The Passport

Sor Beppe's white teeth gleamed from behind his dark beard. "That is the strange part of it," he replied. "The passage leads directly into the room at the extreme end of the piano nobile, the room in which the principessina sleeps. The princess's room is next to it, and there is no other means of entry visible, except by passing through this. No doubt the princess chose it for Donna Bianca's sleeping apartment as being more secure. But, as I say, anybody acquainted with the passage could enter it."

"By a trap-door in the floor?" Don Agostino asked.

Sor Beppe shook his head. "By a much more artistic contrivance," he replied – "absolutely artistic, you understand. On pressing a spring in the passage a door slides back noiselessly into a groove in the wall of the bedroom. Ah, but those who made it were artists! The door is covered by a picture, the frame of which is so contrived as completely to conceal the groove into which it slides. A person might inhabit the room for a lifetime and not be aware that there was any means of entering or leaving it, except through the adjoining apartment."

Don Agostino leaned back in his chair and gazed at Fontana in silence. What he had just heard did not very much surprise him. He knew an old Medicean villa in Tuscany in which a secret entrance existed almost similar to that described by Sor Beppe, although it was not in so serviceable a state as its counterpart at Montefiano appeared to be. Perhaps the late Prince Montefiano had restored and repaired this one for purposes of his own. However that might be, the main point was that here, under his hand, if Sor Beppe was not romancing, was the very opportunity he had been searching for, to convey Silvio's packet to Bianca Acorari. Don Agostino felt almost bewildered at the way in which difficulties, which appeared at one moment to be insurmountable, were removed. No doubt, he argued to himself, this fresh situation was nothing but a coincidence. There was no reason why a mediæval fortress such as Montefiano, to which a Renaissance palace has been attached, should not have a dozen secret passages concealed in its walls. But it was, at any rate, a very fortunate circumstance, and one which, cautiously made use of, might considerably assist the ends he had in view.

He looked at Fontana silently for a few moments as though trying to read the man's thoughts.

"What you have told me is very interesting," he observed, presently; "but I do not understand how your daughter comes to overhear what may be said while in the secret passage. She does not, I conclude, spend all her time in the vicinity of Donna Bianca's room; and even if she did, how could she hear through a stone wall?"

"Altro! Your reverence is quite right," returned Sor Beppe. "But that is easily explained, only I forgot to explain it. Every word spoken in certain of the apartments on the piano nobile can be distinctly heard by any one standing in the secret passage if, ben inteso, that person is in that part of it immediately outside the room in which the conversation takes place. It is managed very cleverly. One has only to know where to stand. For example, the passage runs the whole length of the dining-room. That was a wise thought of those who made it, for who knows what secrets the spies of the old Acorari may not have learned? Food and wine open men's mouths. And the room next to the dining-room, reverendo, is occupied by the Abbé Roux as his study. It is there that he and the baron sit and smoke at nights when their excellencies have retired to their rooms."

Don Agostino nodded. "As you say," he observed, "the castle of Montefiano is not a safe place for confidences."

"Or for rogues," added Sor Beppe.

"That depends," returned Don Agostino, dryly. "But why," he added, "did you not warn the princess of the existence of this secret entrance? Surely it is scarcely safe if people are aware of it."

"But nobody knows of it," replied Fontana. "All that the people know is that once upon a time there was supposed to be a secret communication between the castle and the town; and when I was a lad, it used to be said that the prince had availed himself of it for certain adventures, for everybody knew that he had an eye for every good-looking woman except his own wife."

"Never mind the prince," interrupted Don Agostino, abruptly. "Nobody else knows of the passage, you say?"

"They think it no longer exists," continued Sor Beppe. "I have always said that it was built up years ago. It was a lie, of course; but it was not necessary to let people think they could get into the castle unobserved. I forbade Concetta ever to mention it. As to naming the matter to the princess, I saw no necessity to do that. I would have told the principessina of it if I had ever had the chance of speaking with her alone. But Concetta implored me not to mention it even to the principessina. It would make her nervous, she said, to sleep in a room with a sliding-door in the wall."

