiles of Ravenna. Just think what it would be! But I trust--I trustwe may yet be able to induce your uncle to listen to reason. "

"I'll tell you what, Signor Fortini. I should not be surprised if itshould be found more possible to make the other party hear reason. "

"What, the lady!"

"Yes, the lady--if we set about the matter in the right way. "

"Well, Signor Ludovico, it may be that you may understand suchmatters and such people better than I can pretend to do. It is notimprobable. But my conceptions of the power of persuasion have neverrisen yet to a belief in the possibility of persuading a dog who hasgot a lump of butter in his mouth to relinquish it. "

"Umph! you are not particularly gallant, Signor Giovacchino. Weshall see. But all that must be matter for future conversation. Herewe are at her door. Let us see if anything has been heard of her. "Ludovico, leaving his companion for an instant in the street, sprangup the stairs to make inquiry; and in the next minute returnedlooking very much vexed and annoyed, with the information thatnothing had been seen or heard of the Diva since she left the housein his company at an early hour that morning. 

CHAPTER IX

"Passa la Bella Donna e par che dorma"--Tasso

"What's to be done now? I absolutely must find her, " said Ludovico, looking, as he felt, exceedingly puzzled and annoyed. 

"Well, yes. Considering the nature of the information she gave youthis morning, and bearing in mind that her existence in the fleshpromises to be the means of leaving you without the price of a crustof bread in the world, and the further fact she was last seenstarting on a tete-a-tete expedition with you at six o'clock in themorning, I admit that it is desirable that you should find her, "said the lawyer, with somewhat grim pleasantry. 

"For heaven's sake, Signor Giovacchino, don't talk in that sort ofway, even in jest, " replied the young man, looking round at thelawyer with an uneasy eye. "After all, nothing can have happened toher, you know, worse than losing herself in the Pineta. "

"Pooh! happen to her. What should happen to her? Either you did notgo back to the place where you left her; or, likely enough, afterstrolling a little away from it, and not finding you, she sat down, and two to one, fell asleep again. I would wager that she is, atthis moment, fast asleep under the shadow of a pine-tree, making upfor last night. "

"But what had I better do? If she is still either sleeping or wakingin the forest, I must find her. "

"Let us just step as far as the gate, and make some inquiry there. If she returned to the city she must have come to the Porta Nuova. And she could hardly have entered the town without drawing theattention of the men at the gate. Just let us make inquiry there inthe first place. "

So they went together to the Porta Nuova, and nothing more was saidbetween them during the short walk. But it seemed as if the manifestuneasiness of Ludovico had infected his companion. Yet it wasevident that thoughts of a different nature were busy in theirminds. The Marchese Ludovico pressed on faster than the old lawyercould keep up with him, and was very unmistakably anxious about theobject of his quest, and the tidings which he should be able to hearat the gate. 

Signor Fortini had apparently got some other and newly-conceivedthought in his mind. He looked two or three times shrewdly andfurtively into the face of the young Marchese; and closelycompressed his thin lips together, and drew into a knot the shaggyeye-brows over his clear and thoughtful eyes. Some notion had beensuggested to his mind which very plainly he did not like. 

At the gate nothing had been seen of the object of their search. Theoctroi officers perfectly well remembered seeing the MarcheseLudovico, who was well known to them by sight, drive through thegate very early that morning in a bagarino with a lady. One man hadrecognised the lady as the prima donna at the opera. And they werevery sure that she had not returned to the city since, at least bythat gate. 

But one of the officers volunteered the information that anotheryoung lady had that morning passed out of the city on foot a littlebefore the time at which the bagarino had passed with the Marcheseand the prima donna. And the men, after some consultation together, were sure that neither had that young lady returned by the gate theyguarded. 

Ludovico looked at the lawyer, and the lawyer looked at Ludovico;but neither of them could suggest anything in explanation of sostrange a circumstance. 

"I saw nothing of any such person either in the Pineta or on theroad, " said Ludovico. "Who could it have been?"

The old lawyer only shrugged his shoulders in reply

"There is a young lady, " resumed Ludovico, after some minutes ofthought, "a friend of mine--a young artist engaged in making copiesfrom the mosaics in our churches. I know that it was her purposeshortly to begin some work of this kind at St. Apollinare in Classe. It may be that she had selected this morning for the purpose ofgoing out to look at her task, --though I almost think that I shouldhave been informed of her intention. "

"The plot seems to thicken with a vengeance, " said the lawyer, withan impatient shrug, and a slight sneer of ill-humour, provoked bythe multiplicity of his young client's lady friends. "I daresay, " headded, "the young ladies are not playing hide-and-seek in the Pinetaall by themselves. "

"But what had I better do?" said the young Marchese, looking withincreased anxiety into the lawyer's face; "the fact is--you see, Signor Giovacchino, this new idea, this possibility that Paolina--that is the young artist's name--may be--may have been in theforest--in short, I feel more uneasy than before till I can learnwhat has become of both of them. "

"Do you mean, " said the lawyer, with a sneer in his voice, but atthe same time looking into his companion's face with a shrewdexpression of investigation in his eye, --"do you mean that the twoladies may possibly have fallen in with each other, and may in suchcase not improbably have fallen out with each other? You know best, Signor Marchese, the likelihood of any trouble arising out of such ameeting. "

"For God's sake don't speak in such a tone, Signor Giovacchino. Itell you I am seriously uneasy. Should they have met under suchcircumstances--God only knows--What would you advise me to do, Signor Giovacchino?" said the Marchese, looking into the lawyer'sface with increasing and now evidently painful anxiety. 

"It is ill giving advice without knowing all the circumstances of acase, Signor Marchese, " returned Fortini, somewhat drily, lookinghard at the young man as he spoke, and putting a meaning emphasis onthe word "all. "

"You do know all the circumstances as far as I know them myself. Thething happened exactly as I told you, " replied Ludovico. 

"You left her sleeping on a bank in the forest, and have never seenher since?" said the lawyer, thoughtfully. 

"Exactly so! I returned to the spot where I had left her--at leastas far as I could tell it was the same spot--and she was no longerthere, " replied Ludovico. 

"But you were not sure that you did return to the same spot? Youcould not recognise it again with certainty?"

"So it seemed to me when I was there. I think it must have been thesame place. But when I did not find her, I could not feel sure ofit. Every spot in the Pineta is so like all other spots. One pine-tree is just like another; and the grassy openings, and the littlethickets of underwood, are all the same over and over again. I feltthat I could not be sure that the place was the same. "

"Was there no fallen tree, no track of road, no specialty of weed orflower, that the spot might be identified by?"

"None I think--none that I am aware of or can remember. There was alittle rising of the ground, --a sort of bank, and the grass wassprinkled all over with wild flowers. There were violets close athand, I know, because I remember the scent of them! But when I cameto try, it seem'd to me that I found all these things in a dozenother places. "

"Nevertheless, you know at what point you entered the Pineta; itcannot be very difficult to have the whole wood, within such adistance as it is at all likely that she should have strayed to, thoroughly searched. But the best men for the purpose would be someof the foresters in the employ of the farmers of the forest. I daresay that we might find--what is that coming along the road yonder?"said the lawyer interrupting himself. 

The two gentlemen had been standing during the above shortconversation just on the outside of the gate, and looking down thestretch of long straight road towards St. Apollinare and the pineforest. 

"It is a knot of men coming along the road. They are likely enoughsome of the very fellows we want. In that case we might get them togo back with us without loss of time. "

"With us?" said the lawyer, who had not bargained when he left hishome, for any such expedition. "Well, I don't mind helping you, Signor Marchese, in your search, " he added, after a moment'sconsideration; "but I am not going to walk to the Pineta thisafternoon; and I should think you must have had enough of it for to-day. But I will tell you what I can do. We will send one of thesefellows to my house to order my servant to come here with mycalessino as quick as he can; and if these men are the people wewant--What are they doing? They are carrying something! Why surely--Signor Marchese!" said the old lawyer, looking into his companion'sface, while a strange expression of understanding, mixed with ablank look of dismay and alarm, stole over his own features. 

"What is it?--What have they got?--Why, heavens and earth! it is--Signor Fortini, is it not a dead body they are carrying? My God!"

The young man griped his companion's arm hard, as he spoke, and theaction enabled the lawyer to remark that he was shaking all over. 

In another minute the men whom they had seen coming along the roadwere close to the gate. They were six in number; and they werebearing--somewhat, between them. They advanced beneath the coveredgateway, and there, as it is necessary to do in the case ofeverything brought into the town, they set their burthen down on theflag-stones, at the feet of the officers of the gate, and of theMarchese and the lawyer. 

Their burthen was a door lifted from its hinges, and supported bythree slender stakes drawn green from a hedgerow. And on the doorthere lay, covered with a sheet, what was evidently a dead body. 

Ludovico, with his eyes starting from his head, and horror in everyfeature of his face, still clutching one hand of the old lawyer inhis, stretched forward with one advanced stride towards theextemporized bier, and with his other hand lifted the sheet. 

A shriek of horror burst from him. "Ah! Paolina mia!" he criedaloud; and then with a deep groan, as of one in physical pain, hefell into Signor Fortini's arms, and sunk in an insensible state ofsick faintness on the flag-stone pavement beneath the old gateway. 

BOOK II

Four Months before that Ash Wednesday Morning

CHAPTER I

How the good News came to Ravenna

Such were the events of that last night of carnival, and of the AshWednesday that followed it;--an Ash Wednesday remembered many a yearafterwards in Ravenna. 

The old lawyer, Fortini, standing a pace behind the MarcheseLudovico, when the latter lifted up the sheet from the face of thedead, saw only that it was the face of a woman. Paolina Foscarellihe had never seen; and Bianca Lalli he had seen only once or twiceon the stage; the lawyer not being much of a frequenter of thetheatre. There could be little doubt that the body lying therebeneath the gateway, with the officials standing with awe-strickenfaces around it, together with the six peasants who had brought itthither, was that of one or other of those two young women. 

Of course there were plenty of persons at hand who were able to setat rest all doubt as to the identity of the murdered woman, --forsuch it was pretty clear she must be considered to be. And of courseall interests in the little provincial city were for many days tocome absorbed in the terrible interest belonging to theinvestigation of the foul deed which had been done. 

But in order to set before the reader the whole of this strangestory intelligibly, and to give him the same means of estimating theprobabilities of the questions involved in it, and of reaching asolution of the mysterious circumstances which the authorities, whowere called upon to investigate them, were in possession of, it willbe expedient to go back to a period some four months previous tothat memorable Ash Wednesday. 

It was a bitterly cold night in Ravenna, towards the latter end ofNovember, some four months before that Ash Wednesday on which theevents that have been narrated occurred. Untravelled English people, who have heard much of "the sweet south, " of the sunny skies ofItaly, and of its balmy atmosphere, do not readily imagine that suchcold is ever to be found in that favoured clime. But the fact isthat cold several degrees below the freezing point is by no meansrare in the sub-Alpine and sub-Apennine districts of northern Italy. 

And Ravenna is a specially cold place. At Florence, the winter, though short, is often sharp enough; and the climate of the oldTuscan city is considered a somewhat severe one for Italy. But thedistrict which lies to the north-eastward, on the low coast of theupper part of the stormy Adriatic, is much colder. There is nothing, neither hill nor forest, between the Friulian Alps and Ravenna, toprevent the north-eastern winds, bringing with them a Siberiantemperature, from sweeping the low shelterless plain on which theancient capital of the Exarchs is situated. 

They were so sweeping that plain, and howling fiercely through thedeserted streets of the old city, on the November evening inquestion. 

Nevertheless there were several persons loitering around the door ofthat ancient hostelry, the "Albergo della Spada, " in the Via delMonte, then as now, and for many a generation past, the principalinn of Ravenna. They were wrapped in huge cloaks, most of them withhoods to them, which gave the wearers a strange sort of monkishappearance. And they from time to time blew upon their fingers, inthe intervals of using their mouths for the purpose of grumbling atthe cold. But they none of them resorted to tramping up and down, orstamping with their feet, or threshing themselves with their arms, or had recourse to movement of any kind to get a little warmth intotheir bodies, as Englishmen may be seen to do under similarcircumstances. However cold it may be an Italian never does anythingof this sort. It must be supposed, that to him cold is a lessdetestable evil than muscular exertion of any kind. 

There were some half-dozen men standing about the door; and thoughthey were doing nothing, it was not to be supposed that they stoodthere in the bitter cold for their own amusement. The fact was, theywere waiting for one of the great events of the day at Ravenna, --thearrival of the diligenza from Bologna. It was past six o'clock inthe evening; and it could not now be long before the expectedvehicle would arrive. 

It is a distance of some sixty miles from Bologna to Ravenna; thediligence started at five in the morning, and was due at the lattercity at five in the evening. But nobody expected that it would reachits destination at that hour. It had never done so within the memoryof man, even in the fine days of summer, and now, when the roadswere rough with ridges of frozen mud! It was now, however, nearlyhalf-past six--yes, there went the half-hour clanging from thecracked-voiced old bell in the top of the round brick tower, whichstands on one side of the cathedral, and by its likeness to aminaret reminds one of the Byzantine parentage of its builders. 

Half-past six! The loiterers about the inn door remark to eachother, that unless "something" has happened old Cecco Zoppo can't befar off now. 

The arrival of the Bologna diligence, the main means ofcommunication between remote out-of-the-way Ravenna and the rest ofthe world, was always a matter of interest in the old-world littlecity, where matters of interest were so few. And on a pleasantevening in spring or summer the attendance of expectant loungers waswont to be far larger than it was on that bitter November night, andto include a large number of amateurs; whereas the half-dozen nowwaiting were all either officially or otherwise directly interestedin the arrival. Indeed, there was a very special interest attachedto the coming of the expected vehicle on that November night; andnothing but the extreme severity of the weather would have preventeda very distinguished assemblage from being on the spot to hear thefirst news that was expected to be brought by one of the travellers. 

"Eccolo! I heard the bells, underneath the gate-way. Per Bacco, itis time! I'm well-nigh frozen alive, " said Pippo, the ostler. 

"If they don't keep him an hour at the gate, " rejoined a decidedlymore ragged and poverty-stricken individual, who held recognizedoffice as the ostler's assistant. 

"Not such a night as this! Those gentlemen there at the gate canfeel the cold for themselves, if they can't feel nothing else, "rejoined the ostler, who was a frondeur and disaffected to thegovernment, in consequence of a drunken grandson having been turnedout of the place of third assistant scullion in the kitchen of theCardinal Legate. "There's the bells again! They've let him offpretty quick. I thought as much, " added the old man, with a chuckle. 

"Wasn't Signor Ercole's woman here with a lanthorn just now?" saidanother of the bystanders, a young man, who, though wrapped to theeyes in the universal all-levelling cloak, belonged evidently to asuperior class of society to the previous speakers. 

"Si, Signor Conte, she is there in the kitchen. Per Dio! she wouldhave had no fingers to hold the light for her master, if she hadstayed out here, " replied the ostler. And then the rattle of wheelsbecame distinct, and in the next instant the feeble light of acouple of lamps became visible at the far end of the street, as thecoach turned out of the Piazza Maggiore into the Via del Monte, andstruggled forwards towards the knot at the inn door; it came at amiserable little trot, but with an accompaniment of tremendous whip-cracking, that awoke echoes in the silent streets far and near, andimparted an impression of breathless speed to the imagination of thebystanders, who, being Italians, accepted the symbol in despite oftheir certain knowledge that the reality of the thing symbolised wasnot there. Like the immortal Marchioness, Dick Swiveller's friend, in the Old Curiosity Shop, the Italians, when the realities ofcircumstances are unfavourable, can always manage to gild them alittle by "making believe very strong. "

"Now then, Signora Marta, bring out your light, " called the deputyostler in at the inn door. 

The individual addressed as Signor Conte became evidently excited, and prepared himself to be the first to present himself at the doorof the coach as it drew up opposite the inn. The ostler stepped outinto the street with his stable lanthorn. Signora Marta, shivering, with a huge shawl over her head, took up her position, lanthorn inhand, behind the Signor Conte, and the ramshackle old coach, rattling over the uneven round cobble-stones of the execrablepavement with a crash of noise that seemed to threaten that everyjolt would be its last, came to a standstill at the inn door. 

The Signor Conte Leandro Lombardoni--that was the name of the youngman hitherto called Il Signor Conte--opened the door with his ownhand, and, putting his head eagerly into the interior, cried, "Are you there, Signor Ercole? Well! What news? Have you succeeded?Let me give you a hand. "

"Grazie, Signor Leandro, grazie, " replied a high-pitched voice ofsingularly shrill quality from within the vehicle, "I don't knowwhether I can move. Misericordia! che viaggio! What a journey I havehad. I am nearly dead. My blood is frozen in my veins. I have no useof my limbs. I shall never recover it; never!"

And then very slowly a huge bundle of cloaks and rags and furs, nearly circular in form and about five feet in diameter, began tomove towards the door of the carriage, and gradually, by the help ofSignor Leandro and Signora Marta, to struggle through it and getitself down on the pavement. 

"And this I do and suffer for thee, Ravenna!" said the bundle in thesame shrill tenor, making an attempt, as it spoke, to raise twolittle projecting fins towards the cold, unsympathising stars. 

"But have you succeeded, Signor Ercole?" asked the other again, anxiously. 

"I have succeeded in sacrificing myself for my country, " replied theshrill voice with chattering teeth; "for I know I shall never getover it. I am frozen. It is a very painful form of martyrdom. "

"But you can at least say one word, Signor Ercole? You can say yesor no to the question, whether you have succeeded in our object?"urged the Conte Leandro. 

Signor Ercole Stadione, however, who was, as the reader is aware, noless important a personage than the impresario of the principaltheatre of Ravenna, knew too well all the importance that belongedto the news he had to tell to part with his secret so easily. "Signor Conte, " he quavered out, "I tell you I am frozen! A mancannot speak on any subject in such a condition. I know nothing. Myintellectual faculties have not their ordinary lucidity. I mustendeavour to reach my home. Marta, hold the lamp here. "

"And I who have waited here for your arrival ever since the venti-quattro! Per Dio! Do you think I ain't cold too? And the Marchese isexpecting you. Of course, you will go to him at once?"

"I don't know that I shall ever recover myself sufficiently to doso. It is useless for the city to expect more from a man than he canaccomplish. When I have got thawed, I will endeavour to do my duty. Good night, Signor Conte!" said the little impresario, preparing tofollow his servant with the lanthorn, as well as the enormousquantity of wraps around him would allow him to do so. 

"Come now, Signor Ercole, you won't be so ill-natured. You know howmuch interest I take in the matter. Think how long I have waitedhere for you, and nobody else has cared enough to do that. Come now, be good-natured, and tell a fellow. Just one word. Look here now, "added the Conte Leandro, seeing that he was on the point of losingthe gratification for the sake of which he had undergone the penanceof standing sentinel in the cold for the last hour, and that hisonly hope was to bring forward les grands moyens, --"see now, theonly thing to bring you round is a glass of hot punch. Now, whileyou go home and get your things off, I will go to the cafe and getyou a good glass of punch, hot and strong--smoking hot! and have itbrought to your house, all hot, you know, in a covered jug. Butbefore I go; you will just say the one word: Have you beensuccessful? Come now. Just one word. "

Signor Ercole Stadione, the impresario, would much have preferrednot saying that one word just then. He knew perfectly well that thegrand object of his questioner was to be the first to carry thegreat news to the Circolo--the club where all the young nobles ofthe town were in the habit of congregating; and to make the most ofthe sort of reputation to be gained by being the first in Ravenna tohave accurate information on the matter in question. He knew alsothat within a quarter-of-an-hour after the news should be told toSignor Leandro Lombardoni it would be known to all Ravenna. Further, he was perfectly aware that, frozen or not frozen, he must wait thatevening on the Marchese, of whom Signor Leandro had spoken--theMarchese Lamberto di Castelmare, in order to communicate to him thenews which Signor Leandro was so anxious to hear; that not to do sowould be as much as his standing and position in Ravenna were worth. And he would have preferred that the Marchese should not have heardwhat he had to tell before telling it to him himself; which hethought likely enough to happen, if he let the cat out of the bag toSignor Leandro. But the offer of the punch was irresistible. Thepoor little impresario knew how little possibility there was offinding any such pleasant stimulant in the cold, cheerless, wifelesslittle quartiere which he and Marta called their home. His teethwere chattering with cold; and the hot punch carried the day. 

"Troppo buono, Signor Conte! Truly a good glass of hot ponche wouldbe the saving of me! It is very kindly thought of. Well, then;listen in your ear. But you won't say a word about it till to-morrowmorning. It is all right. The thing is done. The writings signed. Have I done well, eh? Have I deserved well of the city, eh? But youwon't say a word!"

"Bravo, Signor Ercole! Bravo, bravissimo! Not a word. Not a word. Irun to order the punch. Good night. Not a word to a living soul!"

And the Conte Leandro ran off to give a hasty order at the cafe inthe Piazza, on his way to the Circolo to spread his important newsall over the town. 

CHAPTER II

The Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare

Signor Leandro Lombardoni felt himself to be abundantly repaid forhis hour of waiting in the cold street, and for the bajocchiexpended on the glass of punch, by the position he occupied at theCircolo all that evening. He was the centre of every group anxiousto gain the earliest information respecting a matter of the highestinterest to all the society of Ravenna. And the matter belonged to aclass of subjects respecting which the Conte Leandro was especiallydesirous of being thought to be thoroughly well-informed, and tohave interest in the highest quarters. 

The fact was, that Signor Ercole Stadione, the Ravenna impresario, had undertaken a journey to Milan, in the hope of accomplishing anegotiation in which the whole of the smaller provincial city hadfelt itself deeply interested. He had gone thither for the purposeof engaging the celebrated prima donna, Bianca Lalli, to sing atRavenna during the coming Carnival. The pretension was a veryambitious one on the part of the impresario--or, as it may be moreproperly said, on the part of the city--for the step was by no meansthe result of his own independent and unaided enterprise. Suchmatters were not done in that way in the good old times in thesmaller cities of Italy. The matter had been much debated among theleading patrons of the musical drama in the little town. The chancesof success had been canvassed. The financial question had beenconsidered. Certain sacrifices had been determined on. And it hadbeen settled what terms the impresario should be empowered to offer. 

It had been fully felt and recognised that the hope of engaging thefamous Bianca Lalli to sing at remote little Ravenna, during acarnival, was a singularly ambitious one. But there had beencircumstances which had led those who had conceived the bold idea tohope that it would not prove to be so impossible as it might atfirst sight appear. There had been whispers of certain difficulties--untoward circumstances at Milan. Ill-natured things had been saidof the "divina Lalli. " Doubtless she had been more sinned againstthan sinning. But to put the matter crudely--which, of course, noItalian who had to speak of it, was ever so ill-bred as to do--itwould seem that the great singer had placed herself, or had beenplaced, in such relations with somebody or other bearing a greatname in the Lombard capital, that the paternal Austrian government, at the instance of that somebody's family, had seen good to hint, insome gentle, but unmistakable manner, that it might, on the whole, be better that the divine Lalli should bless some other city withher presence during the ensuing season. And then came theconsideration, that in all probability most of the great cities ofthe peninsula had, by that time, made their arrangements for thecoming Carnival. Not impossible, too, that the "diva" herself mightbe not disinclined to allow a certain period of such comparativeobscurity as an engagement at Ravenna would bring with it, to passafter her exit from Milan under such circumstances, before re-appearing on other boards where she would be equally in the eyes ofall Europe. But this ground of hope, though it may have been felt, was never so much as alluded to in words, in Ravenna. In short, Ravenna had determined to make the bold attempt. And Don SignorErcole Stadione had returned from the arduous enterprise to announcethat it had been crowned with complete success. 

None but those who have had some opportunity of becoming acquaintedwith the social habits and manners of the smaller cities of Italy--and that as they were some twenty years ago, and not as they arenow--can imagine the degree in which a matter of the kind inquestion could be felt there to be a subject of general publicinterest. From the Cardinal Legate, who governed the province, downto the little boys who hung about the cafe doors, in the hope ofpicking up a half-eaten roll, there was not a human being in thecity who did not feel that he had some part of the glory resultingfrom the fact that "La Lalli" was to sing at Ravenna during theCarnival. The contadini--the peasants outside the gates--even thoughthey were only just outside it, cared nothing at all about thematter: another specialty of the social peculiarities of thepeninsula. 

The Cardinal Legate, restrained by the professional decorum of hiscloth, said nothing save among his quite safe intimates; but, perhaps, like the sailor's parrot, he only thought the more. 

As for the jeunesse doree of the Circolo, to whom Signor Leandrorecounted his great tidings with all the self-importance to whichthe exclusive possession of news of such interest so well entitledhim, it is impossible to do justice to the enthusiasm which the newsexcited among them. 

All sorts of pleasing anticipations were indulged in. They were alljealous of each other by anticipation. Already, in the gravestspirit of business, a scheme for taking off her horses at the citygates and harnessing their noble selves to the carriage of theexpected guest was discussed. 

The reputation enjoyed by the great singer Bianca Lalli at that timewas very high throughout Italy. But, perhaps, --any one of her rivalgoddesses would have said undoubtedly, --it was a reputation notwholly and exclusively due to her strictly vocal charms. She was, intruth, a woman of more than ordinary beauty; and was universallydeclared to exercise a charm on all who came within reach of herinfluence beyond that which even extraordinary beauty has always theprivilege of exercising. All kinds of stories were told of herboundless power of fascination. In crude language, again, --such asher own countrymen never used concerning her, --the reputation of "ladiva Lalli" was tout soit peu, a reputation de scandale. And it willbe readily imagined that the enthusiasm in her favour of the youngfrequenters of the Circolo at Ravenna was none the less vehement onthis account. 

It must, however, be added that she undoubtedly was a very admirablesinger. Had this not been the case, the Marchese Lamberto diCastelmare would not have interested himself so much as he had donein the plans and negotiations for bringing her to Ravenna. TheMarchese was not a man to be much influenced by the prima donna'sreputation for beauty and fascination. But he was "fanatico per lamusica. " He was the acknowledged leader in all matters musical inRavenna; the most influential patron of the opera in the city; andall-powerful in the regulation of all theatrical affairs. 

The Marchese Lamberto held a rather special position in the socialworld in Ravenna. His fortune was large; and the nobility of hisfamily ancient. But it was not these circumstances only, or evenmainly, that caused him to hold the place he did in the estimationof his fellow-citizens. He was a bachelor, now about fifty yearsold; and during some thirty of those years he had always been beforethe public in one manner or another, and always had in everycapacity won golden opinions from all men. Though abundantly richenough to have gone occasionally to Rome, or even to have residedthere entirely, if he had chosen to do so, he had, on the contrary, preferred to pass his whole life in his native city. And Ravenna wasflattered by this, to begin with. Then his residence in theprovincial city had been in many respects a really useful one, notonly to that section of the body politic which is called, parexcellence, society, but to the public in general. He had heldvarious municipal offices, and had discharged the functionsbelonging to them with credit and applause. He was treasurer to ahospital, and a generous contributor to its funds. He was thefounder of an artistic society for the education of young artistsand the encouragement of their seniors. He was the principaldirector of a board of "publica beneficenza. " He was the manager, and what we should call the trustee for the property of more thanone nunnery. He was intimate with the Cardinal Legate, and afrequent and honoured guest at the palace. Of course in matters oforthodoxy and well-affected sentiments towards the Church and itsgovernment he was all that the agents of that government coulddesire. It has already been said that he was at the head of allmatters musical and theatrical in Ravenna. And besides all this, hegave every year three grand balls in Carnival; and his house was atall times open every Sunday and Wednesday evening to the elite ofthe society of the city. 

Gradually it had come to be understood, rather by tacit agreementamong the society which frequented these reunions than in obedienceto any desire expressed by the Marchese on the subject, that on theSunday evening ladies were expected; and on those days a sister-in-law of the Marchese, the widow of a younger brother, was alwaysthere to do the honours of the Palazzo Castelmare. The Wednesdayevening parties had come to be meetings of gentlemen only. And onthese occasions one marked element of the society consisted of allthat the city possessed in the way of professors of natural science. For the Marchese was, in a mild way, fond of such pursuits, and hada special liking for anatomical inquiries and experiments. 

In one respect only could the world fail to be wholly and perfectlycontented with the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare. At the age offifty he was still a bachelor! Not that the continuance of the nobleline of Castelmare was thereby compromised. The sister-in-lawalready mentioned had a son, a young man of two-and-twenty, at thetime in question, who was the heir to the wealth and honours of thehouse, and who, it was to be hoped, would also inherit all thataccumulated treasure of public esteem and respect which his unclehad been so uninterruptedly laying up. Neither could a socialobjection to the Marchese's bachelorhood be raised on the score ofany such laxity of moral conduct as the world is wont to expect, andto tolerate with more or less of indulgence, in persons so free fromspecial ties. Had the Marchese been an archbishop himself, insteadof being merely the intimate friend of one, it could not have seemedin Ravenna more out of the question to mention his respected name inconnection with any scandal or inuendo of the kind. There was not amother in Ravenna who would not have been proud to see her daughterhonoured by any such intercourse with the Marchese as might benatural between a father and his child. Proud indeed the most nobleof those matrons would have been could she have supposed that anysuch intercourse tended towards sentiments of a more tender nature. But all hopes of this kind had been long given up in Ravenna. It wasquite understood that the Marchese was not a marrying man. 

Not that even now, in his fiftieth year, he might not well haveentered the lists with many a younger man as a candidate for thefavour of the sex. He was a man of a remarkably fine presence, tall, well made, and with a natural dignity and graceful bearing in allhis movements, which were very impressive. He had never given in tothe modern fashion of wearing either beard or moustache. And thecontours of his face were too good and even noble to have gainedanything by being so hidden. The large, strong, rather square jawand chin, and smooth placid cheeks were strongly expressive of quietdecision and dignified force of will. The mouth, almost always thetell-tale feature of the face, seemed in his case rather calculatedto puzzle any one who would have speculated on the meanings shadowedforth by the lines of it. It was certainly, with its large rows ofunexceptionably brilliant teeth, a very handsome mouth. And it wasoften not devoid of much sweetness. Nobody had ever imagined thatthey detected any evil expression among its meanings. But whereas aphysiognomist looking at that generally faithful expositor of themoral man, when it was at rest, would have been inclined to say, that it was a mouth indicative of much capacity for deep and strongpassion, a further study of it in its varied movements would haveled him to the conclusion that no strong or violent passions hadever been there to leave their traces among its lines. The wholeface was so essentially calm, unruffled, and placidly dignified. 

The loftly noble forehead, the strongly marked brow, the well-openedcalm grey eye, all told the same tale of a mind within well-balanced, thoroughly at peace with itself, and thoroughly contentedwith its outward manifestations, and with every particular of itsposition. 

Clearly the Marchese di Castelmare was a remarkably handsome man. And yet there was something about him, --and always had been even asa young man, which seemed to be in natural accordance with the factthat he had never seemed to seek female society, save as anamphytrion receiving all Ravenna within his hospitable doors. Therewas a kind of austerity about his bearing;--a something difficult todefine, which would have prevented any girl from fancying that hewas at all likely to want to make love to her; a something whichmade it as impossible that the refined courtesy of his addressshould have called a pleased blush to any girl's cheek, or made herpulse move one beat the faster, as that she should have been soaffected by the imposition of the hands of the bishop who confirmedher!

Such as the Marchese was, any committee in the world would havechosen him its president, any jury in the world would have named himits foreman, any board in the world have selected him as itschairman, any deputation in the world would have put him forward asits spokesman; any sovereign in the world might have appointed himgrand master of the ceremonies; but never at any period of his lifewould the suffrages of the ball-room have pitched upon him to be theleader of the cotillon. 

Perhaps it was that his life had been always too full to spare anyspace for such lighter matters. He had been left the head of hisfamily when quite a young man, and had at once, in a great degree, stepped into the place he had ever since occupied in the socialworld of his native city. And what with his music, which was withhim really a passion, and what with his dabblings in science, andwhat with the multifarious business he had always made for himselfby real and useful attention to the affairs pertaining to all thefunctions he had filled, his life had really been a fully occupiedone. 

Any man, woman, or child in Ravenna would have said, if such anunpleasant idea had crossed their minds, that what Ravenna would dowithout him it was frightful to think. He was very popular, as wellas profoundly respected by all classes of his fellow-citizens. Though certainly a very proud man, his pride was of a nature thatgave offence to nobody. He was not only proud of being Marchese diCastelmare; he was very proud of the esteem, the affection andrespect of his fellow-citizens. And perhaps this was, next to hislove of music, what most resembled a passion in his nature, and whatmost ministered to his enjoyment of life. 

It was to this phoenix of a Marchese that Signor Ercole Stadione, the impresario, having comforted himself with the Conte Leandro'spunch, and got somewhat thawed, and having changed his mountain oftravelling wraps for a costume proper for presenting himself in sucha presence, repaired to report the result of his journey to Milan. 

CHAPTER III

The Impresario's Report

It has been said that Signor Ercole Stadione, when he was firstintroduced to the reader under circumstances somewhat unfavourableto that dignity of appearance and deportment on which he speciallyprided himself, presented the appearance of a round mass some fivefeet in diameter. And it may be thence concluded, that when reducedto the proportions familiar to the citizens of Ravenna, his utmostlongitudinal dimensions did not exceed that measure. The impresariowas in truth a very small man, weighing perhaps seven stone with hisboots. But Signor Ercole held, and very frequently expressed, anopinion that dignity and nobility of appearance depended wholly onbearing, and in no wise on mere corporeal altitude. Men weremeasured in his country (Rome), he said, from the eyebrow upwards. And though Rome is not exactly the place, of all others, where onemight expect to find such an estimate of human value prevailing, --unless, indeed, smallness of that which a man has above his brow bedeemed the desirable thing, --it was undeniable that little SignorErcole carried a mass of forehead which might have been the share ofa much taller man. 

Nor were the pretensions put forward by the impresario on this scorealtogether vain. He was no fool;--a shrewd as well as a dapperlittle man, active and clever at his business, and well liked bothby the artists and by the public, for which he catered, despite ofbeing one of the vainest of mortals. Vanity makes some men veryodious to their fellows;--in others it is perfectly inoffensive; andthough damaging to a claim to respect, is perfectly compatible witha considerable amount of liking for the victim of it. 

A very dapper little man was Signor Ercole, as he stepped forth, about eight o'clock, entirely refitted, to wait upon the Marchese atthe Palazzo Castelmare. He was dressed in complete black, somewhatthreadbare, but scrupulously brushed. He had a large frill at thebosom of his shirt, and more frills around the wristbands of it; oneor two rings of immense size and weight on his small fingers; bootswith heels two inches high, and a rather long frock-coat buttonedclosely round his little body. Signor Ercole had never been known towear a swallow-tailed coat on any occasion. And spiteful people toldeach other, that his motive for never quitting the greater shelterof the frock was to be found in his fear of exhibiting to theunkindly glances of the world a pair of knock-knees of rareperfection. 

When his toilet was completed, he threw over all a handsome blackcloth cloak turned up with a broad border of velvet, which he drapedaround his person with the air of an Apollo, throwing the corner ofthe garment round the lower part of his face and over his shoulder, in a manner wholly unattainable by any man born on the northern sideof the Alps; and kindly telling Marta that he would take the key, and that she had better not sit up for him in the cold, steppedforth on his errand. 

"Ben tornato, Signor Ercole! I thank you for coming to me, " said theMarchese, rising from his seat at his library-table, which wascovered with papers and books, to receive the impresario. 

Despite the extreme cold, this owner of a large fortune, and of oneof the finest palaces in Ravenna, was not sitting in an easy-chairby the fire, as an Englishman might be expected to be found at suchan hour. The Italian's day is not divided into two portions asclearly as an Englishman's day is divided by his dinner hour intothe time for business or out-door exercise, and the time forrelaxation, for a book or other amusement. He is quite as likely toapply himself to any business or work of any kind after dinner asbefore. Still less has he the Englishman's notion of making himselfcomfortable in his home. 

There was a miserable morsel of wood fire in the room in which theMarchese sat; but it was at the far end of it. And in many a well-to-do Italian home there would have been none at all. In order notto be absolutely frozen, he sat in a large cloak, and had besidehim, or in his hands, a little earthen-ware pot filled with burningbraize--a scaldino, as it is called, --the use of which is common tothe noble in his palace, and the beggar in the street. 

He pointed to a chair near the table, and as he spoke, paid hisvisitor the ordinary courtesy of offering him his scaldino. 

"My duty, my mere duty, Eccellenza, " said Signor Ercole, letting hiscloak fall gracefully from his shoulders, and declining theproffered pot of braize with an action that might have suited anEmperor. "Of course my first care and object on arriving was to waiton your Excellency. I arrived with barely a breath of life remainingin my body. What a journey! What a journey! But if I had been frozenquite I could not have forgotten that my first duty was to reportwhat I have accomplished to your Excellency. "

"Thanks, good Signor Ercole, thanks; you know the interest I take inall that concerns the honour of our theatre, and the pleasures ofour citizens; and I may truly add, in all that touches yourinterest, my good Signor Ercole. "

"Troppo buono! Eccellenza! Troppo buono davvero!" said the littleman, half rising from his chair, to execute a bow in return for theMarchese's speech, while his cloak fell around his legs. 

"I suppose that in such weather as this the diligence was behind itstime--E naturale--but I have already heard, in a general way, thatyou have been successful. I congratulate you on it, Signor Ercole, with all my heart!"

"I trusted that I should have been the first to tell your Excellencythe news. I am conscious that it was due to you, Signor Marchese, tobe the first to hear the result of my negotiation. But che vuole?There was the Conte Leandro waiting for the coach, and standing atthe door as I got out of it, more dead than alive! And there was noway of getting rid of him. I was forced to tell him, in a word, thatour hopes were crowned with success. He faithfully promised to keepthe fact secret. But, doubtless, all the town knows it by this time!Che vuole?"

"E naturale! e naturale!" returned the Marchese, with a gracefulwave of his hand; "naturally they are all anxious to know the resultof our impresario's labours. And I was not left in ignorance. Mynephew ran in from the Circolo to tell me; he had just heard it fromSignor Leandro. But I thought that I should have a visit fromyourself, Signor Ercole, before long. "

"E come, e come, Signor Marchese; could your Excellency imagine thatI could so fail in my duty as to have omitted waiting on yourlordship! Had it not been that I was half killed by this awfulweather, I should have placed myself at your Excellency's orders anhour ago. Oh, Signor Marchese, such a journey from Bologna hither! Iknow what is my duty to the city; I know what is expected of me. But--Eccellenza, there are benefactors to their country, who havestatues raised to them, that have suffered less in the gaining ofthem, than I have this day. "

"Povero, Signor Ercole! But who knows? Perhaps we may see the daywhen Ravenna will reward your exertions with a monument. Why not? Itmust be a statue, life size, nothing less, with `Ercole Stadione, LaPatria riconoscente, ' on the base, " said the Marchese, with anirony, the fine flavour of which did not in the least pierce, as itwas not intended to pierce, the plate armour of the littleimpresario's vanity. 

"Oh, Eccellenza!" said the poor little man, with the most perfectgood faith in the propriety, as well as the seriousness, of hispatron's proposition. 

"And now, then, " said the Marchese, "let us hear all about it. Sheaccepts our terms?"

"The scrittura has been signed before a notary, Eccellenza. "

"Bravo! she sings--?"

"The whole repertorio, Signor Marchese! What is there she could notsing?"

"And three representations a week?"

"Three representations a week. My instructions were formal on thatpoint, as your Excellency knows. "

"Good! quite right! And now what is she, this diva? What is shelike? We know that Signor Ercole Stadione is as good a judge of themerits of the lady as of the singer?" said the Marchese, with asmile. "I don't ask you about her singing, " he added. "We have allheard all that can be said about that. "

"Well, Signor Marchese, if I am to speak my own poor opinion, I takethe Signora Lalli to be decidedly the most beautiful woman it wasever my good fortune to see, " said Signor Ercole, with a voice andmanner of profound conviction. 

"Paris himself, if called on to be umpire once again, could requireno more conclusive testimony, my good Signor Ercole. But that is notexactly what I mean. Her mere beauty is a matter that does notinterest me very keenly. What I want to know, is what sort of ascenic presence has she? Can she take the stage? I do not ask if sheis captivating in a drawing-room; but has she the face and figureneeded to be effective in the theatre? I need not tell you, myfriend, that these are two different things, and do not always gotogether, " said the Marchese, whose interest in the matter was, ashe said, wholly theatrical; first, that he and the society ofRavenna should enjoy some fine singing during the coming Carnival;and, secondly that the Lalli should produce such an enthusiasm asshould lead all the theatrical world to think and say that a greatstroke had been achieved, and a very public-spirited thing done inbringing about the engagement. He was anxious that the step, whichhe had had a large share in taking, should result in a great anduniversally admitted success. 

"Eccellenza! I have no doubt that your lordship will be satisfied inthese respects. Most true it is, as your Excellency so judiciouslyremarks, that we require something more than merely a beautifulface, or even than a fine figure. And I have never had the goodfortune to see `La Lalli' on the boards. But as far as my poorjudgment goes, she is admirably gifted with all the requisites forachieving the result we desire. Then there is the testimony of allMilan! And I succeeded in speaking with an old friend who had seenher the year before last at Naples, and whose report I can trust. The opinion seems to be universal that few artists have everpossessed the gift of fascinating an audience to the degree that shedoes. Your Excellency may take my word for it, she is a very cleverwoman. My own interviews with her sufficed to convince me of thatfact. And I need not tell your Excellency, that little as some ofthe empty-headed young gentlemen in the stalls may suspect it, talent, --not only the special talent of song but general talent, --has much to do with the power of fascination that a gifted actressexercises. "

"Most true, mio bravo Signor Ercole; you speak like an oracle; andif she left on you the impression that she is a clever woman, I haveno doubt in the world that she is so. "

There was no irony in the Marchese's mind when he said this; and thelittle impresario, highly gratified again, half rose from his chairto bow in return for the compliment. 

"As for the specialties of her face and person, " continued theimpresario, "they appeared to me highly favourable. Very tall, --perhaps your lordship or I might say too tall. But--on the stage theprejudice is in favour of a degree of tallness that we might notadmire off it. Gestures, bearing, and the movement of the personequally capable of expressing majestic dignity, or heart-subduingpathos. A most graceful walk. In short, a persona tutta simpatica. As for the head--magnificent hair, --blonde, which for choice I wouldalways prefer--the true Titian sun-tinged auburn, --a telling eye, finely formed nose, and mouth of inexpressible sweetness!"

"Per Bacco, Signor Ercole, a Phoenix indeed! A Diva davvero!" saidthe Marchese. 

"Eccellenza, she'll do, " said the little man nodding his head withits top-heavy forehead three or four times emphatically. "If she donot make such a sensation in Ravenna as we have not known here for along time, say that Ercole Stadione knows nothing of hisprofession. "

"Bravo! bravo!" cried the Marchese, gleefully rubbing his hands. "And now, my good friend, I won't keep you from the bed and the restyou so well deserve any longer. You may depend on it that your zealin this matter won't be overlooked or forgotten. "

"Troppo buono, Eccellenza! But there was one word I wished to say toyour lordship, " continued little Signor Ercole, dropping his voiceto a lower key, and speaking with some hesitation, --one little wordthat I thought it might be useful, or--or--desirable to mention--"

"Yes, speak on, my dear Signor Ercole, I am all attention. What isit? No drawback I hope!"

"Only this, Signor Marchese, " said the little man casting a glanceround the room, dropping his voice still more, and bringing his headnearer to the ear of the Marchese; "only this:--you see if there hadbeen nothing-disagreeable, --nothing untoward, as I may say--yourlordship understands, we should never have had La Lalli at Ravenna. There has been a--sort of difficulty--your lordship understands--spiteful things have been said--calumny--all calumny no doubt-theconstant attendant of merit, alas! we all know. But--in short--herein Ravenna--it would not be--desirable, --your Excellency understandsand appreciates what I would say a thousand times better than I cansay it. It would be in every point of view better, as yourExcellency sees, that no idle chatter of this kind should be setabout here. It would be inexpedient for more reasons than one. "

"Quite so; quite so. Your ideas on the subject are happilyjudicious, Signor Ercole. What have we to do with misunderstandingsthat may have arisen at Milan? Of course, it is not our business tohave ever heard anything of the kind. And I'll tell you what I'lldo, and that at once, before there is time for any mischief to bedone. I will just give my nephew a hint. He can be trusted. He isdiscreet. And it will be easy for him to put down at once anddiscountenance any talk of the kind, or any rumour that might findits way among our youngsters. "

"The very thing, Eccellenza! The Marchese Ludovico will understandthe thing at once. And half a word from him would give the key-note, as I may say, to the tone of talk about the lady. Ravenna must notbe thought to be contenting herself with that which Milan rejects, "said Signor Ercole, with the air of a patriot. 

"I should think not, indeed! And, doubtless, Milan would have beenbut too glad to retain La Lalli, had it not been for someunimportant contretemps. Ludovico shall put the matter in its rightlight. "

As he spoke, the Marchese rang a little hand-bell which stood on hislibrary table; and on a servant entering from the anteroom, he toldhim just to step across to the Circolo, and request the MarcheseLudovico to be so good as to come to him for five minutes. 

In very little more than that time the man returned, saying that theMarchese Ludovico was not at the Circolo. He had been there for afew minutes at the beginning of the evening, but had gone awaywithout saying whither he was going. 

The Marchese knitted his brows when this message was given to him;and after a minute's thoughtful silence, shook his head in a mannerthat showed him to be not a little displeased. From a look ofintelligence that might have been observed in Signor Ercole's eyes, it might have been judged that he understood that the Marchese wasmore annoyed than on account of the momentary frustration of hisimmediate purpose, and that he was aware of the nature of hisannoyance. But he did not venture to say any word on the subject;and the Marchese took leave of him, merely saying that he would notforget to act on Signor Ercole's caution when he should see hisnephew the next morning. 

CHAPTER IV

Paolina Foscarelli

The young Marchese Ludovico di Castelmare had in the early part ofthe evening lounged into the Circolo, as was the habit of most ofthose of his class, seniors as well as juniors; but he had, as hadbeen correctly reported to his uncle, very shortly left it withoutsaying a word to any one as to how he intended to dispose of hisevening. The Marchese Ludovico flattered himself, as people are aptto flatter themselves in similar cases, that his absence would belittle noted, and that his reticence would suffice to leave allRavenna in ignorance as to the errand on which he was bound when heleft the Circolo. So far was this from being the case, however, thatthere was not one, at all events among the younger men, whom he leftbehind him, who did not know perfectly well where he was gone; andthat his uncle, when by the unforeseen accident that has beenrelated he was made aware of his absence from the club, was at noloss to guess what he had done with himself. 

But in order that the reader may have a like advantage, it will benecessary to mention very briefly, some circumstances which occurredpreviously to the period referred to in the former chapters. 

Some months before the time of Signor Ercole Stadione's journey toMilan, a wandering Englishman had arrived at Ravenna, and havingspent three or four days in examining with much interest thewonderful wealth of Mosaics of the fourth, fifth, and sixthcenturies, still preserved in the churches of the ancient capital ofthe Exarchs, had continued his route to Venice. 

There, in the gallery of the Academia, his attention had beenattracted by a female student, who was engaged in copying a canvasof Tintoretto. As it so happened that the traveller was a competentjudge of such matters, he was struck by the goodness of the work, especially when considered in connection with the appearance of theartist. She was evidently very young, --a slim, slender girl, whosegirlish figure looked all the more willow-like from the simpleplainness, and what seemed to the Englishman the insufficiency, ofher clothing. For the weather, though not so severe as when it hadhalf frozen Signor Ercole Stadione, was already very cold, --coldenough to have depopulated the gallery of its usual crowd of copyingartists. At some distance from the young girl's easel, sitting in acorner lighted up by a stray ray of sunshine, there was an old womanbusily knitting, --probably the girl's mother, or protectress. Andbesides those two, and the Englishman, and a lounging attendantwrapped in his cloak, there was no other soul in the gallery. 

Yet the young student busily plied her task; nor was she surprisedinto looking up by the stopping of the stranger behind her chair. Hedid not see her face, therefore; and it would be consequently unfairto imagine that any portion of the interest he could not helpfeeling in her was to be attributed to the ordinary charm of apretty face, whereas it was really due partly to the artistic meritof her copy, partly to her bravery in sticking to her work despitethe severity of the season, and partly to her youth and veryapparent poverty. 

Suddenly, as he watched the progress of her work slowly growingbeneath the rapid movements of her slender, blue-cold fingers, theidea came into his mind that here might be a favourable opportunityof obtaining what he had much wished to procure when he had been atRavenna, --some drawings of several of the most remarkable of theMosaics in the churches of San Vitale and St. Apollinare in Classe. He was quite satisfied from what he saw that the young artist wascompetent to execute the drawings he required. The conscientiousdetermination, which alone could have made her continue her workunder such circumstances, was a guarantee to him that she would doher best. It was not probable that the expectations of the girlbefore him as to remuneration would go beyond such sum as he waswilling to pay. And lastly--though truly not least in thatEnglishman's mind--it might be that such a proposal would be a veryacceptable boon to a poor and meritorious artist. So managing tospeak to the attendant, when he was at a far part of the gallery, helearned from him that the girl's name was Paolina Foscarelli; thatthe old woman was, the officer believed, her aunt; that her name wasOrsola Steno; and that they lived together at No. 8 in the Campo SanDonato. 

That same evening the stranger desired his servitore di piazza tomake inquiries about Signora Orsola Steno, and her niece, who copiedin the gallery; and the next morning he was told that, if he wouldcall upon the Director of the Gallery, that gentleman would be happyto reply to any inquiries about the Signorina Paolina Foscarelli. 

The Englishman waited on the Director forthwith, and from himlearned that such a commission as he had thought of giving to theyoung copyist could not be better bestowed in any point of view. TheDirector spoke highly of her artistic capabilities, and more highlystill of her character and worth. She had been left an orphan, wholly unprovided for, several years ago. Her father had gained hisliving by copying in the gallery. The old woman, Orsola Steno, withwhom she lived, was no relation to her, but had been the dear friendof her mother, and had taken the orphan to live with her out of purecharity. They were very poor, --very poor, indeed. But Paolina wasbeginning to do something. She had already sold one or two copies ofsmall pictures. The larger work, on which she was engaged, she hadundertaken by the advice of the Director, in the hope of disposingof it when the following summer should bring with it the usualincoming tide of travellers. 

The result was that the stranger, taking with him a little note fromthe Director, went again to the gallery the next day, and findingSignorina Paolina at her post as usual, then and there made hisproposition to her. 

He was glad, when in doing so he spoke face to face with the girl, that the matter had been settled in his mind before he had seen her. For he was pleased to be sure that his judgment had not been warpedin the matter by the irresistible prejudice in favour of a beautifulgirl. And had he seen Paolina first, he could have had no suchassurance. In truth, the poor Venetian painter's orphan child wasvery beautiful. It is little to the purpose to attempt a detaileddescription of her beauty; for such descriptions rarely, if ever, succeed in conveying to the imagination of a reader any accuratepresentation of the picture, which the writer has in his mind's eye. She was dark. Hair, brows, eyes, and complexion, were all dark; andthe contour of the face was of the long or oval type ofconformation--very delicate--transparently delicate--more so, theEnglishman thought, not without a pull at his heart-strings, thanwas quite compatible with a due daily supply of nourishment. Stillshe did not look unhealthy. At seventeen a good deal of pinching maybe undergone without destroying the elastic vigour of youth. 

But the chief and most striking charm of the beautiful face wasunquestionably imparted to it from the moral and intellectual naturewithin. There was a calm and quiet dignity in the expression of thepure and noble brow, which may often have been seen in women ofsimilar character, and of some twenty-five years of age. But it israre to find such at seventeen. Doubtless the having been left alonein the world at so tender an age, had done much towards producingthe expression in question. It was added to, moreover, by thesingular grace of the girl's figure and mode of standing therebefore the stranger, as she had risen from her easel on hispresenting her with the Director's note. 

She was rather above the middle height, and very slender;--more so, the Englishman thought again, than she ought to have been. She wasvery poorly and even insufficiently clad. But the little bit ofquite plain linen around her slim throat was spotlessly clean; andher poor and totally unornamented chocolate-coloured stuff dress wasin decently tidy condition, and was worn with that nameless andinexplicable grace which causes it to be said of similarly giftedwomen that they may wear anything. 

And the stranger was delighted, too, with her manner in acceptinghis proposition. Though she made no attempt to conceal, and, indeed, eagerly expressed her sense of the value to her of the proposal thatwas made to her, there was a modest, and at the same time self-respecting, dignity about her acceptance of it, which was to hismind an earnest of the highly conscientious manner in which the taskwould be carried out. 

It was therefore settled at once that Paolina, together with herfriend and protectress, the Signora Orsola Steno, should proceed toRavenna as soon as she could conveniently do so. A list of the worksof which she was required to make copies was given to her. Itincluded, besides the whole of the very interesting Mosaics in SanVitale, and several of the curious Mosaic portraits of the earlybishops of the city in the church of St. Apollinare in Classe, tworemarkable full-length figures from the ancient baptistery, therepresentation of the Saviour as the "Good Shepherd" in thecelebrated mausoleum of the Empress Galla Placidia, and theportraits of the Apostles in the private chapel of the Cardinal. Ofall these works, exact copies were to be executed on a scale of onesixth the size of the originals; and it was calculated that the workwould require at least fifteen months to do it in. A sufficient sumof money was paid in advance to enable Signora Orsola Steno and herward to move to Ravenna, and to begin their residence there; andsatisfactory arrangements were made for subsequent quarterlypayments of two-thirds of the price to be paid for the completedcopies. 

Besides all this, the English patron provided the young artist witha letter of introduction, which he doubted not would make smooth alldifficulties which might lie in the way of her obtaining thepermissions and facilities necessary for the execution of her task. This letter was addressed to the "Illustrissimo Signor il SignorMarchese Lamberto di Castelmare. " The English traveller had broughtfrom Rome a letter of introduction to the Marchese, and had receivedfrom him, during his short stay at Ravenna, all that courteousattention and friendly interest in his artistic researches whichEnglishmen are always sure to meet with in the smaller cities ofItaly, even in yet larger measure than in the larger capitals, wherestrangers of all sorts are more abundant. 

Thus equipped and provided, Paolina Foscarelli, accompanied bySignora Orsola Steno, had arrived in Ravenna in the March of thesame year, in the November of which Signor Ercole Stadione had madehis journey to Milan. 

CHAPTER V

Rivalry

The first care of the two Venetian women, on arriving in their newplace of abode, which seemed to them almost as much a foreigncountry as Pekin might seem to an Englishman, was, of course, topresent their letter of introduction to the powerful and illustriousprotector to whom they were recommended. But there had, thereupon, arisen a difference of opinion between the older and the youngerlady. Old Orsola Steno, acting on the wisdom which certainobservations of life picked up in her sixty years of passage throughit had probably taught her, was strongly of opinion that theimportant letter should be presented to the Marchese by Paolina inperson, --or if not that, by both of them together. But Paolinastrongly objected to this mode of proceeding; and urged her friendto take upon herself the duty of waiting on the Marchese. Orsolacontested the point as strongly as she could. But as it was veryrarely that Paolina had ever opposed her in any thing, she was theless prepared to resist opposition on the present occasion. And asPaolina was in this matter obstinate, old Orsola yielded; and setforth by herself to walk to the Palazzo Castelmare. Nobody had everany difficulty in obtaining access to the popular Marchese; and theSignora Orsola Steno was at once ushered into his library, --presented her letter, and was received with all courtesy andkindness. 

To receive recommendations of all sorts, to be asked to render allkinds of services, was nothing new or uncommon to the Marchese. Heran over the Englishman's letter rapidly. 

"Va bene! va bene! At your service, Signora! I shall be most happyto give you all the assistance in my power. I remember very wellthat Signor Vilobe (Willoughby was the Englishman's name) wasdesirous of procuring copies of some of our mosaics. I am very happyhe has found so competent a person to execute them. "

Signora Orsola made a feeble attempt to point out that she was notherself the artist who was to make the copies in question; but whatwith her awe of the grand seigneur to whom she was speaking, andwhat with the strangeness of her Venetian tones to her hearer's ear, and what with the Marchese's hurry, her explanation failed to reachhis comprehension. 

"Yes! You and your companion will need to find a suitable lodging, the first thing. We must see to it for you. But the fact is, SignoraFoscarelli, that I am more than usually busy this morning. I amexpecting some gentlemen here on business every minute. If you willexcuse me, therefore, I will entrust the commission of finding aproper quartiere for you to my nephew. He will be more likely than Iam to know where what you require is likely to be found. He shallcall upon you this morning. Where are you? At the locanda de' TreRe! Very good. Of course you don't want to remain in an inn longerthan can be helped. I will tell my nephew to go to you thismorning. "

So Signora Steno returned to the "Tre Re;" a little alarmed at thethought that she had passed herself off for another person and asomewhat different one, but charmed with the courtesy and kindnessof the Marchese. And in less than an hour the strangers from Veniceheard two voices below in the entrance of the locanda inquiring fortwo Venetian ladies who had recently arrived in Ravenna. 

Two voices!--for it had so happened that when the servant, whom theMarchese Lamberto had sent to his nephew to request him to undertakethis little commission for him, found the Marchese Ludovico at thedoor of the Circolo, the Signore Conte Leandro Lombardoni waslounging there with him. 

"Bah! what a bore? My uncle is always making himself the maestro dicasa, the manager, the protector, the servant of all the world. Tellthe Marchese I'll go directly, " he said to the servant; then addedto his companion, "Come, Leandro, don't desert me! Let's go togetherand see what these Venetian women want. "

"I ought to go to the Contessa Giulia at two. She'll be waiting forme, and will be furious if I disappoint her. Never mind, what mustbe, must be! I Tre Re! Ugh, what a distance; why, it is at the otherend of the town?"

"Never mind, come along; it will do you good to walk half a mile foronce and away, " returned Ludovico, who knew perfectly well how muchto believe about the Contessa Giulia's despair at his friend's non-appearance. 

Thus the two young men went together to the locanda de' Tre Re toexecute the commission entrusted to his nephew by the MarcheseLamberto. 

"Yes, " said a slatternly girl, who came forth from some back regionat the call of the two young men, and who stared at them with anoffensive mixture of surprise and understanding interest, when theyinquired for the ladies recently arrived from Venice. "Yes, theywere upstairs, on the right hand, in No. 13. " So they climbed thestairs, knocked at No. 13, were told to passare by the voice ofSignora Orsola, and in the next instant were in the room with thetwo strangers. 

The first glance at the occupants of the chamber produced a shock ofsurprise, which manifested itself in so sudden a change of mannerand bearing in the two young men, that it would have been ludicrousto any looker-on. The two hats came down from the two heads with aspring-like suddenness and quickness; and both the young men bowedlowly. 

"Ladies, " said Ludovico, addressing himself mainly to the elder, butturning also towards the younger as he spoke, while the ConteLeandro stared unmitigatedly at Paolina; "we come to you, sent by myuncle the Marchese di Castelmare, and charged by him to assist youin finding a convenient quartiere for your residence in Ravenna. Permit me to say on my own behalf, " he added, turning more entirelytowards Paolina, "that I hope it may not be a short one!"

"If the Signorina would make her stay among us as long as we wouldwish it, she would never leave Ravenna any more, " said the ConteLeandro, with a glance from his sharp little eyes, and a bow of hisfat person, that were meant to be quite killing. 

"It is this young lady, I conclude, who has undertaken to copy someof our mosaics for the Englishman, who writes to my uncle, then?"said Ludovico with a good-humoured and bright smile. 

"That is it, Signor--though she is but such a slip of a thing tolook at. I was afraid the Signor Marchese had taken it into his headthat I was Paolina Foscarelli. Lord love you! I could not make, noryet copy a picture, if it were to save my life!"

"My uncle will be equally happy to have it in his power to obligeeither lady, " rejoined Ludovico. 

"I am sure the Marchese is too good, " said Signora Steno; "we remainhere till the Signorina Foscarelli has finished the job she hasundertaken, and no longer, nor no shorter. And some place we mustfind to live in the while. And if your lordship could tell us wherewe would be likely to find a couple of bedrooms, a bit of a sitting-room, and the use of a kitchen, it would be very kind. "

"There will be no difficulty about that, I think, Signora, " said theMarchese Ludovico; "I will go at once and inquire! I think I knowwhere what we want may be had. If you will permit me, I will returnto you here in less than half an hour. "

"Troppo garbato, Signor Marchese!" said Orsola. 

"If the Signorina will permit me, " said Leandro, "I think I know ofjust such a little quartierino as would suit her, snug, quiet, andparfettamente libero. "

To this offer, Paolina felt herself constrained to reply by a silentlittle bow. His former speech had received no reply whatsoever. 

"I think I had better do what my uncle has told me to do, Leandro, "said the Marchese Ludovico, drily. 

And Paolina felt sufficiently grateful to him for the amount ofsnubbing contained in his accent to say the first words she hadspoken since they entered the room. "We shall be exceedingly obligedto you, Signore, if you will do so. Any quartiere which the MarcheseLamberto di Castelmare could recommend to us, " she added, with asignificant emphasis on the words, "would be sure to suit us. "

"But perhaps the Marchese Lamberto may not know half as much aboutsuch matters as I do, bella Signorina. People forget so many thingsby the time they come to the age of the Marchese, " said the ConteLeandro, with a leering smile, which was meant to establish aconfidential understanding between him and Paolina. But the younggirl's only answer was to turn in her chair a little more away fromhim towards the window. 

"I think we had better leave the ladies, and see if we can find forthem what they require. I should prefer doing myself what my unclehas entrusted to me, " said Ludovico, with a frown on his brow. 

"Very good--do so. You say you shall be back here in half an hour;if these ladies will permit me I will remain with them till you comeback, and then we can all go and look at the quartiere you havefound together, " said the Conte Leandro. 

Poor Paolina, though perfectly determined not to acquiesce in thisarrangement, was quite at a loss what to say or do to prevent itfrom being carried out. 

"But you forget your engagement to the Contessa Giulia, " saidLudovico; "surely you had better make haste to keep it. "

He had no belief whatever in any such engagement, and had a veryfaint hope that any care for consistency would avail to induce hisfriend the Conte Leandro to affect the necessity of keeping it. Buthe also was perfectly determined not to leave him in the room withthe strangers, though almost as much at a loss as Paolina how toprevent it. 

"Oh, hang the Contessa Giulia! In any case, it is too late to go toher now, and I am sure I shall like much better to stay here, " saidLeandro. 

"Very likely. But you forget that it may not be equally agreeable tothese ladies that you should remain here, and they just arrived froma journey too, " said the Marchese Ludovico, who was inwardly cursinghis folly in having brought his friend with him on this errand, which he unquestionably would not have done had he had the remotestidea what manner of ladies they were that his uncle had deputed himto attend on. 

"By-the-by, Leandro, " he said, suddenly, as he was moving towardsthe door, "you must come with me--after all; for now I remember thatthe rooms I had in my mind were let a short time since, and the bestthing we can do will be to go and look at those you spoke of. "

"Oh! I will tell you where they are--" said Leandro. 

"No, no! that won't do at all; come--come along. I won't go therewithout you. Come!" said the Marchese. 

And this was said in a manner that had the effect of making Leandrotake leave of the ladies, with many hopes that they might meet againere long. 

Very soon after the two young men were in the street together, Ludovico protested that he must call at the Circolo before attendingto the business they were on; and when he got there he pretended tobe obliged to run home for a minute to the Palazzo Castelmare, whichwas hard by, saying that he would return and rejoin the ConteLeandro in less than five minutes. And very heartily did thatdeceived gentleman abuse his friend, when he had waited an hour, andfound that he did not return at all. Then, poor gentleman! he knewthat he had been bamboozled, --cruelly treated, as he said himself. And he perfectly well understood his dear friend's object, too!

"Such an intolerable, abominable coxcomb as that Ludovico is! As ifhe fancied that nobody was to have a chance of speaking to thatpretty girl but himself. As if he thought that he had the ghost of achance with a woman, if I thought it worth while to cut him out!"grumbled the gallant, gay Leandro to himself. 

The Marchese Ludovico, meanwhile, the instant he had succeeded infreeing himself from his companion, darted off in search of anapartment, which he thought would just suit his fair clients;hurried back to them, at the inn; and had them installed in theirnew quarters by that evening. 

"I am sure I do not know how to thank you enough for all yourkindness, Signor Marchese. I do not know what we should have donewithout it, " said the Signora Orsola. 

"For all your kindness!" repeated Paolina, with a look and anemphasis which, while it expressed her gratitude, left him at noloss to understand what part of all he had done for them had chieflyseemed to the pretty Paolina to merit her special thanks. 

And these were the facts and the circumstances that had broughtabout a state of matters which left the Marchese Lamberto and thegossips of the Circolo in no doubt where the young Marchese Ludovicohad gone to pass his evening, when his uncle sent for him to theclub for the purpose which the reader wots of, and failed to findhim there. 

CHAPTER VI

The Beginning of Trouble

Nearly eight months had elapsed between that day when the SignoraOrsola and the Signorina Paolina were installed in their new lodgingand the day when the Marchese Ludovico was sitting in the more thanmodest little room over a miserable morsel of fire, with the twoVenetians, when his uncle sent for him to give him the hint aboutany inconvenient gossip that might be whispered concerning theSignora Bianca Lalli, in accordance with the suggestion of theimpresario. 

The Marchese Lamberto had made the personal acquaintance of theyoung artist, who had been recommended to his protection veryshortly after the day on which he had deputed his nephew to find alodging for her; and he had instantly become aware that he had madea mistake in so doing;--that he would certainly have deemed itbetter to take that care upon himself rather than have confided itto the young Marchese, if he had had the least idea what sort ofperson the Venetian artist was. Nevertheless, be had been verystrongly impressed with the propriety of Paolina's manner andbearing, and after one or two more interviews, with the thoroughmodesty of her mind, and purity and dignity of her character. Andthe Marchese was a man well competent to form a sound judgment ofsuch matters. 

He had no reason to think that the young man, his nephew, was asprudent, as steady, as little liable to the influence of femalebeauty, as cold, if you will, as he himself had been at the sameage. On the contrary, the character, which the Marchese Ludovico hadmade for himself in Ravenna, was a rather diametrically oppositeone. But he was strongly of opinion that in any enterprise of anillegitimate nature which his nephew might attempt with the youngartist, he would have his trouble only for his pains. And, ofcourse, any enterprise of any other nature was wholly out of thequestion. 

Still, as the months went on he would have been far better contentedthat his nephew should have been less often at the home of the twoVenetians. There were circumstances which made such visitsespecially inexpedient at the present time. He knew that the youngman was there much oftener than he judged to be in any waydesirable; and the young man was there much oftener than his uncleknew. The Marchese Lamberto was still very much persuaded thatPaolina had not been led by his nephew into any false step of aseriously blamable nature. But this was by no means any reason withthe Marchese for approving of his nephew's conduct. The intercoursewas altogether objectionable. Talk was engendered, --talk of anundesirable description; and this was excessively disagreeable tothe Marchese, who had views for his nephew which might be seriouslycompromised by it. A liaison of the kind, let the real nature of itbe what it would, was in any case discreditable to his nephew andheir, and damaging more or less to the position which he wished tosee the young man occupy in the town. It was especially so, as hasbeen said, at the present conjuncture. 

Then, of course, it could not be otherwise than injurious to thegirl. She had, in some sort, been recommended to his care. And itdisturbed him much, that the conduct of his nephew should be themeans of damaging her reputation. 

Yet the Marchese, being a man of sense, knew very well that it wouldnot have done any good to attempt to exercise any such authorityover the young man as to forbid him to visit the lodging of theVenetians. In the first place, such a step would, according to thenotions and ways of looking at things of the society in which helived, have placed him himself in a very ridiculous light;--a dangerwhich was not to be contemplated for an instant! And, besides, theMarchese was very well aware that even if such an attempt did notcause his nephew to assume a position of open rebellion, it wouldonly have the effect of making him do secretly and still moreobjectionably what he did, as it was, comparatively openly. 

Comparatively, it must be said; for Ludovico was very much morefrequently at the little house in the Strada di S. Eufemia than hisuncle wotted of. 

Not much more frequently, however, than was very well known by mostof his contemporaries and fellow-habitues of the Circolo, --by prettywell the whole of the "society" of Ravenna, that is to say. And inthe earlier part of the time in question, --of the eight months, thatis, from the March in which the young artist came to Ravenna, to theNovember in which Signor Ercole Stadione had made his journey toMilan there had been plenty of joking and raillery about Ludovico'senthralment by the "bella Veneziana, " and many attempts to competewith him for so very attractive and desirable a "buona fortuna. " Butall this had only been at the beginning of the time. Ludovico hadtaken the matter in a tone and in a humour, that had soon put an endto all such joking and to all such attempts. It was in all ways easyfor him to do this. He was popular, and much liked among the youngmen, in the first place. His social position, as the heir of one ofthe first families of the province whether for wealth or nobility ofrace, and of a man of such social standing as his uncle, made it avery undesirable thing to quarrel with him. And even without any ofsuch vantage-ground of position, Ludovico di Castelmare was a man, whose path it would have been dangerous to cross in such a matter asthis, and who was very well capable of affording to any woman, inwhom he was interested, a very efficient protection against any suchoffence as the most enterprising of the jeunesse doree of Ravennamight have been disposed to offer her. 

The Conte Leandro Lombardoni had made the utmost of the chance thathad rendered him the earliest acquaintance of the beautiful Venetianin Ravenna, with the exception of Ludovico himself. He hadchattered, and boasted after the manner of his kind. He hadsucceeded in finding out the lodging, which Ludovico had taken somuch pains to conceal from him, and had endeavoured to establishhimself on the footing of a visiting acquaintance in the Strada Sta. Eufemia. But it had come to pass, that a degree of intimacy had veryquickly grown up between Paolina and Ludovico, which permitted herto let him understand that, he would render her an acceptableservice by once again ridding her of the Conte Leandro, as he haddone on that first day of their acquaintance. And the result wasthat, one evening, the gallant Conte, on knocking at the door of thehouse in the Strada di S. Eufemia, had it opened to him by hisfriend Ludovico, --and further, that he never came back there anymore, or was heard again to make any allusion whatever to hisVenetian acquaintances. 

But what was no longer said jestingly before Ludovico's face wasnone the less said enviously, sneeringly, or knowingly behind hisback. It was perfectly well understood by all the young men inRavenna that he was desperately in love with the beautiful Venetianartist. As to the terms on which he stood with her there weredifferences of opinion. But by far the more accredited notion wasthat the affair was quite a normal and ordinary one; and that thecharming Paolina was the young Marchese's mistress. 

Would he give her up, when the marriage, which, as was well known toall Ravenna, his uncle had been arranging for him with the youngContessa Violante di Marliani, and which was expected to come offshortly, should be consummated? That was the more interesting pointfor speculation. Would he, as really seemed not impossible, be madenough to carry on with the Venetian girl to such an extent as togive umbrage to the family of the Contessa, and perhaps evenendanger the match? This also was debated among his young peers ofthe Circolo, while he was passing the hour in the Strada di Sta. Eufemia. 

His uncle was far from being aware how far matters had gone with hisnephew in this matter. But he knew enough to make him uneasy aboutit, and to lead him to endeavour to push on the match with theContessa Violante by every means in his power: for the marriage withthe Lady Violante was, in every point of view, a desirable one. TheCardinal Legate of Ravenna was a Marliani, and the young lady inquestion was his great-niece--the granddaughter of his only brother. She had lost both her parents at an early age, and now lived atRavenna with a great-aunt, --the younger sister of the Cardinal, under his protection and wing, as it were. The family was not a richone, but the Cardinal had worn the purple many years. He had heldvery lucrative offices in the Apostolic Court previously, and haddoubtless amassed very considerable wealth, and the Lady Violantewas his only heiress. Besides that, of course the position of hergreat-uncle as Legate rendered her all that was desirable as a matchfor the noblest of the province--not to mention other granderpossibilities in the background. The reigning Pontiff was a veryaged man. The Cardinal di Marliani was thought to stand very well atRome. Who knew what might happen? It would have been too monstrousif the hope of such a marriage as this were to be endangered by asilly fancy for the pretty face and slim figure of a little artist. 

The Marchese Lamberto had felt his position to be a difficult one. He really did not know what line it would be wisest to take. Ludovico had spoken among his associates at the Circolo in a mannerwhich had effectually silenced all light allusion to the ladies inthe Strada di Santa Eufemia. He could not speak exactly in the sametone to his uncle; but the hints that the Marchese Lamberto had fromtime to time thrown out to the effect that, under the circumstancesof the case, he did not approve of his nephew's intimacy with theSignorina, Paolina Foscarelli, had been received in a manner by theyounger man which had warned the elder that some caution wasrequired in the task of guiding his nephew in this matter. He hadnever had much cause to be dissatisfied with his nephew's conduct, or with his behaviour towards himself: but some years before thepresent time, he had been made aware that the Marchese Ludovico wasone of those whom it is easier to lead than to drive; and that anyattempt at a little too much driving would be likely to lead tokicking, and perhaps to an entire breaking of reins and traces. 

And, being a man of sense, he had acted on the hints thus given himwith considerable success. The Marchese Ludovico had submitted onmost occasions to be led with all desirable docility. But now, inthis matter, wherein judicious leading was more than ever before inhis life necessary to him, he seemed to decline to be led at all. 

How could the perplexed Marchese do otherwise than frown when he wastold that his nephew was not at the Circolo at that hour of theevening, knowing very well where such absence showed him to be? Yethe probably would have done, or attempted to do, some thing else, --or, at all events, the frown would have been a yet heavier andblacker one, --could he not only have guessed where his nephew was atthat moment, but have also heard what was passing in the littlesalottino of the Strada di S. Eufemia. 

Some account of the conversation there may perhaps serve the purposeof saving all necessity for a detailed account of the intercoursewhich had taken place between Ludovico and Paolina during the lasteight months. The story of it will be sufficiently understood from apeep at its result. 

CHAPTER VII

The Teaching of a Great Love

Paolina had been working all day in the church of San Vitale. Shehad very nearly completed the copies she was to make there; and theywere the most important in extent of all she had engaged to execute. It had been necessary to erect a scaffolding for the purpose ofbringing the artist sufficiently near to her subject; and thepermission to have this done had been obtained by the all-powerfulinterest of the Marchese Lamberto. Many an hour had Ludovico passedon that scaffolding by the artist's side as she plied her slow andlaborious task; and many a "Paul" had the old sacristan pocketedwith a grin of understanding, as he had opened the door of thechurch to the young Marchese, the object of whose visit he had longsince learned to understand. 

And Paolina herself? Did she approve of these visits made thus inthe perfect seclusion of that old church at the hours when its doorswere shut to the public? Did she like the hours so spent in tete-a-tete conversation with the handsome young Marchese? She, who had soreadily found the means to make the entreprenant Conte Leandro keephis distance, and had succeeded in disembarrassing herself of himaltogether, --could she find no possible means for avoiding theassiduities of the Marchese Ludovico; could she not at least haveinduced old Orsola to accompany her in the church of San Vitale, asshe had accompanied her in the gallery at Venice?

Perhaps old Orsola did not like climbing up a ladder to ascaffolding. Perhaps she had the superstitious dislike to an empty, and lonely church not uncommon to uneducated Italians. The fact wasat all events that, even after Ludovico had, upon more than oneoccasion, brought the rushing blood into the dark face of Paolina bysurprising her at her work on the scaffolding near the vaults of thechurch, old Orsola never made her appearance there. She was alwaysat her place on one side of the fire during the visits of theMarchese to the quartiere in the Strada di Santa Eufemia in theevening; but it was equally true that she almost always went tosleep. 

It is so natural and so desirable that the old should sleep undersuch circumstances and on such occasions! It is so evidently for thebenefit of all the parties concerned, that the tendency may bereckoned among the instances of beneficent adaptation with which thewhole order of Nature is filled!

It can hardly be doubted, --Ludovico could hardly be blamed for thepersuasion--that Paolina did like his visits. It may be prettysafely assumed that those blushes, which greeted the appearance ofhis head above the planks as he climbed to the scaffolding, were notpainful blushes. How early in those eight months it came to passthat her heart leaped at the click of the huge old key in the lock, as the sacristan admitted Ludovico by a turn of it which, as she hadwell learned, heralded his coming, it might be hard to say. Paolinaherself could not probably have told this to her own heart. But thatsuch had come to be the case long before the evening when theMarchese Lamberto sought his nephew at the Circolo, and could notfind him, can hardly be doubted. 

Thus much having been admitted, it seems as if there might be reasonto fear that Paolina may appear worthy of censure to those of herown sex, to whom her story is here commended, to a degree whichtruth, and an acquaintance with times, places, and national manners, would not quite justify. But in these matters of nationalappreciation, of fitness and unfitness, and of propriety andimpropriety, the nuances are so fine and subtle, that it is somewhatdifficult, in trying to explain them, to say just what one meanswithout seeming to say more than one means. 

One thing is clear. Paolina was as thoroughly and essentially modestand innocent a girl as ever breathed; but she was so "by the graceof God, "--from natural idiosyncrasy and instinctive purity of heart, that is to say, rather than from teaching of any kind, or from anyknowledge of good or evil. She was an orphan, the child of parentswho were "nobody, " and she was left in the world to find her own wayin it as she could. So much the more, replies the prudent Englishmatron, ought she to have been extra careful lest the breath ofmisconception should even for a passing moment sully her. It is thesentiment of a people, who, "aristocratic" as they may be, do reallyfeel that that which is best and purest in the highest lady of theland may be, and should be, also the heritage of lowliest. But suchis not practically the feeling in those social latitudes wherePaolina was born and bred. 

The breath that tarnishes the clear mirror of a noble damsel's name, says and teaches that social feeling, brings dishonour to a noblerace; and she has failed in her duty to her race. But who could beinjured by any light word spoken or light thought of such an one aspoor Paolina? She was an "artist. " What treason to art, what lese-majeste against the beautiful in every one of its manifestations, toconceive that in that fact any reason was to be found why a lessnice conduct in such matters should be expected of her! And yet, forreasons which it would take a volume to elucidate, so it is, that inthe countries where art is deemed to be most at home, and where itis in the largest degree the occupation of large sections of thepeople, it is deemed that a less strict rule with reference to thematters under consideration is laid on them than on others. What ifa young female artist "perfectly free from ties, " as would be urged, and whose conduct in such a matter could hurt nobody, --what if suchan one chose to form a tie not recognized by the Church? The Churchherself would look very leniently on the venial fault. And thoughPaolina was such as she has been described, it was impossible butthat such notions, not specially set forth or taught, but pervadingall the unconscious teaching of the world around her, should haverendered her less sensitively anxious as to the possibility ofmisconception lighting on her, than an equally good English girlwould have been. Could she have been indifferent to the danger thatslander should tarnish her good name? asks an Englishwoman. But thewhole world in which she lived would not have felt it to be slander. It would have been too much in the ordinary course of things. 

How Paolina felt in the matter, Ludovico was made to understand onthat evening which has been so often referred to; and the reader maygather from the conversation that passed between them. 

Paolina had worked hard all day. The mosaics in San Vitale werenearly finished. Ludovico had been with her on her scaffoldingduring the few hours of light of the short afternoon. He had becomesensible that the intercourse between him and Paolina had latterlybeen growing to be less frank, unreserved, and easy than it hadbeen. He had once been quite sure that Paolina loved him with thewhole force of a thoroughly virgin heart. He had latterly begunalmost to think that he had been mistaken in her. She would turnfrom him. She would fall into long silences. She was embarrassed inspeaking to him; and it had often happened lately that talk hadpassed between them, which had seemed as if they were speaking atcross-purposes--as if there were something not understood ormisunderstood between them. 

And Ludovico had come to the house in the Strada di Sta. Eufemiathat evening, safely relying on the expectation that the SignoraOrsola would go fast asleep, and determined to bring matters to anunderstanding between him and Paolina. 

"You can hardly, I think, doubt, Paolina mia, that I love youdearly, far more dearly than anything else on the face of the earth. Do you not see and know that all my life is devoted to you? You donot doubt, darling, do you?" said Ludovico, as he sat holding one ofher hands in his. 

She sat silent for awhile, and with her face turned away from him, though she made no attempt to take her hand from his. 

"You do not doubt it, Paolina?" he asked again. 

"If I did doubt it, --if I had doubted it, Ludovico, you could nothave taught me the lesson which you have taught me--the lesson whichyou well know you have so thoroughly taught me, to love you. Weneither of us doubt of the love of the other. But--. "

She still continued to sit with her face averted from him; and, after another pause, finished her speech only by a little sad shakeof her head. 

Now the truth was that Ludovico often did doubt very much whetherPaolina really loved him. He did not understand the position inwhich they stood towards each other at all. Here was a littleutterly unpretending artist, dependent on no one but herself, owingno duty to any one, to whom he had been making love for the lasteight months, as he had never in his life made love before, whoassured him that she loved him; how was it that she had not been hismistress months and months ago? How to account for so strange aphenomenon? He knew very well, that if the exact truth of hisposition with regard to the little Venetian artist were known orguessed at by any of the men with whom he lived, he would haveappeared to them an object of the utmost ridicule, --a dupe, --a foolof the very first water. What on earth could he have been about allthe time?

And there were moments in which he was tempted to think the same ofhimself; bitter moments of cynical world-wisdom, in which he scoffedat himself for having been led to play the part he had played forthese last eight months. He would resolve at such moments to "speakplainly" to Paolina; and, if such plain-speaking failed of theeffect it was intended to produce, to put her out of his mind andnever waste a minute or a thought upon her again. 

But such plain-speaking had never got itself spoken, --had seemed, when he was in presence of the intended object of it, utterlyimpossible to be spoken. And as for the other alternative, he knewat the bottom of his heart, that it was as much out of his power toput it in practice, as it was to forget his own identity. 

