[5]The Piccinino is a friendly diminutive which the mountaineers might well have given him because of his small size. But the phrasepiccin-piccinosignifies the act of hiding in order to prove analibi.
[5]The Piccinino is a friendly diminutive which the mountaineers might well have given him because of his small size. But the phrasepiccin-piccinosignifies the act of hiding in order to prove analibi.
[6]That is to say, modified Arabian, as found in Sicily.
[6]That is to say, modified Arabian, as found in Sicily.
This outburst of merriment, which seemed exceedingly insolent to Michel, alarmed the monk at last; but, giving him no time to question him, the Piccinino resumed his seriousness as abruptly as he had laid it aside.
"The affair becomes clearer," he said. "One point is still obscure; why does Ninfo wait for the cardinal to die before denouncing your kinsmen?"
"Because he knows that the princess is their protector," the Capuchin replied; "that she has affection and esteem for the honest old artisan who has been working in her palace for a year past, and that, to save them from persecution, she would allow herself to be bled by that infamous priest. So he says to himself that when the cardinal is dead he will have that noble lady's fate in his hands absolutely, and that he will be at liberty to ruin her to his own profit. Doesn't it seem better to you that the Princess Agatha, who is a good Sicilian, should inherit the cardinal's property peaceably, and recompense handsomely the services of a gallant fellow like yourself, than that she should spend her money to buy the silence of a venomous reptile like Ninfo?"
"That is my opinion. But how can you be sure that the will has not been already abstracted?
"We know on good authority that it cannot have been yet."
"I must be certain of it! for I don't choose to exert myself, and then obtain nothing that is of any value."
"What does it matter if your pay is the same?"
"Ah! Brother Angelo," said the Piccinino, rising on his elbow and assuming an air of pride which made his listless eyes gleam for an instant, "for what do you take me? It seems to me that you have forgotten me in some measure. Am I abravo, to be paid by the job or by the day? I have always flattered myself upon being a loyal friend, a man of honor, a devoted partisan; and lo and behold! apparently ashamed of the pupil you trained, you treat me like a mercenary, ready to do anything for a little gold! Disabuse yourself of that idea, in God's name. I do justice fortuitously, as my father did; and if I sometimes work on different lines from those he followed—if, conforming to the spirit of the age we live in, I use my shrewdness more often than my courage—I am none the less high-spirited and independent. Being more useful and more in request than a notary, lawyer or doctor, if I put a high price on my services, or give themgratis, according to the means of those who seek them, I have no love for my art and no respect for my own intelligence. I shall never waste my time and trouble in earning money without guarding the interests of my clients; and, just as the famous advocate refuses to undertake a cause which he is sure of losing, just as a captain refuses to risk his men in an unnecessary action, just as an honest doctor ceases his visits when it is no longer in his power to relieve his patient, so do I, my father, refuse your offers, for they do not satisfy my conscience."
"There was no need of your saying all that to me," said Fra Angelo, still as calm as ever. "I know what sort of man you are, and I should consider that I degraded myself by seeking the aid of a man whom I did not esteem."
"In that case," replied the Piccinino, with increasing excitement, "why do you lack confidence in me? Why do you tell me only a part of the truth?"
"You want me to tell you where the cardinal's will is concealed? That I do not know, nor have I ever thought of asking."
"That is impossible."
"I swear to you before God, boy, that I have no idea. I know that it is out of Ninfo's reach for the present, and that he cannot obtain possession of it while the cardinal lives except with his assent."
"And how do you know that he has not already given his assent?"
"The Princess Agatha is certain of it. She told me so, and that was enough for me."
"But suppose it isn't enough for me? Suppose I have no confidence in that woman's shrewdness and foresight? Don't you know that women have no talent whatever for that sort of thing? Have they any other talent in the way of divining or pretending than the talent they place at the service of love?"
"You have become very learned on this subject, and I have continued to be quite ignorant; however, my friend, if you desire to know further details, ask the princess herself for them, and you will probably be satisfied. I intended to put you in communication with her to-night."
"To-night? in direct communication? Shall I be able to talk with her alone?"
"Surely, if you consider it necessary to the success of our undertaking."
The Piccinino turned abruptly to Michel, and looked at him without saying a word.
The young artist was unable to sustain that gaze without distress. The adventurer's manner of speaking of Agatha had already irritated him exceedingly, and to keep himself in countenance he was forced to take a cigarette which the bandit suddenly offered him with an ironical and quasi-patronizing air.
The Piccinino had risen, and seemed to have fully made up his mind to go. He began to unbuckle his sash, shaking and stretching his legs like a hunting-dog preparing for the chase.
He passed into another room, and soon returned, dressed with more care and more simply. He had covered his bare legs with long gaiters of white wool like those worn by the Italian mountaineers. But all the buttons, from ankle to knee, were of fine gold. He had put on the twofold doublet, the outer one of green velvet embroidered with gold; the inner one shorter, and less full, and of fashionable cut, was of lilac watered silk, embroidered with silver. A white leather belt encircled his supple waist; but, instead of the copper buckle, he wore a superb clasp of antique coraline, richly mounted. No weapons were visible, but there could be no question that he was provided with most adequate means of defence. Finally, he had exchanged his showy cloak for the classic cloak of black woollen cloth, lined with white, and covered his head with the pointed hood that gives the aspect of monks or ghosts to all the mysterious figures that one meets on mountain paths.
300THE CONFERENCE WITH THE PICCININO."Come" he said, looking himself over in a large mirror that hung against the wall; "I can appear before a woman now without frightening her. What do you think about it, Michelangelo Lavoratori?"
THE CONFERENCE WITH THE PICCININO."Come" he said, looking himself over in a large mirror that hung against the wall; "I can appear before a woman now without frightening her. What do you think about it, Michelangelo Lavoratori?"
THE CONFERENCE WITH THE PICCININO.
"Come" he said, looking himself over in a large mirror that hung against the wall; "I can appear before a woman now without frightening her. What do you think about it, Michelangelo Lavoratori?"
"Come," he said, looking himself over in a large mirror that hung against the wall; "I can appear before a woman now without frightening her. What do you think about it, Michelangelo Lavoratori?"
And, heedless of the impression that that conceited tone might produce on the young artist, he set about closing his house with the utmost care. After which, he gayly passed his arm through Michel's, and started off so swiftly that the others had difficulty in keeping pace with him.
When they had passed Nicolosi, Fra Angelo, stopping at a place where two paths converged, took leave of his young friends, to return to his monastery, advising them not to lose time escorting him thither.
"The leave granted me expires in half an hour," he said. "It may be that I shall have many other favors to ask within a short time, and I must not abuse this one. Yonder is the direct road to the Villa Palmarosa without passing Bel Passo. You do not need me to be introduced to the princess's presence. She has been notified and she expects you. Here is a key to the park, Michel, and one to the little garden outside the Casino. You know the staircase cut in the rock. You must ring twice, thrice and once at the small gilt gate at the top. Until then avoid being seen, and make sure that nobody is following you. When the maid comes to open the gate leading into the private garden, your countersign will beBlessed Madonna of Bel Passo. Do not lose these keys, Michel. Within a few days all the locks have been changed secretly, and the new ones are so complicated, that unless he applies to the locksmith who furnished them, and who is incorruptible, it will be impossible henceforth for Ninfo to get into the villa by means of false keys. One word more, my children. If any unforeseen occurrence should make my presence urgently necessary during the night, the Piccinino knows my cell and how to get into the convent."
