She sat down again and Rinaldo drew his stool close to the big chair and prepared to listen. She laid a hand on his knee and went on very seriously. "If you want to marry Giannella, you must persuade two persons, my padrone—oh, do hear me patiently!" for Rinaldo seemed on the point of interrupting her—"yes, my padrone, and the most excellent Princess——"
"But what has that old lady got to do with it?" he asked, frowning.
"A great deal," was the reply. "She gave Giannella nine years' splendid education, she is her godmother of First Communion—and she is my principessa. Do you think I am one of the profane, to go against one of the family like that? No indeed. Why, none of my relations would ever speak to me again. It would be a great sin. And the padrone told her what he wanted and persuaded her that it was right. And she sent for us and gave us both such a talking to that for a little while we almost thought she was right too. What would you have? A great person like that, so pious, with so much learning and cleverness! Of course Giannella had not a word to say, and as for me, I did not dare toopen my mouth. And that was a big mistake. For afterwards I perceived that the Principessa could not understand what she did not know, and that I ought to have told her something—that this caprice, this extravagance of my poor master has come suddenly upon him, that it is against his nature and clearly of the devil."
"You really talk very strangely, Sora Mariuccia," said Rinaldo. "Do you not think that any man who knew Giannella would wish to marry her if he could—even as I hope to do?"
"I never expected you to take the padrone's part," she retorted laughing. Then she went on more seriously. "But listen to me, signorino. To me you appear a good boy, honest and kind and truly simpatico, but that is not enough. You will not get my consent until you have satisfied the parroco that you are fit to be Giannella's husband. He will want to see your baptismal certificate, and your ticket of this year's Easter Communion, and also the police report of your conduct generally. If he is satisfied, we will order the confetti, my son, but I say nothing till then."
"He will be satisfied," Rinaldo assured her, more thankful than he had ever expected to be that his record would bear scrutiny; "but tell me, I must know, how far does the Professor's real power over Giannella extend? Is he her legal guardian? That would give us trouble."
"Legal guardian indeed!" snorted Mariuccia. "Only girls with dowries require those. Not a poorchild who would have been taken to the Pietá if I had had the heart to let her go there! Why, the padrone was always telling me that that was the place for her. He grumbled at me for bringing her into the house. He never took any notice of her till three months ago—and then, from one day to another—he is crazy to marry her. I astrologized my head for weeks to find out what had changed him all in a moment like that. Then I perceived," she leaned closer and spoke in a whisper, "that an evil enchantment was laid upon him."
"Really? And by whom?" Rinaldo asked dubiously.
Then Mariuccia related the story of the strange lawyer's visit, of how Giannella had been called in and interrogated, and of how the master looked better pleased than she had ever seen him before. "And," she wound up triumphantly, "that very evening—no, the next—he finds out that Giannella cooks polpetti divinely; then he wants her to take care of his books. The lawyer comes again—an apoplexy to him—and the next thing we know is that Giannella is good, that she is pretty—that Heaven destines the padrone to be her husband. How does it appear to you, signorino? To me it is magic of the most wicked."
Rinaldo was walking up and down the studio in great excitement. "Magic?" he cried; "no, Sora Mariuccia, I see worse than that. We have here a great mystery. I fear some of her parents' relations have heard how good and beautiful Giannella is, andare trying to take her away from Rome. Naturally the Professor—who must have eyes and a heart somewhere, poveraccio—does not wish to lose her—I told you no man could help loving her—and has thought of this as the only way to keep her here. But we must know, we must know. You are right. I must find that lawyer. He will tell us what it all means. Oh, for Heaven's sake, try to remember his name."
"I never heard it," she said; "he gave Giannella a card and she did not read it, and when we looked for it later it was gone. We only know he was a lawyer because the padrone called him 'Signor Avvocato' while Giannella was in the room."
"We must get hold of that card," Rinaldo declared. "When you go home tell Giannella to look for it everywhere—she will find it, I am sure. And I will come to the entrance of the palazzo this evening at Ave Maria, and you will be so good as to come down and give it to me. After that, leave it to me—I make it my affair. I would spare you the stairs and come up, dear Sora Mariuccia, but the Professor might see me, and he must suspect nothing as yet. Oh, tell Giannella—"
But Mariuccia did not wait to hear the love messages. Fra Tommaso's bells were pealing the hour, eight o'clock, and the padrone would expect his coffee in precisely fifteen minutes. She sped downstairs at a wonderful pace, opened her huge umbrella on the doorstep, which was wet with rain, and nearly knocked down Sora Amalia, who was in her doorwayexchanging the day's news with Sora Rosa opposite. They both looked after the retreating figure and nodded to one another sagely.
"I told you so," cried the lady of the dairy triumphantly. "You see! they make the arrangements."
"La Biondina will at least have the salad at her door," replied Sora Rosa, "and that is a fine thing. But she will never have tomatoes at three baiocchi a pound after she marries that rich Signorino Goffi! Trust me!"
As the quick southern dusk was falling Rinaldo stole to the foot of the "Scala III.," concealed himself behind an open stable door, and waited for Mariuccia. Like all his countrymen, he loved mystery. This innocent conspiracy set his pulses throbbing pleasantly and cleared his brain to crystal acuteness. Besides, he had made an ally of Mariuccia, he had opened his heart to her, and, after her first explosion of suspicion, had been received as a prospective son. The victory over the Professor and his mighty endorser, the Princess, would be mere child's play now, if only Giannella held firm. Although he had the happiness of knowing that she loved him, the young man did not deceive himself into believing that she would hold out forever under such pressure as was being brought to bear on her. The little that he knew of young girls had taught him otherwise; the better the girl, the more attention she would pay to the commands of those whom she considered in authority over her. He could not imagine that his own sisters would not meekly accept the spouses selected for them. Giannella was singularly docile and humble-minded. She had always been accustomed to set her own wishes aside where those of others were in opposition to them, and in his few talks with her he had seen that the Professor'sawesome learning and the Princess's power, rank, and goodness, caused the girl to regard those two as more or less anointed arbiters of her destiny. Rinaldo himself had plenty of proper respect for his betters, and was a most loyal son of Church and State (one in those palmy days), but he came of a good old provincial stock, quite as proud in its way as any Cestaldini or Santafede; and moreover his university training and his artistic education had brought him in contact with highly educated and broadminded men, so that his outlook on life was a good deal more modern than Giannella's. She had not realized that she was being cruelly imposed upon, that no past benefits could confer on their donors the right to dispose of her entire future against her own inclinations. If she could be brought to understand that, Rinaldo felt that he would be the master of the situation; but there was no time to lose if Bianchi had really made up his mind to marry her at once.
The young man was revolving these thoughts in his dark corner when the grotesquely stealthy tread of creaking shoes drew him from his hiding-place to find Mariuccia peering round the side of the archway leading to the stairs. With a dramatic gesture she beckoned to him, laid a finger on her lips, and pushed a bit of pasteboard into his hands.
"Giannella found it between two of his books," she whispered. "Heaven send he does not look for it to-morrow."
"How is she this evening?" he inquired in the same tone.
"Only so-so," was the reply; "the Signora Principessa has actually written her a letter—such an honor. But I almost wish she had not."