"Ah," remarked Don Agostino, "you would have mentioned it to Donna Bianca; then why not to the princess?"

Sor Beppe shrugged his shoulders. "She is not the padrona– that other one," he said; "and, besides, she is only a foreigner, and a second wife. I would do anything to serve the Principessina Bianca – anything! – for she is an Acorari and Principessa di Montefiano. Who knows," he continued, angrily, "whether it is not because I am loyal to the principessina that I am dismissed? I have only seen her a few times, reverendo, but I give you my word that I would rather have a smile and a buon giorno, from Donna Bianca than – well, I do not know what to say."

Don Agostino smiled. "I am glad to hear it," he said. "After all, it is very natural that you should feel so. Donna Bianca is your padrona."

"Was!" interrupted Sor Beppe, swallowing a curse in his beard at the same time.

"Ah! but let us wait, my friend," proceeded Don Agostino. "Perhaps the princess will discover that she has been ill-advised, and then you will be reinstated. In the mean time, you will not be doing either yourself or Donna Bianca Acorari any harm by continuing to be loyal to her. You may, perhaps, be able to serve her, to have an opportunity of showing your loyalty – who knows?"

Sor Beppe passed the back of his brown hand across his eyes. "Magari!" he said, warmly; "magari! if I could serve her! Poveretta, I fear she needs friends badly enough. It is all very fine of the Abbé Roux to talk about Donna Bianca being in villeggiatura at Montefiano. Ma che villeggiatura! It is an imprisonment, pure and simple. Do I not know it – I? The poor child! She is shut up here to keep her away from her lover in Rome; the maid, Bettina, has said as much to Concetta. And there are strict orders that no one is to enter the castle – no stranger, that is. All the letters are taken to the princess, both the post that arrives and that which goes out. It would have been more humane to have put the girl into a convent. At any rate, she would have had companions, and there would presumably be no old he-goat to make love to her."

Don Agostino listened to Sor Beppe's flow of language with a certain amount of satisfaction. The man was evidently sincere in his devotion to Bianca Acorari, and it was pleasant to him, moreover, to hear that Bianca was one of those who were able to inspire personal devotion. That Fontana knew, or at least suspected, more than he divulged of the state of affairs at the castle, and of the intrigues of which Bianca formed the central figure, he had not the slightest doubt. Many whispers had already reached his ears as to the close watch which was being kept over the young princess, how she was always accompanied by either her step-mother or the Baron d'Antin, and how the baron was evidently deeply in love with her. He had often wondered how these rumors were spread, for he happened to know that there was little or no communication between the small household the princess had brought with her and the town of Montefiano. There were no young men-servants, indeed, to go out and gossip in the osteria; for Princess Montefiano had only brought her maggior-domofrom Palazzo Acorari, a venerable person of sedate habits, and one scarcely less venerable man in livery; and neither of these had ever been known to leave the castle walls or to exchange a word with the Montefianesi.

No doubt the rumors in question, and more particularly the rumors concerning Baron d'Antin, had been circulated by Concetta Fontana, and Don Agostino was not altogether sorry if this were really the case. It would be no bad thing were public opinion at Montefiano to be aroused to sympathy with Bianca Acorari and distrust of the princess's advisers. It was more than probable that Monsieur l'Abbé Roux, in bringing about Fontana's dismissal, had committed an impolitic act. Although the fattore might have lost some of his popularity owing to recent events, he was, nevertheless, a native of the district, and well known throughout the Sabina.

"Does your reverence really think that the princess will reconsider my dismissal?" asked Sor Beppe, as Don Agostino did not speak. "You can understand," he continued, "that it is a hard thing for me. I am not an old man, that is true; but I am too old to be transplanted. Besides, we Fontana have served Casa Acorari for four generations or more, and it is a bitter thing to be turned away by a foreign woman and an imbroglione of a priest."