"I should say as much!" said the bandit, when they had left the Capuchin; "I have indulged in enough escapades at night and returned just before dawn often enough, to know how to climb the walls of the convent of Mal Passo. Well, my friend, we no longer have to be careful of good Brother Angelo's legs; we will run a bit on this slope, and you will be kind enough not to lag behind, for I am not inclined to follow beaten paths. It is not my custom, and the way the crow flies is much safer and more expeditious."
As he spoke he darted in among the rocks which descended abruptly to the bed of the stream, as if he proposed to jump over. It was a very bright night, as almost all nights are in that beautiful climate. But the moon, which was just rising and casting huge shadows across the ravines, made everything uncertain and deceptive to the eye. If Michel had not kept close to his guide, he would have been completely at a loss what course to take among masses of lava and steep cliffs which it seemed impossible to climb. Although the Piccinino was perfectly familiar with the practicable spots, there were some so dangerous and difficult that Michel would have refused to take the risk, except for the fear of being considered cowardly and awkward. But the rivalry of self-love is a spur which increases a man's faculties tenfold, and, at the risk of killing himself twenty times over, the young artist followed the bandit without stumbling and without uttering a word which betrayed his discomfort and his distrust.
We say distrust, because he soon felt sure that all this trouble and contempt of danger did not shorten their road. It might be a malicious device on the part of the adventurer to test his strength, his agility, and his courage, or an attempt to elude him. He was almost convinced of it, when, after half an hour of this wild chase, and after thrice crossing the same winding stream, they found themselves in the bottom of a ravine which Michel thought that he recognized as one that he and the Capuchin had skirted on the higher land on their way to Nicolosi. He did not choose to make that suggestion; but he involuntarily paused a moment to look at the stone cross at the foot of which theDestatorehad blown out his brains, and which stood out against the sky on the edge of the ravine. Then, looking about, he recognized the block of black lava which Fra Angelo had pointed out to him from a distance, and which served as a monument to the bandit chief. It was only a few steps away, and the Piccinino had walked thither and was standing beside the rock, with folded arms, in the attitude of a man stopping to take breath.
What could have been the Piccinino's idea in making that dangerous and useless détour in order to pass his father's grave? Could he be ignorant of the fact that he was buried there? or was he less reluctant to walk over his remains than to pass the cross which had witnessed his suicide? Michel dared not question him upon so painful and delicate a subject; he too, stopped, said nothing, and wondered why he had felt such a painful thrill when Fra Angelo had told him of theDestatore'stragic end. He knew himself well enough to be sure that he was neither cowardly nor superstitious, and at that moment he felt perfectly calm and superior to all vain terrors. He had no other sensation than a sort of disgust and indignation at the appearance of the young bandit, who was leaning against the fatal rock and tranquilly striking his flint to light a fresh cigarette.
"Do you know what this stone is?" demanded the extraordinary young man, abruptly; "and do you know what happened at the foot of yonder cross that cuts the moon in two from where we stand?"
"I do know," replied Michel, coldly; "but I hoped for your sake that you did not know."
"Ah! you are like Padre Angelo, are you?" rejoined the bandit, carelessly; "you are surprised that, when I pass this spot I don't drop on my knees and recite anoremusfor my father's soul? In order to go through with that classic ceremony three beliefs are requisite, none of which I have: first, that there is a God; second, that man has an immortal soul; third, that my prayers can serve the slightest purpose in case my father's soul is undergoing merited punishment. You consider me impious, I presume? I will bet that you are as much so as I am, and that if it weren't for the respect of other men and a sort of hypocritical sense of propriety to which everybody, even the man of intellect, feels bound to submit, you would say that I am perfectly right!"
"I shall never submit to any hypocritical sense of propriety," replied Michel. "I believe firmly and sincerely in the three things in which you boast that you do not believe."
"Ah! then you are horrified by my atheism?"
"No, for I choose to believe that it is involuntary, and I have no right to be scandalized by an error, when my own mind certainly is not open to the absolute truth in many other respects. I am not a devotee, that I should blame and condemn those who don't think as I do. But I will tell you frankly that there is one sort of atheism which appals and disgusts me: that is atheism of the heart, and I am very much afraid that yours does not flow from the inclination of your mind alone."
"Good! good! go on!" said the Piccinino, surrounding himself with clouds of tobacco smoke, with a careless vivacity, perhaps a little forced. "You think that I have a heart of stone, because I do not shed torrents of tears to my father's memory over this rock, which I am forced to pass every day, and on which I have sat a hundred times?"
"I know that you lost him when you were so young that you could not regret his companionship. I know that you must be accustomed, almost indifferent, to the gloomy memories connected with this spot. I say everything to myself to excuse your lack of feeling, but it does not justify in my eyes the species of bravado with which you place before me, designedly, I believe, the strange spectacle. I never knew your father, and had no tie of kinship with him, and yet the fact that my uncle loved him dearly and that a portion of his life was made illustrious by patriotic and valorous deeds is enough to inspire me with profound respect beside his grave, and to make me feel distressed and offended by your attitude at this moment."
"Master Michel," said the Piccinino, abruptly throwing away his cigarette and turning upon him with a threatening gesture, "it seems to me that you are a very strange young man to dare to rebuke me in this way, considering our position with respect to each other. You forget, I fancy, that I know your secrets, that I am at liberty to be your friend or your enemy; in short, that, at this moment, in this solitude, in this infernal spot where I may not be so entirely cold-blooded as you think, your life is in my hands!"
"The only thing that I have any reason to fear," rejoined Michel, calmly, "is that I may play the pedagogue inopportunely. That part is not suited to my years or my tastes. I will remind you, therefore, that if you had not incited my comments by a sort of persistence in questioning me, I should have spared you the infliction. As for your threats, I will not say that I consider myself able to defend myself as powerfully and calmly as you would be likely to attack me. I know that, at a whistle from you, an armed man would start up from behind every rock in the neighborhood. I trusted to your word, and I did not arm myself to walk with a man who offered me his hand, saying: 'Let us be friends.' But if my uncle is mistaken with respect to your loyalty, and if you have led me into a trap, or—as I should prefer to believe for your own sake—if the effect of this spot is to disturb your mind and make you irresponsible, I will none the less tell you what I think, and I will not stoop to flatter the shortcomings upon which you seem to plume yourself for my benefit."
As he concluded, Michel opened his cloak to show the bandit that he had not even a knife upon his person, then sat down, facing him, and looking him in the eye with the utmost coolness. It was the first time he had ever been in such a position, for which he had certainly had no time to prepare himself, and from which he was not at all sure of extricating himself unharmed; for as the moon, emerging from behind theDestatore's Cross, fell full upon the young bandit's face, Michel was no longer in doubt as to the ferocity and treachery of his expression. Nevertheless Pier-Angelo's son, the nephew of the intrepid Capuchin of Bel Passo, felt that his heart was untouched by fear, and that the first serious danger which threatened his young life found him proud and undaunted.
The Piccinino, seeing how near he was, and that his own face was so illuminated by the moon, tried for a moment the terrifying effect of his tiger-like eyes; but having failed to make Michel lower his, and detecting no sign of poltroonery in his face or attitude, he suddenly sat down beside him and took his hand.