"Written to Giannella!" he exclaimed. "What had she got to say?"
"Oh, all that she said the other day and more still. She is very sure that Giannella ought to accept. And the poor child, who had been so happy because I told her what we were talking about this morning, has been crying all day. She says that if it is her duty to marry the padrone she will try to fulfill it, but that she will want to throw herself into the Tiber afterwards. It is dreadful. If you can only find this avvocato and get him to make the padrone change his mind, well and good. But otherwise I see no way—"
"I do," said Rinaldo sharply. "Giannella should have more sense. There are wise men, good priests, who will tell her in four words where her duty leads her. But we will try and reconcile everybody first, since you and she wish it. Wait a minute, I will take this man's name and address and then you can put this card back where Giannella found it. Please hold this match for me."
"Oh, make haste. Take care!" she exclaimed as Rinaldo struck a vesta and put it into her fingers. "He may come down. If he sees us talking together there will be more trouble."
Rinaldo had copied the card while she was speaking. Now he returned it to her, saying, as the match spluttered out, "If he does come, I will speak to him,I promise you. I will tell the old meddler to go and get himself fried—and all his best little dead too."
Mariuccia shuddered at the suggestion of this deadliest insult in the Roman's armory. "For the love of charity," she implored, "do nothing so rash. He might hand you over to the police—or even cast the evil eye upon you. I cannot say that anything has ever happened to me—but he does squint dreadfully sometimes, poverino. Run, I hear someone coming."
"As you will, I shall bring you good news to-morrow, I hope." And he moved away and was lost in the darkness. Mariuccia drew back into the shadow of the stable and from thence watched Bianchi emerge from the archway. He was enveloped in the double-caped cloak which all the men carried with them after sundown, and held a sheaf of papers in one hand. He stumbled over a stone and the papers flew in every direction. Patiently he stooped and began to gather them up. The instinct of service was too strong for his old domestic. Instantly she was at his side, assisting him deftly.
"Is that you, Mariuccia?" he asked, peering round at her. "Where did you come from? I thought I had left you in the house."
"You think and you think, and you never see anything, Sor Professore," she grumbled. "I came down the stairs behind you. I must get some camomile for Giannella. She has a fever—of those!"
He seemed in a kindlier mood than usual, for he shook his head quite sympathetically and said, "Thatis bad. I am sorry. But it is the weather, and all that heating food. I warned you before. The young blood is not like ours, my good Mariuccia. It makes itself to fire when the sun is in Leo. Give her less to eat and keep her quiet and she will be well in a few days." And he moved away, looking very like a brigand in his big cloak with one end thrown over his shoulder.
Mariuccia watched him disappear, with an expression of almost omniscient pity. "Sor Carlo mio," she murmured, "you have all the instructions of the holy Aristotle, and you can pull down Latin as I used to pull down the chestnuts at Castel Gandolfo—but you are just a baby in arms when it comes to serious things like food and drink. If I were not with you, you would be dead in a month. Rinaldo thinks he and Giannella will get me to live with them. Not a bit of it. They can take care of each other, the Madonna assisting them, and I will continue to protect this unfortunate man of learning till one of us is taken to San Lorenzo."
The evening was still young and Rinaldo thought he would go and listen to the music in Piazza Colonna for a little, so he made his way thither, guided by the strains of "Semiramide" which were ringing out over the otherwise silent city. Piazza Colonna was the favorite gathering place at this hour for citizens of the better class who were not able to get away to the country; as he turned into the square he saw it was already crowded with groups sitting before the cafés as well as with an ever-moving stream of pedestrianstaking leisurely exercise in the open space round the bandstand. He found a seat by one of the little marble-topped tables, ordered the popular "orzata," a milky-looking beverage of almond syrup and iced barley water, and, drawing out his notebook, read over the indications he had copied into it. The name Guglielmo De Sanctis, was a common though quite respectable one; there must be at least a hundred De Sanctises in and around Rome; but the address, a second floor in a fashionable street, denoted that the gentleman in question was doing finely in his business, a fact which, Rinaldo thought, argued well for his character. He decided to call upon him the next morning, and then fell to considering how best to put his rather difficult case.
While the active part of his consciousness was thus employed, the other, the artistic one, was enjoying the charming scene before him. The great square, fronting on the Corso and sloping gently up to the majestic façade of the General Post Office at the farther end, lay under the dark night sky, fringed by a many-ringed circle of lights twinkling and intermingling in a soft golden glow. From the center the sculptured shaft of Marcus Aurelius' triumphal column shot up till its crown was lost in darkness; the fountains near it poured their cool sheets of water, gemmed with borrowed stars, into the marble basins, with a rhythmical splash that made a pleasant under-theme to the full music of the band; and every pause in the music was filled with talk and laughter from the audience, delighted with the unexpected coolness after a stifling day. The women looked charmingly pretty in theirembroidered muslins and pale summer silks, and these were diversified by the rather theatrical uniforms of the French officers who, conscious of their exalted mission of protecting the Holy Father, swaggered happily about the city in those days, loving and beloved and blissfully unwitting of history to be.
The humming stream of humanity passed and re-passed before Rinaldo's eyes, momentarily eclipsing the pearl and silver of the fountains and then parting to let it shine forth again. Overhead the sky was a dome of shadows; neither moon nor star shot a ray through the darkness which, with the sudden cooling of the air, presaged some portentous change of weather. Rinaldo was taking in all the attractions of the scene, but such spectacles meant to him very much what they do to the rest of his countrymen—pleasant accessories of existence, but too familiar to merit any special attention, except from luckless foreigners who, of course, coming from sad lands where the sun never shone, where the grapes did not grow, where there were no pretty women to admire, no saints to invoke and no feastdays to enjoy, naturally went mad with delight on finding themselves in a country provided with these necessaries of life, and talked a lot of nonsense about Italy and the Italians, unconscious that the latter epithet is one which every Roman indignantly rejects. "Italy" ceases with the frontiers of Tuscany, which have the honor of bordering on the papal states themselves, the setting of the city which is the jewel of the world. To the south, below her feet, as it were, comes the "Regno," the kingdom ofthe two Sicilies, in due subordination. All is—or rather was in Rinaldo's day—as it should be, and as it undoubtedly would be for ever and ever. All this the benighted foreigner could not be expected to understand, and he was forgiven his ignorance in consideration of the welcome addition to public and private revenues furnished by his lavish expenditure. Rinaldo Goffi in particular had much reason to bless him as an easily satisfied patron of the arts, for most of his pretty genre pictures, not very original but pleasantly delicate in color and correct in drawing, found their way to other lands. He had just put the last touches to the venerable prelate who was going to supply him and Giannella with furniture, and was calculating how soon it would be safe to have him packed for shipment.
"Day after to-morrow, perhaps, if it does not rain," he was thinking, when a young man detached himself from the crowd and bore down upon him with the alertness of a dog recognizing its master. It was little Peppino Sacchetti, who, with his bright eyes, dark complexion and quick movements, always suggested the appearance of a black-and-tan terrier in gay tail-wagging mood.
