Whatever trouble Ethel had experienced
at Naples from her conviction that Hawbury was false
was increased and, if possible, intensified by the
discovery that he had followed them to Rome. His
true motives for this could not possibly be known
to her, so she, of course, concluded that it was his
infatuation for Minnie, and his determination to win
her for himself. She felt confident that he knew
that she belonged to the party, but was so utterly
indifferent to her that he completely ignored her,
and had not sufficient interest in her to ask the
commonest question about her. All this, of course,
only confirmed her previous opinion, and it also deepened
her melancholy. One additional effect it also
had, and that was to deprive her of any pleasure that
might be had from drives about Rome. She felt
a morbid dread of meeting him somewhere; she did not
yet feel able to encounter him; she could not trust
herself; she felt sure that if she saw him she would
lose all self-control, and make an exhibition of humiliating
weakness. The dread of this was sufficient to
detain her at home; and so she remained indoors, a
prisoner, refusing her liberty, brooding over her
troubles, and striving to acquire that indifference
to him which she believed he had toward her.
Now going about was the very thing which would have
alleviated her woes, but this was the very thing that
she was unwilling to do; nor could any persuasion
shake her resolve.
One day Mrs. Willoughby and Minnie
were out driving, and in passing through a street
they encountered a crowd in front of one of the churches.
Another crowd was inside, and, as something was going
on, they stopped the carriage and sat looking.
The Swiss Guards were there in their picturesque costume,
and the cardinals in their scarlet robes and scarlet
coaches, and military officers of high rank, and carriages
of the Roman aristocracy filled with beautiful ladies.
Something of importance was going on, the nature of
which they did not know. A little knot of Englishmen
stood near; and from their remarks the ladies gathered
that this was the Church of the Jesuits, and that the
Pope in person was going to perform high-mass, and
afterward hold a reception.
Soon there arose a murmur and a bustle
among the crowd, which was succeeded by a deep stillness.
The Swiss Guards drove the throng to either side,
and a passage-way was thus formed through the people
to the church. A carriage drove up in great state.
In this was seated an elderly gentleman in rich pontifical
robes. He had a mild and gentle face, upon which
was a sweet and winning smile. No face is more
attractive than that of Pio Nono.
“Oh, look!” cried Minnie;
“that must be the Pope. Oh, what a darling!”
Mrs. Willoughby, however, was looking elsewhere.
“Minnie,” said she.
“What, Kitty dear?”
“Are you acquainted with any Zouave officer?”
“Zouave officer! Why, no;
what put such a thing as that into your head, you
old silly?”
“Because there’s a Zouave
officer over there in the crowd who has been staring
fixedly at us ever since we came up, and trying to
make signals, and it’s my opinion he’s
signaling to you. Look at him; he’s over
there on the top of the steps.”
“I won’t look,”
said Minnie, pettishly. “How do I know who
he is? I declare I’m afraid to look at
any body. He’ll be coming and saving my
life.”
“I’m sure this man is an old acquaintance.”
“Nonsense! how can he be?”
“It may be Captain Kirby.”
“How silly! Why, Captain Kirby is in the
Rifles.”
“Perhaps he is dressed this way just for amusement.
Look at him.”
“Now, Kitty, I think you’re
unkind. You know I don’t want to
look at him; I don’t want to see him. I
don’t care who he is the great, big,
ugly, old horrid! And if you say any thing more,
I’ll go home.”
Mrs. Willoughby was about to say something,
but her attention and Minnie’s, and that of
every one else, was suddenly diverted to another quarter.
Among the crowd they had noticed a
tall man, very thin, with a lean, cadaverous face,
and long, lanky, rusty black hair. He wore a white
neck-tie, and a suit of rusty black clothes. He
also held a large umbrella in his hand, which he kept
carefully up out of the way of the crowd. This
figure was a conspicuous one, even in that crowd, and
the ladies had noticed it at the very first.
As the Pope drove up they saw this
long, slim, thin, cadaverous man, in his suit of rusty
black, edging his way through the crowd, so as to
get nearer, until at length he stood immediately behind
the line of Swiss Guards, who were keeping the crowd
back, and forming a passageway for the Pope.
