Sant' Ilario

by F. Marion Crawford

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  In spite of his haste to settle all that remained to be settled withregard to the restitution of the property to San Giacinto, Saracinescafound it impossible to wind up the affair in a week as he had intended.It was a very complicated matter to separate from his present fortunethat part of it which his cousin would have inherited from hisgreat-grandfather. A great deal of wealth had come into the familysince that time by successive marriages, and the management of theoriginal estate had not been kept separate from the administration ofthe dowries which had from time to time been absorbed into it. TheSaracinesca, however, were orderly people, and the books had been keptfor generations with that astonishing precision of detail which isfound in the great Roman houses, and which surpasses, perhaps, anythinganalogous which is to be found in modern business. By dint ofperseverance and by employing a great number of persons in making thecalculations, the notaries had succeeded in preparing a tolerablysatisfactory schedule in the course of a fortnight, which both theprincipal parties agreed to accept as final. The day fixed for themeeting and liquidation of the accounts was a Saturday, a fortnight andtwo days after the murder of Prince Montevarchi. A question aroseconcerning the place of meeting.

  Saracinesca proposed that San Giacinto and the notaries should come tothe Palazzo Saracinesca. He was ready to brave out the situation to theend, to face his fate until it held nothing more in store for him, evento handing over the inventory of all that was no longer his in thehouse where he had been born. His boundless courage and almost brutalfrankness would doubtless have supported him to the last, even throughsuch a trial to his feelings, but San Giacinto refused to agree to theproposal. He repeatedly stated that he wished the old prince to inhabitthe palace through his lifetime, and that he should even make everyeffort to induce him to retain the title. Both of these offers wererejected courteously, but firmly. In the matter of holding the decisivemeeting in the palace, however, San Giacinto made a determined stand.He would not on any account appear in the light of the conqueror comingto take possession of the spoil. His wife had no share in this generoussentiment. She would have liked to enjoy her triumph to the full, forshe was exceedingly ambitious, and was, moreover, not very fond of theSaracinesca. As she expressed it, she felt when she was with any ofthem, from the old prince to Corona, that they must be thinking all thetime that she was a very foolish young person. San Giacinto's actionwas therefore spontaneous, and if it needs explanation it may beascribed to an inherited magnanimity, to a certain dignity which haddistinguished him even as a young man from the low class in which hehad grown up. He was, indeed, by no means a type of the perfectnobleman; his conduct in the affair between Faustina and Gouache hadshown that. He acted according to his lights, and was not ashamed to dothings which his cousin Giovanni would have called mean. But he wasmanly, for all that, and if he owed some of his dignity to greatstature and to his indomitable will, it was also in a measure theoutward sign of a good heart and of an innate sense of justice. Therehad as yet been nothing dishonest in his dealings since he had come toRome. He had acquired a fortune which enabled him to take the positionthat was lawfully his. He liked Flavia, and had bargained for her withher father, afterwards scrupulously fulfilling the terms of thecontract. He had not represented himself to be what he was not, and hehad taken no unfair advantage of any one for his own advancement. Inthe matter of the suit he was the dupe of old Montevarchi, so far asthe deeds were concerned, but he was perfectly aware that he actuallyrepresented the elder branch of his family. It is hard to imagine howany man in his position could have done less than he did, and now thatit had come to a final settlement he was really anxious to cause hisvanquished relations as little humiliation as possible. To go to theirhouse was like playing the part of a bailiff. To allow them to come tohis dwelling suggested the journey to Canossa. The Palazzo Montevarchiwas neutral ground, and he proposed that the formalities should befulfilled there. Saracinesca consented readily enough and the day wasfixed.

  The notaries arrived at ten o'clock in the morning, accompanied byclerks who were laden with books, inventories and rolls of manuscript.The study had been selected for the meeting, both on account of itsseclusion from the rest of the house and because it contained animmense table which would serve for the voluminous documents, all ofwhich must be examined and verified. San Giacinto himself awaited thearrival of the Saracinesca in the great reception-room. He had sent hiswife away, for he was in reality by no means so calm as he appeared tobe, and her constant talk disturbed him. He paced the long room withregular steps, his head erect, his hands behind him, stopping from timeto time to listen for the footsteps of those he expected. It was thegreat day of his life. Before night, he was to be Prince Saracinesca.

  The moments that precede a great triumph are very painful, especiallyif a man has looked forward to the event for a long time. No matter howsure he is of the result, something tells him that it is uncertain. Aquestion may arise, he cannot guess whence, by which all may bechanged. He repeats to himself a hundred times that failure isimpossible, but he is not at rest. The uncertainty of all things, evenof his own life, appears very clearly before his eyes. His heart beatsfast and slow from one minute to another. At the very instant when heis dreaming of the future, the possibility of disappointment breaks inupon his thoughts. He cannot explain it, but he longs to be beyond thedecisive hour. In San Giacinto's existence, the steps from obscurity toimportance and fortune had, of late, been so rapidly ascended that hewas almost giddy with success. For the first time since he had left hisold home in Aquila, he felt as though he had been changed from his ownself to some other person.

  At last the door opened, and Saracinesca, Giovanni, and Corona enteredthe room. San Giacinto was surprised to see Giovanni's wife on anoccasion when the men alone of the family were concerned, but sheexplained that she had come to spend the morning with Faustina, andwould wait till everything was finished. The meeting was not a cordialone, though both parties regarded it as inevitable. If Saracinesca feltany personal resentment against San Giacinto he knew that it wasunreasonable and he had not the bad taste to show it. He was silent,but courteous in his manner. Giovanni, strange to say, seemed whollyindifferent to what was about to take place.