"How goes it, Nalduccio?" he inquired as he dragged a chair close to that of his friend. "I was looking for you, my son. I have not seen you for days. Have you been finishing his Eminence—or preparing a cup of coffee[2]for the old gentleman who gave you such a turn that Friday?"
"Both, Peppino," Rinaldo replied, "but the coffee is only a mora dose, and the most saintly of cardinals would endorse the prescription."
"You will have to put it by to cool, then," Peppino declared; "we are all going to be wanted very shortly. The river is out on the Prati,[3]and if I am not mistaken, Ripetta will be a canal before the end of the week."
"But it has hardly rained yet," Rinaldo objected, looking up at the sky; "and I was hoping it would hold off for a day or two longer to let my picture dry."
"You should have spoken to Santa Ribiana[4]about it," said Peppino. "It seems to be all arranged now. The Senate sent us word to hold ourselves and our boats in readiness for a call at any moment. It has been raining in the hills, and Tiber and Anio are both over their banks for miles. They may flood the campagna to Ostia if they like—one is so thankful for this coolness."
"There won't be much coolness for us if the boats are called out," Rinaldo remarked with a wry face. "Do you remember the last flood? We worked for twenty-four hours on end. I began to have some sympathy for the poor devils of convicts at the galleys."
Peppino laughed at his friend's dismay. "It all amuses me," he said; "one saw such funny sights. I shall never forget that poor priest floating down the Corso to his church with his feet in buckets. Doyou remember how well he balanced himself with his umbrella? And the old woman who called to us from a window to take her daughter-in-law away and drown her? They had been quarrelling like two furies, and the daughter-in-law came behind her and tried to pitch her out! How we laughed!"
Rinaldo smiled at the recollection; then he rose to go. "There is one thing I must do to-morrow morning," he said, "whatever happens; so I shall not be available for any boat work before midday. I think you are mistaken, Peppino. It is not going to rain here to-night, and I do not believe there will be much of a flood unless it does. In any case, of course I shall be ready to do my share, but please manage not to have me sent for before noon."
"What is this tremendously important business?" Peppino asked. "Perhaps I could help you with it." But Rinaldo slipped off into the crowd. The only way to keep a secret from Peppino was to run away from him. He had no reticences about his own affairs and possessed a marvelously successful curiosity concerning those of others.
The next morning fulfilled his prophecy and broke in sheets of rain. Rinaldo, however, set out manfully and arrived at Signor De Sanctis's door precisely at ten o'clock. He sent in his card—a thing of beauty penned with many flourishes by his own hand—requesting the favor of an interview on a matter of urgent importance. The lawyer received him coolly enough, for Rinaldo in his second best clothes and soaked boots did not look like a money-bringing client.The coolness froze to hostility when the young man, in all good faith, disclosed the object of his visit. Would Signor De Sanctis tell him anything of the business which had brought him to call on Professor Bianchi, and in what way was the Signorina Brockmann connected with it?
De Sanctis leaned back in his chair and eyed Rinaldo with scorn. Did Signor—he glanced contemptuously at the card on the table—ah, Goffi, Signor Goffi, imagine that the affairs of clients were to be revealed to unknown inquirers? Who did the visitor take him for that he should venture to insult him with such a request?
Rinaldo saw that he had begun at the wrong end of the skein. He hastened to assure the incensed gentleman that nothing was further from his thoughts than such transgression; that the delicacy and honor of the distinguished avvocato De Sanctis were so well known that only to him, of all the legal lights in Rome, would it be possible to confide what he was about to relate; and he added that he was equally sure that no one else could explain the extraordinary and mysterious change which had come over Bianchi and which was afflicting his family and friends so deeply.
De Sanctis began to look interested; his suspicion that Rinaldo was illicitly trying to ascertain the figure of the young lady's dowry was allayed by the importance given to the Professor.
"But what is this afflicting change?" he asked. "Signor Bianchi has the reputation of being a man of fixed habits and entire absorption in his studies. Doyou mean that his mind is affected? If so, you must consult a physician. I am not an alienist."
Then Rinaldo set himself to relate the facts, and very absurd they sounded. Here was an elderly devotee of archæological science who had, with many protests, permitted an orphan girl to live under his roof. More he had never done; some little earnings from her embroidery, and the charity of Signor Bianchi's kind-hearted cook had supplied all the rest. Beyond giving her an order as he would to any servant, Signor Bianchi had hardly ever spoken to Giannella, who was the best and most beautiful girl in Rome.
Too much excited to notice De Sanctis's amused smile at this outburst of admiration, Rinaldo went on: "Behold, when she is nearly twenty-one, a certain distinguished lawyer calls upon the Professor and discourses with him at length. Before Ave Maria the next day Signor Bianchi has found out that Giannella is good, that Giannella is pretty, that Giannella cooks polpetti divinely, that Mariuccia really ought to buy her a new dress. There is another visit or two from the distinguished lawyer—and the Professor, who loves money so much that it is like drawing blood to get a few pauls from him for his own food, offers Mariuccia five baiocchi a day for Giannella's board. And when Mariuccia, who is already "stranissima," worried to death with all these new caprices, tells him to go to the devil with his five baiocchi, why then, then, my dear sir, he says he is going tomarry, marry Giannella, who has lived on his own servant's charity and has not a scudo in the world! Explain to me, SignorAvvocato, the conduct of this maniac! As the only friend of those two poor distracted women, I have a right to ask you."
De Sanctis stared at Rinaldo incredulously for several seconds after he had ceased speaking. Then, to the young man's amazement, he burst into peals of laughter. Tears of merriment were running down his cheeks before he regained sufficient self-control to speak. Then he looked at Rinaldo (who was red with anger) and managed to say, "And is that really all you know? You are not playing a joke on me?"
"A joke?" cried the artist hotly; "if there is one you are alone in the enjoyment of it. I see no subject for laughter in these distressing facts. Yes, that is all I know, except—"
"Except?" asked De Sanctis, with a fine return to his professional manner.
"Except this," the other continued, "that when Giannella refused his proposal with horror—Domine Dio, had she not reason?—Bianchi went to the Signora Principessa Santafede and persuaded her to take his side. And she sent for Giannella and Mariuccia and preached them each such a sermon that neither found a word to say, and Giannella has cried herself into a fever and says she was born to misfortune, and that if it is her destiny to marry Bianchi she will do her duty like a Christian and die of despair afterwards. Oh, Signor Avvocato, excuse me, but I cannot even think of it. If you have a heart, save us from all this misery."
Rinaldo's head went down on the table and hesobbed like a Latin and a child—which mean the same thing, very often.
De Sanctis reached over and patted his shoulder consolingly. He was quite convinced now of the young man's good faith, and also of the Professor's perfidy. "Do not afflict yourself, Signor Goffi," he said; "the affair is quite simple. Bianchi is not mad. On the contrary, he is very clever indeed. And the young lady shall marry"—he smiled quizzingly as Rinaldo suddenly raised his head—"shall marry a fine honest young man who is desperately in love with her. I am right, am I not? Are you sure, quite sure, that you want a wife who has not a scudo in the world, who will come to her wedding in the clothes that a poor old servant has given her? It is a serious thing, a wife—there is the future to think of—and, excuse my indiscreetness—you are perhaps not a rich man."
