Don Orsino

XIV.

THE short Roman season was advancing rapidly to its premature fall, which is on Ash Wednesday, after which it struggles to hold up its head against the overwhelming odds of a severely observed Lent, to revive only spasmodically after Easter, and to die a natural death on the first warm day. In that year, too, the fatal day fell on the 15th of February, and progressive spirits talked of the possibility of fixing the movable feasts and fasts of the Church in a more convenient part of the calendar. Easter might be made to fall in June, for instance, and society need not be informed of its inevitable and impending return to dust and ashes until it had enjoyed a good three months, or even four, of what an eminent American defines as “brass, sass, lies, and sin.”

Rome was very gay that year, to compensate for the shortness of its playtime. Everything was successful, and every one was rich. People talked of millions less soberly than they had talked of thousands a few years earlier, and with less respect than they mentioned hundreds twelve months later. Like the vanity-struck frog, the franc blew itself up to the bursting-point, in the hope of being taken for the louis, and momentarily succeeded, even beyond its own expectations. No one walked, although horseflesh was excessively dear, and a good coachman’s wages amounted to just twice the salary of a government clerk. Men who. six months earlier, had climbed ladders with loads of brick or mortar were now transformed into flourishing sub-contractors, and drove about in smart ponycarts, looking the picture of Italian prosperity, rejoicing in the most flashy of ties and smoking the blackest and longest of long black cigars. During twenty hours out of the twenty-four the gates of the city roared with traffic. From all parts of the country laborers poured in, bundle in hand and tools on shoulder, to join in the enormous work, and earn their share of the pay that was distributed so liberally. A certain man who believed in himself stood up and said that Rome was becoming one of the greatest of cities; and he smacked his lips and said that he had done it, and that the Triple Alliance was a goose which would lay many golden eggs. The believing bulls roared everything away before them. — opposition, objections, financial experience; and the vanquished bears hibernated in secret places, sucking their paws, and wondering what in the name of Ursa Major and Ursa Minor would happen next. Distinguished men wrote pamphlets in the most distinguished language to prove that wealth was a babycapable of being hatched artificially and brought up by hand. Every unmarried swain who could find a bride married her forthwith; those who could not followed the advice of an illustrious poet and, being over-anxious to take wives, took those of others. Everybody was decorated. It positively rained decorations and hailed grand crosses, and enough commanders’ ribbons were reeled out to have hanged half the population. The periodical attempt to revive the defunct carnival in the Corso was made, and the yet unburied corpse of ancient gayety was taken out and painted, and gorgeously arrayed, and propped up in its seat to be a posthumous terror to its enemies, like the dead Cid. Society danced frantically, and did all those things which it ought not to have done, and added a few more, unconsciously imitating Pico della Mirandola.

Even those comparatively few families who, like the Saracinesca, had scornfully declined to dabble in the whirlpool of affairs did not by any means refuse to dance to the music of success which filled the city with such enchanting strains. The Princess Befana rose from her death-bed with more than usual vivacity, and went to the length of opening her palace on two evenings in two successive weeks, to the intense delight of her gay and youthful heirs, who earnestly hoped that the excitement might kill her at last, and kill her beyond resurrection this time. But they were disappointed. She still dies periodically in winter, and blooms out again in spring with the poppies, affording a perpetual and edifying illustration of the changes of the year, or, as some say, of the doctrine of immortality. On one of those memorable occasions she walked through a quadrille with the aged Prince Saracinesca, whereupon Sant’ Ilario slipped his arm round Corona’s waist and waltzed with her down the whole length of the ballroom and back again, amidst the applause of his contemporaries and their children. If Orsino had had a wife, he would have followed their example. As it was, he looked rather gloomily in the direction of a silent and high-born damsel with whom he was condemned to dance the cotillion at a later hour.

So all went gayly on until Ash Wednesday extinguished the social flame, suddenly and beyond relighting. And still Orsino did not meet Maria Consuelo, and still he hesitated to make another attempt to find her at home. He began to wonder whether he should ever see her again, and as the days went by he almost wished that Donna Tullia would send him a card for her Lenten evenings, at which Maria Consuelo regularly assisted, as he learned from the papers. After that first invitation to dinner, he had expected that Del Ferice’s wife would make an attempt to draw him into her circle; and indeed she would probably have done so had she followed her own instinct instead of submitting to the higher policy dictated by her husband. Orsino waited in vain, not knowing whether to be annoyed at the lack of consideration bestowed upon him, or to admire the tact which assumed that he would never wish to enter the Del Ferice circle.

It is presumably clear that Orsino was not in love with Madame d’Aranjuez, and he himself appreciated the fact with a sense of disappointment. He was amazed at his own coldness, and at the indifference with which he had submitted to what amounted to a most abrupt dismissal. He even went so far as to believe that Maria Consuelo had repulsed him designedly in the hope of kindling a more sincere passion. In that case she had been egregiously mistaken, he thought. He felt a curiosity to see her again before she left Rome, but it was nothing more than that. A new and absorbing interest had taken possession of him which at first left little room in his nature for anything else. His days were spent in the laborious study of figures and plans, broken only by occasional short but amusing conversations with Andrea Contini. His evenings were generally passed among a set of people who did not know Maria Consuelo except by sight, and who had long ceased to ask him questions about her. Of late, too, he had missed his daily visits to her less and less, until he hardly regretted them at all, nor so much as thought of the possibility of renewing them. He laughed at the idea that his mother should have taken the place of a woman whom he had begun to love, and yet he was conscious that it was so, though he asked himself how long such a condition of things could last. Corona was far too wise to discuss his affairs with his father. He was too like herself for her to misunderstand him, and if she regarded the whole matter as perfectly harmless, and as a legitimate subject for general conversation, she yet understood perfectly that, having been once rebuffed by Sant’ Ilario, Orsino must wish to be fully successful in his attempt before mentioning it again to the latter; and she felt so strongly in sympathy with her son that his work gradually acquired an intense interest for her, and she would have sacrificed much rather than see it fail. She did not, on that account, blame Giovanni for his discouraging view when Orsino had consulted him. Giovanni was the passion of her life, and was not fallible in his impulses, though his judgment might sometimes be at fault in technical matters for which he cared nothing. But her love for her son was as great and sincere in its own way, and her pride in him was such as to make his success a condition of her future happiness.

