"She will do it," concluded Don Agostino. "One sees that very plainly," and then he paused and sighed. "Silvio," he said, suddenly, "there is one other thing I wish to say to you. It may be that the princess will ask you how it has come about that I have pleaded your cause with her. If she does so, tell her that I have pleaded it in the name of her whose name she bears. She will know what I mean. And show her this—as my credentials," and, drawing the little case containing the miniature of Bianca Acorari's mother from beneath his soutane, he placed it in Silvio's hand.
"You will bring it back to me," he said. "Yes, I took it with me to-day, thinking that if anything happened—if the soldiers had fired on the people—it would have been with me at the last—for they would have had to fire through me. There would have been a scandal afterwards, I suppose," he added, "when the portrait was found upon me; but by that time I should have been nearer to her—far away from the judgments of men. Come, Silvio mio," he continued, with a smile. "It is your passport, I hope—and it is not I only who give it to you, but one who has a better right than I to do so, and whose envoy I am."
Silvio took the case, and as he did so he kissed Don Agostino's hand.
"If somebody had done by you as you have done by me!" he burst out, passionately.
Don Agostino smiled. "Ragazzo mio," he interrupted, "the whole of life is an 'if.' Come." And mounting the steps together, they entered the vestibule of the piano nobile, where the maggior-domo advanced towards them, saying that he had orders to conduct them to the princess's private sitting-room.
Princess Montefiano, as Don Agostino had told Silvio she would be, was alone. She received Silvio with a distant courtesy, which, nevertheless, was not unkindly, as he was presented to her.
"My friend, Silvio Rossano, will tell you his own story, principessa," Don Agostino observed. "With your permission I will wait for him in the drawing-room, for he will return with me to my house," and he left them together. The princess did not speak for a few moments. She appeared to be thinking deeply, and every now and then Silvio felt that her eyes were fixed upon him, while, as he met her glance, he saw an inquiring and almost surprised expression in them. A more embarrassing situation it would certainly have been hard to conceive; but Silvio, who was accustomed to being interviewed by all sorts and conditions of people, comforted himself with the reflection that if he were ill at ease, Princess Montefiano could scarcely be less so. At length the princess broke the silence.
"Signor Rossano," she said, "we need not waste words in coming to our point. I have consented to receive you because—you must pardon me if I speak plainly you have placed my step-daughter, Donna Bianca Acorari, in an intolerable position for a young girl—a position which exposes her to the mercy of any malicious gossip who may choose to make free with her name."
Silvio started to his feet from the chair to which Princess Montefiano had motioned him.
"Signora Principessa," he exclaimed, "you forget that your consent was asked in the usual way."