Selva was slightly perplexed; nevertheless he at once invited his guests to follow him, and conducted them to the terrace, where some chairs had been placed.
“And Dane?” said he anxiously to Leynì, taking his arm, “And Professor Minucci, and Father Salvati.”
“They have arrived,” the young man replied, smiling. “They are at the Aniene. I must tell you about it—but it is a long story! They will be here presently.”
Meanwhile the Abbé Marinier had gone out on the terrace, and now exclaimed:
“Oh, c’est admirable!”
Don Paolo Faré, always loyal to his native Como, murmured, “Beautiful, beautiful indeed!” as if he would have liked to add, “but if you could only see my country!”
Maria joined them, and the introductions were repeated; then Leynì told his story while Marinier let his little sparkling eyes wander over the landscape, from the pyramid-shaped Subiaco, standing out with a dark scenic effect against the bright background in the west, to the wild hornbeams close by, which shut out the east.
Don Faré was devouring Selva with his eyes, Selva, the author of critical essays on the Old and New Testament, and especially of a book on the basis of future Catholic theology, which had elevated and transfigured his faith. Baron Leynì was telling his story. At the station of Mandela it had been very windy, and Professor Dane greatly feared he had taken cold; suspecting that there would be no cognac in the house of such an alcohol hater as Selva, and, moreover, the hour having arrived at which it was his daily custom to take two eggs, he had stopped at the Albergo dell’ Aniene for the eggs and cognac. On the terrace of the restaurant, which faced the river, there was too much air, and in the small adjacent rooms there was too little, so he had ordered his repast served in a room at the hotel, and had sent the eggs back twice. Then the others had walked on, leaving him in the company of Professor Minucci and Father Salvati.
As Professor Dane, who was so delicate and sensitive to the cold, was not of the party, Giovanni proposed having supper on the terrace. He at once abandoned the idea, however, on perceiving that it did not suit the Abbé from Geneva. The elegant, worldly Marinier took as great care of his own person as did his friend Dane, but with more dissimulation and without the excuse of ill-health. He had not, stayed to supper at the Aniene with his friend, because, on a previous visit to Subiaco, he had found the cuisine of that hotel too simple to suit his taste, and he had hopes of a French supper from Signora Selva. Baron Leyni knew well how fallacious such hopes were; but in a spirit of mischief he refrained from enlightening him. There was barely: room for the five people in the tiny dining-room. It was fortunate the other two had not come. In fact, neither the Abbé Marinier nor Don Faré was expected, but others who had been expected were absent. A monk and a priest, men of repute from northern Italy, who should have been present, had both written to apologise for their absence, to the lively regret of Selva, of Faré, and of Leynì. Marinier, on the other hand, proffered his apologies for having intruded. Dane was responsible for his presence, as Leynì was for the presence of Don Paolo Faré. Selva protested. Friends of his friends were, of course, always welcome. Leynì and Dane both knew they were free to bring any one in whom they had confidence, any one who shared their views. Maria was silent; she was not greatly pleased with Abbé Marinier. She also felt that Leynì and Dane would have done well had they abstained from introducing strangers without notifying Giovanni. Marinier spoke, with slightly knitted brows, after a close scrutiny of his bean soup.
“I fear,” said he, “we shall weary Signora Selva if we talk now of the subject to be discussed at the meeting.”