STRADELLA

[Illustration: 'But Ortensia did not even hear him, and sat quite stillin her chair' (_See p. 271. _)]

STRADELLA

BY

F. MARION CRAWFORDAUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA, " "FAIR MARGARET, "ETC. , ETC. 

_ILLUSTRATED_

New YorkTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY

1909

_All rights reserved_

COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY F. MARION CRAWFORD. 

COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY BUTTERICK PUBLISHING CO. 

COPYRIGHT, 1909. BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 

Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1909. 

Norwood PressJ. S. Cushing Co. --Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass. , U. S. A. 

 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

'But Ortensia did not even hear him, and sat quite still in her chair' _Frontispiece_

 FACING PAGE

'"This is the celebrated Maestro Alessandro Stradella of Naples"' 11

'The footman came back at last with a white face' 87

'The two Bravi faced the watch side by side' 243

'"The profession has two branches. We take lives, you take purses"' 282

'He began to look about for lodgings' 307

'Trombin advanced upon him slowly, looking more like an avenging demon than a man' 373

'She sat up in his arms and framed his face in her hands' 406

CHAPTER I

The Senator Michele Pignaver, being a childless widower of severalyears' standing and a personage of wealth and worth in Venice, made uphis mind one day that he would marry his niece Ortensia, as soon as hereducation was completed. For he was a man of culture and of refinedtastes, fond of music, much given to writing sonnets and to reading theworks of the elegant Politian, as well as to composing sentimental airsfor the voice and lute. He patronised arts and letters with vast creditand secret economy; for he never gave anything more than a supper and arecommendation to the poets, musicians, and artists who paid their courtto him and dedicated to him their choicest productions. The supper wasgenerally a frugal affair, but his reputation in ęsthetic matters was sogreat that a word from him to a leader of fashion, or a letter ofintroduction to a Venetian Ambassador abroad, often proved to be worthmore than the gold he abstained from giving. He spoke Latin, he couldread Greek, and his taste in poetry was so highly cultivated that hecalled Dante's verse rough, uncouth, and vulgar--precisely as HoraceWalpole, seventy or eighty years later, could not conceive how any onecould prefer Shakespeare's rude lines to the elegant verses of Mr. Pope. For the Senator lived in the age when Louis XIV. Was young, and CharlesII. Had been restored to the throne only a few years before thebeginning of this story. 

Pignaver was about fifty years old. There is no good reason why awidower of that age, robust and temperate, and hardly grey, should nottake a wife; perhaps there is really no reason, either, why he shouldnot marry a girl of eighteen, if she will have him, and where neitherusage nor ecclesiastical ordinances are opposed to it, the young ladymay even be his niece. Besides, in the present case, the Senator wouldappear to his peers and associates to be conferring a favour on theobject of his elderly affections, and to be crowning the series offavours he had already conferred. For Ortensia was the penniless childof his brother-in-law, a scapegrace who had come to a bad end in Crete. The Senator's wife had taken the child to her heart, having none of herown, and had brought her up lovingly and wisely, little dreaming thatshe was educating her own successor. If she had known it, she might havebehaved differently, for her lord had never succeeded in winning heraffections, and she regarded him to the end with mingled distrust anddislike, while he looked upon her as an affliction and a thorn in hisside. Yet they were both very good people in their way. She diedcomparatively young, and he deemed it only just that after enduring thethorn so long, he should enjoy the rose for the rest of his life. 

When Ortensia was seventeen and a half her uncle announced hismatrimonial intentions to her, fastened a fine string of pearls roundher throat, kissed her on the forehead, and left her alone to meditateon her good fortune. 

Her reflections were of a mixed character, however, and not allpleasant. The idea that she could disobey or resist did not occur toher, of course, for the Senator had always appeared to her as theabsolute lord of his household, against whose will it was useless tomake any opposition, and she knew what an important person he wasconsidered to be amongst his equals. 

But in her inmost heart she knew that he was not really what he madepeople think he was. She had a ready sense of humour, and she felt thatunder his ponderous disguise of importance he was quite a ridiculousperson. He was miserly to meanness; he was as vain as an ape; he was aman who had flattered himself, and had been flattered by others, into asort of artificially inflated doll that imposed on many people anddeceived almost all. And yet Ortensia was aware of something in him thatfrightened her a little, though she could not quite tell what it was. Possibly, like many externally artificial people, there was a cruel sideto his character. There are men who become ridiculous as soon as theycease to be dangerous, and who are most dangerous when they fear thatthey are just going to become a laughing-stock. 

Ortensia reflected on these things after her uncle had given her thepearls and had kissed her on the forehead. The pearls were verybeautiful, but the kiss had been distinctly disagreeable. The Senatorwaxed his moustaches to make them stay up, as many men did then, andshe thought that if a cold hard-boiled egg, surrounded with bristleslike a hair-brush, had touched her forehead, the sensation would havebeen very much the same, and she shook her delicate shoulders in disgustat the thought, and slowly rubbed the offended spot with two fingers, while her other hand played with the string of pearls in her lap. 

It would be a great thing, of course, to be a senator's wife and themistress of such a house as the Palazzo Pignaver, which she had firstentered as a little orphan waif ten years ago. But to be kissed daily, even on the forehead, by her Uncle Michele, would be a high price to payfor greatness. She supposed that he would kiss her every day when shewas married, for that was probably a part of marriage, which had alwaysseemed to her a mysterious affair at best. Young girls looked forward toit with delight, and old women seemed to look back on it withdisappointment, while those who were neither old nor young never saidanything about it, but often seemed to be on bad terms with theirhusbands. 

But Ortensia was a fatalist, like most Venetian maidens of her time. Whatever the master of the house and the head of the family decidedwould be done, and there could be no question of resistance. In duecourse she would marry her uncle, she would hold her tongue like othermarried women while he lived, and when he was dead she would be atliberty to tell her friends that her marriage had been a disappointment. Of course Uncle Michele would die long before her--that was oneconsolation--and the position of a rich widow in Venice was enviable. 

Happily she had six months before her, during which time her educationwas to be completed; happily, too, a large part of it now consisted inmusic lessons, for she had a sweet voice, and the Senator meant that sheshould astound Venetian society by singing his own compositions to them, accompanying herself. She had great beauty, as well as some real talent, and he judged that the effect of his verses and music, when rendered byher, would be much enhanced by the magic light in her hazel eyes, by thecontrasted splendour of her auburn hair and ivory complexion, and by thepretty motion of her taper fingers as they fluttered over the strings. He looked forward to exhibiting the loveliest young woman in Venice, whoshould sing his own songs divinely to an admiring circle of enviousfriends. That would be a magnificent and well-deserved triumph, afterhis long career as a gifted amateur and critic--and it would costnothing. Why should a wife be more expensive than a niece? His firstwife's brocades and velvets could easily be made over for Ortensia; andfor that matter the young girl expected nothing better, since she had nofamily of her own to give her a great carved chest full of beautiful newclothes and laces. 

Uncle Michele did not condescend to honour her with another kiss, afterthe formal occasion on which he had announced her betrothal to himself. But he showed a growing interest in her music-lessons as the weekspassed, and he frequently made her sing pieces of his own to him, correcting each shade of expression most fastidiously, and occasionallyperforming the more difficult passages himself, with many affectedgestures and self-approving waggings of his head, though his voice wastuneless and harsh, and his ear anything but perfect. 

'Of course, ' he would say, 'it is only to give you an idea!'

The idea which he conveyed to Ortensia was that of a performing beareating strawberries; but she managed to keep her countenance, and not tomimic him when she repeated the passage herself, profiting by hisinstruction. It was the sort of music that rich amateurs used to writeby the ream, subject to the unacknowledged 'corrections' of a well-paidprofessional; but the girl's sweet voice and genuine talent made theairs sound passable, while her dreamy eyes and her caressingpronunciation of the trivial words did the rest. It was mere talent, forshe hardly understood what she was saying, or singing, and she felt notthe least emotion, but she seemed to kiss the syllables as they passedher lips. 

The first bloom of young womanhood was already on her cheek, but thefrosts of childhood's morning had not melted from her maiden heart. 

One day she was sitting just at the edge of the sunshine that pouredupon the eastern carpet from the high loggia. The room overlooked thegarden court of the palace, and the palms and young orange-trees, invast terra-cotta pots, laden with yellow fruit, had already beenbrought out and set in their places, for it was the spring-time; thesunshine fell slanting on the headless Ariadne, which was one of theSenator's chief treasures of art, and the rays sparkled in the clearwater in the beautiful sarcophagus below. The lilies had already put outyoung leaves too, that lay rocking on the ripples made by the tiny jetof the fountain. There were long terra-cotta troughs full of whiteviolets, arranged as borders along the small paved paths, and redflower-pots were set symmetrically in squares and rings and curves withroses just blooming, and mignonette, and carnations that still lingeredin the bud. It was a formal little garden, but in the midst of itsregularity, neither in the centre, nor at any of the artificiallyplanned corners and curves, but out of line with all, one cypress rearedup its height. Even as Ortensia saw it, looking out from her loggia, itovertopped the high wall that divided the garden from the canal and thelow houses on the other side, showing its dark plume sharp and clearagainst the sunlit sky; but when the morning and the evening breezesblew in spring and summer, it swayed lazily, and the feathery top wavedfrom side to side, and bent to the caressing air like a live thing. Ortensia loved the tree better than anything else in the garden; evenbetter than the beautiful Greek Ariadne, which her uncle had himselfbrought from Crete in one of his ships. 

She was watching it now, and where the sunlight played in the tip, shecould see the golden and reddish lights of the cypress twigs throughthe deep green. On her knees she held a large musical instrument allmade of ivory, and inlaid with black, a lute with eleven strings, but ofthe shorter kind with the head of the keyboard turned back at a rightangle. It lay in her lap, in the ample straw-coloured folds of her silkskirt, and its broad white ribband was passed over her shoulder, andpressed on her lace collar on the left side of her neck. 

At a considerable distance from her, a small, middle-aged woman in greysat in a high chair, bending forward over the little green pillow onwhich she was making bobbin lace. 

There was a good deal of furniture in the large room, and it belonged todifferent periods; some of it was carved, some inlaid, some gilt in thenew French fashion. A great Persian carpet of most exquisite colourssoftened and blended by age lay on the floor, and the curtains of thedoors were of rich old Genoa velvet, with palm leaves woven in goldthread on a faded claret ground. 

The time lacked about an hour of noon, and in the deep stillness thetrickling of the tiny fountain came up distinctly from the garden. 

Something had just happened which Ortensia did not understand, and shehad let her lute sink in her lap, to lean back and think, and wonder, watching the familiar outline of the dark cypress against the open sky. 

She had been learning a song by a new composer, of whom she had neverheard till now, and the manuscript lay open on a cushioned stool besideher. For a time she had followed the notes and words carefully with hervoice, picking out the accompaniment on her lute from the figured bass, as musicians did in those days. At first it had not meant much to her;it was difficult, the intervals were unexpected and strange, she couldnot find the right chords, the words would not quite make sense, andsome of them were unfamiliar to her. 

But she was patient, and she had talent, and she had tried again andagain, very soft and low, so that the woman in grey had nearly fallenasleep over her lace, nodding visibly and recovering herself each timewith a little grunt. 

Then, all at once, the breath of spring came in, like the breath oflife, with the warm scent of the garden below, and the sunlight hadstolen across the Persian carpet to her feet. She turned from themanuscript she had been studying, and without it her fingers suddenlyfound the chords, and her lips the words, and the melody floated outwith them into the stillness, low, trembling, and passionate as theburden of a love-dream, a wonder to hear. 

But she scarcely heard it herself, for it came unconsciously. Themeaning had dawned upon her unawares, and she understood without ears, as if the music were all in her heart, and much nearer to her life thanit could come by hearing alone. 

It stirred delicious depths within her; the spring and the sun and themelody waked that in her which had slept the long sleep of childhood, while her beautiful outward self was maturing to the blossom. 

She understood, and yet she did not; it was a bewildering joy, but itwas a longing; it was an exquisite satisfaction, yet it was also asecret, unspeakable wish; it was the first thrill of a feeling tooexquisite for words to describe, but with it there came a mysteriousforelightening of something unknown that troubled her maiden peace. 

Her lips quivered, her voice died away to a whisper, while her bodyvibrated still, like the last string she touched on the lute; a suddenwarmth came to her face then, and sank suddenly away, and all at once itwas all past, and she was gazing at the dark top of the cypress, and astrange, listless, half-sweet loneliness had come upon her, whereinnothing mattered any more, nor could anything ever matter again. 

That was what had just happened. But the woman in grey had not noticedit, though she was wide awake now and busily plying her bobbins. 

Then the heavy velvet curtain before the door was lifted, and a man'sfootstep was heard on the marble floor, and there was another step afterit. Ortensia turned her head carelessly against the back of the chair tosee who was coming, and then rose quickly to her feet. 

The Senator had entered and was ushering in a man she had never seen, ahandsome young man of five-and-twenty or so, with a thoughtful face anddeep-set eyes, of a rather dark complexion, as if he came from thesouth; his manner was grave, and he was soberly dressed in a blackvelvet coat with purple silk facings, and wore a plain broad collar oflinen instead of the fashionable lace; he was a man of middle height andwell made, and he moved easily. In his left hand he carried a musicalinstrument in a purple bag. 

[Illustration: '"This is the celebrated Maestro Alessandro Stradella ofNaples"']

He bowed very low as soon as the Senator stood still before Ortensia. 

'This, ' said the master of the house, 'is the celebrated MaestroAlessandro Stradella of Naples, by far the greatest musician andcomposer in Italy, who has very kindly consented to hear you sing, andto give you a few lessons if he finds you sufficiently advanced. '

Ortensia was surprised, and anything but displeased, but she showed noemotion. The young man before her was the composer of the song she hadbeen studying, the very one that had so strongly disturbed her a fewminutes ago; this of itself would have been interesting, even if he hadnot been such a singularly handsome young man. 

The woman in grey, who was her nurse, had risen too, and was looking atthe musician with more curiosity than might have been expected in asober person of her years. 

Ortensia bent her head a little, in acknowledgment of the introduction, but said nothing. She saw, however, that Stradella had already noticedthe manuscript of his own music on the stool beside her. 

'You may sing "Amor mi dice" to the Maestro, ' said the Senator, taking aseat. 'A little composition of my own, ' he added, with a self-satisfiedsmile, for the musician's information. 'I have taught it to my niecemyself. '

For one instant Stradella's eyes met the young girl's and she returnedtheir glance. It was enough; they already understood each other. Doubtless the composer had met his patron more than once and knew hisweakness and what to expect now. Ortensia resumed her seat, and drew herfull skirt into folds on her knee, for her lute to rest on. Stradellasat down at a little distance and looked at the Persian carpet, and shecould not help seeing that he had remarkably well-turned legs andankles, and wore very well-made shoes of soft purple leather withhandsome chiselled silver buckles. She felt inclined to raise her eyesto his face again, but resisted the temptation, and turned resolutelytowards her uncle as she struck the opening chords of the accompaniment. 

The musician now looked up and watched her. At first he put on theamiable smile which professionals keep especially for amateurs, and as amatter of politeness he listened attentively, till he had convincedhimself that the song, as he had expected, belonged to that large classof which the chief characteristic is a general resemblance to everythingof the kind that was ever written before, and will ever be writtenhereafter. This being settled after hearing a few bars, Stradellaquietly gave himself up to the pleasure of looking at the young girl, though he often turned towards the Senator, who expected admiration atevery full close, and meant to get it. 

He thought he did; for the effect of watching Ortensia was to bring tothe musician's own face an expression of such genuine delight thatPignaver could not fail to be pleased, since he attributed it to thecharm of his composition. He was in the seventh heaven. Here, at last, was a true genius, able to appreciate his talent as it deserved. Herewas a master fit to teach such noble music, as it should really be sung. Ortensia should profit by the opportunity, even if Stradella asked asilver ducat for each lesson. For once, money was no object to theSenator. The triumph his young bride would certainly bring him, insinging his songs after being taught by Alessandro Stradella, would beworth much more than gold. 

She sang the stuff as creditably as it deserved, her voice was fresh andtrue, and her touch on the lute was at once light and sure. With such aface, what did it matter that the song was exactly like a thousandothers? The musician praised it so enthusiastically that the Senator wasalmost satisfied for once. 

'You flatter me, ' he said, bowing a little in his chair, spreading outhis hands in a gesture of deprecation and grinning like a pleasedmonkey. 

'Not in the least, my lord, I assure you, ' answered Stradella with greatemphasis. 'If I were capable of flattering you, I should not deserve theconfidence you place in me, in desiring me to give this gifted younglady a few lessons. '

Ortensia pretended to be busy with her lute, bending over it and softlytrying the upper strings, though they were already perfectly in tune. But she was listening to the young master, and she thought she hadrarely heard a voice that had more winning tones in speaking, or anaccent that pleased her better. And as she bent down she could just seehis well-turned ankles and purple leather shoes. 

'It would be my wish, ' the Senator said, 'that you should give her somehints as to the performance of a number of my songs. Yes, I have devotedmuch time to your art as well as to poetry. Hitherto I have writtenninety-seven songs, both words and music. Yes, I have been industrious. If my niece had my industry she would know them all by this time. '

Ortensia bent still lower, till her face almost touched the frets of theinstrument, and she was biting her lip; but Stradella was imperturbable. 

'I trust you may be spared to contribute many more beautifulcompositions to the art treasures of our country, ' he said politely. 

'I hope so, ' answered Pignaver with gravity. 

And then--Ortensia looked up, and for the second time her eyes met themusician's, and she felt that he and she already understood each other. 

With many patronising smiles on the Senator's part, and many flatteringexpressions of admiration and respectful salutations from Stradella, thetwo parted and Pignaver took himself off, leaving his niece to take herfirst lesson under the guardianship of the nurse, who moved her chair sothat she could watch the pair while she was busy with her lace. 

For a few seconds neither spoke, and they looked at each other insilence as if making better acquaintance through their eyes alone, bywhich they had quickly reached a first degree of understanding. Stradella's face was quite grave, while Ortensia's lips were justparted, as if she were ready to smile, if he would. But he would not, and he was the first to speak. 

'How shall we begin?' he asked. 

Ortensia hesitated and touched the strings of her lute idly, as it layacross her knee, just kept from slipping down by the broad ribband. 

'When you came, ' she said at last, 'I had been trying to learn a song ofyours. It is beautiful. Will you show me how to sing it?'

She blushed faintly, and he smiled; but he shook his head. 

'I saw it lying there as soon as I came in, ' he said. 'But I understandit to be the Senator's wish that we should study his music rather thanmine. '

She was disappointed, and did not try to hide it; but she was not usedto asserting her own will, and her uncle's word had always been law inhis house, to be obeyed whether he were present or not. As forStradella, he would have sung his own song for her with delight, but hedistrusted the woman in grey, who might be a spy for all he knew. Hecarefully withdrew his lute from the purple bag and began to tune thestrings. It was a fine instrument, made in Cremona, but by no means sohandsome in appearance as Ortensia's ivory one. It was differentlydesigned, too, being much longer, with a double fret-board and no lessthan nineteen strings. 

'Let me see, ' Stradella said, when he was ready. 'That song of theSenator's you just sang--how was it?'

He struck chords, bent low over the lute, softly hummed a few snatchesof the melody, and then, to Ortensia's surprise, he began to sing thepiece as if he knew it well. He sang softly, without the least effort, and his voice seemed neither high nor deep, but there was a tone in itthat the young girl had never heard before, and that sent a thrill toher heart at the very first note. She bent forwards, watching him withparted lips and eyes full of wonder, scarcely breathing till he finishedthe stanza and spoke to her again. 

'Is that it?' he asked quietly, and he smiled as he looked at her. 

'But you know it!' she cried. 'If I had ever heard you I should not havedared to try to sing before you!'

'I never heard it before, ' Stradella answered, 'but I catch any tuneeasily. Shall we study it a little?' he went on, before she could speakagain. 'I will accompany you at first, and I will stop you now and then, where I think you might do better. Shall we?'

Again he smiled, but this time it was by way of encouragement, and he atonce began a little prelude on the lute. 

'You will sing better if you stand up, ' he suggested. 

She rose, took her own lute from her neck, and stood resting one hand onthe high back of her chair, turning her face from him; for she wasafraid, now that she had heard him. It was as bad as the worststage-fright; her tongue was paralysed, her limbs shook under her, sheshivered with cold in the sunshine, and her forehead was damp. Yet shehad not felt the slightest shyness a quarter of an hour earlier, whenshe had first sung the piece. 

'Sing with me, ' he said quietly, and he began the song again. 

Presently she took courage and the notes came, unsteadily at first, butthen true and clear; and Stradella's own voice died to a whisper, andshe went on alone, to the accompaniment he played. 

'You see, ' he said, as she paused, 'it is better to stand. Now I willshow you how to make one or two little improvements. '

So the lesson went on, and she conscientiously tried to do exactly whathe taught her; and their eyes met often, but that could not be helped, for he showed her how to vary the quality of her tone by movements ofthe mouth, and to do this she had to watch his lips and he was obligedto look at hers, which is sometimes a dangerous exercise for youngpeople, even at a first meeting. For acquaintance grows and ripensprecociously when two people are busy together so that they depend oneach other at every instant, as teacher and pupil, or as the chief actorand actress in a play, or as a man and a woman who are suddenly throwntogether in adventure or danger. 

When Stradella put his lute back into the purple bag at last, tellingOrtensia that she had sung enough for one morning and that she must nottire her voice, she felt as if this could not possibly have been herfirst meeting with him. His face, his tone, his gestures, the way heheld his lute, were all as familiar to her already as if he had givenher half-a-dozen lessons; and when he was gone and she sat once more inher chair looking at the top of the cypress tree against the noondaysky, she saw and heard all again, and then again; but she neither sawnor heard her nurse, who had laid aside the lace-pillow and was standingat her elbow telling her that it was time for the mid-day meal and thather uncle did not like to be kept waiting. The nurse spoke three timesbefore Ortensia heard her and looked up. 

'They say well that music is a thief, ' observed the middle-aged woman ingrey, enigmatically, as she stood with her hands folded under her blackapron, gazing intently at Ortensia's face. 

The young girl laughed as she rose. 

'Poor old Pina!' she answered, tapping her forehead with one finger asif to say that the nurse was weak-minded. 

But Pina smiled, and made three gestures, without saying a word: firstshe pointed to herself, then she shook her forefinger, and lastly shejerked her thumb back in the direction of the door that led to theSenator's apartments. The weak-minded body was not Pina, but her master, since he had brought that handsome singer to teach Ortensia, who hadnever before exchanged two words with any young man, handsome or plain, except under the nose of the Senator himself; and that had always beenat those great festivals to which the Venetian nobles took their wivesand daughters, even when the latter were very young, to show off theirfine clothes and jewels, though it meant comparing them publicly withquite another class of beauties. 

For the Venetian maxim was that women and girls were safe in public orunder lock and key, but that there was no salvation for them betweenthose two extremes. 

But, in the eyes of Pignaver, a musician was not a man, any more than aservant or a gondolier could be. Where a Venetian lady was concerned, nothing was a man that had not a seat in the Grand Council; that was thelimit, below which the male population consisted of sexless creatureslike domestics, shopkeepers, and workmen. 

Furthermore, the vanity of Pignaver raised him above all othercompetitors as high as the Campanile stood above Saint Mark's and theDucal Palace, not to mention the rest of Venice, and the idea thatOrtensia, who had been informed that she was to be the wife of histranscendently gifted and desirable self, could stoop to look at aSicilian music-master, would have struck him as superlatively comic, though his sense of humour was imperfect, to say the least of it. 

Even if the great man could have set aside all these considerations fora moment, so as to look upon Stradella as a possible rival, he wouldstill have believed that the presence of Pina during the lessons was atrustworthy safeguard against any 'accident to Ortensia's affections, 'as he would have expressed the danger. He had unbounded faith in Pina'sdevotion to him and in her severity as a chaperon. On the rareoccasions when the young girl was allowed to leave the palace withouther uncle, Pina accompanied her in the gondola, and sometimes on foot asfar as the church of the Frari, where she went to confession once amonth; but, as a rule, she had her daily airing with the Senatorhimself, meekly sitting on his left, and pretending to keep her eyesfixed on an imaginary point directly ahead, as he insisted that shemust, lest she should look at any of the handsome young nobles who wereonly too anxious to pass as near as possible on her side of the gondola. 

For, though she was not eighteen years old, the reputation of her beautywas already abroad; and as it was said that she was to inherit heruncle's vast wealth, there were at least three hundred young gentlemenof high degree who desired her now, since no one knew that the Senatorhad determined to marry her himself. Their offers were constantlypresented to him, sometimes by their fathers or mothers, and sometimesby ingenious elderly friends who undertook such negotiations for afinancial consideration. But Pignaver always returned the same answer, politely expressing his thanks for the honour done his niece, but sayingthat he had 'other views for her. '

Pina, however, hated him for reasons of her own, which he had eitherforgotten, or which he disregarded because, in his opinion, she wasunder the greatest obligation to the house. Pina's hatred of her masterwas more sincere, if possible, than her affection for Ortensia, and hercontempt for his intelligence was almost as profound as his own beliefin its superiority over that of other men. 

These facts explain why Pina acted as she did, though they could notpossibly excuse her evil conduct in the eyes of righteous persons likethe Senator and others of his class, who would have thought it amonstrous and unnatural thing that a noble Venetian girl should fall inlove with a music-master, though he were the most talented and famousmusician of his day. 

This was what Pina did. In the middle of the fourth lesson shedeliberately laid aside her lace-pillow and left the room, well knowingthat her master would have her thrown out of the house at once, andducked in the canal besides, if he ever heard of it. But he was a man ofunchanging habits. Each time that Stradella came he led him in, satdown, listened while Ortensia sang one of his own pieces, and then wentaway, not to return that morning. So when Pina was quite sure that hiscoming and going had settled to a habit, she boldly ran the risk, if itwas one, and left the two together. 

Alessandro Stradella was a Sicilian on both sides, though he had beenborn in Naples, and he wasted no time when his chance came. He tried nolittle trick of word or glance, he did not gaze into Ortensia's eyes andsigh, still less did he boldly try to take her hand and pour out afervid declaration of his love; for by this time, without the exchangeof a word, the girl had taken hold of his heart, and he saw her eyesbefore him everywhere, in the sunlit streets and canals, and at night, in the dark, and in his dreams. 

He did none of these things. He was the master singer of his age, and hehimself had made divine melodies that still live; he knew his power, andhe trusted to that alone. The velvet curtain had scarcely fallen behindPina as she went out, when he bent over his lute, and with one look atOrtensia began to sing. But it was not one of those ninety-sevencompositions on which the Senator prided himself: it was a love-song ofStradella's own that he had made within the week in the secrecy of hisown room, and no one had heard it yet; and it was his masterpiece. 

Ortensia felt that it was hers. That strange voice of his that was notdeep, yet never seemed high-pitched, breathed softly through and throughher being, as a spring breeze through young leaves, more felt thanheard, yet a wonder to hear. The notes vibrated, but did not tremble;they swelled and grew strong and rang out fiercely, but were never loud;and again they died away, but were not quite silent, and lingeredmusically in the air, though a whisper would have drowned them. 

The girl's eyes grew dark under their drooping lids, and her face wasluminously pale; her delicate young lips moved now and thenunconsciously, and they were icy cold; but she felt a wild pulse beatingat her throat, as if her heart were there and breaking to be free. 

She felt his look on her too, but she could not answer it, and when thesong ended she turned from him and laid her white cheek against the highback of the chair, looking out at the cypress against the sky. Shecould not tell whether it was pain or pleasure she felt, but it wasalmost more than she could bear, and her hands strained upon each other, clasped together just on her two knees. 

In the silence the velvet curtain was lifted and fell again, and Pina'sstep was heard on the marble floor. 

'I have brought you some water to drink, ' said the nurse quietly; andspeaking to both, 'Your throats must be dry with so much singing!'

Ortensia took one of the tall glasses and drank eagerly before sheturned her face from the window. 

'Thank you, ' she said, recovering herself and smiling at Pina. 

'And you, Maestro?' asked the latter, offering Stradella the drink. 

'Thank you, ' he said, 'but it is too much. With your permission!'

And then, with the effrontery of youth in love, he deliberately took thealmost empty glass from which Ortensia had drunk, poured a little intoit from the other, and drank out of it with a look of undisguisedgratitude on his handsome face. Thereupon a little colour came toOrtensia's ivory-pale cheek, and Pina smiled pleasantly. Instead ofsetting down the salver, however, she took it away, leaving the roomagain. 

'How beautiful that song is!' Ortensia said in a low voice, and glancingat Stradella almost timidly, when they were again alone. 'How more thanbeautiful!'

'It is yours, ' answered the musician. 'I made it for you--it is not evenwritten down yet. '

'For me!' The exquisite colour deepened twice in her face and fadedagain as her heart fluttered. 

'For you, ' Stradella answered, so softly that she barely heard. 

The nurse came back just then, having merely left the salver outside tobe taken away. In her judgment things had gone far enough for thepresent. Then the mid-day bells clanged out, and it was time to end thelesson, and Stradella put his lute into its purple bag and bowed himselfout as he always did; but to-day he kept his eyes on Ortensia's, andhers did not turn from him while she could see his face. 

CHAPTER II

Love-dealings and Deceit, says an ancient poet, were born into the worldtogether, daughters of Night; and several dry-hearted old critics, whonever were in love and perhaps never deceived anybody in their lives, have had so much trouble in understanding why these divinities shouldhave made their appearance in the world at the same time, that they havesuspected the passage and written pages of learned trash about whatHesiod probably wrote instead of 'Love-dealings, ' or the pretty word forwhich I can think of no better translation. 

Pignaver was not a particularly truthful person himself, but he exactedstrict truthfulness from others, which is good business if it is badmorality; and Ortensia had been brought up rigidly in the practice ofveracity as a prime virtue. She had not hitherto been tempted to tellfibs, indeed; but she had always looked upon doing so as a great sin, which, if committed, would require penance. 

Yet no sooner had she fallen in love with Alessandro Stradella than shefound herself telling the most glaring untruths every day, with areadiness and self-possession that were nothing short of terrifying. Forinstance, her uncle often asked her to tell him exactly what she hadbeen studying with the music-master, and he inquired especially whetherthe latter ever sang any of his own music to her. To these questions sheanswered that she was too anxious to profit by the lessons she wasreceiving, through her uncle's kindness, to waste the precious time inwhich she might be studying his immortal works. 

She used those very words, without a blink, and Pignaver swallowed theflattery as a dog bolts a gobbet of meat. She added that the Maestrohimself was so enthusiastic about the Senator's songs that he now caredfor nothing else. 

Yet the truth was that Stradella had summed up his criticism in a fewwords. 

'They are all so much alike that they almost produce the impression ofhaving been written by the same person. '

That was what he had really said, and Ortensia had laughed sweetly andcruelly; and even Pina, busy with her lace-pillow, had smiled with evilsatisfaction in her corner, for she was a clever woman, who had beeneducated above her present station, and she understood. 

Further, the Senator asked whether Stradella ever attempted to enterinto conversation with his pupil, between one piece of music and thenext. 

'Conversation!' cried the young girl indignantly. 'He would not dare!'

If Pignaver noticed the slight blush that came with the words, he set itdown to just anger at the mere suggestion that his future wife couldstoop to talk with a music-master. Yet, being of a suspicious nature, he also made inquiries of Pina, whom he unwisely trusted even more thanOrtensia herself. 

'Conversation, Excellency? Your Excellency's niece in conversation witha fiddler, a public singer, a creature little better than a mountebank!My lady Ortensia would as soon talk with a footman! Shame, my lord! Thesuspicion is unworthy! I would scarcely answer to the young man himself, if he spoke to me, though I am only a poor servant! A fiddler, indeed! Alute-strummer, a catgut-pincher, and a Neapolitan into the bargain!'

Thus did Pina express herself, and while her rather hard grey eyesseemed to flash with anger, her mouth, that had once been handsome, curved in lines of scorn that were almost aristocratic. 

It is as easy to deceive a very vain person in matters where vanity hasa part to play as it is to cheat a blind man, and Pignaver washoodwinked without difficulty by his niece and her nurse, and the lovethat had sprung up between the two young people almost at first sightgrew at an amazing rate while they sang and looked at one another overtheir lutes. 

But the first word had not been spoken yet, though it had been sung manytimes by both, separately and together. It was not that Stradelladoubted how it would be received, if he spoke it when Pina was out ofthe room, nor was Ortensia not eager for it long before it came. Yet shecould not be the first, and he would not, for reasons she understood solittle that at last she began to resent his silence as if it were aslight. Few Italian girls of her age have ever known that sensation, which is familiar enough to many women of the world. 

Stradella found himself faced by a most unexpected circumstance. He wasnot only in love; that had happened to him at regular intervals eversince he had been barely fourteen years old, when a beautiful Neapolitanprincess heard him sing and threw her magnificent arms round his neck, kissing him, and laughing when he kissed her in return; and she had madehim the spoilt darling of her villa at Posilippo for more than threeweeks. 

Since then he had regarded his love affairs very much as he looked uponthe weather, as an irregular succession of fine days, dark days, andstormy days. When he was happily in love, it was a fine day; whenunhappily, it was stormy; when not at all, it was dull--very dull. Buthitherto it had never occurred to him that any one of the threeconditions could last. Like Goethe, he had never begun a love-affairwithout instinctively foreseeing the end, and hoping that it might bepainless. 

But to his amazement, though he had been prepared to be as cheerfullycynical and as keen after enjoyment as usual, he now felt, almost fromthe first, that there was no end in sight, or even to be imagined. Thebeginnings had not been new to him; it was not the first time thatbeauty had stirred his pulse, or that a face had awakened sympathy inthat romantic region of feeling between heart and soul which is as farabove the brute animal as it is below the pure spirit. Before now hisvoice had brought fire to a woman's eyes, and her lips had parted withunspoken promises of delight. That was what had happened on the firstday when Pina had left him alone with Ortensia and he had sung to her;that had all been normal and natural, and only not dull because thefountain of youth was full and overflowing; that might have happened toany man between twenty and thirty. 

He had gone away light-hearted after the first lesson, with music in hisheart and ears. Was not every beginning of new love a spring thatpromised summer, and sometimes a rich autumn too, all in a few weeks, and with only a dull day or two to follow at the end, instead of winter?

But the next time he saw Ortensia it was a little different, and afterthat the difference became greater, and at last very great indeed, tillhe no longer recognised the familiar turnings in light love's shortpath, and the pretty flowers he had so often plucked by the way did notgrow on each side within easy reach, and the fruit of the garden seemedendlessly far away, though he knew it was hidden somewhere, far sweeterthan any he had tasted yet. For it was a maiden's garden in which no manhad trod before; and the maiden was of high degree, and could not wanderalong the path with him, yielding her will to his. 

His light-heartedness left him then, his face grew grave, and his temperbecame melancholy, for the first time in his life. He was only to giveher a few lessons, after all, and Pina would leave him with her for tenminutes, scarcely more, each time he came. One minute would be enough, it was true; if he spoke she would listen, if he took her hand she wouldlet him hold it. But what would be the end of that? A kiss or two, andnothing more. When the lessons were finished he would be told by theSenator that his teaching was no longer needed, and after that therewould be nothing. He might see her once a week in her gondola, at alittle distance; but as for ever being alone with her again in his lifefor five minutes, that would be out of the question. Could he, amusician and an artist, a man sprung from the people, even think ofaspiring to the hand of a Venetian senator's niece? In those days theidea was ludicrous. And as for her, though she might be in love withhim--and he felt that she was--would she entertain for a moment the ideaof escaping from her uncle's house, from Venice, to join her lot with awandering singer's? That was still greater nonsense, he thought. Thenwhat could come of it all but a cruel parting and a heartache, sincethis was real love and could not end in a laugh, like the lighter sorthe had known so well? She was a mere child yet, she would forget in afew weeks; and he was a grown man, who had seen the world, and coulddoubtless forget if he chose, provided there were never anything to beforgotten beyond what there was already. 

But if he should speak to her in one of those short intervals when theywere alone, if she stretched out her hand, if he clasped her to him, iftheir lips met, things would not end so easily nor be so soon forgotten. He had the careless knowledge of himself that many gifted men have evenwhen they are still very young; he knew how far he could answer for hisown coolness and sense, and that if he allowed himself to cross thelimit he would behave like a madman and perhaps like a criminal. 

Therefore he set himself to be prudent till the lessons should be over, and he even thought of ending them abruptly and leaving Venice. Hisacquaintance with Ortensia would always be a beautiful recollection inhis life, he thought, and one in which there could be no element ofremorse or bitterness. He was not a libertine. Few great artists haveever been that; for in every great painter, or sculptor, or musicianthere is a poet, and true poetry is the refutation of vulgarmaterialism. In all the nobler arts the second-rate men have invariablybeen the sensualists; but the masters, even in their love affairs, havealways hankered after an ideal, and have sometimes found it. 

When the Senator ushered in Stradella one morning and quietly announcedthat the lesson was to be the last, Ortensia felt faint, and turned herback quite to the open window, against the light, so that the two mencould not see how she changed colour. The nurse's hard grey eyesscrutinised Pignaver's face for an instant, and then turned toStradella; he was paler than usual, but grave and collected, for theSenator had already informed him that his services would be no longerneeded after that day. 

Everything was to take place as usual. As usual, Ortensia was to singone of her uncle's ninety-seven compositions to him while Stradellaaccompanied her; as usual, Pignaver would then go away; lastly, at thecustomary time, Pina would go out for ten minutes and reappear withwater and sherbet. 

Ortensia was shaking with emotion when the ordeal began, and for amoment she felt that it was hopeless to try to sing. Some sharpdiscordant sound would surely break from her lips, and she would faintoutright in her misery. 

She was on the very point of saying that she felt a sudden hoarseness, or was taken ill, when her pride awoke in a flash with a strength thatamazed her, the more because she had never dreamed she had any of thatsort. Stradella should not guess that she was hurt; she would rather diethan let him know that her heart was breaking; more than that, she wouldbreak his, if there was time, and if she could!

She stood up by her chair and sang far better than she had ever sungbefore in Pignaver's hearing; she threw life and fire and passion intohis mild composition, and she remembered every effective little trickStradella had taught her for improving the dull melody and foremphasising the commonplace verses it was meant to adorn. 

The Senator was surprised and delighted, and Stradella softly clappedhis hands. She hated him for applauding her, yet she was pleased withthe applause. 

'What music, eh?' cried the Senator, with a grin of satisfied vanity. 

'It is music indeed!' answered Stradella with a grave emphasis thatgave the words great weight. 'It has been my endeavour to do justice toit, in instructing your gifted niece. '

'You have succeeded very well, dear Maestro, ' Pignaver answered withimmense condescension. 'The world will be much your debtor when it hearsmy melodies so charmingly sung!'

With this elephantine compliment the Senator nodded in a patronising wayand took himself off, while Stradella bowed politely at his departingback. 

When the curtain fell before the door, the singer turned to his pupiland sat down in his accustomed seat, with great apparentself-possession. Ortensia watched him, and her new-born resentmentincreased quickly. 

'What will it please you to study to-day?' he inquired, just as easilyas if it were not the very last time. 

She felt much inclined to answer 'Nothing, ' and to turn her back on him, but somehow her pride found a voice for her, as indifferent as his own, though she avoided his eyes and looked out of the window. 

'It does not matter which song we take, ' she answered. 'They are verymuch alike, as you have often said!' She even laughed, quite lightly andcarelessly. 

It was his turn to be surprised. Her tone was as natural and unstrainedas a child's. At the sound of it, he asked himself whether this slip ofa thing of seventeen years had not been acting emotions she had notfelt, and laughing at him while he had been singing his heart out toher. Any clever girl could twist herself on her chair, and lay her cheekto the back of it, turning away as if she were really suffering, andtwining her hands together till the little joints strained and turnedeven whiter than the fingers themselves. 

At the thought that she had perhaps made a fool of him, Stradella nearlylaughed, and he came near being cured then and there of his latest andmost serious love-sickness. His lute was lying on his knees; he began tostrum the opening chords of Pignaver's dullest composition, in the dullmechanical way the music deserved. He thought the effect might be tomake Ortensia laugh and to change her mood. 

But, to his annoyance, she rose, laid one hand on the back of the chair, and proceeded to sing the song with the greatest care for details, though by no means with the dashing spirit that had made him applaud herfirst performance that morning. She was evidently singing for study, asif she meant to profit by his teaching to the very last moment. 

He accompanied her mechanically, wondering what was going to happennext, and when she had finished he eyed her with curiosity, but saidnothing. She seemed completely changed. 

'Why do you look at me in that way?' she asked with great calmness. 'DidI make any bad mistake?'

He smiled, but not very gaily. 

'No, ' he answered, 'you made no mistakes at all. You are admirableto-day! I quite understand that my services are no longer needed, for Ican teach you nothing more!'

'I have done my best to improve under your instructions, ' answeredOrtensia primly. 

She rested both her elbows on the back of the chair now and lookedcalmly out of the window at her favourite tree. Stradella pretended thathis lute needed tuning, turned a peg or two and then turned each backagain, and struck idle chords. 

'When you are rested, ' he said, 'I am at your service for another song. '

'I am ready, ' Ortensia answered with a calmness quite equal to his own. 

Pina, watching them from a distance and neglecting her lace-pillow, sawthat something was the matter, and got up to leave the room at leasthalf-an-hour earlier than usual; but because the Senator might come backunexpectedly during this last lesson, she went out through the otherdoor beyond which a broad corridor led to his own apartments, and shestood where she could not fail to hear his steps in the distance if heshould return. 

Ortensia was still standing by her chair when Stradella left his seatand came towards her, holding his lute in one hand. It did not suit hismale dignity to take leave of her without finding out whether she hadbeen playing with him or not, though half-an-hour earlier he would nothave believed it possible that vanity could enter into any thought hehad of her. 

He stood quite near her, and she met his eyes; she was rather frightenedby his sudden advance, and shrank back behind the chair. 

'You will find me in your loggia to-night, outside that window, ' hesaid, pointing as he spoke. 'I shall be there an hour before midnight, and I shall wait till it is almost dawn. '

He paused, keeping his eyes on hers. She had started back at the firstwords, and now a deep colour had risen in her cheeks; he could not tellwhether it meant anger or pleasure. 

'I shall be there, ' he repeated; 'I shall be there to say good-bye, ifyou will have it so, or to come again if you will. But if you do notopen the window, I will come twice again at the same hour, to-morrow andthe night after that, and wait for you till dawn. '

Ortensia turned from him without speaking and went out into the coveredloggia. It was her instinct to look at the place where he was to be, andfor the moment she could not answer him, for she did not know what tosay; she herself could not have told whether she was angry or pleased, she only felt that something new was happening to her. Her mood hadchanged again in a few seconds. 

He followed her to the threshold of the window, and stood behind her inthe flood of sunshine, so near that he could whisper in her ear and beheard. 

'There is love between us, ' he said. 'We have seen it in each other'seyes ever since we first met, we have heard it in one another's voicesevery day! I will not leave you without saying it for us both, just asmuch for you as for myself! But I must say it all many times, and I musthear it from you too. Therefore I shall be here an hour before midnightto wait, and you will come, and you will open the window when you seeme standing outside, and we shall be together! And if you will, we neednever part again, for the world is as wide as heaven itself, for thosewho love to find a safe resting-place. '

She raised one hand as if to stop him, without turning round. While hespoke, she had turned pale again by soft degrees, and she drew herbreath sharply once or twice, with an effort. He caught the hand she putout and kissed it slowly three times, as if he would leave the print ofhis young lips on the smooth white skin for a memory. She let him havehis way, though she shook her head, and would not turn to him. 

He was so near her that he could have bent and kissed her, just abovethe broad lace collar, behind her little ear, where the strong auburnhair sprang in silken waves from the ivory of her neck. The scent oflavender and violets rose from her dress to his nostrils in the warmth. 

'You will come, ' he whispered. 

'How can I?' she asked, very low. 

Then they heard Pina's voice behind them, not loud, but sharp andimperative. 

'The Senator is coming back!' she called to them, as she dropped thecurtain after entering and hastened to her seat. 

Stradella crossed to the other side of the window in an instant, raisingthe lute he still carried in one hand. 

'Sing!' he commanded, and he was already playing the accompaniment toone of Pignaver's everlasting songs. 

As pride had helped her before, sheer desperation strengthened her now, and, without moving from her place, she began to sing, not very steadilyat first, for her heart was beating terribly fast, but carefully, as ifshe were studying. 

A moment later Pignaver noiselessly lifted the velvet curtain and lookedin, confident that he had surprised them, and perfectly satisfied withthe result. Beyond the fact that they were standing in the sunshine tosing and play, on opposite sides of the great window, everything wasprecisely as he had expected. When the song was ended, he revealed hispresence by a word of approbation, and he installed himself to hear therest of the lesson. When it was over, he himself accompanied Stradellato the stairs. 

CHAPTER III

Ortensia heard the bells strike midnight. She was lying on her back, hereyes wide open, and staring at the rosette in the middle of the pinkcanopy over her head. She could see it plainly by the dim light of thetiny oil-lamp that hung above the kneeling-stool at which she said herprayers. She had said them with great fervour to-night, and had gone tobed with the firm intention of repeating the last one over and over toherself till she fell asleep. 

But in this she had not succeeded. She had heard the bells at eleveno'clock and had been wide awake; at that moment Stradella was steppingover the marble balustrade into the loggia. She tried to say her prayeragain, but it was of no use at all; she knew that he was standing therejust outside the great closed window, waiting, and that to see him shehad only to pass through her dressing-room, where Pina slept on atrestle-bed, which was taken away every morning. There was only one doorto Ortensia's bedroom, which was the last on that floor of the house;for it was proper that a noble Venetian girl should be safely guarded, and every night the Senator locked both the outer doors of thesitting-room where she had her lessons, and he kept the key under hispillow. Pina and Ortensia were in prison together from ten o'clock atnight till seven every morning, and the girl could not leave her ownroom without passing Pina. 

To the Senator's insufficient imagination two things were out of thequestion; he was convinced that no one could get up into the loggia frombelow, and he was persuaded that Pina, unswerving in her devotion to hisinterests and honour, would guard Ortensia as jealously as the dragonguarded the Golden Fleece. Moreover, as to getting in by the window, aman would first have to get access to the walled garden below, whichPignaver regarded as another impossibility, for the wall was high, hehimself kept the key of the postern that opened on the canal, and thegardener entered through the house. 

Nevertheless Stradella was standing in the loggia at eleven o'clock;Ortensia was sure he was there, and at midnight she was still lying onher back, staring up at the canopy, with outstretched hands thatclutched the edges of the bed on each side. Her idea of what waspossible was quite different from her uncle's; the one thing whichseemed to her out of the question was that she should lie where she wasmuch longer, and she only succeeded by giving herself the illusion thather own hands held her down by main force. By and by they would betired, she supposed, and then she would have to go to him. 

She held fast and listened, hoping to hear the bells again, as if anhour could slip by as in a moment while she was awake; and suddenly shestarted, and one hand left its hold, for she heard a noise at her ownwindow, a sharp tap, followed by another and another. Then there came asharp rattling, and she knew that it was only raining, and tried tolaugh at herself. The first big drops of the squall had struck the paneslike little pebbles. Her hand went down to the edge of the bed again andclutched the mattress desperately, while she listened. 

He was in the loggia, and the rain was driving in upon him as it wasdriving against her window. He would not move; he would wait there inthe wet till dawn, for he had said so and she believed him. It was hardto hold herself down now, knowing that he was being wet through. He musthave left his cloak behind, too, for he could not have been able toclimb if hampered by the folds. 

It was pouring now, and there was wind with the rain, since otherwise itcould not have made such a noise against the glass. She had often stoodinside the closed window of the sitting-room when it was raining fromthe same quarter, and she had seen how the gusts drove the water insheets against the panes, till it ran down and made a river along theloggia and boiled at the grated gutter-sinks through which it ran off. He was perhaps nearly up to his ankles in the little flood by this time, but he would not go away for that. She knew he would wait. 

Her hands let go and she was suddenly sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling for her slippers with her bare feet; with bare arms raised, sheinstinctively put up both hands to her hair at the same time, to be surethat it would not come down, for Pina always did it up at night in athick coil on the top of her head. 

She heard the rain even more distinctly now; it was coming down intorrents. She looked up at the little lamp burning quietly beforeRobbia's blue and white bas-relief of the infant Christ, and she thoughtof her prayers again; but it was positively wicked to let any one standoutside in the rain for hours, to catch his death of cold. 

She slipped a silk skirt over her thin night-dress and put on herfur-edged dressing-gown over that, for those were the days of wonderfuldressing-gowns, quilted with down, bordered with sable or ermine, andtrimmed with lace. She drew the cords tightly round her slim waist, andshe was ready. 

For a moment she hesitated; there was no night-light where Pina slept, nor in the day-room beyond; the stormy night must be so dark that shewould not be able to find her way to the windows. That thought decidedher, and she stopped to light a small hand-lamp. Then she cautiouslyopened the door, shaded the flame from Pina's face with one hand, andpassed quickly through the dressing-room. The nurse lay in hertrestle-bed, well covered up, and did not move, and Ortensia shut thenext door noiselessly. 

She hastened to the window, and when she got there she started; hisdripping face was flattened against the pane, so white and ghostly thatit was like a vision of him dead, but his eyes were alive and werewatching her, and when she was quite near the window he smiled. She setdown her lamp on the floor at a little distance and began to undo thefastenings with the greatest caution, fearing to make any noise; but assoon as the bolt was drawn the wind forced the frame open so violentlythat it almost knocked her down. Stradella sprang in with the drivingwet and only succeeded in shutting the window after several efforts, during which the lamp was almost blown out. 

He stood before her then bare-headed, and the water ran down upon themarble floor from his drenched clothes. He had neither hat nor cloak, and his dark hair was matted with the rain; but his face was radiant. 

'You are frozen! you are soaked through and through!' she criedanxiously. 'You will get an illness, and I can do nothing! There is noteven a little wine here to warm you. '

He smiled and shook his head. 

'Never mind me, ' he answered. 'Or let me take your hand in mine for amoment and the chill will pass!'

He put out his own, and when she felt that it was cold and wet, she tookit in both of hers and tried to dry it, and chafed it between her palms, till he drew it away rather suddenly with a low laugh. 

'Thank you, ' he said. 'That is enough!'

'No, let me warm it better, or give me the other!'

'There is too much fire in your touch, ' he answered. 'It burns throughcold and wet. It would burn through ice itself!'

His tone made her forget her first anxiety for him; but she felt thatshe must explain why she was there, if only to quiet her own conscience. 

'I would not have come if it had not rained, ' she said, avoiding hiseyes, 'and now I must not stay with you. As soon as it stops you mustlet yourself out and go away. It was only when I heard the rain----'

'Blessings on the rain!' answered Stradella devoutly. 'I never loved itbefore!'

'You should not have come on such a night--I mean----'

She stopped and he saw her blush in the faint light that came up fromthe lamp on the floor. 

'I had no choice, since I had promised, ' he answered. 'And I promise youI will come to-morrow again----'

'Oh, do not promise--please!' She seemed distressed. 

'Yes, I will come to-morrow and every night, until you come away withme. I will bring you a disguise in which you can travel safely till weare over the Venetian border and free. '

'But I cannot--I will not!' she protested. 'You speak as if--as if----'

'As if we loved each other, heart and soul, for life or death, ' he said, not letting her go on, and taking her hand again. 'I speak as if we hadbeen born into the world only for that, to love and live and dietogether! As if there were no woman for me but you in all the earth, andno man for you but me! As if our lips had promised and had met!'

She was drinking his words, and her eyes were in his as he bent to herface. But then she started, in returning consciousness, and tried todraw back. 

'No, no!' she cried, in sudden maiden distress. 'Not yet! It is toosoon!'

He drew her nearer to him in spite of herself, with both her hands inhis, till he could speak close to her ear. 

'Tell me you do not love me, love! Tell me you will not feel one littleregret if you never see me again! Come, say it in my ear, sweetheart!Say that if I fall and am killed in climbing down when I leave you, itwill make no more difference to you than if a dog were drowned in thecanal! Is it not true, dear? Then say it quickly! Only whisper it in myear, and I will go away and never come back. But you must say it----'

'Yes--please go!' she answered faintly. 'Go at once----'

'No, you must say the rest first, ' he insisted, and his lips were almosttouching her ear. 'Say it after me: "I hate you, I despise you, I loatheyou, I do not care whether you live or die. " Why do you not begin torepeat the words, heart of my heart?'

She turned suddenly in his hold, holding her head far back, wide-eyedand very pale. But she could not speak, or would not, foreknowing whatmust happen now that had never happened to her before. 

He smiled faintly, and when he spoke again it was a sweet breath shefelt, rather than a sound that reached her ear. 

'Will you not say it?' he said, and his face came slowly nearer to hers. 'Would it not be true? No? Then say "I love you, love, " or speak no wordaloud but let your lips make syllables on mine, and, like the blind, thetouch will tell me what you say. '

Her eyes closed of themselves, the speaking breath came nearer, andthen, as lightning flashes through a summer's night, flame ran from herlips to her feet, and to her heart from her hands that lay in his andfelt his life stirring. 

It was innocent enough, a girl's first love-kiss, and the kiss of a manwho loved in earnest for the first time, but it seemed a great and afearful thing to her, irrevocable as lost innocence itself; and he, whose masculine light-heartedness made not much of mere kisses, andlaughed at the thought that love could do much wrong, felt that he hadgiven a pledge he must redeem and a promise he must honourably keep. 

It was innocent enough. He held her by the hands as he bent and kissedher, for the water was still trickling down his drenched clothes, andher pretty dressing-gown would have been spoiled if he had even put onearm round her waist. There was a dash of the ridiculous in that, whichwould have made them both laugh if they had not been so simply andutterly in earnest. And then when he let her hands go and she sank upona chair, he could not even sit down beside her, because the velvet seatwould have been ruined. So he stood bolt upright in the midst of thelittle puddle the water had made round his feet. 

She covered her face with her hands for a moment, not in any shame, buttrying to make herself think. 

'You must go now, ' she said presently, looking up at him. 'It is enoughto make the strongest man fall ill, to be drenched as you are. You willlose your voice----'

'What does that matter, if I have found you?' he asked. 'But I will doas you wish, for it has stopped raining at last, and it is growinglate--you will lose half your sleep to-night. '

'Or all of it!' she answered softly, thinking of his kiss. 'How did youget up to the loggia? Have you a ladder?'

He had none. He had got over the outer wall by means of a rope with agrappling-hook fastened to it, which he had thrown up from the canal. Thence he had reached the loggia without much difficulty, for in theshort intervals during the lessons he had more than once looked down andhad seen that it was quite possible, and more a question of steadynerves than of great strength and activity. At the level of the loggia astone ledge ran round the palace, and along this it was easy to creep onhands and knees. He had drawn himself up to it from the top of the wall, which joined the building at the corner of the garden. 

'It is easy enough, ' Stradella answered. 'And now good-bye. To-morrownight again, love, an hour before midnight. '

She rose and they joined hands again. 

'I ought to tell you not to come, ' she said in a weak voice, like achild's. 'But how can I say it--now--now that----'

If any other word would have followed, it could not. Once more herclosed eyes saw sweet summer lightnings, and the thrill of the flame ranfrom her lips through every vital part. 

He turned from her at last to unfasten the window, and for a moment shewas too dazed to stop him, though she would have kept him still. Thenshe tried to follow him out into the loggia, but he would not let her. 

'No, love, ' he said, 'your wet shoes would tell tales. '

'But there is danger!' answered Ortensia, holding him by his drenchedsleeve. 'I must know you are safe!'

'When I reach my boat I will whistle softly, ' he said. 

He was gone in the dark, and she was listening by the open window, herheart beating so that it seemed as if it must drown any other sound. Buthe made no noise as he crept along the ledge to the corner, and thencautiously let himself down upon the top of the wall, dropping astrideof it then to pull himself along in that position by his hands till hefound the grappling-hook of his rope. The wall rose perpendicularly fromthe canal, and he had moored his little skiff to the only ring he couldfind at the base of it, some distance from the corner. 

Ortensia listened anxiously for the promised signal, and peered into thedarkness, her hand on the window, ready to close it as soon as she knewhe was safe. 

But suddenly she heard the sound of oars striking the water, and ayellow glare rose above the wall from the other side. 

'Who goes there?' asked a deep voice. 

No one answered, but instantly there was a heavy splash, as of a bodyfalling into the canal. 

Half-an-hour later Ortensia was lying on her back again, staring up atthe rosette in the canopy. But her face was distorted with horror now, and was whiter than the pillow itself. 

In the day-room, by the light of Ortensia's little lamp, Pina was on herknees, carefully mopping up the water that had run down from Stradella'sclothes, and drying the marble floor. 

CHAPTER IV

Soon after sunrise the Senator came and unlocked the doors of Ortensia'sday-room. That had always been his custom, for he kept the key under hispillow, as has been said, and he would as soon have thought of sending aservant to liberate the girl and the woman in the morning as of lettingany one but himself lock them in at night. 

'The master's eye fattens the horse, ' he said to himself, quoting aSpanish proverb without much regard for metaphors. 

It was his wont to open the door, and to look into the large room beforegoing away, for he was sure that his eye would at once detect theslightest disarrangement of the furniture, or anything else unusualwhich might warrant suspicion. 

But this morning he did more: he entered the room, shut the door behindhim and looked about. He went to the window and examined the fasteningscarefully, opened it wide, went out into the loggia and looked down intothe garden. Everything was in order there, not one flower-pot had beenupset by the squall, not a branch of the cypress-tree was broken or evenbent. 

Then he came in again and tapped sharply at the door of thedressing-room where Pina slept. She appeared instantly, already dressed;but she laid one finger on her lips, to keep him silent, and came outinto the room before she spoke. 

She said that Ortensia had been kept awake half the night by the storm, and was now sound asleep. 

'A thief tried to get into the house after midnight, ' said Pignaver. 'Did you hear any noise?'

'I should think I did!' cried Pina promptly. 'I was going to tell yourlordship of it. I was up with the young lady, and when the first squallwas over and she was more quiet, I thought I would just come in here tosee if any water had run in under the window as it sometimes does. Justthen I saw a glare of light beyond the garden wall, and I opened thewindow at once and heard the Signor of the Night challenging a thief, and directly afterwards there was a splash in the canal, and thensilence, and the light went away slowly. I hope the man was drowned, mylord!'

While she was speaking, Pignaver had nodded repeatedly, for her littlestory bore the stamp of truth. 

'I grieve to say that the villain got away, ' he answered. 'At daybreakan officer from the Signors of the Night was waiting downstairs toinform me of the attempt. The Signors' boat searched the canal for thebody of the man during more than an hour, but found nothing. He musthave been on the garden wall when he was seen, and he threw himself intothe water to escape, leaving the rope by which he had climbed up. '

'Mercy!' cried Pina. 'We might have all been murdered in our beds!'

'No one shall get upon that wall again, ' answered the master of thehouse. 'I will have the coping stuck full of broken glass from end toend before night. '

'Would it not be well to set a watch in the garden, too, my lord? Weshould sleep soundly then!'

'We shall see, we shall see, ' answered Pignaver, repeating the wordsslowly, as he went off. 'We shall see, ' he said once more, as he wentout. 

As soon as he was gone, Pina hastened to Ortensia's room. 

'He is safe!' she cried as she entered. 'They searched the canal for awhole hour, and could not find him!'

Ortensia uttered a little cry and sat up in bed suddenly; but she couldscarcely believe the news, till Pina had repeated all that the Senatorhad said. When she heard that the wall was to be crowned with brokenglass, however, her face fell, for she saw in a flash of imagination howStradella would climb up confidently in the dark and would cut his handto the bone when he grasped the jagged points on the top. 

'You must warn him!' cried Ortensia. 'You must go out and find him, andtell him not to come again!'

'I will find him, ' answered Pina. 

They had never spoken of Stradella before the night that was just past. Day after day, while the lessons were going on, Pina had left the twotogether, and Ortensia had silently accepted the nurse's conduct withoutunderstanding its cause; she was too proud to speak of it when they weretogether, or too shy, but she was sure from the first that Pina wouldstand by her, though it was the woman's sole business never to let herbe out of her sight for a moment. 

'And what shall I tell him?' Pina asked. 'What message shall he havefrom you? I will faithfully deliver your words. '

Ortensia covered her eyes with one hand, leaning on the other behindher, to steady herself as she sat up. 

'Tell him that--that we must wait--and hope----'

'For what?' asked Pina bluntly. 'For the end of the world?'

Ortensia uncovered her eyes and looked up, surprised at the change oftone. 

'Will you wait till you are the Senator's wife?' Pina asked, her greyeyes hardening suddenly. 'Will you hope that by that time the brokenglass on the wall will have softened in the rain till it will not cuthis hands? Or that you will be more free when you are married? You willnot be. That is not the way in Venice. I am a serving-woman, and, besides, I am neither young nor pretty--I was once!--so I may go andcome on your business and walk alone from the Piazza to Santa Mariadell' Orto. But you noble ladies, you are born in a cage, you live inbondage, and you die in prison! Will you wait? Will you hope? What for?'

'What do you mean?' asked Ortensia in a frightened voice. 'Am I never tosee him again? Is my message to him to be a good-bye?'

'Good-bye is easily said, ' Pina answered, shaking her headenigmatically. 

The young girl let herself sink back on her pillow, and turned her faceagainst her bare arm, so that at least her eyes were hidden from thenurse. 

'I cannot!' she whispered to herself, drawing a breath that almostchoked her. 

'Yes, ' Pina repeated harshly, 'it is easy to say farewell; and as forany hope after that, the devil lends it us at usury, and if we cannotpay on the day of reckoning he takes possession!'

'What cruel things you say!' Ortensia cried in a half-broken tone, turning her head slowly from side to side, with her face hidden in thesoft hollow of her elbow. 

'What hope will there be for you, child, when you are your uncle's wife?The hope of dying young--that is all the hope you will have left!'

The woman laughed bitterly, and Ortensia felt that she was going to cry, or wished that she could, she was not quite sure which. 

'Therefore I say it is folly to send a man such a message. "Wait andhope, " indeed! How long? His lifetime? Yours? You are both young, andyou may wait and hope fifty years, till your hair and teeth fall out, and you discover that there is nothing in hope after all! Better saygood-bye outright, though it kill you! Better try and forget than make amartyrdom of remembering! Better anything than hope!'

The grey-eyed woman's voice shook with an emotion which Ortensia couldnot have understood if she had noticed it, for she was dreadfullymiserable just then. Pina bent down over her, smoothed her hair andpatted her bare arm softly. 

'Why hope for what you can take, if you have the courage?' she asked, dropping her voice to a whisper, as she glanced behind her towards thedoor. 

Ortensia lifted her head and looked up, her lips parting in surprise. 

'Why should you waste time in waiting?' Pina asked, still whispering. 'That is the message I would send if I were you, ' she added. 'Shall Itake it?'

