“It is time, Mademoiselle,” I began, “that you should learn the true cause of M. de Mancini's presence at Canaples. It will enlighten you touching his motives for a secret wedding. Had things fallen out as was intended by those who planned his visit—Monsieur your father and my Lord Cardinal—it is improbable that you would ever have heard that which it now becomes necessary that I should tell you. I trust, Mademoiselle,” I continued, “that you will hear me in a neutral spirit, without permitting your personal feelings to enter into your consideration of that which I shall unfold.”
“So long a preface augurs anything but well,” she interposed, looking monstrous serious.
“Not ill, at least, I hope. Hear me then. Your father and his Eminence are friends; the one has a daughter who is said to be very wealthy and whom he, with fond ambition, desires to see wedded to a man who can give her an illustrious name; the other possesses a nephew whom he can ennoble by the highest title that a man may bear who is not a prince of the blood,—and borne indeed by few who are not,—and whom he desires to see contract an alliance that will bring him enough of riches to enable him to bear his title with becoming dignity.” I glanced at Mademoiselle, whose cheeks were growing an ominous red.
“Well, Mademoiselle,” I continued, “your father and Monseigneur de Mazarin appear to have bared their heart's desire to each other, and M. de Mancini was sent to Canaples to woo and win your father's elder daughter.”
A long pause followed, during which she stood with face aflame, averted eyes, and heaving bosom, betraying the feelings that stormed within her at the disclosure of the bargain whereof she had been a part. At length—“Oh, Monsieur!” she exclaimed in a choking voice, and clenching her shapely hands, “to think—”
“I beseech you not to think, Mademoiselle,” I interrupted calmly, for, having taken the first plunge, I was now master of myself. “The ironical little god, whom the ancients painted with bandaged eyes, has led M. de Mancini by the nose in this matter, and things have gone awry for the plotters. There, Mademoiselle, you have the reason for a clandestine union. Did Monsieur your father guess how Andrea's affections have”—I caught the word “miscarried” betimes, and substituted—“gone against his wishes, his opposition is not a thing to be doubted.”
“Are you sure there is no mistake?” she inquired after a pause. “Is all this really true, Monsieur?”
“It is, indeed.”
“But how comes it that my father has seen naught of what has been so plain to me—that M. de Mancini was ever at my sister's side?”
“Your father, Mademoiselle, is much engrossed in his vineyard. Moreover, when the Chevalier has been at hand he has been careful to show no greater regard for the one than for the other of you. I instructed him in this duplicity many weeks ago.”