Giannella

by Mrs. Hugh Fraser

Rinaldo did not say that he was doubtful of her reception in the strictly celibate domicile, but he protested that no woman could get through the streets. The water had already subsided considerably, but it still lay deep in some places while others were an expanse of mud and slush not to be braved by petticoats. All this moved Mariuccia not at all; she had made up her obstinate old mind, and all Rinaldo obtained was that she would wait another hour or two. Then he would try to pilot her to the Via Tresette, from which one could gain the narrow alley leading to the back entrance of Palazzo Cestaldini, a facility which had only been revealed to himself the night before. In spite of his assurances that the doctor would certainly not allow the Professor to be moved for two or three days, Mariuccia insisted on preparing her master's bedroom for his reception. A huge warming-pan was placed in his bed, the window was tightly closed, and sundry acrid-smelling herbs were set on the fire for a "decotto" according to an ancient country prescription quite infallible against the results of a chill.

While she came and went, Rinaldo and Giannella sat and talked in low tones. All their future lay before them to play with and every detail of it was an enchanting subject to plan and think for. Now that he was so near her Rinaldo felt that it would be absurd to wait till October to be married, five whole weeks. No, that joyful event should take place as soon as the appartamentino could be furnished, and Giannella must come with him and choose every single thing. What sort of paper would she like in the salotto—amber color, or mazarin blue with gold flowers? (Both were much admired, he heard.) As for the bedroom, Rinaldo had seen that of a newly-married friend, and the walls were covered with pink roses as big as cabbages tied with blue ribbon. Oh, it was most beautiful, and so gay. Giannella would be sure to like it, and the roses would make it seem like summer all the year round.

The roses flushed up in Giannella's cheeks just then; she became silent, and finally dropped her eyes before Rinaldo's steady ardent gaze. "What is it, my angel?" he asked, leaning forward anxiously. "Does it not make you happy to know that you will so soon, in a few days, core of my heart—be my own little wife?"

"Too happy—I am too happy," she replied. "It almost hurts. Give me time, amore mio—a girl must take breath."

"Plenty of time to do that between now and next Sunday!" he declared. "Five whole days. Is that not enough? I wish it could be to-morrow, to-day."

"Five days," cried Giannella. "But, Rinaldo, we could not be ready for weeks. Think of all there is to do. Papering, furnishing, the linen to get and sew—oh, it is dreadful that you should have all this great expense, that I cannot do even a little to help in it. If they had only let me earn money during these years. It is terrible to feel that I have been so useless."

"Giannella mia," said Rinaldo, looking very wise, "I will tell you a secret. I do not believe I should ever have fallen in love with a woman who was earning her living. It takes something away—something very light, very delicate—I am too stupid to explain it properly—but just what makes a woman adorable. It would break my heart if one of my sisters should think of doing such a thing. What are the men there for? We are very simple people, I and my family, but we are too proud for that. If we cannot keep our women in decency and comfort, we might as well throw ourselves into the river at once."

"But I had no family," said Giannella; "but for Mariuccia, and the padrone who let me stay here with her, I should have been brought up to a trade, like other poor girls."

Rinaldo interrupted her with something like sternness. "Giannella, once for all, please forget all that. Thank Heaven Mariuccia understood her responsibilities and carried them out nobly. We will make it all up to her. And Signor Bianchi is not and has never been your 'padrone.' Please stop speaking of him in that manner. Your father was a gentleman and you belong to his class. The word 'padrone' offends me."

"I would never do that," she cried, "forgive me, my heart. It is just a habit that I have grown up with, because Mariuccia always speaks of the Professor like that. But I too must tell you something. We cannot—be married—quite so soon as you wish, because I am still determined that those two, Signor Bianchi and the Princess, must be quite reconciled and willing. Oh, you do not know how much I love you—it would kill me to be parted from you. But when I come to our dear, pretty appartamentino I must leave peace behind me. Then I can bring peace with me. Disturbances, contradictions, there must be none of these to remember on that day. Signor Bianchi must be our good friend always. He will be much happier like that, and will soon forget that he ever had this silly caprice about wanting to marry me. And the Principessa has been good to me. But for her, amore mio, I should be an ignorant, untaught creature, quite unfit to be your wife. So you owe her some gratitude, and I a great deal. When you see her and explain everything she will be sure to agree with you—who could help it? And it is not long to wait. She will return in the beginning of October."