She stopped abruptly, a look on Bianca's face warning her that it would be more prudent not to complete her sentence. Nevertheless, Princess Montefiano was angry—seriously angry—and, though perhaps she scarcely realized it, alarmed. Her authority was very dear to her, and she clung to it more than she knew. She had always known there must come a time when that authority must cease; but she had certainly no intention of yielding it up before she was legally obliged to do so. Moreover, she felt perfectly assured that she divined the motives which lay behind Bianca's remark. Had she any doubts upon the point, they were speedily removed by her step-daughter's next words.
Whereas the princess was both angry and alarmed, Bianca Acorari showed no symptoms of being either the one or the other. She raised her head proudly, and a look came into her eyes that Princess Montefiano had seen on other occasions—a quiet, resolute look, which had generally preluded her own discomfiture when she had attempted to exercise her authority over her step-daughter beyond its justifiable limits.
"That is what I wanted to say to you," Bianca observed, calmly. "It is much better that you should understand. In three years' time I shall have the management of my own affairs. Well, three years is not a very long time. We, Silvio and I, can afford to wait; and at the end of three years, when I am of age, I shall marry him. But I will not marry Monsieur d'Antin—my uncle."
"Bianca!" exclaimed the princess, "you are either mad, or you are a wicked girl! For the sake of a disgraceful passion for a man in an inferior position of life to your own you rebel against those whom God has placed in authority over you. Yes, it is quite true, my brother loves you. I have suspected it for some time. And why should he not? At least, in marrying him you would be marrying a man of your own order, and not— But what is the use of discussing the matter? You shall never marry this young Rossano with my consent—never, never, I tell you! and without my consent you cannot marry anybody."
Bianca smiled. "Never is a long time," she observed, tranquilly; "whereas, three years— You quite understand," she added, after a pause, "I will marry Silvio Rossano, or I will marry nobody. You have chosen to refuse his offer, and you have a perfect right to do so. I, too, shall have my rights some day. But in the mean time you will tell my uncle that I do not wish for his society any more. I do not want his love. It—it disgusts me. Besides, he has deceived me."
The princess stared at her in dismay.
"Deceived you?" she repeated.
"He pretended to be my friend," answered Bianca, bitterly, "and, like an imbecile, I confided in him. Who else was there for me to confide in? He pretended to know Silvio, and that he would be able by degrees to remove your objections to our marriage. Well, it was all a lie. At first I did not understand; but now—" and Bianca gave a shudder which told, better than any words could have done, all that was passing in her mind of physical repulsion and disgust.
Princess Montefiano looked, as indeed she felt, sorely perplexed. A certain sense of justice made her sympathize with the girl. Although love was to her an unknown and unexplored element in life, she could not but recollect that when first she had suspected her brother's interest in Bianca not to be of a purely Platonic nature, the idea had shocked her as being almost an unnatural one.
At the same time, the Abbé Roux had never ceased to remind her of the gravity of the position in which Bianca had placed herself, of the hopeless manner in which her step-daughter would be compromised in the eyes of the world should it ever be known that she had formed an attachment for a man in whose company she had been alone and unprotected. By degrees Princess Montefiano had come to regard her brother's passion for Bianca as a possible safeguard, not only against the presumption of the Rossano family, but also against a scandal, for which she herself would certainly be blamed by the world, as being the result of a lack of proper supervision on her part towards her step-daughter. Not once, but many times, had the Abbé Roux descanted upon the generosity of Baron d'Antin in being ready to shield Bianca from any troubles which her folly might bring upon her in the future. Princess Montefiano had not stopped to reason that her brother's generosity might be exaggerated by the priest, and that he would receive a good return for it. There were certain things beyond her comprehension, mentally as well as physically, and passion was one of those things. People fell in love, of course; but, in Princess Montefiano's eyes, falling in love was a mere accident, necessary to the carrying-on of human society. She quite believed that she had loved the late Principe di Montefiano, and that he had loved her; and, in itself, this belief was harmless enough. The pity of it was that she was unable to realize any variations in the human temperament, or to understand that what had satisfied her, when at the mature age of five-and-thirty or so she had married a man considerably older than his years, would not be likely to satisfy Bianca. As to her brother's love for the girl, after the first impression caused by its discovery had passed, Princess Montefiano had been only too ready to accept the view of it that the Abbé Roux had more than once delicately hinted to her—namely, that it was a love similar to that of Bianca's father for herself—a placid, protective love, altogether disinterested, and admirable both from a worldly and a spiritual stand-point.