"You do not deserve anything at all, my boy," said the cardinal, half kindly, half in earnest, "because you married a heretic. But as I helped you to obtain the permission, I must do something for you."
"But I," said Diana,—"I cannot take all this. It is not fair to Marcantonio, for I ought to pay you the income of it, just as he is to do."
"Nonsense, figlia mia," said the old man. "You need money more than he does or ever will, with that husband of yours, who is always going from one court to another on his nonsensical diplomatic errands. Ah! my children, diplomacy is not what it used to be! Altri tempi—altri tempi!"
The end of it was that the two young people agreed to their uncle's provisions, and he insisted on their hearing and understanding all the papers, to which end he sent for his secretary, a wizened little Roman with grey hair and bright eyes and a fondness for snuff; and the secretary read on for two good hours. The old man from time to time nodded his head to Marcantonio or to Diana, as the one or the other was referred to in the documents, and waved his pale thin hand in appreciation of the completeness and simplicity of his arrangements. At last the various deeds were signed, and a notary, whom the secretary had provided, was called in from the antechamber where he had waited, and attested the signatures and the general legality of the proceedings. The cardinal was satisfied, and leaned back in his chair. He was one of those old-fashioned noblemen who still believe in the divine right of primogeniture and in the respectability of land as a possession. With the modern laws concerning the division of estates,—the keen Napoleonic knives that cut the strings of succession at every knot,—these conservative aristocrats have infinite trouble; but they generally manage to evade the spirit of the law, and to conform as little to the letter of it as they can.
"Cara mia, one must submit," said Marcantonio to his sister, when they were alone together. "Old men have strange fancies, and he has always been good to us. What he said about my marriage was quite true. If he had not helped me, I should have made a fiasco of it,—or done something rash."
"I suppose so," said Diana, thoughtfully. "By the bye, are you comfortable at Sorrento? How is Leonora?"
She was rather ashamed of not having asked the question before, but Marcantonio was good-natured, and was glad that she had not said anything hard. And, of course, the moment she mentioned his wife, he was delighted at the chance to speak of what was nearest to his heart.
"Leonora is well and more than well," he answered. "Ah, she is an angel! She has not read any philosophy since we married,—imagine! And she was crazy to come with me to Rome—in this heat!—because she did not wish to stay in Sorrento alone without me."
"Why did you not let her come, then?" asked Donna Diana.
"She was tired," he said, "and as I told her how fatiguing it was, she made up her mind to stay. I shall go back to-morrow, I suppose. I wish I could go to-night."