'But how?--I do not understand--he cannot come to me here. '

'We can go to him, ' answered the nurse. 'Is it not easy? The next timeyou confess at the Frari he will meet us. It is simple enough. Two longbrown cloaks with hoods, such as old women wear, a few hundred yards towalk from the Frari to the Tolentini, his gondola there, and out bySanta Chiara to the mainland and Padua--who shall catch us then? You areyoung and strong, and I am tough; we shall not die of the fatigue; andby the next morning we shall all three be out of Venetian territory. What is easier?'

Ortensia listened to this bold plan in silence, too much surprised toask why Pina was so ready to propose it, and a little frightened too, for she was a mere girl, and all the world beyond Venice was amysterious immensity of Cimmerian gloom in the midst of which littlepools of brilliant light marked the great and wonderful places she hadheard described, such as Rome, Florence, and Milan, and royal Paris, andimperial Vienna. 

'But my uncle would send men after us, ' Ortensia objected. 'The Councilof Ten will do anything he asks! They will give him soldiers, ships, anything! How can we possibly escape from him? We shall be caught andbrought back!'

Pina smiled at such fears. 

'Beyond the Venetian border they can do nothing, ' she said. 'Do we meanto rob the Senator or murder him, that Venice should send an ambassadorto claim us for trial under the laws of the Republic? Is it a crime foryoung people to love, and to run away and marry?'

'You do not know how powerful my uncle is, ' Ortensia said. 

Pina's face changed at once, and her expression became stony andimpenetrable. 

'You are wrong, ' she answered in a hard voice. 'I know he is powerful. But if you fear him, as I do not, then wait and hope! Wait and hope!'

She laughed very strangely as she repeated the words, and her voicecracked on the last one, with a discordant note that frightenedOrtensia, who was weary and overwrought. 

'What is it, Pina?' asked the young girl quickly. 'What has happened?'

The nurse was already herself again, and pretended to cough a little. 

'It is nothing, ' she said presently. 'Something in my throat, just as Iwas speaking. It often happens. And as for what we were speaking of, there is no hurry. I will find the Maestro Alessandro before noon, andwarn him not to come near our garden wall again, and I will tell himfrom you anything you wish, except that you do not care what becomes ofhim, for that would not be true!'

She laughed again, but quite gently this time, and began to busy herselfabout the room, making preparations for Ortensia to dress. The girl hadlaid her head on her pillow again, looking up at the little pink silkrosette in the middle of the canopy, and she was sure that it had a muchless sad look now than it had worn in the small hours by the flickeringnight light. This seemed quite natural to Ortensia, for the familiarlittle objects in a girl's own room have a different expression forevery hour of her life, to sympathise with each joy and sorrow, great orsmall, and with every hope, and surprise, and disappointment. 

But Ortensia herself could not have told what she felt just then, for itwas a sensation of startled unrest, in which great happiness and greatfear were striving with each other to possess her; and she knew that ifshe yielded to the fear, she would lose the happiness, but that if sheopened her heart to the happiness, the fear would at once become aterror so awful that she must certainly die of it. 

She did not ask why her nurse was so ready to help her to run away. Thefact was enough. The plan looked easy, and Stradella was the man tocarry it out. She had only to consent, and in a week, or less, all wouldbe done, and she would be joined to him for ever. If she refused, shemust inevitably become the wife of Pignaver in a few months. She writhedon her pillow at the mere thought. 

Two hours later she was standing before the big open window, watchingthree masons who were working on the top of the garden wall; theyspread thick layers of stiff grey mortar over the old coping, and thenstuck in sharp bits of broken glass, patting and pressing down thecement against each piece, to make the hold quite firm. The murderoussplinters gleamed in the sunshine, and the men set them so near togetherthat one could hardly have laid a finger anywhere between them. 

Ortensia watched the work, and now and then she looked at the top of thecypress-tree, half-unconsciously wondering how many days would passbefore she saw it for the last time. But in the broad daylight she livedover and over again every instant of that short night meeting that wasthe greatest event in all her life. If she only drooped her lids alittle she saw Stradella there before her in his dripping clothes by therays of the little lamp, his face was close to hers again, her lipstouched his, and a delicate thrill ran through all her body and remindedher faintly but very sweetly of what she had felt when he kissed her. 

Meanwhile, Pina had found the musician's lodging, near Santa Maria dell'Orto, which was a long way from the Senator's palace, for that quarterlies on the extreme outer edge of Venice, looking across the lagoontowards Murano. The door was opened for her by a hunchback, with alarge, intellectual face, beardless and strongly modelled, such a faceas Giotto would have taken as a model for a Doctor of the Church. Thesad blue eyes looked up to Pina's with cold gravity; but when sheexplained that she came from the Palazzo Pignaver with a message, theybrightened a little, and the man at once stood aside for her to enter. 

She touched his hump lightly for luck in passing, as every Italian womanwill to this day if she finds herself close to a hunchback in thestreet, and this act is rarely resented. Pina thought it a piece ofunexampled good-fortune and of the best possible augury that the doorshould have been opened by a 'bringer-of-fortune, ' and the deformedservant smiled gently at her touch, quite understanding. As he led theway in, after shutting the outer door, Pina saw that nature had meanthim for a man of large proportions, and that his short stature waschiefly due to the terrible deformity of his back and chest, for hisslightly bowed legs looked as sturdy as a street porter's, and hispowerful arms were so long that his hands swung well below his kneeswhen he walked. He wore plain brown clothes, and a broad white collar, and Pina, who was observant, noticed the neatness of his dress. 

Stradella received her with a politeness to which, as a serving-woman, she was little accustomed, and he made her sit down in a comfortablechair before asking for news of Ortensia. He himself was none the worsefor his wetting. The hunchback waited a moment as if expecting someorder, but Stradella only nodded to him, and he went out. 

'My young lady is well, and greets you, sir, ' Pina said in answer to theMaestro's question, when the door was shut. 'She bids you be warned andnot try to climb the wall again, for it is already being crowned withbroken glass, which would cut your hands; and, moreover, the Senatorwill probably set a watch in the garden, since you were fortunatelymistaken for a thief last night. '

Stradella listened to this business-like statement attentively, andwatched Pina's face while she was speaking. Her hard grey eyes met hiswith perfect frankness. 

'I see that you know everything, ' he said. 'Tell me, then, how can I seethe lady Ortensia? Surely you are not come to tell me that I am not tosee her again. '

Pina unfolded her plan with a clearness and precision that firstsurprised him, and then roused his suspicion. For a few moments aftershe had ceased speaking he was silent, and examined his left hand withthoughtful interest, gently rubbing with his thumb the callous placesmade on the tips of his fingers by playing on stringed instruments. Thewoman puzzled him, for he understood well enough from her tone that shewas not moved to help him merely by affection for her mistress, and shecould certainly not be supposed to be actuated by any sudden devotion tohimself. Besides, she must be aware that he was not a rich man, andcould not requite with any large sum of money such a service as sheoffered. Her motive was a mystery. At last he spoke. 

'Listen to me, ' he said, watching her eyes. 'Your plan is good, andperfectly feasible. If you are in earnest, it can be carried outto-morrow, or whenever the lady Ortensia is ready. I will reward you aswell as I can, but you must remember that I am a poor musician and not aVenetian senator----'

Pina's grey eyes were like steel, and her tone was cold, and not withouta certain dignity. 

'Have I asked money of you, sir?'

'Oh, no!' answered Stradella readily. 'I only wished----'

She interrupted him, as if she were his equal. 

'Even a servant may love something better than a bribe!' she said. 

'I beg your pardon, ' Stradella found himself saying, a good deal to hisown surprise, for he had not expected to hurt a serving-woman's feelingsby speaking of money. 'I misunderstood you. '

'You did indeed, sir!' answered Pina. 'All I ask of you is that you willtake me with you in your flight, for the Senator will certainly have memurdered if I am left behind. Afterwards, if my lady does not want me, Iwill look for another place, or live by lace-making. '

Stradella did not like the answer. The Sicilian character has gravedefects: it is revengeful, over-proud, violent, and sometimes cruel; butit is generally truthful, and it is, above all, direct. 

'You talk lightly of leaving your mistress, ' said the musician. 'It isnot for love of her that you are ready to help us. '

Pina faced him fearlessly. 

'You are right, ' she answered. 'And yet she is the one living being Ilove at all. Affection is not the only motive one may have, sir. '

'Nor love of money either, ' Stradella said thoughtfully. 'The third ishate. Last of all comes charity!'

'I am not a saint, sir, ' said Pina. 'So you are answered. I hate mymaster, and I have the right to hate him. That is my affair. If I daredkill him, I would, but I should not have the courage to bear beingtortured if I were arrested and tried. I am only a woman, and I fearbodily pain more than anything. That is why I did not kill the Senatortwenty years ago. '

The musician watched the cold, resentful face that had once been sohandsome, and though he could not guess her story he partly understoodher. 

'You are frank, ' he said. 'I see that you are in earnest, and that I cantrust you. '

'Trust me for anything, sir, except to resist torture, ' Pina answered. 'I know what it is, ' she added in a low voice, and avoiding his eyes asif she were suddenly ashamed. 'As for my master, ' she went on, turningto Stradella again a moment later, 'I believe he would rather die thanbe made a laughing-stock. I know that he yesterday announced to hisfriends his betrothal to his niece, which has been a secret for severalweeks. I can hear the fine ladies and gentlemen laughing at him whenthey learn that she has run away with her music-master on the eve of hermarriage! I can fancy the jests and the sarcasms the Senator will haveto put up with!'

She laughed herself, rather savagely, and Stradella smiled. Provided hecould carry off Ortensia, he did not even object to becoming theinstrument of a serving-woman's vengeance. 

They agreed upon the details of the flight. On the next day but one, being the feast of one of the many Franciscan saints, Stradella was tosing an air at Vespers in the Church of the Frari. It was thereforearranged that Ortensia and Pina should go to the church at that hour onpretence of confession. At the monument of Pietro Bernardini, near themain entrance, Stradella's hunchback servant would be waiting for themwith two brown cloaks and hoods, which they were to put on immediately. They were then to kneel down quietly in the shadow and to wait tillStradella had finished singing, when they were to leave the churchwithout waiting for him; his man would lead them through by-ways to thegondola, which was to wait on the farther side of the Tolentini. Stradella himself would slip away from the loft as soon as theBenediction began, after Vespers, just when all the other musicianswould be very busy. He would probably reach the gondola almost as soonas Ortensia and the two servants, and in five minutes they would be wellout of the city. 

'And pray, sir, ' asked Pina, 'what is your man's name?'

'Cucurullo, ' Stradella answered. 

'What a strange name!' Pina exclaimed. 

'It is common enough in Naples. '

CHAPTER V

The Benediction was over, and the music had died away; the deep coloursof the ancient windows already blended into luminous purple stains, likered wine spilt on velvet just before dusk; on the altar of the Sacramentand all about it hundreds of wax candles were burning steadily, arrangedin dazzling concentric rings and shining curves. A young Dominican monkhad prostrated himself before the shrine, a motionless figure, halfkneeling and half lying on the steps. 

The service was ended and the priests were gone. Some five hundred feetshuffled slowly away from the blaze of light into the gloom and outthrough the western door, and the brighter part of the church wasalready deserted; but the young monk remained motionless, prostrate uponthe steps. 

Two men stood by the choir screen, the broad-brimmed black hats theyheld in their hands hanging so low that the draggled feathers swept thepavement, their eyes directed towards the retiring crowd. They were twoshabby gentlemen of thirty years or under; though their clothes were notyet actually torn or patched, most of their garments were already inthat premonitory state which warns the wearer of old breeches to sitdown with deliberation and grace, rather than with rash haste, and tomake no uselessly quick movements whereby an old sewing may rip open, orthe silk or cloth itself may split and gape in an unseemly manner, furnishing a cause for mirth in better-clad men. 

These two poor gentlemen were very unlike in appearance, except as totheir well-worn clothes and in respect of their rapiers, which were soexactly similar that they might have been made for a duelling pair. Eachhad a beautifully chiselled and polished bell-guard, with the Italiancross-bar for the middle finger; each was sheathed in a good brownleather sheath, with a chiselled steel shoe to drag on the pavement, andeach weapon hung from the wearer's shoulder-belt by two short chains ofwell-furbished steel. The weapons looked serviceable, though they madelittle pretence to beauty, in an age when most things worn by men andwomen were adorned too much rather than too little. 

But the men themselves were not alike. The shorter of the two was veryfair, with the complexion of a Saxon child, and unnaturally pink cheeks;his nose turned up to a sharp point in the most extraordinary manner, sothat the pink openings of the nostrils seemed to stand upright above theflaxen moustache, reminding one of the muzzles of certain wild cats. Hisblue eyes were large, perfectly round, and often aggressively fixed, andthe long yellow lashes that bristled all round them might have passedfor rays. He wore a short pointed beard, and his very thick fair hairwas parted exactly in the middle and hung down below his dingy collar oneach side, perfectly straight and completely hiding his ears. There wassomething both comic and disturbing in his aspect. 

His companion was much less extraordinary in appearance, though any onewould have noticed him in a crowd as an unusual type. Instead of beingfair, he was as dark as a Moor; instead of turning up, his immenselylong and melancholy nose curved downwards over his thin lips like avulture's beak as if trying to peck at his chin. His eyes were shadowyand uncertain under his prominent forehead and bushy eyebrows. His beardwas a mere black wisp, and the points of his scant moustaches were waxedand stood up stiffly. He was the taller of the two, but his hat hunglower in his hand than his friend's, for he had unnaturally long arms, with a long body and short legs, whereas the fair man with the turned-upnose was remarkably well-proportioned. 

'Who says we have no good music in Venice?' inquired the latter at last, fixing his round eyes on the other's face angrily, and pressing down thehilt of his sword so as to make the point stick up behind. 

His mouth looked ridiculously small, and his pink cheeks were very largeand round. His companion had long ago come to the conclusion that he wasvery like one of those rosy cherubs that roll about the clouds in thereligious pictures painted in those times, blowing their trumpets tillthey look as if their red cheeks must burst. Accordingly, he hadnicknamed his friend 'Trombin, ' short for 'trombino, ' a 'littletrumpeter. '

The dark man had always gone by the name of Gambardella, and seemedquite satisfied with the appellation. The two had been companions intheir profession for several years, but neither knew much of the other'santecedents, and both were far too proud, or too tactful, or tooprudent, to ask questions. They wore the dress and weapons of gentlemen, and were extremely ticklish as to the point of honour; but they did notnow sit in the Grand Council of the Venetian Republic, though eachperceived that the other had once enjoyed that privilege, and hadforfeited it for the good of his native city. They travelled a greatdeal, always together, and their friends knew that they met withfrequent and sudden changes of fortune. Their clothes were shabby now, yet scarcely six months ago they had been seen strolling arm in arm inFlorence, in the Piazza della Signoria, arrayed in silks and satins andfine linen. Only their weapons were never replaced in prosperity byhandsomer swords with gilded hilts, nor exchanged in adversity forothers of less perfect balance and temper. 

'This Stradella sings like an angel, ' said Gambardella after a moment. 'I hear that he composes good music himself, and that his new oratoriowill be performed before the Doge in Saint Mark's next Sunday. '

'If we had any money, ' observed Trombin regretfully, 'we would hire ahouse and ask him to supper. '

'Yes, ' answered Gambardella in a melancholy tone. 'Our Venetians do notunderstand these things. To them a man of genius like AlessandroStradella is just a music-master, and nothing else, a mountebank or astrolling minstrel, to be hired and paid for his work, and dismissedwith a cool nod, like a servant. Trombin, let us leave Venice. '

'After we have heard the oratorio on Sunday----'

'Of course! Do you think I would miss that? But there is nothing for usto do here just now, whereas in Genoa, or Florence, or even Rome, weshould not be always idle. '

'Venice is a dull place, compared with what it used to be, ' Trombinadmitted, and he raised his right forearm, turning it till he couldexamine the threadbare elbow of his coat in the glare of the candles. 'Another week will do it, ' he added, after a careful examination. 'I canalready perceive the direction which the split will take. '

'I never sit down, if I can help it, ' said Gambardella mournfully. 

'It is a strange fact, ' answered Trombin thoughtfully, 'that only thosenations that wear breeches sit upon chairs; the others squat on theirheels, though they have no breeches to save. This is a mostcontradictory world. '

'I never could see any sense in it myself, ' returned the other. 'Shallwe go to supper?'

'It pleases you to be humorous, ' Trombin observed, and they moved awayfrom the great choir screen. 

As they passed the blazing chapel of the Sacrament, each bent his kneeand crossed himself devoutly. The young monk was still prostrate beforethe altar. Trombin looked at him sharply, and the two went on towardsthe open door, through which the fading twilight outside admittedbarely enough light to distinguish the great pillars and tombs. 

The two shabby gentlemen left the church and strolled slowly along theedge of the canal. In the open air it was quite light still, and thewarm afterglow of the sunset had not quite paled yet. 

'Supper!' said Trombin presently, dwelling on the one word in a musicaltone, and with the deepest feeling. 

'That is the worst of Venice, ' answered Gambardella, gloomily pullinghis soft hat over his eyes. 'One cannot even eat here without paying. Now in Florence or Rome the people are more simple, and when you havemade your necessary debts, and creditors talk of imprisoning you, why, then, you need only appeal to the Venetian Ambassador for protection, and you are perfectly safe! But here! On the word of a gentleman, it isenough to drive a man to highway robbery!'

Trombin laughed softly. 

'Supper!' he said again, as musically and feelingly as before. 

'You will make me mad with your whining!' cried Gambardella angrily. 'You will drive me to commit a crime!'

'One more will make no difference, ' returned Trombin, with greatcoolness. 'After the first, which sullied the virgin lustre of yourspotless soul, my dear friend, it is of no use to count the others, tillyou come to the last--and may you enjoy many long years of health, activity, and happiness before that is reached!'

'The same to you!' answered the melancholic man morosely, for he washungry, and in no humour for banter. 

They stopped where a wooden bridge spanned the narrow canal, for allbridges in Venice were not yet built of stone in the year 1670. 

They had only one thought, and Trombin had already expressed it twicewith longing and regret. So far as mere hunger and thirst went, theycould satisfy themselves with bread, salt fish and cheese, and a draughtof water. They were not such imprudent gentlemen as to risk absolutestarvation in their native city, where they could get no credit, andthough they often lived riotously for months together, they invariablyset aside a sum which would furnish them with the merest necessities fora considerable time. There was a system in their way of living, and theystuck to it with a laudable determination which would have done honourto better men. Enough was not as good as a feast, and since their incomewas always uncertain, the only way to get any real enjoyment out of lifewas to feast recklessly while they could, though only for a few days, and then to pay for extravagance with the strictest asceticism, till arain of gold once more gladdened the garret to which they had retired tofast. 

They stood by the end of the bridge in silence a long time while it grewdark, Gambardella gazing sadly at the dark water of the still canal athis feet, while Trombin, who was of a more hopeful disposition, lookedat the evening star, just visible in the darkening west, between thelong lines of tall houses on each side of the canal. The reason whythey stopped just then with one accord was that to cross the bridgemeant to go home to their wretched lodging, though it was still soearly; and the prospect was not attractive. But they knew theirweakness, and long ago had bound themselves together by promises theywould not break. If they turned away from the bridge and followed thenarrow street, they would come in time to Saint Mark's Square, and theywould breathe the intoxicating air of pleasure that hung over it as thescent of flowers over a garden at evening, and temptation would assailthem in one of at least twenty delightful shapes; and then and there thelittle sum that stood between them and starvation would melt away in anight, leaving them in a very bad way indeed. 

Yet now they lingered just a few moments by the wooden bridge, dreamingof riotous nights and glorious suppers, before going home to bread andcheese and cold water. And just then fate sent to them the youngDominican monk they had left prostrate before the altar in the churchwhen they came out; at all events it seemed natural to suppose that itwas he, though they had hardly caught sight of his youthful face beforeand now could not see it all, for he had pulled his white hood well downover his eyes. 

He was evidently about to cross the bridge, when he unexpectedly foundTrombin in front of him, stopping the way. The street and the canal weredeserted, and not a sound broke the stillness. The monk stood still. Hewas short and slight, and could have slipped through a very narrowspace, but Trombin seemed to swell himself out till he filled the bridgefrom side to side, and kept his hand on the hilt of his rapier. 

Gambardella looked on indifferently, supposing that his companion meantto indulge in some witticism or practical joke at the expense of theyoung monk. 

'Your reverence must pay toll at this bridge, ' said Trombin. 

'Toll?' cried a youthful voice from under the cowl. 

'The decree has just been passed by the Ten, ' answered Trombin. 'Myfriend and I are stationed here by the Signors of the Night to exactpayment. '

Gambardella did not clearly understand, but he moved up behind the monk, so that the latter could not get back. 

'I understand, ' said the Dominican in his sweet voice, after a moment'shesitation. 'But I have no money. I am only a poor monk----'

'The Fathers of the Order of Preachers do not take vows of poverty, yourreverence, ' said Gambardella in deep tones, behind the youth. 

'That is true, but I have no money with me, ' protested the latter. 

'That emerald ring you wear on your left hand will do quite as well, 'answered Trombin. 'We shall not ask you for anything else this evening. '

Now the monk's hands were thrust deep into the two slits in the front ofhis frock, as in a muff; but Trombin's eyes were good, and they hadcaught sight of the jewel unwarily exposed while the young man wasperforming his devotions in the church. He seemed disturbed, hesitated, and hung his head. 

Standing behind him, Gambardella laid a heavy hand on the slightshoulder, while Trombin, in front, grasped his left wrist roughly, todraw it out of his frock. 

At this the young monk suddenly burst into a flood of tears under hiscowl, and began to sob bitterly. 

'What fish have we caught here?' asked Gambardella, laughing for thefirst time that day, and he seized the point of the hood at the back topull it off the head and face. 

But instantly the monk's right hand went up and held it down in frontdesperately. 

'No, no! Please--you shall have the ring--anything--only let me go!'

There was no mistaking the feminine voice now, broken as it was withsobbing, and Trombin made one step backward on the bridge and bowed tothe ground. 

'Madam, ' he said, with a grand air, 'we are not ruffians, but Venetiangentlemen. We will respect your disguise, and shall be delighted andhonoured to see you safely to your own door. For this little service weshall be more than rewarded if you will leave us your ring inrecollection of our auspicious meeting!'

'As a further return for your kindness, ' added Gambardella, speakingover the disguised lady's shoulder, 'we are at your service, to rid youof any obnoxious friends or relations. '

'I see that you are Bravi, ' the lady said, keeping her face closelyconcealed under the hood. 'I am the less unwilling to part with my ringsince I may have need of you. But where can I find you in that case?'

'When we are unoccupied, you will find us at our devotions in the Churchof the Frari during the Benediction, any day, ' answered Trombin, receiving the ring from the delicate white fingers that held it out tohim. 

He bowed as he took it, and flattened himself against the rail of thewooden bridge, hat in hand, to let the disguised lady go by. 

'Shall we follow you, Madam, for your greater safety?' askedGambardella. 

'No, I pray you! I will go alone. I live near here. '

'We wish your ladyship a very happy night, ' Trombin answered. 

'The same to you, ' said the young voice. 

She was out of sight in a few seconds in spite of her white monk'sfrock, which might have been seen at a considerable distance even in thegloom of the narrow lane beyond the bridge. Trombin, who tried to followher with his sharp eyes, was sure that she had turned into a cross alleythat led to the large court in which the Palazzo Pignaver then stood. 

But that was a matter of speculation, whereas the emerald ring was amatter of fact, and could be converted into a number of things which thetwo adventurous gentlemen very much wanted just then. Their vow ofeconomy now no longer bade them cross the bridge and return to theirwretched lodging and frugal supper. The ring would pay for many suppers, and for good clothes too. They did not even exchange a word as theyturned in the direction of the Rialto with a light step, and they feltthat delightful sensation which fills the being of a man who loveseating at the moment when brutal hunger, that has expected only prisonfare, turns into keen appetite at the sudden vision of boundless goodthings to eat in half an hour. 

Gambardella's melancholy face relaxed in the dark, and the lines thathad before turned down now all turned upwards, except those of his longhooked nose; and the formidable beak seemed to stand sentinel over histhin lips, so that no good thing should enter between them on the way tohis stomach without sending up its toll of rich savour to his nostrils. 

Trombin's small pursed-up mouth also widened to a set smile, and hesoftly hummed snatches from the beautiful air Alessandro Stradella hadsung during the Benediction service. It was a mere thread of a squeak ofa falsetto voice, but it had at least the merit of being perfectly intune, and his musical memory was faultless. 

'You are a great man, ' said Gambardella thoughtfully, when they hadwalked some distance and were nearing their destination. 

'You flatter me!' laughed Trombin. 'What is easier than to guess that aDominican monk with a small white hand and an emerald ring may be a ladyin disguise? Besides, my dear friend, with your exquisite sense of allthat is feminine, you must surely have noticed her walk as she came upto the bridge. I am not a judge of women myself, but as soon as I sawthe monk walking, I was sure of the truth. '

'I did not see her coming, but she has a delicious voice, ' answeredGambardella thoughtfully. 'I wish I had seen her face. '

'Perhaps you may, some day. Here we are. '

They stopped before a low arched door not fifty yards from the Rialto. Alarge dry bush, sticking out of a narrow grated window beside theforbidding entrance, showed that wine was sold within. The faint yellowlight from the lamp of a shrine, built in the wall on the opposite sideof the street, just overcame the darkness. Trombin tried the door andfound it ajar; both men entered, and Gambardella pushed it back to itsoriginal position. 

It was quite dark within, and the place smelt like a wine-cellar, butthe two evidently knew their way and they walked quickly forward, half adozen paces or so, till a wide space suddenly opened on the right, and awretched little earthenware oil-lamp appeared, high up, dimly lightingthe first landing of a damp stone staircase. The friends began to mountat once. 

As they went up the air became drier, the smell of the cellar turnedinto a complex odour of grilled meats, savoury sauces, rich wine, andspring fruits, which the companions snuffed and breathed in with greedydelight; sounds of laughing voices were heard, the stairs were betterlighted, and now and then the idle tinkling of a lute or of adeep-voiced, double-stringed guitar made an improvised accompaniment tothe cheerful echoes. 

Gambardella and Trombin entered a brightly lighted vestibule at the headof the stair and were greeted by the host in person, a broad-shouldered, black-haired Samian with brilliant red cheeks; he was showily dressed inblue cloth trimmed with gold braid, wore a tall fez and spotless linen, and had a perfect arsenal of weapons stuck in his belt, all richlyornamented with silver work, in which were set pieces of coral, carbuncles, and turquoises. He had a look of tremendous vitality andhealth, and the tawny light danced and played in his eyes when helaughed. He spoke the Venetian dialect fluently, but with a strong Greekaccent, and an evident difficulty in pronouncing the letter B. 

'Welcome, young gentlemen!' he cried in a formidably cheerful voice, ashe rose from the little table at which he had been busy with hisaccounts. 'Here is old Markos, your faithful friend! What can Markos dofor your lordships to-day? Do you desire money of Markos? It is yours, all his poor store! Or do you come for supper, to taste a real pilaf anda brace of quails roasted in fig leaves, with a jar of old wine of Samosand a sweetmeat, and some liquor brewed by the monks of Mount Athos?Markos is here to serve you!'

He looked as broad as he was long as he stood there bawling out hisnoisy greetings, his thumbs stuck into his broad red leather belt, hislegs apart, and his white teeth gleaming like a young boar's tusks inthe midst of his shiny black beard. 

Trombin nodded gravely at each phrase, keeping his hat on his head, andmaking his rapier stick up behind him. From the rooms beyond thevestibule the rich steam of good things floated through the half-closeddoor, and the ring of merry voices, clinking glasses, and tinklingstrings was delightful to the ears of men who had supped in a garret onbread and salt fish for three weeks. 

'Markos, ' said Trombin, 'apply your excellent sight and yourmoney-lender's intelligence to this marvellous ring, with whichunfortunate circumstances now oblige me to part. It belonged to mysainted aunt, the Abbess of Acquaviva, who left it to me with herblessing when I was young and innocent. It was once blessed by HisHoliness Saint Pius the Fifth, who thereby endowed it with efficaciouspower to protect the virtue of those who should wear it. My sainted auntwore it for forty years, and she was indeed virtuous to the end of herlife. I remember that she was cross-eyed and had bad teeth and a sallowcomplexion. For my own part, I must confess that I have not always----'

'How much do you want on it?' interrupted Markos, who had been examiningthe stone as well as he could by the light of the oil-lamp, whileTrombin was talking in his grand style. 

'A hundred ducats down, and no wine, ' answered Gambardella, withouthesitation, in his deep voice. 

'We would accept half a dozen jars of Samos, to be drunk here, 'suggested Trombin, 'if we sealed them ourselves. '

Markos grinned from ear to ear. 

'Twenty ducats, ' he said quietly, 'and a hogshead of "rezinato, " worthten ducats more! That is all I can give. '

'Rezinato at ten ducats!' sneered Gambardella. 

'It costs me that, ' retorted the money-lender, 'so it must be worth it. Possibly I might make the cash twenty-five ducats, but that would onlybe out of old friendship. I shall lose by it if you do not redeem thering. '

'I wish you might lose something for once!' cried Trombin devoutly. 

They bargained long. In those days, and long before and afterwards, themoney-lenders of Venice were Greek and Eastern eating-house keepers andsellers of wine, and it was impossible to pawn any object with themwithout accepting at least one-third of the advance in the shape of winemore or less sour, or watered, or both. 

But the two shabbily-dressed gentlemen who had taken the emerald ringfrom the disguised lady were not ordinary customers. Trombin inspiredpresent terror, and Gambardella apprehension for the future, and thoughMarkos was as broad as he was long and had a dozen pistols and knives inhis belt, his courage was not equal to his ferocious appearance. From abusiness point of view, the Venetian Bravi were children in his hands;but when they came quite near to him, one on each side, and spoke slowlyand clearly in their determined way, the tremendous Markos felt hisbravery shrink within him till it seemed to rattle like a dry pea shakenin a steel cuirass, and the amount of money he actually advanced on thering was considerable; he even consented to let Gambardella seal the sixjars of Samos wine, which formed part of the loan, with the heavy brassseal ring the Bravo wore, on which was engraved the Bear of the UrsulineOrder of Nuns, with a few words in Gothic characters. One of many thingswhich Trombin did not know about his companion was the story of thatring and how Gambardella had become possessed of it. 

So the transaction was duly terminated, and when Markos had at lastparted with his money and his fine old wine, his jolly face cleared oncemore; for, after all, he had not lost by the bargain, though he had notmade much, and the good-will of the two most famous and dangerouscut-throats in all the Venetian territory was worth something to a manwho always lived more or less on the outer edge of the law. 

Half-an-hour later bliss descended upon the companions as they sat attable in their favourite place, a sort of alcove or niche in the generalhall of the eating-house, whence they could see and hear all that wenton, without being too much disturbed in their enjoyment of the goodthings set before them. The place was brightly lighted by several scoresof lamps fed with mingled oil, tallow, and camphor, and fastened onlarge wooden rings that hung from the high ceiling. The smoke floated upto the blackened beams, and found its way out through a smallclere-story window at one end, and the light below was clear and soft. Thirty or forty guests were seated at tables of different sizes, andamongst them was a fair scattering of handsome women, mostly dressed insilks and satins of bright colours, and wearing jewels that sparkledwhen they moved. The men were of all sorts: there were a fewgood-looking young Venetian nobles, who had laid aside their cloaks andouter coats, and sat in their doublets and lace collars; there were tworich English travellers, in dark velvet, their long fair locks carefullycombed and curled in the manner of the cavaliers, their handsconspicuously white, and their fingers adorned with magnificent rings;with them sat two auburn-haired Venetian beauties, radiant and laughing, and sipping Eastern wines from tall goblets of Murano glass. At one longtable near the wall a serenading party was installed, their prettyinstruments hanging on pegs behind them, together with their hats andcloaks. Beyond, in a corner, a pale young Florentine, with a spiritualprofile, was supping with a lady who turned her back to the hall, andwhose head and shoulders were almost hidden in a cloud of pricelesslace. These two spoke little and ate delicately, and now and then theirdark eyes met and flashed upon each other. 

The air was hot, and heavy with the fumes of Greek wines and savourydishes. At the farther end of the hall a large door opened now and then, and showed the bright kitchen where the host's wife presided, and whenceneatly dressed youths brought dishes to the guests. Considering what theplace was, an eating-house kept by a foreign money-lender, there was anair of luxury about it, and an appearance of orderly and temperatebehaviour among the guests, that would have surprised a stranger whoknew nothing of Venice, if he had been suddenly introduced by the gloomyentrance from the street through which Trombin and Gambardella had madetheir way. 

CHAPTER VI

The lady who chose to go about Venice at dusk in the disguise of a monkencountered no further adventures after the loss of her ring; but shemet with a very grave disappointment, of which the consequences directlyconcern this tale. After leaving the Bravi who had robbed her, shethreaded the narrow ways northwards with a quick step till she came to apoint near to the Fondaco dei Turchi on the Grand Canal. There she tookthe gondola that waited for passengers at the old traghetto, and she wasquickly ferried over to the landing by the Palazzo Grimani. A fewminutes later she was knocking at the door of Alessandro Stradella'slodgings near Santa Maria dell' Orto. 

She knocked firmly and confidently, like a person quite sure ofadmittance. But no one came to open, and she heard no sound from within;so she knocked again, and after a shorter interval a third time. Therewas no answer, and nothing broke the stillness. With small regard forher disguise, the lady stamped twice in a most feminine way, then triedto shake the solid door with her hands, and finally turned away indisgust. It was almost dark in the staircase, and she descended the twoflights slowly, drawing her hand along the wall to steady herself. Theexercise of some caution, to avoid a fall, momentarily cooled her angera little, and when she reached the entrance of the house she reflectedthat she had perhaps been hasty, and that the Maestro had possibly beendetained by the other musicians, and would come home before long. Shewaited some time under the shadow of the archway, though several personspassed her, some going in, others going out. No one is ever surprised tosee a monk waiting at the door of a large house. The disguised ladywalked slowly up and down, her hood drawn well over her eyes, and herhands hidden in the slits of the frock. 

But when the clocks struck the hour, and it had grown quite dark, shegave up all hope, and went away, returning in the direction whence shehad come, and revolving plans of vengeance on the ungrateful singer asshe walked. 

She could not call him faithless, even in her mortification, for she hadnever exchanged a word with him in her life; and if that seems strangeto any who read this story, let them learn something, if they can, ofwhat constantly happens nowadays to popular operatic tenors. Thedisguised lady was of a romantic disposition; she was the respected wifeof a rich citizen, by no means noble; her husband was absent in theEast, and she had foolishly fallen in love with Alessandro Stradella'svoice. She had written him the most silly letters he had ever received, setting forth the searing passion that devoured her, and apparentlycertain that he already shared it and only wanted an opportunity inorder to tell her so. As he never answered her letters, she made up hermind that he feared her husband, though she had repeatedly assured himthat the latter was absent and had left no Argus-eyed relation in chargeof her and responsible for her acts. She wrote again and again, and evendescended to promising that she would make him a rich man if he wouldonly take courage and answer her pressing invitation. 

Still he did not answer; and at last, despairing of any other means ofmoving him, she had written that she would come disguised to hisdwelling on that evening, after the music in the Frari. For she alwaysknew where he was to sing, and she never missed an opportunity ofhearing him. She had accordingly gone to the church, and before leavingit she had prostrated herself and offered up the most sincere prayersfor the success of her amorous enterprise, as if Saint Francis and SaintAnthony of Padua had power to suspend the rule of the Ten Commandmentsfor her benefit during the evening. 

These, in few words, are the facts which had preceded her visit toStradella's lodging, and which resulted in the maddening disappointmentand humiliation she felt when she turned her steps homewards. 

At the same hour no one at the Palazzo Pignaver had yet noticed theabsence of Ortensia and Pina. The gondolier waited by the landing at theFrari till it was dark, and then returned to the palace, supposing thatthe two had walked home and had forgotten to dismiss him, for this hadhappened once or twice already. He ran his gondola in between thepainted piles by the steps of the palace, without inquiring whether hismistress and the nurse had entered by the postern; for almost everyVenetian palace has two entrances, the main one being on the canal andapproachable only in a boat, while the other opens upon the street atthe back. 

Ortensia was not missed till supper-time, and that was fully two hoursafter sunset; for it was the Senator's custom to leave his niece toherself or to Pina's company from the time when he brought her home, ifshe had been out with him in the gondola, until the evening meal; and ifshe asked leave to go to confession, as she had to-day, she returnedbefore dark and retired to her own rooms without seeing him until shejoined him at supper. 

He required the most extreme punctuality of her and of all hishousehold. Excessive exactness in regard to time is often the delightand the torment of people who have nothing to do of any importance. Thetime which some punctual persons waste in waiting for others would beenough to make them notable men if they used it better. 

The Senator waited for Ortensia at least two minutes with equanimity, but after that his brow darkened, he paced the room impatiently, and hebegan to compose the scolding he meant to give her as soon as she came. This occupied him satisfactorily for at least five minutes, for he wasalways very nice in the choosing of his words on such occasions. Hisscoldings were administered in classical Italian, and not in theVenetian dialect of everyday life; they were constructed like shortorations, with an exordium, an exposition of the fault committed, and aperoration, and they were followed by a long silence, during which theywere supposed to work and take effect on the mind of the delinquent. Pignaver mentally reached the end of the intended admonition, and yetOrtensia did not come. 

[Illustration: 'The footman came back at last with a white face']

Then he lost his temper and sent one of the two servants to call her;and at the same time it occurred to him that he was making himselfridiculous in the eyes of the others by waiting for a mere chit of agirl. He therefore sat down rather hastily at the supper-table in themiddle of the room and attacked the preliminary appetisers, shrimps, caviare, and thin slices of raw ham, and the chief butler poured a lightwhite wine of Germany into his large glass; for the Senator was fond ofgood eating and drinking. 

But to-night he was not to enjoy his supper, though the caviare hadarrived that very day from Constantinople, and the shrimps wereprecisely of the right size, which is very important to a true epicure. The footman came back at last with a white face and said, in a tremblingtone, that neither the young lady nor Pina were in the house. 

The Senator dropped his two-pronged fork, his jaw fell at the same time, and at least four seconds passed before he recovered his breath. Then hesprang up, overturned his heavy chair in his excitement, and rushed fromthe room, followed by both the servants. 

He searched the palace himself, he stormed, he raved, he cursed, hethreatened, but Ortensia was not to be found. Everything in her roomswas in order, just as usual; she had gone to confession with her nurseas she had gone scores of times before, but she had not come home. Thatwas all there was to be said about it. 

At first no suspicion of the truth crossed Pignaver's brain. He believedshe had been kidnapped either for her beauty, or by miscreants who wouldhold her for a ransom. Then he remembered the gondola and asked if ithad come back. Yes, it was below; the old head gondolier had takenOrtensia to the Frari as usual, but he said she had returned on foot. The Senator sent for him, but no one could find him now, though theporter had been talking with him only ten minutes ago. 

Nothing remained but to search Venice, and to inform the Signor of theNight that the girl and her nurse were missing from the palace. Pignaverforgot his supper altogether in his anxiety to lose no time. 

The Signor was in his office, and was a distant cousin of the Senator's;for the Signors of the Night were noblemen who served in turn, superintending the police from sunset to sunrise. Only forty-eight hourshad passed since this same gentleman had sent word to Pignaver of theattempt made by a supposed thief to get over the garden wall. 

'He was not a burglar, my friend, ' the Signor now said with conviction. 'If you will allow me to say so, with the most profound respect for yourhonour, I am sure that the man was your niece's lover, and that he hasnow succeeded in carrying her off, with the help of the serving-woman. '

Pignaver groaned and turned pale. But the Signor, who knew his business, asked him questions, and elicited enough information about Stradellaand the singing lessons to convince him that the famous singer was atthe bottom of the mischief. He said so plainly. 

'A music-master!' cried Pignaver in a black rage, for he saw that theother was probably right. 'A singer! A catgut-pincher! A villainous lowlute-strummer! No, sir, no! A thousand times no! The niece of MichelePignaver is incapable of demeaning herself with a mountebank, sir! Imust assure you----'

'The young lady, ' interrupted the Signor, with a faint smile, 'is notyour own niece, Senator, but the daughter of your late wife's brother. '

'No matter!' cried the Senator. 'Do you mean to imply, sir, that my latehonoured wife would have been capable of demeaning herself with----'

'Heaven forbid!' ejaculated the other, interrupting again. 'You might aswell suggest that Eve was herself a murderess because one of her sonskilled the other. I suggest nothing, Senator--certainly nothing in theleast derogatory to the honour of your house. '

'What do you advise me to do?' asked Pignaver, suddenly appeased. 

He had changed his tone and spoke almost calmly, for his anger, likemost things he did, was a matter of acting. The Signor understood, andagain he smiled faintly. Before he answered he carefully snuffed andtrimmed the three wicks of the tall brass lamp on the table. It had abig metal shade in the shape of a butterfly, which he turned so that itscreened the light from his eyes and reflected it into his visitor'sface. 

'You will naturally wish to avoid a scandal, ' he said, watching theSenator. 'Yes, I thought so. Very well, if Stradella has carried offyour niece, as I am almost sure he has, they are beyond pursuit by thistime. They have reached the mainland and are riding away as fast as theycan towards the frontier. There is not the slightest chance of catchingthem. You must say that you have sent the young lady to the country forher health. '

At this Pignaver made a dramatic gesture. He raised both his hands oneach side of his head, clenched his fingers, turned up his eyes, andpretended to be trembling with almost uncontrollable fury. The Signorknew his weakness and looked on with quiet amusement. 

'I will have the city thoroughly searched during the next few days fortwo persons resembling your niece and the woman, ' he continued. 'But ifthey have already fled, and if you insist upon finding them, you willhave to employ private agents. '

'Yes, yes, ' answered Pignaver thoughtfully. 'That will be best. Can yourecommend any person to undertake such a delicate business, sir? Isuppose that, in your position, you are acquainted at least with thenames of some such men. '

The Signor, who was an amiable man, smiled pleasantly now. 

'The truth is, ' he said, 'we have some of them under supervision, and Ichance to know of two who would suit your purpose well, and areunemployed at present, and badly in need of money. I have no doubt butthat they will be glad to serve you. They have earned the reputation ofbeing conscientious in carrying out their engagements, and intrepid indanger. '

Pignaver had listened attentively, and at once asked for the names andthe address of the Bravi. 

'They are known as Trombin and Gambardella, ' said the Signor; 'they arenow in Venice, and are generally to be heard of at the eating-house ofMarkos, the Samian money-lender and wine-dealer. I dare say you knowwhere his place is? Not far from the Rialto, on this side----'

'In what is left of the old Quirini Palace, where they sell poultrydownstairs?' asked Pignaver. 

'Precisely. I see you are acquainted with the resort. I have, in fact, been there myself--on a matter of duty, of course. '

'Of course, ' echoed the Senator. 'I have only heard of it, but I think Ican find it. '

'I am sure you can, ' assented the Signor, without a smile. 

Pignaver had not only heard of the eating-house, but he had been theremore than once, and knew the taste of the famous pilaf and the flavourof the old wine of Samos as well as anybody. He had even sat in therecess where the two gentlemen of fortune were at that moment supping. He had worn a mask, it is true, and by some mistake a lady had sat downat the same small table a moment after he had come, and he had falleninto conversation with her. But it was not necessary to tell this to theSignor. 

The latter promised again to have a thorough search made through thecity for Ortensia and Pina, and wrote down the descriptions Pignavergave him. The nurse was described as 'a serving-woman, with grey eyes, and black hair turning grey at the temples, whose manners were ratherabove her station, and who had once been handsome. Age: forty-three. Mark: the thumb of the right hand had been broken and was distorted. '

'By the thumb-screw, I suppose, ' observed the Signor in a business-liketone. 

'It certainly looks like it, ' answered the Senator indifferently. 

He took his departure after a few more words and went out by the backdoor; he then walked in the direction of the Rialto, muffling himself inhis great cloak, of which he threw one corner over his shoulder, so thatit almost covered his face. He had left his gondola waiting in thenarrow canal, and if he chose to come back and take it again, he couldreach it without going through the low building in which the Signors ofthe Night had their office, and the city watch its headquarters. 

The Signor had promised to continue the search during three days, and toinform him of any clue he found. Meanwhile, Pignaver thought it would beas well to find the two gentlemen who had been so highly recommended tohim, and he hastened to the half-ruined Palazzo Quirini. He went in by amore convenient entrance than the two Bravi had chosen for reasons oftheir own, but he found Markos where they had found him, still busy withhis accounts in the bright little vestibule. When the Senator entered, he had already slipped on the little velvet mask which most Venetianscarried about them in the evening, but the Samian either recognised hisvoice or knew instinctively that his visitor was a person of quality, for he bowed to the ground, rubbed his large hands as if washing thembefore serving his guest, and answered the Senator's brief salutation ina profoundly obsequious tone. 

Pignaver now laid one finger on his lips and spoke in a whisper, askingwhether Markos was acquainted with two honest gentlemen namedrespectively Signor Trombin and Signor Gambardella. 

By an almost miraculous coincidence the two honest gentlemen were atthat very moment supping within. Markos offered to call them out. 

'Unless, ' he added, 'your lordship is in need of supper, and will jointhem. '

The Senator remembered that he had eaten only a few mouthfuls sincedinner, and the savoury fumes from the hall further sharpened hisappetite. 

'The gentlemen are eating together at the little table in the recess, 'Markos added, as he detected signs of hesitation. 'You can turn yourback to the room, my lord, if you do not wish to be watched. '

Pignaver nodded and followed the host, who at once led the way in. Someof the people who had been supping when the Bravi had entered were goneaway, but others had taken their places. The young Florentine and hisbeautiful guest had disappeared, and their table was occupied by anoisily gay party, of whom more than half wore masks. The two fairEnglishmen in velvet were still gravely drinking with their laughingcompanions, but their eyes were growing rather dull. The serenaders hadfinished their meal, and were making soft music in their corner, tryingover the songs they were going to sing. 

'Gentlemen, ' said Markos to the Bravi, 'allow me to introduce a highlyrespectable personage who has business with you, and would like to joinyou at supper. '

Trombin and Gambardella rose with a courtesy which showed where they hadbeen bred, in spite of their present profession. Though they had been atsupper two hours and had done well by a jar of old Samian, they were ascool and steady as when they had sat down, a fact which predisposedPignaver in their favour. 

'Will you do us the honour to be our guest, sir?' asked Gambardella atonce. 

'But you have already supped, gentlemen, ' answered the Senator. 

'That is a trifle, sir, ' Trombin said. 'We have not quite finished, andif you will join us we shall be delighted to begin again from thebeginning. A clean cloth, Markos, ' he went on at once, turning to thehost, 'and the same dishes over again!'

'Your hospitality confounds me, sirs, ' protested the Senator. 'I can butaccept your gracious invitation. '

He sat down at the end of the small table, turning his back to the hall. Markos was already making preparations, and in a few minutes the boardwas set again, and with the very same delicacies which the Senator hadjust begun to taste at his own supper when Ortensia's flight had beendiscovered. He ate in silence, with solemn greediness, while his twocompanions each took one shrimp and a taste of the caviare, andexchanged an occasional glance. When he had consumed everything exceptthe bread, Pignaver spoke. 

'I believe I am not mistaken in thinking that you two gentlemenoccasionally undertake little matters of private business, ' he began. 'If I am wrong, pray correct me. '

'You are rightly informed, sir, ' answered Trombin; 'we do, though onlyon certain conditions, which, again, so far as they are favourable orunfavourable, depend on circumstances; and these circumstancesthemselves, as your experience of life has made you well aware, sir, areoften the result of that element of chance, which, under Providence, plays such an important part in the affairs of men. '

This was rather vague, and Pignaver, who read the classics and pridedhimself on his memory, was reminded of those Lacedęmonians who answeredthe wordy fugitives from Samos by saying that they had already forgottenthe first half of their speech and did not understand the second. WhenTrombin had finished speaking, he waited for an answer and lookedsteadily at the Senator, opening his eyes wider and wider till they wereperfectly round and the lashes stood out in a circle like yellow rays, and he puckered his lips in the most ridiculous manner, as if he werejust going to whistle. Gambardella, on the other hand, took a minutequantity of caviare on the end of his fork and tasted it delicately, looking unconcernedly at the guests in the hall. 

Pignaver reflected a moment and drank wine before speaking. 

'I attribute my presence here, ' he said, 'to the direct intervention ofProvidence. '

'We share your view, ' answered Gambardella with gravity. 

'In fact, ' added Trombin, 'the elements of acquaintance all agreeadmirably well--the circumstances, the conditions, chance, andProvidence itself. For if, as I gather from your own words, sir, youstand in need of a little friendly assistance from us, we, on our side, are weary of wasting our wits in conversation and our strength inluxurious idleness. It is our mission to benefit mankind both here andhereafter, by despatching useless persons to Paradise and thus cheeringthe lives of the friends they leave on earth. Assured of this, as weare, all inactivity is unbearable to us. At the present moment we are, so to say, unemployed philanthropists; we are but a potential andpassive blessing to our fellow-creatures, though we burn to be doinggood to all! I appeal to my friend, Count Gambardella, here. Is this notthe exact truth?'

'Absolutely, ' answered the other, toying with a shrimp. 'What my friend, Count Trombin, says is always strictly true. '

'How could it be otherwise?' asked Pignaver. 'But I must apologise fornot having addressed you gentlemen by your proper titles, which areforeign, though I had taken you both for Venetian nobles. '

'We are, sir, ' Trombin answered, 'but it pleased his Majesty the King ofFrance to confer titles of French nobility on us, after we had renderedhim a trifling service. We should likewise esteem ourselves yourdebtors, sir, if you would inform us of your own name, since we arefortunate enough to be entertaining you as our guest. '

Again the round eyes opened wide, like those of an angry cat, and themouth was all puckered in the midst of the cherubic face, while Trombinwaited for the answer. The Senator saw that he had no choice. 

'My name is Pignaver, ' he said slowly, and dwelling proudly on eachsyllable, 'and I am a Senator. You will understand at once why I wear amask here. I am well known by sight to many, and I have manyfriends----'

'One too many, I presume, ' suggested Gambardella, interrupting softly. 

'I shall communicate my business at once, ' said Pignaver, 'for theperson in question could never have been my friend any more than hecould be my enemy. '

'We understand your meaning, ' said Gambardella; 'he is of low birth. Shall we say that he is "superfluous"?'

'A weed, ' suggested Trombin, 'a parasite, a wart, an overgrowth, a thingto be eradicated before it does greater harm! Do you take me, my lord?Have I fitted the word to the definition and suited the definition tothe man?'

'Admirably, Count, ' assented Pignaver. 'Your command of language fillsme with envy. "Eradicate" is good, very good!'

'Does the weed flourish in Venice, my lord?' asked Gambardella, who wasbored and wished to settle the preliminaries of the business at once. 

'If I did not detest false metaphors, ' said Pignaver, 'I should say thatthe weed has just flown, or, as I might say, fled, taking with it thefinest flower of my garden. But since elegant speech must not besubmitted to such outrages, I will speak plainly. '

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of thesteaming pilaf, brought on by a neatly clad youth, whose companion setdown beside it a dish of quails roasted in young vine leaves, andemitting a deliciously aromatic odour. Trombin and his friend helped theSenator generously, and filled his glass again. He was so hungry by thistime that he ate several mouthfuls before he spoke again. 

'I have always found the emotions to be great appetisers, ' observedTrombin, watching him. 'Men feast at a wedding, and gorge themselvesafter a funeral. A fit of anger whets the appetite, for I have seen aman fly into a towering passion with the cook and then immediatelydevour the very dish he has found fault with, to the last scraping. Asfor the passion of love, a French proverb says well that happiness makesan empty stomach. I can only hope, my lord, that in a week's time youmay enjoy your supper as much, with satisfaction for a relish instead ofannoyance. As for me, the mere thought of doing some good in the worldmakes me hungry. '

And as he spoke he began to eat another quail which he had already takenon his plate. But Gambardella was more and more bored, and went to thepoint, as soon as the Senator looked up from his plate. 

'We understand, ' he said, 'that some low-born fellow has carried off alady of your lordship's household. Do you know where they are?'

'No. I know nothing, except that they have either left Venice already orwill escape before morning. '

'That means a wide search, ' said Gambardella. 

'But an easy one, ' the Senator replied. 'The man is AlessandroStradella, the singer, and may the devil get him!'

'He will be safer in our hands, my lord. The lady's name, and somedescription of her, if you please. '

'Ortensia is her name. She is only seventeen years old, but is verybeautiful, for she is fair, and her hair is of a true auburn colour, such as the lamented Titian often painted. Indeed, the young lady muchresembles that master's "Bella, " though younger and thinner. With her isfled also her nurse, a woman called Filippina, of middle age, with greyeyes and greyish hair, once not bad-looking, and whose manners are aboveher station. '

'I suppose she is commonly called Pina, ' observed Gambardella. 'Let usunderstand each other, my lord. I presume you wish the young lady andthe woman to be brought back to you, when the singer is dead. '

'Precisely. I shall say that she has been spending a week with arelation of her mother's who is the Abbess of the Ursuline Nuns inRavenna. '

'Did you say the Ursulines in Ravenna, my lord?' asked Gambardellaslowly. 

'Yes, ' answered Pignaver, at first a little surprised by the question, for he had spoken clearly, although the whole conversation was carriedon in low tones. The Bravo saw his expression, and hastened to explain. 

'My left ear is a little deaf, ' he said, turning his head so as topresent the other. 'Nothing remains but to agree on the price of theservice, ' he continued in a business-like tone. 'When we are toldexactly where we shall find our man, it is simple enough. But in thiscase we may have to travel far. We shall require two gold ducats dailyfor our expenses till we find the opportunity we need for such adifficult business, and five hundred gold ducats when we hand over toyou the young lady and her nurse. One hundred gold ducats must beadvanced before we start, on account of expenses. '

Pignaver's sour face twitched at the mention of such sums. 

'You set a high price on your services, gentlemen, ' he said. 

'"Service" is not precisely the word, my lord, ' said Trombin, desistingfrom picking the leg of a quail, and staring intently at the maskedSenator. 'It is, as I may say, a false metaphor, which is an outrageupon elegant speech--forgive me for borrowing your own expressions!'

And suddenly Trombin's eyes glared in such a way that the Senator wascowed. 

'I assure you, I had no intention of giving you offence, Count, ' hesaid. 'If you will, choose the word you prefer; I will use it withpleasure. '

'"Benefit, " my lord, or, if you prefer the longer form, "benefaction. "Either will do very well. '

Trombin thereupon resumed operations on the leg of the quail, and whenhis absurd little mouth showed his teeth the Senator observed they wereas white and sharp as a cat's. It was clear that he was the talker inthe partnership, and left all business arrangements to his companion. 

'I have named the sum we require, my lord, ' the latter said calmly, 'andwe are not accustomed to argue such matters. You would give ten times asmuch for your own life any day, and Alessandro Stradella would certainlyfind a thousand or two to save his, if the matter were laid before him. '

Pignaver saw that he must agree to the demand, for if he refused andsought help elsewhere the Bravi would warn the musician and offer thelatter their protection. The Senator was uncomfortable in their company, as many of his friends would have been; for if a born coward ever comesinto contact with such men, he regards them much as a timid woman lookson a loaded gun. Though the two cut-throats behaved with the outwardcourtesy of gentlemen, there was something terrifying in their lookswhich it would have been hard to define, and the highly refined Venetiannoble, who admired the elegant works of Politian and composed scores ofpolished inanities, shuddered from time to time as he glanced atGambardella's sinewy brown hand or Trombin's strong pink fingers andthought of the stains that must often have been on both. 

A silence followed the Bravo's last speech, during which Trombinconsumed more pilaf, and his companion thoughtfully salted a small bitof bread-crust, ate it slowly, and then sipped the old Samian wine fromthe blue and white glass beaker which he kept constantly quite full. Andimmediately, though he had only drunk a few drops, he re-filled theglass exactly to the brim. Trombin drank at much longer intervals, butalways emptied his tumbler before replenishing it. Nor were theseopposite habits of the two men mere matters of preference or taste; forthe nose of the one turned up in such a convenient manner that he coulddrain the smallest glass or cup with ease, but the other's portentousbeak turned down and then hooked itself in towards his lips, so thatwherever his mouth went, there it was also, always in the way; and if heever tried to drink like ordinary people, its tip was wetted before hehad tasted the wine. 

The Senator was reflecting before giving an answer which must be final. Was Ortensia worth the six or seven hundred ducats which the wholeaffair would cost him? That was really the question, for he looked uponthe murder of Stradella merely as a necessary and just consequence ofhis niece's capture, and though the thought of vengeance was agreeableto his nature, he would not have been willing to pay such a price forit. Ortensia herself was certainly not worth so much, in his estimation, for the sake of her beauty, seeing that he could buy a Georgian girlalmost or quite as pretty, in the Fondaco dei Turchi, for much less. Besides, though Stradella would be dead and buried, it would always behumiliating to feel that she had belonged to him first, though the truthneed never be known in Venice. 

But there was another consideration, which turned the scale in herfavour. Pignaver had heard her sing his own compositions, after havingbeen taught by Stradella, and he had dreamed of electrifying Venetiansociety at last by her rendering of his immortal works. Hitherto, evenhis most industrious flatterers had not given him the very first placeamong living poets and musicians; but he was sure that when they heardOrtensia they would exalt him above all his predecessors and all hiscontemporaries; at last he would enjoy that absolute supremacy which isthe prime birthright of genius in all ages, and to which he firmlybelieved himself entitled. Ortensia alone could assure to him that finalvictory, and beside it all objections, all scruples, all petty questionsof technical honour sank away to nothing. He must marry her himself, ofcourse, so that he might order her to perform his works whenever hepleased, and she must be a married woman before propriety would allowher to sing to his assembled friends; but marriage was a detail and ofno consequence compared with the triumph he expected to gain by it; thegirl's flight with the musician was a childish escapade of littleimportance, since it could be kept quite secret, and she might besupposed to have been spending a few days in a convent in Ravenna tocomplete her education. As for any resistance on her part, it wasabsurd to think of such a thing; no doubt she would cry her eyes out fora few weeks, after Stradella was despatched to a better world, but shewould soon see the error of her ways and be only too glad to accept themagnificent position the Senator offered her, instead of being murderedherself, or forced to spend her life in a convent. 

The two Bravi did not hurry their new acquaintance to a decision, thoughGambardella had flatly declined to discuss the terms of the bargain;they only made it clear that their offer must be accepted or declined asit was, and they seemed quite indifferent as to Pignaver's decision. Trombin continued to eat pilaf in a leisurely way, as if he could go onfor ever, and Gambardella sipped his wine, filled his glass again, andate several little morsels of salted crust, while the Senator turned thematter over in his mind and plied his knife and fork in silence. 

'The truth is, ' he said at last, 'I should not wish you to start tillthe city has been thoroughly searched by the police. As you wiselyobserved, I think, a man of Stradella's reputation cannot remain longconcealed, and will be more easily found next week than to-morrow. '

'I believe, ' answered Gambardella politely, 'that the remark was yours, and it is a wise one. Are we then to understand that if the Signors ofthe Night do not find the pair, you desire our help on the terms I havestated?'

'Exactly so, ' said Pignaver. 'That will give you time to make yourpreparations for the journey at your leisure. Where shall I find youthree days hence, gentlemen?'

'At Benediction in the Church of the Frari, my lord, for the day will bea Sunday. If you desire it, we will call for paper and pen and set downthe terms of our agreement at once. '

'That will not be necessary, sir, ' replied the Senator, who did not careto put his name to such a document. 'I have confidence in you. '

Trombin at once raised his head and fastened his eyes on Pignaver. 

'As between gentlemen, my lord, ' he observed, 'it would be more fittingto say that we have confidence in each other. With your permission Ishall complete your statement by saying that we are willing to trust youwithout any written promise. We will leave such sordid dealings to thelawyers and notaries. You give your word, we give ours, and the matteris safer for accomplishment than if a contract were engrossed on a dozensheepskins and sealed with the Fisherman's Ring!'

'Certainly, certainly, ' assented the Senator, who did not like theBravo's eyes. 'You have my word, I have yours, and that is enough. '

'My lord, ' said Trombin, his manner suddenly becoming extremely affable, 'I have the honour to drink your health!'

'Your health, Count, ' responded Pignaver, raising his glass. 

'Your health, ' said Gambardella, bowing politely, and then sipping hiswine with all the caution required to keep his long nose out of it. 

Having settled matters in this way and, moreover, satisfied his appetitewith a good supper, Pignaver took leave of the Bravi with considerableceremony, for he perceived that they were as exigent and punctilious asto all points of courtesy as any noble in Italy, France, or Spain; andit would not be good to fall out with such touchy gentlemen on a pointof manners. Indeed, as he retraced his steps to the office of theSignors of the Night, where his gondola was waiting, he reallycongratulated himself on having escaped without a quarrel, and hopedthat the next interview would pass off as well. 

The three days went by, and at noon on Sunday he received a note fromthe Signor of the Night informing him that the runaway pair and theserving-woman had been in Padua early on the morning after they leftVenice, and had immediately taken an extra post to Rovigo and Ferrara. They had excited no suspicion, and the spy who had brought the news hadnot obtained the information without considerable difficulty, for manytravellers were going and coming, and in a time of peace like thepresent more attention was bestowed by the authorities on foreigntravellers than on Italians. But Stradella had brought some of hisbelongings with him, which his man had carefully concealed in thegondola, and amongst other things there was his favourite long lute; theinstrument had been noticed by the ostlers at the postern-house in Paduaon account of its unusual size, and they remembered the four travellersafter hearing the spy's description of three of them, for he knewnothing of Stradella's servant. 

There was therefore no doubt but that the fugitives were now far beyondthe Venetian border in the States of the Church, and Pignaver resolvedto keep the appointment at the Frari, taking with him the hundred goldducats which were to be paid in advance. 

The Bravi were already there indeed, but he did not see them at once, and as Vespers were over and the Benediction was about to begin, heselected a spot a little apart from the common herd and knelt down tohis devotions, for it was of no use to waste time that could be soprofitably employed. 

But while he was thus engaged, it being already sunset and the light inthe church failing, the men he sought were earnestly conversing in lowtones with a young Dominican monk in a distant corner; and the monk, itis needless to say, was the lady whose ring they had taken, and who hadknocked so long in vain at Stradella's door three days earlier. 

'Madam, ' Gambardella was saying, 'the search may be a long one, but wewill do our best. We shall require two gold ducats daily for ourexpenses in travelling, and the payment of five hundred gold ducats incash when we deliver to you Master Alessandro Stradella, bound hand andfoot, at your villa on the Brenta. '

'But the woman must die!' protested the lady earnestly. 

'That goes without saying, madam, ' answered Gambardella. 'You mayregard her as already dead and buried, for you have our word for it. Nothing remains but that you should place in our hands a hundred goldducats on account, which we shall require in order to start. '

The lady was evidently prepared for such a demand, and produced a smallleathern bag from within her monk's frock. But she was evidently a womanof business. 

'Since we are now friends, ' she said, putting the bag into Gambardella'shand, 'you ought to give me back my ring when the thing is done!'