  "I hope," said San Giacinto, when all four were seated, "that you willconsent to consider this as a mere formality. I have said as muchthrough my lawyers, but I wish to repeat it myself in better words thanthey used."

  "Pardon me," answered Saracinesca, "if I suggest that we should notdiscuss that matter. We are sensible of your generosity in making suchoffers, but we do not consider it possible to accept them."

  "I must ask your indulgence if I do not act upon your suggestion,"returned San Giacinto. "Even if there is no discussion I cannot consentto proceed to business until I have explained what I mean. If the suithas been settled justly by the courts, it has not been decided withperfect justice as regards its consequences. I do not deny, and Iunderstand that you do not expect me to act otherwise, that it has beenmy intention to secure for myself and for my children the property andthe personal position abandoned by my ancestor. I have obtained what Iwanted and what was my right, and I have to thank you for themagnanimity you have displayed in not attempting to contest a claimagainst which you might have brought many arguments, if not muchevidence. The affair having been legally settled, it is for us to makewhatever use of it seems better in our own eyes. To deprive you of yourname and of the house in which you were born and bred, would be tooffer you an indignity such as I never contemplated."

  "You cannot be said to deprive us of what is not ours, by anyinterpretation of the word with which I am acquainted," saidSaracinesca in a tone which showed that he was determined to receivenothing.

  "I am a poor grammarian," answered San Giacinto gravely, and withoutthe slightest affectation of humility. "I was brought up a farmer, andwas only an innkeeper until lately. I cannot discuss with you thesubtle meanings of words. To my mind it is I who am taking from youthat which, if not re
ally yours, you have hitherto had every right toown and to make use of. I do not attempt to explain my thought. I onlysay that I will neither take your name nor live in your house while youare alive. I propose a compromise which I hope you will be willing toaccept."

  "I fear that will be impossible. My mind is made up."

  "I propose," continued San Giacinto, "that you remain PrinceSaracinesca, that you keep Saracinesca itself, and the palace here inRome during your lifetime, which I trust may be a long one. After yourdeath everything returns to us. My cousin Giovanni and the PrincessSant' Ilario--"

  "You may call me Corona, if you please," said the princess suddenly.Her eyes were fixed on his face, and she was smiling.

  Both Saracinesca and Giovanni looked at her in surprise. It seemedstrange to them that she should choose such a moment for admitting SanGiacinto to a familiarity he had never before enjoyed. But for sometime she had felt a growing respect for the ex-innkeeper, which wasquickened by his present generosity. San Giacinto's swarthy face grew ashade darker as the blood mounted to his lean cheeks. Corona had givenhim one of the first sensations of genuine pleasure he had everexperienced in his rough life.

  "Thank you," he said simply. "You two, I was going to say, have palacesof your own and cannot have such close associations with the old placesas one who has owned them during so many years. You," he continued,turning to the old prince, "will, I hope, accept an arrangement whichcannot affect your dignity and which will give me the greatestsatisfaction."

  "I am very much obliged to you," answered Saracinesca promptly. "Youare very generous, but I cannot take what you offer."

  "If you feel that you would be taking anything from me, look at it froma different point of view. You would be conferring a favour instead ofaccepting one. Consider my position, when I have taken your place. Itwill not be a pleasant one. The world will abuse me roundly, and willsay I have behaved abominably towards you. Do you fancy that I shall bereceived as a substitute for the Prince Saracinesca your friends haveknown so long? Do you suppose that the vicissitudes of my life areunknown, and that no one will laugh behind my back and point at me asthe new, upstart prince? Few people know me in Rome, and if I have anyfriends besides you, I have not been made aware of the fact. Prayconsider that in doing what I ask, you would be saving me from veryunpleasant social consequences."

  "I should be doing so at the cost of my self-respect," replied the oldman firmly. "Whatever the consequences are to you, the means of bearingthem will be in your hands. You will have no lack of friends to-morrow,or at least of amiable persons anxious to call themselves by that name.They will multiply this very night, like mushrooms, and will come aboutyou freshly shaved and smiling to-morrow morning."

  "I am afraid you do not understand me," said San Giacinto. "I canleave you the title and yet take one which will serve as well. You wouldcall yourself Prince Saracinesca and I should be Saracinesca di SanGiacinto. As for the palace and the place in the mountains, they are soinsignificant as compared with the rest that it could not hurt yourself-respect to live in them. Can you not persuade your father?" Heturned to Giovanni who had not spoken yet.

  "You are very good to make the proposal," he answered. "I cannot saymore than that. I agree with my father."

  A silence followed which lasted several minutes. Corona looked from oneto the other of the three men, wondering how the matter would end. Sheunderstood both parties better than they understood each other. Shesympathised with the refusal of her husband and his father. To acceptsuch an offer would put them in a position of obligation towards SanGiacinto which she knew they could never endure, and which would begalling to herself. On the other hand she felt sorry for their cousin,who was evidently trying to do what he felt was right and generous, andwas disappointed that his advances should be repelled. He was very muchin earnest, or he would not have gone so far as to suggest that itwould be a favour to him if they took what he offered. He was sosimple, and yet so dignified withal, that she could not help likinghim. It was not clear to her, however, that she could mend matters byinterfering, nor by offering advice to the one or sympathy to the other.

  Saracinesca himself was the first to break the silence. It seemed tohim that everything had been said, and that nothing now remained but tofulfil the requisite formalities.