Don Agostino nodded sympathetically. "It is a hard thing, certainly," he replied, "and it is also, so far as I can see, an unjust thing. As to whether the princess will reconsider the matter, that I cannot tell you. You must remember that, as I think I have told you before, I have never seen the princess. But her rule will not last forever; and when Donna Bianca has the management of her own affairs, things may be very different. She is not a foreigner, and is not at all likely to be influenced by priests, I should say. Probably she will reward those who have been loyal to her, and her own people will come before strangers, unless I am very much mistaken."

Sor Beppe looked at him shrewdly. "I thought you said you did not know the principessina?" he said.

"Neither do I," answered Don Agostino, "but I know something about her."

"Perhaps you know her lover – oh, I do not mean that Belgian goat, but the other one?"

"Yes – I know him."

"Ah! And he is worthy of the principessina?"

"I feel convinced that he is thoroughly worthy."

"Then what is the objection? He has no money, perhaps?"

"He is not noble."

"Diamine! and what does that matter if he is worthy in other ways? I do not suppose he is a contadino."

"No," replied Don Agostino, smiling, "he is an engineer, and some day he will be a great man, I believe. His father is a great man already, the famous Senator Rossano. You have perhaps heard of him?"

"Altro! So it is he whom the principessina is in love with! Well, reverendo, is it not better than marrying that old baron with ink-pots under his eyes?"

Don Agostino laughed. "Certainly!" he replied. "But the baron and the Abbé Roux think otherwise. That is the difficulty; and what they think, the princess thinks."

"Si capisce!"

"Signor Fontana," said Don Agostino, suddenly, "you said just now that you would do anything for Donna Bianca. Were you in earnest?"

"And why not, reverendo?"

"Bene! You have the opportunity of proving your loyalty."

He rose from his chair, and, taking Silvio's packet from the writing-table, placed it in Sor Beppe's hands. "I have promised Signor Rossano, Donna Bianca's affianced husband, that this should reach her without delay. She has been waiting for it for weeks. Will you undertake that it shall be given into her hands, and into her hands only?"

Sor Beppe's eyes flashed. "I swear it!" he said. "Concetta shall give it to her this very night."

"Concetta? But is she to be trusted?"

"As much as I am to be trusted, reverendo. Concetta would do anything to serve the principessina. You need not be afraid. Donna Bianca shall have her lover's letter this very night. You can guess how?"

"Of course. But will she not be terrified at seeing your daughter enter her room in such a manner? Remember that the princess sleeps next door to her."

"Concetta will know what to do," returned Sor Beppe.

"Good. But there must be no failure – no risk of the packet falling into other hands, or its delivery being suspected."

"There will be none."

Don Agostino held out his hand. "You will not regret what you have undertaken," he said, "and you may be sure that the principessina will not forget it, either. We must save her from a great unhappiness, my friend, and perhaps from, worse than that. Now, I must be inhospitable and ask you to go; for it is late, and you have to arrange matters with Concetta, who by this time is probably asleep. Who knows what led you to visit me this evening? I had been turning over in my mind every means I could imagine to insure that packet reaching Donna Bianca safely. It is certainly very strange."

Sor Beppe buttoned up the little parcel securely in the corner pocket of his coat. "To-morrow I will come again," he said, "and who knows that I shall not bring with me an acknowledgment from the principessina that she has received the packet safely? Then you can write to her lover and tell him so. All the same, if I were that young man, I would come to Montefiano and take Donna Bianca away with me – even if I had to slit the throats of the baron and the Abbé Roux in the doing of it." And muttering a string of expletives under his breath, Sor Beppe passed out into the garden. Don Agostino let him out through the door, opening to the piazza in front of the church; and then, after standing for a few moments to watch his tall figure striding away down the white road towards the castle, he went slowly back into his house, bidding Ernana, whose curiosity as to Sor Beppe's visit had brought her out to the threshold, lock up the door and go to bed.

XXIV

Monsieur d'Antin's visit to Rome was not of long duration. He returned to Montefiano two days after the evening when he had dined at the Castello di Costantino, in close proximity to Professor Rossano and his little party. That evening had certainly been an entertaining one to him, for many reasons. He had, of course, instantly recognized Silvio and Giacinta Rossano, while his host and companion, Peretti, had as quickly identified the professor. Except for the brief glimpse Monsieur d'Antin had caught of Silvio on the staircase of Palazzo Acorari, he had never had an opportunity of watching him with any attention; yet the boy's form and features were well impressed on his memory, and he would in any case have known he must be Giacinta Rossano's brother by the strong likeness existing between the two.