One of the greatest novelists of this age begins one of his greatest novels with the remark that “all happy families resemble each other, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own especial way.” Generalities are dangerous in proportion as they are witty or striking, or both, and it may be asked whether the great Tolstóy has not fallen a victim to his own extraordinary power of striking and witty generalizations. Does the greatest of all his generalizations, the wide disclaimer of his early opinions expressed in the postscript. subsequently attached by him to his Kreutzer Sonata, include also the words I have quoted, and which were set up. so to say, as the theme of his Anna Karjenina ? One may almost hope so. I am no critic, but those words somehow seem to me to mean that only unhappiness can be interesting. It is not pleasant to think of the consequences to which the acceptance of such a statement might lead.

There are no statistics to tell us whether the majority of living men and women are to be considered happy or unhappy: but it does seem true that whereas a single circumstance can cause very great and lasting unhappiness, felicity is always dependent upon more than one condition, and often upon so many as to make the explanation of it a highly difficult and complicated matter.

Corona had assuredly little reason to complain of her lot during the past twenty years, but, unruffled and perfect as it had seemed to her, she began to see that here were sources of sorrow and satisfaction before her which had not yet poured their bitter or sweet streams into the stately river of her mature life. The new interest which Orsino had created for her became more and more absorbing, and she watched it and tended it, and longed to see it grow to greater proportions. The situation was strange in one way, at least. Orsino was working, and his mother was helping him to work, in the hope of a financial success which neither of them wanted or cared for. Possibly the certainty that failure could entail no serious consequences made the game a more amusing if a less exciting one to play.

“ If I lose.” said Orsino to her, “ I can lose only the few thousands I invested. If I win, I will give you a string of pearls as a keepsake.”

“ If you lose, dear boy,” answered Corona, “ it must be because you had not enough to begin with. I will give you as much as you need, and we will try again.”

They laughed happily together. Whatever chanced, things must turn out well. Orsino work I very hard, and Corona was very rich in her own right, and could afford to help to any extent she thought necessary. She could, indeed, have taken the part of the bank and advanced him all the money he needed, but it seemed useless to interfere with the existing arrangements.

In Lent the house had reached an important point in its existence. Andrea Contini had completed the Gothic roof and the turret which appeared to him in the first vision of his dream, but to which the defunct baker had made objections on the score of expense. The masons were almost all gone, and another set of workmen were busy with finer tools, moulding cornices and laying on the snow-white stucco.

Within, the joiners and carpenters kept up a ceaseless hammering.

One day Andrea Contini walked into the office after a tour of inspection, with a whole cigar, unlighted and intact, between his teeth. Orsino was well aware from this circumstance that something unusually fortunate had happened or was about to happen, and he rose from his books as soon as he recognized the fair-weather signal.

“ We can sell the house whenever we like, ” remarked the architect, his bright brown eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

“ Already! ” exclaimed Orsino, who, though equally delighted at the prospect of such speedy success, regretted in his heart the damp walls and the constant stir of work which he bad learned to like so well.

“ Already, —yes. One needs luck like ours! The count has sent a man up in a cab to say that an acquaintance of his will come and look at the building to-day between twelve and one with a view to buying. The sooner we look out for some fresh undertaking, the better. What do you say, Don Orsino? ”

“ It is all your doing, Contini. Without you I should still be standing outside and watching the mattings flap in the wind, as I did on that never-tobe-forgotten first day.”

“ I conceive that a house cannot be built without an architect. ” answered Contini, laughing, “and it has always been plain to me that there can be no architects without houses to build. But as for any especial credit to me, I refute the charge indignantly. I except the matter of the turret, which is evidently what has attracted the buyer.

I always thought it would. You would never have thought of a turret, would you, Don Orsino ? ”

“ Certainly not, nor of many other things,” said Orsino, laughing. “ But I am sorry to leave the place. I have grown into liking it.”

“ What can one do? It is the way of the world,—‘lieto ricordo d’un amor che fù,’ ” sang Contini in the thin but expressive falsetto which seems to be the natural inheritance of men who play upon stringed instruments. He broke off in the middle of a bar, and laughed out of sheer delight at his own good fortune.

In due time the purchaser came, saw, and actually bought. He was a problematic personage with a disquieting nose, who spoke few words, but examined everything with an air of superior comprehension. He looked keenly at Orsino, but seemed to have no idea who he was, and put all his questions to Contini. After agreeing to the purchase he inquired whether Andrea Contini and Company had any other houses of the same description building, and if so where they were situated, adding that he liked the firm’s way of doing things. He stipulated for one or two slight improvements, made an appointment for a meeting with the notaries on the following day, and went off with a rather unceremonious nod to the partners. The name he left was that of a wellknown capitalist from the south, and Contini was inclined to think he had seen him before, but was not certain.

Within a week the business was concluded; the buyer took over the mortgage as Orsino and Contini had done, and paid the difference in cash into the bank, which deducted the amounts due on notes of hand before handing the remainder to the two young men. The buyer also kept back a small part of the purchase money, to be paid on taking possession, when the house was to be entirely finished. Andrea Contini and Company had realized a considerable sum of money.

“ The question is, what to do next, said Orsino thoughtfully.

“ We had better look about us for something promising, ” said his partner, — “a corner lot in this same quarter. Corner houses are more interesting to build, and people like them to live in because they can see two or three ways at once. Besides, a corner is always a good place for a turret. Let us take a walk. Smoking and strolling, we shall find something.”

