"It is very simple," he said, with a laugh. "The peasants have got an idea into their heads that Donna Bianca would take their part and intercede for them, because—well, because she is an Acorari, and her excellency the princess is, after all, a stranger. It is mere sentiment, of course, with a certain amount of shrewdness at the back of it. No doubt the parroco, Don Agostino, has put the idea into their heads. But there is nothing in it but sentiment—nothing at all, Signor Abate, I can assure you. I objected to the introduction of Donna Bianca's name into the business, but it was better to let the contadini have their own way about what is, after all, a mere trifle. They do not realize that the principessina has, as you say, no voice in such matters, being a minor."
The abbé nodded. "I quite understand," he said, pleasantly. "No doubt it has been part of the scheme of these agitators to work upon the sentiment of the peasantry for Donna Bianca, as being their future padrona. But, luckily for her, she has those about her who know how to protect her interests and to guard her against being imposed upon. Well, Signor Sindaco, to-morrow morning the princess will send her answer. It is, as I have already told you, a refusal to receive the deputation, or to discuss its objects. You may be sure that her excellency will not give way, no matter what attitude the people may assume. If that attitude should become threatening, we may have to seek the aid of the authorities through you. A proposito, would it not be as well to warn the military authorities that a handful of soldiers might be required to keep order at Montefiano? On the receipt of a telegram they could then be despatched without delay. You can doubtless arrange to do this without the matter becoming known; and then, should it be necessary, we would request you to send the telegram regarding the immediate presence of the troops. By these means we could give the idiots the unpleasant surprise of finding that we were prepared for any folly they might attempt to commit. At least the display of a little force could do no harm, and would probably have an excellent moral effect. But not a word, caro signore, of our conference to-night. I trust that your visit to the castle will not have been observed by any of the people. By-the-way, should there be any fresh development in the situation to-morrow morning, after the tenor of the princess's reply has become known, I must beg that you will communicate with me."
The sindaco of Montefiano took his leave, assuring the Abbé Roux that all should be done as he had suggested. The evening was dark and rainy, and he encountered nobody on the steep road leading up to the castle from the town below. At any rate, the avvocato Ricci thought to himself, he had secured himself against any misrepresentation at Rome of his conduct. If Sor Stefano and the peasantry insisted upon continuing the agitation, there would infallibly be mischief, and in that case it was as well to be on the winning side, which side must inevitably be supported by the authorities. It was certainly no affair of his to enlighten the abate as to the real object of the deputation in having insisted upon seeing Donna Bianca Acorari. His affair was to avoid compromising himself in the eyes of the authorities in Rome, and the Abate Roux would have to weather the storm he had created as best he could. The lawyer was not a little struck by the Abbé Roux's caution in providing for a speedy and unexpected appearance on the scene of military force, should its presence be desirable. "Even Sor Stefano," he said to himself, with a chuckle, "would talk less loudly if he were suddenly to find himself confronted by a company of infantry with fixed bayonets, and he, Augusto Ricci, might earn the approval of the minister of the interior and head of the government in Rome for his promptitude in suppressing threatened disorder in the commune of which he was sindaco."
XXXI
After leaving the Caffè Garibaldi, Don Agostino returned to his house in a very thoughtful frame of mind. He had promised to go himself to Princess Montefiano and put the peasants' case before her. He had promised, also, that he would speak with Donna Bianca Acorari personally. The question now arose how he was to accomplish what he had undertaken. The princess, it was true, could scarcely refuse to receive him without that refusal being a marked rudeness to him as parroco of Montefiano; at the same time, Don Agostino was perfectly aware that she had certainly not displayed any desire to make his personal acquaintance. He had duly left his card, as politeness required, after her arrival at the castle, and had received no invitation to repeat his visit. The fact had not surprised or annoyed him. He had been tolerably well acquainted with the Abbé Roux in the days when that ecclesiastic was the secretary to a cardinal who had always been his bitter enemy, and who, he well knew, had been more active than any one else at the Vatican in clamoring for his removal and disgrace. The acquaintance had not been a pleasant one, and certain details in the abbé's career which happened to have come to his knowledge had not made Don Agostino desirous of improving it.