"Upon my word," he said, "although I do my utmost to despise you and hate you, I cannot succeed; I fancy that you have sufficient penetration to guess that I would rather kill you than save you, as I have undertaken to do. You are an embarrassment to me in respect to certain illusions which you can readily imagine: you balk me in certain hopes which I cherished, and which I am by no means inclined to renounce. But I am not bound by my word simply, but by a certain sympathetic feeling for you which I cannot shake off. I should lie if I said that I love you, and that it is a pleasant occupation to me to defend your life. But I esteem you, and that is a good deal. I assure you, you did well to answer me as you did; for now I can confess to you that this place sometimes brings on fits of madness; and I have formed terrible resolutions here on many a momentous occasion. You were not safe with me a moment ago; and I should not care to hear you utter a certain name again. Let us not stay here any longer, and do you take this stiletto, which I offered you once before. A Sicilian ought always to be ready to use it, and to my mind it is utterly insane to go about unarmed in the position you are in."
"Let us go," said Michel, mechanically taking the proffered dagger. "My uncle says that time is important, and that they are waiting for us."
"Waiting forus?" cried the bandit, leaping to his feet. "Waiting for you, you mean! Damnation! I wish that yonder cross and this stone might both sink into the ground! Young man, you may believe that I am an atheist, and that my heart is hard; but if you think it is of ice——Here, put your hand to it, and learn that desire and will have their seat there as well as in the brain!"
He seized Michel's hand roughly, and held it to his breast. It was heaving with palpitations of such violence that one would have said that it was on the point of bursting.
But when they had quitted the ravine, and had left theDestatore's Crossbehind them, the Piccinino began to hum, in a voice as sweet and pure as the breath of the night, a ballad in the Sicilian dialect, of which the refrain was:
"Wine makes madness, love makes folly; my nectar is the blood of cowards, my mistress is my rifle."
After this outburst of bravado, addressed to himself as well as to the ears of any Neapolitan police who might happen to be within hearing, the Piccinino began to talk with Michel in a remarkably self-possessed and tranquil strain. He discussed fine arts, literature, external politics, and the news of the day, with as much freedom, courtesy, and refinement as if they were in a salon or on a public promenade, and as if neither of them had any momentous affair on hand, any exciting subject to engross his thoughts.
Michel soon realized that the Capuchin had in no wise exaggerated his pupil's varied knowledge and great talents. In the matter of the dead languages and classical subjects, Michel was quite unable to hold his own, for he had had neither the means nor the leisure to go to college before embracing an artistic career. The Piccinino, seeing that he was familiar only with translations of the texts which he quoted with an unfailing accuracy of memory, fell back upon history, modern literature, Italian poetry, novels, and the stage. Although Michel had read very extensively for one of his years, and although he had, as he himself put it, polished and sharpened his mind, hastily, by assimilating everything that came within his reach, he found that the peasant of Nicolosi, in the intervals between his hazardous expeditions, in the solitude of his shady garden, had made even better use of his time than he. It was wonderful to see a man who could not walk in boots, or breathe in a cravat, who had never been down to Catania ten times in his life, who lived in retirement on his mountain, and had never seen the world or come in contact with cultivated minds, but who had acquired by reading, reasoning, or the divination of a keen intellect, full knowledge of the modern world in its most trivial details, as he had acquired in the cloister knowledge of the ancient world. No subject was unfamiliar to him; he had learned all by himself several living languages, and he ostentatiously talked with Michel in pure Tuscan, to show him that no one at Rome could speak or pronounce it more correctly and melodiously.
Michel took so much pleasure in listening and replying to him, that he forgot for a moment the distrust which so complicated a mind and a character so difficult to define naturally inspired in him. He made the rest of the journey almost unconsciously, for they were then following a smooth and safe road; and when they arrived at the park of Palmarosa, he started with surprise at the thought of finding himself so soon in Princess Agatha's presence.
Thereupon all that had happened to him during and after the ball passed through his memory like a series of strange dreams. A delicious emotion stole over him, and he no longer felt very indignant or very much horrified at the pretensions of his companion, as he reflected upon those which he himself cherished.
Michel himself opened the little gate at which the path which they had followed came to an end, and, having crossed the park diagonally, stood at the foot of the staircase cut in the steep rock. The reader will not have forgotten that the Palmarosa palace was built against a precipitous slope, and formed three distinct buildings, which ascended the mountain backward, so to speak; that the topmost floor, called the Casino, being more isolated and cooler than the others, was occupied, according to the invariable custom of the country, by the most distinguished person in the family; that is to say, the mistress's apartments were on a level with the summit of the cliff, which was transformed into a garden, of small extent but most charming, at a great height, and on the opposite side from the main façade of the lower floors. There the princess lived in retirement, as in a luxurious hermitage, having no need to descend the staircase of her palace, or to be seen by her servants, when she chose to take a walk in the fresh air.
Michel had previously seen this sanctuary, but very hurriedly, as we know; and when he was sitting there with Magnani during the ball, he was so excited and talking so earnestly that he had not observed its arrangement and its surroundings.
When he came out upon that terrace with the Piccinino, after scaling the cliff, he obtained a better idea of its location, and observed that it was so disposed that it was in fact a little fortress. The staircase cut in the rock was much better adapted for a means of exit than of entrance; it was so crowded between two walls of lava, and so steep, that a woman's hand could easily have hurled back an insolent or dangerous visitor. Moreover, there was on the last stair, with nothing in the way of a landing between, a small gilt gate, unusually high and narrow, hung between two slender marble columns as smooth as the masts of a ship. On the outer side of both these columns was the sheer precipice, with nothing to grasp except heavy iron scroll-work in the style of the seventeenth century, fashioned to represent fantastic dragons, bristling with spikes in every direction; a decoration that served a double purpose, and was very difficult to surmount when one had no purchase and a precipice under his feet.
This fortification, if we may so describe it, was not without its utility in a region where brigands from the mountain carried on their operations in the valleys and the plain, even to the very gates of the cities. Michel observed the defences with the satisfaction of a jealous lover, but the Piccinino glanced at them with an air of contempt, and even went so far as to say, while they were ascending the staircase, that it was a sugar-plum citadel, which would be very effective at a dessert.
Michel rang the prescribed number of times, and the gate was immediately opened. A veiled woman stood there, impatiently awaiting them. In the darkness, she seized Michel's hand as he entered the garden, and the young artist, recognizing the Princess Agatha by that gentle pressure, trembled and lost his head, so that the Piccinino, who did not lose his, quietly removed the key which Michel had placed in the lock as he rang the bell. The bandit placed it in his belt after closing the gate, and when Michel remembered his oversight, it was too late to repair it. They had all three entered the princess's boudoir, and that was not the moment to seek a quarrel with a man so entirely free from timidity as theDestatore'sson.
Agatha had been warned and as fully advised as possible of the character and habits of the man with whom it was necessary for her to enter into relations; she was too much of a Sicilian to have any serious prejudices against the profession of bandit, and she was determined to make the greatest pecuniary sacrifices in order to make certain of the Piccinino's services. Nevertheless, she felt, at sight of him, a painful emotion which she had difficulty in concealing from him; and when he kissed her hand, gazing at her with his bold and mocking eyes, she was conscious of a painful feeling of discomfort, and her face changed perceptibly, although she was able to maintain an affable and courteous demeanor.