Something there was in the girl different from anything he had everknown in any other specimen of the sex he had ever become acquaintedwith. Something too there unmistakably was in his feeling towardsher very different from aught that he had ever felt before. Whatspell had come over him? And what the deuce was the nature of herpower over him? And what the deuce was her own meaning, and feeling, and the motives of her conduct?

It really was necessary, however, that they should in some way cometo understand each other. If he had been becoming for some time pastdiscontented with the state of matters between them, it was evidentthat Paolina had been becoming ill at ease and unhappy also. In somefashion or other some more or less plain speaking was evidentlyneeded. 

And Paolina herself? What was her feeling on the subject? Whence didher unmistakable malaise, distraught behaviour in Ludovico'spresence, paling cheeks, hours of reverie, when she should have beenbusily at work--whence did all this come? What was really in hermind when she told him that doubtless they both loved each other, and then ended her words with a "but, " and a sad shake of herdrooping little head?

She had found this man, her first acquaintance, in a strange land, good-natured, pleasant, kind, useful, handsome, protecting and, atthe same time, deferential in his manner; and she had liked him. Hehad delivered her from the Conte Leandro, and there had come intoher mind comparisons between the two men. He had been on her side inthat matter; they had wished the same thing, and had accomplished itagainst a third person; there had been, as it were, a secret betweenthem on the subject; and hence had grown a bond of union. She hadadvanced from liking to admiring. Thence to the consciousness thatshe was admired. She had gone onwards through the usual phases ofsurprising herself in the act of thinking of him at all sorts ofhours, and gradually discovering that he filled an immense portionof her lonely life there in the strange city, till she came to thestage of mingling the avowal "Gli voglio tanto bene" with her lastprayers to Mary Mother by her bedside at night, and meditating onthe words he had said and the looks be had looked, after she hadlaid her head upon the pillow. 

She had thus quietly walked onwards into the deep waters of a greatlove, before any question had ever suggested itself to her as towhither she was going, and whether there might not be danger ofperishing in those deep waters. 

Now nothing is clearer or more undoubted by every good and well-conditioned girl among ourselves, than the certainty that any manwho unmistakably seeks to win her love either means and hopes tomake her his wife, or is merely fooling her for his own abominablyselfish amusement, or is insulting her and endeavouring to injureher in a manner that makes it at once her duty and her inclinationto spurn him from her with horror and loathing. 

But here, again, as the lawyers say, "locus regit actum. " That whichthe English girl feels, under such circumstances, so naturally, thatshe deems it an inseparable part of her nature that she should sofeel, she feels because of the teaching of the whole socialatmosphere in which she has lived. The Italian girl, in the positionof Paolina, does not feel it, because she has lived in a verydifferent social atmosphere. 

It is quite certain that Paolina, --if the question, whether it wasin anywise on the cards that the Marchese Ludovico di Castelmare hadconceived, or was likely to conceive, any project of marrying her, Paolina Foscarelli, had suggested itself, or had been suggested, toher at any time during those eight months, --would at once havereplied to her own heart or to any other person, that such an ideawas utterly preposterous and out of the question. 

But he had been striving to convince her that he loved her by everymeans in his power for months past, and had succeeded in soconvincing her. Was he merely playing with her? That idea neverentered into her head. As she, with sad and transparent frankness, had told him, neither of them could doubt the love of the other. What doubt could remain, then, as to the alternative? What doubt ofthe atrocious nature of his designs and intentions towards her? Nodoubt at all. Ought she not, therefore, with the intensest scorn ofwhat-do-you-take-me-for-sir indignation to have repelled the insultoffered to her?

Poor Paolina had no conception that any insult at all was offered toher or intended. Ludovico was minded to offer to her that which itwas in his power to offer, for her to accept if it suited her, or todecline if it suited her not. The species of tie that he offered herwas all he could offer her. It was one very frequently offered andvery frequently accepted in similar cases. Had the possibility thatshe might one day accept such been suggested to her, it would haveproduced no horror in her mind. She had no conviction during allthese eight months that she never could or would accept such aposition from any man. Why, then, did not matters proceedharmoniously and smoothly between them? Why had not Paolina becomeLudovico's mistress before this time? What was the meaning of theaverted face, and of that broken off "but--" which she had found itso difficult to follow with a completed sentence?

The meaning was, that Paolina's own heart, during those hours ofreverie filled with the meditation of her love, --during thosepourings forth of her confessions of love to her heavenly confidantin her bedside prayers;--during her nightly review of the love-passages of the day, --her own heart, as it became clearer to her, had revealed to her, that she could not accede to any such proposalas that which, she was well persuaded, the Marchese could aloneoffer to her;--had revealed it to her, not in obedience to any moralprinciple; not by any what-do-you-take-me-for process of indignantvirtue; but by an instinctive feeling irresistible and not to begainsayed, that the love she had to bestow must possess its objectwholly and entirely, or not at all. It was quite a matter of coursethat Ludovico would marry some lady in his rank of life. She was notignorant of the position in which he stood with regard to theContessa Violante. And his openness to her on this subject is acurious indication of the very wide difference between the mode inwhich the whole subject would be looked at by both parties in theworld in which they lived, and in our own. 

Philosophers, as the result of much learned observation and longreasonings, come to the conclusion that monogamy is best suited, onthe whole, to the nature, the requirements, and progressiveimprovement of mankind. A pure-hearted woman, who loves with a trueand great love, finds a shorter cut to the same conviction. 

And the growing depth and earnestness of Paolina's love had arrivedat teaching her this with unmistakable clearness. She might pine, might die--might compel her heart to turn to stone;--might seek therefuge of a cloister, which is the southern equivalent for suicide;--but she could not--she felt she could not live and be content toshare her lover's love with another. It was not any sensation of thenature of jealousy so much as an unconquerable feeling that not tohave all was to have nothing;--that she must have all and for ever;that she and he must be one;--one flesh and one spirit. 

Of course all this ought to be taught, and is taught to allrespectably educated young persons in more regular and didacticfashion. But to poor little unschooled Paolina it was taught notless authoritatively by the greatness and the purity of her ownlove. 

CHAPTER VIII

A Change in the Situation

"Neither of us can any more doubt the love of the other, Ludovicomio!" Paolina had said in reply, to his pleading, "but--

"But what, tesoro mio? What `but' can come between us, if there isno such doubt to come between us?" urged Ludovico, gently drawingher towards him by the hand he still held locked in his own. 

Again Paolina paused some minutes before replying, less apparentlyfrom hesitation to speak what was in her mind, than because she wasapplying her whole mind to the better understanding of her ownmeaning. 

"It is not, that I doubt whether you love me, Ludovico mio!" shesaid at length, but still without turning towards him; "I know youlove me truly and well. But I sometimes think, that you do not loveme in the same way that I love you. I never knew before that therecould be different ways of loving. But now it seems to me, --and Ihave thought so much, oh, so much of it, --that somehow you look lessto the whole, of everything, --how can I say what I mean?--less toall our lives, and all our selves, in your love, than I do. "

"What can you mean, Paolina? A different way of loving! I know butof one way!" said Ludovico with a somewhat banal flourish. 

"What would become of me, Ludovico mio, " she said, now looking roundinto his face, with a look in her deep true eyes, that made him feelfor the moment as though all the world were truly as nothing to him, in comparison with her love;--"what would become of me, if you wereto cease to love me? I should wither away, and die. It is probablywhat will happen to me!"

"Paolina!" he exclaimed, in a voice of strong reproach. 

She put her hand upon his shoulder, as if to beg him to let hercomplete what she wished to say, and continued, --

"But what would happen to you, if I were--it is impossible, but if Iwere--to cease to love you? would not that show you, that there is adifference between ways of loving?"

"No, cara mia, it would shew no such thing. Look now, Paolina! Theytell of lovers' perjuries. But I never said one word to you that Idid not believe to be true. Nor will I ever do so. Were you to betaken from me, by your own heart, and your own act, or in any otherway, I do not believe that I should wither and die. But it does notfollow, that I should suffer less. I should live on, not because mylove is weaker, but because my body is stronger than yours. Godgrant that such a lot may never befall me. "

"It never can befall you, amor mio! but, Ludovico, you could notonly live, but you could love--some other woman;" she uttered thewords with a little gulp of emotion, and continued: "Do you imagine, that if I lived to a thousand years, I could ever love any otherthan you?"

"What right have you to say, Paolina, that I should ever, or couldever love another but you?" said Ludovico, indignantly. 

"Nay, Ludovico, must you not do so always? Are you not professing todo so even now? Are you not promising your love to the ContessaViolante? will she not have a better right to your love than I?"

Ludovico started, and drawing himself a little back from Paolina, looked at her with reproachful surprise. It was not that he wassurprised at learning that she was aware of his engagement to theContessa. He had, as has been said, concealed nothing from her inthat respect. But he was vexed, and surprised at the feeling shemanifested on the subject. 

"You surprise me, Paolina!" he said. "Would it have been better if Ihad concealed all this from you? Many men, --most men perhaps, insimilar circumstances would have done so. But I cannot treat you inthat way. I have been, and would always be open and sincere to youin all things. You know all about this match. You know that it is afamily arrangement managed by my uncle. You know, that if I wishedit ever so much, I can't avoid it. You know, or ought to know, thatit is not, and cannot be a matter of affection in any way. You knowthat in the world such marriages are arranged and are known andunderstood to be arranged, for reasons, and on ground with whichlove has nothing to do. Does not all Ravenna know, including thelady herself doubtless, that I am to marry her because she is thegreat-niece of the Cardinal Legate? Can I be expected to love her, because she is the Cardinal's niece? Surely, my Paolina, you are notspeaking or thinking of this matter, with your usual good sense!"

"I can't help it, Ludovico; I am, at all events speaking with mywhole heart!" she said in a tone of profound sadness. "If what yousay is true, --and do not imagine, dearest, that I have the smallestdoubt that all you say to me is entirely and perfectly true, --justthink of the lot of that povera Contessa Violante! Poverina! I daresay she, --think of the wrong I should be doing her! Think how shewould hate me!" She shuddered as she spoke. "Nobody, I think, everhated me yet, " she continued; "and it seems to me so horrible to behated. And more horrible still to know that I should be justlyhated! And then, tesoro mio!--Mio!--How could I ever say mio?Never, never, never, mio!" she cried, bursting into passionatetears. "No, never mine! The very word itself, which comes sonaturally to my lips, tells me, like a knell in my heart, that itcan never be!"

"But, Paolina, angiola mia, " said Ludovico, who had heard her with alook of consternation, "what has thus changed you? For it is achange. You knew all these things before. What has occurred to putsuch notions into your mind all of a sudden?"

"Not all of a sudden, Ludovico! The blessed Virgin knows for howmany sad and solitary hours I have been thinking, and thinking, andthinking of all this! She knows how many nights I have passed intears to think of it. What has put it into my head, you say?Ludovico, it is my love for you that has put it into my head! It ismy strong love that has opened my eyes, and made me see that Icannot--cannot--I mean--that I cannot share your love with another!"

The words came forced from her with a great effort, and with a sobthat seemed as if it would choke her. 

"Oh my Paolina, what words are these?" said he, his own voicetrembling with trouble and emotion. 

"It is true, Ludovico! It is my true love that has opened my eyes. Ifear that I have done very wrong; and the blessed Saints know that Ishall have my punishment! I have done wrong in loving you, andletting you love me! But I did not know it, I did not think, I didnot see where I was going! I ought to have known that love was notfor a poor girl like me! I ought to have known that evil and miserywould come. But till I loved you with my whole, whole heart, Ludovico; and till I found out that I did, I did not know that--thatit would be so, --that I should feel as I feel now. "

Ludovico got up from his seat, and began walking up and down thefloor of the little room, sighing deeply, and passing his hand againand again across his forehead. Presently he sat down again, bringinghis chair so as to front her fully as he sat. 

"Paolina, " he said, looking sadly into her eyes with a deepermeaning in his own than she had ever seen there; "your words havemade me very, very miserable! I never in all my life was so unhappyI am now. You must listen now, my Paolina, to what I am going tosay; and you must think well before you answer me. You see, dearest, that it is necessary that we should quite understand this matter, and understand each other. Many men, if they had been told what youhave now told me, would begin to reproach a girl with not lovingthem, --to say that it was clear she did not care for them. I willnot do so. I will not pretend to think that you do not love me. Iknow that you do, as well as you know that I love you with my wholeheart. And with this knowledge in both our hearts, think what is themeaning and the end of what you have been saying. You know that thismarriage is inevitable! And the consequence of it is to be that wetwo are both to be broken-hearted, --to condemn ourselves to passloveless lives, --to give each other up, --see each other no more, --make all the future a blank to both of us. Good God, Paolina! Youcannot mean that!"

"When you have married, Ludovico mio, --when I have said those dearwords for the last, last time, you will have plenty of things tomake you forget your poor Paolina! And for me, I shall be heart-broken doing no wrong to any other, instead of heart-broken anddoing terrible wrong all the time! And, dearest, it would be worsethan heart-break. I could not--it is stronger than I am! It seemslike a new horrible thing shown to me, which I never saw or thoughtof before! When it comes close to me I shudder at the thought--. "

"At what thought, Paolina? At the thought of my being married to theContessa Violante?" asked Ludovico, looking steadfastly into hereyes. 

She bore his gaze without withdrawing her sad, still eyes forawhile, thinking deeply before she answered. 

"No, Ludovico; not at the thought of your being married to theContessa Violante! That is a thought which may break my heart. Butit does not make me shudder, as that other thought does;--thethought of--of---of loving one, who--who--who owes his love toanother; the thought of taking by stealth whatever share of love maybe given to me stolen from the rightful owner. Never! never! never!Would you then be mine, --all mine, for ever, and ever, and ever! Oh, my love, my love! If you don't understand this, love has not openedyour eyes as it has mine. Do you think that I could endure thethought of being married to another man? The bare notion is horror--horror--HORROR! Would I not rather die this minute; ay, or die athousand times!"

Again Ludovico got up from his chair and paced the room, sometimesstopping abruptly in apparently deep thought, and sometimes resuminghis walk with every appearance of despair in his face and gestures. It is needless to say that Paolina had spoken the very inmost truththat was in her heart in all its entirety; but she had alsosucceeded in making him feel that it was so. 

There is often a feeling in a man's mind on such occasions--afeeling too closely allied to selfishness--which leads him to bedissatisfied with what seems to him the unwillingness of a woman tomake sacrifices to her love. And often a woman, knowing this, andcalculating mostly falsely, is urged to yield by a desire of provingthat she does not deserve such a suspicion. But Ludovico had no suchthought in his mind. He knew that Paolina had not only spoken truly, but had represented her mind accurately. It was not that she"respected herself. " The poor child had never received any lessonswhich could teach her such respect. She had been perfectly ready toaccept the social position of Ludovico's mistress, until the powerof a great, true, and pure love had unsealed the eyes of herunderstanding, of her imagination, and of her heart to the nature--not of the social position of such a tie as that proposed to her--but of the absolute imperious necessity of sharing such a love withnone. Putting all notion of principle, of duty, of the understoodexpediency of conforming to laws divine, and human, out of thequestion, such a love as Paolina felt demands this with a cogency ofinsistence that cannot be set aside. And the man who hopes, orflatters himself, or suffers himself to be persuaded that such alove has been given to him upon any other terms, is--he may relyupon it with the certainty due to an eternal law of nature--deceived. The quality of the love which may have so been given tohim is of a different kind. 

After awhile Ludovico came again and stopped directly in front ofthe chair in which Paolina was sitting; but he remained standing, and placing his two hands, one on either of her shoulders, andlooking down into her face with moist eyes, he said, --

"My love, my true and best--my only love! I cannot lose you, Paolina; I cannot give you up. Truly--truly I had rather that anyother thing--any other evil that could happen, should happen to me. We are, and we must be, all in all to each other, my Paolina, nowand ever. There is no alternative possibility to this. Love hasopened my eyes, too, my darling angel! Your love has opened my eyes;I will know no other love, --no other woman--call none other wife butyou! Paolina, you will be mine?--my all? my only one?"

"Ludovico!" she exclaimed, looking up at him with an ecstasy of joy, and yet with a great terror upon her face; "but what will happen--what will happen to you? What will be done to me?"

"We must see, my heart's treasure! We must have patience; you musttrust to me. You do trust me, non e vero? I must put off thismarriage; then find means to break it. And, after all, what can myuncle do? I am dependent on him while he lives; but I must succeedto all he has when he dies. My promised wife! Are you mine--mine forever? Will you now put your dear little hand in mine, and promiseme, and have faith in me, and wait for me, and have patience till Ican see my way, and love me all the time, my own--my darling?"

"I am your own, Ludovico;--yours, any way: to live for you, if sucha lot may be mine; to die still yours, if it may not! Wait!Patience! What shall tire my patience? So I know that you are lovingme--me only--all the time, I shall ask nothing more! But, oh, I amso frightened! And then I shall be a cause of such mischief andtrouble to you. Would it not have been better for you if you hadnever seen poor Paolina?"

"No, no, no, no! It would have been a thousand million times worsefor me! Be of good heart, my treasure; nothing can hurt you. We mustkeep our secret for a while; and nothing will hurt me, if we managewell. But I must think; my mind is in a confusion;--a joyfulconfusion, dearest! But I must think it all over. If you see me lessoften, be sure that it is because I am planning for our happiness. And now, darling, --my own, my own, now really and for ever, my own--one kiss to seal our contract! You won't refuse me that. I take youthus in my arms, my Paolina; for the first time as your promisedhusband. Good-night--good-night--my own! I trust I may be able tothink of what I am doing at the Palazzo tonight. Good-night, myown!"

And thus the Marchese Ludovico returned that evening to the PalazzoCastelmare, about an hour after Signor Ercole Stadione had quittedit; pledged to find some means of breaking off the match with theContessa Violante Marliani, to which all Ravenna was lookingforward, and engaged to be married to the little obscure Venetianorphan artist. 

CHAPTER IX

Uncle and Nephew

Ludovico di Castelmare did not see his uncle that evening. Hereturned to the Palazzo, thoughtful enough, direct from the house inthe Strada di Santa Eufemia, and there learned that the Impresariohad been with the Marchese; that he had brought the good news of hissuccess in having engaged "La Lalli" to sing at Ravenna during thecoming Carnival; and that he, Ludovico, had been sent for by hisuncle from the Circolo. What for, the servant could not tell him. Hecould only say that the Marchese had seemed much put out at theSignor Marchese Ludovico's absence, and that he had shortlyafterwards gone out to pass the remainder of the evening at thepalace of the Cardinal Legate. 

Ludovico was by no means so anxious to see his uncle as to wait todo so till he should return at night. He betook himself to his ownquartierino, locked the door, and sat down to think. 

He had said no more than the truth to Paolina when he professed thathe had never spoken a word with the intention of deceiving her. Norhad he been otherwise than entirely sincere in all that he had justbeen saying to her. Nevertheless he felt, somewhat more strongly andclearly, perhaps, than while he had been looking into Paolina'seyes, that he had undertaken rather a tremendous task in declaringthat he would break off the projected marriage with the LadyViolante, the great-niece of the Cardinal, --a match which bothfamilies considered to be definitively arranged, and which wasexpected and looked forward to by all Ravenna, and that for thepurpose and with the view of making so terrible a mesalliance asthat he contemplated. The Marchese Ludovico felt all the weight ofthe inheritance of a great name and a still greater social position, which devolved upon him from his uncle. It was bad enough tocontemplate the effect which would be produced, as regarded himself, by the step he contemplated. But it was perfectly terrible to thinkof the effect it would produce on the Marchese Lamberto. Ludovicowas proud, in his more easy-going way, of the position he occupiedas his uncle's nephew in the society of the city; but it was not tohim the breath of his nostrils as it was to his uncle. 

He felt, as a weak man is apt to feel in similar positions ofdifficulty, that the best and quickest, and, above all, the easiest, way out of all embarrassment would be to run away from it--to quitRavenna, and give it up--it, and all its inhabitants for ever. Hecould do this. He felt that Paolina would be worth such a sacrifice. But how to accomplish such a step while his uncle lived?

As it was all he could do was to procrastinate, he thought of theold Italian proverb, "Gain time, and you will pull through, " and hedetermined to profit by the wisdom of it. Even procrastination wouldnot be without difficulty. But something might be done in that way, --some time might be gained. And then there was always that never-failing resource and consolation of those who, in the words ofHorace, limit their ambition to adapting themselves to circumstancesinstead of adapting circumstances to them, something might turn up;though, for the present, it was difficult to see what that somethingcould possibly be, unless it were the death of his uncle, aperfectly robust and healthy man in the fiftieth year of his life. 

Might possibly the something take the shape of a change ormitigation of Paolina's resolve? No sooner did the idea cross hismind than he felt ashamed of it, and his heart smote him for havingfor a moment harboured a thought that involved falseness to hispromise to her. Nevertheless, it was not the last time that thethought recurred. 

The next morning he met his uncle. 

"I had Stadione with me yesterday evening, " said the Marchese, "andI wanted to speak to you about something he said. I was sorry to betold that you were not at the Circolo. "

"I was sorry that Beppo did not find me. What was it? Signor Ercolehas succeeded in his mission, I hear. "

"Yes; and it was on that matter I wanted to speak to you; but thismorning will do as well for that. It was not that that vexed me, Ludovico. I won't ask you to tell me where you were, and I don'twant to play the inquisitor; but the fact is, I know very wellwithout asking. And, my dear nephew, I cannot but tell you that youare acting unwisely, --imprudently even. "

"What have I done that is wrong, sir? Is it not fitting that Ishould show some attention to people, who came here recommended toyou, and whom you yourself first commissioned me to assist?" saidLudovico. 

"What is the good of answering in that way, Ludovico. Just as if weboth did not know better than that, and know too what we both mean?Pay some attention! Pshaw! Do you think that I am quite a fool? Asif I did not know what you go there for, and what you have beengoing there for these eight months past, since first I was blockheadenough to throw that pretty girl in your way. Now, figliuolo mio, itis my duty to tell you that that sort of thing won't do--just atpresent. I don't want, as I said, to play the inquisitor, nor do Iwish to play the preacher. When you are married you must guide yourown conduct as you may think fit; but now every consideration ofpropriety and prudence should teach you that you must not continueto run after that young person in the sight of all the town in theway you do. Here you are on the point of contracting a marriage, which--"

"On the point, uncle? We are surely a long way from that yet?" saidLudovico. 

"A long way! I don't know what you mean by a long way; if we are notfurther advanced, it is your own fault. We might bring thenegotiation to a conclusion at once. It might all be settled thisCarnival. 

"This Carnival, uncle? Impossible! I must have a little time. Thereare so many things to be thought of. "

"What is there to be thought of, that has not been thought ofalready? They are in no hurry; they look upon the matter asarranged. But in decency, we cannot show any backwardness; it doesnot look well. 

"Well, uncle: at all events, let this Carnival pass over. Let mehave this last Carnival; then Lent is of no use: after that we willsee about it. "

"Well, be it so. But, my dear boy, you know all the importance ofthis marriage! You know how desirable it is in every point of view;family, rank, station, influence, money, --though that happily wehave no need to seek; why, it was only last week, --this is a secret, and must go no further, but I know I can trust to your discretion;--only last week, that I got a letter from my old friend, MonsignorePaterini at Rome, in which he speaks in almost open terms of thechance, and even probability, that our Cardinal might--ahem!--findthe next conclave a particularly interesting one. You know howPaterini stands at Rome, and that a hint from him is as good as avolume from another; and just think of the possibilities that such acontingency might open before you! I won't say any more; but do nowduring this Carnival, show yourself a little more at the palace, andpay a little attention, and let the world see that you occupy theplace with regard to the Contessa Violante, that you really dooccupy. Basta!"

"I will do the best I can, sir, to merit your approbation, " saidLudovico, feeling that he was expected to say something, and notwell knowing how to do it. 

"And now about the matter I wanted to speak of last night. La Lallicomes to us, you see, for the Carnival: it is a great triumph forRavenna. She is certainly the first singer in Italy, since Englandwith its brute power of money, robbed us of poor Sparderini. Butbetween you and me, figliuolo mio, we should never have got her, ifthere had not been certain difficulties--certain scandals, --che soio?--at Milan. All that is no business of ours, you know, tutt'altro! But there has been talk;--stories have got about!--merecalumny probably, as Signor Ercole very justly remarked, --but it isvery desirable that such things should not be the talk of the townhere. It is mauvais genre to chatter about such matters. You canmake it mauvais genre among the youngsters at Ravenna, if youchoose. Do so; you understand! That's all. "

"Perfectly, uncle! Lasci fare a me! I'll see to it; though I confessI do not quite understand why we need trouble ourselves about anysuch gossip, " said Ludovico, delighted to be able to fall in withhis uncle's wishes in something. 

"Well, I should have thought that you might understand. In the firstplace I don't want it to be said or imagined, either here orelsewhere, that Ravenna has taken up with a singer, who could notget an engagement elsewhere. Not that that is the case by any means. But don't you see, if it is said that she was obliged to leaveMilan, it puts us in the position of a pis aller! And I don't likethat. In the next place, I don't want to have light talk about aperson whom I have had so large a share in bringing to the city. These are things you ought to learn to think of, caro mio!" repliedthe Marchese, a little annoyed at having to put his feelings on thesubject into such plain words. 

"I'll take care that things shall be as you wish. When is she toarrive?" asked Ludovico. 

"About the end of the year--in a month's time or thereabouts. Stadione did not mention whether the day of her coming had beenfixed. Her first appearance will be on the night of the Beffana, the6th of January. "

"Because they were talking at the Circolo of getting up some littlematter of welcome, --taking the horses from her carriage, and drawingher in, or some thing of that kind, and a serenata of course. Leandro is busy already with a poem for the occasion, you mayswear!"

"Bravo! bene! If only our good friend the Conte keeps his musewithin tolerable limits! It would not do to quite smother her inverse on her first arrival; and, you know, our good Leandro hasrather a special gift that way. Well, get up any kind ofdimostrasione you like for the occasion, --it will all help to giveeclat to our opening. You can arrange all about the when, and thewhere, etc. , with Stadione. We are going to have a meeting of theBelle Arte Committee here this morning. They'll be here directly!"said the Marchese Lamberto, pulling out his watch. 

"One word more, uncle, before I'm off, " said Ludovico. 

"What is it?--money, I suppose?" said the Marchese, again taking outhis watch. 

"No, sir; not money this time, --unless, indeed, you insist on it, "said the nephew, laughing. 

"Not at all, not at all! I won't press it on you by any means!" saidthe uncle in a similar tone; "but what were you going to say?"

"Why, with reference to what you were saying just now, about theSignorina Foscarelli, " replied Ludovico, in quite a different tone. "I am always anxious to shape my conduct in accordance with youradvice, uncle. You see La Foscarelli has all but finished her workat St. Vitale, you know: she is to do her copying in the Cardinal'sPalace next, for you have kindly arranged for her permission to doso. Now, she can't very well go to the palace, for the first time, alone, you know! If you had not expressed the opinions you have onthe subject, I should have gone with her, thinking no harm. Butperhaps--to the palace, you know;--it would be better, if you wouldnot mind it, to accompany her, for the first time, yourself. "

"Very right, very properly thought of, my dear boy! Yes; I can gowith her--or I can send Burini, which will come to the same thing. "

"No, uncle; not the same thing--to send a mere maestro di casa, --aservant! It would not be nice for the poor girl; it would make allthe difference with the servants and people at the palace: if Iavoid going with her to please you, you will go with her yourself, won't you?"

"Very well, very well; I'll go with her. If any man has more to doof his own than all the rest of the city put together, there aresure to be other folk's at fairs thrust on him also; it has been sowith me all my life. Well, I will find half an hour somehow. "

"Thanks, uncle! Good-by, I wish you well through your meeting. "

"We shall see each other at dinner?"

"Yes. A rivederla!"

CHAPTER X

The Contessa Violante

The Contessa Violante Marliani lived, as has been said, with hergreat-aunt, a sister of the Cardinal. They occupied a small housenearly contiguous to the palace, which was almost more their homethan their own dwelling. The Marchesa Lanfredi, the Cardinal'ssister, though a great-aunt, was not yet sixty years old. She hadbeen left a childless widow, very scantily provided for, early inlife, and had retired from Bologna, her husband's native place, tolive first at Foligno, of which city her brother had been bishop, and afterwards at Ravenna, to which he had been subsequentlypromoted. The Cardinal was six or seven years her senior. His elderbrother, the grandfather of the Lady Violante, had inherited thefamily estates in the neighbourhood of Pesaro, and had died, leavingthem to his only son, Violante's father, when the latter was a veryyoung man. 

This Conte Alberto Marliani had married for love, as it is called. That is to say, that he had not married for any of the reasons forwhich marriages among people of his rank and his country are usuallymade; but had been attracted by a pretty gentle face seen in a Romanball-room. The pretty gentle face had remained always gentle; buthad soon ceased to be pretty. 

The Contessa Marliani was inclined to devotion. The Conte was verymuch disinclined to anything of the sort. He soon got tired of hiswife, repented of his marriage, and commenced an active system ofbreaking her heart. It was not a very difficult task, for she was asgentle in spirit as in face. He completed it when his only childViolante was about nine years old. But he had also completed, muchabout the same time, the entire dissipation of the never very largeMarliani property. And it so happened that, very shortly afterwards, his own career was brought to a conclusion, which his relatives feltto have overtaken him a few years too late! He was travelling fromRome down to Pesaro to complete the sale of the last portion of theestates, the proceeds of which had been anticipated, when he wasvery opportunely drowned in attempting to cross the Tiber swollen byflood. 

The little Violante, thus left an almost destitute orphan, wasnevertheless a personage of some importance. She was the onlyremaining scion of the family; and the position of her great-uncleseemed to promise a renewed period of prosperity and fortune to theold name. Violante was the Cardinal Legate's natural and sole heir. The Cardinal was a very rich man; and in amassing wealth andattaining honours, he had, like a true Italian, never thought theless of the additions to, and provisions for, the fortunes andsplendour of the family name, which he was winning, because he washimself a priest, and would leave no heirs of his name. Thepeculiarities in the position of a sacerdotal aristocracy haveengrafted the passion of nepotism in the hearts, as well as thepractice of it in the manners, of the members of Rome's hierarchy. 

Generally the family tie is a stronger one among the Italians thanamong ourselves. In the upper classes, it is certainly so; and, probably, among all classes. It may be thought strange, perhaps, that this should be the case with a people whose lives are supposedto be less pervaded by the sentiment of domesticity than our own. The explanation may, however, perhaps be found in the greater andmore frequent disruption of family ties, which is caused by thatmore active social movement, which pushes our younger sons away fromthe parental stock in search of the means of founding families oftheir own. 

And one of the results of the Italian mode of living and feeling isseen in the very common family ambition of Churchmen. 

The little Violante then, as has been said, was a personage of someimportance, at least in the eyes of the Cardinal and his sister; andwhen she was left an orphan, was at once taken to live with hergreat-aunt, under the auspices of her Cardinal great-uncle. Both ofthose remaining members of the family would have preferred that theone remaining scion of the race should have been a boy; but--whenthe young Contessa should be married, of course her name should bethenceforward borne as part of that of the family; into which sheshould marry, --as is so commonly the case in Italy, (many of theoldest and most illustrious names in the peninsula having survivedto the present day solely by virtue of such arrangements); and theMarliani be thus saved from extinction. 

The young Contessa Violante, when she reached the age of young-ladyhood, had not the "fatal gift of beauty. " Some people think thatsuch a deprivation is the most unfortunate from which a woman cansuffer. Others maintain that the absence of beauty is, upon thewhole, no real misfortune. But however philosophers may settle thisquestion, it can hardly be doubted that no young girl devoid ofbeauty, was ever yet persuaded that to be unattractive inappearance, was otherwise than a very, very sore affliction andmisfortune. Nature often kindly mitigates the blow by making theunlovely girl unconscious of her want of beauty. But this was notthe case with the young Contessa Violante Marliani. 

Violante knew that she was not beautiful, or even pretty. Probablyin her own estimate of herself she exaggerated her plainness. Shewas one of those persons who have not the gift of self-deception. Neither was she elegant in person. And yet there was something abouther bearing, which would have prevented any one from imagining thatshe was other than a high-born lady. There was strong evidence ofintellect in her face; and it was doubtless from within that camethat quiet dignity of bearing that marked her. 

And it was a dignity compatible and combined with the most perfectgentleness and almost humility of manner;--a dignity arising notfrom the conscious ness of any high position or high qualities, butfrom the consciousness of that sort of gentle passive strength, which knows that no external circumstance, or difficulty, orpressure will avail to make its owner step but a hair's breadthaside from the path which conscience has marked as that of right andduty. 

Violante was tall and slender, but her figure was not graceful. People did not say of her that she was slender; they said she wasthin. And that was incontestably true. She was very thin. But hershoulders were high and square, and there was a sort of angularityand harshness about all the lines of her person. Her head seemedsomewhat too large for her body; and the upper part of it seemed toolarge for the lower portion. She had a large, square forehead, whiteenough, but strongly marked with inequalities of surface, which, however much they might have delighted a phrenologist, were notconducive to girlish comeliness. Her hair was of the very lightreddish quality, which has not a single touch in it of that richsunny auburn, which makes so many heads charming, red though theybe. Her face was perfectly white, yet not clear of complexion. Andthe pale grey eyes beneath their all but colourless brows completedthe impression of a general want of vigour and vitality. 

A little before the end of that year in which the Ravenna impresarioperformed his memorable journey to Milan with the results that havebeen recorded, Violante di Marliani reached her twenty-thirdbirthday; a few months before that day the Marchese Ludovico hadreached his twenty-second. It was a difference on the wrong side, but not so great as to form any serious objection to the proposedmatch. But twenty-three is a rather mature age for an Italian noblelady to reach unmarried. That such should have been the case withthe Signora Violante was by no means because no suitor for her handhad ever presented himself. Several such aspirants had entered thelists. For the Contessa Violante was the great-niece of her greatuncle. But some of these had appeared objectionable to the Cardinaland his sister;--who also were not at all likely to forget all thatwas due to the prospects arising from such a relationship, and allthat it implied; and all of them had been objectionable to the youngContessa herself. 

Violante's expectations, indeed, in that line, or in any other ofall the different ways in which happiness may come to mortals inthis world, was very small. For the first nine years of her life shehad lived the only companion of a very miserable mother. And allthat mother's misery had apparently come from the fact of her havinga husband. Those first years of the child's life had been very sad;very monotonous, very depressing. Perhaps the effect of them did butconfirm the speciality of an idiosyncrasy, which would have beenmuch the same without them. But, at all events, when the child wasbrought to the house of her great-aunt, it seemed as if her mind andcharacter had been too long and too uniformly toned to accord withsadness, for happiness to have any power of taking hold of her. 

The old Marchesa Lanfredi, who took the young Contessa under herroof, and under her care, was not a bad sort of woman in the main;but she was thoroughly and consistently worldly, and judgedeverything from a worldly point of view. The Contessa Marliani wasan important little lady in her eyes; and was treated, by her withan indulgence and consideration which she would have considered outof place in the case of a child not born to such expectations andsuch a destiny. She was not contented with her young relative; butwas more perplexed and puzzled by her than angered. And as Violantegrew towards womanhood, her great-aunt understood her less and less. 

In the first place, she had a much stronger tendency towardsdevotion than the Marchese Lanfredi thought either natural orbecoming in a young woman. Of course it was right and proper to paydue attention to one's religious duties; there was no necessity totell her, a Cardinal Archbishop's sister, that, it was to besupposed. But she had a strong objection to excess in such matters. And to her mind Violante carried her devotional practices, and yetmore her devotional ideas, to excess. Of the latter, indeed, the oldMarchesa Lanfredi disapproved altogether. Young people had no ideasupon the subject in her time;--and the world was certainly a betterworld then than it had been since. 

And then, worst of all, it gradually became evident to theMarchesa's mind that there was a more or less direct connection inthe way of cause and effect between her niece's religious notionsand feelings and the strange readiness she had shown to findobjections to both of the two persons who had been judged by herfamily to be admissible suitors for her hand. The Marchesa began toentertain a strong apprehension that her niece had conceived theidea of "entering into religion;" i. E. Of becoming a nun. 

It had been necessary at the time of Violante's first coming to livewith her aunt, to select a governess for her; and a lady had beenfound fitted to teach her all that it was proper for a noble youngItalian lady to know. But when she became seventeen it was judgedexpedient to change this lady for another. A different sort ofperson was required. Custom and the habits of life and convenienceof the Marchesa made it expedient that a duenna should be providedto attend on the young Contessa; but she was supposed no longer toneed an instructress. 

The person selected for this trust was not perhaps altogether suchas might have been desired. By some fatality, arising probably fromsome latent incompatibility between the institution itself and theeternal order of things, it would seem as if the persons entrustedwith that responsible situation rarely did turn out to be exactlythe right people in the right place. Perhaps in the case of theyoung Contessa Violante her great-aunt had sought to find someattendant and companion for her who should have a tendency tocorrect that too great proclivity to retirement from the world--to alife in which religion was the chief interest and occupation, and toa sad and unhopeful view of the world around and before her--whichshe lamented in her niece. If so, the choice she made was notfollowed by the results she hoped from it; and was attended by otherinconveniences. 

The Signora Assunta Fagiani, the widow of a distinguished Bologneseprofessor of jurisprudence, was certainly quite free from all thosedispositions which the Marchesa regretted in her niece. But she wasnot altogether discreet or judicious in the method she adopted forreconciling the young girl to the world, and to worldly views andhopes and objects. 

She very soon perceived that to Violante the consciousness of herown want of personal attractions was, despite her yearning for alife to be filled with thoughts and objects to which beauty couldcontribute nothing, a source of bitter and ever-presentmortification. There was inconsistency, doubtless, in regret for thedeficiency of personal attraction in persons who, with perfectsincerity, declared to themselves that to enter a convent was theirgreatest object in life. But Violante was not aware that if thebeauty had been there the devotional aspirations would not have beenthere! That, which causes more deeply implanted in her nature thanshe knew of were impelling her to desire and to yearn for, theimperfect teaching of the world around her had led her to imagine tobe unattainable save by the gifts of personal beauty. And, knowingthat if that were so there was no hope for her, her bruised hearthad sought the only refuge which seemed to be open to suchmisfortune. 

The Signora Fagiani's first attempt at finding a remedy for thisstate of things consisted of a vigorous endeavour to persuade herpupil that her own estimate of her personal appearance wasaltogether a mistaken one. All the former experience of the old ladyled her to consider this an easy task. And she was much surprised tofind that her insinuations, assertions, and persuasions on thissubject were totally thrown away on her pupil. The precious gift ofpersonal vanity had been denied to poor Violante; and she sawherself somewhat more unfavourably than others saw her. 

Then the duenna changed her tactics; and strove to point out howvery little a pretty face signified to any girl in the position ofthe Contessa di Marliani. To a poor girl, indeed, whose face was herfortune, it was another matter. But the niece of the CardinalLegate! Bah! Did she imagine that she would lack suitors? She hadnothing to do but to make the most of the advantages in her hand, and she would see herself surrounded by all the beaux, while theprettiest girls in the room might go whistle for the smallest scrapof attention, And then, when married, with rank, station, wealth ather command, what would it signify?

And in urging all these considerations, the Signora Assunta Fagianispoke at least sincerely, and expended for the benefit of her pupilthe best wisdom that was in her. 

Partly, however, she was working for her own purposes, as well asfor the advantage, as she understood it, of her charge. Of course, as she judiciously considered, her position gave her, in a greatdegree, the valuable patronage of the disposal of the LadyViolante's hand in marriage. And, of course, this advantage of herposition was equally well understood by others; and among these by acertain Duca di San Sisto, a Bolognese noble, whose sadly-dilapidated fortunes much needed the aid that might be derived fromthe coffers of the wealthy Cardinal Legate. The Duca di San Sistohad interests at Rome also, which might be most importantly servedby the influence of the Cardinal Marliani. So that a marriage withthe Lady Violante seemed to be exactly the very thing for him. Butthe cautious, and carefully-masked inquiries which the Duke had seton foot, after the fashion in which such things are done in Italy, had brought him the information that a marriage was almost as goodas arranged between the lady in question and the Marchese Ludovicodi Castelmare, an old acquaintance of the family. Were it not forthat impediment, the Duke thought that he might have good reason tohope that his plan might succeed. 

Now it so happened that the Signora Assunta Fagiani was an oldfriend of the Duca di San Sisto; and when the widow of the professorof jurisprudence was promoted to the important post she held in thehousehold of the Marchesa Lanfredi, that nobleman did not fail tofind means for securing the continuance of her friendship. It wasthe object and purpose, therefore, of Signora Assunta Fagiani thatthe Lady Violante should become in due time Duchessa di San Sisto, and not Marchesa di Castelmare. But she understood her positionquite well enough to be aware that the end she had in view must beapproached cautiously and patiently. 

Violante had, of course, been informed at the proper time that herfamily destined her to become the wife of the young MarcheseLudovico di Castelmare. Now, if Violante's temper and dispositionhad been other than it was; had she been able to think of herselfdifferently from what she did; had it been possible for her, in aword, to have supposed that the Marchese Ludovico loved her, he wasthe man whom she could most readily have taught herself to love. They had been, to a certain degree, acquaintances from an earlyperiod of their childhood. He was the only young man she had everknown with anything like the same degree of intimacy; and Ludovico, as we know, was not devoid of qualities calculated to win a lady'slove. 

But Violante knew right well that Ludovico did not love her, andthat there had never been any probability that he should do so; and, had she any lingering doubt on the subject, the good Assunta tookvery good care to dispel it. And there was a bitterness in thisknowledge which did much towards producing in Violante the state ofmind that has been described. She was not in love with Ludovico, butshe had liked him--he was the only man she had ever liked at all. She knew that she was to be married to him if he could be persuadedto marry her, and if she were sufficiently obedient to marry him. She thought that no man could ever love her, and she knew verycertainly that this man did not. Her own hope and firmest purpose, therefore, was, if such resistance to the higher authorities mightin any way be possible to her, to avoid a marriage with Ludovico diCastelmare: if possible to her, she would fain escape from anymarriage at all. If this should be altogether impossible, then theDuca di San Sisto, as well as anybody else. It was not that she hadany hope that the Duca di San Sisto would love her: but, at least, it had not been proposed to him to love her, and found impossible byhim to do so. At least the unloving husband would not be the one manwhom she felt she might have loved had he deemed it worth his whileto ask her love. 

Yet, with all this, Violante had not learned, as perhaps most womenin her place would have done, to bate Ludovico for having found itimpossible to love her, --for having condemned her to feel the spretainjuria forma, which so few of the sex can ever forgive. Had sheever reached the point of loving him it might, perhaps, have beenotherwise. As it was, she was too gentle, too humble, in herestimate of her own worth and power of attraction to be angry withhim: and yet she was sufficiently interested in the matter to listennot unwillingly to all the gossip that the Signora Assunta pouredinto her ear about Ludovico, tending to show that he was unworthy ofpretending to her hand. 

Assunta's object, of course, was to break the match with theMarchese di Castelmare for the sake of bringing on one with the Ducadi San Sisto. 

Violante's object, it has been said, was to avoid any marriage atall--specially that immediately proposed to her; and the stories, which from time to time Assunta brought her of the goings on ofLudovico, had a double interest for Violante. In some sort, all suchintelligence was acceptable to her, as tending to make it unlikelythat her only escape from a loveless marriage with him would be byher own resistance to the wishes of her family. Yet, at the sametime, it was bitter to her, and ministered an unwholesome aliment toher morbid self-depreciation. 

CHAPTER XI

The Cardinal's Reception, and the Marchese's Ball

On the first day of the New Year, according to long-establishedcustom, there was a grand reception in the evening at the palace ofthe Cardinal Legate. It was to be, as always on that occasion, avery grand affair. All the diamonds, and all the old statecarriages, and all the liveries in Ravenna were put in requisition. Old coats, gorgeously bedizened with broad worsted lace of brilliantcolours, and preserved for many a year carefully, but not whollysuccessfully, against time and moth, were taken by fours and fivesfrom, the cypress-wood chests in old family mansions, where they layin peace from year's end to year's end if no marriage or other greatfamily solemnity intervened to give them an extra turn of service, and were used to turn dependants of all sorts into liveried servantsfor the nonce; and nobody imagined or hoped that anybody else wouldlook upon this display as anything else than absolute and frankostentation. Nobody supposed that any human being would be led intobelieving that this state indicated the ordinary mode of life of thepersons who exhibited it. Everybody in Italy has been for so manygenerations so very much poorer than his forefathers were, that sucha state of things has long since been accepted by universal consentas a normal one; and it is understood on all hands that these fitfuldisplays of the remnants of former grandeur, this vain revisiting ofthe glimpses of the moon by the ghosts of long-departed glories, shall be taken and allowed as protests on behalf of the bearers ofold noble names to the effect that their ancestors did really oncelive in a style conformable to their ideas--that they perfectly knowhow these things should be done, and would be found quite preparedto resume their proper state, if only the good old days ofprosperity should come again. 

And there is the good as well as the seamy side (not, alas, to theold liveries! for they had been mostly turned and turned again toooften); but to the feelings and social manners which prompted such amanifestation of them. At least, in such a condition of socialmanners and feelings mere wealth was not installed on the throne ofMammon in the eyes of all men. If one of the old coaches was morepitiably rickety than the rest; if the ancient-fashioned coat ofsome long-descended marchese was itself as threadbare as the oldfamily liveries; if some widowed contessa had crept out from thelast habitable corner of her dilapidated palazzo, where she wasknown to live on a modicum of chicory-water, brought in a tumblerfrom the nearest cafe, and a crust; not on any such account wasthere the smallest tendency towards a derisive smile on the lip, orin the mind of any man, at these pitiable attempts to keep upappearances, which everybody considered it right to keep up. Not onany such account was the stately courtesy of the Legate's receptionin the smallest degree modified. It was subject, indeed, to manymodifications; but these were wholly irrespective of any suchcircumstances. 

There is a peculiar sort of naivete about Italian ostentation, whichrobs it of all its offensiveness. Nobody exhibits their finery orgrandeur for the sake of crushing another; nobody feels themselvescrushed by the exhibition of it. The old noble who turns out hisgala liveries and other bedizenments on a festal day, does it tomake up his part of the general show, which is for the gratificationof all classes, and is a gratification to them. But it is a curiouscommentary of the past history of Italy that, as between city andcity, there is the feeling, the wish, and the ambition, to crush andhumble a rival community by superior magnificence. 

Nobody expected much immediate gratification from attending theCardinal's reception. There was little to be done save to bow to thehost and to each other. Ices were handed round--none the lessbecause it was bitterly cold--and cakes and comfits. Old ContessaCarini, who had a grandchild at home, and no money to buy bonbonswith, emptied half a plateful of them into her handkerchief, -. Theold servant who handed them helping her; and the Cardinal, whohappened to be standing by, smilingly telling her to give the littleone his benediction with them. The brave old Contessa still kept hercarriage, as it became a Carini to do; though she starved her poorold shrivelled body to enable her to keep her half-starved horses. And "society" gave her its applause for struggling so hard to dothat which it became her to do in the state of life to which it hadpleased God to call her; and no soul in the room dreamed of thinkingthe less of her because of the sharp poverty that confessed itselfin her eagerness to make the most of the opportunity of the Legate'shospitality. 

The Conte Leandro Lombardoni had a bilious headache the followingmorning in consequence of overcramming himself with cakes andsweetmeats. One active-minded old gentleman originated the remarkthat the cold was greater than had been known in Ravenna for thelast seven years; and this fact, repeated again and again by most ofthe company to each other, supplied the material of conversation forthe first half-hour. Then somebody, alluded to the circumstancethat, whereas it had been said that La Lalli was to have arrivedbefore the end of the year, the fact was, that she had not yet come:and thereupon the Marchese Lamberto had authoritatively declaredthat the lady had been detained by an unforeseen circumstance of noimportance, and would infallibly reach Ravenna on the evening of the3rd. 

And thenceforward this interesting news formed the sole topic ofconversation till the carriages were ordered; and all the finery wastaken home again to be laid up in lavender till that daytwelvemonth. 

There was to be, also according to annual custom, the first ball ofthe Carnival at the Palazzo Castelmare on the following evening; butfor this the state trappings reserved for the Legate's reception onthe Capo d'Anno, were not required. 

The balls given by the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare everyCarnival were the grand and principal gaieties of Ravenna. The wholeof the "society" were invited, and to be prevented from going byillness or any other contretemps was a misfortune to be lamentedduring all the rest of the year. At the Palazzo Castelmare peoplereally did expect to enjoy themselves. There was dancing for theyoung, cards for the old, and eating and drinking for all. For thePalazzo Castelmare was the only house in Ravenna at which supperswere ever given. There three balls and three handsome suppers wereprovided for all the society of Ravenna every year! And the first ofthese always took place on the 2nd of January; the Capo d'Anno beingleft for the state reception at the Legate's palace. 

Well might little Signor Ercole Stadione say, what would become ofRavenna if anything were to happen to the Marchese Lamberto!

All the people came much about the same time; and there was thenhalf an hour or so, before the dancing commenced, during which themain object and amusement of the assemblage was to escape frommisfortune, which it was well known the Conte Leandro meditatedinflicting on the society. He was known to have written a poem forthe opening of the new year, which was then in his pocket, and whichhe purposed reading aloud to the company, if he only could get achance! He was looking very pale, and more sodden and pasty aboutthe face than usual, from the effects of his excesses at theLegate's the night before. But his friends had no hope that thiswould save them from the poem, if he could in anywise obtain ahearing. 

"Take care, he is putting his hand in his coat-pocket! That's whereit is, you know; he'll have it out in half an instant, if we stoptalking! Oh, Contessina, you are always so ready! Do inventsomething to stop him, for the love of heaven!" said a young man toa bright-looking girl next him. 

"Oh, Signor Leandro, since you are riconciliato con bel sesso, " saidthe Contessina, alluding to words which, to the great amusement ofall Ravenna, Leandro had written in the album of a lady who askedthe poet for his autograph, --"since you are reconciled to the fairsex, will you be very kind and see if I have left my fan where I putoff my shawl in the ante-room?"

"Bravo, Contessina; now let us get to another part of the room, before he gets back. Oh, Ludovico, " he continued, addressing theyoung Marchese Castelmare, whom they encountered as they werecrossing the room, "for the love of heaven, let us begin! Make themusicians strike up, or we shall have Leandro in full swing inanother minute!"

"I assure you, Signor Ludovico, the danger is imminent!" said theContessina. 

"When I saw him at work last night at the Cardinal's pastry, Ithought he must have made himself too ill to come here to-night, "said the former speaker; "but I suppose poets can digest what wouldkill you or me!"

"If Leandro begins to read, I vote we all are seized with aninvincible fit of sneezing, " said another of the grown-up children. 

"Well, we may as well begin at once; I will go and tell the ContessaViolante that we are ready, " said Ludovico, moving off. 

It was a matter of course, that he should open the ball with theContessa Violante, --not only by reason of her social standing in thecity, but because of the position in which he was understood tostand towards her. 

Violante was sitting at the upper end of the room between her great-aunt and the sister of the Marchese Lamberto, Ludovico's mother. Shewas very handsomely dressed in plain white silk, but was lookingpale and dispirited. When Ludovico came up and offered his arm, bowing low as he did so, she rose and accepted it without speaking. 

"I had almost made up my mind, " she said as soon as they had moved apace or two towards the middle of the large ball-room, "not to danceat all to-night: I am not well. "

"Oh, Signorina, how unfortunate! What a disappointment! But it wouldbe cruel to force you to dance, when it is against yourinclination, " said Ludovico, with a very unsuccessful attempt to puta tone of tenderness into his voice. 

"I will not do so, after this dance, " said Violante; "but I supposewe must dance the first dance together!"

"I am sorry it should be a matter of such disagreeable duty to you, Signora Violante, " said Ludovico in a tone of pretended pique. 

"It is equally disagreeable to me to dance with any other partner; Iam not well, as I have told you, Signor Ludovico; I have no businessto be here; I think my health becomes weaker from day to day. Andthe blessed Saints only know when it may be possible to think ofcarrying into effect the arrangements desired by our parents!"

"I am sure that mine would not wish to urge you on the subject to--to decide more quickly than you would wish to. I can assure you, Signora, nothing would be more contrary to my own feelings than todo any such violence to yours. Indeed I may say--"

"Yes, yes! I think I understand all about it, Signor Ludovico. Mightit not be possible to find means of pleasing all parties in thismatter, if only all parties understood each other, Signor Ludovico?"

She dropped her voice almost to a whisper as she said these lastwords, with a rapid furtive glance at his face. 

"And now, " she added, speaking in a louder tone, we had better giveour minds to the present scene of the farce, and perform the openingquadrille, as is expected of us!"

"I am truly sorry, Signora, that you should be called upon to dothis sort of thing, when you are so unwell, as to make it even moredisagreeable than it might be to you otherwise. But believe me, "continued he, speaking in a low voice, and with an emphasis thatindicated that his words had reference rather to what she had spokento him in a similar tone than to the words of his own which hadimmediately preceded them, --"believe me that it is my wish to meetyour wishes in all respects. "

There was a jesuitism in this speech, which did not recommend it orits speaker to the Contessa Violante. She would have been far betterpleased by a more open reply to the confidence which she had halfoffered. She only said in reply:

"I am disposed to think, that such is the case in the matter whichmore nearly concerns us both, Signor Ludovico, than anything else. But--although we knew just now that we had to dance together, it wasyou who had to ask me, you know, and not I you. Very little activepower of influencing her own destiny is allowed to a girl; come, wehad better attend now to the business in hand!"

There was nothing more, except such ordinary words between eachother or the others dancing in the same set, as the dance itself ledto, spoken by the Contessa and Ludovico. The former declined allother invitations to dance, and went home at the earliest moment shecould induce her aunt to do so. 

There was much talk going on in all parts of the room as to theannounced coming of the great singer on the morrow. The young mensettled together the last details of their plans for the triumphalentry of the "Diva;" and the ladies were by no means uninterested inhearing all that their cavaliers had to tell them on this subject. Much was said, too, about the qualities of La Lalli both as a singerand as a woman. Everybody agreed that she was admirable in the firstrespect; and there was not a man there, who had not some anecdote totell, which he had heard from the very best authority, tending toset forth the rare perfection of her beauty, and the wonderful powerof fascination she exercised on all who came near her. 

She was to arrive quite early on the morrow. It was understood thatshe purposed passing the previous night, --that night in short, whichthose who were discussing her were spending at the Castelmare ball, at the little town of Bagnacavallo, a few miles only from Ravenna. Such a scheme looked, --or would have looked in the eyes of any otherpeople than Italians, --rather ridiculously like the ways andfashions of royal progresses, and state entries into cities. But theRavenna admirers of the coming "Diva" neither saw nor suspected theslightest absurdity; and it is to be supposed that La Lalli knew allthe importance of first impressions, and that she did not choose toshow herself to her new worshippers for the first time under all thedisadvantages of arriving tired and dusty from a long journey. 

CHAPTER XII

The Arrival of the "Diva"

On the morrow of the Marchese's ball was the great day of thearrival of the divine songstress. And it was as lovely a day for thegala doings, which had been arranged in honour of the occasion, ascould be desired. A brilliant sun in a cloudless sky made theafternoon quite warm and genial, despite the general cold. AnItalian sun can do this. Where he shines not it may be freezing. Assoon as he has made his somewhat precipitous exit from the hard bluesky, the temperature will suddenly fall some ten degrees or more. But as long as he is in glory overhead, it is summer in the midst ofwinter. 

Three o'clock had been named as the hour at which the coming "Diva"would reach the city gates. But the plans which the young habituesof the Circolo had arranged for receiving her, had been in somedegree modified. The scheme of harnessing their noble selves to herchariot-wheels had been abandoned; and instead of that it had beenunderstood that the Marchese Lamberto would himself go in hiscarriage to meet her a few miles out of the city and bring her in. The Marchese Ludovico and the young Barone Manutoli were toaccompany the Marchese Lamberto, and to assist in receiving thelady; but were to return to the city in the carriage which she wouldleave, on getting into that of the Marchese, or in any other waythat might seem good to them. The Marchese Lamberto and the ladyalone were to occupy his handsome family equipage. There was to be aband of music in attendance, which would precede the carriage as itentered the city; and some half-dozen young officers of a regimentof Papal cavalry, which chanced to be then stationed at Ravenna, intended to ride at each door of the carriage as it returned to thecity. Altogether it was to be a very brilliant affair. And all thegay world of Ravenna was on the tiptoe of expectation and delight. 

The Marchese Lamberto, indeed, looked upon his share in the pageantas a great bore. He had had put off one or two more congenialoccupations for the purpose of doing on the occasion his part ofthat which he deemed his duty to the city. Professor Tomosarchi thegreat anatomist, who was at the head of the hospital, and curator ofthe museum, was to have come to the Palazzo Castelmare that morningto show the Marchese an interesting experiment connected with theaction of a new anodyne; and Signor Folchi, the pianist, was to havebeen with him at one, to try over a little piece of the Marchese'sown composition. And both these appointments, either of which wasfar more interesting to the Marchese Lamberto than driving out inthe cold to meet the stage goddess, had to be set aside. 

Nevertheless, he had deemed it due to his own position, and to theoccasion, to grace this little triumphal entry with his presence. Ifhe had left it wholly in the hands of his nephew, and the otheryoung men, it might have been the means of starting the SignoraLalli amiss on her Ravenna career in a manner he particularly wishedto avoid. After that little hint on the subject, which theimpresario had given him, he was specially desirous that anythinglike an occasion for scandal should be avoided in all that concernedthe sojourn of the Signora Lalli in Ravenna. He, the MarcheseLamberto, the intimate friend of the Cardinal, and the most pre-eminently respectable man in Ravenna, had had a very large--certainly the largest--share in bringing this woman to the city; andhe was anxious that the engagement should lead to no unpleasantresults of any kind. 

It might be very possibly that the little matters at which theimpresario had hinted, were not altogether calumnious;--that thelady might be one of those members of her profession who seek othertriumphs besides those of her own scenic kingdom, and the story ofwhose lives in the different cities they visit is not confined tothe walls and to the records of the theatre. It might very well bethat a little caution and looking after was needed in the matter, Itwould be as well, therefore, to take the thing in hand at once in amanner that should put the lady on a right course from thebeginning;--all which could be excellently well accomplished by atonce taking her, as it were, into his own hands; and would, on theother hand, be endangered by throwing her from the first into thoseof the youngsters who purposed going out to meet her. 

So the Marchese sacrificed himself; put off the anatomist and themusician; spent the morning in arranging all the details of theproposed cavalcade with the young men who were to compose it; and attwo o'clock got into his open carriage to drive out towardsBagnacavallo. The young Barone Manutoli and Ludovico were in thecarriage with him. But it was understood, as has been said, thatthey were to leave it when they met the heroine of the day, who wasto enter Ravenna with the perfectly safe and unattackable Marchesealone in the carriage with her. 

"I wonder whether she is as lovely as she is said to be?" saidManutoli, as they drove out beyond the crumbling and ivy-grown brickwall, which had helped to repel the attack of Odoacer the Goth; butwhich had, some thirteen hundred years ago, failed to keep out themischief brought into the city by the comedian Empress Theodora, whose beauty had promoted her from the stage to the throne. 

Absit omen! And what, indeed, can there be common between Goths andGreeks of the Lower Empire, who lived thirteen hundred years ago, with the good Catholic subjects, and the quiet Catholic city of ourHoly Father the Pope, in the nineteenth century!

At all events, it may be taken as very certain that no omen of thesort and no such thoughts were present to the minds or fancies ofany of those who were about to form the escort of the modernactress. 

"All who have ever seen her, speak in the most rapturous terms ofher great beauty, " said Ludovico, in reply to his friend's remark. 

"Don't be too sure about it, figliuoli mio, or it is likely enoughyou may be disappointed, " said the Marchese Lamberto. "People repeatsuch things one after the other; there is a fashion in it. I havealways found that your stage beauty is as often as not no beauty, atall off it; and then you know stage work and the foot-lights areterribly quick users-up of beauty. And La Lalli is not at thebeginning of her career. But what have we to do with all that! chediavolo! She is a great singer; she comes here to delight our ears, not our eyes!"

"But time and work make havoc with the voice as well as with theface and figure, Signor Marchese!" said Manutoli. 

"Not to the same degree, Signor Barone, and not quite so rapidly, "replied the Marchese, with the manner of one laying down the law ona subject of which he is an acknowledged master. "Of course a voicewhich has done much work, is not the same thing as a perfectly freshone? A chi lo dite? though, observe, you very often gain more inknowledge, and in perfection of art, than you lose in freshness oforgan. But with proper care, voice, though a perishable thing, isnot so rapidly and fatally so, as mere beauty of face; that is sureto go very soon. I have not troubled myself to inquire, as you mayimagine, much about the state of La Lalli's good looks. But I haveinformed myself of the condition of her voice, as it was my duty todo. And I think that in that respect, which is the only one we needcare about, the city will find that we have not done badly. "

"For my part, I confess a romanzo comes very specially recommendedto my ears from a lovely mouth!" said Ludovico; "and I fully expectto find La Lalli quite up to the mark in this respect. I shall bedisappointed if she is not. "

"From all I have heard, we shall none of us be disappointed!" saidManutoli. 

"We shall see in a few minutes!" returned Ludovico, looking at hiswatch. 

"There's something in the road now, I think, as far as I can see!"said Manutoli, who had stood up in the carriage, holding the rail ofthe driver's seat with one hand. The road stretched long and flat, in a perfectly straight line before them for a great distance. "Yes, " continued he, "there is certainly something coming along theroad;--a carriage by the quickness with which it nears us: now forit!"

"Tell him to draw up, Ludovico; and he might as well turn round soas to be ready to drive back. We will wait here till she comes; andour friends on horseback may as well remain here too, " said theMarchese. 

So the little party drew up, and all eyes were turned to the smallcloud of dust rapidly approaching them. 

"Yes: it is a carriage, and no mistake; and coming along at a goodpace too!" said Manutoli. 

"It is she, no doubt; she was to sleep at Bagnacavallo, " returnedLudovico. 

"Signori!" said the Marchese, addressing the four, or five mountedofficers, "will you kindly put your horses across the road, so thatthe lady's driver may see that he is to stop, and that there may beno mistake. "

And then an open carriage became clearly visible, and in the nextminute, it could be seen that it was occupied by two persons;--alady and another figure--an old man apparently--muffled in a hugeblue travelling-cloak. 

Then in another instant the travelling-carriage, finding the roadblocked before it, had stopped, and in the next, the MarcheseLamberto, hat in hand, was standing at the door of it, on the lady'sside;--the two young men standing immediately behind him, and thehorsemen crowded round, craning over the necks of their horses. 

Oh! per Bacco! There is no mistake about it; she is startlinglybeautiful. Report had not said half enough. And, somehow or other, it appeared as if a travelling-costume was specially becoming toher. At least, it seemed so to the innocent youths who so first sawher. Had there been any women present their minds would have at oncegone back from the splendid effect produced to all the details ofthe artfully combined causes which had gone to the producing of it. But there were no ladies present, save the "Diva" alone. 

Such a Diva! She wore a little blue velvet hat, with a white featherin it very coquettishly placed on a superb wealth of hair of therichest auburn tint. She was very delicately fair, with just such anamount of the loveliest carnation on her cheeks as might be producedby the perfection of health and joyousness and youth; or might be, alady critic would have whispered, by some other equally effectualmeans. She had large--very large--wide-opened, clear, and limpidlight-blue eyes, with that trick of an appealing look in them whichalways seems to say to every manly heart, "You, alone of all theharsh, cold, indifferent crowd around us, are he to whom I can lookfor sympathy, comprehension, and fellow-feeling. " And now these eyeslooked round from one to another of those around her with a look ofsmiling, innocent surprise and inquiry that demanded an explanationof the unprecedented circumstances with a childish freshness themost engaging. 

She wore a bright blue velvet pelisse, trimmed with ermine, whichadmirably showed to the greatest advantage her magnificently shapedbust, and round slender waist; and bent forward towards theMarchese, as he stood at the carriage-door, with inimitable grace ofgesture, and a smile on her sweet lips that would have utterlydefeated and put to shame any St. Antony exposed to such temptation. 

"Signora, " said the Marchese, who looked very handsome, as he stoodwith his hat in his hand, and bowed with stately courtesy, "Ravennawelcomes you, and places itself at your feet in our persons. Permitme to present to you these gentlemen, who have had the good fortuneto be selected among many aspirants to that honour, to assist me inwelcoming you to our city: the Barone Adolfo Manutoli; my nephew, the Marchese Ludovico di Castelmare. "

"E Lei dunque e il Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare?" said the lady, in the sweetest possible of silvery tones, and with an air of humblewonder at the greatness of the honour done her, mingled withgrateful appreciation of it, that was inimitably well done; and heldup two exquisitely-gloved slender little hands, as she spoke, halfjoining them together in thankful astonishment, and half extendingthem towards him with an almost caressing movement of appeal. 

"Si, Signora; I am the man you have named; I am fortunate that myname should have reached your ears; more fortunate still in havinghad a part in making the arrangements that have brought you here;--and most fortunate of all if I shall be so happy as to make yoursojourn among us agreeable. "

"Signor Marehese! Lei e troppo garbato, --troppo buono; ma troppobuono, davvero!" said the pretty creature; and the appealing eyeslooked into his with the semblance of a tear of emotion in them. 

"Will you allow me the pleasure, Signora, of conducting you to thecity in my carriage?" said the Marchese, with a graceful wave of hishand towards his handsome equipage. "I have thought it mightpossibly be agreeable to you to place it and myself at yourdisposition on this occasion. "

"Ma come? It is too great an honour, davvero. But to make my firstappearance in your city under such auspices will go far towardsassuring me such a success at Ravenna, as it is my most earnest wishto attain. "

The Marchese put out his hand to assist her to alight, as he added, --

"Perhaps you will allow these gentlemen to return in your carriage, Signora? They have no other here. I did not think it necessary tobring a second carriage. "

"Come loro commandano!--as their lordships please, " said La Lalliwith a graceful bow; though the young men were of opinion, that hereyes very plainly said, as she glanced towards them, that she wouldhave preferred that they should have returned in the same carriagetogether. 

She rose, as she spoke, and giving her hand to the Marchese, put onefoot on the carriage-step in the act of descending, and then pausedto say, as if she had forgotten it till that moment:

"Will you permit me, Signor Marchese, to present my father to you, Signor Quinto Lalli? I never travel without his protection!"

The old man in the corner moved slightly, and made a sort of bowwith his head. He had remained quite still and passive in his cloakand his corner all through the rest of the scene, taking it allapparently as something very much in the common order of things. Perhaps the piece that was being played had been played too often inhis presence to have any further interest for him. 

While thus presenting her father, as she called him, to theMarchese, the beautiful actress had remained for the momentsnecessary for that purpose, with her matchless figure poised on theone dainty foot, which she had stretched down to the step of thecarriage. The attitude certainly showed the svelte perfection of herform to advantage; and from the unavoidable circumstances of theposition, it also showed one of the most beautifully formed feetthat ever was seen, together with the whole of the exquisite littlebottine that clothed it, a beautifully turned ankle, and perhaps asmuch as two inches of the silk stocking above the boot. 

The mere chance that caused the lady to bethink herself ofpresenting her father just at that moment, was thus quite a piece ofgood fortune for the young men on foot and on horseback, who werestanding around, which no other combination of circumstances couldhave procured for them. 

Then the Marchese handed her with graceful gallantry to hiscarriage, took the place in the back of it by the side of her; andthe little cavalcade began its return to the city. At a smalldistance from the walls, they found the band stationed, and thuspreceded by music, and passing through all the elite of thepopulation in the streets, the Marchese conducted her to the PalazzoCastelmare, and handed her up the grand staircase to the greatsaloon, where all the theatrical world of Ravenna, and many of themore notable patrons of the theatre, were assembled to receive her. 

Signor Ercole Stadione, the little impresario, was there of course, and in high enjoyment of the triumph of the occasion, and of theimportance which his share in it reflected on him. He buzzed aboutthe large saloon from one group to another, raising himself ontiptoe as he looked up into the faces of his noble friends andpatrons, and rubbing his hands together cheerily in the exuberanceof his satisfaction. 

"You had the happiness of accompanying the illustrissimo SignorMarchese to receive our honoured guest to-day, Signor Barone!" saidhe to Manutoli, who was giving an account of his expedition, and ofthe first appearance of the new "Diva, " to a knot of young mengrouped around him; "mi rallegro! Mi rallegro! Ravenna could nothave had a more worthy representative than yourself, Signor Barone!But is she not divine! What beauty! What a grace!"

"Why, Signor Ercole, one would think you had begotten her yourself. She is a pretty creature certainly. What a smile she has!"

"Eh bene, Signori miei! Are you satisfied? Are you content? Have wedone well?" said the little man, buzzing off to another group. "Chevi pare? Is she up to the mark, or is she not?"

"Bravo, Signor Ercole! We are all delighted with her!" said one. 

"If she sings as she looks, " cried another, "Ravenna has a primadonna such as no other city in Italy has. "

"Or in Europe, per Bacco!" added a third. 

"What do you think of her, Signor Leandro? Did I say too much?"asked the happy impresario, moving off to a console, against whichthe poet was leaning in an abstracted attitude, while his eye, in afine frenzy rolling, managed nevertheless to look out for themanifestation on the Diva's face of that impression which he doubtednot his figure and pose must make on her. 

"What a bore she must find it having to talk to all those empty-brained fellows that have got round her there, just like buzzingblue-bottle flies round sugar-barrel! I wonder it does not occur tothe Marchese that it would be more to the purpose to present to hersome of the brighter intelligences of the city. She must thinkRavenna is a city of blockheads! And one can see, with half an eye, that is the sort of woman who can appreciate intellect!"

"It will be for you, Signor Conte, to prove to her that our city isnot deficient in that respect. Sapristi? Would you desire a bettersubject? What do you say to an ode, now, on the rising of a newconstellation on the shores of the Adriatic? Hein! Or an inpromptuon seeing the divine Lalli enter Ravenna through the same arch underwhich the Empress Theodora must have passed?"

"I had already thought of that, " snapped the poet, sharply. 

"Of course you had, " said the obsequious little man. "An impromptu, by all means! You could have it ready to present to her at thetheatre to-morrow. "

"Unless the Marchese thinks fit to present me to the lady presently, I shall decline to write anything at all, " rejoined Signor Leandro, thus unjustly determining, in his ill-humour, to punish all Ravennafor the fault of one single individual. 

The Diva was, in the meantime, winning golden opinions on all sides. She had bright smiles, and pretty captivating looks, and courteous, prettily-turned phrases for all. But amid all this she contrivedunfailingly all the time, by means of some exquisitely subtle nuanceof manner, to impress every person present with the unconsciously-conceived feeling that there was something more between her and theMarchese and his nephew than between her and anybody else in theroom; that she in some sort belonged to them, and was beingpresented to the society under their auspices. She remained close bythe side of the Marchese. She would look with an appealing andinquiring glance into his face at each fresh introduction that wasmade to her, as if to ask his sanction and approval. She had somelittle word from time to time either for his ear, or that of hisnephew, spoken in such a manner as to reach those of nobody else;while, gracious to all, she delicately but markedly graduated thescale of her graciousness towards those who were introduced to her, according to the degree of intimacy which seemed to exist betweenthem and the Marchese. The result was that the Marchese, withouthaving been in the least conscious by what means and steps it hadbeen brought about, felt, by the time the gathering was at an end, asort of sense of proprietorship in the brilliant and lovelyartiste;--it was so evidently he who was presenting her to the city!She herself so evidently felt that it would become her to rule herconduct in all respects at Ravenna according to the Marchese'swishes and ideas, and there was so sweet and so subtle a flattery inthe way in which she made this felt, that when, after all the crowdhad retired, and she was about to take leave of the Marchese to goto the lodging that had been prepared for her, she ventured to takehis hand between both hers, while looking up into his face to thankhim, in a voice quivering with emotion, for his kindness to her, there passed a something into the system of the Marchese from thatcontact of the palms that he found it very difficult to rid himselfof. 

BOOK III

"Sirenum Pocula"

CHAPTER I

"Diva Potens"

Quinto Lalli was the name by which the prima donna had presented theold gentleman who had shared her travelling-carriage to the MarcheseLamberto as her father. And Quinto Lalli was his real name; but hewas not really her father. Nor had she any legitimate claim to thename of Lalli. She had never been known by any other, however, during the whole of her theatrical career; and there were very fewpersons in any of the many cities where the Lalli was famous, whohad any idea that the old man who always accompanied her was not herfather. Indeed, Bianca had so long been accustomed to call and toconsider him as such, that she often well nigh forgot herself thathe held no such relationship to her. 

The real facts of the case were very simple, and had nothingromantic about them. Old Lalli was a man of great musical gifts andknowledge. He had been a singing-master in his day; an impresariotoo for a short time; and sometimes a kind of broker, or middle-manbetween singers in want of an engagement and managers seeking for"available talent;" and a hunter-up of talent not yet available, butwhich, it might be hoped, would one day become such. 

It was in the pursuit of his avocations of this latter sort, that hehad one day, about fifteen years before the date of thecircumstances narrated in the last chapter, chanced to meet with alittle girl, then some twelve years old, on the hopes of whosefuture success he had resolved to build his own fortunes. It wastime that he should find some foundation for them, if they were everto be built at all, which most of those who knew Signor Quinto Lallideemed not a little improbable; for he was of the sort of men whonever do make fortunes. 

He was fifty years old when he had met with the little girl inquestion, and had done nothing yet towards laying the foundations ofany sort of fortune. Unstable, improvident, unthrifty, fond ofpleasure, and not fond of work, nothing had succeeded with him. Nevertheless, a cleverer man in his own line, or a shrewder judge ofthe article he dealt in, than Quinto Lalli did not exist in allItaly. And his judgment did not fail him when he fell in with littleBianca degli Innocenti. 

Persons unacquainted with Italian things and ways might suppose thatthe above modification of the "particle noble" in Bianca's familyname was indicative of a very aristocratic origin. Italians, however--and specially Tuscans--would draw a different conclusionfrom the premises. The family "Degli Innocenti" is very frequentlymet with in Tuscany; but the bearers of the name do not, for themost part, take great heed of their family ties. The "Innocenti, " ina word, is the name of the foundling-hospital in Florence; and thoseof whose origin nothing is known save that they have been brought upby that charity, are often called after it, and known by no othername. Little Bianca's father, or possibly her grandfather, must havebeen some such Jem, Jack, or Bob "of the Foundlings, " and left noother patronymic to his race. 

Quinto Lalli fell in with the child one day in the dirty andmiserable little town of Acquapendente, just on the Roman side ofthe frontier line dividing the Papal territory from Tuscany, as hewas travelling from Florence to Rome. He was travelling by thediligence, which always used to remain a good hour or more atAcquapendente, for the transaction of passport and dogana work. There, strolling, for want of something better to do, through thedilapidated streets of the poverty-stricken little town, --which inthose days told the traveller most unmistakably how great was thedifference between prosperous Tuscany, which he had just left, andthe wretched Pope's-land which he was entering--Quinto Lalli heard achild's voice, and instantly stopped and pricked up his ears. 

Looking round, he saw a little creature, barely clad, happy amid thesurrounding squalor, sitting with its little bare feet and legsdabbling in the sparkling water in the broken marble tank of a oncemagnificent fountain. There she sate alone in the sunshine, andcarolled, with wide-opened throat, like any other nature-madesongster. 

Quinto Lalli, with startled ear, listened attentively; got round towhere he could see the child's face; marked well, with knowing eye, the little brown feet and legs bare to the knee; and then determinedto abandon the fare paid for the remainder of his diligence journeyto Rome. 

The business for the sake of which he made that sacrifice was easilyand quickly done. A bargain is not difficult when that which iscoveted by one party is deemed a burden and encumbrance by theother. And Quinto Lalli became the fortunate purchaser of thearticle of which he had so judiciously appreciated the value. 

Quinto had his little purchase well and carefully educated--educatedher himself in a great measure, as far as her voice was concerned--and took care that every attention was paid, not only to her musicalculture, and to the preservation and enhancement of her beauty--which, with great comfort as regarded the ultimate issue of hisspeculation, he saw every year that passed over her develop more andmore--but also to her intellectual cultivation. For Lalli was aclever man enough to know, that if a stupid singer with a fine voicecan charm so as to be worth a hundred, an intelligent singer with anequally fine voice, can charm so as to be worth two hundred. 

And the old singing-master was good and kind to his pupil: firstly, because he had no unkindness in his nature, and secondly, because itwas in every way his interest to conciliate the girl. She had beenbrought out at eighteen, and had now been nine years on the stage--nine years of success, which ought to have enriched both teacher andpupil. 

They had very soon come to understand each other in matters ofinterest. Lalli had begun by taking all her large earnings. ButBianca very quickly let her protector understand that such anarrangement did not meet her views at all. The ingratitude, when sheowed everything to him alone! No, Bianca had no intention to beungrateful--anzi! she looked upon Lalli as her father, and hoped shealways should do so; but she had no intention of being treated likea child. So long as she could earn anything, her adopted fathershould want for nothing. She asked nothing better than to continueto live with him, and work for both of them. 

And, in truth, her grateful kindness and fondness for the old manwhom she had so long looked on as a father was Bianca's strongestpoint in the way of moral excellence. In all their nine years ofpartnership she had worked for him as much as for herself. But hernine years of success ought to have made both the old man and hisadopted daughter comfortably well off. And it had done nothing ofthe kind. 

They had laid by nothing. Old Quinto had all his life beenrecklessly extravagant and thriftless; and his mode of education hadnot made Bianca less so. If he was fond of dissipation and pleasure, she was not less fond of them on her side. Careful as her educationhad been, it was hardly to be expected that it should have beeneminently successful in forming a high standard of moral character. The demands made by society upon its members in general in the climeand time in question were not of a very exacting nature; and theexpectations of society in this respect from a person in Bianca'sposition were more moderate still. Nor were the precepts, counsels, example, or wisdom of her protector at all calculated to guide thebeautiful singer scatheless through the dangers and difficultiesincidental to her position. 

In short, for nine years Bianca had worked hard--had earned a greatdeal of money, and had spent it all (except what Lalli had spent forher) in dissipation, the sharers in which had been chosen by thebeautiful actress--as kissing goes--by favour, and not with any viewto their ability to pay the cost. 

And now La Lalli had reached her twenty-seventh year; and was verynearly as poor as when she began her career. And certain smallwarnings, unimportant as yet, and wholly unsuspected, save byherself and old Quinto, had begun to suggest to her the expediencyof thinking a little for the future. She and Quinto Lalli had had avery serious conversation on the subject just before thecommencement of that season at Milan, which, as has been hinted, hadended somewhat disagreeably for the charming singer. 

The real truth of the matter was that the difficulty in question hadarisen not from any tendency in the lady to behave in the Lombardcapital with more reprehensible levity than, it must unfortunatelybe admitted, she had been very well known to have behaved in otherplaces and on other occasions; but from a change in her manners in adiametrically opposite direction. It was a change of tactics, whichthe strictest moralist must have admitted to involve an improvementin moral conduct, that got the hardly treated Diva into trouble. 

The Austrian Government, as we all know, is, or was, a paternalgovernment-a very paternal government. And the governor who ruled inthe Lombard capital was quite as much intent on playing the"governor, " in the modern young gentleman's sense of the word, asgood old paternal Franz himself in his own Vienna. But this paternalgovernment was not of the sort which ignores the well-authenticatedfact that "young men will be young men. " On the contrary, itproceeded always, especially as regarded its more distinguishedsons, on the largest recognition of this truth. Wild-oats must besown; the "governor" knew it, and the law allowed it. But theyshould be so sown as to involve as little prejudicial an after-crop, as may be--as little prejudicial especially to those distinguishedsons who cannot be expected to refrain from such natural sowing. 

And enchanting Divas may assist in such sowing, and be tolerated inso doing by a not too rigidly exacting paternal government--may beheld in so assisting not to step beyond the sphere of socialfunctions assigned to them by the natural order of things in amanner too offensive to the mild morality of a paternal government, as long as such joint wild-oat cultivation shall in nowise threatento interfere with the future tillage of less wild and moreprofitable crops by those distinguished young scions of noble races, to whose youthful aberrations a paternal government is thus wiselyindulgent. 

So long, and no longer. Mark it well, enchanting Divas. Enchant ifyou will; 'tis your function. But do not think to enchain? Enmesh ayoung Marchese in the tangles of Neaera's hair. A paternal governorputs his fingers before his eyes; and lets a smile be seen on hislips beneath them. But do not seek to bind him by less easily brokenties. A vigilant and moral governor frowns on the instant; and apaternal government well knows how to protect its distinguished sonsby very summary and effectual process. 

But when for a poor Diva there comes also the time when thatpleasant wild-oat sowing seems no longer a promising pursuit, whatdoes the paternal wisdom decree as to her future? Why, she must reapas she has sown--or helped to sow. See ye to it, Divas. Suchprovidence is beyond our function. 

And thus it had come to pass that the trouble had arisen which hadresulted in inducing the Diva Bianca to turn her back on ungratefulMilan, and her face towards welcoming Ravenna. In that conferencebetween Bianca and her old friend and counsellor, which has beenmentioned, it had been fully brought home to the Diva's convictionthat for her the pleasant time of wild-oat sowing had come to anend. "Would that the year were always May. " But old Quinto Lalliknew that it wasn't. And it had been concluded between him and hisadopted daughter that it was high time for Bianca to take life auserieux;--to understand thoroughly that noctes coenaeque deum, withchampagne suppers and love among the roses, must be, if notnecessarily abandoned, yet steadily contemplated as a means and notan end. 

What if--

 Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Shakes his light wings, and in a moment flies?