'Madam, ' said Trombin, in his grand manner, 'you have our word for that. In fact, we only meant to borrow it for a day or two, and for your greatkindness in allowing us to do so we have the honour to tender you oursincerest thanks. '

'It is impossible to be more polite, sir, ' answered the lady. 

So they parted, for she slipped away into the dusk and soon left thechurch by a side door. But Trombin and his companion went forward, andfinding the Senator on his knees, they knelt down, one on each side ofhim. He glanced to the right and left, and was surprised at theimprovement in their appearance since he had seen them at supper. Theyhad been distinctly shabby then, and he would not have liked to be seenin their company by his friends; but to-day they were dressed withexcellent taste and neatness, in perfectly new clothes. Gambardella worea suit of dark purple cloth slashed with velvet of the same colour; butTrombin wore black velvet and silk, which he considered most becoming tohis infantile complexion and yellow hair. Both had new hats, too, andtheir feathers, purple and black respectively, were nothing short ofmagnificent. Only their rapiers were unchanged, the same serviceable, business-like weapons that Pignaver had seen before. 

The three men knelt side by side, putting on an air of devotion; and noone else was very near them. 

'_Tantum ergo_ ... ' began the choir, somewhere out of sight. 

'I presume you mean business, my lord, ' said Gambardella so that theSenator could just hear him. 

'They passed through Padua, and took post to Rovigo and Ferrara, 'answered Pignaver. 'You cannot miss them if you go that way. '

'A very convenient place, Ferrara, if they would wait for us there, 'observed Trombin. 

'... _veneremur cernui_, ' the choir sang, and many of the people werejoining in the ancient hymn. 

'When can you start?' inquired Pignaver. 

'As soon as we have funds for the journey, ' answered Gambardellapromptly. 

'You said one hundred ducats, did you not? Your expenses are to becounted at two ducats per day, and as much of the first hundred as isleft when you have finished is to be deducted from the final payment offive hundred. Is that it?'

'Precisely, ' said Gambardella. 

'It is impossible to be more accurate, ' observed Trombin, withoutturning his head, and preserving the expression of a devout, fat-cheekedseraph, which he always put on when at his prayers. 

'I have the money with me, gentlemen, ' continued Pignaver. 'As soon asthe Benediction is over I will hand it to you, and I hope you will findit convenient to start at once. '

'We are ready, ' Gambardella replied. 'To-morrow night we shall be inFerrara, and if your friends are still there, we may be here again onthe third day. '

'Heaven grant us all its favours and a speedy return!' prayed Trombin. 

'Amen, ' said the Senator, calculating that if only three days wereconsumed, the Bravi would have ninety-four ducats in hand, and he wouldhave to pay them only four hundred and six. 

In his pocket his hand grasped the heavy little bag containing the gold, and he wished that private vengeance and justice were not so dear; buthe was not a miser, though he had a real Venetian's understanding of thevalue of money, and did not like to part with it till he was sure thathe was to receive a full equivalent. For the rest, what he was doing wasperfectly justifiable in his eyes: if the couple had been caught withinthe territory of the Republic, Alessandro Stradella would have had toanswer to the law for the atrocious crime of carrying off a Senator'sniece and affianced bride who was a minor, and the law would not havebeen tender to the Sicilian; the least penalty he would have sufferedwould have been to be chained to an oar on a government galley, and itwas quite possible that he might have been hanged. Most people wouldprefer to be run through with a rapier, and it was therefore clear thatStradella ought to be satisfied. As for such weakness as a qualm ofconscience, Pignaver was as far above such childishness as the Bravithemselves. 

He gave them the little bag of ducats and took leave of them by themonument of Pietro Bernardini, almost on the spot where Ortensia andPina had put on their brown cloaks three or four days earlier. 

When he was gone, Trombin and Gambardella looked at each other insilence; the dark man's thin lips, visible on each side of the point ofhis nose, but quite shaded by it in the middle, were smiling faintly, but Trombin's cherubic countenance expressed, or caricatured, the utterbeatitude of one of those painted angels to which his friend alwayscompared him. 

They walked slowly up the church towards the sacristy, and at the doorthey met the sacristan, a lay brother, coming out with his longextinguisher in his hand. They stopped him politely. 

'We desire to offer two candles to Saint Francis, ' said Gambardella, 'one for each of us. We also desire to leave a gold ducat for masses tobe said for the soul of a departed friend. '

'I will serve you at once, gentlemen, ' answered the sacristan. 'What wasyour friend's baptismal name, if you please, that I may write it on thelist?'

'Alessandro, ' answered Gambardella. 

'Do you wish to mention the date of his death, sir?'

'No. It is of no use. '

The lay brother took the money and went into the sacristy to deposit it, and to fetch the candles, which the Bravi then lighted and put upthemselves. 

CHAPTER VII

Trombin had rightly guessed that the fugitives would rest themselves inFerrara, where they would be safe within the Pope's dominions, andbeyond the reach of Venetian law. By the old road the city was nearly ahundred miles from Padua, and it was only by a lavish use of money thatStradella succeeded in reaching it at midnight, after leaving Padua soonafter sunrise. Ortensia was utterly exhausted, and even Pina, who wasvery strong, was beginning to be worn out. They had trouble in gettinginto the inn at that hour, and when they at last succeeded, they foundthat there was only one room to be had, although, as the sleepy servantwho had let them in added, they might have the whole house to themselvesthe next day, for all the travellers would be gone again long beforenoon. 

Pina slept with her mistress, while Stradella and his man rolledthemselves in their cloaks and lay down outside the door, with valisesfor pillows; for they expected to be pursued, and though they had madegood time, they knew that mounted men, with frequent relays of horses, might overtake them before morning. It was not Stradella's firstadventure, though it was his last, and he fully realised that Pignaverwould use every means to wreak his vengeance. It could not have occurredto the runaways that three days would be wasted in searching Venicebefore the pursuit actually began. 

Even that knowledge could not have made Alessandro sleep more soundly, since the fear of danger to Ortensia could not keep him awake, and heslept as peacefully on the stone pavement of the corridor as ever he didin the most luxurious bed. 

But his man was awake and was watching for all the four, though he layquite still, rolled up in his brown cloak. For Cucurullo was one ofthose people who sleep little at the best of times, and generally haveto content themselves with resting their bodies by lying motionless, while they deaden thought as best they can with those melancholy devicesthat are familiar to the sleepless. 

The hunchback rested now, but was glad to lie awake, though he was wellaware that he deserved no especial credit for watching while his youngmaster slept soundly by his side. But he did not try to cheat time byfancying that he was counting a flock of sheep that crowded through anarrow gate into a field, or by saying the alphabet backwards, or byrepeating all the prayers he knew, which were many, for he was areligiously inclined person, nor did he laboriously reckon how manyApostolic florins there were in seventeen hundred and sixty-three and ahalf Venetian ducats. On the contrary, he concentrated his mind to thebest of his ability on a problem which it seemed to him of the veryhighest importance to solve at once; for it involved nothing less thanthe salvation of Alessandro Stradella's soul. 

Now Cucurullo, as I have said, was religiously inclined. He was notdevout in the same sense as the two cut-throats who lighted candlesbefore the image of Saint Francis for the success of their murderousenterprise, and paid beforehand for masses to be said for the soul ofthe man they were going to kill. He would not have denied that this wasa form of piety too, if any one had asked him his opinion. Everything, he would have argued, was relative; and if you were going to stab a manin the back, it was more moral to make an effort to save his soul thanto wish to destroy it with his body. He would have admitted this, for hewas charitable, even to such people as professional murderers. But hisown religion was quite of another sort; he was devotedly attached to hismaster, he was deeply concerned for the latter's future welfare, and itlooked just now as if Stradella's chances of salvation would be slenderif any accident carried him off suddenly. Moreover, such an accidentmight occur at any moment, for, like Stradella himself, he anticipatedthat Pignaver would seek a speedy revenge. 

Like the early Christians he was a pessimist about this world and anoptimist about the next; for that is usually the state of mind of thosewho labour under any material or bodily disability, from slavery, whichis the worst, to blindness or deformity. 

As a pessimist, therefore, Cucurullo thought that his master, Ortensia, Pina, and himself had a most excellent chance of having their throatscut within twenty-four hours, and he was rather surprised that it shouldnot have happened already. 

As an optimist, on the other hand, he trusted that by his own exertionshe might so dispose matters as that his master and Ortensia should bemurdered while in a state of grace, and not in mortal sin; to be plain, he was determined that they should be duly married before Pignaver'sagents despatched them. For he had been constrained to aid and abet hismaster in more than one romantic adventure before now, and nothing hadcome of any of them that was at all conducive to the young man'ssalvation. 

Poor Cucurullo knew the whole process of those affairs, as theconjurer's assistant knows how the tricks are done. Even when Stradellawas at home, in his own room, his man had always been able to tellwhether he was in love or not. When he was not, he industriouslycomposed oratorios, or motets, or some other kind of serious music; butwhen he was, he sang to himself, as a bird does in spring, improvisingboth the words and the melody; or else he would sit still for an hour ata time, doing nothing, but dreaming with open eyes and slightly partedlips; or he would pace the floor impatiently, and go to the door everyfive minutes to listen for a light footfall on the stairs. All thisCucurullo had observed frequently; often, too, he had carried lettersand tokens, and had brought others back; and not a few times, by night, he had held cloak and lute and rapier, while his master climbed up to abalcony or a window high above. Many such things had Cucurullo done, andhad confessed them afterwards as misdeeds. Wretched sinner that he was, he had even paid flattering compliments to a chambermaid to sweeten herhumour till she promised to take a message to her lady. This had seemedto him particularly wicked, yet he had done it and would do it again, ifStradella required such service, simply because he could not help it. 

Now, however, all former adventures sank to nothing in comparison withthe present one. So far, the musician had lightly loved and ridden away;but this time he had not ridden away alone, and, moreover, he was notcarrying off the buxom wife or daughter of some meek citizen who wouldappeal in vain to the law and could do nothing without it, and who wouldprobably let the erring lady return to his home at the trifling price ofa sound beating when Stradella was tired of her. That would have beenbad enough, in all conscience; but this time the hare-brained singer haddone much worse, even from a worldly point of view; and looking at itfrom another, Cucurullo thought that the irreparable nature of the deedmade it more wicked, besides the fact that all the persons concernedmight lose their lives by it. He was a very simple person in some ways. Under the circumstances it seemed necessary before all things to convertmoral wrong into moral right by the simple intervention of a priest anda wedding ring, after which the question of civil right, as the lawwould regard it, would take care of itself well enough. 

In the grey dawn Cucurullo's large unshaven face emerged from the amplefolds of his cloak, and his mild blue eyes seemed to review thesituation by daylight as he looked from his master's half-muffledfigure to Ortensia's closed door, and then towards the window at the endof the passage. Then he sat up cautiously and drew his heels under him, and because his body was so short and so completely covered up, helooked as if he had none at all, and as if his big head were lying in anest of brown cloth on a pair of folded legs. Then, from just below hischin, an immensely long arm stole out quietly, and his hand drew upStradella's cloak which had slipped from his shoulder; for the morningair was chilly, though the spring was far advanced. Any one, coming onhim suddenly as he sat there, would have been startled as at the sightof a supernatural being, consisting of a head, legs, and arms, alljoined together without any body. 

The dawn brightened to day, and all sorts of noises began to come upfrom below, echoing through the staircase and long passages of thehouse; a distant door was opened and shut, then some one seemed to bedragging a heavy weight over a rough floor; far off, some one elsewhistled a tune; and then, all at once, came the clatter of many horses'feet on the cobble-stones in the yard. 

Cucurullo sprang up and ran on tip-toe to the window, instantly fearingthe arrival of mounted pursuers; but he only saw the stablemen leadingout the post-horses to be watered and groomed. When he turned to comeback he saw that he had waked Stradella, who was sitting up, yawningprodigiously, and rubbing his eyes like a sleepy boy. He raised his handto stop his man, and then got up without noise and joined him near thewindow. 

'What is it?' he asked in a whisper, not without some anxiety. 

'Only the post-horses, sir, but I was afraid of something else. '

'I wish we were already in Florence. This is too near Venice!'

'Better still in Rome, ' said Cucurullo, gloomily. 'Still better inSicily, and altogether much better in Africa; but best of all in heaven, sir, if you can manage to get there!'

'It is not the first time you and I have run a risk together, ' observedStradella, slowly moving the back of his hand up and down against hisunshaven cheek. 

'It is the first time you have risked the life of a lady, ' answeredCucurullo quietly, for he understood his master very well. 

'We had better go down and see about getting horses, ' Stradellaanswered, and he led the way to the stairs, his man following in hisfootsteps. 

The sun was rising now, and there was much bustling and clattering inthe yard, and sousing and splashing of cold water about the fountain; adozen horses were tied up to rings in the wall on one side, and thestablemen were grooming some of them industriously while others waitedtheir turn, stamping now and then upon the cobble-stones, and turningtheir heads as far as they could to see what was going on behind themand on each side. Three men were washing the huge coach that ran toRovigo one day and back the next, and several smaller conveyances stoodbeyond it in a row, still covered with dust from yesterday, for theweather had been dry. 

As in many inns of that time, the innkeeper was also the postmaster. Stradella found him under the arched entrance to the yard, givinginstructions to the cook, who was just going to the market accompaniedby a scullion; the latter carried three empty baskets on his head, oneinside of the other. 

'You can have no horses to-day, ' said the host, in answer to Stradella'sdemand, and he shook his head emphatically. 

'No horses! It is impossible! It is absolutely necessary that we shouldgo on at once. '

The innkeeper was a square-shouldered Romagnole with grey hair, redcheeks, and sharp black eyes. He shook his head again. 

'I have not a horse to give you, ' he said. 'Everything in my stable wasengaged beforehand for the Nuncio. I cannot give you the Government'shorses from the Rovigo coach, can I? Patience! That is all I can say. '

Stradella began to ask questions. The Nuncio, on his way to Verona andAustria, had spent three days in the inn, both to rest himself and alsoto be sure of having enough horses ahead to go on with, and word hadbeen sent to Mantua to make all the necessary arrangements. He shouldhave gone by Modena, but the road was in a bad state. A bridge hadbroken down, and he had been forced to pass through Ferrara. 

'But surely, ' said the musician, 'I can hire a pair of horses of somesort in the town, by paying a good price for them!'

No. The Nuncio had hired everything. Did the gentleman suppose that aPapal Nuncio could travel with as few as eight or ten horses? He neededabout fifty in all. That was why he proceeded so slowly. There was notanother animal to be had in the town, horse or mule, that could be putto a wheeled vehicle--not one! The gentleman might hire a riding-horseor two, but the innkeeper had been told that he had a lady and hertire-woman with him. Patience! A day would soon pass, Ferrara was a finetown, well worth seeing, and he could go on to-morrow morning in theBologna coach, which would arrive from that city at noon to-day. 

Clearly there was not the smallest possibility of being able to get onduring the next twenty-four hours. Stradella's face was very grave as heturned away, and Cucurullo was paler than before. 

Upstairs Ortensia had wakened just then and had called Pina, who got upand opened the window wide, letting in the air with the morning sun. Utterly unprovided as the two women were, they had slept half-dressed, and as Ortensia rose the nurse threw one of the two brown cloaks overher bare shoulders and fastened it round her neck. 

For a few moments after she had opened her eyes the young girl had notquite understood where she was, for she had lain down exhausted, andsleep had come to her as her head touched the pillow. Now, in the broaddaylight, when she had plunged her face into cold water, she realisedeverything, and the colour rose slowly to her throat and cheeks. Shewent to the window and stood there, turned away from Pina and lookedout. Below her lay the chief public square of the city; on the left rosethe huge castle, the most gloomy and forbidding she had ever seen. Shehad never heard of Nicholas Third of Este nor of his wife Parisina, fair, evil, and ill-fated, nor of handsome Ugo, who died an hour beforeher for his sins and hers, in the dark chamber at the foot of the LionTower; but if Pina had known the story and had told it to her in all itshorror, Ortensia would have felt that it must be true, and that onlysuch tragedies as that could happen within such walls. They were sostern, so square, so dark; the towers rose so grimly out of the blackwaters of the moat! It was of bad augury to look at them, she thought, and she drew back from the window and sat down where she could see onlythe sky. 

Pina was making such preparations for her mistress's toilet as werepossible. Being a prudent woman she had brought in her pocket threeobjects of the highest usefulness, a piece of white Spanish soap, acomb, and a shabby little old rolling work-case of yellow leather, inwhich there were needles and thread and pins. The figure of a wildanimal, which might have been meant for a bear, was embroidered in blackthread on the outer flap of the case. Pina had used it ever sinceOrtensia could remember, and seemed to value it as much as any of herfew possessions. It was a very useful little thing, and she kept italways well filled with sewing materials. 

As the young girl did not move and showed no inclination to dressherself, Pina came behind her and began to let down and comb her hair, which she had not even taken down on the previous night, being far toomuch exhausted to think of such a thing. She submitted her headwillingly to the skilled hands of her nurse. 

'Where is he?' she asked after a time, and she felt that she wasblushing again. 

'They slept on the floor in the passage, ' Pina answered. 'Perhaps theyare asleep still. You shut your eyes as soon as you lay down, but Iopened the door again and looked out before I went to bed. SignorAlessandro asked me if we needed anything, and then said good-night. '

'Will you go and see if they are still there, please?'

Pina crossed the room, drew back the bolt, and put out her head, lookingup and down the passage. There was no one to be seen, and she shut thedoor again without bolting it. She came back and again began to comb outthe girl's hair. 

'They are not there, ' she said. 'Probably Signor Alessandro is orderingthe horses. He will come in a few minutes and tell us at what time weare to start. '

A short silence followed. 

'Have you ever been here before?' Ortensia asked presently. 

'Yes, ' Pina answered, 'I have been here before. I do not like Ferrara. '

'Why not? Have you any particular reason for not liking it?'

'It was here that my thumb was hurt, ' said the nurse. 'That is a fairreason, is it not?' She laughed rather harshly. 'To hate a place becauseone has had an accident in it! The men would say that is just like awoman!'

'I hope I may never come here again, either, ' Ortensia answered. 'Howdid you hurt your thumb?'

'That is a long story, my lady. But why do you also dislike the placealready? You have only looked out of the window once. '

'I saw the castle, and I thought it was of bad augury, for it looks likea great prison. '

'There are prisons in it without any light, very deep down, ' said Pinaquietly. 'The Pope's Legate lives in the upper part. The Legate is thePapal Governor, you know, my lady. '

'I did not know. But the ugly castle is not the real reason why I do notlike Ferrara. I could not tell any one else, but I think I can tell you, Pina. '

She turned her head half round under the nurse's hands, looked upsideways, and then hesitated. It was not easy to explain. 

'What is it, my lady?' asked the serving-woman. 'You can tell old Pinaanything. '

'It is all so different from what I thought it would be, ' Ortensia saidin a rather low voice, and again a blush rose in her cheek. 

'I think I understand, ' Pina said, steadily combing out the heavy auburnhair. 

'You see, ' Ortensia explained, 'we all four got into the gondolatogether, and there was that long row to the land, and that dreadfulnight in the cart on the road to Padua--and then the half-hour atdaybreak, while he was getting the carriage, and then the journeyhere--and last night--and now----'

She did not finish the sentence, hoping that Pina would reallyunderstand. 

'Yes, ' the woman said quietly. 'You have not been alone together for amoment since we left Venice, and that is not what you expected. '

'No, ' Ortensia answered in the hurt tone of a disappointed child, 'Ithought it was going to be quite different! And now we shall start againand drive all day and half the night, and then it will be just the same, I suppose!'

'Once in Florence, or even in Bologna, there will be no more hurry, 'said Pina in a consoling tone. 'Besides, my lady, you can be properlymarried then. '

'Of course, of course! We shall be married as soon as we can, but allthe same----'

'All the same, it would be pleasant to spend half-an-hour togetherwithout old Pina always listening and looking on!'

The nurse smiled and shook her head, but Ortensia could not see her, anddid not think her tone was very encouraging; it sounded as if 'old Pina'thought it was going to be her duty to play chaperon two or three dayslonger, which was not at all what Ortensia wished. 

'If he had even shown that he was a little disappointed, too----' thegirl began, and then she stopped. 

'That would not have been good manners, my lady, ' Pina said primly. 'When a gentleman has carried off a young lady, with her own consent, the least he can do is to look pleased, I am sure!'

'I thought you would understand better, ' Ortensia answered in a tone ofdisappointment. 

Some one knocked at the door, not loudly but sharply, and as if in ahurry; Pina went at once to see who it was, and found Stradella himselfoutside. 

'May I come in?' he asked quickly. 

Beyond Pina, as he looked in, he saw Ortensia in her brown cloak, withher hair down and all combed out over her shoulders, and without waitingfor an answer he pushed past the nurse and went to her. Instinctivelyshe drew the cloak more closely round her, but she looked up with abright smile, which vanished when she saw his expression in the stronglight. He spoke anxiously, without even a word of greeting. 

'There are no horses to be had, ' he said. 'I have done my best, but thePope's Nuncio is passing through and has engaged everything there was. There is not even a public coach to Bologna till to-morrow morning. I ammore distressed than I can tell you! I have sent my man out to see if hecan find anything, and he will if there is a beast to be had. If not, weshall have to wait here. '

While he was speaking, the door had closed softly and Pina was gone. Ortensia saw her go out and put out one hand timidly between the foldsof the cloak, for her arm was bare, and she tried to cover it. At thesame time the glorious colour rose in her face, the third time sinceshe had opened her eyes that morning. 

'I am glad, ' she said simply, as soon as her hand was in his. 

He glanced behind him and saw that Pina had disappeared. Then without aword he drew the lovely girl up to him, and for a while they stoodclasped in each other's arms; and she forgot that hers were bare, and hescarcely knew it; and if their faces drew back one from the other for afew seconds, it was that their eyes might meet in one another's depths;and the broad morning sun shone full upon the two through the openwindow, making the girl's auburn hair blaze like dark red gold, and awhite radiance glowed in her pure forehead and snowy arms. 

Stradella shivered a little, even in the sunshine, as he let her go, andshe sank upon her chair, finding his hand again and holding it fast asif she feared lest he should leave her. It had been a strange wooing, inwhich song had played a greater part than words; and as for anythingelse, he had kissed her twice on that night when he had climbed into theloggia, and not again till now. Had he loved her less, he would havelaughed at himself for the innocence of such a love-making; but it wasall unlike anything that had ever happened to him before, and, moreover, he had no time for such reflections at the present moment, since everyhour of delay might mean the nearer approach of danger, not to him only, but to Ortensia herself. 

'We are not far enough from Venice, ' he said, when he spoke at last. 'Iwould give the world to have you safe in Florence!'

'My uncle will not even try to catch us, ' Ortensia said calmly. 'You donot know him. When he finds out that we are gone together he will fear ascandal, and he fears ridicule still more. He will tell his friends thathe has sent me to the country, or to a convent, and by and by he willtell them that I am dead. He dreads nothing in the world so much asbeing laughed at!'

She was so sure that she laughed herself as she thought of him, andalmost wished that he might hear her, though he was certainly the verylast person she wished to see just then. But Stradella thoughtotherwise. 

'No one would laugh at him if he had you assassinated, ' he said. 

'I am not afraid of that!' Ortensia smiled at the mere idea of such athing. 'Why are you standing? Come, bring that chair and sit down besideme, for we are alone at last!'

He was well used to women's ways, but the ways of grown women of theworld are not those of innocent maidens of seventeen; her perfectsimplicity and fearlessness were quite new to him, and had a wonderfulcharm of their own. He drew a chair to the window and sat down close toher, and afterwards he was glad that he had done as she wished. 

It was all very strange, he thought even then. As yet, a love-affair hadmostly meant for him a round of more or less dangerous adventures bynight, such as climbing of balconies, unlocking of forbidden doors withstolen keys, imprisonment in dark closets and wardrobes, and sometimesflight in break-neck haste. That had usually been the material side, whereas now, reckoning up his risks, he had only climbed once to aloggia at night, and once he had been taken for a thief and chased, andthat was all, excepting the actual escape from Venice, which had beenwithout danger until now. On the other hand, there had stood to love'scredit, as against those insignificant perils, only two kisses and nomore, exchanged when he had been so drenched with rain that it had beenquite out of the question to put a dripping arm round his lady's waist. 

And now, for the first time in his life, he was suddenly alone with aninnocent girl of seventeen who loved him, and whom he loved even to thepoint of having carried her off out of her house; he was alone with her, in her own room, when she had but just risen from sleep, and she wassitting beside him in the early sunshine, that wove a blaze of gloryround her young beauty, and her soft white hand held his; and he was notsatisfied as she was, but wished it were night instead of day, andwished the sun were the moon, and that there were sweet silence withoutinstead of the thousand cries and echoes of a waking Italian city. Forall he had ever known of joy on earth, or ever hoped for, he would nothave wished that Ortensia's face could change into any that had oncebeen dear to him under the summer moonlight of the south; yet he feltstrangely constrained and awkward, like a schoolboy in love, not knowingwhat to do or say in the overwhelming daylight. 

'You are not glad, as I am, ' Ortensia said after the long silence. 

At the sound of her voice he found himself again, and he lifted her handand pressed it to his lips. 

'I am afraid for you, ' he answered. 'When a man has taken the mostprecious thing in the whole world, and carries it with him through anenemy's country, he may well be afraid lest some harm come to it on theway. '

'But this is not the enemy's country!' laughed Ortensia, too happy to beserious. 'Are we not a hundred miles from Venice and my uncle?'

'They say the Republic has long arms, love, and the Senator can count onevery one of the Ten to help him. The law cannot touch us merely forhaving run away together, it is true, but what if he invents a crime?What if he swears that we have robbed him? The Pope's Government willnot harbour thieves nor shelter criminals against the justice of Venice!We should be arrested and given up, that is all, and then sent back!This is what I fear much more than that he should have us tracked andmurdered by assassins, as many Venetians would do in this civilisedage!'

'But we have taken nothing, ' Ortensia objected, quite unable to beafraid of anything while her hand was in his. 'How can he accuse us ofrobbing him? Pina and I have a comb and piece of soap between us! As formoney, she may have a little small change, for all I know, but I havenothing. '

'I have a good deal, ' Stradella answered; 'quite enough to justify suchan accusation as that. But, after all, nothing can hinder such a thing, if it is going to be. I dare say you are right--it is my anxiety for youthat makes me think of everything that might happen. '

'Nothing will happen, ' Ortensia said softly, 'nothing will happen topart us!'

Still holding his hand, she gazed into his eyes with an expression ofecstatic happiness, and she could not have found another word, even ifshe had needed speech; then suddenly her bare arm circled his neck likea flash of white light, for he was very close to her, and she took himunawares and kissed him first. 

She laid her head upon his breast a moment later, and he pressed her tohim and buried his face in her sweet auburn hair. His heart overflowedin many soft and loving words. 

The door opened while he was speaking, and both started and sat upright, expecting to see Pina, and ashamed to be surprised even by her. ThenOrtensia uttered a sharp cry and Stradella sprang to his feet. 

Two big men in rusty black and long boots had entered the room, and wereadvancing. They were broad-shouldered men, of a determined bearing, withsinister faces, and both wore swords and kept their slouch hats on theirheads. Stradella was unarmed, and could only stand before Ortensia, awaiting their onset, for he had not a doubt but that they were Bravisent by Pignaver to murder him. To his surprise they stopped before him, and one of them spoke. 

'You had better come quietly with us, ' the man said. 

Stradella understood at once that the two intruders were sbirri, come toarrest him, and he was sure that Pignaver had pursued precisely thecourse he had explained to Ortensia, and that he was going to be accusedof robbery. 

'I am a Sicilian and a Spanish subject, ' he said. 'By what right do youdare to arrest me?'

'We know very well that you are a Sicilian, Master Bartolo, ' answeredthe man. 'And as for the rest, it is known to you, so come with us andmake no trouble, or it will be the worse for you. '

'My name is not Bartolo!' cried the musician indignantly. 'I amAlessandro Stradella, the singer. '

'Any one can say that, ' replied the man. 'Come along! No nonsense, now!'

'I tell you, I am Stradella----'

But the man glanced at his companion, and the two had him by his arms inan instant, though he struggled desperately. They were very strongfellows, and between them could have thrown a horse, and thoughStradella was supple and quick, he was powerless between them. 

During the short exchange of words Ortensia had leaned back against thewindow-sill in frightened surprise, but when she saw her lover suddenlypinioned and dragged towards the door, she flew at the sbirri like atigress, and buried her fingers in the throat of the nearest, springingupon him from behind. The fellow shook her off as a bull-terrier would arat, and, while keeping his hold on the prisoner with one hand, hetripped her roughly with his foot and the other, by a commonprofessional trick, throwing her heavily upon the brick floor. Beforeshe could rise, the men had got Stradella outside, and as she struggledto her feet she heard the key turned, and knew that she was locked in. In wild despair she beat upon the solid panels with her small fists, butno one answered her. Stradella's man was scouring the town for horses, and Pina was not within hearing. 

Meanwhile the singer had submitted, as soon as he realised that he hadno chance of escape, and that, unless the men were acting a part, he hadbeen taken for a man called Bartolo, and would be able to explain themistake as soon as he was brought before a responsible officer ormagistrate. Indeed, when this view presented itself to him, he was onlyanxious to facilitate the course of events as much as possible, andspoke civilly to his captors, while walking quietly downstairs betweenthem; but they did not let go of his arms for that reason. 

Below, in the arched entrance, the innkeeper was waiting, inconversation with three other sbirri, dressed and armed much in the samemanner as the two who had made the arrest. 

'It is a mistake, ' Stradella said to the host. 'I am taken for anotherman, and as soon as I have explained who I am, I shall return. I shallbe obliged if you will attend to the wants of the lady and herserving-woman. '

'Guests who quit the house without paying their score generally leavetheir luggage as security, ' answered the host with an insulting sneer, and pointing towards the entrance. 

There, to his surprise, Stradella saw two sturdy porters, laden with hisvalises, his cloak, and his lute, and evidently waiting to accompanyhim. 

'What are you doing, you scoundrels?' he cried. 'Put down my things!'

But they only grinned and began to move on, and as he was hurried out ofthe door into the square, they jogged across the square at a trot withtheir burdens. A few moments later he followed them across thedrawbridge of the castle and in under the great gate where a papalsoldier, armed with halberd and broadsword, was pacing up and down onguard. 

Just as he disappeared, Pina emerged upon the square from a narrowstreet at its northern end, and hastened to the entrance of the inn. Thehost was standing there, his legs apart, his arms crossed, and his smallblack cap on one side of his head. He stopped Pina. 

'Your master has changed his lodgings, ' he said in a jocular tone, andpointing with his thumb towards the castle. 'His Excellency the Legatehas just taken him in free. '

Pina understood instantly, and drew back a step in consternation. 

'If you mean to stay here, you must pay in advance, ' continued the host, 'for your master has taken all the luggage with him. Perhaps he expectsto spend some time with the Legate. '

'But we have no money of our own!' Pina cried in great distress. 'Whatare we to do?'

'That is your affair, ' answered the innkeeper. 'You have had yournight's lodging from me, and that is all you will get for nothing; so, unless you can pay, take your mistress somewhere else. '

Pina bent her head, and went upstairs without more words. A quarter ofan hour later she and Ortensia left the inn, with the hoods of theirbrown cloaks drawn over their heads. The young girl leaned on hernurse's arm, and walked unsteadily. 

Their worldly possessions, besides the clothes they wore, consisted of apiece of Castile soap, a comb, and Pina's work-case. 

CHAPTER VIII

The Nuncio departed amidst a tremendous clatter of hoofs and rumbling ofwheels, after being accompanied to his coach by the Legate of Ferrarahimself. The second coach was occupied by his chaplains, and a third byhis body-servants; in his own he took only his secretary; each vehiclecarried a part of his voluminous luggage. After the coaches rode thefootmen, mounted on all sorts of beasts, such as could be had, butwearing good liveries and all well armed. A dozen papal trooperscommanded by a sergeant brought up the rear. 

The wizened little Legate bowed to the ground as the noisy processionstarted, for though he wore a clerical dress he was only a layman, andthe Nuncio was Archbishop of Kerasund, 'in partibus infidelium, ' andreturned the Governor's salutations with a magnificent benediction fromthe window of his coach. The papal halberdiers of the castle, all drawnup in line outside the moat, saluted by laying their long halberds tothe left at a sharp angle. 

The Legate put on his three-cornered hat as the escort trotted awayafter the coaches, and he stood rubbing his hands and watching thefast-disappearing procession of travellers, while the guard formed indouble file and awaited his pleasure, ready to follow him in. 

He had scarcely reached middle age, but he looked like a dried-up littleold man, with his wrinkled face, his small red eyes, and his witheredhands. No one who did not know him would have taken him to be thetremendous personage he really was in Ferrara, invested with full powersto represent his sovereign master, Pope Clement the Tenth; or rather thePope's adopted 'nephew, ' who was not his nephew at all, Cardinal PaluzzoAltieri, the real and visible power in Rome. The truth was that the agedPontiff was almost bedridden and was scarcely ever seen, and he was onlytoo glad to be relieved of all care and responsibility. 

Monsignor Pelagatti, for that was the Legate's name, was a man of nodistinguished extraction; indeed, it would be more true to say that hehad extracted himself from his original surroundings. For it was by dintof laudable hard work as well as by virtue of certain useful gifts ofmind and character that he had raised himself above his family to areally important position. It was commonly said in Rome that his fatherhad been a highway robber and his mother a washerwoman, and that hisbrother was even now a footman in service; but it is quite possible thatthe Roman gossips knew more of his people than he did, seeing that hehad declined to have anything to do with his family ever since he hadgot his first place as assistant steward in the Paluzzo household, before that family had been adopted and had received the name of Altierifrom the Pope; and this is all that need be said about his beginningsfor the present. 

In due time he went upstairs again, installed himself behind the longoak table in his office, and took up the business of the day. A brownwooden crucifix stood before him, and at the foot of it was placed hislarge leaden inkstand, well provided with pens, ink, and red sand forblotting. At each end of the table sat a clerk; of these two, one was anuntidy old man with a weary face and snuff-stained fingers, the otherwas a particularly spruce young fellow, with smug pink cheeks andcarefully trimmed nails. The room had one high window to the north, fromwhich a cold and dreary light fell upon the table and the three men. 

The Legate proceeded to transact current business, receiving in turn anumber of officials and citizens who came of their own accord, or weresummoned, for various reasons, mostly connected with the revenue. Whenhe had dismissed them all, more or less satisfied or dissatisfied, asthe papal interests required, he ordered the officer at the door to sendfor the prisoner who had been taken at the inn that morning. 

'Let us see this famous Sicilian coiner, ' he said, rubbing his hands andscrewing up his little red eyes. 'Bring up his effects, too, and sendfor a goldsmith with his touchstone and acids. '

He leaned back in his high chair to wait, and mentally ran over thequestions he meant to ask. The shabby old clerk took snuff, andsprinkled a liberal quantity of it on his spotted black clothes and onthe edge of the paper before him. His colleague at the other endoccupied himself in improving the point of his quill pen. In thesilence, a huge spotted cat sprang upon the table and calmly seateditself upright beside the crucifix, facing the Legate, who paid noattention whatever to it. From time to time it blinked and slowly movedthe yellow tip of its tail. 

Presently Stradella was led in by the gaoler and his assistant. On hiswrists there were manacles, joined with each other by a strong chainwhich was highly polished by constant use. He was bare-headed, ofcourse, and he seemed perfectly cool and self-possessed. Immediatelyafter him, two men entered bringing his luggage, which was set down onthe floor before the table. The cat did not even turn to look at thepeople who had entered. 

'What is your name?' asked the Legate, eyeing him sharply. 

'Alessandro Stradella. '

Instead of writing down the answer the two clerks looked at theirsuperior for instructions. 

'His name is Bartolo, ' the Legate said, in a decided tone. 

'By your worship's leave, my name is Stradella, ' protested the musician. 

'You may note that this fellow Bartolo persists in calling himselfStradella, ' said the Legate, looking first at one clerk and then at theother. 

'I am not Bartolo!' cried the musician indignantly. 'I am AlessandroStradella, the singer, well known to hundreds of people in Rome. '

'You see how he persists, ' answered the Legate with an ironical smile. 'Write down what he says as correctly as you can. '

Stradella saw that it was useless to protest, and that vehemence mightbe dangerous. 

'By your leave, ' he said more quietly, 'if you will loosen my hands andlet me have my lute there, I will prove what I say, by singing andplaying to you. '

'Anybody can sing, ' retorted Monsignor Pelagatti with profound contempt, and without even looking at him. 'Write down that he has insulted thistribunal by offering to sing to the Legate and his clerks--which lowjesting is contempt of court, and nothing else. The man is either drunkor insane. '

Stradella was speechless with anger and disgust, and his face grew verypale. 

'Open his effects, ' the Legate said, when the clerks' pens stoppedmoving. 

Two of the sbirri at once unstrapped the valises, and laid out thecontents on the long table on each side of the Legate, neatly and inorder. One of the bags contained clothes and personal effects, but theother was almost entirely filled with manuscript compositions and asupply of paper ruled for writing music. It also contained a leathernpouch stuffed full of gold ducats. 

'There we have it!' exclaimed Monsignor Pelagatti. 'Is the goldsmithcome?'

'He is waiting, your worship, ' answered the officer at the door. 

The goldsmith was ushered in, a grey-haired man, who still stooped whenhe had finished his bow to the Legate. The latter ordered him to sit atthe table and test the gold coins one by one. 

'This fellow, ' said Monsignor Pelagatti, by way of explanation, 'is thefamous Sicilian coiner of counterfeit money, Bartolo. Push the goodducats towards me, if you find any, and the false coin towards the clerkat your elbow. '

The goldsmith glanced curiously at Stradella, and then took his smallblock of basalt and a stoneware bottle of nitric acid from a leathernbag he carried, slung on his arm. The spotted cat seemed interested inthese objects, and after having gazed at them placidly for half aminute, rose with deliberation, walked along the edge of the table, andsniffed at the stone and the goldsmith's fingers. It then crossed to theLegate and sat down on his left, surveying the prisoner with apparentsatisfaction. 

The Legate's eyes followed with keen interest the operations of theexpert, who took one coin after another from the pouch, rubbed it on thebasalt, poured a drop of acid on the yellow mark made by the gold, andthen examined the wet spot closely to see how the colour changed; and heshook his head each time and pushed ducat after ducat towards MonsignorPelagatti, but not a single one towards the clerk. The Legate's crookedfingers played absently with the coins as they came to his side, arranging them in little piles, and the piles in patterns, almostwithout glancing at them. The goldsmith worked quickly, but the ducatswere many, for Stradella had supplied himself plentifully with moneybefore leaving Venice, and had drawn the whole balance of the letter ofcredit he had brought with him from the banking-house of Chigi in Rome. 

The sbirri and the two clerks eyed the gold longingly. Stradella stoodmotionless between his keepers, wondering what would happen next, andnever doubting but that the whole proceeding had been inspired byPignaver. 

But what had really happened can be explained in a dozen words, and willshow that the sharp little Legate was acting in perfectly good faith. The truth was that a notorious Sicilian counterfeiter who was describedas a pale young man with black hair, and who went by the name ofBartolo, was really travelling in the north of Italy, and had been heardof at Vicenza, whence it was reported that he had set out in haste forPadua. The spies who were in pursuit of him learned in the latter citythat a dark young man with a pale complexion had hired an extra post forRovigo, in a very great hurry, and was spending money liberally, andafter that it had been easy to trace Stradella to the inn at Ferrara. One of the spies had ridden in before daybreak and had warned theinnkeeper not to let the musician have horses at any price, and had thengiven information at the castle, which the Legate had received beforesunrise, for he was an early riser. For the rest, he always followed thetime-honoured custom of considering every prisoner guilty till he wasproved innocent. In his opinion any criminal could call himself asinger, and could very likely sing, too, if his life depended upon it. Moreover, a hundred gold Apostolic florins had been offered for thecapture of Bartolo, and the Legate meant to have a share of the prizemoney. 

By the time the goldsmith had tested all the coins and found these good, Monsignor Pelagatti had also counted them over several times. 

'Three hundred and ninety-one ducats, ' he said, dictating to the clerks, 'were found amongst the criminal's possessions, and were confiscated tothe Papal Treasury. '

'But they are all good, ' objected Stradella. 

'Precisely, ' answered the Legate. 'If anything was wanting to prove youguilty, it was this fact. Could any one but an expert counterfeiter havein his possession three hundred and ninety-one ducats without a singlefalse one, in these dishonest days? But a coiner, whose nefariousbusiness it is to exchange counterfeit coin for genuine, is not to bedeceived like an ordinary person. '

'But I drew the money from an honest bank in Venice----'

'Silence!' cried the Legate in a squeaky voice. 

'Silence!' roared the gaolers and the sbirri with one accord, alllooking at the musician together. 

The spotted cat rose sleepily at the noise, arched its back and clawedthe oak table, by way of stretching itself. 

'The counterfeiter Bartolo is duly committed for trial and will be sentto Rome in chains with the next convoy of prisoners, ' said the Legate, dictating. 'Till then, ' he added, speaking to the officer, 'put him intoone of the cells at the foot of the Lion Tower. He is a criminal of somenote. '

It was worse than useless to attempt any further protest; the gaolersseized the singer by his arms again, one on each side, and in tenminutes he was left to his own reflections, locked up in a pitch-darkcell that smelt like a wet grave. They had brought a lantern with them, and had shown him a stone seat, long enough to lie down upon, and at oneend of it there was a loose block of sandstone for a pillow, a luxurywhich had been provided for a political prisoner who had passed somemonths in the cell under the last of the Este marquises, some eightyyears earlier, and which had doubtless been forgotten. 

After he had been some time in the dark, Stradella saw that a veryfeeble glimmer was visible through a square grated opening which he hadnoticed in the door when the gaoler was unlocking it before entering. Even that would be some comfort, but the unlucky musician was tooutterly overcome to think of anything but Ortensia's danger, and his ownfate sank to insignificance when compared with hers; for he was surethat Pignaver's agents must have seized her as soon as he himself hadbeen taken away, and he dared not think of what would happen when theybrought her back to Venice and delivered her up to her uncle. That theywould murder the defenceless girl he did not believe, and besides, itwas much more likely that Pignaver would prefer to torment her to deathat his leisure, after assassinating her lover. Stradella guessed as muchas that from what he knew of the Senator's character. 

As for himself, when he was able to reflect soberly after being severalhours alone in the dark, the singer came to the conclusion that he wasin no immediate danger of his life, though he owed his presentimprisonment to his enemy. It looked as if he stood a good chance ofbeing sent to Rome, as Bartolo the counterfeiter, to be tried; but oncethere, he would have no difficulty in obtaining his liberation, for hewas well known to many distinguished persons, including Cardinal Altierihimself. Pignaver had cleverly cut short his flight in order to takeOrtensia from him, but to accomplish this the Senator had been obligedto put off the murder he doubtless contemplated. Stradella's life wouldprobably be attempted in Rome, as soon as he was free, but meanwhile hecould not but admit that the Senator had succeeded in making himexceedingly uncomfortable, merely from a material point of view. It wasnot likely that prisoners were sent to Rome more than once a month, andthe last convoy had perhaps left yesterday. He might have to spendthirty days in the cell. 

As the hours passed he forgot himself again, and thought only ofOrtensia. In his imagination he fancied her already far on her way toRovigo in the jolting coach with her captors; in the very coach, perhaps, in which he had brought her to Ferrara only last night. Hecalled up her face, and saw it as pale as death; her eyes were halfclosed and her lips sharp-drawn with pain. He could hardly bear to thinkof her suffering, but not to think of her he could not bear at all. 

He did not know how long he had been locked up, when he noticed that thefaint glimmer at the grated hole was almost gone, and suddenly he felthorribly hungry, in spite of his misery, for it was nearly twenty-fourhours since he had tasted food. The gaolers had brought a little breadand a jug of water, and had set them down on the ground at one end ofthe bench. He felt about till he found them, and he gnawed the toughcrust voraciously, though it tasted of the damp earth on which it hadlain since morning. 

After a long time he fell asleep with the stone pillow under his head. 

CHAPTER IX

Cucurullo came back to the inn in less than an hour after Pina andOrtensia had left it. In spite of the asseverations of the innkeeper, hehad found that there were horses to be had in plenty in the city, andthat it was merely a question of choice and of paying well for theaccommodation. He was hastening upstairs to tell this to Stradella whenhe was stopped by the host himself, who informed him that Stradella wasimprisoned in the castle, and that the lady and her serving-woman hadjust gone away on foot. 

'You had better melt away yourself, ' the innkeeper concluded in aconfidential tone, 'unless you wish to be clapped into prison too. '

Cucurullo had betrayed no surprise at what the host told him, and he didnot seem inclined to pay any immediate attention to the latter's advice, though it was distinctly friendly. He was used to that, for few Italianswould care to incur the hatred of a hunch-backed man, who is supposed tobring good luck to those who treat him well, and to dispose of themysterious curses of the Evil Eye for wreaking vengeance on those whoinjure him. Cucurullo stood still on the stairs, in deep thought, afterthe innkeeper had ceased speaking. 

'What is the name of the Legate?' he inquired, looking up at last. 

'Pelagatti, ' answered the other. 'He is from the South, they say;though, between you and me, he looks more like a rat than a Christian. Monsignor Luigi Pelagatti, that is his name. '

Again Cucurullo was silent, apparently more absorbed in his thoughtsthan ever. 

'Come, come!' cried the innkeeper in an encouraging tone. 'You need notbe so down-hearted! I will have a good meal cooked for you, and if youneed a little ready money for your journey, it is at your disposal. Aclever fellow like you will soon find another place. '

By way of laying in a stock of luck for the day, he patted the deformedman's hump as he spoke, but he awaited the answer with evident concern, for it was fortunate to have a hunch-backed man eat and drink in one'shouse; a hunch-backed woman, on the contrary, always brought evil withher, and should be driven from the door. 

Cucurullo's reply was not only of favourable omen, but announced a pieceof unexpected good-fortune. 

'You are very obliging, ' he said, 'and I shall be glad of a mouthful atnoon. As for your kind offer to lend me money, I thank you heartily, butI am well provided, and wish to pay my master's bill here beforeaccepting your friendly offer of a dinner. My master always trusts mewith a few ducats to pay his small expenses. '

The innkeeper congratulated himself on having patted the man's hump, forit was clear that the good luck which at once befell him could be tracedto no other source. He now inwardly cursed his haste in turningOrtensia and Pina out of the house, since Cucurullo was perhaps in aposition to have paid their score for some time. Of this, however, thehost could not be quite sure, for the serving-man did not show hispurse, but only produced some loose silver from the pocket of his widebrown breeches. 

'I shall charge nothing for the lady's use of the room, ' said theinnkeeper magnanimously. 'You came with three horses from Rovigo, Ibelieve; there is their feed, and the supper of the postillion, who leftin an hour. That is all. Three pauls will pay for everything. '

'You are very obliging, ' Cucurullo said again, as he paid the money. 'Your charges are very moderate. Since you act in such a friendlymanner, I will tell you something. '

Thereupon Cucurullo laid one of his large hands gently on theinnkeeper's sleeve, and looked up earnestly into the latter's face; andwhen he was very much in earnest, his large blue eyes had a peculiarexpression, which lent great weight to what he said. 

'A friendly act deserves a friendly return, ' he said, 'for, as we say inthe South, "one hand washes the other and both wash the face. " My masterhas been arrested by mistake. He is really and truly the famous MaestroStradella, and is a great favourite with the Roman Court, for he hassung to His Holiness himself and often to His Eminence Cardinal Altieri. Therefore, if any harm comes to him in Ferrara through the ignorance ofMonsignor Pelagatti, there will be trouble for you, since the Legatewill be severely reprimanded, and will make those persons who gave himwrong information pay for his scolding. As you have shown me kindness, Itell you these things beforehand, because I know them for certain. Doyou understand?'

The innkeeper not only understood, but began to feel uncomfortable atthe thought of being called to account even for his small share inStradella's arrest. As for the spy who had made the mistake, his lotwould not be enviable if he was within the Legate's reach when the errorwas discovered. 

'Pardon the question, my dear friend, ' said the host in an extremelygentle tone, 'but are you quite sure of these things?'

'Altogether sure, ' was the answer. 'I have been in the Maestro's servicesince he first began to be famous. He saved my life at the risk of hisown, and I have served him five years come the Feast of Saint John. Itherefore know that he is not a Sicilian counterfeiter! If you have anymeans of reaching the Legate, therefore, it would be well to set himright at once in this matter. He will be the more grateful, or, atleast, the less angry, if my master is detained in prison for a fewhours only. '

The innkeeper saw the wisdom of this, on the supposition that Cucurullowas speaking the truth, but of that he was not quite sure. It was a badworld, he reflected, and the counterfeiter might have a clever hunchbackfor a servant, with a knack of fixing his eyes as Cucurullo did, and ofputting great earnestness into his tone. So far, the innkeeper had onlydone what the law had required of him, except in the matter of turningout two women who could not pay for their lodging, and in doing thisthe law would support him. Monsignor Pelagatti was a tremendouspersonage, who ruled the whole Marquisate of Ferrara in the name of thePope; he knew his business, or believed he did, and it was absurd tothink that a humble innkeeper and posting-master could influence him toact upon the mere word of a serving-man. 

On the other hand, it was unsafe to doubt a hunchback openly, and itwould be fatal to quarrel with him, because he could cast the spell ofthe Evil Eye. 

'I shall do my best, ' the innkeeper replied, 'and far more readily foryour sake, my dear friend, than for my own, I assure you. '

Cucurullo smiled quietly, and seemed quite satisfied with this answer. He now went on to ask questions about Ortensia and Pina, but the hostknew nothing, except that they had left the house together, immediatelyafter the arrest of Stradella. For obvious reasons he said nothing ofhis interview with Pina. He declared that they had simply left the inn, and that he had not hindered them. He had not seen them go out, andcould not tell whether they had turned to the north or the south. Hesuggested that since they had gone away at once and without the leasthesitation, they probably had friends in Ferrara to whom they could turnfor protection and help in their difficulty. He was ready, he said, tohelp Cucurullo to find them out; he would be only too happy to be ofuse. 

What he suggested was not unlikely. During the flight from Venice, Cucurullo had observed Pina closely, and had come to the conclusion thatshe was a woman of resources, who had travelled much at some time orother, and who could hold her tongue. She would certainly think of someexpedient, and would succeed in placing her mistress under some sort ofprotection. His own mind always instinctively ran in the direction of anecclesiastical solution of any difficulty in life; if he himself werestarving and friendless in a strange city he would knock at the door ofa Franciscan monastery and beg for shelter and work. He thereforeconcluded that Pina would naturally have taken Ortensia directly to aconvent, where they would both be cared for; the serving-woman wouldtake care to be informed of what happened to Stradella, and as soon ashe was let out she would communicate with him. 

Moreover, as compared with the fate of the musician, Cucurullo caredlittle what became of Ortensia; for his devotion to his master filledhis whole life, whereas the young girl's only claim to his attachmentwas that Stradella was in love with her. On the other hand, the piousserving-man saw in the present separation of the two a specialintervention of Providence for the purpose of keeping the lovers aparttill they could be duly and properly married. From this point of view toputting Ortensia out of his thoughts altogether was only a step, and hedevoted every energy to the liberation of his master. 

Having come to this conclusion in a much shorter time than it has takento explain his reasons, he again thanked his new friend, promising tocome back for dinner at noon, and adding that he would go over to thecastle gate and gather such information as he could. He was hinderedfrom doing so at once, however, by the preparations for the Nuncio'sdeparture, which has been already described. He mixed with the crowdthat had gathered to see the sight, and waited till some time hadelapsed after the Legate and the guard had gone in before he approachedthe drawbridge. 

The single sentinel had now returned to his beat, but half-a-dozen ofthe halberdiers were loitering about the door of the guard-room withinthe deep archway, at some distance from the gate. The sentry stoppedCucurullo and asked his business. 

'I am the servant of the gentleman who has been arrested by mistake atthe inn, ' the hunchback answered humbly. 'My master had sent me out onan errand, and when I came in I learnt the news. So I have come to waitfor him. '

'I am afraid you may wait long, ' answered the sentry, with a friendlyglance at Cucurullo's hump; 'but you are welcome to sit in theguard-room, if you like. '

'Thank you, ' Cucurullo answered, and as he passed he felt the soldier'slight touch on his crooked back. 

The other halberdiers received him with equal kindness, and there wasnot one of them who did not believe that he would have a stroke of luckbefore night, if he could by any means touch the magic hump withoutoffending its possessor. Cucurullo took off his hat civilly as hestopped before them. 

'Good-morning, gentlemen, ' he said. 'The sentinel was kind enough to saythat I might wait here for my master, who has been arrested by mistakeand will soon come out. '

'And welcome!' cried the sergeant on duty, who had lost money at play onthe previous evening. 

'At your service! Pray sit down! Bring out a chair!'

The men all spoke together, and gathered closely round Cucurullo totouch his hump, so that he almost disappeared amongst them. Then theygot a chair from the guard-room and made him sit down at his ease, andsome remained standing beside him while others sat on the end of thestone seat that ran along the wall. He thanked them warmly, and at onceentered into conversation, asking for news of Stradella, and explainingthe strange mistake that had led to his arrest. In a few minutes he hadlearned that his master was in all likelihood at that very moment beforethe Legate. 

'And what sort of person is his worship, the Governor?' asked Cucurullo, anxious for information, and lowering his voice. 

The sergeant was a jolly, red-faced, merry-eyed man from the March ofAncona, and he laughed before he answered. 

'We used to call him Pontius Pilate, because he does not know what truthis, ' he said, 'but we gave that up because he never washes his hands!'

Cucurullo smiled at the rough jest, but he looked curiously at thespeaker. 

'I see that you are familiar with the Scriptures, sir, ' observed thehunchback. 

'I come by the knowledge honestly, ' answered the soldier. 'I did notsteal it! My father, bless his soul, was killed in battle, and so mymother tried to make a priest of me. Eh? You see me as I am! This is thekind of priest my mother made! Neither more nor less than a poorsergeant of halberdiers. But a little of the Latin stuck to me, forindeed it is sticky stuff enough, and the priests laid it on with astick!'

The men roared with delight at their superior's elegant wit, andCucurullo laughed a little too, more out of politeness than because hewas amused. 

'You may yet die a saint, sir, ' he said with a grave smile when thegeneral mirth had subsided. 'Many of the saints were soldiers, you know. There was the blessed Saint Eustace, and there was Saint Martin, andSaint Sebastian, and Saint George----'

'But there never was a Saint Hector, and that is my name, at yourservice. '

At this retort the men again showed their delight, laughing in chorus. 

'Do you think you have no chance of being the first Saint Hector in thecalendar?' asked Cucurullo pleasantly. 'Why not? You have a good heart, sir. I see it in your face, if you will pardon me for saying so. Gentlemen'--he smilingly appealed to the other men--'has not SergeantHector a good heart?'

'A heart of gold!' cried one of the soldiers. 

'A heart as big as a pumpkin!' another chimed in. 

'A lion's heart!'

'There is not another like him in all the Pope's army!'

'And God bless him!'

The sergeant stood back, pretending to put on a terrible frown, andcutting the air in carte and tierce with his handsome tasselled stick. 

'You ruffians!' he roared. 'You know well enough that I would beat youall black and blue if you did not praise me seventeen times a day, fourtimes for each watch and once more for good luck! Eh?' He glaredferociously about him, and his stick flew round in his hand likelightning, through a whole series of cuts, feints, and round parries. 'Have I trained my men well or not?' he asked, desisting at last, andturning to Cucurullo. 

'You have trained them to tell the truth about you, sir, I have nodoubt, ' answered the hunchback. 

'And we will make a bad day of it for any man who says a word againsthim, ' said the biggest of the halberdiers with a grin. 

The rest confirmed his statement with a variety of asseverations, according to their several tastes, calling to witness indifferently bothheathen deities and Christian saints. 

'Very well, ' said Cucurullo. 'It is proved that you have a very goodheart, sir, and that is the chief thing needed to make a saint. For tosay that a man is kind-hearted is only another way of saying that he ischaritable, and Charity is the greatest of the three TheologicalVirtues, as you must have learned at the seminary. '

'Good friend, ' answered the sergeant, 'if you are going to open the"Process" concerning my Beatification this morning, the Devil's Advocatemust be appointed to argue against you and try to prove me the worst ofsinners, for that is the rule in Rome. '

'Very well, sir, ' laughed the hunchback. 'Appoint him yourself, sir!'

'He is upstairs just now, ' retorted the other, 'sitting in judgment onyour master! But I will promise that if you argue with him about me, hewill prove that my soul is rotting in original and acquired sin, andthat nothing can save me but cutting my pay!'

Again the gloomy archway rang with the soldiers' hoarse laughter, whichwas by no means the expression of obsequious flattery. The sergeant wasmore than popular with the whole company of halberdiers that garrisonedthe castle; he was beloved for his inexhaustible good-nature andrespected for his undoubted courage. Cucurullo had guessed this in a fewmoments, and in view of possible complications he was resolved to makean ally of the sergeant and friends of the men. 

He felt amongst the loose silver in his pocket and jingled it in amanner agreeable for poor soldiers to hear. 

'It is still early, ' he said, 'but talking always makes me thirsty. Ifyou would allow some one to fetch some drink, sir, I should begrateful. '

The sergeant assented to the proposal with alacrity, and at his nod ayoung soldier stepped briskly forward to take the piece of silverCucurullo was holding up. 

'How much shall I fetch?' asked the man, grinning. 

Cucurullo counted the company quickly before he answered. 

'We are nine, ' he said. 'I think you had better get nine pints in astoup. ' A little murmur of approval and anticipatory satisfaction ranround. 'I do not know whether that is right, ' he added, in a tone ofhesitating interrogation. 

'You speak the wisdom of all ages, ' answered the sergeant. 'Solomonnever said anything better. "Take a little wine for the good of thestomach, " says Saint Paul. '

So the time passed pleasantly for the soldiers down there under thegreat gate, while Monsignor Pelagatti was conducting his singularjudicial proceedings upstairs. A couple of horn cups were produced fromthe guard-room, and the men drank to Cucurullo's health in turn, whilehe himself swallowed a little; for he was tired, and he was terriblyanxious, in spite of his cheerful manner and jesting tone. 

They were all laughing and talking together when the old goldsmithappeared from within, on his way home. The sergeant hailed him and askedwhat news of the counterfeiter there was from the Legate's court. 

'Three hundred and ninety-one good gold ducats confiscated to theTreasury, ' answered the grey-haired crafts-man, 'and the prisoner to belodged under the Lion Tower till he is sent to Rome for trial. '

The sergeant looked at Cucurullo, and saw that he grew paler, and deadwhite all round the lips; but the hunchback showed no other sign ofemotion, and the goldsmith nodded gravely and went out. 

'This is bad news, gentlemen, ' said Cucurullo. 'Is there any way bywhich I could send a message to my master?' he asked in a low voice. 

'Either of the turnkeys would sell his soul for a dodkin, and blow upthe castle for a ducat, Legate and all, ' answered the sergeant in thesame tone. 

'I would willingly give a ducat if I might see my master. '

'I will bargain with him for half that, but it will have to be afterdark. We go off duty at Ave Maria this evening, but to-morrow we havethe night watch. Come about the first hour of the night, and you willfind the little postern ajar in the left half of the gate. Push it openand come in. '

With this friendly promise Cucurullo had to be satisfied; and, indeed, he had good reason to congratulate himself, for if he had chanced uponone of the other sergeants he might have had a very different reception, though the whole garrison hated the Legate heartily. The guard for themonth at the main gate was divided into three watches that took turns, being on duty there for twelve hours and off for twenty-four; this didnot mean, however, that they were at liberty during all that time, forthere was other sentry duty to be done about the castle. 

Having taken leave of his new friends, the hunchback went back to theinn, debating with himself whether he should remain there until thefollowing night, or seek a lodging in a more remote and quiet part ofthe town. But, on the whole, he resolved to trust the innkeeper--or itwould be nearer the truth to say that he trusted to the power hisdeformity exercised over a man in whom he would not otherwise haveplaced much confidence. If he took a room elsewhere, he would be forcedto make acquaintance with the owners of the house, and he was convincedthat such a Governor as Monsignor Pelagatti must have his spieseverywhere; it was safer to stay where he was already known, and waslooked upon as a bringer of luck, than to go where he might find lesssuperstitious people. 

He therefore took the cheapest room in the inn, announced his intentionof waiting till his master was set free, and by way of inspiringconfidence he paid for three days' lodging in advance. His object inseeing Stradella was to get definite instructions in the first place, and, secondly, to take him a dish of meat and a supply of such food aswould keep some time without spoiling. Stradella would probably bid himride post to Rome and bring back an order from Cardinal Altieri whichwould set everything right; but it would scarcely be possible to coverthe distance and return in less than ten days, at the very least, duringwhich time it was only too probable that the musician would fall illfrom lack of food and from the possible dampness and closeness of hisprison. 

The hours passed slowly enough in the solitude of the little upper roomin which Cucurullo spent most of that day and the next, and theintervening night; for he thought it wiser not to be seen much in thetown, being what he was, a mark for men's eyes wherever he went. Hewould have read if he could have found a book, for he was a good readerand writer, and often copied music for his master, for he could engrosshandsomely; but there were no books in the inn, not even the works ofthat 'poor Signor Torquato Tasso, ' who had been so long shut up as alunatic in Ferrara in the days of the Marquis Alfonso Second. The onlybook Cucurullo had been able to find was a small volume with a verystrange name, for its title was _Eikon Basilike_; but Cucurullo did notunderstand a word of it, and the innkeeper said he thought the book musthave been forgotten by two rich English gentlemen who had lately spentsome days in his house. 

At the appointed hour Cucurullo crossed the drawbridge of the castle, pushed the small postern, and went in. A hanging iron lamp, fed withmingled olive-oil and tallow, dimly lighted the great archway, where thesentry was pacing up and down. Sergeant Hector came forward as soon asthe hunchback appeared, and closed and bolted the postern after himbefore speaking. The other men of the watch were presumably dozing inthe guard-room, from the open door of which no light appeared. 

'This way, my dear friend, ' whispered the sergeant. 'The man iswaiting. '

He hurried Cucurullo along the dark way towards the inner court, layinga hand on his crooked back by way of guiding him; but the truth was thatsince he had met Cucurullo his luck at play had been surprisingly good, and he would not miss the chance of refreshing it again at the magicsource of fortune. 

They passed the foot of the main staircase, went on a few steps farther, and then turned into a narrow passage. The glare of a lantern flashed inCucurullo's eyes. 

'Here is the gentleman, ' the sergeant said in a low voice. 'This is ourhead gaoler, ' he added, turning to Cucurullo. 'I have agreed that youshould pay three silver florins in advance for the visit. '

'Cash, ' said a voice that was unnaturally hoarse, possibly from thedampness of the underground labyrinth to which the man's business oftentook him. 