“ A year ago, no doubt,” answered Orsino, who was becoming worldly wise, — “a year ago that would have been well enough. But listen to me. That house opposite to ours has been finished some time, yet nobody has bought it. What is the reason ? ”

“ It faces north, and not south, as ours does, and it has not a Gothic roof.”

“ My dear Contini, I do not mean to say that the Gothic roof has not helped us very much, but it alone cannot have helped us. How about those two houses together at the end of the next block? Balconies, travertine columns, superior doors and windows, spaces for hydraulic lifts, and all the rest of it. Yet no one buys. Dry, too, and almost ready to live in, and all the joinery of pitch pine. There is a reason for their ill luck. ”

“ What do you think it is? ” asked Contini, opening his eyes.

“ The land on which they are built was not in the hands of Del Ferice’s bank, and the money that built them was not advanced by Del Ferice’s bank, and Del Ferice’s bank has no interest in selling the houses themselves. Therefore they are not sold.”

“ But surely there are other banks in Rome, and private individuals ” —

“ No, I do not believe that there are,” said Orsino, with conviction. “ My cousin San Giacinto thinks that the selling days are over, and I fancy he is right, except about Del Ferice, who is cleverer than any of us. We had better not deceive ourselves, Contini. Del Ferice sold our house for us, and unless we keep with him we shall not sell another so easily. His bank has a lot of half-finished houses on its hands, secured by mortgages which are worthless until the houses are habitable. Del Ferice wants us to finish those houses for him. in order to recover their value. If we do it, we shall make a profit. If we attempt anything on our own account, we shall fail. Am I right or not ? ”

“ What can I say ? At all events, you are on the safe side. But why has not the count given all this work to some old established firm of his acquaintance ? ”

“ Because he cannot trust anyone as he can trust us, and he knows it.”

“ Of course I owe the count a great deal for his kindness in introducing me to you. He knew all about me before the baker died, and afterwards I waited for him outside the Chambers one evening and asked him if he could find anything for me to do, but he did not give me much encouragement. I saw you speak to him and get into his carriage, — was it not you ? ”

“ Yes, it was I,” answered Orsino, remembering the tall man in an overcoat who had disappeared in the dusk on the evening when he himself had first sought Del Ferice. “Yes, and you see we are both under a sort of obligation to him, which is another reason for taking his advice.”

“ Obligations are humiliating! ” exclaimed Contini impatiently. “We have succeeded in increasing our capital, —your capital, Don Orsino, — let us strike out for ourselves. ”

“ I think my reasons are good, ” said Orsino quietly. “And as for obligations, let us remember that we are men of business.”

It appears from this that the lowborn Andrea Contini and the high and mighty Don Orsino Saracinesca were not very far from exchanging places so far as prejudice was concerned. Contini noticed the fact and smiled.

“ After all, ” he said, “if you can accept the situation, I ought to accept it, too,”

“ It is a matter of business,” said Orsino, returning to his argument. “ There is no such thing as obligation where money is borrowed on good security and a large interest is regularly paid.”

It was clear that Orsino was developing commercial instincts. His grandfather would have died of rage on the spot if he could have listened to the young fellow’s cool utterances. But Contini was not pleased, and would not abandon his position so easily.

“ It is very well for you, Don Orsino, ” he said, vainly attempting to light his cigar. “You do not need the money as I do. You take it from Del Ferice because it amuses you to do so, not because you are obliged to accept it. That is the difference. The count knows it, too, and knows that he is not conferring a favor, but receiving one. You do him an honor in borrowing his money. He lays me under an obligation in lending it.”

“ We must get money somewhere, ” answered Orsino, with indifference. “If not from Del Ferice, then from some other bank. And as for obligations, as you call them, he is not the bank himself, and the bank does not lend its money in order to amuse me or to humiliate you, my friend. But if you insist, I shall say that the convenience is not on one side only. If Del Ferice supports us, it is because we serve his interests. If he has done us a good turn, it is a reason why we should do him one, and build his houses rather than those of other people. You talk about my conferring a favor upon him. Where will he find another Andrea Contini and Company to make worthless property valuable for him? In that sense, you and I are earning his gratitude by the simple process of being scrupulously honest. I do not feel in the least humiliated, I assure you.”

“ I cannot help it,” replied Contini, biting his cigar savagely. “I have a heart, and it beats with good blood. Do you know that there is blood of Colas di Rienzi in my veins? ”

“ No. You never told me,” said Orsino, one of whose forefathers had been concerned in the murder of the tribune, a fact to which he thought it best not to refer at the present moment.

“ And the blood of Colas di Rienzi burns under the shame of an obligation! ” exclaimed Contini, with a heat hardly warranted by the circumstances. “It is humiliating, it is base, to submit to be the tool of a Del Ferice. We all know who and what Del Ferice was, and how he came by his title of ‘ count, ’ and how he got his fortune,— a spy, an intriguer! In a good cause ? Perhaps. I was not born then, nor you either, Signor Principe, and we do not know what the world was like when it was quite another world. That is not a reason for serving a spy.”

“ Calm yourself, my friend. We are not in Del Ferice’s service.”

“ Better to die than that! Better to kill him at once and go to the galleys for a few years! Better to play the fiddle, or pick rags, or beg in the streets, than that, Signor Principe! One must respect one’s self. You see it yourself. One must be a man, and feel as a man. One must feel those things here, Signor Principe,— here, in the heart! ”

Contini struck his breast with his clenched fist and bit the end of his cigar quite through in his anger. Then he suddenly seized his hat and rushed out of the room.

