"Embrace me, my dear boy!" replied the old decorator, pressing his son to his heart, and blending his own tears with his. "It is a fine thing, a noble thing that you have done, and God will reward you abundantly for it, I promise you. I accept your sacrifice, but let us understand each other: it is for a time only, for a time which we will make as short as possible by working rapidly to pay our debt. The experience will be useful to you, and your genius will grow instead of being extinguished. Between us, thanks to the excellent princess, who will pay us well, we shall soon have earned money enough for you to return to your real painting, without remorse and without imposing any privation on me. That is agreed. Now let us speak of your sister. She is a perfect prodigy of wit, that little girl. And how she has grown and how beautiful she is! so beautiful that it's enough to frighten a poor devil of a father like me."
"I propose to remain a workman," said Michel, "for with a modest but sure livelihood I can succeed in establishing my sister in life according to her rank. Poor dear angel! Think of her sending me her little earnings! And I, poor wretch, intended to bring them back to her and was forced to sacrifice them! Ah! it is horrible, yes, detestable, to try to become an artist when one has poor relations!"
"We will speak of this again, and I will find a way to revive your taste for your destiny, my child. But, hark! I hear the gate creaking—the cardinal is leaving the villa; let us not show ourselves; we shall soon see them going down on our right. You say that Ninfo opened the gate himself with a key that he had? It is very strange, and very disturbing too, to find that the good princess is not safe in her own house, that these people have false keys to violate her privacy unexpectedly, and that they evidently suspect her, since they spy upon her in this way!"
"But of what can they possibly suspect her?"
"Why, suppose it were only of protecting people whom they persecute! You assure me that you have become prudent, and in any event you will understand the importance of what I am going to tell you. You know already that the Palmarosas were entirely devoted to the court of Naples; that Prince Donigi, the oldest of the family, Princess Agatha's father, and brother of the cardinal, was the wickedest Sicilian that was ever known, the enemy of his fatherland and the persecutor of his compatriots; and that, too, not from cowardice, like those who go over to the side of the conqueror, nor from greed, like those who sell themselves; he was rich and fearless; but he did it from ambition, from his passion for domineering, in short, from an inborn wickedness that was in his blood and caused him to take the keenest delight in terrifying, tormenting, and humbling his neighbor. He was omnipotent in the time of Queen Caroline, and, until it pleased God to rid us of him, he inflicted all the harm he possibly could upon the patriotic nobles and the poor devils who loved their country. His brother continued that wrong-doing; but now he is going, too; and if the dying lamp still casts a faint gleam, it is simply a proof that it is dying. Then all the clientage of the Palmarosas, among the people of Catania, and especially in the suburb where we live, will be able to breathe freely. There are no more males in the family, and all the vast property, of which the cardinal still has the income of a large part, will fall into the hands of a single heiress, Princess Agatha. She is as good as her relations have been bad, and her heart is in the right place. She is Sicilian to the marrow and detests the Neapolitans! She will have great influence when she is entirely in control of her property and her acts. If God would permit her to marry and take into her house some worthy nobleman as right-minded as she, that would change the tone of the administration somewhat, and better our lot!"
"Is the princess a young woman?"
"Yes, still young, and might marry as well as not; but she has always refused to do it thus far, in the fear, so far as I can understand, that she would not be free to choose for herself.—But here we are close to the park," added Pier-Angelo; "we may meet somebody, so let us talk of indifferent matters only. I urge you, my child, to use here nothing but the Sicilian dialect, which we very wisely used at Rome so long. You have not forgotten your native language, I trust, since we parted?"
"No, indeed," replied Michel.
And he began to talk Sicilian with great volubility, to convince his father that there was nothing about him to indicate the foreigner.
"That is very good," said Pier-Angelo; "you have not the slightest accent."