Cucurullo was wrapped in his wide cloak, under which he had slung onhimself the bottles and provisions he was bringing. He had prepared someloose money in his breeches pocket, and immediately produced the threecoins. The turnkey was holding the lantern in such a position that itwas impossible to see his face, but a grimy hand shot out into theyellow glare to take the money. 

'Come, ' said the hoarse voice; and as the speaker turned to lead theway, Cucurullo heard the jingling of his keys. 

The sergeant was already gone, and the hunchback followed his guidealong the passage, which descended by a distinctly perceptible grade. Itwas clear from this that the prisons must be below the level of thewater in the moat, and already the moving light showed that the wallswere dripping with moisture. Presently the passage emerged into a sortof crypt, in which huge masses of masonry supported low arches that inturn carried the cross vaulting. The floor, if it was anything butbeaten earth, was slippery with a thin film of greasy mud. 

At last the turnkey stopped before one of half-a-dozen doors, allstudded alike with rusty iron nails, and each having a lock, a bolt, anda square aperture at the height of a man's head, strongly barred. Cucurullo now saw the gaoler's ugly features for the first time. 

The door opened, creaking loudly on its hinges; and as the turnkey heldup his lantern to see into the cell, Cucurullo, peering past him, caughtsight of his master's face. It was ghastly pale, his sunken eyes haddark half-circles under them, and his unshaven chin and cheeks lookedgrimy in the yellow light. 

'Is it morning?' he asked, in a dull voice. 

Cucurullo slipped past the gaoler and spoke to him, and instantly thelight flashed in his eyes and he smiled, for the first time since he hadbeen arrested in Ortensia's room. Cucurullo took his hand and kissed itwith devotion, as Italian servants often do in great moments. 

Neither had yet spoken when the heavy door creaked and was slammed, andthey were suddenly in the dark. The key turned noisily in the lock, twice in quick succession, and the additional bolt rattled as it waspushed into its socket. 

'Good-night, gentlemen, ' said the preternaturally hoarse voice of theturnkey through the square hole in the door. 'I will bring you yourdinner at noon!'

Cucurullo sprang to the grated aperture, only to see the ruffianstalking off into the gloom with his lantern. 

'Hi! Listen!' he cried. 'Come back, Sir Gaoler! You shall have aducat----'

The man stood still, and turned his face towards the door of the cellwith a sardonic grin. 

'Now that I have you and your ducats under lock and key I shall takethem at my leisure, Sir Fool!' he answered. 'I only agreed to let youin; I did not promise to let you out. '

Thereupon he turned again and stalked away, much to Cucurullo'sconsternation; and in this manner the fourth and last of the runawayparty that had arrived at the inn from Rovigo disappeared in Ferrara, somewhat to the surprise of the innkeeper, but not to his loss, sinceCucurullo had paid for his lodging in advance. 

CHAPTER X

Stradella and Ortensia had fled from Venice on Thursday evening and hadreached Ferrara at midnight on Friday. It was therefore on a Saturdaymorning that the musician was imprisoned, and on Sunday night Cucurullowas caught in the trap and locked up with him. It was late on that sameafternoon that the Bravi took leave of Pignaver in the church of theFrari, and they did not leave Venice till the next day; for since theywere to be paid for their time they could really not see any reason forbeing in a hurry. Moreover, they travelled like gentlemen, and thoughthe proceeds of the emerald ring had already amply furnished them withthe means of replacing many useful articles which adversity had forcedthem to sell or pawn, yet some further preparation seemed necessary, ifthey were to make their journey in a manner becoming to their rank. 

As for travelling night and day, that was quite out of the question, forthey would have thought it very foolish to trust implicitly to theinformation about the runaways which Pignaver had got from the Venetianpolice. Where such grave responsibility was laid upon them, it was rightthat they should rely only on what they themselves could learn withcertainty. The consequence was that they did not reach Ferrara tillWednesday afternoon, having spent a night in Padua and another inRovigo; and they were of course persuaded that Stradella and Ortensiawere by that time already in Florence, if they had taken that direction. 

So far, the Bravi had only spoken of their business when it wasnecessary to compare notes about the information they gathered. Havingundertaken to murder both the lovers on the one hand, but also todeliver both of them safe and unhurt, Ortensia to the Senator andStradella to the enamoured lady, the subject presented certaincomplications which were too tiresome to discuss until a final decisionbecame necessary; and for that matter, Trombin and Gambardella fullyintended to obtain the full five hundred ducats from each side. 

'You and I were certainly meant to be lawyers or bankers, ' Trombin hadobserved at Rovigo over a bottle of very old Burgundy; 'for whichever oftwo cards turns up, we must win half the stakes. '

'Both must turn up at the end of the deal, ' Gambardella had answeredwith decision, 'and we must win everything. '

'Under Providence, ' Trombin had replied, 'we will. '

Having said this much they had dismissed the subject, and theirconversation during the rest of the evening had been of artisticmatters, politics, literature, women's beauty, and whatsoever else twotolerably cultivated gentlemen might discuss with propriety in thepresence and hearing of a landlord and his servants. As soon as they hadarrived, they had learned without difficulty that the runaway party hadpassed through the place and had safely reached Ferrara, whence thecarriage they had hired in Padua had duly returned. 

The Bravi preferred to ride post, sending their luggage on with theirservant, six or seven hours in advance of them. The serving-man they hadhired in Venice had been a highway robber for several years, as theywere well aware, and in an ordinary situation he might have made awaywith his masters' valuables, if entrusted with them; but he knew whoTrombin and Gambardella were, and what they had done, and his admirationfor such very superior cut-throats was boundless. Anything of theirs wassafe in his hands, and therefore safe from robbers on the road, for hehad not long retired from the profession, and had the thieves'pass-words by heart from Milan to Naples, and farther. As a servant, hehad parted his hair in the middle and resumed his modest and unobtrusivebaptismal name of Tommaso; but he had always been known to the gang asGrattacacio, that is, 'Cheese-grater, ' because it was told of him thathe had once done good execution with that simple kitchen instrument onthe nose of a sbirro who had tried to catch him, but was himself caughtinstead. 

The worthy courier arrived at the inn in Ferrara on Wednesday beforenoon and took the best room in the house for his masters, who, he said, would arrive at their convenience during the afternoon; as in fact theydid, looking very magnificent in fashionable long-skirted riding-coatsbuttoned tight across the chest and under the broad linen collar, high-crowned felt hats with magnificent feathers, boots of the newfashion, cut off below the knee, and handsome silver chains instead ofshoulder-belts for their rapiers. 

Grattacacio had announced them as two Venetian gentlemen travelling fortheir pleasure, and when the innkeeper asked their names, the mananswered that they had received titles of nobility from the King ofFrance, and were called respectively Count Tromblon de la Trombine andCount Gambardella. When in Venice, he said, they dropped theseappellations and took their seats in the Grand Council as nobles of theRepublic. For the rest, Grattacacio continued, they were gentlemen ofexquisite taste and most fastidious in their eating and drinking. Burgundy was their favourite wine, and they could not drink Frenchclaret if it was more than twelve or less than eight years old. Theyabhorred the sweet Malmsey which the Tuscans were so fond of, but ifthere was any old Oporto in the cellar they were connoisseurs and couldappreciate it. 

The landlord received them with all the respect due to such a noble pairof epicures, and long before they arrived preparations were making inthe kitchen to cook them a dinner worthy of their refined taste andportentous appetites. 

So far as their other pretensions went, they had really seen someservice in the French Army, but their highest title to distinction wasthat they had narrowly escaped being hanged for selling information tothe Dutch, and as soon as they had fled it was discovered that they hadtaken with them all the loose gold in the regimental chest, and the twofleetest horses in the Field-Marshal's stable. 

The landlord, who did not know this, bowed to the ground as theydismounted under the archway, and at once led them to the best rooms, with which they expressed themselves well satisfied. For whatever theirreal names might be, they had been originally brought up as gentlemen, and they did not abuse everything that was offered them in order to makeinnkeepers believe that they lived magnificently at home. When they sawthat they were given the best there was to be had, no matter how poorthat might be, they accepted it quietly and said 'Thank you' withoutmore ado; but if they perceived that the best was being withheld forsome one else, they were a particularly troublesome pair of gentlemen todeal with; for nothing abashed them, and nothing seemed to frightenthem, and they were always as ready to beat an innkeeper as to skewer amarquis according to the most rigidly honourable rules of duelling. Asfor the law, it might as well not have existed, so far as they wereconcerned. They never needed it, and when it wanted them they were neverto be found--unless they were under the powerful protection of a princeor an ambassador, of whom the law itself was very much afraid, and whopromptly demanded for them a written pardon for their last offence. Forthose were the only conditions under which Bravi could have exercisedtheir profession as they did throughout Italy in the seventeenthcentury. 

Trombin detained the innkeeper a moment when he was about to leave thetwo to their toilet, after the day's ride. 

'Some acquaintances of ours must have spent a night here last week, 'Trombin began. 'Do you remember them? They were the celebrated MaestroAlessandro Stradella and his young Venetian wife. They have with them amiddle-aged serving-woman. Can you recollect when they left here?'

The landlord scratched his head and pretended to be racking his memory;for it would have been quite easy to say that the party had left onSaturday, on their way to Bologna. That was the answer the gentlemanexpected, and the innkeeper generally found that it served best to tellpeople what they expected to hear. But, on the other hand, there was thequestion of truth, if not of truthfulness. Who could tell but that suchfine gentlemen might have with them an introduction to the Legate, whomight tell them the story. If this happened, the two travellers would beangry at having been deceived, since, if the imprisoned man was reallyStradella, they would naturally wish to help him to regain his liberty. 

This reflection carried the day; the innkeeper therefore decided infavour of truth, and he told the tale of Stradella's arrest, and of themysterious disappearance of the other three members of the party. Thetwo Bravi listened in silent surprise, glancing at each other from timeto time, as if to note some point of importance. 

'Something must be done at once!' cried Trombin, when the landlord hadtold all. 'This is an egregious miscarriage of the law! Something mustbe done at once!'

'Something must be done at once!' echoed Gambardella very emphatically, though in a much lower tone. 'Are you quite sure that you do not knowwhere the lady went, Master Landlord? Or have you only forgotten?'

He had fixed his evil black eyes on the innkeeper's face, and there wassomething in his look and tone that suddenly scared the stout Romagnole, who was no great hero after all; he backed against the door as if heexpected Gambardella to spring at him. 

'Indeed, Signor Count, ' he cried in a rather shaky voice, 'if it were mylast word, I know nothing more of the lady and her woman! They left thehouse immediately, but I do not know whether they turned to the right orthe left from my door, for I did not see them go out. '

'Have you made any inquiries in the town?' asked Gambardella in the sametone as before. 'No? Then you had better set about it at once. Do youunderstand? That young lady is the niece of a friend of ours, who is aVenetian Senator, and if any harm comes to her through your havingallowed her to leave your house unprotected, you may be heldresponsible. I fancy that the Legate here must be anxious to oblige theRepublic in such matters!'

This was no doubt arrant nonsense, but nothing seemed laughable whenGambardella assumed that tone. 

'Something must be done at once!' cried Trombin, and turning suddenly tothe landlord he opened his round blue eyes as wide as possible, and drewhis breath sharply in through his pursed lips with a soft sound ofwhistling. 

He looked like a colossal angry cat, and was at least as terrifying asGambardella. The landlord faltered as he replied to both the Bravi atonce. 

'Certainly, my lords, certainly--I will have inquiries made--I will domy best--it was really not my fault----'

'It may not have been your intention, but it was, in a measure, yourfault, ' answered Trombin, allowing his expression to relax, 'though itmay have been only a fault of omission, and therefore venial, which isto say, pardonable, Master Landlord, in proportion to the gravity of theconsequences that may attend it. And now we will make ourselves readyfor the succulent dinner which, I have no doubt, your wise care is aboutto set before us, for your house has an excellent name, but we wouldhave you know that our appetites are at least as good, and ourunderstanding of the noble art of cookery much better. It is notbecoming to speak of any actions we may have to our past credit in war, but we can at least boast without reproach that we have eaten some ofthe best dinners cooked since Lucullus supped with himself!'

This tirade, delivered with the utmost rapidity and punctuated withseveral smiles that showed the speaker's sharp and gleaming teeth, partially reassured the innkeeper, who took himself off at once; and ashe had been frightened he proceeded at once to restore his self-respectby frightening the cook, cuffing the scullions, and threatening thedrawer with an awful end if he should shake the bottles and disturb theancient sediment when he brought the Burgundy to the gentlemen's table. 

When he was gone, the Bravi did not at once talk over the unexpectednews, for Grattacacio was with them, coming and going, bringing hotwater, shaving them as well as any barber, unpacking their linen andclothes, and waiting on them with such a constant prescience of theirneeds as only a highly trained body-servant can possess. For the truthwas that he had begun life as a bishop's footman, and had risen to bevalet to a cardinal, before he had taken to the road after robbing hismaster of some valuable jewels; but his hair was now growing grey at thetemples, and his nerve was not so good as it had been, and as he hadescaped hanging till now, he gave up risking it any longer. Accordinglyhe had parted his hair and called himself Tommaso once more, and he wasnow looking out for a good place with a not too decrepit prelate; for hehad been used to boast that no valet in all the Roman Curia could put ona bishop's sandals at High Mass with such combined skill and unction ashe, nor carry a cardinal's scarlet train at a consistory with suchmingled devoutness and grace. As for serving Mass, it had been a secondnature to him, and even now he could rattle off the responses without amistake, from the first 'sicut erat in principio' to the last 'Deogratias' after the Second Gospel. 

Trombin and Gambardella did not discuss the situation until this highlyaccomplished servant of theirs had accompanied them to the dining-room, to push their chairs under them as they sat down, and to assure himselfthat the table-cloth was spotless and the glasses not only clean butpolished. Then he left them to their dinner, which, as he well knew, would last at least two hours. 

The dining-room was spacious and airy, having two large grated windowsthat overlooked the square, and there were several small tables besidesthe long one at which the 'ordinary' was served every day at noon. TheBravi were now the only guests, and were installed near one of thewindows, for the day was warm. From the middle of the vaulted ceiling ahuge bunch of fresh green ferns was hung, not as a substitute forflowers, but to attract and stupefy the stray flies that found their wayin from the kitchen, even at that early season of the year. 

Trombin was the first to speak, after the preliminary appetisers hadbeen placed on the table and the glasses had been filled. 

'The situation strikes me as amusing, ' he said. 'I have always felt thatdestiny possesses a sense of humour which makes the wittiest Frenchcomedy lugubrious by comparison. '

'You are easily amused, my friend, ' answered Gambardella gloomily, andpicking out a very thin slice of Bologna sausage for his next mouthful. 'We were looking forward to a pleasant journey to Florence or Rome, ourexpenses being liberally paid; instead, we find that all the people wewish to meet are here, barely two days from Venice, and as if that werenot enough, they must needs melt away like snow in the street anddisappear underground, so that we must turn sbirri to find them. I seeno sense of humour in the destiny that brings about such sillycircumstances. '

'You were always a melancholic soul, ' Trombin observed. 'As for me, Icannot but laugh when I think that we shall have to rescue our man fromthe danger of being hanged as a counterfeiter, in order that we mayconveniently cut his throat. '

Having expressed his view of the case Trombin swallowed half a glass ofwine at a draught, while his companion sipped a few drops from his. 

'I do not call it melancholy to like good things and to wish that theymay last as long as possible, ' Gambardella said, rather sourly. 'Whatcould have been more delightful than to ride all the way to Rome orNaples in this way, travelling only on fine days, and stopping where onecan get a bottle of old Burgundy and a slice of a decently cooked capon?Talk of sending people to a better world, my friend--it would give meinfinite satisfaction to skewer this fool of a Legate for havinginterfered with our plans! A pretty job it is going to be, to get a manout of a dungeon under the Lion Tower. '

'Which one is that?' asked Trombin, looking through the grated window atthe gloomy castle on the other side of the square. 

'It is at the northeast corner at the head of the street they callGiovecca. You cannot see it from here. When we have dined we willstroll over and look at it, if you like, but you might as well try torescue a prisoner from the Bastille!'

Gambardella sniffed his wine discontentedly and then sipped it. He was agrave man and business-like; he could drive as hard a bargain for a lifeas any Bravo in Italy, and do his work as neatly and expeditiously, whenit was plainly laid out before him; but he had no imagination, and hisidea of rescuing Stradella was evidently to get him out of the castle bysome simple trick such as poor Cucurullo had tried in order to see hismaster. 

'This seems to be a good inn, ' observed Trombin thoughtfully, after apause. 'I had as soon spend a ducat a day here as in a worse house. Nowthis Burgundy is of the vintage of the year fifty-one. '

'Undoubtedly, ' assented Gambardella, sipping again as he did about oncea minute. 'It has the "rose" bouquet like that of forty-six, but is alittle younger. To think that if we could only get that fellow out ofprison we could have him to dinner, and he would sing for us thisevening! It is maddening to think that he may lose his voice in a damphole through the idiocy of that thrice-confounded Legate!'

'It is indeed, ' agreed Trombin. 'I wonder what has become of the lady. '

'I thought you were thinking of the girl, ' said the otherdiscontentedly. 'It would complete the situation if you should find herand fall in love with her yourself!'

'That is possible. It has pleased Providence to make me susceptible, whereas you are designed by nature for a monastic life. Our friend'sdescription of his niece calls up an enchanting picture! The "Bella" ofthe late Titian, but younger and slimmer! Heaven send such a sweetcreature to cheer my declining years! I do not wonder that the Maestrolost his heart and carried her off. And at this very moment she must behiding somewhere in Ferrara, perhaps not a quarter of a mile from here!In a convent, no doubt, in some gloomy old house full of yellow-facedCarmelite or Franciscan nuns, with her glorious hair and her matchlesscomplexion! I can see her in my imagination, a gilded rose amongstcabbages, a luscious peach in a heap of turnips. '

'For goodness' sake stop raving!' interrupted Gambardella. 'Why shouldshe be in a convent, I should like to know?'

'Where else could two respectable women without money go? They could notpossibly travel, and no one in the town would take them in withoutbaggage or cash. I tell you they went from here to a convent and askedfor shelter and protection. It is the most natural thing in the world. It is what the girl's middle-aged serving-woman would certainly think offirst. '

'You may be right, ' answered the other, his tone changing. 'Drink morewine, for it always stimulates your imagination, and you may imagine away of getting Stradella out of the Lion Tower. I think you are rightabout the girl. We will make inquiries at the convents after dinner. '

Trombin filled his glass, which was quite empty, drank half the contentsand set it down. 

'In the first place, ' he said, 'we had better try simple persuasion withthe Legate. If you agree, I will go and see him late in the afternoon. He may make some little difficulty about receiving me, but that willonly be in order to impress me with his greatness. Besides, you willgive me a letter of introduction which I shall ask to present inperson. '

'I?' Gambardella looked at his friend across his glass with anexpression of inquiry. 

'Certainly, ' answered Trombin. 'I could not ask such a favour of any onewho knows me better, could I? If any one can vouch for me, you can. '

Gambardella condescended to smile faintly, and suggested an outline ofthe letter. 

'"I have the honour to introduce to your lordship's good graces the verynoble Count Tromblon de la Trombine, who is here at great personalinconvenience for the express purpose of cutting Alessandro Stradella'sthroat, and will be much obliged if your worship will at once order theMaestro to be let out for that purpose. " Would that do? I could signPignaver's name to it!'

'You have no imagination. I will make a rough draft, which you will thenwrite out much better than I could. You shall see. While I am at thecastle, you may make inquiries at the different convents. '

As their servant Tommaso had foreseen, they sat at table two hours, andon the whole, though they were highly experienced epicures, they werenot dissatisfied with the dinner. Gambardella even admitted that onemore day in Ferrara would not be intolerable, but that was as much ashis second bottle of Burgundy could bring him to say. At dessert, Trombin called for writing materials and quickly drafted the letter ofintroduction he wished his friend to write out for him. The latterwatched him, and from time to time picked out a fat red cherry from aquantity that floated in a large bowl of water, and ate it thoughtfully. 

An hour and a half later the Legate returned from his daily airing, which he generally took on a handsome brown mule, accompanied by hisprivate secretary or by the captain of the halberdiers of the garrison. He came home early, though the weather was warm, for he was beginning tobe a little rheumatic, and he established himself in the sunny roomwhich he used as his study. He had not been seated ten minutes in hishigh-backed chair, with a red cotton quilt spread over his knees andtucked in round his legs, dictating letters to his secretary, when wordwas brought him that a Venetian gentleman desired to be received, inorder to present a letter of introduction from a high personage. 

Monsignor Pelagatti had an almost exaggerated respect for highpersonages, though he was now considered to be one of them himself. Evenkings may be snobs, when they are not very big kings, and much more, therefore, the lay governor of a papal province who had climbed todistinction from a steward's office in a Roman patrician's household. The Legate sent his secretary downstairs to bring up the visitor withall the ceremony due to the bearer of an important letter. 

In a few minutes Trombin entered the sunny room, and the Governor, whohad dropped his red cotton quilt and kicked it out of sight under thetable, rose to receive him. Trombin's round cheeks were rounder andpinker than ever, his long yellow hair was as smooth as butter, his bowwas precisely suited to the dignity of the Legate, and his mannerinspired confidence by its quiet self-possession. His right hand heldout the letter he brought, which Monsignor Pelagatti received with agracious smile after returning his visitor's bow, at the same timeinviting the latter to be seated on his right, where the secretary hadalready placed a comfortable chair. 

'With your permission, ' said the Governor politely, before proceeding toread the letter. 

Trombin bowed his acquiescence from his chair and smiled again. Thesucculent dinner and rich Burgundy seemed to have made him sleeker andpinker than ever, and he watched the Legate's face with a pleasantlybenevolent expression. 

But Monsignor Pelagatti's jaw dropped as he read the missive, and hisshrivelled lids seemed to shrink back from all round his little red eyestill they looked as if they were starting from his head, while Trombinwatched him with quiet satisfaction. 

The letter purported to be from the acting Chief of the Council of Tenin Venice, and was really a miracle of official style in its way. 

The writer took the liberty of introducing a gentleman to whom heentrusted a delicate business, the noble Signor Trombin del Todescan. His high regard for the Legate, and his desire to avert all unpleasantconsequences from so friendly and distinguished an official, had led himto treat directly and privately of a matter which would otherwise haveto go through the hands of the Venetian Ambassador in Rome. The Legatehad accidentally imprisoned a distinguished musician who had lately beenthe guest of the Republic, a matter which, in itself, might not bethought to have great importance. But the Maestro Stradella was on hiswedding journey, and his young bride was no less a person than the noblelady Ortensia Grimani, the writer's niece. As for Bartolo, thecounterfeiter, he had just been caught at Treviso, and, at the time ofwriting, was safely lodged in the Pozzi, either to be tried in Venice orsent to Rome, as might hereafter be agreed between the respectivegovernments. Under the circumstances the Legate would see the proprietyof setting the Maestro at liberty without delay, and of extending everycourtesy to him and his young wife, who must be in despair at hisarrest. The letter concluded by saying that if the Legate 'did not feeljustified' in complying with these requests, the noble Signor Trombindel Todescan had instructions to proceed to Rome with the utmost hasteand to place the matter in the hands of the Venetian Ambassador there, on behalf of the noble lady Ortensia Grimani, unjustly deprived of herhusband, a Spanish subject, within the States of the Church. 

The letter left nothing to be desired in the way of clearness, and theLegate's consternation was considerable. He had actually made a mistakewhich could not be glossed over by the simple process of condemning aninnocent person to fine or imprisonment without appeal. He had neverdone such a thing in his life, and it was not pleasant to feel thecoming humiliation of being forced to revoke an order given in court andto restore property he had summarily confiscated to the Treasury. 

He felt himself shrinking in his chair, while the noble Signor Trombindel Todescan, the secret envoy of the Venetian Republic, seemed to growbigger and more imposing every moment. 

'I need not say that I am delighted to be set right, after making such agrave mistake, ' said Monsignor Pelagatti humbly. 'The circumstances werevery suspicious, as I hope your lordship will explain to the mostillustrious Chief. Our information seemed very exact, and as I was incorrespondence with the police of Venice in regard to the capture ofBartolo, I could not doubt but that the Republic would be pleased withthe news that I had taken him, as I believed I had. '

'The Chief is persuaded of your worship's good intentions, ' Trombinanswered blandly. 'I can promise your worship, in his name, that thematter shall not be mentioned again. Will you be so good as to orderSignor Stradella to be set at liberty? I will conduct him to the innmyself and see to his requirements. I am informed, however, that theLady Ortensia and her serving-woman left the house immediately after thearrest on Saturday morning, and have not been seen since. Your worshipdoubtless knows where I can find them. '

'Certainly, ' answered the Legate, proud to show that nothing escaped hisvigilance. 'They went directly to the Ursuline nuns and asked to betaken in. The Mother Superior very properly sent to ask my permissionbefore agreeing to let them stay, and I granted it. The most illustriousChief will be glad to know that her ladyship, his niece, has enjoyed theprotection of a religious order throughout this lamentablemisunderstanding. '

Monsignor Pelagatti dictated and signed the order for Stradella'sliberation, and then bade his secretary accompany the noble Signor andsee that there was no delay, and that his property was duly returned. Trombin expressed the thanks of the most illustrious Chief of the Ten inappropriately flowery language, bowed, as before, with precisely theright show of mixed regard and condescension, and left the Legate tomeditate on his ill-luck in having chanced to make a mistake in such afoolish manner that he could be forced to set it right. 

He had no intention of changing his method of dispensing justice, however, for it was a simple one and had hitherto done him credit. Itconsisted in never admitting that he could be wrong, and in punishingthe prisoner whom he had picked out as guilty from the first, regardlessof anything that might turn up afterwards. One swallow, he now observedwith truth, did not make a spring, nor could one mistake prove a systemwrong. The exception proved the rule, he argued to himself, and as heconsidered that all his mistakes were exceptions, his rule must bepractically infallible. 

Meanwhile Trombin waited under the great archway while the gaolerfetched Stradella and his man, and two porters soon brought theirvalises and other belongings. The secretary disappeared for a short timeand returned with the leathern purse containing the confiscated money, which, as he informed Trombin, must be counted out to the fullsatisfaction of the Maestro. The Bravo continued to smile blandly, andwhile waiting he walked up and down the covered way to the admiration ofthe halberdiers of the watch. They recognised in him the fighting man, the compact and well-proportioned frame, the easy stride, the assuredbearing, and the quick eye; and, moreover, they had already understoodwhat was happening, though they were not Sergeant Hector's men, whowould only relieve them at nightfall. But all the soldiers hated theLegate alike, and rejoiced that for once he should be driven toacknowledge a mistake and give up a prisoner. 

Stradella and Cucurullo came up from the dungeon in a miserable state, unwashed, unshaven, their clothes stained with the slimy ooze of theirprison; their hair was damp and matted, their eyes blinked painfully inthe light, and their grimy cheeks were of a ghastly colour. But theywere not otherwise much the worse for having spent several days andnights underground, for the supply of provisions brought by thehunchback had sufficed to keep up their strength, and Stradella'sconstitution, in spite of his pale and intellectual face, overflowedwith vitality, like that of all really great singers. As for Cucurullo, he had been inured to hardship and misery in his childhood. 

They came forward together, and before Trombin could meet them theturnkey had disappeared again. Trombin took off his hat and bowed toStradella, and the secretary thought it wise to make an obsequiousobeisance. 

'Signor Maestro, ' the latter said, 'his worship the Legate charges me tooffer you his best apologies for the painful mistake which has occurred, and to restore to you your property, confiscated through an error whichhis worship deplores and trusts that you will condone. '

In spite of his wretched plight there was much dignity in Stradella'sbearing as he answered this speech. 

'Present my compliments to Monsignor Pelagatti, sir, ' he said, 'and prayassure him that I accept the excuses which you make with so muchpoliteness. '

'I thank you, illustrious Maestro, ' said the secretary, bowing again. 'Allow me to add only that the mistake has been rectified by thisgentleman of Venice, the illustrious and noble Signor Trombin delTodescan. '

Trombin and Stradella once more bowed to each other with great ceremony. 

'It has been my privilege to render the slightest of services to thegreatest of musicians, ' Trombin said. 'If you will allow me, Maestro, Ishall have the further honour of conducting you to the inn, where yourproperty and money can be restored to you with more privacy than in thisplace. '

'Three hundred and ninety-one gold ducats, Signor Maestro, ' said thesecretary. 'I have them here, and the porters are already gone on withyour luggage. '

The halberdiers stood up, and the sentinel on duty saluted as thelittle party passed through the gate. The porters were halfway acrossthe square, Stradella walked between Trombin and the secretary, who hadplaced himself deferentially on the left, and Cucurullo brought up therear, sorrowfully surveying the stains and mud on the back of hismaster's clothes, only too clearly visible in the bright afternoonlight. No more words were exchanged till they all reached the door ofthe inn, where the host was awaiting them, for he had seen from a sidewindow the porters bringing back Stradella's luggage, which he instantlyrecognised, and the rest was plain enough. The Count Tromblon de laTrombine was evidently a great personage, and it had been enough that heshould demand the instant release of the musician to produce the presentresult. The innkeeper was proportionately impressed. 

He accordingly bowed to the ground, presented his condolences toStradella on the unhappy accident, and led the way to a spacious andwell-furnished room on the first floor, to which he had already sent theluggage. 

It was not till he was gone and Cucurullo was unpacking his master'sthings that Trombin, who desired an opportunity of exchanging a fewwords alone with Stradella, led him to his own room. He carefully closedthe door before speaking. 

'A word of explanation, Maestro, ' he said, 'for all this must seem alittle incomprehensible to you. First, let me tell you that the LadyOrtensia has spent the time of your imprisonment in the convent of theUrsuline nuns with her serving-woman. That is the first piece of newsyou wish to hear, I am sure. '

The young musician drew a deep breath of relief, for his gnawing anxietyon Ortensia's account had been far harder to bear during his confinementthan any bodily hardship, and he had not at first thought it safe to askany questions of his liberator. The mere fact that the latter had beenintroduced by the secretary as a Venetian gentleman had filled him withapprehension, and even now he believed that Trombin had probably beensent by Pignaver. 

As if understanding what passed in Stradella's mind, the Bravovolunteered an explanation. 

'A friend of mine and I are travelling southwards on importantbusiness, ' he said. 'Before we left Venice the town was ringing withyour exploit, as it has echoed with your praises these three monthspast. My friend Count Gambardella and I are amongst your most ardentadmirers, Signor Maestro, and I may say in confidence that we have aprivate grudge against the Senator Pignaver. You may imagine our delighton hearing that you had carried off his niece! Quite naturally we haveasked after you at each posting station on the road. You understand therest. My friend and I venture to hope that you and your bride willhonour us with your company at supper. '

'I cannot find words for my thanks, sir, ' answered Stradella, wonderingwhether he were not in a dream, still sleeping on the stone seat in hiscell. 'I can only hope to show you some day how grateful I am. You havesaved my life!'

Trombin smiled pleasantly, but said nothing. 

CHAPTER XI

Gambardella knocked at the door of San Domenico twice in quicksuccession, and then again once after a short interval. For reasonsknown to himself he had not hesitated to begin his inquiries forOrtensia at the old Dominican convent then occupied by the nuns of SaintUrsula, and it was at once apparent that his knock inspired confidence. Instead of drawing back the small sliding panel in the weather-beatendoor to see who was outside and to ask his errand, the portress openedthe postern on one side almost immediately, without showing herself, andGambardella slipped in unchallenged and shut it after him. 

He found himself in a high and vaulted vestibule which received lightfrom the cloistered garden round which the convent was built, and he wasat once confronted by the portress, who seemed much surprised when shesaw that she had admitted a fine gentleman. 

Gambardella bowed respectfully before he spoke. 

'Reverend sister, ' said he, 'I have the honour to be a friend of yourOrder, and if I am not mistaken I am known to your Mother Superior, ofwhom I come to ask audience, if she will receive me. '

The lay sister hesitated. She was an elderly woman with flaccid yellowcheeks, watery eyes, and a more than incipient grey beard. 

'I think the Mother Superior is resting, ' she said, after a moment. 

'So late in the afternoon, sister? I trust that her Reverence is notindisposed?'

'Besides, ' continued the portress, without heeding him, 'you only saidthat you thought you were known to her. Pray can you tell me herReverence's name?'

Gambardella smiled gently. Probably it was not the first time he hadbeen obliged to argue with a convent door-keeper, that is, with the mostincredulous and obstinate kind of human being in the world. 

'Unless I am mistaken, ' Gambardella answered, 'her Reverence's name, inreligion, is Mother Agatha, and she was formerly Sub-Prioress of yourhouse in Ravenna. '

'I see that you are well-informed, ' the portress answered, somewhatreluctantly. 'I will find out whether she is resting. '

She turned from him to go into her dark little lodge, through which shehad communication with the interior of the convent; but Gambardellacalled her back. 

'One moment, sister! You need make but one errand of it. Pray let herReverence know that a Venetian gentleman of the name of Lorenzo Marcellosends her this token and begs the honour of a few words with her. '

Therewith Gambardella drew from his finger the brass ring he always woreand placed it in the portress's hand. After repeating the name he hadgiven, she nodded and went within. While he waited, Gambardella lookedthrough the iron gate that separated the vestibule from the pleasantcloistered garden, and his melancholy face was even more sad than usual, and his singular eyes more shadowy. 

'The Mother Superior will receive you in the parlour, sir, ' said theportress, coming back, and her tone showed that she now accorded thevisitor high consideration. 

He followed her through the lodge, which only received light from itsdoors when they were open. Across one corner a dark brown curtain washung, which presumably hid the portress's pallet-bed. She led himthrough a whitewashed corridor, lighted from above, into a wide hallfrom which a broad staircase led upwards, and which had several doors, besides two open entrances. The portress opened one of the doors andshut it as soon as Gambardella had entered. 

He walked up and down the long gloomy room while he waited; the twograted windows were far above reach and opened upon a blank wallopposite. The bare stone pavement was damp, and the furniture consistedof a dark walnut table, once polished, a long straight-backed settleplaced at one end, and twelve rush-bottomed chairs arranged round thesides of the room with great regularity. Above the settle hung apainfully realistic crucifix; on the wall at the opposite end a largebarocco picture represented Saint Ursula in glory with the ElevenThousand Virgins of Cologne. Opposite the windows there was a bad copyof a portrait of Paul III. , the Pope who first established the order. Judging from the parlour, it could not be said that the Ursulines ofFerrara were living in reprehensible luxury. 

In three or four minutes the door opened again and the Mother Superiorentered. She was taller than most women, and very lean; her black gownand the black veil that almost reached the ground hung in straightfolds, and her wimple and gorget framed a dark face, thin andexpressive, with noticeably symmetrical features and ardent black eyes. It was impossible to guess at her age, but she might have been thirty. 

She bent her head slightly, in acknowledgment of Gambardella'srespectful bow, and looked at him during several seconds, as if she wererecalling his appearance to her memory. Then she slowly walked away tothe settle, seated herself in the middle of it, and pointed to a chairat a little distance. He sat down and waited for her to speak. 

'Why have you come?' she asked, in a low tone that sounded resentful. 

'Is it a crime to see you after ten years?' asked Gambardella with agood deal of sadness, and watching her face intently. 

'Unless you have changed greatly, it is at least a sin, ' she answereddeliberately, and she met his eyes with eyes suddenly fierce. 

'I have changed greatly, and not for the better, ' he said simply, but hecould not face her look. 'It is neither to confess to you nor to askyour forgiveness again that I am here, for you have no more right to aconfession than I have to your pardon. '

'That may be, ' answered the nun, her tone relenting, 'but such as myforgiveness can be, while I can still remember, you have it. '

Gambardella was visibly moved at this unexpected concession. He wasseated too far from her to touch her hand, but he put out his own humblytowards the hem of her black skirt, then brought it back to his lips andkissed it with reverence, as the very poor and wretched sometimes do inItaly to express deep gratitude. She watched him, and there was thefaintest suggestion of a smile on her tightly closed lips. After alittle pause, during which their eyes met once, he spoke. 

'I have come to inquire about a young Venetian lady and herserving-woman, who took refuge with you last Saturday, ' he said, withperfect assurance, though he had no proof that the two were in theconvent. 

The Mother Superior's face darkened. 

'What are they to you?' she asked sternly. 

This was a question which Gambardella was not prepared to answertruthfully, and he had not foreseen it. He vaguely wondered what thewoman who had once loved him so well would say and do if she knew thathe had sunk to the condition of a paid Bravo, and had taken money fromone person to cut Ortensia's throat and from another to deliver her up aprisoner, and was just now wondering how he could satisfy both hispatrons. 

Until now he had seen a humorous element in his two abominable bargains;but in the grim presence of his own past things looked differently. Theterrible eyes of the high-born woman he had loved and betrayed long ago, when he was still called an honourable gentleman, were upon him now, andhe feared her as he had assuredly never feared any man in all his wildlife. She understood her power, and waited for him to speak. 

But his fear only roused his faculties, and if he felt remorse when hethought of what she had once been and of the life she was leading now, by his fault, he knew well enough that as soon as she was out of hissight he would feel nothing but a dim regret that would hardly hurt. 

'I take a vicarious interest in the Lady Ortensia, ' he said after alittle reflection. 'A friend of mine, who is travelling with me, is alsoa friend of the man with whom she has run away, and who has been lockedup by mistake, as I dare say you have heard from her. '

'She has told me something, ' the Mother Superior said coldly. 

'I will tell you the whole story, ' he answered. 

He narrated the circumstances of Ortensia's flight substantially as theywere known to the Senator, and in as few words as possible, and shelistened without interrupting him. 

'I know this Pignaver, ' he said in conclusion, 'and I know positivelythat he has engaged two Bravi to follow the pair and murder them. At thebest, he might be satisfied if Stradella were murdered and the girlbrought back to him. Those fellows may be even now in Ferrara, waitingfor a chance to do the deed. Our object is to unite the lovers andprotect them on their journey till they are beyond the reach of danger. Do you see any great harm in that?'

'They are not married, ' objected the nun. 

'I am sure they mean to be, as soon as possible, ' Gambardella answered. 'You know what the girl's life will be if you send her home, as Isuppose you mean to do. You can guess the sort of existence she willlead when her uncle has her safely imprisoned in his house. I have heardit said that he intended to marry her, and if that is true he willdeliberately torment her and perhaps starve her till she dies. He is asvain as he is cruel, and she has not a relation in the world tointerfere with his doings. '

'Poor girl!' The Mother Superior sighed, and looked down at her foldedhands. 

'And even if you insist on keeping her here, where I admit that she issafe, ' Gambardella continued, 'Stradella's life will not be safe when heis out of prison. For I will answer for it that he will not leaveFerrara without her, and his murder will be the first consequence ofyour refusal to let her join him. '

'But they are not married, ' the nun said again. 'I cannot let her go tohim. It would be a great sin! It would be on my conscience!'

'You will have his death on your conscience if you are not careful! Butthere is a very simple way out of the difficulty, if you will agree toit. '

'I will agree to nothing that is not right, ' said the Mother Superior, in a tone that excluded any compromise, 'and I tell you frankly that Ido not trust you. It would be strange if I did. '

'I do not ask you to trust me, ' Gambardella answered. 'I shall merelyshow you your duty, and leave you to do it or not, as you please!'

'My duty?' The nun was both surprised and offended. 

'Yes, ' replied the other, unmoved. 'Your objection is that they are notmarried. Marry them, then! That is plainly your duty, if anything is!'

The Mother Superior looked at him quickly, as if not believing that hewas in earnest, for she had been convincing herself that it was he whohad carried off Ortensia, pretending to be Stradella. 

'It must be a very easy thing for you, ' Gambardella continued. 'You haveyour own church here, and your own priest, who will probably obey you. If you are afraid of committing an irregularity, you need only send arequest to the Archbishop, explaining that a runaway couple, for whomyou can vouch, wish to have their union blessed. No good bishop wouldrefuse such a slight favour as a dispensation from publishing banns. Myfriend and I will bring Stradella here early in the morning, and youwill send the bride into the church from the convent. They will go awayman and wife, and before noon we shall all be many miles on the road toBologna and Rome. Could anything be simpler than that? or more perfectlyright? or more honourable for you under the circumstances?'

The nun had listened attentively, and when he had finished she noddedher approval. 

'I believe you are right, ' she said, though her tone betrayed somesurprise that she could approve anything which he suggested. 'I willtake it upon myself to promise that our chaplain shall be waitingto-morrow morning after matins, and that the bride shall be ready inthe sacristy. Poor child, she is poorly provided for her wedding! But Iwill find a veil for her. '

'She will be grateful, and Stradella too. I have no doubt but that myfriend has already obtained his liberation. '

'What is your friend's name?' asked the Mother Superior, showing somecuriosity for the first time since the interview had begun. 

Gambardella hesitated a moment, for the simple reason that he did notknow the answer to the question, and that 'Trombin' alone was evidentlynot a name, but a nickname. The mere fact that the friends had both oncehad a right to sit in the Grand Council by no means implied that theyhad known each other, even by sight. To gain time Gambardella smiled andasked a counter-question. 

'Why do you wish to learn his name?' he asked. 'You can never have knownhim. '

'That is true. It was idle curiosity. I do not care to know. '

'It is no secret, ' Gambardella answered, having in the meantime thoughtof a name that would do. 'My friend is Gaspero Mastropiero, a Venetiangentleman of fortune and a great patron of musicians. And now, ' he said, rising as he spoke, 'nothing remains for me but to thank you for seeingme, and to take my leave. Will you give me back my ring, ReverendMother?'

He stood before her, holding out his hand with the palm upward toreceive the token, and he laid a little stress on the title as hepronounced it. But there was no irony in his tone, for, young as shestill was, it had been conferred upon her quite as much for her holylife as for her high descent, in an age when noble blood had greatweight in such matters. He was certainly not speaking ironically;perhaps, amidst the tatters of his honour, some rag still covered a spotthat could feel shame, and the monstrous deed, in doing which he hadentrapped the nun to help him unawares, seemed foul beside the purity ofher intention and the saintliness of her own life. 

The emphasis he gave to the two words was, therefore, at once respectfuland sad, and did not offend her. She had put on the old brass ringherself when the portress had sent it up to her with his message; shetook it off now and gave it back to him, careful that not even the tipsof her fingers should touch his palm. Then she led the way, and hefollowed her. 

'May you never put it to a worse use than to-day, ' she said, stoppingand letting her eyes meet his for a moment. 'Good-bye. '

'Pray for me, ' he said instinctively when he opened the door for her. 

She said nothing, but she bent her head a little as she passed out, perhaps meaning that she would do what he asked. He watched her tallretreating figure as she went up the middle of the staircase, till sheturned past the dividing wall at the first landing and disappearedwithout having once looked back. Then he himself went away through thehigh corridor and the dark lodge, and the portress let him out insilence. 

He did not go back to the inn at once, for the distance was very short, and he judged that Trombin could hardly have procured Stradella'sliberation in so short a time. He wished to be alone a little while, for, in spite of what he had come to be, his interview with the MotherSuperior had disturbed him strangely. He had thought himself far beyondthat bitterness of remorse and that sickness of shame which she had madehim feel, and he wished to forget both before he met his companion todiscuss the execution of the deed they had promised to do together, andcould not now put off doing much longer. The nun's burning eyes stillhaunted and reproached him, and her shadowy figure rose before him withthe thin white face in which he could still trace the beauty that hadonce enthralled him. It was the bare woof of beauty that remained, forgrief and penance had worn away the warp, leaving only the lines onwhich the exquisite fabric had been woven; but what was left of thewoman was still there, breathing and living, while her soul had growngreat in strength and spiritual honour till it towered above his who hadonce loved her, and made him afraid to meet her look. 

It could not last long, he knew, but while it did he must be alone. Hewalked far out on a road that led through the rich damp plain, and itwas not till the sun was sinking low that he began to retrace his steps. 

When he reached the inn he found Trombin and Stradella together, and hisfriend introduced him with some ceremony as Count Gambardella. Themusician, who was fully informed of the latter's errand, pressed hishand warmly, and looked at him, evidently expecting news of Ortensia. 

'The lady and her serving-woman are well, sir, ' Gambardella said atonce, 'and I trust that to-morrow may end your difficulties happily. '

'I hope so indeed, ' Stradella answered. 

He looked pale and careworn, but no one would have guessed from hisappearance that he had just spent four nights and the better part offive days in the most noisome dungeon in Ferrara. He wore the same blackvelvet coat with purple silk facings which he was wearing when Ortensiasaw him for the first time. It fitted him well and showed his athleticyoung figure to advantage, for the fashion was not yet for the 'French'coat which Louis Fourteenth afterwards made universal. 

Gambardella measured him with his eye, as Trombin must have donealready. He wore only the short rapier of a civilian gentleman, but hemight be a good fencer and able to give trouble to a single adversary, and he looked strong. Neither of the Bravi knew what physical fearmeant, but it was of no use to risk a useless wound, and men ofStradella's type could be more conveniently despatched by stabbing themin the back than by going through the form of a duel. 

'I have not been able to see the lady herself, ' Gambardella continued, 'but the Mother Superior of the Ursulines was so good as to receive me, and after some demur she agreed to let the Lady Ortensia and her womanleave the convent early to-morrow morning. '

'Not till to-morrow?' Stradella could not hide his disappointment. 

'To-morrow, and then only on one condition, which I took it upon me topromise that you shall fulfil. '

The musician looked sharply at the speaker. 

'I trust that you have not promised for me more than I may honourablydo, ' he said. 

At this Trombin instantly pressed down the hilt of his rapier and madethe point stick up behind; he pursed his mouth and opened his eyes tillthey glared like an angry cat's. 

'I would have you know, Signor Maestro, that it is not the custom ofVenetian gentlemen to promise anything not honourable, either in theirown names or for others!'

Pignaver would have apologised at once if either of the Bravi had takenthat tone, but the Sicilian singer was made of better stuff than theVenetian Senator. 

'Sir, ' he answered quietly, 'I am not a quarrelsome man, and, moreover, I am deeply indebted to you for my freedom. But there is a lady in thiscase. Let me first know what Count Gambardella has promised in my name;for if, as I hope, it pledges me to nothing unworthy of the LadyOrtensia or of myself, I shall be doubly in your debt; but if not, whichheaven avert, I shall be at your service for a quarrel, without furtherwords. '

While he was speaking he met Trombin's ferocious stare steadily, andwhen he had finished he turned to Gambardella. The Bravo liked his toneand manner as much as he had despised Pignaver for his repeatedapologies. It would be shameful to stab such a man in the back, Trombinthought; as shameful and unsportsman-like as an Englishman thinks it toshoot a fox or to angle with worms for fish that will take a fly. 

'The Mother Superior, ' said Gambardella, paying no attention to what hadjust passed, 'is a saintly woman. She requires that before taking awaythe Lady Ortensia, you shall be duly married in the church of SanDomenico, early to-morrow morning. This, sir, I ventured to promise inyour name, and no more, as one man of honour speaking for another. '

'You could not have done me a greater service!' Stradella cried, surprised and delighted. 'I am sorry that I ever questioned your goodjudgment, sir!'

Trombin's fierce expression relaxed into one better suited to his roundpink cheeks, and peace was immediately restored. But the Bravi exchangedglances which meant that they were perplexed by the undeniable fact thatthey were beginning to like the musician, quite apart from theiradmiration for his genius. 

Before supper they consulted together in the privacy of Trombin's roomover a thimbleful of Greek mastic, which they drank as an appetiser. They were agreed not to lose sight of the young couple again, and not tohurry matters to a termination. What could be more delightful than tomake the journey to Rome together with the greatest singer in the worldand his bride, acting at once as an armed escort and as friends ready tosave the happy pair all trouble about small details from day to day?Stradella had declared that he meant to reach Rome without delay, whilehe was sure of a warm welcome and of the protection of CardinalAltieri, in case Pignaver sent any one in pursuit. 

'Rome, ' said Trombin thoughtfully, 'is a convenient place for doingbusiness. The streets are narrow, and there are many wells in thecourtyards of the old houses. '

'It is true that we have never had any trouble in Rome, ' Gambardellaanswered. 'Commend me to narrow streets for business. I hate your greatsquares, your promenades, your gardens, and your belvederes! Shall youever forget that summer's evening on the Chiatamone in Naples?'

'I feel that I am still running away, ' Trombin said. 'But Rome is quitedifferent. It is true that we have not yet decided which of the two itis to be. But I have just thought of a way of getting both the fees. '

'For a man of imagination, you have taken a long time to think of it!'

'It is this. We will deliver up both in Venice, Stradella to the lady, and the girl to her uncle. The lady will believe that the girl is dead, for she will never see or hear of her again, and she will pay us infull. The Senator will pay half down when he gets his niece back, andafter the lady has enjoyed the Maestro's company for a few days he canbe done away with, and Pignaver will pay the balance. What do you thinkof that as a solution, my friend?'

'There is much to be said for it, ' Gambardella admitted. 

He nodded and sipped his mastic, which was not an easy operation, sincehe could not go on filling the small glass as he would a tumbler ofwine; but he ingeniously set it to one corner of his mouth, well out ofthe way of his nose, and by turning his head on one side he succeeded insipping it to the end without spilling a drop. 

'It is a monstrous thing to interrupt such a career as Stradella's, ' hecontinued, for his companion had said nothing. 'But five hundred ducatsare a great deal of money, and beggars cannot be choosers! Nevertheless, if you can think of some plan which will accomplish the same result bysaving the Maestro and putting the girl out of the way instead, I shouldprefer it. A woman more or less makes no difference, but there is onlyone Stradella!'

'I will do my best, ' Trombin answered, 'but you cannot have everything. '

The Bravi and Stradella supped in a room apart for greater privacy, because a large party of noisy Bolognese merchants had arrived on theirway to Venice, and were eating in the dining-room. Cucurullo andGrattacacio waited on their masters, the dishes being brought to thedoor by a scullion. 

There were wax candles on the table in handsome candlesticks, for a merebrass oil-lamp was not good enough for such fine gentlemen as Trombinand Gambardella when their pockets were full of money; and in the middleof the board a magnificent majolica basket was filled with cherries andgreen almonds. 

The two servants eyed each other with a certain mutual distrust, forGrattacacio had at once discovered that his colleague was one of thosepoor creatures that have not even the spirit to cheat their masters, andCucurullo's quietly penetrating intelligence detected under Tommaso'saccomplished exterior the signs of a still more accomplished scoundrel. For the present, however, the two treated each other with much civility, and their three masters were admirably served at supper. 

They drank to one another in the old Burgundy, and Trombin proposed thehealth of the bride, repeating in her honour one of Petrarch's sonnetsin praise of Laura. He said that as he had never seen her he could onlycompare her beauty to that of the angels, and her virtues to those ofthe blessed saints, whom he had not seen either, and had no expectationof seeing hereafter; similarly he likened the Maestro's voice to that ofa seraph, on the ground that its like would never be heard on earth. 

Stradella laughed a little, for the first time in five days, and emptiedhis glass to Ortensia. He was no match for his companions at eating anddrinking, as he soon found out, and he was satisfied long before theywere; but the good old wine had brought back the warmth to his face andhands, though he had drunk but little, and presently he went for hislute. He tuned it and then played softly while Trombin ate candied fruitand Gambardella cut himself shavings of fresh Parmesan cheese, which henibbled with salt, and both drank wine, listening to his music withdelight. 

It was worth hearing, indeed, for under his masterly touch theinstrument sang, laughed and wept, and whispered love-words at hiswill; now, one high string pleaded its passionate melody to a low andsighing accompaniment that never swelled to reach it; and now, thenineteen strings sounded together as a full orchestra, bursting intriumphant harmonies, and almost deafening to hear; again, the deepeststring began a fugue that was taken up by the next above and the next, and traversed all, gathering sonorous strength as the parts increasedfrom two to three, from three to four, all moving at once to the grandclimax, and then sinking again and falling away one by one, softer andsofter to the solemn close. 

Stradella was profoundly happy, and he had but one way of expressing hishappiness to himself, which was the most beautiful way there is, for hemade the art he loved his means of telling the world his joy. 

Later, when the window was open, and the young moon was shedding agentle light upon the broad square, he began to sing softly, wonderingthat he should have any voice left after what he had suffered; but greatsingers are not like other men, at least as to their throats, and aftera few trials the rich notes floated out deliciously, as effortless andas true, as soft and as strong as ever, in those marvellous love-songsof his own that thrilled all Italy while he lived, and long afterwards. 

The Bravi had turned their chairs to listen, for he had gone to thewindow. They had finished their Burgundy, and most of his share to boot, and peace had descended on their restless souls; and if, from all thedelights the world held, they could have chosen one for that Mayevening, they would have asked for none but this, to sit and listen tothe greatest of living singers and musicians, deeply in love, andsinging more for himself than that any one might hear him. 

'It is absolutely impossible, ' said Trombin gravely to his companion, when Stradella paused at last. 

'Absolutely, ' assented Gambardella. 

'What is impossible?' the singer asked carelessly. 

'To sing better than you, ' answered Gambardella with a short laugh. 

CHAPTER XII

Quite out of sight in the choir, more than sixty nuns and at least asmany of their girl pupils were still chanting matins when Stradella andthe two Bravi entered the Church of San Domenico, followed by Cucurullo. The latter's fellow-servant had left Ferrara at dawn with his masters'luggage, to ride ahead and order rooms and dinner at Bologna for thewhole party. Stradella had secured a travelling-carriage on which hiseffects were already packed, and the harnessed horses were standingready to be put to. 

Gambardella dipped his fingers into the nearest holy-water basin andheld them out dripping for Stradella to touch before he crossed himself, as the others also did; then all followed him up the side aisle to thedoor of the sacristy, where they waited till the singing ceased. Thepriest's deep voice spoke a few words alone, the nuns and pupilsanswered, and so again, through the short Responsory; and after a momentthe soft shuffling of many felt-shod feet on the stone pavement washeard as the sisters and girls left the hidden choir in orderlyprocession. 

The sacristan opened the padded swinging-door and saw the four menwaiting. He was a small man with a round red nose and he took snuffplentifully, as the state of his shabby black cassock showed. 

'If the gentlemen will put themselves to the inconvenience of comingin, ' he said, 'they will find all ready and the lady waiting. '

He spoke with obsequious politeness, but his eyes looked with sharpinquiry from one to the other, trying to make out which of the threegentlemen was the bridegroom; that is to say, which of them would tiphim after the ceremony--for in such matters, as he well knew, much maybe guessed from the face and apparent humour of the giver. 

He was relieved to see that Stradella now took the lead, and that everyline of his handsome young face betrayed his joyous anxiety to bemarried as soon as possible. 

Between the church and the sacristy there was a damp and gloomyvestibule, at the end of which the sacristan opened anotherswinging-door and Stradella suddenly saw Ortensia standing in a blaze oflight, covered from head to foot with a delicate white veil shot withgold threads; for the early sun poured in through two great windows andflooded the sacristy, gleaming on the carved and polished walnutwardrobes, blazing on the rich gold and jewels and enamel of the sacredvessels and utensils in the tall glass-fronted case, and making a cloudof glory in the bride's veil. It covered her face, but in the splendidlight it hardly dimmed her radiant loveliness. 

Beside her, but half a step farther back, stood Pina, in her grey dress, as quiet and self-possessed as ever. Near them stood a tall old priestwho had a thin and gentle face. 

Stradella sprang forward with outstretched hands, forgetting everythingexcept that Ortensia was before him. But he had not yet reached her sidewhen the priest was between them, laying one hand on his shoulder andquietly checking him, though smiling kindly, as if he quite understood. 

The Bravi had started when they first caught sight of the Venetian girl, for neither of them had expected such rare beauty; and with the addedillusion of the gold-shot veil and the all-generous sunshine, it wasnothing less than transcendent. Trombin and Gambardella looked at eachother quietly, as they always did when the same thought struck them. 

Meanwhile the tall old priest made the young couple kneel before thelittle altar on one side of the sacristy, where two praying-stools hadbeen placed in readiness. Pina knelt down a little way behind hermistress, and Cucurullo took his place at the same distance behind hismaster; but Trombin went and stood on Ortensia's left and Gambardella onStradella's right, as witnesses for the bride and bridegroomrespectively. 

Thus it was that the runaway couple were duly married and blessed in thesacristy of San Domenico on that May morning, little dreaming why it hadall been so cleverly managed for them; but it was clear that Stradellahad been prepared for the event, since he produced two wedding rings ofdifferent sizes and gave them to the priest to bless. 

'I will, ' he said, in answer to the latter's question. 

'I will, ' said Ortensia in a low tone, but by no means doubtfully. 

'Ego conjungo vos, ' the priest went on; and the rest was soon said, theBravi dropping on their knees at the benediction. 

Then the sacristan brought out the register and laid it on the broadpolished table on which the vestments were folded, placing pens and inkand the sand-box beside it; and the priest first wrote a few words, tosay that he had married the couple by a special dispensation from theArchbishop of Ferrara; and Stradella and Ortensia signed their names, and after them the Bravi, who indeed merely wrote 'Trombin' and'Gambardella, ' but managed to make their signatures almost illegiblewith magnificent flourishes. The priest bade Pina and Cucurullo signtoo, as they said they could write, and the hunchback wrote 'AntoninoCucurullo' in a small neat hand like a seminarist's, and Pina set downher name as 'Filippina Landi. '

The priest, who had watched the signing, looked at her in some surprise. 

'Are you married or unmarried?' he asked quietly. 

'Unmarried, ' answered Pina in her hard voice, and she turned away. 

For Landi was a patrician name; and though Jews, when baptized, usuallytook the surname of the noble under whose auspices they were converted, it was quite clear that Pina was not of Semitic race. 

Stradella had taken Ortensia's hand and kissed it when the littleceremony was over, but that was all, and neither could find words tospeak. Pina took off the beautiful veil, folded it on the polishedtable, and rolled it up to carry away, for the Mother Superior wishedOrtensia to keep it. Then the serving-woman produced the two browncloaks in which she and her mistress had fled from Venice, and they putthem on, and all left the church together after thanking the priest; andStradella gave the sacristan two silver Apostolic florins, which was thelargest fee the fellow had ever received in his life. 

When they were all in the street, the Bravi took off their hats andasked to be introduced to the bride, and Stradella presented them withsome ceremony, greatly to the surprise and delight of some raggedchildren who had collected round the church steps; for Ortensia made acourt courtesy, and the Bravi bowed to the ground, sweeping thecobble-stones with their plumes and sticking up their rapiers behindthem almost perpendicularly in the air. 

'Count Trombin, Count Gambardella, ' said the musician to his wife, introducing the pair. 'These gentlemen have liberated us from ourrespective prisons and have been kindly instrumental in bringing aboutour marriage. '

'We owe you both a debt of undying gratitude, gentlemen, ' said Ortensia, blushing a little under her brown hood. 

'It is an honour to have served your ladyship, ' Trombin replied, withanother grand bow. 

Ortensia slipped her arm through Stradella's and pressed hissurreptitiously against her side, as if to say that she would never lethim go out of her sight again; and she wished, as she had never wishedfor anything in her life, that she were alone with him already, to throwher arms round his neck and tell him the very things he was longing totell her. 

Behind them the Bravi walked in silence, their hands on the hilts oftheir rapiers and their eyes fixed on the happy pair, each absorbed inhis own reflections. 

Trombin thought, in the first place, that Ortensia was one of the mostbeautiful young creatures he had ever seen; and he flattered himselfthat he had seen many. Gambardella, on the other hand, wore his mostsour look, for he was disgusted to find that the impression left by hisinterview with the Mother Superior was not so ephemeral as he hadbelieved it to be; and being angry with himself he wished that the wholebusiness were finished, that Stradella were dead and Ortensia safe inher uncle's hands, or that Ortensia were already killed and thatStradella had been delivered to his Venetian admirer bound hand and footand gagged, according to contract, so that Gambardella might apply hismind to other matters. 

But Trombin was not thinking only of the lady. The humour of the wholeaffair struck him as delightful in the extreme, and he smiled tohimself, showing his sharp white teeth, when he thought of the tricksthat had been played on the Legate and the Ursuline nuns in less thantwenty-four hours. It was most especially amusing to think how thatcut-throat Gambardella, the weight of whose sins would have staggeredthe Grand Penitentiary himself, had played Old Morality to the MotherSuperior, and had actually been the one to suggest a proper marriage asthe only virtuous solution of the difficulty. 

There was not much time for such reflections, however, for the distanceto the inn was short, and when they reached it the young couple'stravelling-carriage was ready and the horses were saddled for the Bravi, who were already dressed for riding. So there was nothing to hinder themall from starting at once, since the score was already paid. 

In less than half an hour after they had left the church, the wholeparty was well outside the city gates and on the road to Rome. 

CHAPTER XIII

A month had passed since Stradella and Ortensia had fled from Venice, and after their adventure in Ferrara no hand had been raised againstthem on their way to Rome. They had at first lodged in the ancienthostelry at the Sign of the Bear, which still stands, and is not onlycalled the Orso inn as it was hundreds of years ago, but has given itsname to the street in which it is situated. It stands at the entrance tothat part of the city which was in old times dominated by the Orsini, who undoubtedly got their name from some ancient stone or marble bearthat was built into the outer wall of their stronghold; but whether theold inn was called after the image itself, or after the Orsini badge, noone can tell. 

Stradella and his wife lodged for a few days in that large upper room, of which the beautiful loggia may still be seen from the new embankment;but in those days, and much later, another row of tall houses stood onthe opposite side of the street, between the Orso and the river, makingan unbroken line as far as the Nona tower at the Bridge of Sant' Angelo, and completely cutting off the view. It was the best of the Roman inns, even when Rome had more hostelries than any city in Europe. Philippe deCommines lodged there, and Montaigne, and many another famous man whovisited Rome before and after Stradella's time. 

It was there, in that upper chamber, that the happy lovers first tastedpeace and rest after the trials and fatigues of their long journey; forthough they were man and wife it is but right to call them lovers, wholoved so truly till they died. It was there that they first learned toknow and understand each other, and to see why they had loved at firstsight and had fled together, wresting their happiness violently from anadverse fate, when they had been alone scarcely one whole hour in allduring their brief acquaintance, and had kissed but twice. 

For as they lived those first days together they found all they haddreamed of, each in the other, and more too; and every fresh discoverywas a sweet new world, till many worlds made up the universe of theirnew being that circled round love's sun in a firmament of joy. Love hadbeen great from the first, but now he grew to be all-powerful; there hadbeen hours when one or the other might have been persuaded to draw backfor some weighty reason, but no reason was strong enough to part themnow, not even the great last argument of death himself. 

Surely, say you, the course of true love should have run smooth forthem, if ever. But know you not that the gods envy no small thing, norare angry at any humdrum happiness of common men? Know you not that thegod of war spares the coward and slays the brave? That in the race forfortune Jove often trips the swiftest runners and lets the dull ploddercreep past the winning post alone? Know you not that whom the gods lovedie young?

Ortensia and Stradella knew none of these things. He had grown famousalmost without an effort when scarcely more than a boy, and fame did notdesert him; and now that he had overcome obstacles and passed throughdanger to be happy, he believed with child-like faith that suchhappiness, once got, must be safe from outward harm, since it dwelt inthe heart, where no one could see it, to envy it as men envied worldlyglory. As for Ortensia, she neither thought of the future nor rememberedthe near past, but lived only in each present dazzling day. 