She knew that her first care must be to flatter the adventurer's secret vanity, by showing him much consideration and calling himcaptainto his heart's content. So she did not fail to bestow that title upon him as she invited him to sit at her right hand, while there was a more familiar kindliness in her manner of waving Michel to a chair partly behind her, near the back of her couch. Then, leaning toward him without looking at him, and resting her elbow close to his shoulder, as if to be prepared to call his attention by a movement apparently accidental, she attempted to enter upon the business before them.
But the Piccinino, noticing this manœuvre, and apparently considering that he was too far away from her, left his chair and unceremoniously seated himself beside her, on the sofa.
At that moment the Marquis della Serra, who had probably been waiting in an adjoining room for the conversation to begin, entered noiselessly, saluted the bandit with silent courtesy, and sat down near Michel, after shaking hands with him. Michel felt reassured by the presence of the man whom he could not help looking upon as his rival. He had already begun to wonder if he should not soon be tempted to throw the Piccinino out of the window; and as such an exploit might well have some serious result, he hoped that the bandit would be so far restrained by the marquis's grave face and dignified bearing, that he would not dare to overstep the limits of propriety.
The Piccinino knew that he ran no risk of being betrayed by the Marquis della Serra; indeed it pleased him to see that great nobleman offer him pledges of the alliance about to be made with him, to which the marquis must necessarily become a party.
"So the Marquis della Serra, too, is my friend and my accomplice?" he said to Agatha, in a reproachful tone.
"Signor Carmelo," replied the marquis, "you doubtless know that I was a near kinsman of the Prince of Castro-Reale, and that, consequently, I am your near kinsman. I was very young when theDestatore'strue name was discovered by the police of Catania, and perhaps you are aware that I rendered the outlaw some important services at that time."
"I am familiar with my father's story," replied the young bandit, "and it is enough for me to know that the Marquis della Serra has transferred to me the good-will with which he honored him."
Gratified in his vanity, resolved not to play a ridiculous rôle, and equally resolved to make everybody's will bend beneath his own, the Piccinino desired to carry out his purpose with spirit and good taste. So he speedily assumed a graceful and dignified attitude on the sofa, and imparted to his insolent and lustful glance an expression of benignant and almost respectful interest.
The princess broke the ice, and set forth the business in hand concisely, in almost the same words that Fra Angelo had used to induce the young wolf to leave his den. The Piccinino listened to her exposition, and his face did not betray the profound incredulity that lay behind his apparent attention.
But when the princess had finished, he coolly renewed his question as to the will, and declared that, in case it had already been abstracted, the kidnapping of Abbé Ninfo would seem to him a very tardy precaution, and his own intervention a source of useless trouble andexpense.
Princess Agatha had not been horribly unhappy to no purpose. She had learned to detect the wiles of concealed passions, and her skill in that respect was not derived from her simple and straightforward mind, but acquired at her own expense in her relations with natures directly contrary to her own. So she very soon concluded that thecaptain'sscruples were feigned, and that he had some secret motive which it was most essential to discover.
"Signor captain," she said, "if you have formed that opinion of my position, we must stop here, for I have asked to see you much more for the purpose of obtaining your advice than of telling you my ideas. However, be good enough to listen to some details which it was not in Fra Angelo's power to give you.
"My uncle the cardinal has made a will in which he constitutes me his sole heir; and it was only about ten days ago that, on his way from Catania to his villa of Ficarazzi, where he now is, he made a détour in order to pay me a visit which I did not expect. I found my uncle in the same physical condition as when I saw him a little while before, at Catania; that is to say, helpless, deaf, and unable to speak distinctly enough to make himself understood without the assistance of Abbé Ninfo, who knows or guesses his desires with rare sagacity—unless he interprets or translates them to suit himself with unmeasured insolence! However, on that occasion, Abbé Ninfo seemed to me to follow my uncle's wishes in every respect; for the object of that visit was to show me the will, and to inform me that the cardinal's affairs were in perfect order."
"Who showed you the will, signora?" said the Piccinino; "for his eminence cannot move his arm or his hand at all, can he?"
"Patience, captain, I will not omit any detail. Doctor Recuperati, the cardinal's physician, had charge of the will, and I understood clearly enough, from my uncle's glances and his excitement, that he did not wish that document to leave his hands. Two or three times Abbé Ninfo came forward to take it, on the pretext of handing it to me, and my uncle glared at him with his terrible eyes and roared like a dying lion. The doctor replaced the will in his portfolio and said to me: 'I beg that your ladyship will not share his eminence's anxiety. However great the esteem and confidence inspired by Abbé Ninfo, this paper having been entrusted to my keeping, no other person than myself—not even the Pope or the king—shall touch a document of so much importance to you.' Doctor Recuperati is an honorable, incorruptible man, and as firm as a rock in emergencies."
"True, signora," said the bandit, "but he is stupid, and Abbé Ninfo is not."
"I am well aware that Abbé Ninfo is audacious enough to invent some sort of a fable and lead the excellent doctor into a commonplace trap. That is why I have requested you, captain, to remove that hateful schemer from the scene for a time."
"I will do it, if it is not too late; for I should not care to risk my bones for nothing, and especially to endanger my reputation for talent, for which I care more than for my life. Once more, signora, do you think that it is not too late to resort to this expedient?"
"If it is too late, captain, it has been so not more than two hours," replied Agatha, observing him closely; "for, two hours ago, I paid a visit to my uncle, and the doctor, at a sign from him, showed me the paper once more, in Abbé Ninfo's presence."
"And it was the same?"
"Absolutely the same."
"There was no codicil in Ninfo's favor?"
"Not a word had been changed or added. The priest himself, who blandly pretends to be interested in my behalf, and whose every sidelong glance seems to say to me: 'You will have to pay me for my zeal,' insisted on my re-reading the paper carefully."
"And you did it?"
"I did it."
The Piccinino, in view of the princess's self-possession and tranquillity, began to form a more exalted idea of her merit; for hitherto he had seen in her nothing more than a seductive and charming woman.
"I am very well satisfied with these explanations," he said; "but, before taking any steps, I must know something more. Are you quite sure, signora, that within the last two hours Abbé Ninfo has not taken Doctor Recuperati by the throat and extorted that paper from him?"
"How can I know, captain? You alone can tell me, when you have consented to begin your secret investigation. However, the doctor is a strong and brave man, and his simplicity would not go so far as to allow himself to be robbed by a weak, chicken-hearted creature like Abbé Ninfo."
"But what would prevent Ninfo, who is a scoundrel of the first order, and has relations with all the greatest villains in the country, from hiring abravo, who, for anhonorablereward, may have lain in wait for the doctor and murdered him—or who is all ready to do it at this moment?"
The tone in which the Piccinino presented this suggestion caused the three persons who were listening to him a painful shock.
"Poor doctor!" cried the princess, turning pale; "can it be that such a crime has been planned or executed? In heaven's name, explain yourself, signor captain!"
"Never fear, signora, that crime has not been committed; but it might have been, for it was determined upon."
"In that case, signor," said the princess, seizing both the bandit's hands with a gesture of entreaty, "pray go at once. Save the life of an honorable man, and make sure of the person of a vile knave, capable of any crime."
