Monsieur d'Antin glanced at Don Agostino.
"Really, Jeanne," he replied, "you are putting my generosity to a severe test, and I should prefer, under the circumstances, to offer no advice. However, I will be generous; and since the young man is here—well, you might take the opportunity of forming your own judgment as to his suitability to become the husband of your step-daughter. At least, I beg of you to spare me the ordeal of being present at your interview. Really, the events of this afternoon have been sufficiently disturbing to the nerves. With your permission, I will retire to my own room and leave Monsignor Lelli to support you during your conversation with my fortunate rival. But, before I leave you, there are one or two little points that I should like to have explained to me, and no doubt Monsignor Lelli can explain them.
"In the first place," continued Monsieur d'Antin, "you, monsignore, say that you derive your information from some person or persons who overheard conversations between me and the Abbé Roux—conversations which we believed to be held in private. I confess that I do not understand how this could be the case; although I can perfectly understand how any third person overhearing certain conversations I have had with the abbé would very naturally conclude that I was his confederate."
"You may not understand," replied Don Agostino; "nevertheless, you were overheard, and much of what passed between you and the Abbé Roux has been repeated in Montefiano. It was owing to this fact, and to Stefano Mazza's assurances that the abbé was in reality the affittuario of the rents, that the peasantry were so determined to see and speak with Donna Bianca. The whole paese knew, madame," he added to the princess, "what you were in ignorance of. I was very certain that you were being deceived, and it was this certainty which made me so anxious to see you personally, before any disturbance should break out."
Monsieur d'Antin was silent for a moment. He had never contemplated the possibility of his conversations with the abbé becoming known. They had been, as he was well aware, compromising enough, and he now felt more convinced than ever that Monsignor Lelli had not been deceived by his disavowal of any genuine intention to make himself a partner in the Abbé Roux's schemes, nor by his declaration that he had only feigned to agree with them in order to prove to himself the priest's unworthiness to enjoy his sister's confidence.
Monsieur d'Antin, however, was not wanting in assurance. Its possession had on more than one occasion stood him in good Stead, and the present situation was certainly one in which assurance and aplomb were needed. It did not greatly concern him what Monsignor Lelli might or might not privately think of him. He had no intention, however, of forfeiting his sister's good opinion, and her summary dismissal of the Abbé Roux had shown him very plainly that Jeanne's character was not quite so weak as he had supposed.
"One must conclude that the walls of Montefiano have ears," he said at length; "but since the eavesdroppers, whoever they may have been, placed a wrong, though very natural, interpretation on what they overheard—at least, so far as my part in the affair was concerned—it does not appear to me greatly to matter."
"Philippe," exclaimed the princess, "for a moment I wronged you. I thought you, too, had deceived me. That would have been a hard thing to bear, for—"
"My dear Jeanne," interrupted Monsieur d'Antin, "do not think of it again, I beg of you. I saw that you suspected me, but I assure you that I made every allowance for you under the circumstances. Let us trust that now you are relieved of the Abbé Roux's presence, there will be no more misunderstandings. After all, Jeanne, a brother is more likely to be disinterested than a stranger who is paid for his services; is it not so?"
Don Agostino looked from Baron d'Antin to the princess, but he said nothing. Indeed, it was only by a slightly ironical smile that he betrayed any sign of having listened to Monsieur d'Antin's remarks.