Meanwhile his Holiness was advancing through the crowd.
He reached out his hand, and smiled and bowed and murmured
a blessing over them. At last his carriage stopped.
The door was opened, and several attendants prepared
to receive the Pope and assist him out.
At that instant the tall, slim stranger
pushed forward his sallow head, with its long, lanky,
and rusty black hair, between two Swiss Guards, and
tried to squeeze between them. The Swiss at first
stood motionless, and the stranger had actually succeeded
in getting about half-way through. He was immediately
in front of his Holiness, and staring at him with
all his might. His Holiness saw this very peculiar
face, and was so surprised that he uttered an involuntary
exclamation, and stopped short in his descent.
The stranger stopped short too, and
quite involuntarily also. For the Swiss Guards,
irritated by his pertinacity, and seeing the Pope’s
gesture, turned suddenly, and two of them grasped the
stranger by his coat collar.
It was, of course, an extremely undignified
attitude for the Swiss Guards, whose position is simply
an ornamental one. Nothing but the most unparalleled
outrage to their dignity could have moved them to
this. So unusual a display of energy, however,
did not last long. A few persons in citizens’
clothes darted forward from among the crowd, and secured
the stranger; while the Swiss, seeing who they were,
resumed their erect, rigid, and ornamental attitude.
The Pope found no longer any obstacle, and resumed
his descent. For a moment the stranger had created
a wide-spread consternation in the breasts of all
the different and very numerous classes of men who
composed that crowd. The arrest was the signal
for a murmur of voices, among which the ladies heard
those of the knot of Englishmen who stood near.
“It’s some Garibaldian,” said they.
And this was the general sentiment.
Several hours after this they were
at home, and a caller was announced. It was the
Baron Atramonte.
“Atramonte!” said Lady
Dalrymple. “Who is that? We’re
not at home, of course. Atramonte! Some
of these Italian nobles. Really, I think we have
seen enough of them. Who is he, Kitty?”
“I’m sure I haven’t
the faintest idea. I never heard of him in my
life.”
“We’re not at home, of
course. It’s a singular way, and surely
can not be Roman fashion. It’s not civilized
fashion. But the Continental nobility are so
odd.”
In a few minutes the servant, who
had been dispatched to say, “Not at home,”
returned with the statement that the Baron wished particularly
to see Miss Fay on urgent business.
At this extraordinary message Lady
Dalrymple and Mrs. Willoughby looked first at one
another, and then at Minnie, in amazement.
“I’m sure I don’t
know any thing about him,” said Minnie.
“They always tease me so. Oh, do
go and see who he is, and send him away please!
Oh, do, please, Dowdy dear!”
“Well, I suppose I had better
see the person,” said Lady Dalrymple, good-naturedly.
“There must be some mistake. How is he dressed?”
she asked the servant. “Is he a military
gentleman? Most of them seem to belong to the
army.”
“Yes, my lady. Zouave dress, my lady.”
At this Mrs. Willoughby and Minnie
looked at one another. Lady Dalrymple went away;
and as no other was present, Ethel being, as usual,
in her room, Mrs. Willoughby sighed and said,
“I thought that man must know you.”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t
know him,” said Minnie. “I never knew
a Zouave officer in my life.”
“It may be Captain Kirby, under
an assumed name and a disguise.”
“Oh no, it isn’t.
I don’t believe he would be such a perfect monster.
Oh dear! It’s somebody, though. It
must be. And he wants me. Oh, what shall
I do?”
“Nonsense! You need not
go. Aunty will see him, and send him off.”
“Oh, I do so hope he’ll go; but I’m
afraid he won’t.”
After a short time Lady Dalrymple returned.
“Really,” said she, “this
is a most extraordinary person. He speaks English,
but not at all like an Englishman. I don’t
know who he is. He calls himself a Baron, but
he doesn’t seem to be a foreigner. I’m
puzzled.”
“I hope he’s gone,” said Mrs. Willoughby.
“No that’s
the worst of it. He won’t go. He says
he must see Minnie, and he won’t tell his errand.
I told him that he could not see you, but that I would
tell you what he wanted, and that you were not at
home. And what do you think he said?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Dowdy dear.”