Orsino was less surprised at the outburst than might have been expected, and did not attach any great weight to his partner’s dramatic rage. But he lit a cigarette and carefully thought over the situation, trying to find out whether there were really any ground for Contini’s first remarks. He was perfectly well aware that, as Orsino Saracinesca, he would cut his own throat with enthusiasm rather than borrow a louis of Ugo Del Ferice. But as Andrea Contini and Company he was another person, and so Del Ferice was not Count Del Ferice nor the Onorevole Del Ferice, but simply a director in a bank with which he had business. If the interests of Andrea Contini and Company were identical with those of the bank, there was no reason whatever for interrupting relations both amicable and profitable, merely because one member of the firm claimed to be descended from Colas di Rienzi, a defunct personage in whom Orsino felt no interest whatever. Andrea Contini, considering his social relations, might be on terms of friendship with his hatter, for instance, or might have personal reasons for disliking him. In neither case could the buying of a hat from that individual be looked upon as an obligation conferred or received by either party. This was quite clear, and Orsino was satisfied.

“ Business is business,” he said to himself, “and people who introduce personal considerations into a financial transaction will get the worst of the bargain.”

Andrea Contini was apparently of the same opinion, for when he entered the room again, at the end of an hour, his excitement had quite disappeared.

“ If we take another contract from the count, ” he said, “is there any reason why we should not take a larger one, if it is to be had ? We could manage three or four buildings, now that you have become such a good bookkeeper. ”

“ I am quite of your opinion.” said Orsino, deciding at once to make no reference to what had gone before.

“ The only question is, whether we have capital enough for a margin.”

“ Leave that to me.”

Orsino determined to consult his mother, in whose judgment he felt a confidence which he could not explain, but which was not misplaced. The fact was simple enough. Corona understood him thoroughly, though her comprehension of his business was more than limited, and she did nothing in reality but encourage his own sober opinion when it happened to be at variance with some enthusiastic inclination which momentarily deluded him. That quiet pushing of a man’s own better reason against his half-considered but often headstrong impulses is after all one of the best and most loving services which a wise woman can render to a man whom she loves, be he husband, son, or brother. Many women have no other secret, and indeed there are few more valuable ones, if well used and well kept. But let not graceless man discover that it is used upon him. He will resent being led by his own reason far more than being made the senseless slave of a foolish woman’s wildest caprice. To select the best of himself for his own use is to trample upon his free will. To send him barefoot to Jericho in search of a dried flower is to appeal to his heart. Man is a reasoning animal.

Corona, as was to be expected, was triumphant in Orsino’s first success, and spent as much time in talking over the past and the future with him as she could command during his own hours of liberty. He needed no urging to continue in the same course, but he enjoyed her happiness and delighted in her encouragement.

“ Contini wishes to take a large contract, ” he remarked to her, after the interview last described. “I agree with him, in a way. We could certainly manage a larger business.”

“ No doubt,” Corona said thoughtfully, for she saw that there was some objection to the scheme in his own mind.

“ I have learned a great deal,” he continued, “and we have much more capital than we had. Besides, I suppose you would lend me a few thousands if we needed them, would you not, mother ? ”

“ Certainly, my dear. You shall not be hampered by want of money. ”

“ And then it is possible that we might make something like a fortune in a short time. It would be a great satisfaction. But then, too ” — He stopped.

“ What then ? ” asked Corona, smiling.

“ Things may turn out differently. Though I have been successful this time, I am much more inclined to believe that San Giacinto was right than I was before I began. All this movement does not rest on a solid basis.”

A financier of thirty years’ standing could not have made the statement more impressively, and Orsino was conscious that he was assuming an elderly tone. He laughed the next moment.

“ That is a stock phrase, mother,” he continued. “But it means something. Everything is not what it should be. If the demand were as great as people say it is, there would not be half a dozen houses — better houses than ours —unsold in our street. That is why I am afraid of a big contract. I might lose all my money and some of yours.”

“ It would not be of much consequence if you did, ” answered Corona. “But of course you will be guided by your own judgment, which is much better than mine. One must risk something, hut there is no use in going into danger. ”

“ Nevertheless I should enjoy a big venture immensely. ”

“ There is no reason why you should not try one, when the moment comes, my dear. I suppose that a few months will decide whether there is to be a crisis or not. In the mean time you might take something moderate, neither so small as the last nor so large as you would like. You will get more experience, risk less, and be better prepared for a crash if it comes, or to take advantage of anything favorable if business grows safer.”

Orsino was silent for a moment.

“ You are very wise, mother.” he said. “I will take your advice.”

Corona had indeed acted as wisely as she could. The only flaw in her reasoning was her assertion that a few months would decide the fate of Roman affairs. If it were possible to predict a crisis even within a few months, speculation would be a less precarious business than it is.

Orsino and his mother might have talked longer and perhaps to better purpose, but they were interrupted by the entrance of a servant bearing a note. Corona instinctively put out her hand to receive it.

“ For Don Orsino,” said the man. stopping before him.

Orsino took the letter, looked at it and turned it over.

“ I think it is from Madame d’Aranjuez, ” he remarked, without emotion. “May I read it? ”

“ There is no answer, Eccellenza.” said the servant, whose curiosity was satisfied.

“ Read it, of course,” said Corona, looking at him.

She was surprised that Madame d’Aranjuez should write to him, but she was still more astonished to see the indifference with which he opened the missive. She had imagined that he was more or less in love with Maria Consuelo.

“ I fancy it is the other way, ” she thought . “The woman wants to marry him. I might have suspected it.”

Orsino read the note, and tossed it into the fire without volunteering any information.

“ I will take your advice, mother, ” he said, continuing the former conversation as though nothing had happened.

But the subject seemed to be exhausted, and before long Orsino made an excuse to his mother and went out.

XV.

There was nothing in the note burnt by Orsino which he might not have shown to his mother, since he had already told her the name of the writer. It contained the simple statement that Maria Consuelo was about to leave Rome, and expressed the hope that she might see Orsino before her departure, as she had a small request to make of him in the nature of a commission. She hoped he would forgive her for putting him to so much inconvenience.

