Silvio Rossano had quickly made up his mind that, as was only fitting and proper, he would tell his father without further delay of the situation in which he and Bianca found themselves. It would be the professor's duty to call on Princess Montefiano and make a formal proposal on the part of his son for Donna Bianca's hand. That the proposal would not be listened to by the princess, Silvio was convinced. He had never attempted to deceive himself upon that subject, and less than ever after hearing from Giacinta what she had learned. But, at all events, once having sent his father as his ambassador, he would have conformed to the usages of society, and would afterwards be free to take his own line.
Mademoiselle Durand, to whom he had of course confided the successful result of his interview with Bianca in the grounds of the Villa Acorari, had counselled patience. There was no reason, she thought, why, with the exercise of ordinary prudence, Silvio and the girl whom he now looked upon as his betrothed wife should not repeatedly meet each other in the same manner, and there was surely no necessity to be in a hurry to explode the mine they had laid—more especially as it was not so easy to calculate what the effects of the explosion might be. But Silvio was firm. Had there been the slightest hope of being able to accomplish his object in any other way, he would never, as he told Mademoiselle Durand, have approached Bianca secretly, and already he blamed himself for having placed the girl in so unusual a position. Now, however, that he had heard from her own lips that Bianca returned his love, and since they had mutually vowed to marry each other, or not to marry at all, he would have no more concealment. If the princess refused to accept him as a husband for her step-daughter, then he should feel that he and Bianca were at liberty to carry out their future plans in their own way.
Mademoiselle Durand expostulated in vain. Silvio begged her to deliver a letter to Bianca when she next went to the Villa Acorari. In this letter he explained all his reasons for not risking another interview with her until they should have learned the result of his father's visit to the princess, and these reasons he put before Bianca in the simple, straightforward way which was part of his nature. Mademoiselle Durand promised to deliver the letter the very next day, and in the mean time Silvio had carried his story to his father.
Professor Rossano had received his son's intelligence with a blank dismay which was almost ludicrous; for never, surely, had a task for which he was so absolutely ill-fitted been thrust upon him. At first he had positively declined to interfere, or to be by way of knowing anything at all about the matter. Silvio had chosen to fall in love in an impossible quarter, and the best thing he could do was to fall out of love again as quickly as possible. As to thinking that the Principessa di Montefiano would allow her step-daughter and the last representative of the Acorari to marry the son of the tenant of her second floor, that was altogether an absurdity. Giacomelli had been quite right when he said Silvio was in love, and would be taking false measurements in consequence. He had taken them—deplorably false measurements.
"But," Silvio observed quietly, after the first stream of objection had somewhat subsided, "I do not the least think the princess will consent to our marriage."
"Then, may I ask, what is the use of sending me on a fool's errand?" the professor retorted, witheringly.
"Nevertheless, whether she consents or not, Bianca Acorari and I shall marry each other. All the same," continued Silvio, "if she gives her consent, it will, of course, obviate a great many difficulties."
His father gazed at him with an expression half angry and half humorous.
"Diamine!" he observed, "I imagine that it would! It appears to me, Silvio, you forget that marrying an heiress is not the same thing as building a bridge. In the mean time, as I say, you wish to send me on a fool's errand. Well, you may 'go out fishing!' These people are noble, and I am not going to expose myself and my son to certain prejudices which an old-fashioned woman like Princess Montefiano probably entertains. Moreover, they are clericals—fervent Catholics—and when people are fervent Catholics—mah!" and the professor shrugged his shoulders.
Silvio laughed. "It is a mere formality, Babbo," he said, "and it is the only thing I shall ask you to do in the matter. If you like, you can go to the princess and say to her, 'My son has fallen in love with your step-daughter, and means to marry her. I have told him he is an imbecile, and that I will not give my consent; but he declares he will marry her all the same.'"