  "Shall we proceed to business?" he inquired, as though ignoring all theprevious conversation. "I believe we have a great deal to do, and thetime is passing."

  San Giacinto made no reply, but rose gravely and made a gesturesignifying that he would show the way to the study. Saracinesca made ashow of refusing to go out first, then yielded and went on. SanGiacinto waited at the door for Corona and Giovanni. "I will join youin a moment--I know the way," said the latter, remaining behind withhis wife.

  When they were alone he led her towards one of the windows, as thoughto be doubly sure that no one could hear what he was about to say. Thenhe stood still and looked into her eyes.

  "Would you like us to accept such a favour from him?" he asked. "Tellme the truth."

  "No," answered Corona without the least hesitation. "But I am sorry forSan Giacinto. I think he is really trying to do right, and to begenerous. He was hurt by your father's answer."

  "If I thought it would give you pleasure to feel that we could go toSaracinesca, I would try and make my father change his mind."

  "Would you?" She knew very well what a sacrifice it would be to hispride.

  "Yes, dear. I would do it for you."

  "Giovanni--how good you are!"

  "No--I am not good. I love you. That is all. Shall I try?"

  "Never! I am sorry for San Giacinto--but I could no more live in theold house, or in Saracinesca, than you could. Do I not feel all thatyou feel, and more?"

  "All?"

  "All."

  They stood hand in hand looking out of the window, and there were tearsin the eyes of both. The grasp of their fingers tightened slowly asthough they were drawn together by an irresistible force. Slowly theyturned their faces towards each other, and presently their lips met inone of those kisses that are never forgotten. Then Giovanni left herwhere she was. All had been said; both knew that they desired nothingmore in this world, and that henceforth they were all to each other. Itwas as though a good angel had set a heavenly seal upon the reunion oftheir hearts.

  Corona did not leave the room immediately, but remained a few momentsleaning against the heavy frame of the window. Her queenly figuredrooped a little, and she pressed one hand to her side. Her dark facewas bent down, and the tears that had of old come so rarely made silverlines upon her olive cheeks. There was not one drop of bitterness inthat overflowing of her soul's transcendent joy, in that happinesswhich was so great and perfect that it seemed almost unbearable.

  And she had reason to be glad. In the midst of a calamity which wouldhave absorbed the whole nature of many men, Giovanni had not onethought that was not for her. Giovanni, who had once doubted her, whohad said such things to her as she dared not remember--Giovanni,suffering under a blow to his pride, that was worse almost than totalruin, had but one wish, to make another sacrifice for her. That falsepast, of which she hated to think, was gone like an evil dream beforethe morning sun, that true past, which was her whole life, was madepresent again. The love that had been so bruised and crushed that shehad thought it dead had sprung up again from its deep, strong roots,grander and nobler than before. The certainty that it was real wasoverwhelming, and drowned all her senses in a trance of light.

  Faustina Montevarchi entered the drawing-room softly, then, seeing noone, she advanced till she came all at once upon Corona in theembrasure of the window. The princess started slightly when she sawthat she was not alone.

  "Corona!" exclaimed the young girl. "Are you crying? What is it?"

  "Oh, Faustina! I am so happy!" It was a relief to be able to say it tosome one.

  "Happy?" repeated Faustina in surprise. "But there are tears in youreyes, on your cheeks--"

  "You cannot unders
tand--I do not wonder--how should you? And besides, Icannot tell you what it is."

  "I wish I were you," answered her friend sadly. "I wish I were happy!"

  "What is it, child?" asked Corona kindly. Then she led Faustina to astiff old sofa at one end of the vast room and they sat down together."What is it?" she repeated, drawing the girl affectionately to her side.

  "You know what it is, dear. No one can help me. Oh, Corona! we loveeach other so very much!"

  "I know--I know it is very real. But you must have a little patience,darling. Love will win in the end. Just now, too--" She did not finishthe sentence, but she had touched a sensitive spot in Faustina'sconscience.

  "That is the worst of it," was the answer. "I am so miserable, becauseI know he never would have allowed it, and now--I am ashamed to tellyou, it is so heartless!" She hid her face on her friend's shoulder.

  "You will never be heartless, my dear Faustina," said Corona. "What youthink, is not your fault, dear. Love is master of the world and of usall."

  "But my love is not like yours, Corona. Perhaps yours was once likemine. But you are married--you are happy. You were saying so just now."

  "Yes, dear. I am very, very happy, because I love very, very dearly.You will be as happy as I am some day."

  "Ah, that may be--but--I am dreadfully wicked, Corona!"

  "You, child? You do not know what it is to think anything bad!"

  "But I do. I am so much ashamed of it that I can hardly tell you--onlyI tell you everything, because you are my friend. Corona--it ishorrible--it seems easier, more possible--now that he is gone--oh! I amso glad I have told you!" Faustina began to sob passionately, as thoughshe were repenting of some fearful crime.

  "Is that all, darling?" asked Corona, smiling at the girl's innocence,and pressing her head tenderly to her own breast. "Is that what makesyou so unhappy?"

  "Yes--is it not--very, very dreadful?" A fresh shower of tearsaccompanied the question.

  "Perhaps I am very bad, too," said Corona. "But I do not call thatwickedness."

  "Oh no! You are good. I wish I were like you!"