Though he betrayed no emotion in reading the few lines, he was in reality annoyed by them, and he wished that he might be prevented from obeying the summons. Maria Consuelo had virtually dropped the acquaintance, and had refused repeatedly and in a marked way to receive him; and now, at the last moment, when she needed something of him, she chose to recall him by a direct invitation. There was nothing to be done but to yield, and it was characteristic of Orsino that, having submitted to necessity, he did not put off the inevitable moment, but went to her at once.

The days were longer now than they had been during the time when he had visited her every day, and the lamp was not yet on the table when Orsino entered the small sitting-room. Maria Consuelo was standing by the window, looking out into the street, and her right hand rested against the pane while her fingers tapped it softly but impatiently. She turned quickly as he entered, but the light was behind her, and he could hardly see her face. She came towards him and held out her hand.

“It is very kind of you to have come so soon,” she said, as she took her old accustomed place by the table.

Nothing was changed, excepting that the two or three new books at her elbow were not the same ones which had been there two months earlier. In one of them was thrust the silver papercutter with the jeweled handle, which Orsino had never missed. He wondered whether there were any reason for the unvarying sameness of these details.

“Of course I came,” he said, “And as there was time to-day, I came at once. ”

He spoke rather coldly, still resenting her former behavior, and expecting that she would immediately say what she wanted of him. He would promise to execute the commission, whatever it might be, and after ten minutes of conversation he would take his departure. There was a short pause, during which he looked at her. She did not seem well. Her face was pale, and her eyes were deep with shadows. Even her auburn hair had lost something of its gloss. Yet she did not look older than before, a fact which proved her to be even younger than Orsino had imagined. Saving the look of fatigue and suffering in her face, Maria Consuelo had changed less than Orsino during the winter, and she realized the fact at a glance. A determined purpose, hard work, the constant exertion of energy and will, and possibly, too, the giving up to a great extent of gambling and strong drinks, had told in Orsino’s face and manner as a course of training tells upon a lazy athlete. The bold black eyes had a more quiet glance, the well-marked features had acquired strength and repose, the lean jaw was firmer and seemed more square. Even physically he had improved, although the change was undefinable. Young as he was, something of the power of mature manhood was already coming over his youth.

“You must have thought me very — rude. ” said Maria Consuelo, breaking the silence, and speaking with a slight hesitation which Orsino had never noticed before.

“It is not for me to complain, madame, ” he answered. “You had every right ” —

He stopped short, for he was reluctant to admit that she had been justified in her behavior towards him.

“Thanks,” she said, with an attempt to laugh. “It is pleasant to find magnanimous people now and then. I do not want you to think that I was capricious. That is all.”

“I certainly do not think that. You were most consistent. I called three times and always got the same answer.”

He fancied that he heard her sigh, but she tried to laugh again.

“ I am not imaginative,” she answered. “ I dare say you found that out long ago. You have much more imagination than I.”

“It is possible, madame; but you have not cared to develop it.”

“ What do you mean ? ”

“ What does it matter? Do you remember what you said when I bade you good-night at the window of your carriage, after Del Ferice’s dinner? You said that you were not angry with me. I was foolish enough to imagine that you were in earnest. I came again and again, but you would not see me. You did not encourage my illusion.”

“ Because I would not receive you ? How do you know what happened to me? How can you judge of my life? By your own ? There is a vast difference.”

“Yes, indeed!” exclaimed Orsino, almost impatiently. “I know what you are going to say. It will be flattering to me, of course. The unattached young man is dangerous to the reputation. The foreign lady is traveling alone. There is the foundation of a vaudeville in that.”

“If you must be unjust, at least do not be brutal,” said Maria Consuelo in a low voice, and she turned her face away from him.

“ I am evidently placed in the world to offend you, madame. Will you believe that I am sorry for it, though I only dimly comprehend my fault? What did I say? That you were wise in breaking off my visits, because you are alone here, and because I am young, unmarried, and unfortunately a little conspicuous in my native city. Is it brutal to suggest that a young and beautiful woman has a right not to be compromised ? Can we not talk freely for half an hour, as we used to talk, and then say good-by and part good friends until you come to Rome again ? ”

“I wish we could! ” There was an accent of sincerity in the tone which pleased Orsino.

“Then begin by forgiving me all my sins, and put them down to ignorance, want of tact, the inexperience of youth, or a naturally weak understanding. But do not call me brutal on such slight provocation. ”

“We shall never agree for a long time, ” said Maria Consuelo thoughtfully.

“ Why not ? ”

“Because, as I told you, there is too great a difference between our lives. Do not answer me as you did before, for I am right. I began by admitting that I was rude. If that is not enough, I will say more, — I will even ask you to forgive me. Can I do more? ”

She spoke so earnestly that Orsino was surprised and almost touched. Her manner now was even less comprehensible than her repeated refusals to see him had been.

“You have done far too much already,” he said gravely. “It is mine to ask your forgiveness for much that I have done and said. I only wish that I understood you better.”

“I am glad you do not,” replied Maria Consuelo, with a sigh which this time was not to be mistaken. “There is a sadness which it is better not to understand,” she added softly.

“Unless one can help to drive it away. ” Orsino, too, spoke gently, his voice being attracted to the pitch and tone of hers.

“You cannot do that; and if you could, you would not.”

“ Who can tell ? ”

The charm which he had formerly felt so keenly in her presence, but which he had of late so completely forgotten, was beginning to return, and he submitted to it with a sense of satisfaction which he had not anticipated. Though the twilight was coming on, his eyes had become accustomed to the dimness in the room, and he saw every change in her pale, expressive face. She leaned back in her chair, with eyes half closed.

“ I like to think that you would, if you knew how, ” she said presently.

“Do you not know that I would? ”

She glanced quickly at him, and then, instead of answering, rose from her seat and called to her maid through one of the doors, telling her to bring the lamp. She sat down again, but, being conscious that they were liable to interruption, neither of the two spoke. Maria Consuelo’s fingers played with the silver knife, drawing it out of the book in which it lay and pushing it back again. At last she took it up and looked closely at the jeweled monogram on the handle.