The warning of the verse teaches that the skittish god must not bescared by a premature exhibition of the noose hid beneath the sieveof corn. Champagne suppers and love among the roses--yes. But thereshould be, also, cunningly hidden, the noose among the roses. 

And to this wisdom the Diva her well-trained mind did seriouslyincline, during that last Milan campaign. Nor did her moral aim seemto be without good promise of success. The sleek young colts withtheir shiny coats, glossy, with the rich pastures of the Lombardplains, pranced up and nibbled, all unconscious of the hidden noose. One fine young unsuspecting animal, the noblest of the herd, came soclose to the noose that Bianca thought her work was done, and was onthe point of casting it over his lordly head--and he all butenchanted into such docility as to submit to it, even seeing it. 

When lo! with sudden swoop of hand, sharp vibrating police decrees, an unsleeping paternal government darts down the fabric of ourhopes, sends off the nearly captured prey, loud neighing and withheels kicked high in air, but safe, to his ancestral Lombardpastures, and whirls away the too dangerous enchantress into outerspace. 

Sorrowfully the baffled fair goes forth (a graceful picturesomewhere seen of paradise-banished Peri with pretty stooping head, recalls itself to my mind as I write the words); sorrowfully but notdespairing, --and wiser than before. 

And yet before she goes seeking fresh fields and pastures new, andmeditating new emprise, wealthy Milan shall itself equip her for thenext campaign. For much of such expedient outfit Milan can supply, which, in remote Ravenna, might in vain be sought. There, beneaththe shadow of those marble walls, where once the sainted Borromeopreached, the cunningest Parisian artists may be found--so rich incorn and wine and silk are Lombard plains-modists and mercers, corset-makers, lacemen, skilled so to clothe the limbs of beauty, that every fold shall but display the perfect handiwork of nature, yet add to it the further grace of art. Makers of tiny slippers andsuch dainty bootlets as show forth and enhance the separate beautyof each inch of outline of rounded ankle, arched instep, and slenderlength of foot, shall lend their help. And if envious Time havesomething done to blur the bloom upon the cheek, or blot the cleartransparent purity of skin, --sunt certa piacula, --there are notwanting means for helping a mortal Diva to some of the prerogativesof immortality in these respects. 

And thus equipped, everything is ready, Quinto mio; we turn ourbacks on haughty Milan, and nova regna petentes cras ingensiterabimus aequor, that is to say, the wide plains of Lombardy. 

So Bianca and her faithful Quinto journeyed forth on thatinterminably long flat monotonous Emilian road, with no accompanyingsound of music on their departure, but with the much-improvedprospects, which have been described, on their arrival. 

CHAPTER II

An Adopted Father and an Adopted Daughter

When Bianca, on the evening of her arrival at Ravenna, rejoinedQuinto Lalli at the handsome and convenient lodging which had beenprovided her, after having passed an hour or two, as has beenrelated, in being presented to the notabilities of the city, andreceiving a great deal of homage at the Palazzo Castelmare, she hadalready learned many useful things. 

Imprimis, she had learned that the Marchese Lamberto was a bachelor;that he was--though what young girls call an old man--still almostin the prime of life, for a man so healthy and well preserved; thathe was a remarkably handsome and dignified gentleman; that heevidently occupied the very foremost place in the esteem and respectof his fellow-citizens; that he was rich; and that he appeared fromall those little signs and tokens of manner, which such a woman asLa Diva Bianca can interpret so readily, the last man in the worldlikely to fall in love with such a travelling Diva as herself. Shehad learned, further, that the Marchese Ludovico was his heir; thatthe said Ludovico might be judged, by all those same signs andtokens, to be very much such a man as might be likely to fall overhead and ears in love with a beautiful woman, who should make it herbusiness to cause him to do so; and yet further, that this MarcheseLudovico was just the sort of man, whom, if she might permit herselfto join pleasure with business, she would very well like so tooperate on. She had heard a poem read to her by the Conte Leandro, and had decided that, if he were the wealthiest man in all Ravenna, no sense of her duty to herself could prevail to make her doanything but run away from him at the first warning of his approach. Nevertheless, from him, even, she had learned something. She hadbecome acquainted with the fact, whispered in his own exquisitelyfelicitous manner, and with the tact and judicious appreciation ofopportunity peculiar to him, that Ludovico di Castelmare was, to thegreat sorrow of his friends and family, enslaved by a certainVenetian artist, then resident in Ravenna, --a girl really of noattractions whatever. 

Thus much of the carte du pays of that new country, in which her owncampaign was to be made, and of which it so much imported her tohave the social map, she had learned, when she found Quinto Lalliwaiting for her to take possession of their new home. 

"Well, bambina mia, --my baby, " for so the old man often called her, "what sort of folk have we come among? How do you like theappearance of the country?"

"Eh, papa mio, che volete? I have seen only a bit of it. It israther early to judge yet, " said Bianca. 

"Not too early for your quickness, bambina mia. Besides, you may besure you have seen most of what you are likely to see, and what itmost concerns you to see. The Cardinal Legate was not likely to comeout to meet you, I suppose; nor does it much matter to you to seehis Eminence. "

"Well, what I have seen, I like. As for the theatre, that MarcheseLamberto, whom you saw, knows what singing is as well as you do. Ishall please him on the stage; and, if so, as I see very well, Ishall please all the rest of Ravenna. But--"

"But what? There is always a `but. ' What is it this time?" said theold man. 

"As if you did not know as well as I!" said Bianca, with a littletoss. "Is what I can do on the theatre of Ravenna the thing that ismost in my thoughts?"

"'Twas you who mentioned it first, " said Quinto. "I spoke of itmerely with reference to that man, the Marchese Lamberto diCastelmare. He is one of the first, if not the very first, man inthe city; and everybody is cap in hand before him. Evidently a richman. "

"And he is a musician, you say?" rejoined Quinto. 

"Fanatico! But what matters that; except, indeed, as a stepping-stone? What has music done for me? The Marchese Lamberto is abachelor, Quinto. "

"Ha! what, the old man?" said Quinto, looking sharply at her. 

"Yes, the old man, as you call him. Not so old but he might be yourson, friend Quinto. But there is the young man, the MarcheseLudovico, whom you also saw, when they met us on the road. He is thenephew and heir to the other--a bachelor too--and as pretty a fellowas one would wish to see into the bargain; a charming fellow. "

"So was the Duca di Lodi at Milan, " said the old man, quietly; "avery charming fellow--charming and charmed into the bargain. But--"

"Yes! I don't need to ask the meaning of your `but. ' We know allabout that; but what is the good of going back upon it?" saidBianca, throwing herself at full length upon a sofa, and tossing herhat on to the ground, with some little display of ill-temper, as shespoke. 

"Only for the sake of the light past mistakes may throw on futurehopes, " replied Quinto, with philosophic calmness. 

"Bah-mistakes--what mistake? There was no mistake, but for thatinfamous old wretch of a governor, " said Bianca, with an expressionwhich the individual referred to would hardly have recognized asbeautiful, if he could have seen it. 

"Yes! I know. May the devil give him his due! But, bambina mia, there are wretches of governors here too, it is to be feared, noless infamous. "

"What do you mean? What did we come here then for?" cried Bianca, rearing herself on her elbow on the sofa, and looking at her oldfriend with wide-opened eyes of angry surprise. 

"In the first place, cara mia, because it was necessary to gosomewhere; and, in the second place, because I should be very muchat a loss to name any place where the governors are not infamouswretches, every whit as bad as at Milan. 'Tis the way of them, mypoor child. But you see, Bianca dear, to return to what we weresaying, there was a little mistake at Milan. The Duca di Lodi didnot go off into the country, and leave you plantee la, to pleasehimself. "

"Who ever thought he did? No, poor fellow, he was right enough. Butwhat was the mistake, I want to know?"

"You could bring no influence to bear, except upon himself, youknow. "

"Of course not. How should I? E poi?"

"And he could not do as he pleased, " said Quinto, with a slightshrug of his shoulders. "That was the mistake, cara mia, toendeavour to bring about an object, by influencing some one who hadno power to act for themselves in the matter. "

"A very pleasant Job's comforter you are to-night, Quinto. I don'tknow what you are driving at?" said Bianca, staring at him. 

"Only this, my precious child. I was set thinking of the mistake atMilan by what you said of these two men, the uncle and nephew. Hasit not come into your clever head, mia bella, that we might findhere the means of avoiding a repetition of that error?"

"Ah--h! Now I see what you are at. The uncle--hum--m--m, " saidBianca, meditatively; and then shaking her head with closely shutlips. 

"And why not the uncle, bambina mia? I am sure the few words youhave said about him are sufficient to point out that an alliancewith the Marchese di Castelmare would be an advantageous one for anylady in the land, " said old Quinto, with a demure air, thatconcealed under it just the least flavour in the world of quietirony. 

"I won't deny, papa mio, that, being humble as becomes my station, "replied Bianca, in the same tone, "I should be perfectly contentedwith the style and title of Marchesa di Castelmare. But what reasonhave we for thinking that there would be any less difficulty inbecoming such than in becoming Duchessa di Lodi? That, betweenourselves, is the question. "

"And what difficulty lay in the way of becoming Duchessa di Lodi?Certainly none that arose from the Signor Duca. Governors andfathers, and uncles and aunts, and police commissaries, and thedevil knows what, all interfered to keep two young hearts asunder, and spoil the game. And why did they interfere?--the devil have themall in his keeping! Because all the world agrees to believe thatsuch springalds as the Duca di Lodi can't take care of themselves. Because it is considered that the titles and acres of such, if nottheir persons, should be protected against--against the impulses oftheir warm hearts, shall we say? Now, do you think that the worldwould consider any such protection necessary in the case of theMarchese Lamberto? Would any governors, or fathers, or uncles, oraunts, or commissaries, interfere to prevent him from doing as hepleased in such a matter?"

"No, I suppose not!" replied Bianca, thoughtfully; "but if no fatheror uncle did, a nephew might. It is always the way; people get outof the leading-strings put on them by their elders, only to beentangled in others wound round them by their sons and daughters andnephews and nieces! The poor old man is beguiled. We must preventhim from making such a fool of himself! And the interference is allthe worse. And the more fatal, because the poor old man would notonly make a fool of himself, but beggars of his protectors. "

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed old Quinto Lalli with a quiet, almostnoiseless laugh; "it is very well and shrewdly said, bambina mia. But between the two times of interference, my Bianca, there is ahappy medium; an intervening space, a high table-land, we may say, after the dominion of fathers and uncles has been escaped from, andbefore that of sons and nephews begins--a short time, during which aman may and can please himself. Now, it seems to me, that yourMarchese--pardon me for the anticipation, it is a mere figure ofspeech, your Marchese di Castelmare, I say, seems to me to be justin that happy position!"

"I don't know that, I have not seen enough to be sure about thatyet. That young fellow, the Marchese Ludovico, does not look to me alikely sort of man to stand by quietly and see himself cut out ofhouses and lands! And besides, --it strikes me--"

"Speak out your thought, bambina mia; I am sure it is one worthhearing. And between us, you know--"

"Well, between ourselves then, " continued Bianca; while a smile, half of mockery and half of pleasure, writhed her lips into changingoutlines, each more bewitchingly pretty than the other, and her eyeswere turned away from Quinto to a contemplation of the slenderdainty foot peeping out from beneath her dress, as she lay on thesofa; "between ourselves, papa mio, from one or two smallobservations, which I chanced to make to-day, it strikes me that theMarchese Ludovico might possibly feel other additional objections tothe establishment of any such relations, as you are contemplatingbetween me and his uncle, besides the likelihood that they might bethe means of cutting him out of his heirship. "

"Ha, I see, I see; nothing more likely! Per Dio, bambina mia, youlose no time! Brava la Bianca! And perhaps I may conclude, from oneor two small observations that I have been able to make myself, youwould prefer to win on the nephew! Eh, cara mia" said the old man, looking at her with a sly smile. 

"Pshaw!" cried Bianca, with a toss of her auburn ringlets, and ashrug of her beautiful shoulders; "I must do my duty in that stateof life to which it has pleased God to call me, --as the nuns at St. Agata taught me. But between uncles and nephews, I suppose any girlwould say, nephews for choice!"

"But you see, my child, the devil of it is that it would be theMilan story over again. You would have all the family to fightagainst. A Cardinal Legate can be quite as despotic, anddisagreeable, and tyrannical as an Austrian governor. You may bevery sure that these people have some marriage in view for thisyoung Marchese, the hope of the family! We know that the MarcheseLamberto is hand and glove with the Cardinal. And there would be anexit from Ravenna after the same fashion as our last!"

"I know for certain already, that there is a marriage arrangedbetween the young Marchese and no less a personage than the niece ofthe Cardinal Legate himself, " said Bianca. 

"Well then; that is not very promising ground to build on, is it, bambina mia!" replied Quinto. 

"It may be, that as far as the man himself is concerned, the matchthat has been made for him would be rather the reverse of adifficulty in the way, " rejoined Bianca. 

"But the difficulty will not come from the man himself, cara mia! Itwould be doing you wrong to suppose that to be at all likely. Idon't suppose it; but--do you imagine that the Cardinal Legate willpermit you to snatch his niece's proposed husband from out of hermouth! It would be a worse job than the other, " said Quinto, shakinghis head emphatically. 

"So that you are all for the uncle, papa mio?" rejoined Bianca;yawning, as if she were tired of discussing the subject. 

"Well, I confess it seems to my poor judgment the better scheme, andindeed a very promising scheme. Depend upon it, my child, an oldman, who is his own master, is the better and safer game, " repliedQuinto. 

"Very well! Have at the old man then, as you call him; though, as Ihave told you, Quinto, he is not an old man--not over forty-five Ishould say; at all events the right side of fifty, I'd wageranything! But I tell you fairly, that a less promising subject Inever saw. A man, who has lived till that age a bachelor, though thehead of his family, --and a bachelor of the out-and-out moral andrespectable sort, mind you, --the great friend of the Cardinal;trustee to nunneries, and all that sort of thing!--a man who looksat you and speaks to you as if he was a master of ceremoniespresenting a Duchess to a Queen, --a man, I should say, who had nevercared for a woman in his life, and was very unlikely to begin to doso now, " said Bianca, yawning again as she finished speaking. 

"Bambina mia, " replied Quinto, "you are a very clever child, and youknow a great many things. But you have not yet sufficiently studiedthe elderly gentleman department of human nature. If the MarcheseLamberto is as you describe him, it may be, it is true, that he isone of those men for whom female beauty has no charm, and on whomany kind of attack would be thrown away and mere lost labour. But itis far more likely that the exact reverse may be found to be thecase! A thousand circumstances of his social position, or even ofhis temper and turn of mind, may have kept him a bachelor, --may havekept him out of the way of women altogether. He may be foundcautious, haughty, backward to woo, requiring to be wooed, in lovewith the respectabilities of his social standing; but depend uponit, bambina mia, if you can once awaken the dormant passion of sucha man, you may produce effects wholly irresistible, --you may doanything with him! His love would be like a frozen torrent when thethaw comes! It would dash aside every opposition that could beoffered it. The calculated and calculating tentatives, andcoquettings and nibblings of your practised lovers, who have been inlove a dozen times, would be as a trickling rill to an ocean wave, compared to what might be expected from the passion of a heart firststrongly moved at the time of life the Marchese has reached. Fascinate such a man as that, and in such a position, bambina mia, and all the governors, and all the Cardinals that ever mumbled amass, won't avail to prevent him from being your own!"

"Well, I suppose you are right, Quinto. And I suppose that that iswhat it must be!--But--well! it is time to be going to bed, Isuppose; I am tired and sleepy!" said Bianca, rousing herself aftera pause from a reverie into which she seemed to have fallen, andyawning as she got up from the sofa. 

CHAPTER III

"Armed at All Points"

The quartiere which La Lalli found prepared at Ravenna for her andher travelling companion was a very eligible one. It consisted of avery nicely-furnished sitting-room, with a bed-room opening off onone side for herself, and another similarly situated on the otherside for her father. There was also, behind, one little closet for aservant to sleep in, and another, still smaller, intended to serveas a kitchen. 

On the morning following the conversation related in the lastchapter Bianca, hearing Quinto coming out of his bed-room into thesitting-room about nine o'clock, called out to him from her bed:

"Oh, papa! I forgot to tell you last night that the Marchese andSignor Stadione are to be here at one o'clock to-day to hear me, andsettle about the night of the 6th, you know. "

"All right, bambina mia! I will be back in time. I'm going to thecafe to get some breakfast, " called out Quinto through the door. 

"Yes. But, papa, be here at one o'clock, and do not come back beforethat. E inteso? And send me a cup of chocolate from the cafe. "

"Inteso! I'll be here at one, and not before, " said the old manthrough the door, with special emphasis on the last words. 

Then Bianca called her maid, told her to bring the chocolate to heras soon as it came from the cafe, and then to come and dress her atten. Whether the intervening time was spent in sleep or meditationmay be doubted; but, at all events, when the hour for action cameBianca was ready for it. 

By means of the skilled and practised assistance of Gigia Daddi, themaid who had been with her ever since the first beginning of herstage career, the Diva had completed her toilette by half-pasteleven. But she had had, to a certain degree, a double toilette toperform. All the component parts of a rich and very becomingmorning-costume had been selected and assorted with due care, andminute attention to the effect each portion of it was calculated toproduce in combination with the rest; and then they had been not puton, but laid out in order on the bed. The more immediate purpose ofthe Diva was to array herself differently--differently, but by nomeans with a less careful and well-considered attention to theresult which was intended to be produced. 

The magnificent hair was brushed till it gleamed like burnished goldas the sun-rays played upon it. But when ready to be coiled in theartistic masses, which Gigia knew well how to arrange, variously, according to the style and nature of the effect designed to beproduced, it was left uncoiled, streaming in great ripples over backand shoulders in its profuse abundance. An exquisite little pair ofboots, of black satin, clasping ankle and instep like a glove, werechosen to match the black satin dress laid out on the bed: but, likethe dress, were not put on. The place of the black satin dress wassupplied by a wrapper of very fine white muslin, edged with delicatelace, so shaped with consummate skill that, though the snowy foldsseemed to lie loosely within the girdle that confined them at thewaist, no part of the effect of the round elastic slimness of thewaist was lost; open at the neck, from a point about a span beneaththe collar-bone, it allowed the whole of the noble white column ofthe grandly-formed throat to be visible from its base above thebosom to the opening out of the exquisite lines about the nape ofthe neck into the tapering swelling of the classically-shaped head. The exact arrangement of the shape of this opening of the dress, from the throat down to about a hand's-breadth above the girdle, wasvery carefully attended to; the lace-edged folds of the muslin beingthree or four times drawn a little more forward so as to conceal, ora little back so as to show, a more liberal glimpse of the swellingbosom on either side, by the doubting Diva, as she stood before theglass. 

"E troppo, cosi. " she said to her attendant at last. "Is that toomuch so?"

Gigia looked critically before she answered, "To receive, yes, --alittle, perhaps. But to be caught unawares, no; and then with ahandkerchief, you know--"

"Oh, yes! One knows the exercise, " said Bianca, with a laugh; "blushand call attention to it by covering it with one's handkerchief, which falls down as often as one chooses to repeat the manoeuvre. Achi lo dite?"

"Style?" said Gigia. 

"Sentimental, --eyes soft and dreamy; therefore the very faintestblush of rouge. Yes; not a shade more. "

"You won't put your bottines on?"

"No; there'll be time afterwards. Give me a pair of bronze kidslippers. After all, there is nothing that shows a foot so well: andlook here, Gigia, draw this stocking a little better; I'd almost assoon have a wrinkle in my face as in the silk on my instep. That'sbetter! The narrow black velvet with the jet cross for my neck, nothing else. Now, you understand? Anybody who comes after oneo'clock may be admitted; before that you will let in no soul savethe Marchese Lamberto, in case he should come. I don't at all knowthat he will. And, Gigia, " continued her mistress, as she passedinto the sitting-room, "draw this sofa over to the other side of thefireplace, so as to face the window; ten years hence, when you haveto place a sofa for me, you may put it just contrariwise--so, withthe head at the side of the fireplace, and push the table a littlefurther back so as to leave room for the easy-chair there to standnear the foot of the sofa facing the fire. That will do. Now, besure of your man before you let him in. The Marchese Lamberto, mind, an elderly gentleman--not the Marchese Ludovico, who is a young man. If he or anybody else should come before one o'clock tell them thatI can see nobody till that time. Now, don't bring me the wrong man;and, Gigia, if he comes, don't announce him, you know. Just open thedoor quietly, and let him walk into the room without disturbing me--you understand?"

"A chi lo dite, Signora mia! Lasciate fare a me! Is it the firsttime?" said Gigia. 

"If only one could hope that it would be the last, " returned hermistress with a half laugh, half sigh. 

By the time all these arrangements were made it was nearly twelveo'clock; and Bianca, dismissing her maid, placed herself, notwithout some care in the arrangement of her delicate draperies, onthe sofa. 

The judicious Gigia had said that the extent of snowy bosom exposedwas not too liberal, due consideration being had to the circumstancethat the Diva was to be caught by an unexpected surprise in anundress. So, as Bianca meant to be very much surprised, shecarefully, and with dainty fingers, drew back the muslin on eitherside just a thought, so as to permit to an exploring eye merely sucha suggestive peep of the swelling curves on either side as mightfurnish an estimate of the outline of the veiled heights beyond. Shesmiled, half with pleased consciousness and half with self-mockery, as she did so: then carefully arranged her drapery so as to allowtwo slim ankles to be visible just at the point where they crossedeach other in a position which exhibited the curved instep of oneslender foot in a full front view, and the side of the othernegligently thrown across it. The pose was artistically perfect. Lastly, with one or two dexterous touches and shakes, she soarranged her wealth of hair as to combine an appearance of the mostperfect negligee with a thoroughly artistic disposition of it, which, while it displayed to the best advantage the tressesthemselves, served also to heighten the effect of the contours ofneck and bust, which they partly showed and partly concealed. 

And then the Diva waited patiently. 

She had, as she had said to Gigia, no certain knowledge that hewould come, nor even any very clear reason to believe that he woulddo so--that he would come, that is to say, earlier than one o'clock, at which hour it had been arranged that he should meet Stadionethere. Nevertheless, Bianca had a strong persuasion that he wouldcome earlier. Despite what she had said to Quinto Lalli of thecircumstances and signs which seemed to indicate that the Marchesewas not a man likely to be exposed to danger from such attacks asthe Diva meditated making on him, --despite the fact that she hadsaid to herself also all that she had said to her old friend, therehad been something about the Marchese's manner--something in thatlast pressure of palm to palm that had set Bianca speculating as tothe meaning of it. It was not a mere manifestation of admiration;the Diva was used enough to that in all its forms, and could readevery tone of its language. It was more like wonder and curiosity, --at all events, it was not indifference. She had seen with half aneye, and without the slightest appearance of seeing it, that theMarchese could not keep his eyes away from her. During the drive tothe city, and afterwards at the Palazzo Castelmare, while she wasmaking the acquaintance of the principal people of the city, it hadbeen the same thing. And nothing could be further than was theMarchese's manner, from the bold, unabashed staring, which suchbeautiful Divas as Bianca have often to endure. He evidently wasdevouring her with his eyes on the sly. Evidently he did not wish tobe observed looking at her as he did look. Whenever her own eyescaught him in the fact, his were on the instant withdrawn: toreturn, as Bianca well marked, on the next instant. 

Then, after those first words, which he had addressed to her attheir meeting in the road, she had noted that he did not speak toher, as she sat by his side in the carriage, with the simple easeand freedom of indifference. There was almost something approachingto a manifestation of emotion in his manner of addressing her. Itcould not be that this elderly gentleman, --this very matureMarchese, had fallen in love with her already. Such an idea wouldhave been too absurd! Yet his whole bearing was odd and ill at ease. 

It had seemed to himself as if some subtle material influenceaffected him, as he sat by her side, --as if a magnetic emanationcame forth from her that mounted to his brain, and disordered hispulses, and the flow of his blood. He had sat by the side of womenas beautiful before now, and never been conscious of being affectedin any similar manner. What it was that produced such an effect uponhis nervous system, --what was the matter with him, he could not forthe life of him imagine. It was unpleasant; he did not like it atall. And yet some irresistible stimulus and curiosity drove him toprolong rather than to avoid the sorcery. 

Bianca was by no means fully aware of the power and of the strengthof the sorcery which she was exercising on the Marchese. But sheunderstood a great deal more about it than he did. And when, inmaking the appointment for him and the impresario to call on her atone o'clock, he had asked her if that was too early for her habits, and she had replied, that she was always afoot much earlier thanthat, Bianca had felt persuaded that he would be at the door at anearlier hour. 

And her experience, or her instinct, with reference to such mattershad not deceived her. 

The quarter-past twelve had not struck, when the Diva heard a knockat the door of her apartment. 

CHAPTER IV

Throwing the Line

In the next instant Bianca heard the door of the room in which shewas sitting opened very gently; it was Gigia who opened it, sogently as to enable her mistress to keep her eyes on a book she heldin her hand, apparently unconscious that she was not alone. TheMarchese Lamberto advanced two paces within the room, and thenstopped gazing at the exquisite picture before his eyes. Bianca knewthat all her preparatory cares were doing the work they wereintended to do. But no sound had yet been made to compel her torecognize her visitor's presence; and she remained as motionless asa recumbent statue. 

"I fear, Signora--, " said the Marchese, after a few instants givento profiting by the rare opportunity a singular chance had givenhim, --"I fear, Signora--

"Santa Maria, who is there!" cried Bianca in a voice of alarm, starting to her feet as she spoke with a bound, that none but soskilled an artist and so perfect a figure could have executed withthe faultless elegance with which she accomplished it. 

"A thousand pardons, Signora; your servant--"

"The Marchese Lamberto! It is unpardonable in the woman--to have sofailed in her duty-towards your Excellency! It is I who have to begyour indulgence, Signor Marchese. Can it be one o'clock already? Intruth I had no idea it was so late; and I have still to dress! Howcan I apologize to your Excellency sufficiently for appearing beforeyou in this dishabille?"

"Nay, Signora, it is in truth I who have to apologize; it is not yetone o'clock, it is not much past twelve! And I feel that I am guiltyof an unwarrantable intrusion. But I hoped for the opportunity ofhaving a few words of conversation before the hour named for ourlittle business with our good Signor Ercole. Permit me to assureyou, Signora, that if your servant had given me the least hint thatyou were not yet--ready to see any visitor--"

"If only your Excellency will excuse--the fact is, I have so rarelyany visitors that the poor woman does not understand her duty insuch matters. Really I am so covered with confusion, "--shecontinued, putting up her delicate little hand with a feeble sort oflittle attempt to draw her dress a little more together across herthroat. "I cannot forgive her! She has exposed me to seem wanting inrespect towards your Excellency; I will dismiss her from myservice!"

"Let me intercede for her, poor woman!" said the Marchese, advancinginto the room; "indeed it was mainly my fault, I ought to have askedif you were visible. "

"One word from la sua Signoria is enough. If you can forgive me, Imust forgive her! But you will own, Signor Marchese, that it is--what shall I say--?" She hesitated and cast her eyes down with abewitching smile and a little movement of her bead to one side, "that it really is--embarrassing! Such a thing never happened to mebefore!"

"But now it has happened, Signora, " said the Marchese, emboldened bythe smile, and by a shy sidelong glance, which she shot from underher eye-lashes with a laugh in her eyes, as she spoke; "now it hashappened that I have been permitted to see you in a toilet all themore exquisitely charming in that it wants the formality of thecostume in which the world is wont to see you, --may I not say what Icame for the purpose of saying?"

"Will you be very discreet, Signor?" she said, putting a slenderrosy finger up to her smiling lips; "and never, never let it beknown to any human being, that I ever received you save in thefullest of full dress, as would become me in receiving the honour ofa visit from your Excellency!"

"Not a syllable, not a whisper!" replied the Marchese, taking hertone, and putting his own finger on his lips. "And then, I may say, Signora, that in Ravenna a visit at any hour from old Lamberto diCastelmare would do your fair name no harm!" he added, taking thearm-chair by the side of the sofa to which she pointed, as sheresumed her former place and attitude on the couch. 

"I dare say it might not, if I am to judge of his position in thesociety from your own, Signor Marchese. But I did not know, thatthere was any old Signor Lamberto di Castelmare. I supposed you werethe head of the family, your uncle, perhaps?" said Bianca, veryinnocently. 

"I have no uncle, Signora! I am the oldest Castelmare extant, " saidthe Marchese. 

"And you call yourself old Lamberto, Marchese! Why I would wager mypearl necklace, --and that is the most valuable possession I have--against a daisy chain, that you are not ten years older than I am. Ishall be called old Bianca Lalli next, at that rate!"

"And how many years, since you are ready to wager on it, --have goneto the bringing the face and form I see before me to their matchlessperfection?" said the Marchese. 

"Who was ever before so prettily asked how old she was?" saidBianca, suffering her large blue eyes to rest fully on theMarchese's face for an instant, and then dropping them with an airof conscious embarrassment. "Well, a frank question deserves--or atleast shall have--a frank answer! I shall never see my twenty-fourthbirthday again?"

"And you judge me then to be thirty-four!" said the Marchese, looking at her laughingly. 

"Certainly I don't think any room full of strangers would judge youto be more than that, " replied Bianca, looking at him seriously. 

"Ta!--ta!--ta! Add fifteen years to that; and you will be nearer themark. So you see, bella Signora, that you may safely trust yourselfto a tete-a-tete with me under any circumstances. "

"Ta!--ta!--ta!" said Bianca, repeating his own phrase, with a merrylaugh in her eyes, and shaking her rich auburn curls at him. "Itseems impossible, utterly incredible! But I am very glad if it isso, --very glad. There is nothing so intolerable to me as the younglads who come buzzing about one circumstanced as I am, and whom itis as difficult to drive away as it is to drive away flies insummer. There is no trusting to them; they would compromise a poorgirl as soon as look at her, if she was fool enough to let them. AndI have had lessons in the necessity of caution, Signor Marchese. Ihave been cruelly treated, --very cruelly calumniated!" And Bianca, knowing, it is to be supposed, that, if it is not always the casethat "Beauty's tear is lovelier than her smile, " as the poet says, yet that it is a phase of beauty often more potent over a male heartthan the sunniest smile, raised a corner of her daintily-embroideredhandkerchief to her eyes. 

The Marchese was an old man of the world, --as the cynical phrasegoes, --and of what a world?--an old Italian Marchese of thebeginning of the nineteenth century, --a period when, if crime wasless rife than in former and stronger ages, morality was never at alower ebb. He was a man whose musical tastes had made him conversantwith the Divas of the stage, and familiar with the interior aspectsof Italian theatrical life;--one, too, whom circumstances had causedto become specially well acquainted with the antecedent history ofthis particular Diva now stretched on the sofa before him. Yet nonethe less for all this did "beauty's tear, " enhanced by beauty'slaced pocket-handkerchief, exercise on him its usual glamour. 

Calumniated!--that lovely creature of matchless purity before him, --matchless purity! so white was her throat; so round and slender herwaist; so daintily snowy her muslin drapery. Calumny! Of course itwas calumny. And how he could have poignarded the calumniators, andtaken the poor, fluttering, persecuted Diva to his bosom. The desireto execute that latter portion of retributive and poetical justicewas making itself felt stronger and stronger within him everyminute, as he sat beside the sofa exposed to the full force of themagnetic poison-current which was intoxicating him. 

"Signora--" he said, putting his hand out to take hers, which shereadily gave him. His own hand shook, and he paused in his speech, overcome for a moment by a sort of dizziness and a sudden rush ofthe blood to his brow and eyes, --a veritable electric shock causedby the contact of her hand with his. 

"Signora, " he continued, recovering himself, "no such slander--nosuch insults will follow you here; none such shall follow you here. Lamberto di Castelmare can, at least in Ravenna, promise you thatmuch. Nor if they did follow you, would such stories here bebelieved"

"Generous! Just!" murmured Bianca behind the laced pocket-handkerchief in a broken voice, just loud enough to reach theneighbouring ear of the Marchese, while she suffered her slenderfingers to press the hand which held hers just perceptibly beforewithdrawing it from him;--"just, " she continued in a louder tone, taking her handkerchief from her face, and raising her shoulders alittle from the sofa, so as to turn more fully towards him, whileher eyes fired point blank into his a broadside of uncontrollablegratitude and admiration;--"just, because generous and noble. Oh, Signor Marchese, those who have never known what it is to sufferfrom a slanderous tongue can never know the delight--the sweetconsolation of meeting with such generous appreciation. "

The poor Diva was quite overcome by her own emotion; and, sinkingback on the cushions of the sofa, again lifted her handkerchief toher face, while one or two half-stifled sobs showed how deeply shehad been moved;--and how perfect was the form and hue of thebeautiful half-covered bosom which this emotion caused to heavebeneath its gauzy veil. 

Just at that minute there came, to the infinite disgust of theMarchese, a discreet tap at the door. 

Bianca rapidly passed her fingers over the tresses above herforehead, resettled her pose on the sofa, and gave the Marchese ameaning look of common intelligence and mutual confidence, which setforth, as well as a volume could have done, and established the factthat there existed thenceforward a bond of union and a fellowshipbetween her and him, such as shut them in together, and shut out inthe cold all the rest of Ravenna, and then said "Passi, " andadmitted, as she knew very well, no more startling an interrupterthan Gigia. 

The well-trained servant said nothing and looked at nothing; butsilently handed to her mistress two cards. 

"Of course you told these gentlemen that I was not visible, Gigia?"

"Diamine! Signora; of course I should not have let any gentlemanpass this morning more than any other morning of the year if you hadnot specially told me to admit the Marchese Lamberto at any hour hemight come, " said Gigia with a niaise simplicity, as she left theroom. 

Bianca covered her face with her pretty hands and shook a gale ofperfume from her sunny locks, as she exclaimed, sotto voce, --

"Oh, the stupidity of these servants! Signor Marchese, " shecontinued, looking up shyly, but with a gay laugh in her eyes, "whatmust you not imagine?--not, at all events, I hope, that Icontemplated the possibility of receiving you in this dishabille?But I will do as other criminals do;--confess when they are foundout. I did think, " she continued, casting down her eyes, andhesitating with the most charmingly becoming and naive confusion; "Ihad some little hope--no; I don't mean that;--I did not mean to putthat into my confession;--it did occur to me as possible, " she wenton, hanging her pretty head, and playing nervously with the folds ofher dress in a manner which had the accidental effect of causing itto leave uncovered an additional inch of silk stocking--"it didoccur to me as possible that the Marchese Lamberto might come to mesooner than the time named for the meeting with the impresario;--forthe sake of giving me any hints that his perfect knowledge of thesubject might suggest; and I fully intended to be dressed and readyto receive him if be should show me any such condescending kindness--and so told my maid to make an exception in his case to myinvariable rule! And then the minutes slipped away; and I fell intoa reverie, thinking--thinking--thinking; and then, all of a sudden, before I knew that there was any one in the room--if you think ofthe devil--and I suppose it is equally true if you think of anangel;--but there, again, that was not intended to be any part of myconfession. I think I shall give up confession, at all events toyou, Signor Marchese, for the future. But now I have confessedmyself this time, and told the whole, whole truth--may I hope forabsolution?"

There was an adorable mixture of candour, and gaiety of heart, andchild-like simplicity in the beautiful features as she looked upinto his face when she finished speaking, together with anexpression of appealing confidence and almost tenderness in the eyesthat achieved the final and complete subjugation of the Marchese. 

Again he took her hand, and again his head swam round with theviolence of the emotion caused by the contact of palm with palm, ashe said, "Ah, Signora, if I were equally candid perhaps it would turn outthat it was for me to confess, and for you to grant absolution--ifyou could. Do you think you could?" he said, raising her hand to hislips as he said the words. 

"Ha! Signor Marchese, that would quite depend upon the nature of theconfession. When I have heard it I will do my best to be anindulgent confessor. But, however curious I may be to hear you inthe confessional, it must not be now; or I shall really not be readyto receive Signor Stadione. Heavens! It wants only ten minutes toone now. I must run and dress as quickly as I possibly can. To thinkthat almost an hour should have run away since you came here; and itseems like ten minutes. May I beg your indulgence, Signor Marchese, if I ask you to wait for me while I dress? I will be as quick as Ipossibly can. "

"On no account hurry yourself, Signora. It is my fault for havingdetained you. And if I had to wait ten hours instead of one, wouldnot the one I have passed be cheaply purchased? Never mind Stadione;I will explain to him that you are dressing--"

"And that you have been made to wait some time already by myabominable unpunctuality, " said Bianca, holding up one fore-fingerand giving him a look of mutual intelligence. 

"Of course--of course. A chi lo dite!" returned the Marchese, givingher once more his hand to help her to rise from the sofa. 

As she did so she put into his hand, without any word of comment, but with a slight smile and a little momentary raising of hereyebrows, the two cards that Gigia had, a little while before, handed to her. They bore the names of the Barone Manutoli and theMarchese Ludovico Castelmare; and Bianca handed them to the Marchesewith a matter-of-course air that seemed to say that, in the positionwhich the Marchese Lamberto and she had assumed towards each other, it was natural and proper that he should see who had called on her. 

He merely nodded as he looked at them; and then, for the secondtime, kissing the tips of the fingers he still held, as she got upfrom her couch, he bowed low as she passed him to go towards thebedroom; and she, before quitting the room, made a sweeping curtsey, half playfully, and then kissed the tops of her fingers to him asshe vanished into the inner room. 

CHAPTER V

After-thoughts

The Marchese Lamberto and Signor Ercole Stadione quitted the housein which the prima donna had her lodging, together, when thebusiness matters, which they had come thither to arrange, had beensettled. 

"A wonderful woman, Signor Marchese, " said the little impresario, trotting along with short steps by the side of the Marchese, andrising on his toes in a springy manner, that made his walk resemblethat of a cock-sparrow. "Truly a wonderful woman. I have seen andknown a many in my day, Signor Marchese, as you are well aware, sir;but such an one as that, such an out-and-outer, I never saw before. "

"She is evidently a lady, whose education and manners entitle her tobe treated with all respect, " replied the Marchese, more drily, thelittle man thought, than his great patron was usually in the habitof addressing him, and somewhat quickening his stride at the sametime, as if he wanted to walk away from the impresario. 

"Most undoubtedly, Signor Marchese, and every sort of respectfultreatment she shall have. There shall be a stove and a new looking-glass put into her dressing-room this very day. If she don't draw, say Ercole Stadione knows nothing about it. A very singular thing itis, Signor Marchese, --and you must have observed it, Signor, as wellas I, --there's some women whose singing, let 'em sing as well asthey will, is the smallest part of their value in filling a theatre. There's no saying what it is, but they draw--Lord bless you, as abit of salt will draw the cattle after it! And this Lalli is one ofthat sort. I know 'em, when I see 'em. Won't she draw, that's all!"said the little man again, rubbing his hands together, and chucklingwith infinite glee. 

The Marchese Lamberto would have been at a loss probably if he hadbeen required to state clearly why he felt angry and annoyed withthe impresario that morning, and thought him a bore, and wished tobe quit of him. But such was the case. And presently, when the well-skilled and business-like little man began to canvass thecapabilities of certain parts in his repertorio, for the mostadvantageous showing off of the personal advantages of the newacquisition, the Marchese could stand it no longer, but repliedhastily:

"Well, well. All these matters had better be submitted to the ladyherself. I think, Signor Ercole, that I will say good-morning now. You are going to the theatre, and I am waited for at the palazzo. "

And the Marchese did return to the palazzo, though nobody wasspecially waiting for him there. On the contrary, he told theservant in the hall to admit nobody, and when he reached hislibrary, he shut the door and bolted it. And then he threw himselfinto an easy chair to think. 

The first thing that his thinking made clear and certain to him wasthat something had happened, or was happening to him, which hadnever happened to him before, --something respecting the exact natureof which all his previous experience afforded him no light. 

In love! He had never been in love; but he knew, with some tolerableaccuracy, what was generally understood by the phrase. He had readthe poets, who describe the passion under sufficiently variousphases; and he had heard plenty of lovers' talk among a people whoare not wont to suffer, or to exult, or to be happy in silence. Washe in love with this woman? Did he, in his heart, love her--in hisheart, as he was there in the solitude of his own room, at libertyand at leisure to examine his heart upon the subject. A heavy frownsettled on the Marchese Lamberto's brow, and an unpleasant changecame over his face, as he proceeded with the task of asking hisheart this question. There rose up feelings and promptings withinhim, which almost drove him to the fierce assertion to himself thathe hated this woman, who was thus occupying his thoughts against hiswill. 

What had become of all that warm chivalry of feeling that had urgedhim, with all perfect earnestness of sincerity, to declare that nobreath of calumny or insult should come near her, beneath the aegisthat he could and would throw over her? Where was it gone? All cleangone. He knew, with tolerable accuracy, the story of the former lifeof this woman. They were facts which he knew, --certainly knew. Butthey had all vanished from his mind, --had been as though they werenot, --while he had sat there by her sofa, looking at her andlistening to her, --had all vanished, even as the ardent chivalry, which had then been caused by some sorcery to spring up in his mind, had vanished now. 

It was passing strange. 

That he was very sorely tempted--as he had never before in his lifebeen, tempted--to make love to this actress, --as it is called, --tomake love to her after the fashion, not so much of those poeticaldescriptions which have been referred to, as after the fashion ofthose prosaic settings-forth of the passion, which were familiarenough to his ears, was clearly recognizable by him. He knew verycertainly that he desired that. 

And was what he desired so much out of his reach? Surely all thathad happened, all that he had seen, all that he had heard at theinterview with Bianca that morning, was not calculated to lead himto think so. And why should it be? It would be all very muchaccording to the ordinary current of events in such matters. He wasa bachelor. He was wealthy. He was the most prominent noble of thecity. He was brought specially into contact with the lady by histheatrical connection and habitudes. His patronage and protectionwere by far the most valuable that could be offered to her inRavenna. The Diva herself was--such as Divas of her sort and timewere wont to be. It would seem to be all very easy and straight-forward. What was the worst penalty wont to follow from suchpeccadilloes to persons in his position? The loss of a littlemoney, --of a good deal of money perhaps. But he had plenty and tospare. 

But none of these considerations availed to smooth the frown fromthe Marchese's brow, or to make the future at all seem clear beforehim. 

In the first place to make this singer his mistress, simple andlittle objectionable as such a step might seem to most men of hiscountry, and rank, and period, and freedom from ties, was not aneasy matter, or an agreeable prospect to the Marchese, on purelysocial considerations. He had placed himself on a special pedestal, from which such a liaison would involve a fall. And such a fall, orthe danger of such a fall, was very dreadful to the Marchese. Therewas the Cardinal; there were the good nuns, whose affairs hemanaged, and who looked on him as a saint on earth. Worst of allthere was his nephew. How preach to him (terribly necessary as suchpreaching might be) under such circumstances?

To be sure, there was no need of doing whatever he might do in suchsort that the whole town should be his confidant. He had as goodopportunities for secrecy as could be desired. Theatrical businessand his recognized connection with it was an abundant andunsuspected excuse for as much conversation with the lady, --as manyinterviews as he might wish. It seemed safe enough upon the whole. 

And yet these considerations did not avail to take the frown fromthe Marchese's brow, or bring his perplexed self-examination to anend. The very evident disposition of the lady to be kind did notavail to please him. Instead of being pleased and triumphant at theprobable prospect of so enviable a bonne fortune, he was displeased, unhappy, irritated, angry--angry with himself and with the sorceresswho had thrown this spell on him. How was it? By what charm had shebewitched him so? Already he was impatient, longing to be back againin her presence. And yet he was angry with her, --doubted whether hedid not rather hate her than love her. 

At last he started from his chair and swore that he would retain themastery over his own self; that he would think no more of theabominable woman, --see her no more!

Taking his hat he rushed out of the house, with an instinctivedesire for bodily movement as a means of stilling the tossing feverthat was raging within him; walked through the streets at such anunusual pace, that the people turned round to look after him as hepassed; walked by the door of the house in the Via di Santa Eufemiain which Paolina lived, --saw Ludovico coming from it, who wassurprised indeed at thus seeing his uncle; and more surprised stillto find, that the Marchese passed him without seeming to noticehim, --walked out into the country, and returned only at supper-time, tired and worn out; and then, when the supper was over, and Ludovicohad gone out to the Circolo as usual, after pacing his room, andswearing to himself at every turn, that he would see the creature nomore, --slunk out of his own palazzo, feeling afraid of being seen byhis own servants, and wandered to her lodging!

And what were Bianca's meditations, when the business visit of theimpresario was over, and he and the Marchese left her room together?

First and foremost, the Marchese Lamberto was in love with her; andthat not as dozens of youngsters in many a city had been; but madly, desperately, in love with her. That fact admitted of no doubtwhatever! It was strange, curious enough, that she should havesucceeded so brilliantly, so entirely, and so immediately in spiteof all the signs and tokens which had led her not small experienceto expect so entirely different a result. Clearly the still largerexperience of old Quinto Lalli had been more far-sighted. His viewof the matter had been the true one!

But still, how far was his view of the question a correct one? Whatwas the success, which had been very unmistakably so far achieved, in reality worth? It was very plain that this Marchese Lamberto hadbeen caught, captivated, fascinated! But what then? There was nodoubt at all that he would very willingly suffer her to add him tothe list of her previous admirers and lovers. It never entered intothe Diva's head to conceive, after the very unmistakable testimonyshe had received of the evident admiration of the Marchese, thatvery grave difficulties, objections, and hesitations would, on hisside, stand in the way of his accepting any such position. Shedoubted not that this conquest was perfectly within her reach; andthat there would be no difficulty at all in drawing large suppliesfrom the Castelmare wealth towards recruiting the needs of the Lalliexchequer. 

But this, as has been explained, was not what Bianca wanted. "Majorrerum sibi nascitur ordo!" She was intent on playing a higher andgreater game. Was it likely she would be able so to fix the harpoonshe had successfully thrown in the very vitals of the prey, so tomake this man feel that she was absolutely essential to hishappiness, as to induce him to marry her? That was the question! AndBianca did not delude herself into imagining that anything that hadpassed between herself and the Marchese that morning entitled her toconsider the battle which should lead to that victory as even begun. 

The Diva did not conceal from herself the greatness and arduousnature of the task before her. She knew what a Marchese of matureage, of noble lineage, and of unblemished reputation, was; and sheknew what she was. But she did not appreciate those extradifficulties in the case, which arose from the special socialposition, and still more from the special character and temperamentof the man, --and these were the greatest difficulties of all!

On the whole, she was sanguine; and what was perhaps more to thepurpose, old Quinto, when they talked the matter over together, andthe general result of the morning interview had been reported tohim, was sanguine too. 

"Depend upon it, bambina mia, " he said, "it is the best game--thereal game. Young fry will rise to the bait more readily; but theyalso wriggle off the hook much more easily. It is the old fish who, when he has it once fixed in his gills, cannot get rid of it, struggle as he may. You play your game well, --neither relaxing, noryet too much in a hurry, and I prophesy that I shall live to see youMarchesa di Castelmare. "

"And many a year afterwards, I hope, papa mio. And you may depend onmy teaching my husband to behave like a good son-in-law, " saidBianca, with a bright laugh. 

"As for the nephew, " continued Quinto, "I can understand that itwould be more agreeable to make your attack on him--"

"I don't know that at all, papa mio, " interrupted Bianca. "You maylaugh, if you will, and think that I am making a virtue ofnecessity--and small blame to me if I were--but the truth is, I dolike the Marchese. I like him better, as far as I can yet tell, thanany man I ever knew. Yes! you may make grimaces, and look as wickedas you please! But it is true. And, if you ever do see me Marchesadi Castelmare, you will see that I shall make him a very good, ay, and a very fond, wife. "

"Who could doubt it, Signora, that has the advantage of knowing youas well as I do?" said the old man, with a mocking bow. 

"You may sneer as much as you like, Quinto; but you understandnothing about it. The Marchese is a man any woman might love. Youcall him an old man? I tell you he is younger for a man than I amfor a woman, God help me! It isn't only years that make people old. "

"That's true, bambina mia, poveretta. And I am sure I have nothingto say against it if you can fancy this Marchese a gay and handsomeyoung cavalier. "

"Handsome he is, as far as that goes. I swear he is the handsomestman I have seen here! His nephew is good-looking enough, but he isnot to be compared to his uncle either in face or person. "

"Well, whether you have succeeded or not in making the Marchese inlove with you, cara mia, I begin to think that you have succeededalready in falling in love with him, " said Quinto, looking at herwith raised eyebrows. 

Bianca remained silent awhile, nodding her head up and down in asort of reverie, and then said, rousing herself with a shake of herflowing curls as she looked up, "No; not quite that. But I won't saythat it is impossible that if I am to make him love me, I may cometo love him in the doing of it. You see, amico mio, it is somethingnew. It is not the old weary mill-round. He did not come to me withthe set purpose of making love to me, as all those young fellowshave done, and do, just because they have nothing else to amusethem; because it's the fashion; because it's a feather in theircaps; because it's the thing to have a prima donna for theirmistress! If the Marchese has fallen, or falls, in love with me, hedoes so because he cannot help himself, he does it in despite ofhimself; and that flatters a woman, Quinto. Well, we shall see, " sheadded, after another pause: "one thing, at all events. I swear thatthere shall be nothing between me and the Marchese--of--the oldsort. "

"It is wisely said, bambina mia. That is the road which must lead, if any can, to the winning of your game. "

CHAPTER VI

At the Circolo

There was, at all events, one man at Ravenna who was entirelypleased and satisfied with the famous prima donna in all respects:and this was Signor Ercole Stadione. 

The Carnival campaign of La Lalli had been thus far brilliantlysuccessful, and the Carnival was now about half over. She "drew, " asthe little impresario had prophesied she would, to his heart'scontent. It was many a year since there had been so successful aseason at the theatre. Each part she sang in was a more brilliantsuccess than the last; and the public enthusiasm was such asenthusiasm on such subjects never is save in Italy. 

In every respect, too, her ways and behaviour had beenunexceptional. Her attention was never distracted from her businessby the visits of young men behind the scenes--a torment which, during the reigns of other Divas, had often driven the poor littleimpresario, who dared not get rid of such intruders as he would haveliked to do, almost wild. Bianca would permit no visits of the kind. She had never behaved herself to any of the young men in such sortas to cause any of those rivalries and jealousies which aresometimes apt to manifest themselves in hostile partisanship, whenthe Diva is on the boards--another fruitful source of trouble tomuch-tried impresarios. 

She had walked circumspectly and prudently in all respects--a mostmoral and highly satisfactory Diva. 

She was understood to receive no visitors at home--at least, none ofa compromising kind. The Marchese Lamberto was often with her: ofcourse, naturally! He was well known to be always a sort of secondamateur manager: neither the theatre nor little Ercole Stadionecould go on without him. And then the Marchese Lamberto was--theMarchese Lamberto! If he had chosen to sit by the bedside of anyprima donna in Italy night after night, it would only have beensupposed that he was giving her possets for the improvement of hervoice. 

Occasionally, also, she would receive the visits of the MarcheseLudovico; evidently by reason of the unavoidable intimacy of hisuncle in the house. And Ludovico reported to them all at the Circolothat she was a most charming woman indeed--full of talent, merry asa young girl, companionable, and fond of society, but wholly devotedto her art, and quite inaccessible in the way of love-making. Heassured the jeunesse doree of Ravenna that they lost nothing in anysuch point of view by their exclusion from her intimacy, for thatall their enterprises in that line would be quite thrown away. 

The Conte Leandro Lombardoni, indeed, always carried about with himin his breast-pocket, a carefully preserved little letter on pinknotepaper, which he gave the world to understand was part of acorrespondence carried on between him (reconciled as he was to thebel sesso) and the Diva; and had more than once contrived to be seenhanging about the door of her house at hours when honest Divas, aswell as mortals, ought to be in bed and asleep. But nobody believedhim, or imagined that anything save a bad cold was at all likely toresult from his vigils beneath the cold stars. He showed, indeed, with many mysterious precautions against the remainder of the letterbeing seen, that the little pink sheet of notepaper did indeed bearthe signature of "Bianca Lalli. " But when one of the ingenuous youthpicked his pocket of it, it was found to be a very coldly courteousacknowledgment of a copy of verses, which the Diva promised to readas soon as her avocations would permit her to do so!

"Any way, " said the discomfited poet, "that is more than any of youothers have got. And it's not so small a matter, when you come tothink of it!"

"Per Bacco, no! Leandro is in the right of it!" said the young ConteBeppo Farini; "a small matter to find somebody who promises even toread his verses! I should think not, indeed! Where will you findanother to do as much?"

"Riconciliato col bel sesso! I should think you were, indeed!" criedanother; "she absolutely thanks you for sending her your rhymes!Nobody ever did as much as that before, Leandro mio! No wonder youhaunt the street before her door!"

"I don't haunt the street before her door. Envy, Jealousy, ye green-eyed and loathsome monsters, how miserably small and mean can yemake the hearts of men!" said Leandro, lifting up hands and eyes. 

"Bravo, Leandro, bravo! get upon the table, man!" cried Farini. 

"Get home to bed, rather. It is too bad, because no human being willread his poetry, he takes to spouting it!" said the other. 

"Let us look what she says, " cried Ludovico di Castelmare; puttingout his hand to take the little note. "Upon my word she writes apretty hand. It is a very neatly expressed note. "

"Oh, you can see that much, can you?" returned Leandro. "I shouldthink it was too! Is there any one of you here can show such a notefrom any woman, let her be who she may? She says she will read thepoem I have been good enough to send her--good enough to send her, mark that!--as soon as she can find time to do so! What could shesay more, I should like to know? Of course she is occupied. Itstands to reason. But she will read my poem; and then you will see!"

"Ay, then we shall see our little Leandro duly appreciated at last!"said the Barone Manutoli. "As soon as the Diva has found time toread the poem there will come another little pink note, adorablyperfumed: he will be summoned to her august presence, and installedas her poet in ordinary, and who knows what else besides, --herMagnus Apollo? It is a pity there are not eight other prime donne tomake up the sacred number. Then we should see our Leandro in histrue position and vocation. Give me a sheet of paper, and I willshow you a new presentation of Apollo and the Muses. They are allpresenting him with pasticcerie and bonbons. He has one hand on thelyre, and the other on his stomach, for the homage of the goddesseshas made him somewhat sick; his eyes, you observe, are castheavenwards, partly by reason of poetic inspiration, and partly byreason of nausea!"

"Bravo! bravo, Manutoli!" cried a chorus of voices. 

"Envy and jealousy, envy and jealousy, all envy and jealousy. It ispitiable to see what they can reduce men to, " cried the poet, foaming at the mouth. 

"Never mind them, Leandro mio--never mind them. It is the universalpenalty of true merit, you know; the same thing all the world over, "said Ludovico. 

"But, I say, Ludovico, " rejoined Manutoli, "in the meantime, tillour Leandro's poem shall have been read and duly appreciated, youare the only one who has been admitted to the privacy of La Lalli. What is your report to us Gentiles of the outer court? Is she reallyso unapproachable? And is she as adorable behind the scenes asbefore them?"

"Well, you ought to be able to answer that question yourself, Manutoli, " replied Ludovico; "you were with lo zio and me that daywhen we went out to meet her; I am sure you had a fair look at herthen. "

"A look? Yes; and I looked all I could look. I saw a charming face, younger and fresher looking than might have been expected from thelength of time she has been on the boards, --a very pretty figure, asfar as her travelling-dress would show it one; and the loveliestfoot and ankle I ever saw in my life. I could swear to that again atany time. Don't you remember how she stood with her foot down on thestep, when she was getting out of the carriage. I thought at thetime that she knew what she was about very well. "

"Of course she did. Do you think they don't always know very well, every one of them, off the stage or on the stage?" said Farini. 

"But I want to know what sort of body, she is?" returned Manutoli;"I don't need to be told that she is a very lovely woman; but ofwhat sort is she? Why does she keep us all at a distance? What isher game?"

"Upon my life I don't know, " answered Ludovico, "unless it's adevouring passion for Leandro. I protest I have no reason to thinkshe cares a button for anything but her own art. I never tried; butit's my impression that if I had ever whispered a word in her ear Ishould have got a flea in my own for my pains. "

"You don't want to make us believe that you have been seeing herfrequently all this time, --passing hours with her a quattro occhi, and have never made love to her, Ludovico?" said Farini. 

"No; I don't want to make you believe don't care a straw whetheryou, believe it or it is the fact for all that, " returned Ludovico. 

"Ludovico has enough on his hands in quarter. What would they sayabout it in the Via Santa Eufemia if he were to bow down to new andstrange goddesses?" said Manutoli. 

"That, if you please, Manutoli, we will not discuss either now or atany other time, " said Ludovico, with a look that showed he was inearnest. "But, as for La Diva Bianca, I have no objection to tellall I know to anybody. My belief is that she is as correct andproper, and all that sort of thing, as a Vestal. "

"Che!"

"Che!"

"Che!"

A chorus of protestations of incredulity in every tone of the gamutmet the monstrous assertion. 

"What, after all we heard of her doings at Milan--after all thehistories of her goddess-ship in every city of Italy?" saidManutoli. 

"Well, what did we hear of her doings at Milan? The fact is, we knownothing about the matter; and as to her previous history--of courseI don't suppose that she is, and always has been, a Diana; but itmay be that she has come to the time when she has thought it well toturn over a new leaf. Such times do come to such women; but all Iknow is, that I firmly believe that since she has been here she haslived the life of a nun, " said Ludovico, in the simple tone of a manwho is stating a truth which he has no interest in causing hishearers to credit or discredit. 

"Per Bacco, it's queer!" said Farini, slapping his hand against histhigh. "I have heard, " he continued in the tone of one speaking ofsome strange and almost incredible monstrosity, --"I have heard ofsuch women taking a turn to devozione. It's not that with La Lalli, is it?"

"Che! Nothing of the sort; she is as full of frolic as a kitten--upto any fun. And she is a very clever woman, too, let me tell you--agood deal of education. If you will put making love to her out ofyour head, I never knew a woman who was pleasanter company, " saidLudovico. 

"And you really mean that you have never tried to make love to herin any way?" reiterated Manutoli. 

"I do mean it, upon my soul; but I don't care a rap whether youbelieve it or not, " rejoined Ludovico. 

"And you are with her very frequently?" persisted Manutoli. 

"Yes, I have seen a good deal of her altogether. I like her; and Ifancy she likes me to go there; she seems to wish me to come. Perhaps it is a novelty to her to have a man about her who doesn'ttry to make love to her. "

"The Marchese Lamberto sees her a good deal?"

"Yes; naturally. If it had not been for that I should probably neverhave made acquaintance with her at all. Lo zio is continually there. He ought to have been an impresario. In fact, he is the realimpresario. Little Ercole only does what my uncle tells him. I don'tbelieve she ever sings a note on the stage that he has not heard andapproved beforehand. "

"Suppose he is the dark horse; suppose she is his mistress all thistime; and he takes care to keep her all to himself, " said Manutoli. 

"What, lo zio. Bah! I should have thought that you knew him betterthan that, Manutoli. To him a woman is a voice, and nothing else. Ifthe same sounds could be got out of a flute or a fiddle he wouldlike it much better, and think it far more convenient. I don't thinkmy uncle Lamberto ever knew whether a woman was pretty or plain. Iwish to heaven he would get caught for once in his life; it wouldsuit my book very well. He would have less leisure to think of otherthings. "

The fact was that the Marchese had, in truth, had less leisure tothink of those other things from which Ludovico desired that hisattention should be drawn away. His visits to the Via Santa Eufemiahad been more frequent than ever; his visits to the Marchesa AnnaLanfredi and her niece rarer than ever. And he had received neitherlectures nor remonstrances for a long time past. In truth, theMarchese had his mind too full of other matters to think much of hisnephew's affairs or doings. And, besides that, there was a quite newand hitherto unknown feeling in the heart of the Marchese Lambertowhich made him shrink from any such encounter with his nephew, asremonstrances respecting his conduct with regard to Paolina wouldhave occasioned;--a feeling which made it seem to him that he wasthe watched instead of the watcher; that suggested to him the fearthat the first word he might utter upon the subject would be met byreferences to doings of his own. 

An utterly unfounded fear. But so it is that conscience doth makecowards of us all. 

CHAPTER VII

Extremes Meet

The Marchese was uneasy in the presence of his nephew. But the factwas that he was uneasy and unhappy altogether, and at all times. From being one of the most placidly cheerful and contented of men, he was becoming nervous, anxious, and restless. People began toremark that the Marchese was beginning to look older. They had saidfor years past that he had not grown a day older in the last tenyears. But this winter there was a change in him!

It did not occur to anybody to connect any change that wasobservable either in the Marchese's manner or in his appearance, with the frequency of his visits to the quartiere inhabited by theprima donna and Signor Quinto Lalli, in the Strada di Porta Sisi. The ordinary habits of the Marchese, and his functions as a patronof the theatre and amateur impresario were so well known andunderstood, that it seemed perfectly natural to all Ravenna that heshould be very frequently with the prima donna. And on the otherhand, the almost monastic regularity of his life, and his characterof long standing in such respects, would have made the notion thathe had any idea of flirting with the singer appear utterly absurdand inadmissible to every man, woman, or child in the city, if ithad ever come into anybody's head. 

The fact was, however, that the Marchese was much oftener in theStrada di Porta Sisi than anybody guessed. Besides the morningvisits, which were patent to all the world, who chose to take heedof them, the Marchese very frequently spent those evenings there, when the "Diva" did not sing; slinking out of the PalazzoCastelmare, and taking all sorts of precautions to prevent any humanbeing--nephew, servants, friends, or strangers--from guessing thesecret of these nocturnal walks. 

Such precautions were very needless; if anybody had noticed theMarchese Lamberto passing under the shadow of the eaves in any partof the city after nightfall, it would only have been supposed thathe was bound on some mission of beneficence, or good work of somesort! And if even it had become known to a few persons given toprying into what did not concern them, that the Marchese Lamberto diCastelmare was not more immaculate in his conduct than hisneighbours, the only result would have been a few jests which hewould have never heard, and a few sly smiles which be would havenever seen. 

But the Marchese could not look at the matter in this light. He feltas if his fall from the social eminence on which he stood would havebeen as a moral earthquake in Ravenna. The idea that such jests andsuch smiles could exist, however unseen and unheard, would have beenintolerable to him. And the Marchese was, accordingly, a miserableman. 

A miserable man, and he could not help himself! Each time that hequitted the siren, the chain that bound him was drawn more tightlyaround him. At each visit he drank deep draughts of the philtre, that was poisoning the fountains of his life. Again and again he hadmade a violent struggle to throw off the enchantment and be free. And again and again the effort had been too great for his strength, and he had returned like the scorched moth, which comes back againand again to the fatal brightness, till it perishes in it. 

In his hours of solitary self-examination he loathed and mockedhimself to scorn! He, Lamberto di Castelmare, to risk and to feelhumiliation, and to suffer for the love of a woman, whose lightaffections had been given to so many! He, who had been smiled on bymany a high-born beauty in vain! Love! did he love her? Again andagain he told himself that what he felt for her was far more akin tohate. He marvelled; he could not comprehend himself! He was ofteninclined to believe that the old tales of philtres and of witcherywere not all false, and that he was in truth bewitched; and hestruggled angrily against the spell, and at such times hated thebeauty that had tangled him in it!

And in all this time Bianca had not yet ventured to show clearly herreal game. Nor had it yet occurred to the Marchese that such apreposterous thought as that he could marry her could have enteredinto her mind. Yet it was clear to him that he made no progresstowards making her his own upon any other terms. The alternationsbetween beckoning him on and warding him off had been managed withsuch skill, that they appeared to be the result of the Diva'sinternal struggle with her own inclinations. What was he tounderstand by it? If she had been, --had always been--of unblemishedcharacter! But it was not so; he knew better!

That her conduct at Ravenna had been correct was undeniable. Still, even with regard to that, the Marchese was not spared the pangs ofjealousy, in addition to all the rest. Ludovico continued tofrequent the house in the Strada di Porta Sisi. It seemed, as he hadsaid at the Circolo, as if Bianca wished him to come there. In facthe had spoken to the young men at the Circolo with perfect truth inall respects as to his relations with the Diva. There had never beenany word of love-making or even flirting between them. Yet, in asort of way, she seemed to wish to be agreeable to him and toattract him. But she never made any secret of his visits from theMarchese, although it was unmistakable enough that it wasdisagreeable to him to hear of them. 

Had he been free from the spell himself he would have ratherrejoiced that his nephew had met with an attraction, which would belikely to have the effect of making him faithless to Paolina. As itwas, it was an additional source of irritation to the Marchese, --another drop of gall in his cup, to hear it constantly mentioned byBianca in the most innocent way in the world, that Ludovico had beenhere with her, or there with her, or passing the morning with her!

It was drawing towards the end of the Carnival, which the late fallof Easter had made rather a long one that year, when, on oneSaturday night, Bianca sat by her own fireside, expecting a visitfrom the Marchese. She doubted not that he would come, though nospecial appointment on the subject had been made between them. Therewere few "off evenings" now, that he did not spend with her. Saturday in most of the cities of Italy is, or was, an off night atthe theatre, being the vigil of the Sunday feast-day. Theecclesiastical proprieties are less attended to now in matterstheatrical, as in other matters in Italy. But Saturday used, inante-revolutionary times, to be an evening on which actors andactresses and their friends could always reckon for a holiday. 

Bianca was sitting, exquisitely dressed, it need hardly be said, ina style which combined with inimitable skill all the requirements ofthe most strict propriety with perfect adaptation to the objects ofshowing off every beauty of face, hair, hand, figure, foot to theutmost, and attracting her expected visitor as irresistibly aspossible. 

Quinto Lalli had been sent to enjoy himself at the Cafe, withstringent directions not to return before he should have ascertainedthat the Marchese had left the house, let the hour be as late as itmight. 

Bianca meditated deeply, while she waited her lover's coming. 

Her lover! yes, there was no doubt about that. Bianca had feltperfectly assured that she was justified in considering the Marcheseas such on that first morning, when he had come to her an hour inadvance of the time appointed for his visit in company with theimpresario. But it was high time that some better understanding ofthe footing on which they stood as regarded each other should bearrived at. 

Hitherto no direct proposals of any kind had been made to her by theMarchese. He was not good at any such work. Any one of thosedistinguished sons of paternal governments, who had constituted thematerial of Bianca's experiences of that division of mankind, wouldhave long since said what he wanted, and have very clearly indicatedthe terms on which he was willing to become the fortunate possessorof the coveted article. And Bianca would have perfectly well knownhow, under the present circumstances, to answer any such proposals, as she had known under the other circumstances of past days. But theMarchese made no proposals. What he wished, indeed, was abundantlyclear to her. But his mode of making it clear rendered the task ofdealing with him a somewhat difficult one. 

Partially, Bianca understood the nature of the case. She was partlyaware why the Marchese was slow to say that which so many, whom shehad known, had made so little difficulty of saying. She understoodthat, whatever his years might be, he was a novice at that business. She comprehended that he was, in many respects, a younger man thanmany a coulisse-frequenting youth whom she had known. But she wasfar from conceiving any true notion of the Marchese's state of mindon the subject. She was very far from imagining that he looked withdisgust and with terror at the position which she conceived him tobe but too ready to accept to-morrow, if only he knew how to ask forit, or if it could be offered to him without his asking. She littleguessed that his feeling towards her oscillated between the maddestdesire and the fiercest hatred; that reveries, filled with picturedimaginings and fevered recollections of her beauty, alternated withthe most violent efforts to cleanse his mind and imagination of thethought of her. 

She understood nothing of all this, and it was impossible that sheshould understand it. In truth, she was innocent of any conductwhich could have justified such sentiments. Why should he hate her?It was true that she sought to attract him, --true that she wasscheming to lead him to a point at which he might find it soimpossible to give her up, that, being well convinced that he couldhave her on no other terms, he might offer her marriage. But wasthere anything worse in that than men had been treated "since summerfirst was leafy?" How many men had married women in her position--women less capable of doing credit to the position to which theywere raised than she was? How many men had been treated in suchmatters very much worse than she had any thought of treating him?She fully proposed to make him a good and true wife, and fullythought that she should do so. She was not deceiving him in any way. She made the best of her past life--naturally; but was it to be fora moment supposed that such a man as the Marchese could, or did, imagine that she, Bianca Lalli, whose career, for the last eightyears, was known to all Italy, was in the position of a youngcontessa just taken from her convent?

It is abundantly clear that there were difficulties in the way ofthe desirable understanding being arrived at, greater than eitherthe lady was aware of, or than might usually be expected to attendsimilar negotiations. 

Bianca waited without impatience the coming of the Marchese. She wasa study for an artist as she lay perfectly still on her sofa, turning the minutes of expectation to profit by arranging in hermind her plan of attack in the coming battle; for she was thoroughlydetermined that that evening should not pass without some progresstowards the understanding having been accomplished. 

One lamp on the table alone lighted the small but comfortable-looking room; but the flame was leaping cheerfully among the logs onthe hearth, and the sofa was so placed that the fitful light fromthe fire glanced in a thousand capricious reflections on the Diva'sauburn hair and rich satin dress. It was black of the most lustrousquality, and fitted her person with a perfection that showed theshape of the bust, and the lithe suppleness of the slender waist tothe utmost advantage. The dress was made low on the superbshoulders--the dazzling whiteness of which, as seen contrasted withthe black satin, was now covered with a slight silk scarlet shawl, --a most artistic completion of the harmonious colouring of thepicture, which yet was not so fixed in its position as to beprevented from falling from the snowy slopes. It veiled at thesmallest movement of them. 

Presently the now well-known step and well-known tap at the doorwere heard, and the Diva, without stirring a hair's-breadth from hercharmingly-chosen attitude, spoke, in a silver voice, the "Passi"which admitted her visitor. 

CHAPTER VIII

The Diva shows her Cards

"Ah, Signor Marchese, " she said, with a sweet, but somewhat sad, smile, extending to him a long, white, slender, nervous-looking, ungloved hand, but not otherwise moving from her position. "Ah, Signor Marchese, then I am not to be disappointed this evening? Iwas beginning almost to fear that the fates were against me. "

He advanced to the head of the sofa and took her hand, and held itawhile, while he continued to stand there looking down from behindher shoulder on the beautiful form as it lay there beneath his gaze--on the parting of the rich golden hair; on the snowy forehead; onthe still whiter neck; on the gentle heaving of the bosom beneathits light veil of scarlet silk; on the tapering waist; on theexquisitely-formed feet peeping in their black satin bottines frombeneath the extremity of her dress! It was all perfect: and theMarchese held the soft warm hand that served as a conductor to thestream of magnetic poison that seemed to flood his whole being as hegazed. 

For an instant all the room seemed to swim round with him. The bloodrushed to his brow. He shut his eyes, and a nervous crispationcaused the fingers of his hands to close themselves with such force, that the grasp of that which held her little palm hurt her. 

"Ah, my hand! you hurt my hand!" she said. "You don't know how yousqueezed it, you are so strong. You don't know the quantity of forceyou put out!"

"Pardon--a thousand pardons, Signora! I am such a clumsy clown! HaveI really hurt you, Bianca?"

"Not to the death, Signor, " she said, with a charming smile, andholding up to him the injured member, shaking it as she let itdangle from the slender wrist. "But see! it is really all blushingred from the ardour of your hand's embrace!"

"Poor little hand!--indeed, it is!" said the Marchese, taking itgently and tenderly between both of his; then, suddenly throwinghimself on his knees by the side of the sofa, while he still heldit, he said, "And how can the great cruel hand that did the harmmake fit amends?"

"Ah, Signor Marchese, it might find the way to do that, if it wereso disposed. It would not be so far to seek. But you are seeking inthe wrong direction, " she continued, drawing herself back from himon the sofa, as he, leaning forward against it, had brought himselfso near to her, that the back of the hand in which he held herstouched her waist. "You are seeking amiss. It is not so that anyremedy can be found; and--pray rise, Signor, and take your usualchair. This must not be, --I am sure you would not willingly give mepain, Marchese, and you are paining me. Pray leave the sofa. "

She had drawn herself back away from him as far as the breadth ofthe sofa would allow, yet without withdrawing her hand from him; andshe looked at him certainly more in sorrow than in anger, --lookedinto his face earnestly with grave, sad eyes, and heaved a long sighas he, after pressing the hurt hand to his lips, rose from his kneesand took the chair she had pointed to. 

"Pain you, Bianca?" he said, as he sat down; "why should I pain you?You do me no more than justice when you say that I would not do sowillingly; but have you thought how much pain you inflict on me bythus keeping me at a distance from you? I think you must know that. Is there aught to offend you in anything that I have done, or said, or hoped, or wished?"

"I think, Signor Marchese, " she said, dropping her large eyesbeneath their long fringes, and looking adorably lovely as she didso, "I am afraid that what you have wished is--what some might deemoffensive to a lady. "

And as she spoke she looked out furtively from behind her eyelashes. 

"Bianca, is that reasonable?" he said, in a tone of remonstrance. "Diamine, let us talk common sense; we are not children. Have youalways found such wishes as mine offensive in others?"

"Yes, always--always offensive, always cruel, " she said, withextreme energy; "but--can you not understand, Signor Marchese, --canyou not conceive that what from one man passes and makes no mark, and leaves no sting, may from another--What cared I what all theempty-headed young fops who came in my way could say or do; theywere nothing to me. But--I did not expect pain from the MarcheseLamberto di Castelmare. I--I thought--I hoped--I--I flatteredmyself--fool, idiot fool that I have been!" she exclaimed, burstinginto violent sobs, and hiding her face with her hands. 

The Marchese was startled and utterly taken aback for a minute ortwo. He was genuinely at a loss to interpret the cause or themeaning of the lady's emotion. His puzzled embarrassment did not, however, prevent him from seeing that she looked, if possible, morefascinatingly beautiful in her grief and her tears than he had everbefore seen her. And, again, despite what she had said, he kneltdown by the side of the sofa, and gently removing her hands frombefore her face, murmured in her ear, --

"Bianca, what is it--what is moving you so? Don't you know that youare dear to me;--that I would--Don't you know that I would doanything to be agreeable to you rather than give you any sorrow orpain? What is there within my power that I would not do? Bianca, --let me tell you--let me speak the truth--I cannot keep it in my ownheart any longer--I love you! You have come to be all that I carefor in the world. Bianca, do you hear me? For your love I wouldsacrifice all, --everything in the world; I die without it; I musthave it--I must! You have been loved before; but never as I loveyou--never, never! And, Bianca, I--I--Bianca, you are my first love--my only love. Never, till I saw you, did I care to look on a womanfor a second time; I never felt love. But, when I saw you--the firsttime--the first hour--Bianca, I must have your love or die; Ithirst--I hunger for it. Since I have known you all my nature ischanged; all my old life is flat and unmeaning, and without interestto me. I care for none of the things I used to care for; all--allhas melted and slipped away from me, and nothing remains but onegreat devouring rage and passion--my love for you!"

He had spoken like a torrent, which, for a long time dammed up, atlast becomes too powerful for restraint, and bursts forth, overthrowing all obstacles with its headlong flood. 

Bianca turned her face away from him towards the back of the sofa;but she slowly, and with an uncertain intermittent movement, drewhis hand over to her lips, and pressed it against them. 

A light came into the Marchese Lamberto's eyes;--a gleam almost, onewould have said, rather fierce than fond, as he felt the pressure ofher lips; and a shock as from an electric spark ran through all hisbody, making him quiver from head to heel. 

"Bianca, Bianca! You are mine--you are mine!" he cried, pantingly, with his mouth close to her ear, and encircling her waist, as hespoke, with the hand which she had relinquished after she had kissedit in the manner that had been described. 

But she sprang away from him, pushing him from her, by putting herflat hand against his forehead, with her face still turned towardsthe back of the sofa, away from him. 

"No, no, no!" she cried, violently; "it cannot be, not so--not so! Icannot--I cannot!"

"Bianca, " he cried, starting to his feet as if he had been stung;"what does this mean? What am I to understand? What is it you wish?You know my position. I tell you that there is no sacrifice that Iam not willing to make. I am rich; name what you would wish. "

"Spare me--spare me, I deserve all; but spare me! I deserve tosuffer, but not at your band, " she cried, in words interrupted byher sobs. 

"Spare you what, Bianca? In truth, I do not understand you, " saidthe Marchese, genuinely mystified. 

"Do you not understand?" she said, turning round on the sofa, so asto face him, and looking into his face with those great appealingeyes suffused with tears; "do you not understand? Can you notcomprehend? A woman would understand, I think; but I suppose menfeel these things differently. "

"Upon my honour, Bianca, I do not know what you mean. Every word Ihave spoken to you has been spoken from the very depth of my heart. I am ready to--"

"Hush, hush, Marchese! No more of that; I could not bear it, " shesaid, with a great sigh that seemed as if it would burst her bosom;"it is very--very painful to me; but I must endeavour to bring yourheart to understand me, --it must be your heart, Lamber--your heart, Signor Marchese; for one does not arrive at the understanding ofsuch things with the head. See, now, I will put myself in the placeI deserve to occupy--in the dust at your feet! You may trample onme, if you will. I say I have deserved the shame and the misery I amnow suffering. I deserve them because I have no right to resent the--the--the proposals which you--wish to make to me. I have sufferedmuch from calumny and evil tongues--much from unhappy circumstancesand evil surroundings. Yet it may be that I-have--more right to--resent--what--I have heard from you than you imagine. But let thatpass. You know--or think you know--that I have accepted from othersthat which I have said I cannot accept from you; and you cannotimagine why this should be so. Oh, Marchese, does your heart lendyou no aid to the understanding of it? What were those men, --thoseempty creatures whose gold could not repay the disgust occasioned bytheir presence, what were they to me? Did they love--pretend even tolove--me? Did I love them? Love! Alas, alas, alas! Ah, Marchese, apoor girl exposed to the world, as I have been from my cradleupwards, has to suffer much that might well move the pity of agenerous heart; but it is nothing--nothing--nothing to the tragedyof the misery, the shame, the remorse that comes upon her when atlast the day shall come that her heart speaks and shows to her theawful chasm--the immeasurable gulf that separates such--I cannot, Lamber--pardon, I don't know what I am saying; I cannot go on--Icannot put it into words! Do not you--cannot you understand thedifference?"

"I do understand, Bianca mia; povera anima sofferente--I dounderstand. Do you imagine that I would judge you harshly--severely?I know too well all that you would say; I know the difficulties, theimpossibilities of your position. Do you think that I cannot makeallowances for all the fatalities attending on such a combination ofcircumstances? And, trust me, the difference between what has been, and what I so earnestly hope may be now, is greater, --I feel it tobe greater, not less than you can feel it to be. Truly there isnothing in common between the all-devouring passion which consumesme, and--such love-vows as you have spoken of. Do I not understandthe difference. And remember, Bianca, dearest, that the protection Ioffer you would be the means of placing you out of the reach, --farout of the reach of any such disgusts, --such suffering for thefuture. "

Bianca let her head fall on her bosom, and covered her face with herhands, and remained silent for some moments. Then, lifting her faceslowly, and shaking her head, she sighed deeply as she looked with awistful earnest glance into his eyes; she said, --

"You are good, --you are, --very good and kind to me; perhaps it mighthave been better for my happiness if you had been less so. But bearwith me yet a little, Signor Marchese. Sit down there, --there whereI can see your face, "--pointing, as she spoke, to a spot exactly inface of the sofa, --"and let me see if I can explain myself to you. It is difficult; it is very difficult. A woman, as I said, wouldunderstand it at once; but men--are so different. You have told me, Signor Marchese, that you love me; that you never loved before; thatI am the first woman who has ever moved your heart. Eh, bene, SignorMarchese! If I, having heard those protestations, were to confessthat--that it was with me even as with you, "--she dropped her eyesand sighed as she made the confession;--"that I, too--that you havetaught me now for the first time what it is to love, --though I mightspeak it less eloquently than you have done, the words would beequally true, --equally true, Signor, " she repeated, slowly noddingher head. "And when I have confessed that it is so, " she continued, speaking more rapidly, "can you wonder--can you not understand thatit is impossible to me--that it would be a horror unspeakable to--torenew with the object of a true love--the first--the first, as Godsees my heart--the degradation that has left nothing but bitternessand humiliation behind it? Shall the name of Lamberto di Castelmarebe written in my memory in the hateful list of those who have beento me the occasion of remorse, of self-condemnation, of bitternessimmeasurable? Never, never, never! Come what may there shall be onepure place in my heart; one unsoiled spot in my life; one ever-dearremembrance unlinked with sorrow and with shame; one memory which, however sad, shall not be humiliating. "

She put her handkerchief to her eyes as she ceased speaking, andappeared to be entirely overcome by her emotion. 

The Marchese rose from his chair in a state of hardly lessagitation. He walked across the room;--returned to the sofa, andseemed for a moment as if he were going to take her hand; thenturned away, and stood on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire. He was much moved, puzzled, pained, disappointed, --goaded and lashedmore violently than ever by the furies of passion; more than everwishing that he had never seen the beautiful creature lying therebefore him, and more than ever writhing in mind under theconsciousness that to give her up was beyond his power. 

At length he again stepped up to the side of the sofa and took herhand. 

She started; and plucked it from him. 

"Go, Signor Marchese--go, and leave me. It would perhaps be betterso for both of us. I am not used to show to anybody the very inmostsecrets of my heart, as I have been doing to you, --I know not why. Forget what I have said. Go, and forget me;--forget the poorcomedian to whom your goodness, your nobleness, and--your love--seemed for a passing minute to open a blessed glimpse of a heavenupon earth; but never--never again propose to me to associate thename of Lamberto di Castelmare with names that I would--oh, so fain--forget!"