For a whole week they scarcely showed themselves, though Stradella'sreturn was known in Rome, and he received many invitations to rich men'shouses and requests for new compositions, and pressing offers of moneyif he would but sing at mass or vespers in this basilica or that. If hehad needed gold, he could have had it for an hour's trouble, or for aneffort of a few minutes which was no effort at all. But for the momenthe had enough, and nothing should disturb the first days of his goldenhoneymoon. 

Trombin and Gambardella also lodged in the Orso, but in rooms far fromthe happy pair, whom they chose to leave in peace for the present, neverasking to see them nor inviting them to their well-spread table. Indeed, any such invitation might have come better from the other side now, fornever did a young runaway couple incur a heavier debt of gratitude thanStradella and Ortensia owed to the two cut-throats who meant to murderthem, and were even then living under the same roof and on the best ofeverything with money advanced to them for that very purpose. 

But the time and the conditions were not now suited for the deed, whichmight have been done easily enough a dozen times between Ferrara andRome. Moreover, the Bravi had not yet come to a definite agreement as tothe plan they should pursue, and Trombin's scheme, which seemed thebest, was far less easy to carry out than a common murder, and very muchmore expensive; for it meant kidnapping both Stradella and his wife, andtaking them all the way back to Venice as close prisoners, withoutexciting suspicion by the way, so that the inns at which they had allstopped on their journey southwards would have to be scrupulouslyavoided on their return. 

There was no hurry, however, for they had not spent the two hundredducats advanced to them; or, to be accurate, they had played at theFrench Ambassador's gambling-tables with a part of the money and had wona good deal. For in those days every foreign ambassador in Rome claimedthe right to keep a public gambling-room in his embassy, for his ownprofit, which was often large, and was always a regular source ofincome. But the Bravi had already written to Pignaver as well as to thelady for more funds, on the ground that forty days had passed withoutaffording them the opportunity they sought, and at two ducats a daytheir account thus came to eighty ducats, already gone for unavoidableexpenses. Since they were paid twice over, it was quite natural thattheir expenses should sometimes be doubled. 

Meanwhile they watched their prey closely, and without any apparentintention of disturbing the peace of the lovers' paradise they were veryoften just strolling out or coming in exactly when Stradella andOrtensia were passing through the gate in one direction or the other. Inthis way Trombin saw Ortensia almost every day, and all four generallyexchanged a few friendly words before going on their way. 

The beautiful Venetian and her husband were in the habit of going outtogether either early in the morning, when they were sure not to meetany of Stradella's fashionable acquaintances, or late in the Juneafternoons, when all society congregated in certain fixed gatheringplaces and nowhere else, such as the gardens of the French Embassy, which was established in the Villa Medici, or in the vast grounds of theVilla Riario, which is now called Corsini, where Queen Christina ofSweden had finally taken up her abode, and was giving herself airs rightroyally as the chief living patroness and critic of all the arts andsciences. To her, too, and to her court, Stradella had sung more thanonce when he had last been in Rome, at which time she had lived therelittle more than a year. Again, the precincts of the Vatican were to beavoided, and the news-mongering Banchi Vecchi, where every smart gossipin town resorted twice or thrice in the week to replenish his stock offacts and anecdotes, true and untrue, and where he could buy thesensational account of the latest execution, or elopement, or fraud. 

The young couple avoided all such places carefully. Stradella knew thecity well, and led Ortensia to many lovely spots unknown to fashion, andinto many dim old churches, more than one of which had echoed to his ownmusic on great feast-days, from the Lateran and Santa Croce and SantaMaria in Domnica, far away beyond the Colosseum, in the wildernesswithin the southern wall of the city, to the fashionable Santa Maria inVia, and San Marcello and the Pantheon. 

Sometimes, if they had turned and looked into the distance behind them, they might have seen Trombin's pink cheeks and well-turned figure notvery far away. For he was a susceptible creature, as he often confessedto his companion, and the very first sight of Ortensia on the morning ofher marriage had made a deep impression on him. It was not only her faceand her hair, which resembled that of the late lamented Titian's Beauty;there was something in her figure and walk that made him half mad whenhe watched her; hers was not the stately stride of the black-eyedplebeian beauty, balancing her huge copper 'conca' on her classic head, still less was it the swaying, hip-dislocating, self-advertising gait ofsome of those handsome and fashionable ladies who frequented the VillaMedici on Sunday afternoons, and progressed through a running fire ofcompliments from pale-faced young gentlemen of wealth and noble lineage. Perhaps, after all, it was not Ortensia's walk in itself, but alsoevery movement of her beautiful body that made the Bravo's pulses throb;it was not her step only, with all the mystery the moving draperiescould mean, but the grace in the half-turn of her head too, theundulating motion of her hand and wrist and half-bent arm when shefanned herself, the resistless seduction in her flexible figure when sheturned quickly to Stradella, while leaning on his arm and still walkingon, to ask some new question, or in pleased surprise at something he hadjust told her. 

The end of their first days of peace at the Orso came one afternoonquite suddenly in the queer round church of San Stefano Rotondo, whichis not like any other in the world, and is entirely decorated, if theword may be so misused, with representations of the awful torturesundergone by early martyrs. If Stradella himself had ever been there, hewould not have taken his wife to see such sights, but the church was notmore often open then than now, and the two went in from pure curiosity. 

As they entered the vast circular aisle and turned to the right, theycame suddenly upon a group of fashionable people listening to theexplanations of an imposing gentleman with perfectly white hair, whoindicated the points of interest in a picture with a heavy stick made ofa narwhale's ivory horn. He was describing minutely and realisticallythe sufferings of a virgin martyr, and his chief hearer followed what hesaid with absorbed interest. 

Stradella instantly recognised the ex-Queen of Sweden. There was nomistaking the daughter of Gustavus Adolphus, with her square face andred cheeks, her disagreeable eyes and her black wig, her short greenskirt and her mannish bearing. She was forty-four years old at thattime. The fine-looking old man was Bernini, the sculptor; at her elbow, and not much above it in height, stood a misshapen youth with the faceof a sad angel, the poet Guidi; he was evidently pained and disgusted bythe lecture. Three other gentlemen stood at a little distance behind theQueen, but there was nothing to distinguish them from ninety-nine out ofa hundred other fine gentlemen of fashionable society who wore extremelygood coats, cut and curled their hair in the latest style, and provedthat they were not absolute fools by holding their tongues when men likeBernini or Guidi were speaking. 

At the sharp click of Ortensia's little heels on the stone pavement theQueen turned her head and instantly recognised Stradella, who bowed lowas she nodded to him, and extended her hand in a gesture that bade himwait. He had no choice, and she looked at the picture again and listenedwith evident satisfaction to the great sculptor's explanation of theunpleasant subject. Guidi, however, tried not to hear; he also knewStradella, who had set some of his verses to music, and he exchanged aglance of intelligence with him, wondering who his lady companion mightbe. 

Stradella was already bending to whisper in her ear and tell her who thelady was, and that it was impossible to run away. Ortensia had neverseen a queen before, and looked at her critically. Queen Christina, shethought, was anything but a fine-looking woman, though she lookedintelligent, and Ortensia remembered scores of Venetian ladies who weremuch more queenly in appearance. 

When Bernini had brought his poor little martyr to her last gasp, headded that, while he declined to disparage the work of a latefellow-artist, he considered Pomarancio's paintings beneath criticism;he then paused and took snuff. The Queen smiled sarcastically at hislast words. 

'Without speaking well of you, Cavaliere, ' she said, 'I consider you asagreeable as you are famous. '

Bernini shut his snuff-box with a sharp snap and bowed low, though hequite understood the rebuke. Meanwhile Stradella led Ortensia forward, and the Queen turned to them as they came up. 

'I am overjoyed to see you, Maestro, ' she said, graciously giving himher hand to kiss while he touched the ground with one knee, and Ortensiaexecuted a ceremonious courtesy. 'And who is this lady?' the Queen askedalmost at once. 

'My wife, Madam, ' answered Stradella proudly. 'We are lately married. '

'Surely you are not a Roman, my dear child?' the Queen said inquiringly. 

'No, Madam, ' answered Ortensia, meeting the penetrating gaze of thedisagreeable eyes without any nervousness. 'I am a Venetian, and wasborn a Grimani. '

The Queen smiled still more graciously at the ancient name, though shewas a little surprised that a Grimani should have married a singer. Bernini and Guidi greeted Stradella while the Queen exchanged these fewwords with his wife, and the three gentlemen also came forward andpressed his hand, asking him questions about his journey, his marriage, and his present lodgings. 

'What?' cried young Paluzzo Altieri. 'Lodging at the Orso? At an inn? Myuncle will never allow that, nor her Majesty either!' He glanced at theQueen, who was still talking with Ortensia. 'You are the Pope's guestsin Rome, Maestro, and I shall see that you are treated as such! Wherewill you be pleased to lodge, my dear Stradella? The whole Altieripalace is at your disposal, and you have but to choose yourapartments----'

'Surely, ' interrupted the Queen, who was listening now, 'I have a priorright to lodge a great artist in my house! Will you come and stay awhilewith me, my dear?' she asked, turning to Ortensia again, with a suddensmile. 

Ortensia was not at all overcome by the invitation, as the Queen perhapsexpected that she would be, and she answered with demure caution. 

'Your Majesty is too kind, ' she said, without committing herself. 

'Very well, my dear Altieri, ' the Queen went on at once, as if Ortensiahad already refused the proffered hospitality, 'I yield, but to HisHoliness only, not to you!'

She laughed that strangely hard ringing laugh of hers, that remindednorthern men of the sound of sharp skates cutting the smooth ice of afrozen river, where leafless birches and frost-bound banks send thenotes echoing away between them till they are lost in the distance. 

'The Pope owes your Majesty thanks, ' the young courtier answered, bending his head a little, though he could hardly take his eyes fromOrtensia. 

Her Majesty Christina was out on one of her sight-seeing expeditions, inwhich old Bernini felt himself highly honoured to play guide, though shesometimes, as now, insisted on seeing sights which he would notwillingly have shown her, and on hearing explanations which he wouldwillingly have omitted. For though she set herself up as a profoundcritic and a super-refined ęsthetic, her real nature was at once coarseand slightly Sadie, and she took pleasure in tales of bloodshed andsuffering which would have disgusted a healthy-minded woman of ordinarysensitiveness. Indeed, as her Italian contemporaries knew her duringthose long years she spent in Rome, she was very far from being theroyal Christina of the playwrights and poets. Her knowledge of art wasnot that of the critic, but of the professional dealer in antiquities, and though her opinion on the beauty of anything, from a picture to aninlaid cabinet, was often mere nonsense, she was never mistaken as tothe price of the object. She was not an amateur, but an expert, andthough anything that was really fashionable pleased her, she would buynothing that had not an intrinsic value. In those first years of herpermanent residence in Rome she was rich, for in voluntarily abdicatingthe throne she had reserved to herself a liberal income, whichafterwards dwindled to very little, and she kept up a considerable statein the Palazzo Riario, that overlooks the river from the Trastevereside. There was hardly an artist or a literary man in Rome, or a studentof science or a musician, who did not regularly pay his court to her, and dedicate to her something of his best work. Not rarely, too, shegave her advice; Bernini should finish his last statue in such and sucha way, Guidi should avoid one rhyme and introduce another, on pain ofher displeasure. Bernini yielded politely, because of all Italy'sartists of genius he was the most thoroughly cynical in following thefashion of his time; Guidi obeyed because a dinner was always a dinnerto a starving youth of twenty, and a rhyme was no great price to pay forit; but he quietly enclosed her suggestions in quotation marks, therebydisclaiming any responsibility for them. 

The young Paluzzo Altieri was nephew to the Cardinal who governed Romeas the 'real' Pope, while the octogenarian Clement X. , who was calledthe 'nominal' Pope, spent most of his days more or less in his bed. TheCardinal and all his relations had been adopted by him as 'nephews, ' andas he was the last of his race he had bestowed on them and their heirsall his vast private possessions instead of enriching them out of thetreasury, as many popes did by their families. 

Alberto Paluzzo Altieri was good-for-nothing, and like most reallyworthless young men he exercised an extraordinary charm on every one whoknew him, both women and men. For to be a real good-for-nothing, without being a criminal, implies a native genius for wasting otherpeople's time as agreeably as one's own, and for helping rich men to getrid of their money with infinite pleasure and no profit at all, and formaking every woman believe that she can certainly convert and reform theprodigal by the simple process of allowing him to fall in love with her, which, of course, must elevate him to her moral and intellectual level. 

There was nothing very remarkable about Alberto except that charm ofhis. He was dark, he had straight black hair, and tolerably regularfeatures, like many young Romans; he was neither tall nor short, norexceptionally well made, and of the three young gentlemen whoaccompanied the ex-Queen on her sight-seeing excursion, he was the leastostentatiously dressed. But he had a wonderfully pleasant voice inspeaking, with the smile of a happy and phenomenally innocent boy, andhis bright brown eyes had the most guileless expression in the world. Atthe present time it amused him to be Queen Christina's favourite, perhaps because she was a genuine queen, or possibly because hercold-blooded murder of Monaldeschi was still so fresh in every one'smemory that there was a spice of danger in the situation; but in anycase he was prepared for the first pleasant opportunity of changing hisallegiance which might present itself. 

When he saw Stradella's young wife it occurred to him at once that sucha chance was within his reach, and he was not satisfied till he had madethe musician promise to move from the inn to the Altieri palace on thenext day but one; for Alberto was the eldest son, and neither hisfather, who was old, nor his mother, who was a slave to her perpetualdevotions, ever attempted to oppose his wishes in such matters. Was henot a model son? Could anything surpass his sweet-tempered affection forhis parents? Why should he not have what he liked? Good-for-nothings areoften their mothers' favourites; but Alberto had long ago won over hisfather as well, and not him only, but his uncle also, the Cardinal, whoruled Rome and the States of the Church like a despot. The great man wasreally not sorry that one of his own family should occupy the mostimportant position in Queen Christina's household; for it is theinstinct of all ex-sovereigns to meddle in politics, and it was notpossible to predict what such a woman might do if she were bored. 

Ortensia was a mere girl still, but her eyes had been opened of late, and she did not fail to notice the impression she had made on the youngman; she was far too much in love with her husband, however, to care forsuch admiration, or even to be pleased by it, and somehow the presentcase seemed to be of bad omen. 

The Queen and her party had already been long in the church, for theyhad begun their round on the other side of the entrance, and were justending it when Stradella and his wife appeared; now, therefore, after afew more words, they took themselves off amidst much bowing and scrapingon the part of all except the Queen herself. She smiled to Ortensia, andnodded familiarly to Stradella, making a beckoning and inviting gestureto him over her shoulder with her right hand as she turned away. Alberto looked quickly at the musician, not so much taking him for apossible rival as for a convenient successor; but the faintlycontemptuous smile that flickered in the musician's face as he saw thecareless signal assuredly did not mean that he was either flattered orattracted. Ortensia saw the gesture too, and resented it; but a momentlater she smiled to herself at the thought that such a woman as theQueen could ever win so much as a second thought from Alessandro. 

The two had seen enough of San Stefano, and were glad to escape from thenightmare of horrors depicted on its walls; but before going out theywaited a few minutes in the vestibule to allow the party time to get outof sight. 

'So that is the famous Queen Christina!' Ortensia said, expressing hersurprise and disappointment as soon as they were alone. 'Pina looks morelike a lady!'

CHAPTER XIV

After supper on the next evening Stradella and Ortensia were sitting forthe last time in the beautiful loggia, in the soft light of the youngmoon that would soon set behind the Vatican Hill. The air waswonderfully dry and warm, as it is in Rome sometimes in June when therehas been no rain for three or four weeks. 

On the following morning they were to move to the Palazzo Altieri, whereDon Alberto had caused to be prepared for them the apartment that isentered by a small door on the left, halfway up the grand staircase. They had been talking of the change. 

'It will seem more natural to you to live in a palace again, ' Stradellasaid in a laughing tone. 'You must have had enough of inns by thistime!'

'The happiest days of my life have been spent in them, ' Ortensiaanswered with a little sadness. 'I am wondering whether it will ever bethe same again. '

'As long as we are the same there can be no difference, sweetheart. I amglad you are to be more worthily lodged. Don Alberto was always a verygood-natured fellow and more or less a friend of mine, and he is takingthe greatest pains to make us comfortable in his father's house. '

'I wish he would not take such infinite trouble to stare at me all thetime!'

'Why should he look at anything else when you are in sight?' laughed thesinger. 'Do I? And just consider what a pleasant change it must be forhim after being obliged to gaze at the Queen by the hour together invisible rapture! The vision must pall sometimes, I should think! Ireally do not blame him for showing that he admires you, and he is notthe only one. There is our friend Trombin, for instance, who stands inadoration staring at you and puffing out his round cheeks whenever wemeet. '

'Oh, he only makes me laugh, ' Ortensia answered; 'he is so funny, withhis little pursed-up mouth and his round eyes! I am sure he must be thekindest-hearted creature in the world. But Don Alberto is quitedifferent. I am a little afraid of him. I feel as if some day he mightsay something to me----'

'What, for instance?' asked Stradella, amused. 'What do you think he maysay?'

'That he thinks me--what shall I say?--very pretty, perhaps!'

'He would only be saying to your face what every one says behind yourback, love! Should you object very much if he told you that he thoughtyou beautiful?'

'I do not wish to be beautiful for any one but you, ' Ortensia answeredsoftly. 'I wish that every one else might think me hideous, and nevercome near me!'

'And that I might seem to every one but you to sing out of tune!'laughed Stradella. 

'At all events they would leave us alone, if they thought so! But I didnot mean it in that way. I think you do not care whether men make loveto me or not!'

She was not quite pleased, and as she leaned her head back against thewall he saw her pouting lips in the moonlight. 

'I like to be envied, ' said Stradella. 

As he made this singular answer he bent over a mandoline he had beenholding on his knee and made the point of the quill quiver against theupper strings with incredible lightness, so that the tinkling noteseemed to come from very far away and could not interrupt theconversation. 

'I do not understand, ' Ortensia said, after a moment, and she lifted herarms and made her clasped hands a pillow between the back of her headand the wall. 

'The beauty of anything is its immortal part, ' he said; 'its real valueis as much as people will give for it, neither more nor less. Do you notunderstand me yet?'

'Not quite. Why do you talk in riddles? I am not very clever, you know!'

'You are beautiful, dear. I have often told you so, and other men willif they get a chance. But as one of nature's works of art I doubtwhether you are more beautiful than almond-blossoms in spring, or thedawn in the south on a summer's morning. Do you see?'

'No. Is it a parable? What will you compare me to next?'

Stradella was making sweet far-off music on the instrument. It came alittle nearer and then died away into the distance, when he was ready tospeak again. 

'You may have almond-blossoms by hundreds in March for nothing, ' hesaid, 'and any one may see the dawn who is awake so early! They haveperfect beauty, but no value. No one can really envy a man who brings anarmful of flowers home with him, or who sees the dawn of a fine day, yetboth are quite as lovely as you are, in their own fashion, though theyare common. But you have their beauty, and besides, you are of immensevalue, not to me only but to the whole race of men, because you are notonly beautiful, but also a very rare work of nature, far rarer thanpearls and rubies. '

'Then it was all a pretty compliment you were paying me!' Ortensiasmiled. 'Of course I could not understand what you meant!'

Stradella laughed low, and the mandoline was silent for a while. 

'The way to make compliments is to find out what a woman most admires inherself and then to make her believe it is ten times more wonderful thanshe supposed it could be. No one has ever told that secret yet, but ithas opened more doors and balcony windows than any other. '

'That was not your way of opening mine, dear!' laughed Ortensia. 'I amafraid you needed no secret at all to do that. '

Again he touched the mandoline, but it was not mere tinkling music now, making believe that it came all the way down the long street from thedismal Tor di Nona by the bridge. It was that love-song he had made forher in Venice, and had sung to her when Pina left them together thefirst time; a measure of the melody trembled through the upper strings, and then his own voice took up the words in tones breathed out so easilythat the highest never seemed to be high, nor to cost him more effortthan ordinary speech. Of all instruments the violoncello can yield notesmost like such a voice, when the bow is in a master's hand. 

In Rome, at night, he may sing who will, even now: if he goes bawlingout of tune through the silent streets, though it be not from drink butout of sheer lightness of heart, the first policeman he meets willsilence him, it is true; but if he sings well and soberly he may go onhis way rejoicing, for no watchman will hinder him. It is an ancientright of the Italian people to sing when and where they please, by dayor night, in the certainty that tuneful singing can never give offencenor disturb even a dying man. 

So the great master of song sat in the high balcony on that June nightand let his voice float out over moon-lit Rome; and presently Ortensiaslipped from her chair and knelt before him, her hands clasped on hisknees and looking up to his face, for his magic was more enthralling nowthan when it had first drawn her to him. 

When he reached the end he kissed her, the last long-drawn note stillvibrating on his lips, and she felt that they were cold and tremblingwhen they touched hers. 

'Yes, ' she whispered, drawing back just enough to see his eyes in themoonlight, 'that was the key to my window. When I heard that song I knewyou loved me already, and that I must love you too, sooner or later, and for all my life. It is not my poor beauty that is rarer than pearlsand rubies, love, but your genius and your voice. I know what you meannow! I like to be envied by other women because you are mine, with allyou are, you, and your fame, and everything!'

'Do you see?' Stradella laughed softly. 'You should not be angry withpeople who stare at you, any more than I am with people who listen whenI sing! And I am no more jealous because Don Alberto admires you thanyou should be because Queen Christina likes my singing, as she says shedoes. '

'Tell me, Alessandro, is that a black wig she wears, or is it her ownhair?' asked Ortensia, pretending to be serious. 

'In confidence, my love, it is a wig, ' Stradella answered with extremegravity. 

'So much the better. I am glad she admires your singing; but if it werenot a wig, perhaps I should be less glad. Do you think Don Alberto'sfine black hair is his own, dear; and are his legs quite real?'

'Without doubt. '

'Then I think you ought to be just a little less glad that he stares atme, than if his legs were padded and he wore a wig as the Queen does, and were forty, as she is, with bad teeth and a muddy complexion likehers! You know you should be just a very little less pleased, dear!'

In the moonlight he could see her smiling, for her face was close tohis, and she had laid her hands on his shoulders, while she still kneltat his knees. 

'But that would mean that I was jealous, dear heart, ' objectedStradella. 'Why am I to be jealous because he admires you, unless youlike him too much? Most women say that a man is a brute to be jealous atall till they have run away with some one else! Your uncle, forinstance, is really justified in being jealous of me. '

'Really?'

Ortensia laughed and kissed again before saying anything more; and justas their lips touched, the silver light began to fail, and the youngmoon dropped behind the Vatican Hill, and when they separated it seemedquite dark by comparison. Now any one can easily find out how long ittakes the moon to set after she has touched the shoulder of a hill; andhence the exact number of seconds during which that particular kisslasted can easily be ascertained. But time, as Danish people say, wasmade for shoemakers; and Ortensia and Stradella took no account of it, but behaved in the most foolishly dilatory way, just as if they were nota plain, humdrum, married couple that should have known better than tospend the evening in a balcony, alternately sentimentalising, kissing, and singing love-songs. 

That was the last evening they spent at the Sign of the Bear, and thoughthey had talked idly enough in the loggia under the light of the youngmoon about such very grave subjects as jealousy and envy, theyafterwards cherished ineffaceable memories of that sweet June night. 

For there had been an interlude in the comedy of their troubles, wherein love had dwelt with them alone and in peace, making histreasures fully known to them, and guiding their footsteps while theyexplored his kingdom and his palace; and they both felt instinctivelythat the interlude was over now, and that real life must begin againwith their change of lodgings. Stradella was a musician and a singer, without settled fortune, and he must return to the business of earningbread for them both; moreover, he was famous, and therefore could notpossibly get his living obscurely. The Pope's adopted family would viewith the ex-Queen of Sweden, the Spanish Ambassador and the rich nobles, to flatter him and attract him to their respective palaces. AlbertoAltieri, who had lost his heart to Ortensia's beauty at first sight, would organise every sort of fashionable entertainment for the youngbride's benefit, and would do his best to turn her head by magnificentdisplay. Hereafter, till the summer heat drove the Romans to thecountry, no evening gathering in a noble house would deserve mention ifStradella and his wife were not there, as no concert would be worthhearing unless some of his music was performed. The young couple wouldbe continually in the very vortex of fashion's whirlpool, and thoughthey would not resent the distinction, and might even enjoy the gaietyfor a few weeks, they would have but little time left for each otherbetween morning and midnight. 

It was apparent on the very first night they spent in the PalazzoAltieri that Don Alberto was not the only young man in Rome who wishedto please Ortensia. Soon after the second hour of night, which weshould call about ten o'clock in June, Stradella and Ortensia heardmusic in the narrow street below their new quarters; and as the soundsdid not move farther away, it was almost immediately apparent that thesingers were serenading Ortensia. It was no ordinary music, either;there were half-a-dozen fine voices and four or five stringedinstruments, played with masterly skill--a violin, a 'viola d'amore, 'and at least two or three lutes. 

Stradella put out the light in the room and opened the outer shutters alittle, for they had been closed. The moon was shining even morebrightly than on the previous night, but the rays did not fall as theyfell on the loggia at the inn; the roofs of the low houses opposite werepartly illuminated, and the belfry of San Stefano, and of the littlechurch of Santa Marta and the Minerva much farther away; but that sideof the irregularly built Altieri palace and the street below were almostin darkness. Looking down between the shutters, Ortensia and Stradellacould only see deeper shadows within the shade, where the serenaderswere standing, and they were sure that the latter could not see them atall. They listened with delight, their heads close together, and eachwith one arm round the other's waist. 

'They are men from the Pope's choir, ' Stradella whispered, 'or fromSaint Peter's. '

The first piece was finished, and the musicians exchanged a few words inlow tones, while one or two of them tuned their instruments a little. Amoment later they began to play again, and as Stradella recognised theopening chords of one of his own serenades, a rich-toned voice began thesong. 

Ortensia's arm tightened a little round her husband, and his round her, and their young cheeks touched as they listened and peered down into thegloom of the narrow street. Suddenly there was a stir below, and thesound of other feet coming quickly from the Piazza del Gesł; and thoughthe serenade was not half finished, another choir and other instrumentsstruck up a chorus, loud and high, almost completely drowning the first. 

Stradella uttered an exclamation of surprise. The newcomers sang andplayed quite as well as the first party, if not better, and the musicwas Stradella's too--a triumphal march and chorus which he had composedwhen last in Rome for the marriage of the Orsini heir. It had beenintended to drown all other sounds while the wedding procession wasleaving the church, and it now fulfilled a similar purpose mosteffectually. 

For a moment Stradella imagined that it was only meant as a surprise, and a reinforcement to the first party, and that the whole company ofmusicians would play and sing together. That would have been indeed aroyal serenade; but half a minute had not passed before things took avery different turn, for the party in possession of the street chargedthe newcomers after a moment's deliberation; the twanging of stringsturned into a noise of stout sticks hitting each other violently andsmashing an instrument now and then, and steel was clashing too, whilethe voices that had lately sung so tunefully now shouted in wilddiscord. 

Suddenly a flash of bright light darted through the dim confusion as adark lantern was opened, and the glare fell full on the face and figureof Don Alberto Altieri, who stood hatless, sword in hand, facing anadversary who was quite invisible to the couple at the window. Theinstant the light was seen, the others of the two parties ceasedfighting and retired in opposite directions. 

'Sir, ' said a voice which Stradella and Ortensia instantly recognised asTrombin's, 'I see that you are at least as young as you are noble, ifnot more so, and I shall therefore not press my acquaintance upon you sofar as to take your life. But I shall tell you plainly, sir, that I am afencing-master by my profession, and if you do not immediately dissolveinto air, or, to put it better, melt away with all your company, I willlard you, in the space of thirty seconds, with fifteen flesh wounds infifteen different parts of your body, not one of which shall bedangerous, but which, being taken in what I may call the aggregate, shall keep you in your bed for a month, sir. And moreover, sir, as youdo not seem inclined to lower your guard and go away, there is one!'

The long rapier flashed in the light of the lantern, and instantly DonAlberto's sword fell from his hand. Trombin had run him neatly throughthe right forearm, completely disabling him at the first thrust. 

The Bravo at once stooped, picked up the weapon and politely offered himthe hilt, but he could not take it with his right hand, and grasping theblade itself with his left, he just managed to get it into the sheath. 

'At least, ' he cried, furious with humiliation and pain, 'that gentlemanwith the lantern there, who employs you, will answer to me for this inbroad daylight, when my wound is healed. '

'With pleasure, sir, ' answered the voice of Gambardella. 'But as onegentleman to another, I warn you that I am also a fencing-master. '

The instant Don Alberto was wounded his musicians had taken to flight, and he had now no choice but to follow them, which he did with as muchdignity as he could command, considering that he was hatless, wounded, and altogether very badly worsted, for he had understood that he hadfallen in with Bravi, probably employed by a rival. As soon as it wasevident that he was going away, the lantern was shut and the street wasdark again, Trombin's musicians tuned their instruments, and in two orthree minutes the triumphal march rang out again, louder and higher thanever. 

In the dimness above Stradella and Ortensia looked at each other, thoughthey could hardly see one another's faces. 

'Your two admirers mean business!' said the musician with someamusement. 'Trombin will seem less ridiculous the next time you see himstaring at you!'

'How can you laugh!' asked Ortensia gravely, for she had never beforeseen men face each other with drawn swords. 

She had always been taught that duelling was as wicked as it wasdangerous, and her uncle Pignaver had shared that orthodox opinion;nevertheless, though she would not willingly have acknowledged it toher confessor, she was glad that Trombin had driven the lady-killer fromthe field, and she only wished that Stradella might have done ithimself. As for the Bravi's serenade, she did not resent it at all, nordid her husband; it was a friendly entertainment, and nothing more, onthe part of the two wealthy Venetian gentlemen to whom the young couplealready owed an immense debt of gratitude. When the chorus was ended, Stradella clapped his hands. 

'Bravo!' cried Ortensia, and the word sounded clearly in the momentarysilence. 

'At your ladyship's service!' answered Trombin in a laughing tone, forthe jest she unconsciously made in using the single word seemed to himfull of humour. 

Gambardella's dark lantern sent its searching ray up to the window atthat moment, and showed the heads of the two young people closetogether, for the shutters were now wide open; an instant later thelight went out and the music began again. It was a madrigal this time, airy and changing, and sung by four men, one of whom had a beautifulmale contralto, which is a rarity even in Italy. Stradella recognised itinstantly, for he had often sung at the Lateran and knew the man. 

'They are of the choir of Saint John's, ' he whispered to Ortensia. 

There was rivalry between the Lateran and the Vatican in the matter ofmusic then, as there has been in our own day, and it was no wonder thatthe musicians themselves had joined in the fray when Don Alberto drew onTrombin and Gambardella. 

The serenade continued, and the two Bravi enjoyed it quite as much asOrtensia herself; but it was not likely that Don Alberto would besatisfied to go quietly to bed after being wounded under the very wallsof his father's palace by a professional cut-throat who had beendoubtless hired to protect a rival serenader. There was a guardhouse ofthe watch not far away, at the foot of the Capitol Hill, and thither hehastened, after twisting his silk scarf round his forearm as tightly ashe could to staunch the blood. 

In less than a quarter of an hour he came back with a corporal's guardof the night-watchmen, armed with clumsy broadswords, but each carryinga serviceable iron-shod cudgel of cornel-wood which, according to oldRoman rhyme, breaks bones so easily that the blows do not even hurt:'Corniale, rompe le ossa e non fa male. ' The corporal himself carried anelaborately wrought lantern of iron and glass, ornamented with the papaltiara and crossed keys. 

Now the Bravi did not know Alberto Altieri by sight, and they hadtreated him as if he were of no more account than several hundred otheryoung noblemen, sure that he would have his scratch dressed and goquietly to bed like a sensible fellow who has had the worst of it. Therefore when the watch came in sight suddenly, from behind the cornerof the palace that juts out sharply towards San Stefano, the serenadersdid not connect the appearance of the patrol with their late adversary, who had disappeared in the opposite direction; on the contrary, theywent on singing and playing, well aware that night-watchmen neverinterfered with such innocent diversions, but would generally stop ontheir round to enjoy the music. Even now, when they came straight towardsthe musicians, the latter only made way quietly, supposing that theywished to pass. It was not till Gambardella recognised Don Alberto's faceby the light of the corporal's lantern that he understood, and drew hisrapier just in time to save himself from being arrested. 

[Illustration: 'The two Bravi faced the watch side by side']

'Run, while we hold the street!' he yelled to the musicians, who did notwait for a second invitation, but fled like sheep down the Via del Gesł. 

Trombin's blade was out almost as soon as his companion's, and the twoBravi faced the watch side by side. Their hats were drawn well overtheir eyes, and they had clapped on the little black masks most peoplecarried then, so that they were in no fear of being recognised. Thecorporal, who seemed to be a determined fellow, swung his stick like asabre, to bring it down on Gambardella's head, but it found only theempty air in its path, and at the same time the officer's left hand wasso sharply pricked that he dropped the big lantern, which rolled on itsside and went out. Meanwhile Trombin had parried the blow his nearestadversary had struck at him, and in return had instantly disabled him byrunning him through the right forearm, precisely as he had done by DonAlberto. 

A moment later Gambardella opened his dark lantern, and held it in hisleft, so that he and Trombin became almost invisible to theiradversaries and had them at a great disadvantage. Furious, the corporalstruck another wild blow with his staff, but Gambardella dodged it evenmore easily than before, being behind the lantern that dazzled theother; and as the iron-shod stick hit the ground after missing its aim, the officer felt the Bravo's blade run through the muscles of his upperarm, like a stream of icy water, followed instantly by burning heat. With a hearty curse he backed out of the way of another thrust and badehis men draw their broadswords and finish the matter. 

But this was more easily said than done. The half-dozen men obeyed, indeed, so far as drawing and brandishing their clumsy weapons wasconcerned, but the street was narrow, the lantern dazzled them, and thetwo long rapiers with their needle points and solid blades pointed outat them in the circle of light, ready to run in under the awkwardbroadsword guard with deadly effect. 

The corporal swore till Cucurullo, who was looking out of another upperwindow, expected to see him struck by lightning, and all the people whowere now at the windows of the low houses opposite the palace crossedthemselves devoutly; but it was of no use, as long as those two gleamingpoints kept making little circles slowly in the light. There was not aman in the corporal's guard who would have gone within an arm's lengthof them. 

Seeing that they already had the best of it, the Bravi began to advanceby regular short steps, moving the right foot forward first and then theleft, as if they were on the fencing ground, their rapiers steadily inguard; and the watchmen fell back, fearing to face them. But that wasnot enough; for though the two might drive the little band in that wayfrom street to street, if they but lowered their points a moment theiradversaries would spring in upon them, even at some risk. 

'We are mild-tempered men, ' said Trombin at last, 'but we are bothfencing-masters, and it will not be prudent to irritate us, or, as I maysay, to drive us to extremities. You had better go your way quietly andlet us go ours. '

'If you do not, ' said Gambardella, who was excessively bored, 'we willskewer every mother's son of you in five minutes, by the holymarrow-bones of Beelzebub!'

This singular invocation arrested the attention and disturbed theequanimity of the watchmen; they could stand being sworn at by everysaint in the calendar, by every article of the Nicene Creed, and, generally, by everything sacred of which their corporal had ever heard, but they did not like men who invoked relics of such horrible import asthose which Gambardella had named. Nor were their fears misplaced, foras they hesitated for two or three seconds before turning to run, theBravo made a spring like a wild cat, struck the corporal violently onthe nose with the iron guard of his rapier, jumped back one step, andthen, lunging an almost incredible distance as the corporal staggeredagainst the wall, ran the man behind him through the fleshy part of theshoulder. On his side, Trombin advanced too, pretended to lunge andthen suddenly struck the man before him such a stinging blow with theflat of his rapier that the fellow howled and fled, whereupon Trombinencouraged his speed by prodding him sharply in the rear. In a momentthe confusion was complete, and the watchmen were tumbling over eachother in their hurry to escape. Then the lantern was suddenly shut, andthe two Bravi faced about and ran like deer in the opposite direction. 

CHAPTER XV

Don Alberto did not care to tell how he had been wounded, and kept thematter between himself, his doctor, and his own man, giving out that hehad been thrown from his horse and had broken one of the bones of hisforearm, a story which quite accounted for his wearing his arm in asling when he appeared after keeping his room during five days. It wasnatural, too, that Stradella and Ortensia, who had recognised him by thelight of the lantern, should say nothing about the matter, and the Bravidid not know who the young man was; so there was a possibility that thewhole affair might remain a secret. 

Trombin, however, was anxious to discover the name of the adversary hehad wounded, and Gambardella was not unwilling to help him, though heconsidered him quite mad where Ortensia was concerned. 

'You have no imagination, ' Trombin objected, in answer to this charge. 'Can you not understand the peculiar charm of being in love with a ladyof whom I have agreed to make an angel at the first convenientopportunity, and whom I have further promised to deliver safe, sound, and alive to her uncle in Venice?'

'I wish you joy of your puzzles, ' answered Gambardella discontentedly. 

'I derive much solace from the pleasures of imagination, ' Trombinobserved, following his own train of thought. 'In me a great romancerhas been lost to our age, another Bandello, perhaps a second Boccaccio!An English gentleman of taste once told me that my features resemblethose of a dramatist of his country, whose first name was William--Iforget the second, which I could not learn to pronounce--but that mycheeks are even rounder than his were, and my mouth smaller. Under othercircumstances, who knows but that I might have been the WilliamSomething of Italy? My English friend added that the painted bust of thedramatist on his tomb was quite the most hideous object he had everseen, so I do not tell you the story out of mere vanity, as you mightsuppose. My misfortune is that I am generally driven by a sort offamiliar spirit to do the things I imagine, instead of writing themdown. '

'And pray what do you imagine you are going to do next?' inquiredGambardella. 

'It has occurred to me that I might carry off the lady myself, ' Trombinanswered in a thoughtful tone. 

'And leave me to manage the rest?'

'You will have no trouble. I shall take the road to Venice, of course, and after a month or two I will hand the lady over to Pignaver, for Idare say she will soon tire of my company. As for you, you will onlyhave to follow her husband, for he will go after his wife as fast as hecan, of his own accord, and when you both reach Venice together, I shallbe waiting and we will lead him into a trap and give him up to hispretty adorer! The rest will be as I said. She will not be able to keephim a prisoner very long, and when he leaves her house we can settlethe business. '

'And of course you will expect me to help you in carrying the youngwoman off?'

'Naturally! Should you feel any scruples about it?'

'No, ' Gambardella answered, in an indifferent tone, but he changed thesubject and went back to the question of the rival serenader's identity. 'It might be as well to think of more practical matters, ' he said. 'Theexcellent Tommaso has not found out anything about the man you woundedlast night, though he has already ascertained exactly where the ex-Queenof Sweden keeps her jewels!'

'Intelligent creature! He really has a good store of generalinformation! I dare say he will take them some day and leave us withoutgiving notice. '

'It must be very convenient to be born so low in the world as to be ableto steal without disgrace, ' observed Gambardella thoughtfully. 'Isuppose such fellows have no sense of honour. '

'None whatever, ' said Trombin, with equal gravity. 'As you say, it mustmake many things easy when one has no money. '

This conversation had taken place under the great colonnade before SaintPeter's, late in the afternoon, when the air was pleasantly cool. Bernini's colonnade was new then, and some of the poorer Romans, dwelling in the desolate regions between the Lateran and Santa MariaMaggiore, had not even seen it. It might have been expected that it wasto become the resort of loungers, gossips, foreigners, dealers inimages and rosaries, barbers, fortune-tellers, and money-changers, asthe ancient portico had been that used to form a straight covered wayfrom the Basilica to the Bridge of Sant' Angelo; but for someinexplicable reason this never happened, and it was always, as it isnow, a deserted place. 

The Bravi, who were men of taste, according to their times, admired thearchitecture extremely, and often walked there for half an hour beforeit was time to hear the Benediction music in the church, which wasalways good and sometimes magnificent. 

This afternoon they were strolling not far from the bronze gate thatgives access to the Vatican; a dozen paces or more behind them, withincall but out of hearing of their conversation, walked the excellentTommaso, otherwise known as Grattacacio, the ex-highway robber, aboutwhom they had just been talking. The last words had barely passedTrombin's lips when they heard the man's footsteps approaching themrapidly from behind. They stopped to learn what was the matter. 

'A young gentleman on a mule is coming, with several servants, ' Tommasosaid quickly. 'He has his right arm in a sling. Perhaps he is your man. '

The two friends nodded carelessly, but drew their hats a little lowerover their eyes as they turned and walked back, skirting the inner sideof the colonnade so as to watch the party that was coming straightacross the Piazza in the sun from the direction of Porta Santo Spirito. As soon as they saw the face of the young man who rode the mule theyrecognised Trombin's adversary, who wore his broad-brimmed hat far downon the left to screen him from the sun, thus exposing the right side ofhis face to their view. They went on quietly, as if they had hardlynoticed him, and he paid no attention to them. When he and his threeservants had almost reached the bronzed gates, the Bravi despatchedtheir man after him to find out his name from the groom who would holdhis mule, while they themselves remained where they were, walking slowlyup and down, a dozen steps each way. 

'I see a golden opportunity rising in the distance, ' said Trombin. 'Itilluminates my imagination and lights up my understanding. '

'It will probably dazzle mine, so that I shall see nothing at all, 'observed Gambardella with his usual sourness. 

'Possibly, ' Trombin answered pleasantly. 'I shall therefore hide mylight under a bushel, as it were, and thus spare your mental eyes ashock that might be fatal to them. For my present inspiration is of sucha tremendous nature that an ordinary intelligence might be unsettled byit. '

'Could you not communicate the nature of it in small doses, as it were?'asked Gambardella, mimicking him a little. 'One can get accustomed evento poisons in that way, as Mithridates did. '

'To oblige you, I will attempt it, my friend, but I shall endeavour tolead you to guess the truth yourself by asking questions, instead ofpresenting it to you in disjointed fragments. Now consider that youthwhom I ran through the arm the other night, and answer me. Do yousuppose that he was serenading Pina, the serving-woman, or Ortensia hermistress?'

'What a question! It was Ortensia, of course. '

'But was he serenading the Lady Ortensia out of ill-feeling towards her, or out of good-feeling?'

'Out of good-feeling. '

'What is the good-feeling of a handsome young man towards a beautifulyoung woman usually called, my friend?'

'Love, I suppose. What nonsense is this?'

'It is the Socratic method, as recorded by Plato. I learned something ofit when I was a student at Padua. Now, you have told me that the youngman feels love for the young woman, and you appear to be right; but whatdo you think he hopes to get from her in return, love or dislike?'

'Her love, no doubt. '

'You answer well, my friend. Now tell me this also. Will he get her lovewithout the consent of her husband, or with it?'

'Without, if he gets it at all! I am tired of this fooling. It bores meexcessively. '

'You will not be bored long, ' answered Trombin with confidence. 'Answerme one question more. Do you suppose that the young man will have anysuccess with the Lady Ortensia, unless he can separate her fromStradella by some stratagem?'

Gambardella looked sharply at his wordy companion. 

'I begin to take your meaning, ' he said. 

'You have a good mind, ' Trombin answered, 'but it works slowly. You areon the verge of guessing what my inspiration is. Let us, for a largeconsideration, be the means of carrying off the Lady Ortensia for thisrich young man, and when we have done so and received his money, let usexecute the plan we have already made. For it will be easy for us topersuade her to do anything we suggest, because both she and her husbandare under the greatest obligations to us, whereas the young man wouldhave to employ violence and make a great scandal. But here comes thatexcellent Tommaso. '

'You are certainly a great man, ' said Gambardella, looking at Trombinwith admiration. 

It was clear from Tommaso's face that the intelligence he brought wasimportant, and as he stood hat in hand before his masters he looked upand down the colonnade to see if there were any one in sight and nearenough to listen. 

'The gentleman is Don Alberto Altieri, ' he said, almost in a whisper. 

Trombin at once puffed out his pink cheeks, pursed his lips, andwhistled very softly, for he was much surprised; but Gambardella seemedquite unmoved, and merely nodded to Tommaso as if well satisfied withthe latter's service. Then the two strolled on again, and theircut-throat servant followed them, just out of hearing of theirconversation, as before; for he was much too wise to try any commontrick of eavesdropping on a pair of men who would just as soon wring hisneck and throw him into a well as look at him. His highest ambitionreally was to be promoted to help them in one of those outrageous deedsthat had made them the most famous Bravi of the whole century, who hadreceived pardons from popes and kings, from the Emperor Leopold, andfrom the Venetian Republic itself, under which passports they travelledand lived where they pleased, still untouched by the law. 

'This is a delicate business, ' observed Gambardella, for both had heardthe gossip about Don Alberto and Queen Christina. 

'It will be the more amusing, ' answered Trombin. 'When I reflect uponthe primitive simplicity of the business we undertook for Pignaver, andcompare it with the plan we have now conceived and shall certainlyexecute in a few days, I cannot but congratulate myself on the fertilityof my imagination, or, as I might say, upon the resemblance between mymind and that of the novelist Boccaccio. But I feel the superiority ofmy lot over his in the fact that I am generally the chief actor in myown stories. '

'The Queen will be useful, ' said Gambardella. 

'Bless her for an admirably amusing woman!' cried Trombin fervently. 'She has the mane of the lion and the heart of the hare!'

'The mane happens to be a wig, my friend, ' sneered the other. 

'In more senses than one, ' retorted Trombin, 'but the hare's heart isgenuine. She was afraid of poor Monaldeschi. You knew it, I knew it, andLuigi Santinelli knew it. She ordered us to kill him because shebelieved he was selling her secrets to the Spanish, and was going topoison her in their interests. She is always fancying that some onewants to poison her. Oh, yes, my friend, a most diverting character, forshe thinks of nothing but herself, and her Self is a selfish, hysterical, cruel, cowardly woman!'[1]

'I detest her for that business at Fontainebleau, ' answered Gambardella. 

'Precisely. So do I, though she amuses me. To strangle a superfluouswoman is sometimes unavoidable, and there are occasions when it iswisdom to stab an unnecessary male in the back. But to put an unarmedgentleman to the wall, so to say, in broad daylight and deliberatelyskewer him, being three to one as we were that day, is a thing I shalldecline to do again for all the gold in India, Mexico, and Brazil!'

'Unless it be paid in cash, ' suggested Gambardella. 

'Cash, ' answered Trombin enigmatically, 'is one of the forces ofnature. '

[Footnote 1: For Trombin's view of Christina's character andMonaldeschi's murder, I am indebted to the admirable and trustworthywork of Baron de Bildt, a distinguished Swedish diplomatist, entitled_Christine de Sučde et le Cardinal Azzolino_ (Paris, 1899). The writerpoints out the singular ignorance of the truth about Monaldeschidisplayed by Browning and the elder Dumas. ]

CHAPTER XVI

A week later fashionable Rome was gathered together at the PalazzoRiario to a feast of poetry and music. Christina had just founded theAcademy which survives to this day in that state of mediocrity abovewhich it has never risen in nearly two hundred and fifty years, for theidea had suggested itself to her when she found how easy it was toattract starving talent to a good dinner. 'Feed the hungry' is a goodmotto for those who aim at being patrons of the fine arts, like theex-Queen in Rome, or Pignaver in Venice; the only condition is that thehungry shall be clever or witty starvelings who can pay for theirdinners with their brains. However, when men of talent cease to behungry they generally become snobs, and will take the fly of the seasonwith as much voracity as any trout in May. 

The literary and musical receptions at the Palazzo Riario took place inthe portico that opened upon the gardens in those days; for the wholepalace was afterwards rebuilt by the Corsini, and many parts of it werechanged. Christina had been in Paris and had seen Louis Fourteenth danceas Alcibiades in Benserade's ballet, a sight to rejoice the gods ofOlympus, who must certainly have laughed even louder at the bewiggedKing's mincing steps than they did at Vulcan's limp; for with manygifts, the Sun-King possessed no more sense of humour than Don Quixote, who stood on his head before Sancho as a proof that love was driving himmad. The ex-Queen was already dreaming of a wonderful pastoral play, inwhich Don Alberto Altieri was to appear as Endymion, and she herself, the elderly and slightly bedraggled virgin queen, would play Diana. There was Guidi to write the verses, Stradella should compose the music, and Christina herself would get most of the credit for the work. 

In the meantime, though she had nothing so complete to offer, sheinvited the Romans to hear such poetry as she could provide, and someexcellent music; and Bernini, who could make anything look like anythingelse by means of whitewashed wooden columns, coarse draperies stiffenedand whitened with wet plaster, and caryatides modelled in plaster andpasteboard, had improvised a Temple of Art for the performance. In themidst of this sanctuary, amongst laurels and roses, he had placed theclay model of his bust of Christina herself, in a wig like the FrenchKing's. He afterwards cast it in bronze, and considering that he musthave done his best to make the portrait pleasing, it is appalling tothink what the original must have been. 

The little temple stood just outside the portico, facing inward like astage, on which the performers appeared in turn, the audience beinggathered under the portico. Beyond it, the beautiful gardens stretchedaway in terraces and grades to the high distance. Christina herself saton a sort of throne, facing the clay image of herself, while hercourtiers and satellites were grouped behind her. Her intimate friendCardinal Azzolino sat on her right, because Cardinal Altieri, who shouldhave been there, had not come, and half-a-dozen other cardinals inscarlet occupied the huge gilt arm-chairs on both sides, each having oneor two of his especial parasites behind him in readiness to do hisbidding or to laugh at his jokes, as the case might be. There were notmore than fifty other seats in the portico, and they were all occupiedby the ladies of Rome, who came to applaud the performances of theircountrymen and to laugh at the hysterical 'Minerva of the North, ' whopaid the poets and musicians, and went into such convulsions ofappreciation when their works pleased her that the stability of her hugeblack wig was in danger. The ladies' chairs were not close together, butscattered about, as in a drawing-room, and almost every lady had her ownlittle court of admirers or parasites according to her age and looks. Many of the younger ones were standing, or strolling about, in theintervals of the entertainment, each closely attended by one or two finegentlemen; but as soon as a recitation of verses began, or a piece ofmusic, they all stood still where they were, and the hum of voicesinstantly gave way to profound silence. 

Ortensia was there too. She had come with her husband, and had beengraciously received by the Queen, who evidently knew nothing of DonAlberto's serenade; but Stradella had then left her to join hismusicians, for he was to direct a part of his new oratorio as well assing an air in it himself, and Ortensia necessarily stayed behind withthe audience. Don Alberto Altieri at once came forward to take care ofher, and nine-tenths of the Roman ladies present immediately asked oftheir attendant gentlemen who the handsome young woman in straw-colouredsilk might be, whose hair had 'quite the Venetian tinge, ' and whom 'dearDon Alberto seemed to know so well. ' The result was that the occasionwas Ortensia's first real appearance in Roman society; and before herhusband was ready to go home, she had made the acquaintance of nearlyall the great ladies present. 

The young man was delighted to show off his power and popularity beforeher as he led her about, being convinced that it could not fail to makean impression on her; for wherever he turned he was met by smiling faces, and she was followed by eyes that envied the distinction conferred uponher by the nephew of 'both the reigning Popes, ' as the Romans called PopeClement and Cardinal Paluzzo Altieri. At the same time, the gossips werebeginning to wonder what Queen Christina-Minerva-Diana would say to herfavourite's conduct if she saw anything of it, though Don Alberto keptwell behind her as he piloted Ortensia from one great lady to another. 

Then, all at once, the two had disappeared unnoticed. A dark young girlwith sad eyes and a sensitive though slightly irregular mouth had justappeared on the stage, dressed as one of the Muses; that is to say, shewore an ample garment of purple silk, of no particular shape, but cutlow at the throat and having wide sleeves which displayed a pair ofrather nervous white arms; her black hair was knotted low at the backof her neck, and she wore a wreath of fresh bay laurel that was verybecoming to her young face. She was one of those strangely talentedcreatures, still found in Italy, and most often amongst the people, whohave the gift of improvising very creditable verses and music on anysubject that is given them, or even upon a set of rhymes, afterconcentrating their thoughts for a time which rarely exceeds twominutes, and is often only a few seconds. 

Don Alberto, who knew the programme of the entertainment, hadmanoeuvred skilfully. The girl appeared on the stage, lute in hand, and began to approach the wet clay bust of Christina with the mournfullyinspired air of a Cassandra going up to the altar and image of Apollo;at the same moment Don Alberto found himself with Ortensia before anopen door on the left side of the portico, a little farther back thanthe hindmost of the audience. Every one was watching the stage. 

'An "improvisatrice, "' the young man whispered quickly. 'Tiresomerubbish! I will show you the statues while it is going on. '

Ortensia obeyed his gesture and passed through the door into a largehall where a quantity of fragments of antique statues were lying on thestone floor, or were propped upright against the walls, whilehalf-a-dozen of the best were already set up on Corinthian capitals, orancient altars, which served as pedestals. 

Don Alberto had quietly closed the door behind him when he followedOrtensia into the hall. It was the first time he had succeeded in beingalone with her since the night of the serenade. 

'I trust you will accept my humblest excuses, dear lady, ' he said asthey both stood still, 'for having unwillingly broken off my littleserenade the other night. I had intended it as a welcome to you and yourhusband on the first night you spent under my roof, but I had notthought of bringing a brace of cut-throats with me, as my rival did!They were too much for me--I wish I knew his name!'

Don Alberto laughed pleasantly and looked at her, waiting for an answer. At the word 'cut-throats' she made a slight movement of surprise, andwas on the point of indignantly attacking him for applying such a wordto the friends who had brought about her marriage with Stradella; butshe checked herself, hardly knowing why. 

'I was very tired that night, after moving to the palace, ' she saidcalmly. 'My husband spoke of a noise in the street, but I must have beenmore than half asleep. '

But Altieri had seen her start and did not believe a word of what shesaid. He was partially satisfied, however, since she chose to take nonotice of a scandalous affray which might easily have reflected on herown good name. He laughed again. 

'As it was such a miserable failure, I am glad you were not awake tohear it, ' he said. 'It was intended as a welcome, as an expression of myprofound and devoted admiration, in which I hope you will believe now, though you were asleep that evening!'

'Your admiration is exaggerated, sir, ' Ortensia answered with a lightlaugh, 'but if, by devotion, you mean friendliness to my husband andmyself, I accept it for him and for me with all my heart!'

'I am grateful to your ladyship, ' said Don Alberto in the same jestingtone, 'but, with your leave, I distinguish, as they taught me to say inthe schools when I was nearly entrapped into a fallacy by a cleverantagonist!'

'But I am neither your antagonist nor clever, ' objected Ortensia, fencing gaily; 'therefore you need not make any fine distinctions!'

The young man changed his manner and tone with really dramatic effect;his face grew suddenly grave, his voice was sad, and he gazed intoOrtensia's eyes with a wistful lover-like expression that women rarelyresisted. 

'You are unkind, ' he said. 'You know what such words mean to me, and yousay them willingly, meaning to hurt me--as you do!'

It was so well done that Ortensia was deceived, as well she might be, seeing how young she was, though years counted not then as they do withus, and every girl of fourteen was taught to be on her defence againstmen of every age and station. 

'I did not mean to be unkind, ' Ortensia said incautiously. 

'Then pity me!' he cried with a sudden burst of real or affectedpassion. 'Are you blind, or are you cruel? Or are you only heartless? Ido not believe that you were not at the window the other night! Yourlips say one thing, your eyes another! You were looking down, you sawme wounded by that villain, and you listened to his master's serenadetill I came back with the watch, only to be defeated a second time by abrace of hired fencing-masters! No! It was not out of friendship foryour husband, I confess it frankly, it was for love of you, it wasbecause you have turned my blood to fire and my heart to flame----'

'Hush!' Ortensia laid one hand warningly upon his arm, and at the sametime she drew herself up with great dignity, and her face was proud andcold. 'I give no man the right to speak of love to me----'

'Wait!' interrupted Altieri. 'Wait, forgive, pity if you can, but hearme out! Far be it from me to slight your honour, soul of my soul, heartof my body!--for my own is gone, and you are in its place, and withoutyou I should surely die! No--do not fear me! See, I stand back from you, you cannot even reach me with your hand as you did just now. But I mustspeak, and you shall hear me. I know your story, for the VenetianAmbassador has told all Rome how you lived in your uncle's house inmiserable slavery, and how he meant to force you to be his wife, andthat rather than submit to such an outrage you ran away with yourmusic-master--we all know the truth about it, from the Pope, and myuncle the Cardinal, and the Queen, to the little page who carriesPrincess Colonna's train at a papal audience! There is nothing moreromantic and adventurous in all the tales of Boccaccio and Bandello, andwhatever the Senator Pignaver may attempt by way of revenge you may besure that Rome will protect you. But now that you are free, now that theworld lies before you and at your feet, will you not choose a man worthyof your birth and name?'

'A lover, sir?' asked Ortensia indignantly. 

She had slowly moved backwards while he was speaking, till she leanedagainst the pedestal of a colossal bust of Juno. 

'Heaven forbid!' said Don Alberto. 'I mean a husband----'

'You seem to forget that I am married, ' Ortensia replied, with risinganger. 

'I would quarrel with any man who dared suggest that you do not believeit, ' said Don Alberto gravely. 

'What do you mean?' She started, and a quick flush rose to her cheeks, but subsided instantly, leaving her pale. 

'It takes more than a mere sacristan's trick to make a real marriage, 'answered Don Alberto enigmatically. 'Do not be indignant, dearest lady!Let me speak. You were married in the sacristy of San Domenico atFerrara. Do not be surprised that I know it. The Legate there, MonsignorPelagetti, is afraid of getting into trouble for having imprisonedStradella by mistake, and he has sent my uncle a full and preciseaccount of all that happened. The Mother Superior of the Ursulinesinformed him of what had been done in the sacristy. Her intention wasgood, no doubt, but it is very uncertain whether the result is valid!'

'And why should it not be?' Ortensia was very angry. 'There werehonourable witnesses, too! What can any one say against my marriage?'

'One thing is that the witnesses were not as honourable as you thoughtthem, my lady! The two gentlemen who helped you have turned out to betwo of the most famous Bravi in Italy----'

'Bravi?'

'Yes. Their pockets are full of pardons for the atrocious murders theyhave committed for money, and they are as well known in Rome as Romulusand Remus! As for the woman who signed the register after them, she is arunaway nun, whose mere presence as a witness would discredit anyceremony!'

'A runaway nun? Pina? What folly is this? She has been with me since Iwas seven years old!'

'And she is forty now! There was time for a great many things to happento her before you knew her. Has she not one thumb unlike the other? Yousee, I am well informed, for the Cardinal knows everything; and if hesays that your marriage is not valid, you may be sure that he is notspeaking carelessly or without full information. '

Ortensia was now very pale, and her breath came quickly as she leanedagainst the pedestal of the Juno. 

'It is not possible!' she cried, staring at Altieri in horror. 

'It is more than possible that the priest may not have been a priest atall, ' he answered, 'and that the whole scene was cleverly prepared totrick you. But the rest I know beyond a doubt and can prove. Your twofriends are well-known Bravi and are at present lodging at the Orso inn, where you were, and your serving-woman is Filippina Landi, who escapedfrom a convent in Lombardy with a young Venetian and was abandoned byhim. She was arrested in Ferrara some nineteen or twenty years ago andconfessed the truth under torture, but was soon afterwards pardoned bythe intervention of your uncle, the Senator Pignaver. '

'My uncle?' Ortensia almost forgot her new anxiety in her surprise. 

'Yes, dear lady. Your uncle was, in fact, the young Venetian who hadcarried her off out of the convent, promising to marry her! It was nodoubt in order to be revenged on him that she helped you to run away. '

Ortensia's hand strained upon the corner of the pedestal till Altiericould count the small blue veins and purple arteries that showed throughthe white skin. She was terrified by what he had told her, for itexplained Pina's whole manner and conduct too well not to make whatAltieri had said about the marriage seem vaguely possible. But if shehad been deceived, so had Stradella; of that she was more sure than ofanything else, and if it had been possible she would have gone to himinstantly to tell him what she had heard. 

Altieri saw how much disturbed she was and came towards her, for theywere now half-a-dozen steps apart. He meant, no doubt, to offer her someconsolation in her new trouble, unless he was going to fall on his kneesand implore her pardon for having caused her such uneasiness. As aprofessional love-maker either course was open to him. But Ortensiastopped him with a gesture, keeping down her emotion. 

'Listen, ' she said, 'for I have something to say. You meant to shake myfaith in my husband, but you have made a mistake, and instead you havedone us both a great service. If, as you pretend, we are not validlymarried, nothing can be easier than to obtain a proper marriage in Rome, and we shall do so at once; but as for the rest, you are profoundlymistaken about me. I left my uncle's house because I loved AlessandroStradella, and for no other reason, and while we both live we shall loveeach other as dearly as we did from the first, and I pray heaven thatour lives may end together, on the same day and in the same hour. Do youunderstand? As you have seemed a friend to us both, be one in earnest, for you are wasting your time in playing at being in love with me!'

She smiled at the last, as cleverly as any skilful woman of thirty couldhave done, offering him the chance of laughing away the barrier hisill-considered declaration had made, and of taking up pleasant relationsagain, as if nothing had happened to disturb them; for she had regainedher self-possession while she was speaking, and had determined to profitby what he had told her rather than to suffer by the facts he hadrevealed, if they proved to be true. 

He was quick to accept the means of reconciliation, whatever his ownintentions really were. 

'I will indeed be your friend, ' he said, with amazing earnestness, 'since you give me no hope of ever being anything more, and are willingto forgive the madness of a moment. Henceforth, command me what youwill! In pledge of pardon, may I have your hand?'

She let him take it; he dropped on one knee as he touched her fingerswith his lips, and then rose lightly to his feet again. 

'Now let us go back, ' she said, 'for we have been too long away. '

He led her out of the hall by another door and she found herself quitein the farthest recess of the portico and behind all the assembledcompany, just as the dark-haired Muse was finishing her lastimprovisation in an attitude of inspired wonder before the hideous bustof the Queen. At the last line of her sonnet she took the laurels fromher head, and with a graceful movement that showed her nervous butwell-shaped white arms to great advantage she placed the wreath upon thedamp clay effigy of the great Christina's portentous wig; then, cleverlykicking the train of her long purple silk robe out of the way behindher, she backed towards the side exit, stretching out her hands andbending her body while still keeping her upturned eyes on the bust withan air of rapt adoration, like a Suppliant on an Etruscan vase. 

Every one applauded enthusiastically, knowing that applause was expectedin payment for having been invited to such a feast of the soul; but thewise Muse paid no attention to the sounds. To the last her gaze was onthe bust, even when she lifted the dark velvet curtain with one handand backed out with a sweeping courtesy that looked very well. 

A good-looking young man of the people, dressed in his best Sundayclothes, was waiting for her at the head of the wooden steps. As she methis glance, she jerked her thumb backwards over her shoulder towards thestage and the Queen. 

