Monsieur d'Antin did not continue the subject. He kissed his sister affectionately, and then observed: "I leave you, my dear Jeanne. As I said before, the last hour or so has been sufficiently trying to the nerves, and in any case, I do not feel equal to assisting at your interview with Monsieur Silvio Rossano. All the same, I am generous enough to say that, in my opinion, you do quite right to receive him. It may be that our friend the abbé has painted him in blacker colors that he deserves, and perhaps your interview with him will remove other misunderstandings. My only desire, Jeanne, is for Bianca's happiness," and Monsieur d'Antin placed his hand on his heart and sighed.
"Au revoir, monsieur," he continued, bowing to Don Agostino; "à bientôt, I hope," and then, humming a little tune to himself, he left the room.
"My brother has certainly a generous nature," remarked Princess Montefiano. Don Agostino did not consider himself called upon to reply to her observation.
"You have known this young Rossano for some time, monsignore, is it not so?" she asked, presently.
"For some time—yes," Don Agostino replied; "not for long, certainly," he added, "but I know enough of him from his father, who, as I told you, madame, is an old friend of mine, to make me confident that he would make any woman a good husband."
"The Professor Rossano is not an individual of whom I could approve," the princess said, dryly. "Such men do much to create unhappiness in family life by their teaching. You must pardon me if I say that I should not accept his opinion concerning a young man's character."
"Because you do not know him, princess," returned Don Agostino, bluntly. "If I had not full confidence both in Professor Rossano and in his son," he added, "I should certainly not sympathize with the latter in his desire to marry Donna Bianca Acorari. The responsibility would have been too great, and—" He hesitated for a moment, and then was silent.
Princess Montefiano glanced at him with some curiosity. "My responsibility is great," she said, "for my step-daughter is certainly not like other girls. She has a peculiar disposition—inherited, I fear, from her mother—my poor husband's first wife. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, monsignore, but—"
"No," exclaimed Don Agostino, abruptly, "no, madame! Let the dead rest in peace."
Princess Montefiano made the sign of the cross. "Of course," she said, gravely. "But I have a duty towards the living, and I cannot forget that my step-daughter's mother was—well, not all she should have been as a wife. Oh, I do not mean to imply that, after her marriage, she was guilty of any misconduct," she continued, hurriedly, "but she did not make her husband happy—it was a wretched marriage. At any rate, monsignore, I am not injuring her memory by saying that she never loved my poor husband. She had formed an unfortunate attachment, before her marriage, for somebody who was not, I believe, quite her equal, and this seems to have ruined her whole life. You cannot wonder if I am determined to prevent her daughter from falling into the same unhappy circumstances. Indeed, I have sometimes felt an almost superstitious alarm lest the mother's story were destined to be repeated in her daughter's life. It is certainly strange that Bianca also should have formed this violent attachment for a young man who, however worthy he may be individually, is not of her own order."