Still the Marchese had not realized the nature of the position orseen the only outlet from the cul-de-sac into which he had beendriven. It involved too monstrous an impossibility to seem to him tobe an outlet at all. What was the real meaning of all this? Thensuddenly an in-rushing suspicion flashed across his mind like ablasting lightning brand, bringing with it a sharp pang, as of adagger stab in the heart. What was the meaning of all theseprotestations of admiration and affection, coupled with a denial ofall that his passion drove him there in search of? Did it perchancemean that this woman, so terrible in the power of her beauty, sodangerously irresistible, would fain have the protection which hisposition could give her, the supplies which might be drawn from hispurse, while her love--such love as he wanted from her--would begiven to a younger rival?

Suddenly he asked her, "When was the Marchese Ludovico here last?"

"The Marchese Ludovico?" said Bianca, carelessly; "oh, he is oftenhere. When last? Let me see: he was here this morning. As good andnoble a gentleman as any in Italy he is, too. He is worthy to bearyour name, Marchese, though it is only a poor girl like me that saysit. "

"He seems to have won your good will, anyhow, " said the Marchese, frowning heavily. "What answer, I wonder, would he get if he were tospeak to you as I spoke just now?"

"He would never speak so, Signor Marchese; he would know that, whatever might have been the case in past years, alas! it would beuseless or worse to speak so now. I do not say, indeed, that--I havea sincere regard for the Marchese Ludovico. This much you may bevery sure of, Marchese, that the feelings which you have surprisedme into confessing would make it quite impossible for me to listento any such words from the Marchese Ludovico. But, if ever theMarchese Ludovico were to say any word in my ear, --it would not be, "continued Bianca, dropping her voice and speaking as if more toherself than to him--"it would not be to offer me what his uncle wasoffering me just now. "

And now it flashed upon the Marchese for the first time what thereal drift of Bianca's words and conduct had been. She wanted to beMarchesa di Castelmare. And the meaning of her last words, withtheir reticences and their half-uttered expressions spoken out atlength might, he thought, be read thus: If you, Marchese Lamberto, do not make me Marchesa di Castelmare, your nephew will be readyenough to do so. The scandal, the wrong done to the family name, thechatter of all the tongues in Ravenna will be none the less. Thematter would be, indeed, worse instead of better. For it wouldinvolve the grave injury that would be done to the Lady Violante, and the destruction of all the hopes built upon that alliance. Allthis seemed to be revealed to him as by a lightning flash. But thepang of jealousy, which had stung his heart, still remained theforemost and most prominent occupation of his mind. 

"If you imagine, Bianca, " he said after a while, "that my nephewwould, or could, however much he might wish to do so, make any otherkind of proposal to you, you are labouring under a delusion. I speakin all sincerity of heart"

"And I have spoken to you, God knows, with all sincerity, SignorMarchese. I have spoken as I have never before spoken to any humanbeing. I have opened my heart to you to the very bottom of it. Butthe effort of doing so has been a painful one. It has terriblyoverset me; I feel like a wrung-out rag; and would fain rest. Youwill not be offended if I ask you to leave me now. It is gettinglate, too; and I expect my father home every instant. Good-night, Signor Marchese. Forgive me if I have said aught that I should nothave said; if I have in any way offended you. I think you know howfar the wish to do so is from my heart. Good-night. "

"Good-night, Bianca, " said the Marchese, taking the hand she heldout to him, and retaining it in his own for some instants, despitehis intention of specially abstaining from any demonstration of thekind--"Good-night, Bianca. We shall meet to-morrow morning. "

"Yes, on business, " said Bianca, looking up into his face with a sadsmile. "Signor Ercole said he should be here at midday. "

And then the Marchese left her, and, carefully shunning the morefrequented parts of the city, returned to his own home. 

CHAPTER IX

One Struggle more

The Marchese reached the Palazzo Castelmare unobserved by any one, save old Quinto Lalli, who had been for some time past watching thedoor of his adopted daughter from a neighbouring corner, in order toascertain when he might go home to his bed without infringing theorder that had been given him. 

"And what do you think of it now, papa mio?" said the Diva, when shehad very faithfully, though summarily, recounted the scene which hadjust passed, to her old friend and counsellor. 

"Well, I see no reason to despair of the result, " said Quinto. "Youdid not expect him to jump at the idea of making you Marchesa diCastelmare, I suppose? Of course he was a little staggered; and, probably, his own notion at this moment is, that he would rathernever see your face again, than dream of such a thing. Ma, ci vuolpazienza! My notion is, that you will have him nibbling at the hookagain before long. That little hint about the nephew was masterly. Depend upon it that will do its work. "

"But, Quinto, I did not say a word to him that was not true--hardlya word. I do like him better, by an hundred times, than any otherman I ever knew; and if I succeed, you see if I do not make him agood wife; I swear I will! As for Signor Ludovico, that is all trashand nonsense. He belongs to his Venetian, body and soul: and he hasenough to think of, poor boy, in scheming to get out of the marriagethey have planned for him. "

"What! he wants to marry the Venetian, does he?" asked Quinto. 

"Yes; they have engaged themselves to each other; she would not hearof anything else. "

"Lord bless me! how moral and respectable the world is growing. Isuppose Cupid himself will be attended by a gentleman in cassock andbands before long, and Mars will make Venus an honest woman, as thephrase goes. Well, I am not sorry I had my day in the old time. Itwould be rare fun, though, if these grand Signori, the uncle and thenephew, were both to be hooked in the same fashion at the sametime. "

"There is nothing against the character of the Venetian of anysort, " said Bianca, with a sigh. 

"Ta, ta, ta! I'd back your chance of the uncle against her chance ofthe nephew, any day of the week. "

"Ludovico is solemnly engaged to her. "

"I'd hold to my bet, all the same for that; and now let's get tobed, you have to sing to-morrow night. "

"Yes, and I'm regularly tired out; good-night. "

The Marchese Lamberto was probably hardly less in need of rest, whenhe reached the Palazzo Castelmare. But he did not equally feel thatit was within his reach. He shut himself into his room; and throwinghimself into an easy chair, with one hand pressed to his feveredbrow, strove to think; set himself to think out the possibilities ofthe present, and the prospects of the future, as far as the blindingvolcano bursts of passion, which ever and anon threatened to sweepall power of thought away, would permit him to do so. 

So this was the meaning of all the difficulties, which Bianca hadmade. She had absolutely conceived the idea of his marrying her. Heavens and earth! Was she mad? But, at all events, if this notionhad been the cause of all her fighting off of his advances for thelast month past, it was not necessary to attribute her conduct toany preference for some more favoured lover; she had assured himthat she loved him--loved him as she had never loved another. And, gracious heaven, how lovely she looked as she said it!

He pressed his hands before his eyes, and saw again in fancy thebeautiful vision; gloated on the eloquent movement of her person inthe earnestness of her confession; looked again into those largeappealing honest eyes, which seemed to be so incapable of lendingtheir voucher to a lie. Surely it could not be that all thoseprotestations and assurances were false, --mere comedy got up for thepurpose of deluding him. That she was worldlily anxious to secure sogreat a prize as that which she was trying for was natural enough--was matter of course. But surely, surely there was genuine affectionin that glance. Was it not likely to be genuine, --that feeling thatshe could not be to him what she had been to others? It must havebeen abundantly clear to her that had she chosen to accept from himwhat he had offered her, she might have amply satisfied anymercenary views, the most exorbitant. Therefore her views and herfeelings were of a different order. 

And then the thought of being so loved by such a creature--of beingreally loved for himself--loved as she had never loved before, madefor the moment all other thought impossible to him: he started fromhis chair, and paced the room with rapid disordered strides. Whatwas all the world to the ecstasy of such a love? All--all that hehad hitherto lived for, was it not flat, stale, poor, puerile, incomparison to it? Why not leave all, and seize a happiness soinfinitely greater than any he had ever known or imagined? Why notmarry her, and be hers for ever, as she was anxious to be his?Nobles of higher rank than his had done as much before. Why not?

What would they all say and think? All his world, that he had livedamong, and lived for, from his cradle upwards: the Cardinal, hissister, his nephew, Violante? The whole society which had looked upto him as some one altogether above the sphere of human frailtiesand follies: how could he face them? What say to them? Why face themat all? Why not leave all, and make a new world for himself and theone dear companion of it? Marry her, and take her safe away from allher past, and from all his. Why not?

But would she consent to that? Would that be her idea of a marriagewith the Marchese di Castelmare? Was it not likely that she wouldprefer to be Marchesa di Castelmare in the Palazzo Castelmare, --inRavenna, where--ha!--where Ludovico was, for whom she had so muchregard? who was so frequently with her. That poor Violante! Ofcourse he knew that there could be no love between her and hisnephew. Ludovico had promised that that marriage should be made. Ay, marry the uncle, to be the nephew's mistress with all convenience!Such things had often been; there was nothing new in thearrangement--nothing original in the idea--why, the very stage wasfull of such examples: he to be the old duped husband of the farce;he saw it all. 

And as these thoughts also suggested themselves to his mind, hisheart seemed as though it were clutched by a hand of ice, while hisbrow throbbed and his head burned with the pulsing blood. 

He threw himself on to his chair again, and tore his hair with rageand anguish; and all those vivid and palpitating love-representationswhich passion had but now painted on the retina of his eye, werereproduced by jealousy with the difference that Ludovico instead ofhimself was the actor in them. 

It was maddening; his brain seemed to reel; a cold sweat broke outall over him. The fear dashed across his mind that he should reallylose his reason. 

Was there, he thought to himself, as the terror of this made himshudder--was there that night in all Ravenna so miserable a being ashimself? And that miserable man, cowering there in the restlessnessof his agony, was the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare; he whosewhole life had been one placid scene of happiness, prosperity, andcontent. Never had he known a passion strong enough and forbiddenenough to cause him a pang or a sleepless hour till now. Had not hislife been happy? What did he want with more? Ah, if he could butblot out for ever all that the last month had brought with it. If hecould but be again as he had been before this woman had cast hersorcery on him. Ah, would to God that his eyes had never seen her!

Was it yet too late? Could he not even now tear her from his mind, shut his eyes to the recollection of her, so command his imaginationthat it should never again present the image of her to his fancy?

And thereupon forthwith uncommanded fancy was busy with every detailof the beauties that had so made him their slave. The line of theneck and shoulder which he had looked down on as he stood at thesofa head; all the white ivory from the fresh innocent rosy littleear to the swell of the curves about the bosom; the intoxicatingperfume from the heavy tresses of the hair; the lithe slender waist, round and yielding; the slight nervous hands, the touch of whosefingers fired the blood, as a match fires gunpowder; the exquisitefeet; and, oh God! that face, whose every feature, as he last lookedon it, was harmonized in an expression of love. 

Quite still he sate for some minutes, conscious of nothing save thepictures which memory was passing before his eye. Then suddenly, with a bound, he sprang from his chair, and away from it, and beathis head against the opposite wall of the large room. 

"Fool, fool; enslaved, besotted idiot! I am lost, spelled; thevictim of sorcery I cannot fight against. What am I to do, what am Ito do? Surely I can keep my steps from going near her. If I were toswear now that I will never set eyes on her more?"

And then he recollected that it was impossible for him even to seekthat means of safety without giving rise to all kinds ofobservations, and wonder, and speculation in the city. He was to seethe prima donna on the following day. His habits in such matters, well known to all the town, brought him into frequent contact withBianca, as with other ladies who had been similarly engaged inRavenna. What would be thought, or guessed, or said, if he weresuddenly to refuse to hold any further communication with her?

And would he not thus be simply leaving the coast all free to hisnephew? To be sure. There, there, he could see it all. And that wasthe worst hell of all. Anything, anything was preferable to that. Come what would that should never, never, never be. Rather--ratheranything. He gnashed his teeth, and clenched his hand; and a suddenagony of hatred for both Bianca and his nephew seemed to steal likea snake into his heart, and maddened him. 

And thus the miserable man passed the greater part of the night inuseless strugglings with the bonds that bound him. 

It was near morning before he crept, still sleepless, but utterlyworn out, to his bed. 

He did sleep, exhausted as he was, after awhile; but it was only tosee again in dreams all that he had so bitterly wished that he hadnever seen at all. Sometimes he was himself by Bianca's side, licensed to revel to the full in her every charm. And then the dreamwould change. It was Ludovico he saw in her white arms; and hestarted from his fevered sleep bathed in perspiration and quiveringin every limb. 

The next morning he was, in truth, quite ill enough to havefurnished a very sufficient and unsuspected excuse for not going tomeet the impresario at Bianca's house according to appointment. Hethought at first that he would do so. But as the time drew near, hedragged himself from his bed, haggard, fevered, and looking veryill, and crawled to the appointed meeting. 

BOOK IV

The last Days of the Carnival

CHAPTER I

In the Cardinal's Chapel

Paolina was industriously pursuing her task in the chapel of theCardinal's palace. Ludovico was not so frequently with her there ashe had been while she was at work in San Vitale. But there wereevident reasons why this was necessarily the case. The chapel inquestion is a private one, and is accessible only by passing througha portion of the Cardinal's residence. At San Vitale Ludovico neededto take nobody into his confidence, when he climbed to Paolina'sscaffolding to be by her side while she worked, save the oldsacristan. But to have joined her at her work in the Cardinal'spalace, he must have knocked at the door of the residence, and toldthe servants what he wanted. 

And that would have been obviously inconvenient, even withoutmentioning the fact that the Lady Violante, to whom the gentlemanought to have been addressing himself, passed much of her time atthe palace, and might very possibly have been met by him there. 

It was true that, ever since the ball at the Castelmare palazzo, onthe second day of the year, Ludovico had felt pretty nearly surethat Violante was as desirous of escaping from the marriage whichhad been arranged as he was himself. But it did not at all followthat it would be an easy matter to break it off. Of course it wasnot to be expected that Violante herself could take any active steptowards refusing to fulfil the promise that her family had made forher. That would be for him to do. And except as regarded hisintercourse with the lady, and her personal feelings, the task ofdoing so was hardly rendered any the easier by the knowledge that hewould be consulting her wishes as well as his own. 

It would hardly, therefore, have done in any way for him to havebeen visiting the young artist in the Cardinal Legate's chapel. 

The intercourse, however, between Ludovico and Paolina was muchpleasanter and more unrestrained than it had been before thatexplanation, which had ensued between them. He was a frequentvisitor at the house in the Via di Sta. Eufemia in the evening; andthe happy hours were passed by them on the perfectly understoodfooting of mutual betrothal. 

And Ludovico was perfectly honest and sincere in all that he said toPaolina. He said nothing to her that he did not equally say tohimself. And if his conduct under the circumstances was not exactlywhat a father or brother of Paolina might have desired it to be, thefault arose from the indecision of character, which belonged to aweak man accustomed to self-indulgence. There was difficulty andannoyance before him; and instead of meeting it, as a strong manwould have done, he turned from it, and was content to put off theevil day, contenting himself with the enjoyment of that which waspassing. He marvelled somewhat at the ease, with which he waspermitted to pass evening after evening with his mistress, --at theabsence of surveillance, of which he was conscious, --and at thesilence of his uncle as to both his visits to Via di Sta. Eufemia, and his no visits to the Lady Violante. But he troubled himselflittle to account for this, or to question the reason of the goodsthe gods provided him. It was not in his character to do so. Paolina, on her side, was, upon the whole, trustful and contented. Yet there had been moments at which she had suffered a passing pangfrom little gossipings which had been, perhaps injudiciously, repeated to her by Orsola Steno. Of course the great prima donna, the celebrated Lalli, who was blessing Ravenna by her presence, wasoften talked of in the Via di Sta. Eufemia, as she was in everyother house in the city. That was quite a matter of course. And thenOrsola would speak of the strict conduct of the lady; of the factthat no one of the young nobles of the place was permitted to visither--except, indeed, the young Marchese Ludovico; and how people didsay that half-a-dozen would be safer company than one; and that theyoung Marchese was finishing the sowing of his wild oats beforebecoming a married man by a flirtation with one of the mostcelebrated beauties of Italy. 

There was very little cause for this gossip beyond what the readeris aware of. Still, upon the whole, it might have been better ifLudovico had seen less of the fascinating singer. He had given causeenough for spiteful tongues to make mischief if they could do so;and it may probably be supposed that he was not insensible to thefascinations of Bianca--perhaps not to the glory of the fact that hewas the only young man admitted to her society, and that he hadoccasionally done that which, being repeated, might not unnaturallygive umbrage to Paolina. 

It was now within ten days or so of the end of Carnival; and, whilealmost everybody else was amusing themselves in some way or other, Paolina stuck close to her work in the chapel, intent on her silentand solitary task, while, from time to time, the voices of revellersin the streets would reach her in her seclusion. 

But all her hours of work there had not passed in utter solitude. 

The Contessa Violante was in the habit of spending much of her timein the palace of her great-uncle the Cardinal Legate. It presented, among other advantages, that of being pretty well the only place inwhich she could escape for awhile from the companionship of theSignora Assunta Fagiani, her duenna. Certainly, it would not havebeen consistent with that lady's conception of her duty to allow hercharge to visit any other house whatever in the city, without theprotection of her companionship, but the palace of a CardinalLegate--and that Legate her great-uncle. Besides that, her great-aunt, the Cardinal's sister, was also often at her brother'sresidence; and, having this facility close at hand, Violante waswont very frequently to avail herself of the privacy, comfort, andwarmth of her uncle's chapel for the morning's devotions, which shenever missed. 

One morning she found a small portable scaffold or estrade of dealsstanding in one corner of the chapel; and, on inquiring for whatpurpose it had been placed there, she was told that it was to enablean artist to make a copy of some of the mosaics on the vault of thelittle apartment. She learned further that the artist in questionwas a young Venetian lady: that she was a protegee of the MarcheseLamberto; and that the permission to execute the copies in question, and to have that scaffolding placed there, had been obtained by him. 

Then Violante knew right well who the Venetian artist was. Theworthy Assunta Fagiani had taken care that all the gossip of Ravennawhich connected this girl's name with that of Ludovico di Castelmareshould reach her ears. And she was glad of the easy opportunitywhich thus offered itself to her of gratifying her natural curiosityrespecting the stranger--the girl who could win that love which hadbeen promised to her; but which she had been unable to inspire. 

This Paolina Foscarelli--she well knew her name--was, in some sense, her rival. Ludovico di Castelmare was bidden to love her, theContessa Violante, and instead of doing so, had given his love, asshe had been assured, to this Venetian. She knew, indeed, quite wellthat had the stranger never come near Ravenna, Ludovico would nothave loved her the more. She did not love Ludovico. She was anxiousto be quit of the engagement it had been proposed to make betweenthem; and it might be very likely that this girl might beserviceable to her, rather than otherwise, in helping to bring aboutsuch a consummation. 

Nevertheless, there was a certain amount of bitterness--suchbitterness, more akin to self-depreciation, as could find place inthe gentle heart of Violante--in the thought of what might havebeen; in the thought that she was irrevocably excluded from thatwhich it had been so easy for this poor stranger artist to attain;and, above all, there was a strong curiosity to see the beauty whichhad accomplished this; to hear the voice which had been able tocharm; and, further, in her own interest, to ascertain, if thatshould be possible, whether the tie which she had been told existedbetween this girl and the man who had been assigned to her for ahusband, was, or was not, of a nature likely to lead to a marriagebetween them. 

At first sight this would have seemed impossible to the aristocraticnotions of the Cardinal Legate's niece. But Assunta Fagiani, whoseobject had been simply to convince Violante that no union betweenherself and Ludovico would ever take place, despite all appearancesto the contrary, had given her to understand that it was whisperedas a thing not impossible--such was Ludovico's infatuation--that hemight even go the length of making such an alliance. 

One morning, soon after the commencement of her work in the chapel, whither she had been escorted on her first going thither by theMarchese Lamberto himself in person, in accordance with his promise, Violante, on entering the chapel, saw that the little scaffold hadbeen pulled out from its corner and placed immediately under one ofthe medallion portraits of the Apostles, on the vault of thebuilding. She looked up, and perceiving the artist above her at herwork, paused, hesitating before kneeling at the footstool in frontof the altar. 

In an instant a light step tripped down the steps of the woodenerection, and a little figure, clad in a brown holland frock, whichwrapped it from head to foot, stood by her side. 

Paolina knew very well who the lady that had entered the chapel was:and, as may be easily imagined, she too was not without her share ofcuriosity. 

"Do I disturb you, Signorina?" said Paolina, in a sweet, gentlevoice. "If you would prefer it, I will wait till you have finishedyour prayer. I can kneel here too the while. "

Violante looked at the girlish face, bright not only with theelements of material beauty, but with the animation of intelligenceand the informing expression of talent. One would have said thatnothing could well be less becoming than such a long shapelesswrapper as that which the artist wore. There was the band at thewaist, which showed that the figure was slight and slender; but, forthe rest, a less ornamental costume could not well be imagined. Nevertheless, Violante perfectly well perceived and understood at aglance that this girl had what she had not--a something by virtue ofwhich it was possible for her to win a man's love, while for herselfit was, or seemed to her appreciation of herself, impossible. 

"Oh, no, Signorina, " answered Violante, gently, "the knowledge thatyou were painting up there would not suffice to distract mythoughts. But will you not let me look at your work? It must be verydifficult to copy these strange old wall-paintings. May I climb up?I know your friend the Marchese Lamberto well. Do you know who Iam?"

"Pray, come up, Signorina, if you have any curiosity. Oh, yes, Iknow your ladyship. I saw you once in the Cardinal's carriage. Youare his niece, the Contessa Violante, " replied Paolina, blushing alittle at the name of the Marchese Lamberto, only because, thoughassuredly not the rose, he lived close to it. 

So the two girls climbed the steps of the estrade together. 

"How came you to know the Marchese Lamberto?" asked Violante, afterthey had matured their acquaintanceship by a little talk about thesubject of Paolina's work. 

"Only because the Englishman, who employed me to copy these mosaics, gave me a letter to him. He seems to be very highly esteemed. "

"More so than any other man in all Ravenna, --except my uncle theCardinal, I suppose I ought to say; he is a most excellent man inall ways. But you know his nephew also, the Marchese Ludovico? non evero?" said Violante, looking down on the ground, while a pale blushcame over her white cheeks. 

"Yes, " replied Paolina, flushing crimson, and similarly lookingdown, but stealing a side-glance under her eyelashes at hercompanion, --"yes; I became acquainted with him also in the samemanner--at least, on the same occasion; and, in truth, I have seenmore of him than of his uncle, for the Marchese Lamberto is alwaysso busy, and he commissioned his nephew to do all that he could toassist us, when we were first settling ourselves here. "

"And you found him kind, too; as kind as his uncle?" said Violante, stealing a sidelong glance at Paolina. 

"Yes, indeed, Signorina, " said she, feeling not a littleembarrassment. 

"Paolina--you see I know your name, and I think it such a prettyone--Paolina, " said the Contessa Violante, yielding to a suddenimpulse, and taking the hand of the blushing girl, who kept her eyesfixed on the ground, "shall we be friends, and speak openly to eachother? I should like to. "

"Oh, Signorina! so should I, so much. There is nothing I should likeso much--almost nothing, " replied Paolina, looking up into her face, with her own still crimson. 

"Tell me, then, if you ever heard my name mentioned in connectionwith that of the Marchese Ludovico?" said Violante, looking with arather sad and subdued, but yet arch, smile into Paolina's eyes. 

"Yes, Signorina, I have so heard, " said Paolina, raising her headwith a proud movement, and looking, with well-opened eyes and clearbrow, into Violante's face as she spoke. "I have heard that it wasintended by both your families that you and the Marchese Ludovicoshould be married. "

"Yes; everybody in Ravenna, I believe, expects to see such amarriage before long; do you? We are to be friends, you know, andspeak frankly to each other; do you expect it, Paolina?" askedViolante, still holding her hand, and looking with a smile, halfshrewd, half sad, into her face. 

Paolina remained silent a minute or two, again dropping her clearhonest eyes to the ground. Then raising them again, she said in analmost whispered voice, but looking straight at her companion, "No, Signorina, I do not expect that; for he has promised to marryme. "

"Ah--h! it is a relief to hear you say so. My dear Paolina, I am soglad, " said the elder girl, putting a hand on each of Paolina'sshoulders, and kissing her on the forehead--"I am so glad; much foryour own sake, somewhat, too, for his, and much for my own sake. For, Paolina, I could not marry Ludovico. If he asked me to do so, it would be only done in obedience to the will of his uncle. He doesnot--no, 'tis no fault of yours, my child--never has loved me. "

"Signora, when first I--allowed him to teach me to love him, I knewnothing of any duty that he owed elsewhere. And when I did know it Idetermined, even if it should break my heart, to refuse any suchlove as should have been stolen from a wife, " said Paolina. 

"That was the part of a good and honest girl. And for me, I have tothank you for it. Paolina, I hope you may be happy. We shall oftenmeet here, shall we not?"

"Not often here, Signora. My task here is not a long one; and I hopeby the end of Carnival to have finished it, so that I may go to St. Apollinare, outside the town, where I have to make several copies. It is very desirable not to go there later; because when the warmweather comes it becomes so unhealthy there. "

"Yes; but we have some days yet before the end of the Carnival; andtill then you will be at work every day here?"

"Si, Signora; I hope so. "

"Then I hope we shall have several more opportunities of seeing eachother. And now I must not keep you from your work any longer. Shallwe be friends?"

"Oh, Signorina; it is too good of you to ask me, a poor artist. Andwhen--it would be my greatest pride to have such a friend. "

And then the girls kissed and parted: Violante to kneel for herdaily devotions, at the footstool before the altar; and Paolina tocontinue her copying. And after that they had frequent meetings inthe little chapel, and learned to become fast friends. 

The Carnival was now drawing near its end; and the city had beenpromised that before the time of cakes and ale should be over, andthat of sackcloth and ashes should begin, the divine prima donnashould appear in one more new part. And, after much deliberation anddebate, it had been decided that this should be Bellini'smasterpiece, La Sonnambula. She was to sing it on one night only--the last Sunday of the Carnival; and the attraction on that nightwas proportionably great. The Sonnambula, then in the first blush ofits immense popularity, had never yet been heard in Ravenna. It wasone of the favourite parts of the Diva; and all the city was on thetiptoe of expectation. 

It was a matter of course that all the "society" would be there. Theentire first row of the boxes, --the "piano nobile, " as it is calledin Italian theatres, --was the private property of the various noblefamilies of the city, which each had its box, with its coat of armsduly emblazoned on the door thereof, in that tier. Nobody who didnot belong to "the society" of the town could in any way show hisintruding face in the "piano nobile. " But above this sacredhemicycle there was another range of boxes; equally private boxes;as all the boxes of an Italian theatre are;--and the key of one ofthese upper "loggie" had been secured by Ludovico, and presented toSignora Orsola and Paolina for the great evening. 

Of course he himself would be obliged to be in his proper place inthe Castelmare box, which was the stage box on the left hand of thestage. 

"Whether I may be able to run up and pay you a little visit in thecourse of the evening, I don't know. You may be very sure I shall ifI can; but there will be all the world there, of course, and lo zioin the box--unless, indeed, he should choose to go behind thescenes. Talking of that, " he added, as he was on the point ofleaving the room, "I don't know what to make of lo zio of late. "

"Has he said anything?"

"Not a word; but I don't like the look of him. He never was moreamiable as far as I am concerned; but he is not well; I never sawhim as he is now. He is haggard, feverish, restless; an older man inappearance by a dozen years than he was at the beginning ofCarnival. "

"I suppose he has been raking too much, and wants a little rest. Lent will be good for him. "

"What, he! The Marchese Lamberto raking! You don't know him. But heseems quite broken down; I should say, that he had got something onhis mind, if it was not impossible. He never had any trouble in hislife; and never did anything he ought not to do, I believe. But Iconfess he puzzles me now. Good-night. God bless you, Paolina mia!"

That was on the Friday; and the Diva's last appearance was to takeplace on the following Sunday. 

CHAPTER II

The Corso

The institution of Carnival and Lent in Italy seems very much as ifit arose from a practical conviction in the minds of the Italiansthat they cannot serve two masters, --at least at the same time, --Mammon in all his forms is to be the acknowledged and exclusive lordof the hour during the first period, on condition that higher andholier claims to service shall be as unreservedly recognized whenthe second shall have set in. 

 "Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda water the day after. "

Byron has given us the rule with the most orthodox accuracy. Whetherthe second portion of the prescription is observed as heartily, punctually, and universally as the first, may be doubted. But in alloutward form and ceremony the violence of the contrast between thetwo seasons is acted out to the letter; is, or was, as may beperhaps more correctly said now-a-days; for both Carnival jollityand licence, and Lent strictness, are from year to year lessobserved than used to be the case. At Rome, Mother Church exhortsher subjects to feast and laugh in Carnival, in nowise lessearnestly or imperatively than she enjoins on them fasting andpenances for having laughed in Lent. But her subjects will doneither the one nor the other. And when one hears reiteratedcomplaints in Roman pulpits of pipings to which no dancers haveresponded, and the vain exhortations of the ecclesiasticalauthorities to the people to Carnival frolic and festivity, one isreminded of our own Archbishop's "Book of Sports, " and led to makecomparisons, by which hangs a very long tale. 

Great Pan died once upon a time. And Carnival, as it used to be, iswith much else dying now in Italy. But in the days to which theincidents here narrated belong, the difference between Carnival andLent was as marked as that between day and night. 

More marked indeed. For between day and night there is twilight, butthe transition from Carnival to Lent is as sudden as a plunge fromsunshine into cold water. Carnival ends at twelve o'clock on thenight of Shrove Tuesday. And the theory of its observance is, orwas, that the fun and revelry should grow ever more fast and furiousup to the last permitted moment. Then, the clock strikes; the lightsare put out, Carnival dies amid one last hurrah. And maskers andrevellers go home to rise the next morning with grave and perhapsyellow faces. 

In Ravenna, as has been said, a great reception of all the societyat the Palazzo Castelmare on the Sunday evening was as much aninstitution as the High Mass on a Sunday morning. And this was thecourse of things during all the year, except in Carnival time. Then, in order to leave Sunday evening--the great time for balls andtheatres, and pleasure of all sorts free, the reception at thePalazzo Castelmare was changed to the Monday. The programme, therefore, for the three last grand days of the Carnival in Ravenna, on that occasion, stood thus:--

On the Sunday, a grand gala Corso from four to six in the afternoon. (That is to say, that every available carriage of every sort inRavenna would be put in requisition, and would be driven inprocession, at a slow foot pace, up and down the long street calledthe Corso; and those who had servants and liveries and fine horseswould display them and rejoice; and those who had none of thesethings would mingle with the grand carriages in broken-downshandridans, and rejoice also at the sight of the finery, withoutthe smallest feeling of shame at their own poverty. This is aCorso. ) On the Sunday evening, the grand representation of theSonnambula, with the theatre lighted (according to advertisement)"with wax-candles, till it was as light as day!"

Secondly, on the Monday, another Corso, with throwing of flowers and"coriandoli" (i. E. What was supposed to be comfits, but in realitylittle pills of flour made and sold by the hundredweight for thepurpose) from the carriages to each other, and from the windows andthe balconies of the houses. Then in the evening, a grand galareception at the Palazzo Castelmare, at which it was understoodmasks would be gladly welcomed by the host. 

On the night of the Tuesday, thirdly, the last great day of all, there was to be a grand masked ball at the Circolo dei Nobili; thatball of which and of its consequences on the Ash Wednesday morning, the reader already wots. And this was to be the wind-up of theCarnival. 

The Corso on the Sunday was a most successful one. The weather wasall that was most desirable; bright, not too cold, and free fromwind and dust. The Marchese Lamberto turned out with two handsomelyappointed equipages. He and his sister-in-law occupied one carriage, and the Marchese Ludovico and the Conte Leandro Lombardone, who wasnot a rich man, and had no carriage of his own, sat in the second. 

It could not be said that the Marchese Lamberto "looked like thetime!" And, in truth, he would have given much to escape the ordealhe was called upon to go through. But that was out of the question;unless he had been confined to his bed--in which case the whole townwould have been at the palazzo door with inquiries, and all thedoctors at his bedside in consultation--it could not be that heshould not show himself at the Corso. 

Both the Castelmare carriages had the front seats laden with hugebaskets of bouquets prepared for throwing at friends andacquaintances in other carriages, and at windows and balconies. Theoccupants of the carriages seemed to be embedded in a bank offlowers. And there sat the Marchese amid this wealth of rainbow-colours, looking positively ghastly, --so changed, so drawn, so agedwas he. And his painful attempts to enter into the spirit of thescene, and act the part which he was expected to act, would havebeen pitiable to any eye which had observed them closely. 

He had left Bianca only just before it had been necessary to returnto the palazzo to get into his carriage for the Corso: and theinterview between them had been an important one. He had gonethither fully purposed to explain to her, finally, the utterimpossibility of his doing as she would have him do. He meant topoint out to her how exceptionally difficult it would be for him, inthe peculiar position he occupied, to make her his wife. He intendedto show her that such a step would have the effect of pulling himdown rather than that of pulling her up. He had purposedendeavouring to induce her to accede to such proposals as he couldmake to her by the exhibition of the most unstinting generosity. Andhe had determined, --fully, finally, and irrevocably determined, thatif all that be could say to her on these points should fail topersuade her to accede to such an arrangement, as he had it in hispower to propose to her, he would that day, and from that hour, giveher up, and swear to himself never to let the image of her cross hismemory again. 

The visit had been long, and occasionally even somewhat tempestuous. The Marchese had been eloquent; and now driven to bay, had beenunequivocal enough in his declarations, his determinations, and hispromises. The Diva had shown herself a Diva at every point. She hadwept, she had smiled, she had been scornful, she had been suppliant, she had been repellent, she had been loving! And in every mood shehad seemed to the fascinated eyes of the Marchese more lovely thanin that which preceded it. Finally, she had conquered. Instead ofcoming away from her, never to see her again, he came away leavingher with the offer of his hand. 

And there had been a moment of supreme triumph and ecstasy whenpermitted, for the first time, to take her in his arms, and pressthat lovely bosom to his own, and glue his own to those heavenlylips; it had seemed to him as if the prize that was his was worth athousand times all that he was paying for it. It was all for love, and the world well lost. For not for an instant did the Marcheseblind himself to the fact that his world must be lost by such amarriage as he was contemplating. But what did he care for all thathad been hitherto to him as the breath of his nostrils? He now felt, for the first time, what of joy and real happiness life had in truthto offer. He would go away, --far away with his Bianca and live onlyfor her, and for the delights of her love! Fool that he had been tohesitate. And blessed a thousand times was her sweet, her dearinsistence, that had led him to better things!

Such was the state of the mind of the Marchese, while he held hisDiva in his arms; and it lasted in full force, almost till he hadleft the door of her house behind him as he hastened to the palazzoto discharge the Corso duty, which was one of the most prominentfunctions of his present social position. 

And then it seemed as if suddenly, --with a suddenness equal to thatof a tropical sunset, --the scales had fallen from his eyes, and hewas another man. 

Great God! What had he done? Had he been smitten with suddenmadness? What--what was the fatal power this fearful woman had overhim? Were then the old witchcraft and philtre tales really true?Surely he must be the victim of some spell, some horribleenchantment. Marry her! Heavens and earth! He hated her. He felt asif he could with pleasure take her by that beautiful throat andsqueeze the noxious life out of her. 

He pressed his burning hand to his yet hotter forehead, as soon ashe found himself in the quiet and solitude of his own room, swallowed a large glass of water, and strove to obtain such littlecommand over himself, for the moment at least, as might suffice toenable him to go through the task before him. 

A servant knocked at the door and put his head in to announce thatthe carriages were at the door. The miserable man started from hischair as if he had been caught in some crime, and answered that hewould be down directly. A second time he swallowed, hastily, a largeglass of water, for his throat felt parched with thirst; and then, with a vigorous effort to appear gay and at his ease, which producedonly the semblance of a fixed unnatural grin on his face, he wentdown to the carriage. 

It was painful to him to pass between the servants who stood in thehall, painful to have to take his seat by the side of his sister-in-law, --and most painful of all to meet the gaze of all the townassembled for the Corso. He could not help thinking that all eyeswere turned on him, with glances of surprise and suspicion. He feltashamed to meet and be seen by his acquaintances. He, the MarcheseLamberto di Castelmare, who had never, till that hour, known what itwas to shun the eye of any man, --who had been accustomed to be thecynosure of all eyes, and to feel that they were all turned on himwith respect and regard. 

The occasion, and the part he was expected to fulfil in it, made itnecessary for him to recognize and return every minute thesalutations and greetings of his friends and those who knew him. Andwho in Ravenna did not know the Marchese Lamberto? There was a good-natured word wanted here, a gallant little phrase there, asalutation with the speaking fingers to this carriage, a more formalbow to the occupants of another, a gracious nod to one person, and asmile to a second. 

And all this the unhappy man essayed to perform, as he had so oftenperformed it happily, easily, and successfully in other days. 

It was impossible for anybody, whose eye rested on the Marchese foran instant, as he sat amid the flowers in his carriage, to avoidseeing that there was something wrong with him--that he was veryunlike his usual self. And every eye, as the carriages passed eachother in the long procession, forming two lines as one passed downthe street while the other moved in the contrary direction, did reston him. But it never for an instant entered into the head of asingle human being there, to guess at anything like the real causeof the change in the Marchese. 

"Time begins to tell on the Marchese; he takes too much out ofhimself; always busy--no rest--a bad thing!" said one. 

"The Marchese Lamberto looks knocked up with this carnival. Quitetime for him that Lent was come, " said another. 

"The fact is that the Marchese is growing old, and he wants morerest. He has not a minute to himself, --too many irons in the fire atonce, said a third. 

"I dare say he has been worried out of his life in getting this newOpera put upon the stage. You'll see he'll be all right enough atthe ball to-morrow night. "

"Is she in the Corso--La Lalli?"

"Altro. I should think so--and looking so lovely. What a woman sheis!"

"Whereabouts is she?"

"About twenty carriages further ahead. You'll see her presently, when we are near the turn, sitting buried up to her waist nearly inflowers--a regular Flora, and such a representative as the Goddessnever had before. "

"Who has she got with her in her carriage?" asked the first speaker. "I expected to have seen the Marchesino Ludovico there, but he iswith the Conte Leandro, in one of the Castelmare carriages. "

"Che! catch her compromising herself in any such manner. I wonderhow much some of our friends would have given to have the placebeside her to-day? But not a bit of it: she has got the old man shecalls her father with her. "

"Funny, isn't it? I wonder what her game is?"

"Simply to work hard at her vocation, and make as much money as shecan, I take it. Probably you would find, if you got at the truth, some animal of a baritono robuato, who owns the Diva's heart, andfor whom she works and slaves. "

"Poverina! there are the Castelmare carriages coming round again. "

The manner of an Italian "Corso" is this: A certain street, orstreets--the most adapted to the exigencies of the case that thecity can supply--is selected for the purpose; and when the line ofcarriages reaches the end of this, it turns and proceeds back againto the other end; turns again, and so on. Thus, at each turn, everycarriage in the line meets every other once in each circuit. 

The second Castelmare carriage, in which the Marchese Ludovico andLeandro Lombardoni were sitting, was following next after thatoccupied by the Marchese Lamberto and his sister-in-law; and thuseach carriage in the line proceeding in a contrary direction tothem, passed first the Marchese Lamberto and then his nephew. Thecarriage occupied by the latter was a wholly open one with a lowback. But that in which the Marchese Lamberto sat, though also anopen carriage, and entirely so in front, had a half roof at theback, so that it was not so conveniently adapted as the other forseeing those following it as well as those preceding it. 

The Marchese and his sister-in-law threw bouquets into almost everycarriage that passed them; and the stock with which they had startedwas soon very much diminished. But one specially magnificent andlarge bouquet, which conspicuously occupied the centre of the frontseat of the carriage, was evidently reserved. Everybody who saw itknew very well for whom that was intended. Of course it was for noneother than the Diva of the theatre. And the known interest which theMarchese took in such matters, his musical fanaticism, and the largeshare he had had in bringing La Lalli to Ravenna, made it quitenatural, and a matter of course, that he should pay her such acompliment. 

Presently he descried her in the opposite string of carriages, coming towards him. Her carriage was an entirely open one, and shesate in it, with old Quinto Lalli by her side, literally, as oneobserver had said, half buried in flowers. And most assuredlyneither the labours nor the dissipations of the carnival, nor time, nor care, nor any other circumstance, had dimmed the lustre of herbeauty, or lessened the verve and spirit of enjoyment with which shetook her part in the pageant. She was brilliant with vivacity, beauty, and happiness. 

The Marchese might have been seen, had anybody been observing himclosely at the moment, to turn visibly paler as her carriageapproached his. As far as any clear thought had been in his mind, orany power of thinking possible to him, his latest idea in referenceto her had been a desperate resolve that he would never speak to heragain. And now, again, as he saw her, in a new avatar of loveliness, he once again knew that to keep such a resolution was above hispower. 

What he had to do at the moment was to be done, in any case, withthe best grace he might. Taking the huge mass of skilfully-arrangedflowers in both hands, as her carriage came opposite to his, heleaned out as far as he could, and Quinto Lalli, who sat on the sidenearest to him, stretched out to meet him, and then handed theoffering to the Goddess. She smiled brilliantly and bowed low, sending a coquettish, sidelong glance of private thanks undereyelashes as she bent her graceful neck. 

The carriages rolled on, and passed each other; and there rushedinto the Marchese's head a sudden pulse of blood, which turned hisprevious pallor into a dusky crimson, and seemed to make all thescene swim before his eyes. Partly to hide the evidences of theemotion of which he was conscious, and partly because he felt as ifhe needed the support, he threw himself back into the corner of thecarriage, turning himself away from the scene in front of it asthough to shelter his face from the sun that was then so low in thesky as to begin to throw its slanting rays under the hoods of thecarriages. This position, as it chanced, brought the Marchese's eyeto bear on the little glass window made in the back of the hood ofthe carriage, after the old-fashioned manner of coach-building. 

And what he saw through the little window was this. 

A something--a white paper packet, it looked like--was in the act ofbeing thrown to the Diva's carriage from that immediately behind hisown, in which, it will be remembered, were his nephew and the ConteLeandro; and the Goddess herself was leaning far out of her carriagein the act of throwing a bouquet to the Marchese Ludovico: TheMarchese Lamberto also saw the magnificent flowers he had himselfjust given to Bianca roll from her carriage on to the pavement, --anaccident caused by the movement of her person as she leaned forwardto throw her flowers to the other carriage. 

With what an added torment to the hell that raged within him theunfortunate Marchese returned from that miserable Corso to hispalazzo, may be well imagined. 

Nevertheless, there had been as little meaning in what he had seenas there often is in many things that make the madness of a jealousman's jealousy. 

With the white paper packet--for such it in truth was--the MarcheseLudovico had nothing whatever to do. It had been thrown by the poetLeandro, and contained an attempt to improve the occasion after afashion, such as he hoped must draw some reply from the Diva. Biancahad taken the opportunity--somewhat coquettishly, but according tothe laws and customs of such occasions, quite permissibly--to payLudovico the compliment in the eye of all Ravenna of throwing someflowers because she liked him, and because she chose to mark thefact that she threw none during all the Corso to anybody else. Shewould have done the same if it had so happened that it had been infront of the Marchese Lamberto's carriage instead of behind it; but, of course, to the passion-blinded brain of the latter, thiscircumstance made all the difference. 

As to the rolling of his own superb bouquet on the pavement, it hadbeen quite accidental, and much regretted by Bianca. To recoveranything of the kind on such an occasion is, it must be understood, quite out of the question. Any such fallen treasure--and half thethings thrown do fall short of the hands for which they are meant--becomes the instant prey of the small boys who throng the streets, and are constantly on the look-out for such windfalls around thecarriages. 

CHAPTER III

"La Sonnambula"

It may be easily imagined that the Marchese returned from the Corsovery little disposed to take any pleasure in the treat to which allRavenna was looking forward, and which he would have enjoyed morethan any one else under other circumstances--the performance at thetheatre on that Sunday evening. Nevertheless, the duty of attendingit had to be done. All Ravenna would have been astonished, and havewanted to "know the reason why, " if the Marchese had been absentfrom his box on such an evening. "Society" expected it of him thathe should be there, and he had been all his life doing everythingthat "society" expected of him; besides, his presence there reallywas needed, and poor little Ercole Stadione would have despairedinconsolably if he had been deprived, on such an occasion, of thesupport of his great friend and patron. 

But if none of these reasons had existed--if the Marchese, when hereached the shelter of his own roof after that horrible Corso, hadbeen entirely free to go to bed and escape the necessity of facingthe eyes of all the world of Ravenna, which seemed to him to be fromhour to hour growing into a more terrible ordeal, would he have goneto bed and abstained from attending the theatre?

It might have been very confidently predicted that he would not havedone so. He began, in an unreasoning animal-like sort of way, torecognize the fact that every hour that he spent away from thiswoman was bare, barren, and of no value to him at all. He wasconscious that he could be said to live only in her presence. He wasbeginning to give himself up as a lost man, and to acquiesce, half-stunned and stupid, in a fatality which he could not struggleagainst. 

And now he was longing--burning not only to have his eyes on heragain, but to speak to her. He would have plenty, of opportunitiesof doing so at the theatre in the green-room, or in her dressing-room, and every minute seemed to him an age till he could find suchan opportunity. 

If he had been asked at that minute--if he had himself asked of hisown mind--what he meant to do--to what future he was looking, whether he meant to marry La Lalli or to give her up, he wouldprobably have repudiated either alternative with equal violence. Hismind was in a state of chaos; and what was to come in any future, except the most immediate one, he had become incapable ofconsidering. Now he was going to see, to hear, to breathe the sameatmosphere with her again, and to go through the wretched task ofstriving to behave as usual, and look as usual in the eyes of allRavenna. 

The performance was to commence at half-past eight o'clock, and theMarchese, reaching the theatre nearly half-an-boar before that time, found Bianca sufficiently nearly dressed for him to be admitted toher dressing-room. She was putting the finishing touches to theplatting of her magnificent hair, after the fashion of a Swissvillage-girl, for the completion of her toilette as Amina. Hethought that, in this new costume, she looked more irresistiblyattractive than he had yet seen her. 

"Bianca, " he said, as soon as her dresser had left her, and shut thedoor, "you have made me so miserable to-day. I must tell you openlyat once what is in my heart. I saw, to-day, at the Corso--by nomeans intending to look at all at your carriage after it had passedmine--I saw my poor flowers thrown away by you, while you werethrowing a bouquet to my nephew and receiving from him somethingthrown in return. Bianca, is that the conduct of a woman who has thevery same morning accepted the hand of another man? Bianca, I warnyou to beware; you do not know what such a love as mine, if itshould discover itself to be betrayed, might be capable of. "

"Marchese, do not look at me in that way; you frighten me, and whathave I done? It is all a mistake, entirely a mistake!" said the poorDiva, really frightened at the manner of the Marchese. 

"Did I not see you throw the flowers I had given you from yourcarriage; evidently for the purpose of gratifying another person?"

"Oh, Marchese! how is it possible that such a thought should enterinto your head? Ah, how little you know. If you knew how I hadgrieved over the loss of the beautiful bouquet that had come fromyour hand! It fell from the carriage by accident; and it wassnatched up, and a boy ran off with it, all in a moment; I wouldhave given anything to get it back again. "

"But how came the accident? It was caused by your leaning out ofyour carriage to throw a bouquet yourself. "

"Yes, exactly so; to the Marchese Ludovico. He was the only personto whom I threw a bouquet in all the Corso. "

"And why should you throw one to him?"

"To him, --to your nephew? Why not, I should not have thought ofdoing so to another. But to him--"

"And what was it, pray, that he threw to you? I wonder whether hethought, too, that he should not dream of throwing anything toanybody except you. "

"The Marchese Ludovico threw nothing to me. Just at the same momentthat troublesome idiot, the Conte Leandro, threw a packet into thecarriage. I have not even opened it; you may have it unopened thenext time you are in the Strada di Porta Sisi, if you like. No doubtit contains some of his charming verses. It is not kind of you, Signor Marchese, to say such things, or to have such thoughts inyour head!" said Bianca, turning away her face and putting herhandkerchief to her eyes. "And now, " she added, "you have made myeyes all red just before I have to go on the stage!"

Of course once again the unhappy Marchese was entirely routed, andthe Diva was victorious. "Forgive me, Bianca, ", he whispered; "Ithink only of you from the morning to the evening, and from theevening to the morning again. And it would be impossible for any manto love, as I love you, without a liability to jealousy. I amjealous of your love, Bianca!"

"But it is wonderful that you should not perceive how little causeyou have for any such feeling. Oh, Marchese, how can you doubt me?Surely you must have seen and known how entirely my love is yours. You must not wring your poor Bianca's heart by such cruelsuspicions. "

And then the three knocks, which announced the raising of thecurtain, were heard; and the Marchese again murmuring a request tobe forgiven, as he kissed her hand, hurried away to take his placein his box. 

The house was already nearly full, for the occasion was a notableone; and the opera was new to Ravenna; and everybody wished to hearevery note of it. The Marchese Ludovico was not, however, in theCastelmare box, when his uncle reached it, but he came in a minuteafterwards. He had been up to the upper tier of boxes to say a wordto Paolina and her old friend, who were in the box he had providedfor them, which was on the opposite side of the house to theCastelmare box; and exactly over that in the "piano nobile" in whichwere the Marchesa Anna Lanfredi, and her niece the ContessaViolante. 

There was a little noise in the house of people not yet seatedduring the opening chorus of villagers; but when the prima donnacame on the stage as Amina, after the prolonged and repeated roundsof applause, which greeted her appearance, had subsided, a pin'sfall might have been heard in the theatre. 

The Marchese Ludovico had joined cordially and boisterously, and theMarchese Lamberto more moderately, in the applause which had salutedthe entrance of the Diva; and after that the latter had placedhimself in the corner of the box, with his back to the audience, andhis face towards the stage, and with an opera-glass at his eyes, hesat perfectly still, feeding his passion with every glance, everychange of feature, and every movement of the woman who hadenthralled him. 

Then came the famous song of Amina, the happy village-bride about tobe married on the morrow to her lover--the tenor of course. The Divasang it admirably, and acted it equally well. The purest girlishinnocence was expressed in every trait of her features andmanifested itself in every gesture and every movement. The perfect, trusting, happy love of a fresh and innocent heart could have had nobetter representative. 

The recitative, "Care compagne, " etc, addressed to the assembledvillagers, fell from her lips with a purity of enunciation that madeeach syllable seem like a note from a silver bell. And then the air, "Come per me sereno, " held the house entranced till the final noteof it. And then burst forth such a frantic shout of applause anddelight as can be heard only in an Italian theatre. 

Ludovico leant far out of the stage-box in which he sat, and joinedvociferously in the plaudits with both hand and voice. But theMarchese remained quiet in his corner, with his face half-shaded byhis hand, conscious as he was that the expression of it might needhiding from the others in the box. He need not have heeded them; fortheir attention was too exclusively occupied with the stage for themto expend any of it on him. Had it been otherwise his hand, coveringthe lower half of his face, would not have sufficed to conceal hisemotion. 

Now again the hot fit of his love was in the ascendant. Never hadBianca more thoroughly captivated him. Never had it seemed to himless possible to live without her. What to him were all these dulland empty blockheads for whom be had hitherto lived, and who werenow--the foul fiend seize them!--sharing with him the delight ofseeing and hearing her for the last time. Yes, it should be for thelast time. He would make her his, all his own; and carry her faraway from all that could remind either her or himself of their pastlives. And then a scowl of displeasure came over his face as hisglance lighted on his nephew's noisy and unrestrained manifestationsof enthusiastic admiration. 

Presently, towards the end of the first act, came the duet betweenAmina and her lover, who has been made causelessly jealous, andBianca sang the pretty lines--

 "Son, mio bene, del zeffiro amante, Perche ad esso il tuo nome confido. Amo il sol, perche teco il divido, Amo il rio, perche l'onda ti da, "

with a sweetness of expression perfectly irresistible. The Marchesein his corner, half-shrouded from the observation of the house bythe curtain, which, though undrawn, hung down by the side of thebox, but fully facing the stage, was perfectly aware that the singerhad specially addressed herself to him; and he felt the full forceof the loving rebuke for the unreasonable displeasure he had sorecently manifested in her dressing-room. His heart went out towardsher; and he felt that if it were to be done that moment, he couldhave led her to the altar in the face of all Christendom. 

At the end of the act the plaudits were again vociferous, and fourtimes was the smiling and triumphant Diva compelled by the calls andclamour of her worshippers to return before the curtain to receivetheir applause and salute them in return for it. The MarcheseLudovico again loudly and enthusiastically joined in thesemanifestations; and then, when they were over, and the noise in thehouse had subsided, he quietly slipped out of the box, and springingup the stairs which communicated with the upper tier of boxes, entered that occupied by Paolina and the Signora Orsola Steno. 

"What did you think of that, Paolina mia?" he said, sitting down byher side, and making the action of applauding with his hands, as hespoke. "Did you ever hear a thing more charmingly sung? Is she notdivine?"

"There is no mistaking your opinion on the point, at all events, amico mio. I never saw anybody manifest such unbounded admiration asyou did just now. But the Diva was not thinking of you, I can tellyou, " said Paolina, with just the slightest possible flavour ofpique in her tone. 

"Thinking of me; I should imagine not indeed. But what upon earthhave you got into that dear little head of yours, my Paolina? Didnot you think both singing and acting very fine?"

"Certainly I think her voice is perhaps the finest I ever heard inmy life; and she is no doubt a great actress--a very great actress;but--she is not simpatica to me. I don't know why, but--somehow orother--I don't like her. "

"What can you have got into your head, tesoro mio? You know nothingof her; you have nothing to do with her except to see and hear heron the stage. "

"No; thank heaven! I should not like that she should come any nearerto my life than that, " replied Paolina, with a little shudder. 

"Come, Paolina, you must admit that that is being prejudiced andunreasonable, " said Ludovico smiling at her. 

"Yes; I suppose it is. But--Ludovico mio, just ask any other woman--any other good woman--in the house; and see if they have not thesame feeling. The Contessa Violante, for example--ask her, " saidPaolina. 

"Just because she is splendidly handsome: women cannot be just toeach other when that comes in the way. But you might afford to becharitable even to so beautiful a creature as the Lalli, myPaolina. "

"No, Signor, I won't be bribed by compliments, even from you, " shewhispered, with a look that showed that the value of the bribe wasnot unappreciated; "and I think that what you say is unjust to womenin general. "

"But I wonder what it is then that has prejudiced you against theLalli?"

"I don't know. Really nothing that I can tell. One feels sometimeswhat one cannot explain. She is not simpatica to me, that is all. "

"But what on earth put it into your head, Paolina mia, to say thatshe was not thinking of me when she was singing her part? Why shouldshe think of me--or of anybody else, except the primo tenore, whowas singing with her? What is it you mean?" said Ludovico, muchpuzzled. 

"You said she was a very good actress as well as a fine singer, "returned Paolina; "and I think she is. This is a capital box forseeing all that goes on the opposite side of the theatre. And I cantell you who the Lalli was thinking of, and who she was singing atduring her duet at the end of the act--your uncle, the MarcheseLamberto; and he knew it very well, too. "

"What parcel of nonsense have you got into your little brains, Paolina? Sing at the Marchese? Of course they all do; of course theyall know that his suffrage is of more importance to them than allthe rest of the theatre put together. But as for my idea of--lo zio--of all men in the world. Ha, ha, ha! If you had lived in Ravennainstead of Venice all your life, carina mia, you would know howinfinitely absurd the idea seems of there being anything between theMarchese Lamberto and a stage singer, or of its being possible forhim to regard her in any other light than that of a singingmachine. "

"I dare say you are right, caro mio. Still I can't quite think thatthe Marchese would look at any one of the fiddles quite as I saw himlook at her, " said Paolina. 

And then the immense interval, which occurs between one act andanother in Italian theatres, and which is tolerated with perfectcontentment by Italian audiences, came to an end; and Ludovicohurried down to take his place again in the Castelmare box. 

The next point in the opera which excited the special enthusiasm ofthe house was the impassioned finale to the second act, in whichAmina on her knees strives to convince her lover of her innocence ofhaving ever harboured a thought inconsistent with entire devotion tohim. She sang as if her whole soul were in her words; and the entiretheatre was electrified by the power of her acting; the entiretheatre, with the exception of one intelligent and observant littleface in a box on the upper tier, exactly opposite to that of theMarchese Lamberto. 

From that vantage-ground of observation Paolina saw perfectly wellboth the singer on the stage and the Marchese in the box; and againfelt sure that the actress was specially addressing herself with animplied meaning to the latter; and that he was aware that she wasdoing so. She felt no doubt that the motive for this was exactlythat to which Ludovico had attributed it. It was important to theDiva to flatter and make a friend of so powerful a theatrical patronas the Marchese; and she took this very objectionable method, Paolina thought, of attaining that end. Paolina thought nothing morethan this; but, nevertheless, it made her conceive a dislike for theDiva greater, perhaps, than the cause would seem to justify. 

The interval between the second and the third act Ludovico thoughthimself obliged to pass in the box of the Marchese Anna Lanfredi, inwhich Violante was sitting with her aunt. There, too, he found theladies not quite disposed to be as frantically enthusiastic in theirpraises of the singer as the whole male part of the audience. TheMarchesa Lanfredi thought that La Lalli was nothing at all incomparison with some singer who had charmed all Bologna some fortyyears before. And Violante, admitting that she had an exquisitevoice and perfect method, confessed much as Paolina had done, thatshe did not quite like her, she hardly knew why. 

In the third act, the song sung by the sleep-walker in her state ofunconsciousness--"Ah non credea mirarti, "--was a great success. Andmost fascinatingly lovely the Diva looked in her white night-dress, with her wreath of rich auburn tresses hanging in luxuriant curlsaround her shoulders. 

Shortly after this had been sung a liveried servant entered theCastelmare box, bearing a most superb bouquet of choice flowers, tied with a long streamer of broad rose-coloured ribbon, anddeposited it on the front of the box. 

And then came the joyful finale "Ah non giunge. " And in that theDiva seemed to surpass herself. It was a passionate carol of love, and joy, and triumph in which she seemed to pour the whole force andenergy of her soul into the words and sounds that told the truth, the entirety, the perfection of her love, and the overwhelminghappiness the recognition of it by its object gave her. 

For many minutes the vociferous applause continued. The stage wascovered with flowers flung from all sides of the house. The MarcheseLamberto whispered a word or two to Ludovico; and then the latter, leaning far out of the box, presented the magnificent bouquet toBianca, who was smiling and thanking the public for their plauditsby repeated curtsies, and who came for it to the side of the stage. She made a very low and graceful curtsey to Ludovico, as she took itfrom his hand; but her eyes thanked the Marchese Lamberto, who stillremained close in his corner, for the gift. 

The fact was that he was too much moved by violent and contendingemotions to dare to trust himself to hand the flowers himself. Heknew that he was shaking in every limb; and, therefore, had told hisnephew to give the bouquet; which, indeed, it was quite a matter ofcourse that a successful prima donna should receive from that box onsuch an occasion. 

Again and again the curtain had to be raised after it had descendedin obedience to the cries of the spectators, who were determined tomake the Diva's triumph complete. Again and again she had to stepback on the stage and make yet one more bow and smile--yet one moregracious smile. 

During this delay the Marchese Lamberto slipped from his box andmade his way behind the scenes. "Can you feel as Bianca what you canso divinely express as Amina?" he whispered in her ear as he gaveher his arm to lead her to her carriage at the stage-door. 

"Try me as Amina was tried; and reward me as Amina was rewarded, andthen see, " she replied in the same tone. 

And so ended Bianca Lalli's Carnival engagement at Ravenna. 

CHAPTER IV

The Marchese Lamberto's Correspondence

The next morning--the morning of the Monday after the galaperformance at the theatre--the post brought to the PalazzoCastelmare a letter from Rome, before the Marchese had left hischamber. The servant took it to his master's room, found him stillin bed, though awake, and left it on the table by his bedside. 

The Marchese Lamberto was, and had been all his life, far too busy aman to be a late riser. Italians, indeed, who do nothing all daylong, are often very early risers. Their, climate leads them to beso. They sleep during hours which are less available for being outof doors--for your Italian idler passes very little of his day inhis own home--and they are up and out during the delicious hours ofthe early morning. But the Marchese Lamberto, whose days were filledwith the multiplicity of occupations and affairs that have beendescribed in a previous chapter, was wont, at all times of the year, to rise early. 

On the present occasion, a sleepless night--and such nights, also, were a new phenomenon in the Marchese's life--might have been areason for his being late. But he was not sleeping when his servanttook the letter in to him. The frame of mind in which he returnedfrom the theatre has been described. It lasted till he fell into afeverish sleep, soon after going to his bed. 

The dreams that made such sleep anything but rest may be easilyguessed. He was startled from them by the fancy that the kisses ofBianca burned his lips; that it was a scorching flame, that he waspressing in his arms, the contact of which turned all his blood toliquid fire. 

He slept no more during the night. And the good that had seemed tohim, as he sate in his box at the opera, more desirable than all theother goods the world could give, seemed good no longer; seemed, inthe dark stillness of his night-thoughts, like a painted bait, withwhich the arch-tempter was luring him to his ruin and destruction. 

Restlessly turning on his bed with a deep sigh, and pressing his hothand to his yet hotter brow, he took the letter that had beenbrought him, and saw that it was from his Roman friend andcorrespondent, Monsignore Paterini:

"Illusmo Signor Marchese E Mio Buono E Colendmo Amico, " the letterran--"Seeing that the subject of my letter is matter adapted ratherto Carnival than to Lenten tide, I hasten to write so that it mayreach your lordship before the festive season is over. That yourfriends in Rome are never forgetful of one, who so eminentlydeserves all their best thoughts and good wishes, I trust I need nottell you. But in this our Rome, where so many interests are theunceasing care of so many powerful friends and backers, it needssuch merit as that of your lordship to make the efforts of friendssuccessful. "

"Understand, then, that his Holiness has been kept constantly awareof all that Ravenna--the welfare of which ancient and noble city isespecially dear to him--owes to your constant and intelligentefforts for the advancement of true civilization and improvement, asdistinguished from all that innovators, uninfluenced by the spiritof religion, vainly, boast as such. Specially, our Holy Father hasbeen pleased by the energy, tact, and truly well-directed zeal, withwhich you have succeeded in bringing to a satisfactory conclusionthe thorny and difficult business of the Spighi property, on whichall the welfare of our well-beloved Sisters in Christ the Augustinesof St. Barnaba so greatly depends. The lady superior of that well-deserving house is, as you are aware, the sister of his Eminence theCardinal Lattoli; and so signal a service rendered in that directionis, as I need hardly tell your lordship, not likely to beforgotten. "

"It is under these circumstances that I have the great satisfactionof having it in my power to inform your lordship, that it is thegracious purpose of our Holy Father to mark his approbation andsatisfaction at the conduct of your illustrious lordship in thismatter, in a manner that, while it manifests to the whole world thecare of his Holiness for every portion of the dominions of the HolyChurch, will, I doubt not, be highly gratifying to yourself at thepresent time, and will redound to the future glory and distinctionof your noble family. It is, in a word, the intention of the HolyFather to confer on your lordship the Grand Cross of the Most NobleOrder of the Santo Spirito. And it is further the benignant purposeand wish of his Holiness to present you with this most honourablemark of his approbation with his own sovereign hand. "

"We may therefore hope--myself and your numerous other friends inthis city--to see you here before long. Doubtless the tidings, whichI have been anxious to be the first to give you, will be veryshortly communicated to you in a more official manner. I fancy, indeed, that I shall not have been able to be much beforehand withthe official announcement. Make your arrangements, then, I beseechyou, to give us as long a visit as you can steal from the gravecares of watching over the interests of your beloved Ravenna. Thereare many here who are anxious to renew their acquaintance, and, ifhe will permit them to say so, their friendship with the Marchese diCastelmare. And, if I may venture to do so, my dear friend, I would, before closing my letter, whisper that, with due care and a littleactivity, the present favour of our Holy Father may be but theearnest of other things. "

"The future, however, is in God's hands, and man is but as grass. Nevertheless, as far as it is permissible to judge of the humanagencies by which the Heavenly Providence brings about its ends, Ishould say that your Legate, his Eminence the Cardinal Marliani, was, of all the present Fathers of the Church, one of the mostdeserving of our regards and respect. Should you have a fittingopportunity of allowing his Eminence to become aware how stronglysuch have always been my sentiments, and how unceasingly I endeavourto impress them on others, I should esteem it as a favour. It iswell that merit even so exalted as his should know that it isappreciated. "

"Omit not, my friend, to offer to the Marchese Ludovico, yournephew, the expression of my most distinguished regard and respect;and believe me, Illusmo Signor Marchese, of your Excellency thedevoted friend and most obedient servant. " "Giuseppe Paterini"

Before the Marchese had read the wordy epistle of his correspondenthalf through, he raised himself briskly to an upright sittingposture in his bed, his head was lifted with a proud movement fromits drooping attitude, and an expression of gratified pride andpleasure came into his eyes. The much-coveted distinction which wasnow, he was told, to be his, had long been the object of his eagerambition. And the manner in which it was to be conferred on him--theattitude he should stand in with reference to his friend theCardinal Legate--all contributed to make the occasion gratifying tohim. 

He rang his bell sharply for his servant, and said he would get upat once. 

The valet said that there was a servant from the Legate's palacebelow, with a letter for the Marchese from the Cardinal--that, fearing his master was not well, and might be getting a littlesleep, he, the valet, had been unwilling to bring the letter up; butthat the man was waiting his Excellency's pleasure, as he had beenordered to ask for an answer. 

Doubtless this was the official communication of which Paterinispoke, or the forerunner of it. The Marchese desired his man tobring him the Cardinal's letter directly. 

Yes; the pleasant duty having fallen to the lot of the Cardinal ofmaking a communication to the Marchese, which would doubtless behighly gratifying to him, his Eminence was anxious to seize theearliest opportunity of performing so agreeable a task; and would behappy to see the Marchese at one o'clock that day, if that hoursuited his lordship's convenience. 

"Delighted to have the honour of waiting on his Eminence at the hournamed. "

The Marchese put the two letters on his toilet-table, and proceededto dress. They were large letters. That from Monsieur Paterini waswritten on a sheet of foolscap paper, and addressed in a largestrong hand, with the word RAVENNA in letters half an inch high. That from the Cardinal was contained in a large square envelope, sealed with a huge seal bearing his Eminence's arms under aCardinal's hat, with its long many-tailed tassels hanging down oneither side. 

What a triumph would be this journey to Rome. What a yet greatertriumph the return from it. The Legate would certainly hold aspecial state reception to welcome him back, and give him anopportunity of showing the new order to all his fellow-citizens. What a proud hour it would be. 

The Marchese was indulging in these thoughts; dressing himself thewhile, and looking every now and then at the two letters lying onhis table, when a footman tapped at the door and handed to thevalet, who was attending on his master, yet a third epistle. Unlikethe Cardinal's servant, the man who had brought it had simply leftit, and gone away without saying anything about an answer. 

This third letter did not resemble its two predecessors--at least onthe outside--at all. It was a very little letter; not a quarter ofthe size of either of the others; and the seal wherewith it wassealed was not a tenth of the size of that of his Eminence; also, instead of being white like the Cardinal's, or whity-yellow like thePrelate's, it was rose-coloured, and delicately perfumed. And thesuperscription, "All' Illmmo Sigr il Sigr Marchese Lamberto diCastelmare, " was written in very daintily pretty and delicate smallcharacters; as unmistakably feminine a letter as ever a gentlemanreceived. 

The Marchese's face changed visibly as the little missive was putinto his hands. Yet he opened it eagerly, and opened his nostrils tothe perfume, which exhaled from it, with a greedily sensuous seemingof pleasure. 

This letter ran as follows:--

"Dearest And Best, --If you were not indeed and indeed so to me, could I have ever suffered the vow that binds us mutually to eachother to have been uttered?--Dearest and best, I write mainly, Ithink, for the mere pleasure of addressing you. For I am sure thatit is not necessary to ask you to come to me. You can guess howeagerly I wish to speak to you; to hear from you that you havedismissed for ever those horrid thoughts that you vexed me with atthe theatre last night. I longed so to have sung the words I had toutter for your ears--to your ears only: `Amo il zeffiro, perche adesso il tuo nome confido. ' Ah, Lamberto, if you knew how true thatis. It is often--how often--the singer's duty to utter on the stagethe words of passion. But what a thing it is--a thing I neverdreamed before--to feel them as I utter them. The opera did not gobadly, did it? I think the success was a legitimate one. But what isany success or any applause now to me, save yours? I felt that I wassinging to one only, as one only was in my heart and in my thoughts. Do not let many hours pass before you come to me, my love, my lord!For they go very slowly and heavily, these hours; and as I trace themovement of the tardy hour-hand on the clock, I grow sick withlonging, and with hope deferred. Come to me, my dearest and my best. Your own" "Bianca"

"P. S. --I have mentioned our engagement to no soul save my father;of course you did not wish me to exclude him from our confidence. Heis fully worthy of it. "

The Marchese sunk down into the chair that stood before his toilet-table, with the little letter in his hand; and his hand shook, andhis eyes were dizzy, and there was a buzzy ringing in his ears. Andstill the perfume from the pink paper rose to his nostrils, andseemed to his fancy as though it were a poison that he had neitherthe power nor the will to defend himself from. 

He had put the little pink note down on the table where the twoother letters were, and sat looking at the three. They weremanifestly, fatally incompatible. Either the two big letters must bethrown to the winds--they and their contents for ever--together withall thought of honours, high social standing, and admiring respectof the world; or the little pink note must be crushed at once andfor ever, and its writer--ah!--made to understand, to begin with, that the Marchese di Castelmare did not know his own mind; that hisoffer and his plighted word were not to be trusted;

The letters lying there on the table before him, as he sat gazing atthem almost without the power of anything that merited to be calledthought, represented themselves to his fancy as living agencies ofcontrasted qualities and powers. The two large missives from hisecclesiastical friends were creditable and useful steeds; harmless, wholesome in blood and nature, big and pacific, apt for service, andgood for drawing him on to honour, success, and prosperity. Thelittle pink note was a scorpion with a power a thousand-foldgreater, for its size--a sharp, venomous, noxious power, stinging tothe death, yet imparting with its sting a terrible, a fatal delight, an acrid fierce pleasure, which once tasted could not by any mortalstrength of resolution be dashed away from the lips. 

He took the sweet-scented little paper in his hand and read itthrough again. And his veins seemed to run with fire as he read. Then for the first time he saw the postscript. It had escaped hisnotice before. That old man had been informed that he had offeredmarriage to the girl he called his daughter and had been accepted. 

It might not be so easy to crush the little pink scorpion note, andliberate himself from the writer of it. Proof? There might be nolegal evidence to show that he had ever made such a promise. Yet, tohave such an assertion made by Bianca and her father, --to have todeny the fact, knowing it to be true!--he, Lamberto di Castelmare!Great God! what was before him?

Then there was that woman, the servant, too. Might it not well bethat she, too, knew the promise he had made; overheard him possibly;set to do so--likely enough! What was he to do?--what was he to do?

Something he must do quickly. The Cardinal Legate was expecting himat one o'clock, and--would it be best to drive Bianca from his mindtill afterwards? Go to her he must in the course of the day!

Then, suddenly as a lightning-flash, he saw her before him as he hadgazed on her at the theatre overnight in her white night-dress, uttering those words of passionate love--love which she told him wasall addressed to him, --which she was pining to speak to him again. 

That, then, it was in his power to have, and to have now, --now atonce. "Ahi, ahi!" he gnashed, through his ground teeth, closing hiseyes as the besieging vision postured itself in every seductiveguise before the suggestions of his fancy. Ah, God! what wereCardinals, and Crosses, and place and station, or all the worldbeside, to one half-hour in those arms?

Come what come might, he would see her first before going to theCardinal. 

Snatching his hat, cane, and gloves, breakfastless as he was, hehurried out of the house half mad with the passion that wasconsuming him, yet with enough of the old thoughts about him to turnaway, on quitting his own door, from the direction of the PortaSisi, and to seek the goal of his thoughts by the most unfrequentedroute he could find. 

CHAPTER V

Bianca at Home

Quinto Lalli and Bianca were sitting together in the parlour oftheir apartments in the Strada di Porta Sisi, that same Mondaymorning just after the little pink note had been despatched to theMarchese. Bianca was having her breakfast--a small quantity of blackcoffee in a drinking-glass, brought, together with a roll of drybread, from the cafe. Old Lalli was not partaking of her repast, having previously enjoyed a similar meal, with the addition of amodicum of some horrible alcoholic mixture, called "rhume, " pouredinto the coffee at the cafe in the next street. 

"That will bring him fast enough, " said the old man, alluding to thenote which had been just despatched. "The game is quite in your ownhands, as I told you from the beginning it would be. That postscriptwas a capital thought. "

The postscript in question, which, it may be remembered, had notadded to the pleasure the billet had given the Marchese, had beenadded at the suggestion of old Lalli himself. 

"I would rather not have written it, " replied Bianca, peevishly. "Itlooked too much like putting the screw on--I don't like it. "

"Be reasonable, bambina mia, whatever you are. How, in the name ofall the Saints, do you imagine that you are to become Marchesa diCastelmare without putting the screw on--and that pretty sharplytoo? The man is as thoroughly caught as ever man was caught by awoman; and I tell you, therefore, that the game is in your ownhands. But you don't suppose that he is burningly eager to solicitthe honour of your alliance, che diamine?"

"Don't, Quinto; don't go on in that way. I tell you I hate it all, "returned Bianca. 

"Cars mia, you are in an irrational humour this morning. Do you likethe old game better? It don't pay, bambina mia, as you have foundout; and, above all, it won't last. But I am sure you have reason tobe satisfied with your success this season in any way. I never heardyou sing better in my life than you did last night; and, to say thetruth, these people seemed to appreciate it. "

"I tell you, I hate it all--all--all!" said Bianca, as she swallowedthe last drop of her coffee, and threw herself on the sofa in anattitude of languor and ennui. 

"You are unreasonable, Bianca, you are not like yourself thismorning; I don't know what is come to you. What in the world do youlike, or what do you want?" said the old man, looking at her with apuzzled air. 

"Did you see the Marchese Ludovico in a box on the right-hand sideon the second tier with that Venetian girl, the artist?"

"The Marchese Ludovico was in the left-hand stage-box with hisuncle. "

"Of course he was; but I mean between the acts. I saw him from thewing by the side of that girl with her face the colour of mahogany, and her half-alive look. I hate the look of her, and I know shehates me!"

Old Quinto looked at his pupil curiously for a minute before hereplied to her. 

"What do you mean, Bianca mia?" he said, at last; "and what, in thename of all the Saints, is the Venetian girl to you, or you to her?Did you ever speak to her? Why should she hate you?"

"I tell you, she does. We women can always see those things withoutneeding to be told them; and she knows, you may be very sure, that Ihate her. "

"But why? What is she to you?" reiterated the old man. 

"You asked me, just now, what I wanted. I want, if you must know, what I can never have--what the Venetian girl last night wasgetting. "

"And what was she getting? I don't understand you, upon my soul!"said Quinto, staring at her, and utterly puzzled. 

"What was she getting? Love!--that was what she was getting!Ludovico loves her, " said Bianca, raising herself on her elbow, andspeaking with fierce bitterness. 

"Tu, tu, tu, tu, tu, tu!" whistled Quinto, between his pursed-uplips. "But I thought, bambina mia, that you were going to love theMarchese Lamberto, and be a good wife to him, and all the rest ofit, according to the rules and practices of the best-regulateddomestic family circles; and I--I was so rejoiced to hear it, " saidthe old reprobate, casting up his eyes and hands. 

"Don't, Quinto; don't talk in that manner, or you'll drive me beyondmyself. I can't bear it. "

"But did you not say that you loved the Marchese Lamberto?"persisted Quinto, dropping his mocking tone, however. 

"I said that I liked him better than any of the men I have known;that I admired him as a fine and noble gentleman; that I would be agood and true wife to him, --and should love him, " she added, with aburst of bitterness, "better than he ever will, or can, love me. "

"Well, come now, bambina mia. If you think that the Marchese is notenough in love with you, you must have a strong appetite, indeed, and be very hard to content. Why, if there ever was a man thoroughlycaught, fascinated--"

"Bah! Love! Ludovico loves the Venetian, " said Bianca, with anexpressive emphasis on the verb. 

"Ludovico, again! I protest I don't understand you, Bianca. Butthere, when a man has come to my age he don't expect ever tounderstand a woman. You did not want Ludovico, as you call him, tolove you, did you?"

"No: but--"

And Bianca stopped short, and seemed to fall into a sort of reverie. 

"But what? If you mean that you wanted to have the uncle for ahusband, and the nephew for a lover, that is intelligible enough. The game would have been a dangerous one. But there is no reason whyyou should not say it plainly between friends. "

"I tell you, Quinto, I won't hear you speak to me in that tone, "said Bianca, turning on him fiercely, and with flashing eyes. "Did Iever do anything to attract him?" she added, --"did I try to make himlove me? Do you think that the Venetian would have stood in the wayif I had chosen to do so? I never did! I meant, if the Marchesewould make me his wife, to be true and loyal to him; though hehimself seems to think it impossible that I should be so. You knowthat I have never attempted to attract Ludovico in any way. "

"Very well then; let his Venetian have him in peace, " said Quinto, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Why, then, does that girl hate me as she does? What harm have Iever done her?" returned Bianca. 

"Why should you think she does hate you?" expostulated Quinto. 

"I have told you that I saw it. I saw it in her eyes when Ludovicowas handing me the bouquet;--which he only did because his uncletold him to do it. She would have blasted me to death with her lookat that moment if she could have done it;--I have a good mind--avery good mind--"

"Be guided by me this once for the last time, as you have so oftenbeen before; bambina mia, " said Quinto, who thought that he nowunderstood the real state of the case; "make sure of your own gamefirst. Make all safe with the Marchese Lamberto. When you are theMarchesa di Castelmare it will be time to take any revenge on theVenetian you please. "

"Ah--h--h--h!" sighed Bianca, shaking her head with an expression ofdisgust; "you understand nothing about it, Quinto; you can't--ofcourse you can't. Gia, " she continued, after a pause of thought;"yes, I could take from her, poor fool, what she has; but could I, Bianca Lalli, take it and keep it for myself? Ah me, it is wearywork! You might as well go and flaner, Quinto; for I must dressready for the Marchese, in case he comes this morning. "

"He'll come sure enough, " said Quinto; as he prepared to leave theroom. 

"It's quite time, then, that I made myself ready to receive him, "returned Bianca, getting up from the sofa. 

"Amo il zeffiro, perche a lui suo nome confido, " she sang, as sheturned listlessly to go to her chamber; and despite what she hadsaid--and said with perfect sincerity to her adopted father--it maybe feared that the suo did not refer in the singer's mind to theMarchese Lamberto. 

Quinto Lalli was in the act of shutting the sitting-room door behindhim, when the outer door of the apartment opened and Ludovicoappeared in the doorway. He was the very last man whom Quinto, withthe ideas in his head which the above conversation with Bianca hadput into it, would have wished to see there. And perhaps there wassomething in his manner of meeting the visitor that enabled theMarchesino to perceive that he was not just then welcome. 

"A thousand pardons, " he said, in an easy, careless manner, "forcoming at so indiscreetly early an hour; but I could not refrainfrom just saying one word to the Signorina Bianca on her lastnight's triumph, and I shall have no opportunity of seeing her laterin the day. "

"Bianca, " called out Quinto, re-opening the door he was closing, andputting his head back into the room, "here's the Marchese Ludovicowishes to speak to you. " If the old man had not been a little bitout of humour with his adopted daughter he would probably have foundsome excuse for getting rid of the inopportune visitor. 

"Pray let the Signor Marchese come in, " returned Bianca, turningback from the door of her bed-room, rather to the surprise of SignorQuinto;--and Ludovico passed on into the sitting-room as the old manwent out and shut the outer door behind him. 

Bianca, as she had said, had been about to dress to receive theMarchese Lamberto; and Ludovico thus caught her (really. Surprisedthis time) in her morning toilette. But there was nothing in herdress to prevent her from being with propriety presentable, or, indeed, to prevent her from looking very charming in her dishabille. Nevertheless, she did not intend, as we have seen, to presentherself without further adornment to the Marchese Lamberto; and itwas not without a certain feeling of bitterness at her heart thatshe said to herself, "What does it signify?" as she cast a glance ather looking-glass before stepping back into the sitting-room toreceive her visitor. 

"Really, Signora, I don't know how to apologize sufficiently forthus breaking in upon you, " said Ludovico, coming forward to meether; "but I could not refrain from calling to say one word ofcongratulation. Can you forgive me?"

"I hardly know whether I can, " said Bianca, half pouting and halflaughing, and looking wholly beautiful; "to be seen when they arenot fit to be seen is an offence which we others, women, find itdifficult to forgive, you know. "

"But that is an offence which, in the nature of things, cannot becommitted against the Signora Bianca Lalli, " retorted Ludovico, witha low bow, half earnest and half in fun, and a look of admirationthat was entirely sincere. "But the fact is, " he continued, "that Ireally was impatient to be the first to make you my compliments onlast night's immense success. To tell you that I never heard a partsung as you sang that of Amina last night would, perhaps, appear toyou to be saying little. But I do assure you the whole city issaying that there never was anything like it. It was superb!Perfect! Perhaps the praise of all Ravenna is not worth very much toone who has had that of all Italy. But, at all events, my uncle is acompetent judge--and he is not an easy one. And I do assure you hewas moved as I never saw him moved by music before. "

"He is very good--too kind to me. He was good enough to see me to mycarriage at the theatre last night; and he said some word that makesme think he purposes doing me the honour of coming here to give methe advantage of his criticism on last night's performance, " saidBianca, who was anxious to let her visitor understand thedesirability of avoiding being caught there by his uncle. 