The maid entered, set the shaded lamp upon the table, and glanced sharply at Orsino. He could not help noticing the look. In a moment she was gone, and the door closed behind her. Maria Consuelo looked over her shoulder to see that it had not been left ajar.

“She is a very extraordinary person, that elderly maid of mine,” she said.

“So I should imagine from her face.”

“Yes. She looked at you as she passed, and I saw that you noticed it. She is my protector. I never have traveled without her, and she watches over me as a cat watches a mouse.”

The little laugh that accompanied the words was not one of satisfaction, and the shade of annoyance did not escape Orsino.

“I suppose she is one of those people to whose ways one submits because one cannot live without them.” he observed.

“Yes, that is it. That is exactly it,” repeated Maria Consuelo. “And she is very strongly attached to me,” she added, after an instant’s hesitation. “I do not think she will ever leave me. In fact, we are attached to each other.”

She laughed again, as though amused by her own way of stating the relation, and drew the paper-cutter through her hand two or three times. Orsino’s eyes were oddly fascinated by the flash of the jewels.

“ I should like to know the history of that knife ?” he said, almost thoughtlessly.

Maria Consuelo started and looked at him, paler even than before. The question seemed to be a very unexpected one.

“ Why? ” she asked quickly.

“ I always see it on the table or in your hand,” answered Orsino. “ It is associated with you, — I think of it when I think of you. I always fancy that it has a story.”

“ You are right. It was given to me by a person who loved me. ”

“ I see, —I was indiscreet.”

“ No, you do not see, my friend. If you did, you — you would understand many things, and perhaps it is better that you should not know them.”

“ Your sadness? Should I understand that, too? ”

“ No, not that.”

A slight color rose in her face, and she stretched out her hand to arrange the shade of the lamp, with a gesture long familiar to him.

“ We shall end by misunderstanding each other,” she continued in a harder tone. “Perhaps it will be my fault. I wish you knew much more about me than you do, but without the necessity of telling you the story. But that is impossible. This paper-cutter, for instance, could tell the tale better than I, for it made people see things which I did not see.”

“ After it was yours? ”

“ Yes, after it was mine.”

“ It pleases you to be very mysterious, ” said Orsino, with a smile.

“ Oh, no, it does not please me at all,” she answered, turning her face away again. “And least of all with you my friend.”

“ Why least with me? ”

“ Because you are the first to misunderstand. You cannot help it. I do not blame you.”

“ If you would let me be your friend, as you call me, it would be better for us both.”

He spoke as he had assuredly not meant to speak when he had entered the room, and with a feeling that surprised himself far more than his hearer. Maria Consuelo turned sharply upon him.

“ Have you acted like a friend towards me? ” she asked.

“ I have tried to,” he answered, with more presence of mind than truth.

Her tawny eyes suddenly lightened.

“ That is not true. Be truthful! How have you acted, how have you spoken with me? Are you ashamed to answer ? ”

Orsino raised his head rather haughtily, and met her glance, wondering whether any man had ever been forced into such a strange position before. But though her eyes were bright, their look was neither cold nor defiant.

“ You know the answer,” he said. “I spoke and acted as though I loved you, madame; but since you dismissed me so very summarily, I do not see why you wish me to say so.”

“ And you, Don Orsino, have you ever been loved — loved in earnest — by any woman ? ”

“ That is a very strange question, madame. ”

“ I am discreet. You may answer it safely.”

“ I have no doubt of that.”

“ But you will not? No, that is your right. But it would be kind of you, I should be grateful if you would tell me : has any woman ever loved you dearly ? ”

Orsino laughed almost in spite of himself. He had little false pride.

“ It is humiliating, madame; but since you ask the question and require a categorical answer, I will make my confession. I have never been loved. But you will observe, as an extenuating circumstance, that I am young. I do not give up all hope.”

“ No, you need not,” said Maria Consuelo in a low voice, and again she moved the shade of the lamp.

Though Orsino was by no means fatuous, he must have been blind if he had not seen by this time that Madame d’Aranjuez was doing her best to make him speak as he had formerly spoken to her, and to force him into a declaration of love. He saw it, indeed, and wondered; but although he felt her charm upon him, from time to time, he resolved that nothing should induce him to relax even so far as he had done already more than once during the interview. She had placed him in a foolish position once before, and he would not expose himself to being made ridiculous again, in her eyes or his. He could not discover what intention she had in trying to lead him back to her, but he attributed it to her vanity. She regretted, perhaps, having rebuked him so soon, or perhaps she had imagined that he would make further and more determined efforts to see her. Possibly, too, she really wished to ask a service of him, and wished to assure herself that she could depend upon him by previously extracting an avowal of his devotion. It was clear that one of the two had mistaken the other’s character or mood, though it was impossible to say which was the one deceived.

The silence which followed lasted some time, and threatened to become awkward. Maria Consuelo could not or would not speak, and Orsino did not know what to say. He thought of inquiring what the commission might be with which, according to her note, she had wished to entrust him. But an instant’s reflection told him that the question would be tactless. If she had invented the idea as an excuse for seeing him, to mention it would be to force her hand, as card-players say, and he had no intention of doing that. Even if she really had something to ask of him, he had no right to change the subject so suddenly. He bethought him of a better question.

“ You wrote me that you were going away,” he said quietly. “But you will come back next winter, will you not, madame ? ”

“ I do not know,” she answered vaguely. Then she started a little, as though understanding his words. “What am I saying! ” she exclaimed. “Of course I shall come back.”

“ Have you been drinking from the Trevi fountain by moonlight, like those mad English ? ” Orsino asked, with a smile.

“ It is not necessary. I know that I shall come back — if I am alive.”

“ How you say that! You are as strong as I ” —

“ Stronger, perhaps. But then — who knows! The weak ones sometimes last the longest.”

