So, Sor Beppe had taken the opportunity of paying an evening visit to Don Agostino. He had attempted to see him immediately after his interview with the princess, when he had learned that she declined to interfere in his dismissal, but Don Agostino had already departed for Rome. After leaving Don Agostino, Sor Beppe had returned to his own set of rooms in the castle—the home of so many years, which he would now have to leave—and he had found Concetta awaiting him. The girl had required no pressing to deliver the packet Don Agostino had intrusted to her father. She had many times, she told him, wished to go to the principessina and offer to take some message for her to her lover—oh, many times, if only to spite the baron and Monsieur l'Abbé, who thought they had laid their plans so well. But she had not dared to take the liberty. Now, of course, she had an excuse; and if Don Agostino was interesting himself in the principessina's love-affairs, it was certainly a proof that the young man was worthy of her.
And Sor Beppe had accompanied Concetta to the disused room next to the entrance-gate of the castle, where he kept his firewood and his coke, and had seen her pass through the trap-door and mount the narrow stone steps leading into the secret passage above. Then he had awaited her return, not without some misgivings at the length of time which elapsed before he saw her reappear.
Concetta returned from her expedition flushed and excited, and, indeed, very nearly weeping. Her voice trembled as she recounted all that had passed between the principessina and herself; how she had watched the principessina standing at the window of her room, and had heard her cry to her absent lover; and how the poor child had seemed almost dazed when she gave her the packet, and had then broken down and cried in her, Concetta's, arms.
She told her father how the principessina was aware of his dismissal, but evidently knew nothing of the raising of the rents and his refusal to further acts of injustice, committed nominally in her interests; and how she had declared that, when she had the power to do so, she would reinstate him.
Sor Beppe listened attentively. "She is her father's daughter," he said, when Concetta had concluded, "and she will not allow her people to be wronged."
Concetta's eyes flashed. "And we," she exclaimed—"we will not allow her to be wronged! Vedete, it is not the princess, she wants to do her duty by the principessina—oh, I have heard that a hundred times from the maid, Bettina. It is the Abbé Roux. He makes the princess believe that her duty is to force the poor girl to do what he wants. But he will go too far, and then we shall see is it not true, Babbo?"
Sor Beppe nodded. "He has gone too far already," he said. "Listen, Concetta: the peasants are angry—very angry; and not the peasants only, but also those who are more highly placed than they. There will certainly be trouble if the increase in the rents is insisted upon. Moreover, they suspect something, some foul play towards the principessina, and it is as likely as not that there will be a demonstration. Well, if there is, and the Abbé Roux, as you call him, attempts to carry out his plans, I would not answer for the consequences. They are patient, our people—very patient; but when their patience is exhausted, they are not easy to manage. Why, in the Castelli Romani, a few years ago, at Genzano and Ariccia, the peasants held their own against the soldiers, and got what they wanted, too—but there was blood spilled in the getting of it."
Concetta Fontana glanced at her father quickly.
"Do I not know it?" she replied. "Yes, the people are angry. Well, let them be angry. Perhaps, if there is a demonstration, the princess will understand that there is something wrong, and Monsieur l'Abbé will be frightened. But the principessina will not be frightened, I am sure of that. She will know that it is only her own people, who will not be ruled by strangers. To-day we shall know what has happened at the Caffè Garibaldi," and Concetta smiled with a satisfied air. "As to the Abbé Roux—" she added.
"Curse the pretaccio!" growled Sor Beppe, under his breath.