  "No, do not wish that. But, I confess, it seems to me natural that youshould think as you do, because it is really true. Your father,Faustina, may have been mistaken about your future. If--if he hadlived, you might perhaps have made him change his mind. At all events,you can hope that he now sees more clearly, that he understands howterrible it is for a woman to be married to a man she does notlove--when she is sure that she loves another."

  "Yes--you told me. Do you remember? It was the other day, after Flaviahad been saying such dreadful things. But I know it already. Everywoman must know it."

  There was a short pause, during which Corona wondered whether she werethe same person she had been ten days earlier, when she had deliveredthat passionate warning. Faustina sat quite still, looking up into theprincess's face. She was comforted and reassured and the tears hadceased to flow.

  "There is something else," she said at last. "I want to tell youeverything, for I can tell no one else. I cannot keep it to myselfeither. He has written to me, Corona. Was it very wrong to read hisletter?" This time she smiled a little and blushed.

  "I do not think it was very wrong," answered her friend with a softlaugh. She was so happy that she would have laughed at anything.

  "Shall I show you his letter?" asked the young girl shyly. At the sametime her hand disappeared into the pocket of her black gown, andimmediately afterwards brought out a folded piece of paper which lookedas though it had been read several times.

  Corona did not think it necessary to express her assent in words.Faustina opened the note, which contained the following words, writtenin Gouache's delicate French handwriting--

  "MADEMOISELLE--When you have read these lines, you will understand myobject in writing them, for you understand me, and you know that all Ido has but one object. A few days ago it was still possible for us tomeet frequently. The terrible affliction which has fallen upon you, andin which none can feel deeper or more sincere sympathy than I, has putit out of your power and out of mine to join hands and weep over thepresent, to look into each other's eyes and read there the goldenlegend of a future happiness. To meet as we have met, alone in thecrowded church--no! we cannot do it. For you, at such a time, it wouldseem like a disrespect to your father's memory. For myself, I shoulddeem it dishonourable, I should appear base in my own eyes. Did I notgo to him and put to him the great question? Was I not repulsed--I donot say with insult, but with astonishment--at my presumption? Shall Ithen seem to take advantage of his death--of his sudden and horribledeath--to press forward a suit which he is no longer able to oppose? Ifeel that it would be wrong. Though I cannot express myself as I would,I know that you understand me, for you think as I do. How could it beotherwise? Are we not one indivisible soul, we two? Yes, you willunderstand me. Yes, you will know that it is right. I go therefore, Ileave Rome immediately. I cannot inhabit the same city and not see you.But I cannot quit the Zouaves in this time of danger. I am thereforegoing to Viterbo, whither I am sent through the friendly assistance ofone of our officers. There I shall stay until time has soothed yourgrief and restored your mother to health. To her we will turn when themoment has arrived. She will not be insensible to our tears andentreaties. Until then good-bye--ah! the word is less terrible than itlooks, for our souls will be always together. I leave you but for ashort space--no! I leave your sweet eyes, your angel's face, your dearhands that I adore, but yourself I do not leave. I bear you with me ina heart that loves you--God knows how tenderly."

  Corona read the letter carefully to the end. To her older appreciationof the world, such a letter appeared at first to be the forerunner of adefinite break, but a little reflection made her change her mind. Whathe said was clearly true, and corresponded closely with Faustina's ownview of the case. The most serious obstacle to the union of the lovershad been removed by Prince Montevarchi's death, and it wasinconceivable that Gouache should have ceased to care for Faustina atthe very moment when a chance of his marrying her had presented itself.Besides, Corona knew Gouache well, and was not mistaken in her estimateof his character. He was honourable to Quixotism, and perfectly capableof refusing to take what looked like an unfair advantage. ConsideringFaustina's strange nature, her amazing readiness to yield to firstimpulses, and her touching innocence of evil, it would have been aneasy matter for the man she loved to draw her into a runaway match. Shewould have followed him as readily to the ends of the earth as she hadfollowed him to the Serristori barracks. Gouache was not a boy, andprobably understood her peculiarities as well as any one. In going awayfor the present he was undoubtedly acting with the greatest delicacy,for his departure showed at once all the respect he felt for Faustina,and all that devotion to an ideal honour which was the foundation ofhis being. Though his epistle was not a model of literary style itcontained certain phrases that came from the heart. Corona understoodwhy Faustina was pleased with it, and why instead of shedding uselesstears over his absence, she had shown such willingness to let herfriend read Gouache's own explanation of his departure. She folded thesheet of paper again and gave it back to the young girl.

  "I am glad he wrote that letter," she said after a moment's pause. "Ialways believed in him, and now--well, I think, he is almost worthy ofyou, Faustina."

  Faustina threw her arms around Corona's neck, and kissed her again andagain.

  "I am so glad you know how good he is!" she cried. "I could not behappy unless you liked him, and you do."

  All through the morning the two friends sat together in the greatdrawing-room talking, as such women can talk to each other, withinfinite grace about matters not worth recording, or if they spoke ofthings of greater importance, repeating the substance of what they hadsaid before, finding at each repetition some new comment to make, somenew point upon which to agree, after the manner of people who are veryfond of each other. The hours slipped by, and they were unconscious ofthe lapse of time. The great clocks of the neighbouring c
hurch towerstolled eleven, twelve, and one o'clock, and yet they had more to say,and did not even notice the loud ringing of the hundred bells. The daywas clear, and the bright sunlight streamed in through the highwindows, telling the hour with a more fateful precision than the clocksoutside. All was peace and happiness and sweet intercourse, as the twowomen sat there undisturbed through the long morning. They talked, andlaughed, and held their hands clasped together, unconscious of the restof the world. No sound penetrated from the rest of the house to thequiet, sunlit hall, which to Faustina's mind had never looked socheerful before since she could remember it. And yet within the wallsof the huge old palace strange things were passing, things which it waswell that neither of them should see.