Orsino thought she was growing very sentimental, though, as he looked at her, he was struck again by the look of suffering in her eyes. Whatever weakness she felt was visible there; there was nothing in the full, firm little hand, in the strong and easy pose of the head, in the softly colored ear half hidden by her hair, that could suggest a coming danger to her splendid health.

“ Let us take it for granted that you will come back to us,” said Orsino cheerfully.

“ Very well, we will take it for granted. What then?”

The question was so sudden and direct that Orsino fancied there ought to be an evident answer to it.

“ What then?” he repeated, after a moment’s hesitation. “I suppose you will live in these same rooms again, and, with your permission, a certain Orsino Saracinesca will visit you from time to time, and be rude, and be sent away into exile for his sins. And Madame d’Aranjuez will go a great deal to Madame Del Ferice’s and to other ultra-White houses, which will prevent the said Orsino from meeting her in society. She will also be more beautiful than ever, and the daily papers will describe a certain number of gowns which she will bring with her from Paris, or Vienna, or London, or whatever great capital is the chosen official residence of her great dressmaker; and the world will not otherwise change very materially in the course of eight months.”

Orsino laughed lightly, not at his own speech, which he had constructed rather clumsily under the spur of necessity, but in the hope that she would laugh, too, and begin to talk more carelessly. Put Maria Consuelo was evidently not inclined for anything but the most serious view of the world, past, present, and future.

“ Yes,” she answered gravely. “I dare say you are right. One comes, one shows one’s clothes, and one goes away again; and that is all. It would be very much the same if one did not come. It is a great mistake to think one’s self necessary to any one. Only things are necessary, — food, money, and something to talk about.”

“ You might add friends to the list, ” said Orsino, who was afraid of being called brutal again if he did not make some mild remonstrance to such a sweeping assertion.

“ Friends are included under the head of ‘something to talk about,’” retorted Maria Consuelo.

“ That is an encouraging view.”

“ Like all views one gets by experience.”

“ You grow more and more bitter.”

“ Does the world grow sweeter as one grows older ? ”

“ Neither you nor I have lived long enough to know, ” answered Orsino.

“ Facts make life long, not years.”

“ So long as they leave no sign of age, what does it matter ? ”

“ I do not care for that sort of flattery.”

“ Because it is not flattery at all. You know the truth too well. I am not ingenious enough to flatter you, madame. Perfection is not flattered when it is called perfect.”

“ It is at all events impossible to exaggerate better than you can, ” answered Maria Consuelo, laughing at last at the overwhelming compliment. “Where did you learn that? ”

“ At your feet, madame. The contemplation of great masterpieces enlarges the intelligence and deepens the power of expression.”

“ And I am a masterpiece — of what ? Of art ? Of caprice ? Of consistency ? ”

“ Of nature,” said Orsino promptly.

Again Maria Consuelo laughed a little, at the mere quickness of the answer. Orsino was delighted with himself, for he fancied he was leading her rapidly away from the dangerous ground upon which she had been trying to force him. But her next words showed him that he had not yet succeeded.

“ Who will make me laugh during all these months ! ” she exclaimed, with a little sadness.

Orsino thought she was strangely obstinate, and wondered what she would say next.

“ Dear me, madame,” he said, “if you are so kind as to laugh at my poor wit, you will not have to seek far to find some one to amuse you better.”

He knew how to put on an expression of perfect simplicity when he pleased, and Maria Consuelo looked at him, trying to be sure whether he were in earnest or not. But his face baffled her.

“ You are too modest,” she said.

“ Do you think it is a defect? Shall I cultivate a little more assurance of manner? ” he asked, very innocently.

“ Not to-day. Your first attempt might lead you into extremes.”

“ There is not the slightest fear of that, madame, ” he assured her, with some emphasis.

She colored a little, and her closed lips smiled in a way he had often noticed before. He congratulated himself upon these signs of approaching ill temper, which promised an escape from his difficulty. To take leave of her suddenly was to abandon the field, and that he would not do. She had determined to force him into a confession of devotion, and he was equally determined not to satisfy her. He had tried to lead her off her track with frivolous talk, and had failed. He would try to irritate her instead, but without incurring the charge of rudeness. Why she was making such an attack upon him was beyond his understanding, but he resented it, and made up his mind neither to fly nor yield. If he had been a hundredth part as cynical as he liked to fancy himself, he would have acted very differently. But he was young enough to have heen wounded by his former dismissal, though he hardly knew it, and to seek almost instinctively to revenge his wrongs. He did not find it easy. He would not have believed that such a woman as Maria Consuelo could so far forget her pride as to go begging for a declaration of love.

“ I suppose you will take Gouache’s portrait away with you ? ” he observed, changing the subject with a directness which he fancied would increase her annoyance.

“ What makes you think so?” she asked, rather dryly.

“ I thought it a natural question.”

“ I cannot imagine what I should do with it. I shall leave it with him.”

“ You will let him send it to the Salon in Paris, of course ? ”

“ If he likes. You seem interested in the fate of the picture.”

“ A little. I wondered why you did not have it here, as it has heen finished so long.”

“ Instead of that hideous mirror, you mean? There would be less variety. I should always see myself in the same dress. ”

“ No; on the opposite wall. You might compare truth with fiction in that way.”

“ To the advantage of Gouache’s fiction, you would say. You were more complimentary a little while ago.”

“ You imagine more rudeness than even I am capable of inventing. ”

“ That is saying much. Why did you change the subject just now ? ”

“ Because I saw that you were annoyed at something. Besides, we were talking about myself, if I remember rightly. ”

“ Have you never heard that a man should always talk to a woman about himself or herself ? ”

“ No, I never heard that. Shall we talk of you, then, madame ? ”

“ Do you care to talk of me ? ” asked Maria Consuelo.

Another direct attack, he thought.

“ I would rather hear you talk of yourself,” he replied, without the least hesitation.

“ If I were to tell you my thoughts about myself at the present moment, they would surprise you very much.”