"And suppose the will falls into my hands during the battle?" said the bandit, rising but not releasing the princess's hands, which he had seized in a firm grasp as soon as they touched his.
"The will, signor captain?" she replied, energetically. "Of what moment is half of my fortune, when it is a question of saving victims from the assassin's dagger? I care not what happens to the will. Seize the monster who covets it. Ah! if I thought that I could satisfy his resentment by giving it up to him, he might long ago have looked upon himself as its undisturbed possessor!"
"But suppose that I become its possessor?" said the adventurer, fastening his lynx eyes on Agatha's; "that would not suit Ninfo, who knows very well that his eminence is in no condition to make or even to dictate another. But would you, signora, who have been imprudent enough to tell me what I did not know, who have informed me to what a ridiculous custodian a document of so great importance has been entrusted—would you be perfectly at ease?"
The princess had understood for a long time that the bandit would do nothing unless he could see a possibility of obtaining possession of the will to his own advantage. She had powerful reasons for being ready to sacrifice it to him, and to hand over an enormous sum to him without regret, when he should come to bargain with her for the restitution of her proof of inheritance; for everybody knew, and the bandit, who seemed to have studied the affair so carefully beforehand, probably was not ignorant of the fact, that there was an earlier will in the hands of a notary, which disinherited Agatha in favor of a distant relation. In a paroxysm of hatred and resentment against his niece, the cardinal had made that first will, and had made no secret of the fact. To be sure, when he became so ill, and received from her marks of sincere respect and affection, he had made different arrangements. But he had left the previous will in existence, in case it should be his pleasure to destroy the new one. When the wicked have a good impulse, they always leave a door open for the return of their evil genius.
Agatha had already made up her mind with respect to the Piccinino's ambitions; but by the way in which he allowed them to appear, she understood that there was a large admixture of vanity in his avarice, and she had the fortunate inspiration to gratify both of the bandit's passions at the same time.
"Signor de Castro-Reale," she said, making an effort to pronounce a name that she abhorred, and to confer it upon him as a title rightfully belonging to theDestatore'snatural child, "the will would be so safe in your hands, that I should be glad if I could place it there myself."
Agatha had conquered. The bandit's head was completely turned, and another passion, which was contending with greed in his heart, gained the upper hand in a twinkling. He put both of the signora's trembling hands to his lips and bestowed upon them a kiss so long and so passionate that Michel and the marquis himself shuddered. Another hope than that of wealth took possession of the Piccinino's brain. A violent passion had sprung to life within him on the night of the ball, when he saw her admired and coveted by so many men whom she did not even deign to notice, himself included; for she believed that she had never seen him before this interview, although he hoped that she was simply pretending not to recognize his face.
He had been incited especially by the apparent hopelessness of such a conquest. Although somewhat disdainful and apparently chaste with the women of his own station, the Piccinino had the appetites of a wild beast; but vanity filled so large a place in all his instincts that he rarely had an opportunity to satisfy them. This time the opportunity was still uncertain, but the prospect was most intoxicating to his enterprising, obstinate nature, fruitful in expedients, and enamored of difficult exploits, reputed to be impossible.
"Well, signora," he cried at last, in a chivalrous tone, "your confidence in me proceeds from a noble heart, and I will not fail to justify it. Have no fear for Doctor Recuperati: he is in no danger whatsoever. It is quite true that Abbé Ninfo made a bargain this very day with a certain man, who promised to murder him; but, not only does the abbé propose to wait until the cardinal is on his death-bed, which is not the case as yet, but the dagger which is to strike your friend will not leave its sheath without my permission. There is no reason for such great haste, therefore, and I can safely return to my mountain for a few days. Ninfo is to come in person to advise us of the favorable moment to bury the knife in the good doctor's ample waistcoat, and, when that moment comes, instead of performing that agreeable duty, we will seize the abbé's person, begging him to enjoy the mountain air with us until it shall please your ladyship to restore his liberty."
The princess, who had been perfectly self-possessed thus far, became perturbed and replied in a quivering voice:
"I thought, captain, that you knew of another circumstance which makes us all very impatient to know that Abbé Ninfo is on the mountain. Doctor Recuperati is not the only one of my friends who is in danger, and I instructed Fra Angelo to tell you our other reasons for desiring to be rid of his presence forthwith."
The catlike Piccinino had not finished playing with the victim he coveted. He pretended not to understand or not to remember that Michel and his father were principally interested in the abbé's abduction.
"I think," he said, "that your highness exaggerates the dangers of Ninfo's presence about the cardinal. You must be aware that his eminence has the most profound contempt for that underling; that he can hardly endure his presence, although he realizes the advantage of having so zealous and quick-witted an interpreter; in short, that the cardinal, while he may need his services, will never allow him to meddle with his affairs. Your highness knows that there is a small legacy for the poor abbé in the will, and I fancy that you will not stoop to contest the payment of it."
"No, surely not!" replied the princess, surprised to find that the bandit was so familiar with the contents of the will; "but it is not the paltry fear that the abbé may obtain more or less money from the cardinal that I have in my mind at this moment, I assure you. I have already told you, captain, and Fra Angelo also must have told you, that his brother and nephew are in great danger so long as Abbé Ninfo is in a position to injure them with my uncle, the cardinal, and the Neapolitan police."
"Ah!" said the crafty Piccinino, putting his hand to his forehead, "I had forgotten that, and yet it is a matter of importance to you, princess, I agree. Indeed I have several things to tell you in that connection which you do not know. But it is a very delicate subject," he said, feigning hesitation, "and it would be difficult for me to explain myself in the presence of the two gentlemen who honor me with their attention."
"You can say anything before the Marquis della Serra and Michelangelo Lavoratori," said the princess, somewhat alarmed.
"No, signora, I know my duty too well to do so, and my respect for you is too great to allow me to forget the proprieties to that point. If your highness is disposed to listen to me without witnesses, I will inform you of what has been planned and determined upon. If not," he added, pretending to be preparing to go, "I will go and wait at Nicolosi until you deign to advise me of the day and hour when it will be agreeable to you to listen to me."
"At once, signor, at once," rejoined the princess hastily. "I am more interested and more alarmed because the lives of my friends are endangered for my sake than by any question of money. Come," she added, rising, and resolutely placing her arm in the bandit's, "we will talk in my flower-garden, and these gentlemen will await us here. Stay, stay, my friends," she said to the marquis and Michel, who would have retired, although the idea of that tête-à-tête caused them both an indefinable dread; "I really need a breath of fresh air, and Signor de Castro-Reale is kind enough to offer me his arm."
Michel and the marquis, as soon as they were alone, looked at each other as if they had had the same thought, and, hastening each to a window, stood where they would not lose sight of the princess for an instant, although they could not overhear a conversation from which she herself seemed content to exclude them.
"How did it happen, dear princess," said the bandit, in a careless tone, as soon as he and Agatha were in the garden, arm-in-arm, "that you were imprudent enough to try to make me speak of Michel in presence of a cicisbeo so valuable to you as the Marquis della Serra? Your highness forgets one thing: that if I know the secrets of Villa Ficarazzi, I probably know those of Villa Palmarosa as well, since Abbé Ninfo maintains an equally assiduous surveillance over both houses."