"Yes, I am sure he would not fail to bring his tribute of admirationthis morning, " returned Ludovico, carelessly; "but he will not behere yet awhile. He is an early man in general, lo zio; but he hasnot been well latterly. You must have seen yourself, Signorina, howchanged he is since you have known him. I really begin to be uneasyabout him. You must surely have observed how ill he is looking. "

"I am so grieved to hear you say so. Of course any change must befar more evident to those who have known him all his life. But Ishould have said that I had rarely or never seen so remarkablyyoung-looking a man for his years. The Marchese happened to tell meonce that he is fifty or not far from it. It seemed to me impossibleto believe it, " said Bianca, who understood perfectly well how andwhy it came to pass that the Marchese should latterly be a changedman. 

"Three months ago he might have well passed for five-and-thirty;but, per Bacco, he looks his years now every day of them--and more, too, il povero zio. "

"Nay, Signor Ludovico, I think your regard for your uncle makes youthink him worse than he is. I thought he was looking very well atthe theatre last night, " replied Bianca, knowing nothing more to thepurpose to say. 

"At the theatre. Ah! perhaps. He was pleased and excited. I did notspecially remark him last night. But, the truth is, I am not easyabout him. "

"I feel very much persuaded, Signor Ludovico, that you are alarmingyourself unnecessarily. Your fears are excited by your affection foryour uncle. I doubt whether many nephews in your position, SignorMarchese, would feel as much anxiety about the health of an unclewhose heirs they were; not that I mean, of course, Signor, toinsinuate that you are dependent on your uncle, " added Bianca, whofelt considerable curiosity to know how matters stood in theCastelmare family in this respect. 

"Faith, though, I am dependent on him, " returned Ludovico, with themost careless frankness. "I have not a bajocco in the world but whatcomes to me from him. But lo zio is more generous than uncles oftenare to their nephews who are to be their heirs. And I am in no hurryto succeed to him, I assure you. "

"I am sure that would not be in your nature in any case, SignorLudovico, " returned Bianca; "but there is some excuse for thosebeing in a hurry whose future depends on the caprice of old people, "she added, fishing for further information. 

"But my future does depend upon his caprice--in one way, at allevents. Suppose my uncle should take it into his head to marry, andhave a family. There is nothing to prevent him. Many an older manthan he by a great deal has done so. And if that were to happen, there is not a beggar in all Ravenna who is a poorer man than Ishould be. Only that lo zio is about the most unlikely man to marryin all Italy, it is a thing that might happen any day. "

"Why should the Signor Marchese be so unlikely to marry? One wouldsay, to look at him, that it was not such an unlikely thing. Supposesome designing woman were to make the attempt?"

"There does not exist the woman who could have the faintest shadowof success in such an enterprise, Signora. If you could tell howoften the thing has been tried! He is seasoned, lo zio is. Besides, he never was a man given much to falling in love at any time of hislife. I don't think he is much an admirer of the sex, to tell youthe truth. No; there is no fear of that. "

There was a silence of some minutes, and Bianca seemed to havefallen into a reverie; till, suddenly, raising her eyes, which hadfallen beneath their lashes, while she had been busy with herthoughts, she said, looking up archly into Ludovico's face:

"Your attention, at all events, was not so fully occupied by theperformance last night, Signor, but that you had plenty of thoughtsand eyes at command for other matters. "

"What do you mean, Signora? I am sure I was not only an attentivebut a delighted listener, " said he, while the tell-tale bloodflushed his cheeks. 

"Ah! I saw which way your glances and thoughts were wandering. Weartists see more things in the salle than you of the world beforethe foot-lights think for. A very pretty little brunette, in No. 10on the upper tier, was quite equally aware of the direction of theMarchese Ludovico's thoughts and looks. "

"You might have seen not only my thoughts but me myself in the samebox, Signora, if you could have continued your observations afterthe curtain was down. The lady you saw there is one for whom I havethe highest possible regard, " said Ludovico, with a very slightshade of hauteur quite foreign to his usual manner, in his tone. 

It was very slightly marked, but not so slightly as to escape thenotice of Bianca, who perfectly well understood it and the meaningof it. 

"I dare say she well deserves it; she looks as if she did, " said theDiva, with a pensive air, and a dash of melancholy in her voice. "Ihave often wondered, " she continued, after a moment's pause, "whether you others, grand signori, ever ask yourselves, when youbestow such regards as you speak of on a poor artist--I know who sheis, merely an artist like myself--what the result to the woman soloved is likely to be?"

"Signora!" cried Ludovico, provoked, exactly as Bianca had intendedhe should be, into saying what he would not otherwise have allowedto escape him, "permit me to assure you that, however pertinent suchspeculations may be in other cases, which have doubtless fallenunder your observation, they are altogether the reverse of pertinentin the present instance. The lady in question is, as you say, a poorartist; not, perhaps, as you were also kind enough to say, one quiteof the same kind as yourself, neither so successful nor socelebrated"--he hastened to add as he saw a sudden paleness comeover the face of the singer, and an expression sudden and rapidlyrepressed and effaced, of such a concentration of wrath and hatredin her eyes, that momentary as it was, pulled him up short withsomething very much akin to a feeling resembling fear--"an artistneither so successful nor so celebrated as the Signora Lalli, but, nevertheless, a lady whom it is the dearest wish of my heart to callmy wife. "

"She is indeed, then, a most fortunate and happy woman, " saidBianca, who had perfectly recovered herself, with grave gentleness;"and I am sure that neither I nor any sister artist have any rightto envy her her happiness. Would it seem presumption in a poorcomedian to express her earnest wish that you, too, Signor Ludovico, may find your happiness in such a marriage?"

"Nay, don't speak in that tone!" said Ludovico, putting out his handand taking hers, which she readily gave him. "I accept your goodwishes, Signora, most thankfully. I do hope and think that I--thatwe shall find happiness in our mutual choice. But, pray observe, Signora, that our talk has led me into confiding a secret to you, that I have, as yet, told to no living soul, and that it isimportant to me it should be kept secret yet awhile longer. I know Imay trust you; may I not?"

"Depend on it, Signor Marchese, your secret shall be quite safe withme. But are you sure it is a secret? And then, do you know, "continued the Diva, resuming her air of pensive thought, "when Ihear a man in your position speaking with such noble truthfulness, the converse of the thought that I angered you--very innocently, believe me--by expressing just now, comes into my head. And I askmyself, if women in such a position as the lady we speak of, are aptto take themselves to task with sufficient strictness, as to whatthey are giving in return for all that is offered to them. "

"I don't quite understand your meaning, Signora, " said Ludovico, whoreally did not perceive the drift of his companion's words. 

"I mean that a woman, so circumstanced, ought to be very sure thatshe is giving her heart to the man who asks for it, and not to hisposition, not to the advantages, to the wealth he offers her. Sheought to feel certain that, if all this--the advantages--the wealthwere to vanish and fly away, her love would remain the same. Supposenow--it is out of the question, you tell me, but the case may beimagined all the same--suppose your uncle, the Marchese, were tomarry, would the Venetian lady's love suffer no tittle of fallingoff?"

The red blood rushed to Ludovico's cheeks and brow, and then came anangry gleam into his eyes. It was not that he resented the libertywhich his companion took in thus speaking to him. It was not, either, that he felt indignant at the doubt cast, even hypothetically, on thepurity of his Paolina's love. It was rather the unreasoning animalanger against the person who had given him pain. It was a stab tohis heart, this germ of a doubt thus placed there for the first time. He was conscious of the pang, and resented it. In the next minute thehot flush passed from his face, and he became very pale. 

Bianca saw, and understood it all, as perfectly as if she could haveseen into his heart and brain. 

"The doubt, you put before me, is so horrible an one that I couldalmost wish it might be put to the test you speak of. But I have nosuch doubt. However much your questioning may be justified by otherexamples, it is not justified in the case of Paolina. I know her; Iknow her heart, and the perfect truthfulness that wells up from thedepths of her honest eyes. "

No amount of ready histrionism was sufficient to prevent a verymeaning, though momentary, sneer from passing over the beautifulface of the singer as Ludovico spoke thus. But he was too muchexcited by his own thoughts and words to perceive it. 

"I trust that you may be right, Signor Marchese. I have no doubtthat you are right. Believe me that I have ventured to speak as Ihave spoken, solely from interest in the welfare of one who has beenso uniformly good and kind to me as you have. Will you believe me, Signor Ludovico, that I would do a good deal and bear a good deal tobe able to conduce to your happiness in any way?"

She put out her hand to him, as she spoke the last words, with hereyes dropped to the ground, and with a feeling of genuine shyness, that was quite surprising and puzzling to herself. 

"Dear Signora, I will and do believe it with all my heart; and, intruth, I am deeply grateful to you for your good will, " saidLudovico, really touched by the evident and genuine sincerity of herwords. 

"And now, I must ask you to leave me. I must dress myself and loseno time about it. The Marchese will be here in a minute or two. AndI could not, you know, venture to receive him in the unceremoniousmanner which you have been good enough to excuse. "

She gave him a little sidelong look with half a laugh in her eyes, as she said the latter words; and Ludovico, putting the tips of herfingers to his lips before relinquishing her hand, bowed, and lefther without saying anything further. 

CHAPTER VI

Paolina at Home

Ludovico had run up in a hurry to Bianca's lodging, as has beenseen, merely because it happened to be in his way, and because hehad been desirous, as he told her, of paying her his compliments onthe success of the preceding evening. He was hastening to payanother visit, in which his heart was far more interested, and hadnot intended to remain with La Lalli above five minutes. Theconversation between them had extended to a greater length; and theMarchesino, eager as he was to get to the dear little room in theVia di Sta. Eufemia, would have made it still longer, had not theDiva dismissed him. 

The talk between them had become far more interesting than any whichhe had thought likely to pass between him and the famous singer. This horrible doubt--no, not a doubt--he had not, would not, couldnot doubt; but this germ of a doubt deposited in his mind by thewords she had spoken? Could she have had any second motive forspeaking as she had done? Surely not; surely all her manner and herwords showed sufficiently clearly that she was actuated by kindlyfeelings towards him and by no unkindly feeling towards Paolina. Yetunquestionably Paolina's instinctive prejudice against her would nothave been diminished by a knowledge of what the Diva had said. Ludovico thought of the bitter and burning indignation with whichhis darling would have heard the expression of the possibility of adoubt of the uncalculating purity and earnestness of her love. 

Nevertheless he felt that he should have liked to talk further withBianca on the subject; of course only to convince her of theabsolute injustice of her suspicions. Still she was a woman, afellow artist; placed in some respects in the same position inrelation to the world to which he belonged, as his Paolina--in somerespects similar; but oh, thank God, how different! Yet womenunderstood each other in a way a man could never hope to understandthem. What immediately struck Bianca, struck her naturally andinstinctively in this matter of a marriage between him and theVenetian artist, was the idea that Paolina, almost as a matter ofcourse, was at least biassed in her acceptance of his love by aconsideration of the material advantages she would gain by it. Itwas the natural thing then, the thing a priori to be expected, thata girl in Paolina's position should be so influenced. Ludovico wouldfain have questioned and cross-questioned La Bianca, his experiencedmonitress, a little more on this point. 

Yes, to be expected a priori. But when one knew Paolina; when oneknew her as he knew her, was it not impossible? Could it be thatPaolina, being such as he knew her in his inmost heart to be, shouldeven adulterate her love with interested calculations? He knew itwas not so; and yet--and yet other men had been as certain as he, and had been deceived. In short the germ of doubt had been plantedin his mind. And Bianca well knew what she had been about when sheplanted it there. 

Why had she done so? She spoke with perfect sincerity when she hadtold him that she would do much and suffer much for his happiness. And yet she had knowingly placed this thorn in his heart. Why couldshe not let him, as Quinto Lalli had expressed it, have his Venetianin peace? She spoke truly, moreover, when she said that, married tothe Marchese Lamberto, she fully purposed to make him a good andtrue wife; truly, when she declared to old Lalli, and also to herown heart, that she really did like and admire him much. And yetthere was something in the sight of the love of Ludovico and Paolinathat was bitter, odious, intolerable to her. 

Ludovico hastened to the house in the Via di Santa Eufemia onquitting that in the Via di Porta Sisi, not unhappy, not evenuneasy; with no recognized doubt, but with a germ of doubt in hismind. 

Signora Orsola had gone out per fare le spese, to make themarketings for the day; and he found Paolina alone. Such a tete-a-tete would have been altogether contrary to all rules in the morestrictly regulated circles of Italian society. And it would havebeen all the more, and by no means the less contrary to rule inconsequence of the position in which Ludovico and Paolina stoodtowards each other. But the world to which Paolina belonged livesunder a different code in these matters. And ever since the day inwhich the memorable conversation between her and her lover, whichhas been recorded in a former chapter, had taken place, Paolina hadnever felt the smallest embarrassment or even shyness in herintercourse with him. And she received him now with openly expressedrejoicing, that the chance of Orsola's absence gave them theopportunity of being for a little while alone together. 

"I called at this early hour, tesoro mio, " said Ludovico, "mainly totell you that I have made all the necessary arrangements at St. Apollinare in Classe, and you can begin your work there as soon asyou like. What a dreary place it is. To think of my little Paolinaworking, working away all by herself in that dismal old barn of achurch out there amid the swamps!"

"Oh, I shan't be a bit afraid. I am so accustomed to work all bymyself. "

"No, there is nothing to be afraid of! Do you think I should let yougo there alone, if there were? You will find the scaffolding allready for you. "

"Thanks, dearest, I am so much obliged to you; I should never havebeen able to get my task done without your help. Ah, how strangethings are! To think, that that Englishman, in sending me here, should have been--"

"Should have been sending me my destined wife. Who ever in the worlddid me so great a service as this Signor Vilobe, who never had athought of me in his mind. "

"And if I had chanced not to be in the gallery at the Belle Artithat day, " rejoined Paolina, with a shudder at the thought of whatthe consequences of such an absence would have been. 

"You will have the great church entirely to yourself, anima mia, "said Ludovico; "there is not a soul near the place, save the oldmonk, who keeps the keys, and a lay-brother, who was ill, the poorold frate said, when I was there. It is a dreary place, my Paolina, and I am afraid you will find your task a weary one. I fear it willbe cold too. "

"Oh, I don't mind that much! What is more important, is to get thejob done before the hot weather comes on. They say it is sounhealthy out there, when the heat comes. What is the old fratelike?"

"He is a very old, old man, and he looks as if fever and ague everysummer and autumn had pretty nearly made an end of him. He seemedquite inclined to be civil and obliging. If he were not, you couldknock him down with a tap of your maulstick, I should think, thoughit be wielded by such a tiny, dainty little bit of a hand, " saidLudovico, lifting it to his lips between both his as he spoke. "Andnow tell me, " he continued; "what did you think of the third actlast night? Did she not sing that finale superbly?"

"Superbly, --certainly the finest singing I heard. But--"

"What is the `but, ' anima mia? I confess I thought it perfect. "

"So I suppose it was. But I think that perhaps I should have hadmore pleasure in hearing a less magnificent singer, who was moresimpatica to me. I can't help it, but I do not like her; and I amsure I can't tell why. I have no reason; but do you know, Ludovicomio, there was one moment when, strange as it may seem, our eyesmet--hers and mine--in the theatre last night. It was just as sheturned away from your box, when you had put the bouquet into herhand. She looked up, and our eyes met; and I can't tell you thestrange feeling and impression that her look made upon me. And I amquite sure that, for some unaccountable reason or other, she doesnot like me. She looked at me--it was only half a moment with a sortof mocking triumph and hatred in her eyes, that quite made meshudder and turn cold. 

"If it were not so entirely impossible, I should think you werejealous, my little Paolina. If I were to--what shall we say?--if Iwere to set out on a journey with la Diva, tete-a-tete, to travelfrom here to Rome, should you be jealous?"

"With La Bianca?"

"Yes! with La Bianca. "

"I don't know. I don't think that I should in earnest. I know in myinmost heart, my own love, that you love me truly and entirely; Ifeel it, I am sure of it. But all the same, I should rather that youdid not travel from here to Rome alone with La Lalli. "

"That means that, to a certain degree, you are jealous, little one. Do you think I should be uneasy if you were called on to travelunder the escort, for example, of our friend the Conte Leandro?"

"The Conte Leandro!" cried Paolina, laughing, "I am sure you oughtto be uneasy at the bare thought of such a thing, for you know howterrible it would be to me. But is it quite the same thing, amicomio? La Lalli is indisputably a very beautiful woman; and the ConteLeandro is--the Conte Leandro. But it is not that she is beautiful. I don't know what it is. There is something about her--ecco, Ishould not the least mind now your travelling to the world's end, orbeing occupied in any other way, with the Contessa Violante. "

"She is not a beautiful woman, certainly. "

"She is, at all events, fifty times more pleasing-looking, as wellas more attractive in every way, than the Conte Leandro. But that isnot what makes the difference. I take it, the difference is, thatone feels that the Contessa Violante is good, and that nobody wouldget anything but good from her. I have got quite to love hermyself. "

"And yet you see, Paolina mia, somehow or other it came to pass thatI could not love her, when I was bid to do so; and, in the place ofdoing that, I went and loved somebody else instead. How is that tobe accounted for, eh?"

"I am sure that is more than I can guess, Ludovico. "

"One thing is clear--and a very good thing it is--that Violante hasno more desire to marry me than I have to marry her. As soon as everCarnival is over, my own darling, I mean to speak definitively to myuncle, and tell him, in the first place, that he must give up allnotion of a marriage between Violante and me. "

"As soon as Carnival is over. Why, that will be the day after to-morrow, "--said Paolina, flushing all over. 

"Exactly so; the day after to-morrow. But I mean only to tell him, in the first instance, that I cannot make the marriage he would haveme. Then, when that is settled--and some little time allowed for himto get over his mortification, il povero zio--will come theannouncement of the marriage I can make. I have quite fixed withmyself to do it the day after to-morrow. But--I don't know what tomake of my uncle. He is not in the least like himself. I am afraidhe must be ill. I fully expected that I should have to fight allthrough Carnival against constant exhortations to pay my court tothe Contessa. But he has never spoken to me a word on the subject. "

"Perhaps he has discovered that the lady likes the proposal nobetter than you do, " suggested Paolina, with a wise look of child-like gravity up at her lover's face. 

"No; it's not that. He never dreams of her having any will in thematter apart from that of her family. I can't make him out. There'ssomething wrong with him. He looks a dozen years older than he did;and his habits are changed too. "

"Do you think--that is--it has just come into my head--do youremember, Ludovico, what I said to you last night at the theatreabout the way La Lalli sung her love verses at him?"

"La Lalli again. Why, she has fascinated you at all events. You canthink of nothing else. La Lalli and lo zio. Dio mio! If you onlyknew him. All the prime donne in Europe might sing at him, or makeeyes at him, or make love to him, in any manner they liked frommorning till night without making any more impression on him than ahundred years, more or less, on the tomb of the Emperor Theodoricout there. No, anima mia, that's not it. No, il povero zio, I ammore inclined to think that he is breaking up. It does happen, sometimes, that your men, who have never known a day's illness intheir lives, break down all of a sudden in that way. Everybody inthe city has been saying that he is changed and ill. But I must beoff, my darling. I only came to tell you that all was in readinessfor you at St. Apollinare. At least that was my excuse for coming. But now I must go and see about all sorts of things for thereception to-night. We shall have all the world at the Palazzo to-night. And lo zio asked me to see to everything. Addio, Paolina mia. You know where my heart will be all the time. Addio, anima mia. "

CHAPTER VII

Two Interviews

After Ludovico had passed into the sitting-room in the Via di PortaSisi to pay his visit to Bianca, Quinto Lalli prepared to leave thehouse in accordance with her suggestion that he should dispose ofhimself out-of-doors for the present. But before going he calledGigia the maid, and said, as he stood with the door in his hand:

"Gigia, cara mia, the Marchese Lamberto is coming here presently;just make use of your sharp ears to hear what passes between him andBianca; and take heed to it, you understand, so as to be able togive an account of it afterwards if it should be needed. You neednot say anything about it to la bambina till afterwards; I have nosecrets from her, you know, and, as soon as the Marchese is gone, you may tell her that you have heard everything, and that I directedyou to do so; but better to say nothing about it beforehand. Inteso?"

"Si, si, Signor Quinto! Lasci fare a me!"

And, with that, the careful old man went out for his walk, and itwas not half-an-hour after Ludovico left the house before theMarchese made his appearance. 

Bianca, now having completed her toilette, started from her sofa, and went forward to meet him with both hands extended, and with oneof her sunniest smiles. 

"This is kind of you, Signor Marchese. I hoped, ah! how I hoped, that you would come. If you had not, I don't know what would havebecome of me. My heart was already sinking with the dreadful fearthat my little note might have displeased you. But, thank God, youare here: and that is enough. "

"Of course, Bianca, I came when you begged me to do so, " said theMarchese, looking at her with a sort of sad wistfulness, andretaining both her hands in his. He advanced his face to kiss her, and she stooped her head so as to permit him to press his lips toher forehead. 

"Was it of course, amore mio?" she said, with a gushing look ofexquisite happiness, and a little movement towards clasping hishand, which still held hers, to her heart. "Was it of course thatyou should come to your own, own Bianca when she begged it? But youare looking fagged, harassed, troubled, mio bene: have you hadanything to vex you? Henceforward, you know, all that is trouble toyou is trouble to me. I shall insist on sharing your sorrows as wellas your joys, Lamberto. What is it that has annoyed you, amore mio?"

"I have much on my mind--necessarily, Bianca mia; many things thatare not pleasant to think of. Can you not guess as much?"

"I have had but one thought, amico mio, since I heard from your lipsthe dear words that told me that henceforward we should be but one;that our lives, our hopes, our fears, would be the same; that, inthe sight of God and man, you would be my husband, and I your wife. Since then, I have had but one thought, and it is one which wouldavail to gild all others, let them be what they might, with itsbrightness. Is the same thought as sweet a source of happiness toyou, my promised husband?"

"That's clear enough, I hope, " thought Gigia, outside the door, toherself. "Che! If nothing had been said the other day, that would beenough; and I think Quinto might trust nostra bambina to manage herown affairs. She knows what she is about, the dear child: not butthat it is a good plan to be able to remind a gentleman in case heshould forget. Gentlemen will forget such things sometimes. "

"You cannot doubt my love, " said the Marchese, in reply to herappeal. 

Those five words may possibly, in the course of the world's history, have occurred before in the same combination. But the phrase servedthe occasion as well as if it had been entirely new and original. 

"Indeed, I do not, Lamberto; nor will you again, I trust, ever doubtmine as you seemed to do last night. Ah, Lamberto! you do not knowhow bitterly I wept over the remembrance of those cruel words when Ihad parted from you. You will never, never say such again. Tell meyou never will. "

"Doubts and fears, my Bianca, are the inevitable companions of sucha love as mine, " said the Marchese, with a somewhat sickly smile;"but the few words you said last night sufficed to dissipate them, as I assured you. "

"But there is still something troubling your mind, Lamberto. See, Ialready take the wifely privilege you have given me to wish to shareall that annoys you. What is it? Come and sit by me here on thesofa, and tell me all about it. "

And then the Marchese sat himself in the seat of danger that hadbeen proposed to him, and, in a certain degree, explained to Biancathe difficulties attending a marriage with her. He tried hard torecommend to her favourable consideration the plan of a secretmarriage--of a marriage to be kept secret, at all events, for awhilefor the present; but such an arrangement, as may easily beunderstood, did not, in Bianca's view, meet the requirements of thecase. That was not what she wanted. It may also be easily understoodthat the Marchese, occupying the position which the enemy hadassigned to him, carried on the contest at an overpoweringdisadvantage, and was finally routed, utterly conquered, and yieldedat discretion. 

On her side the advantages of the situation were made the most ofwith the most consummate generalship. The limit between that whichwas permitted to him, and that which was denied to him, was drawnwith a firmness and judgment admirably conducive to the attainmentof the end in view. He was permitted to encircle the slender, yielding waist with one arm as he sat by her side on the sofa, andto retain possession of her hand with the other; but any advancedmovement from this base of operations was firmly and unhesitatinglyrepressed. At one moment, when the attacking party seemed to be onthe point of pressing his advances with more vigour than before, itchanced that the Diva coughed; and it so happened that, in the nextinstant, Gigia entered the room, bringing wood for the fire in herarms--a diversion which, of course, involved the execution of ahurried movement of retreat on the part of the enemy. 

The whole of Bianca's tactics, indeed, were admirable. And theresult was, as usual, victory. Once again, as long as he was in herpresence and by her side, the unfortunate Marchese felt that thespell was irresistible--absolutely irresistible by any force ofvolition that he was able to oppose to it. Once again it seemed tohim that the only thing in the world that it was utterly impossibleto him to relinquish was the possession of Bianca. The hot fit ofhis fever was on him in all its intensity; and there was nothingthat he could do, or suffer, or undergo that he would not rather do, or suffer, or undergo than admit the thought of giving her up. Itreally seemed as if there were some physical emanation from herperson--some magnetic stream--some distillation from the nervoussystem of one organization mysteriously potent over the nervoussystem of another, which mounted to his brain, mastered the sourcesof his volition, and drew him helpless after her, as helplessly asthe magnetized patient obeys the will of his magnetizer. 

Suddenly both of them heard one o'clock strike from the neighbouringchurch. To the Marchese it was a knell which, with horrid warning-note, dragged him forcibly back from his Circean dalliance to thethoughts, the things, and the people whose incompatibility with thepossibility of such dalliance was driving him mad. It was the hourat which he had promised to wait upon the Cardinal. It wasabsolutely necessary that he should go at once; and he tore himselfaway from that fatal sofa-seat with a wrench, and a reflection onthe purpose of his visit to the Legate, which seemed to him reallyto threaten to disturb his reason. 

Slinkingly he stole from the house in the Strada di Porta Sisi, andhurried to the Cardinal's palace. His mind seemed to reel, and acold sweat broke out all over him as he rang the bell at the top ofthe great stone stair of the Legate's dwelling. 

This business that he was now here for--those high honours whichwere about to be lavished upon him--would they not all make hisposition so much the worse? The higher he stood, would not his fallbe the more terrible? What would be said or thought of him? At Rome, immediately after the high distinction shown him, what would theynot say? Here, in Ravenna, how should he look his fellow-citizens inthe face? Impossible, impossible. Could he venture even to acceptthe high distinction offered to him? Would there not be somethingdishonourable--a sort of treachery in suffering this mark of theHoly Father's special favour to be bestowed upon him, while he wasmeditating to do that which, if his intention were known, would makeit quite impossible that any such honour should be conferred on him?

And how fair was life before him, as it would be if only this fatalwoman had never crossed his path? And was it not even yet in his ownpower to make it equally fair again? Was it not sufficient for himto will that it should be so?

What if he never saw Bianca again? What could avail any nonsense sheor her pretended father might talk of him? If they were to declareon the house-tops that he had promised marriage to La Lalli, whathuman being in all the city would believe them? The very notion thatsuch a thing could be possible would be treated as the impudentinvention of people who clearly had not the smallest knowledge ofthe man they were attempting to practise on. No, he had but to willit to be free. If only he could will it. 

And with these thoughts passing through his mind he entered thereceiving-room of the Legate. 

It was impossible to be received more cordially than he was by thathigh dignitary. His Eminence felt sure that his old acquaintance andhighly-valued good friend the Marchese was aware how great his (theCardinal's) pleasure had been in discharging the duty that haddevolved upon him. The letter he had that morning received from theCardinal Secretary was a most flattering one. Perhaps he (theCardinal) might take some credit to himself for having performed afriend's part, as was natural, in keeping them at Rome wellacquainted with the singular merits of the Marchese. He would, indeed, have been neglecting his duty if he had done otherwise. 

Then, after alluding lightly and gracefully to the special interesthe could not but feel, in his private capacity, in any honour whichtended yet more highly to distinguish a family with which he trustedhis own might at no distant day be allied, he told the Marchese thatit was probable that nothing would be done in the matter till afterEaster. 

It was the gracious wish of the Holy Father to enhance the honourbestowed by conferring it with his own apostolic hand; and, doubtless, as soon as Lent should be over, it would be intimated tothe Marchese that the Holy Father was desirous of seeing him atRome. When he came back thence his fellow-citizens would, in allprobability, wish to mark, by some little festivity or otherwise, with which he, on the part of the government, should have greatpleasure in associating himself, their sense of the honour done totheir city in the person of its most distinguished citizen. 

The Marchese, while the Cardinal Legate was making all thesegracious communications, strove to look as "like the time" and theoccasion as he could. At first it was very difficult to him to do soat all satisfactorily. The influence of that other interview, fromwhich he had so recently come, was too strong upon him. All theimages and ideas called up by the Cardinal's words were tooviolently at variance, and too incompatible with those other desiresand thoughts to affect him otherwise than as raising additionalobstacles and piling up more and more difficulties in the pathbefore him. But, as the interview with the courteous and dignifiedchurchman proceeded, --as the genius loci of the Cardinal's librarybegan to exert its influence--as all the hopes and ambitions andprospects which were opened before his eyes, falling into theirnatural and proper connection of continuity with all his formerlife, so linked the present moment with that past life as to makeall that had filled the last few weeks seem like a fevered dream, --gradually the Marchese entered more and more into the spirit of theCardinal's conversation. Gradually all that he had hitherto livedfor came to seem to him again to be all that was worth living for. Old habitual thoughts and ideas, the growth and outcome of a wholelife, once again asserted their wonted supremacy; and the MarcheseLamberto marvelled that it should be possible for that to happen tohim which had happened to him. 

Ah! if only weak men were as prone to run away from temptation asthey are to run away from the difficulties that are created byyielding to it. But they are ever as brave to run the risks ofconfronting the tempter, as cowardly to face the results of havingdone so. 

The Cardinal had not failed to mark the air of constraint anddispirited lassitude which had characterized the Marchese during thecommencement of their conversation. And he, as others had done, attributed it to the supposition that the Marchese was very rapidlygrowing old--likely enough, was breaking up. Nor did he less observethe very notable change in him as their interview proceeded--theresult, as the churchman flattered himself, of the charms of his owneloquence and felicitous manner. He was himself a good twenty yearsolder than the Marchese; but he had been put into great good humourthat morning by private letters accompanying the official despatchthat has been mentioned, which had hinted at favourablepossibilities in the future as to certain ambitious hopes that hadrarely failed to busy his brain every night as he laid it on thepillow for many a year. So he smiled inwardly a gentle moralizingsmile as he thought how gratified ambition had power to stir up theflagging passions and stimulate the sinking energies even as thegolden bowl is on the eve of being broken. 

The Marchese, however, left the Cardinal's presence a much happierman for the nonce than he had entered it, his mental vision filledwith pictures of ribbons, stars and crosses, with, perhaps, astatue--between the two ancient columns in the Piazza Maggiore wouldbe an excellent site--in the background. 

Ah! if only he could have had the courage to run away fromtemptation. 

CHAPTER VIII

A Carnival Reception

On that Monday night all the world of Ravenna were assembled in thesuite of state-rooms on the piano noble of the Palazzo diCastelmare. The cards of invitation had announced that masks wouldbe welcomed by the noble host; and a large number of the youngerportion of the society accordingly presented themselves in dominoesand the silk half-masks which are usually worn in conjunction withthem. But very few of either ladies or gentlemen came in character. Such costumes were mostly reserved for the ball, which was to takeplace at the Circolo dei Nobili on the following evening. That wasof course the wind-up of the Carnival; and besides it was felt, thata shade or two more of licence and of the ascendancy of the Lord ofMisrule might fitly be permissible at the Circolo, than was quite demise in the rooms of so grave and reverend a Signor as the MarcheseLamberto di Castelmare. 

A few determined revellers would lose no opportunity of enjoying thedelight of dressing themselves up in costumes, which they deemedspecially adapted to show off to advantage either their physicalperfections or their intellectual and social pretensions. Sometimes, as may have been observed by those who have witnessed suchrevelries, it unfortunately happens that both the above desirableresults are not quite compatible. Our friend the Conte Leandro, forinstance, having determined to appear at the Circolo ball in thecharacter of Dante--which, for a poet at Ravenna, was a very properand natural selection--presented himself at the Palazzo Castelmarein that of Apollo--an equally well-imagined presentation; had it notbeen that the happy intellectual analogy was less striking to thevulgar eye, than the remarkable exhibition of knock-knees and bow-legs resulting from the use of the "fleshings;" which constituted anindispensable portion of the god's attire. 

He carried in one hand what had very much the appearance of a giltgridiron; but was intended to represent a lyre; and in the other apaper, which was soon known to contain a poem of congratulationaddressed to the host, on the announcement which, all the city wellknew by this time, had been made to him that morning. 

The rooms were thronged with black dominoes, and white dominoes, andpink, and scarlet, and blue, and parti-coloured dominoes. Violantewas there in a black domino, and Bianca in a white one. There wasvery little dancing, but plenty of chattering and laughing. One mainthing to be done by every person there was to congratulate the hoston his new honours. Our Conte Apollo, among the rest, would fainhave read his poem on the occasion. But as he approached theMarchese for the purpose, a white silk domino, that was standing bythe Marchese's side, burst into such an uncontrollable fit ofsilvery and most musical, but too evidently uncomplimentarylaughter, that the poor god of song was too abashed by it to makehead against it. 

"Surely never had Apollo such a representative before, " said theMarchese to his companion, as the mortified god turned away. 

"The voice, the face, the lyre, and the legs; oh, the legs!" saidthe silvery voice of the white domino in return. 

The words of both speakers had been uttered sotto voce; but theConte Leandro had unfortunately sharp ears; and not only heard whatwas said, but was at no loss to recognize the voice of the secondspeaker. 

The poor poet was destined not to find the evening an agreeable one. A little later he was passing by an ottoman in one of the lesscrowded rooms, on which the Marchese Ludovico was sitting with theContessa Violante. She had, at an early period of the evening, abandoned all pretence of keeping up her incognito, and was danglingher black mask from her finger by its string as she sat talking toLudovico. Leandro turned towards them to pay his compliments to theContessa, and possibly in the hope of being allowed to read his copyof verses. But here again mortification awaited him. 

"What, Aesop, Leandro! What put it into your head to choose the oldstory-teller for a model? You look the part to perfection, it istrue; but what is that thing you have got in your hand?"

Again his lordship was fain to retreat. 

"What a shame to torment the poor man so, in your own house too, Signor Ludovico, " said Violante, who, nevertheless, could not helplaughing. 

"Not a bit, he's used to it. He is too absurd for anything; anegregious vain ass, " returned Ludovico; with very little precautionto prevent the object of his animadversions from hearing them. Andagain Leandro's acute ears did him the ill service of carrying everyword that had been said to his understanding. 

"Indeed I think her perfectly charming, " said Violante, incontinuation of the conversation, which had been interrupted by thebow-legged vision of Apollo; "extremely pretty of course, --but agreat deal more than that. She is fresh, ingenuous, modest, full ofsensibility, and as honest-hearted as the day. You are a veryfortunate man, Signor Ludovico, to have succeeded in winning such aheart. "

"How came it about at first, that you spoke to her?" asked Ludovico. 

"Oh, I went into the chapel in the morning, as I very often do, torecite the litany of the Virgin, and if she had remained on herscaffolding I should probably not have noticed her. But she ran downin the most obliging manner, fearing that she might disturb me, andoffering to suspend her work, as long as I should remain at mydevotions. It was so pretty of her, and so prettily said!"

"And then you answered her as prettily, I suppose, Signora?"

"Nay, it is not in my power to do that, " said Violante, with a touchof bitterness; "but I told her, that she did not disturb me in theleast; and I spoke to her of the work she was engaged on; and sheasked me to come up and look at it; and so we talked on till webecame very good friends. "

"And then you were kind enough to converse with her on severalsubsequent occasions?"

"Oh, yes, we had several long talks; and I liked her so much. I amsure she is thoroughly good. I rejoice with all my heart that adestiny, so much more brilliant than anything that could have beenexpected for her, is likely to be hers. "

"I wish, Signora Contessa, that it was more than likely to be hers;I wish that our path lay clearer before us!" said Ludovico, with asigh. 

"Including me in the `us'? I wish it were with all my heart. Butremember, Signor Marchese, how much is possible to a man, and howlittle to a woman. All, that the strong expression of my own wishesand feelings can do, shall be done when the proper time comes forthe doing of it. But you must not trust to that, or to me. You oughtto save me from being compelled to act at all in the matter. You arefree to speak. And now that another besides me is so vitallyconcerned, I think you ought to do so without further delay. "

"And I have fully made up my mind to do it, Signora Contessa. I havetold Paolina, this very day, that I purpose speaking very seriouslyto my uncle on the subject on the day after to-morrow--the first dayin Lent. I thought I would let this Carnival time pass by firstwithout breaking in upon it, with business that cannot, I fear, beotherwise than painful. I have promised Paolina, and am fullydetermined to speak to my uncle on Wednesday, "

"And what do you purpose saying to him?" asked Violante, lookinginto his face with quiet eyes. 

"In the first instance I have no intention of speaking to him on thesubject of Paolina--"

"No!" interrupted the Contessa, changing her look to one ofsurprise. 

"Not to begin with, I think. To speak of my intention to make amarriage, which I cannot hope will meet his approbation, would onlymake my rejection of the alliance, which he hopes to see me form, the more difficult. "

"Yes, that seems true; but I doubt whether you are right there. Youwill begin, then, by telling him--?"

"I shall begin by saying that it seems clear to me, that I havelittle hope of any success in the quarter in which he has wished meto--"

"Nay, that will not be quite fair, Signor Marchese, " interruptedViolante, speaking very quietly. "Can you honestly tell your unclethat you have made any very strenuous efforts in that direction?"

"But I thought, Signorina, " said Ludovico, hastily; I surely hadreason to suppose that I should be speaking in support of yoursentiments--quite as much as--

"Stay, Signor Marchese; excuse my interrupting you, but it isexactly on this point that I wished to talk with you. Let us clearlyunderstand each other. It is, no doubt, quite true that if you and Ihad been left to ourselves, if no family-considerations hadintervened to suggest other views, neither of us would have been ledby our own inclinations, --it is best to speak openly and frankly, --neither of us, I say, would have been led by our own inclinations tothink more of the other than as an old and valued acquaintance. Thisis the truth, is it not?"

"Nay, Signorina, can I say--"

"It is not fair, you would say, " interrupted Violante again, "that Ishould force your gallantry to make so painful an avowal. Nonsense!Let us put aside all such trash: the question is, not--how we shallmutually make what the circumstances require us to say to each otheragreeable to the self-love of either of us, and to silly rules ofconventional gallantry, but there is a real question of fairnessbetween us; and it is this: how much should each of us expect thatthe other will contribute towards the difficult task of liberatingboth of us from engagements we neither of us wish to undertake. Yousee, Signor Marchese, I have made up my mind to speak clearly; moreclearly than I could, I think, have ventured to do, had I not theadvantage of having had those conversations with my friend Paolinain the Cardinal's chapel. "

"In what respect did it seem to you, that what I proposed saying tomy uncle in the first instance, was unfair, Signorina?"

"In this it would be unfair. To talk of your want of success inobtaining what you never sought to obtain, is simply to throw on methe burden and the blame of disappointing the wishes and plans ofboth our families. I am ready to do my part; but it would beunreasonable to expect that it can be so active or so large a partas your own. It will not be for you to let it be supposed that youare ready and willing to offer your hand to the Contessa ViolanteMarliani, trusting to my refusal to accept it in the teeth of thewishes of my family. It is your duty to say openly and plainly thatyou cannot make the marriage proposed to you. If I were in yourplace--if I might venture to suggest, what I would myself counsel--Ishould add, as a reason--an additional reason--that I had given myheart elsewhere. "

"But, Signora, you forget that the marriage between us was proposedbefore I ever saw or heard of Paolina, " said Ludovico, with anaivete that should certainly have satisfied his companion that hewas no longer attempting to shape his discourse according to therules of conventional gallantry. 

Violante, despite her gravity, could not forbear smiling, as shesaid in reply:

"Not at all, Signor. I do not in the least forget that beforePaolina ever came to Ravenna, you were no whit better disposed tosecond the wishes of our families. "

"Nay, Signorina. I declare--"

"What, again! Do let us leave all such talk. Don't you see that wemay frankly shake hands on it. Don't you see that any pain that yourindifference might have occasioned is entirely salved by theconsciousness that I have been as bad as you. We are equally rebelsagainst the destiny arranged for us. Let us fight the battletogether then. I think that you would act wisely in telling youruncle at once that it is impossible you should make any other womanyour wife than her who has your entire heart and affection. I thinkthat this course is due to Paolina also. "

"I only wished to spare my uncle, as much as possible, in breakingto him what I know will give him pain. "

"People, who will wish what they ought not to wish, must endure thepain that the frustration of such wishes entails. It is certainlyyour right to marry according to your own inclinations. "

"Yes; and in truth, as far as real power goes, there is nothing toprevent my doing so. It is truly a desire to break to my uncle, asgently as I can, that which will certainly be a blow to him. He isnot well, my uncle. He is deplorably changed since the beginning ofthis year. Look at him, as he passes us, " he added, as he observedthe Marchese Lamberto approaching the place where they were sitting, with the white satin domino on his arm. 

"He is looking changed and ill, certainly, " said Violante, when theMarchese had passed, apparently without noticing them; "he looksthin and worn, and yet feverish and excited. Who is the lady on hisarm? She must be very tall. "

Many of the assembled company had by this time, like the ContessaViolante, discarded their masks, finding the heat, which alwaysresults from the use of them, oppressive, and not perceiving thatany further amusement was to be got by retaining them. But the whitedomino, leaning on the Marchese's arm, still retained hers. It isnot likely that Bianca herself could have had any objection to itsbeing seen by all Ravenna that she monopolized the attention of theMarchese during the entire evening. And it is therefore probablethat she had retained her disguise in compliance with some hintgiven to that effect by the Marchese Lamberto. 

"I take it it must be La Lalli, the prima donna. I know she is hereto-night and in a white domino, though I have not yet spoken to her. I am afraid my uncle must be tired and bored with her. He alwaysmakes a point of showing those people attention; and besides he hadso much to do with bringing her here. I dare say we shall hear heronce or twice again in this house before she leaves Ravenna. Myuncle is fond of getting up some good music in Lent, when he can. "

"The Marchese Lamberto did not look to me as if he was tired orbored, " said Violante, thoughtfully. "I hope he is not. Here comesthat absurd animal Leandro again. Did you ever see anything sooutrageously ridiculous?"

Ludovico and the Contessa then rose from their seats, and Violantetaking his arm drew him in the direction in which the MarcheseLamberto had led the white satin domino. 

CHAPTER IX

Paolina's Return to the City

There remained now but one day more of that Carnival, which remainedmemorable for many years afterwards in Ravenna, for the terriblecatastrophe that marked its conclusion. 

All that these people, whose passions, and hopes, and fears havebeen laid open to the reader, were doing during those Carnival weekswas gradually leading up, after the manner of human acts, to theterrible event which rounded off the action with such fatalcompleteness. And the catastrophe was now at hand. 

During the reception at the Castelmare palace on that night of thelast day of Carnival but one, the white domino, whom Ludovico hadrightly supposed to be Bianca--a guess which had been shared by manyother persons in the room--had pretty exclusively occupied theattention of the Marchese Lamberto. And it must be supposed that theresolution was then taken between them which led to the summons ofSignor Fortini, the family lawyer, to the palazzo on the first dayof Lent, as was related in the first book of this narrative. It wason the morning of Ash Wednesday, it will be remembered, that thelawyer had received from the Marchese the formal communication ofhis intention to marry the Signorina Bianca Lalli. 

The reader knows, also, that what took place in the interval betweenthe night of the reception at the Palazzo Castelmare and the morningof the first day in Lent was not calculated, as might have beensupposed, to assist in bringing the mind of the Marchese to a finaldetermination to that effect. The terrible degree to which hisjealousy and anger had been excited on the night of the ball at theCircolo by Ludovico and Bianca will also not have been forgotten. The conduct which had awakened that jealousy was, in a greatmeasure, if not entirely, innocent on the part of both theoffenders, as the reader will also, no doubt, remember. Thesimilarity of the costume adopted by the Marchesino and Bianca wasentirely accidental. And this, trifling as the circumstance mayseem, had contributed very materially to arouse the Marchese's wrathand jealous agony. Bianca, perhaps, under the circumstances, oughtnot to have danced as frequently as she did with the Marchesino. Sheat least knew that the Marchese Lamberto had already conceived themost torturing jealousy of his nephew. Ludovico, on his part, was ofcourse utterly unconscious that he was giving his uncle the remotestcause for umbrage by his attentions to the successful Diva. 

Then came the little tete-a-tete supper--tete-a-tete by accidentrather than by design, as the reader may remember; and the officiousand spiteful eavesdropping and tell-tale denunciation by the angrypoet. 

Nevertheless, and despite of all these circumstances and of thetemper of mind in which he quitted the ball-room that night, it iscertain that the Marchese did, on the morning of the following AshWednesday, send for his lawyer and announce to him formally hisintention to make the Signorina Bianca Lalli his wife. 

We have seen all the agonies of irresolution and indecision--all thealternating swayings of his mind, as passion or prudencepredominated at the moment. He seemed utterly unable to bringhimself, save fitfully, to the final adoption of either line ofconduct. And yet, at the moment when his jealousy most furiouslyboiled over, he decided on taking the first overt step towards theaccomplishment of the deed. 

Was it possibly that he was urged irresistibly forwards by the fearthat if he did not at once make the prize he so eagerly covetedirrevocably his own, the power to make it so might pass away fromhim? that, after all, his nephew might have found the goddess asirresistible as he had found her himself; and that she might preferthe younger to the older Marchese di Castelmare?

Whatever the reflections might have been that at last drove him totake the definitive step of applying to his lawyer, we know thatthey were not of a pleasant kind--that the state of the Marchese'smind was anything but a happy or peaceful one during the hours thatpreceded his sending the message to Signor Fortini. 

The manner in which the lawyer received the communication made tohim, and his determination, on further consideration, to make theMarchese Ludovico at once aware of the step contemplated by hisuncle, will not have been forgotten. The reader will, it is hoped, remember also how, sallying forth after his early dinner for thispurpose, Signor Fortini encountered the Marchese Ludovico in thestreet; how the latter communicated to the old lawyer the state ofanxiety he was in about the Signorina Bianca Lalli, whom he had lostin the Pineta; and finally how the lawyer and the Marchese togetherhad gone to the Porta Nuova, by which the road leading to St. Apollinare and to the Pineta quits the city, in order there to makeinquiries, --and the terrible reply to their inquiries that there methim. 

What that reply was had not been immediately clear to the lawyer. For, as far as the circumstances of the previous events were thenknown to him, there were two persons, Bianca Lalli, the singer, andPaolina Foscarelli, the Venetian artist--two young girls missing, who were both known to have been out of the city in that directionthat morning; two young girls of whom he knew little more than this, that they had apparently reason to feel a deadly jealousy of eachother. Which of these two was the one whose dead body lay thereunder the city gateway before him, he had no immediate means ofknowing. For Ludovico, who had raised the sheet that covered thefeatures of the dead, and had, of course, become on the instantaware of the truth, had fallen into unconsciousness, withoututtering a word beyond the one agonized outcry that, for the moment, had left little doubt on the mind of the lawyer that the victim attheir feet was the girl Paolina. 

But, of course, the means of setting at rest the doubt on thelawyer's mind were very soon at hand; at hand even before Ludovicorecovered from his short fainting fit. For the same man among theOctroi officers, who had recognized La Lalli when she had passedwith Ludovico in the morning, was now able to say that the woman whonow lay dead in the gateway was in truth no other than the poorDiva. 

Paolina, in fact, was by that time safe at home, and had been wellscolded by Signora Orsola for having given her such a fright byplaying the truant for so long. 

Of course her old friend called upon her for an account of the hourswhich had elapsed during her prolonged absence. And Paolina, inreply to this demand, gave a very intelligible account of the time. But unfortunately, most unfortunately, as the sequel showed it tobe, this account rested solely on her own statement. Of course oldOrsola saw not the smallest reason for doubting any part of it. Andthe explanations which she gave of her movements, and of the motiveswhich led to them, embodied in the following statement of whathappened from the time when she left the church to the time when shere-entered the city, are the result of her subsequent declarations, when called upon to account for her occupation of those hours. 

The aged Capucine friar had, as we know, watched her take the paththat led to the farmhouse on the border of the wood. And havinglooked after her as long as she was in his sight, he sighed heavily, and, turning away, went back to his prayers in the church. But hadhe been able to watch her on her way a few minutes longer, he would, if the girl's own account of her movements were correct, have seenher change the direction of her walk. 

About half-way between the eastern end of the church, by which thepath the friar had indicated to Paolina passed, and the farmhouse onthe border of the forest, another path, skirting what had onceapparently been the cemetery attached to the church, turned off atright angles to the left, so as, after some distance, to rejoin theroad on its way towards the city. And this path, according to herown account, Paolina took; thus abandoning her intention of reachingthe forest at the spot where the farmhouse stood. Why had she thuschanged her purpose?

Various thoughts and feelings, which had presented themselves to herin the space of the minute or two she had occupied in walking roundto the eastern end of the church, had contributed to produce thischange in her purpose. 

Unquestionably the first feeling which arose in her mind, on seeingwhat she had seen from the window of the church, was one ofjealousy. But she combated it vigorously; and if she did not succeedin altogether conquering it, --that fiend being, by the nature of notto be vanquished so by one single effort, however valorous--at leastput it to the rout for the present. She had known all along thatLudovico frequently saw La Bianca. She knew that he would meet herat the ball; and, doubtless, the object of their expedition thismorning was, as the friar had suggested, to show the stranger thecelebrated Pineta. Having thus, in some measure, tranquillized herheart, she began to think how lovely the forest must be on that finespring morning; how much she, too, should like to see it; how goodan opportunity the present was of doing so. Perhaps, too, there wassome little anticipation of the slight punishment to be inflicted onher lover, when he should be told that she had visited the Pinetaalone at the very time when he had been in her immediate vicinityengaged in showing it to another. 

And with these thoughts in her head, she made her inquiries, andstarted on her way. But before she had walked many steps, otherthoughts began to present themselves to her mind. How did she knowhow far they had gone from the farmhouse? Might they not still be inthe immediate neighbourhood of it? Might she not, very probably, fall in with them? And would not that be exceedingly disagreeable?Would she not have all the appearance of having followed thempurposely from motives of jealousy? Would not her presence beunwelcome? Would there not be something of indelicacy even in thusfollowing one who evidently preferred being with another?

These considerations sufficed to produce the change in her purpose, and in the direction towards which she turned her steps, that hasbeen mentioned. So she returned by the path, which has beendescribed, into the road, and proceeded along it on her return tothe city. She did not trip along as briskly and alertly as she haddone in coming thither; but walked slowly and pensively with hereyes on the ground. She was thus a good deal longer in returningthan in going. And when she had reached the immediate neighbourhoodof the city, she turned aside before entering the gate, into a sortof promenade under some trees near the city wall, and sat down onone of the stone benches there to think a little. 

And presently; as she was busy thinking, she was startled into muchdispleasure against herself by discovering that two large utterlyunauthorised tears were running down her cheeks. 

What was the meaning of that? Surely she was not jealous still, after all the good reasons for not being so, that she had soconclusively pointed out to herself?

No, she was not jealous. She would not be jealous. But it would havebeen so nice in the Pineta. The sun was now high in the heavens. Thebirds were singing on every tree; and Ludovico was enjoying it withthat woman, whom, when she had seen her at the theatre, she hadfound it so impossible to like or to tolerate. Yet she would not, could not, doubt that Ludovico loved herself, and her only. 

She dried her tears, and determined that she would not let doubts ofwhat she really did not doubt torment her. But still she sat on andon upon the bench in the shade musing on many things--on theContessa Violante, on the steps Ludovico had said that he would takethis very first day of Lent towards the open breaking off of allengagement with that lady, and on the amount of scandal anddifficulty that would thence arise. 

Then her fancy, despite all her endeavours and determinations to thecontrary, would go back to paint pictures of the beauty of LaBianca, as she sat by the side of Ludovico in the little carriage. How lovely she had looked, and how happy, --so evidently pleased withherself, with her companion, and with all about her. And Ludovicohad seemed in such good spirits--so happy, so thoroughly contented. He did not want any one else to be with him. He was far enough fromthinking of the fond and faithful heart that would have been made sohappy--oh, so happy--if it had been given to her to sit there by hisside. 

She sat thinking of all these things till she was roused from herreverie by the city clocks striking noon. It was three good hourslater than she had supposed it to be; and she jumped up from herseat, intending to hasten home to Signora Orsola Steno. 

All this Paolina stated partly to Signora Orsola on her return home, and partly in reply to inquiries subsequently made of her byinquirers far less easily satisfied. 

But chance--or, what for want of a better designation, we are in thehabit of so calling--had decreed that Signora Orsola should not bedelivered from her suspense so quickly. 

On turning into the shady promenade under the city walls, a littlebefore reaching the Porta Nuova, Paolina had strolled onwards, before sitting down on one of the benches that tempted her after herwalk, till she fancied that it would be shorter for her to reach theVia di Santa Eufemia by another gate, which gave admission to thecity at the other end of the promenade, instead of by turning backto the Porta Nuova. And thus, though she had in truth returned tothe city, the men at that gate were quite right in their statementthat she had not returned by the way they guarded. 

The road, however, by which Paolina proposed to return to her homeled her past the residence of the Cardinal, and, as she passed, itoccurred to her that it would be well, and save another walk, tolook in at the chapel and put together the things she had left in iton finishing her task there, so that they might be ready for aporter to bring away when she should send for them. 

For this purpose she ascended the great staircase of the Cardinal'spalace, and was at once admitted to pass on into the chapel, as amatter of course, by the servants, who had become quite used to hervisits there; and, from this point forwards, the accuracy of herstatements was easily proved by other testimony besides her own. 

It would not have taken her long, as she had said to herself, to gether things together and make them ready for being fetched away. Butin the chapel she found the Lady Violante on her knees on the fald-stool before the altar. It was the first day in Lent, and, accordingly, a period of extra devotion. The sins, the excesses, thefrivolities, of the Carnival had to be atoned for by extra prayersand religious exercises; and if Violante had herself been guilty ofno sins, excesses, or frivolities, during the festive season, yetthere was abundant need of her prayers for those who had. 

On hearing a light footfall behind her she looked round; and, onseeing Paolina, rose from her knees, and advanced a step to meether. 

"You are come to take away your things, cara mia. The scaffoldinghas already been removed. I suppose you are very glad that your taskhere is done; and it would be selfish, therefore, to say that I amsorry. How often it happens, Paolina, that we are tempted to wishwhat we ought not to wish. "

"I don't think, Signorina, that I often wish what my consciencetells me I ought not to desire; and I should have thought that sucha thing had never occurred to you. I wished very much to dosomething this morning, and I began to do it; but then I thoughtthat I ought not to do it, and I did not. "

"Then, my child, you are all the happier. It is a happy day foryou. "

Paolina sighed a great sigh, and dropped her eyes to the ground. 

"Then I suppose the evil wish was not wholly conquered, " saidViolante, looking into her companion's eyes with a grave smile. 

"It was this, Signora: I walked out very early this morning to St. Apollinare in Classe, where I am to make some copies of the Mosaics, which I hope to begin to-morrow. A scaffolding has been prepared forme; and I went to see that all was ready. "

And then poor little Paolina was tempted to pour out all her heartand its troubles to her gravely kind and gentle friend. And Violantespoke such words of comfort as her conscience would allow her tospeak in the matter. And the talk between the two girls ran on; andthe minutes ran on, too. And poor old Orsola Steno, at the end ofher stock of patience at last, had taken the step that has beennarrated. 

And thus it had come to pass that Paolina had played the truant, andthat her protracted absence had led to Signor Fortini's momentarydoubt as to the identity of the corpse he had seen brought into thecity. 

BOOK V

Who Did the Deed?

CHAPTER I

At the City Gate

Bianca Lalli lay dead at the city gate. Fresh from her triumphs, hersuccesses, her schemes, her hopes, her frolic, at the full tide ofher fame, and her matchless beauty, the poor Diva was--dead!

How she came by such sudden death there was nothing whatever in herappearance to tell--scarcely anything to tell that she was dead. Ina quiet composed attitude stretched on her back, she lay in thelight white dress she had put on for her excursion with Ludovico. With the exception of a broad blue ribbon round the waist, andanother which bound her wealth of auburn hair, her entire dress waswhite. It was now scarcely whiter than her face. But there was onthe features neither disorder nor sign of pain. 

From a feeling of natural respect for death, and perhaps, also, forthe extreme beauty of the young face in death, the bearers of thebody had covered it with a coarse linen sheet, such as they hadchanced to find to hand. But the duty of the officers of the gatewould have required them to uncover the face, even if Ludovico inthe first agony of his doubt had not already done so. There, amidthe pitying throng of rough men, she lay beneath the sombre oldgateway vault. The extraordinary abundance of her hair fell in greatloose tresses, some making rich contrast with the white dress thatcovered her shoulders, and some of it thrown back behind over thedoor on which the body lay. 

A terrible and deadly sickness came over Ludovico, and his facebecame almost as white as that of the corpse. His head swam round;and, reeling back from the sight that met his eyes, he swooned, andwould have fallen to the ground had the lawyer not caught him. 

"I suppose, " said Fortini, to the men who crowded round the body, while he paid attention to the Marchesino, --"I suppose that therecan be no doubt that she is dead?"

"She's as dead as the door she lies on, " said one of the men who hadhelped to carry the body, shaking his head gravely, as he lookedpitifully down on her; "as dead as the door she lies on, more's thepity, for she looks like one of them that find it good to live, --more's the pity, --more's the pity. "

"Che bella donna! E proprio un viso d'angiolo, " said another; "andso young too. There's some heart somewhere that'll be sore forthis. "

"Pretty creature; it is enough to break one's own heart to look ather as she lies there, " said a third. While a fourth of the roughfellows stood and sobbed aloud, and let the tears run down hisfurrowed cheeks, without the smallest effort to control or hide hisemotion. For an Italian, especially an Italian man of the people, unlike the men of the Teuton races, is never ashamed of emotion. Hevery often manifests a great deal which he does not genuinely feel;but he never seeks to hide any that he does feel. 

All this while the officials at the gate, some six or eight of them, standing thus round the extemporized bier, were closely questioningthe men, who had been the bearers; Ludovico and the old lawyer werethus shut out from the circle which had formed itself around thebody, and were on the outside of it. A boy, belonging to one of thegate officials, brought, at the lawyer's bidding, a glass of coldwater, by the help of which the young Marchese was quickly restoredto consciousness. He was able to rise to his feet again before theofficers had concluded their official questioning of those who hadbrought in the body. And the lawyer looked anxiously into his faceto ascertain that he was capable of understanding what was said tohim, as he stood, still apparently half-stunned by the shock of theevent, against the doorway of the little dwelling of thegatekeepers. 

"Stand where you are and say nothing; we will go away togetherpresently, " whispered the lawyer in his ear, griping him hard at thesame time by the arm, and giving him a little shake, as if to rousehim to comprehension; a mode of speaking and acting on the part ofSignor Fortini, which would have seemed very extraordinary to theyoung Marchese at any other time, but which he was now too muchoverpowered by what had happened to notice. 

Signor Fortini had no official character or function, which in anyway gave him the right, or made it his duty to meddle with thecircumstances, that had occurred by chance in his presence. But hewas so well known to all the city, was mixed in one way or anotherwith so many matters of business, and was so much and so generallylooked up to, that the people at the gate, hardly knowing what theirown duty required of them under circumstances so unusual, turned tohim for directions as to what they ought to do. 

"What you have to do, my good friend, is simple enough, " said thelawyer, addressing the superior official at the gate; "you must, inthe first place, receive and take charge of the body. You mustinquire of these good folks all they have to tell you, together withtheir names and addresses. You must draw up a processo verbale, embodying all such information; and then you must have the bodyconveyed to the mortuary at the hospital, at the same time makingyour report to the police, and delivering up the body into theircustody. In such a case as this, it will be well, too, that theseworthy men, who have brought the body here, should go with you tothe police, the more so, " he added, as his quick eye marked acertain blank look in the faces of the men, --"the more so, as theymust be recompensed for their trouble and labour, and it is by thepolice that the payment for it must be made. "

"Un processo verbale! Yes, one knows that; but under circumstancesso strange--grazie a Dio so unheard of--if your worship would havethe kindness to put one in the way of it. Your worship is familiarwith affairs of all sorts. Just an instant. "

"We must hear first what these men have to say. First take downtheir names and addresses. "

The men gave them, as the lawyer remarked to himself, with perfectwillingness and alacrity. 

They then related that having been at work in the forest, cutting upthe branches and trunk of a tree, which had fallen from old age andnatural decay, they were going to another part of the Pineta, ashort distance off, where another fallen tree awaited their axes andsaws, when they saw a lady asleep as they thought on a bank. Theywere about to pass on without interfering with her in any way, whenone of their party remarked that it was odd that all the noise theyhad made had not wakened her, for they had come along laughing, singing, and talking loudly. This had led them to approach closelyto her; and then, --as they looked at her, a suspicion of the truthbegan to come to their minds. They touched her, and found that shewas dead. She was not quite cold, they said, and were quite sure ofthat fact. They looked at her, and looked all around to see if theycould perceive any sign of the cause of her death. But they couldsee nothing. There was, as far as they could see, no trace of blood, either on her dress or anywhere around the spot where she lay. Andthen they had borrowed a door from the farm near St. Apollinare, andhad brought the body here, and that was all they knew about it. 

"Had they seen any other person in the forest that morning?"

"Not a soul; and they had been in that part of the Pineta, or atleast at no great distance, all the morning from sunrise. "

"Would they be able to find again and to know the spot on which theyhad found the body?" the lawyer asked. 

"Oh, yes, " they said, "easily. It was not by the side of any of theordinary tracks through the forest--but not very far from one ofthem; as if the lady had turned aside from the path, and sought outa quiet spot to enjoy a siesta without being disturbed. "

"It is pretty clear, " said the lawyer, "that it has been a case ofsudden death during sleep--probably from disease of the heart. Now, my friend, " he said, turning to the senior of the officials, "youhave only simply to state what we have heard in writing and carry itto the police. Meantime, it will be as well to remove the body atonce. Let a couple of your people accompany the men who brought ithere--they may as well carry it to the mortuary. "

So a sheet was obtained from a neighbouring house, the moreperfectly and decently to cover the body, preparatory to its beingcarried through the streets. Ludovico stepped hurriedly forward fromthe doorpost, against which he had been leaning, and looked eagerlyonce again at the calmly-tranquil and still beautiful face beforethey covered it with the sheet. And then the six men took up theirburden, and, with two of the gate-officers marching at their head, moved off towards the hospital. 

Then the lawyer put his hand on Ludovico's shoulder in a manner thatwas strange, and that would at once have seemed so to the Marchesehad he at the time had any attention to give to such a circumstance, and said in a peremptory and authoritative sort of voice, veryunlike his usual manner when speaking to a person in the socialposition of the Marchese, "Now, come with me, Signor Marchese. Let us go. We can do no moregood here. " And he put his arm within that of Ludovico, as if tolead him away, as he spoke. 

The Marchese suffered the old man thus to lead him from the gatewithout speaking a word. 

"Now, Signor Marchese, " said the lawyer, as soon as they had turnedthe corner of a street, which took them out of sight of the citygate, "now, lose no time. Make for the Porta Adriana, and quit thecity by that. There is an osteria in the borgo outside the gate, where you can get a bagarino with a quick horse for Faenza; thencecross the mountains into Tuscany. You may easily be over thefrontier this night; you have plenty of time, only none to lose. Itwill be at least two hours before any steps can be taken; you may bebeyond Faenza by that time. Have you money about you? If not I cansupply you. I have a considerable sum about me--One word more: Donot venture to remain in Florence. The grand Ducal Government wouldnot refuse the demand of the Nuncio in such a case; and the demandwould surely be made. Better get on to Leghorn; and make forMarseilles. "

"Good God, Signor Fortini! What are you talking of; and what are youdreaming of? What is it that you have got into your head?" saidLudovico, rousing himself, and stopping short in his walk to turnround and face the lawyer. 

"Look here, Signor Marchese, your father was my friend and patron;your grandfather was my father's friend and patron; and, therefore, bad as this business is, I think, and will think, more of old timesand old kindnesses than of what I suppose is my duty now. But don'tlose time by trying to throw dust in my eyes. What is the use of it?What I have got in my head is what every man, woman and child inRavenna will have in their head before this day is over. Have yousufficient money about you?"

"Signor Fortini, once again I don't know what you are driving at. Iinsist upon your speaking out your entire meaning. What is it youimagine?" said Ludovico, speaking angrily, but now very pale. 

"Imagine! What can I imagine? The matter is, unhappily, but tooclear. Why of course I imagine that you have by some means, --whichthe medical people will find out fast enough, doubt it not, --killedthat unfortunate woman in the Pineta. "

"Signor Fortini!" exclaimed Ludovico, in a voice in which horror, indignation and dismay had equal shares. 

"Marchese, how can anybody have any doubt on the matter. Alas, thatI should have to say so, it is too self-evident. You persuade thispoor creature to go out alone with you into the Pineta at anextraordinary hour of the morning, knowing then, --or according toyour own showing, becoming aware soon after you started--that it wasyour uncle's intention by a marriage with this woman to destroyutterly every prospect you have in the world. What other human beingcan have had any ill-will against this woman, or any interest indestroying her? Your interest in doing so is of the very strongestpossible kind. It was no case of robbery. The girl was put to deathby some one, who had an interest in doing so. She is last seen alivewith you; I find you with a singularly scared and troubled mannerpretending to make inquiry respecting her, your real objectevidently being to ascertain whether the fact of the murder were yetknown, and to give rise to the impression that you knew nothing ofthe poor woman's fate. Then, when confronted with the corpse you areseen to be absolutely overcome by your emotion. Now, as I havesimply stated the facts, do you imagine that a moment's doubt willbe felt as to who has done this deed?"

Ludovico felt the cold sweat break out on his forehead, as helistened to the lawyer's words. The logic of the facts did mostunquestionably seem to make out a fatally strong case against him. And it was difficult to judge--very difficult even for the shrewdand practised lawyer to judge--whether the consciousness of crime, or the horror of seeing by how terribly strong evidence thesuspicion of crime was brought home to him, were the cause of theemotion he manifested. 

Signor Fortini, again, with rapid and practised acuteness, ran overall the circumstances in his mind; and his conclusion, unavoidable, as he felt it, was that the Marchese must have done the deed. Thatthe criminal authorities would come to the same conclusion he couldnot feel the smallest doubt. 

"Good God! Signor Fortini, this is very dreadful! it is as new to mymind--it comes upon me now for the first time, as much as if I hadnot known the fact of her death. But I see it--I see it all; as youput the matter now before me. What am I to do?--gracious heaven, what am I to do?"

"I have already told you, what you have to do; the only thing thatyou can do. You have time enough to make it quite safe, that you maybe across the frontier before any pursuit can overtake you. As forpursuing you across the frontier, that can only be donediplomatically, and of course by means which would leave you ampletime to quit Tuscany. "

"Signor Fortini, I am innocent of this crime. It is a crime whichsickens me with horror to think of. What passed in the Pineta passedexactly as I told you. I left that unhappy girl sleeping, intendingto be absent from her but a few minutes. And as there is a God inheaven I never again saw her till I saw her dead at the gate, " saidLudovico, speaking with intense earnestness. 

"But even if you should convince me, Signor Marchese, that such werein truth the case, whom else do you think you would be able toconvince? Not one, not a single soul; above all, certainly not oneof those who are used to the investigation of crime, or of those whowould have to pronounce judgment on it. If I were perfectly andentirely persuaded of your innocence I should still urge you to fly. The facts of the case are too strong against you. "

"But is that the advice you would give to an innocent man, SignorFortini? Is that the course which an innocent man would take? ShouldI not by flying add such an additional damning circumstance to theother grounds of suspicion, as to render all possible hope ofclearing myself vain?" remonstrated Ludovico. 

"It is true, it would do so; and the argument is, I am bound to say, the argument of an innocent man. In any other case, in any othercase, I should say face inquiry and prove your innocence. But, Signor Marchese, I dare not recommend you to do so. The facts, as Isaid, are too strong for you. Remember, too, that you do not throwaway any chance by flight. For the only possible circumstance thatcould exonerate you would be the discovery that the deed was done bysome other; and should that ever be proved or provable, you would atonce return, plainly stating that you fled, not from guilt, but froma due appreciation of the fatal weight of suspicion that thecircumstances and the facts cast on you. In such a case, in such avery improbable case, I should not hesitate to testify that, beingby accident made aware of the circumstances, I had recommended andurged you to fly. No innocent man is bound to suffer for themisfortune of lying under a false suspicion if he can help it. Youcannot face the suspicion that will rest upon you; instant flight isthe only course open to you. "

"Did you not say yourself at the gate just now, Signor Fortini, "said Ludovico, making a strong effort to recover the use of hisalmost stunned faculties"--did you not yourself say that it wasevidently a case of sudden death, probably from heart disease?"

"Pshaw! to the people there; to those blockheads at the gate, I saidso, of course I did; but the medical folks will soon find out allabout that. "

"But again, as you remarked very truly, the only possible motivethat I could be suspected of having for wishing the death of thisunfortunate woman must be supposed to arise from my knowledge of thefact that my uncle had proposed marriage to her. "

"And is not that motive enough, per Dio?" interrupted the lawyer. 

"Doubtless it might, at all events, seem so to some people. But youspoke of my persuading her to go on this unhappy excursion with aview, as your words imply, of committing the crime you suspect meof. Now I knew nothing of any such intention on the part of my uncletill she communicated it to me when we were in the forest. "

"That is your statement--"

"And you must remember, Signor Fortini, that I made that statementto you before I knew anything of her death. "

"Before you knew anything of her death. Pshaw! You are assuming yourinnocence of the deed. Yes, I remember what you said. I rememberonly too well. Had you not spoken to me, there might have been noproof that you knew anything at all of your uncle's purpose. I wishto heaven you had not said a word to me on the subject. I shall haveto testify that you declared to me, that your uncle's offer to herhad been communicated to you by her. It will be impossible to avoidthat. And it will be impossible to persuade the magistrate that youhad not previous knowledge of such a purpose from other sources. "

"But why should any such intended offer on the part of my uncle beever heard of at all?" urged Ludovico. "He will most assuredly neverbe willing to speak of it, and--"

"Che! As if that old man, her so-called father, will not be open-mouthed as to that--as if he would not proclaim it to the wholecity. Ah--h--h! it is a bad business, Signor Marchese, a badbusiness. 

"And is it possible, Signor Fortini, that you do really in your ownheart believe me to be guilty of this deed?" said Ludovico, with asigh that was almost a groan, and looking steadily and wistfullyinto the eyes of his companion. 

"What is more to the purpose, unfortunately, is that it does notsignify a straw whether I believe it or not. You will not be judged, Signor Marchese, by my belief; and I am very sure what those whohave to judge you will believe. I have some experience of thesematters. I know the courts. I see the exceeding difficulty ofbelieving anything else as to this death than that it was done byyour hands; by you, who had the opportunity and the motive, whereas, it is impossible to suggest any semblance of such motive on the partof any other human being; by you, in whose company she was last seenalive. She had valuable ornaments about her person. If you hadremoved them it would, at least, have left it open to themagistrates to attribute the deed to another motive, and to otherhands. I see all this. I see the whole case before me; and, I tellyou, that your only chance is to escape while it is yet time. "

"My solemn assertion, then, produces no effect on your mind, SignorFortini?" said Ludovico, looking at him steadily. 

"Signor Marchese, " said the lawyer, with an impatient shake of thehead, "let us look at the matter from the opposite point of view. Ifyou had killed this woman, let us say, what would your conduct be?Would you not, in that case, make exactly the assertions that younow make? That is the terrible consideration that makes allassertion valueless in the case of such suspicion. But, once again, why dwell on my belief in the matter, which is nothing to thepurpose? I have put your position, whether you are guilty or notguilty, clearly before your eyes. I counsel you, and strongly urgeyou, while yet unaccused, to escape from the accusation, which willbe made against you within an hour. I am ready to assist you withthe means of escaping--"

"Signor Fortini, I cannot avail myself of them. I have made up mymind I will not add another such damning ground of suspicion againstme. Here I will remain to answer, as best I can, all the accusationsthat may be brought against me. I will not fly. "

The old lawyer shook his head and sighed deeply. 

"A bad business, " he said, "a very bad business. It will kill theMarchese Lamberto; and I won't say what I would not have given tohave escaped seeing your father's son, Signor Marchese, in theposition in which you stand. "

"Will you carry your kindness yet one step further, Signor Fortini, and, despite my rejection of your first advice, tell me what youthink I had better first do now immediately, I mean--on thesupposition that I am determined to remain in the city?"

"I think, " said the lawyer, after a pause for consideration, "thatthe best course for you to take in the case would be to go at onceto the magistrates and make your statement to them of thecircumstances according to your own version of the story, --statingthat you hastened to do so on seeing the dead body at the city gate;I think that is the best thing you can do. Observe, I cannot saythat I think it likely that, if you do so, you will pass this nightunder the roof of the Palazzo Castelmare; but, if you are determinedto remain in the city, I think that is the best thing you can do. "

"That, then, I will do, " returned the Marchese. "I thank you, SignorFortini, for the advice which I can follow, and not less for thatwhich I cannot follow. Good-evening. "

"Good-evening, Signor Marchese. I hope it may be better with youthan I fear. And, of course, if you need me, as you will, you willsummon me, and I will not fail to be with you within a few minutesof your call. "

"Thanks, Signor Fortini. Addio. "

"One word more, Signor Marchese, before you go. When you uncoveredthe face of the woman lying dead yonder you exclaimed, `Paolina!'What was the thought that led you to do so? You could not havemistaken the identity? Of course, you know that I question you onlyin your own interest?"

"Did I say `Paolina?' replied the Marchese, with an apparent effortat recollecting himself. 

"You did. On seeing the face you exclaimed, `Paolina mia!'--so muchso, that I felt no doubt that it was this Paolina who lay deadthere. What was it moved you to that exclamation?"

"I don't know. I can't tell. I was very anxious about Paolina. Thethought of her was uppermost in my mind, I suppose. "

"Humph!" said the lawyer, thoughtfully and doubtingly. 

All this conversation had passed hurriedly in the small desertedstreet into which Ludovico and the lawyer had turned on leaving thecity gate; and, when they parted, the two men took differentdirections, --the lawyer returning to the gate with the germ of anidea in his mind, which the last portion of his conversation withthe Marchese had generated there, and which subsequent circumstancestended to develop, and the Marchese Ludovico going in the directionof the Palazzo del Governo. 

CHAPTER II

Suspicion

The Marchese Ludovico told the lawyer that he would go immediatelyto the magistrates and make a voluntary statement of all that heknew of the circumstances connected with Bianca's death; and hefully purposed doing so. But he did not do it immediately. There wasanother visit which he was more anxious to pay; and which the hintthat had dropped from the old lawyer to the effect that it was veryprobable he might not pass that night in his own home, determinedhim to pay first at all hazards. 

This visit, as may readily be imagined, was to Paolina. And to themodest little home in the Strada di Santa Eufemia he hurried as fastas his legs would carry him, as soon as he quitted Signor Fortini. Paolina, on returning home after her conversation with the ContessaViolante in the Cardinal's chapel, had remained there busy with thepreparation of her materials for beginning her work at SaintApollinare on the following day. 

She looked up as he entered the room with an arch smile on her lipsand in her eyes which, perhaps, did not reflect altogetherfaithfully the feeling in her heart. 

"Yes, I saw you, you naughty, inconstant boy, when you littlethought my eye was upon you. I saw you with--Ludovico, there issomething wrong, " she said, suddenly changing her laughing tone forone of alarm as her eye marked the expression of his face. "I amsure from the way you look at me there is something amiss. What isit, Ludovico mio? What has happened to vex you?"

"A great and terrible misfortune has happened, my Paolina; and Ihave run to you in all haste that you might not hear it from anylips but my own. You were going to say just now that you saw me withBianca Lalli, were you not? Where and when did you see us?"

"In a bagarino, driving towards the Pineta. I was up at a highwindow in the church on the scaffolding prepared for my work, " saidPaolina, deadly pale, and breathless with apprehension. 

"Ah! you saw us from the window. I took her there at her request tosee the Pineta. We started on leaving the ball-room. In the forestshe became sleepy: I left her sleeping on a bank, and meaning toreturn to her in a few minutes. I could not find the spot again forsome time; and when I did find it she was gone. After searching thewood in vain for hours I returned to the city, and--at the gate--notan hour ago--I saw her brought in--dead!"

"Dead! La Bianca dead!" cried Paolina, much shocked; and with everyvestige of the half-formed suspicions which had been tormenting hersuddenly erased from her mind by the terrible tidings and thesadness of the end of the unfortunate Diva. 

"Dead, my Paolina; and I am suspected of having murdered her, " hesaid slowly, and with an accent of profound despair. 

"What--what! You suspected! By whom? What does it mean? La Biancamurdered--and by you. What does it mean, Ludovico mio? For pity'ssake, tell me, what does it mean?"

And the pale features began to work, awl the large deep eyes filledwith tears, and the neat moment she fell back into a chair sobbinghysterically. 

"I was the last person with whom she was seen alive; and--there was, it seems, strong reason why it may be supposed that I should wishher dead--God help me! I learned this morning--the poor girl told meherself, to my extreme surprise--that my uncle, the MarcheseLamberto, had proposed marriage to her. You can understand, mydarling, that such a marriage would be a very dreadful misfortune tome: therefore, people think that I put the unhappy girl to death. "

"Oh, my love, my love; come to me, come to me, and let me hold you!"said the poor girl, struggling to speak amid her convulsive sobbing, and holding out her hands towards him. "Oh, my Ludovico, this isvery dreadful. But it is impossible--impossible! They will know thatit is impossible that you could have done such a thing. Murder! You--murder a defenceless girl! Oh, it is nonsense. Nobody will believeanything so monstrous. "

"Thanks, my Paolina--thanks, my own darling. At least there is oneheart that knows me. And, my Paolina, it is an immense comfort tome--not that I doubted it for an instant--but it is an infinitecomfort to me to know that you, at least in your heart of hearts, are certain that I did not--that it never could have entered into mymind to do this thing. "

"I believe it! I could just as soon imagine that I myself had doneit. But, Ludovico, my beloved, it will not be believed; it is toomonstrous. You are known here; it cannot be believed. "

"And yet, my Paolina, one who has known me all my life, who was myfather's friend--one who knows me well, and who looks at things asthe magistrates will look at them--he believes it; believes it somuch, and is so certain that others will believe it, that hestrongly urged me to escape from the city, and from the country. That, Paolina, knowing my innocence, I would not do. To save myselffrom the stake I would not have gone away without telling you, myown one, that I had not done this deed. I could not go, and so leaveyou--"

"My own--my own! How I love you, my Ludovico, now in the time ofthis great trouble better than ever I did before. There was no needto tell me, my love, that your hands are innocent of murder. Butsurely--surely you did well not to fly, leaving the hideousaccusation behind you. "

"So I thought, my own love--my own high-minded right-thinkingdarling--so I thought; and here I stay to answer my accusers. Butthe fatality of the circumstances is such that--in truth, I seelittle hope of clearing myself, save by the possible discovery ofthe causes that led to this terrible death. "

"Was there anything to show how she--that is, I mean, whether she--died by violence?" asked Paolina. 

"Nothing--nothing whatever. As we saw the body under the citygateway, when the men who found it brought it in, there was not thesmallest trace of violence visible. She lay as if, save for thedeadly pallor of her face, she might have been still sleeping. And Iam most anxious for the medical examination of the body. It may bethat they will be able to discover that death was produced by somenatural cause. "

"Surely that is the most likely. Had any robbery been committed?"asked Paolina thoughtfully. 

"None--none whatever; and she had valuables exposed on her personwhich were untouched. This is one of the worst circumstances againstme; as it excludes the idea of the dead having been done by commonmalefactors for the sake of plunder. "

"And no marks of violence? It must have been a natural death; suchthings do happen. I remember hearing of a case-"

"I must go, darling; I must leave you. I must hasten to the Palazzodel Governo to make my statement of what has occurred. It is hard toleave you, my Paolina--very hard to leave you, not knowing when orunder what circumstances I am likely to see you again. "

"Ludovico, see me again!" shrieked the girl, as a new and dreadfulidea presented itself for the first time to her mind; "why--you willcome to me when you have spoken to the magistrates; you will tell mewhat they say. "

"I fear me, Paolina, that it will not be in my power to do that, "returned Ludovico, with a melancholy smile. "Should they leave me atliberty, of course I shall fly to you on the instant they dismissme. But, you must not expect that, my love. I shall be detaineddoubtless, until--until the truth has been discovered respectingthis horrible tragedy. One kiss my own, own darling before we part. "

She sprang into his opened arms with a bound; almost before thewords had quitted his lips, and clasped him to her heart with allthe strength she could exert. Then drawing herself a little back, and placing her two little hands on the front of his shoulders; shesaid, speaking with breathless hurry, --

"See now, my love, my only love. You must remember all the time, that there is no hour of the day or night that I shall not bethinking of you, and loving you all the time, always, always. Andremember, that if all the whole world says that you did this thing, I shall still know that it was as impossible as that I did itmyself. Remember that always, my best beloved. "

"Thanks, my Paolina; it will be very sweet to me to remember it. Anddearest, one thing more. It will hardly be likely that in thepresent circumstances, under all this weight of misfortune, my pooruncle will be likely to have time or attention to give to you, Butif you have need of anything--of advice, of assistance, ofprotection--speak to the Contessa Violante, and--stay, you shalltake a message to her from me. Tell her that I begged you to say, asfrom me to her, that in the teeth of all appearances I am innocentin thought, word, and deed in this matter. I think she will believeit; I must go, my love, my own!"

