"He believes it no longer," replied Agatha. "I received a note from him this morning in which he gives me his word that I can be perfectly at ease; that the abbé will be in his power in the course of the day, and that until then he will find a way to keep him so busy that we shall hear nothing from him. So I breathe freely, and have only one subject of anxiety; that is, to know how I am to escape the intimacy of Captain Piccinino hereafter, for he threatens to become too attentive. But we will talk of that later; sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof; and if, after all, it should become necessary for me to tell him the truth—You do not think him the man to abuse it, do you?"
"I know that he is the man to pretend that he proposes to take advantage of and abuse every opportunity; but have the courage to treat him always as a paragon of sincerity and generosity, and you will see that he will try to live up to the character, and will do it, in spite of the devil."
The princess and the Capuchin talked together for a long while, and mutually informed each other of all that they knew. After which, Fra Angelo went down to Catania to cancel Magnani's orders, to make another appointment with him to meet Agatha, and to take his place as escort to Michel and his father to the Marquis della Serra's palace; for, in spite of everything, Fra Angelo did not like the idea of their being alone in the country, so long as he himself had not seen the Destatore's son.
We will follow these three members of the Lavoratori family to the marquis's villa, leaving Mila in anxious expectation of the monk's visit, while Magnani, working on the gallery opposite her room, was far from suspecting that, after asking his assistance, she was watching for an opportunity to steal out of sight. She had promised her father to go and dine with her friend Nenna, as soon as she had washed and ironed a veil which she said that she must have to wear. Everything happened as her unknown friend had predicted. She saw the monk at the fountain, and had no need to feign a most intense fear of being taken by surprise, for she asked herself in dire distress what Magnani would think of her if, after what she had told him, he should see her voluntarily talking with that miserable wretch.
To avoid the necessity of speaking to him and looking at his disgusting face, she tossed him a written paper which he read with the utmost delight; then he went away, throwing her kisses which made her quiver with disgust and indignation.
At that moment her father, brother, and uncle, having no shadow of suspicion of the perils to which the poor child was about to expose herself for them, entered the Della Serra palace. That sumptuous dwelling, more modern than that of Palmarosa, from which it was separated only by their respective great parks and a narrow valley covered with gardens and grass, was filled with artistic objects, statues, urns, and magnificent paintings, which the marquis had collected with the enthusiasm of an earnest and enlightened connoisseur. He came forward in person to meet the Angelos, shook hands with them cordially, and, pending the dinner-hour, took them all over his noble residence, showing to them and explaining courteously, and with no less wit than good sense, the masterpieces of art with which it was embellished. Pier-Angelo, although a simple decorator, had excellent taste, and a due appreciation of the beautiful in art. He was peculiarly susceptible to the charm of all those marvellous things with which he was already familiar, and his artless yet profound reflections enlivened the most serious conversation instead of lowering its tone. Michel was a little embarrassed at first in the marquis's presence; but as he soon discovered that his father's natural and unconstrained manner seemed to a man of sense like the marquis in unexceptionable taste and most becoming, he felt more at ease; and finally, when he found himself sitting at a table laden with silver plate, decorated as handsomely and with as great an abundance of flowers as for the entertainment of the most illustrious guests, he forgot his prejudices, and talked as freely and interestingly as if he had been the marquis's own son or nephew.
A single thing disturbed him strangely during the dinner: the expression and attitude which he attributed to the marquis's servants; I say which he attributed, because he dared not look at them. He had dined many a time at the tables of the rich when he was in Rome, especially after his father returned to Catania, and he no longer had a family to keep him at home and prevent his seeking the society of the fashionable youth of the city. So that he did not fear any affront for himself; but, as it was the first time that he and his father had been invited to dine abroad with a patrician, he suffered torments at the idea that the lackeys might shrug their shoulders and pass the dishes rudely to the excellent old man.
In truth those lackeys might well have had a feeling of anger and contempt, having seen Pier-Angelo on his ladder so many times in that same palace, and treated him as their equal.
Nevertheless, whether because the marquis had prepared them by a word or two of kindly and straightforward explanation calculated to flatter and soothe the sensitive self-love of men of that class, or because Pier-Angelo was so great a favorite with all who knew him that even footmen laid aside their customary pride in his favor, they served him with much deference. Michel observed it at last, when his father, turning to an old servant who was filling his glass, said to him with a smile:
"Many thanks, old fellow; you wait on me like a friend. I'll do as much for you when I have the chance."