"So Abbé Ninfo has seen you first, eh, captain?" rejoined the princess, trying to assume an equally unembarrassed tone; "and he took you into his confidence in order to obtain your services in his interest?"
Agatha knew very well what to think in that respect. Certainly, if she had not discovered that the abbé had already sought the Piccinino's assistance in abducting, or perhaps murdering Michel, she would not have thought it necessary to resort to him in order to procure the abduction of the abbé. But she was careful not to allow her real motive to be discovered. She desired that the bandit's self-love should be flattered by what he might consider an instinctive impulse on her part.
"From whatever source I derive my information," he replied, with a smile, "I leave it to you to judge of its accuracy. The last time that the cardinal came to visit your highness, there was a young man at the gate of your park whose distinguished features and bearing were in striking contrast with his costume, which was covered with dust and worn by a long journey. What caprice induced the cardinal to examine that young man and to insist upon questioning him? that is something which Ninfo himself does not know and has commissioned me to find out, if possible. One thing is certain: that the mania, which has beset the cardinal for a long time, of inquiring the name and age of all the young men of the lower classes whose faces attract his attention, has survived the loss of activity and memory. It is as if he still retained a sort of vague distrust, a relic of his exalted police functions; and his imperative glance commands Abbé Ninfo to ask questions and report to him. It is true that when the abbé showed him the written result of his investigation, he seemed to take no interest in it; in like manner, whenever the abbé annoys him with his impertinent requests or insinuating questions, his eminence, after reading the first words, closes his eyes angrily, to show that he doesn't wish to be fatigued any more. Perhaps your highness did not know these details, which Doctor Recuperati knows nothing of; for, during the few hours' sleep which the excellent doctor is permitted to enjoy, the watchfulness of the devoted servants with whom Your Highness has surrounded the cardinal does not avail to prevent Ninfo from entering his room, waking him without ceremony, and placing before him certain written sentences from which he hopes for favorable results. When the cardinal is awakened in this way, his pain and his anger make his mind momentarily more lucid than usual; he reads, seems to understand, and tries to utter words of which an occasional syllable is intelligible to his persecutor; but almost immediately he collapses again, and the feeble flame of his life is so much nearer extinction."
"So that villain has ceased to be a mere flatterer and spy, to become my unfortunate uncle's torturer and assassin?" cried the princess, indignantly. "You must see, signor captain, that he must be delivered from him at once, and that I need no other motive for desiring that he be taken out of our way."
"Pardon me, signora," rejoined the bandit, obstinately. "If I had not informed you of these things, you would still have personal motives of even greater weight, which you do not choose to tell me, but which I have learned from Ninfo. I never enter into an affair without making myself thoroughly acquainted with it; and it sometimes falls to my lot, as you see, to question both parties. Permit me to continue my disclosures, therefore, and I trust that they will lead to disclosures on your part.
"Abbé Ninfo did not examine very closely or ask many questions of the individual at your highness's park gate. After a moment, seeing that the cardinal continued somewhat agitated by the encounter, as if the young man's face had aroused memories which he could not arrange and place,—for his eminence often wears himself out, it seems, in such painful mental toil,—the abbé retraced his steps and examined the young man more carefully. The young man evidently had some reason for being on his guard, for he deceived the abbé, who really took him for a poor devil, and even gave him alms. But two days later, the abbé, having, for the purpose of spying, disguised himself as a workman employed in the preparations for your ball, soon discovered that his poor devil was a brilliant artist, very much petted and favored by your highness, and by no means in a position to accept alms at the gate of a palace, since he is the son of a well-to-do artisan, Pier-Angelo Lavoratori.
"On the night succeeding this discovery, the abbé did not fail to place before Monsignor Hieronymo a sheet of paper containing this information in large letters. But by dint of trying to tighten the last remaining chords of the instrument, the abbé broke them. The cardinal did not understand. The names of Pier-Angelo and Michelangelo Lavoratori conveyed no meaning to him. He muttered a violent oath because Ninfo disturbed his slumber. And so," added the Piccinino, with malicious significance, "the fears which your highness entertains, or pretends to entertain, with respect to Pier-Angelo are entirely without foundation. Although the cardinal long ago prosecuted that excellent man as a conspirator, he has so completely forgotten him that even Ninfo has no hope of reviving the memory of an affair of which he himself knows nothing, and your protégé is in no danger from any denunciation by him, at present."
"I breathe again," said the princess, allowing the bandit to take her hand in his, and even responding to his pressure, with generous confidence. "Your words do me good, captain, and I bless you for having confidence enough in me to reveal the truth to me. That was my whole fear; but, since the cardinal remembers nothing and the abbé knows nothing, I trust to your sagacity for the rest. Look you, captain, it seems to me this is what we have to do. Do you find in your fertile genius some method of obtaining possession of the will, and see that the abbé is informed of it, so that there will be no further occasion for him to persecute the worthy doctor; then keep the abbé's attention diverted so that he will allow my unfortunate uncle to die in peace. That will conclude by diplomatic methods an affair in which I have feared that blood might be shed over paltry questions of money."
"Your excellency goes very fast!" rejoined the Piccinino. "The abbé cannot be put to sleep so easily with regard to another subject, which it is impossible for me, despite my respect, my awe and my embarrassment, to pass over in silence."
"Speak, speak!" said Agatha, hastily.
"Very well, since your highness authorizes me to do so, and does not choose to understand a hint, I will tell you that Abbé Ninfo, while in quest of political intrigues which he has not succeeded in discovering, has put his hand upon a love affair which he has turned to his advantage."
"I do not understand," said the princess, with an air of sincerity that startled the adventurer.
"Can Ninfo have been gulling me," he thought, "or is this woman strong enough to hold her own against me? We will see."
"Signora," he said, in a honeyed tone, holding Agatha's hand against his breast, "you will detest me, I suppose. However, I must serve you against your will by telling you what I know. The abbé discovered that Michelangelo was admitted every day at certain hours to the private apartment in your Casino; that he did not eat with your servants or with the other workmen, but with you, in secret; in a word, that, when he took his siesta, he rested from his artistic labors in the arms of the loveliest and most lovable of women."
"It is false!" cried the princess; "it is an abominable falsehood. I treated that young man with the distinction which I considered that I owed to his talent and his ideas. He ate with his father in a room next to mine, and took his siesta in my picture gallery. Abbé Ninfo did not watch very closely, or he might have told you that Michel, being utterly tired out, passed two or three nights under my roof."
"He told me that, too," replied the Piccinino, who always chose to seem to know beforehand what anyone told him.
"Very well, Signor de Castro-Reale," said Agatha, in a firm voice, looking him full in the face, "there is no doubt about the fact; but I can swear upon my mother's soul and your mother's that that young man never saw me until the day of the ball, when his father first introduced him to me, in presence of two hundred mechanics. I talked to him during the ball, on the main staircase, and the Marquis della Serra, who was escorting me, complimented him, as I did myself, upon his paintings. From that moment down to this very evening Michel had never seen me; ask himself! You are not a man whom one can deceive, captain; use your perspicacity, and I will trust it."
The Piccinino quivered with pleasure at this concise declaration, made with the assurance which truth alone can give, and he pressed Agatha's hand against his breast with such force that she detected his sentiments at last. She had a moment of terror, augmented by a ghastly reminiscence. But she realized, in a flash, the full extent of the dangers to which Michel had been exposed, and, postponing the matter of her own safety to a more favorable season, she determined to deal tenderly with Carmelo Tomabene's pride.