“Why, he said he had nothing
to do, and would wait till you came back. And
he took his seat in a way that showed that he meant
to wait. Really, I’m quite at a loss what
to do. You’ll have to see him, Kitty dear.”
“What a strange person!”
said Mrs. Willoughby. “It’s so
rude. And don’t you know what he is?
How do you know he isn’t an Italian?”
“Oh, his English, you know.
He speaks it perfectly, but not like an Englishman,
you know, nor like a Scotchman either, or an Irishman.
I wonder whether he may not be an American?”
At this Minnie started.
“Oh dear!” she said.
“What’s the matter, darling?”
“An American! Oh dear! what will
become of me!”
“Why,” said Lady Dalrymple, “do
you know him, then, after all?”
“Oh, I’m so afraid that I know
him!”
“Who is it, dear?”
“Oh, Dowdy! Oh, Kitty!”
“What’s the matter?”
“It must be that man. Oh, was there ever
such a trouble ”
“Really, Minnie dearest, you
are allowing yourself to get too agitated. Who
is this person?”
“He he’s an American.”
“An American? Why, I just
said that I thought he might be one. I didn’t
know that you were acquainted with any.”
“Oh yes; I did get acquainted with some in in
Canada.”
“Oh; and is this man a Canadian?”
“No, Dowdy darling; only an American.”
“Well, if he’s a friend
of yours, I suppose you know something about him.
But how singular it is that you have so completely
forgotten his name. Atramonte? Why, I’m
sure it’s a very singular name for an
American gentleman at least it seems so
to me but I don’t know much about
them, you know. Tell me, darling, who is he?”
“He he saved my life.”
“What! saved your life?
Why, my precious child, what are you talking
about? It was the Italian that saved your life,
you know, not this one.”
“Oh, but he did too,”
said Minnie, despairingly. “I couldn’t
help it. He would do it. Papa was washed
away. I wish they all wouldn’t be so horrid.”
Lady Dalrymple looked in an equally
despairing manner at Mrs. Willoughby.
“What is it, Kitty dear? Is
the child insane, or what does she mean? How
could this person have saved her life?”
“That’s just what distracts
me,” said Minnie. “They all do it.
Every single person comes and saves my life.
And now I suppose I must go down and see this person.”
“Well, really, since you say
he saved your life, perhaps it would be as well not
to be uncivil,” said Lady Dalrymple; “but,
at the same time, he seems to me to act in a very
extraordinary manner. And he calls himself a
Baron. Do they have nobles in America?”
“I’m sure I don’t
know, Dowdy dear. I never knew that he was a Baron.
He may have been the son of some American Baron; and and I’m
sure I don’t know.”
“Nonsense, Minnie dear,”
said Mrs. Willoughby. “This man’s
title is a foreign one. He probably obtained
it in Italy or Spain, or perhaps Mexico. I think
they have titles in Mexico, though I really don’t
know.”
“Why, of course, one isn’t
expected to know any thing about America,” said
Lady Dalrymple. “I can mention quite a number
of English statesmen, members of the cabinet, and
others, who don’t know any more about America
than I do.”
“Do you really intend to go
down yourself and see him, Minnie dear?” asked
Mrs. Willoughby.
“How can I help it? What
am I to do? I must go, Kitty darling. He
is so very positive, and and he insists
so. I don’t want to hurt his feelings,
you know; and I really think there is nothing for me
to do but to go. What do you think about it,
Dowdy dear?” and she appealed to her aunt.
“Well, Minnie, my child, I think
it would be best not to be unkind or uncivil, since
he saved your life.”
Upon this Minnie accompanied her sister
to see the visitor.
Mrs. Willoughby entered the room first,
and Minnie was close behind her, as though she sought
protection from some unknown peril. On entering
the room they saw a man dressed in Zouave uniform.
His hair was cropped short; he wore a mustache and
no beard; his features were regular and handsome;
while a pair of fine dark eyes were looking earnestly
at the door, and the face and the eyes had the expression
of one who is triumphantly awaiting the result of
some agreeable surprise. Mrs. Willoughby at once
recognized the stranger as the Zouave officer who
had stared at them near the Church of the Jesuits.