  Before describing the events which close this part of my story, it isas well to say that Faustina has made her last appearance for thepresent. From the point of view which would have been taken by most ofher acquaintances, her marriage with Gouache was a highly improbableevent. If any one desires an apology for being left in uncertainty asto her fate, I can only answer that I am writing the history of theSaracinesca and not of any one else. There are certain stages in thathistory which are natural halting-places for the historian himself, andfor his readers if he have any; and it is impossible to make the livesof a number of people coincide so far as to wind them up together, andyet be sure that they will run down at the same moment like the clocksof his Majesty Charles the Fifth. If it were, the world would be a verydifferent place.

  CHAPTER XXX.

  The scene in the study, while the notary read through the voluminousdocuments, is worth describing. At one end of the large green table satSan Giacinto alone, his form, even as he sat, towering above the rest.The mourning he wore harmonised with his own dark and massive head. Hisexpression was calm and thoughtful, betraying neither satisfaction nortriumph. From time to time his deep-set eyes turned towards Saracinescawith a look of inquiry, as though to assure himself that the princeagreed to the various points and was aware that he must now speak forthe last time, if he spoke at all. At the other end of the board thetwo Saracinesca were seated side by side. The strong resemblance thatexisted between them was made very apparent by their position, butalthough, allowing for the difference of their ages, their featurescorresponded almost line for line, their expressions were totallydifferent. The old man's gray hair and pointed beard seemed to bristlewith suppressed excitement. His heavy brows were bent together, asthough he were making a great effort to control his temper, and now andthen there was an angry gleam in his eyes. He sat square and erect inhis seat, as though he were facing an enemy, but he kept his handsbelow the table, for he did not choose that San Giacinto should see thenervous working of his fingers. Giovanni, on the other hand, lookedupon the proceedings with an indifference that was perfectly apparent.He occasionally looked at his watch, suppressed a yawn, and examinedhis nails with great interest. It was clear that he was not in theleast moved by what was going on. It was no light matter for the oldnobleman to listen to the documents that deprived him one by one of histitles, his estates, and his other wealth, in favour of a man who wasstill young, and whom, in spite of the relationship, he could not helpregarding as an inferior. He had always considered himself as therepresentative of an older generation, who, by right of position, wasentitled to transmit to his son the whole mass of those proudtraditions in which he had grown up as in his natural element.Giovanni, on the contrary, possessed a goodly share of thatindifference that characterises the younger men of the nineteenthcentury. He was perfectly satisfied with his present situation, and hadbeen so long accustomed to depend upon his personality and his privatefortune, for all that he enjoyed or required in life, that he did notdesire the responsibilities that weigh heavily upon the head of a greatfamily. Moreover, recent events had turned the current of his thoughtsinto a different direction. He was in his way as happy as Corona, andhe knew that real happiness proceeds from something more than a scoreof titles and a few millions of money, more or less. He regarded thelong morning's work as an intolerable nuisance, which prevented himfrom spending his time with his wife.

  In the middle of the table sat the two notaries, flanked by fourclerks, all of them pale men in black, clean shaved, of various ages,but bearing on their faces the almost unmistakable stamp of theirprofession. The one who was reading the deeds wore spectacles. Fromtime to time he pushed them back upon his bald forehead and glancedfirst at San Giacinto and then at Prince Saracinesca, after which hecarefully resettled the glasses upon his long nose and proceeded withhis task until he had reached the end of another set of clauses, whenhe repeated the former operation with mechanical regularity, neverfailing to give San Giacinto the precedence of the first look.

  For a long time this went on, with a monotony which almost droveGiovanni from the room. Indeed nothing but absolute necessity couldhave kept him in his place. At last the final deed was reached. It wasan act of restitution drawn up in a simple form so as to include, by afew words, all the preceding documents. It set forth that LeoneSaracinesca being "free in body and mind," the son of GiovanniSaracinesca deceased, "whom may the Lord preserve in a state of glory,"restored, gave back, yielded, and abandoned all those goods, titles,and benefices which he had inherited directly from Leone Saracinesca,the eleventh of that name, deceased, "whom may the Lord preserve in astate of glory," to Giovanni Saracinesca, Marchese di San Giacinto, whowas "free in body and mind," son of Orsino Saracinesca, ninth of thatname, deceased, "whom may the Lord, etc." Not one of the quaint stockphrases was omitted. The notary paused, looked round, adjusted hisspectacles and continued. The deed further set forth that GiovanniSaracinesca, Marchese di San Giacinto aforesaid, acknowledged thereceipt of the aforesaid goods, titles, and benefices, and stated thathe received all as the complete inheritance, relinquishing all furtherclaims against the aforesaid Leone and his heirs for ever. Once morethe reader paused, and then read the last words in a clear voice--

  "Both the noble parties promising, finally, in regard to the presentcession, to take account of it, to hold it as acceptable, valid, andperpetual, and, for the same, never to allow it to be spoken ofotherwise."