"What motive could Abbé Ninfo have had in telling us that extraordinary story?" he exclaimed.
Agatha fancied that she could understand that the abbé had detected the violent passion for herself by which she saw at last that the bandit was possessed, and that he had endeavored to incite him to vengeance by his tale of intrigue. "If that is so," she thought, "I will use the same weapons, vile Ninfo, since you have been kind enough to furnish me with them."
"Listen, captain," she said; "you who know men so well and read so readily the innermost folds of the conscience, must have discovered that, in addition to all his manifest vices, the abbé is an insatiable libertine? Do you suppose that he has confined himself to coveting my inheritance? did he not let you see that it was not for money alone that he would try to sell me a part of it if he should succeed in obtaining possession of it?"
"Yes!" cried the Piccinino, this time with the utmost sincerity; "I thought that I could detect revolting desires and hopes on the part of that monster of ugliness and lust. His affected incredulity concerning the possibility of resistance by a woman, in such cases, is simply an attempt to console himself when he thinks of his own physical and moral ugliness. Yes, yes, I suspected it in spite of his hypocrisy. I will not say that he loves you; that would be a profanation of the word love; but he desires you, and he is jealous. Jealous, do I say! Ah! that word again is too respectable! Jealousy is the passion of young hearts, and his is decrepit. He suspects and detests everybody about you. In fact, he has devised an infernal method of conquering you: judging rightly that the desire to ransom your inheritance would not suffice, and supposing that you loved this young artist, he has determined to use him as a hostage and to compel you to purchase at his own price the life and liberty of Michelangelo."
"I ought to have expected that," replied the princess, affecting an air of contemptuous tranquillity, although her whole body was bathed in cold perspiration. "And so he selected you, captain, as his associate in an undertaking worthy of those men who devote themselves to the most hideous of all trades, the mere name of which is so degrading that no true woman could bear to speak it in any tongue! It seems to me that that mark of confidence on the part of the excellent Abbé Ninfo merits a somewhat severe punishment at your hands!"
Agatha had touched the right chord. The abbé's execrable projects, which had previously moved the young bandit to nothing more than satirical contempt, appeared to him now in the light of a personal insult and kindled the thirst for vengeance in him. So true is it that love, even in a wild, unbridled heart, arouses the sentiment of manly dignity.
"Severe punishment!" he said, in a deep voice, with clenched teeth; "he shall have it!—But," he added, "have no further anxiety about anything, signora; deign to place your fate in my hands unreservedly."
"My fate is already in your hands, captain," replied Agatha; "my fortune, my reputation, and the lives of my friends: think you that I have an anxious air?"
And she looked him through and through with a profound gaze, wherein she was so happily inspired by the superior sagacity of the courageous woman, that the Piccinino felt its influence and found that respect and awe were mingled with his passion.—"Ah! you romantic woman," he thought, "you have not outgrown the belief that a bandit chief must be a stage hero or a chevalier of the Middle Ages! And here am I compelled to play that part for your pleasure! Very well, I will play it. Nothing is difficult to him who has read much and reasoned much.—Indeed, why should I not be a hero in good earnest?" he said to himself, as he walked silently beside that trembling woman whom he believed to be so trustful and confiding, pressing her arm to his side with his own trembling arm. "If I have not deigned to be one hitherto, it is simply because the opportunity has never offered, and my essays at grandeur would have been absurd. With such a woman as this, the game is well worth the candle, and I cannot believe that it is difficult to be sublime when the reward is destined to be so sweet. It is an undertaking founded upon a selfish motive more elevated, but no less substantial or less logical than others."
Before assuming definitively the attitude of the princess's true knight, he determined to do away with a lingering remnant of distrust, and he was almost ingenuous in seeking to cure himself of it.
"The only weakness of which I am conscious," he said, "is the dread of playing a ridiculous rôle. Ninfo wished me to play an infamous one, he shall be punished for it; but if your highness really loves that young man—why, that young man also will have reason to regret having deceived me!"
"How am I to understand you?" rejoined Agatha, leading him into the ray of light which the chandelier in her boudoir cast into the garden; "I do really love Michelangelo, Pier-Angelo, and Fra Angelo, as devoted friends and estimable men. To rescue them from the enmity of a villain I would give all the money that anyone might ask. But look at me, captain, and look at that young man musing yonder behind that window. Do you consider that there can possibly exist a bond based upon impure passion between two persons of our respective ages and conditions? You do not know my character. Nobody has ever understood it. Will you be the first one to do it justice? I wish it might be so, for I care very much for your esteem, and I should think that I was wholly undeserving of it if I entertained for that child sentiments which I feared to allow you to detect."
As she spoke, Agatha, who had dropped the bandit's arm, took it again to return to the boudoir; and he was so grateful to her for that mark of trustful friendship, of which she desired Michel and the marquis to be witnesses, that he felt intoxicated and, as it were, beside himself with joy.
Neither the marquis nor Michel had heard a word of the conversation we have reported. But the first was tranquil in his mind, the other was not. The marquis, having assured himself that the princess was calm, had no fear that she incurred any immediate danger with the brigand; whereas Michel, not being familiar with her character, suffered keenly at the bare thought that the Piccinino might, in his speech, have gone beyond the bounds of respect. His suffering was intensified when he saw the Piccinino's face as he returned to the boudoir.
That face, ordinarily so indifferent and composed, was, as it were, illuminated by confidence and joy. The little man seemed to have grown a cubit taller, and his black eyes flashed flames which one would not have believed could be kindled in a head so cool and calculating.
No sooner had the princess, who was somewhat fatigued from having walked a long while in a small space, seated herself on the couch, to which he escorted her with the most dignified courtesy, than he fell, rather than sat down upon a chair, on the other side of the small boudoir, but with his face turned toward her as if he had stationed himself there to gaze at her in the glare of the chandelier. In truth, the Piccinino, after having enjoyed in the garden the sweetness of her voice, the flattering significance of her words, and the softness of her hand, desired, in order to put the finishing touch to the sensuous delight which he had felt for the first time in his life, to gaze at her at his leisure, without the labor of speech or of thought. He fell into a silent meditation, more eloquent than Michel could have desired. He feasted his bold eyes with the sight of that exquisite and fascinating woman, whom it seemed to him that he already possessed, as with a treasure which he had stolen, and which he took pleasure in gloating over, as it lay gleaming before him.
The young painter's distress was intensified by the fact that, under the mysterious influence of that all-pervading passion, which but just born was already spreading with the rapidity of a conflagration, the bandit acquired a strange power of fascination. His exquisite beauty shone forth like a star emerging from the vapors on the horizon. All that was unusual in the outlines of his features and disquieting in their veiled expression gave way to a subtle charm, an overpowering effusiveness, albeit silent, and, as it were, overwhelmed by its own ardor. He was lying back in his chair, but no longer affected indifference or absent-mindedness. His hanging arms, his bent back, his eyes, glistening and fascinated, and fixed intently on the princess, indicated that he was shattered, as it were, by the explosion of a force unknown to himself, and drowned in the anticipated joys of his triumph. Michel was afraid of him for the first time. He would still have defied him fearlessly in the ill-omened solitude of theDestatore's Cross; but in that room, radiant with a strange ecstasy, he seemed too overpowering for any woman to escape the fascination of that basilisk glance.
