An unexpected event disturbed the quiet life of the inmates of the Hotel-Maulear. Aminta received a letter from her mother, in which Signora Rovero announced to her daughter a piece of intelligence, which for her children's sake delighted, while for her own sake it distressed her. The Roman Cardinal, Filippo Justiniani, her brother, of whom we spoke in one of the first chapters of this book, had died, leaving his fortune to his nephew and niece. This fortune was more than a million. Signora Rovero, therefore, wished her son-in-law, the Marquis de Maulear, and Taddeo, to come at once to Rome, to receive this inheritance; the one in the name of his wife, and the other for himself.
This letter produced very different effects in the family of the Prince de Maulear. Instead of rejoicing at a fortune which was to be purchased by the absence of her husband, the young marquise was rather grieved than pleased at it. The revenue the Prince had appropriated to his children was sufficient to make their career quite brilliant. This increase of fortune, therefore, had little value in Aminta's eyes; but a separation, though but temporary, from Henri might endanger, in one so volatile as the Marquis was, the influence she had acquired over him. She apprehended this, and fear, in a heart impassionable as his was, could not but be the source of uneasiness and torment. The idea of accompanying the Marquis often suggested itself to her, but it was then the depth of winter, and her health, naturally delicate, had been so recently shaken by the troubles she had experienced, that she could not, at such a time, venture on such an excursion. The Prince de Maulear did not see his son leave him without dissatisfaction. He did not think him completely cured of the moral malady he had undertaken to cure, but watched over him paternally and kindly. The Marquis, though he sincerely regretted that he must be separated from his charming wife, whom he now loved better than ever, did not conceal the pleasure which such a trip caused him. He did not deny that the kind of atony to which his monotonous life subjected him, made it necessary that he should be somewhat galvanised by the excitement of travel.
Taddeo, too, had been more kindly received by the Duchess since the scene which had taken place between Monte-Leone and her. He was distressed at the absence which removed him from that woman whose influence over his heart nothing could overcome.
All these feelings, however, resulted in the same circumstance—the prompt departure of the two heirs from the eternal city. When they left, Aminta felt a deep distress, and the Prince de Maulear a sombre presentiment.
Fifteen days afterwards, a letter, dated at Rome, informed the young Marquise of the arrival of her husband and brother at the capital of the Christian world. This letter informed them also that there were difficulties in the way of obtaining possession of the estate of Cardinal Justiniani, from the fact that his eminence had made various bequests to convents, churches, and religious foundations, in relation to which it was necessary for the Holy Father himself to make a decision, which would much retard the final arrangement of their business.
Aminta felt that her sadness was doubled at this news, and the feeling grew more poignant from the fact that her husband's letters became every day more rare and more cold. Aware of the devotion of the Prince de Maulear to her, and knowing how uneasy the old man was about his son, the young woman did all she could to conceal her anxiety from her father-in-law, and by means of a thousand pretexts kept from his sight the often icy letters written by her husband. When the Prince questioned her about what he wrote from Rome, he received an evasive reply. "Well, well," he would say, "one should not inquire into them. Fathers have nothing to say about them; and provided, my child, that you are happy, I will ask nothing more." Thus two months rolled by. The young Marquise waited anxiously every day for the coming of the post, and the hours rolled by only to deceive her. Deep mortification soon replaced regret. Surrounded by the homage of a society which adored her, Aminta saw herself deserted by the man to whom she was bound for life, and the humiliation of this indifference almost overpowered the agony she felt. The fact was, that having already been sacrificed to the miserable passion for play, she now fancied she was postponed to the pleasure of travel, and her firm character, softened by the happiness in which the early days of her marriage had been passed, began now to assume the firmness of womanhood, with all the characteristics of the Italian nature. Such was the condition of Aminta's mind when she received the visit of the Count Monte-Leone. When he came she was alone. They were both annoyed by this novel position, and for a time their conversation was commonplace. But soon the memory of the past began to assert its influence over them. The Count spoke of Naples as Neapolitans only can. He infused into his conversation the passionate energy which ever exists in their souls in relation to that climate, so highly favored by heaven. Aminta, to whom the cold climate of France had not been that of her love, surrendered her whole soul to the happiness awakened by those smiling ideas. The Count recalled to her Sorrento and its perfumed hills, its azure sea and brilliant sky. He then recalled to her the villa where he had been so nobly welcomed, where days flitted by like hours, where the silence of a calm and beautiful nature were only interrupted by the breeze and the waves, which died away among myrtle and orange-groves, or by the songs of birds in the luxuriant thickets. Aminta listened to him with increasing trouble, for his voice had never seemed so penetrating and mild. Astonishment took possession of her when she thought that the mind of this man, so sensible to the charms of nature, so aware of the simple beauties of Italian scenery, was the energetic and powerful soul which braved death without weakness, and defied the executioner without fear. The Count thus led, contrary to his own wishes, into the dangerous retrospect of the past, felt his reason give way, as he found himself in the presence of one whose very appearance agitated his reason, because she recalled that country where the gayest and happiest hours of his life had passed.
Aminta, anxious to triumph over the involuntary emotion which took possession of her, diverted the Count from all the seductions of his memory and love by asking if Taddeo was a better friend than brother, and if letters were as great rarities to him as to herself. The Count replied that Taddeo wrote often. He then, with an effort, shook off his delicious dream, and sadly returned to real life. "The Marquis and he," said Monte-Leone, "are yet at Rome, as M. de Maulear must have told you. Rome has never been gayer than it now is. Festivals and entertainments are numerous, and the richest strangers of Europe are now there; while balls and cards are all the rage."
At the last phrase Aminta grew pale. The Count observed this, and attributing its cause to some illness, rose to go away. The Marquise, though, said with a vivacity which surprised him, "And does the Holy father authorize play in his states?"
"He does not authorize but tolerates it. This is sufficient for a bank kept by a rich society of capitalists, to realize millions by this passion, and to produce many disasters and calamities."
The Marquise felt her heart grow chill, and as she began to grow sick she dismissed the Count.