She advanced with lady-like grace toward him, when
suddenly he stepped hastily past her, without taking
any notice of her, and catching Minnie in his arms,
he kissed her several times.
Mrs. Willoughby started back in horror.
Minnie did not resist, nor did she
scream, or faint, or do any thing. She only looked
a little confused, and managed to extricate herself,
after which she took a seat as far away as she could,
putting her sister between her and the Zouave.
But the Zouave’s joy was full, and he didn’t
appear to notice it. He settled himself in a chair,
and laughed loud in his happiness.
“Only to think of it,”
said he. “Why, I had no more idea of your
being here, Minnie, than Victory. Well,
here you see me. Only been here a couple of months
or so. You got my last favor, of course?
And ain’t you regular knocked up to see me a
Baron? Yes, a Baron a real, live Baron!
I’ll tell you all about it. You see I was
here two or three years ago the time of
Mentana and fought on the Pope’s
side. Odd thing, too, wasn’t it, for an
American? But so it was. Well, they promoted
me, and wanted me to stay. But I couldn’t
fix it. I had business off home, and was on my
way there the time of the shipwreck. Well, I’ve
been dodgin’ all round every where since then,
but never forgettin’ little Min, mind you, and
at last I found myself here, all right. I’d
been speculatin’ in wines and raisins, and just
dropped in here to take pot-luck with some old Zouave
friends, when, darn me! if they didn’t make
me stay. It seems there’s squally times
ahead. They wanted a live man. They knew
I was that live man. They offered me any thing
I wanted. They offered me the title of Baron Atramonte.
That knocked me, I tell you. Says I, I’m
your man. So now you see me Baron Atramonte,
captain in the Papal Zouaves, ready to go where
glory waits me but fonder than ever of
little Min. Oh, I tell you what, I ain’t
a bit of a brag, but I’m some here.
The men think I’m a little the tallest lot in
the shape of a commander they ever did see.
When I’m in Rome I do as the Romans do, and
so I let fly at them a speech every now and then.
Why, I’ve gone through nearly the whole ’National
Speaker’ by this time. I’ve given
them Marcellus’s speech to the mob, Brutus’s
to the Romans, and Antony’s over Caesar’s
dead body. I tried a bit of Cicero against Catiline,
but I couldn’t remember it very well. You
know it, of course. Quousque tandem, you know.”
“Well, Min, how goes it?”
he continued. “This is jolly; and,
what’s more, it’s real good in you darn
me if it ain’t! I knew you’d be regularly
struck up all of a heap when you heard of me as a Baron,
but I really didn’t think you’d come all
the way here to see me. And you do look stunning!
You do beat all! And this lady? You haven’t
introduced me, you know.”
The Baron rose, and looked expectantly
at Mrs. Willoughby, and then at Minnie. The latter
faltered forth some words, among which the Baron caught
the names Mrs. Willoughby and Rufus K. Gunn, the latter
name pronounced, with the middle initial and all,
in a queer, prim way.
“Mrs. Willoughby ah! Min’s
sister, I presume. Well, I’m pleased to
see you, ma’am. Do you know, ma’am,
I have reason to remember your name? It’s
associated with the brightest hours of my life.
It was in your parlor, ma’am, that I first obtained
Min’s promise of her hand. Your hand, madam.”
And, stooping down, he grasped Mrs.
Willoughby’s hand, which was not extended, and
wrung it so hard that she actually gave a little shriek.
“For my part, ma’am,”
he continued, “I’m not ashamed of my name not
a mite. It’s a good, honest name; but being
as the Holy Father’s gone and made me a noble,
I prefer being addressed by my title. All Americans
are above titles. They despise them. But
being in Rome, you see, we must do as the Romans do;
and so you needn’t know me as Rufus K. Gunn,
but as the Baron Atramonte. As for you, Min you
and I won’t stand on ceremony you
may call me ‘Roof,’ or any other name you
fancy. I would suggest some pet name something
a little loving, you know.”
In the midst of all this, which was
poured forth with extreme volubility, the servant
came and handed a card.
“Count Girasole.”