Giannella

by Mrs. Hugh Fraser

"Rondinella, pellegrina," Giannella murmured as she watched the swallows from her workroom window on that Sunday morning, "I envy you no longer. Fra Tommaso's pigeons are happier than you. One abiding home for them, one home for me. And God grant I may never have to leave it. Si, Mariuccia, I am ready."

Yes, she was ready for her marriage. Robed in silk of the October heaven's own blue even as Rinaldo had dreamed of her, with a white veil over the golden hair that had so long been shaded by the black, a little string of pearls round her soft neck, white prayer-book and white rosary in the still whiter hands—a flush of gay carnation on the cheek, the happiness of morning in her innocent eyes—Giannella was ready for her marriage. The dark days were over; the sentinels of sorrow and privation that had so long guarded her narrow path had shed their somber armor now, and stood revealed, bright spirits of love and trust, bidding her pass forward to the sunny glades beyond.

As Mariuccia entered, Giannella came and kissed her old friend tenderly and then stood back to admire her splendid appearance. The treasured costume had come out of the goatskin trunk at last; here was the full skirt of flowered silk, the scarlet corselet and sleeves, the gold trimmings, the lace shawl and apron—creamy with the kiss of Time. But Time seemed to have forgiven Mariuccia a score of years this morning; the erect old figure was almost supple in its buoyancy, there was color in her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes, her head was held high, as if to show off the fine fat pearls dangling from her ears. Her bosom heaved with pride under a long heavy string of new red coral—and her shoes creaked excruciatingly as she moved, for in the triumph of her heart she had commanded that brigand of a shoemaker to put a double "scrocchio" into each solid hole. Cipicchia! If people turned their heads to look at her to-day, all the better for them!

Giannella's admiration found no time for expression, for behind Mariuccia appeared another figure, that of the Professor, solemnly resplendent in full evening dress, white tie and white gloves. He seemed happy too this October morning, and as he came forward to present Giannella with an enormous bouquet of white camellias, his eyes shone cheerfully behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles given to him by Rinaldo and henceforth to be kept for great occasions. There was nothing in his look or manner to suggest regrets, and if he had had to struggle with depression and remorse, he had evidently bested his enemies and turned them into peaceful denizens of the house of his soul. The Cardinal, on the plausible pretext of Signor Bianchi's illness, had himself seen to the transfer of Giannella's property into her own keeping; and since the hour he had bidden his friend good-night in the summer dusk, no word or look of those around him had reminded the Professor of his fault. De Sanctis had been gently put aside by the prelate when he offered to draw up the marriage contract. "No, Guglielmo mio," said Carlo Bianchi's friend, "we will employ someone else. You are too intimate with all the parties. You might have a moment's distraction and neglect an important point. That would never do."

The young lawyer was nettled. "The Eminenza is afraid my sharp tongue might disturb the general harmony," he ventured to remark. "But have I not promised silence as to all inconvenient facts? Surely I might be trusted to keep my word."

"Yes," the Cardinal said, "your tongue would keep silence, I am assured. But all the good will in the world will not banish that little demon of malice and mockery from your glance and tone. So we will not expose you to temptation. When all is over, the demon will find no fun in making trouble, and then, if you wish, you can cultivate intimacy with the Signor Professore and the Goffis. Just now, my son, it is better for you to keep away from them."

So Bianchi had enjoyed a short space of carefully-guarded convalescence for body and mind. When he was able to leave his room he had had an ecstatic hour over the Greek head, which was temporarily reposing on a velvet cushion in the Cardinal's study. It was quite as beautiful as he had thought when he found it in the wet darkness of the crypt, and he had drawn much soothing and peace of spirit from the preparation of an article on it, which The Archæological Review would carry to lovers of art all over the world. Yet he had not forgotten Paolo Cestaldini's little sermon on reparation, and various pretty gifts from him had been sent to the appartamentino on the roof where the sposini were to begin life together.

Now he was to take the bride to the church, and it was with much stateliness that he offered her his arm and led her through the dark passage, through the green door which she had so often run to open for him, and down into the courtyard, where the carriage was waiting for them. Mariuccia, after taking one look at the fire and another at the collation on the dining-room table, hurried after them, thrusting the heavy doorkey into the long-unused pocket of the best dress. She laughed as she felt some hard objects there and discovered them to be pellicles of pitted sugar. "Confetti! They must have lain there since Stefano's marriage, more than thirty years ago. Mamma mia, we do grow old!"

As the little party ascended the steps of the San Severino, Giannella trembling a little and looking indeed as lovely as the "youngest Madonna," Mariuccia pulled three large silver pieces from the corner of her new pocket handkerchief and presented them to the expectant beggars.

The habitués of the porch were fewer by two than in the old days; the parish epileptic had died suddenly and happily on the altar steps while attending Mass; the footless baby had grown—not up, but big, and he pattered about in great contentment on padded hands and knees; it was understood that he had pensioned off his shiftless parent and had a nice little home of his own. The blind man was truly blind now, and the privileged cripple by the door was absent on rainy days, owing to rheumatism, but on a fine Sunday morning he still raised the leather curtain with his old grace. The blessings that followed the bride and her companions were loud and long, and the many churchgoers, hurrying to Mass before rushing out to the country for the day, stood smilingly aside to let the wedding party pass in.