Then he had some gifts to distribute; for "Botti's Mariuccia" a rosary blessed by the Pope and a sprig of olive from Gethsemane, gifts which he knew would be most precious to the unlearned, faithful heart, and she wept for joy on receiving them and on finding that her feudal lord remembered her name. When the chaplain began to lead the visitors away to refresh them with coffee and sweetmeats, the Cardinal called Rinaldo and Giannella to his side. Opening a drawer in the table, he took out a small case and gave it to Giannella, saying that his sister had sent it for her, with all good wishes for her happiness. Within lay a beautiful miniature of Guido Reni's Addolorata and a few words in the Princess's own handwriting, pious felicitations, through which glowed something quite warm and kindly, and the request with which Teresa Santafede's epistles always closed, "Pray for me."
Giannella was touched and delighted. Only one good friend had been silent on this happy day, dear Signora Dati "of good memery," but Giannella had sent her a little message when she said her prayers that morning. Now, now that all was duly done and ended, her thoughts found answer in Rinaldo's eyes. "Andiamoci? Shall we go together, we two who are one, shall we go into our garden of happiness?"
Ah, there were a few things to be seen to first. Mariuccia's collation had to be enjoyed. The Professor, charmed with the new sensation of playing host to a gay young party, proposed healths; Sora Amalia, mindful of future patronage, climbed the stairs with an armful of flowers and a basket of fresh eggs, and was brought in and made to take part in the feast. Then Peppino, by some magic, produced Rinaldo's new morning suit and effected for him a grateful transformation in the Professor's bedroom. Giannella's finery was covered with a crape shawl, for it would be bad luck for a bride to change her dress before she left her old home. Then the two were seen downstairs by all the boys, and packed into the carriage waiting to take them to Albano for a week's honeymoon, which was to include the joy of a visit to Mamma Candida and the ever-dear Teresina and Annetta.
"Madonna mia," exclaimed Giannella as the carriage passed out of the portone and Rinaldo, curiously shy now, drew her hand into his, "who can support so much happiness?"
Don Onorato, who had learned trouble and wisdom in the last three years, saw them pass. The story had all been told him by the maestro di casa. "Beati loro!" he sighed, "I am glad that poor little girl has had some good luck at last. I wonder if happiness will ever climb the grand staircase?"
On the fourth landing of the third staircase the door was still open. Mariuccia listened till the last young footstep had died away, then she turned back into the passage and found herself face to face with the Professor. He looked at her sadly. "Well, Mariuccia," he said, "I suppose you will want to go over to the appartamentino at once, so as to have all things ready when the sposini come back? Of course, there is much to do—I quite understand, and doubtless that young woman you have engaged for me will be satisfactory. Still—if you could wait—for a day or two longer—" He looked at her wistfully.
Mariuccia laughed, but the laugh was a little shaky, "A day or two longer?" she repeated, as she untied her lace apron and began to fold it up. "Another twenty years, if God wills. Did you think I was going to leave this quiet house and that noble kitchen to have my head worried off my shoulders by two children who will laugh and chatter all day and never remember the hours of their meals till they are hungry? No, no, padroncino mio. The young woman is for them, she will laugh and chatter with them—youth with youth. There will be three babies—till the Madonna sends them a fourth. As for you and me, we stay together. Do you figure to yourself that I would trust you, and your linen, and your digestion—to a stranger? Dove mai? What an idea! Come take off those beautiful clothes that I may put them away. Your others are all ready on the bed in there. You will not want any dinner now, after all those 'gingilli' and sweet wines—but this evening you shall have—let me see—a fritto dorato—but of those! Eh, padroncino mio? It will be like old times, just you and me!"
THE END