'May an apoplexy seize her, ' whispered the Muse, with a strongTrastevere accent, 'her, and her friends, and all the family! You shalltake me to supper on Monte Mario to-night! There we shall breathe! Bringthe guitar, too. Old Nena is waiting to help me dress. No--no, Isay--not here!'

For the handsome young fellow had caught her just as she was beginningto descend the steps, and he planted a very substantial kiss on the napeof her neck before he let her go; which was no great harm after all, since they were to be married in a fortnight or so, before the Feast ofSaint John. 

It was Stradella's turn after the Muse had disappeared, and while theimprovisatrice was going down from the stage on one side, four liveriedfootmen were bringing up chairs on the other, with music-desks for thelittle orchestra, which immediately made its appearance. There were notmore than a dozen musicians in all, and they ranged themselves in anorderly manner on each side of the laurel-crowned bust, in the order ofthe pitch of their instruments, the violins and flutes being in themiddle, while the bass viol was at the extreme left, and the basscornopean on the right. Next came a small chorus of eight singers, whotook their places, standing behind the seated musicians; and last ofall, amidst much clapping of hands, Stradella himself appeared in front, and bowed low to the Queen, standing a little on one side so as not tohide the bust from the audience. 

He looked very handsome as he stood there, dressed in black velvet andblack silk, with a low collar of soft linen that showed his strong whitethroat, and having his lawn wristbands turned back over the cuffs of hiscoat. 

As he bowed Queen Christina smiled graciously, and waved her hand to himin greeting, whereupon the applause became still louder. 

Don Alberto had found a seat for Ortensia, and stood beside her, as theother cavaliers stood each beside the lady of his choice. Altierithought it good policy to pose himself as Ortensia's official adorerfrom the first, at such a very select gathering of Roman society; forfew would care to try their chances against him after that. Ortensiaherself was dimly conscious that if she could keep him in his place, asshe had done to-day, his admiration would protect her against otherwould-be worshippers. 

While the music lasted she never took her eyes from Stradella, whetherhe was turned from the audience towards his musicians to direct them, beating time in the air with a thin roll of ruled music-paper, or whenhe faced the audience and sung himself, to the accompaniment of onlyfour stringed instruments. 

'Admirable!' whispered Alberto, bending low to Ortensia's ear. 'It issupreme genius, nothing less!' he whispered again, as she took nonotice. 

But Ortensia did not even hear him, and sat quite still in her chair, gazing with fixed eyes at the man she loved, and listening to his musicas in the entrancement of a spell. Don Alberto looked down thoughtfullyat her beautiful motionless head, though his ears were open too, for heloved music; but just then he was even more in love with the beautifulVenetian, and though he had been worsted in his first attempt, he was byno means ready to give up the siege. He was wondering what treasurecould be found in all Rome that could induce Ortensia to take her eyesfrom her husband while he was singing or conducting his own music. 

But when it was finished and the applause had died away, and he hadbowed and left the little stage, she could not wait a moment. 

'Take me to him, ' she said to Don Alberto, rising from her seat. 

'He will come here himself in a few minutes, ' objected Altieri. 

'Take me to him, ' she repeated more imperiously. 'If you will not, Ishall go alone. '

There was nothing for it but to obey, and Don Alberto led her quicklyout of the portico to the carriage entrance at the back, then through avaulted passage, and up a flight of half-a-dozen steps to the room towhich the performers retired, and which had another exit towards thegarden and the back of the stage. 

When Don Alberto opened the door Stradella was just within, evidentlyabout to come away, and he started in surprise when he saw his wifeenter. The other musicians were standing in groups of three and four, with their instruments in their hands, for the place was completely bareof furniture; there was not so much as a table on which to lay a fiddleor a flute, but across one corner a piece of tattered canvas had beenhung to cut off a dressing-room for the improvisatrice, who had alreadygot into her own clothes and was gone away with old Nena and thehandsome young man. 

Stradella met his wife with a happy smile and nodded a greeting to DonAlberto, who remained in the door-way. 

'Can you take me home at once?' Ortensia asked. 'Or must you go in?'

Stradella saw her look of distress as he took her outstretched hand inboth of his. 

'I am not wanted, am I?' he asked, looking at young Altieri. 'My wifewishes to go home, you see----'

'I will make your excuses to the Queen, ' Don Alberto answered readily. 'My carriage is waiting and shall take you to the palace and come backfor me. '

'How kind of you!'

Ortensia thought he was already beginning to fulfil his promise offriendship to her. He had, in fact, brought the couple to the PalazzoRiario in his own carriage, for there were no hackney coaches in Rome inthat century, and people who owned no equipage were obliged to havethemselves carried in sedan-chairs, from one end of the city to theother if necessary, unless they preferred to ride on mules or donkeys, which was not convenient in full dress. 

In five minutes Stradella and his wife were driving rapidly over thecobble-stones towards Ponte Sisto, and Ortensia was telling theastonished musician what had taken place between her and Don Alberto, with all he had told her about Pina, Trombin, and Gambardella. 

CHAPTER XVII

Two days after the affair at the Palazzo Riario, Don Alberto saunteredout of his palace gate before the sun was high, and as he was merelygoing for a stroll to breathe the morning air he was alone. As a matterof fact, the air smelt of cabbage, broccoli, and other green things, fora hawker of vegetables had set down his three baskets at the corner ofthe Via del Gesł, and was bawling his cry to the whole neighbourhood atthe top of his lusty voice. There had been a light shower before dawn, and the wet cobble-stones sent up a peculiar odour of their own, whichmingled with that of the green stuff. Don Alberto did not like it andturned to his left, towards the Palazzo di Venezia, which was then theVenetian Embassy. 

Where the street narrows between the Altieri palace and the church, aserving-man in grey overtook him and spoke to him. 

'Excellency, ' the man said in an obsequious tone, his hat in his hand, 'I pray the favour of a word. '

Don Alberto stopped in some surprise, for he had not noticed any one butthe vegetable hawker in the deserted square when he had left his owndoor a moment earlier. 

'What do you want?' he asked suspiciously, and stopping to face the man. 

It was Tommaso, the ex-highwayman who served the Bravi, and theexpression of his eyes was not reassuring. 

'Your Excellency does not remember me, ' he said. 'How should the MostIllustrious remember a poor valet? I served the Bishop of Porto forseven years, and often accompanied him to the palace here when hevisited His Eminence Cardinal Altieri, who is now our Most Holy Father, Pope Clement. Your Excellency was only a boy then, and once did me thehonour to speak to me. '

'What did I say to you?' asked Don Alberto incredulously. 

'I should not dare to repeat such a word, ' answered Tommaso in a humbletone, 'but your Excellency kicked me at the same time, and with greatstrength for one so very young, for I tumbled downstairs. '

Don Alberto's lips twitched with amusement. 

'I believe I remember you by that, you scoundrel, ' he said with a smile. 'And what do you want of me now? Shall I give you another kick?'

'May that never be, Excellency! I can feel the first one still!'

Don Alberto laughed at the comically significant gesture thataccompanied this speech, and felt in his pocket for his purse. 

'I suppose you want a paul to drink my health, ' he said. 

'That is too much for anything so common as a kick, Excellency, and toolittle if you will accept my service. '

'I have servants enough, ' answered Altieri, slipping his purse into hispocket again. 'But since you think a paul is too much for one kick, Ishall give you a florin's worth for nothing at all if you pester me withany more nonsense. So now be off, and waste no time about it!'

Tommaso suddenly drew himself up and squared his broad shoulders, whichmade him look rather formidable, for he was an uncommonly strong andactive fellow. 

'If you say the word, ' he answered, dropping his obsequious manner, 'Iwill give Maestro Stradella's wife into your hands within a fortnight. '

Don Alberto started visibly. His high-born instinct was not quite deadyet, and he slightly moved his right hand as if he would lift the ebonystick he carried; but Tommaso had one of cornel-wood and iron-shod, andhe also made a very slight movement, and he was square and strong andhad a jaw like a bull-dog. Don Alberto's instinctive desire to knock himdown disappeared suddenly. 

'And how do you propose to accomplish such an impossible feat?' askedthe young noble with some contempt. 

'That is my affair, ' answered Tommaso quietly. 'What will you give mewhen I have shut the lady up safely and shall bring you the key of herprison? That is the only question, but please remember that I must riskmy neck, while you will only risk your money. '

'If you think I will give you any money in hand for such a silly offer, you take me for a fool, ' retorted Don Alberto. 

'I ask nothing in advance. How much will you give me in cash for thelady when I hand her over to you? I am in earnest. Name your price. '

'What is yours?'

'A thousand gold florins and the Pope's pardon, ' said Tommaso boldly. 'You could not buy her like in Venice, if you had your pick of thelatest cargo from Georgia!'

'You shall have the pardon and a thousand in gold, ' Don Albertoanswered, for he was much too fine a gentleman to bargain with acut-throat, especially as the money would come out of his uncle'sstrong-box. 'I do not believe that you can do what you offer; but if yousucceed, how shall I hear from you?'

'On the Eve of Saint John you will find me waiting for you with twosaddled mules behind the Baptistery of the Lateran, when the bells ringthe first hour of the night. Bring your money and I will take you to thehouse and to the lady and leave you the key. '

'I would rather you should come here, ' said Don Alberto, suspecting atrap. 

'Bring a guard with you if you think I mean to rob you, ' answeredTommaso. 'Bring a squadron of cavalry, if you like! Besides, you knowthat there will be thousands of people about the Lateran all night onSaint John's Eve, eating and drinking on the grass to keep the witchesout of their bodies for the rest of the year!'

'That is true, ' Don Alberto answered. 'I will be there. '

'But if your Excellency should accidentally see me in the meantime, 'continued Tommaso, 'your Excellency had better not notice me, nor beseen to recognise me. '

He had resumed his obsequious tone, and was already bowing to take hisleave. 

'I have one thing to tell you, ' said Altieri. 'If you fail, I will haveyou locked up in Tor di Nona for prying into my affairs and making aninfamous proposal to me, and it may be a long time before you get out. '

'At the pleasure of your Most Illustrious Excellency! I shall not makethe least resistance if I fail. '

'You had better not, ' returned Altieri, haughtily enough, as he turnedaway and left Tommaso bowing to the ground. 

'Your Most Illustrious Excellency's most humble and dutiful servant!'said the man. 

Then he went off in the opposite direction, passed the Altieri palace, turned to his right, and in due time reached the Sign of the Bear, wherehis masters lodged. He found them in Trombin's room, sitting near theopen window with their coats off, and eating fruit from a huge blue andyellow majolica basket that stood between them on the end of the table. There were oranges, ripe plums, and very dark red cherries in handsomeprofusion, and the serving-girl, who cherished a secret but hopelessadmiration for Gambardella, had brought a pretty bunch of violets in acoarse Roman tumbler. 

Both the Bravi were of opinion that a little fruit taken in the morningwas cooling to the blood in spring. Trombin had cut a hole in the top ofan orange and was solemnly sucking it--a process for which his smallround mouth seemed to be expressly formed--and his pink cheekscontracted and expanded like little bellows as he alternately drew inthe sweet juice and took breath. Gambardella could not have sucked anorange to save his life, because his long nose was directly in the way;he ate cherries slowly, and looked like a large brown bird of preypecking at them with his beak. 

'Come in, ' he said between two pecks, as some one tapped at theentrance. 

'I have seen him, sirs, ' Tommaso said, after shutting the door behindhim. 'It is a thousand gold florins in cash, on the Eve of Saint John. Iam to meet him behind the Baptistery of the Lateran at the first hour ofthe night and take him to the house. '

'Well done!' said Gambardella. 

Trombin nodded his approval, for he was still at work on his orange, andwas well aware that if the contact were broken for purposes of speechbefore the fruit was dry, the perfection of the satisfaction would beseriously compromised. 

'Tommaso, ' Gambardella continued, 'I think you know Rome well. Are youaware that in the Via di Santa Sabina there is a small house which isalmost always uninhabited, except in the month of October, when theowner goes there himself to see his wine made? Do you happen to rememberthat house?'

'No, sir, ' answered the ex-highwayman, whose admiration for hisemployers' wide knowledge increased daily. 'But I can easily find it, for I know the road. It is a lonely place. '

'A very lonely place, ' said Trombin, at last detaching himself from theshrivelled yellow shell which was all that was left of the orange. 'Itis so lonely that I may say there is never any one there, and there israrely any one within hearing after dark. No thief goes near that roadat night, Tommaso, because there is never any one to rob. Most peopleare fools, Tommaso, and suppose that robbers lurk in lonely andunfrequented spots, where they could not possibly find a purse to cut. Therefore, as we are no fools, Tommaso, but very intelligent persons, wefeel quite secure in such places. Do you fully understand my meaning, Tommaso?'

'I have practised a part of what you preach, sir, ' answered Tommaso witha grin. 

'No doubt. Very good, Tommaso. When you have found the house, go on somedistance farther, say a hundred steps or so, and you will see a door inthe wall, which evidently gives access to the vineyard. The door waspainted red when I last saw it. Perhaps you will find it ajar, but ifnot, knock two or three times with the head of your stick, not roughlyor noisily, but in a sober fashion; and then wait awhile, and if nobodycomes, knock again. If you cannot get in to-day, go back to-morrow andthe next day. The best time is a little before noon, when the man is notyet at dinner. '

'Or asleep, ' suggested Tommaso. 

'Precisely. When he lets you in, you will know him because he has areddish beard that is turning white on the left side. He cultivates thevineyard, and the owner takes half the produce; but for a considerationthe man lets the small house in the Via di Santa Sabina to persons whoare fond of vineyards and solitude. The only condition is that theshutters of the windows looking on the road must not be opened, lest theowner should pass that way. '

'I understand, sir, ' said Tommaso, grinning again. 'I dare say the manis deaf at night. '

'Only at night, Tommaso, but then completely so, ' answered Trombin. 'Youwill say that a gentleman of fortune desires the use of the little housefor a week, with the keys, from the twenty-first to the twenty-eighth ofJune. '

'At one Apostolic florin a day, ' put in Gambardella. 

'But you must on no account let him know our names, ' said Trombin. 'Youcan give him two florins in hand as earnest money----'

'One is quite enough, ' interrupted Gambardella. 

'Be guided by your judgment, Tommaso, ' said Trombin, beginning to cut ahole in another orange. 'I take you to be a sensible and economicalperson, but we must not lose the use of the house for the sake of aflorin or two. For I dare say you have guessed what we need the housefor. '

'Partly, sir, partly. No doubt I am to take the young gentleman there onthe Eve of Saint John. '

'Yes, amongst other things, you will do that. But indeed, Tommaso, youyourself will be surprised at the extraordinary number of things youwill do on that evening, all to your great advantage. It is not in mypower to tell you everything now, my good fellow, because I am going toenjoy this orange in my usual way, by means of suction. But you shallknow all in good time, all in good time, Tommaso!'

Therewith Trombin opened his round eyes to their fullest extent, clappedhis lips to the aperture he had cut in the peel, and grasping the fruitfirmly with both hands, he began the long and delicious process ofextracting the juice. 

'And as you will have to receive the thousand gold ducats from DonAlberto, ' said Gambardella, speaking to Tommaso, 'you will have a verysubstantial guarantee in hand. For though we shall never be far from youon that evening, we shall not be able to hinder you from running awayand robbing us if you choose to do so. '

'What have I done to deserve such an insinuation?' asked theex-highwayman indignantly, for he felt that his honour was assailed. 

'Nothing whatever, ' answered the Bravo calmly, 'and I insinuated nothingthat should shock your sensibilities, my good man. The profession hastwo branches, to one of which we belong, while you have followed theother. We take lives, you take purses, and you should not feel any morehurt at my suggesting that you might take mine, than I should if yousuggested that I might cut your throat. '

'That is true, sir. '

Tommaso spoke almost humbly, for he felt that if it should occur to theBravi to exercise their 'branch of the profession' upon him, he shouldhave no more chance of life than a kitten amongst bloodhounds. Hewas strong and active, no doubt, and could use most weapons fairly well, but he had neither the endurance of his terrible masters, nor theirsupreme skill in fencing; as for taking them unawares, they never restedwithout bolting their doors, and when they walked abroad they neverheard footsteps behind them without looking round, nor passed the cornerof a narrow street without drawing towards the middle of the road farenough to allow room for sword-play. A poor fellow like Tommaso, who hadspent his early years as valet to a churchman, would make but a poorfigure against such men in a fight; he was proud enough to be allowed tohelp them, almost without a thought of profit, and their money would beas safe in his hands as it would be in Chigi's bank. 

[Illustration: '"The profession has two branches. We take lives, youtake purses"']

He was ready to obey them blindly, too, which was what they wanted, forthe plan they had at last decided upon was a complicated one, and wouldcertainly miscarry if anything went wrong during the night in which itwas to be carried out; on the other hand, they did not trust him enoughto tell him what they meant to do, though he had to trust to theirpromises that Ortensia should be already a prisoner in the little housein Via di Santa Sabina when he should bring Don Alberto to the door; andhe knew that, if they failed, his only chance of safety would lie ininstant flight, before young Altieri could have him laid by the heels inprison. Neither the money nor the papal safe-conduct would beforthcoming until the young noble had actually seen Ortensia in thelittle house. 

After the last words he had spoken, Tommaso quietly prepared to shaveGambardella, while Trombin was finishing the second orange. He hadbrought hot water with him in a bright copper can, and he now proceededto tie a large towel round Gambardella's neck, after which he made arich lather of Spanish soap, which he conscientiously rubbed into theBravo's hard brown cheeks and sinewy throat; last of all, he stroppedhis razor with the air and flourish of an accomplished barber and set towork. 

Trombin finished his orange and looked on. 

'Did you ever cut a man's throat while you were shaving him, Tommaso?'he asked idly. 

'Only once, sir, ' Tommaso answered quietly, and he turned Gambardella'shead a little on one side, in order to get below his jaw. 

'Why did you do it?' inquired Trombin, dipping the tips of his largepink fingers into a bowl of water and carefully rinsing his lips. 

'It was to save my neck, sir. The man was one of the cleverest sbirri Iever had after me, but he did not know me by sight. It was in the Marchof Ancona, at a small village near Fermo. He had tracked me all the wayfrom Modena, and he came to the inn on the evening of the third day. Hesent for the village barber before he had supper; but the barber was afriend of mine and was hiding me, and he let me go in his place. I toldthe landlord of the inn that I was the barber's new apprentice, and so Iwas admitted to shave the officer in his own room. You see, sir, bothour horses were worn out, but his was still far better than mine, so itwas safer that he should go no farther. That is the whole story, sir. Iwas over the frontier before morning. '

Gambardella smiled while Tommaso went on shaving him, and Trombinlaughed as if the jest were very good. 

'It was not strictly in your branch of the profession, Tommaso, ' hesaid, 'but under the circumstances you acted with great tact. Nevertheless, even in an extreme case, avoid shaving Don Alberto in thatmanner, for there is no telling what the consequences might be if hewere found with his throat cut in the little house in Via di SantaSabina!'

CHAPTER XVIII

Cucurullo had his own opinion of what he saw during those days, and hekept it to himself for some time, though he and Pina talked together agood deal in the evenings over their late supper, in the little roomnext to the kitchen. The woman had interested the hunchback from thefirst, and when any one roused his interest he pondered much upon thatperson's character and ways, and asked questions with considerablecunning. On the other hand, Pina, who was not given to exhibiting muchliking for any one, seemed to have taken a fancy to herfellow-servant--either out of pity for his deformity or from naturalsympathy. They treated each other with a good deal of formality, however; Cucurullo, who was a Neapolitan, addressed her as Donna Pina, as if she were a lady born, and she usually called him 'Sor Antonino, 'as though he were at least a clerk or a small shop-keeper. 

'Tell me, ' he said, one evening when they were eating the salad leftover from their masters' supper, 'what is your opinion of this younggentleman who admires our mistress?'

'What opinion can I have?' asked Pina, picking up a small leaf oflettuce on her two-pronged iron fork; for she ate delicately, and herfine manners were Cucurullo's despair. 

'This is a wicked world, ' he sighed, rather enigmatically. 

'If you mean also that Don Alberto is one of those who make it so, I aminclined to agree with you, ' Pina answered. 'I have seen other younggentlemen like him. '

'You have had great experience of high life, Donna Pina. That is thereason why I asked your opinion. This young gentleman may be like othersyou have known, but besides that he is very powerful in Rome, and can dowhat he likes with impunity. He is so much in love with our mistressthat he no longer understands, as we say in the South. He has lost hissenses. '

'But he has his wits left, ' observed Pina sharply. 

'And he owes a grudge for that scratch in the arm, ' added Cucurullothoughtfully. 

'He does not know who gave it to him. '

'Therefore he means the Lady Ortensia to pay him for it. '

'Yes, ' Pina answered. 'That is just like a man. Because he was hurt inserenading a lady, it must needs be her fault, and she must givesatisfaction! First, he would like to carry her off to some lonelycastle he must have, somewhere in the mountains, and at the end of aweek, or a month, he would turn her out of doors and say it served herright because he had been wounded under her window. Yes, Sor Antonino, you may well say that I have some experience of high life!'

Cucurullo heard the bitter note that rang in the last words, and hepartly understood, for he had known her long enough to guess that shehad a sad story of her own. 

'We ought to watch the signs for the masters, ' he said. 'They seenothing, hear nothing, and think of nothing but each other. One of thesedays the young gentleman will lay a snare and they will step into itlike a pair of sparrows. '

'What can we do?' asked Pina in a dull voice. 'Whatever is fated willhappen. '

'That is heresy, Donna Pina, ' said Cucurullo gravely, for he was muchshocked to hear a fellow-servant express such a highly unorthodoxsentiment. 'It is a heresy condemned by the Fathers of the Church, andespecially by Saint Thomas. '

'He never lived my life!' objected Pina with a sharp little laugh; andshe poured out two fingers of sour white wine and drank it. 

'If the Maestro had thought as you do when I was thrown overboard, Ishould have drowned, ' said Cucurullo quietly. 

'When did that happen?' asked Pina, interested at once. 

'It was on a small vessel coming from Naples to Civitą Vecchia, fiveyears ago, after my mother died, ' said Cucurullo. 'I was coming to Romebecause I hoped to get some clerk's work, having had some littleinstruction, and the Maestro was one of the two or three passengers inthe cabin. He was hardly known then, being very young, and indeed he wasrunning away from a Neapolitan princess who was too much in love withhim. Well, at first the captain was glad to have me on board, and thecrew made much of me, believing that the hunchback would bring them luckand a quick passage. But we had not got as far as Gaeta when a stormcame up and we were driven out to sea. It grew worse and worse for twodays and nights, and our sails were torn, and other accidents happened, which I did not understand. Then the crew and the captain began to lookaskance at me, and I heard them say among themselves that I was thewrong kind of hunchback and had the Evil Eye; and just when it seemed asif the weather were moderating, and the sun had shone out for half anhour, the clouds in the south-west got as black as ink, and one couldsee the white foam driving towards us below them. Then, when the captainsaw that there was no time to be lost, he ordered the men to throw meoverboard, saying that I was Jonah and Judas Iscariot in one, and thatnothing else could save the ship. They took me by my arms and feet andswung me twice and then threw me clean over the side; but I had alreadyshut my eyes and was beginning to say the De profundis as well as Icould. I had hardly finished the first versicle when I struck the water, and I was indeed crying unto the Lord out of the depths, for I cannotswim, and my end was clearly at hand. '

'How awful!' cried Pina in a low voice. 

'I never was in greater danger, ' said Cucurullo gravely, 'and my mouthwas already full of salt water. But I did not say then "whatever isfated will happen, " Donna Pina, for I was anxious to say the secondversicle of the Psalm before I was drowned, and I tried what I could tokeep my head up long enough for that. Then, just as a big wave wasbreaking, I saw something flying through the air, and as it was a darkthing I was afraid it was the devil coming for my soul, because mymother, blessed soul, when she was dying, had recommended me to paythree Carlini which she owed for milk, and I had wickedly forgotten it. But I have since paid it. However, it was not the devil, but MaestroStradella, who had thrown himself into the sea, as he was, to save mylife, only because he had spoken two or three times to me on the voyage. The ship was not going on fast, but though one of the sailors threw hima rope he could not catch it, for he was holding up my head and tellingme not to be frightened, as well as he could amongst the waves, and notto catch hold of him, for he would save me. Then the passengers andsailors took a great board ten ells long that was on the deck, andserved for landing, and they threw it over; and somehow the Maestro gotme to it and we climbed upon it, while the ship was getting farther andfarther away, and the black squall was coming nearer and nearer. '

'The master swims like a water-rat, ' said Pina. 'I remember that nightin Venice, when the Signors of the Night were after him!'

'Ah, you should have seen him in the sea, God bless him!' answeredCucurullo. 'He had the strength and the long wind of a dolphin. When thesquall came upon us we held each other fast, sitting astride of theplank, for it was a very heavy one, and did not sink with us. Then camethe rain. Lord, how it rained, Donna Pina! You have never seen rain likethat!'

'I remember how it rained that night when the master climbed into ourbalcony! That was enough for me!'

'Imagine ten times that, Donna Pina. The wind had blown the plank round, so that we got the rain in our backs, but even then I had to keep mymouth shut to hinder the water from running down my throat! And it musthave lasted two hours, but the sea went down like magic in that time, and there was only a long, smooth, swelling motion, and the wind camefrom another quarter and carried us with it. That was how we weresaved. '

'The ship came back and picked you up, I suppose?'

'After the squall we did not see the ship again, though the cloudsrolled away and the sun shone brightly. She went to the bottom of thesea, Donna Pina, and was never heard of again, but we drifted for manyhours, half dead with cold, and were washed upon the Roman shore. '

'And what was fated, happened, ' said Pina with a smile. 'For if you hadnot been thrown overboard you would have been drowned with the rest, SorAntonino!'

Cucurullo smiled too, very quietly, and helped Pina to the lastdrumstick left over from a cold chicken. 

'Well, well, Donna Pina, ' he said, 'that is your way of believing, Idare say, but I have told you what happened to me; and now you willunderstand better why I should be glad to serve the master with my life, if I might. '

'You are a good man, ' said Pina in a thoughtful tone. 'If there weremore like you, this would not be such a bad world as it is. What you sayabout Don Alberto is true, and if I could see any way of being useful inwatching him I would do all I could. Are the two Venetian gentlemen whohelped us in Ferrara still in Rome? I do not know what they are, andsometimes I was afraid of them, but they would be strong allies if theyknew that our lady was in danger and if they were willing to help us. '

'They are still in Rome, for I saw them only to-day, going into theGesł. They must be very devout gentlemen, for I often see them inchurches, and their servant has been valet to a bishop, and understandsthe ceremonials perfectly. It is a pleasure to talk with him. He cantell the meaning of every vestment and of every change in a pontificalhigh mass, and I think he knows half the Roman Breviary by heart, andall the Psalms!'

Pina was not so sure about the piety of the Bravi and their servant, andas she nibbled her last bit of bread, she looked thoughtfully across theclothless deal table at the hunchback's trusting and spiritual face. Inthe dramatic vicissitudes of her own youth she had not learned to puther faith in men, nor in women either; and if there had ever been agentle and affectionate side to her strong nature, it had been troddenand tormented till it had died, leaving scarcely a memory of itselfbehind. 

As he sat on the kitchen chair, Cucurullo's head was not much above theedge of the table, and she looked down at him, meeting his sad eyes asthey gazed up to hers. She liked him, and was glad that he did not knowwhat was passing through her mind; for she foresaw trouble in the nearfuture, and was afraid for herself. In some way she might yet be made topay for what she had done in wreaking her vengeance on Pignaver. Cardinal Altieri might protect Stradella and Ortensia if the Senatortried to have them murdered, but if he demanded that Pina, his householdservant, should be arrested and sent back to Venice to be punished forhelping the runaways, who would protect her? At the mere thought sheoften turned very pale and bent nearly double, as if she felt bodilypain. For of all things, she feared that most. Sooner than suffer itagain she would betray Ortensia into Alberto Altieri's hands, as she hadalmost forced her into Stradella's arms in order to be revenged onPignaver himself. 

'I have been thinking, ' she said after a long pause. 'It would be wellfor you to go to those Venetian gentlemen and beg them to help us, ifthey will. You need not say that I suggested it, Sor Antonino. '

'Why should I speak of you at all, Donna Pina?' asked the hunchback, alittle surprised. 

'Exactly! There is no need of it, and you are very tactful. You willfind out if they suspect anything, for after the affair of the serenadeI am sure that they must have watched Don Alberto anxiously, to be surethat he had not found out who wounded him. '

'Perhaps I had better talk to Tommaso first. We are on very good terms, you know. '

'By all means, talk with him first. '

A distant handbell tinkled, and as Pina heard it through the open doorshe rose to her feet, for it was Ortensia's means of calling her. 

Cucurullo thought over the conversation and reasoned about it withhimself most of the night, and, so far as Pina was concerned, the morehe reflected the farther he got from the truth. For he was gratefulbecause she was kind to him in their daily life, and he could notpossibly have believed that she was no more really attached to Ortensiathan she was to the Queen of Sweden, and was even now meditating asudden flight from Rome, which should put her beyond the reach ofjustice, if the law ever made search for her. In his heart he was surethat she must be as devoted to her mistress as he was to Stradella, though it was true that Ortensia had never saved her life. But Cucurullosaw good in every one, and thought it the most natural thing in theworld that a faithful servant should be ready to die for his master. 

On the following day he lay in wait for Tommaso near the main entranceof the inn, where the Via dell' Orso meets the Via di Monte Brianzo, which then bore the name of Santa Lucia. 

It was long before the man appeared, and then he seemed to be in a greathurry, and did not see Cucurullo till the latter overtook him and spoketo him, for the hunchback had long legs and could walk quite as fast asany able-bodied young man. 

'I have been waiting a long time in the hope of seeing you thismorning, ' he said. 

'And now I am in such haste that I have no time to talk with you, 'replied the other, going on. 

'We can talk while we are walking, ' suggested Cucurullo, keeping pacewith him easily. 'How are the masters, Tommaso? Quite well, I hope?'

'Oh, perfectly well, thank you, ' answered Tommaso, increasing his speed. 'I am sorry that I am in such a hurry, my friend, but it cannot behelped. '

'Do not mention it, ' said Cucurullo, breathing quietly. 'I generallywalk briskly myself. ' Thereupon he quickened his stride a little. 

'You certainly walk surprisingly fast, ' said the ex-highwayman, who nowhad to make an effort himself in order to keep up with his companion. 

The people in the street stared at the two in surprise, for they seemedto be walking for a match, and it looked as if the hunchback weregetting the better of it. 

'I trust, ' he said in a quiet undertone, 'that Count Trombin is in noapprehension owing to his having wounded the Pope's nephew under ourwindows the other night?'

'Not at all, ' answered the other. 'So you saw it, did you?'

'I saw it with satisfaction, for I was at the window, and I recognisedthe Count's voice at once. What do you think, my friend? Will that younggentleman come serenading again?'

'How can I tell?' Tommaso was by this time a little short of breath. 

'You might have heard your two gentlemen say something about it, 'Cucurullo said. 'Am I walking too fast for you? You said you were in ahurry, you know. '

'Yes, ' Tommaso said, rather breathlessly. 'I was--that is--I am in--in amoderate hurry!'

'My reason for going with you is that I want your valuable advice, 'Cucurullo went on, still keeping up the tremendous pace without theleast apparent difficulty. 

'About what?' gasped the highwayman, ashamed to be beaten by ahunchback. 

'Your gentlemen have already helped my master and mistress so much, thateven without the Maestro's knowledge I should like to ask theirprotection for his wife. That is, if you approve, my friend. I want youradvice, you see. '

'You will have to--to walk slower--if you--want to get it!'

Tommaso was by this time puffing like a porpoise, for he was not asyoung as when he had been the terror of the Bologna road, and he hadbeen living on the fat of his masters' plentiful leavings for weeks, with a very liberal allowance of the white wine of Marino. Moreover, knowing what he did of the Bravi's intentions, Cucurullo's suggestionseemed at once highly comic and extremely valuable. But Cucurullohimself, good soul, was pleased at having forced Tommaso to slacken hispace and listen to him. 

'I come of my own intention, dear friend, ' he said, 'because I am inconstant anxiety about the Lady Ortensia. For Don Alberto is nephew toboth the Popes, as they say here, and it would be an easy matter forhim to carry her off into the country; the more so as she and my masterare living in his own palace, and it sometimes happens that the Maestrogoes out alone to a rehearsal of music, leaving only me and Pina toprotect his lady, and what could we do if Don Alberto came at such atime with a band of men and simply carried the lady downstairs to hisown coach and drove away with her?'

'My dear friend, ' answered the other, who had now recovered his breath, 'I do not know what you could do. Am I a prophet, that you ask meriddles? The book of wisdom is buried under the statue of Pasquin, asthese Romans say! If such a thing happened to me, I should consider thesafety of my own skin, which is worth more to me than many other skins, even than the skins of lions for which His Holiness pays a great price, they tell me, when travellers bring them from Africa! For you might aswell resist the Tiber in a flood, as try to hinder the Pope's favouritenephew from doing what he likes! Not that the Pope, or even theCardinal, knows what he does; but he has a golden key to every door inRome, a papal pass for every gate of the city, and a roll of blankpardons, duly signed and sealed, for any misdeed his servants maycommit! What could you or I do against such a man?'

Having had his haste fairly run out of his legs, Tommaso was nowinclined to be talkative, though what he said led to no particularconclusion, except that it would not be safe to interfere with DonAlberto's plans. The truth was that he saw magnificent possibilities forhis masters in Cucurullo's request for protection, and he had not thesmallest intention of risking a mistake by answering for them, stillless of discouraging Cucurullo's hope that they would protect Ortensia. 

Cucurullo answered a little despondently. 

'I know it, ' he said. 'All you say is true. And yet when I remember howyour gentlemen wounded him and then drove the watch before them likesheep, and yet never so much as showed their faces, I cannot help hopingthat they will do something for us. '

'Hope by all means, my dear friend, for, as you say very well, mymasters are no ordinary fine gentlemen, made up of curls and lacecollars, and paste buckles and satin, and drawing-room small-swords ofabout the size and temper of a silver hairpin! Why, most of these youngdandies are no better than girls, and are not half such men as somepriests I have known! Either of my masters could skewer a round dozen ofthem while the bells are ringing for noon, and sit down to dinner at thelast stroke as cool as if I had just shaved them and smoothed theirclean collars over their coats! But after all, dearest Cucurullo, theyare only two, and I might bear them a hand with my cudgel, and we shouldbe three--only three men against the whole army of the Pope, horse, foot, and artillery, besides the Swiss Guard and the five or six hundredsbirri in plain clothes whom the Cardinal maintains in the holy city! Itwould not be a fair fight, my friend!'

Cucurullo smiled at Tommaso's voluble statement of the odds, for thehunchback was not without a certain sense of humour. 

'No doubt you are right, ' he said, 'but if Don Alberto tried to carryoff my master's lady, he would avoid the publicity of an escort of threeor four thousand men! Indeed, I doubt whether he would take more thantwo or three of his servants with him, for whom you three wouldcertainly be a match. '

'A match!' cried Tommaso, suddenly indignant. 'We would make sausagemeat of them! We would mince them as fine as forcemeat in five minutes!Their bones would be nothing but a cloud of dust before you could countten! A match, indeed! My dearest friend, you do not know what you aresaying!'

'I do, but you have a greater command of language than I, ' answeredCucurullo quietly. 'When I said that you would be a match for them, Imeant that you could destroy them in an instant. '

'I see, ' said Tommaso, pacified. 'But if you think I can talk, youshould hear Count Trombin! Now listen, most worthy friend. If you desireit, I will speak with my masters for you; for the truth is, they are twovery noble cavaliers, and would ask nothing better than to help a ladyin distress, and I will meet you where you please, and tell you whatthey say. Or, if you prefer to speak with them yourself, go back to theinn now, and you will find them upstairs eating their morning dish offruit. Do as you please, but perhaps I shall be able to speak to them ata moment when they are particularly well disposed. When they have dinedwell, for instance, they are always in a pleasant humour. They oftengive me a Giulio then. '

'You will do me the greatest service, my friend, ' Cucurullo said. 'Prayspeak for me with your gentlemen, telling them that I came to youentirely on my own responsibility. That is important, for I would nothave them think that my master would approach them through his servant, which would be beneath their dignity and unworthy of his good manners. '

'I shall be most careful, ' answered Tommaso blandly. 'But listen to meagain. If, for instance, my gentlemen should desire to meet yourgentleman and his lady in some quiet out-of-the-way place, in order totalk over the circumstances at leisure, do you think there would be anyobjection?'

'Why should there be?' asked Cucurullo in surprise. 'Are they not thebest of friends?'

'Indeed they are!' replied the other with alacrity. 'I wish you couldhear how my masters talk of the Maestro Stradella's genius, and of hisvoice, and then of his noble air and manner, and of the Lady Ortensia'sbeauty and modest deportment! It would do your heart good, mostestimable friend!'

'It is a pleasure even to hear you tell me of it, ' Cucurullo answered, much delighted, for he worshipped Stradella, and thought him perfectionnow that he was at last properly married, and there was an end of hislove-scrapes, and of carrying letters to his sweethearts, and of silkladders and all the rest of it. 

'I have not told you half, ' said Tommaso readily. 'And now, as I have animportant errand, and my gentlemen are waiting to be shaved, I shall saygood-bye. Will it suit you to meet me this afternoon about twenty-threeo'clock, at the Montefiascone wine-cellar in the Via dei Pastini? It isa quiet place, and there is a light white wine there which is cooling inthis warm weather. '

'I will be there, ' Cucurullo answered with a friendly nod by way oftaking leave. 

Though they had slackened their pace to an ordinary walk that suitedTommaso's breathing powers, they had covered a good deal of ground inthe five or six minutes during which they had been talking, and theywere close to the Church of the Minerva, not far from the Altieripalace. As it was quite clear that Tommaso wished to go on his errandalone, Cucurullo turned into a narrow street when he left him, andwalked slowly, picking his way over the uneven pavement. It was anunsavoury lane, that ran between tall houses, from the windows of whicheverything that was objectionable indoors was thrown out; and as HisEminence the Cardinal Vicar's sweepers were only supposed to pass thatway once a week, on Thursdays, and sometimes forgot about it, theaccumulations of dirt were pestiferous. Rome in those days was what allNaples was twenty years ago, and still is, in parts; it was full of themost astounding extremes of splendour and incredible poverty, of perfectcleanliness and abominable filth, and the contrast between thestringency of the law and the laxity of its execution was often not lesssurprising. Under the statutes, a man could be punished with torture andthe galleys for owning a dark lantern, for carrying a pointed knife inhis pocket, or for wearing a sword without leave; but, as a matter offact, the detailed manuscript accounts of scores of crimes committed inRome in the seventeenth century, and later, show that almost every onewent armed, that any one who could dress like a gentleman wore a rapierwhen he pleased, and that dark lanterns were commonly used in defianceof the watch, the sbirri in plain clothes, the Bargello who commandedboth, and the Governor who was his only superior in matters relating topublic order. 

I have digressed a little, both to explain the affair of the serenadeunder the Altieri palace, and to prepare my readers for what followed, and especially for the lawless doings of Trombin, Gambardella, and DonAlberto, which came to a climax during the night of Saint John's Eve, inspite of the many admirable regulations about lanterns and weapons whichshould have made the city a paradise of safety for unprotected females. But, after all, progress has not done much for us since then, for thecities are always growing faster than the police possibly can, so thatit is in the very greatest capitals that the most daring crimes arecommitted with apparent impunity in our own time. 

Cucurullo picked his way through the dirty side street, and was justemerging into a broader and cleaner one, when some one overtook him andtapped him on his hump, though he had not noticed the sound of footstepsbehind him. He stopped, and saw a man in dusty and shabby black clothes, whom he took for a sbirro. 

'Good-morning, Master Alessandro, ' said the man with some politeness. 

'That is my master's name, ' answered Cucurullo, 'not mine, and he is notdeformed. Therefore, if you are jesting with me, I beg you to pass on inpeace. '

'Your pardon, sir, ' the man said, lifting his hat, 'have I not thehonour of addressing Signor Alessandro Guidi, the poet, for whom I havea message from Her Majesty the Queen of Sweden, whose servant I am?'

'No, ' replied the other, pacified at being taken for the misshapen bard. 'I am only a servant like yourself, and my name is Cucurullo. '

The man seemed reassured and much amused, for he was a Piedmontese. 

'Cuckoo-rulloo-cuckoo what?' he asked, laughing. 'I did not catch therest!'

Cucurullo fixed his unwinking blue eyes on the speaker's face with adispleased expression, and after a moment the man turned pale and beganto tremble, for he saw that he had given grave offence, and to rouse theanger of a hunchback, especially in the morning, might bring accident, ruin, and perhaps sudden death before sunset. He shook all over, and theblue eyes never winked, and seemed to grow more and more angry till theypositively blazed with wrath, and, at last, the fellow uttered a cry ofabject fright and turned and ran up the dirty street at the top of hisspeed. But Cucurullo went quietly on his way, smiling with a littlesatisfaction; for, after all, it was something to command kindness andhospitality, or inspire mortal terror, by the deformity that afflictedhim. Possibly, too, in his humble heart he was pleased at having beentaken for such a social personage as a scholar and a man of letters;for he had always been very careful to keep himself very clean and neat, and if he had any vanity it was that no one could ever detect a spot onhis clothes. For instance, he always carried with him a little piece ofbrown cotton, folded like a handkerchief, which he spread upon thepavement in church before he knelt down, lest the knees of his breechesshould be soiled, and he treasured a pair of old goatskin gloves whichhe had bought at a pawnshop in Venice, and which he put on when hecleaned his master's boots or did any other dirty work. 

After he had parted from Tommaso, the latter went about his business, though not in breathless haste. His errand, as he had called it, tookhim amongst the dealers in coaches, new and second-hand, who had theirwarehouses near the Massimo palace and in the neighbourhood of SaintMark's, and in other regions near by, from which the public conveyancesstarted and where private carriages could be bought or hired. 

The Bravi, who were practical men, judged that a former highway robbershould be a good judge of such vehicles, and had commissioned Tommaso, who had stopped and plundered hundreds of them on the Bologna road, tofind one that would suit their purpose. It was to be perfectly sound, not large, comfortably cushioned and provided with solid shutters todraw up outside the windows. There were to be good locks to the doors, with keyholes inside and out, and a boot for luggage, also provided witha safe fastening. It was no easy matter to find exactly what the Braviwanted, without paying a high price for a perfectly new carriage, and itwas a prime necessity that the one Tommaso was to buy for them should beable to stand a rather unusual journey without once breaking down. 

They also needed good horses of their own, for there were severalreasons why they could not hire a team from the post for the start, andthey meant to trust to luck for exchanging or selling theirs at the endof the first stage. Tommaso was a capital judge of horseflesh, as theyhad found out on the journey from Venice, and they confidently left thewhole matter in his hands while they occupied themselves with graveraffairs, or sought relaxation in the pleasures which the city afforded. 

CHAPTER XIX

Ortensia had told her husband everything that had passed between her andDon Alberto, and Stradella's first instinct was to seek him out, insulthim, and force him into a duel. Ortensia saw the big vein swellingominously in the middle of the white forehead, the tightening of thelips, and the unconscious movement of the fingers that closed upon animaginary sword-hilt; she saw all this and was pleased, as every womanis when the man she loves is roused and wants to fight for her. ButOrtensia did not mean that there should be any bloodshed, and shesoothed her husband and made him promise that he would only watch overher more jealously than ever, and make it impossible for Don Albertoever to be left alone with her again. If he would promise that, shesaid, she should feel quite safe. 

He promised reluctantly, but said that he would not stay under Altieri'sroof another day; he would not owe such an obligation to a man who hadattacked his honour, he would not tolerate the thought that his wife wasactually dwelling in the house of the wretch against whom she asked hisprotection. But Ortensia besought him to do nothing hurriedly, lest heshould cause a scandal which would do more harm to her good name thanDon Alberto's foolish declarations, which could be kept a secret. 

[Illustration: 'He began to look about for lodgings']

Stradella yielded to her entreaties at first, for he saw that there wassome sense in what she said; but his pride could not bear such asituation long, and with every day that passed he became more anxious toleave the palace. He began to look about for lodgings when he went outalone in the morning, and he saw more than one that would have suitedhim; but none of them would be free until the Feast of Saint John, whichwas then the quarter-day in Rome, on which leases began and expired. Hewanted a dwelling with a hall large enough for rehearsing with hisorchestra, and having a loggia looking towards the south, like the oneat the Orso inn. 

And now it happened, on that same morning when Cucurullo went to findTommaso, that Stradella himself had gone out to see another house ofwhich he had heard; and Don Alberto, who was well informed of themovements of the little household, judged the moment favourable forvisiting Ortensia, since he had observed that Stradella was usually awayat least an hour, and often much longer, when he went out early; and ifCucurullo should return sooner, it would not matter. 

Ten minutes after the hunchback had left the palace Don Alberto knockedat the door of the small apartment halfway down the grand staircase. Pina opened almost immediately, not suspecting anything, but started insurprise when she saw who the visitor was. 

'I desire to speak with the Lady Ortensia, ' said Don Alberto suavely. 

'The master is gone out, ' Pina answered, 'and my mistress would neverreceive a gentleman's visit alone, sir. '

'The matter is urgent and concerns the Maestro, ' Don Alberto explained, and at the same time he made the gold pieces in his pocket jingle, as ifquite accidentally. 

'The Maestro will be at home in two hours, ' said Pina firmly, and makingas if she would shut the door. 

'I am too busy to wait so long, ' objected the young man. 'My dear goodwoman, do you know who I am?'

'Perfectly, sir. You are Don Alberto Altieri, His Eminence's nephew. '

'Well, then, you need not make so much trouble about letting me in, mydear, for this is my own house, and a lady may surely see her landlordon a matter of business!'

Thereupon he took out a gold florin and tried to put it into Pina's palmin a coaxing way and with a smile. But she shut her hand quickly andheld it behind her back, shaking her head. Don Alberto was not used toservants who refused gold. He tried flattery. 

'Really, ' he cried, 'for a girl with such a sweet face, you are veryobstinate! If you will not take an Apostolic florin, I will give you theApostolic kiss, my dear!'

He tried to kiss her, trusting that a middle-aged serving-woman couldnot resist the Pope's nephew when he called her a sweet-faced girl. Butshe kept him at arm's length with surprising energy. 

'You are mistaken, ' she said in a low voice, lest Ortensia should hearher within; 'I am neither young, nor pretty, nor quite a fool!'

Don Alberto suddenly seized her wrist unawares and held it fast. 

'No, ' he answered, 'you are not a fool, but you are Filippina Landi, arunaway nun, and though you once got a pardon, you are in Rome now, andI can have it revoked in an hour, and you will be lodged in the Conventof Penitent Women before night, to undergo penance for the rest of yourlife. '

Pina shivered from head to foot and turned very pale. He dropped herwrist, and, as if she were overcome by an invisible power, she stoodaside, hanging her head, and let him pass in. For more than a minuteafter he had disappeared, she stood leaning against the marbledoor-post, pressing her left hand to her heart and breathing hard. 

Don Alberto knew the small apartment well, for he had once lived in itwith his tutor, before the Cardinal had left the palace to take up hisquarters in the Quirinal. He went directly to the large sitting-room, from the windows of which Ortensia and Stradella had listened to theserenade and had seen the fighting; he tapped at the door, andOrtensia's voice bade him enter. 

She was seated in one of those wooden chairs with arms and a high flatleathern back, which one often sees in Rome even now, chiefly in outerreception-halls and ranged in stiff order against the walls. Theshutters were drawn near together to keep out the heat and to darken theroom a little. She had a lute on her knees, but her hands held a largesheet of music, from which she had been reading over the words of thesong before trying it. She did not look up as the door opened and wasshut, for she supposed it must be Cucurullo who had come to ask aquestion. Don Alberto stood still a few seconds in silent admiration. She had evidently been washing her hair, for it was loose and was combedout over her shoulders in red-auburn waves; and the shorter locks at hertemples and round her forehead floated out in little clouds full of richbut transparent colour. The morning was warm, and she was still clad ina loose dressing-gown of thin white silk trimmed with a simple lace. Never, in many misspent days, had Altieri seen a more radiant vision. When she had read all the words of the song, she laid the sheet on thetable beside her, and spoke without looking round, for, as her chair wasplaced, the door was a little behind her, and she was sure that it wasCucurullo who had entered, since she had not heard the slight sound ofPina's cotton skirt. 

'What is it?' she asked quietly. 

'A thief, dear lady, ' answered Don Alberto, smiling; 'one who has forcedyour door to steal a sight of you----'

At the first word she had risen, turning towards him as she rose, andlaying the lute on the table at her left, which was between her and thedoor. 

'How dare you come here?' she cried, indignantly interrupting his prettyspeech. 

'I dare everything and--nothing, ' he answered; 'everything for thehappiness of seeing you and hearing your voice, but nothing else thatcan displease you! See, I do not move a step, I stand here your prisoneron parole, for I give you my word that I will not run away! I willstand here like a statue, or kneel if you bid me, or lie prostrate atyour feet!'

'I bid you go, sir! I bid you leave me, for you have no right to behere!'

'No right? I have the right to live, sweet lady! The meanest creaturehas that. '

'I do not bid you die, ' Ortensia answered with some contempt. 'I onlytell you to go!'

'And so to die most painfully, for I cannot live without seeing you!Therefore I will do anything but go away before my eyes have fed me fullof you and I can bear another day's fasting!'

'Then, sir, ' said Ortensia proudly, 'it is I that will leave you; and ifyou mean in earnest not to displease me, you will not stay here. '

She made two steps towards the door of her own room, before he moved;then he sprang nimbly forward and placed himself in front of her, at alittle distance. 

'I ask nothing but a kind word, ' he said earnestly, 'or if you will notspeak it, give me one thought of pity, and I shall see it in your eyes!You love your husband, and I respect your love--I admire you the morefor it, upon my soul and honour I do! Did I not promise to be a truefriend to you both? Have I broken my promise because I am here now, onlyto see your dear face for a few moments and bear away your image tocheer my lonely life?'

'Your lonely life!' Ortensia smiled, though scornfully enough. 

'Yes, my lonely life, ' he answered, repeating the words with graveemphasis. 'What would yours be, pray, if you were forced to be for evera central figure amongst men and women who wearied you with adulationand never ceased from flattering except to ask favours for themselvesand their relatives? And if, with that, you loved Stradella as you do, and he was another woman's husband and would not even look at you, norlet you hear his voice, would your existence not be lonely, I ask? Inthe desert of your life, would you not hide yourself in the hermitage ofyour heart, with the image of the man you loved upon your only altar?Would you not feel alone all day, and lonelier still all night, thoughthe whole world pressed upon you, even at your rising and your lyingdown, to call you beautiful and gifted beyond compare, and a divinebeing on earth, and in return to beg a benefice for a graceless youngerson, or a curacy for a starving cousin of a priest, or the privilege ofproviding the oil for the lamps in the Vatican? That is my life, if youcall it a life! It is all I have, except my love for you--my honouring, respecting, venerating love!'

He spoke his words well, with changing tone and moving accent, but theone great gift he had received from nature was his wonderful andundefinable charm of manner; and surely of all marketable commodities, from gold and silver coin to coloured beads and cowry shells, there isnone that can be so readily exchanged for almost anything in the worldits possessor wants. Ortensia felt it in spite of herself, and while shewas not touched by his attempts at eloquence, she was more inclined tolaugh than to be angry at what he said. There was something in him andin his way that disarmed and made it almost impossible not to forgivehim anything in reason. 

'If my husband were only here, ' Ortensia said, 'this would be as amusingas a comedy, but a lady cannot go to the play alone. Will you wait tillhe comes home? Then we will listen to you together, and you will gettwice as much applause, for it is really very good acting, I mustadmit!'

A professional love-maker always knows when to stop being serious duringthe early stages of the game, and when to leave off laughing later on;for there is nothing so sure to weary and irritate an average woman asperpetual seriousness at first, when she has not yet made up her mindand perhaps never may, nor is there anything more ruinous than to jestabout love when she herself feels it and bestows it. The reason of thismust be that if you are too grave while she is still undetermined, shewill believe that you are taking her love for granted, which is anunpardonable sin, whereas after she has unfolded her heart and given youthe most precious part of herself, she trembles at the merest suggestionthat you may not be in earnest. 

Don Alberto was a professional love-maker, and at Ortensia's last speechhe laughed so readily and naturally that she could not help joining him. 

'The truth is, ' he said presently, 'the Queen is going to have a littlecomedy performed by her friends, and I have been giving you some bitsfrom my part. If you really think I do it well, I will wait for theMaestro, as you say, and he shall hear it too, for his opinion isvaluable. '

'If you had told me the other day at the palace that you were onlyrehearsing, it would have been better, ' Ortensia said, still smiling. 

'No, ' answered the young man, 'for I can only judge of my own actingwhen it carries so much conviction with it that it is mistaken fortruth. Is that not sound reason?'

'Sound reason, but poor compliment, sir! In future, pray choose some oneelse for your experiments. I have heard a Latin proverb quoted whichsays that the experiment should be made on a body of small value! Youhold me cheap, sir, since you try your experiments on me. '

'I hold you dearer than you guess, ' answered Don Alberto gaily. 'But Iam no match for you in argument. Giovanni Fiorentino tells the story ofa lady who played lawyer to defend her lover against a money-lender towhom he had promised a pound of his flesh if he failed to pay. I thinkyou must be of her family, and a Doctor in Law!'

'If I have won my case against you, ' retorted Ortensia, 'there isnothing left for you but to retire from the court, acknowledging thatyou are beaten. '

'Beaten as a lawyer, but successful as an actor, ' laughed Altieri, 'anda good friend at your service, as ever. Will you give me your hand, lady?'

'What for, sir? I was sorry I did, the other day. I should have boxedyour ears instead!'

'Do it now!'

With a careless laugh he dropped on his knees, just at her feet, foldinghis hands like a penitent; and laughing too, in spite of herself, shelightly tapped his left ear. He instantly turned the other towards her. 

'Remember the gospel, ' he said. '"If thine enemy smite thee on onecheek----"'

Again she laughed, but she would not touch him a second time, and sheturned away. He sprang to his feet, and there was a flash of light inhis eyes, and his hands trembled; for he was behind her, and thetemptation to catch her in his arms was almost too strong for him. Atthat moment the door opened without any warning knock. 

'The master is coming up the stairs, ' said Pina quietly, and instantlyshe disappeared again. 

Don Alberto started, but Ortensia was calm. 

'Stay here and say you have come to see him, ' she said, and before hecould answer she was in her own room and the door was shut. 

Don Alberto was himself again in a moment, for no experienced woman ofthe world could have done the right thing with more instant decisionthan Ortensia had shown. He understood, too, that he had so thoroughlyfrightened the wretched Pina that she was henceforth his slave, on whomhe could count as safely as Stradella had depended on her in Venice. With the instinct of an old hand he glanced quickly round the room tosee that no object had been displaced in a way to excite suspicion, andhe then sat down in a straight chair, folded one knee over the other, and waited for Stradella's coming. 

The musician entered a few moments later and stared in surprise as DonAlberto rose to meet him with outstretched hand and a friendly smile. 

'Your servant told me that you would not be back for some time, ' saidAltieri, 'but I insisted on coming in. Pray forgive the intrusion, forthe matter is very urgent. '

Stradella had taken his hand rather coolly, but he did not mean hisvisitor to see that he was displeased, and he now politely pushed achair forward, and took another himself. 

'I am glad to find you here, ' he said, 'for I also wished to see you inorder to thank you once more for the use of this apartment. '

'But you are not going away?' cried Don Alberto in astonishment. 

'Not from Rome. But I have at last found a dwelling which will just suitus, and we mean to move on Saint John's Day. '

'On Saint John's Day!' repeated Don Alberto, with still more evidentsurprise. 'Really! Indeed! I assure you that I did not expect this, mydear Maestro, and I am almost inclined to think it a breach offriendship. Are you not well lodged here? Are the rooms too small foryou and your lady? Or do you find them hot, or noisy? I do notunderstand. '

'Pray put it down to an artist's foolish love of independence, 'Stradella answered with suavity. 'It is one thing for you rich nobles toaccept favours from each other; you can return them; but we poormusicians cannot, and so we set a limit to what we think we may fairlyreceive. '

'You give what we never can, ' objected Don Alberto, 'for you give usyour genius and its works, and I suspect you have some reason hiddenaway of which you do not care to speak. I can only tell you how sorry Iam that you should leave this house, where I had hoped you would livewhenever you came to Rome, and where you will always be welcome if youwish to return. '

'It is impossible to be more courteous, and I wish I could express mygratitude as well as you have worded your most kind invitation. '

The musician bowed rather formally from his chair as he spoke, but DonAlberto was not pleased. 

'Come, come, my dear Stradella, ' he said familiarly, 'one would take usfor a couple of courtiers making compliments at each other. We used tobe good friends and comrades a year ago. Have you forgotten thatcarnival season, and how we supped together on ten consecutive nights inten different eating-houses, with those two charming ladies from Genoa?Ah, my dear fellow, how you have changed! But you were not marriedthen!'

'And never thought I should be! But I am not as much changed as youthink, and I dare say you will soon come to find it out. You spoke ofsome urgent business that brings you here----'

'Yes. It is an important affair for you. His Holiness wishes you tocompose a high mass for Saint Peter's Day, for the united choirs of theSistine Chapel and Saint Peter's. '

'But the feast is on the twenty-ninth of this month!' cried Stradella insurprise. 'The time is much too short! Less than three weeks forcomposing such a work! I cannot possibly undertake to turn out anythingworthy in that time!'

'I give you the message as my uncle the Cardinal gave it to me, ' DonAlberto answered with assurance, though he had invented the commissionon the spur of the moment, quite sure that he could easily make it agenuine order, though it would never be executed if his own plans forcarrying off Ortensia on Saint John's Eve succeeded. 

'May I have a day in which to consider my answer?' asked the musician. 

'If you like. But you will only lose twenty-four hours, since you willhave to do what the Pope asks! A commission from the Sovereign is acommand, you know. Besides, you must have a great many scraps ofcompositions and odds and ends of masses among your papers, a part of a_Credo_ here, an _Agnus Dei_ there--things you can string together andfinish in a few days. The only part that must be new will be theOffertory for the day, unless you happen to have that too. '

'But the whole can never be harmonious if I do it in that way----'

'What has that to do with it, my dear friend?' asked Don Alberto. 'Whathas conscience to do with art, pray? If you do the work the Pope will bepleased, and you will be several hundred crowns the richer; but if yourefuse to do it, His Holiness will be angry with you and the Cardinal, and the Cardinal will make you and me pay for the reproof he willreceive! As for the music, nothing you write can be bad, because youhave real genius, and the worst that any one may say will be that yourmass for Saint Peter's Day is not your very best work. Therefore, in myopinion, you have no choice, and it is quite useless for you to take awhole day to consider the matter. '

'I suppose you are right, ' Stradella answered. 

He was not suspicious enough to guess that it was all an invention ofDon Alberto's, and the latter had a very persuasive way with him. 

'And now that it is all settled, ' Altieri said pleasantly, 'I will takemy leave. For during the next three weeks your own time will be morevaluable than my company! My duty and homage to the Lady Ortensia, andgood-bye; and if you will change your mind and stay here, I shall bemuch more in your debt than you in mine. '

'Thank you, ' answered Stradella, rising to show him out. 

When Ortensia had hurriedly left the room her intention had been toprevent any immediate trouble, but not to hide what had happened fromher husband for more than a day or two. She was even more angry withPina than with Don Alberto himself, for she could not but believe thatthe nurse had taken a bribe to admit him, and had then acted as if hermistress were in love with him, or at least willing to receive him alonein a toilet that could only imply great intimacy. The woman's suddenappearance and her face at the door recalled too well how she had comeback suddenly, on the day of the last lesson in Venice, to warn the pairthat Pignaver was near, and Ortensia could not bear to think that shecould ever have been caught with young Altieri in such a situation as tomake the warning positively necessary for her own safety. Indeed, shewas so much ashamed of it now that she blushed scarlet, though she wasalone, and wondered how she could possibly tell Stradella what hadhappened. 

He found her sitting before her mirror near the window, and from herchair she could see the reflection of the door through which she hadentered. When the handle turned she put up her hands and pretended to bearranging her hair, and in the mirror she saw her husband's face andunderstood that he was not angry, though he was by no means pleased. Hecame behind her, kissed her hair and then her forehead, as she bent herhead backwards to look up into his face. 

'Don Alberto has been here, ' he said. 

'Yes?' The interrogation in her tone might mean anything, and deniednothing. 

'He came to tell me that the Pope wishes me to write a solemn mass forthe feast of Saint Peter, on the twenty-ninth, and of course I wasobliged to agree to do it. But Pina should not have let him in. Do youthink she would take money? After what he told you about her I cannothelp trusting her less. '

'Do you believe that what he told me is true?'

'It agrees well enough with what she said when she came to see me inVenice, ' Stradella answered. 'Do you remember? Or did I never tell you?She made it a condition of our flight that we should take her with us, because, if she were left behind, your uncle would have her tortured, and she said she could bear anything but that. She said it in a way thatmade me sure she had already suffered the question, as Don Alberto hasnow told you is really the case. '

'It all agrees very well together, ' Ortensia announced, shaking herhead. 'Poor Pina! Perhaps Don Alberto threatened her, for I suppose hehas power to do anything he pleases here in Rome. '

'I will go and ask her, ' Stradella said. 'That is the simplest way. '

'No! Please----' Ortensia showed such signs of distress that her husbandwas surprised. 

'Why not? Do you think it would be unfair, or would hurt her feelings?Then call her here, and ask her yourself before me. She will probablyconfess the truth. '

'She would be more likely to conceal it, since you have not the power touse threats!'

'Possibly, but I doubt it. The woman is a coward, and if you speaksharply she will be frightened. I do not like to think that when I amout of the house and my man is out too, anybody may get in. You are notsafe in such conditions. Any ruffian who knew her story could force hisway to you! No, no, love--we must speak to her at once!'

He was already going towards the door, but Ortensia rose quickly andovertook him before he could go out, catching him by the hand andholding him back. 

'You must hear me first, ' she cried in great anxiety, leading him to aseat beside her. 

He had followed her without resistance, too much surprised to object. Ifany reason for her action suggested itself it was that she wished tospare Pina's feelings, probably out of affection for the nurse. ButOrtensia took one of his hands and pressed it against her eyes as shebegan to speak, for she thought she had done something very wicked inconcealing from him that she had really seen Don Alberto. 

'I do not know why Pina let him in, ' she said in a low voice, as ifmaking a confession, 'but he found me there, in the next room, and hehad come on purpose to see me, and not you. '

She went on and told Stradella everything she could remember, which, indeed, was most of the conversation, including Don Alberto's jestingpretence that he had been acting. 

