You are now going to visit the palace of a prince," said Murietta as he took his seat, and the carriage passed under the arch and out into the street.
Mollie looked up, for she knew he was addressing her.
"And oh, won't that be jolly! Pictures as old as St. Luke, old swords and lances on the wall, helmets hanging all around, great armour, men of steel standing in every comer. Oh, I know just what it's like. Bet your life I know all about it. I've read all the books and novels that ever was, and —"
"Nay, but this is nothing of that sort, Miss Mollie," broke in Murietta, for he wanted to prepare her mind for something unpleasant, instead of allowing it to run riot in such imaginings. "No, nothing of that sort at all." And the artist shook his head gravely.
"Well, there is at least a secret stair case and a skeleton or two, and some pretty story about a cruel old father and a faithful maiden and a brave knight."
"Like Paolini, for instance," chimed in Carlton.
"Like Count Paolini, if you please, Mr. Carlton," said Mollie, tossing her pretty head half haughtily at Carlton.
"I protest," urged Murietta once more and very gravely, "this house where I live, and this old prince lives, and some others that you happen to know, is nothing of the sort. It is a rotten, tumbledown old barracks, or anything you choose to call it that is vile, and we who live there are beggars."
"Beggars!" cried Mollie, catching her breath.
"Yes, beggars. That is, we are not all beggars; some of us are only thieves and robbers."
Mollie's eyes were wide with wonder as she sat gazing at the earnest and immovable face of the artist.
"But speak! you look as if you meant it!"
"I mean it; every word of it." Then leaning over towards the half frightened, honest hearted girl, he said, "Mollie, you have often asked to see my home in Rome."
"Yes," answered the girl.
"I promised you that pleasure, or whatever you may be polite enough to call it, often time."
"Well?"
"I also once said to you that Prince Trawaska was a villain!"
"You did, and he is the gentlest of men. Why, he is the bosom friend of Count Paolini!"
"One moment. Here we are. Here we get out, climb these broken steps, and then up a narrow court, and then up a narrower stair, and we are in the palace of the old prince, where I and Prince Trawaska and Count Paolini, singularly enough, have been thrown together. And Mollie, listen."
The girl looked eagerly in his face as the carriage stopped, and the footman opened the door, and the artist went on hurriedly, "Were you not a Califomian, and the full hearted whole souled little creature that you are, I would not waste my time and risk being run through for this. Nay, I would not dare bring anyone in all the worid but you face to face with the truth, as I shall to-day!"
The others had descended and were waiting for Murietta to lead up the broken steps.
"Why, this would make a pretty good pasture for cattle," said Mrs. Wopsus, as they went up the broken steps and brushed the long strong grass that was growing up between the cracks in the rocks and out of the crevices.
Carlton, light hearted and careless as ever, tapped a little curly headed boy on his head as he politely lifted his cap with its crown and gold band, which showed he belonged to the newly established schools of Rome, and the party began to ascend the narrow, dirty steps.
"How dark it is!" said Mollie.
"Perhaps this is the secret staircase of the palace where we are to find the skeletons" said Carlton as they still climbed and climbed one after the other in Indian file.
"What a smell of onions!" said Mrs. Wopsus behind her handkerchief, as she panted and caught her breath at every step.
At last they stopped at the head of the stairs and looked at each other, for here was an open window looking out towards St. Peter's.
"Well, 'tis not so dreadful bad after all," said Mollie as she leaned against the wall and looked out and over the Tiber towards St. Peter's.
Murietta threw back his cloak, and fumbled a moment in his pocket. Then the door flew open, or rather groaned open, and stepping back, he beckoned his friends to enter. They went in, headed by Mollie, and passed on down the narrow hall in single file.
"First door to the right," called out the artist. The door stood ajar, and Mollie peeped in.
"No thank you, I will stop here and take a peep at St. Peter's." So saying she turned to the open window and leaned over and looked out and away to the north. A little yellow bird was hopping against the wall in its wire cage, and the merry hearted girl searched in her pocket, drew forth a handful of sweets, and began to feed the bird, while the party entered and sat down in the little parlour and studio of the artist, with its single picture.
Carlton saw this picture, cried "By Jove!" and then sat down before it in silence, and sat and looked as if he would continue so for hours without once lifting his eyes from the great moving and wonderful face before him.
Mrs. Wopsus occupied herself in looking out from the studio window to the south, and watching the innumerable cats along the top of the walls.
A black eyed countess in a cloud of hair came timidly in.