"No," cried Rinaldo, "I am not, thank God. I have had no money to hoard, to worship, to cause my heart to dry up while I am still alive. But I have all the money I need to give that beautiful angel a home and happiness, and also to reward the best Christian I ever knew for her goodness to her. I have my art, my health, a little vigna outside the gates, and I will work for those two women as long as I live, I swear it to you, Signor De Sanctis! And may God abandon me and Our Lady refuse to intercede for me if I break my word!"
"Bravo," said De Sanctis; "and now I fear I must ask you to excuse me, for I have much to do to-day. If you will condescend to return—let me see—theday after to-morrow, I may perhaps have some consoling news for you."
"You are very good," replied Rinaldo; "you will see Bianchi, you will bring him to reason? If he withdraws his proposal the Princess can have no more to say, and it is the scruple about opposing her which is causing the chief trouble. But I fear the Professor will not be easy to argue with."
"I shall have no difficulty with him," De Sanctis declared; "leave him to me. And meanwhile if you have the opportunity, try, on your part, to make the young lady understand that in this matter her destiny need not involve either martyrdom or suicide. These girls! Oh, you are taking the whole thing too seriously, Signor Goffi. They really enjoy a bit of tragedy if only they can play the saint to an admiring audience while they are acting it."
"Giannella has no silly fancies of that kind," Rinaldo replied hotly. "Mariuccia tells me she never considered the thing for a moment until that meddlesome old Princess undertook to poke her nose into matters she knew nothing about. Could you not see her first, Signor Avvocato, and make her change her mind? It would be easier to convince her than Bianchi."
De Sanctis had bounded in his chair at Rinaldo's audacious words. Now he turned on him angrily, saying, "I must insist that you speak of the most excellent Princess with proper respect. You will please to remember that she is a very noble and pious lady, whom I often have the honor to serve. Only Christian benevolence has led her to interest herselfin the Signorina Brockmann's establishment in life. From her point of view—and being, as I perceive she was, in ignorance of certain facts—a marriage with Bianchi must have appeared most advantageous for the girl. I take it that nothing was told her of your intentions in regard to the latter? No, of course not! That would have been too much to expect of 'two poor distracted women.' Well then, you see that they themselves left the Princess uninformed of an important aspect of the affair. If she condescends to remember the incident the next time she sends for me, all shall be explained to her; but she will probably have forgotten all about it before she returns from Santafede. Persons in her rank of life have many weighty matters to occupy their minds." De Sanctis swelled with importance as he spoke, and Rinaldo accepted the snubbing and henceforth believed that the lawyer was the chief repository of the great lady's confidence. "And so have I!" De Sanctis exclaimed, glancing at his watch. "Santa Pazienza! An hour and a half have I been giving to your love affairs, my young friend. Now I must turn to serious things. Accidenti! The rain has it in mind to drown us all."
FOOTNOTES:[2]Synonym for poison.[3]Low-lying meadows near the Vatican.[4]Patron saint of rain.
[2]Synonym for poison.
[2]Synonym for poison.
[3]Low-lying meadows near the Vatican.
[3]Low-lying meadows near the Vatican.
[4]Patron saint of rain.
[4]Patron saint of rain.
The next afternoon the Cardinal was dictating letters to his chaplain, who also acted as his secretary. A bad cold and the increasing rain were keeping him a prisoner. So he sat in the little crimson-walled study, leaning back in his chair and delivering his sentences in beautiful epistolary Italian, less like every-day colloquial than Horace is like Church Latin. The young priest bent over the table, writing for dear life, torn between his desire to keep up with the silver fluency of the speaker and his ambition to make the large page look like a lithographed example of perfect penmanship.
The entrance of Domenico promised him a breathing space, but it was a vain hope. The Cardinal took no notice of the velvet-footed old man, and continued his dictation. Only when the chaplain rose and brought him the letter for inspection and signature did the master look up at his servant, with a lifting of the eyebrows which said, "What is it? You may speak."
"Eminenza, it concerns the subterraneans," Domenico replied. "The foreman says he will have to quit work, as a good deal of water is coming up through the drain."
"Well then, they must quit," the Cardinal replied, adding, with mild expostulation, "It was not necessaryto come and inform me of that while I was seriously occupied, my son."
"I would not have ventured to come in for that alone, Eminenza," said the man, smiling mysteriously, "but there is something else. In digging to find out whether there was a leak in the chief conduit, they struck upon a little mound, bricked in, and when they opened it they found—"
"The rest of the inscription?" exclaimed the Cardinal, his eyes shining with anticipation.
"More than that, Eminenza. A statue; yes, a statue! Una bellezza!" And he looked down into his master's face with the air of one announcing the conquest of the world.
"Is it possible?" cried the prelate, delighted out of his usual calm. "Do you know what you are saying, Domenico? Oh, it will be some Barocco horror thrown there out of the way. What is it, what is it? Speak."
"How can I tell the Eminenza what it is? I am too uninstructed," the servant replied. "But I went down to see, and I beheld in the hole a large figure with no head and one arm gone—but a fine piece of a man."
The Cardinal rose from his chair. "I must go down at once," he said; "the other letters can be written to-morrow." This to the young priest who stood beside him. "I must see for myself, immediately." And he moved toward the door.
Simultaneously the servant and the chaplain rushed after him, the latter laying a hand on his arm andDomenico placing himself before the door. "For Heaven's sake," cried the younger man, "let the Eminenza not think of such a thing. The cold, the damp—it would be a most terrible imprudence."
Domenico took a still stronger stand. He held up his hand almost authoritatively and said, "This is a risk not to be run. Let us send at once for Professor Bianchi. He will descend to these catacombs, will see, will comprehend all. Then, having made full inspection, he will come up and tell us all about it. Is not this a better plan, Eminenza mia bella?" he concluded coaxingly.
The Cardinal laughed, sighed and submitted. "I suppose you are right, you two," he said; "you keep me as the carabinieri keep a malefactor. As if it would have hurt me to go down for five minutes! But have your way. Send at once for the Signor Professore, however, and beg him to come at his earliest convenience. Oh, if it could be a true antique! But I dream—who am I to deserve such good fortune, such honor?"
The Professor sent a flowery note in answer to the summons from Palazzo Cestaldini. He would have the honor of waiting upon the Cardinal in the morning, and he thanked him from his heart for permitting a humble seeker after knowledge to share the joy of discovery with him.
All that night, as the rain beat down with ever-increasing violence, the two learned men slept fitfully, dreaming of Greek perfection, turning, even as they looked at it, into some bit of degenerate Roman work,a coarse, fulsome likeness, with a removable marble wig and beard! Then they would wake to hear the rattle of rain in the streets, the bubbling of unauthorized fountains; and the Professor would shiver with fear lest the reported treasure should be buried, perhaps swept away, in mud; and the Cardinal would fold his beautiful hands over his rosary and pray to be delivered from all undue love of terrestrial things. Giannella, poor child, read over the Princess's letter for the twentieth time, trying to invalidate its solemn, well-worded arguments and failing to quite succeed; and Rinaldo, wide awake too, paced up and down his studio, looked out every few minutes to see if the clouds were not breaking, and called down a monotonous string of curses, all ending with apoplexy, on the heartless elements which were keeping his painted cardinal too moist to pack, and would certainly prevent his seeing Mariuccia in the church next morning to exchange tidings and sympathy.
