After duly considering the abbé's advice, Princess Montefiano had decided to act upon it. It was true that, should he be correct in his calculations that a policy of seclusion and of a quiet but determined ignoring of the pretensions of the Rossano family would result in Bianca's submission, everything would be gained. At the same time, the world would think it strange, and not altogether seemly, that the girl should marry a man old enough to be her father, and who was also the brother of her father's second wife. But, as the abbé had pointed out, similar marriages, though possibly unusual, were not unheard of; and in Rome there had certainly been instances in which they had turned out satisfactorily to all parties. Moreover, even were the world to criticise her for allowing Bianca to contract such an alliance, criticism, as the Abbé Roux rightly insisted, would instantly cease were it suspected that the affair had been arranged in order to prevent the heiress of the Acorari from marrying a man who was not of her own social condition, but who had presumed to ask for her hand.
Altogether it had seemed better to the princess to take the unbiased advice of a man of the world, who was at the same time a priest, and to wait patiently to see whether Bianca would not in time come to her senses, and be glad to accept the devotion of a man of her own order, even if there was some disparity of age between him and her.
Matters had not, however, gone quite so smoothly as Monsieur l'Abbé had anticipated. For the first few days after his arrival at Montefiano it had appeared as if Bianca rather welcomed Baron d'Antin's attentions to her than otherwise. The princess even began to ask herself whether, after all, the Abbé Roux had not been right when he had hinted that her step-daughter's clandestine love-affair with a young man must not be taken too seriously—that Donna Bianca was of a temperament which demanded certain things—oh, but certain things that one husband could supply as well as another. Princess Montefiano had felt somewhat shocked at the idea. Nevertheless, when she observed that Bianca seemed to take pleasure in her brother Philippe's society, and that she was less silent and reserved when talking to him than she was at other times, she wondered whether the Abbé Roux had not read the girl's nature accurately, and she began to congratulate herself on having listened to his advice.
It was with not a little anxiety and disappointment, therefore, that Princess Montefiano noticed a sudden but unmistakeable change in Bianca's demeanor towards Monsieur d'Antin. Whereas she had always been ready to talk to him, she now seemed anxious to avoid him. If he addressed her at meals, she would answer in monosyllables, or perhaps not at all. Her manner betrayed an uneasiness and suspicion whenever she was in company, and at times would become almost sullen. If he proposed to walk with her on the terrace, or in the park, instead of consenting almost with alacrity, as she had usually done, she would answer coldly that she was not going out.
This state of things had lasted some days, and one evening at dinner Monsieur d'Antin suddenly announced his intention of going to Rome the following morning, as he had some business to do there.
The princess, who happened to glance at Bianca, saw an expression of intense relief pass over her countenance. The look surprised and then shocked her. It was the look that some trapped animal might give when just set at liberty.
Nothing more was said at that moment, however, and very soon after dinner Bianca went to her own room. The next morning Monsieur d'Antin left early, in order to catch a train which would enable him to reach Rome by twelve o'clock.
At the mid-day breakfast Bianca and her step-mother were alone together, for the Abbé Roux, as the princess explained, was occupied with the fattore on business.
"It is very annoying," she observed, presently, to Bianca, when the servants had brought in the coffee and left the room. "I have had to discharge Fontana—the agent, you know."
Bianca looked up from a fig she was peeling. "Ah," she said, quickly, "what has he done?"