'I did not want to make trouble, ' Ortensia concluded tearfully. 'I meantto tell you to-morrow--are you very angry? You can call Pina now, if youlike----'

Stradella had risen and was pacing the room, evidently in no very gentletemper, though he was far too just to blame his wife for what hadhappened. After a few moments Ortensia rose and went to him, and as hestopped she laid her hands upon his shoulders, looking up into his eyes. 

'You are angry with me, ' she said very sorrowfully. 'I did the best Icould. He would not go away. '

Instantly he took her in his arms, lifted her clear of the floor, andkissed her passionately, again and again; and at the very first touch ofhis lips she understood, though she could almost feel his anger againstAltieri throbbing in the hands that held her. 

'I have borne enough from that man, ' he said, letting her stand on herfeet again, and he slipped his right arm round her waist, and made herwalk up and down with him. 'He will take no answer from you, he forceshimself upon you when you are alone, he thinks that because he is thePope's nephew no one dares to face him and say him nay!'

He was very angry, and at each phrase his hand unconsciously tightenedits hold on Ortensia's waist, as if to emphasise what he was saying; andthough he said little enough, she felt that his blood was up, and thatit would be ill for Don Alberto to meet him in his present mood. ATuscan would have dissolved his temper in a torrent of uselessblasphemy, as Tuscans generally do, a Roman would have roared outfearful threats, a Neapolitan would have talked of the knife with manygestures; the Sicilian did not raise his voice, though it shook alittle, and he only said he had borne enough, but if his enemy hadappeared at that moment he would have killed him with his hands, andOrtensia understood him. 

'You must think of me too, ' she pleaded wisely. 'If you make him fightyou, one of two things will happen: either you will kill him, and thenno power can save you from the Pope's vengeance, or else he will killyou--for you will not yield till you are dead!--and I shall have to takemy own wretched life to save myself from him!'

'God forbid!' cried Stradella in a troubled voice, and pressing her tohis side again. 'To think that I imagined we should be safer in Romethan anywhere else! I suppose you are right, sweetheart. If any harmbefalls me there is no hope for you. But what am I to do? Can I take youwith me each time I am obliged to go out about my business? And if not, where can I find any one whom I can trust to watch over you? As for DonAlberto, it is easy to speak moderately when he is away, but if I meethim and talk with him----' He stopped short, unwilling to let his angerwaste itself in words. 

'Trust no one, love, ' said Ortensia softly. 'Take me with youeverywhere. I shall be far happier if you never let me be out of yoursight an hour--far more happy, and altogether safe!'

'But I cannot take you up into the organ loft when I sing, or conductmusic in church! You cannot go with me behind the lattice of the Sistinechoir! On Saint John's Eve, for instance, at the Lateran, I shall haveto be at least two hours with the singers and musicians. Who will takecare of you?'

'Surely, ' objected Ortensia, 'you can trust your own man. Let him standbeside me while I sit on the pedestal of the pillar nearest to theorgan, where you can see me. Or ask our two mysterious friends to guardme, for they would overmatch a dozen of Don Alberto's sort!'

She laughed, though with a slight effort; but she saw that he wasinclining to the side of discretion, at least for the present. 

'And if worse comes to the worst, ' she added, 'we must leave Rome andlive in the South, in your own country. I have always longed to gothere. '

'Even to starve with me, love?' Stradella smiled. 'It is not in Naplesthat I shall be offered three or four hundred crowns for writing a mass!Thirty or forty will be nearer the price! Instead of living in a palacewe shall take up our quarters in some poor little house over the sea, atMergellina or Posilippo, with three rooms, a kitchen, and a pigsty atthe back, and we shall eat macaroni and fried cuttle-fish every day, with an orange for dessert, and a drive in a curricolo on Sundayafternoons! How will that suit the delicate tastes of the Lady OrtensiaGrimani?'

'It sounds delicious, ' Ortensia said, rubbing her cheek against hiscoat. 'I delight in macaroni and oranges as it is, and I can think ofnothing I should like better than to have you to myself in a littlehouse with three rooms looking over the sea! We will give Pina a presentand send her away, and Cucurullo shall cook for us. I am sure he can, and very well, and why should I need a maid? Let us go, Alessandro;promise that we shall! When can we start?'

'Not till after Saint Peter's Day, at all events since I have that massto finish and conduct, ' Stradella answered, humouring her. 'But it isimpossible, ' he added, almost at once. 'You could not live in that way, and I have no right to let you try it. '

'We shall be happier than we ever were before!'

'For a few days, perhaps. But the plain truth is, that I am only a poorartist, and all I have saved is a matter of a thousand crowns in Chigi'sbank. I must earn money for us both, and there is no place where I canearn as much as I can here, under the patronage of the Pope----'

'--and his nephews, ' said Ortensia, completing the sentence as hehesitated; 'and one of those nephews is Don Alberto Altieri, who payshimself for his patronage by forcing himself upon my privacy when youare gone out! That is the short of a very long story!'

Stradella stood still, struck by what she said, and he looked into hereyes; they met his a little timidly, for she feared that she had hurthim. 

'You are right, ' he said. 'I will go at once to the Cardinal himself, and say that I cannot undertake to write the mass for the Pope. Insteadof taking a new lodging, we will leave Rome on the feast of SaintJohn. '

CHAPTER XX

The following days passed quietly, and Don Alberto did not again attemptto see Ortensia alone. He was, indeed, much occupied with more urgentaffairs, for Queen Christina had noticed the signs of his approachingdefection and was becoming daily more exigent. On his side, youngAltieri only desired to be dismissed, and instead of submitting to herdespotic commands in a spirit of contrition, he cleverly managed to obeythem with a sort of superior indifference that irritated her to theverge of fury. She wreaked her temper on every one who came near her, and so far forgot her royal dignity as to box the ears of poor Guidi, the deformed poet, for pointing out a grammatical mistake in someItalian verses she had composed. But he would not bear the indignity ofa blow, even from her royal hand, and on that same night he packed hismanuscripts and his few belongings and left Rome to seek his fortunewhere he might. The ex-Queen had Rome searched for him the very next dayby a score of her servants, and it was one of her grooms who hadmistaken Cucurullo for Guidi, because he hardly knew the poet by sight, and thought that hunchbacks were all very much alike. 

Don Alberto had not neglected to speak to the Cardinal about Stradella'smass, nor was he surprised at the careless way in which His Eminenceacquiesced to the proposal and agreed that the composer should receivea handsome fee. The young man did not notice that his uncle's thin lipstwitched a little, as if with amusement. The truth was that Stradellahad come to him before Don Alberto, and had explained that it wasmaterially impossible to do what His Eminence had so kindly proposedthrough his nephew. The Cardinal was well aware of the latter's passionfor the musician's wife, and was not at all inclined to encourage it, judging that there was more political advantage to be gained by hisyoung kinsman's continued intimacy with the ex-Queen than by alove-affair with Ortensia. For Christina was almost always engaged insome intrigue, if not in actual conspiracy, and though her dealings ofthis kind were as futile as her whole life had been, it was as well thatthe Papal Government should know what she was really about. 

A week before the Feast of Saint John, Ortensia was already packing herown and Stradella's belongings for the journey to Naples. Though she andPina had left Venice with no baggage but a piece of white Spanish soap, a comb, and a little yellow leather work-case, Ortensia now had enoughlinen and gowns, and laces and ribbons, to fill two respectable trunks, and Pina was well provided with all that a serving-woman needed in theway of clothes. 

Nothing had yet been said between the nurse and her mistress about DonAlberto's last visit, but an explanation was inevitable. One day Pinaasked if she might have a small box or a valise for her own things. 

'We shall not want you in Naples, ' said Ortensia quietly. 'You shallhave your wages from the day when my uncle last paid you, and a presentof ten gold florins for your long service; but I shall not want you anymore. '

She had been folding some delicate laces while she spoke, and she didnot look up till she heard a little choking cry from the nurse. Pinastood grasping the back of a chair to keep herself from falling, and herface was grey. 

'Good heavens!' cried Ortensia. 'Are you ill? What is the matter withyou?'

Pina could hardly speak; she slowly moved her bent head from side toside as if in an agony of pain. 

'It is death!' she moaned. 'You are sending me to die!'

Ortensia went to her and took her by the arm energetically, as if torouse her. 

'This is absurd!' she cried. 'I know what you said to my husband beforewe fled from Venice, and it is of no use to pretend that you are goingto die of grief if you leave me!'

But Pina only shook her head, and would not look up. 

'And as for having been so very faithful, ' Ortensia went on, in a toneof displeasure, 'it was only the other day that you took money from DonAlberto to let him see me when my husband was out and I was alone! Donot deny it!'

Pina looked up now, with something of a born lady's pride in her eyesand tone. 

'I never took a bribe in my life!' she cried indignantly. 'Don Albertothreatened to have me arrested and put to the question, and I wasafraid, and let him in. Yes, I was afraid. I am a coward, for I havefelt pain. That was done to me once, to make me confess, and more too!'

She held out her broken thumb, and her hand shook; and Ortensiashuddered as she looked at it. 

'He threatened to have my pardon cancelled, and to have me torturedagain, and then sent to the Convent of Penitent Women for life! Do notbe hard on me, for I was in one of those places of penance for threeweeks before your uncle got me a pardon and took me to his house to beyour nurse. Don Alberto frightened me--I was weak, cowardly--I let himin!'

'Poor Pina! Then it is all true? He told me your story, but I did notbelieve him. '

'It is all true. It was to be revenged on the Senator that I wanted youto run away. But even so, I have helped you to be happy, for I know youare. For the happiness you have had through me, forgive me! Do not leaveme here at Don Alberto's mercy, for the sake of Heaven! He means tocarry you off, I am sure he does; and if you escape him, he will visitit all on me!'

Her hands strained on the back of the chair till the knuckles whitenedwith the effort, while her body quivered as if she had been struck. Ortensia understood that she had told the truth, and that the merethought of physical pain almost drove her mad. 

'I will take you with me to Naples, ' Ortensia said. 'You will be safethere. I am sorry for you; but how can I trust a woman who is so easilyfrightened?'

'Easily!' groaned Pina. 'You do not know what it is!'

But she took her mistress's hand and kissed it gratefully, with manytearful blessings. 

'I must confess something else, ' she said presently, 'though it isCucurullo's business as well as mine. We have been so much afraid thatDon Alberto would try to carry you off by some daring stroke thatCucurullo has secretly asked help of the two Venetian gentlemen, who arestill here, and they have promised to watch over you and protect you asfar as they can, even at the risk of their lives. '

'Cucurullo should not have gone to them without asking his master'sconsent, ' said Ortensia, not altogether pleased. 'Do you know what DonAlberto told me? He said that Count Trombin and Count Gambardella areBravi, the most famous in Italy!'

'It is not possible, ' replied Pina, shaking her head. 'I do not believeit!'

'Don Alberto told me the truth about you, it seems, ' Ortensia saidrather coldly. 'Why should he have invented a story about the other twowho signed the marriage register as witnesses? And besides, if he meantto carry me off by force, would he not very likely employ just such mento do the deed for him?'

Pina did not try to answer this argument, but her face showed herincredulity. 

'I have told you what I know, ' she said. 'If anything should happen, and if one of those two gentlemen should tell me to do anything for yoursafety, am I to obey? I must know that, for perhaps there will be notime to be lost. '

'I will ask my husband, ' Ortensia said. 'Let us go on with our packing. '

Pina knelt down before the open trunk again. She had told her mistressexactly what Cucurullo had reported to her after his second interviewwith Tommaso, when the two men had met in the wine-shop of the Via deiPastini. On that occasion the ex-highwayman had told the hunchback thathis masters would be only too glad to protect Stradella and his wifeagainst Don Alberto, to the last drop of their blood, and that Cucurullowas free to inform the musician of their promise or not, as he pleased. It would make no difference, they had said; henceforth Don Albertoshould be watched continually, as a mouse is watched by a cat, or infact by two cats; at the very first intimation that he meant mischief, they would send him to the permanent future abode of allmischief-makers; and as for the consequences of their action, if theywere ever detected, they would take such a trifle as that uponthemselves. Don Alberto might be the nephew of all the popes andanti-popes that had reigned, excepting those who were canonised saints, and who might therefore be offended by the statement that they did notcare a cabbage who he was, not a farthing, not a fig! If he attemptedanything against the Lady Ortensia or her husband, they would not onlymake him wish he were dead, but would at once oblige him by satisfyinghis wish. This, at least, was Tommaso's version of what they had said, and Cucurullo saw no reason to doubt the statement, since he had seenthe two gentlemen demolish and put to flight a whole watch in a fewmoments in the affair of the serenade. 

What the Bravi thought of their own situation on the morning of the Eveof Saint John is difficult to imagine; for they were in one of thoseexciting but equivocal situations in which modern financiers notinfrequently find themselves. Their feelings might possibly be comparedto those of Lord Byron when he had written offers of marriage to twoyoung ladies on the same day, and both accepted him; or to those of an'operator' who has advised one intimate friend to buy a certain stock atany price, and another to sell all he has, while he himself has not madeup his mind as to what he had better do; or to those of a jockey who hastaken money to pull a horse when he was sober, and has backed his mountwhen he was drunk. 

The Bravi had, indeed, concocted a plan by which they hoped to win theirmoney from three employers for doing three different things, each ofwhich was contrary to the nature of the other two. And Gambardella mightbe satisfied if the attempt succeeded; but Trombin was not only hisfriend's partner in the whole scheme and intent on getting an equalshare of the profits, he was also very foolishly in love with Ortensiaon his own account, and was pondering how he might substitute himselffor Don Alberto in the first act of the coming comedy, or drama. 

The preparations were now completed, and the two cut-throats awaited theEve of Saint John without the least qualm or the smallest fear for theirown safety. Had they not three blank pardons in their pockets, forthemselves and Tommaso, to be filled in with their names if necessary, or to be sold at a high price to some gentleman in trouble, if they didnot need them?

Nothing was wanting. Tommaso had found the very carriage for the purposeand the horses for the first start, and he himself could drive themfour-in-hand without a postillion, for he was as good a whip as any manwho drove a papal stage-coach. He had seen Don Alberto again, and, besides the blank pardons, he had obtained the necessary order from theGovernor of the city to pass out of any gate during the night. DonAlberto had, of course, ascertained without difficulty that Tommaso wasonly a servant who represented the two famous Bravi, and in the hands ofsuch men young Altieri felt that the enterprise could not fail. 

The little house in the Via di Santa Sabina was also ready, but he knewnothing of this arrangement, and was willing that the Bravi should keepsecret the spot where he was to meet Ortensia, if they preferred to doso. When the evening came he meant that one of his own men, who hadserved him in a score of adventures, should follow him and Tommasostealthily to the place of meeting and hold himself ready, within call, after Tommaso had gone away with the money that was to be paid ondelivering up Ortensia. 

Now before I go on to tell what happened on that memorable night, letme say that if any of the events I am about to describe seem improbableto a sceptical reader, he had better learn the Italian language and diveinto one of those yellow manuscript accounts of similar affairs whichwere written out in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and ofwhich whole volumes can still be bought in Italy for a few francs. Hewill not go far without finding matter quite as surprising as what Ishall put down in this tale, though in all likelihood much moreunsavoury to his modern taste. Moreover, there is proof that a good manyof those accounts are quite as accurate as what a fairly decentnewspaper gives us nowadays for truth; and they are not, as a whole, more nasty, though they are differently worded, because in those daysBoileau was calling 'a cat a cat, and Rolet a rascal, ' and even peoplewho were not poets called a spade a spade. 

A little rain fell during the night before Saint John's Eve, but themorning of the twenty-third of June was clear and calm, and the air hadcooled a little. In Rome, for those who do not fear a little sunshine, June is the most beautiful of all the months, and the loveliest Junedays are those that follow showery nights. Then all the trees of thegreat villas are in full leaf and all the flowers are in bloom: thegorgeous, stiff-necked, courtly flowers in the formal beds and bordersof the Pope's gardens; the soft, sweet-scented, shapely carnations thatgrow in broken pots and pitchers outside the humble windows ofTrastevere; the stately lilies in the marble fountains behind theprincely palace, and the roses that run riot in the poor Jewishburial-ground halfway up the Aventine; the heavy-scented tuberose andthe rich blossom of bitter orange in the high Colonna gardens, and thesweet basil growing in a rusty iron pail in the belfry of Santa MariaMaggiore, where the old bell-ringer eats the savoury leaves with hiscoarse bread and cheese, while he rests after ringing the bells for highmass and waits till it is time to ring them again at noon, and he watersthe plant from his drinking pitcher. Then the wild onion is in flowerthat scares away witches and keeps off the Evil Eye, and from all thebroad Campagna the scent of new-mown hay is wafted through the citygates. Then, though the sun does not yet scorch the traveller, the shadeis already a heavenly refreshment; and though a man is not parched withthirst, a cold draught from the Fountain of Egeria is more deliciousthan any wine, and under the ancient trees of the pagan grove therose-purple cyclamens and the dark wood-violets are still blooming sideby side. The air is full of the breath of life, the deep earth is stillsoft, and all trees and flowers and grasses still feel the tender youthof the spring that is not yet quite gone. 

Then, too, the gilliflowers are out, and on Saint John's Eve beforeVespers the Canons used to bless thousands upon thousands of them, tiedup in neat bunches, in small flat baskets, and the poor of Rome came tothe door of the sacristy on the south side and received them to takehome to their sick and infirm, with the blessing of Saint John and areviving breath of blossoming nature. But on that day many tents andbooths of boughs were also set up on the broad green that stretchedaway to the hedges of vineyards and vegetable gardens, where modernhouses now are built. In each booth there was a little kitchen, a mereearthen fire-pot, such as the alchemists used of old, but larger, andthere were tables made of boards laid on trestles with rude benches forseats, and there were little ten-gallon barrels of wine stillunbroached, and piles of loaves covered with clean white cloths, andthere was much green lettuce for salad, floating in tubs full of water, and there were also fresh onions without end, with their long stalks andbig bunches of tiny flowers. For on the Eve of Saint John the Baptistall fairies good and bad, and goblins that are black or grey, and thewhite hobgoblins too, and the shadowy, unearthly lemures, have deadlypower; and ghosts and wraiths go wailing through lonely church-yards, and the fountain sprites float on the water and laugh in the palemoonlight; the misshapen things of evil that haunt murderers' gravesmove strangely in the gloom; and though the air be still, the chainsthat dangle from old gibbets all clank together wildly when theblood-spectres hang upon them with wan hands and swing themselves to andfro; then the banshee shrieks amongst the ancient elms, and deep down inthe crypt of far San Sisto, by the Latin Gate, the Shining Corpse risesfrom his grave against the south wall and glares horribly all night athis fellow-dead. No wonder that against such terrors the Roman peoplethought it wise to eat snails fried in oil, and to carry onions inblossom in their hands, and especially to fortify their quailingspirits with many draughts of strong wine from Genzano, and Frascati, and Marino, till the grey dawn forelightened above the Samnite hills, and a decent man might go home to sleep safely by daylight, and be wakedonly by the bells that rang out for high mass at ten o'clock. 

So in the late afternoon all those excellent preparations had been madefor resisting ghostly fear, and as soon as the sun went down thefirepots in the booths would be filled with charcoal, and presently amarvellous smell of frying oil would pervade the air, while thousandsupon thousands of little lights would be lighted, all made of bigsnail-shells filled with olive oil and tallow and each having a tinywick in it. But the sun was not low yet, and the great bells wereringing to call the people into the Basilica for Vespers. 

Fine coaches drove up to the transept entrance, one after the other, bringing cardinals and princes and Roman ladies of high rank by thescore; and their gorgeously liveried footmen followed them into thechurch carrying fald-stools and kneeling-cushions as if for a greatceremony in Saint Peter's; and though it was a cloudless day in June twohuge closed umbrellas, of the colours of each family, were strapped uponthe top of every coach, but those of the cardinals were scarlet. Amongstthe many arrivals came the blue and yellow liveries of Christina ofSweden, and with her was Don Alberto in a wonderful summer suit of paledove-coloured silk, and he wore the collar of the Order of SaintGregory; there were several other gentlemen in her train, and not a fewladies, so that she was royally attended. She herself wore athree-cornered blue French hunting-hat on the top of her immense blackwig, and a short riding-skirt of green cloth, and boots like a man. 

The reason why there was such a concourse of society at the Lateran onthe eve of the feast was that Alessandro Stradella was going to sing anair himself, and direct a part of the service which he had composed forthe occasion; and besides, a vast number of the common people werecollected about the Basilica, both from the city and from the Campagna, to enjoy the customary feast of snails as a defence against witches andfairies, and they thronged into the church through the great east doorto hear the music too, till there was no standing-room at all in thetransepts and little in the nave and aisles for thirty or forty yardsbelow the tabernacle, close beside which the old organ used to stand. For there was no loft then, and the instrument stood out in the churchwith its wide wooden balcony, draped all in red, which is the colourappropriate to the Apostles, and to Martyrs also, of whom Saint John theBaptist is counted one. The organ was a new one then, and, by the sametoken, I saw it when I was young, and the keyboard was strangely made;for there were two black keys together everywhere where we have one, thefirst being for the sharp of the natural below it, and the second forthe flat of the natural above; and this meant that the ingenious builderhad thought he could get rid of the 'wolf' and produce an instrumentwith the combined advantages of the even temper and the uneven; and anyone who does not know what that means may ask a tuner to explain it forhim or not, just as he pleases; but the old organ had double black keys, for I saw and touched them myself, and that was the very instrument towhich Stradella sang on the afternoon of Saint John's Eve so long ago. It has probably been destroyed altogether, but Rome is a great place fortreasuring rubbish and rombowline, and perhaps the old keyboard stillexists, with stacks of wooden and metal pipes and bundles of worm-eatentrackers, all piled up together and forgotten in some corner of thecrypt, or in some high belfry room or long-closed attic above thegorgeous ceiling of the Basilica. 

It is a long distance from the Palazzo Altieri to the Lateran, and theCanons sent one of their coaches to convey Stradella to the church. Hebrought Ortensia with him, and found Cucurullo already waiting at thetransept door. 

'It is impossible to get in by this way, sir, ' said the hunchback, coming to the window of the carriage. 'All Rome is here, from the SacredCollege and the Queen of Sweden to the poorest notary's clerk, and itwould take an hour to make your way through the crowd. Below thetabernacle the church is nearly half full of country people. '

'You will have to go in by the main door, ' Stradella said to Ortensia. 'Cucurullo will take you as far up the church as possible, and will notleave your side till I come. As for me, I must go round by the sacristy. Get up behind, Cucurullo, and tell the coachman to take us to the otherentrance. '

Cucurullo obeyed with some difficulty, for a crowd of young idlers ofthe poorer sort had collected to see the cardinals and nobles go in, andthey pressed upon him to touch his hump for luck, which should be atleast double on such a day; and most of them blessed him, lest he shouldlook round angrily and cast the Evil Eye upon them. But as he was shorthe found it hard to reach the footman's hanging strap, till a couple ofstrong fellows lifted him bodily and set him on the footboard. Hesubmitted kindly to the touches he felt, and thanked his helpers with asmile. Then the coach drove away. 

Leaning back in its depths, Ortensia wound her arms round her husband'sneck, and kissed him tenderly. 

'I shall sing for you only, love, ' he said. 'Even if you cannot see me, you will know that every note comes from my heart, and is meant only foryour ears!'

'One day more, and I shall have you all to myself, ' she answered softly. 

The coach stopped again, and Cucurullo dropped from the footboard behindand came to the door. Stradella had now no time to lose, and he letOrtensia get out alone and go in with his man, and before she haddisappeared he was driven away to the door of the sacristy. A fewmoments later he was in the singers' robing-room, hastily getting intothe purple silk cassock and the spotless lace-trimmed cotta which he hadto wear when he appeared in the organ-loft of a basilica, or among thesingers of the Sistine Chapel. He brought these things, with his ownscore of his music, in a purple cloth bag which Ortensia had worked forhim, and she had embroidered a lyre on it in silver thread, with theword 'Harmonia' in cursive letters for a motto. 

Half the singers were already in the organ loft, and the Canons were intheir places droning the psalms for the day antiphonally, and very muchthrough their portentous noses, even as they do to-day. As the noisethey made was neither musical nor edifying, Roman society was conversingwithout the least restraint, except from the fact of being packed ratherclose together in a comparatively small space. Here and there littleopenings in the crowd marked the positions of the Cardinals and theirparasites, of Queen Christina with her court, and of two or three of thegreatest Roman ladies, such as the Princess Orsini and the PrincessRospigliosi, whose husbands were Princes of the Empire as well as Romannobles. They all talked pleasantly and jested, and even laughed, as ifthey were anywhere but in church, only pausing when the Gloria Patri wassung from time to time at the end of a psalm. 

Far overhead the level beams of the lowering sun poured through thenorthwest windows. From the ancient mosaic of the tribune vault thestill faces of heavenly personages looked down at the doings of ahalf-believing age with a sad and solemn surprise. 

While they talked, the ex-Queen and many others glanced occasionally atthe balcony of the organ, and when Stradella at last appeared a littlemurmur of satisfaction ran through the courtly throng, quite differentin tone from the hum of conversation that had preceded it; and as helooked down the great singer saw many acquaintances who made signs ofgreeting to him, and the ex-Queen waved her painted fan high in the air, while a sprightly little Neapolitan duchess, who was in Rome for a visitand had known him a long time, actually blew him a kiss from the tips ofher small gloved fingers. He smiled gravely, nodded once or twice, anddisappeared behind the other singers. 

From the other side of the balcony, where it ran round the organ to therickety wooden steps, his gaze searched the distance, looking forOrtensia; and at last he saw her on the outskirts of the crowd of commonpeople and peasants, leaning against the corner of the third pilasterfrom the main entrance on his left as he looked down the church. Hiseyes were good, and, besides, though she wore a large veil exactly likethat of many of the other ladies, he was sure it was she becauseCucurullo was beside her, unmistakable by his deformity, even at thatdistance and in the shadow that darkened the nave below. Stradella had aroll of music in his hand and, looking towards his wife, he held itabove his head for a signal; he immediately saw her raise her hand andwave it a little, and Cucurullo held up his broad hat too. They had seenhim and he was satisfied; and at that moment the Canons reached the endof the last psalm, and Stradella joined in the Gloria that followed it, still standing where he was and looking at Ortensia in the distance. Helet his voice ring out to her, as different in tone from all the othervoices in the loft as strings are different from wood and brassinstruments, and every syllable he sang reached her ear; and now sheraised her hand again to show that she had heard him, and he held up hislittle roll of music to return her signal, and then went to the front ofthe organ to direct the concerted piece that was to follow. 

If there had been time, he would have stopped and looked back again, foras he turned he had the impression, without the certainty, that Trombinand Gambardella were standing at the edge of the crowd on the other sideof the nave from Ortensia. She had told him of the step Cucurullo hadtaken, and he had not blamed his man; on the contrary, the thought thatthe two Bravi were perhaps near her now was comforting, and he wishedthat he were quite sure of having seen them. As he took his place at thedesk to direct, he glanced to his right again, but the singing men closeto him hindered him from seeing the body of the church. 

He had not been mistaken, however, for the Bravi were there and just insight, at some little distance behind Ortensia, near the pilaster nextbeyond the one by which she stood. They were both dressed in black, andthough it was a warm afternoon in June, each carried a black cloak onhis arm. Their long hair was parted and smoothed with even more thancustomary neatness, and Trombin's yellow locks were so wonderfullyarranged that they might easily have been taken for a wig. His pink facewore a more than usually boyish and innocent expression, and as he stoodbeside his companion listening to what the latter was saying in anundertone, his eyes gazed steadily at Ortensia's graceful figure. Bothmen were evidently indifferent to the possibility of her turning andseeing them, and in fact they had taken up their present position in thehope of being seen by Stradella himself from the organ, acting the partof protectors to his wife. 

'We have trusted each other in much more dangerous affairs than this, 'Gambardella said, almost in a whisper, 'but I have never before knownyou to lose your heart to the subject of our operations. '

'"Subject" is good!' answered Trombin. '"Subject" is excellent! Youspeak like a teacher of anatomy! But, so far, you are right, for Icannot take my eyes from that adorable lady. My friend, do you noticethe exquisite curve from the throat to the shoulder and from theshoulder to the elbow? And the marvellously suggestive fall of theskirt? And the reflection of the sunshine from overhead in her wonderfulhair where it shows from under her veil? Answer me, have you ever seenanything more perfect in art or nature?'

'No, nor anything more complete than your madness, ' answeredGambardella. 'If you speak a little louder she will hear you!'

'And turn her angel's eyes to mine!' whispered Trombin sentimentally. 'There is no poetry in your soul, my friend! You were certainly bornwithout any heart, or, if I may say so, with a heart like a Germanprune, all dried up and hard, and needing to be boiled for hours insyrup to soften it! On the other hand, I may compare my own to the freshfruit on the tree in July, delicate, juicy, and almost palpitating inthe sunshine with its own sweetness!'

Gambardella smiled sourly and shook his head. 

'You once had a good intelligence, ' he said, 'but it is shattered. Areyou capable of listening to me like a sensible being, while that lady isin sight? If not, come with me behind the pilaster, for I have somethingto say before we separate. '

As if admitting that he was helpless so long as he could gaze onOrtensia, Trombin allowed his friend to lead him away into the shadow. 

'Now, listen, ' said Gambardella. 'We are playing three games, and if youcall yours one, it is the fourth, and the stakes are high. The smallestmistake or hesitation will lose us everything, as you know, and beforelong we shall be living in an attic again and supping on salt fish andolives. But if we win we shall have money enough to enjoy a whole yearof luxury, and with a little economy to live comfortably for a muchlonger time. '

'I know it, ' answered Trombin, on whom the stronger will of hiscompanion made an impression. 'I shall keep my head at the right moment, never fear!'

'But in order that we may risk nothing, I had better play the first partof the comedy, since that is the most important to the success of thewhole. '

The two cut-throats looked at each other steadily for some moments, asif neither meant to give way, and possibly they remembered their firstmeeting, a good many years earlier; for their acquaintance had begun ina sharp quarrel, in which they had almost instantly fallen to fighting, and it was not till they had fenced for nearly twenty minutes, without ascratch on either side, though each was trying to kill the other, thatthey had both lowered their rapiers in mutual admiration, and hadforthwith made the alliance which had never been shaken since. 

Yet, though they were so evenly matched in strength and skill, Gambardella was the more determined character, and in important momentslike the present his decision generally prevailed; and so it ended now, for Trombin at last turned his round eyes away and nodded his assent. 

'Very well, ' he said, in a tone of resignation. 'Then I will wait forStradella at the door of the sacristy. That was the original plan. Hark!He is singing now!'

The two came out from behind the pillar and stood still to listen; andGambardella's eyes gazed steadily at the vast mosaic above the tribune, while his friend's look fixed itself again on Ortensia's gracefulfigure, and he feasted his sight, while his ears were filled with themost rare music that the world had ever heard in that day. 

Only those who have listened to a beautiful voice singing in the Laterantowards evening can understand that, in spite of the grievousdisfigurements of the barocco age, and the exaggerated moderndecorations of the nineteenth century, the 'Mother of all Churches, ' asthe Basilica is called, can still seem the most deeply and trulyhallowed place of worship in Christendom. There is a mystery in it atthe sunset hour which is felt by all men, though none can explain it;the light glows and fades there as nowhere else, the shadows have asweet solemnity of their own, and consummate art, or supremegood-fortune, has made the vast nave and colonnaded aisles responsive tothe softest notes the human voice can breathe. First the full organblares out triumphantly alone, and by and by the chorus, borne up by themaster instrument, swells from a hundred throats in such tremendousharmonies that the marble pavement seems alive and thrilling under aman's feet; yet the words are not lost in a clashing din of senselessnoise, for every one of them is complete and reaches the astonished earunbroken and distinct. Then, in an instant, the enormous gale of soundis hushed and leaves no echo, and one voice alone is singing a lowmelody, divinely spiritual as an angel's prayer. It rises presently, full and strong, but every syllable rings out clear and perfect, even tothe outer doors; it sinks to all but a whisper, yet each delicatearticulation floats unbroken to the remotest corner of the outer aisle, till he who listens feels the word vibrating in his heart rather than inhis outward ears. 

Ortensia felt more than that, for the music was that of the man sheloved so well, and the single voice was his too, and the prayer it sangwas for her, and was in her heart while she listened; and, moreover, Alessandro Stradella was not matched in voice or genius by any singer ofhis age. It would be as hopeless to attempt a description of his singingon that day as to analyse the feelings that thrilled Ortensia. There aredelights that must be felt to be believed, and only three are noble, for they have their sources in true love, and in supreme art, and inhonourable fight for wife and child and country. Ortensia felt the firsttwo of these together; but he who dies, not having known even one ofthem, had better not have lived at all. 

As afternoon turned to evening, the straight golden beams overheadmelted to a red glow that spread downwards and illuminated all the greatchurch for a little while; then the light deepened to purple, and thatsoftened to violet, and the candles about the high altar under thetabernacle shone out through thin clouds of incense like many stars. Again Stradella's voice was heard alone, and Ortensia sank upon herknees beside her pillar, though it was not yet quite time for kneeling. It was as if she could bear no more of such intense pleasure withoutpraying to heaven that it might be hers hereafter to love her true loveto all ages, and for ever to hear his voice singing to her in a place ofpeace. 

The Bravi had now parted company, and Trombin had quietly gone out ofthe church, leaving Gambardella alone. The dark-faced man in black movedslowly and noiselessly as a shadow; he crossed the nave far down by thedoor, and walked up the outer aisle on the south side, till he could gono farther up for the crowd; then he turned to his right, making his wayquietly through the multitude wherever the people were least closelypacked, and he emerged at last not far from where Ortensia was kneeling, and with all the appearance of having come out of the thick of thepress, which was exactly what he wished her to believe. 

She was still kneeling, and Cucurullo was standing beside her, hat inhand. It was now so dark in the body of the Basilica that Stradellacould not possibly see any one there, especially as he was dazzled bythe many candles that illuminated the upper end of the church. 

Gambardella bowed gravely and bent down to speak near Ortensia's ear. 

'I have a message from the Maestro for you, ' he said, almost in awhisper. 

Ortensia had already looked up with a little surprise, which nowincreased. 

'A message?' she repeated. 'We came here together, and he has not leftthe organ loft since!'

'Precisely, ' answered Gambardella, unmoved. 'I was standing in the crowdjust below, and when he had finished directing the motett he made me asign to go to the steps at the back. I went, and he was already halfwaydown the ladder. He seemed much agitated. You must have noticed howstrangely his voice thrilled in that last piece he sang. '

'Yes. Tell me what he said!'

Ortensia was already breathless with anxiety, and as she spoke she gotupon her feet. Gambardella helped her. 

'He had a note in his hand. It was a warning which some one had broughtto him in the loft. Altieri's plan is to conceal a number of men in yourapartment this last night that you are to sleep there. When all is quietthey are to gag you and your husband, and carry you downstairs to DonAlberto's carriage. If you attempt to go home to the palace the schemewill inevitably succeed. '

Ortensia stood leaning back against the pilaster very white. Gambardellacontinued. 

'The Maestro asked me if I knew of any place of safety to which youcould both go to-night before leaving Rome to-morrow. I told him that myfriend and I have just hired a small house in a quiet part of the city, which is at your service, especially as we have not yet moved to it. Hebegged me to take you there at once before Don Alberto can leave thechurch, and possibly see you driving away with me. '

'But my husband----' interrupted Ortensia. 

'My friend Trombin is already at the door of the sacristy, and willbring him to you as soon as he can get away. It will be nearly half anhour before the Benediction is over. But there is no time to be lost. Ah--I forgot! He wished Cucurullo to hasten to the palace and get hismanuscripts and his lute, and any small necessaries for you that can behidden under a cloak. Your man can get there, and be on his way backbefore Don Alberto can be at home. Even if the men are already concealedin the apartment they will not trouble Cucurullo for fear of betrayingtheir master. As for your woman, Altieri has probably had her arrestedand taken away. '

Gambardella had purposely told his story so that Cucurullo could hearit, and had glanced at him from time to time to be sure that heunderstood. 

'Are you afraid to go alone?' asked the Bravo, not at allcontemptuously. 

'No, sir. I am not afraid. Where shall I find my master when I have gotthe things?'

'Do you know where Santa Prassede is, in that narrow street near SantaMaria Maggiore?'

'Certainly, sir. Shall I wait at the side door of the church? It is alonely place. '

'Yes. Be there as soon as you can. The house is close by, but I couldnot easily make you understand which it is. ' Gambardella turned toOrtensia. 'Will you come with me?' he asked. 'My friend and I have acarriage, and it is at the main door. '

Ortensia laid her hand on the Bravo's arm, not doubting that she wasobeying her husband's wishes for her safety and his. It would have takenmore than Don Alberto's rude assertion to make her and Stradelladistrust the men who had helped them so efficiently in their flight. Thetwo might be Bravi, as he said, but they were friends, and in such acase as this they were the very friends the young couple needed. 

The three entered the inner aisle to avoid all possibility of being seenby Don Alberto, and hastened towards the main door. Though Ortensia wasnot timid, her heart beat a little faster when she thought of the dangerfrom which she was escaping. It was already nearly dark in the church, but the twilight was still bright outside, and the carriage was standingquite close to the old porch; for the present portico was not builtthen, and the steep carriage road ended in a square patch of pavementbefore the doors. 

Cucurullo glanced at the coachman and recognised Tommaso, who nodded tohim with a friendly smile. Then the hunchback hurried away on hiserrand, leaving Gambardella to take care of Ortensia, who was alreadygetting in. 

'To Santa Prassede, ' said the Bravo to the coachman, in a tone meant forOrtensia's ears. 

Then he got in, shut the door, and seated himself beside her, boltupright, with his rapier between his knees, and his hands clasped on thehilt. Ortensia glanced at him in the dim light, and noticed his attitudewith satisfaction, and not without reflecting on the terror she wouldfeel if Don Alberto were in his place. Nothing could be more reassuringthan Gambardella's behaviour. 

'I suppose the carriage will go back for my husband?' she said. 'TheCanons lent us one of theirs to bring us to the church and take us home, but you will not trust to that, will you?'

'No, indeed! If you do not mind being alone in the house for twentyminutes I will go back with this carriage, or it can go without me and Iwill stay with you. '

'I shall not be afraid, ' Ortensia answered rashly. 'On the contrary, Ishall feel much safer if I know that you are going for my husbandyourself, for there can be no mistake then. '

'Precisely, ' Gambardella said. 'That will be the best way. '

'How kind you are!' Ortensia sighed, and leaned back in the deep seat. 

She did not know Rome very well yet, and it was the hour when all thelittle snail-shell lamps were being lighted for the feast, and theirglimmer still further confused her; besides, she was not quite surewhere Santa Prassede was, nor in what sort of neighbourhood it wassituated. In that wide region, then almost without inhabitants, andmostly divided into hedged vineyards and market-gardens, small groups ofhouses stood here and there, more or less alike, but generally in theneighbourhood of the ancient churches which had been built before thecity was unpeopled in the Middle Ages. Ortensia was not in the leastsurprised when the carriage stopped before a decent-looking littlehouse, after ascending a steep hill. Gambardella opened the carriage andgot out to help her down. 

'Are you quite sure that you do not mind being left alone here for awhile?' he asked, as he unlocked the door of the house, and held it openfor her to go in. 

'If you can give me a light I shall not mind being alone at all, 'Ortensia answered, and she went in. 

He followed her at once, shut the door behind him to keep out the chillybreeze, and began the process of getting a light with flint and steeland tinder and one of those wooden matches dipped in sulphur, which hadthen been recently invented. By the sparks he made Ortensia saw that hewas standing beside an old marble table on which stood a brass lamp witha three-cornered bowl that slid up and down on a stem. 

The place had the peculiar odour of small Italian houses that are builtof stone, that stand in vineyards or market-gardens, and that are rarelyopened; it is a smell compounded of the odour of the worm-eatenfurniture, smoke-stained kitchen ceiling and wall, and the dusty plasterwithin the house, combined with a faint sub-odour of growing things, from vines to broccoli, which finds its way through the cracks of badlyfitting doors and windows. 

When there was light at last, Ortensia saw that she was in a commonplacelittle whitewashed vestibule, from which a single flight of stone stairsled directly to the door of the living rooms above. Gambardella went upfirst, holding the brass lamp low down for her to see the steps. Theroom into which he led her had a Venetian pavement, and was sufficientlywell furnished. The walls were painted to represent views which werepresumably visible from the windows by day. 

'Are you quite sure there is no one in the house?' asked Ortensia, wholiked the prospect of solitude less and less as the time for being leftalone came nearer. 

'There is a bedroom at each end, ' answered Gambardella. 'You shall seefor yourself. Above this there is a sort of attic which can only bereached from outside by steps that also lead to a terrace on the roof. '

He showed her the two bedrooms, which had evidently been just cleanedand put in order, and looked very neat. Ortensia was reassured. 

'And what is there downstairs?' she asked. 

'A kitchen and a dining-room, ' Gambardella answered. 'But I must be offif I am to fetch the Maestro. We shall be here in half an hour at theutmost. '

Just then a great bell not very far off tolled three strokes, then four, then five, and then one, and an instant later it rang out in a peal. 

'It is Ave Maria, ' Gambardella said. 'The Benediction is over by thistime. You had better come down with me and hook the chain inside thefront door. '

Ortensia followed him down the stairs again, and he carried the lamp. Ashe went she heard him hurriedly repeating the Angelus. 

'"Angelus Domini nuntiavit, "' he began, quite audibly, but the wordsthat followed were said in a whisper. 

Ortensia repeated the prayer to herself too, partly by force of habit, no doubt, but partly because it was a comfort to say it with thekind-hearted friend who had once more intervened to help her and herhusband in time of danger. Even the Bravo, who could say his prayersuncommonly fast, had not finished when they reached the foot of thestairs, and as Ortensia set the lamp on the corner of the yellow marbletable she distinctly heard him say the first words of the thirdresponsory. 

'"And dwelt with us, "' she answered quietly and clearly. 

He laid his hand on the lock of the hall door, and when he turned to herhis eyes met hers with a look she had never seen. Both repeated thethird Ave Maria aloud, while he gazed earnestly at her pure young face, so sweetly framed in the soft folds of the veil. Then without waitingfor the final prayer he opened the door, and as he shut it after him sheheard him say something aloud, but the words were so strange andunexpected that she repeated them to herself twice while she was hookingthe chain before she quite realised what they were, and understood them. 

'"And Judas went out and hanged himself. "'

That was what he had said as he went away. 

CHAPTER XXI

When Stradella came down from the organ-loft after the Benediction hewas in haste to reach the sacristy before any of the choristers, as hedid not mean to keep Ortensia waiting a moment longer than necessary. But to his annoyance a number of his admiring acquaintances had alreadymade their way to that side; and this was the more easy, because thethrong of common people who had pressed upon the fashionable company hadalready retreated down the church to the main entrance in haste to seethe beginning of the witches' feast and the snail-shell illumination. 

At every step the musician had to shake hands and receive civilly thecongratulations that were showered upon him; and suddenly Don Albertowas beside him, and was drawing him away. 

'The Queen insists on thanking you herself, dear Maestro, ' said thecourtier, smiling. 'I see that you are in a hurry, but royalty isroyalty, and you must sacrifice yourself on the altar of your own famewith a good grace!'

Unsuspecting of harm as he was, Stradella yielded, and tried not to lookdispleased. While speaking Altieri had dragged him through the crowdtowards Christina, who was standing up, evidently waiting for them, andlooking particularly mannish in her three-cornered hat and short skirt. The only ornament she had put on was the magnificent cross of diamondswhich she wore on her bosom at all times. 

'One has to come to church to see you, Maestro, ' she cried in a heavilyplayful manner. 'Do you know that you have not darkened my doors for afortnight, sir? What is the meaning of this? But I forgive you, for yourmusic has ravished my soul, falling like a refreshing shower on myburning anger!'

The metaphors were badly mixed, but Stradella bent one knee and made apretence of kissing the unshapely hand she held out to him, and hemuttered a formula expressive of gratitude. 

'I am overcome by your Majesty's kindness, ' he said, or something tothat effect. 

'To-morrow, ' said the ex-Queen, 'I shall send you the medal and diplomaof my Academy as a slight acknowledgment of the pleasure I have had thisafternoon. At present Don Alberto is going to introduce me to the quaintRoman custom of eating snails in the open air. Will you join us, Maestro? But I see that you are still in your robes, and I have no doubtyou look forward to a more substantial supper than a dish of molluscsfried in oil! Good-night, my dear Maestro. _Vale_, as those delightfulancients used to say!'

She waved her hand affectedly as she turned to go. It seemed an age toStradella before he reached the sacristy, and when he got there he wassurprised to find Trombin waiting by the door of the choristers'robing-room. The Bravo went in with him, and began to help him out ofhis cotta and cassock. 

'I came to tell you that your lady is already gone home, ' Trombin saidin a low voice. 'She felt a sudden dizziness and weakness, as if shewere going to faint. Luckily I was not far off, and when I saw Cucurullosupporting her I went to his assistance, and we took her out to hercarriage, which was waiting. '

Stradella looked at him anxiously, but the Bravo only smiled. 

'Nothing serious, I am sure, ' the latter said, in a reassuring tone. 'But she will be glad to see you as soon as possible, and if the Canons'carriage has not come back, my friend and I will take you home at oncein ours; we have just bought one for our convenience. '

'Thank you, ' Stradella answered, letting Trombin help him to pull hisarms out of the tight sleeves of the purple silk cassock. 'You are verykind. '

He was evidently too anxious about Ortensia to say more, and in a fewseconds he had got into his coat, and Trombin was arranging the broadlinen collar for him as cleverly as any valet could have done. 

Trombin was well aware that Tommaso was not coming back to the Lateranwith the coach, since the bells were already ringing for Ave Maria, andthe man was to meet Don Alberto behind the Baptistery in an hour--'thefirst hour of the night'; but he pretended angry surprise at not findingthe carriage waiting. The one provided by the Canons was there, however, and Stradella recognised it, which Trombin could not have done, amongstthe crowd of equipages that were waiting for the numerous ecclesiasticswho had taken part in the service. It was now all but quite dark, butthe coachman had received orders to be near the door and ready, lest thefamous singer should catch cold. 

Stradella was in far too great a hurry to question him, and jumped in atonce, glad that Trombin should go with him. The carriage drove away at asmart pace, long before the owners of the other coaches were ready to gohome. 

Before the gateway of the Palazzo Altieri, Stradella got out, and tosseda florin up to the coachman, who caught it with a grin, and drove awayat once. 

'A thousand thanks!' the musician said, shaking Trombin's hand. 

'I have done nothing, ' the Bravo answered. 'I hope to hear to-morrowthat your lady----'

But Stradella was already gone, and was running up the broad staircaseat the top of his speed. A moment more and he knocked at his own door, of which the heavy key had been in Cucurullo's keeping when they had allleft the house together to go to the Lateran. 

Pina opened the door in her usual quiet way, and was a little surprisedto see Stradella alone. 

'How is she?' he asked, as soon as he saw her face by the light of thehanging lamp in the hall. 

'Who, sir?' inquired the woman, not understanding. 

'My wife----' He sprang past her to go in. 

'The Lady Ortensia has not come home, ' he heard Pina say behind him, ina tone of such astonishment that he stopped before he had reached thedoor of the sitting-room. 

'Not come home?' he cried in amazement. 'You are out of your senses!'

Pina had shut the front door, and she followed him as he rushed into thesitting-room after speaking. She had lit the lamp, and it was burningquietly on the table. The door of the bedroom was opened wide to let theair circulate, but there was no light there. Nevertheless Stradella ranon to the bed. 

'Ortensia!' he cried, feeling for her head on the pillows, for he couldnot see. 

Then he uttered a low exclamation of surprise and looked round. Pina wasalready bringing in the lamp, and he realised at once that she hadspoken the truth. Ortensia had not come home; but even now no doubt ofthe Bravi crossed his mind, and he was anxious only because Trombin hadsaid that she was feeling ill. The carriage must have broken down orsome other accident had happened which would explain why Trombin had notfound the conveyance waiting as he had expected. The thought of apossible accident was distressing enough, but it was a comfort to thinkthat Gambardella and Cucurullo were with her, and would bring her homein due time. 

In a few words Stradella repeated to Pina what Trombin had told him, andin his own anxiety he did not see that she was now very pale, and thather hand shook so violently that she had to set down the lamp she heldfor fear of dropping it. 

'She will be at home in a few minutes, ' Stradella said in conclusion, trying to reassure himself. 'I will go downstairs again and wait forher. Give me my cloak, Pina, for I am very hot, and it will be coolunder the archway. '

Trembling in every limb, Pina got his wide black cloak and laid it uponhis shoulders. He drew up one corner of it and threw it round his neck, so as to muffle his throat against the outer air. 

'Pina, ' he said, 'your mistress was feeling ill. She was dizzy, myfriend said. We must have something ready for her to take. What will bebest?'

'Perhaps a little infusion of camomile, ' Pina answered, her teethchattering with fear. 

He could not help noticing from her voice that there was somethingwrong, and he now looked at her for the first time and saw that she waslivid. 

'I have a chill, ' she managed to say. 'I have caught the fever, sir. Itdoes not matter! I have some camomile leaves, and I will make theinfusion while you wait downstairs. '

'You ought to be in bed yourself, ' Stradella said kindly, but at thesame instant it occurred to him that Ortensia had perhaps taken a fevertoo. 'To-morrow I will try to procure from the Pope's physician some ofthat wonderful Peruvian bark that cures the fever, ' he added. 'They callit quina, I think, and few apothecaries have it. '

This was true, though nearly forty years had then already passed sincethe Spanish Countess of Cinchon had first brought the precious bark toEurope, and had named it after herself, Cinchona. 

Stradella was not yet by any means desperately anxious about his wifewhen he went downstairs again, as may be understood from his last wordsto the serving-woman. He was, in fact, wondering whether Ortensiaherself had not a touch of the ague, which was so common then that noone thought it a serious illness. He went downstairs with the convictionthat she would appear within a quarter of an hour escorted byGambardella and Cucurullo, and he began to walk under the great archway, from the entrance to the courtyard and back again. 

As soon as he was gone Pina went to her own little room, taking the lampwith her. First she dressed herself in her best frock, which was of goodbrown Florentine cloth; and then she took a large blue cotton kerchiefand made a bundle consisting of some linen and a few necessaries. Onthat very morning Stradella had paid her wages, expecting to leave Romethe next day, and she took the money and tied it up securely in a littlescrap of black silk and hid it in her dress. Lastly, she put on the samebrown cloak and hood she had worn on the journey from Venice, took herbundle under it, replaced the lamp on the sitting-room table, and leftthe apartment by the small door which gave access to the servants'staircase; a few moments later she slipped out of the palace, unobservedexcept by the old door-keeper who kept the back entrance and let herout. 

'I am going to the apothecary's for some camomile, ' she said quietly, and the old man merely nodded as he opened the street door for her. 

The Bravi had cared very little whether Pina was at home or not whenCucurullo came to get the objects for which Stradella had sent him atGambardella's suggestion. One of two things must happen, they thought, for it was clear that Cucurullo would explain everything to her, if hesaw her. Either she would come with him to Santa Prassede, and there shemight wait with him all night, for all they cared; or else she would runaway as soon as he left the house, for they guessed that she would beafraid. But things had turned out differently. When Cucurullo hadreached the apartment Pina was not there, for she had just gone down thebackstairs to get the evening supply of milk which the milkman left withthe keeper of the back door. Cucurullo, not finding her, had picked upthe lute, the case of manuscripts, and a small hand valise which wasalready packed for the journey with necessaries belonging both toStradella and his wife, and he had gone off again before Pina hadreturned. 

She did not miss the things till Stradella came, and she carried thelamp into the bedroom; but then she understood that some one had been inthe house during her short absence, and it flashed upon her thatOrtensia had already been carried off, though she could not have toldwhy she connected such a possibility with what she took for a theftcommitted in the apartment. Insane terror took possession of her then, with the vision of being left behind at the mercy of Don Alberto, andshe fled without hesitation, taking with her nothing that was not herown, and only what she could easily carry for a journey. As forCucurullo, he had no time to waste, and thought that in any case shewould be safe enough from Don Alberto's men, whose only business wouldbe to seize her mistress. Being fearless himself, it never occurred tohim that she would run away out of sheer fright. 

Stradella paced the flagstones under the archway, waiting for thecarriage, and as the time passed his anxiety grew steadily till itbecame almost unbearable. The tall bearded porter stood motionless bythe entrance, resting both his hands on the huge silver pommel of hispolished staff. He could stand in that position for hours withoutmoving. At last Stradella spoke to him. 

'Has Don Alberto come home yet, Gaetano?' he asked. 

'No, sir. ' The porter touched his large three-cornered hat respectfully, for the musician had that morning given him a handsome tip preparatoryto leaving. 'His Excellency may not come home till very late, ' hevouchsafed to add, with a faint smile. 

Stradella saw that he was inclined to talk, and though he himself had nofancy for entering into conversation with servants, he made a remark inthe nature of a question. 

'I dare say his Excellency sometimes does not come home beforemorning. '

'Sometimes, sir, ' answered Gaetano, grinning in his big black beard. 'But then he generally gives me notice, so that I need not sit up allnight. He is a very good-hearted young gentleman, sir, as I dare say youknow, for you are a friend of his. And since you have asked me if he hascome home, and you are perhaps waiting for him, I can tell you that hewill not be back to-night, nor perhaps to-morrow, for that was themessage he sent me by his valet this afternoon. '

'Thank you, ' said Stradella. 'But I am not waiting for him. I amexpecting my wife and my man. '

He nodded and went back to his beat under the archway, and before he hadwalked twice the distance between the gate and the courtyard, all thebells of Rome rang out the first hour of the night. An hour had passedsince Ortensia had let Gambardella out of the little house in the Via diSanta Sabina. 

The peal was still ringing from the belfry of the Lateran when DonAlberto and Tommaso met on the green behind the church, not far from theclosed door of the sacristy. They came from opposite directions, andTommaso was leading two saddled mules. The young courtier had succeededin making his escape from Queen Christina and her party, promising tojoin them at supper at the Palazzo Riario within an hour. 

In the lonely little house in Via di Santa Sabina, Ortensia was sittingupstairs by the table, pale and upright in her chair, and listening forthe slightest sound that might break the profound silence. 

But she heard nothing. The three wicks of the brass lamp on the tableburned with a steady flame, and without any of those very faintcrepitations which olive-oil lamps make heard when the weather is aboutto change. There was not the least sound in the small house: if therewere mice anywhere they were asleep; if worms were boring in the oldfurniture they were working silently; if any house swallows had madetheir nests under the eaves they were roosting. The stillness was likethat of a solid and inert mass, as if all the world had been suddenlypetrified and made motionless. 

It seemed to Ortensia that she had never been quite alone for so long atime in her life; it was certainly true that she had never before beenlocked up in a lonely house at night without a human being within call. First, her feet grew strangely cold; then she felt a sort of creepingfear stealing up to her out of the floor, as if she had drunk hemlockand death were travelling slowly towards her heart, paralysing everylimb and joint on its relentless way. 

It was not senseless physical fright, like Pina's; it would not driveher to leave the house and run away into the darkness outside; if therewere anything to face Ortensia would face it, or try to, but whatterrified her now was that there was nothing, not a sound of life, notthe breath of a night breeze amongst leaves outside, not the stirring ofa mouse indoors. It was like the silence of the tomb. 

Suddenly she heard bells, but they sounded far off, and all the windowswere tightly closed. She crossed herself with difficulty, and whispereda 'Requiem aeternam' for all Christian souls, as good Catholics areenjoined to do at the first hour of night. But it was an effort to raiseher hand to her forehead in making the sign; and suddenly, as if inanswer to her prayer, she seemed to hear the Bravo's voice close besideher:--

'"And Judas went out and hanged himself. "'

With the energy of a healthy young nature that revolts againstsupernatural fears, she rose to her feet and went to one of the windows, of which there were two on each side, looking over the road and towardsthe vineyard respectively. She tried the fastenings of the first andmoved them, but she could not do more, though she used all her strength. The frame seemed to be stuck beyond the possibility of being openedwithout tools. She went to the next, and the next, till she had triedall four; then her fear came back, for it was all more like a bad dreamthan a reality, and the certainty flashed upon her that the windows hadbeen purposely fastened with nails or screws to prevent her from lookingout. 

Gambardella had promised to come back with her husband in twentyminutes. Three times that interval had now passed, and more too, and shewas still alone. It was not possible that any one should have knockedfor admittance without her hearing the sound, for the door of thesitting-room was open to the stairs, and the house was no bigger than acottage. 

She went back to her chair by the table, ashamed of feeling that shecould hardly stand. It was not strange that her fear of her ownsituation should be stronger just then than her anxiety for Stradella, believing, as she did, that Don Alberto had made his plans for that verynight, and thinking, as was natural, that his great power in Rome mighteven have sufficed to have her followed from the Lateran, in which casehe could well hinder her husband and Gambardella from joining her, andshe would be at his mercy just as if she had gone home to sleep in thepalace. 

Tommaso and young Altieri rode quickly away from the illuminated meadow, which was now full of people who either thronged the overflowing booths, or walked about on the grass laughing and talking, and waiting tillthose who were supping should make room for them. The riding mules ofthose times were swift and much surer of foot than horses, and it wasnot long before the two men reached the rickety wooden gate of the oldJewish cemetery. 

Here Tommaso dismounted, and whispering to Don Alberto to do the same, he tied the mules' bridles to the gate-post, which was still sound. Thenhe led the way up the hill, and both men trod so cautiously that whenthey passed the little house Ortensia did not hear a footfall in theroad through the closed windows. Tommaso did not stop at the house door, however, but led Altieri on to the next, which was placed in the longwall and gave access to the vineyard. It was not fastened, and both wentin, Tommaso putting his arm through Don Alberto's to guide him and helphim if he stumbled. 

The rain on the previous night had softened the earth, and there was apath between the inside of the wall and the trained vines. They followedthis, until they were twenty paces from the house, when Tommaso stopped. 

'The lady is alone in there, ' he said, pointing. 'Show me the money. '

Don Alberto was prepared. With his left hand he produced a heavydeerskin purse, and with the other he drew a long knife from under hiscloak. It gleamed in the starlight, and Tommaso saw it not far from histhroat; but with the utmost coolness he took the purse and tried itsweight in his hand, before untying the strings to feel the coins. Whenhe was satisfied, he tied the purse again and gave it back to DonAlberto, who at once returned his knife to its sheath. 

'To satisfy you, ' said the old highwayman, 'I have set a ladder againstthe window of the room where she is probably waiting, and I have made asmall hole through the outer shutter, through which you can see her. Youwill then come down the ladder, and I will let you into the house by theback door, which is open. Before you go in, you will hand me the money, and I will leave you, after giving you a light. We had better make nonoise, lest she should come downstairs. '

'Very well. Take me to the ladder. '

Tommaso now struck through the vines, skirting the angle of the house atsome distance, till he came to the straight walk that led to the backdoor. Don Alberto was used to night adventures, and saw the ladderdistinctly before he came to it. When they had reached it, walking ontip-toe, Tommaso planted his foot firmly against the foot of it, so asto hold it steady, and he pointed to a little ray of light that shoneout through the hole in the shutter. Don Alberto nodded and went up verycautiously. It was one of those long ladders used by Italianvine-dressers and had heavy rungs very far apart. Tommaso had wound ragsround the tops of the side pieces, so that they should make no noiseagainst the wall. Don Alberto stopped when his head was on a level withthe ray of light, and applying his eye to the hole he saw the beautifulVenetian sitting motionless by the table. Having satisfied himself thatshe was within and alone, he lost no time in coming down, and the resthappened as Tommaso had explained that it should, except that it did notprove necessary to strike a light; for the back door opened under thestairs, in the small vestibule, and the door above being open, the lampin the sitting-room sent down a glimmer from above that was quite enoughto show the way. 

At the first sound of steps below Ortensia started to her feet, understanding instantly that some one had entered the house by stealth, since she herself had put up the chain at the front door. 

For one fatal moment she hesitated and stood motionless. Then, as thefootsteps mounted the little staircase at a run, she sprang to shut thedoor; but it was too late, for Don Alberto was already on the threshold. He caught her with one arm and almost lifted her back into the room, while with the other hand he slammed the door, turned the key, andthrust it into his pocket. 

She was struggling wildly in his arms then, but he laughed, as ruthlesschildren do when they have caught a little bird and can torment it attheir will. 

'Softly, softly!' he cried. 'You will hurt yourself, my sweet! There, there! You have scratched your pretty arm already!'

It was true. She had cut her arm against one of the chiselled buttons ofhis coat, just above the wrist, and the red drops ran down over his lacewristband. But she felt no pain and she fought like a tigress againsthis hold; so far she had uttered no sound, but now her voice rang out. 

'Coward!' she cried suddenly, and with one mad wrench she had her handsat his throat, and her strong little fingers were almost crushing hiswindpipe. 

He could not hold her now, for she was strangling him; to free himselfhe let go of her waist and caught at her wrists to tear her hands away. But her strength was like a strong man's in that moment, and he couldnot loosen her hold. 

He felt that in another moment she would have strangled him outright, for his eyes were already starting from his head, and the room swam. With furious violence he twisted himself sideways and tried to hurl herfrom him. Even then she did not loosen her desperate grip, but as heswung her and himself half round, her head struck the wall of the room. Then her hands relaxed instantly, and as he reeled backwards inregaining his balance, he saw her sink to the floor, stunned andunconscious. 

[Illustration: 'Trombin advanced upon him slowly, looking more like anavenging demon than a man']

A crash like thunder broke upon the moment's silence that followed. Thewindow opposite the table was wide open and shattered, the frame andshutters split to matchwood, the glass in splinters, and, almost as DonAlberto started and turned round, Trombin sprang into the room hatless, with his long rapier in his hand, his round blue eyes wide open andglaring like a wild cat's, his pink cheeks fiery red, and his longyellow hair streaming out from his head like a mane. 

At this terrific and most unexpected vision, young Altieri staggeredback towards the locked door. Trombin advanced upon him slowly, sword inhand, till he was within three paces, looking more like an avengingdemon than a man. Yet when he spoke his voice was calm and steady. 

'If it is agreeable to you to draw, sir, ' he said, 'I will do you thehonour of killing you like a gentleman. If, on the other hand, as Igather from your attitude, you do not think the moment propitious forfighting, I will throw you out of the window as I would a lackey whoinsulted a lady, sir. Pray choose quickly, sir, before I have countedthree, sir, for I am in haste. One--two--three!'

The last word was scarcely out of his mouth when Trombin dashed forward, and, dropping his rapier at the same time, threw his arms round thecourtier's knees; he flung him over his shoulder like a sack of flour, ran with him to the open window and dropped him out. 

Whether he meant to kill him, or did not care what became of him, isnot certain, but Trombin was a gentleman who generally kept his head, even when he seemed to be most excited; and it is certain that, insteadof falling some four or five yards directly to the ground, Don Albertofound himself clinging to the ladder halfway down. It turned sidewayswith his weight, slowly at first, and fell with a clatter on thedrip-stones, when his feet were already touching the ground. He wasdizzy, the tumble had bruised his shins, and he had sprained his hands alittle, but he was otherwise unhurt, and the blood on his wristbands andcollar was from the scratch on Ortensia's arm. 