When he looked down in the gray of the morning, the little court and street beyond were sheeted in water. Three months' heat and drought were being atoned for in the torrential downpour. All over the lower part of the city the sewers were throwing up volumes of muddy liquid choked back from its customary outlets by the rise in the river. On the front porch of San Severino no picket of mendicants was stationed to-day. When Fra Tommaso came down to open the doors not even the privileged cripple was there to lift the curtain for him. The old sacristan stood under the portico and surveyed the street witha troubled face. "Libera nos, Domine!" he murmured as he turned back into the church. "Fiat Voluntus Tua, yes, Lord, but oh, please, of Your Condescension, do not send any dying calls to-day. That time, five years ago, when the big flood came, and the priest and the boy and I—and the Santissimo—Domine Dio, shall I ever forget it?—were almost tipped out of the boat at that corner by the bridge. Oh, not to-day, please, dear Lord. The poor souls could not get to You through the rain—and think of the angels' wings all wet. If any are to die, please let them wait a day or two, and come to judgment dry at least."
In the Professor's household consternation reigned, for the padrone announced that he would get to Palazzo Cestaldini—if he had to swim there. And Mariuccia, racked with anxieties, did not display her usual energy in opposing him. Giannella, shocked out of her absorption in her own affairs, took it upon herself to beg him to consider his precious health and safety, and to remain at home. This evidence of interest greatly pleased her elderly wooer and emboldened him to pat her on the cheek and tell her that after next week, when they were married, he would always listen to her advice, but now he really must go out. Would she bring him his thickest boots?
Giannella, scarlet and resentful, rushed back to the kitchen, and Mariuccia brought him the boots, soles uppermost, while she pointed in grim silence at a large hole in one of them. But the Professor pretended not to see it, and five minutes later he was out in the piazza,his umbrella turned inside out, his big cloak ballooning into black wings around him, his eyeglasses rendered useless by streams of water, but his will sternly set on reaching Palazzo Cestaldini as soon as possible. After a few laments over his obstinacy the two women upstairs relapsed into silence, and all was very quiet on the fourth floor, as the morning dragged its wet length on.
It went yet more slowly for Rinaldo. Twenty-four hours had passed since his interview with De Sanctis, and although the lawyer had told him nothing, yet he had comforted him greatly, and Rinaldo longed to impart some of that comfort to Giannella. He was the more anxious to do this at once because the flood was evidently assuming serious proportions and he might at any moment be called upon to take his place in the ranks of helpers to save property and distribute provisions. It was now ten o'clock, but the storm was laying a pall of darkness over the city, and the dampness crept up even to the studio on the roof with a chill sufficient to terrify the fever-fearing Roman. Rinaldo, ruefully contemplating yesterday's boots, soaking and shapeless, and the second best suit still limp and damp on its peg, rapidly calculated the chances of gaining admittance should he go boldly to Bianchi's door and ask for Mariuccia. His last experiences in that way had been memorably disagreeable, and in the diminution of martial spirit caused by the gray, wet morning, Rinaldo rather shrank from repeating them. Yet he was consumed with anxiety lest Giannella, her powers of resistance also lessened by illnessand by the general depression, should select this day, of all days, to immolate herself on the altar of phantom duty, obey the Principessa, and consent to espouse Bianchi. That once done, who could tell how things would turn out? She was a northerner by blood, and Rinaldo had heard that northerners were dreadfully in earnest about trifles like promises; she might consider her given word as too binding to be recalled. Yes, he must see Giannella at once; that risk was not to be run. Grumbling at Themistocles, who sat, sulky and draggled, on the mustard-colored head of the lay figure, he pulled on his wet boots and descended the staircase, where walls and steps were oozing with moisture. At the lower entrance he paused and looked up and down the street. Across the way old Sora Rosa had removed her perishable wares and stood on her doorstep, so far carried out of her usual saturnine impassiveness as to be wringing her hands and cursing volubly. When she saw Rinaldo about to brave the elements she called out to him to go back, out of danger. The Tiber was out; the municipal guards had been round to warn all who lived on ground floors to move as quickly as possible—no one could say how high the water would rise.
But Rinaldo flourished his umbrella valiantly, plunged out, slipped and found himself ankle deep in the muddy stream. Regaining the sidewalk he struggled along towards the Piazza Santafede. It was hard work to get there, but never mind, all the more reason for pressing on. The Bianchi apartment was so high up that its denizens were far beyond the reach ofdanger, but the women might be frightened—there were terrible stories of what the river could do when its temper was roused; or, they might be in need of provisions; that blessed old Professor would not be much of a help to them.
These thoughts helped to tide him over the rough crossing where both the piazza and the Via Tresette were sending their torrents down the Via Santafede to the still lower level of Ripetta. Rinaldo reached the farther side, drenched and half blinded by the rain, which seemed to come from every direction at once, and grasped at the iron chains which swung between truncated pillars all round the old palace. He took one look at the well-known window. Sure enough, there was Mariuccia peering out, deepest anxiety written on her countenance, scanning the Via Santafede from end to end. Rinaldo waved a hand to attract her attention. She saw and recognized him immediately. He could see that she was speaking though no words came to him through the rattle of the rain, but her face lighted up and she beckoned to him beseechingly. How fortunate that he had been so courageous as to come.
Still clinging to the helpful chains, he reached the palace entrance and paused to survey a strange scene. Wetness and confusion reigned everywhere, horses were neighing and kicking in the flooded stables, and resisting the harassed grooms who were trying to lead them out. The young Prince, with some other gentlemen, was actually attempting to coax one beautiful animal up the grand staircase, a promotion for whichit evidently had no desire; and, a few steps further up, stood an irate woman, the Princess's housekeeper, frantically forbidding the indecent sacrilege. Every time she waved her arms and shouted her protests the nervous, high-spirited hunter danced and shied, and finally began to rear and paw the air in menacing fashion. The Prince, scarlet with anger, quieted him down, called a red-headed groom to hold his head, and then, dashing up the steps, seized the woman in his arms, dragged her down the steps and flung her into the porter's lodge opposite, where he turned the key on her! She stood behind the glass door, battering it with her fists and weeping copiously. The way being now clear, the horse was induced to try it, and finding that the red velvet carpet afforded comfortable foothold, mounted, with his excited bodyguard, and the whole group, chattering and laughing, disappeared round the first turn of the stairs.
Much amused at this comedy, Rinaldo climbed to the Professor's apartment and found Mariuccia waiting for him on the landing.
"Figlio mio bello," she cried, "thank Heaven you have come. But, for you—what craziness to venture through this deluge! You are half drowned, poverino. Come in and dry your clothes, and then tell me what to do, for we are in despair about the padrone. He went off this morning soon after eight o'clock, and I know he will never get back again. That man cannot be trusted to take care of himself. I am sure he will come to some harm."