  A few words followed, setting forth the name of the notary and thestatement that the act was executed in his presence, with the date.When he had finished reading all, he rose and turned the document uponthe table so that the two parties could stand opposite to him and signit. Without a word he made a slight inclination and offered the pen toSaracinesca. The old gentleman pushed back his chair and marchedforward with erect head and a firm step to sign away what had been hisbirthright. From first to last he had acknowledged the justice of hiscousin's claims, and he was not the man to waver at the supreme moment.His hair bristled more stiffly than ever, and his dark eyes shot fire,but he took the pen and wrote his great strong signature as clearly ashe had written it at the foot of his marriage contract five and thirtyyears earlier. Giovanni looked at him with admiration.

  Then San Giacinto, who had risen out of respect to the old man, cameforward and took the pen in his turn. He wrote out his name instraight, firm characters as usual, but at the end the ink made a broadblack mark that ended abruptly, as though the writer had put the laststroke to a great undertaking.

  "There should be two witnesses," said the notary in the awkward silencethat followed. "Don Giovanni can be one," he added, giving the latterthe only name that was now his, with a lawyer's scrupulous exactness.

  "One of your clerks can be the other," suggested Saracinesca, who wasanxious to get away as soon as possible.

  "It is not usual," replied the notary. "Is there no one in the palace?One of the young princes would do admirably."

  "They are all away," said San Giacinto. "Let me see--there is thelibrarian. Will he answer the purpose? He must be in the library atthis hour. A respectable man--he has been thirty years in the house.For that matter, the steward is probably in his office, too."

  "The librarian is the best person," answered the notary.

  "I
will bring him at once--I know the way." San Giacinto left the studyby the door that opened upon the passage. The others could hear hisheavy steps as he went rapidly up the paved corridor. Old Saracinescawalked up and down the room unable to conceal his impatience. Giovanniresumed his seat and waited quietly, indifferent to the last.

  Arnoldo Meschini was in the library, as San Giacinto had anticipated.He was seated at his usual place at the upper end of the hall,surrounded by books and writing materials which he handled nervouslywithout making any serious attempt to use them. He had lost all powerof concentrating his thoughts or of making any effort to work.Fortunately for him no one had paid any attention to him during thepast ten days. His appearance was dishevelled and slovenly, and he wasmore bent than he had formerly been. His eyes were bleared and glassyas he stared at the table before him, assuming a wild and startledexpression when, looking up, he fancied he saw some horrible objectgliding quickly across the sunny floor, or creeping up to him over thepolished table. All his former air of humility and shabbyrespectability was gone. His disordered dress, his straggling grayishhair that hung from beneath the dirty black skullcap around hismisshapen ears, his face, yellow in parts and irregularly flushed inothers, as though it were beginning to be scorched from within, hisunwashed hands, every detail of his appearance, in short, proclaimedhis total degradation. But hitherto no one had noticed him, for he hadlived between his attic, the deserted library and the apothecary's shopon the island of Saint Bartholomew. His mind had almost ceased to actwhen he was awake, except in response to the fear which the smallestcircumstances now caused him. If he had dreams by night, he saw visionsalso in the day, and his visions generally took the shape of SanGiacinto. He had not really seen him since he had met him when theprince lay in state, but the fear of him was, if anything, greater thanif he had met him daily. The idea that the giant was lying in wait forhim had become fixed, and yet he was powerless to fly. His energy wasall gone between his potations and the constant terror that paralysedhim.

  On that morning he had been as usual to the Ponte Quattro Capi and hadreturned with the means of sleep in his pocket. He had no instinct leftbut to deaden his sensations with drink during the hours of light,while waiting for the time when he could lie down and yield to the morepotent influence of the opium. He had therefore come back as usual, andby force of habit had taken his place in the library, the fear ofseeming to neglect his supposed duties forbidding him to spend all histime in his room. As usual, too, he had locked the door of the passageto separate himself from his dread of a supernatural visitation. He satdoubled together in his chair, his long arms lying out before him uponthe books and papers.

  All at once he started in his seat. One, two, one two--yes, there werefootsteps in the corridor--they were coming nearer and nearer--heavy,like those of the dead prince--but quicker, like those of SanGiacinto--closer, closer yet. A hand turned the latch once, twice, thenshook the lock roughly. Meschini was helpless. He could neither getupon his feet and escape by the other exit, nor find the way to thepocket that held his weapon. Again the latch was turned and shaken, andthen the deep voice he dreaded was heard calling to him.

  "Signor Meschini!"

  He shrieked aloud with fear, but he was paralysed in every limb. Amoment later a terrible crash drowned his cries. San Giacinto, onhearing his agonised scream, had feared some accident. He drew back astep and then, with a spring, threw his colossal strength against theline where the leaves of the door joined. The lock broke in itssockets, the panels cracked under the tremendous pressure, and the doorflew wide open. In a moment San Giacinto was standing over thelibrarian, trying to drag him back from the table and out of his seat.He thought the man was in a fit. In reality he was insane with terror.

  "An easy death, for the love of heaven!" moaned the wretch, twistinghimself under the iron hands that held him by the shoulders. "For God'ssake! I will tell you all--do not torture me--oh! oh!--only let it beeasy--and quick--yes, I tell you--I killed the prince--oh, mercy,mercy, for Christ's sake!"

  San Giacinto's grip tightened, and his face grew livid. He liftedMeschini bodily from the chair and set him against the table, holdinghim up at arm's length, his deep eyes blazing with a rage that wouldsoon be uncontrollable. Meschini's naturally strong constitution didnot afford him the relief of fainting.

  "You killed him--why?" asked San Giacinto through his teeth, scarcelyable to speak.