It was not likely, therefore, that the Abbé Roux would welcome his presence at the castle of Montefiano, and he would doubtless have used his influence with the princess to prevent her from knowing him in any way than as a priest on Acorari property, who might sometimes have occasion to address a letter to her concerning the needs of his parishioners.
It was certainly from no personal motives that Don Agostino, as he walked back to his house that morning, felt almost nervously anxious lest he should be refused admittance to Princess Montefiano's presence. When he had sought to defend her against the accusations which he was well aware had been made against her of unmotherly conduct towards her step-daughter, he had done so because he believed these accusations to be, if not altogether unfounded, at least erroneous. He had always felt confident that the princess was a victim to her own religious enthusiasm; she had fallen an easy prey to a type of ecclesiastic with which his experience in Rome had brought him into contact on several occasions, and of which the Abbé Roux was no uncommon example. He was convinced that the moment had arrived when the Princess Montefiano's eyes might be opened, and when it might be demonstrated to her, beyond any possibility of doubt, that the counsellor in whom she had trusted had never been worthy of her confidence.
At the same time it was clear that the Abbé Roux was master of the actual situation, and that, having succeeded in getting rid of the one official at Montefiano who for thirty years had had the true interests of his employers at heart, it was not likely he would permit the princess to be approached by the parroco of Montefiano, who was known to regard the agent's dismissal as both a mistake and an injustice. The position, however, was serious; and all the more so because it was quite evident that neither the princess nor the abbé realized its gravity. Any rebellious attitude that the peasants might be driven by exasperation to assume could, it was true, be ultimately suppressed by the intervention of the military at the instance of the civil authorities of the commune. But Don Agostino well knew the legacy of hatred and smouldering resentment which such intervention almost invariably left behind it. If he could save his lost Bianca's child from the enduring unpopularity which her step-mother and the Abbé Roux were certainly doing their best to bring upon her by their mistaken policy regarding the administration of her property, he would certainly do so, at whatever cost to himself. Yes, at four o'clock that afternoon he would go to the castle. By that hour the princess would certainly be visible, if she chose to be visible. He would send up his card to her with an urgent request that she would see him on a matter of grave importance. If she refused to do so, he would write to her—but such a letter as would leave her no possibility of mistaking his meaning.
The afternoon's task was certainly neither an easy nor an agreeable one; but it must in some way or another be accomplished. At least, Don Agostino reflected, he would have done his duty to his people at Montefiano, to Bianca Acorari, and to that absent Bianca who had assuredly willed that he should strive to protect her child.
Don Agostino entered his garden through the little gate by the side of the church. As he approached the house, he was surprised to hear, through the open window of his study, Ernana talking in earnest tones inside the room. His surprise was still greater, however, when at the sound of his footsteps on the gravel-path, Silvio Rossano's form appeared at the window. For a moment, indeed, Don Agostino felt something very like dismay. There were complications enough and to spare without fresh material being added to increase their number. He had purposely delayed writing again to Silvio, thinking that in a day or two the threatened disturbances would have either subsided or assumed proportions which might make his presence at Montefiano desirable in his own and Bianca Acorari's interest. Don Agostino doubted very much, however, whether this was the moment for Silvio to be seen at Montefiano. If his presence became known at the castle, it would probably be regarded by the princess as a proof that the agitation among the peasants had a further scope than merely to obtain the redress of their own and Fontana's grievances. She would not unreasonably suspect that he, Don Agostino, was using the agitation as a means whereby to help Silvio Rossano in renewing his endeavors to marry her step-daughter. As a matter of fact, Don Agostino was quite prepared so to use it, if its results were such as to encourage him to do so. But it would most certainly not further Bianca's or Silvio's interests were it to be supposed that these interests were in any way connected with the business that would take Don Agostino to the castle that afternoon.