Rinaldo stared at her, forgetting his owndiscomfort, his anxieties about Giannella, everything, in his amazement at her speech. "What?" he cried, "you are trembling—I do believe, crying—over what may happen to that selfish old cataplasm of a Professor? Madonna mia, you women are inexplicable. It would be a good thing if he never came back at all."
Mariuccia glared at him for one instant, then dealt him a sounding box on the ear. "Infamous one," she screamed, "you dare to wish death to my padrone? Oh, may you and your best dead—"
But the curse never descended, for Giannella, pale and terrified, suddenly parted the combatants, dragging Mariuccia away and waving Rinaldo back with an imploring gesture; to tell the truth, he was furiously angry, and his flashing eyes and clenched fists seemed to indicate that he might so far forget himself as to return the blow. At sight of the girl he loved, looking so pitiful in her fear and distress, all his anger left him, and he held out his hands, saying contritely, "It is nothing, Giannella mia, I spoke like a fool, an animal. Sora Mariuccia must forgive me. I wish no harm to her padrone—quite the contrary, for I wish he were more worthy of her faithfulness. Happy he, to have such a valiant defender!"
"Come in, come in," Giannella replied. "Holy Charity, you are wet through. What a terrible day. Mariuccia mia, I am sure Signor Goffi did not mean what he said just now, and he has been so brave to come to us through this dreadful storm—won't you bring him in near the fire and give him some coffee? And then, perhaps, he will find out where the padroneis and bring him back to us. Oh, but we have been so unhappy about him," she continued, turning her serious eyes to Rinaldo, "you do not know. If anything were to happen to him we should never get over it."
"You too," Rinaldo murmured as he followed her and Mariuccia (silent and mollified now) into the passage. "Well," he reflected, "it is said that he who understands women understands all things. I renounce the attempt." He was slightly nettled at the calmness with which Giannella had taken command of the situation, vouchsafing him no single glance which showed her consciousness of their own enchanting secret. He did not notice that her cheeks were no longer pale, but of a deep pink, and that her voice was uncertain, as if with the effort to repress some strong emotion. Her actions at any rate were prompt and business-like. Having led the way to the kitchen, where the charcoal fire made a pleasant glow in the unnatural gloom, she pushed Mariuccia down into one of the old straw-bottomed chairs, set the other near the range for Rinaldo, got his wet coat away from him with a turn of the hand, and made him slip on an old jacket of Bianchi's; then she poured out a cup of steaming coffee, produced a ciambella to accompany it, and disappeared. She returned in a moment with a pair of slippers and some much-darned green socks, which last she warmed at the fire while Rinaldo drank his coffee and wondered what she meant to do with them—and him.
She turned round, the socks rolled up between herhands, and offered them to him with the slippers, all in the most collected way, as if she had ministered to his wants for the last twenty years. He started back, flushing furiously, for feet, as a subject, are almost as improper in Rome as in China; and besides, all this was painfully unlike the tenderly romantic meeting he had dreamed of. Was she never going to look into his eyes and let him see that she remembered who he was?
She came close to him and still he sat silent, gazing up hungrily into her face. Ah, there it came, the mantling color, the quivering of the lips, the lowering of the eyelids as if to veil some too bright flame.
"Take them, signorino," she said, speaking huskily and holding the things out to him, "excuse that they are old. You can go into the other room and put them on. You will catch cold—like this—I am afraid—"
But she did not finish the sentence. Rinaldo suddenly caught her two hands in his and hid his face in them, kissing her fingers, the socks, and her soft little palms with an indiscriminate adoration, with an abandonment of joyful passion which touched the girl's whole being to fire. It seemed in that moment that her life and his were fused into one triumphant essence, steeped in glory.
"Mamma mia," wailed a forgotten voice from very far away, from the window, in fact, where Mariuccia had several minutes earlier resumed her watch for her lost lamb, "it gets worse and worse. It would take Sant' Antonio and his mantle to get across thestreet now. Oh, where is my poor little padrone?"
She turned back into the room with a tragic sweep of the arm, as if asking the question of two young people, who stood several feet apart, with some strange-looking objects on the floor between them.
It was now twelve o'clock and Mariuccia insisted on getting Rinaldo some dinner; and then, his coat being a little drier, she suggested that he should at once start on his search for the missing Professor, who had said that he was only going to Palazzo Cestaldini and would come home for his dinner.
"Palazzo Cestaldini?" Rinaldo replied; "that is only a short way from here, but there will be difficulty in traversing the distance now without a boat. The Cardinal has surely kept the Signor Professore with him."
"I cannot be certain," Mariuccia persisted; "the padrone is—well, obstinate, and when he wants to come home he will come or try to—and then he will get into trouble. Do go out and look for him, signorino."
"But, Mariuccia, how can you?" Giannella protested indignantly. "The signorino can do nothing—and he may be drowned. Oh, pray do not go out," she exclaimed, clasping her hands and looking at Rinaldo imploringly. Something had evidently removed the padrone from the foreground of her thoughts.
Her anxiety for himself so filled her lover with delight that he felt inspired for any exploit. "Of course I will go," he cried; "nothing can drown me! I can swim like a fish; and it is only a pleasure to serve you,Sora Mariuccia. If a boat is needed I dare say I can find some of my friends to help me. Ah, what is that?"
A sound of laughter and of oars beating the water came up through the open window. Three heads were out in a moment, and then Rinaldo hailed Peppino and some other youths who, with many bumps and splashes, had just steered two shallow punts into the Via Santafede from the Ripetta. "Hi, boys!" he shouted, "wait for me, I must come with you. Round to the portone in the piazza, Peppino."
"Make haste then," was the reply; "we are out on duty. One of the bridges is gone, Ripetta is a sea, and the water is two feet deep in Piazza Navona. Hurry!"
Rinaldo dashed off and flew down the long flights of stairs. One boat went round to meet him, while the other continued on its way to Piazza Navona, the chief market-place of the city. Five minutes later a boat shot down again towards Ripetta, and Rinaldo nearly dropped a paddle in the effort to kiss his hand to the two heads still leaning out of the fourth-floor window, one grizzled and dark as fate, the other golden and lovely as hope's young dream.
When he was out of sight the women were silent for a little, then Giannella's face sank down on her old friend's shoulders, and Mariuccia put her arms round her and comforted her quite tenderly, for the poor child was shivering with fear for her lover. "Why did you send him?" she wailed; "he will surely be drowned." She had never seen a flood beforeexcept from the safe heights of the convent villa, and it seemed terrible that her Rinaldo, so dear and beautiful and young, should have to face its dangers.
"Hush, cocca mia," crooned the old woman, "nothing will happen to him. Those boys are as safe in the water as on land. I wish I had asked him to bring us some bread—there is not a scrap left—and that was the last of the wine."
"Take some of the padrone's then," said Giannella vindictively; "he has cost enough to-day, dragging that poor, brave boy out into such perils to look for him. He shall pay in bread and wine at least."