  "For you, for you--oh, have mercy--do not--"

  "Silence!" cried the giant in a voice that shook the vault of the hall."Answer me or I will tear your head from your body with my hands! Whydo you say you killed him for me?"

  Meschini trembled all over, and then his contorted face grew almostcalm. He had reached that stage which may be called the somnambulism offear. The perspiration covered his skin in an instant, and his voicesank to a distinct whisper.

  "He made me forge the deeds, and would not pay me for them. Then Ikilled him."

  "What deeds?"

  "The deeds that have made you Prince Saracinesca. If you do not believeme, go to my room, the originals are in the cupboard. The key is here,in my right-hand pocket."

  He could not move to get it, for San Giacinto held him fast, andwatched every attempt he made at a movement. His own face was deathlypale, and his white lips were compressed together.

  "You forged them altogether, and the originals are untouched?" heasked, his grasp tightening unconsciously till Meschini yelled withpain.

  "Yes!" he cried. "Oh, do not hurt me--an easy death--"

  "Come with me," said San Giacinto, leaving his arms and taking him bythe collar. Then he dragged and pushed him towards the splintered doorof the passage. At the threshold, Meschini writhed and tried to drawback, but he could no more have escaped from those hands that held himthan a lamb can loosen the talons of an eagle when they are buried deepin the flesh.

  "Go on!" urged the strong man, in fierce tones. "You came by thispassage to kill him--you know the way."

  With a sudden movement of his right hand he launched the howling wretchforward into the corridor. All through the narrow way Meschini's criesfor mercy resounded, loud and piercing, but no one heard him. The wallswere thick and the distance from the inhabited rooms was great. But atlast the shrieks reached the study.

  Saracinesca stood still in his walk. Giovanni sprang to his feet. Thenotaries sat in their places and trembled. The noise came nearer andthen the door flew open. San Giacinto dragged the shapeless mass ofhumanity in and flung it half way across the room, so that it sank in aheap at the old prince's feet.

  "There is the witness to the deeds," he cried savagely. "He forgedthem, and he shall witness them in hell. He killed his master in thisvery room, and here he shall tell the truth before he dies. Confess,you dog! And be quick about it, or I will help you."

  He stirred the grovelling creature with his foot. Meschini only rolledfrom side to side and hid his face against the floor. Then the gigantichands seized him again and set him on his feet, and held him with hisface to the eight men who had all risen and were standing together inwondering silence.

  "Speak!" shouted San Giacinto in Meschini's ear. "You are not deadyet--you have much to live through, I hope."

  Again that trembling passed over the unfortunate man's limbs, and hegrew quiet and submissive. It was all as he had seen it in his wilddreams and visions, the secret chamber whence no sound could reach theouter world, the stern judges all in black, the cruel strength of SanGiacinto ready to torture him. The shadow of death rose in his eyes.

  "Let me sit down," he said in a broken voice.

  San Giacinto led him to a chair in the midst of them all. Then he stoodbefore one of the doors, and motioned to his cousin to guard the other.But Arnoldo Meschini had no hope of escape. His hour was at hand, andhe knew it.

  "You forged the deeds which were presented as originals in the court.Confess it to those gentlemen." It was San Giacinto who spoke.

  "The prince made me do it," answered Meschini in low tones.
"Hepromised me twenty thousand scudi for the work."

  "To be paid--when? Tell all."

  "To be paid in cash the day the verdict was given."

  "You came to get your money here?"

  "I came here. He denied having promised anything definite. I grewangry. I killed him." A violent shudder shook his frame from head tofoot.

  "You strangled him with a pocket handkerchief?"

  "It was Donna Faustina's?"

  "The prince threw it on the ground after he had struck her. I saw thequarrel. I was waiting for my money. I watched them through the door."

  "You know that you are to die. Where are the deeds you stole when youforged the others?"

  "I told you--in the cupboard in my room. Here is the key. Only--forGod's sake---"

  He was beginning to break down again. Perhaps, by the habit of the pastdays he felt the need for drink even in that supreme moment, for hishand sought his pocket as he sat. Instead of the bottle he felt thecold steel barrel of the revolver, which he had forgotten. San Giacintolooked towards the notary.

  "Is this a full confession, sufficient to commit this man to trial?" heasked. But before the notary could answer, Meschini's voice soundedthrough the room, not weak and broken, but loud and clear.

  "It is! It is!" he cried in sudden and wild excitement. "I have toldall. The deeds will speak for themselves. Ah! you would have donebetter to leave me amongst my books!" He turned to San Giacinto. "Youwill never be Prince Saracinesca. But I shall escape you. You shall notgive me a slow death--you shall not, I say--"

  San Giacinto made a step towards him. The proximity of the man who hadinspired him with such abject terror put an end to his hesitation.

  "You shall not!" he almost screamed. "But my blood is on your head--Ah!"

  Three deafening reports shook the air in rapid succession, and all thatwas left of Arnoldo Meschini lay in a shapeless heap upon the floor.While a man might have counted a score there was silence in the room.Then San Giacinto came forward and bent over the body, while thenotaries and their clerks cowered in a corner. Saracinesca and Giovannistood together, grave and silent, as brave men are when they have seena horrible sight and can do nothing. Meschini was quite dead. When SanGiacinto had assured himself of the fact, he looked up. All the fiercerage had vanished from his face.

  "He is dead," he said quietly. "You all saw it. You will have to giveyour evidence in half an hour when the police come. Be good enough toopen the door."