"Is the prince your father in?" asked Murietta.
"Oh yes, he is always in at this hour, the dear good old father, he is always in at this hour for his lunch."
"Pray don't disturb him now; but when he has quite finished his lunch let him know that I am here with some friends who would be glad to see him." The countess withdrew, and Murietta went up to where Mollie stood whistling and feeding the little yellow bird.
"Have a goodie?"
"No thanks; no candies for me this morning, my little school girl."
"My little school girl! My little school girl! Now look here, Mr. Murietta, I'm seventeen come next May, I'm not a school girl, I've finished. Bet your life I'm done. And, Mr. Murietta, I'm not going back to school any more. Johnny must go back because Johnny's a boy, and is not so old even as I am, but I — not for Joseph!"
And here she danced and spun about, and whistled at the bird, and then wound up by once more reaching out her hand to the artist and asking him if he would "have a goodie."
He shook his head. "And so you will not go back to school any more?"
"Of course I won't. Why do you know, Mr. Murietta," and here she looked about her and then reaching her head and letting her voice fall, "do you know I've had seven offers of marriage! Seven! Seven! And I go back to school! Ha, ha! Now I like that. Why you know I am engaged!"
"But you will not marry Paolini?"
"Then I will die an old maid. I will enter a convent, or a what-do-you-call-it a nunnery, a monkery — anything, everything. No, I will drown myself, Murietta, if I do not marry Count Paolini."
Again the light hearted girl left the little bird to hop about on his wires, and again she spun around and danced till tears came into her eyes, and then she came back and looked at the little yellow bird bouncing around on his wires, and laughed. There had nearly been an April shower in the full springtime of this girls life, but it blew over in an instant, and now the sun was shining brighter than before. Murietta went close up to the girl as she began again to feed the little yellow bird as he fluttered about on his wires.
"What in the world makes you look so serious?" exclaimed Mollie, as she stopped her hand half way to the cage with a bit of candy, for she had just caught sight of the artist's face.
"It is nothing, Mollie," he said, assuming a careless air, "you know I told you they were all either beggars or thieves in this palace."
"Well, beggars you might be from the looks of things; but thieves and robbers I reckon hardly."
"Yes," said Murietta emphatically, "Prince Trawaska is a robber. And then there is Giuseppe, he is only a thief and an assassin; and then there is the prince of this palace, you will see the prince in a moment, and then myself— only we are only gentle beggars — while Count Paolini is perhaps by turns all three!"
The little maiden dropped the nut which she held half way to the fluttering little yellow habitant of the wire house, and opened her soft and earnest eyes wider than ever before.
"I do not trifle Mollie. I have brought you here to see for yourself. First see for yourself, and then act for yourself. Your good sense will not fail you. You have been very ready to believe all that these strangers and men of another land and another religion have had to say. They were interested. I have no interest but to serve you, and save an honest and happy girl from crime and misery. It is because you are so good and so trustful, and so ready and willing to believe anything that you must now suffer. And yet it is only because you have these qualities that I dare be so frank and plain with you. Will you trust me?"
The girl put out her hand in a helpless sort of a manner, and still stared at the artist. Her mind was floundering beyond its depth.
"Delighted, delighted, and doubly honoured!" The old prince came shuffling forth and bowing almost to the floor as he said this. "And will the lady do me the honour to remember the old prince she saw in the ancient Theatre of Marcellus among his antiquities"
Mollie reached her hand and smiled at the humility of the old prince, who now stood before her uncovered.
"And you still have a store of antiquities on hand?"
"Oh most fortunate, fair lady, most fortunate for me and for your most noble and generous father, I have just received a small ship load from Egypt, and the Holy Land, and elsewhere. Oh, I have now enough to flood all America if I could only find the buyers. If I could only find the buyers," mused the old man half to himself, "if I could only find the buyers, then might my daughters all have a dowry and the crooked be made straight."
"Then you have daughters," said Mollie, once more looking up, for she had, again began to feed the yellow little captive in the wire house.
"Daughters!" The old man's face lighted up with parental pride, and he looked at Murietta as if he wished him to confirm his story, and tell the young lady, while he stood there bowing very humbly, and all the time rubbing his hands as if to wash them free from the stains of acids and colours used in making his antiquities.
"Yes indeed, and most beautiful and interesting children they are too," said the artist, and he passed into his parlour and pulled the bell.
A beautiful young lady came as if borne in a cloud of hair. Murietta presented his young friend, and then the two began to feed the yellow little prisoner together as they talked in a friendly fashion of their favourite birds.