However, Agatha did not seem to notice it, and whenever he turned his eyes from the bandit to her, he found her apparently calm and undisturbed, having no thought either of attacking or of defending herself.
"My friends," she said, after pausing a moment to take breath, "we can say good-night and separate with our minds at rest. I place my full confidence in this new friend whom Providence, acting through the wisdom of Fra Angelo, has sent to us. You will share my confidence when I tell you that he knew beforehand, and knew far better than ourselves, what we had to fear and to hope."
"It is a decidedly interesting affair, it is true," said the Piccinino, making an effort to emerge from his dreaming; "and it is time that this young man should know why I roared with laughter when he came to see me. You will laugh too, I hope, Master Michelangelo, when you learn that you came and entrusted your fate to a man who had been strenuously urged, an hour earlier, to do you a bad turn; and if I were not calm and prudent in such affairs, if I believed blindly the words of those who came to consult me, while you were urging me in her highness's behalf to kidnap Abbé Ninfo, I should have seized you and thrown you into my cellar, securely bound and gagged, at the request of Abbé Ninfo. I see by your manner that you would have resisted vigorously. Oh! I know that you are brave, and I fancy that you are stronger than I. You have an uncle who has kept his muscles in play so persistently for twenty years past, breaking stone, that he cannot have lost any of the strength which caused him to be calledIron Armwhen he plied another trade on the mountain; but, when one is engaged in a matter of great political moment, one takes precautions, and I had but to touch a little bell to have my house surrounded by determined men, who would not have afforded you even the pleasure of resistance."
Having spoken thus, his eyes fixed upon Michel with a playful expression, the Piccinino turned again to the princess. She had concealed her pallor behind her fan, and when the brigand met her eyes, they were armed with a tranquil expression which dispelled the last traces of his ironical humor. The secret pleasure which it always afforded him to frighten those who ventured into his presence disappeared before that womanly glance, which seemed to say to him: "You shall not do it, I forbid you."
So that he at once assumed an expression of hearty good-will, and said to Michel:
"You see, my young friend, that I had my reasons for insisting upon an explanation of the affair, and for not being in too much of a hurry. Now that I am convinced that honor and truth are on one side, infamy and falsehood on the other, my choice is made, and you can sleep with both eyes shut. I propose to go with you to Catania," he added, addressing Michel in an undertone, "where I must arrange the worthy abbé's departure for to-morrow. But I absolutely require two hours' rest. Can you promise me a corner in your house where I can sleep soundly for two hours without danger of being seen? For my features are hardly known in the city, and I do not wish them to become known there until it is necessary. Tell me, can I enter your house without fear of inquisitive eyes, especially women's eyes?"
"I have a young sister who is moderately inquisitive," replied Michel smiling; "but she will be in bed at this time of night. Trust me, as I trusted you; I will give you my own bed, and sit up in the room if you wish."
"I accept," said the bandit, who, while talking with Michel, was trying to overhear the words, unimportant in themselves, which the princess was exchanging with the marquis, in order not to embarrass the conversation between the two young men. Michel observed that, notwithstanding the Piccinino's assertion that he could not do two things at once, he did not lose a gesture, a word, or a movement of Agatha's, while he was talking with him.
When he was assured of the two hours' absolute rest which was, he said, indispensable to put him in a condition to act intelligently, the Piccinino rose and prepared to retire. But the coquettish moderation with which he arranged his cloak about his flexible figure, the languid grace of his preoccupied air during that momentous operation, and the imperceptible quivering of his silky black moustache, showed plainly enough that he went away with regret, and after the manner of a man who is striving to dispel the mists of drunkenness in order to return to work.
"You do not wish to be seen?" said Agatha; "then step into the marquis's carriage with Michel. He will drive you to the outskirts of the city, and you can slip through the narrow streets."
"Many thanks, signora!" replied the bandit. "I have no desire to take your servants and the signor marquis's into my confidence. To-morrow morning Abbé Ninfo, whose discernment exceeds their discretion, would learn that a mountaineer came out of your apartments whom nobody had seen go in; and the excellent abbé, thinking that that performance savored somewhat of thebravo, would insult me by withdrawing the confidence with which he honors me. I must be his fidus Achates and his very good friend for twelve hours more. I will go out with Michel as I came."
"And when shall I see you again?" said Agatha, courageously offering him her hand, despite the lustful flame in his unshrinking eyes.
"You will not see me again," he replied, putting one knee to the floor and kissing her hand with a sort of frenzy in marked contrast to the humility of his attitude, "until your orders are carried out. I cannot fix the day and hour, but I will answer for the safety of all your friends—even the stout doctor—with my life! I know the way to your Casino. When I ringone,threeandsevenat the gate of your flower-garden, will your ladyship deign to admit me to your presence?"
"You can rely upon it, captain," she replied, giving no sign of the alarm caused her by that request.
The Marquis della Serra did not fail to take his leave at the same time that the two young men went from the boudoir into the garden. His respect for the princess was so punctilious that he would not for the world have assumed the attitude of a favored lover. But he descended the staircase of the palace slowly, still disturbed in mind, and ready to go up again at the slightest noise.
On leaving the garden, the Piccinino locked the gate himself and handed the key to Michel, reproaching him for his carelessness.
"Except for me," he said, "this all-important key—this key that cannot be replaced—would have been left in the lock."
A moment's self-possession, before entering the boudoir, had sufficed for the bandit to take the impression of the key on a lump of wax which he always carried with him for emergencies.
They had no sooner started down the staircase cut in the rock than Agatha's maid, who was entirely devoted to her, came to her and said:
"The young man whom your highness sent for is waiting in the picture gallery."
Agatha put her finger to her lips to warn the maid to speak lower on such occasions, and went down to the floor below, where Magnani had been waiting more than half an hour.
Poor Magnani had been more dead than alive since he received the princess's mysterious message. Being very different from the Piccinino, he was so far from entertaining the slightest hope that he imagined the worst that could possibly happen. "I must have made a terrible mistake," he said to himself, "in confiding to Michel the secret of my folly. He probably talked about it with his sister, and Mila has seen the princess, who treats her like a spoiled child. The chatter of that girl, who cannot understand the gravity of such a disclosure, terrified and disgusted the princess. But why not banish me without any explanation? What can she say to me that will not be horribly painful and uselessly cruel?"
That hour of suspense seemed to him a century. He was cold; he felt as if he should die, when the secret door of the gallery opened noiselessly, and he saw Agatha approaching him, pale with the excitement through which she had just passed, and diaphanous in her white lace cape. The enormous gallery was lighted only by a single glass lamp. It seemed to him that the princess did not walk, but that she glided toward him, after the manner of a ghost.
She approached without hesitation, and offered him her hand as if he were an intimate friend. And, as he hesitated to give her his, thinking that he was dreaming, fearing that he might misunderstand the meaning of that gesture, she said to him in a soft but firm voice:
"Give me your hand, my child, and tell me if you still feel for me the friendship which you once expressed when you thought that you owed me some gratitude for your mother's cure. Do you remember? I have never forgotten that generous outburst of your heart!"
Magnani could not reply. He dared not put Agatha's hand to his lips. He pressed it gently in his as he bent over it. She felt that he was trembling.