"Pray God, it be not for long, tesoro mio. I shall pray to the HolyVirgin for you morning and night. "

"Addio, Paolina mia. Yet one kiss, anima mia, addio, "

From the Strada di Santa Eufemia Ludovico hurried as quickly as hecould to the Palazzo del Governo; but found that he was not in timeto be the first bearer to the police magistrate of the tidings ofwhat had happened. The report of the officials at the gate hadalready been given in, and the police had already taken possessionof the body. 

The magistrate received him with grave courtesy, saying that he wasglad the Signor Marchese had presented himself in order to throwwhat light he could on this sad affair, as rumour had alreadyreached his (the magistrate's) ears mixing the name of the MarcheseLudovico with the subject in a manner that would have made it hisduty to call the Marchese, had he not of himself judged it right toanticipate the action of justice in the matter. 

Then Ludovico related clearly and shortly how the excursion to thePineta had been imagined and planned between him and Bianca at theball; how they had put their plan into execution; how he had lefther sleeping in the forest; and had been unable to find her again;how he had returned, after spending much time in fruitless seeking, and had shortly afterwards, being then in the company of SignorGiovacchino Fortini, seen the dead body of the unfortunate ladybrought into the city by men who had discovered it in the forest. 

The magistrate listened attentively to this history in silence, savethat he once or twice interrupted Ludovico to ask at what o'clock ithad been that the different incidents happened. Then he reduced thewhole statement to writing, and read it over to the Marchesino. 

"Your lordship parted then from Signor Fortini, after witnessing inhis company the arrival of the corpse at the gate, nearly an hourago. You did not come to make your report to us here at once? I mustask you how you have employed the interval?" said the magistrateshooting a sharp glance from under his black eyebrows at Ludovico, who was sitting opposite to him, with a little table between them, on which there were writing-materials. 

"In visiting a lady, to whom I was very anxious to tell theseunfortunate circumstances myself, instead of allowing them to cometo her ears in any other manner, " answered Ludovico simply. 

"The lady's name? I ask in confidence, you know; unless of coursethe fact should turn out to have any bearing on the discovery of thetruth as to this most unhappy business. "

"The lady is the Signorina Paolina Foscarelli, a Venetian artistsent here to make copies of some of our mosaics, and recommended tomy uncle the Marchese Lamberto. "

"With whom you had no acquaintance previous to her bringing thatrecommendation?"

"None whatever. "

"But since that time you have become intimate with her?"

"It is true. "

"Signor Marchese, this is a most lamentable and unhappy affair. Itis my duty to point out to you, what doubtless your own good sensehas already suggested to you--that the mere facts, as you haverelated them to me, place you in a very unfortunate position. Butmost unhappily--it is exceedingly painful to me to have to say it--there is, if what has already reached my ears be true, worse, muchworse behind. I am obliged to ask you what conversation, of aspecial nature, passed between you and Bianca Lalli during yourexcursion?"

"I will make no pretence at not understanding your question, Signor, nor any attempt to conceal the truth. I have already stated thefacts; or that, which you have evidently heard, could not havereached your ears. The Signorina Bianca Lalli confided to me thefact, that my uncle the Marchese Lamberto had offered marriage toher. "

"Most lamentable, and to be regretted in every way, " said themagistrate, gravely shaking his head. "You perceive, SignorMarchese, the terrible, but inevitable suggestion, that arises fromthe fact of your having been made aware of a purpose so disastrousto your interests?"

"I call your attention, Signor, again to the fact, that nothingwould have been known of any such communication having been made tome, had I not spontaneously mentioned the circumstance myself. "

"It is true, Signor Marchese, and it will not be forgotten that thiscircumstance was spontaneously mentioned by you. But you mustobserve, that the fact of the proposal made by the Marchese Lambertowould have become known in more ways than one. And unhappily thefact that such a proposal had been made, would throw a verydisagreeable light on the extraordinary circumstances of this death. To whom would the death of this unfortunate woman be profitable?That is the fatal question, Signor Marchese, which it is impossibleto avoid asking. "

"I am aware of the cruelty of the inference suggested by thecircumstance, Signor Commissario, " said Ludovico sadly. 

"Have you any suggestion to offer yourself as to the possible meansby which this woman may have met with her death?" asked theCommissary of Police. 

"As far as I could see at the city gate, and according to thestatement of the men who found the body, there was no indication ofviolence whatever to be found on it. My suggestion therefore, and mytrust is, that the cause of her death was a natural one:"

"That will be a question for the medical authorities to decide, "said the Commissary. 

"I was about to ask you whether they had proceeded to anyexamination yet?" said Ludovico. 

"Not yet; we shall have the report immediately; and it shall be atonce communicated to you. "

"At the Palazzo Castelmare?" said Ludovico, though he had but verylittle hope that he should be allowed to remain at large. 

The Commissary shook his head very gravely. 

"I need hardly tell you, Signor Marchese, how painful it is to me tobe compelled to announce to you that we cannot find it consistentwith our duty to allow you under the circumstances to quit thisbuilding. The utmost that can be done to make your detention aslittle uncomfortable to you as possible, shall be done. And I canonly say that I trust it may be but for a short time. "

"Permit me to observe, Signor Commissario, that after seeing thedead body at the gate, to say nothing of all the hours previously, if I had been guilty, --I had abundance of time to escape, and toplace myself beyond the reach of the Papal authorities, before Icould have been overtaken. I might have done so, but did not. Mightnot that be held to justify you in allowing me to retain my libertyuntil the course of your inquiries may again require my presence?"

"I fear not, Signor Marchese, I fear not. The fact that such a crimehas been committed throws a terrible responsibility upon us. As toyour not having availed yourself of opportunity to escape, I mayremark that you may have been detained, not so much by your desireof meeting inquiry, as of having the interview, of which you told mejust now. You say that you came directly from the SignorinaFoscarelli's dwelling hither. At that time it was too late for hopeof escape. I fear, Signor Marchese, it will not be consistent withmy duty to allow you to depart. "

So Ludovico was conducted to a very sufficiently comfortable chamberreserved for similar occasions, and found himself a prisoner, waiting trial on suspicion of murder. 

CHAPTER III

Guilty or not Guilty?

Signor Fortini hurried home, when he quitted the Marchese Ludovicoin the little quiet street, in which they had talked together afterthe terrible sight they had together witnessed at the city gate, andshut himself up in his private room to think. He was much moved anddistressed, more moved than the practised calm of the manner naturalto him, and the slow movements of old age, allowed to be visible. 

What a dreadful, what a miserable misfortune was this. A tragedy, ifever there was one, which would for ever strike down from theirplace an ancient and noble family, whose merit and worth had fromgeneration to generation been the pride and the admiration of theentire city--a tragedy which would come home as such to the heart ofevery human being in Ravenna. Great heaven, what a fall!

And this was the first outcome of the disastrous purpose of his oldfriend the Marchese. Truly he had felt that nought but evil--evilsmanifold and wide-spreading--could arise from so insane a line ofconduct. But he had been far from anticipating so overwhelming acalamity as the first result of it. 

Then, the deed itself! It would cause an outcry from one end ofItaly to the other. It would be a disgrace, and an opprobrium to thecity for many a year. What! Ravenna invites, entices this haplessgirl, who had been the admiration of so many cities, to come withinher walls; and in return for the delight which she had given them--murders her. Other cities vie with each other in doing honour to thegifted artist. She ventures to Ravenna, and--is murdered. 

There was a bitterness in Signor Fortini's consideration of thematter from this point of view, which was more poignant than anyother man than an Italian would quite understand. For nowhere elsedo municipal pride, jealousy, and patriotism run so high. 

A foul and cruel murder had been done: so much was certain. SignorFortini had not the smallest hope that the death would be found tohave resulted from natural causes. And then came the considerationwhether there could be any hope that, after all, the deed had beendone by some other hand than that of the young Marchese diCastelmare. 

After thinking deeply for several minutes, the lawyer shook hishead. That such a deed might have been done in the forest on theperson of one found sleeping there, whose appearance was such as tohold out the expectation of booty to a plunderer, was possible--notvery likely, but possible. Possible enough to suppose that lawlessand evil-disposed persons might have been wandering there-depredators on the forest, who exist in great numbers--smugglersmaking their way across the country by hidden paths, or what not?Possible enough that such a deed might have been done, and theperpetrators of it far away before the discovery of the body, awayto the southward, and across the Apennine into Tuscany in the spaceof a few hours. But all such possibilities were conclusivelynegatived by the certain fact that no plunder had been attempted, that plunder could not have been the object of the murderer. 

Alarmed before they could carry their object into execution by theapproach of footsteps? Was this a plausible or a possible theory?

No; for the poor Diva had valuable ornaments visible on her person, an enamelled gold watch at her girdle, a diamond pin or brooch atthe fastening of her dress on her chest, to possess themselves ofwhich would have needed less time than was required for theperpetration of the murder. It was wholly impossible to suppose, onany hypothesis, that the murder could have been committed for thesake of plunder, and that these ornaments could have been leftuntouched. 

It had been observed, and was noted--not in the report drawn up bythe officials at the gate, but in the more exact and detailed reportfurnished by the police on their taking of the body into theircharge--that the brooch, which has been mentioned, was unfastened, so as to be left hanging in the dress by its pin. But thiscircumstance did not seem to be of much moment, as it might wellhave been that Bianca herself had unfastened it before fallingasleep. 

No; it was but too clear, as the lawyer said to himself, that murderand not robbery had been the object of the perpetrator of the crime. 

There was, it was true, nothing improbable in the story told by theMarchese Ludovico. That the girl should have been overpowered bysleep, after having passed the night at the ball, and then startedon an expedition so foreign to her usual habits, was abundantlylikely. That he might have become tired of sitting still while sheslept, and might have strayed away from her, not intending to quither for more than a few minutes and a few yards, was also perfectlyprobable. That having so strayed he might have been unable to findhis way back again to the spot where he had left her, or to becertain whether he had found the same spot or not, would not seem atall unlikely to any one acquainted with the Pineta. All this storywas likely and natural enough. 

But--the motive--the inevitable inference from that terrible cuibono question. For whom was it profitable, that this poor girlshould be put to death? According to the fatal information, which, by his own account, he had received but a short time previously fromthe victim herself, information, the truth and accuracy of whichwere well known to the lawyer from the Marchese Lamberto himself, the whole future prospects in life of the Marchese Ludovico dependedon the life or death of this unhappy woman. 

If the Marchese Lamberto carried out his insane intention ofmarrying La Bianca Lalli his nephew would become simply destitute. After having been accustomed, from the cradle to the age of four-and-twenty, to all that riches could procure--after having lived inthe sure expectation of wealth up to an age when it was too late tothink of making himself capable of earning a competence for himselfin any conceivable manner, this marriage would take from himsuddenly, and for ever, all such prospect; and the death of thewoman who had bewitched his uncle thus fatally would make all safe, for the Marchese Lamberto was not a marrying man--was, as all thetown knew, the last man in the world to have dreamed of taking awife now at this time of his life. 

No; it was the fatal fascination, the witchery, the lures of thisone woman. Remove her, and all would be right. 

Ah! The mischief, the woe, the scandal, the disgrace, theirretrievable calamity, and the misery, that this accursed folly ofthe Marchese Lamberto had caused. Ah! to think of all the sorrow andtrouble this woman brought with her into the city when she was sotriumphantly welcomed within the walls by these two unhappy men--theuncle and the nephew. 

It was strongly and curiously characteristic of the Italian mindthat Signor Fortini, in coming to the conclusion that this deedmust, beyond the possibility of doubt, have been committed by theMarchese Ludovico and none other, was mainly and specially moved bycompassion for the perpetrator of the crime. There is something inthis Italian mode of viewing human events and human conductcuriously analogous to that conception of mortal destinies on whichthe pathos of the old Greek tragedy mainly rests. 

How cruel was the fate which had thus compelled the young man toperceive that the life of this girl and his own welfare wereincompatible!

How dreadful the pitiless working of the great, blind, automatic, destiny-machine!

To raise a murderous hand against the life of a sleeping girl--howdreadful! How great, therefore, must have been the suffering whichimpelled a man to do so!

He had evidently been driven to desperation by the prospect of theutter and tremendous ruin that threatened him; and "desperation;"the absence of all hope, is recognised, both by the popular mind ofItaly and by its theoretic theology, as a sufficient cause for anycourse of action. It is especially taught by Roman Catholic theologythat it is, above all things, wicked so to act towards a man as todrive him to desperation; and the popular ethics invariably visitwith deeper reprobation any cause of conduct which had temptedanother man to make himself guilty of a violent crime than it doesthe criminal himself. 

Thus, lawyer and law-abiding man as he was, with all the habits of along life between him and the possibility of his raising his ownband against the life of any man, Signor Fortini, as he mused on thetragedy which had fallen out, felt more of compassion for theMarchese Ludovico, and more of anger against the folly of his uncle. 

This thing, too, which the Marchese Lamberto had announced hisintention of doing, sinned against all those virtues which, let theprofessions of the moral code say what they may, stand reallyhighest in an Italian estimation. It was eminently unwise; it wasimprudent; it was indecorous; it was calculated to produce scandal;it would bring disgrace upon a noble name; it was ridiculous; and, besides all this, it necessarily drove another to "desperation. "

"A fool! An insane idiot! Worst of all fools--an old fool! To thinkthat a man, who had stood so many years in the eyes of all men as hehad stood, should come to such a downfall. It would serve him nomore than right, if it were possible, that all the consequences ofwhat had been done should fall on his own head. "

Still, during all the musings which seemed to force him to theconclusion that the crime which had been committed was the deed ofthe Marchese Ludovico, the old lawyer did not lose sight of the ideawhich had been suggested to his mind by that exclamation of Ludovicoon the first sight of the murdered woman. He did not, in truth, asyet think that it was worth much; but he kept it safe at the bottomof his mind, ready for being produced if subsequent circumstancesshould seem to give any value to it. 

After musing an hour while these thoughts passed through his mind, the old lawyer thought he would go as far as the Palazzo del Governoto learn what steps had been taken, and whether--though he had verylittle doubt on that point--his unfortunate young friend had beendetained in custody. 

Signor Pietro Logarini, the head of the police, was an oldacquaintance of Signor Fortini, --as, indeed was pretty welleverybody in any sort of position of authority in the city. 

"A bad business this, Signor Pietro, " said Fortini, shaking hishead. 

"The worst business, Signor Giovacchino, that has happened inRavenna as long as I can remember. It is very terrible. "

"Is the poor young fellow--?" Signor Fortini completed his questionby a movement of his eyes, of one shoulder, and one thumb, quite asintelligible to the person he addressed as any words would havebeen. 

"Yes, of course. There was no help for it, you know. "

"Of course not. I suppose he came here as soon as he parted from me. It so happened that we were together at the gate when the body wasbrought there, " said Signor Fortini. 

"So I understand. You will be called on for your evidence as to hismanner on being confronted with it. "

"Of course; fortunately I have nothing to say on that point that cando any damage. He was much moved, naturally; we both were; butnothing more than any man in his place would have been. "

"But the worst, the only fatal point in that confession of his, isthat the girl told him of the Marchese Lamberto's intention ofmarrying her. Why in heaven's name did he let that slip out?"

"My notion is that it just did slip out, as you say. An old hand, aman accustomed to be at odds with the laws and the police, wouldhave known better. Did he make the same statement here?" askedFortini, rather surprised. 

"On my asking him, as I felt compelled to do, what specialconversation had passed between him and the girl that morning, hetold me the fact, " replied the Commissary. 

"But what led you to ask him such a question?" said Fortini. 

"Ah!--something that had reached my ears. We are forced, you know, Signor Giovacchino, to have very long ears in our business. Hisconversation with you to-day was held in the street, --a bad placefor such talk, Signor Giovacchino. "

"And not chosen by me for such a purpose, as you may imagine. Littlecould I guess what sort of confidence I was about to hear. "

"Not that it makes any difference. All that would have had to comeout, you know, Signor Giovacchino. "

"Oh, quite so, quite so; no, no difference in the world. Did he cometo you immediately on leaving me?"

"No; it would have been better upon the whole if he had done so. Hewent first, it seems, to the residence of a lady, one SignorinaPaolina Foscarelli, being very desirous, he said, of not leaving herto hear of the business from other lips than his own. It is a pity, because his abstaining from flight might have been something in hisfavour, if he had not made it appear, that his remaining in the citymight have been caused by his desire to see again this Paolina. Doyou know anything about her? I see by our books that she came herelast autumn from Venice. What is she like?"

"It so happens that I never saw her. But I am told that she ispretty--very pretty--remarkably so. " "Ah--h--h! that's what kept thepoor young fellow from running till it was too late to run. Andyet, " continued the Commissary, pausing on his words, and tappinghis forehead with his finger as if a new idea had just occurred tohim--"and yet the young Don Juan goes out tete-a-tete into theforest with this other girl. "

"Che volete?" returned the lawyer with a shrug. "Boys will be boys, and women--are women. "

"Yes; but the women sometimes don't quite like--" and the Commissaryallowed the remainder of his sentence to remain unspoken, beingapparently too much occupied with his thoughts to speak it. 

"I suppose the medical report can hardly have been made yet?" askedthe lawyer, on whom the suppressed meaning of the PoliceCommissary's broken sentence was not lost. 

"No; there has not been time. It was too late in the afternoon. Professor Tomasarchi will make a post-mortem examination the firstthing to-morrow morning; and I daresay we shall have his report inthe course of the day, if, as is most likely, there is nothing tocall for more than a superficial examination. "

"I shall be very anxious to hear the result of his investigation--very. I will look in, if you will allow me, to-morrow morning. Andnow I think I will go to that unfortunate man, the MarcheseLamberto. I should not be at all surprised if I were to find that hehad heard nothing about all this. Only think what it is I shall haveto tell him--the woman about whom he has been so mad as to havedetermined on sacrificing to her everything, fame, position, friends, respect, --everything--is dead! It is his monstrous proposalthat has caused her death; and the same folly has made therepresentative of his house a murderer and a felon. Think, SignorPietro, what that man's feelings must be when these tidings are toldhim. "

"Depend upon it, the whole city knows all about it by this time, "said the Commissary. 

"But I think it exceedingly likely that he has not been out of hislibrary, all day, " returned the lawyer. 

"But the servants will have heard the news. Ill news travels fast, "said the Commissary, with a shrug. 

"Yes; but the servants will hardly have ventured to repeat suchtidings to him. Two to one it will fall to my lot to tell him. Apleasant office, isn't it, Signor Pietro?"

"Not one I should like to undertake. Good-evening, SignorGiovacchino. If I don't see you to-morrow morning I will send you acouple of lines with the result of the medical examination. "

"Thanks, Signor Pietro; but I will look in about the beginning ofyour office hours to-morrow morning. I feel as if I should be ableto think of nothing else but this terrible business for some time tocome. Felice sera. "

And so the old lawyer went off to call upon his client, the MarcheseLamberto, truly dreading the interview, and yet not without acertain degree of satisfaction, and a kind of I-told-you-so feelingin the prospect of announcing to the unhappy Marchese those terriblefirst-fruits of the disastrous purpose, in condemnation of which thelawyer had spoken so strongly a few hours ago. 

CHAPTER IV

The Marchese hears the Ill News

Signor Fortini judged rightly, when he said that he thought itprobable that the Marchese Lamberto had not quitted his library, from the time when he had left him there, after the conversation, inwhich the Marchese had avowed his purpose with regard to La Bianca. 

The shrewd lawyer had well understood, that the final decision withregard to such a purpose, and the definite announcement of it, whichthe Marchese had made to him, his lawyer, were not likely to disposesuch a man to meet the eyes of his fellow-citizens. Had Fortiniknown that the Marchese had been made aware of the purposedexcursion of his nephew with the singer--as the reader knows that hehad been by the officious meddling of the Conte Leandro, --it mighthave seemed strange that he should have chosen just that day andhour for the declaration of his intention. Was it that he hastenedto acquire such an authority over Bianca, as might enable him to putan end to any such escapades for the future? Was it that he wasinfatuated to that degree, that he feared, that if he did not makehaste to secure the prize, it might be taken from him by his nephew?

However this might have been, the overt step he had taken hadcertainly not had the effect of tranquillizing his mind. The hoursof that day, since the lawyer left him, had been passed in the mostmiserable manner by him. 

The servants had all learned, that there was something verydecidedly wrong with their master. The man who usually attended onhim personally, surprised at his master spending the day in a mannerso unusual with him, had made various excuses to enter the librarytwo or three times in the course of the day. Each time he had foundthe Marchese, instead of being busily employed, as was usual withhim, when in his library, either sitting in his easy-chair with hishands before him, and his head hanging on his breast, doingabsolutely nothing; or else pacing up and down the room. 

As the afternoon went on, and the Marchese still did not go out, hisvalet, really uneasy about him, found the means of watching himwithout entering the room. Again and again he saw him rise from hischair and, after two or three turns across the room, return to it. Often he went to the window, and looked out, as if expectingsomething. Three or four times he observed him start violently atthe sound of a door banging in some other part of the palace. 

Once in the course of the afternoon the servant had had a genuineexcuse for entering the room. The Conte Leandro had called, andasked if the Marchese was at home. He had not seen the MarcheseLudovico in the course of the day, and was curious to find out whathad been the result of the eavesdropping that he had retailed to theMarchese Lamberto. That it had not availed to induce the Marchese tointerfere in any way to put a stop to the excursion, the ConteLeandro had the means of knowing, as will presently appear. But hiscuriosity was doomed to remain unsatisfied. The Marchese had repliedwith a savage ill-humour, that the old servant had never seen in hismaster before, that he did not want to see the Conte, leaving thedomestic to modify the harshness of the reply as he might. 

When, however, some hours later, Signor Fortini came to the door, and despite what the servants told him of the state their master wasin, and of his refusal to see the Conte Leandro, insisted on beingannounced, the Marchese admitted him. 

The first thought that flashed through the lawyer's brain, when hecame into the presence of his old friend and client, was a profoundsense of self-congratulation at his own freedom from all connectionwith womankind. 

His own experience of married life, essayed in early years andhappily brought to a conclusion after a probation of a very shorttime, had, as has been hinted, not been a happy one. He had verydeeply felt; some five-and-forty years ago, that nothing in theSignora Fortini's life had become her like the leaving of it. Andduring all those years of widowhood, the remembrance of that firstburning of his fingers had sufficed to make the old gentleman aconsistent misogynist. 

"Ah, here is another specimen of women's work, " he thought tohimself, as he observed the utter wretchedness of the Marchese'sappearance, and the traces in him of a day spent in misery. "And he, too, who had escaped for fifty years! If I had avoided the springesfor fifty years, I don't think I should have been caught at last. Maybe, it is all the worse for coming to a man so late. Now here isthis man, who had everything the world could give to make hishappiness, wrecked, ruined, destroyed, blasted by the sight of apainted piece of woman's flesh, and the lure of a pair of devil-instructed eyes. And he knows that it is ruin. He knows which is theevil, and which the good, and yet is so besotted, that he has notthe power to take the one and leave the other. Is not the sight ofthe unhappy wretch, as he sits cowering there, afraid, evidentlyafraid to meet my eye, a warning and a caution?"

And, in truth, the appearance of the Marchese might have been held, to justify these reflections of the lawyer, who was right insupposing that no tidings of what had happened had reached theMarchese since he had parted from him after their interview thatmorning. Attributing, therefore, the state of utter moralprostration, mixed with a kind of restless nervous agitation, inwhich he found him, to the consciousness of the terrible results hewas about to bring upon himself by the folly he had decided oncommitting, the lawyer could not prevent the thought occurring tohim that were it not for the dreadful circumstances that seemed tobring home the suspicion of murder to the Marchese Ludovico, thetidings he brought of the death of the unfortunate woman would be, if not a relief at the moment, yet the most fortunate exit for theMarchese from the position he had made for himself. 

"Good-evening, Signor Giovacchino. You have come, of course, to askwhether the representations you made to me this morning have availedto induce me to waver in the purpose I announced to you, " said theMarchese, scarcely looking up so as to meet the eye of the lawyer. 

"Signor Marchese, " returned Fortini, "it is my turn this time tocommunicate to you intelligence which will strike you, I fear, tothe full as painfully as I was struck by what you told me thismorning. " The Marchese started; and the lawyer observed that thestart seemed to continue and propagate itself, as it were, into atremor, that ran through all his person, as he said, with chatteringteeth: "What do you mean? Has anything happened?--anything--out ofthe common way, eb?--eh?--what--what is it?"

"That has happened, Signor Marchese, which makes all furtherconsideration of the step you confided to me your intention oftaking this morning unnecessary. The lady, whom you purposed to makeyour wife, is no more. "

"No more--how no more?--what--what is it you mean?" said theMarchese, evidently terribly shocked, as was manifested by thetremor and shivering which seized him yet more violently thanbefore; yet still without looking up so as to meet the lawyer's eye. 

"She is dead, Signor Marchese, " said the lawyer, looking at himcuriously. 

"Dead--La Bianca dead! I don't believe it. It is some scheme forfrustrating the purpose you disapproved of--some plan managedbetween you and my nephew. You have sent her away, and want topersuade me that she is dead. "

"Your mind is unhinged by the shock of my intelligence, SignorMarchese--naturally enough--or such an absurd notion would not haveoccurred to you. I have seen the dead body of Bianca Lalli. It isnow in the custody of the police, " said the lawyer, with slowgravity. 

"The police!" cried the Marchese, shooting a momentary glance upinto the lawyer's face. 

"Necessarily so; for, Signor Marchese, the unhappy--the miserabletruth is that a foul murder has been committed. The girl wasmurdered in the Pineta this morning. "

"Murdered! Gracious heaven! Murdered--but why murdered? Why may shenot have died by a natural death?--that is--I mean--of course Imean, if there were no evident marks of violence on the body. "

The lawyer paused a minute, as if some cause of perplexity had beensuggested to him by the words of the Marchese, before he replied, --

"There were, in truth, no marks of evident violence on the body, or, at least, none such as an unskilled eye would observe on a verysuperficial examination. But all that will be ascertained at themedical examination, which will take place to-morrow morning. But Ithink it can hardly be doubted that the death was not a naturalone, " said the lawyer, shaking his head gravely. 

"And the Marchese Ludovico?" asked the Marchese, rather strangely, as it struck the lawyer, seeing that nothing had as yet been said toconnect the young Marchese with the catastrophe, and he was notaware of the fact that the Marchese knew of his nephew's excursionto the Pineta. 

"That, alas! is the worst part of the bad story--we, at least, herein Ravenna are perhaps excusable in thinking it the worst. The factis, Signor Marchese, that this death took place under circumstanceswhich seem to leave no doubt that the deed was done by the hand ofthe Marchese Ludovico. "

"The hand of the Marchese Ludovico! Gracious heaven! But that isnonsense, Signor Fortini. No doubt? How can there be no doubt, merely because he was with her in the forest?"

There was something in the Marchese's manner which made it seem tothe lawyer as if he must have already heard of the tragedy that hadhappened, and of the suspicion that had been thrown on his nephew. "Were you aware, then, Signor Marchese, " he asked, "that theMarchese Ludovico had gone to the Pineta with this unhappy woman?"

The Marchese dropped his head upon his chest and paused a minute, passing his hand slowly across his brow and before his eyes, beforehe replied, --

"Yes, I knew that, " he said, at length; "the Conte Leandro told meof it. "

"Your people told me, just now, that you had refused to see theConte Leandro, when he called, " remarked the lawyer, again lookingpuzzled. 

"Yes, I refused to see him because my mind was full of theconversation we had this morning. You know I promised you, SignorFortini, that I would think over the matter again; and I was engagedin doing so. I have been thinking of it all day; I was thinking ofit still when you came in. "

"Thinking still of your purpose of making the woman, La Bianca, yourwife. Then you could not have heard of her miserable end when I camein, --as I supposed, indeed, you could not have heard, " remarked thelawyer. 

"Heard of it? Why of course not. That is clear--that proves that Icould not have heard of it, you know, " said the Marchese, with astrange sort of eagerness. 

"When was it, then, that you heard from the Conte Leandro, that theMarchese Ludovico was in the Pineta with La Bianca?" asked thelawyer. 

"At the ball, " replied the Marchese, after a minute's thought, "atthe ball. He came to me and told me that they had planned anexcursion to the forest, as soon as they left the ball-room. TheConte Leandro told me of it, because, he said, he thought it animprudent thing, and I should disapprove it. But why should I, youknow? I said nothing to either of them about it. Why not let themhave such an innocent enjoyment? Young people must be young, youknow, Signor Fortini. For my part, I preferred making the best of myway to my bed, after being up all night. " There was a strange kindof nervous eagerness and hurry in the Marchese's manner of sayingthis, which struck the lawyer as affording yet further evidence ofthe degree to which his mind had been utterly unhinged by thestruggle which had been going on in it, doubtless for a longer timethan he, the lawyer, was aware of, between the influence over himwhich the singer had acquired, and his sense of the terrible natureof the step she was inducing him to take. It seemed necessary torecall his attention to that view of the matter which was now of themost urgent interest, the suspicions which rested on the MarcheseLudovico. 

"As you say, Signor Marchese, " he resumed, "that Signor Ludovicoshould have been with La Bianca in the forest, affords no proofsufficient to convict him of being the author of this crime;although the fact of his being the last person in whose company shewas ever seen alive, does suffice, in a certain degree, to throw onhim the onus of showing that he is innocent of it. But the worst is--the damning feature of the matter is, that he had a very strong andintelligible reason for wishing this Bianca out of the way. Rememberthat your marriage with her would have the effect of reducing him tobeggary. Put that fact side by side with the facts that he takes herto a solitary place in the Pineta, and that she is shortlyafterwards found there murdered; and I am afraid--I am dreadfullyafraid that the judges will not resist the conclusion that, intruth, seems forced upon them. It is a bad business, SignorMarchese; a very bad and ugly business. "

"But I had not mentioned to the Marchese Ludovico my intention withregard to the girl. How could he have been led to do such an act bysuch a motive, when he knew nothing of it?" said the Marchese, afterseveral minutes of consideration. 

"Unfortunately he did know it, and has himself stated that he knewit. It seems that the girl herself took the opportunity of theirdrive together to tell him of the fact. Would to heaven that she hadnever done so, " said Fortini, with a deep sigh. 

"But anybody must see that it is a thousand times more probable thatshe should have been killed by robbers--vagabonds tramping throughthe country. The Pineta is always full of them. I am sure I would nomore lie--I would no more wander there alone!--Of course theunfortunate girl must have been murdered by brigands. "

"If any robbery had been committed, there might be reason to hopeso, or at least ground for such theory. But, unfortunately, she hadexposed on her person valuables exceedingly tempting to a thief; butthey remained untouched. "

At that moment there came a loud and hurried rapping at the door. The Marchese started violently in his chair, and turned deadly pale;another proof, if more were needed, of the degree in which hisnervous system had been shaken by the intelligence he had received, coming, as it did, on the back of all that had previouslycontributed to unhinge his mind. In the next instant, a servant puthis head into the room, saying that the Conte Leandro had returned, and was urgent to be admitted to see the Marchese, declaring that hehad a very important communication to make to him. 

"I cannot see him. I will not see him. I will see nobody. SignorFortini, would you have the kindness to let him understand that I amnot in a condition to see anybody?" said the Marchese, apparentlymuch agitated. 

The lawyer stepped rapidly to the door, and at the stair-head foundthe Conte Leandro, bursting with the news, which he had hoped to bethe first to communicate to the Marchese, and which, of course, showed how wise and timely had been his own interference in tellingthe Marchese of the proposed excursion of Ludovico, and howdisastrous had been the results of his not having paid due attentionto it. 

"My dear Conte, " said Fortini, "I have just done the painful taskwhich you, doubtless, have kindly come to undertake. You must excusethe Marchese if he declines, for the present, to see you. You willreadily understand how terrible the shock has been to him. He is, asmight be expected, quite broken down by it. In truth, I wish you hadhad the telling him instead of me. It was most painful. "

"But, Signor Fortini, " urged the poet, eagerly, as the lawyer wasturning away to return to the Marchese, "are you aware--have youheard what is said in the town?--that the Marchese had offeredmarriage to La Bianca, and that this was the cause--of course I donot believe anything of the kind myself--but I assure you it is whatpeople are saying. And I think the Marchese ought to be told, youknow, for--"

"I will tell the Marchese of your kind intention, Signor Conte, "said the lawyer; "I think it would be better for you not to attemptseeing him now. And, in the meantime, you cannot do better than tocontradict, most emphatically, any such monstrously absurd reports, as those you have mentioned. "

"You know, of course, that Ludovico is arrested; and I am shocked tosay, that the general opinion in the city is very much against him. Of course I need not tell you that I am perfectly convinced of hisentire innocence. But who, except a really attached friend, wouldyou get to believe it, under the circumstances? Ah! I am afraid itwill go hard with him, " said the Conte; speaking with eagervolubility, --"I am sadly. Afraid it will go hard with him. "

"It seems to me, Signor Conte, that any such speculations are alittle premature. The Marchese Ludovico has not been even officiallyaccused as yet. At any rate you can console yourself, Signor Conte, with the consideration that you have a magnificent subject for atragedy in your hands. To such a genuine poet as yourself, that isenough to counterbalance any misfortune that only touches ourfriends. "

And with that the old lawyer turned away to go back to the library;while the poet, though not altogether without a somewhat annoyingnotion that he was laughed at, was nevertheless delighted with theexcellent idea that had been suggested to him. 

"I made him understand that you could not see him. All he wanted wasto tell you just what I have already communicated to you, " said thelawyer, as he came back into the room. "He said too, by-the-by, thatall the town was talking of the offer of marriage made by theMarchese Lamberto to Signora Bianca Lalli--"

"Of course, of course, " groaned the Marchese, tossing himselfrestlessly from one side to the other of his chair. "And to thinkthat at the very time, --at the hour when I was communicating to youthe decision I had arrived at with regard to--to that unfortunate--to poor Bianca, she was even then, as it would seem, lying dead inthe forest. It is very, very terrible. "

"And I told the Signor Conte that he could not do better thancontradict such a report wherever he heard it, " added the lawyer, who began almost to fancy, from a something that seemed strange tohim in the Marchese's manner, that the catastrophe which had come torelieve him in such a terrible manner from the scrape he had gothimself into with the singer, was not altogether unwelcome to him. 

"It is of no use, Fortini, " returned the Marchese, with a groan; "itis of no use. That old man, her reputed father, knows it; theirservant knows it; Ludovico knows it: and, of course, his knowledgeof it will have to be made public. "

"Nevertheless, the denial of it by such a tongue as that of theConte Leandro Lombardoni can do no harm in the meantime, " said thelawyer, quietly. "It may be, " he added, "it may be that somethingmay turn up to prevent any public accusation of the Marchese. It maybe that he is not guilty. It may be that the deed may yet be broughthome to some other hand. "

"Do you think that, Fortini? do you think that likely?" said theMarchese, with a quickly withdrawn anxious look into the lawyer'sface. 

"No, frankly, I do not think it likely. I fear that it is verycertain that his hand is the guilty one. Nevertheless, it may be--itis difficult to say--it may be. At all events, it is always timeenough to abandon hope. I must leave you now, Signor Marchese; Iwill see you again to-morrow morning. "

"Many, many thanks, my good Signor Giovacchino. Do not forget tocome. Remember how dreadfully anxious I must be to hear what passes:above all, the result of the medical examination--specially theresult of the medical examination. "

"I will not fail to come. I miei saluti, Signor Marchese. "

CHAPTER V

Doubts and Possibilities

Ix passing through the hall of the Palazzo the lawyer, who was wellacquainted with every servant in the house, took an opportunity ofspeaking a few words to the Marchese's old valet, Nanni. 

"The Marchese seems to have been a little overtired when he cameback from the ball this morning, Nanni; and then this is a sadaffair about the Marchese Ludovico. "

"Ahi, misericordia! To think that I should live to hear of aCastelmare arrested in Ravenna. The world is coming to an end, Ithink, Signor Giovacchino. "

"Vexing enough; but not so bad as all that, I hope. No doubt SignorLudovico will be able to clear himself before long. "

"Clear himself!" re-echoed the old servant, very indignantly;"that's just what they say when some poor devil of the popolaccio isat odds with the police. The Marchese di Castelmare clear himself!Well, I've lived to see a many things, but I never thought to seethe day that such people should dare to meddle with a Castelmare. "

"The Marchese Ludovico himself thought fit to go to them to giveexplanations. "

"Ah! He'd have done better to take no notice of 'em, to mythinking, " said the old man, shaking his head. "But is it true, Signor Giovacchino, what people say, that--?"

"There is mostly very little truth in what people say, Nanni, "interrupted the lawyer. "But I'll tell you what: a good servantshould hear all and repeat nothing. It's natural that such an oldfriend as you should want to know all about it, and to you I shan'tmind telling the whole story as soon as I know the rights of itmyself. But it vexes me to see the Marchese so put out about it; andthen I don't think he has been quite well latterly. "

"Nothing like well, these days past, Signor Giovacchino. TheMarchese has not been like himself noways. I think he is far fromwell. "

"Does he get his rest at night? That is a great thing at his time oflife. He seems to me like a man who has not had his natural sleep. Isuppose he went to bed when he came home from the ball?"

"Yes, directly. He seemed in a hurry like to get to bed. When he wasabout half undressed he said it was time I was in bed myself, andsent me away, and I heard him lock the door. "

"Does he generally lock the door at night?" asked the lawyer. 

"No; and I knew by that that he meant to have a good sleep, and notbe disturbed this morning. So I never went near him till I heard hisbell, between ten and eleven o'clock; and when I went he was justgetting out of bed, so that he had a matter of six hours' sleep. "

"It don't seem to have done him much good any way, " rejoined thelawyer, thinking to himself that the hours during which Nannisupposed his master to have been sleeping, had more probably beenspent in restless agitation, the result of bringing his mind to thedetermination which he had definitely announced to the lawyer, whenhe had summoned him about an hour after he had risen from hissleepless bed. "I shall come and see how he is to-morrow morning, "the lawyer added; "and I hope I may bring some good news aboutSignor Ludovico. "

Behind the Palazzo Castelmare there was an extensive range ofstabling and coach-houses, with a large stable-yard opening on to aback street, which was the nearest way to the house of the SignorProfessore Tomosarchi, on whom Signor Fortini thought he would call, just to ask whether he had yet seen the body, or at what hour in themorning he thought of making his post-mortem examination. Crossingthe stable-yard for this purpose, the lawyer was accosted by Niccolothe groom, who was engaged in doing his office on a handsome baymare at the stable-door. 

Niccolo was the oldest servant in the establishment, having filledthe same place he now held under the Marchese's father. He was anolder man by several years than the Marchese Lamberto; and he it hadbeen, who, when the present Marchese was a child of ten years old, had put him on his first pony, and been his riding-master. OldNiccolo, like every other old Italian servant of the old school, held, as the first and most important article of his creed, theunquestioning belief that the Castelmare family was the most noble, the most ancient, and in every respect the grandest in the world, and the Marchese Lamberto the greatest and most powerful man in it. He was a good sort of man in his way, was old Niccolo; went toconfession regularly; and did his duty in that state of life towhich it had pleased Providence to call him according to his lights;was honest in his dealings; knew in a rough sort of way thatveracity was good, and unveracity bad, to such an extent as tounderstand that truth-telling should be the rule and lying theexception; and was faithful to the death to his employer. 

Old Niccolo was also a very perfect specimen of the product of apeculiar way of thinking, which was a speciality of the rapidlydisappearing class to which he belonged. He did not imagine for amoment, that the laws and rules of morality and duty, by which hehad been taught, that he ought to regulate his own conduct, were atall applicable to his master. Even if he had ever troubled his mindby plunging so far into the depths of speculation, as to consider, that in truth the various matters forbidden in the commandments werein the sight of God, or, what was more within his ken, in the sightof the Church, equally forbidden to all men, still it would havebeen clear to him that there was no reason why such great people asthe Marchese di Castelmare, with Cardinals for his friends, andwealth enough to pay for any quantity of indulgences and masses hemight require, should not indulge in peccadilloes and vices whichpoorer folks cannot afford. Probably, however, he had never reachedany such profundity of speculation. He saw that the Church and itsministers treated his superiors very differently from theirtreatment of him, and expected from him quite different conduct fromthat which they expected from them. And the result was an habitualand practical belief, that the great folks of the world, of whom heconsidered that his own master was unquestionably the greatest, werefar above the laws in every sort which were binding on himself andthe like of him. 

Nor of all the many acts which honest Niccolo would have scrupled todo on his own account, would he have hesitated a moment to becomeguilty at the command, or on the behoof of, his master. As for hisown soul's weal, it probably was sufficiently safeguarded by theparamount nature of the duty which required him to do the will ofhis employer; or, in any case, what was his soul that any care forit should come into competition with the will of the MarcheseLamberto di Castelmare? Niccolo would have been profoundly ashamedat admitting to any one of his own class that the family he servedwere not so great and so masterful as to render it a matter ofcourse that their will must override all other considerationswhatsoever. 

To old Niccolo it was indeed as a symptom of the end of all things--as a rising of the powers of darkness against the established orderof God's world that a Marchese di Castelmare should be arrested. Itwas incomprehensible to him. There was but one power great enough, as he understood matters, to accomplish so dread a catastrophe; andthat was the power of the Marchese Lamberto himself. And he inclinedaccordingly to the belief, that if indeed the Marchese Ludovico werein prison, the truth was that for some inscrutable reason theMarchese Lamberto chose that so it should be. 

"Is it really true, Signor Giovacchino, " whispered the old man, coming close up to the lawyer, as the latter was crossing thestable-yard; "is it really true that the Marchese Ludovico has beenput in prison?"

"Well, that much is true, I am afraid, Niccolo; but I hope it maynot be for long, " said Fortini, pausing in his walk, as though hewere not unwilling to talk to the old man. 

"Couldn't ye say a word to the Marchese, to take him out?" said theold groom coaxingly; "if so be as the woman is dead, what is the useof any more ado about it?"

"Well, I hope there may not be much more ado about it. She wasprobably killed, poor woman, by some strolling vagabonds. But I wishit had not happened to vex the Marchese just now. He is not well, the Marchese. Has he ridden much lately?"

"Hasn't backed a horse since the first week in Carnival, " said theold groom emphatically. 

"I hope he will take to his riding again, now Carnival is over. Ithink it helps to keep him in health, " remarked the lawyer. 

"I'm sure I wish he would, for my part, " returned the groom; "and Iwished it this morning, I can tell you. I was a-taking his own mareout this morning--it's a week since she has been out of the stable--and she was that fresh it was pretty well more than I could do tohold her. I brought her in all of a lather, and splashed with mudto her saddle-girths. People; must ha' thought I had been riding arace, --that is, if any of them had seen me when I came into theyard; but there wasn't a soul of 'em stirring. Catch any of the lotup at that time the first morning in Lent. "

"He is getting old, too. It would have been a mighty hard horse toride that my friend Niccolo would not have been able to hold a yearor two ago, " thought the lawyer to himself, as he walked out of thestable-yard into the little back street that runs behind thepalazzo, and pursued his way thoughtfully towards the residence ofthe celebrated anatomist. 

And again, as he walked, the lawyer turned his mind, with all theanalytical power of which he was master, to the question whether orno there were any possibility of hope that the Marchese Ludovicowere innocent of the crime imputed to him, --whether there were anyother theory possible by virtue of which any other person might besuspected of the deed. 

His anxiety to speak with Professor Tomosarchi indicated, indeed, that he had not wholly abandoned, despite what he had said on thatpoint both to the Marchese Ludovico and his uncle, the hope that thedeath might be pronounced to have resulted from natural causes. Possibly, had the lawyer possessed more medical knowledge, thischance might have seemed to him a somewhat better one; but, to histhinking, it was altogether incredible that a healthy girl ofBianca's age should lie down to sleep, and, without any such changeof position as would disorder her attire--without any evidence of adeath-struggle--should simply never wake again. Again the lawyer'smeditations told him that small hope was to be found in thisdirection. 

Were there any persons in the city who might be supposed to feelenmity or ill-will towards the singer? Many a one of the youngnobles had, doubtless, been kept at arms' length by Bianca in amanner that might easily be supposed to breed hatred in a vain andill-conditioned heart. But murder--and such a murder! It wasdifficult to suppose that such a cause should be sufficient toproduce such an effect; yet vanity is a very strong and a very evil-counselling passion. 

Vanity? Ha! could it be? Surely there never was so absurdly, sogrossly, vain a creature, as that Conte Leandro? And the poormurdered Diva had quizzed, and snubbed, and mortified him again andagain. The lawyer had heard that much; and Leandro was aware of thefact that Bianca was to be in the Pineta at that time. So much wasclear from what the Marchese had said. But she was to be there withLudovico--how could the poet expect to find her alone? Could it bethat he had followed them merely for the sake of making mischief andrendering himself disagreeable, and had chanced to come upon herasleep and alone? Could this be the clue?

But it would surely be easy to ascertain to a certainty whether theConte Leandro had left the city that morning or not. If only itcould be shown that he had done so? The amount of probability thathe had really been the perpetrator of the crime, or the possibilityof convicting him of it, would signify comparatively little. Itwould be sufficient if only a competing theory, based on apossibility, could be set up; if only such an alternativepossibility could be presented to the minds of the judges as shouldjustify them in feeling that the matter was too doubtful to warranta conviction. 

Then, suddenly, as he thought on all the causes of hatred thatBianca might be supposed to have inspired, his mind reverted tothose words which Signor Pietro Logarini, the head of the police, had let drop when speaking of the Signorina Paolina Foscarelli:--"Women, who are fond of a man, don't like to see him with anotherwoman, and a beautiful one, under the circumstances in which theMarchese might have been seen with Bianca. "

That was the sense of the remark to which the Commissary hadpartially given utterance; and now the lawyer thought of it. He wastempted to believe that Logarini had been struck by the same ideathat had before flashed into his mind almost with the force of arevelation. 

Might it not have been the hand of the Venetian girl, maddened byjealousy, which had taken the life of her rival, while she slept?

Such a story would by no means be now told for the first time. Veryfar from it. Men had not now to learn furens quid foemina possit. 

Paolina was known to have left the city at that suspiciously strangehour of the morning. She was known to have been, at all events, atno very great distance from the spot where the crime was committed. 

And was it not possible that, on the theory of Ludovico's innocence, the true explanation of the exclamation, which had escaped from himat the city gate, was to be found in supposing that he, too, hadbeen struck by a similar thought? Might not that outcry on Paolina, uttered when the speaker knew well that it was Bianca and notPaolina that lay dead before him, have been forced from him by thesudden thought that she had done the deed then revealed to him?

For the first time the shrewd lawyer began to feel a real doubt asto the author of the crime, It might be that the Marchesino wasinnocent after all, that his account of the events of that morning, as far as he was concerned, was simply true. As his mind dwelt onthe matter the case against Paolina seemed to acquire additionalforce. It could be proved that this girl had been deeply andseriously attached to the Marchese Ludovico. It could be proved thatshe had seen her lover tete-a-tete with so dangerous a rival as thesinger in circumstances that she had every right to consider verysuspicious. It could be proved that she had been not far from thespot where the murder was committed much about the time when thedeed must have been done. 

It is an essentially and curiously Italian characteristic that thelawyer's rapidly growing conviction that Paolina had indeed been thecriminal was strengthened and made easier of acceptance to his mindby the fact that the suspected criminal was not; a townswoman but aVenetian. It would have seemed less possible to him that a youngRavenna girl should have done such a deed. But one of those terribleVenetian women of whom so many blood-stained tale of passion andcrime were on record!

Signor Fortini really began to think that his mind had strayed intothe true path towards the solution of the mystery at last. And hewas very much inclined to think that the germ of such a notion hadalready been deposited in the mind of the Police Commissioner. 

In any case here was wherewithal to establish such a case ofsuspicion as should make it difficult for the tribunal to condemnthe Marchesino on such evidence as could be brought against him, supposing no new circumstances to be brought to light. 

Not for that reason, however, was the lawyer disposed to relinquishthe idea which had occurred to him as to the possibility ofincriminating the Conte Leandro. The more circumstances of doubt itwas possible to accumulate around the facts, so much the better. 

Signor Fortini thought that he saw his way clearly enough to themeans to showing that it was very presumable that the Conte Leandrohad conceived a violent and bitter hatred of the murdered woman, Itwas enough to base a case for suspicion on. The lawyer had no ideathat the poet had been the murderer. He did not dream of thepossibility that he should be convicted of the crime. He had, doubtless, been quietly in bed in Ravenna at the hour it had beencommitted. But he might find it difficult to prove that he had notquitted the city on that Wednesday morning. And the suggestion ofthe possibility of his guilt would, at all events, be an element ofdoubt and difficulty the more. 

With these thoughts in his mind Signor Fortini suddenly changed hisimmediate purpose of going to the Professore Tomosarchi; anddetermined to walk as far as the Porta Nuova and make inquiryhimself of the people at the gate as to the testimony they might beable to give respecting Paolina's exit from the city at a very earlyhour on that morning. At the same time, it might be possible to leadthem into imagining that they had seen some other passenger, whomight have been the Conte Leandro. It was very desirable that thisinquiry should be made without delay. For it was no part of the dutyof the gate officers to make any written note of such acircumstance; and it would entirely depend on their recollection tosay whether such or such a person had passed the gate. At the sametime, that such a person as this Paolina Foscarelli should pass outof the city at such an hour in the morning, was sufficiently out ofthe ordinary course of things to make it very unlikely that itshould not be remembered by the officials. 

As the lawyer pursued his way towards the gate in deep thought hewas comforted as to the complexion of his client's case by theconsideration of his own state of mind. He found it impossible tocome to any definitive conclusion as to the balance of theprobabilities. At one moment his mind swung back to his originalconviction that the Marchese Ludovico had yielded to the temptationof making himself safe from the destitution that awaited him if hisuncle's purpose were carried out. The persuasion that it was soseemed to come like a flash of light upon him. Then, again, thinkingof all the stories of what women have done under the influence of amaddening jealousy, he reverted to the superior probability of theother hypothesis. 

Arrived at the gate the lawyer's success was greater than he hadventured to anticipate. Both the persons respecting whom he madeinquiry had been seen to pass out of the city at a very early hourthat morning. 

To his great surprise he heard that the Conte Leandro had passed thegate before it was daylight; and the officer had been struck by thestrangeness of the circumstance. He was much muffled up in a largecloak, with a broad-brimmed hat drawn down over his eyes and face. But his person was perfectly well known to the official; and he hadrecognized him without difficulty. 

He also perfectly well remembered seeing the girl--a remarkablypretty girl--pass through about an hour or a little more afterwards. And, imagining that the one circumstance explained the other--thatit was an affair of some assignation outside the city in theinterest of some amourette that was attended by difficulties withinthe walls--he had thought no more about it. 

But Signor Fortini knew enough to feel very sure, that theexceedingly singular facts, as they seemed to him, of both thesepersons having gone out of the city in the direction of the Pinetaat such an unusual hour, was not to be accounted for by any suchexplanation. But neither did it seem in any degree likely orcredible, that these two facts, the passing out of the ConteLeandro, and the passing out of Paolina, should have had anyconnection with each other in reference to the murder in the Pineta. 

It was strange, very strange!

It was so strange and unaccountable that Signor Fortini felt that, unless some fresh circumstances should be brought to light beyondthose which had as yet become known either to him, or to the police, it was safe to predict that the tribunal would not have the means ofcoming to any conclusion concerning the author of the murder. 

The lawyer turned away from the gate, and strolled through thestreets without any intention as to the direction in which hewalked, so deeply was he pondering upon the possibilities that werebrought within his mental vision by the extraordinary facts he hadascertained. 

He would almost have preferred, he thought, as he pursued his wayprofoundly musing, that it should have been shown that one only, instead of both the persons towards whom the possibilities he hadimagined, pointed, had gone at that strange hour towards thelocality of the crime. 

Nevertheless, as he said to himself, the more doubt, the moreelements of difficulty, the better. In truth the chance seemed to bea very good one, that it might never be known who gave that wretchedgirl her death. 

CHAPTER VI

At the Circolo again

At the Circolo that evening there was no lack of subject forconversation, as may be easily imagined. The rooms were very full, and every tongue was busy with the same topic. 

"For my part I don't believe that La Bianca is dead at all. Whatproof have we of the fact? Somebody has been told that somebody elseheard some other pumpkin-head say so. Report, signori miei, is anhabitual liar, and I for one never believe a word she says withoutevidence of the truth of it, " said the Conte Luigi Spadoni, a manwho was known to make a practice of reading French novels, and wastherefore held to be an esprit fort and a philosopher, in accordancewith which character he always professed indiscriminate disbelief ineverything. 

"Oh come, Spadoni, that won't do this time. Bah, you are the onlyliving soul in the town that don't believe it then. Evidence, perDio! Go and ask the men at the Porta Nuova, who received the body, when the contadini brought it in, " cried a dozen voices at once. 

"But Spadoni has the weakness of being so excessively credulous, "said a bald young man with gold spectacles, looking up from a gameof chess he was playing in a corner. 

"Who, I? I credulous? That is a good one! Why I said, man alive, that I disbelieved it, " cried Spadoni, eagerly. 

"I know it, and very credulous indeed it seems to me, to believethat all the people, who say they have seen the prima donna's deadbody, should be mistaken in such a fact, or conspiring withoutmotive to declare it falsely. I call that very credulous, " said thechess-player, quietly. 

"Did you ever see such an addle-pate. He can't understand thedifference between believing and disbelieving, " rejoined Spadonitriumphantly, and carrying the great bulk of the bystanders withhim. 

"But as to the poor girl being dead, there is unhappily no shadow ofdoubt at all, " said the Baron Manutoli; "I saw old Signor Fortinithe lawyer just now, who told me that he was at the Porta Nuova whenthe body was brought in. "

"And is it true that the Marchese Ludovico was with him, and fainteddead away at the sight of the body?" said a very young man. 

"It is true that Ludovico was there with Fortini at the gate, but Iheard nothing about his fainting; and should not think it verylikely. "

"Well, I don't know about that, I should have thought it likelyenough by all accounts, " said the Conte Leandro Lombardoni, whoseface was looking more pasty and his eyes more fishy than usual. 

"Much you know about it. Why, in the name of all the saints, shouldit be likely? What should Ludovico faint for?" rejoined Manutoli, fiercely. 

"What for? Well, one has heard of such things. And as for what Iknow about it, Signor Barone, maybe I have the means of knowing moreabout it than anybody here, " said the poet. 

"Here is Lombardoni confesses he knows all about it, " cried one. 

"That ought to be told to the Commissary of Police" said another

"I say, my notion is that Lombardoni did it himself, " exclaimed athird. 

"Ah, to be sure. What is more likely? We all know how the poor Divasnubbed him. Remember the fate of his verses. If that is not enoughto drive a man and a poet to do murder I don't know what is. To besure, 'twas Leandro did it, " rejoined the first. 

"I can believe that, if I never believe anything else, " saidSpadoni. 

"Let's send to the Commissary and tell him that the Conte Leandroconfesses that it was he that murdered La Bianca, cried one of theprevious speakers. 

"What on earth are you dreaming of, " cried the persecuted poet, turning ghastly livid with affright; "I know nothing about thematter, nothing! How in the world should I know anything about it?"

"Oh, I thought you knew more about it than anybody else just now, "sneered one of his persecutors. 

"He looks to me very much as if he did know something about it insober earnest, " said the bald-headed chess-player; who had beenlooking hard at the evidences of terror on the poet's face. 

"But where is the Marchese Ludovico?" asked the same young man, whohad heard that the Marchese had fainted at the sight of the body. 

A general silence fell on the chattering group at this question:till Manutoli answered with a very grave face "Ah, you must ask theCommissary of Police that question, Signor Marco. "

"You don't mean that he is arrested, " returned the youngster thusaddressed. 

Manutoli nodded his head two or three times gravely, as he said, "That is the worst of the bad business; and a very bad business itis in every way. "

"You don't mean that you think Ludovico can have done it, Manutoli?"said one of the others. 

"No, I don't say I think so. I don't know what to think. I shouldhave said, that I was just as likely to do such a thing myself, asLudovico di Castelmare. But if there is any truth in what is said, that the Marchese Lamberto was going to marry the girl, it looksvery ugly. God knows what a man might be driven to do in such acase. "

"I suppose if the old Marchese were to marry and have children, Ludovico would have about the same fortune as the old blind man thatsits at the door of the Cathedral?" asked the previous speaker. 

"Just about as much. He would be absolutely a beggar, " said theConte Leandro, who appeared to find considerable pleasure in theannouncement. 

"I think, that if that was the case, and Ludovico had put theunlucky girl out of the way, it would be the Marchese Lamberto whoought to bear the blame of it. An old fellow has no right to behavein that sort of way, " said one of the group. 

"Of course he has not. To bring a fellow up to the age of Ludovicoin the expectation that he is to have the family property; and thento take it into his head. To marry when he is past fifty. IfLudovico had put a knife into him instead of into the girl, I shouldhave said that it served him right, " said another. 

"And what was the good of murdering the girl? If the old fellowwants to be married, he will marry some other girl if not this one. Girls are plenty enough, " said a third. 

"Ay, but not such girls as La Bianca--what a lovely creature shewas! I don't wonder at the Marchese being caught by her, for mypart, seeing her every day as he did, " remarked a fourth. 

"Bah, girls are plenty enough, as Gino said, and pretty girls too. And if the Marchese was minded to marry, it wasn't the murder ofthis poor girl that would stop him, " said one of the others. 

"And that is a strong reason, as it strikes me, for thinking thatLudovico had nothing to do with it. He must have known, as well aswe, that it was likely enough his uncle would find somebody else, "remarked Manutoli. 

"Well, we shall see. But I would wager a good round sum thatLudovico did it, " said the Conte Leandro; who had by that timerecovered his tranquillity. 

"Oh, now here's Leandro, who begins to think again that he does knowsomething about it, " said the Barone Manutoli. 

"I said nothing of the sort, Signor Barone. How should I know? Buteverybody may have his opinion, and that is mine. We shall see by-and-by, " returned Leandro, waspishly. 

"I'll tell you what, signori miei, " said Manutoli; "let it turn outas it may, it is the saddest and worst affair that has been seen inRavenna for many a day. I won't admit the thought, for my part, thatthe Marchese Ludovico has really committed this murder. I shouldprefer to suppose, that some vagabonds had done it for the sake ofrobbery, and had been disturbed before they could carry out theirpurpose, or anything. But it is a very sad affair. I would have doneI don't know what, rather than that it should have happened. Thinkwhat will be said. That's what an artist gets by venturing toRavenna. You will see the noise that will be made all over Italy. "

"But why does it follow that anybody is to blame, at all? Why mayshe not have put herself to death?" said one of the previousspeakers. 

"A suicide! that is a new idea. But it does not seem a verypromising one. Why should she kill herself? She was in the full tideof success, and had just received an offer of marriage, if what wehear is true, from the richest man in Ravenna. Is it likely that sheshould choose just that moment to make away with herself?" repliedanother. 

"In any case the doctors will know what to tell us about that. Theycan always tell whether anybody has killed themselves or beenmurdered by somebody else. "

"By the way, Signor Barone, have you heard whether the medicalreport has been made yet? But I suppose the police would not let usknow what the doctor's opinion was, if it had been made. Who knowswho has been employed to examine the body?"

"I know!" answered the Baron Manutoli, "the Professore Tomosarchi. And whatever can be found out by examining the body, he will findout, depend upon it. I was asking about it just now. The examinationwill take place to-morrow morning. "

"But who ever heard of such a thing as going off to the Pineta atthat time in the morning, and after being up all night at a balltoo?" said Lombardoni, spitefully. "Why, it looks as if a man musthave had some scheme, some out-of-the-way motive of some kind to dosuch a thing. "

"Not at all, " returned Manutoli angrily, " I don't see that at all. Acharmingly imagined frolic, I should say, a capital wind-up for alast night of carnival. I should have liked it myself. "

"And then, " said one of the others, "one can't refuse such a girl asLa Bianca. And it's two to one that she asked Ludovico to take her, for a lark. "

"But I happen to know, " said Leandro, quickly, that it was he whoproposed it to her. He persuaded her to go. "

"And how in the world do you know that, pray?" asked Manutoli, turning sharply upon him. 

"I--I heard it said. I was told so. I am sure I don't know who itwas said so. Nobody has been talking about anything else. Somefellow or other said that Ludovico had proposed the trip to her. "

"The fact is, in short, that you know just nothing at all about it. You happen to know, forsooth! It seems to me, Signor Conte, that youare strangely ready to fancy you know anything that might seem to goagainst Ludovico, " rejoined Manutoli. 

"And what would be the result if it should turn out that he wasguilty--if be were condemned?" asked one of the younger men, lookingafraid of his words, as he spoke them. 

"God knows, --the galleys, I suppose. But one must not imagine such athing. It is too frightful, " said Manutoli. 

"Horrible! Shocking! Impossible!" cried a chorus of voices. 

"Good God! Result! The disgrace and destruction of the noblestfamily in the province. The ending of a fine old name in infamy. Gracious heaven, it is too horrible to think of, " exclaimedManutoli, with much emotion. 

"It would kill the old Marchese as dead as a door-nail, for onething, " said another of the group of young men. 

"And serve him right too. If it is really true that he hascontemplated being guilty of such a monstrous piece of injustice andfolly, " said the same man, who had before expressed a similaropinion. 

Just then a servant of the Circolo came into the room and put a noteinto the hands of the Baron Manutoli. 

"It is from Ludovico, asking me to go to him. So there's an end toour game of billiards, Signor Conte, " said Manutoli to one of thegroup; "I must go at once. "

"But you'll come back here after you've seen him, won't you? You'llcome back and tell us all about it, Manutoli?" said two or three ofthe group which had been discussing the topic. 

"I don't know, I shall see. I will, if I can--if it's not too late. It may be that I shall be detained with him. I suppose that he hashad no means of communicating with any of his people since thepolice folk clapped their hands on him. "

"Do look in here for a moment, Manutoli. We shall all be anxious tohear about him, poor fellow, ", said another of the young men, whohad pressed around Signor Manutoli as soon as it was known from whomhis note had come. 

"If I can I will. It is likely enough he may want me to go somewhereelse for him. We shall see. A rivederci, Signori. "

CHAPTER VII

A Prison Visit

The note which had been given to the Baron Manutoli begged him tocome with as little delay as possible to the Palazzo del Governo. 

Adolfo Manutoli was a somewhat older man than the majority of thosewho had formed the group which had been discussing the all-absorbingtopic of the day at the Circolo; and he was Ludovico di Castelmare'smost intimate friend among the younger members of the society inwhich he lived. It was a friendship strongly approved by theMarchese Lamberto, as might have been perceived by his selection ofManutoli to accompany him on the occasion of meeting La Lalli on herfirst arrival in Ravenna, as the reader may possibly remember. Andthe special ground of this approval was Manutoli's strong advocacyof the projected marriage between Ludovico and the ContessaViolante, and his consequent disapproval and discouragement of hisfriend's friendship and admiration for Paolina. He was not a man whowould have counselled or desired his friend to behave badly orunworthily to Paolina or to any woman; for he was a man of honourand a gentleman. But, short of any conduct which could be socharacterized, he would have been very glad to see the Marchese quitof an entanglement which alone stood in the way, as he conceived, ofhis forming an alliance so desirable in every point of view as themarriage with the great-niece of the Cardinal Legate. 

"Can I be permitted to see the Marchese Ludovico, SignorCommissario? He has requested me to come to him, " said the Baron, onarriving at the police-office. 

"Certainly, Signor Barone. I myself sent his note to you. Though, onhis own statement of the very unfortunate circumstances connectedwith this unhappy affair, I was compelled to detain him, still thereis at present no definite accusation against him which shouldjustify me in preventing him from having free communication with hisfriends. You shall be taken to his room immediately. You will see, Signor Barone, that we have endeavoured to make him as comfortableas the circumstances would allow. "

"Manutoli, " said Ludovico, after the first expressions ofastonishment and condolence had been spoken between the young men, "of course I knew I should see you here before long; and my note wasto call you at once, instead of waiting to see you in the morning;because I want you to do something for me before you sleep thisnight--something that I don't want to wait for till to-morrowmorning. "

"To be sure, my dear fellow, anything; I am ready for anything, ifit takes all night. "

"Thanks. Well, now, look here: I am innocent of this deed--"

"S' intende; of course you are. "

"S' intende, of course; that's just the worst of it. It is so much amatter of course that I should say I had not done it if I had, thatmy saying so is of no use at all. Nevertheless, to you I must saythat I neither did it nor have I the slightest conception orsuspicion who did. And you may guess that the fact itself is ahorror and a grief to me that I shall never get over, putting thisdreadful suspicion of my own guilt out of the question. A horror anda grief, and a remorse, too; for if I had not moved away from herthe tragedy could not have happened. "

"I really do not see that you need blame yourself for--"

"I ought not to have left her side. Yet, God knows, it never enteredmy head to dream of the possibility of any harm; all seemed sostill, so peaceful, so utterly quiet; yet, at that moment, the handthat did the deed could not have been far off. "

"Let the circumstances have been what they might, " resumed Manutoli, after a moment's pause, "nobody would have dreamed of connecting youwith the deed had it not been for the strong motive which seems soclear and intelligible to every fool who sets his brains to work onthe matter. I suppose it is true that you had been informed of youruncle's intention to offer the poor girl marriage?"

"True that I had been told of it, for the first time, by herselfduring our drive, poor girl. "

"Ah--h--h! To think of such a man being guilty of such insane folly--and of all the misery that is likely to grow out of it. How onearth did she ever contrive to get such a fatal influence over him?"

"She schemed for it from her first arrival here--aimed avowedly toherself at nothing less than inducing the Marchese di Castelmare tomarry her--and succeeded. For all that, I'll tell you what, Adolfo--there was a great deal more good in that poor girl than you wouldhave thought. "

"Bah! Good in her--Well, she's gone. She has had her reward, poorsoul; and I pity her with all my heart. But as for the good in her--"

"There was good in her, and not a little. I tell you that if you orany one else could have heard all that passed between us, I shouldhardly be suspected of having murdered her, poor girl. "

"That is likely enough; but--"

"Do you know, Manutoli, I have a very strong idea that if this hadnot happened, the marriage with the Marchese would never have comeoff?"

"You think that, between us all, we should have induced him tolisten to reason?"

"I don't know about that; I was not thinking of that; I think thatBianca would have been induced to listen to reason; I think that thescheme would have come to nothing through her renunciation of it. "

"When, according to your own account, she had been scheming all thetime she has been here to bring it about?" said Manutoli, witharched eyebrows. 

"Yes, even so. She had never known--how should she?--that such amarriage would turn me out on the world a beggar; she had neverknown what sort and what degree of misery and ruin it would bringabout to all parties. "

"And you told her this?"

"Yes, in some degree I told her. As to the effect of such a marriageon myself, I told her simply the entire truth. "

"And you are disposed to think that the Diva--No, poor girl! Ididn't mean to speak sneeringly of her. She has paid for her fault aheavier penalty than it deserved, any way. You are disposed tothink, then, that she would have given up the prize of all herscheming--this marriage, which was to have given her everything inthe world that she could desire, and more than she could have everdreamed of attaining; she would have voluntarily relinquished allthis, you think, for your sake?"

"I'll tell you what it is, Manutoli. A man can never appreciate, --can never fathom, the depth of woman's generosity till he has triedit. "

"But, caro mio, --after all I don't want to be hard upon her, poorsoul, God knows!--but to expect generosity on such a point from sucha woman--"

"You may say what you will, Manutoli, I know what she was, poorgirl, as well as you do--better, a great deal; for, I tell you, thatthere was a real generosity in her nature. Look here, " continuedLudovico; after a pause of a minute or two, "I would not say it toanybody else than you, or to you either, except under circumstancesthat make one wish to state the whole truth exactly as it was. Itseems so coxcomblike, --so like what our friend Leandro would say;but I may say it to you. The fact is, I have a kind of idea thatthat poor Bianca was inclined to like me. She cried when I told her--"

"Aha, j'y suis! Now I begin to be able to fathom the depth of awoman's generosity. Given the fact of becoming Marchesa diCastelmare, the lady was not disinclined to become so by catchingthe nephew instead of the uncle; and small blame to her. "

"You do not do the poor woman justice, Manutoli. "

"Any way, I do you justice; and I know you well enough, Ludovicomio, to understand that the generosity of such a girl as this poorLalli was, taking that special form, must have been very touching toyou. "

"You forget, Manutoli, how little accessible I was to the flatteryof any such preference, with my whole heart full of a very differentperson. "

"And I was just thinking, to tell you the truth, how the littlescene in the bagarino would have struck that other person if shecould have seen La Bianca giving you to understand, amid her tears, upon what terms she would consent not to come between you and yournatural inheritance. "

"That other person did see us in the bagarino; and that brings me tothe motive which led me to beg you to come to me this evening. Somehow or other, it has become known to these people here thatPaolina went out of the Porta Nuova at a very early hour thismorning. The fact is, that she simply went to see whether thescaffolding, which I had had prepared for her copying work there, was all right, and ready for her to begin her task there; and allthat can be proved, of course. But the same idea that occurred toyou just now, that Paolina might not have liked to see me drivingwith La Bianca, has suggested itself to some other wiseacre, --I begyour pardon, Manutoli, --and it seems that an absurd notion--a notionthe monstrous absurdity of which is a matter of amazement to me--hasbeen engendered that my poor Paolina may have been the perpetratorof the crime. The idea! If they only knew her! But the Commissaryhere has been cross-questioning me in a way that shows that is thenotion he has in his head. Whether they know that Paolina really didsee us in the bagarino together--she did so from the window in theChurch of St. Apollinare--or whether they only know that she leftthe city by that gate early in the morning, I can't tell; but it issure to be found out that she did really see us, --the more so, thatshe will say so to the first person who asks her" the poor innocentdarling. And what I want you do is to see her, and prepare her, poorchild, for the possibility of being arrested, and make herunderstand that no harm can possibly come to her. Try to save herfrom being frightened. She knows well enough, just as well as I knowmyself, that I have not done this thing. Try to make her understandthat a little time only is necessary for the finding out of the realculprit; that it is sure to be discovered, and that, as far as weare concerned, it is all sure to come right. "

"You wish me to go to her at once?"

"Yes, if you would be so kind. What I am anxious for is that youshould see her before any order for her arrest shall have beenissued. But that is not all. I want you to see Fortini also. I wantyou to ascertain from him how far it is possible or probable thatany suspicion may rest on Paolina in consequence of the facts whichare known; how far it is likely that any attempt may be made to setup a case against her. And I want you to tell him that it will bewholly and utterly vain to make any such attempt, that the resultwould only be entirely to cripple my own defence. For you mustunderstand once for all, and make him understand once for all, thatrather than allow her to be convicted of a deed of which she is asinnocent as you are, I would confess myself to be the guilty party. It shall not be, Manutoli, mark what I say, it shall not be, thatshe shall be dragged to ruin and destruction by my misfortune, orimprudence, call it what you will. Of this, of course, you will sayno word to her. But I beg you to leave no shade of a doubt as to mysettled purpose in this matter on the mind of Signor Fortini. It ishe, of course, who will have the duty of preparing and conducting mydefence; and it is essential that he should understand this rightly. Will you do this for me?"

"Of course I will--this or anything else that I can do for you. ButI can't undertake to say what Signor Giovacchino Fortini may think, or say, or do in the matter, you know. I will take your message, andthen, of course, you will see him yourself in the course of to-morrow morning. Of course, old fellow, I need not tell you that I amsure you did not murder the girl; but it is altogether one of themost mysterious things I ever heard of. Nevertheless my notion isthat we shall find out the culprit yet. And you may depend on itthat two-thirds of the whole population of the town will be movingheaven and earth to get some clue to the mystery for your sake. "

"It seems to me, too, that such a deed cannot but be found out. Ishould be more uneasy than I am, did I not console myself withthinking so. Now go to Paolina, there is a dear good fellow. "

"One word more--shall I see the Marchese?"

"I think, perhaps, it is best not to do so. Of course Fortinihas been with him, and told him everything. I almost thoughtthat I should have seen him here this evening; but, under thecircumstances, I am better pleased that he should stay away. Better leave him to Fortini. "

"Good-night, then. "

"Good-night. You will let me see you to-morrow?"

"I won't fail. Good-night. "

CHAPTER VIII

Signor Giovacchino Fortini at Home

The Baron Manutoli was Ludovico di Castelmare's very good friend. But there are two sorts of friends--friends who show theirfriendship by wishing, and endeavouring to obtain for us, what wewish for ourselves; and friends, whose friendship consists inwishing for us things analogous to what they wish for themselves;--who endeavour to procure for us, not what we wish, but what theyconsider to be good for us. 

Now the Baron Manutoli belonged to the latter of these twocategories. He was some years older than Ludovico; had been amarried man, and was now a widower with one little boy, --the futureBaron Manutoli; and considered himself as having been blessed with asupreme and exceptional degree of good fortune, with regard to allthat appertained to that difficult and often disastrous chapter ofhuman destinies which concerns the relations of mankind with theother sex. Happiness and advantages, ordinarily incompatible andexclusive of each other, had in his case by a kind destiny been madecompatible. For the representative of an old noble family to remainsingle, was bad in many points of view. But on the other hand--whenone's ancestral acres are not so extensive as they once were, and innowise more productive--when one likes a quiet life enlivened by amoderate degree of bachelor's liberty, --when one sees the interiorsof divers of one's contemporaries and friends, --when one thinks ofmothers-in-law, and sisters-in-law, and a whole ramified family-in-law!--the Baron Manutoli, though he had grieved over the loss of hisyoung wife when the loss was recent, was now, after some ten yearsof widower's life, inclined to think that of the man, who had alegitimately born son to inherit his name and estate, who had donehis duty towards society by taking a wife, and who was yet enabledto enjoy all the ease and freedom from care of a bachelor's life, itmight be said, "Omne tulit punctum. "

Far as he was from undervaluing the importance of the social dutiesof a man and a nobleman in respect to these matters, he had alwaysbeen an earnest advocate of the marriage which Ludovico was expectedto make with the Contessa Violante; and had regarded poor Paolina, from the first, as an intruder and disastrous mischief-maker; andLudovico's love for her as the unlucky caprice of a boy, respectingwhich, the evident duty of all friends was to do all they could todiscourage it, put it down, and get rid of it. 

So that in the matter of the commission which Ludovico had entrustedto him, the Baron was likely enough to have somewhat different viewsfrom those of his friend. 

What a happy turning of misfortune into a blessing it would be, ifthis shocking affair should be the means of getting rid of thisunlucky Paolina altogether! Not, of course, that the Baron wascapable of wishing that such getting rid of should be accomplishedby the unjust condemnation of the poor girl for such a crime. Godforbid! But, if there should be found to be a sufficient degree ofsuspicion--of unexplainable mystery--to cause the exoneration ofLudovico, and at the same time, an intimation to the Venetianstranger that she would do well to remove herself from the happyterritory of the Holy Father, what a Godsend it would be!

Then, again, as to the real fact of Paolina's innocence, Manutoliwas seriously disposed to think that there might be grounds forconsiderable doubt. Ludovico's assertions to that effect were ofcourse unworthy of the slightest attention; the mere ravings of aman in love. Of course, also, the menace he held out, that if anyattempt were made to throw the onus of the crime on Paolina, hewould meet it by avowing himself guilty, was as entirely to bedisregarded. The paramount business in hand was to clear his friendof this untoward complication in the matter of the crime which hadso mysteriously been committed. The next consideration was to sethim equally free from his entanglement with Paolina. And with thesethoughts in his mind, the Baron decided that, upon the whole, itwould be better that he should have an interview with lawyerFortini, before making his visit to the lady. 

He knew that it was too late to look for the lawyer at his "studio;"and therefore went directly to his residence, where he found the oldgentleman just concluding his solitary supper. Being the evening ofAsh Wednesday, the meal had consisted of a couple of eggs, and amorsel of tunny fish preserved in oil, very far from a bad relishfor a flask of good wine. And the lawyer was, when Manutoli came in, aiding his meditations by discussing the remaining half of a smallcobwebbed bottle of the very choicest growth of the Piedmontesehills. 

"I owe you a thousand apologies, Signor Fortini, for coming totrouble you with business, and very disagreeable business too, hereand at such an hour, " began the Baron; "but the interest we allfeel--"

"Not a word of apology is needed, Signor Barone. About this shockingaffair in the Pineta, of course, of course? Pur troppo, we are allinterested, as you say. Will you honour my poor house, SignorBarone, by tasting what there is in the cellar? I ought to beashamed to offer this wine, my ordinary drink at supper, to theBarone Manutoli"--(the old fellow knew right well that there was notsuch another glass of wine in all the city, and that it was rarelyenough that his noble guest drank such)--"but it is drinkable. " Andso saying, he called to his old housekeeper to bring another bottleand a fresh glass before he would allow Manutoli to say a word onthe business that brought him there. 

"And now, Signor Barone, " said the old lawyer, as soon as the wineand the praise it merited, had been both duly savoured, "about thisbad business? Do you bring me any information? Information is all wewant. I hope and trust information is all we want, " he repeated, looking hard at the Baron. 

"Of course, that is all we want; information which should put us onsome clue to the real perpetrator of this crime. "

"That is what we want; that is the one thing needful; and it isabsolutely needful, " said the lawyer, again looking meaningly in hiscompanion's face. 

"Of course that is what we want. But even supposing no light uponthe matter can be got at all, it is not to be supposed that--thatany judge would consider there was sufficient ground for assumingour friend to be guilty?"

"Ah, that's just the point; just the point of the difficulty. Wemust not expect, Signor Barone, that the judges will look at thequestion quite with the same eyes that we do. They will have none ofthe strong persuasion that we--ahem!--that the Marchese Ludovico'sfriends have--that he is wholly incapable of committing such acrime. On the other hand, they are men used to suspicion, and to thehabit of considering a certain amount of suspicion as equivalent tomoral certainty. And I confess--I must confess, my dear sir, that Iam very far from easy as to the result, if we should be unable tofind at least some counterbalancing possibilities, you understand?"

"But it seems to me, Signor, that such are already found; and it wasjust upon this point that I was anxious to speak with you to-night. I have just seen Ludovico. He sent for me to the Circolo. And whathe mainly wanted was to bid me go to the Signorina PaolinaFoscarelli, in order to prepare her for the probability of her ownarrest, and to comfort her with the assurance that no evil couldcome to her. Also I was directed by him to tell you, that anyattempt to fix the guilt of this deed on the girl, would be met byan avowal--a false avowal, of course--that he is himself the guiltyperson. "

"Ta, ta, ta, ta! Mere stuff, chatter, the talk of a boy in love witha pretty girl, " said the lawyer. 

"Just so, just so. Of course we pay no attention to all that. Ipromised to go to the girl as he told me; and I shall do sopresently. But I thought it best to see you first. The fact is, Signor Fortini, that I do not feel any one bit of the certainty thathe professes to feel, that this Venetian girl may not have been thereal assassin. "

The lawyer looked shrewdly into Manutoli's face, and nodded his headslowly three or four times. "What would there be so unlikely in it, "pursued Manutoli; "girls, and Venetian girls too, have done as muchand more before now? We know that she is in love with him. She seeshim going on such an expedition as that with such a girl as LaBianca. She has already, no doubt, had cause to be jealous of her. Ludovico used to see the Lalli frequently. What is more likely?"

"Stay, Signor Barone, one minute. This is an important point; yousay that this Paolina saw her lover with La Bianca. How do you knowthat? and how did it come about?"

"Ludovico just told me so; and the girl, it seems, herself told him. Her story is that she went out to St. Apollinare at an early hourthis morning to look after a scaffolding or some preparation of somekind that had been made for her to copy some of the mosaics in thechurch; and that from a window of the church, being on thescaffolding, she saw Ludovico and La Bianca driving by in abagarino. Now all this probably is true enough. The question is, What did she do then, when she saw what was so well calculated tothrow her into a frenzy of jealousy? My theory is, that she followedthem into the forest, dogged their steps, and finding heropportunity at the unlucky moment when Ludovico left Biancasleeping, did the murder there and then. "

The old lawyer started up from his seat, and thrusting his handsinto the pockets of his trousers took a hasty turn across the room;and then resuming his seat, tossed off a glass of wine before makingany reply. 

"And a very good theory too, Signor Barone. I make you my complimenton it, " he said at last. "I was not aware of all the facts, thevery, important facts, you mention. I had ascertained that thisVenetian girl left the city by the Porta Nuova at a strangely earlyhour this morning; and that was enough already, to fix my eye uponher. But what you now tell me is much more important; advances thecase against her to a far more serious point. Upon my word, "continued the lawyer, after a pause for further meditation; "upon myword I begin to think that it is the most likely view of the casethat this Signorina Paolina Foscarelli has been the assassin. At allevents it seems quite as likely a theory as that the Marchese shouldhave done it. Fully as likely, " added the lawyer, rubbing his handscheerily; "the motive, as motives to such deeds go, is quite asgreat in her case as in his. Greater, or at least more probable!Jealousy has moved to such acts more frequently than mereconsiderations of interest. "

"To be sure it has, " cried Manutoli; "I think that the circumstancesbear more conclusively against her than against him; I do, upon mylife. "

"If only something do not turn up to show that it could not havebeen done by her, I think--I do think that we have got all that isabsolutely necessary for us. For observe, Signor Barone, it is notnecessary that she should be convicted. If there is such aprobability that she may have been the criminal as to make itimpossible to say that it is far more likely that one of the partiessuspected should be guilty than the other, there can be noconviction, and our friend is safe. "

"But I say that all the probabilities are in favour of thehypothesis that she did the deed, " cried Manutoli, warmly. 

"Much will depend on the report of Tomosarchi, " said the lawyer. "The inquiry arises, how far it was possible for a young girl to dothat which was done. "

"It is evident that she was murdered in her sleep, " observed theBaron. 