It had been his ill-disguised interest in him, and the marked manner in which he stared, that had nearly provoked Silvio into openly resenting this liberty on the part of a stranger; and probably Monsieur d'Antin had very little idea that he had narrowly escaped bringing about a scene which he might afterwards have had cause to regret. His glance and attitude had been so insolent, indeed, that for a moment or two Silvio had wondered whether he did not intend to provoke a public quarrel, which could have had but one result – a meeting with pistols or swords in some secluded villa garden, where the police were not likely to interfere. Had Giacinta, confident from her brother's face that a storm was brewing, and knowing that though storms were rare with Silvio they were apt to be violent if they burst, not taken Monsieur Lelli's advice and hurried him and her father away from the terrace, there was no saying what complication might not have arisen still further to increase the difficulties of the general situation.

As a matter of fact, Monsieur d'Antin's vanity had received a violent shock. He had known that Silvio Rossano was extremely good-looking, for he had gathered as much when he had seen him ascending the staircase at Palazzo Acorari. But he had not realized it as fully as he did that evening at the Castello di Costantino. The discovery annoyed him exceedingly, for obvious reasons. He had, up to that moment, felt no particular personal antipathy towards a presumptuous young man of the bourgeois class, who had ventured to consider himself a fitting husband for Bianca Acorari. On the contrary, Monsieur d'Antin had felt most grateful to him for having, by his presumption and want of knowledge of the ways of good society, placed Bianca in an equivocal position, and at the mercy of anybody who might choose to set a scandal abroad concerning her.

But that night, as he looked across the restaurant at the table where Silvio was sitting, he hated him for his youth, for his tall, well-knit form, for his good-looking face; and perhaps, more than all, for a certain indefinable air of high-breeding and easy grace, which Monsieur d'Antin angrily told himself a person of the middle class had no right to possess. Nothing escaped him. He watched Silvio's manner, his mode of eating and drinking, his dress, everything, in short, which could betray the cloven hoof he was longing to discover. He could overhear, too, snatches of the conversation from Professor Rossano's table, and he was disagreeably surprised by what he heard. There was none of the loud, vulgar intonation of the voices usually the accompaniment of any gathering together of Romans of the middle and lower orders, and none of the two eternal topics of conversation – food and money – from which the Roman of the middle classes can with difficulty be persuaded to tear himself away.

Monsieur d'Antin could not but confess that, so far, at any rate, as appearance and manner were concerned, Silvio was a great deal more of a gentleman than very many of the young men of rank and fashion he was accustomed to meet in the drawing-rooms of la haute societé in Rome; and that he had another advantage that these, as a rule, did not possess – he looked intelligent and manly.

The reflection was not pleasing. He would have far preferred to be able to detect some trace of vulgarity in Bianca's presumptuous lover, and he could discover none. He was disagreeably conscious, too, of his own disadvantages as he looked at Silvio – of his years, of his figure, and of other details beside these.

But if the Rossano family, and especially Silvio, had occupied his attention and interest that evening, Monsieur d'Antin had been hardly less concerned with the personality of Monsignor Lelli. His companion had immediately detected the latter's presence and had pointed him out, at the same time rapidly explaining who he was and his past history at the Vatican.