  He took up the body in his arms carefully, but with an ease that amazedthose who watched him. Giovanni held the door open, and San Giacintodeposited his burden gently upon the pavement of the corridor. Then heturned back and re-entered the room. The door of the study closed forever on Arnoldo Meschini.

  In the dead silence that followed, San Giacinto approached the tableupon which the deed lay, still waiting to be witnessed. He took it inhis hand and turned to Saracinesca. There was no need for him toexculpate himself from any charge of complicity in the abominable fraudwhich Montevarchi had prepared before he died. Not one of the menpresent even thought of suspecting him. Even if they had, it was clearthat he would not have brought Meschini to confess before them arobbery in which he had taken part. But there was that in his braveeyes that told his innocence better than any evidence or argument couldhave proclaimed it. He held out the document to Saracinesca.

  "Would you like to keep it as a memento?" he asked. "Or shall I destroyit before you?"

  His voice never quavered, his face was not discomposed. Giovanni, thenoble-hearted gentleman, wondered whether he himself could have bornesuch a blow so bravely as this innkeeper cousin of his. Hopes, such asfew men can even aspire to entertain, had been suddenly extinguished. Afuture of power and wealth and honour, the highest almost that hiscountry could give any man, had been in a moment dashed to piecesbefore his eyes. Dreams, in which the most indifferent would see theprospect of enormous satisfaction, had vanished into nothing during thelast ten minutes, almost at the instant when they were to be realised.And yet the man who had hoped such hopes, who had looked forward tosuch a future, whose mind must have revelled many a time in the visionsthat were already becoming realities--that man stood before them all,outwardly unmoved, and proposing to his cousin that he should keep as aremembrance the words that told of his own terrible disappointment. Hewas indeed the calmest of those present.

  "Shall I tear it to pieces?" he asked again, holding the documentbetween his fingers. Then the old prince spoke.

  "Do what you will with it," he answered. "But give me your hand. Youare a braver man than I."

  The two men looked into each other's eyes as their hands met.

  "It shall not be the last deed between us," said Saracinesca. "Thereshall be another. Whatever may be the truth about that villain's workyou shall have your share--"

  "A few hours ago, you would not take yours," answered San Giacintoquietly. "Must I repeat your own words?"

  "Well, well--we will talk of that. This has been a terrible morning'swork, and we must do other things before we go to business again. Thatpoor man's body is outside the door. We had better attend to thatmatter first, and send for the police. Giovanni, my boy, will you tellCorona? I believe she is still in the house."

  Giovanni needed no urging to go upon his errand. He entered thedrawing-room where Corona was still sitting beside Faustina upon thesofa. His face must have been pale, for Corona looked at him with astartled expression.

  "Is anything the matter?" she asked.

  "Something very unpleasant has occurred," he answered, looking atFaustina. "Meschini, the librarian, has just died very suddenly in thestudy where we were."

  "Meschini?" cried Faustina in surprise and with some anxiety.

  "Yes. Are you nervous, Donna Faustina? May I tell you something verystartling?" It was a man's question.

  "Yes--what is it?" she asked quickly.

  "Meschini confessed before us all that it was he who was the cause--infact that he had murdered your father. Before any one could stop him,he had shot himself. It is very dreadful."

  With a low cry that was more expressive of amazement than of horror,Faustina sank into a chair. In his anxiety to tell his wife the wholetruth Giovanni forgot her at once. As soon as he began to speak,however, Corona led him away to the window where they had stoodtogether a few hours earlier.

  "Corona--what I told her is not all. There is something else. Meschinihad forged the papers which gave the property to San Giacinto.Montevarchi had promised him twenty thousand scudi for the job. It wasbecause he would not pay the money that Meschini killed him. Do youunderstand?"

  "You will have everything after all?"

  "Everything--but we must give San Giacinto a share. He has behaved likea hero. He found it all out and made Meschini confess. When he knew thetruth he did not move a muscle of his face, but offered my father thedeed he had just signed as a memento of the occasion."

  "Then he will not take anything, any more than you would, or yourfather. Is it quite sure, Giovanni? Is there no possible mistake?"

  "No. It is absolutely certain. The original documents are in thishouse."

  "I am glad then, for you, dear," answered Corona. "It would have beenvery hard for you to bear--"

  "After this morning? After the other day in Holy Office?" askedGiovanni, looking deep into her splendid eyes. "Can anything be hard tobear if you love me, darling?"

  "Oh my beloved! I wanted to hear you say it!" Her head sank upon hisshoulder, as though she had found that perfect rest for which she hadonce so longed.

  Here ends the second act in the history of the Saracinesca. To tracetheir story further would be to enter upon an entirely different seriesof events, less unusual perhaps in themselves, but possibly worthy ofdescription as embracing that period during which Rome and the Romansbegan to be transformed and modernised. In the occurrences thatfollowed, both political and social, the Saracinesca bore a part, inthat blaze of gaiety which for many reasons developed during the winterof the O
ecumenical Council, in the fall of the temporal power, in thesocial confusion that succeeded that long-expected catastrophe, andwhich led by rapid degrees to the present state of things. If there areany left who still feel an interest in Giovanni and Corona, thehistorian may once more resume his task and set forth in succession thecircumstances through which they have passed since that memorablemorning they spent at the Palazzo Montevarchi. They themselves arefacts, and, as such, are a part of the century in which we live;whether they are interesting facts or not, is for others to judge, andif the verdict denounces them as flat, unprofitable and altogetherdull, it is not their fault; the blame must be imputed to him who,knowing them well, has failed in an honest attempt to show them as theyare.

  THE END.