Things had gone wrong—his highest hopes were destroyed, and his more moderate comforts and expectations had shared in their fall. He was angry with Violante, and as he sat waiting for her blamed her in his heart for their misfortunes, in a way that would have been intensely cruel and selfish had he cared what became of himself. But he did not cherish an unforgiving resentment against her because she could no longer make their fortune and her own, but because she had lost the career that he so honoured. He would not have forgiven her could she have brought him riches gained in another way; but, though she had disappointed the man’s high ideal and not his self-interest, the disappointment recoiled just as hardly on her.
Signor Vasari had insulted and dismissed him, “esteeming his own private grudge better than his orchestra, where he cannot supply my place,” thought Signor Mattei, with a contempt that almost neutralised his mortification. “Who can play the violin solos as I can?” he thought proudly. “But old Naldi at Florence understands real genius—could I go and leave the girls alone? Rosa has unparalleled discretion and Violante will have no lovers now. Eccola! She is coming.”
Violante came round the corner of the house and started with a surprise not altogether delightful. However, reminding herself that she could be in no disgrace now, she ran up to him and kissed him.
“Ah, padre mio! How hot and tired you look. You have come to see us? Rosa will be here directly; she is with Madame Cellini. I will get you some melon; that will be cool and nice.”
Her livelier manner, her more blooming looks, were evident at a glance, as she ran into the house and brought out a slice of melon and then a glass of light wine.
“Is it good?” she said, with smiling earnestness. “I will take your bat and stick.”
“You look well—have you tried your voice?” he said abruptly.
“No, father;” answered Violante, with a sudden droop into her old timid self and falling into silence.
“It must surely be returning—in a few weeks.”
“Father, there is Rosa,” interrupted Violante hastily, as her sister and Madame Cellini came up the path.