The commendatore– he was commendatore of the papal Order of St. Gregory – made it his business to know as much as he could find out about everybody in Rome, and his information – when it happened to be of sufficient interest, personal, political, or religious – having been for some time placed at the disposal of his patron at the Vatican, the cardinal secretary of state, had been duly paid for by the bestowal of a clerical order of chivalry. It was rumored that he had been the instrument of making more than one wealthy English and American convert to Catholicism among the fair sex; which, as he was not ill-looking, and occupied some of his spare time by giving Italian lessons in eligible quarters, was not improbable. At any rate, the commendatore knew all about Monsignor Lelli and the history of his falling into disgrace at the Vatican, though he was very careful only to give Monsieur d'Antin the official version of the affair. The story did not interest Monsieur d'Antin very much. Moreover, as it turned upon political and financial matters, in which clerics and their money were concerned, he did not believe more than a very small proportion of what he was told. What interested him far more, was the fact that Monsignor Lelli had been sent to work out his repentance at Montefiano; and that he was undoubtedly on intimate terms with the Rossano family.

The departure from the restaurant of the Rossanos and the priest had not escaped the quick eye of the commendatore.

"He does not want it known that he is in Rome," he had whispered to Monsieur d'Antin, as Don Agostino disappeared from the terrace.

Monsieur d'Antin did not reply. He thought it far more probable that Monsignor Lelli did not wish to be seen in Silvio's society by anybody connected with the Montefiano household. He kept his own counsel, however, and allowed his companion to think that it was his appearance on the scene that had frightened the priest away. The time had not yet arrived for letting the outside world into the secret of Bianca Acorari's indiscretion.

"I shall certainly let them know at the Vatican that Lelli is in Rome," Peretti said to Monsieur d'Antin. "Who knows why he is here, instead of attending to his duties at Montefiano? I am almost sure it was to Montefiano he was sent, but I will make certain to-morrow, when I shall see the cardinal."

"Why did they choose Montefiano?" asked Monsieur d'Antin. "It is a dreary place; and whenever I have driven through the town, I have seen nothing but pigs and old women – very ugly old women."

Peretti laughed. "That is why he was sent there," he replied. "The Holy Father concluded that he was better fitted to deal with pigs and old women than with finance."

"How long will he be kept there?"

The other lifted his eyebrows. "Mah!" he said. "Who knows?"

It had not suited Monsieur d'Antin's purpose to discuss Monsignor Lelli any further with the host that evening. He reflected that whatever Peretti might know about him, the Abbé Roux would know also, and possibly considerably more. He wondered that the abbé had never mentioned the fact that the parish priest at Montefiano had once been a member of the papal court, or alluded to him in any way. It did not surprise him that Monsignor Lelli should never have presented himself at the castle, for he quite understood that the Abbé Roux would not allow any opportunity of poaching over his ground on the part of a brother cleric. Besides, there was a chapel in the castle, and mass, and the Abbé Roux said the mass; at which latter thought Monsieur d'Antin smiled, as if it afforded him some amusement.

And so he returned, the next day but one, to Montefiano, resolved to lose no time in acquainting the Abbé Roux with the news that he had seen Monsignor Lelli dining at a Roman restaurant in the company of the Rossano family, and apparently on terms of intimate friendship both with the Senator Rossano and with his son. There could be no kind of doubt that this intimacy, so providentially discovered, might seriously compromise the ultimate success of the scheme which had been so carefully devised for compelling Bianca to give up all thoughts of young Rossano, and accept what was offered to her in the place of his presumptuous attachment. Nothing but a separation from her lover, which should be complete in every detail, could accomplish this object; and if Silvio Rossano had a friend at Montefiano, and that friend the parroco, there could be no saying what means might not be resorted to for the purpose of establishing the very communications between him and Bianca which it was so imperative to render absolutely impracticable.

It was nearly mid-day before Monsieur d'Antin, who had taken the early morning train from Rome to Attigliano, arrived at Montefiano, and he had barely time to wash, and change his dusty clothes, before joining his sister at breakfast. A glance at the princess's face showed him that something had certainly occurred during his absence to upset her. The Abbé Roux, who was also at the table, looked both preoccupied and cross. Only Bianca appeared serene, and, to Monsieur d'Antin's surprise, altogether contented. There was a light in her eyes and an expression of scarcely suppressed happiness on her face that he never remembered to have seen there, certainly not since he had been at Montefiano. It reminded him of the look she had worn on the afternoon of his visit to the Villa Acorari, when he had found her alone in the Marble Hall, fresh from her stolen interview with her lover.