Giannella

by Mrs. Hugh Fraser

Rather resenting the necessity of wasting time over these details when that thrilling discovery of the Cardinal's awaited his inspection, he presented himself at the Princess's door and sent in his card with the respectful request that her Excellency would grant him a short interview on a matter of great importance. He spent some trying moments in the visitor's waiting-room, in uncertainty as to the result of his application, and was greatly relieved when informed that the Princess would have the pleasure of seeing him.

Teresa Santafede was a good deal harassed at this time by domestic matters; she missed her faithful Elena Dati more every day; Onorato was distressing her deeply by still evading the charms and chains of matrimony; her health seemed breaking down, she began to feel old and to lose confidence in herself. A mistake had been made somewhere; life had proved unruly and would not fit into the frame she had made for it. Still she was alert to the call of duty, and never sent away any person who had a right to see her. This wearisome Professor evidently wanted something. She hoped it could be quickly and reasonably granted him—ask him to walk in.

All her sense of duty could not disarm her manner of a certain stiffness, the outcome of the nobles' deep-seated hereditary antagonism to the middle class, the class which once furnished hundreds of clients to every great patrician and is now independent of patronage yet still mean, obscure, envious yet critical, nameless but ubiquitous, carrying on its colorless existence entirely apart from their illuminated sphere. A chasm of separation from her visitor was disclosed in the Princess's slight, formal bow, and as Bianchi gingerly sat down on the edge of a chair opposite her sofa, and dropped his hat and gloves on the floor, his heart sank a little, not from any sense of inferiority—the Romans are not snobs—but simply because the atmosphere was not one of success. He was, however, conscious of the justice of his cause, and after an opening speech, in which he reminded his hearer of her former benevolence to a certain orphan girl, unfolded his case with a good deal of tact and plausibility. As he went on, the Princess became first interested, then sympathetic. The undoubted benefit of such a marriage for a friendless young woman was evident. Suppose, said Bianchi, that he or his old servant were to die? In what an impossible position would Giannella find herself! Could she remain in his home without a respectable female's companionship? Could she, in case of his own demise (here the Princess made a polite gesture of deprecation), be cast on the world, young and attractive as she was, with only an aged peasant to protect her from its snares and temptations? The Excellency must surely see that Giannella's only safety lay in a respectable marriage, and the speaker's good heart, yearning over the girl's future, had prompted him to throw himself into the breach.

The moment the word "temptation" sounded in her ears the Princess's conscience hurled itself to the rescue of a soul in danger, just as the nearest surgeon hastens to give first aid to the victim of a street accident. Likes or dislikes, youthful romance or aged prejudice, all must be swept aside to preserve the innocent and convert the sinful. Safety awaited Giannella (whose existence had for some time escaped the Princess's overburdened memory) as the wife of the good, disinterested man who seemed to have put his own feelings out of the question and to be pleading her cause alone with fine singleness of heart.

"I see. Yes, I agree with you," the hostess said, bowing slightly to show that the interview was ended. "Send the girl to me, and let the servant accompany her. I will speak to Giannella alone, and will then have a few words with the old woman, who can only be acting from jealous and unworthy motives in thus opposing a marriage which, in spite of a trifling difference of age, offers such advantages to that unfortunate orphan. I am not at all surprised at the servant's conduct. The common people are always ignorant and stubborn, but they can see reason when it is explained to them. I have generally found our contadini tractable. Excuse me for mentioning such a thing—but I suppose there is no secret attachment, no foolish love affair which is causing Giannella to behave so strangely? That is quite impossible, is it not?"

"Quite impossible, Excellency," the Professor declared. "We have brought her up most strictly, have never let her out of our sight. I can assure you that she has never spoken to a young man in her life!"

Had the Princess become more human with the passing years? A gleam of amused pity touched her eyes and mouth; but she replied gravely: "That is as it should be. I shall expect her to-morrow then at ten o'clock. I am leaving for Santafede at twelve and shall not return to Rome till October. It was fortunate, Signor Professore, that you came to-day." Bianchi bowed himself out with effusive thanks. As he went on his way to keep his interesting appointment with the Cardinal, his appearance was one of such elation that a student who belonged to his class at the university laughingly pointed him out to his two companions, Rinaldo Goffi and Peppino Sacchetti. "There goes old 'brontolone' (grumbler) Bianchi, boys," he said, "just look at him. I never saw him so happy before. He might have won a terno in the lottery! But I am sure it is nothing more than a copper picked up in the street—or another mouldy old statue discovered in a cabbage patch. What things some men do stick for stars in their sky!"

"Is that Professor Bianchi?" asked Rinaldo, looking after the receding figure with sudden interest. "Capperi! He is no beauty!"

"Who is, at that age?" laughed Peppino, and he began to hum, "La gioventu é un fiore, che presto se ne vá."

But Rinaldo did not laugh. A chance phrase of the sacristan of San Severino came back to his mind. "Now that she is big and pretty, they say he means to marry her." He had hardly thought of it again. Giannella's eyes, Giannella's smile, had told him that he had no rivals; but the insolence of the Professor's pretensions suddenly kindled him to a fury of resentment. That sallow, hook-nosed, round-shouldered old fellow would dare to approach her, was trying to wrap the cobwebs of his ugly age round her sweet freshness? For the first time in his life Rinaldo felt a passionate hatred fasten on his heart and pump the lust of murder through his veins. He was standing rooted to the spot, gazing at the entrance to Palazzo Cestaldini, through which the Professor had disappeared.