"It looks like it; it seems clear that there could have been nostruggle of any sort. Still, we must hear how the murder was done;we must know whether the means were such as might have been in thepower of this girl, " rejoined Fortini. 

"Well, we shall know all that to-morrow. God grant that theProfessor's report may be a favourable one, " said Manutoli, thinkinglittle of the savageness of his wish as regarded the poor artist. But, to the mind of the Baron, it was a question between one who wasa fellow-creature of his own, and one who could hardly be consideredsuch. How was it possible to put in comparison for a moment theconsideration of a fellow-noble of his own city and that of a poorunknown foreign artist?

"I trust it may; I build much on the fact that there was nostruggle. She was put to death by some means which scarcely allowedher time to wake from the sleep, " returned the lawyer. "You aregoing, then, now, Signor Barone, to see this Paolina?"

"Yes; if I find her still up, which I suppose I shall, for it is notlate, " said Manutoli, looking at his watch. 

"Better be a little cautious in speaking to her, you know; best toavoid alarming her, " said Fortini. 

"The express object of my visit to her is to prevent her from beingalarmed, " rejoined the Baron. 

"Yes; but--what I mean is that--it would be desirable, you see, tolead her to speak. What we want now is to know exactly what she didand where she went after seeing the Marchesino and La Bianca in thebagarino together. Also to ascertain whether she was seen by anybodyto do whatever she did or to go wherever it was she went. And, Ithink, that you might very probably learn this from her moreeffectually than I should. She would be more likely to be on herguard with me, you see. "

"I'll try what I can do; my real belief is that she is the guiltyperson, " said Manutoli. 

"To-morrow I will see what I can do at St. Apollinare. She cannothave been in the church without seeing and speaking to somebody. There are a Capucin and a lay-brother always there, I take it; weshall see what they can tell us. But I can't go out there till afterthe medical examination. I have arranged with my old friendTomosarchi to be present at it, " said the lawyer. 

"I shall be most anxious to hear the result, " said the Baron. 

"If you will be here about ten o'clock--my breakfast hour--I shallbe able to tell you. "

"Thanks. A rivederci dunque--"

"Stay; one more word before you go, Signor Barone. As we are bothengaged in this inquiry, and both interested on the same side, I mayas well tell you, perhaps, that there is one other person to whom myattention has been drawn as being open to suspicion in this matter--the Conte Leandro Lombardoni. "

"The Conte Leandro! You don't say so! Impossible!"

"Just listen one moment, Signor Barone. It is certain that the ConteLeandro passed out of the city by the Porta Nuova at a very earlyhour this morning--at an earlier hour than either the girl Paolinaor the Marchesino and La Bianca. "

"The Conte Leandro--out of the Porta Nuova--at such an hour in themorning. For what possible purpose?"

"Ay, that is the question. For what possible purpose? But the factis certain. Though endeavouring to conceal himself by means of hiscloak, he was perfectly well recognized by the men at the gate. Forwhat possible purpose? No doubt you know, Signor Barone, much betterthan I, who am not much in the way of hearing of such things--unlessin cases where I make it my business to hear of them, youunderstand, Signor Barone, --you, no doubt, know that the SignorConte has been besieging, as I may say, this poor Lalli woman withhis attentions and verses ever since she came here; also, that thelady would have nothing to say to him or to his verses--that shehas, in short, snubbed him and mortified his vanity in the sight ofall the town during the whole of the past Carnival. "

"That is true--it is all true, " cried Manutoli, eagerly, and lookingalmost scared by the ideas the lawyer was presenting to his mind. "It is even truer, than you, perhaps, are aware of. She saidsneering and cutting things of him in his hearing both at theMarchese Lamberto's ball and at the Circolo ball; I happen to knowit. "

"Hey--y--y--y?" said the lawyer, uttering a sound like a long sigh, with a question stop at the end of it; and then thrusting out hislips and nodding his head up and down slowly while he plunged hishands into the pockets of his trowsers. "I'll tell you what it isSignor Barone, " the old man added, after a pause of deep thought, "Iwas anxious to find such plausible grounds of suspicion againstother parties, such element of doubt, such possibilities as mightmake it difficult for the judges to condemn our friend. I wanted topuzzle the court; but, per Bacco! I have puzzled myself. Thisafternoon, I confess to you, I had little doubt but that theMarchesino had, in a fatal moment of anger and desperation, committed the crime. But, upon my word now, I know not what tothink. Here we have three parties, each of whom we know to have beenacted on by one of three strong passions. We have jealousy, andwounded vanity. Which of the three has done the deed?"

"It is an extraordinary circumstance, " said the Baron Manutoli, "that they were jeering at the Conte Leandro at the Circolo justnow, about the way the Diva had snubbed him and his verses, andaccusing him in joke of having been her murderer. And, as sure as Iam now speaking to you, Signor Fortini, he looked in a way then thatI--a--a--in short that I thought very odd--turned all sorts ofcolours. But then, you know, he is always such an unwholesome-looking animal. "

"One of the vainest men I ever met with, " said the lawyer, musing. 

"Oh--for vanity--I believe you. Leandro has not his equal forvanity. "

"And strong vanity, deeply wounded, by a woman too, will breed ahate as violent and vicious, perhaps, as any passion that everprompted a crime, " rejoined the lawyer, still meditating deeply. "Per Dio Santo!" he exclaimed, after a pause of silence, strikinghis open palm strongly on the table, as he spoke, and speaking witha sort of solemn earnestness, "I am inclined to think, after all, that he is the man. The Marchesino, " he went on again, thoughtfully, "went out for a frolic--intelligible enough; The girl went out tolook after the preparations for her work--again quite plausible. Butin the name of all the saints what took the Conte Leandro out of thePorta Nuova at that hour of the morning, after passing the night ata ball?"

"I still think that the Venetian girl has done the deed, " saidManutoli, whose opinion was no doubt in some degree warped by hisdesire that the criminal should turn out to be a foreign plebeianrather than a Ravenna noble. "After all Leandro is not the man to dosuch a deed. He is such a poor creature. Besides, it seems to methat the girl's motive for hate was the stronger. I don't know thatwounded vanity has had many such crimes to answer for, whereasjealousy--and such a jealousy--why, it is an old story you know. "

"Well, we shall see. Any way, I am very much more easy as to theresult. Short of such evidence as it seems very highly unlikelyshould be forthcoming, I do not think that there can be anyconviction at all. It is most extraordinary that in the case of suchdeed, done in such a place, at such a time, there should be so manypersons so fairly liable to strong suspicion. "

"Of course, to produce the result we wish, a case must be set upagainst Leandro?" said the Baron. 

"Of course. Leave that to me, or rather to the police. No doubttheir inquiries have already put them on his track. The fact of hishaving gone out of the city by that gate, at that hour, is quiteenough. "

"And now I must be off to see this Signorina Foscarelli. I don'thalf like the job. "

"I daresay you will find her easy enough, " said the lawyer, notquite understanding the nature of Manutoli's distaste for hiserrand. "Good-night, Signor Barone. "

CHAPTER IX

The Post-Mortem Examination

The Baron Manutoli found Paolina quite as "easy" as the lawyer hadimagined that he would find her; but his task was not altogether aneasy one in the sense he had himself intended. She made not theslightest difficulty of telling him, that when she had seen Ludovicoand Bianca drive past the church towards the forest she had felt astrong temptation to follow them thither; she told him all about theconversation she had had with the old monk, and repeated thedirections she had received from him as to the path by which shemight reach the Pineta, and return that way towards the city, without coming back into the high-road, till she got near the walls. She confessed that, when she had followed the path behind the churchleading to the Pineta, for some little distance, she had changed hermind, and had turned off by another path, which had brought her backinto the high-road not far from the church; and she said that shehad then walked on till she came near the walls, where she turnedaside to sit down on one of the benches under the trees of thelittle promenade; that she had sat there for some time--she did notknow how long; had then gone in to the Cardinal Legate's chapel, where she had conversed with the Contessa Violante, whom she knewfrom having often met her there before; and had at last returnedhome at a very much later hour than she had expected, and had foundher friend Signora Orsola Steno uneasy at her prolonged absence. 

"And did you mention to the Contessa the shocking fact of the primadonna's death?" asked Manutoli, suddenly, thinking that he was doinga very sharp bit of lawyerly business in laying this trap forPaolina. 

"How was it possible that I should do so, when I knew nothing aboutit till Ludovico told me several hours later?" answered the girl, with an unembarrassed easiness and readiness that almost changedManutoli's opinion as to the probability of her guilt. 

He reminded himself, however, that the same woman, who could becapable of such a deed might also be expected to have the presenceof mind and readiness necessary for avoiding any such trap as thatwhich he had laid for her. 

He was, at the same time, strongly, but perhaps not altogetherconsistently, impressed with the fact; that during the whole of hisinterview with her, she did not once distinctly and directly denythat she had had anything to do with the crime. When warning her, ashe had been charged by Ludovico to do, of the probability that shemight be arrested, he had allowed her to understand that thecircumstances of this case were such, that the question of who wasthe guilty person became nearly an alternative one between herselfand the Marchese. On which, instead of protesting her own innocence, she had strongly insisted on that of Ludovico, which seemed a verysuspicious circumstance to the Baron Manutoli. 

He had tried to lead her to express some feeling, or, rather, someremembrance of what had been her feeling when she saw Ludovico andLa Bianca in the bagarino together; but there she became reticent, and would say little or nothing--another suspicious circumstance inthe eyes of the Baron, so that, when he quitted her, he was, uponthe whole, rather confirmed than otherwise in his previous opinionas to her guilt. 

"Well, Signorina, " he had said, in rising to leave her, "I camehere, in compliance with my friend's request, to re-assure you onthe subject of the warrant which will, in all probability, be issuedto-morrow morning for your arrest. You best know whether you haveany reason for alarm. My own opinion is, that if you have nothing toreproach yourself with, you have nothing to fear. I trust it may beso. "

"I am grateful to you for coming, Signor, " Paolina said. "You willsee Ludovico again. Tell him that I am as sure of his innocence ofthis horrid thing as if he had never quitted my side. "

How Paolina passed that miserable night it is useless to attempt totell. How happy all, ay, even all, the days of her previous lifeseemed to her in comparison with the misery of the minutes that werethen so slowly passing. 

Early the next morning Signor Fortini called at the house of hisfriend Dr. Buonaventura Tomosarchi, the great anatomist, for thepurpose of accompanying the Professor to the room at the hospital, where the body of Bianca was awaiting the post-mortem examinationwhich had been ordered by the police. 

"I suppose, " said Fortini, as they walked together, "that there isno possibility, in such a case as this, that the death may have beena natural one?"

"Oh, I would not say that at all. Such things occur at all ages. Ido not think it is likely, --specially in the case of such amagnificent organization as that of yonder poor girl; but there isno saying, and, above all, no use in attempting to guess when weshall so soon know all about it, " said the Professor, a man some tenor fifteen years younger than the old lawyer. 

"Is it possible that death may have been caused by foul means, yetby such as may elude your investigation?" asked Fortini. 

"I think not--I should say almost certainly not in such a case asthe present. There are poisons that act subtly and instantaneously, but there is the odour in most cases, --in almost all some indicationof their operation on the organization. "

Arrived at the hospital they found a couple of assistants, pupils ofthe Professor, awaiting his arrival. There was also an official onthe part of the police, and there were two or three persons waitingin the hope of being allowed to be present at the examination. Thepolice officer, however, very summarily declared that this could notbe permitted. Fortini was so well known, and held such a kind ofhalf-official position and character in the city, that he passed onunquestioned on the arm of the Professor. 

The body lay exactly as it had been brought in by the labouring-menwho had found it in the Pineta. The beautiful face was perfectlycalm, and in the lineaments of it the difference that there isbetween death and sleep was scarcely perceptible. The white dresswas almost as unruffled and as spotless as when she had put it on. It had been fastened about midway between the neck and the waist bya diamond pin or brooch; but this fastening was now undone, and thebrooch was hanging loosely on one side of the bosom of the dress. Itwas impossible to suppose that this jewel should have been so leftby anybody who had had the opportunity and the desire of plunder. Itmight have been unfastened by the wearer before she slept for thesake of more full enjoyment of the balmy breezes of the pine-forest:and the result of this loosening of the dress was that the lightfolds of it opened freely as far down as the waist, so that theslightest drawing aside of them, such as even the breeze mighteffect, was sufficient to leave bare the entire bosom. 

On either shoulder and on the bosom lay the large heavy waves of therich auburn hair. In death, as she had been in life, she was still awonder of beauty; and the two men, the old lawyer and the Professor, little as, from years, character, and habits of mind, theirimaginations were susceptible of being deeply touched by such asight, stood for awhile by the side of the table on which the bodyhad been laid, and gazed in sad silence on the sight before them. 

"One might think she was still sleeping, poor creature, " said thelawyer, after a silence of a few minutes. 

"Ay, almost. It is a wonderfully lovely face. Seems difficult tobelieve, doesn't it, that any man--. Much less such a man as theMarchese--should have stood over that figure, and so looking down onit, have decided on destroying it?" said the Professor. 

"Perhaps no man did so, " said the lawyer. 

"Case of death from natural causes, you mean? I am afraid not, I amafraid not. Can't say for certain yet; but, judging fromappearances, I fear there is no likelihood that such was the case, "rejoined the Professor. 

"I was not thinking of that, " replied Fortini. "I meant that what aman could hardly have had the heart to do might, perhaps, have beendone by a woman. Beauty is not, I fancy, always found to producequite the same sort of effect on another female as it is wont toproduce on the other sex. "

"Might have been done by a woman? That seems hardly likely, I think, caro mio. In the Pineta at that hour of the morning? Che! What womanis likely to have been there?"

"Well, we happen to know that there was a woman very near the spotwhere the crime was committed at the time that it was committed. "

"You don't say so?" interrupted the anatomist. "Good heavens! Thisis quite new to me, and, of course, most important. I am delightedto hear what seems to cast so strong a doubt on the guilt of theMarchesino. "

"And that is not all. We know further, " continued the lawyer, eagerly, "that the woman in question had the strongest of all thepossible motives that ever influence a female mind to hate--todesire the death of this poor girl that now lies here. The questionis, whether this death was caused by any means which a woman--ayoung girl--may be supposed to have used, " said the lawyer. 

"Ha! a case of jealousy, I suppose? You don't mean it. God knows, Ishould be more glad than I will say if there were any means ofshowing that the Marchese Ludovico had no hand in the matter. If itwere brought home to him it would kill my old friend the MarcheseLamberto outright; I do believe it would kill him. "

"I thought at first, to tell you the truth, Signor Professore, thatit must have been the Marchesino who did the deed; the circumstancesseemed so terribly strong against him. But--certain facts have cometo my knowledge--in short, I begin to have very great hopes that hewas in reality wholly innocent of it; and still greater hopes thatif we cannot succeed in bringing the crime home to any other party, yet that the difficulty and doubt hanging about the case will be sogreat that all conviction will be impossible. "

"A woman, you tell me? A young woman, I suppose, from what you say?"said the Professor, inquiringly. 

"Yes; a young woman, and, as I am told, a very pretty one--a certainyoung girl--a Venetian artist, of the name of Foscarelli--PaolinaFoscarelli, with whom it seems the Marchesino was foolish enough tofall in love. Well, this girl sees the Marchese and Bianca drivingout alone together at that time in the morning to the Pineta--thatmuch we know--sees them cheek by jowl together in a little bagarino, doing heaven only knows what--billing and cooing. Now it seems to methat she would, under these circumstances, be likely to feel notaltogether kindly towards the lady in possession, eh, SignorProfessore? You know the nature of the creatures better than I do;what do you think about it?"

"Similar little accidents have produced as terrible results beforenow--ay, many a time, there is no denying that. If we can ascertainhow the deed was done it will be likely enough to throw some lighton the probabilities of the case, " returned the Professor, proceeding to scrutinize carefully the body as it lay before in anyway disturbing the position or the garments. 

"Ha! what have we here?" he cried, as he perceived, and, at the sametime, pointed out the existence of a very small red spot upon thewhite dress just above the waistband. In an instant, as he spoke, hewhipped out a powerful magnifying-glass, and carefully examined thetell-tale spot by its aid. 

"Yes, that is a spot of blood--blood sure enough! but it is verysingular that there should be such a minute spot, and no more; no, Ican find no further trace, " he added, after a careful and minuteexamination of every part of the dress. 

"Might not any trifling accident--the most insignificant thing inthe world--produce such a mere spot as that--a scratched finger--either her own or another person's?" asked the lawyer. 

"Well, hardly so; a slight stain might easily be so caused; buthardly a round spot like that. That spot must have been caused by asmall drop falling on that place--not by the muslin having beenbrought into contact with any portion of blood, however small. Howcould that one little round drop of blood have come there?" said theanatomist, thoughtfully. "It is singular enough. "

Then, when the dress had been removed preparatory to the examinationof the body, the Professor himself and his assistants minutelysearched every part of it--in vain. There was no other, even thesmallest, mark of blood to be found. 

"Are you sure that that spot is blood?" asked the lawyer. 

"Are you sure whether a deed is signed or is not signed when you seeit?" retorted the anatomist. "Yes; that spot has been caused by adrop of blood falling there--a very minute drop. Of that there canbe no doubt. And now we must proceed to examine the body externally. If there should be nothing to be learned from that, we must see whatrevelations the knife may bring to light. "

And then the Professor, aided by his pupils, proceeded to institutea minute and careful examination of the body. 

At the first sight it appeared to be as unblemished in every part ofit as Nature's choicest and most perfect handiwork could be. Solittle did a mere cursory view suggest the possibility that lifewould have been destroyed by any external violence, that theProfessor was about to take the necessary steps for ascertainingwhat light could be thrown on the manner of her death by theinternal condition of the different portions of the organism, whenthe sharper eyes of one of the young assistants were drawn to a veryslight indication, which he immediately pointed out to his superior. 

The appearance in question consisted of a very small round whitespot, around which there was a slight equally circular redness. Itwas situated nearly in the middle of the body, just below themeeting of the ribs on the chest, about a broad hand's breadth abovethe waistband--in such a position, in short, as to be very nearly atthe point where the neck-opening of the dress ceased. 

No second glance was needed, as soon as the Professor's attentionhad been called to this appearance, to ensure the riveting of hisattention on it. Nor was much examination necessary to convince himthat he had now, in truth, discovered the cause and the means ofdeath. 

The slight mark in question was, in fact, the trace of a woundinflicted by a very fine needle, which had pierced the heart, and, having caused immediate death, had been left in the wound, ingeniously hidden by means which it needed a second look todiscover. The effect of this discovery on the Professor wassingular. He seemed taken aback by it, and, one would have said, alarmed at it, in a manner which it seemed difficult for SignorFortini to account for. "What is it astonishes you so, SignorProfessore, " said he; "surely you were prepared to find that amurder had been done? I never had any doubt of it; and why not inthat way as well as another? And a very ingenious mode of inflictingdeath in a quiet way it seems to be. "

"Yes, indeed. The fact is that I was struck by--"

The Professor broke off speaking suddenly with a start; and darted aquick alarmed glance at the face of Signor Fortini, who did not failto remark it, and to be much puzzled by the Professor's manner. 

The latter, while he had been speaking, had stooped to examine theminute trace of the wound closely, and had put his finger on thespot; and it was on doing so that he had interrupted himself, andshown renewed symptoms of surprise and dismay. What this closerexamination had shown him was the fact that an infinitesimally smallportion of white wax had been very neatly and carefully introducedinto the orifice of the wound, in such a manner as to prevent alleffusion of blood, and almost to escape the observation of the nakedeye. 

"Why, one would say you were a novice at this sort of thing, Tomosarchi, you seem so much affected by it, " said the lawyer; "whatis it that moves you so? Why, you are as pale, man, as if you werebringing to light a crime of your own instead of somebody else's. "

"Ah! not that exactly. No, but it is a very singular thing. Onewould say that this death must have been caused by some one who hadsome little knowledge of anatomy, or, at least, had been put up tothe trick by some one else who possessed such knowledge, " said theProfessor, recovering himself with an effort. 

"And that is what our friend the Marchesino Ludovico is mostassuredly innocent of. I take note of your remark, SignorProfessore, " said the lawyer. 

"But one would think, that all the other persons on whom it ispossible that suspicion might rest, must be equally void of any suchknowledge, " returned Tomosarchi. 

"How do we know that? How can I tell what strange odds and ends ofknowledge this Venetian artist may have picked up. Artists, --theyhave constantly more or less acquaintance with medical students, andsuch like. Some knowledge of anatomy is needful to them in theirbusiness. For my part, it seems to me very likely that this girlmight have such knowledge as would teach her so easy a way ofgetting rid of her rival. Then you will observe that very littlephysical strength was needed for the infliction of such a wound. Itmight have been done perfectly easily by the hand of a young girl. Ideclare it seems to me that the result of your examinations tends tomake it more probable than ever that the Venetian is the criminal. "

"Well, it may be so. Certain it is, that no degree of strengthbeyond what she, or any other such person could have exerted, wasneeded for giving that death to a sleepy person. But it is equallyclear that a certain amount of special knowledge was required forthe purpose, " rejoined the anatomist. "And now, " added he; "I mustdraw up my report. A rivederci, Signor Fortini! A rivederci, Signori!"

"One word more, Signor Professore, before I leave you, " said thelawyer; "is the special knowledge you speak of, such as--any memberof your profession we will say--would be possessed of. "

"Well, I should not say that it was likely such a method ofconcealing a crime would have suggested itself to such an one, morethan to another. It is the clever invention of one who meditatedmurder. But, I may say at once to you, what I shall have to say indue season to the magistrates, that the trick is not a new one. Ihave heard of such a thing before now. "

"But not as a common thing, " pursued the lawyer. 

"Quite the reverse--as a very strange and peculiar thing, " repliedthe Professor. 

"And when did you bear of a case of murder committed in this strangeand peculiar manner?" persisted the lawyer. 

The Professor shot a sharp quick glance at the lawyer's face; andhis own flushed red as he replied, "Ay--if I could remember that--but it is a reported case; anybody may have read it. A murder wascommitted by similar means in the Island of Sardinia, not very longago!"

"Not very long ago, " reiterated the lawyer, musingly. 

"No, not very long ago; but the case has been reported, I tell you. Anybody may have read it. "

"Humph, " said the lawyer, as he turned to go, with his mindevidently busily at work both on the strange sort of confusion thathad been visible in the Professor's manner, and on the circumstanceshe had elicited from him. 

"I'll tell you what, " said one of the young students to the other, while they were engaged in preparing to consign the body of themurdered woman to the police. "I'll tell you what: I'll be blessedif I don't think the governor knows, or has a shrewd guess, who itis has done this job. Did you mark the way he looked, and went aspale as death, when I showed him the place?"

"Bah, nonsense! He was vexed that he had not seen it himself. Howshould he know anything about it?"

"I don't know how; but I know him, and his ways, " said the firstspeaker. 

"But if he thinks he has any guess at the murderer, why don't he sayit at once?" asked the younger lad. 

"Ah, yes, I think so; I should like to see him at it. That's not hisbusiness, that's the lawyer's business. You may depend on hiskeeping his own secret, if he has got one. The governor likes quietsailing in still water, he does. But if he did not see somethingmore in this little bit of steel and atom of wax, that have stoppeda life so cleverly, than the mere things themselves and the effectof them, --why, then, I know nothing about old BuonaventuraTomosarchi, that's all. "

"How see something more?" said the younger lad, open-eyed. 

"Saw who put 'em there, Ninny. It is not everybody who could be upto such a dodge; and I feel sure the governor could make a shrewdguess who did that clever trick. "

CHAPTER X

Public Opinion

The post-mortem examination had taken place at an early hour, beforethe members of the idler portion of the society of the city had comeforth from their homes. An Italian idler--one of the class who, incommon Italian phrase, are able to "fare vita beata, " to lead ahappy life, i. E. To do nothing whatever from morning till night--anItalian of that favoured class never passes his hours in his ownhouse, or dwelling of whatever kind it may be. As soon as he is upand dressed he goes out into the city to enjoy the air and sunshineif it be fine weather, to saunter in cafes or at the Circolo, if itrain. 

Professor Tomosarchi and lawyer Fortini had been earlier afoot, andthe scene described in the last chapter had passed, and the generalresults of the examination were beginning to be known in the city, when the jeunesse doree of Ravenna began to assemble at the Circolo. It was known also by that time that the young Venetian artist, withwhom Ludovico was well known to be on intimate terms of some kind orother, had been arrested at her lodging at an early hour thatmorning, on suspicion of having been concerned in the murder of LaBianca. 

Of course that terrible event continued more than ever to occupy theattention of all Ravenna, almost to the exclusion of every othertopic of conversation. It was very easy to understand the nature ofthe motive, which might be supposed to have led Paolina to do thedeed. And when it became known farther, that the means by which thedeath of the victim had been brought about were such as might easilyhave been accomplished by the weakest woman's hand; and that it hadbeen discovered that Paolina had been in the Pineta--for such wasthe not quite accurate form which the report assumed just about thetime when the crime must have been committed, the general opinioninclined very much to the notion that she, the stranger from Venice, was, indeed, the assassin. 

Precedents were hunted up, and many a story told of women who haddone equally desperate deeds under similar provocation. 

"I feel very little doubt of it, myself, " said Manutoli; "there isnothing improbable in such a solution, while it is in the highestdegree improbable that Ludovico should have raised his hand againsta sleeping woman, enticed by him in the forest for the purpose. Bah!It is monstrous. "

"He would have been more to be pitied than blamed if he had doneit, " said another of the young men, who did not bear himself areputation of the most brilliant sort; "if I had a rich uncle Iswear by all the saints, that I would not let the prettiest womanthat ever made a fool of a man, come between me an my inheritance. "

"Ludovico was not the man to have done it any way. Besides, themischief had not been done; it was only a project talked of. Theremight have been a hundred ways of breaking off so absurd a match. Itwould have been time to have recourse to les grands moyens, when thething had been done, and all else had failed. To my notion jealousyhas done it. "

"So say I. Two to one I bet that it turns out that the Venetian girlhas done the trick. "

"But have you heard, all of you, that there is a third horse in thefield?" said the Marchese Faraoni whose palazzo was close to thehouse in which the Conte Leandro lived; "there is another candidatefor the galleys. Has nobody heard that our poet was arrested beforehe was out of bed this morning?"

"What! Leandro?"

"The Conte Lombardoni?"

"No!"

"You don't mean that?"

"What, arrested for this murder of La Bianca?"

"Impossible!"

"But quite true, nevertheless. Anybody can easily assure themselvesof the fact by walking as far as the Palazzo del Governo. "

"Leandro arrested on suspicion of murder? Well, I think the tragedyis passing into a farce. "

"It will be fatal to Leandro. He will die of fright, if no otherevil happens to him. "

"Think of the cantos of verse he will make on it. "

"He will die singing, like a swan. "

"But do you know anything about it, Faraoni? Have you any idea howhe has come to be implicated in the matter?"

"I learnt at his own lodging that he did not come home to bed thenight of the ball, but was absent from home at the time the murdermust have been committed. And then I was told that the men at thePorta Nuova had declared that they had seen him pass out of the citygoing in the direction of the Pineta at a very early hour thatmorning. "

"Per Bacco! it is very strange. What, in the name of all the saints, could he be doing out there at that time, when all honest folks werein their beds?"

"Remember all the snubbing he has had from the poor Diva all throughcarnival. By Jove! it looks very queer. "

"Do you remember how he turned all sorts of colours here last night, when we were talking of it?"

"And how anxious he seemed to say everything that appeared to makeit bear hard upon Ludovico?"

"Yes, and. Contradicted himself. First, he knew about it, and thenhe knew nothing. "

"Per Dio! I don't know what to think of it. "

"So, then, there are now three persons suspected--Ludovico; and theVenetian girl, and the Conte Leandro?"

"And all three were not far from the spot where the deed was done, and all three had motives, more or less credible, for doing it. "

"Ludovico, because his uncle was going to marry the woman, whichwould have cut him out of his inheritance; the Venetian girl, because she loved Ludovico, and saw him making love to the poorDiva; and Leandro, because she snubbed him, and laughed at him, andwould have nothing to say to either him or his verses. "

"And the one certain thing is, that the unlucky Diva lies dead, andwas murdered by somebody. Upon my life, it is the queerest thing Iever heard of. "

"What do you think of it, Manutoli?" said one of the speakers in theforegoing dialogue to the Baron, who was an older man than most ofthe others there. 

"My notion is that the girl is the guilty party, " said Manutoli. "Asfor Leandro, it seems too absurd. I don't think he has courageenough to kill a cat: Besides, I daresay he hated La Bianca quiteenough to slander her, and backbite, and that sort of thing; butmurder--"

"She made fun of him. Leandro don't like to be laughed at, --specially by the women, and, more specially still, when otherfellows are by to hear it and then those poets are always suchdesperate fellows I should not wonder--" said one of the young men. 

In the meantime, while talk of this sort was going on at theCircolo, Signor Fortini was on his way out to St. Apollinare inClasse, according to the intention he had expressed on the precedingevening; but he was not making the expedition alone. Signor PietroLogarini, the Papal Commissioner of Police, was bound on the sameerrand. The old lawyer, as he passed under the gateway of the PortaNuova in his comfortable caleche, overtook Signor Logarini, who wasabout to proceed to St. Apollinare on foot, and who had paused atthe gate for the purpose of making some inquiries of the officialsthere. 

"Good morning, Signor Pietro. I suppose we are bound for the sameplace; will you permit me to offer you a seat in my carriage?" saidthe lawyer. 

"Thanks, Signor Giovacchino, I shall be glad of the lift. Yes, Isuppose we are about the same business, and a bad one it is. I wasmaking a few inquiries at the gate; but I don't see that there ismuch to be gleaned there, " said the Commissary, as he got into thelawyer's carriage. 

"Well, it seems to me that we have reaped a pretty good harvestthere already, " returned the lawyer. 

"Enough to make the matter one of the most puzzling I ever had to dowith, " returned the Commissary. "You have heard, I suppose, that wehave arrested the girl Paolina Foscarelli, and the Conte LeandroLombardoni?"

"No; but it was a matter of course that you would do so--speciallythe girl, " said the lawyer. 

"We could not avoid arresting the Conte also; it is so unaccountablethat he should have been going out of the city, and so near theplace of the crime. "

"What account does he give of the matter himself?" asked the lawyer. 

"No very clear one; and he seems to be frightened out of his senses;but that proves nothing. One man takes a thing coolly, another is soflushed that you would think he was guilty only to look at him; butthere is little to be judged from such appearances. I don't muchthink the Conte had anything to do with it, for my part. "

"What were you asking about at the gate?"

"Well, I thought I would just ascertain if any other parties hadpassed the gate that same morning, " said the Commissary. 

"Others! Have we not enough to make a sufficient puzzle already?"said Fortini. 

"Yes, indeed; but information is always useful. The men say thatthey are quite sure that no other person of any kind whatever passedthe gate either outwards or inwards, during the night till the ConteLeandro passed in the morning; and then the girl not longafterwards; and then the Marchesino with the prima donna. "

The lawyer remained plunged in thought for some minutes, as thecarriage rolled over the flat dismal-looking road towards the oldchurch; and then he said, shaking his head, and pouting out hislips, --

"I think we shall find, Signor Pietro, that that girl has done it. There's nothing a jealous woman will not do. We shall find, I think, that to have been the case; that is, if we succeed in finding outanything at all. Perhaps the most likely thing is that we may neverknow what hand did the deed. "

"Oh, come, I hope better things than that. That would not suit ourbook at all. We must find it out if we can; and it is early days yetto talk of being beat. We are not half at the end of our means ofinvestigation yet, Signor Giovacchino, " said the Commissary. 

"It may be that something may be to be picked up at the churchhere. "

"And then I must go on to the farm-house, where the Marchesino andthe prima donna left their carriage. "

"We'll have a talk with the friars first. "

As Fortini spoke the carriage drew up at the west front of thedesolate old basilica. It was a fine spring morning, and by the timethe lawyer and the Commissary reached the church, the sun haddissipated the mist, and it was warm and pleasant. 

The great doors of the church stood yawningly open as usual, and thegate of iron rail was ajar. And at the south-western corner of thebuilding, just where the sun-ray from the south-west made a sharpline against the black shadow cast by the western front of thebuilding, an old Franciscan was sitting; not Father Fabiano, but hissole companion, Friar Simone, the lay-brother. 

Neither Signor Fortini nor the police Commissary had ever seen theold guardian of the Basilica; but they were sufficiently instructedin the details of Franciscan costume to perceive at once that thefigure before them was not a priest, but only a lay-brother. 

"Is there any place, frate, where I can put my horse and carriageunder shelter for half an hour or so?" said the lawyer, as the oldfriar, having risen from his seat in the sunshine, came forwardtowards the carriage. 

"There is place enough and to spare, Signori, " said the old man, pointing with a languid and wearylike gesture to the huge pile ofhalf-dilapidated conventual buildings on the southern side of thechurch; "you can put horse and carriage as they stand into the oldbarn there, without undoing a buckle. I will open the door for yourlordships, if it will hang together so that it can be opened. "

The lawyer and the Commissary dismounted from the carriage, and theformer proceeded to lead his horse into the huge barn of theconvent; while the latter employed himself in observing every detailof the surrounding localities with those rapid all-seeing and all-remembering glances that the habits and education of his professionhad rendered a part of his nature, preparatory to the investigationsthey had both come to make. 

CHAPTER XI

In Father Fabiano's Cell

"You can enter the Basilica at your pleasure, Signori; the gate isunlocked, " said the lay-brother, indicating the entrance to thechurch with a half-formed gesture of his hand, which fell to hisside again when he had half raised it, as if the effort of extendinghis arm horizontally had been too much for him. It was a matter ofcourse to him that any human beings who came to St. Apollinare couldhave no business there but to see the old walls, which he, thefriar, would have given so much never to see again. 

"We will do so presently, " said Signor Logarini, in reply; "but, inthe first place, we wish to speak with Father Fabiano--he is thecustode of the church, is he not?"

"Father Fabiano is ill a-bed, Signor; I am only out of my bed sinceyesterday, and it is as much as I can do to crawl. There's not manydays in the year, I think, that we are both well; and if we shouldbe both down together, God help us. It is not just the healthiestplace in the world, this. "

"What is the matter with the padre? Has he been ill long?" asked thelawyer, with a glance at the Commissary. 

"Since yesterday afternoon. Why, I tell you I was in bed yesterday;he down, I must turn out. Ah--h--h! it 'll all be over one of thesedays. "

"But what ails the custode?" asked Signor Logarini again. 

"Fever and ague, I suppose; that is what is always killing both ofus more or less. Pity it is so slow about it!" muttered the lay-brother, returning to his seat in the sunshine. 

"But I suppose that Father Fabiano is not so ill but that we canspeak with him? It is important that we should do so, " said theCommissary, eyeing the friar with a suspicious glance. 

"There is nothing to prevent you or anybody else going to him thatchoose to do so--nothing to prevent any one of those cattle doingso, for that matter. There is neither bolt nor latch; you can gointo his chamber, if you are so minded, " returned the lay-brother, rather surlily. 

"Will you go and tell him that--Signor Fortini from Ravenna wishesto speak with him, and would be obliged by his permission to comeinto his room for a few minutes. We don't wish to disturb him morethan is necessary. "

"I'll tell him--though you might as well go to him yourselves atonce for that matter; it is weary work going up the stairs so often--and I can hardly crawl. "

And, so saying, the poor old lay-brother tottered off to one of thenumerous doorless entrances of the half-ruined mass of building, andset himself wearily to climb a small stair, the foot of which wasjust within it. 

The lawyer and the Commissary looked at each other; and the lattersaid, with a wink at his companion, --

"I thought it better, you see, to say nothing about the Commissaryof Police; it would have frightened the old fellow out of his wits;and it is always time enough to let him know who we are if he won'tspeak without. But I know these animals of friars, SignorGiovacchino, I know them well; and there isn't a man or woman, townsman or countryman, noble or peasant that I wouldn't rather haveto deal with than a monk or a friar. Let 'em so much as smell thescent of layman in any position of authority, and it makes 'em asobstinate and contradictious and contrary as mules, and worse. Ifthis old fellow here has got anything to hide, you'll see that weshall not be able to get it out of him. "

"But I don't see what interest or wish he can have to hide anythingfrom us, " said Fortini. 

"N--n--no; one don't see that he should have but one can't be toosuspicious, mio buono Signor Giovacchino, " said the policeauthority; "and then, what does he mean by being ill?" he added, after a little thought; "he was well yesterday. It looks me verymuch as if he did not want to be questioned. "

"I should not think that he can have much to tell. We shall seewhether his account confirms the story of the girl as to what tookplace in the church. But the probability is that that part of hertale is all true enough. The question is what did she do withherself during all those hours that elapsed between the time shequitted the church and the time when she reached her home? And Ihave little hope that the friar should be able to throw any lightupon that, " said the lawyer. 

"We shall see; here comes the lay-brother. Ugh! what a life it mustbe to live in such a place as this from one year's end to the other;nothing but a frate could stand it, " said the Commissary, lookingupon the desolation around him with infinite disgust. 

"Father Fabiano is not much fit to speak to anybody; the cold fit ofthe ague is very strong upon him. But if you choose to go up to himyou can--specially as there is nothing to stop you. He is in theright-hand cell on the first landing-place up that staircase, " saidthe lay-brother, feebly pointing to the entrance, from which he hadcome out. 

The lawyer and the police official followed the indications thusgiven them, and found, as old Simone had said, that there wasneither bolt, lock, nor latch to prevent any creature that couldpush a door on its hinges, from entering the little bare-walled roomin which the friar lay beneath a heavy quilted coverlet on a littlenarrow pallet. 

There was not so much as a single chair in the room. The walls wereclean, and freshly whitewashed; and the brick floor was also clean. There were a few pegs of deal in the wall on the side of the cellopposite to the doorway, on which some garments were hanging; and onthe wall facing the bed there was a large, rudely carved, and yetmore rudely painted crucifix. By the side of the bed nearest thedoor there hung, on a nail driven into the wall, a copper receptaclefor holy water, the upper part of which was ornamented with a figureof St. Francis in the act of receiving the "Stigmata, " in repoussework, by no means badly executed. And pasted on the bare wall, immediately above the pillow of the little bed, was a coloured printof the cheapest and vilest description, representing the Madonnawith the seven legendary poignards sticking in her bosom, and St. Francis, supported on either side by a friar of his order, kneelingat her feet. 

These objects formed absolutely the entire furniture of the cell. There was nothing else whatsoever in the room; neither the smallestfragment of a looking-glass, nor any means or preparation forablution whatsoever. 

The old monk lay on his back in the bed, wit his head propped ratherhighly on a hard straw bolster; and the extreme attenuation of hisbody was indicated by the very slight degree in which the clothesthat covered him were raised above the love of the bedstead. On thecoverlet upon his chest, there was a rosary of large beads turnedout of box-wood. The parts of each bead nearest to the string and incontact with each other were black with the undisturbed dirt anddust of many years. But the protuberant circumference of each woodenball was polished to a rich shining orange-colour by the constanthandling of the fingers. 

It seemed both to Signor Fortini and to the Commissary, that therecould be no doubt about it, that the old man was really ill. He waslying in his frock of thick brown woollen, and the cowl of it wasdrawn over his head. He seemed to be suffering from cold, and histeeth were audibly chattering in his head; and his thin, thin claw-like hands shook as they clutched his crucifix. His face was lividlypale, and his eyes gleamed out from under the cowl with a restlessfeverish brightness. 

That he was ill could hardly be doubted. And it seemed to the lawyerand the Commissary as well as to the old lay-brother, natural enoughto suppose that a man who fell ill at St. Apollinare was ill withfever and ague. But whether that were really the nature of hismalady, his visitors had not sufficient medical knowledge to judge;but it was probable enough that the aged monk had had quitesufficient experience of fever and ague, to know pretty wellhimself, whether he were suffering from that cause or not. 

"We are sorry to find you ill, father, " said Fortini; "and though wehave come from Ravenna on purpose to speak with you, we would nothave disturbed you if our business had not been important. Are yousuffering much now?"

"Not much more than usual, " said the sick man, shutting his eyes, while his pallid lips continued to move, as he muttered to himselfan "Ave Maria. "

"And can you give us your attention for a few minutes?" rejoined thelawyer. 

"I will answer to your asking as far as I can; but my head isconfused, and I don't remember much clearly about anything. It seemsto me as if I had been lying on this bed for months and months, "replied the old friar. 

"And yet, you know, you were up and well yesterday morning, when youwere with the young girl who came to copy the mosaics, you know, onthe scaffolding in the church?" said the lawyer. 

"Yes; I was with the girl--Paolina Foscarelli, a Venetian--on thescaffolding. Was it yesterday?"

"Yesterday it was that she was here. Yesterday morning. And it ishardly necessary to ask you if you know what happened here in thePineta much about that time, or shortly afterwards. You have heardof the murder, of course?"

So violent a trembling seized on the aged man as the lawyer spokethus, that he was unable to answer a word. His old hands shook sothat he could hardly hold the beads in his fingers, while hischattering teeth and trembling lips tried to formulate the words ofa prayer. 

"Did you, or did you not hear that a dreadful murder was committedyesterday morning in the Pineta not far from this place?" said theCommissary, speaking for the first time, and in a less kindly mannerthan the old lawyer had used. 

A redoubled access of teeth-chattering and shivering was for sometime the only result elicited by this question. The old friar shookin every limb; and the beads of the rosary rattled in his tremblingfingers, as he attempted to pass them on their string inmechanically habitual accompaniment to the invocations his lipsessayed to mutter. 

"It is a terrible thing to speak of truly, father; and we are sorryto be obliged to distress you by forcing such a subject on yourthoughts; but it is our duty to make these inquiries; and you cantell us the few facts--they cannot be many or of much importance--which have come to your knowledge on the subject, " said the lawyer, speaking in more gentle accents. 

"I heard nothing; but I saw, " said the aged man, closing his eyes, as if to shut out the vision which was forced back upon hisimagination; and fumbling nervously with his beads, while his paleblue lips trembled with mutterings of mechanically repeatedejaculations. 

"Take your time, padre mio, " said the lawyer gently, making agesture with his raised band, at the same time, to repress the lesspatient eagerness of the Commissary of Police; "we do not want tohurry you. Tell us what it was that you saw. "

CHAPTER XII

The Case against Paolina

The old friar opened his haggard eyes, which gleamed out with afeverish light from the bottom of their sockets, and from under theshadow of his cowl, and looked piteously up into the lawyer's face. "A little time--a moment to collect my thoughts, " he said, passinghis parched tongue over the still dryer parchment-like skin of hisdrawn lips, and painfully swaying his cowled head from one side ofthe hard pillow to the other, while large drops of perspirationgathered on his brow. 

The Commissary shot a meaning glance across the pallet on which theold man lay, to the lawyer, in evident anticipation of theimportance of the revelation, heralded by so much of painfulemotion. 

"By all means, padre mio; collect your thoughts. We are sorry forthe necessity which obliges us to force your mind back on suchpainful ones, " said the lawyer, laying his hand on that of thefriar, which was still fumbling with the shining bog-wood beads, scarcely more yellow than the claw-like fingers which held them. "You saw--?"

Still no reply came from the old friar's lips. He writhed his bodyin the bed, and the manifestation of his agony became more and moreintense. The eager impatient air of the Commissary changed itselfinto one of persistent dogged determination; and he quietly drewfrom his pocket a note-book and the means of writing in it. 

"Now, father, you will be able to tell us what you saw?" said thelawyer in a soothing coaxing voice. 

"I saw, " said the old friar at length, speaking with his eyes againclosed--"I saw the dead body of the woman who had passed the churchtowards the Pineta in the morning, brought back by six men from theforest. They passed by the western front of the church, and I sawthat the body was the body of the woman I speak of. "

The Commissary shut up his note-book with a gesture of provokeddisappointment, and shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 

"If that is all you have to tell us, frate, you need not have madeso much difficulty about it, " he said; "we knew all that before, andneed not have come here to be told it. Plenty of people saw thebringing in from the forest of the body of the murdered woman, andwould give evidence to the fact without making so much ado about it. Is that all you saw?"

"Did you not see, " said the lawyer, again motioning his companion tobe patient; "did you not see another young woman in the forestyesterday morning?"

"Not in the forest, " replied the friar without any difficulty. "Notin the forest; I saw another young woman here yesterday, but it wasin the church. She came here to make copies of some of the mosaics. I had been previously told to expect such an one. "

"Did she come to the church before the time when you saw the otherlady pass towards the forest?" asked the lawyer. 

"Yes; about half an hour or more before, " answered the friar. 

"And where was she when the second lady passed, going towards thePineta?" asked the lawyer again. 

"She was on the scaffolding in the church, which had been preparedfor her to make her copies of the mosaics. "

"Do you know whether she saw, or was aware that the second lady hadpassed the church to go towards the Pineta?"

"I know that she was aware of it; I was with her on the scaffolding. We both together saw the woman who was afterwards brought back deadpass in a bagarino with the Marchese Ludovico di Castelmare, towardsthe Pineta. "

The lawyer looked hard at the Commissary; and the latter inobedience, as it seemed, to the look, took out his note-book again, and made a note of the declaration. 

"And what did the young lady who came to copy the mosaics doafterwards? Where did you part with her?" resumed the lawyer. 

"She left the church, and walked in the direction of the forest. Iparted from her at the door of the church. "

"And did you see her any more in the course of that morning?" askedthe lawyer again. 

"I did not: I saw her no more from that time to this, " replied thefriar. During the whole of this interrogation, he had appeared farless distressed and disturbed than he had been before speaking ofhis having seen the body of La Bianca carried past the churchtowards the city. He had answered all the questions concerningPaolina readily and without hesitation. 

"I don't think we need trouble you any further, frate, " said theCommissary. "I hope that you will soon get over your touch of fever;and then, if we need you, there will be no difficulty in yourattending, when wanted, in the city. I don't see, that there isanything more to be got at present, " he added, addressing thelawyer. 

So the two visitors bade the friar adieu, and went down the stairson to the open piazza in front of the church. 

"Does that fellow know anything more than he tells us?" said theCommissary, as they stepped out of the narrow entry on to the greensward of the piazza. 

"I fancy not; I don't see much what he is at all likely to know, "replied the lawyer. 

"Nor I; but his manner was so remarkable. One would have said thathe was conscious of having committed the murder himself. In all myexperience I never saw a man so hard put to it to tell a plain andsimple fact. "

"Well, the poor old fellow is ill, you see. And then, no doubt, thesight of the body brought back out of the forest made a terribleimpression on him. The extreme seclusion, tranquillity, and monotonyof his life here, the absence from year's end to year's end of anysort of emotion of any kind, would naturally have the result ofincreasing the painful effect which such an event and such a sightwould have upon him. My own notion is that there is nothing furtherto be got out of him. "

"There is our friend the lay-brother sitting in the sunshine justwhere we left him. We might as well just see what he can tell usbefore going back to the city. "

"He seems very ill, the padre, " pursued the Commissary, addressinghimself to brother Simone, as he and the lawyer lounged up to thespot where he was sitting; "the fever must have laid hold of himvery suddenly; for it seems he was well enough yesterday morning. "

"That is the way with the maledetto morbo, " returned the lay-brother; "one hour you are well--as well, that is to say, as one canever be in such a place as this--and the next you are down on yourback shivering and burning like--like the poor souls in purgatory. Doubtless the more of it one has had, the less there is to come. That's the only comfort. "

"The padre's mind seems to have been very painfully affected by thesight of the body of the woman, who was murdered in the forest, asit was being carried back to the city. Did you see it too?" askedthe lawyer, observing the friar narrowly, as he spoke. 

"Si, Signor, I saw it too, and a piteous sight it was. FatherFabiano and I were both out here on the piazza when the body wascarried past. For I was just coming from the belfry yonder, where Ihad been to ring Compline; and the padre was at the same time comingout of the church, where he had been as usual with him at that hour, at his devotions before the altar of the Saint. "

"Then at the hour of Compline the father had not yet been takenill?" observed the Commissary. "Scusi, Signor; I think he had beenstruck by the fever at that time. He fell a-shivering and a-shakingso that he could hardly stand, when the body was carried past. Butthat is the way the mischief always begins. Ah, there's never adoctor knows it better than I do, and no wonder. "

"You don't think then, " said the lawyer, "that it was the sight ofthe dead body that moved him so?"

"Why should it?" said the lay-brother, in the true spirit ofmonastic philosophy; "why should it? all flesh is grass; there isnothing so strange in death. He sighed and groaned a deal, but thatis often Father Fabiano's way when he comes out from his exercisesin the church. He seemed as if he could hardly stand on his legs:but, bless you, that was the fever. He took to his bed as soon asever the men carrying the body were out of sight. He's an old man isFather Fabiano. "

"Where had he been all the time between the time when the painterlady left the church, and the hour of Compline?" asked theCommissary, who had been busily thinking during the lay-brother'smoralizings. 

"Ever since a little after the Angelus he had been on his knees atthe altar of St. Apollinare, according to his custom. He told me so, when he came to give me my potion; for I was down with the feveryesterday morning. "

"Do you know where he was before the Angelus?" returned theCommissary. 

"He had to ring the Angelus himself, seeing that I was down with thefever. And be came back to the convent in a hurry, fearing that hewas too late. There's very little doubt that it was heating himselfthat way that made the fever take hold of him. "

"Where was he hurrying back from, then? Where had he been?" askedthe Commissary, endeavouring to hide his eagerness for the reply tothis question under a semblance of carelessness. 

"He told me, when he carne to my cell, that he had been into theforest; and it was plain to see that the walk had been too much forhim; he's too old for moving much now, is Father Fabiano. "

"He had been into the forest; and when he came back at the hour ofthe Angelus, he seemed quite overcome by his walk?" said theCommissary, recapitulating, and taking out his note-book as hespoke. 

"Yes, he did; so much so, that as I lay on my bed and listened tothe Angelus bell a-going, I thought to myself that the old man hadhardly the strength to pull the rope, " said the lay-brother. 

"Hardly strength to pull the rope, " repeated the Commissary, as hecompleted the note he was scribbling in his note-book. "Well, I hopehe will soon get over his attack of fever. I think we need nottrouble you any further at present, frate--what is your name, myfriend?"

"Simone, by the mercy of God, lay-brother of the terz' ordine--"

"That will do, frate Simone, " interrupted the Commissary, adding aword to the entry in his note-book. "Now, Signor Giovacchino, if youare ready, I think we may get your carriage out of the barn and goback to Ravenna. "

"We have not got much for our pains, I am afraid, " said the lawyerto the Commissary of police as they began to leave the Basilicabehind them on their way back to the city. 

"Humph!" said the Commissary, who was apparently too much absorbedin his own meditations to be in a mood for conversation. 

"Signor Giovacchino, " he said, suddenly, after they had traversednearly half their short journey in silence, "my belief is that youryoung friend the Marchese has no hand in this matter. "

"I am convinced he had not, " said the lawyer, who was, however, veryfar from having reached any conviction of the kind; "but what wewant is some such probable theory on the subject as shall competesuccessfully with the theory of his guilt in the matter. "

"That theory--shall I give it you? It is not only a theory; it is myfirm belief as to the facts of the case. "

"You suspect--"

"I more than suspect--I am very strongly persuaded that this murderhas been committed by the girl Paolina Foscarelli. "

"My own notion--"

"Look here, this is how it has been. The Marchese Ludovico has madelove to this girl--has made her in love with him--taking the matterau grand serieux, in the way girls will--specially, I am told, it isthe way, with those Venetian women. Well, by ill chance, as thedevil would have it, she sees her lover starting on a tete-a-teteexpedition into the Pineta with this other girl--just the woman ofall others in the world, as I am given to understand, to be adangerous rival, and to excite a deadly jealousy. This much we havein evidence. Further, we know that the girl Paolina was expected toreturn from her expedition to St. Apollinare early in the morning--say at nine o'clock, or thereabouts--whereas she did not return tillseveral hours afterwards. In addition to all this, we have nowascertained that when she left the church she did not set out on herreturn towards the city, as she might naturally be expected to havedone; but, on the contrary, went in the direction of the Pineta. Then, assuming the story, told by the Marchese to be true, we knowthat, about the very time that this Paolina was entering the forest, her rival was lying asleep and alone there in the immediateneighbourhood. We know that the means adopted for the perpetrationof the crime were such as to be quite within a woman's physicalpower, and that the weapon used for the purpose such as a woman maymuch more readily be supposed to have about her than a man; what doyou say to that as a theory of the facts? Is not the evidenceoverpoweringly strong against this Venetian?"

"Of course my own attention had been called to the case of suspicionagainst her. But I confess I had not been struck by the lastcircumstance you mention; and it seems to me a very strong one. Howcan it be supposed that a man--a man like the Marchese Ludovico--should chance to have a needle about him? The case of suspicionagainst him, mark, altogether excludes the notion that he went outprepared to take the life of this unfortunate woman. It is suggestedthat he put her to death in order to escape from the ruin that wouldhave ensued from his uncle's marriage with her. No other possiblemotive for such a deed can be conceived. But he knew nothing of anysuch purpose on the part of the Marchese till the girl herself toldhim of it as they were driving together to the forest. Therefore, hehad not come out prepared with a needle for the purpose ofcommitting murder. Neither, it is true, does the theory we areconsidering suppose that Paolina came out prepared to do such adeed. But the weapon used is a needle. Is it more likely that a manor that a woman should have by chance such an article about them? Iconfess it seems to me that this circumstance alone is sufficient toturn the scale of the probabilities unmistakably. "

"But that is not all, " said the Commissary, laying his fingerimpressively on the lawyer's sleeve; "my belief is that that oldfriar, padre Fabiano, is aware of the fact that the murder wascommitted by Paolina Foscarelli. I am not disposed to think that hehad any hand in the doing of the deed; but I think the he has aknowledge of her guilt. He is ill now, doubtless; but I do notbelieve that he is suffering from fever and ague. He is sufferingfrom the emotions of horror and terror. We know that he was in thePineta much about the time at which the murder must have beencommitted, and very near the spot where it must have been committed. And he comes back in a state of terrible emotion and consternation. His manner in speaking to us to-day you must have observed. I haveno belief in an old friar being so terribly impressed by the meresight of a dead body. "

"That is all true, " said the lawyer, nodding his head up and downseveral times; "and the circumstances do seem to point to theprobability of your conclusion; but--"

"But why, you will say, should the old man, if he has a merelyinnocent knowledge of that which I suspect him to know, refuse totell the whole truth simply as he knows it? I will tell you why not. In the first place, if you had had as much experience of monks, andfriars, and nuns, as I have, you would know that it is next toimpossible to induce them ever to give information to justice of anyfacts which it is possible for them to conceal. It seems to them, Ifancy, like recognizing a lay authority in a manner they don't like. They will communicate nothing to you if they can help it. "

"Yes, that's true. I know that is the nature of them, " assented thelawyer. 

"Then, observe, this Father Fabiano is a Venetian, a fellow-citizenof the girl. You know how the Venetians hold together. You may feelquite sure that if he did know her to be guilty of a crime, he wouldscreen her to the utmost of his power. Of course I have not donewith him yet. Tutt' altro. We must have an account of that morningstroll in the Pineta from the old gentleman's own lips. Meantime, Ido not think that we need consider our trip to-day to have beenaltogether thrown away. "

"Very far from it. Very far from it, indeed. Honestly, I think thatyou have hit the nail on the head, Signor Pietro. There is nothinglike the practical experience of you gentlemen of the police, whopass your lives in playing at who-is-the-sharpest with the mostastute of human beings. "

"And beating them at their own game, " said the Commissary, self-complacently. "If that murder was not committed by PaolinaFoscarelli, I will give you or anybody else leave to call me ablockhead. "

And therewith Signor Fortini and his companion drove under the oldarchway of the Porta Nuova and entered the city. 

BOOK VI

Poena Pede Claudo

CHAPTER I

Signor Fortini receives the Signora Steno in his Studio

It was the end of the first week in Lent; and all Ravenna was stillbusily engaged in talking, thinking, and speculating on themysterious crime that had been committed on Ash Wednesday morning inthe Pineta. The excitement on the subject, indeed, was greater nowthan it had been immediately after the event. For, by this time, everybody in Ravenna knew all that anybody knew on the subject; themanner, time, and place of the murder, and the different competingtheories which had been started to account for it, and with theconflicting probabilities of which the judicial authorities wereknown to be occupying themselves. 

These, as the reader knows, were three; based, in each case, on thefact that the suspected person was known, or was supposed to beknown, to have been at, or near, to the spot where the crime wascommitted at the time when it had been committed. 

The Marchese Ludovico was indisputably known; on his own confession, to have been in the immediate neighbourhood of the spot at the timewhen the murder must have been done. 

Paolina Foscarelli was equally indubitably, and by her ownconfession, not far off from the neighbourhood of the spot at thesame time. 

Of the Conte Leandro Lombardoni it was known only that he had passedout of the city gate leading in the same direction, at a time whichmight have enabled him to be present where the deed was done, at thehour when it must have been done. The evidence as to propinquity tothe place was less strong in his case than in that of either of theothers; but it was supplemented by the unaccountable strangeness ofhis passing out of the Porta Nuova towards the Pineta at such anhour, and on that particular morning. 

The Marchese Ludovico stated that he went thither for the purpose ofshowing the Pineta to the prima donna, who had never seen it. Andthere was nothing incredible or greatly improbable in the statement. 

Paolina declared that she had gone to St. Apollinare in pursuit ofher professional business. And the declaration was not only veryprobable in itself, but could be shown by evidence to be true. Only, while it accounted for her presence in the church of St. Apollinare, it left her departure from the church with her face turned, nottowards the city, but towards the Pineta, unaccounted for. 

In the case of the Conte Leandro, it was difficult to imagine themotive that could have induced him to leave the city at that hour, in the manner in which he was proved, by the testimony of the men atthe gate, to have done. And he gave no assistance himself towardsarriving at any satisfactory explanation of so strange acircumstance. He was unable, or unwilling, to account in any way forhis conduct on that Ash Wednesday morning. 

"He had thought it pleasanter to take a walk that fine morning, thanto go to bed after the ball. "

Nothing could be more unlike the usual known habits and tastes ofthe Conte Leandro, than such a freak. But supposing such a whim tohave occurred to him, would he have set out on his walk evidentlyintending to be disguised--with a cloak wrapped round the fantasticcostume in which he had been at the ball? Was such a supposition inany wise credible, or admissible?

In each of the three cases there seemed also to be a motive for thedeed that might be deemed sufficient to have led to it; and fromwhich neither of the parties suspected could show that they werefree. 

In the case of the Marchese Ludovico, it was the terrible temptationof delivering his family name from ridicule and disgrace, andhimself from the prospect of absolute beggary. 

In the case of Paolina, it was the madness of woman's jealousy, wrought to a pitch of desperation by circumstances similar to suchas had ere now produced many a similar tragedy. 

In the case of the Conte Leandro, it was the cruel mortification ofa man whose monstrous vanity was notorious to the whole city. 

These were the three hypotheses between which the possibilities ofthe case seemed to lie to those whose position or means ofinformation gave them any real knowledge of the facts. But there wasa section of the outside public which had set up for itself andpreferred yet a fourth theory--namely, that the prima donna hadcommitted suicide. The holders of this opinion were mainly women;and at the head of them; was the Signora Orsola Steno. In an agonyof grief, indignation, and despair at the accusation brought againsther adopted child, and the arrest by which it had been followed up, she loudly maintained her own conviction that the evil and wickedwoman had brought her career to a fitting close by putting herselfto death. 

"Likely enough she may have endeavoured to entrap the MarcheseLamberto; but not very likely, " old Orsola thought, "that thatexemplary nobleman should have been caught by her wiles. Likelyenough she may have plotted to play her last card, by giving theMarchese Ludovico to understand, that the only way to avoid the ruinwhich would fall upon him by her becoming his uncle's wife, was totake her himself. How any such overtures would be received by thenoble Marchese Ludovico, all Ravenna ought to know; and at allevents she, Orsola Steno, knew surely enough. And upon that rebuff, and utter failure of her last hope despair had come upon thewretched creature, as well it might, and she had put an end toherself. "

To her, Orsola Steno, the case was clear: and she only wondered thatanybody could be so blind as not to see it. 

But what if such a supposition were simply inconsistent with theknown facts? What if it were simply impossible that any personshould inflict on themselves such an injury as that which it wasevident the murdered woman had sustained; and more impossible stillthat they should have been able to adopt the means for concealingthe wound which the assassin had adopted? What if such was theperfectly unhesitating judgment and declaration of the medicalauthorities? Such people as Orsola Steno, and those who shared heropinion, are ordinarily impervious to any such reasoning. It isremarkable that, in any case of doubt or circumstances of suspicion, the popular mind--or, at all events, the Italian popular mind--isspecially disposed to mistrust the medical profession. They suspecterror exactly where scientific certainty is the most perfect, anddeception precisely in those who have the least possible imaginablemotive for deceiving. Probably it may be because the grounds andmeans of the knowledge they mistrust are more wholly, than in anyother case, beyond the sphere of their own conceptions. 

When old Orsola Steno was told that the doctors declared that it wasnot within the bounds of possibility that La Bianca should have putherself to death in the manner in which she had been put to death, nothing could exceed the profundity of the contempt with which shesneered in reply:

"Ah! they'll say anything to make out that they know more than otherfolks, and, maybe, they often know a deal less. Don't tell me. Howshould they know what a woman will do when she is driven? I knowwhat women are, and I know what them doctors are; and you maybelieve that an old woman, who has been a young one, knows more whatsuch an one as that Bianca can do, when she has no hope before her, than all the doctors. "

"But it is impossible--physically impossible that she could havedone it. "

"Ta, ta, ta, ta! Physic, indeed; what's physic got to do with it? Ishould like to physic them that try to throw suspicion on a poorinnocent girl all to make out their own cleverness. "

So Signora Orsola victoriously, and to the great increase of herconfidence in her own powers of insight, continued to hold her ownopinion, and it was shared by many other similarly-constitutedminds. 

The old Venetian woman had lived a very, quiet life in the strangecity to which fate had brought her, making but few acquaintances, and holding but little intercourse with those few; but now, underthe terrible misfortune which had happened, she was stirred up toactivity in every way in which activity was possible to her. Shewent to the Palazzo Castelmare and endeavoured to see the MarcheseLamberto in vain. She was told that the Marchese was ill, and couldnot see any one. 

She went to the Contessa Violante, of whose acquaintanceship withPaolina she was aware, though she had never before seen her, and, oddly enough, the Contessa Violante was disposed to share, or tobecome a convert to, her own opinion respecting the mode of Bianca'sdeath. The young Contessa was, doubtless as ignorant of all suchmatters as old Orsola could be. Her education had been entirelyconventual, and those who dwell in the inner sanctums and fortressesof the Church have a curiously instinctive aversion to thecertainties and investigations of medical--especially of surgical--science; and the Contessa Violante was, perhaps, hence prepared tovilipend and set at naught the dicta of the scientific authorities. 

It was likely that her mind was also warped by the conceptions ofwhat were probable, likely to be providential, and even suitable, inthe case of such a person as the deceased singer. Of course, thewhole life of such an one was, to the Contessa Violante, a thingabominable and accursed in the eyes of Heaven. It was more strangethat all others, who led similar lives, and were engaged in such aprofession, should not make an evil end of themselves than that onesuch should do so. 

The Contessa Violante, therefore, was disposed to share theconviction of her visitor, as she most sincerely and cordiallysympathised with her in her affliction. To her, also, it was whollyimpossible to believe that Paolina had done this thing; nor was itcredible to her that Ludovico should be guilty of such a deed. Ofthe three persons accused she would have found it more possible tobelieve in the guilt of the Conte Leandro; but, on the whole, shepreferred to avoid the necessity of assuming that either of theaccused were guilty by admitting the hypothesis of Signora Orsola. 

"And if you will take my advice, Signora, I think that the bestthing you could do would be to go to Signor Fortini, the lawyer, whois interested in the matter on account of being the lawyer of theCastelmare family. I have always heard him spoken of as an uprightand respectable man. I have heard my uncle speak well of him. If Iwere you I would go and talk to him; you will very easily find outwhere his studio is. Go and tell him who you are, and what yourinterest in the matter is, and I have no doubt but that he willreceive you kindly and listen to what you have to say. "

And Signora Orsola took the Contessa Violante's advice, and wentdirectly to the lawyer's studio in the little cloister under thewalls of the cathedral, on leaving her adviser. As Violante hadsaid, she had no difficulty whatever in finding it. 

The lawyer was at home, and Signora Orsola was at once ushered intothe inner studio, which has been described in a former chapter. 

Signor Fortini was, to all appearances, entirely unoccupied; but itis probable that his mind was fully employed in striving to see hisway through some portion of the difficulties that hedged about onall sides the subject on which, more or less, all Ravenna wasintent. He was sitting before his table, thickly covered withpapers; but had thrown himself back in his leather-covered arm-chair, and was grasping his stubbly chin with one hand, the elbowbelonging to which rested on the arm of his chair, while the darkeyes, shining out beneath his contracted forehead, were fixed on theceiling of the little room. 

"Signora Orsola Steno, " he said, as he half rose, and courteouslyoffered his visitor a seat by the side of the table, so placed as tobe fronting his own, while the sitter in it was exactly in a linebetween him and the window. 

"Sua Signoria mi conosce. Your lordship knows me, then, " said theold woman, whose surprise at finding herself thus recognizedsufficed to put altogether out of her head all the carefullyarranged opening of her interview with the lawyer which she hadtaken much pains to prepare. 

Signor Fortini had, in truth, never seen the old woman, and hadscarcely ever heard of her before the terrible event, which was nowbringing her into his presence. But her name, the nature of herconnection with Paolina, and very many other particulars concerningher had become known to the lawyer in the course of theinvestigations which that event had imposed upon him. 

"Sufficiently, Signora, though I never had the pleasure of speakingto you before, to be aware of the nature of the business which hasinduced you to favour me with this visit, " replied the lawyer, withgrave courtesy. 

"Well, then, Signor Dottore, I hope you will excuse--"

"There is not the smallest need for any apology, Signora. Anzi--I amvery glad that you should have thought it well to call on me; Ishall be most happy to hear anything that you may wish to say tome. "

"You are very polite, Signor Dottore, I am sure, " said the oldwoman, hesitatingly; for she was alarmed at the idea, which thelawyer's courtesy had suggested to her cautious mind, that she mightbe supposed to be engaging his professional services, and might thusfind herself, before she was aware of it, involved in expenses whichshe had no means of meeting, and no intention of incurring; "you areextremely polite, but--you see, Signor, it is best to speak plainly--I am a very poor woman; and I have not the means--and I am sure--perhaps I ought not to have troubled sua Signoria; but it was theContessa Violante who advised me to come to you. "

"Indeed; I am beholden to the Signora Contessa Violante. As you saymost judiciously, Signora, it is best to speak quite plainly. Withregard to any professional services, which it might be otherwise inmy power to render you, it is necessary to say at once that I amengaged in this most unhappy business on the behalf of my old clientand friend the Marchese Ludovico di Castelmare. There can be noquestion, therefore, of any professional remuneration to me in thematter from any other quarter. Anything that may pass between us, "he continued, perceiving that his visitor had not fully comprehendedwhat he sought to convey to her, "must be of the nature of privateconversation, and will not entail on you, " he added, yet moreplainly with a good-humoured smile, and putting his hand on hersleeve as he spoke, "any possible expense whatever. "

"Thank you kindly, sir; and, truth to say, it is not so much that Iwanted to ask you to say or to do anything, as only just not to saywhat a many people in this city are wicked enough to say and tothink, " said old Orsola, much re-assured, and persuaded that she wasapproaching the business in band in the most cautious and clevermanner imaginable. 

"I hope, Signora, that I shall not say anything which it is wickedto say; but what is it that people are wicked enough to say?"rejoined the lawyer, who knew now perfectly well what the wickedsaying was. 

"Why they say, Signor Dottore--some of them--some of them are wickedenough to say that that dear blessed child has--it is enough toblister one's tongue to say it--has done that dreadful thing; SantaMaria abbia misericordia--that murder in the forest. O Dio mio!Why--"

"Is she any relative of yours, Signora, the Signorina PaolinaFoscarelli?" asked the lawyer, quietly. 

"No relative by blood, Signor; but she is the same to me as adaughter. I took her when she was left an orphan--"

"And she has lived with you ever since?"

"Ever since she has lived with me as if she was my own, Signor; andif anybody in the world ever knew another, I know her; and, blessyour heart, she isn't capable of lifting her hand against a fly, letalone a Christian. There never was such wicked nonsense talked inthis world since world it was; and I'm told, Signor Dottore, thatyou have said that she had been the one as did this deed; and--"

"Stop, stop, my good Signora Orsola! Are you aware that you areaccusing me of being guilty of punishable defamation and slander? Isay that the Signorina Paolina Foscarelli committed murder? Who onearth could ever have told you so monstrous an untruth? Allow me toassure you that I never said anything of the kind. "

"Oh, Signor Dottore, I am so glad to hear you say so. What liespeople do tell, to be sure; I am sure it was a very good thought ofthe Contessa Violante to tell me to come to you; and since you saythat the poor child is innocent, as innocent she is, as the childunborn--"

"Stay, Signora, stay; you go too fast--somewhat too fast. Unhappily, I am by no means in a condition to say that your young friend isinnocent of this crime; appearances, it must be admitted, are verymuch against her; we must hope that they can be explained. I accuseno one; it is not my province to do so. "

"But you don't think the judges will believe that my child couldhave done such a thing? If they only knew her! You don't think that, do you, Signor Dottore?" said the poor woman, with a voice andmanner of piteous appeal. 

"They will judge according to the evidence and the probabilities ofthe case. It is impossible to say as yet to what conclusion thesemay seem to point. The Marchese Ludovico is an acquaintance of yoursand of the Signorina Paolina, is he not?"

"An acquaintance? why they are engaged to be married, " almostshrieked poor Signora Orsola; "has not your lordship heard that theyare engaged to be married?"

"Indeed! and you are acquainted with the Contessa Violante too. Doyou know whether her ladyship is aware of the engagement you speakof? I ask, because she is an old friend of the Marchese Ludovico. "

"To be sure she is aware of it. She and Paolina have often talked itover together. Altro che, aware of it. "

"Humph, " said the lawyer thoughtfully; and then remained silent fora minute or two, while old Orsola looked at him wistfully. 

"It must be very terrible to you then, Signora, to think that theMarchese should be suspected of this shocking crime, since you havesuch reason to feel an interest in him, " said he at last, looking upsuddenly at his companion. 

"Lord bless your heart, " exclaimed the old woman in reply; "theMarchese never did nothing of the sort, no more than my poorinnocent lamb did it. Nothing of the kind. "

"Perhaps, then, you would not mind saying who did do it, " said thelawyer; "since you seem to know all about it. "

"Why she did it herself to be sure. It is a wonder anybody shoulddoubt it. And a like enough end for such a baggage to come to, " saidSignora Orsola, with much bitterness. 

"You do not seem to have been among the admirers of the SignoraBianca, " said the lawyer, with a furtively shrewd look at the oldwoman. 

"Admirers, indeed! She had too many admirers, I am thinking. A good-for-nothing, impudent, brazen--well, she has gone to her account, soI won't be the one to speak ill of her. "

"You seem to have had considerable opportunities of becomingacquainted with her character, Signora Orsola. Had you muchacquaintance with her?"

"I never saw her but once in my life, and that was at the theatre onthe last Sunday night of Carnival. The Marchese had given us a box. "

"And it was upon that occasion then, that she impressed you sounfavourably. The Signorina Paolina I suppose was with you at thetheatre?"

"Of course she was. Would it be likely, I ask you, Signor Dottore, that the Marchese took the box for me?"

"And no doubt the Signorina Foscarelli was impressed by the actressin the same manner that you yourself were. "

"Of course she was, as any other decent young woman would have been;let alone being, as Paolina is, engaged to be married to theMarchese. "

"I have no doubt, Signora, that your remarks are perfectly just. Ifthe manners and conduct of the young women now-a-days were regulateda little more in conformity with the ideas of such persons ofdiscretion as yourself, the world would be all the better for it. But I don't quite see how the behaviour of the prima donna on thestage could have had anything to do with the circumstance of theMarchese Ludovico's engagement to the Signorina Foscarelli, " saidthe lawyer, with the most demure innocence of manner. 

"You don't see it, Signor Dottore. Perhaps you were not in thetheatre that night. If you had been you would have seen it fastenough. The way she went on, when the Marchese Ludovico was a-givingher a lovely nosegay of flowers--hothouse flowers, if you please--asbig pretty near as this table; not just a-throwing them on to thestage the way I've seen 'em do it many a time at the Fenice; butputting them into her hand; and she, the minx a coming up to the boxto take 'em before all the people as bold as brass. "

"Ah, I see? The Signorina Foscarelli naturally did not quite likethat, " said the lawyer, encouragingly. 

"Like it! Who would have liked it in her place, I ask you? And thatpainted hussy a-going on they way she did; making such eyes at him, and smiling and a-pressing her hand to her bosom, that was just asnaked as my face; and looking for all the world if she could havejumped right into the box, and eaten him up. Like it, indeed!"

"No doubt it was provoking enough. And your adopted daughter, Signora Steno, would not be the right-minded and well-brought-upgirl I take her to be, if she did not express to you her disgust atsuch goings on, " said the sympathizing lawyer. 

"You may say that. She expressed it plain enough and not to me only, but to the Marchese himself well, when she saw him afterwards. Shelet him know what she thought of the painted huzzy. And she toldhim, too, some more of the truth. She told him that the creatureknew well enough what she was doing, or trying to do. The way shelooked straight up at my poor child in the box, where we were, wasenough to make the blood curdle in your veins. If ever I saw a facelook hatred, it was the face of that woman when she looked up at ourbox. She looked at the poor child as if she could have taken herheart's blood. She did. Ah! bless your heart, she knew all about it. Talk of the old Marchese, indeed. Yes; the creature had set her mindupon being Marchesa di Castelmare. Not a doubt of it; but it was thenephew she wanted, not the uncle; and she knew that my Paolina stoodin the way of her scheming; and Paolina knew that she knew it. "

Old Orsola paused, out of breath with the length and vehemence ofthe tirade, which her feelings had prompted her to utter withcrescendo violence. She was verbose; but the lawyer had listenedwith the most perfect patience and unflagging attention to everyword she had uttered. 

"It is, indeed, clear enough, " he said, shaking his head, "thatbetween two women so situated with reference to each other, therecould have been no very kindly feeling. And it must be confessedthat this unfortunate Bianca Lalli was, by all accounts, just thesort of woman that was likely to be a very dangerous rival. "

"She; a common, impudent, low-lived, brazen-faced, worn-out Jezebel. No; not where my Paolina stood on the other side. She couldn't takethe Marchese away from her with all her arts. And that's why shewent and put an end to herself. But she's gone--she's gone, whereher painted face and her lures won't be of any more service to her. And so I won't say any evil of her. Not I. It's a good rule thattells us to speak well of the dead. Ave, Maria gratia plena, ora pronobis, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae, " said the old woman, crossingherself and casting up her eyes in attestation of the Christiannature of her sentiments. 

"Amen!" said the lawyer, piously, while he waited to see if theexuberance of his visitor's feelings would lead her to throw anyfurther light on the state of feeling that had existed betweenPaolina Foscarelli and the murdered woman. 

"I always say and think, for my part, " continued the old woman, perceiving that her companion sat silent, as if expecting her tocontinue the conversation; "I always think that the blessed Virginknows what's best for us. Maybe it's just as well that that poormiserable creature did as she did. For we all know what men are, Signore Dottore; and there's no saying what hold she might have gotupon the Marchese. "

"And no doubt that is the feeling of our young friend SignorinaFoscarelli?" said the sympathetic lawyer. 

"To be sure, --to be sure it is, " said the old woman, meaning tocredit Paolina with the piety she had understood herself to haveexpressed; "she did take a mortal aversion and dislike to the woman, and small blame to her. But now she is gone, Paolina is no morelikely to say anything against her than I am myself. "

"Quite so, quite so. And I hope the magistrates may take the sameview of the circumstances, that you have so judiciously expressed, Signora, " said the lawyer, who was abundantly contented with theresult of his interview with the Signora Steno, as it stood, and didnot see any further necessity for prolonging it. "You may tell theContessa Violante, if you should see her, that I am much obliged toher for having sent you to me, " he added, as he rose to open thedoor of his sanctum for the old lady; "Beppo, open the door for theSignora Steno. Farewell, Signora, we shall meet again. "

CHAPTER II

Was it Paolina after all?

Orsola Steno quitted the lawyer's studio as entirely contented withthe result of her interview as she left him. She doubted not thatshe had fully impressed him with her own conviction as to theexplanation of the mysterious circumstances of the singer's death;that Paolina's innocence would be readily recognized; and that heradopted daughter would shortly be restored to her in the Via di Sta. Eufemia. 

The lawyer remained for some time seated in his chair in deepthought after his visitor had left him. 

Suddenly he let his open hand fall heavily with a loud clap on thetable before him, disturbing the papers on it from their places, andcausing the fine blue sand, which stood in an open wooden basin forthe purpose of doing the office of blotting-paper, to be spilled inall directions by the concussion, and said aloud, "By God! That girlhas done it!"

"Ah, talk of the passions of men, " he went on, in a lower mutteringvoice, after some further moments of meditation; "they are nothing--they are child's play compared to the blind animal-like impulsesthat force a woman's will into their service when any of the masterpassions of the sex are touched. A woman's jealousy; it is as plainas the sun at noonday. And we are puzzling our brains looking onthis side and on that, to find a possible explanation of the facts. Talk of a tigress and her whelps! There's a young girl who looks asinnocent as a St. Agnes, and speaks as if butter would not melt inher mouth. Take--threaten to take--her lover from her, and she turnsupon you like a scorpion at bay. Furens quid foemina possit. Ayindeed. And they are all alike. That old woman there; why she wasready, with all her 'Ave Marias' and 'Ora pro nobis, ' to kill thewoman again if she were not killed already, out of pure sympathywith the wrong done to her adopted daughter. I don't think there isa doubt about it. I should like to wager a hundred to one that theVenetian girl put her rival to death. The story is neither a new nora strange one. "

"Whether the commission of the deed can be brought home to her, " hecontinued, after another period of musing, "that is anotherquestion; and one with which, however interesting it may be to mygood friend Pietro Logarini, we need not trouble ourselves. Andafter all, what a good thing it is that things should have fallenout as they have. That old fool of a Marchese! It is a lesson tobelieve in nothing and no man, when one thinks of it. The death ofthat woman is the saving of the name. But, per Bacco! I must not sayso too loudly, " thought the old lawyer to himself, with a grimsmile, "or I shall be doing just what the old fool of a woman hasbeen doing. Yes, that was the last link in the chain of the evidencewe wanted. She was on the spot at the time--the death-dealing weaponwas essentially a woman's weapon, and the murdered woman was herfeared and hated rival--and now we have direct evidence that shefelt her to be such. If the judges can find any other hypothesissupported by stronger circumstantial evidence than this--why, Ithink that I had better go to school again. "

With these thoughts in his mind, Signor Fortini determined to go andsee his crony, Signor Pietro Logarini, at the Palazzo del Governo. He found that active and able official just returned from anothervisit to St. Apollinare in Classe, which appeared not to have beenvery fruitful of result. 

"I can make nothing out of that old friar, " said the PoliceCommissary to his friend, as they sat in the private cabinet of theformer; "and I am very much afraid that we shall make nothing out ofhim. For quiet, aggravating obstinacy and passive resistance, recommend me to a monk. "

"What induced you to go out there to-day?" asked the lawyer. 

"Why, I am very strongly persuaded--I feel sure almost--that thatold fellow could tell something to the purpose if he would speak. And I am more convinced of it from his manner to-day than ever. Theother animal--the lay-brother--I am pretty sure knows nothing aboutit. "

"Is the friar about again, or still in bed?" Fortini. 

"Oh, he's in bed safe enough; at least I found him there, shiveringand shaking, and counting his beads, and answering a plain questionwith `Ave Maria' and 'Ora pro nobis, ' and the rest of it. I don'tbelieve he has the fever a bit. I believe that he has been scaredout of his wits by something he has seen. But the devil wouldn't getout of him what it was if he don't choose to tell you. Oh, I knowthem!" said the Commissary, provoked by his fruitless excursion. 

"I suppose, " said the lawyer, looking doubtfully into theCommissary's face, "I suppose it is not on the cards that the oldfellow was the murderer himself?"

"Ha!" said the Commissary, with a start, "that is a new idea. Butno, " he added, after a little consideration, --"no, that's not it; itwould be very difficult even to imagine any motive. An old man, eighty years old. No, it's not that. But, if I am not very muchmistaken, he knows something. "

"In that case, I should have thought that means might have beenfound to make him speak, " said the lawyer, drily. 

"What means? I profess I don't know any. The devil of it is, yousee, Signor Giovacchino, that it will not do to treat those fellowsroughly. There would be the deuce and all to pay. There he lies, shivering, and trembling, and muttering, and going on as if he wasimbecile; and swearing he is too ill to leave his bed. I don't seehow we are to get him here into court. "

"Well, I've had better luck this morning; and had not to go out toseek it. My witness came to me; and I think I have got someimportant evidence, " said the lawyer, with much of the exultation ofa successful sportsman over a less fortunate rival. 

"The deuce you have. There is a luck in those things. But if yourevidence came to you--Who the devil would ever think of coming to aCommissary of Police as long as they could stay away, if theypleased. "

"Well, my witness was not altogether a willing one; or at least shecame to me for the purpose of saying something very different fromwhat she did say. "

"But you did not come here merely to boast, I am sure, SignorGiovacchino. You are going to tell me what you have been able tolearn, eh?" said the Commissary. 