“ Agreeably or disagreeably? ”

“ I do not know. Are you vain? ”

“ As a peacock ! ” replied Orsino quickly.

“ Ah, then what I am thinking would not interest you.”

“ Why not? ”

“ Because if it is not flattering it would wound you, and if it is flattering it would disappoint you by falling short of your ideal of yourself.”

“ Yet I confess that I should like to know what you think of me, though I should much rather hear what you think of yourself. ”

“ On one condition I will tell you.”

“ What is that? ”

“ That you will give me your word to give me your own opinion of me afterwards. ”

“ The adjectives are ready, madame, I give you my word.” The words were almost broken, as though she were losing control of her voice. As he closed the door behind him, the sound of a wild and passionate sob came to him through the panel. He stood still, listening and hesitating. The truth which would have long been clear to an older or a vainer man flashed upon him suddenly. She loved him very much, and he no longer cared for her. That was the reason why she had behaved so strangely, throwing her pride and dignity to the winds in her desperate attempt to get from him a single kind and affectionate word, —from him, who had poured into her ear so many words of love but two months earlier, and from whom to draw a bare admission of friendship to-day she had almost shed tears.

“ You give it so easily ! How can I believe you ?”

“ It is so easy to give in such a case, when one has nothing disagreeable to say. ”

“ Then you think me agreeable ? ”

“ Eminently! ”

“ And charming? ”

“ Perfectly! ”

“ And beautiful? ”

“ How can you doubt it?

“ And in all other respects exactly like all the women in society to whom you repeat the same commonplaces every day of your life ? ”

The feint had been dexterous, and the thrust was sudden, straight, and unexpected.

“ Madame! ” exclaimed Orsino, in the deprecatory tone of a man taken by surprise.

“ You see, — you have nothing to say! ” She laughed a little bitterly.

“ You take too much for granted,” he said, recovering himself. “ You suppose that because I agree with you upon one point after another I agree with you in the conclusion. You do not even wait to hear my answer, and you tell me that I am checkmated when I have a dozen moves from which to choose. Besides, you have directly infringed the conditions. You have fired before the signal, and an arbitration would go against you. You have done fifty things contrary to agreement, and you accuse me of being dumb in my own defense. There is not much justice in that. You promise to tell me a certain secret on condition that I will tell you another. Then, without saying a word on your own part, you stone me with quick questions, and cry victory because I protest. You begin before I have had so much as ” —

“ For Heaven’s sake, stop!” cried Maria Consuelo, interrupting a speech which threatened to go on for twenty minutes. “You talk of chess, dueling, and stoning to death in one sentence. I am utterly confused. You upset all my ideas.”

“ Considering how you have disturbed mine, it is a fair revenge. And since we both admit that we have disturbed that balance upon which alone depends all possibility of conversation, I think that I can do nothing more graceful—pardon me, nothing less ungraceful — than wish you a pleasant journey, which I do with all my heart, madame.”

Thereupon Orsino rose and took his hat.

“ Sit down. Do not go yet,” said Maria Consuelo, growing a shade paler, and speaking with an evident effort.

“ Ah — true!” exclaimed Orsino. “We were forgetting the little commission you spoke of in your note. I am entirely at your service.”

Maria Consuelo looked at him quickly, and her lips trembled.

“ Never mind that,” she said unsteadily. “ I will not trouble you. But I do not want you to go away as —as you were going. I feel as though we had been quarreling. Perhaps we have. But let us say we are good friends — if we only say it.”

Orsino was touched and disturbed. Her face was very white, and her hand trembled visibly as she held it out. He took it in his own without hesitation.

“ If you care for my friendship, you shall have no better friend in the world than I,” he replied, simply and naturally.

“ Thank you—good-by. I shall leave to-morrow.”

To go back into the room would be madness; since he did not love her, it would almost be an insult. He bent his head and walked slowly down the corridor. He had not gone far, when he was confronted by a small dark figure that stopped the way. He recognized Maria Consuelo’s elderly maid.

“ I beg your pardon, Signor Principe,” said the little black-eyed woman. “You will allow me to say a few words? I thank you, Eccellenza. It is about my signora, in there, of whom I have charge.”

“ Of whom you have charge?” repeated Orsino, not understanding her.

“ Yes, precisely. Of course I am only her maid. You understand that. But I have charge of her, though she does not know it. The poor signora has had terrible trouble during the last few years, and at times—you understand ? She is a little — yes — here. ” She tapped her forehead. “She is better now. But in my position I sometimes think it wiser to warn some friend of hers, in strict confidence. It saves some little unnecessary complication, and I was ordered to do so by the doctors we last consulted in Paris. You will forgive me, Eccellenza, .1 am sure.”

Orsino stared at the woman for some seconds in blank astonishment. She smiled in a placid, self-confident way.

“ You mean that Madame d’Aranjuez is—mentally deranged, and that you are her keeper? It is a little hard to believe, I confess.”

“ Would you like to see my certificates, Signor Principe, or the written directions of the doctors ? I am sure you are discreet.”

“ I have no right to see anything of the kind. ” answered Orsino coldly. “Of course, if you are acting under instructions, it is no concern of mine.”

He would have gone forward, but she suddenly produced a small bit of note-paper, neatly folded, and offered it to him.

“ I thought you might like to know where we are until we return.” she said, continuing to speak in a very low voice. “It is the address.”

Orsino made an impatient gesture. He was on the point of refusing the information which he had not taken the trouble to ask of Maria Consuelo herself. But he changed his mind, and felt in his pocket for something to give the woman. It seemed the easiest and simplest way of getting rid of ber. The only note he had chanced to be one of greater value than was necessary.

“ A thousand thanks, Eccellenza! ” whispered the maid, overcome by what she took for an intentional piece of generosity.

Orsino left the hotel as quickly as he could.

“ For improbable situations, commend me to the nineteenth century and the society in which we live! ” he said to himself as he emerged into the street.

F. Marion Crawford.