Monsieur d'Antin's face, during the quarter of an hour he spent behind the casino, would have provided an interesting and instructive study to anybody who had been there to see it; it would also have made the fortune of any actor who could have reproduced its varied expressions. Astonishment, envy, lust, and malicious amusement, all were depicted upon his countenance in turn.
At last, when Bianca and her companion left the summer-house, Monsieur d'Antin was able to see what manner of man he was who had had the good fortune to arouse her passion. A single glance at Silvio, as the boy stood in the centre of the avenue with the sunlight falling on his well-built figure and comely face, explained the whole matter. If Bianca had such a lover as this, all that he had just overheard was fully accounted for. Nevertheless, a gust of envy, all the more bitter from the consciousness of its impotence, swept through Monsieur d'Antin's middle-aged soul.
He wondered who this good-looking lover of Bianca's might be. The lad was a gentleman, evidently; but Monsieur d'Antin could not remember ever having seen him in society in Rome. Diable! but he had been right, as usual. He, Philippe d'Antin, always was right about women. And this was Jeanne's "child"—this girl who gave herself to be kissed, and told her lover it was sweet to be hurt by him! Ah! he had heard that. The words had made the blood leap in his veins.
He watched Silvio disappear through the tangled brush-wood growing between the avenue and the park-wall, and Bianca's figure vanish in the direction of the villa, before he finally emerged from his hiding-place. Then he walked slowly several times up and down the avenue, thinking about what might be the best use to make of his discovery. Should he keep silence, and allow Bianca Acorari to compromise herself a little more irrevocably, or should he speak to Jeanne at once? He wished he had some means of knowing whether the meeting he had witnessed was a first interview, or only one of many. Unluckily his knowledge of Italian was not sufficient to enable him clearly to learn all he might have learned from the lovers' conversation. If it were a first meeting only, the matter could be the more easily nipped in the bud—and then— Here Monsieur d'Antin paused. He hardly ventured, even to himself, to cast the thoughts that were beginning to revolve in his mind into concrete form.
The worst of it was that Jeanne must be utterly incompetent to deal with anything of the nature of a love affair. He did not believe that in all his sister's life she had ever known what love was. Certainly her marriage with the Principe di Montefiano had not let her into the mystery, for everybody knew that it was a marriage which had, so to say, stopped short at the altar.
Who could tell, moreover, who this young fellow might be? It was certainly not likely that he was a suitable match for Bianca, or the two would not behave in so absolutely bourgeois a manner. No; the boy was much more probably some adventurer—some shopkeeper from Rome, with the faux airs of a gentleman about him. In this case the matter would be very simple. It would not be a very easy thing to find a husband for a girl who was known to have had a liaison with a man out of her class; and, this being so, Bianca Acorari would either have to remain single or marry some man who would be willing to overlook such a scandal in her past.
Thus reflecting, Monsieur d'Antin came to the conclusion that, for the moment at all events, he would say nothing to his sister. The first thing to be done would be to find out who this young man was. Afterwards, it would be easier to decide how long the little love-idyl he had assisted at that afternoon should be allowed to continue. If he had to take anybody into his confidence before speaking to Jeanne, why should the Abbé Roux not be that person?
That was a good idea—an excellent idea. The priest could manage Jeanne, and, perhaps, he, Philippe d'Antin, could manage the priest. It was possible, but he was not sure; for priests were—priests. In any case, it would be as well to have the abbé on his side if he found he was able to derive any personal benefit out of the bouleversement that must be the immediate result of the discovery of Bianca's conduct.
Yes, he would warn the Abbé Roux that it would be well to keep an eye on Bianca's movements, and how she passed her hours at the Villa Acorari. Of course the boy would come again—and small blame to him! And if spying were to be done, it had better be done by the priest. In that case he, Monsieur d'Antin, would not incur Bianca's odium as being the destroyer of her romance.
Having arranged his programme to his satisfaction, Monsieur d'Antin strolled back to the villa. He found Bianca in the saloon, and greeted her with an airy good-humor.