The Piccinino uttered these last words in a tone that made it impossible for Agatha longer to avoid entering upon a delicate subject.
"Captain," she said, forcing herself to smile, "you judge me ill if you think that I wish to rid myself of my burden of gratitude to you. My disinclination to take this paper, which represents to me the title to great wealth, should prove my confidence in you and my purpose to allow you to dispose absolutely of everything that belongs to me."
"I do not understand, signora," replied the bandit, moving restlessly on his chair. "Did you think that I came to your assistance merely to do a profitable stroke of business, and for no other purpose?"
"Captain," replied Agatha, outwardly unmoved by the Piccinino's real or pretended indignation, "you style yourself, and justly, the justicier d'aventure. That is to say, you do justice according to your heart and your conscience, without regard to formal laws, which are very often contrary to those of natural and divine justice. You assist the weak, you rescue victims, you protect those whose feelings and opinions seem to you to deserve your esteem against those whom you regard as the enemies of your country and of mankind. You punish cowards and you prevent the execution of their base designs. All this is a mission which legally constituted society does not always understand, but of which I appreciate the real merit and heroism. Need I say more to convince you of my esteem for you, and do you think that I have failed to manifest it? But since society denies the propriety of your intervention, and since, in order to continue it, you are forced to provide yourself with abundant resources, it would be insane—it would be impertinent—to seek your protection without offering you the means of putting it forth and of extending its scope. I thought of that—I could not fail to think of it; and I determined not to deal with you as with an ordinary advocate, but to allow you to fix yourself the price of your loyal and generous services. I should have considered that I insulted you by putting a price upon them. In my eyes they are beyond price. That is why, while I invite you to draw at your discretion upon a princely fortune, I am still forced to rely upon your modesty and generosity to consider that I have paid my debt to you."
"These are very flattering words, and your highness's soft speech would fascinate me, if my ideas were such as you attribute to me. But if you will deign to be seated a moment and listen to me, I shall be able to explain my ideas without fear of abusing the patience with which you honor me."
"On my word!" thought Agatha, as she took a seat at some distance from the Piccinino, "this man's persistence is like destiny, inevitable."
"I shall soon have finished," continued the Piccinino, with a crafty smile, when he saw that she was seated at last. "I look after my own interests while looking after other people's, that is true; but every man understands the advantages of life as circumstances impel him to do. Some people want nothing but gold. Those are vulgar instances,—the market price, as they say, I believe. But with certain others, who are more wealthy in charms and in noble qualities than in ducats, the intelligent man aspires to a less vulgar recompense. The material wealth of a person like Princess Agatha is a mere trifle compared with the treasures of generosity and delicacy which her heart contains. And if the man of action, who has devoted himself to her service, has done so with a certain degree of promptitude and zeal, is he not at liberty to aspire to some nobler gratification than that of putting his hand in her purse? Ah! yes, there are moral joys far more exalted, and the offer of your fortune as a substitute for them is so far from satisfying me, that it wounds my heart and my mind like an insult."
Agatha began to be really terrified, for the Piccinino had risen and drawn nearer to her. She dared not change her position, she feared that she should tremble and turn pale; and yet, brave as she was, that young man's face and voice caused her a frightful shock. His dress, his features, his manners, his voice awoke a whole world of memories within her, and, strive as she would to raise him to a level where she could esteem him and be truly grateful to him, an unconquerable aversion closed her heart to such sentiments. She had so long refused Fra Angelo's suggestions that this man's assistance should be procured, that she would assuredly have persisted in not having recourse to him, had it not been certain that Abbé Ninfo had tried to hire him to procure the assassination or abduction of Michel, pointing to the will as a means of rewarding his services.
But it was too late. The noble-hearted and ingenuous Capuchin of Bel Passo had not foreseen that his former ward, whom he had accustomed himself to look upon as a child, might fall in love with a woman several years older than himself. And yet what was more natural? The persons for whom one has much respect have no age. To Fra Angelo the Princess of Palmarosa, Saint Agatha of Catania, and the Madonna, had no sex even. If anyone had interrupted his sleep to tell him that at that moment Agatha was in imminent danger from his ward, he would have exclaimed: "Ah! the wretched boy must have seen her diamonds!" And, as he started to go to the princess's assistance, he would have said to himself that she had but a word to say to keep the brigand at a distance; but Agatha felt an invincible repugnance to say that word, and she still hoped that she would not be forced to that expedient.
"I understand very well, signor captain," she said with increasing coldness, "that you ask for no other reward but my esteem; but I repeat that I have proved it to you on this very occasion, and I think that your pride should be satisfied."