"Boast, no, not I! There's nothing to boast of. Besides, you know myinterest in the matter is of a different nature from yours, SignorPietro. All I want is to clear my friend and client, the MarcheseLudovico. You, of course, are anxious to bring the crime home tosomebody. "

"True, " said the Commissary, nodding his head. 

"And of course, therefore, any light I can throw upon the matter, Iam ready enough to bring to you, unless it were of a nature toincriminate the Marchese, " returned the lawyer. 

"Of course, just so. And what you have learned this morning--"

"Tell's all t'other way; I have no difficulty in allowing that, onthe first blush of the matter, I felt no doubt that the Marchese wasthe guilty party. It only shows that one ought always to have doubtsof everything. It looked so very bad. The Marchese takes the girlinto the wood, comes back without her, and very shortly afterwardsshe is found where he left her, murdered. And he is known to havehad the greatest possible interest in getting rid of her. Would itnot have seemed a clear case to any one?"

"So one would have said indeed, " assented the Commissary. 

"Well, the Marchese had nothing to do with it. At the present momentI feel--well, hardly any doubt at all that the deed was done by thegirl Paolina Foscarelli. "

"That's my notion too, " said the Commissary, taking a pinch ofsnuff, and proferring his box to his visitor; "but what is the newevidence. "

"Well, the girl lives, it seems, with an old woman, a country-womanof hers, a certain Orsola Steno. And this morning the old lady comesto my studio for the avowed purpose of begging me not to countenancein any way the very mistaken notion that her adopted daughter hadmurdered the prima donna; the truth being, as she was good enough toinform me, that the latter had committed suicide. "

"Bah, what senseless nonsense!" interrupted the Commissary, indignantly. 

"Of course. I pointed out to the old lady that her theory was, according to the medical testimony, simply impossible; but thatnaturally made not the slightest difference in her opinion of thematter. And then, aided by a little gentle assistance, she prattledon, an old fool, admitting, or insisting rather, that there had beenbitter hatred and animosity between Paolina and the murdered woman;that Paolina had conceived the bitterest jealousy of the singer;that she was persuaded that the latter was scheming with a setpurpose to lure her acknowledged lover, the Marchese, away from her;that she was further persuaded that the singer nourished thebitterest hatred of her, Paolina. What do you say to that, SignorCommissary? How does the land lie now, eh?" said the lawyer, triumphantly, in conclusion. 

Signor Pietro nodded his head with most emphatic approbation andconfirmation of his friend's opinion. 

"Is not it the more likely story in every way?" pursued the lawyer;"just look at it. The Marchese is known to every man, woman, andchild in Ravenna; and being known for what he is, it would bedifficult to persuade anybody that he had lifted his hand to murdera defenceless and sleeping woman. But we can all of us easilyunderstand that it is exceedingly likely that he may have so behavedas to make these two women furiously jealous of each other; at leastto have made this girl Paolina, to whom, it seems, he had promisedmarriage, desperately furious against the other, whom she had buttoo good reason to suspect of having attracted the preference of theMarchese. Then look at the instrument with which the murder wasaccomplished, --a needle. Is it in any way likely that the MarcheseLudovico should habitually carry such a thing about with him? Isthere any unlikelihood that the girl may have had such a thing abouther; Amico mio Pietro, " said the lawyer, in conclusion, tapping hisfingers on the Commissary's coat-sleeve as he spoke, "that Venetiangirl is the murderess! The deed was done under the influence ofmaddening jealousy. "

"How on earth could that old woman come to you with a budget of suchdamning facts against her friend? Do you think she--the old woman--has any guilty knowledge of the crime?"

"Lord bless you, no! If she had, she would not have been so simple. No, she firmly believes her own theory of the matter, that the poorDiva killed herself. She is too firmly persuaded of it to perceivethe bearing of her admissions of the hatred that existed between thetwo girls. "

"I learned something yesterday, " said the Commissary, "which alllooks the same way, not much, but in such a case every little helps. This old friar--this Padre Fabiano--is, we know, a Venetian; and nowI have ascertained that, years ago, before he came here, there wassome connection of some sort--acquaintance, friendship of whateverkind you like--between him and the parents of the girl Paolina. Ithink it likely enough that the frate's friendship was moreparticularly with the girl's mother rather than with her father, --weknow what friars' ways are, and, maybe, we should not go far wrongif we imagined that the Father had reason to feel a fatherlyinterest of a quite special kind in the young lady. Now all this isworth only just this. Why did the frate return from the Pineta insuch a state of terror, agitation, and horror? Why, supposing him tohave seen, or in any way become acquainted with facts calculated toproduce such an effect upon him, does he obstinately refuse to giveus any information upon the subject? How will this answer fit? Inthe course of that walk to the Pineta, undertaken, no doubt, becausethe old man felt anxiety as to what was likely to follow from theprobable meeting of the two girls after the scene witnessed in hispresence by Paolina from the window of the church--in the course ofthat walk, let us suppose, the friar became acquainted with the factthat this girl--his daughter, we will say, for, in all probability, she is such--had murdered her rival. The knowledge of the fact sendshim back to his cell half dead with horror and fright. His interestin Paolina ties his tongue, and frustrates all our efforts to getany explanation from him. How will that do, eh, Signor Giovacchino?"

"Admirably well. Clearly helps to give consistency and probabilityto our theory of the facts. I begin to think that all danger to myclient is at an end, and, upon my word, I am more glad of it than Ican tell you; it would have been a shocking thing. I am an oldRavenna man, you know, and should have felt it differently from whatyou would, you know. "

"True; but I am glad enough that the Marchese should be cleared inthe matter, and so will the Government be--very glad. "

"I suppose there is no objection to my seeing the Marchesino?"

"Oh, certainly not the least in the world. It is a pity that heshould be detained here any longer; but I am almost afraid to takethe responsibility of discharging him before some formal inquiry hasbeen made. "

"Naturally, naturally. When do you suppose you will be ready tobring the affair to a trial?"

"Oh, very soon. If there were any chance of getting that old frateinto court it would be worth while to wait for him; but I am afraidthat the longer we wait the worse his fever and ague will get. But Ishall have another try at him out there first. "

And with that Signor Fortini passed to the chamber in which theMarchese Ludovico was confined. 

CHAPTER III

Could it have been the Aged Friar?

"Signor Marchese, " said the old man, stretching out his hand with, for him, a very unusual degree of impulsive cordiality, "I have cometo make amende honorable--I need hardly say how delighted I am to doso. It is not only that I think I may say there is now very littlechance of any mischief falling on you in consequence of that unluckyexcursion to the Pineta, but that I am able, thank God, to say thatI have myself no longer the smallest suspicion that you had any handin the crime that has been committed there. "

"Has anything been discovered, then?" asked Ludovico, eagerly. "Ah--h--h! that would be good news indeed, " added the young man, drawinga long breath of relief, --the evident strength of which feelingafforded a measure of the suffering he had endured more indicativeof the real state of his mind than any amount of depression which hehad before allowed to be apparent. 

"Well; enough, I think, has been discovered to relieve you of allsuspicion--enough, as I said, to convince my own mind verysatisfactorily that you are innocent of all complicity in thematter. "

"I confess that I should have preferred, Signor Fortini, that my ownassertion should have sufficed to produce that conviction, " repliedthe young man, somewhat drily. 

"My dear Signor Marchese, permit me to say that such preferencewould have been ill founded. Is not my conviction, based upon theprobabilities of the known facts, of much greater value than anymere acquiescence with your assertions? These are matters, my dearsir, which must be looked at reasonably, and not merelysentimentally. If you had committed murder--if I had committedmurder, --should we not either of us, have denied it as resolutely asyou denied this? If the circumstances are such as to cause a man--any man--to be suspected at all, no words of his can be worthanything whatsoever on the subject; and you must admit that, thecircumstances being as they were, it was impossible that the firstsuspicion should not have fallen on you. You may believe that noefforts or activity have been wanting on my part for: the discoveryof the means of removing this suspicion. Let us be thankful thatthey have, to a very great degree, been successful. "

"And what has been found out? For God's sake tell me all about it! Ideclare, for my own part, I could almost believe that I had done itmyself in my sleep, or in a fit of madness without knowing it, soutterly impossible does it seem to me to imagine what hand it couldhave been that did the deed. "

"Signor Marchese, the hand that did that deed was no other than thehand of the Venetian girl, Paolina Foscarelli, " said the lawyer, with deliberate and impressive slowness, emphasizing his words withextended forefinger as he uttered them. 

"Pshaw! Is that all you have to tell me?" cried the Marchese, jumping up from his chair, and pacing the room with impatientstrides. "It is an absurdity upon the face of it; I should havehoped that nobody in Ravenna would have believed it possible that Icould have been guilty of such a deed; but, by Heaven, the wholecity will see that it is more likely that I should have done it thanPaolina! It is simply absurd. "

"Signor Marchese, prepossessions, and previous notions of what mighthave been expected to be possible, are of no value in such a case asthis against the logic of facts and circumstances. Other youngwomen, who seemed as little likely to be capable of such a deed asthis Signorina Foscarelli, have committed such--and have done itunder the pressure of motives exactly similar to those which we knowwith certainty to have been vehemently operative in the heart of theVenetian. "

"Motives! What conceivable motive could have existed to--"

"What motive? The most powerful of all the passions that ever drovea woman to become guilty of crime--jealousy; jealousy, SignorMarchese, has been the motive of this murder. Look at the facts asthey stand: we know that this Paolina Foscarelli was in theimmediate neighbourhood of the spot where the deed was done, and asnearly as possible at the time when it was done; we know--excuse me, Signor Marchese, for speaking very plainly; it is absolutelynecessary to be plain--we know that this girl had great reason tofeel jealous of La Bianca. Remember that she saw you and the singerdriving tete-a-tete together in that solitary place at that unusualhour. I leave it to your own feeling to estimate the degree ofjealousy which such a sight, together with other previouscircumstances, was calculated to produce in this girl's mind; but, if that be not enough, we know, as a matter of fact, that she had, even previously to seeing what was, so calculated to drive herjealousy to a pitch of fury, expressed jealousy, animosity andhatred against the woman whom she considered as her rival. We havethis in evidence--the perfectly unimpeachable evidence of theSignora Orsola Steno. Add to that, again, that the method of themurder was just such as a woman was likely to adopt, and that a manwas very little likely to think of, or to have the means of, in hispossession. Put all these certain facts together, Signor Marchese;and I think it will be impossible for even your mind to resist theconviction that must force itself upon every one who considers thecircumstances. "

The Marchese stopped in his agitated walk to and fro across thefloor of the chamber, and gazed into the lawyer's face with anexpression of bewilderment ands pain, which the old man met with akeen and steady glance, and a grave shake of the head. The Marchese, after encountering his eye for a few moments, struck his open handon his forehead, and threw himself on the chair he had left withoututtering a word. 

"And to you, Signor Marchese, it assuredly cannot appear strangethat the circumstances I have enumerated should carry with them theconviction to other minds that Paolina Foscarelli is guilty of themurder of the singer, " continued the lawyer, speaking very slowlyand fixing the keen glance of his dark bright eyes on the workingface of his companion; "to you, above all others, this cannot appearstrange, since--to your own mind this suspicion first occurred. "

"What do you mean? I! Signor Fortini. What strange notion ismisleading you? I don't know what you mean!" cried the Marchese, while a look of horror gradually crept over his face. 

"When the body of the murdered woman was brought into the city, --when we two stood in the gateway, and when your hand raised thesheet that covered the face of the dead, you exclaimed aloud`Paolina!' What was then the thought that was in your mind? Iimagined, at the time, that you recognized her in the dead womanbefore you. A very few minutes, however, sufficed to show that itwas not Paolina, but Bianca who lay there murdered. And then, amidthe horror of the first idea of your guilt, which the nature of thecircumstances rendered inevitable, I thought no more of theexclamation you had uttered. But I have not forgotten the fact. Youdid, on seeing Bianca dead before you, exclaim, `Good God! Paolina!'What was the thought in your mind, Signor Marchese, that promptedthat exclamation? What but the sudden spontaneous rush of theconviction that it was she who had done the deed on which you werelooking?"

For a few moments the Marchese seemed too much stunned by theinference, and the appeal of the lawyer, and by the vision of theconsequences, which he purposed drawing from it, to utter any replyto the demand which had been made on him. 

"You mistake, Signor Fortini, " he gasped out at last; "you are inerror. I cannot have made any such exclamation. I have noconsciousness of anything of the kind. In any case no such monstrousidea, as you would infer from it, ever entered into my mind. Youknow how anxious I was about Paolina's prolonged absence. I wasthinking of her; at least, I suppose so, if, indeed, I uttered hername. I have no recollection. I don't know why I should have doneso. All I know is that no such horrible and impossible suggestionever presented itself to my mind for an instant. If it wereotherwise, " continued the young man, after a few moments ofpainfully concentrated thought, --"if it were otherwise, why did Inot suggest such a solution of the mystery when I found myselfaccused of the crime?"

"That, Signor Marchese, those who know you best will be least at aloss to understand, " replied the lawyer. "The motive that ruled yourconduct then, is the same that rules it now. You were thenunwilling, as you are now unwilling, to exculpate yourself at thecost of inculpating one who is dear to you. Your objection, I ambound to tell you, carries no weight with it. I cannot abandon thatpart of my case that rests upon the striking fact that your ownfirst impression was that Paolina was guilty. "

"I utterly deny, and will continue to deny, that any such impressionwas ever present to my mind. I wholly refuse to avail myself of anydefence based on any such supposition; on any idea at all, thatPaolina Foscarelli is guilty. I know that she is as innocent of thisdeed as the angels in heaven. I will proclaim her innocence with mylast breath. I will not accept any acquittal on the hypothesis ofher guilt. I will rather avow that I did the deed myself. In onesense I did so. In one sense I am guilty of her death. For it was Iwho took her to the place, and into the circumstance that led to herdeath. "

"Signor Marchese, in this matter the truth of the facts is what iswanted. It is that, and that alone that the magistrates willendeavour to discover. A great many facts, as I have pointed out toyou, will be before them. Mere statements, one way or the other, will have little avail. Quietly and seriously now, supposing wereject the theory of Paolina's guilt, are you able yourself toconceive any other possible explanations of the facts? Can youyourself suggest any other theory whatsoever?" said the lawyer, throwing his head on one side, and interlacing the fingers of hisclasped hands in front of his person, in calm expectation of theMarchese's answer. 

"There was another theory. I heard that the Conte Leandro had beenarrested on suspicion of being the assassin. It would be verydreadful. God forbid that I should say that I suspected the ConteLombardoni of having done this foul deed. But I cannot avoid seeingthat it is a great deal more likely that he should have done it thanPaolina, " returned the Marchese. 

"The accusation against the Conte Lombardoni has been abandoned, andhe has been set at liberty, " replied the lawyer; "there was, infact, nothing against him, except the singular circumstance of hishaving gone out of the city towards the Pineta, at a very unusualhour on the morning of that same unlucky Ash Wednesday; and that hehas at last thought fit to explain. "

"At last?" said Ludovico. 

"Yes; for a long time he utterly refused to give any explanation ofthe fact whatsoever; and his manner was altogether such as tostrengthen the notion that it was possible that he might have beenthe criminal. He has told the truth at last. And it is no wonderthat he was loth to tell it, for it is not much calculated toincrease his popularity in the city. "

"Why, what is it? I never used to think anything worse of him thanthat he was a fool, " rejoined the Marchese. 

"A fool, and a very mischievous and malicious one, as fools mostlyare. What do you think took him out of the city that morning of thefirst day in Lent? Simply the desire to play the spy on you and thepoor woman who has been killed. "

"No, you don't mean it? the noxious animal!" exclaimed Ludovico, with intense disgust. 

"It seems that he overheard you and the singer make your appointmentfor the excursion, and that, moved by curiosity and the hope ofmaking mischief, he determined to be beforehand with you on theroad, and picking up, if he could, the means of paying off both thelady and yourself for some of the mortification your ridicule hadcaused him, " said the lawyer. 

"I could not have believed it possible; the mean-spirited spitefulwretch! I did not think he had it in him!" said Ludovico. 

"A man is apt to be spiteful towards those who cause him to suffergreatly. And there is no suffering greater to a man as vain as theConte Leandro than the mortification of his vanity. But hisspitefulness has been punished: first, by a couple of days'imprisonment, and a fright which half killed him; and secondly, bythe sort of reception which you may suppose awaited him when he wasreleased as the result of his explanation. I think he has had hisdue, " added the lawyer, grimly. 

"But how does his explanation exclude the possibility that he mayhave been the assassin after all? Why may not the same mortifiedvanity that incited him to play the spy, have moved him to takedeadly vengeance on the woman he hated so bitterly? The man who wascapable of the one is likely enough to be capable of the other. Heis the man who may fairly be suspected of being capable of stabbinga woman as she slept!" argued the Marchese, with intenseindignation. 

"No, " said the lawyer, shaking his head; "depend upon it we did notlet him go till it was made clear that he could have had no hand inthe crime. He was able to prove beyond the possibility of a doubt, that he had returned to the city, entering it by the Porta Sisi, before the earliest time when the murder could have been committed. No; that notion has to be abandoned. "

"And no other idea has been started?--no suspicion? Have theinvestigations of the police led to nothing?" asked Ludovico, withprofound discouragement. 

The lawyer shook his head. "I have told you, " he said, "how the casestands, Signor Marchese. An idea was started at one moment that theold friar at St. Apollinare might have been the man. Strangelyenough he also was in or near the Pineta much about the same time. But the total absence of all assignable motive--an infirmoctogenarian; no, that is not it. But the truth is, Signor Marchese, that our inquiries with reference to this Padre Fabiano have broughtto light facts which tend to make the case stronger against the girlPaolina Foscarelli. "

"I tell you, Signor Fortini, that the notion of her guilt is moreentirely preposterous than any other possible imagination. I havetold you that I would, rather than accept it, avow myself themurderer;--ay, and think that I had done it too, and forgotten it, "said the Marchese, with extreme vehemence. 

"But, Signor Marchese, " returned the lawyer, with imperturbablecalmness, "it matters nothing to the result, whether you will acceptthe idea of the Venetian girl's guilt or not, seeing that you willnot be called upon to pronounce judgment in the case. The fact is, that every reasonable consideration points to that conclusion. Iwish with all my heart, that the criminal was one in whom you wereless interested. " The meaning of which phrase in Signor Fortini'smouth, probably was, that he wished the Marchese felt less interestin her who was the criminal. "But I was about to tell you that thepolice have become acquainted with the fact, that this PadreFabiano, who is a Venetian, was formerly very closely connected insome way with the family of Paolina Foscarelli. It seems veryprobable that he was, in fact, her father. Now he followed her tothe forest, and returned thence in a state of great and painfulagitation, which all mention of the subject renews and increases;and. Further, the old man obstinately refuses to give any account orexplanation of his walk to the forest. The conclusion which hassuggested itself to the police authorities--not at all an unnaturalor unreasonable one--is that the old man has been cognizant of thedeed done by the girl. "

The Marchese seemed struck by this statement, and remained in silentthought for a few minutes. "Paolina, " he said, at length, "hadmotives of hatred against the woman who has been killed, the friarhad motives for feeling strong interest in Paolina. Why may it notbe conceivable that he may have adopted her cause to the extent ofcommitting a crime with the view of righting what may have seemed tohim to be her wrongs? The explanation may seem a not very probableone; but no possible or conceivable explanation of the terrible factis a probable one, and, certainly, it is more likely that the oldfriar should have done the deed than the young girl. "

"Humph!" said the lawyer, after spending some minutes of deepthought on the idea the Marchese had put forward; "I am not quite sosure that it is more likely. However, the theory is a plausible one, and deserves attention. Depend upon it, we shall not lose sight ofthe old gentleman, let him shiver and shake as much as he may; andnow, Signor Marchese, I must go to your uncle, " said the lawyer, rising. 

"How does he bear up under all this misery?"

"Not well, not well. I cannot say that it has fared well with himduring these days; but I have some comfort in store for him. I thinkI may venture to assure him that there is no need to imagine thathis name has been disgraced by the commission of a crime, or thatthere is any danger that such should continue to be believed to bethe case, either by the magistrates or by anybody else. You willcome out of this dreadful business scatheless, Signor Marchese, Ithank God for it?"

"I will not come out scatheless at the cost of Paolina'scondemnation, " said the Marchese, doggedly. 

"But the Marchese Lamberto, you see, " continued the lawyer, withouttaking any notice of his companion's interruption, --"the MarcheseLamberto has been hit from more sides than one. The most unfortunateand lamentable fascination that this woman seems to have exercisedover him--the deplorable fact that he should have proposed marriageto her, and that this fact should be universally known, --it isimpossible that he should not have suffered, and still sufferterribly. Honestly, I cannot say that I think he will everaltogether get over it--he will never be the same man again. Wouldto God that fatal woman had never come near Ravenna!"

"Many thanks for your visit, Signor Fortini, and for all thekindness you have shown me since this sad misfortune befell. Tell myuncle how much I have felt and feel for him. Addio, Signor Fortini. If anything new should turn up you will not fail to let me know it?Think of what I said about the friar; and mind, once more, and oncefor all, I will not come scatheless, as you say, out of thisbusiness and leave Paolina to be held guilty. "

"Addio, Signor Marchese. "

CHAPTER IV

What Ravenna thought of it

Signor Fortini had rather mitigated than exaggerated the truth inspeaking to the Marchese Ludovico of his uncle's state of mind. During all these days his condition was truly deplorable. He hadnever, in all this time, left the Palazzo, and had scarcely left hisown chamber. He absolutely refused to see anybody save SignorFortini. He could not sleep by night, or remain at rest in the sameplace for half-an-hour together during the day. 

Of course he could attend to none of the numerous duties--mostlylabours of benevolence--that usually occupied his time. His servantsthought that he was losing his reason; yet, in the midst of all theterrible distress that was weighing him down, the usual kindness andconsiderate benevolence of his nature and habitual conduct had shoneout. The only one thing that he had given any attention to was thegratification of the wishes, and the promotion of the welfare, of anold servant. 

Niccolo, the old groom who was mentioned, as the reader may, perhaps, remember, on the occasion of a certain conversation whichLawyer Fortini had with him, as having been all his life in theservice of the Marchese, and of his father before him, was getting, as he had himself remarked to the lawyer, almost too old for hiswork. He had always hitherto absolutely refused, with the masterfulobstinacy of an old favourite, all proposals of retirement; but, onthe next morning but one after the fatal Ash Wednesday, while theMarchese had been in such a state of painful agitation that he couldhardly bear to be addressed by his own servant, he had, to the greatsurprise of all the household, sent for old Niccolo, who hadremained with him more than an hour. 

On coming out from the interview the old groom said that he hadhimself asked for the audience his master had given him; but it didnot seem at all clear to the other servants when or how he couldhave done so. He said that he had spoken to his master on thesubject long before; and how kind and good it was of the Marchese tothink of his old servant's affairs in all his trouble. His masterhad arranged for him, he said, what he had long wished for, thoughit seemed to all the household that old Niccolo had always rejectedany proposal of the sort. He was to have a pension, and go to livewith a niece of his who was married in Rome. 

It was odd that none of his fellow-servants had ever heard anythingof any such niece. But old Niccolo was not a man of a communicativeturn; and perhaps nothing had ever chanced to lead him to speak ofher. Now he was to join her at once; he was to start for Faenza thatvery afternoon, so as to catch there the diligence from Bologna toRome. 

But why such a sudden start? Why should he go off and leave themall, at a few hours' notice. 

Well, the fact was, that the day after the morrow was his niece'sbirthday. And he thought he should like to give her the joyfulsurprise of seeing her old uncle and learning the new arrangementson that day. And his dear thoughtful master, who was always so kindto everybody, had entered into his scheme, and so arranged it. 

And so it was; old Niccolo was gone to Rome as he had said. But hehad given nobody any address by which to find him in the EternalCity. And a little jealousy, perhaps, was felt at the good fortunewhich had thus befallen one out of several who would have liked thesame. But all admitted that it was a remarkable proof of thethoughtful kindness of the Marchese in the midst of his owntroubles. 

And how terribly those troubles pressed on him was evident to thewhole household; and, by means of their reports, to the entire city. Everybody in Ravenna knew with how heavy a hand affliction hadfallen upon the Marchese Lamberto. And everybody talked of it. Sympathizing pity and blame were mingled in the judgments which werebeing passed on the Marchese every hour, and in every place wheremen or women met; and the proportions in which they were mingleddiffered greatly. None, however, could fail to see and to admit thatthe fall from the high pinnacle, on which the Marchese had stood, had been a very terrible one. It was felt that it was a fall fromwhich he could never, under any circumstances, entirely recover. 

The women were, for the most part, more indulgent to him than themen. As for the unfortunate Bianca, they held that a righteous anddeserved judgment had fallen upon her, in which the operation of thefinger of Providence was distinctly visible. To be sure it was asignal warning to all men, as to the evils which might be expectedto flow from any sipping of the Circean cup which such creaturesproffered to their lips. But what fate could be too bad for theSiren herself? To think of the audacity, the shameless effrontery ofsuch an one in daring to spread her lures, and wind her enchantmentsaround such a man as the Marchese di Castelmare. Of course he, poorman, could not but feel her death as a terrible shock. What he hadset his heart on had been violently and awfully, taken away fromhim. And how true it is that the blessed Saints know what is mosttruly for our good! But what is all that to the dreadful accusationhanging over the Marchese Ludovico? A Castelmare in the prison ofRavenna under accusation of murder! And if it really were the case, that the unfortunate young man, driven by the prospect of beinghurled down from his position and robbed of his inheritance, haddone this deed, how great, how terrible, must be the remorse of theMarchese Lamberto!

It was curiously characteristic of the moral nature and habits ofthought of the people, that the Marchese Ludovico, even on thehypothesis that he had committed the murder, was very lenientlyjudged for his share in the tragedy. 

The men were more inclined to bear hard on the Marchese Lamberto. Anold fool! at his time of life, to offer marriage to such a woman asLa Bianca. To disgrace his name; to cover himself with ridicule; andabove all, and worst of all, to behave with such infamous injusticeto his nephew. Nevertheless the tragedy was so shocking and socomplete, that even those who were disposed to condemn his conductthe most severely, could not but feel compassion for so crushing aweight of misfortune. 

As the opinion, however, began to gain ground in the city, that theMarchesino Ludovico had, after all, not been the author of themurder; that the first impression, however clearly the circumstancesseemed, at the first blush of the thing, to point to it, was amistaken one; and that the far more probable opinion was that theVenetian girl, Paolina Foscarelli, was the murderess, and jealousythe incentive to her crime, the compassion for the Marchese Lambertobecame proportionably less. The feeling was rather, that as far ashe was concerned he had got nothing worse than what he richlydeserved. And who should say that all was not upon the whole for thebest as it had pleased heaven to cause it to fall out? The MarcheseLamberto was saved, despite his own folly, from a disgraceful anddegrading marriage; and Ludovico was saved from the ruin whichthreatened him. 

Nor, muttered the more cynical, was that all the good that wasinvolved in what, at first sight, seemed so great a misfortune. Ludovico, too, was prevented from doing a foolish thing. It was avery different matter in his case from that of his uncle: he wouldbe doing no wrong to any heir; and he was at that time of life whenmen do fall in love, and are excusable if they are led by it intodoing foolish things; not to mention that, after all, the marriagehe had proposed to make was a very different one from such amonstrous alliance as the Marchese Lamberto had meditated. 

But still was it not a great blessing that the Marchesino should beprevented from throwing himself away in that manner? The first matchin Ravenna to be carried off by an obscure and plebeian Venetianartist. Truly it was all for the best as it was. 

In their different degree these two stranger women were bothnoxious, dangerous, and had done more mischief in Ravenna than thelives of either of them were worth. And if Providence had in itswisdom decreed that they should mutually counteract and abolish eachother--why it would behove them to see in it a signal instance ofthe overruling wisdom of Heaven. 

In the meantime, however, while every imaginable variety andmodification of the above ideas and opinions were forming the stapleof every conversation in every street, house, cafe, and piazza ofRavenna, the two men, whose conduct was thus canvassed, wereassuredly suffering no light measure of retribution for aught thatthey had done amiss. 

To Ludovico the tidings which reached him of the favourable turnmatters were taking as to the probability of his having himself toanswer for the murder of the singer, were neutralized in any effectthey might otherwise have had of bringing him happiness, by the factthat he was exculpated only in exact proportion to the increasingprobability that Paolina might be held guilty of the crime. 

If, in truth, he carried in his own bosom the consciousness of hisown guilt, it may easily be imagined how horrible to him wouldappear the prospect of escaping from the consequences of it by suchmeans. And if that were, indeed, the dreadful truth, the repeateddeclarations which he had made to Signor Fortini to the effect that, rather than see Paolina condemned as guilty, he would confesshimself to be the murderer, would in no wise appear as mereebullitions of his determination to save at all price the girl heloved. 

But, during those days Ludovico suffered, he either bore hissufferings with much more of manly self-command than did his uncle, or else his agony was (as Signor Fortini, who saw them both, couldtestify) much less severe than that which seemed to be slowlydragging down the Marchese Lamberto to the grave. 

The lawyer had told Ludovico that he was then going to his uncle;and, in fact, he did so. But the old man dreaded doing so more thanhe could have himself believed that he could have feared any similarduty. 

In truth, the condition of the Marchese Lamberto was pitiable. 

He would see no one, save Fortini; but he was most anxious for hisvisits--very naturally anxious to hear from day to day, and almostfrom hour to hour, how matters were going--whether any newcircumstances had been discovered; what change there was in theprobabilities as to the final judgment respecting the crime; andthere was a restless feverishness in his anxiety, a shatteredcondition of the nervous system that made the lawyer seriously fearthat the Marchese's reason would sink under the strain. 

He had again and again urged him to allow a medical man to see him;and had once mentioned the Marchese's old friend ProfessorTomosarchi. But the irritated violence with which the suffering manhad rejected the proposal, had been such as to lead the lawyer tothink that he should be doing more harm than good by reiterating it. 

It was not surprising, indeed, that the Marchese should be utterlybeaten down and vanquished by the misfortunes that had fallen uponhim; they attacked him from such various and opposite sides. Hislove for Bianca--or, let me say (in order to satisfy readers who arewont to weigh the real meaning of words as well as those who are inthe habit of taking them unexamined at their current value), hislonging to possess her--was genuine and intense. The step he haddetermined to take gives the measure of his eagerness in the pursuitof her--of his conviction that he could not live without her; andthe object of this great, this intense, this all-mastering passionhad been snatched away from him; the unappeasable agony of such abereavement can, perhaps, only be adequately measured by those whohave felt it. 

Then all the evils which, despite his shrinking from them, he hadfaced for the sake of gratifying this imperious passion, had fallenupon him as fatally of though the price of his facing them had beenpaid to him. All the loss of credit, of respect, of social station, which he had found it so dreadful to contemplate, had been incurred--and for nothing. How long and terrible had been the struggle, whichof those two incompatible, objects of his intense desire--Bianca, orthe social position he held in the eyes of his fellow-citizens--heshould sacrifice to the other; it had seemed to him so impossible togive up either that the necessity of choosing between them hadalmost unhinged his reason. And now he was doomed to forego themboth. 

Then, again, Ludovico, and the dreadful position in which he stood!and, if he were condemned, on whose head would fall the blame of thedisgrace which would thus overwhelm the family name? If his nephewwere held to be guilty of this crime, would not all the odium ofhaving driven him to it fall on him?

Truly there was wherewithal to bow down a stronger heart and headthan those of the Marchese Lamberto. 

According to Fortini's view of the matter, the tidings which he hadto bring the Marchese that morning ought to have gone far totranquillize and comfort him. Let it be shown that the heir to theCastelmare name and honours had not committed a terrible crime, andwas not in danger of being convicted of it, and, in his opinion, allthe worst of the evils which had fallen on the Marchese were at anend. That was the only really irreparable mischief; the city wouldhave its laugh at the Marchese for his sensibility to the charms ofsuch a charmer as the singer. But even that would be quenched by thestartling change of the comedy into a tragedy. The Marchese hadshown that he was no wiser than many another man; and it would bebut a nine days' wonder; and as to the mere loss of the woman whohad done all the mischief, the lawyer had no patience with themention of it as a loss at all. 

Pshaw! The one really important matter was to clear the heir of thehouse of all complicity in the crime of murder; and yet the lawyerhad a strong feeling, from what he had already seen of the Marchese, that the good news of which he was the bearer in that respect wouldnot give the Marchese all the comfort that it ought to give him. 

And the result of the visit to the Palazzo Castelmare, which he paidimmediately after leaving the Marchesino Ludovico in his prison, perfectly responded to his anticipations in this respect. 

CHAPTER V

"Miserrimus"

He found the Marchese in a state which really seemed to threaten hislife or his reason. It would scarcely be correct to say of him thathe was depressed, for that phrase is hardly consistent with thefeverish condition of excitement in which he was. There was evidenceenough in his appearance of the presence of deep-seated andtorturing misery, especially devastating in the case of men of hisrace, constituted as they are with nervous systems of greatdelicacy, and unendowed with that robustness of fibre which enablesthe more strongly-fashioned scions of the northern peoples to standup against misfortune, and present a bold front to adversity. 

There is no connection in the minds of this race between therepression and control of emotion and their ideal of virile dignity. Reticence is impossible to them. The Italian man, it is true, hasbeen often described as eminently reticent; and the northern popularconception represents him as apt to seek the attainment of hisobject by the concealment of it. Nor is that representation anerroneous one. But the two statements are in no wise inconsistent. The Italian man is by nature, habit, and training an adept atconcealing his thoughts; he rarely or never seeks to conceal hisemotions. 

Whether there were thoughts in the Marchese's mind, which he had nowish or intention to disclose to his visitor, might be a matter ofspeculation to the latter. But he certainly made no attempt to hidethe misery which was consuming him. The outward appearance of theman was eloquent enough of the disorder within. He had always beenwont to be especially neat and precise in his dress; clean shaven, and with that look of bright freshness on his clear-complexioned andwell-rounded cheeks, which is specially suggestive of health, happiness, and well-to-do prosperity. Now his cheeks were hollow andyellow, and grisly stubble of uncared-for beard, covered his deeply-lined jaws. He was dressed, if dressed it could be called, in alarge loose chamber wrapper, the open neck of which, and of theshirt beneath it, allowed the visitor's eye to mark that theemaciation which a few days of misery and anxiety had availed tocause, was not confined to his face only. 

But yet more remarkable was the terrible state of nervousrestlessness from which he was evidently suffering. He was unable toremain quiet in his easy chair even while his visitor remained withhim. He would every now and then rise from it without reason, andpace the room for two or three turns with the uneasy objectlessmanner of a wild animal confined to a cage. Again and again he wouldgo to the window, and gaze from it, as though looking for someexpected thing or person. He spoke and behaved as if he had beenmost anxious for the coming of the lawyer, and yet, now he wasthere, he seemed scarcely able to command his attention sufficientlyto take interest in the tidings Signor Fortini brought him. 

"Thank God, Signor Marchese, the news I bring is good. Thank God, Iam able to express to you my conscientious opinion that the MarcheseLudovico had no more to do with the murder of this unfortunate womanthan I had. And such is now the general opinion throughout thecity. "

"Is there anything new? Has any--any--discovery been made?" said theMarchese, and his teeth chattered in his head as he spoke. 

"Nothing that I can quite call a discovery, " returned the lawyer;"but small circumstances in such a case as this, when carefully puttogether, form a clue, which rarely fails, when one has enough ofthem, to lead up to the desired truth. "

"Ah!--small circumstances, as you say--yes--but circumstances--eh?--do they not often--must we not be very careful--eh?" and theMarchese shook as he spoke, till the lawyer really began to thinkthat he must be labouring under an attack of the same illness thathad seized on father Fabiano. 

"Fortunately, Signor Marchese, the circumstances all point, in thepresent instance, in the direction we would wish. That is, " addedthe lawyer, hastily, "God forbid that I should wish such a crime tobe brought home to any human being, but in the interests of truthand justice; and of course our first object is that the MarcheseLudovico should be cleared. "

"Of course, of course. Why naturally, you know--But--in whatdirection--eh?--do the suspicions--that is, the opinions--you, yourself, Signor Giovacchino--who do you think now could have donethe deed?" said the Marchese, finishing his sentence with anapparent effort. 

"My notion is, " said the lawyer, speaking strongly and distinctly, "that the murder was committed by the Venetian girl, PaolinaFoscarelli. You are aware of the circumstances that first directedsuspicion towards her. Alone they are very strong; but some otherlittle matters have come out. She has now been examined severaltimes; and the account she gives of the hours that passed betweenthe time she left the church of St. Apollinare, and the time whenshe was first seen afterwards is a very lame and unsatisfactory one. Then, my friend, Signor Logarini, of the police, who has been mostpraiseworthily active in the matter, has discovered that the oldfriar, who has the charge of the Basilica, and who is a Venetian, was connected with the parents of this girl, which renders itextremely probable that he may wish to screen her; and that fact, taken in conjunction with the very strong reasons we have to thinkthat the friar has some knowledge of the deed, and his very manifestreluctance to tell what he knows, seems to point in the samedirection. "

"The friar at St. Apollinare, " said the Marchese, with bluetrembling lips, as he looked keenly into the lawyer's face; "why itis impossible that he could know anything about it. The friar--"

"Impossible? why impossible, Signor Marchese? We know that he was inthe Pineta much about the time the deed must have been done. "

The Marchese threw himself back in his deep easy chair, and coveredhis face with his hand. The lawyer paused, and shook his head as helooked at him. 

"The friar in the Pineta!" he exclaimed, getting up from his chairafter a minute or two, and taking a few disorderly steps across theroom. 

"You see; Signor Giovacchino, " he continued, returning to his seat, "I have been so shaken by all the misery I have gone through, andall the sleepless nights I have passed, that--that--that I am hardlyin a fit state to appreciate the value of the--the facts you laybefore me. I have been trying to think--I am afraid--very muchafraid for my own part that no weight is to be attributed to anytestimony which may be got from the friar of St. Apollinare. "

"Why so, Signor Marchese?" asked the lawyer, shortly. 

"I know the old man very well. I have often talked with him. He isnot in his right mind: certainly not in such a state of mind aswould justify the magistrates in paying any attention to hisstatements, " said the Marchese, in a more decided manner than he hadbefore spoken. 

"I spoke with the old man at some length the other day, and I cannotsay that that was my impression at all. In my opinion he was quiteenough in his senses to know how to withhold the information which, I suspect, he could give us if he would. May I ask, Signor Marchese, how long it is since you have spoken with him?"

"Oh! a long time. How could I speak to him, you know. I do notsuppose he often comes into the city. And it is ever so long--a yearor more--since I was out at St. Apollinare; as far as I canremember, " said the Marchese, with a rapid sidelong glance at thelawyer; "but I am convinced the old man is not in his right mind, "he added, not without some vehemence; "and it is dangerous to putany faith, or to build at all upon anything that such a person maysay. Why, he is always seeing visions; and what is such an one'saccount worth of anything he may fancy himself to have seen. "

"Well, Signor Marchese, the tribunal will form its own opinion uponthat point. For my own part, I cannot help feeling glad of any scrapof evidence which tends to corroborate the opinion that the MarcheseLudovico has been erroneously and precipitately accused. "

"Of course, Signor Giovacchino, of course. A chi lo dite! And I amtruly obliged to you for coming to me with the news you have givenme. But you can understand, perhaps--in part, Signor Giovacchino, inpart--not altogether--what I have gone through in these days. Mymind has been shaken--sadly shaken, amico mio. I shall never recoverit--never, " said the Marchese, letting his head fall on his bosom. 

"Nay, Signor Marchese. I would fain hope it is not so bad as allthat. Let this business of the trial be over, and the MarcheseLudovico, as I doubt not, entirely cleared and absolved, and allwill yet go well. The rest is matter of sorrow which time may betrusted to heal. "

"The trial! Ay, the trial. When--eh?--when is it likely to come off, Signor Giovacchino. Yes, as you say, it would be a good thing ifthat were over, " said the Marchese, with a manner that indicated ahigh state of nervous irritability. 

"It won't be long; there is little or no hope of any further lightbeing thrown on the matter; some day next week, I should say; Idon't think they will be longer than that; and the sooner thebetter--only, that I am afraid you may find the ordeal adisagreeable one. "

"Who? I? Why should I--? That is, of course, on Ludovico's account--"

"Excuse me, Signor Marchese; but you must feel, surely, that it willbe absolutely necessary for you to be present in court. "

"I? I be present? Why, don't you see that I am unable to leave mychamber--shall probably never leave it again; how can I be presentin court? It is out of the question. "

"Your lordship will pardon me, Signor Marchese, if I point out toyou that it is quite indispensable that you should appear in courton the occasion of the trial, " returned the lawyer, firmly. "Yourown excellent judgment, and sense of what is fitting and due to yourown position, will, I am sure, put this matter in an unmistakeablelight before you. Think a little what the inferences, the remarks, the suggestions would be to which your absence on such an occasionwould give rise; not to mention that it can hardly be doubted thatthe tribunal will think it necessary to examine your lordshiprespecting certain points--"

"Me? What can I tell? What can it be necessary to examine me for? Iknow absolutely nothing; it is impossible that I should knowanything of the matter; besides, I am too ill to leave my chamber. "

"Of course, if Tomosarcbi were, after visiting you by direction ofthe tribunal, to certify that you were not in a fit state--"

"I won't see Tomosarcbi; no testimony can be needed to the fact thatI am in no condition to leave the house; I tell you, Signor Fortini, I will not see him; I cannot see anybody. "

"I fear, Signor Marchese, that it would be impossible in any otherway to avoid complying with the request of the tribunal for yourpresence. Besides that, it would be far better, in every point ofview, that you should show yourself in the court. The fact of yourabsence on such an occasion could not but be unpleasantly remarkedon, " urged the lawyer. 

"Why? What can I be wanted for? What can I tell them? It is veryevident that I am, and must needs be, utterly ignorant of the wholematter, " returned the Marchese. 

"There are various points on which the magistrates will, doubtless, wish for the information which your lordship can give them, althoughyou may have no means of throwing any light on the main facts of theassassination. They will wish, for instance, to ask respecting thecircumstances of the Marchese Ludovico's expedition to the Pineta. The police, you must remember, Signor Marchese, are already awarethat you were cognizant of the Marchese Ludovico's intention oftaking La Lalli to the Pineta. That has been ascertained from theadmission of the Conte Leandro--"

"A thousand curses on the Conte Leandro, " exclaimed the Marchese. 

"His figure in the matter is a deplorable one, truly; but you canunderstand, Signor Marchese, that the court will desire to ask somequestions of you on this head--nothing that you can have anydifficulty in answering or any objection to answer; but I am sureyou will see, on consideration, that it would have a very bad effectfor your lordship to show the least desire to avoid being present. "

"It will be most distasteful to me--very painful, indeed--I don'tthink it ought to be required of me under all the circumstances, "pleaded the unhappy man. 

"Unpleasant it will be, doubtless; the whole affair has not been apleasant one for anybody concerned in it, Signor Marchese--for anyone in Ravenna, I may say. But you may depend upon it that it willbe the wish of the court and of everybody present to make it aslittle painful to you as possible. And it is my very serious andvery urgent advice to you to make the necessary exertion, and not toexpress to any one either the intention or the wish to absentyourself. "

And then the lawyer took his leave--not surprised that the Marchese, broken down and in the state in which he saw him, should feel itvery disagreeable to face his fellow citizens on the occasion of thetrial; but, perhaps, having some other thoughts in his mind besidesthose he expressed as to the ill effect likely to be produced by anyrefusal of the Marchese to make his appearance in the court. 

CHAPTER VI

The Trial

The police authorities were longer in preparing their case thanSignor Fortini had anticipated they would be; but at length it wasknown throughout the city that the day for the trial had been fixed. It was to take place on a Monday morning towards the latter part ofLent. 

It had been rumoured in the city that the delay had been occasionedby hopes which the authorities had conceived that the femaleprisoner would be induced to make confession of the crime. Theimprisonment and the repeated interrogatories she had undergone hadproduced a great effect upon her. She had become downcast to a verymuch greater degree than she had been in the days immediatelyfollowing her arrest. She was very silent, refraining even from theearnest and frequent protestations of her innocence, which, duringthe early days of her imprisonment, she had seized every opportunityof making. She passed many hours apparently plunged in deepintrospective thought; she wept much, and passed much of her time inprayer. 

And the judgment of the experienced people about her led them tointerpret these manifestations as signs of an approachingconfession. When at length the day for the trial was fixed, it wasreported that Paolina Foscarelli had confessed. But the criminalauthorities keep the secrets of their prison house in such matters;and nothing certain was known upon the subject. 

The very general impression, however, throughout the city was that, whether she confessed or not, she was the real criminal, and thatsuch would be declared by the tribunal to be the case. And such asolution of the mystery was readily accepted by the Ravenna world asthe most satisfactory that under the unhappy circumstances could bearrived at. 

The disgrace that rested on the city in consequence of theperpetration of so foul a crime, and on such a victim, had been feltthroughout the city to a degree, that can be duly appreciated onlyby those, who are acquainted with the strength and the exclusivenessof Italian municipal patriotism. And it was a matter of generalcongratulation that the perpetrator of it should turn out to be noRavennata citizen, but an unknown stranger from Venice. It wouldhave been dreadful indeed if such a deed should have been broughthome to the door of a scion of the oldest and most distinguishednoble family in Ravenna. Of course everybody had all along known, and had said from the beginning, that whatever might turn out to bethe truth, this at least was impossible and altogether out of thequestion. 

To many minds the guilt of the Venetian girl seemed so clear that itappeared altogether superfluous to spend time and trouble inbringing her to confess it. Her hatred of the victim she hadconfessed; and the confession of it was in evidence. The motive forthat hatred was perfectly well known and understood. It was a motivethat many a time ere now had led to similar deeds. She was close athand when the crime must have been committed. She could give nosatisfactory account of her reasons for going thither, or of theoccupation of her time during the hours, which must have comprisedthe moment of the assassination. And the manner of the murderrendered it infinitely probable that it must have been the deed of afemale. What more could be wanted? It was rarely that a murder hadever been brought home to the murderer by circumstantial evidence ofa more conclusive and irresistible character. 

Signor Fortini was among those who thought and reasoned thus. But inthe several interviews which he had had with the Marchese Ludovico, he had not judged it judicious to enlarge to him on this part of thesubject. While assuring him that he might make himself perfectlyeasy, and that his innocence in the matter would beyond all doubt befully recognised, he had preferred to lead him to imagine that theresult of the trial would be altogether negative; that it would befound that no case that would warrant a conviction should be madeout against any party. 

Signor Logarini had meanwhile made one or two more excursions to theBasilica of St. Apollinare. But he had gained nothing by his pains. The padre Fabiano was on each occasion found in bed, no whit betterto all appearance than he had been on that day when the policeCommissary and Signor Fortini visited him together. Nor had SignorLogarini's persevering cross-examinations availed to obtain anythingmore from the aged friar than repetitions of his first statements. Nevertheless the Commissary was confirmed more than ever in hisopinion that the friar knew something; if he could only be made tospeak. Still it had been determined not to attempt to bring the oldman by force before the tribunal. There was every reason to thinkthat nothing would be obtained from him in addition to what he hadalready said. In all probability he was really ill, more or less, asSignor Logarini said, and living under the government of the HolyFather, it was necessary to treat ecclesiastical personages with agreater degree of consideration than might have been accorded tosuch under similar circumstances on the other side of the frontierbetween the territory of the church and Austria. 

Despite the friar's illness, however, Fra Simone, the lay-brother, had once or twice been observed lately in Ravenna. He was seensauntering through the streets with his long linen wallet over hisshoulder, stopping at a corner for a little gossip here, andreceiving a contribution to the store in his bag from some friar-loving devout old woman there. There was nothing remarkable in sucha sight in the streets of Ravenna in any way. Only Fra Simone wasvery rarely seen there. And when Signor Pietro Logarini, withoutwhose knowledge scarcely a cat stirred abroad in Ravenna, was toldof the circumstance, he said to himself that the Padre Fabiano wasinterested in knowing what people said and thought of the comingtrial. 

Signor Fortini had in the meantime, not without infinite difficultysucceeded in persuading the Marchese that he must bring himself tosubmit to the ordeal of being present in the court on the occasionof the trial. The Marchese's extreme dislike to appearing thuspublicly had been in no degree overcome or diminished. And it wasonly the lawyer's positive and repeated declaration, that he wouldassuredly be sent for, if he did not spontaneously present himself, that had availed to induce him to say at length that he would go. Every possible attention, the lawyer had assured him, would be paidto him, and everything done to make his attendance as littledisagreeable to him as possible. Of course, as Fortini urged, it waswell known, through the city how dreadfully he must have beenaffected by the sad circumstances that had happened--people would beprepared to see him looking ill and changed. Curious? Yes, of coursepeople were curious--it was impossible to prevent them from beingso; but he, Fortini, would take care that their curiosity should notbe manifested in any way that could be offensive to the Marchese. 

Thus, an unwilling consent to attend the sitting of the court on themorning of the trial had been forced from the unhappy Marchese, --from him who, so few weeks ago before the fatal coming of thefascinating singer to Ravenna, had been the happiest, the mostprosperous, and the most secure of men; and it had been arrangedthat Signor Fortini should, on that morning; call for him at thePalazzo and accompany him to the tribunal. 

When the morning came it seemed to Signor Fortini as if be shouldhave to do all his work over again. He found the Marchese up anddressed. He had not shaved himself, however, --declaring, withabundant appearance of truth, that, in the state he then was, it wasutterly beyond his power to do so, and he absolutely refused toallow it to be done for him; and the effect of the stubbly grisledbeard of a week's growth or so on the hollow lantern jaws, which allthe city had been accustomed to see clean shaved, and plump, andflorid with health, --was such as to render him barely recognizableas the same man by the eyes that had known him all his life. Itseemed, too, to the lawyer that the shocking change which had takenplace in him was even more painfully marked by his attempt to dresshimself in his usual manner than it had been in his chamber wrapper. His clothes, which were wont to fit so well, and set off toadvantage his well-made and stalwart figure, hung about him in bagsand pantaloon-like folds, a world too wide for his shrunken form. 

On the first entrance of the lawyer he protested that the effort wasaltogether beyond his strength, --that it was impossible for him togo through the ordeal. Did they want him to die before their eyes onthe benches of the court?

A renewed suggestion by Fortini to the effect that the only means bywhich the necessity could be avoided would be by a certificate fromthe medical authority trusted in such matters by the court--his ownold friend the Professor Tomosarchi, produced only a reiterated andviolent declaration that he would not receive any visit from theProfessor. 

Eventually, the strong representations made by the lawyer of themuch greater unpleasantness, and the very much to be deprecatedeffect, of entering the court as an unwilling witness in forcedobedience to a mandate from the tribunal, decided the wretchedMarchese to allow himself to be led down to the carriage. 

Even as he came, bent and shaking, down the great staircase of thePalazzo leaning on Fortini's arm, and had to pass, in crossing thehall to the carriage, all the servants of his household, most ofwhom had not seen him since the evening of the last day of Carnival, and who were urged by curiosity to take this opportunity of lookingat their terribly-changed master, it seemed to him that hismartyrdom had commenced. 

He passed through the streets of the city with the blinds of thecarriage drawn down, and with his eyes closed as he lay thrown backinto the corner of it: but, as he felt it draw up at the entrance tothe "prefettura, " he suddenly grasped the lawyer's hand, and Fortinifelt, with a shudder, that his hand was as cold as that of a corpse. He was altogether in such a state that Signor Fortini began to fearthat there really would be some catastrophe in the court before thebusiness of the day could be concluded. 

With the aid of a servant on one side and of the lawyer on theother, however, he was got out of the carriage, and, almostsupporting him, the lawyer, who had made all his arrangementspreviously, led him into the building by a private door and to thechamber in which the tribunal was sitting by a private passage usedonly by the magistrates, and opening into the court in the immediatevicinity of the seats occupied by them, by the side of which a chairhad been assigned to the Marchese. 

Nor had Signor Fortini's cares and preparations ended there. He hadspoken with each one of the magistrates who were to try the case, inno wise telling them of the Marchese's unwillingness to appear, butrepresenting the terrible state of mental and bodily prostration towhich the dreadful nature of the late events had very naturallyreduced him, and which would have rendered it utterly impossible forhim to appear in court, but for his indomitable will, and the highsense of duty, which had led him to think it, under thecircumstances his duty to do so. 

To no soul had he whispered a word of the Marchese's very markedreluctance to attend at the trial, save to his old and intimatefriend of many years standing, the Professor Tomosarchi, whom he hadthought it advisable to consult as to the desirability of his seeingthe Marchese before he was called on to make the effort. To hissurprise he had found Tomosarchi almost as unwilling to see theMarchese, as the Marchese had been to see him. He did not say atonce, as the latter had done, that he would not see him, But whileadmitting the strong desirability that the Marchese should bepresent at the trial, he yet manifested a strong reluctance, whichthe lawyer could not understand, to taking any share in the task ofpersuading and preparing him to do so. 

The magistrates, who were all of them old friends of Signor Fortini, and to each of whom he had spoken, separately on the subject, hadseemed to find no difficulty in understanding, that it was verynatural under all the circumstances, that the Marchese should havebeen terribly affected, both in body and mind, by the late events. It had been suggested to them by the lawyer, that it would be wellto avoid, as far as possible, anything that should make it necessaryfor the Marchese to speak at all, even in saluting him on hisentrance. When therefore, just after the court had assembled, theMarchese, trembling and shivering in every limb, was led in by thelittle door that opened close behind the seat he was to occupy, themagistrates contented themselves with rising and bowing to him insilence. The court, as might have been expected, was very full; andit was impossible to prevent a very marked and audible manifestationof the shock produced upon the spectators by the changed appearanceof one so well known to them from running through the crowd. 

Even in the territories of the Pope, a criminal court is in thesedays an open and public one. There is no jury, and the criminal, orsuspected person, may be subjected to any amount of examination onoath. But, in other respects, the method of procedure is not verydissimilar from our own. The prosecution is conducted by an officeranalogous to our attorney-general, or by his substitute; and isdefended by any advocate of the court whom he may employ for thepurpose. The appreciation of the credibility of testimony, thegreater or lesser value of circumstantial evidence, the applicationand interpretation of the law, and the award of sentence, remainwith the judges, subject to appeal to a higher court. Moreover, inthe present case, the inquiry assumed more of the form of a generalattempt to ascertain the solution of an unexplained mystery, thanwould have been compatible with the forms of our criminal courts, inasmuch as there were two prisoners to be tried for the crime, whomno theory of the circumstances had suggested to be accomplices, andthe conviction of either of whom, according to the hypothesis whichhad been started, involved the absolution of the other. 

The judicial oath is administered not as with us, but by requiringthe accused person, or the witness, to assert that he is speaking thetruth, while placing the extended hand on a carved representation ofthe crucified Redeemer. And there can be no doubt that this ceremonyhas a very strong effect on the imagination and nervous system amongthe easily moved races of the south. Many a crime has been avowed, because the paralyzed lips of the criminal were absolutely incapableof pronouncing the lie he fully purposed to speak, while he thusopenly appealed to the material figure which had the power ofenabling the sluggish southern imagination to realize the presenceof the Creator. 

There would be little interest in detailing at length theproceedings of the trial; since nothing was elicited that would bein any way new to the reader, or that was calculated to throw anyfresh light on the circumstances to be inquired into, until thebusiness in hand was nearly concluded. 

Every tenderness had been shown to the misfortunes and to theterrible state of suffering of the Marchese. A full statement of hisown conduct at the ball, and on the following morning, had beenextracted, with very little indulgence in the process, from theConte Leandro, from whose white and pasty face the perspiration hadrained beyond the power of any handkerchief to control it, while hedescribed himself as an eavesdropper, an informer, and a spy. Andall that had been required from the Marchese Lamberto was theadmission that the Conte Leandro's statements, as far as regardedwhat had taken place at the ball, were correct. 

But the fact was that the case was well-nigh prejudged before theprofessed trial began. All Ravenna, including the policeauthorities, who had investigated the matter, and the judges whocame into court well instructed in all that had been done, and allthat could be known upon the subject, had made up their minds thatthe stranger girl was and must have been the criminal. It wasinfinitely more agreeable to everybody concerned to suppose thatsuch should be the case rather than that such a damning blot shouldfall on the noblest house in the city, and that in the person of oneof the most popular men in it; and, at the same time, it must beowned that the case was so strong against Paolina that a prejudiceagainst her could hardly be called a corrupt one. 

Her own conduct during the trial had tended yet farther to impressthe minds of all present against her. Not that there was anything inher appearance and manner that was otherwise than calculated toconciliate pity and favourable opinion. Her entrance into the courthad excited the greatest interest. She had on a black silk dressmade in the simplest and plainest possible fashion; and the colourof it, where the neckband encircled her slender throat, made anabsolutely startling contrast with the utterly colourless whitenessof her skin. Her manner was very subdued, very quiet; nor did sheexhibit any signs of fear; or much of emotion, save to those whowere near enough to her to perceive a quiet, silent, andundemonstrative tear steal occasionally down her dead-white cheek. 

But when examined as to her disposal of herself after leaving thechurch of Apollinare--as to her motives for changing her purpose, ifit were true, as she stated, that she did change her purpose ofentering the Pineta--she became embarrassed and failed to give anysatisfactory reply. 

Ludovico had, at an early stage of the proceedings, been removedfrom the court, after having been in vain again and again requestedby the judges to abstain from interfering with the progress of thecase against Paolina. 

At last, when almost everybody in the court had made up their mindsthat there could, in truth, be no doubt that the young Venetian, goaded to frenzy by her jealousy, had been the author of the murder, and quite everybody was convinced that such would be the decision ofthe judges, the latter were on the point of retiring from the courtto confer, and consider their sentence, more as a matter of form, probably, than anything else, when an incident occurred that made achange in the aspect of matters. 

CHAPTER VII

The Friar's Testimony

In a criminal trial in the states of His Holiness the Pope, there isnone of that absolute and inflexible adherence to certain rigidforms and rules which gives to many of the proceedings of our courtsthat character of an inevitable destiny-like march which is sodramatic in its operations--that sense of the presence there of apower greater than that of the greatest of the men concerned in theadministration of it, which constitutes on large element in anEnglishman's respect for the law. At times this automatic power, which has been thus created Faust-like, by reason of theimpossibility of pre-adapting its mechanism to the exigences ofevery case, works to unforseen and undesired ends--sometimes even toabsurd ones. And, with thinkers of a certain phase of modernthought, it has been a favourite taunt against the average Britishmind, that it rather delights in the contemplation of such abnormalworkings of the great automatic law in which it has created. Somemanifest mistake or error has occurred. The man supposed to bemurdered walks into court; but it is a minute too late; the verdicthas been given--the sentence pronounced. All the court judges, witnesses, counsel--look at each other in dismay; the great lawautomaton cannot be made to swerve in its path by any power there. And the average Englishman likes the contemplation of such a case, it is sneered; and the sneer may be joined in by those who, underother systems, have the immediate power of setting any such mistakesright by a word. But the sneer, let the Englishman be assured, wouldby no means be joined in by the population, who are subject to theaction of courts and judges. Thus able by superior word to directthe course of justice. 

The new incident which suddenly arose to change all the aspects ofthe trial and its results would, as far as the analogy of the Romanmode of proceeding and our own holds good, have been too late in oneof our courts to produce the results which it did produce. Thejudges were on the point of retiring to consider their decision andsentence when they were met at the little private door, by whichthey were about to leave the court, by one of the ushers. And theconsequence of the few words he spoke to them was that they gave anorder--turned back, and resumed their places. 

It might well have been that the new incident might have beenprevented from bringing about the result it was calculated to bringabout in the Ravenna Court; but the miscarriage would have beencaused in an altogether different way from that which has beenspoken as sometimes characterising our own courts. 

It was very clear to everybody present that the judges wouldpronounce Paolina to be guilty of the crime they were investigating;and to everybody present, with one or two exceptions, this was avery agreeable and satisfactory winding-up of the unhappy affair. Ravenna would be able to wash her hands of the matter. It waswholly, both in conception and execution, the work of a stranger. Since so great a misfortune had happened, it could not be moresatisfactorily accounted for. 

It is probable enough, therefore, that any Tom, Jack, or Harry, who, at that conjuncture, had presented himself at the prefettura for theavowed purpose of bringing a new light to the solution of themystery which had been already so satisfactorily solved, might haveexperienced considerable difficulty in obtaining for himself anyaccess to, or hearing from, the judges. 

But the person who had now thus presented himself at the prefetturaof Ravenna belonged to a body, the very lowest and poorest membersof which, in that country, can always find, somehow or other, somemeans of compassing almost any object which is not disapproved bysome superior member of their own corporation. The new-comer was afriar--old Father Fabiano, the priest of St. Apollinare, as thereader may have conjectured. 

The police agents had been anxious to produce him there, as thereader knows, and he had baffled their wishes. Now the result whichit had been desired that he should contribute to had been broughtabout, or as good as brought about, without him. What did he wantthere now?

There was an old usher about the court, however, whose advancingyears were beginning to make him disagreeably conscious that thetime was at hand when a sentence to a long term of purgatory--to saynothing of any severer doom--might make it exceedingly desirable tohim to stand well with all those who are understood to haveinfluence with the government in the world beyond the grave; and, --if there had been no such person, the friar would have knownsomebody--some old or young woman, probably--or he would have knownsome other friar who knew some such, who would have been able toinfluence some brother, lover, or husband, in the way he wished. Asit was, Father Fabiano had no difficulty at all in conveying themessage he wished to communicate to the judges. 

They turned back to their places in the court, to the surprise andsudden awakening of new interest in the audience, and ordered thatthe new witness who had presented himself should be admitted andheard. 

And Father Fabiano, bowed with age, and his hoary head bent down onhis breast, but neither shivering nor shaking, advanced to thewitness-table. The crucifix was lying on it, and the friar, with themanner of a man recognizing in a new employment tools which he iswell used to, at once stretched out his emaciated and claw-likehand, and made oath that he was about to speak the truth. 

The Procuratore of the court then began to examine the old man withreference to his knowledge of the circumstances connected with thevisit of Paolina Foscarelli to the church of St. Apollinare, and herdisposal of herself after leaving it; but the friar replied that itwould be uselessly occupying the time of the court to enter into anysuch particulars, inasmuch as he had come thither to prove thatPaolina had nothing whatever to do with the crime. 

"But, " remarked the Procuratore, "if it is in your power to do that, why did you not give the necessary information to the Commissary ofPolice when you were, on several occasions, examined at St. Apollinare?"

"Signori miei, " said the old man, addressing himself to the court ingeneral, "it is no affair of mine to meddle with the administrationof human justice. No words that I could say could undo the deed, orbring the murdered woman back to life. Evil enough had been done. Why should I cause further trouble, and sorrow, and shame, toothers? It was more fitting to one of my order to leave retributionin the hands of Him who can best award it, and whose mercy may touchthe heart of the sinner with repentance. "

"But if so, frate mio, " rejoined the Procuratore, "what, pray, isthe motive that now brings you here?"

"Surely, the determination that the innocent shall not suffer forthe guilty. It seemed to me that it would never be known, save toHim who knows the secrets of all hearts, what hand had done thatterrible deed; but now I know that the fallibility of all humanjudgment has led questi Signori to the conclusion that the girlPaolina is guilty, and her condemnation would be a misfortunegreater than the first--I knowing the hand which did that deed. "

"Ha, you know the murderer; you suppose you know him? You come tooffer us your guess, your suggestion?"

"I come, Signori miei, with pain and sorrow and great reluctance, tosave you from condemning an innocent person by naming him who isguilty. "

A sort of buzz and almost shiver of interest, anxiety, andexpectation ran through the court, as the old friar spoke the abovewords in a stronger voice than that in which he had yet spoken. 

"Friar, " said the Procuratore solemnly and severely; "it is my duty, before you speak, to warn you to take heed to what you say. You areabout, you say, to make an accusation the most tremendous that oneman can bring against another. Bethink you whether you are able tosubstantiate what you are about to utter. Remember that, if youcannot substantiate it, it would be an hundred-fold better that yoursuspicion should remain unuttered. "

The Procuratore, as well as every one else in the court, had littleor no doubt that the friar was about to accuse the Marchese Ludovicoas the perpetrator of the murder. And some, among whom were SignorFortini, and Signor Logarini the Commissary of Police, werepersuaded that the old man was going to trump up some story in thehope of saving his countrywoman, Paolina. 

"Were it not for the necessity of protecting the innocent, Signori, God knows how much I should prefer to carry my terrible secret withme to the grave. Signori miei, these eyes SAW the deed done, thatput the sleeping woman to death. Only God and I, the lowest of hisservants! God and I saw the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare do thatdeed!"

A loud indignant murmur of incredulity was beginning to risethroughout the crowded court, like the first getting up of a stormwind. 

But it was suddenly hushed, and turned into a spasm of horror andintense shock, that made every man hold his breath, when the soundof a sudden heavy fall was heard; and it was seen that the MarcheseLamberto had fallen insensible to the ground. 

CHAPTER VIII

The Truth!

The Professor Tomosarchi was in the court, and had been, as ithappened, though unseen by the Marchese, fixing his eyes on him atthe moment when the catastrophe narrated in the last chapteroccurred. Springing forwards, therefore, the medical man was in amoment by the side of his old friend. 

If, according to the strict letter of the requirements of theirduty, the magistrates or the police authorities present ought, underthe circumstances, to have prevented the free departure of theaccused man to his own home, it did not occur to any one to do so. Professor Tomosarchi and Fortini between them, got him, stillinsensible, to his carriage, and took him to his home. 

"Is it more than a mere fainting fit?" said the lawyer, as they bothwere supporting the person of the insensible Marchese. "Could younot do some thing to restore consciousness? Can that old friar havespoken the truth?"

"Apoplexy, " said the Professor, with a serious and almost scaredlook into the other's eyes. "Apoplexy, and no mistake about it. Don't you hear the stertorous breathing. No, nothing can beattempted till we get him home. We shall be at the palazzo in aminute. We shall see; but I doubt--I doubt!"

"You mean that his life is in danger?" asked the lawyer. 

"In danger! I have hardly any hope that he will ever return toconsciousness or speak another word again. "

"Good God! you don't mean that, " cried the lawyer, much shocked. 

"Indeed I do; it is possible, but very improbable that be shouldrally sufficiently to survive the attack, " replied the Professor. 

"Perhaps, " rejoined the lawyer, gravely and sadly after a fewmoments of silence; "perhaps it would be best so. I fear me--I muchfear me, that this can hardly be looked on but as the confirmationof that old man's declaration. "

The Professor looked hard into the lawyer's eyes, as he nodded hishead, without speaking, in grave assent. 

They arrived in another minute at the door of the PalazzoCastelmare. The servants ran out, and they carried him up into thechamber where, ever since that fatal Ash Wednesday morning, he had, as Fortini now well understood, been suffering a long agony ofremorse, apprehension, despair, all the intensity of which it wasdifficult to appreciate. 

Life was not yet extinct when they laid him upon his bed; and theProfessor proceeded to do what the rules of his science prescribedin the all but hopeless effort to combat the attack. But themiserable man had suffered his last in this life, and every effortto bring him back to further torture was unavailing. Within half-an-hour after he had been brought back to his palace he breathed hislast. 

"It is all over with him, " said the Professor, looking up across thebed to the lawyer standing on the other side of it; "there was nopossibility of prolonging his life--happily for him, and happily foreverybody connected with him, and for all of us. Who would havethought a short month ago that such a life could have so ended?"

"The 24th of March, Signor Professore, is the anniversary on which, more fervently than on any other day of the year, I thank God forall his mercies, " said the lawyer, with grim solemnity. 

"I don't understand you, Signor Dottore; what has the 24th of Marchto do with this?" said Tomosarchi, staring at him. 

"On the 24th of March, four-and-forty years ago, the Signora Fortinideparted this life, Signor Professore. But for that graciousdisposition of Providence, who knows that his lot, or worse, mightnot have been mine? From Eve downwards, Signor Professore, from Evedownwards, it is the same story--always the same story, in one shapeor another--in one shape or another. "

The Professor, who was the lawyer's junior by some thirty years, turned away with a shrug of the shoulders, and stepped across theroom to the small escritoire near the window. There opening, withouthesitation, and with the manner of a man familiar with the place, asmall concealed drawer, he called the lawyer to him. 

"Just come here and look at the contents of this drawer, SignorFortini. There is a curious meaning in them. "

Fortini went across from the bed to the escritoire, and theProfessor took from the drawer and showed to him a small coloureddrawing of a human form, with just such a mark on it as had beenvisible on the spot of the wound which had destroyed La Bianca'slife. He showed him also, in the same secret receptacle, a long veryfinely tempered needle, and a small quantity of perfectly white wax. 

"Good God, Professor! Were you aware of the existence of thesethings here?" cried the lawyer, aghast. 

"I knew that they were where I have now found them some four or fivemonths ago--towards the end of last year. You do not remember, probably, some curious details of a crime that was perpetrated ayear ago or more in the island of Sardinia. I don't know that thedetails were published save in the medical journals. You know howgreat an interest our unfortunate friend used to take in all suchmatters. We talked over that curious case. He doubted thepossibility of causing death with so little violence, and by meanswhich should leave so little trace behind them. I showed him howreadily and easily it might be done. You may judge then, SignoreDottore, of the misgivings that assailed me when I discovered howthat unhappy singer had been put to death. You will understand, too, why he so absolutely refused to see me, and how little desirous Iwas to see him. "

"But, Signor Professore--what should you have done if--?"

"If that girl had been condemned. You may guess that my state ofmind has not been a pleasant one. I did not know what to do: I hopedthat no conviction would have been arrived at. Of course it wouldhave been impossible to keep silence while that poor girl sufferedthe penalty of the crime I had such strong reason to think was thework of another. Truly it is in all ways best as it is. "

"You are taking it for granted that the tribunal will give credit tothe friar's testimony; but that is not certain; nay, it is notcertain--at least, we do not yet know--we have only his assertionthat he saw the Marchese do the deed. With these evidences beforeus, " continued the lawyer, "we can hardly doubt that the fact wasso. But stay--what is this?--a letter addressed to me--'Al ChiarmoSignor Dottore Giovacchino Fortini. To be opened only after mydeath, and in case my death shall happen within one year from thepresent time!' Perhaps this may render any further doubts as to theconduct we ought to pursue unnecessary. Let us see. "

And Signor Fortini sat down to open and read the packet; while theProfessor returned to the bed on which the dead man was lying, andoccupied himself with paying the last duties to his friend'sremains. 

The letter was a very long one, consisting of several sheets ofclosely-written paper. It is unnecessary to add to these pages bygiving a transcript of it, because the facts which it detailed atlength are either such as the reader is already acquainted with orsuch as he can readily imagine for himself. 

When the narrative reached the events which had occurred at the ballin the early hours of the Ash Wednesday morning, after mentioningthe circumstance of the information which had been conveyed to thewriter by the Conte Leandro Lombardoni as to the projectedexpedition to the Pineta, the Marchese went on to describe the stateof mind in which he had left the Circolo. He protested that, although every smallest detail of what he did had remained stampedon his memory with a vivid clearness that would never more beobliterated, it would be unjust to judge his conduct as that of aman in the possession of his senses. He was, he said, mad--MAD!--andcarried away by a hurricane of passions altogether beyond his powerto control. He had not formed any distinct intention of followinghis nephew and La Bianca to the Pineta till he reached his ownhouse. He had happened to approach the Palazzo from the back, through the stable-yard; and had there found old Niccolo, the groom, up. Then the idea of waylaying the pair in the forest had occurredto him. He had ordered a horse to be saddled; and had told the groomto let no one know that he had left the palace. He then went up tohis room, dismissed his valet, and locked the door, as the servanthad related to Signor Fortini. Then descending to the stables, byone of those private doors and stairs so frequently to be found inold Italian palaces, and generally contrived to communicate with theprincipal sleeping chamber of the dwelling, he mounted his horse, and rode furiously to the Pineta, quitting the city, not by thePorta Nueva, but by the next gate towards the south. He must havereached the forest before Ludovico and Bianca had left the city. Heput his steaming horse into the abandoned hovel of a watcher of thecattle on the marshes; and then skulked about the edge of the woodin the vicinity of the road which enters it from the city. All thistime he had, as he again and again declared in the long andrepetitive document in the lawyer's hands, no formed intention ofany sort in his mind. All he knew was that he was mad, and sufferingtorments worse than any imagination had ever depicted the torturesof the damned; the pulses were beating, and the blood was rushing inhis ears and in his eyes, he wrote, in such sort that all soundsseem to him one universal buzzing, and all objects vague anduncertain, and tinged with the colour of blood. 

And, in this condition, he waited and waited till almost a wild hopebegan to creep upon him that the Conte Leandro had lied to him. 

Suddenly he saw them coming towards the edge of the wood. 

With difficulty, he stood upright, resting the front of his shoulderand his forehead against the trunk of a tree, from behind which heglared out, while his eyes were blasted by what he saw. 

Judging more sanely than the poor Marchese was able to judge, andputting together all the circumstances and conduct and declarationsof the other parties, we may probably conclude, that though he sawenough to madden the heart and brain of a man whose mind had alreadybeen warped and distorted by jealousy, he did not see aught thatcould have been deemed to menace the future happiness of Paolina. Nodoubt La Bianca, despite her declared intention to make the MarcheseLamberto a good and true wife, had he married her, would havepreferred to become Marchese di Castelmare by a marriage with hisnephew. No doubt she had a liking for Ludovico of a different kindfrom that which she had professed to feel for his uncle. No doubther imagination had been fired, and her heart awakened to long forsuch love as she had seen given to each other by Ludovico andPaolina, which she too well understood to be of a kind which, despite her good resolutions, would not be found in her union withthe Marchese Lamberto. And no doubt these feelings manifestedthemselves in her visible manner during the conversation whichfollowed her confession to him of the engagement between her and hisuncle. 

It may also be suggested to those who have never been called upon toact as Ludovico was called upon to act, under the circumstances ofreceiving such a communication, so communicated from such a woman, that they would do well not to judge too severely any such parts ofhis behaviour under the ordeal, as may have been of a nature toproduce a very deplorable effect on the jaundiced mind of his uncle, though, in reality, there was little real meaning and less seriousharm in them. 

Of course the unfortunate Marchese could not be expected to see orreason on what he saw in any such mood or tone. As he said in thewriting he had left, what he saw as Ludovico and Bianca entered theforest, side by side, in deep and close talk, made a furious madmanof him. He dodged, and watched them, as they sat down together--asthey continued to talk in close confidence--till he saw her layherself down on the bank to sleep, and saw him after awhile quit herside. 

Then the devil entered into him, and ruled his hand with a whirlwindpower which he could no more withstand than the chaff can withstandthe tempest blast. 

He came and stood over her as she lay on the turf--the beautiful, noxious creature. She had destroyed him; body, soul, and mind, shehad destroyed him. And now--and now--ahi, ahi! After all he hadsuffered, after paying all the price he had paid! Ah, how lovely asshe lay there sleeping--placidly sleeping, she! And he was to becheated! Her beauty, her love was to be given to another. 

No, no, no, poisonous, baneful, sorceress; no, be what might, thathell should never be!

He put his hand to the breast-pocket of his coat, and took from it asmall pocket-book. 

If man will find evil passions, the devil will always find means. Surely there must be some shadow of truth in the old legends thattell how the fiend aids those who give themselves to him. 

The Marchese had, on leaving his chamber, quickly changed the coathe had worn at the ball for a morning one. And it so happened thatin that was a pocket-book which contained the articles needed forthe perpetration of the murder, placed there by him one day--intimes that seemed now ages ago--when he was going to ask someexplanation of the facts that had interested him from ProfessorTomosarchi. 

Like a balefully illumining lightning gleam, the clear memory thatthose things were there at his hand flashed across his mind. 

In another minute the deed was done. 

And, in a few minutes more, the Marchese, looking the madman he felthimself to be, got off his panting horse in his own stable-yard, threw the rein to the scared old groom, and regained his room as hehad left it. Then the letter went on to speak of the terrible, thedreadful days and hours which had elapsed since that time. It wasduring the hours of that first morning, while it seemed to theexcited mind of the Marchese that every sound that was audible inthe Palazzo must herald the coming of those who had discovered thedeed, that it had occurred to him to send for his lawyer and givehim instructions for the preparation of his marriage contract. Hewould lose nothing by doing so, for the fact of his offer ofmarriage to the murdered woman would assuredly not be kept secret bythe old man, her reputed father, and the maid-servant. And the factof his declaring such an intention, and giving such instructions atthat date, would very powerfully contribute to prevent any mind fromconceiving the idea that he could have been cognizant of the deathof La Bianca at the moment when he was so acting. 

And in truth, as the lawyer, examining his own mind, said tohimself, it had been this fact which had mainly prevented two orthree little circumstances from pointing his suspicions in thedirection of the truth. 

CHAPTER IX

Conclusion

Little more need be added to complete this story of a great singer'sCarnival engagement, and the consequences that arose out of it. 

The consternation, the talk, the moralizings, of the little city maybe readily imagined. 

Of course the written statement left by the unhappy Marchese madeall further judicial inquiry unnecessary. When the hand of amightier power than that of any earthly judge struck him down beforethe eyes of all that world whose good opinion he had valued sohighly, in the manner that has been related, the tribunal, ofcourse, declared the business before it to be suspended. The resultmade it needless ever to resume the sitting. No retarded evidenceagainst the Marchese had been given in court--no record of anyaccusation against him remained in the archives of it: and this wasdeemed to be a great point among a people who do not, by any means, hold that the law is the same "de non apparentibus et de nonexistentibus. "

Of course there was no further obstacle to the marriage, in duetime, of Ludovico and Paolina. A proper interval had, of course, tobe allowed to elapse before the knot was definitively tied; but itwas settled, and known to be settled by all Ravenna, and the strangeand moving circumstances which had attended the young Marchese'sfortunes had the effect of causing his marriage with the Venetianartist to be accepted by the "Society" more tolerantly than, perhaps, might otherwise have been the case. There was a sort offeeling that the whole affair was exceptional; that the higherpowers had visibly taken the management of it into their own hands;that it was destined so to be, and must be, as such, accepted. Toomuch of pity, of wonder, of congratulation, and of condolence, weredue from all his world to leave any space for censure on account ofhis marriage. 

Doubtless there were explanations between them as to that haplessexpedition to the Pineta; and doubtless they were satisfactory. Assuredly Ludovico never in his moments of most severe self-examination, sharpened, as such self-examination was, by theterrible nature of the result which had seemed to grow out of hisconduct on that Ash Wednesday morning, could accuse himself ofhaving done aught that could reasonably be held to leave at his doorthe responsibility of the events that had followed from it. Italianmen are not apt to bring into any prominence the idea that whereevil or misfortune is found there fault of some kind must existalso. They are content, for the most part, to accept the notion thatall such matters are sufficiently accounted for by attributing themto "disgrazia"--the absence of favour, that is to say--the want ofthat favour at the Heavenly Court which it is on every occasion oflife seen to be so necessary to successful well-being to possess atthe Courts of Heaven's ecclesiastical, or lay vice-gerents. 

Paolina insisted on employing a part of the time which necessarilyelapsed before her marriage in completing the engagement she hadundertaken, and the promise she had made to her English patron. Butshe found herself compelled to beg that some other specimen, chosenfrom among the wonderful wealth of early Christian art that remainsat Ravenna, might be substituted for that in the choir of St. Apollinare. She made the attempt to return to the scaffolding by theside of the window, but she found that her strength was unequal tothe task. She could not bear to look on the prospect from thatwindow. By agreement with her employer, some further figures fromthe mosaics in San Vitale were substituted for those which hadoriginally been selected in St. Apollinare. Her associations withthe former church were of a more pleasant character; and Paolinanever visited the desolate old building "in Classe" again. When thespecimens selected in lieu of those in the latter building had beencompleted, Paolina and her friend and protectress returned with themto Venice, where it had been arranged that they were to be deliveredto the Director of the Gallery. 

In the ensuing Carnival Ludovico came hither, and the marriage wasthere solemnized. It is not intended to insinuate that he had notoften made the journey from Ravenna to Venice in the interval. Moreof his time was probably passed there than in his native city. FromVenice the newly married couple proceeded to Rome, and it was nottill three or four years later, that the Marchese and Marchesa diCastelmare, bringing with them their two boys Lamberto and Ludovico, and their little Violante, the most exquisite little fairy that everwas seen, returned to make the Marchese's ancestral palace, ancestral city, their home. 

There was one other stranger in Ravenna whose lamentations over thefate that had ever brought him thither were as loud as they weresincere. The poor old singing-master, Quinto Lalli, was left, by thedeath of his adopted daughter, as destitute of the means of supportas desolate in his home and heart. He was not worth much; but itwould be unjust to suppose of him that his violent outcry on hermurderer was wholly or mainly prompted by the former consideration. There had been a real and strong affection between him and hisadopted daughter, and her death in truth left him utterly desolate. 

Yet he never again quitted the city he so much regretted having everseen. His comfortable support was adequately provided for by theMarchese Ludovico. And often in after years--on summer evenings on astone bench beneath a fig-tree in the garden of the cottage providedfor him, and in winter at the chimney corner of its tiny parlour--might be seen the tall spare nun-like figure of a grave and gentlelady, earnestly labouring at the somewhat up-hill task of consolingthe old man, and striving to shape the teachings of his Bohemianlife to a better lesson than he was apt to draw from them. It wasthe Contessa Violante; and it may be concluded from her occupationboth that she succeeded in escaping the pursuit of the Duca di SanSisto, and that her great-uncle the Cardinal did not succeed inbecoming Pope at the most recent vacancy. 

After the return of the Marchese and Marchesa di Castelmare toRavenna, however, the greater number of the hours of the ContessaViolante were spent in the home of her little god-daughter Violantedi Castelmare, and of her friend Paolina. 

THE END