For a few seconds he steadied himself against the corner of the housewhere he had fallen with the ladder. Then he began to make his waytowards the door in the vineyard wall, and when he had walked thirty orforty yards he stood still, whistled twice, and waited for an answer. But none came. 

He had, in fact, sent his own valet and a running footman to the Lateranto follow him and Tommaso, and to note the house they entered. Therunner was then to hasten back to the Basilica, where Don Alberto'scoach was waiting, and was to come to the house with it, or to thenearest point it could reach. The footman was the most famous runner inRoman lackeydom and boasted that he could always cover a mile in fiveminutes, up hill and down and over the worst roads, and in a shortertime on a smooth and level path. As for the coach, it could drive to thevery door of the little house; for the Via di Santa Sabina had alwaysbeen practicable for vehicles, because it led to the castle of theSavelli, which was then partly in ruins and partly turned into aDominican monastery. So all was well planned, and Don Alberto's valetwas to hide near the last door his master entered in case the latterneeded help. 

Yet when Altieri whistled softly there was no answer. He went on twentypaces farther and whistled again, with the same result. He reached thedoor in the wall, and whistled a third time, peering into the gloomamongst the vines. At last he went out into the road, determined to goaway on foot and alone, rather than to risk another interview with thequick-tempered man who had thrown him out of the window. 

He went away on foot, indeed, but neither alone nor unaided; for he hadno sooner stepped out of the door than a most unpleasant and unexpectedthing happened. To his surprise and mortification, not to mention thepain he felt, an iron hand caught him by the back of his collar and ranhim down the hill at the double-quick, encouraging his speed with ahearty kick at every third step or so. He ran by the house in a moment, being positively kicked past the door, and he ran on to the gate of theJewish cemetery, whence the mules had now disappeared, and the boot ofhis implacable driver almost lifted him off his feet. The hand that heldhim was like iron, and the foot felt very like it too. Down the hill hewas forced to run, till suddenly, at the turn near the bottom, where theroad is wider, he came upon his own coach on its way up. 

Then the kicking ceased indeed, but the hand did not relax its hold, while the coachman stopped his horses at the sound of quick footstepsjust ahead. An instant later Don Alberto's tormentor had opened thecoach, flung him up inside, and slammed the door on him. 

'Palazzo Altieri!' cried a voice the courtier had heard only oncebefore. 'Be quick! Your master is ill!'

The running footman had already dropped to the ground from behind, andwas at the open carriage window in an instant, springing upon the stepfor orders. But Don Alberto was exhausted and had sunk back in thecushioned seat, panting for breath and aching, not only in every joint, but elsewhere. 

'Home!' he managed to say, as he saw the footman's head at the window. 

There was just room in the road to turn, and a few seconds later thecarriage was rumbling along over the bad road towards the paved streetsof the city, while its only inmate slowly recovered his breath and madeattempts in the dark to repair the disorder of his dress before hereached his palace. But that was not easy, for he had dropped his cloakin the struggle with Ortensia and had lost his hat in falling with theladder; moreover, his collar and wristbands were covered with blood, andhis usually smooth hair looked like a wild man's. Last, and perhapsleast in his estimation, he had given a thousand crowns, in the shape oftwo hundred and fifty gold ducats of Naples, for the pleasure of beinghalf-strangled by a young woman, thrown out of the window by herrescuer, and finally kicked downhill for a distance of at least twohundred and fifty yards by an unseen boot. As an equivalent for so muchmoney these mishaps were unsatisfactory; but what the sufferer now mostdesired was to save some remnant of his dignity before his servants, andthen to be avenged on those who had so signally frustrated his plans. 

He was disappointed in the first of these wishes, at all events, forwhen he was helped from his carriage by the porter and the runningfootman at the foot of the grand staircase, he found himself face toface with Alessandro Stradella, who was as pale as his own collar andhalf mad with anxiety. One glance told the musician that Altieri hadbeen worsted in an adventure, which, he was sure, could only beaccounted for by Ortensia's disappearance. 

'Where is my wife?' asked Stradella, standing in the way on the step. 

Don Alberto was surprised and angry, and his shame at being seen in suchplight, in his own house, overcame any prudence or self-control he hadleft. Besides, he felt himself sufficiently defended by his servants. 

'Your wife?' he said, trying to push Stradella aside. 'She is in alittle house near the Lateran, with her lover!'

'Liar!'

With the ringing insult, the Sicilian's open hand struck Don Albertosuch a blow across the face that he staggered back against the carriagestep, the blood spurting from his nose and lips. 

But almost at the same instant Gaetano, the big porter, and theathletic footman threw themselves bodily upon Stradella, shouting forhelp at the same time. Stablemen and grooms came running from thecourtyard at the cry, and the singer was overpowered in a few moments, though he struggled fiercely, not so much for his freedom as to strikeDon Alberto again. 

'Call the watch, ' said the latter, staunching his blood with a lacehandkerchief as well as he could. 'You are all witnesses. He can betaken to Tor di Nona in my carriage. '

Thereupon, with more dignity than might have been expected of a youngdandy in such a condition, he turned and went slowly up the broad stonestairs, holding his handkerchief to his mouth. He expected his valet tomeet him at his door, but the man was not there: as a matter of fact hewas then lying on his back on a tombstone in the Jewish cemetery, boundhand and foot, and securely gagged; and while he contemplated the stars, he felt much too cool for his comfort. For Gambardella had come upon himlurking near the door in the wall, after Tommaso had passed withAltieri, and the Bravo had made short work of his liberty, returning tothe door in the wall just in time to catch Don Alberto as he came out. 

Don Alberto's commands were law at all times in his father's palace, andon the present occasion the wrath of the whole establishment was on hisside. Moreover, to strike the nephew of both Popes in the face and callhim a liar was an offence which would have sent the noblest patrician inRome to a dungeon in Sant' Angelo, if not to the galleys of CivitąVecchia. 

It was therefore not surprising that Stradella should find himself inTor di Nona within the hour, solidly chained to the wall in a dark cell;and so he was left to reflect upon the consequences of his rashness, though not to regret it, if indeed his gnawing anxiety for Ortensia lefthim room to think of anything else. 

CHAPTER XXII

When Trombin had dropped Don Alberto upon the ladder, to take thechances of a bad fall, he looked down to see what happened, and beingsatisfied that the courtier was not much hurt, he turned at once toOrtensia; for if young Altieri had broken his neck, it might have beennecessary to hasten what was to take place next. As for anything thecourtier might do on the spur of the moment, Trombin knew thatGambardella and Tommaso were in the vineyard, ready to stop anymischief. 

Ortensia was lying by the wall where she had fallen, but was regainingconsciousness, for her limbs stirred now and then, and as the Bravolooked at her she opened her eyes and turned her head. 

'Coward!' she said faintly, as what had happened began to dawn upon herand the recollection of the furious struggle came back. 'Coward!' sherepeated, closing her eyes as Trombin dropped beside her on one knee. 

'I have thrown him out of the window, ' he said quietly. 

She opened her eyes wide now, stared at him and recognised him, thoughas in a dream. Then she tried to raise herself on her elbow, andinstantly he helped her; and feeling the strength of his arm, she gotupon her feet, though with more assistance from him than she knew. Heled her to a stiff little sofa at the other end of the room, picked upDon Alberto's cloak, rolled it into a pillow for her, and made her liedown. She had almost lost consciousness again with the effort of walkingso far. 

He saw the deep scratch on her arm, from which a few drops of blood werestill slowly oozing, and he fetched a basin with cold water and a towelfrom the bedroom, and bathed the slight wound, binding it up afterwardswith his lawn handkerchief, for he was skilled in such matters. Ortensiasmiled faintly, without opening her eyes; but he, with the strangestexpression in the world, drew in his lips till his mouth almostdisappeared; and he fixed his round eyes on the shapely arm he wasdressing, and touched it with a sort of wonder. For there was a secretside of his character which even his friend Gambardella did not know, any more than Trombin knew his companion's own love-story. 

When Trombin said that he was a susceptible creature, full of sentiment, he was telling the truth, though his friend had never believed it. Heloved all women in general, and seemed able to love a number of them inparticular in close succession. Gambardella saw this, and exercised hiswit upon the weakness; but what he never saw and could not guess wasthat his fellow-cut-throat was as shy and timid as a schoolboy in thepresence of his sweetheart for the time being, whether she were of lowdegree or of the burgher class, above which Trombin had never aspiredtill he had seen Ortensia. The reckless Bravo, the perpetrator of ascore of atrocious crimes, the absolutely intrepid swordsman, wouldblush like a girl, and stand speechless and confused when he was alonefor the first time with a pretty girl or a buxom dame whose mereside-glance made the blood tingle in his neck. Moreover, many women knowthat there are plenty of such men in the world; and I dare say that morethan one man may read these lines who has faced the extremest dangerwithout a quickened pulse, but has collapsed like a scared child beforea girl of eighteen or a cool-handed widow of eight-and-twenty. Oddlyenough, those are not the men whom women love least, explain it how youwill. 

So Trombin, who had talked of carrying off Ortensia with even moreassurance than Don Alberto himself, and had just found her senseless onthe floor after he had put her assailant to flight, could no more havehad the boldness to kiss the white arm he was dressing so tenderly andskilfully than young Altieri had found courage to fight him when he hadsuddenly appeared through the window, rapier in hand and glaring like apanther. 

Meanwhile Ortensia came quite to herself, looked at him quietly, andthanked him. 

'Where is he gone?' she asked, for she had not realised what he had saidwhen he had first answered her. 

As he met her eyes Trombin's white forehead blushed, and he steppedback, taking away the basin and towel he had used in washing her wound. 

'Out of the window, gracious lady, ' he said, as he disappeared into thenext room. 

'Out of the window!' cried Ortensia in astonishment. 'Is he dead?'

'No, alive and well, ' answered Trombin from the distance. 'But I hearsomething at this very moment, ' he added, coming back empty-handed andtrying the front window, as if he did not know that it was fastened withnails. 

He laid his ear to the crack, and held out one hand to keep Ortensiasilent. 

'Yes, ' he whispered an instant later, loud enough for her to hear. 'Yes--it is the sound of kicking and running--some one is kicking someone else down the hill--it is gone now!'

He stood upright again and looked round at Ortensia, whose face betrayedher anxiety, now that she was fully conscious. 

'Who can it be?' she asked. 

'Most gentle lady, ' answered Trombin, 'I do not know, but I suspect, pray, hope, and inwardly believe that the patient, if I may so call him, was Don Alberto, and the kicker was very likely my friend Gambardella. '

'But you were to have brought my husband here! Your friend told me so!'

Ortensia's memory came back completely at Gambardella's name, and sheslipped her feet from the sofa to the floor and sat up suddenly. Trombinwas, of course, prepared for the question with a plausible story, but hecould never count on his presence of mind when he was in love and alonefor the first time with the object of his affections. 

'Madam, ' he answered, 'the truth is--or, as I may say, the facts in thecase are----' he stammered and stopped, for the lovely Venetian hadrisen and was beside him already, her frightened eyes very near his, andher hand on his sleeve. His heart beat like a scared bird's and his headwas whirling. 

'Where is my husband?' cried Ortensia in wild anxiety. 'Something hashappened to him, and you are afraid to tell me! For heaven's sake----'

It had never been in Trombin's nature to be rough with a woman. In thetwo or three cases in which he had been concerned in 'removing' a lady, obnoxious to her husband or relations, he had been accused by hiscompanion of being soft-hearted; but while Ortensia was speaking he wasin such a state of rapt adoration that he quite forgot to listen to whatshe said; and instead of answering when she waited for his reply, hetook the hand that lay on his sleeve in his, with such a gentle andsympathetic touch that she did not resist, even when he raised it to hisridiculous little mouth and kissed it delicately, with an air ofrespectful devotion that would not have offended a saint. 

Nor was Ortensia offended; but she was frightened out of her mind by hismanner, for it was as if he were already condoling with her, andoffering his faithful service, before telling her the awful truth. 

'He is dead!' she cried, breaking from him and pressing both hands toher temples in mad grief. 

She would have fallen against the table, if Trombin had not caught herand held her up. He understood instantly how she had mistaken hisaction, and what the question had been which he had not heard. 

'No, no!' he cried energetically. 'He is alive and well! He insisted ongoing back to the palace to wait for Don Alberto when he came home fromthe Lateran to catch you in your rooms! Instead, the villain tracked youhere and got in. It was Tommaso's fault for leaving the back door opento the vineyard, and Altieri fastened it inside, so I broke in throughthe window to save you! We had nailed all the windows fast for yoursafety!'

Ortensia leaned back against the table and looked straight at him. Hecould tell the most amazing untruths with perfect coolness, but just nowhe was so very near the truth that his worst enemy would have believedhim. Untruthful people often have a shifty glance, but the trulyaccomplished liar is he whose clear and limpid eye meets yourstrustfully and sadly, while he tells you falsehoods that would make theFather of Lies himself look grave. The immediate result of Trombin'swords was that Ortensia could almost have thrown her arms round his neckin her joy. 

'Take me to him!' she cried, forgetting everything else. 'Take me tohim! Come!' She tried to drag him towards the door in her haste, but hequietly resisted her. 

'We must wait for Gambardella, ' he said. 'Besides, you will have totrust your husband to settle matters with Don Alberto without you. He isfar more likely to be prudent if they meet alone than if you are besidehim----'

Ortensia's face fell, for she saw that Trombin did not mean to let herleave the house at once. 

'But Don Alberto can do anything, ' she pleaded, with clear foresight ofStradella's temper and consequent danger. 'My husband will accuse him, and will be furiously angry! He will not hesitate to strike him, or tofight him in his own house! And then Don Alberto will have himimprisoned!'

It was, in fact, what was about to happen, and what Trombin himselfexpected. On the other hand, Don Alberto knew very well where the housewas to which he had been taken by Tommaso, for he was a Roman, and everyyard of the road was familiar to him. Within less than an hour it wasmore than likely that he would send a force of sbirri to besiege thehouse, men who would not hesitate to break down the doors if they werenot admitted, and by no means so easy to frighten away as the clumsilyarmed watchmen whom the Bravi had put to flight. The only possiblesafety for the Bravi lay in leaving the place with Ortensia before sucha thing happened. The post-carriage in which Trombin meant to carry heroff that very night was waiting not far away in charge of a well-paidstable hand, and Tommaso and Gambardella had only to bring it to thedoor. The stableman was then to take back the two mules, and the coachwould leave the city at once, by Porta San Lorenzo, while Ortensia wouldsuppose that she was being taken to the Palazzo Altieri or to some newplace of safety. The plan was well laid, for it would be easy forGambardella to make Stradella believe that his wife had been spiritedaway by Don Alberto's agents, and that Trombin had followed on horsebackin hot pursuit. Stradella would lose no time, and would certainly acceptGambardella's assistance in the chase; and in due time husband and wifewould reach Venice separately and fall into the respective traps theBravi had ready for them. 

All this might succeed easily enough by the liberal use of money, andunder the protection of the pardons and passports the two cut-throatshad in their possession; but it was clear that no time was to be lost, and while Trombin's gaze lingered on Ortensia's lovely face, he wasanxiously listening for his friend's knock below, and he did not evenattempt to answer her last speech with reassuring words. 

'We cannot move without Gambardella, ' he said, speaking in a low tonenow, lest any sound from without should escape his hearing. 

It came a moment later, and Trombin hastened to the door at the head ofthe stairs; it was locked, however, and the key was in Don Alberto'spocket, as Ortensia quickly explained. But such a trifle as an ordinarydoor that was fastened was not likely to stop a man who had latelysmashed in a strong window-frame with his fists and his shoulder. Hedrew back one step, raised his heel to the level of the lock, andsmashed it as if it had been made of egg-shells. The door flew open andhe ran down the steps to undo the chain. Seeing that her shadow kept thelight from the stairs and the vestibule, Ortensia drew back on one sideof the entrance, expecting that Trombin would come up at once withGambardella. Instead, the two stood talking in low tones on thethreshold of the front door. 

In a few moments it was clear to Ortensia that some disagreement hadarisen between the friends. Their voices grew a little louder, so thatOrtensia could hear about half of what they said. It was clear thatGambardella was refusing to do something which Trombin insisted withrising temper, while the other grew colder and more obstinate everymoment. 

'Altieri's thousand crowns, ' she heard Gambardella say distinctly; andthen, in broken words, '... More than enough ... Morning ... TheNeapolitan frontier ... Leave her here ... '

'Judas!' cried Trombin very audibly, and clearly in a rage. 

'At your service, ' answered Gambardella, 'and instead of thirty piecesof silver, I fling a thousand in your face! You shall not have her!'

Ortensia heard a sort of chinking thud, as if a heavy purse had fallenon the stones. This was instantly followed by a scuffle, and she knewthat the two men had closed and were wrestling. The whole truth hadflashed upon her through the few words they had exchanged, or enough ofit to prove that young Altieri had not calumniated the men she hadthought her friends when he had called them Bravi. 

Her heart stood still for an instant, while she looked round for somemeans of escape. No sound of voices now came up from below, but onlythe shuffling of feet and the hard-drawn breath of men wrestling in thedark. She ran to the window and looked out, thinking that the ladder wasstill there, and then, seeing that it was gone, she peered into thegloom. Perhaps she could let herself down by her hands and then drop tothe ground. At any moment one of the Bravi might come up again and seizeher. 

She listened for a moment before trying it. The sound of the strugglehad ceased, and all was still again; very cautiously she crept to thedoor and listened again, but there was not a breath. She ventured tolook down the stairs, keeping her body on one side, and she saw that thevestibule was empty, and now her quick hearing caught the sound ofshuffling footsteps in the road outside; the noise was decreasingalready, as if the two men were moving down the hill in their furiousfight. The house was empty for a moment, Trombin had spoken of a backdoor opening to the vineyard, and she saw her chance. 

She ran downstairs, almost falling in her haste, and as she reached thefloor she stepped upon something that yielded with a chinking sound. Itwas the purse containing the thousand crowns in ducats, and she thrustit into her bosom without hesitation. A cool draught of air from underthe stairs guided her to the back entrance, which was not closed, asTrombin had said it was, but wide open. She was out of doors in aninstant, and in the starlight she could just see a broad path that ledstraight through the vineyard from the little house. She gathered upher silk skirts with both hands, and ran for her life. 

Almost at the same moment Gambardella, who was the lighter man, threwTrombin heavily on his back in the dust, and at once proceeded to kneelon his chest. 

CHAPTER XXIII

At sunrise Ortensia wearily climbed the steep ascent that led up to theQuirinal Palace, leaning on Cucurullo's arm, and wearing his short browncloak to cover her dress as much as possible. A few words will be enoughto explain what had happened in the night. After waiting two hours andmore at Santa Prassede with the things he had brought, Cucurullo hadcome back to the Palazzo Altieri, suspecting an accident, or at least amisunderstanding. It was not till he had knocked again and again thatthe porter had opened the little postern in the great wooden gate, andseeing who was there had hastily explained that Stradella was in prisonfor having struck Don Alberto on the nose, at the foot of the grandstaircase, and that, after this, he, Gaetano the porter, had not thecourage to admit any one belonging to the musician's household. He wasvery sorry, and said so, being much afraid of the Evil Eye if thehunchback should be angry; but he was even more afraid of Don Alberto. Cucurullo, who had been prepared for trouble, bowed his head, and saidhe would wait outside till morning. Gaetano offered, as a great favour, to take the things he carried and hide them in his lodge, a kindnesswhich Cucurullo readily accepted. 

As for Ortensia, she did not know where she had been, and it was nottill she had wandered for hours in the desolate regions between SantaMaria in Cosmedin, San Gregorio, and the Colosseum, that she at laststruck into the Campo Vaccino, which was the open field under which theRoman Forum then lay buried. By the first faint light she recognised thetower of the Capitol, and in less than a quarter of an hour after thatshe found Cucurullo sitting on one of the stone chain-posts outside thePalazzo Altieri, his two long legs hanging down almost to the pavement, and his humped body looking like a large ball covered with a short browncloak, and surmounted by a servant's high-crowned black felt hat with awide brim. He was not asleep, for he hardly ever slept, and he knew hismistress's light step before he saw her at his elbow. In a moment he hadexplained what had happened, as far as he knew the truth, from themoment when he had left her getting into the carriage with Gambardella. 

Her mind was made up in a flash; she would go directly to the Popehimself, and if he would not see her, she would insist on seeingCardinal Paluzzo Altieri. He would not refuse her an audience, if shesent up her name with a message to say that she had found something ofgreat value that belonged to him. As for taking any rest before going tothe Quirinal, she literally had not where to lay her head; but she wasyoung and strong, and would not realise how tired she was till thestrain of her anxiety was over, and she was borne up by love, which isquite the most wonderful elixir in the world against all weariness ofmind or body. Nevertheless she leaned on Cucurullo's arm as theyclimbed the ascent, for it was very steep, and the last part of it wasthe long flight of steps which still leads up from the Tre Cannelle andcomes out close to the little church of San Silvestro, where the greatand good Vittoria Colonna once met Michelangelo. 

The doors of the Quirinal Palace were opened at sunrise, and twosentries of the Swiss Guard paced up and down before the entrance, theirbreastplates and halberds gleaming in the morning sun. They did not stopOrtensia, who saw their sergeant standing just within, very magnificentin his full-dress uniform; for it was the Feast of Saint John, andMidsummer Day, and one of the great festivals of the year, though not sosolemn a one as that of Saint Peter which comes five days later, on thetwenty-ninth. 

The Swiss sergeant was gravely civil and answered Ortensia as politelyas he could, considering how imperfectly he knew the Italian language. His Holiness? No. The Pope was far from well and had not left his roomfor a week. His Eminence? It might be possible in an hour. The Cardinalwas an early riser, and was to pontificate at high mass in the Lateran. The sergeant could send a soldier to the major domo's office by and by, but no one would be stirring upstairs for at least another hour. Thegracious lady seemed tired; would she wait in the sergeant's own room?It was at her disposal. 

Ortensia accepted gratefully, and the big, fair-haired, wooden-facedSwiss opened the door for her, pointed to a sort of settle on which shecould rest, and told Cucurullo to wait in the guard-room. The sergeanthimself would call her as soon as the major-domo's office was open. Hesaluted her with stiff politeness and went away. 

Even then she did not realise that she was tired, and instead ofstretching herself on the settee, as she might have done, she sat boltupright on the edge of it, staring at the door that had just been shut, as if she expected the sergeant to come back at once. Yet she was notconscious of the passage of time, and her intense anxiety centred in hercoming interview with the Cardinal rather than in any present longingfor the sergeant's quick return. In her mind she went over what she wasgoing to say, and tried to put together the Cardinal's probable replies. She meant to ask for immediate liberty for her husband, or immediateimprisonment for herself with him. Nothing could be simpler; if thegreat man refused to grant either, leaving her at liberty, she wouldrisk everything and appeal to the Venetian Ambassador. 

She had not changed her position once in three-quarters of an hour whenthe door opened again, and the sergeant most respectfully invited her togo with him. His Eminence had been informed that she was below andwished to see her at once. She remembered nothing after that, till shefound herself in a small sunny room hung with red damask and furnishedin the same colour. The Cardinal sat in a high-backed chair at amagnificent polished writing-table, on which stood a crucifix having thesacred figure carved apparently from a single gigantic amethyst; theinkstand, pen-tray, and sand-boxes were also gilt, and made a glitteringshow in the bright sunshine that poured through the open window. 

Cardinal Altieri was a grey-haired man with steely eyes set neartogether, the strong lean face of a fighter, and the colourlesscomplexion of most high ecclesiastics, who are generally what thephysicians of that day called 'saturnians. ' He held out a large, hard, white hand, with a ring in which was set an engraved amethyst, Ortensiatouch the stone with her lips, and he motioned to her to be seated in acomfortable chair at his left. 

'I know everything, ' he said quietly. 'I always do. '

The comprehensiveness of this sweeping statement might have madeOrtensia smile at any other time. But she was staggered by it now, andforgot the speech she had prepared. On the face of it, to tell anythingto a man who knew everything was superfluous. She reflected a moment, and he took advantage of her silence to speak again in the same calmtone. 

'You sent me word that you had found something of value belonging to me, madam. I shall be glad to receive it, but, in the first place, I havethe honour of returning to you some of your own property, which you leftlast night in a little house in the Via di Santa Sabina. '

As he spoke the last words he put down his right hand on the side awayfrom her and brought up a long veil, a silver hairpin, and one whitedoeskin glove all together. 

'That is all, I believe, ' he said, with a very faint smile. 'If youleft anything else there, I will order a more careful search to be made. I may add that there were stains of blood on the floor and one of thewalls, and as you do not appear to be wounded, madam, the inferenceis----'

Before he could explain his inference, Ortensia stretched out her armfrom beneath the cloak she wore, and showed him that it was bound up ina blood-stained handkerchief; for the small cut had been deep. With herother hand she took the purse from within her dress and held it out tothe Cardinal. 

'A thousand crowns in gold ducats, ' she said, 'which your Eminence'snephew paid two Bravi for the privilege of giving me this scratch. Butthey cheated him and drove him away and then quarrelled, and foughtabout which should have me for his share. I escaped from the house whilethey were fighting outside, I stepped on this purse and I picked it up, being sure that the money belonged to you, and there it is! In return, Iask for my husband's liberty. '

She saw from his face that he was much surprised, and that what she hadjust told him had produced a decided effect in her favour; for it isalmost needless to say that the account of the affair which Don Albertohad dictated to his secretary and had sent to his uncle late on theprevious evening gave a very different view of the case. According tothe young man, Ortensia had met him of her own accord, deliberatelyenticing him into an ambush from which he had barely escaped with hislife, only to be insulted and struck in the face by her husband, whowas, of course, acquainted with the whole plan. 

The Cardinal examined the purse minutely, then opened it and looked atthe contents. He guessed that the value of the gold must be about athousand crowns, as Ortensia had said it was. During this time shequietly arranged her veil on her head, fastening it with the long silverpin, and then put on the glove he had restored to her. At last he lookedup and spoke. 

'Where one knows everything, ' he observed, 'it is impossible not to besurprised at the lamentable ignorance in which most people live. Forinstance, if I had not this demonstration of the fact, which agrees wellwith my own knowledge, I should find it hard to believe that you andyour husband could have been foolish enough to make friends with thevery men whom your uncle the Senator Pignaver had sent to murder you. '

'We were deceived, Eminence, ' answered Ortensia. 'I need not tell youhow, since everything is known to you. All I ask is my husband'sliberty. '

'Your husband, madam, appears to have broken my nephew's nose, ' repliedthe Cardinal, with the utmost gravity. 'Moreover, Alberto is not only myown nephew by blood, but His Holiness's also, both in fact, as the sonof the Pope's niece, Donna Lucia, and also by formal adoption. I doubtwhether His Holiness will easily overlook such an offence. To break thenose of a Pope's nephew, madam, is a serious matter. I would have youunderstand that. '

'Then send me to prison with my husband!' cried Ortensia desperately. 

The Cardinal slowly rubbed his pale chin with his amethyst ring, andlooked at her. 

'There may be an alternative to that somewhat extreme course, ' heobserved. 'Calm yourself, I beg of you, and I will see His Holiness assoon as possible. In the meantime, it would be well for you to take somerest. '

'Rest!' Ortensia exclaimed. 'How can I rest while he is in prison, unless I can be near him?'

'I cannot see the connection of ideas, ' the Cardinal answered coldly. 

He looked at her with some curiosity, for he had never been in love withanything but power since he had first gone to school. 

He rang a gilt bell that stood beside the gilt inkstand, and agrey-haired priest, still unshaven and shabbily dressed, came at thecall. His face was as yellow as common beeswax, and his little eyes werebloodshot. The Cardinal pushed the purse across the polished mahogany. 

'Count that money, ' he said briefly, and opening the drawer of the tablehe took out a sheet of paper and began to write, while the shabbysecretary counted out the gold in the palm of his hand, as if he wereused to doing it. 

The letter was not long, and the Cardinal read it over to himself withevident care before folding it. He even smiled faintly, as he had donewhen he had returned Ortensia's things. He turned in the top and bottomof the sheet so that the edges just met, and after creasing the bendswith his large pale thumb-nail he doubled the folded paper neatly, andthen turned up the ends and slipped one into the other. 

'Seal it with a wafer when you have done counting, ' he said, tossing theletter to the priest, for he detested the taste of sealing-wafers, and, moreover, thought that the red colouring matter in them was bad for thestomach. 'How much money is there?' he asked, seeing that the secretaryhad finished his task. 

'Two hundred and fifty gold ducats, Eminence, ' answered the latter, andhis dirty crooked fingers poured the gold back into the leathern purse. 

When that was done, and the wet wafer had been slipped into its placeand pressed, the secretary handed the letter to the Cardinal for him toaddress it. Instead of doing so at once, however, he turned to Ortensia, who had been watching the proceedings in silent anxiety. 

'Madam, ' the great man began, in a suave tone, 'knowing everything, as Ido, you may well imagine that I am anxious to spare you the grief ofseeing your husband condemned to the galleys. '

'The galleys!' cried Ortensia in extreme terror. 'Merciful heavens!'

The Cardinal went on speaking with the utmost coolness and withoutheeding her emotion. 

'If what my nephew believed last night could be proved true, madam, yourhusband's neck would be in great danger, and you yourself would probablyspend several years in a place of solitude and penance. '

Ortensia's horror increased, and she could no longer speak. 

'Yes, madam, ' continued the Cardinal inexorably, 'I have no hesitationin saying so. My nephew believed that you and your husband had purposelyenticed him to a clandestine meeting with you, in order to have himthrown out of a window, at the imminent risk of his life, and otherwisemaltreated by hired ruffians. It was little short of a miracle that hereached his home alive, and he had no sooner stepped from his carriagethan your husband put the finishing stroke to the series of atrocitiesby breaking his nose. I do not say that this was a blow at the Church, madam, but it was a violent blow at the authority of the Pope'sgovernment. I take it that a blow which can break a man's nose is aviolent blow. That is the argument for the prosecution. '

Ortensia stared wildly at the colourless face and the steely eyes thatmet her own. 

'Happily, ' the Cardinal went on, after a short but impressive pause, 'mynephew does not know everything. There are some arguments for thedefence: that purse is a good one, madam, and the wound you havereceived is better; my own universal knowledge fills the lacunę that areleft, so far as concerns what happened at the house in Via di SantaSabina. Two Bravi, who have undertaken to murder you, thought they couldearn an additional thousand crowns by selling you to my nephew, whoseadmiration for you is unhappily a matter of notoriety. Their plan wasthen to drive him away, after which one of them was to carry you off, while the other remained behind to murder your husband. Fortunately foryou they quarrelled, you made your escape, and your excellent good sensemade you come directly to me, which, in the case of a lady of your noblebirth, is a clear proof of innocence. Moreover, I know it to be truethat the two Bravi were found fighting desperately in the street duringthe night, but when the watch fell upon them to separate them theyturned their swords against the officers of the law and sent thecowardly pack flying, though not one of the fellows had anything worsethan a pin-prick to show. Your former friends are very accomplishedswordsmen, madam! That is the argument for your defence, and itsatisfies me. '

'Thank heaven!' exclaimed Ortensia, whose face had relaxed while he hadbeen speaking. 'Then my husband will be let out, after all!'

'That depends on His Holiness, not on me, ' answered the churchman. 'Itmay depend on your husband himself. Your friends'--he emphasised theword with a cool smile--'your friends the Bravi are responsible foreverything except my nephew's broken nose, but that is a serious matterenough. Bertini'--he turned to the secretary--'you may go. I wished youto hear what I have just said. Order one of my own chairs to be ready totake this lady to the palace in five minutes. '

Bertini bowed and left the room. It was not until the door was shut thatthe Cardinal spoke again. 

'His Holiness expressed to me only last night his august desire to hearyour husband sing, and regretted his inability to go to the Lateran forthat purpose. His Holiness has now spent a good night and it may behoped that he will be able to rise this afternoon. Your husband shallhave an opportunity of singing to him before supper. That is all I canmanage for him. He must do the rest. '

'Thank you, thank you!' cried Ortensia gratefully. 'Only----'

'What, madam?'

'How will he be able to sing, after such a night, if he is kept inprison? He will have a sore throat from the dampness, he will be wornout with anxiety, and weak for want of food! What chance can he possiblyhave of moving the Pope to pity?'

'I have attended to that, madam, ' the Cardinal answered, tapping theletter that lay under his hand. 'The Maestro shall lack nothing whichcan restore his strength and his voice. '

He rang his little bell twice in quick succession, and at the same timehe wrote an address on the folded paper. A man in black entered beforehe had finished. Then he scattered red sand on the writing, and pouredit back into the sand-box. 

'To Tor di Nona, ' he said. 'Tell the messenger to gallop. '

The man was gone in an instant. 

'You will find a chair downstairs, ' the churchman said. 'The men are totake you to your apartment in my palace. '

'But if the porter----' Ortensia began to object. 

'He will hardly venture to turn my liveries from my own door, madam. Goto your rooms and rest. You will find that your maid has left you. Shefled in terror last night, and left Rome an hour ago in the coach forNaples. I saw no reason for having her stopped, but if she has robbedyou I will have her taken. Your husband has a queer hunch-backedman-servant called Cucurullo; he looks like Guidi, I remember, the youngpoet who ran away from our royal guest the other day. '

The Cardinal smiled vaguely, and rubbed his chin with his ring. 

'He is downstairs, ' Ortensia said. 'He is a good creature, ' she addedquickly, fearing lest the great man was about to tell her something toCucurullo's discredit. 

'An excellent fellow, ' the Cardinal assented readily. 'I was going tosay that if your husband wished to part with him, I should be glad totake him into my service. You will not suspect me of entertaining anyfoolish superstition about the good fortune which hunchbacks aresupposed to bring with them, I am sure! That is ridiculous. Besides, Iwould not for the world displease the poor fellow, if my suggestion werenot agreeable to him, as well as to your husband, madam, believe me!'

Even in her anxiety Ortensia was inclined to smile, for it was clearthat the master of Rome believed in the deformed man's supernatural giftas profoundly as any beggar in the street who tried to touch the humpunnoticed. 

'I will speak with my husband about it, ' Ortensia said. 'Only let me seehim, ' she added, in a pleading tone. 

'For the present, madam, I have done all I can, except to promise youthat if His Holiness is well enough to hear the Maestro sing, you shallbe present. Meanwhile, you must go home, and remain in your rooms till Isend for you. '

He held out his ring for her to kiss, and she saw that she must go. 

'I thank your Eminence with all my heart, ' she said, and with a deepcourtesy she turned and left the room. 

Her heart was lighter than when she had entered it, for though she didnot like the Cardinal, who was liked by few, she could not helpbelieving that he was in earnest in all he had said, and really meant togive Stradella the only chance left to him of escaping some heavypenalty for his hastiness. But she longed to see him more than ever, andto repeat all she had just heard exactly as it had been said. 

As she retraced her steps from the study to the stairs, accompanied by aservant who showed her the way, she looked about her in surprise, forshe had not the slightest recollection of anything she now saw, and wasamazed at the distance she had traversed without noticing anything. Shecould have sworn that she had gone up by an ordinary staircase, butinstead, it was a winding one, and everything else she saw surprised herin the same way. 

Cucurullo was standing beside the large sedan chair with the fourporters who wore the Cardinal's livery of scarlet and gold. Two of themwere to carry her, while one walked before and the fourth followedbehind, both the latter being ready to take their turns as bearers atregular intervals. 

When they reached the palace a quarter of an hour later, they did noteven pause at the lodge, and it was with considerable astonishment thatGaetano saw Ortensia enter in such state, followed by Cucurullo, whosmiled pleasantly as he passed. 

Ortensia stepped from the chair at her own door and thanked the men, forshe had nothing to give them; but the hunchback always had money, andwhen he had unlocked the door he handed them a silver florin with an airas grand as if he had been at least the seneschal of the palace. 

Ortensia went on to the sitting-room, still almost unconscious of beingtired; but she had hardly entered, followed closely by Cucurullo, whenher knees suddenly gave way under her, her head swam, and she had barelytime to stagger to the long sofa before she fainted away, utterly wornout with fatigue and emotion. 

She came to herself before long, and Cucurullo was leaning over her andcooling her forehead and temples with a handkerchief soaked with Felsinawater. But she only sighed as she recognised him, and then he saw thatshe fell peacefully asleep, just as she lay. He drew the blinds closertogether to darken the room, and went off to shave himself and restorehis usually neat and clean appearance, which had suffered somewhatduring a whole night spent out of doors. 

But Ortensia was outwardly in a far worse plight as she lay sleeping onthe hard sofa, for her pretty silk skirt was soiled and torn at theedges, her little kid shoes were splashed with mud, covered with dust, and half worn out by her walking in rough places; the blood-stainedhandkerchief on her arm told its own tale, too, and her glorious hairwas all disordered and tangled. Yet, somehow, she was not a whit lessbeautiful than when she had left the house with her husband on theprevious afternoon fresh from Pina's skilful hands. 

She was dreaming of Stradella now, after she had been asleep more thanfour hours, and the sun outside was high and hot. It was not a vision ofterror, either, or of tormenting anxiety; she thought he had come backto her, and that it had all been a mistake, or a bad dream within thepresent sweet one; for he was just the same as when she had seen himlast, his gaze was clear and loving, his touch was tender, and when hislips met hers----

She awoke with a startled cry of joy, and it was all true; for he waskneeling beside her, and she felt his kiss before her eyes opened to seethemselves in his. It had all been a bad dream that had turned to asweet one and ended in the delicious truth. He had not left her sinceshe had rested there, on that same sofa after dinner, and they had notyet been to the Lateran--it was still yesterday. 

Then she remembered, and put down her feet to the pavement as she sat upin his arms, and framed his face in her hands, pushing it a little awayfrom her to see it better. 

No; he was himself, his straight dark hair was neatly combed, his cheekwas smooth and fresh and cool, his collar was spotless and lay over hisdark coat just as it always did. She was either still asleep anddreaming, or she had dreamed every terror she remembered. To be surethat she was awake, she opened and shut her eyes several times veryquickly, and then gazed at him in sweet surprise. 

[Illustration: 'She sat up in his arms and framedhis face in her hands']

'Beloved, am I awake? I do not understand----'

Instead of answering her in words, he kissed her again, and the longthrill that made her quiver from head to foot told her that she wasindeed awake. 

Presently they began to talk, and each told what the other could notknow, till there was nothing more to tell; moreover, Ortensia's tale wasby far the longer, and Stradella's eyes darkened more than once at whathe heard, but whenever she saw that look in his face, she kissed itaway, and told him that they were safe now, if only he could sing to thePope to-day as he had sung yesterday for her in the Lateran. 

'But what can I sing?' he asked. 

'"Lord have mercy on us!"' answered Ortensia, almost laughing. 'Thatmust be the meaning of the song, at all events. '

'A _miserere_?' Stradella was surprised at the suggestion, for old mendo not usually like dirges. 

'No, sweetheart, I did not mean that! It must not be in Latin, but inItalian, an appeal from you, as a man who has committed a fault, to thePope, as a sovereign, who has power to forgive it if he will. '

'Do you mean that I am to compose the words and the music between nowand sunset?' asked the musician, somewhat startled. 

'Why not? Did you not compose the greatest love song you ever wrote in afew hours, and for me? What is the use of being a man of genius, mybeloved? Just for that, and nothing else!'

'But I am not a man of genius! And I have spent the night in prison!'

'You look as fresh as a May morning!' laughed Ortensia. 'Whereas I amall bedraggled, and scratched, and dishevelled, and everything I shouldnot be. '

'I dressed while you were sleeping, ' answered Stradella. 'There wasplenty of time!'

'Do you mean to say that you had the inhuman cruelty not to wake me theinstant you came home? And you pretend to love me! I shall never believeyou again. But that only proves that you are a man of genius, as Isaid--you have not half a heart amongst you, you great artists! But Iwill have my revenge, for I shall go to my own room, and shut myself upand make myself fit to be seen, while you compose your song!'

'And who will dress your beautiful hair now that Pina has run away?'laughed Stradella. 

'I will. And if I cannot, a certain man of genius, called AlessandroStradella, may try his hand at it!'

She ran away laughing, but he caught her before she reached her owndoor, and though she struggled, he kissed her on her neck, just wherethe red-gold ringlets grew, low down behind her little ear. They behavedlike a pair of runaway lovers, as they were. 

But when he was alone his face grew grave and thoughtful, for he knewthere was great danger still. He had been sent home under a guard, aprisoner still, and there were sentinels outside both doors of theapartment, who would be relieved at intervals all day, till the timecame for him to be taken to the Quirinal. He might have been somewhatreassured if he had known that Don Alberto himself was also under arrestin his bedroom, by the Cardinal's orders; and he might have felt somesatisfaction if he could have seen his enemy's injured nose, swollen toan unnatural size and covered with sticking-plaster, and if he couldhave also realised that it still hurt quite dreadfully; but, on theother hand, these latter palliative circumstances were likely to makethe real trouble even worse, since that same nose was not to be classedwith common noses, but as a _nasus nepotis Pontificis_, that is, nepotic, belonging to a Pope's nephew, and therefore quasi-pontifical, and not to be pulled, struck, or otherwise maltreated with impunity. 

Nevertheless, Stradella forgot all about the injured feature and itspossessor in a few minutes, when he had tuned his lute and was sittingby the table with a sheet of music and a pen at his elbow, for hethought aloud in soft sounds that often ceased at first and then beganagain, but little by little linked themselves together in a melody thathas not perished to this day; and with the music the words came, touchingly simple, but heart-felt as an angel's tears. 

Ortensia heard his voice through the door, and listened, half dressed, with a happy smile; for she knew the moods of his genius better than heknew them himself, and she understood that the song he was weaving withvoice and lute would be worthy of him, as it is; for in the growth ofmusic, the fine art, his masterpiece of oratorio are left behind andforgotten, being too thin and primitive for an age that began withBeethoven and ended in Richard Wagner; but his songs have not lost theirhold on those simpler natures that are still responsive to a melody andvibrate to a perfect human voice. 

It was late in the afternoon when Stradella had finished his work, andthe last note and rest of 'Pietą Signore' were written down. The two haddined on the supper which Pina and Cucurullo had prepared for them onthe previous evening, and in the warm hours Ortensia had fallen asleepagain for a little while, still listening to the song and hearing it inher dreams. But when Stradella was sure that nothing more was to bechanged, she opened her eyes wide and got up; and she came and knelt athis knees as she had done on that last night in the balcony of the oldinn; and then he sang what he had composed, from first to last, in avoice that just filled her ears when it was loudest, and still echoed inher heart when it sank to a mere breath. When he was silent at lastthere were tears in her eyes, and she kissed his hand as it lay passiveon the silent strings of the lute, while he bent down over her and hislips touched her hair. 

They had not much time left after that, as it seemed to them, when theyremembered it all and looked back on one of the happiest days in theiryoung lives. The last time they kissed was when they were ready to godownstairs to the carriage that was waiting to take them to theQuirinal. Strange to say, Stradella felt a little faint then, and hisheart was beating almost painfully, whereas Ortensia was quite calm andconfident, and smiled at the two sbirri in black who were ready on thelanding to escort the prisoners to the Cardinal's presence. 

They were there at last, in a spacious room where everything was eitherwhite, or gilded, or of gold, the walls, the furniture, the bigfireplace, the heavy carpet spread on the marble floor, where the Popesat in his gilded chair, himself all in white, with a small white silkskullcap set far back on his silvery hair. His face was almost white, too, and the short beard on his chin was like snow, for he was overeighty years of age, thin, and in ill-health; but the face was kindly, with soft dark eyes that still had life in them; and the shadow of asmile flickered round the faded lips as Stradella and Ortensia knelttogether at his feet. 

On his left side stood Cardinal Altieri, erect and motionless in hispurple cassock with red buttons, and his scarlet silk cloak. His facewas grave and inscrutable. 

'Holy Father, ' he had said, as the pair knelt down, 'these are theprisoners who implore your pardon. '

That was all he said, and for some moments the Pope did not speak, though he nodded his snowy head twice, in answer to the Cardinal'swords, and his gentle eyes looked from the one young face to the otheras if reading the meaning of each. 

'You sang to me a year ago, my son, ' he said at length to Stradella. 'Gonow and stand a little way off and make music, for though I am old Ihear well; and do your best, for I will be your judge. If I find youhave even greater mastery than last year, your skill shall atone foryour rude handling of my nephew; but if you sing less well, you musthave an opportunity of practising and perfecting your art in solitudefor a few months. '

If Stradella had dared to glance at the kindly face just then, he wouldcertainly have noticed how the dark eyes brightened, and almosttwinkled. But Ortensia, being a woman, and still full of girlhood'sinnocent daring, was boldly looking up at the Pope while he spoke; andhe smiled at her, and one shadowy hand went out and rested on the blackveil she had pinned upon her hair. 

'Go and stand near your husband while he sings to me, ' he said. 'Youwill give him courage, I am sure!'

The two rose together, and Stradella took up the lute he had laid besidehim on the floor when he had knelt down at the Pope's feet. He andOrtensia stepped back half-a-dozen paces, and the musician stood still, but Ortensia moved a little farther away and to one side. The windowswere wide open to the west, and the rich evening light flooded the whiteand gold room, and illumined the figure of the aged Pope, the strongfeatures of the tall grey-haired Cardinal beside him, and the two youngfaces of the singer and his wife. 

Stradella's heart beat fast and faintly, and his fingers trembled whenthey touched the strings and made the first minor chord. As long as helived he remembered how at that very moment two swallows shot by theopen window, uttering their eager little note; the room swam with him, and he thought he was going to reel and fall. For a moment he sawnothing and knew nothing, except that he had reached the end of theshort prelude on the lute, and that he must find voice to sing for hisliberty and Ortensia's, if not for his life. 

'Pietą, Signore----'

The first words broke from his chilled lips in a low cry of despair, sostrange and moving, and yet so musical, that the Cardinal startedvisibly, and the Pope raised his white head and looked slowly down theroom, as if some suffering creature must be there at the very point ofdeath, and crying low for pity and forgiveness. Even Ortensia, who hadheard all, could not believe her ears, though she knew her husband'sgenius well. 

'Signor pietą----' he sang again. 

Fear was gone now, but art poured out the appeal for pardon with supremepower to move, roused to outdo itself, perhaps, by that first piteouscry that had broken from the master-singer's lips. The plaintive notesfloated on the golden air as if a culprit spirit were pleading forforgiveness at the gates of paradise, a wonder to hear. 

Ortensia held her breath, her eyes fixed on the aged Pontiff's raptface; for he was gazing at the singer while he listened to a strain suchas he had never heard in all his eighty years of life; and his kind oldeyes were dewy with compassion. 

The last note lingered on the air and died away, and there was silencein the great room while one might have counted ten. Then the shadowywhite hand was slowly stretched out in a beckoning gesture, and the Popespoke. 

'Come, ' he said, 'you are forgiven. '

They came and knelt at his feet again, and he, leaning forward in hisgreat chair, bent his head towards them. 

'You were pardoned in my heart already, my son, ' he said to Stradella, 'for I have been told the truth, and the provocation you suffered wasgreat. Go free, and fear nothing, for while you dwell under our care inRome you shall be as safe as I who speak to you. Go free, and use thegreat gift you have received from heaven to raise men's heartsheavenwards, as you have raised mine to-day. '

He gave his hand to Stradella and then to Ortensia, and they kissed thegreat ring with devout gratitude, deeply touched by his words. Then hespoke again, and still more kindly. 

'Will you ask anything of me before you go?'

'Your blessing on us, as man and wife, Holy Father, ' Stradella answered. 

'Most willingly, my children. '

With fatherly tenderness he joined their right hands under his left, andthen, lifting his right above their bowed heads, and looking up, heblessed them very solemnly. 

 * * * * *

I shall tell no more, but leave the singer and his young wife to theirhappiness. If any one would know the end that followed years afterwards, he will find it in chronicles that are in almost every great library. Ishall only say that while those two lived they loved, as few have, andthat Stradella's fame was greater when he breathed his last than it hadever been before; and in Italy he is not forgotten yet. 

But whether Trombin and Gambardella will ever stroll into thestory-teller's dreamland again, and act other parts, he himself cannotsurely tell, nor does he know whether they will be welcome if they come. Their names are not in the chronicles, as Stradella's and Ortensia'sare, as well as Pignaver's. The Venetian nobleman 'sent certainassassins, ' and that is all we know; and as for the names and faces andfigures I have given to the Bravi, I found them beyond the borders oftruth in the delicious Gardens of Irresponsibility, where many strangepeople dwell together, who might be real, and may be alive some day, butwho have not yet made up their minds to exchange the flowery paths offiction for the stony roads and dusty lanes of this working-day world. 

Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS

THE SARACINESCA SERIES

_In the binding of the Uniform Edition, each, $1. 50_

Saracinesca

 "The work has two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make it great, --that of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of giving a graphic picture of Roman society in the last days of the Pope's temporal power.... The story is exquisitely told. "--_Boston Traveler. _

Sant' Ilario. A Sequel to "Saracinesca"

 "A singularly powerful and beautiful story.... It fulfils every requirement of artistic fiction. It brings out what is most impressive in human action, without owing any of its effectiveness to sensationalism or artifice. It is natural, fluent in evolution, accordant with experience, graphic in description, penetrating in analysis, and absorbing in interest. "--_New York Tribune. _

Don Orsino. A Sequel to "Sant' Ilario"

 "Perhaps the cleverest novel of the year.... There is not a dull paragraph in the book, and the reader may be assured that once begun, the story of Don Orsino will fascinate him until its close. "--_The Critic. _

Taquisara

 "To Mr. Crawford's Roman novels belongs the supreme quality of uniting subtly drawn characters to a plot of uncommon interest. "--_Chicago Tribune. _

Corleone

 "Mr. Crawford is the novelist born ... A natural story-teller, with wit, imagination, and insight added to a varied and profound knowledge of social life. "--_The Inter-Ocean_, Chicago. 

Casa Braccio. _In two volumes, $2. 00. _ Illustrated by A. Castaigne. 

 "Mr. Crawford's books have life, pathos, and insight; he tells a dramatic story with many exquisite touches. "--_New York Sun. _

The White Sister

THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS

NOVELS OF ROMAN SOCIAL LIFE

_In decorated cloth covers, each, $1. 50_

A Roman Singer

 "One of the earliest and best works of this famous novelist.... None but a genuine artist could have made so true a picture of human life, crossed by human passions and interwoven with human weakness. It is a perfect specimen of literary art. "--_The Newark Advertiser. _

Marzio's Crucifix

 "We have repeatedly had occasion to say that Mr. Crawford possesses in an extraordinary degree the art of constructing a story. It is as if it could not have been written otherwise, so naturally does the story unfold itself, and so logical and consistent is the sequence of incident after incident. As a story, _Marzio's Crucifix_ is perfectly constructed. "--_New York Commercial Advertiser. _

Heart of Rome. A Tale of the Lost Water

 "Mr. Crawford has written a story of absorbing interest, a story with a genuine thrill in it; he has drawn his characters with a sure and brilliant touch, and he has said many things surpassingly well. "--_New York Times Saturday Review. _

Cecilia. A Story of Modern Rome

 "That F. Marion Crawford is a master of mystery needs no new telling.... His latest novel, _Cecilia_, is as weird as anything he has done since the memorable _Mr. Isaacs_.... A strong, interesting, dramatic story, with the picturesque Roman setting beautifully handled as only a master's touch could do it. "--_Philadelphia Evening Telegraph. _

Whosoever Shall Offend

 "It is a story sustained from beginning to end by an ever increasing dramatic quality. "--_New York Evening Post. _

Pietro Ghisleri

 "The imaginative richness, the marvellous ingenuity of plot, the power and subtlety of the portrayal of character, the charm of the romantic environment, --the entire atmosphere, indeed, --rank this novel at once among the great creations. "--_The Boston Budget. _

To Leeward

 "The four characters with whose fortunes this novel dealt are, perhaps, the most brilliantly executed portraits in the whole of Mr. Crawford's long picture gallery, while for subtle insight into the springs of human passion and for swift dramatic action none of the novels surpasses this one. "--_The News and Courier. _

A Lady of Rome

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Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS

 Mr. Crawford has no equal as a writer of brilliant cosmopolitan fiction, in which the characters really belong to the chosen scene and the story interest is strong. His novels possess atmosphere in a high degree. 

Mr. Isaacs (India)

 Its scenes are laid in Simla, chiefly. This is the work which first placed its author among the most brilliant novelists of his day. 

Greifenstein (The Black Forest)

 "... Another notable contribution to the literature of the day. It possesses originality in its conception and is a work of unusual ability. Its interest is sustained to the close, and it is an advance even on the previous work of this talented author. Like all Mr. Crawford's work, this novel is crisp, clear, and vigorous, and will be read with a great deal of interest. "--_New York Evening Telegram. _

Zoroaster (Persia)

 "It is a drama in the force of its situations and in the poetry and dignity of its language; but its men and women are not men and women of a play. By the naturalness of their conversation and behavior they seem to live and lay hold of our human sympathy more than the same characters on a stage could possibly do. "--_The New York Times. _

The Witch of Prague (Bohemia)

_"A fantastic tale, " illustrated by W. J. Hennessy. _

 "The artistic skill with which this extraordinary story is constructed and carried out is admirable and delightful.... Mr. Crawford has scored a decided triumph, for the interest of the tale is sustained throughout.... A very remarkable, powerful, and interesting story. "--_New York Tribune. _

Paul Patoff (Constantinople)

 "Mr. Crawford has a marked talent for assimilating local color, not to make mention of a broader historical sense. Even though he may adopt, as it is the romancer's right to do, the extreme romantic view of history, it is always a living and moving picture that he evolves for us, varied and stirring. "--_New York Evening Post. _

Marietta (Venice)

 "No living writer can surpass Mr. Crawford in the construction of a complicated plot and the skilful unravelling of the tangled skein. "--_Chicago Record-Herald. _

 "He has gone back to the field of his earlier triumphs, and has, perhaps, scored the greatest triumph of them all. "--_New York Herald. _

THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS

_In the binding of the new Uniform Edition, each, $1. 50_

Via Crucis. A Romance of the Second Crusade. Illustrated by Louis Loeb

 "_Via Crucis_ ... A tale of former days, possessing an air of reality and an absorbing interest such as few writers since Scott have been able to accomplish when dealing with historical characters. "--_Boston Transcript. _

In the Palace of the King (Spain)

 "_In the Palace of the King_ is a masterpiece; there is a picturesqueness, a sincerity which will catch all readers in an agreeable storm of emotion, and even leave a hardened reviewer impressed and delighted. "--_Literature_, London. 

With the Immortals

 "The strange central idea of the story could have occurred only to a writer whose mind was very sensitive to the current of modern thought and progress, while its execution, the setting it forth in proper literary clothing, could be successfully attempted only by one whose active literary ability should be fully equalled by his power of assimilative knowledge both literary and scientific, and no less by his courage and capacity for hard work. The book will be found to have a fascination entirely new for the habitual reader of novels. Indeed, Mr. Crawford has succeeded in taking his readers quite above the ordinary plane of novel interest. "--_Boston Advertiser. _

Children of the King (Calabria)

 "One of the most artistic and exquisitely finished pieces of work that Crawford has produced. The picturesque setting, Calabria and its surroundings, the beautiful Sorrento and the Gulf of Salerno, with the bewitching accessories that climate, sea, and sky afford, give Mr. Crawford rich opportunities to show his rare descriptive powers. As a whole the book is strong and beautiful through its simplicity, and ranks among the choicest of the author's many fine productions. "--_Public Opinion. _

A Cigarette Maker's Romance and Khaled, a Tale of Arabia (Munich)

 "Two gems of subtle analysis of human passion and motive. "--_Times. _

 "The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has Mr. Crawford done more brilliant realistic work than here. But his realism is only the case and cover for those intense feelings which, placed under no matter what humble conditions, produce the most dramatic and the most tragic situations.... This is a secret of genius, to take the most coarse and common material, the meanest surroundings, the most sordid material prospects, and out of the vehement passions which sometimes dominate all human beings to build up with these poor elements, scenes and passages the dramatic and emotional power of which at once enforce attention and awaken the profoundest interest. "--_New York Tribune. _

Arethusa (Constantinople)

 Dr. Cooper, in _The Bookman_, once gave to Mr. Crawford the title which best marks his place in modern fiction: "the prince of storytellers. "

THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS

WITH SCENES LAID IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA

_In the binding of the Uniform Edition_

A Tale of a Lonely Parish

 "It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief and vivid story.... It is doubly a success, being full of human sympathy, as well as thoroughly artistic in its nice balancing of the unusual with the commonplace, the clever juxtaposition of innocence and guilt, comedy and tragedy, simplicity and intrigue. "--_Critic. _

Dr. Claudius. A True Story

 The scene changes from Heidelberg to New York, and much of the story develops during the ocean voyage. 

 "There is a satisfying quality in Mr. Crawford's strong, vital, forceful stories. "--_Boston Herald. _

An American Politician. The scenes are laid in Boston

 "It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined surroundings. "--_New York Commercial Advertiser. _

The Three Fates

 "Mr. Crawford has manifestly brought his best qualities as a student of human nature and his finest resources as a master of an original and picturesque style to bear upon this story. Taken for all in all, it is one of the most pleasing of all his productions in fiction, and it affords a view of certain phases of American, or perhaps we should say of New York, life that have not hitherto been treated with anything like the same adequacy and felicity. "--_Boston Beacon. _

Marion Darche

 "Full enough of incident to have furnished material for three or four stories.... A most interesting and engrossing book. Every page unfolds new possibilities, and the incidents multiply rapidly. "--_Detroit Free Press. _

 "We are disposed to rank _Marion Darche_ as the best of Mr. Crawford's American stories. "--_The Literary World. _

Katharine LauderdaleThe Ralstons. A Sequel to "Katharine Lauderdale"

 "Mr. Crawford at his best is a great novelist, and in Katharine Lauderdale we have him at his best. "--_Boston Daily Advertiser. _

 "A most admirable novel, excellent in style, flashing with humor, and full of the ripest and wisest reflections upon men and women. "--_The Westminster Gazette. _

 "It is the first time, we think, in American fiction that any such breadth of view has shown itself in the study of our social framework. "--_Life. _

THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD'S

LATER NOVELS--THE SINGER TRILOGY

_Three novels, each an independent, interesting episode from the life ofMargaret Donne, the fascinating English girl who later became the mostfamous lyric soprano of her day. _

_Each, illustrated, $1. 50_

Fair Margaret

 tells of its heroine's student days, of the conflicting claims of lovers and a career; of a retired opera singer in Paris whose portrait alone makes the book one to be treasured by those who know; and, in brief, of a girl's first glimpse of the great unknown world beyond the footlights. 

The Primadonna

 "Mr. Crawford is at his best in this romance. He tells an absorbing story, and he places at the centre of it a woman whose character is full of interest.... It is a dramatic beginning, and Mr. Crawford goes on as he begins ... The whole tangled business becomes more and more exciting and we follow the Primadonna through the proceedings with breathless interest. "--_New York Tribune. _

The Diva's Ruby

 "F. Marion Crawford is one of the few writers who have mastered the art of writing sequels that are as vital and as absorbing as the original novels ... Sequels wherein the finding of a character mentioned in an earlier story gives us the full delight of meeting an old friend.... This delicate paradoxical evolution ... Is art, clean, deft, easy, dexterous art. There are not half a dozen men in literature to-day who could do these things consistently. "--_New York Times Review. _

THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

Mr. JAMES LANE ALLEN'S NOVELS

_Each, cloth, 12mo, $1. 50_

The Choir Invisible

_This can also be had in a special edition illustrated by Orson Lowell, $2. 50_

 "One reads the story for the story's sake, and then re-reads the book out of pure delight in its beauty. The story is American to the very core.... Mr. Allen stands to-day in the front rank of American novelists. _The Choir Invisible_ will solidify a reputation already established and bring into clear light his rare gifts as an artist. For this latest story is as genuine a work of art as has come from an American hand. "--HAMILTON MABIE in _The Outlook_. 

The Reign of Law. A Tale of the Kentucky Hempfields

 "Mr. Allen has a style as original and almost as perfectly finished as Hawthorne's, and he has also Hawthorne's fondness for spiritual suggestion that makes all his stories rich in the qualities that are lacking in so many novels of the period.... If read in the right way, it cannot fail to add to one's spiritual possessions. "--_San Francisco Chronicle. _

The Mettle of the Pasture

 "It may be that _The Mettle of the Pasture_ will live and become a part of our literature; it certainly will live far beyond the allotted term of present-day fiction. Our principal concern is that it is a notable novel, that it ranks high in the range of American and English fiction, and that it is worth the reading, the re-reading, and the continuous appreciation of those who care for modern literature at its best. "--By E. F. E. In the _Boston Transcript_. 

Summer in Arcady. A Tale of Nature _Cloth, $1. 25_

 "This story by James Lane Allen is one of the gems of the season. It is artistic in its setting, realistic and true to nature and life in its descriptions, dramatic, pathetic, tragic, in its incidents; indeed, a veritable masterpiece that must become classic. It is difficult to give an outline of the story; it is one of the stories which do not outline; it must be read. "--_Boston Daily Advertiser. _

_Shorter Stories_

The Blue Grass Region of Kentucky _$1. 50_Flute and Violin, and Other Kentucky Tales _$1. 50_The Bride of the Mistletoe _$1. 25_A Kentucky Cardinal. _Illustrated_ _$1. 00_Aftermath. A Sequel to "A Kentucky Cardinal" _$1. 00_

THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

Mr. ROBERT HERRICK'S NOVELS

_Cloth, extra, gilt tops, each $1. 50_

Mr. W. D. Howells says in _The North American Review_: "What I shouldfinally say of his work is that it is more broadly based than that ofany other American novelist of his generation.... Mr. Herrick's fictionis a force for the higher civilization which to be widely felt needsonly to be widely known. "

The Gospel of Freedom

 "A novel that may truly be called the greatest study of social life, in a broad and very much up-to-date sense, that has ever been contributed to American fiction. "--_Chicago Inter-Ocean. _

The Web of Life

 "It is strong in that it faithfully depicts many phases of American life, and uses them to strengthen a web of fiction, which is most artistically wrought out. "--_Buffalo Express. _

Jock o' Dreams, or the Real World

 "The title of the book has a subtle intention. It indicates, and is true to the verities in doing so, the strange dreamlike quality of life to the man who has not yet fought his own battles, or come into conscious possession of his will--only such battles bite into the consciousness. "--_Chicago Tribune. _

The Common Lot

 "It grips the reader tremendously.... It is the drama of a human soul the reader watches ... The finest study of human motive that has appeared for many a day. "--_The World To-day. _

The Memoirs of an American Citizen. Illustrated with about fiftydrawings by F. B. Masters. 

 "Mr. Herrick's book is a book among many, and he comes nearer to reflecting a certain kind of recognizable, contemporaneous American spirit than anybody else has yet done. "--_New York Times. _

Together

 "An able book, remarkably so, and one which should find a place in the library of any woman who is not a fool. "--Editorial in _The New York American_. 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

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