“And now, one word more,” said Harley. “Do not confide to Mr. Leslie these arrangements; do not let him know where Violante is placed,—at least, until I authorize such confidence in him. It is sufficient excuse that it is no use to know unless he called to see her, and his movements, as I said before, may be watched. You can give the same reason to suspend his visits to yourself. Suffer me, meanwhile, to mature my judgment on this young man. In the meanwhile, also, I think that I shall have means of ascertaining the real nature of Peschiera’s schemes. His sister has sought to know me; I will give her the occasion. I have heard some things of her in my last residence abroad, which make me believe that she cannot be wholly the count’s tool in any schemes nakedly villanous; that she has some finer qualities in her than I once supposed; and that she can be won from his influence. It is a state of war; we will carry it into the enemy’s camp. You will promise me, then, to refrain from all further confidence in Mr. Leslie?”
“For the present, yes,” said Riccabocca, reluctantly.
“Do not even say that you have seen me, unless he first tell you that I am in England, and wish to learn your residence. I will give him full occasion to do so. Pish! don’t hesitate; you know your own proverb—
“‘Boccha chiusa, ed occhio aperto
Non fece mai nissun deserto.’
“The closed mouth and the open eye,’ etc.”
“That’s very true,” said the doctor, much struck. “Very true. ‘In boccha chiusa non c’entrano mosche.’ One can’t swallow flies if one keeps one’s mouth shut. Corpo di Bacco! that’s very true indeed.”
CHAPTER VI.
Violante and Jemima were both greatly surprised, as the reader may suppose, when they heard, on their return, the arrangements already made for the former. The countess insisted on taking her at once, and Riccabocca briefly said, “Certainly, the sooner the better.” Violante was stunned and bewildered. Jemima hastened to make up a little bundle of things necessary, with many a woman’s sigh that the poor wardrobe contained so few things befitting. But among the clothes she slipped a purse, containing the savings of months, perhaps of years, and with it a few affectionate lines, begging Violante to ask the countess to buy her all that was proper for her father’s child. There is always something hurried and uncomfortable in the abrupt and unexpected withdrawal of any member from a quiet household. The small party broke into still smaller knots. Violante hung on her father, and listened vaguely to his not very lucid explanations. The countess approached Leonard, and, according to the usual mode with persons of quality addressing young authors, complimented him highly on the books she had not read, but which her son assured her were so remarkable. She was a little anxious to know where Harley had first met with Mr. Oran, whom he called his friend; but she was too highbred to inquire, or to express any wonder that rank should be friends with genius. She took it for granted that they had formed their acquaintance abroad.
Harley conversed with Helen.—“You are not sorry that Violante is coming to us? She will be just such a companion for you as I could desire; of your own years too.”