The words made a deep impression on Maria, who knew that he was making a new will. He could only mean that Leone was to have Montalto, which it would have been in his power to leave to another branch of his family, or indeed to any one he pleased; and Montalto meant everything. She could not doubt that he knew perfectly well what he was doing; he had added one more generous deed to the many he had done in the course of that large forgiveness that had brought him back to her.
He could do such things as this, and yet he could not lift his hand to hinder a disaster that might wreck the honour of his name, with her own, and Leone’s. He went out after luncheon, saying that he had an appointment, and she did not see him till dinner-time, when Leone always had his supper with them, unless some one came to dine. And later he was in the loving mood she dreaded most. The second of the eight days had passed and nothing had been done yet. After two or three more like these, the situation would become absolutely desperate.
Maria made up her mind that night that if her husband came to no decision in twenty-four hours, she would go to the National Bank and buy the cheques. After all it was better to disobey Montalto’s express injunction, if obedience was to mean ruin.
She longed intensely for help, but there was none in sight. She could not tell Giuliana all that had passed between her husband and herself to bring about the present situation; still less could she appeal to Monsignor Saracinesca, who knew very little of the truth.
On the next day Montalto talked again about a circular notice to the press, saying there was plenty of time, because the blackmailer’s letter did not say that the letters would be published in eight days, but that if the money had not been received by that time a second demand would be sent to Maria, on the supposition that the first draft might have been lost, which would mean a lapse of several days more.
‘Let us go together to the Chief of Police,’ entreated Maria. ‘We need only say that it concerns certain old letters, in your possession, which might compromise me.’
‘That is quite impossible, my dear, without very mature reflection,’ answered Montalto, with exasperating calm.
‘But surely we have been reflecting these three days! If you do not go to the police, how can you ever get a circular sent to the press?’
‘But, my dear child, there is really no such hurry!’