The avvocato De Sanctis lived in the Via Condotti, on higher ground by some feet than the other end of the Ripetta. About the time when Bianchi, fired with enthusiasm, was wading joyfully towards Palazzo Cestaldini, the lawyer issued from his door with the same goal in view. He had business with the Cardinal's maestro di casa concerning some houses in the suburbs, his Eminence's property, of which the leases were expiring, and which would require repairs before fresh contracts could be signed. One secret of De Sanctis's success in his profession was his very un-Italian habit of attending to each detail as it came up, whenever that was possible. He was sure that the bad weather would keep clients away to-day, and, undeterred by it himself, set out to clear one piece of business off his crowded list. Of course there was not a cab in sight, but he persevered, keeping to the higher levels till it was necessary to strike off to the right to reach the back entrance of Palazzo Cestaldini, which the Professor had also fortunately recollected, thus avoiding the "sea" which, as Peppino had assured Rinaldo, had already taken possession of the long street which forms the southern bank of the Tiber.
Signor Bianchi had been warmly welcomed by the Cardinal, who was feeling very unwell, poorgentleman; a fact which he concealed from his guest, merely saying that he regretted not being able to accompany him on his search and thanking him for being willing to undertake it in such unfavorable circumstances. He conscientiously pointed out that Bianchi was committing an imprudence in doing so; the vaults were always damp, and just now probably some inches under water. But the Professor made light of his warnings and begged to be allowed to descend at once. Many valuable fragments had been found in and around the palace, which, like so many others, was largely built out of ancient and mediæval remains: a headless male figure, the head was probably close by—perhaps he himself would find it! So two workmen were summoned to accompany him with picks and lanterns, and a few minutes later he was in his element, grubbing about in the vast dark crypt, regardless of time, weather, hunger, or any of the other conditions which call a halt to humanity in everyday life.
He had been thus employed for some hours when the avvocato De Sanctis, having ended his business with the maestro di casa, inquired if he might have the honor of paying his respects to the Cardinal. He was much attached to the kind prelate, whom he regarded as very good company, and who in his turn felt sincere affection for the hard-working young lawyer who had attained success without ceasing to be an honest Christian.
This morning, however, the Cardinal received him with a slight expression of amusement. He had felt feverish the evening before; his anxious attendantshad hastily summoned his doctor, who had administered some of the heroic remedies with which the local pharmacopœia bristled in those prehistoric days; and the Cardinal thought that the doctor and the rest, believing his life to be in danger, had followed his general directions that on the first hint of such a possibility his confessor and his man of business were to be sent for without a moment's delay. The confessor, Padre Anselmo, from San Severino, had not appeared, but here was De Sanctis, doubtless prepared to receive his expiring instructions. When De Sanctis, after kissing his patron's ring, explained that having had to call on professional affairs, he availed himself of the opportunity to inquire after the illustrious health, the Cardinal smiled indulgently.
"Figlio mio," he said, "I know all about these kind little accidental visits. The doctor, and my chaplain, and that good old servant of mine, thought that I was in danger, that the discovery of a statue in the cellar had excited my nerves and brought on fever. So they summoned you to attend my deathbed. I am surprised at not having yet received a visit from Padre Anselmo, but they probably thought I could attend to spiritual matters better when earthly ones were off my mind. Kind souls, I am grateful to you all, and I trust that when I am in extremis you will comfort me with your presence, but I think I shall be allowed to give you plenty of trouble yet. I feel much better this morning, though naturally a little weakened by our distinguished physician's prescriptions. At my age, Guglielmo, one cannot be freely bled, and dosed withquinine and palma Christi, without certain remorses of nature making themselves felt." He laid two fingers delicately on his broad red waistbelt to indicate the region of physical contrition, "but as I said, I am much better this morning, in spite of the terrible weather."
"It gives me happiness to hear that, Eminenza," De Sanctis replied, "for I was grieved to learn, on my arrival here, of your Eminence's indisposition. Word of an honest man, that was the first I heard of it. No one sent for me on that account. But the Eminenza must be very careful for the next few days. The flood will cause much sickness in the town, and the damage done is already great. I have noted with satisfaction that this respected palace was built with forethought for such emergencies, the whole level of the courtyard being considerably higher than that of the street."
"An arrangement I have often murmured at," the Cardinal said, "for the steep incline under the portone makes the horses slip, and the coachman objects to waiting there. However, in times like these one appreciates the necessity of it. He is a treacherous neighbor, Sor Tevere. There is already a good deal of water in the cellars, Domenico says, and I fear that poor Professor Bianchi is exposing himself to catch a bad cold."
"Professor Bianchi, Eminenza?" De Sanctis pricked up his ears. "Is he in the vaults?"
"Where else?" replied the Cardinal, turning on him a glance of mild surprise; "naturally he isexamining the statue. It is my misfortune that I cannot be at his side, but Heaven's will be done. See, I have just received this note from him." And he handed a scrap of paper to the lawyer. Scribbled on it was these words: "Probably a Hermes. Græco-Roman. Fine preservation. Seeking for head."
As De Sanctis read, his eyes began to gleam with suppressed humor. His familiar little demon of malice was whispering in his ear. He rose to take his leave, and the Cardinal, who had been watching the sheets of rain slipping down the window-panes, turned to him, saying, "Yes, go home, my son, for unless you do that quickly you will have difficulty in reaching your house."
"Is there anything I can do for the Eminenza first?" De Sanctis inquired.
"Only this," said the Cardinal, "I shall be much obliged if you will be so kind as to speak to the Professor and beg him, with my compliments, to consider his health and desist from further work in that damp spot, for the present. Please say, however, that I trust he will honor me with another visit before taking his departure."
"Your Eminence shall be obeyed," De Sanctis replied. "But may I venture to remind you that if he returns upstairs and the flood increases, he may have to stay here all day. That would be a great fatigue for the Eminenza, I fear."
"Fatigue?" The Cardinal's fine face lighted up as he spoke. "No, indeed. A pleasure, a rare pleasure. We are two old enthusiasts, Guglielmo, andhave a thousand subjects of interest to discuss. I know of no one whom I would rather have for my companion at such a time than that learned man. I sit at his feet—as a humble disciple. I reap instruction as he speaks."
"Doubtless, doubtless," the lawyer replied gravely. "I will execute the commission at once."
As he sped down the stairs he laughed softly. "It is not professional," he told himself, "but it will be great fun, and he really deserves a fright."
An hour later the Cardinal touched his handbell and Domenico's wrinkled face at once appeared in the doorway. "Is the Signor Professore still in the vaults?" the master inquired. "Please go down and see. It is most imprudent for him to remain there any longer."
In ten minutes the servant returned, looking rather scared. "Eminenza," he said, "the gentleman must have left without coming upstairs. It is impossible to go down into the vaults—they are full of water."
The Cardinal seemed disappointed. "That is unfortunate," he said at last, "but you need not be alarmed, my good Domenico. You know there is nothing there to be injured, the foundations are solid, and, thank Heaven, the statue cannot swim away. The Professor was right to leave at once—I hope he did not get a chill. Yes, you may bring my soup now, and then I will sleep a little." As Domenico retired, his master shook his head over his own weakness. "Paolo mio," he told himself, "you are a very imperfect kind of creature. You are really disappointedbecause you have been cheated of hearing all Bianchi had to say about the discovery. What children we all are—clamoring for our playfellows and turning sulky when we are deprived of them."
