Franco went at eight o'clock and Pasotti received him with the most effusive cordiality, and apologised for his wife's absence, she having already gone to bed. Before opening the conversation he insisted that Franco should take a glass of S. Colombano, and a piece of panettone. With the wine and the cake Franco was obliged to swallow, much against his will, many declarations of friendship, and the most exalted eulogies upon his wife, his uncle, and himself. The glass and the plate being at last empty, the mellifluous rogue showed himself disposed to come to business.
They were seated facing each other at a small table. Pasotti, leaning back comfortably in his chair, held a red and yellow silk handkerchief in his hands, with which he played constantly.
"Well," said he, "as I told you, my dear Franco, the matter concerns your journey to-morrow. I heard it said to-day at your house that you are going away on business. Now it remains to be seen whether I am not bringing you still more important business than that which calls you to Milan."
Franco remained silent, surprised by this unexpected preamble. Pasotti continued, his eyes fixed on the handkerchief which he never ceased handling.
"Of course, my good friend Don Franco Maironi knows that if I touch upon intimate and delicate questions it is because I have a serious reason for doing so; because I feel it my duty, and because I am authorised to do so."
The hands became still, the shining and cunning eyes were raised to Franco's distrustful and troubled eyes.
"It concerns both your present and your future, my dear Franco."
Having uttered these words, Pasotti resolutely laid aside the handkerchief. Resting his arms and his clasped hands on the little table, he went to the heart of the matter, keeping his eyes fixed upon Franco, who now, in his turn, leaning back in his chair, returned the gaze, his face pale, his attitude one of hostile defiance.
"You must know that the old friendship I bear your family has long been urging me to do something to put an end to a most painful quarrel. Your good father, Don Alessandro!—What a heart of gold!—How fond he was of me!" (Franco was aware that his father had once threatened Pasotti with his cane, for meddling overmuch in his family affairs.) "Never mind! Having learned that your grandmother was at Lodi, I said to myself last Sunday: After all the trouble the Maironis have had, perhaps this is the right moment. Let us go and make the attempt. And I went."
There was a pause. Franco was quivering. What a mediator he had had! And who had asked for mediation?