The vaults of Palazzo Cestaldini were much older than the dwelling itself, being the indestructible remains of an Imperial mausoleum which above ground had been partially overthrown in the course of centuries of fighting, and then unscrupulously utilized as material for the new palace. The vaults, deep and wide, ran the whole length of the frontage, and were dimly lighted by heavily grated windows some three feet above the level of the outer street. From within the space had the appearance of a subterranean church with windows set high up in the walls; from without, the few who were curious enough to look down through the bars could see only depths of darkness with here and there a corner of worn masonry catching the light. From the ground, thirty feet below the windows, there rose on the street side a series of shallow steps, like tiers in an amphitheater; these ran the whole length of the wall and were surmounted by a narrow platform from which it was possible to look out on the upper world. In truth the crypt had been adapted by one of Paolo Cestaldini's ancestors for spectacular purposes, the adjacent river, with its many conduits, providing all that was necessary for mimic aquatic shows. Later, in more troubled times, it had sheltered great numbers of fighting men, and the barred windows had been crowded with rough faces and picturesque costumes, and had served asloopholes and defenses in many a joyful riot. In these days the vaulted roofs were gray with cobwebs and dark with moisture. In one distant corner lay a pile of rococo plaster figures, used long ago for some carnival pageant and then flung aside, legs and arms interlaced and broken, to crumble into a gruesome resemblance to blanched corpses deprived of burial.
These melancholy surroundings struck chill on the lawyer's humor as he descended the stairs and peered round for the Professor. Ah, there he was, down on his knees digging madly at a mound of earth; one of his workmen had left him; the other was holding a lantern for him with evident impatience to be gone. Water was trickling and lapping somewhere, and everything underfoot was moist and slippery, but the Professor seemed unconscious of all but his quest. He stood up suddenly, one hand to his aching back, the other raised in triumph. "The head!" he shouted. "I can feel it through the mold. Nunc Dimittis!" And he went down on his knees again and began to remove the earth with extreme care, his face streaming with perspiration, his spectacles two shifting blots of light in the beams of the lantern.
Suddenly this was set down with a clang and the workman flew past De Sanctis towards the exit. "Come away!" he cried, pointing at the same time to the stairs, down which a thin, continuous sheet of water was flowing. "The river is out at last. There will be a sea here in half-an-hour."
"Rubbish," replied De Sanctis, "that is only the rain." And he came stealthily to Bianchi's side and,laying a heavy hand on his shoulder, bent down and said sternly, "Signor Professore, what have you done with Giannella Brockmann's money?"
The Professor leaped to his feet with a scream and his pick fell from his hand. He stared in the lawyer's face, his own sickly with fear. In the scant up-thrown rays of the lantern it was impossible to distinguish more than a pair of gleaming black eyes and an accusing scowl; the rest was dreadful shadow.
But ere another word had been spoken a ripple of water broke round De Sanctis's feet. "Diamini, but he was right, that man!" he exclaimed; and in an instant he too had dashed away towards the stairs.
In that instant Bianchi had recognized him and breathed again. It was only De Sanctis, after all; an inconvenient, intrusive person to whom unimportant matters could easily be explained some other time. Meanwhile he must hasten to uncover, and feast his eyes on, the marble head which he was certain lay close to his hand; he must carry it up to the Cardinal himself, if it were not too heavy. What a triumph that would be. Ah, gently—there showed a gleam of whitish surface. Hands now, not to injure the precious thing. Doubled over, down on his knees, he worked like a demon, with blackened fingers and earth-choked nails, till at last it lay revealed, a calm immortal countenance gazing up at him with eyes that seemed to have been seeing in the grave; full, closed lips smiling as if with Olympic scorn at the hopes and fears of perishable man. Some under-ripple of life seemed to be pulsing over the broad brow, the divinely mouldedcheeks and chin. Bianchi sank back on his knees, his hands clasped, trembling with unbearable joy.
"Greek, Greek," he whispered, as the saints have whispered prayers in ecstatic trances, "purest Greek. There were but five or six in the whole world—I have found one more. Dio mio, Dio mio, let me not die of happiness."
He seized the light and bent tenderly to uncover the throat. Ah, there it was, the original severance; the cement still clung to it where it had been attached to the beautiful but far less ancient figure which lay prone in mutilated grandeur in the trench, some twenty yards away. The Professor bent closer still over the perfect thing, touching the creamy marble with his cheek, with his tongue, while he rubbed the mould off his fingers with his coat tails, his shirt front, anything to leave their sensitive tips free to feel the marvelous surface, as different from that of the figure yonder as true old Sevres from modern imitation. Fra Tommaso was right; Bianchi could have told it in the dark, that touch of the creator's chisel during the one short period of perfect sculpture our world has ever known, the touch which made every atom of the marble its living vehicle, which gave the uneven yet flawless surface so closely resembling human flesh that the senses tell us it breathes and dimples with the very tide of life. Brought to Rome by Greece's conquerors, fitted to a body wrought, at the command of an imperious ignorant master, by a Greek sculptor in captivity, remembering through his tears the glories of Greece's past—here was an immortal crown to whichthe stately figure had served as a humble pedestal. What wonder that Carlo Bianchi, in his passionate reverence for true art, trembled and worshiped, and shivered with insane joy—while inch by inch the turbid waters of the Tiber rose on the floor of his fane, poured in from the ten great windows high in the wall a hundred feet away, covered the statue in the trench and crept up the hollow at the foot of the stairs, gurgling pleasantly on the steps as it reached them one by one.
When it had cut off retreat behind him it swam forward with a leap, broke over him where he knelt, drowned the white glory from his side and swept his extinguished lantern far beyond his reach.
Then indeed he sprang to his feet. But they slipped from under him and he fell forward, his hand landing on the cold, submerged face. In a moment he was up again, wading through the fast-rising flood, staggering towards the blackness which shrouded the stairway. But long before he reached it the shelving ground was letting him down, down into the water, and at last he turned and struggled back in the direction of the distant windows, gray blurs now upon an enormous pall of darkness, with something that caught a gleam of light flowing in and sliding over their edges. Again and again he fell, betrayed by the uneven ground and the swaying current. He was wet to the skin but he did not know it. For once in his semi-vitalized existence he was awake to all realities. He knew that unless he could attain to some higher level there would soon be another cold body lying among the antiquities in the crypt.
As he fell for the third time and scrambled up with his mouth and eyes full of water, another reality, forgotten in the joy of his discovery, and then in the fever of self-preservation, recurred to his mind. He remembered Giannella, his all but fraudulent concealment of her inheritance, his machinations to effect a marriage with her before she should learn of it. If he were to die (oh, horrid thought!) would not the Judge of souls ask him the same question that that brigand De Sanctis had asked, "What have you done with Giannella Brockmann's money?" Carlo Bianchi could certainly say "Domine Dio, it is all there I have not spent a penny of it yet. It is at interest in the Banco di Roma, three and a half per cent." Then the Lord would say, "All there, two hundred scudi, and you have not let that poor child have the shoes she needs so badly? You have let Mariuccia, who has saved you money for twenty years, continue to work hard and eat little so as to share her wages with Giannella Brockmann? Miser, idolater, begone! My good San Pietro, have the kindness to take this sinner away and send him to hell at once."