"I wonder if this is the wife of Count Paolini," thought Murietta, and then remembering how that lady always blushed and held her head in a timid and tender fashion, he said, —
"And is the Count Paolini well?"
"He is well, I believe; but I doubt if he yet has risen." The lady laughed but did not blush.
The artist stepped again into his parlour and again pulled the bell.
Then another beautiful lady entered, noiseless and airy as if she too moved in a cloud.
The artist presented his friend, and Mollie handed her a handful of candies at once, and then all three fell to feeding the little yellow prisoner.
"Is the Count Paolini fond of birds?" asked the artist, with well disguised concern.
"Oh, very fond of birds," answered the second lady in the cloud, as she looked up from feeding the little favourite. But she did not blush.
Again the artist stepped to the bell. The door opened, another dark and airy cloud, with a beautiful face half hidden away, came drifting dreamily through the door.
Murietta stepped back to give her room, and she too in a little time had passed through the ceremony of an introduction, and had been presented with a handful of nuts, and now was also feeding the little yellow favourite.
"The Count Paolini is late this morning," began the artist.
The lady dropped the bit of candy behind the bars and blushed to the roots of her glorious hair, and hid her face behind her sister.
"Your husband," began the artist in a cold, clear voice, "your husband, the Count Paolini, rises late, my lady."
"True, he is late, and — but what is the matter with the beautiful Inglese?"
Mollie had dropped her handful of sweets on the floor, and pale and startled stood looking. at Murietta.
The artist turned to the old prince, who again began to bow when he saw that he was about to be spoken to, and in a clear, deliberate voice began: "I happen to know your son, the Count Paolini, better than you suppose; and so does this lady know him; and we desire to see him."
"With the greatest pleasure. With the greatest pleasure. You honour him, you honour us."And the old prince shuffled up the hall and out of the door, and in a moment was ringing at the door of the room of the Count Paolini and the Prince Trawaska.
Singular as it may seem, Mollie in a moment had recovered her self possession, and reaching in her pocket for a handful of candies, she now stood leaning out of the window with the other ladies and whistling at the little yellow captive in the wire prison. The little Californian maiden was utterly hidden by the many dark clouds that hung over and about her. Yet the sky seemed clearing up again. The April shower of tears was passing over. The sun and sunshine of May was once more filling her heart.
The Count Paolini came forward at the call of his father in law with a great deal of confidence. There was a little swagger and banter in his air as he came in, in advance of the old prince, who shuffled on after him, as his eyes fell upon the artist. But he did not flinch. He came boldly forward, bowed with that perfect hollow politeness peculiar only to the Latin races, and waited for Murietta's reply.
Soon the dark ladies, in their storms of hair, turned from the bird to the count, for they perhaps knew his step, or what is more likely they felt his presence, as we often feel the presence of our friends long before either seeing or hearing them.
Then as the ladies turned and the clouds cleared away, the eyes of the count fell upon the form of Mollie as she leaned from the window and whistled still at the yellow little flutterer.
The artist lifted his finger into the face of the count and said almost savagely,
"That is all I have to say, Count Paolini, and this is all I have to do."
Mollie had sprung back from the window, and now stood looking over the shoulder of one of the ladies right into the face of the count.
The artist continued: "I have nothing further to do or to say. I bring you all together here — the husband and the wife and the promised wife, — the little confiding school girl that a hundred base Italians have been trying half a year to entrap. I only wish you all to know the truth, and then to do precisely as you please."
"Come let us go, let us go, where is my mother? Let us go away, I shall go wild." Mollie had been standing still all the time. Her hand was full of sweets. She lifted them up, looked at them, and then threw them through the window.
What if in that moment standing there, this young woman, this girl, had crossed the line that lies somewhere between the girl and the woman?
"And that is your husband?" she said with a touch of tenderness to the countess at her side.
"Yes, lady, yes. But oh, do not blame him too much. It is so, so hard. You do not know what it is to fight day by day, day by day, with nothing to fight with, to go hungry in order that you may hold your place in the world, the place you are born to, and to appear respectable. Oh, you have fortune, you people of the New World, and you know not what we have to endure! "
Mollie forgot herself in a moment. The emotions, the beautiful sorrow of this woman touched her heart.
The least selfish of living women, she threw her arms about the neck of the dark countess, kissed her, called her sister, and telling her not to weep, turned suddenly to the old prince as if inspired with a new thought, and said, —
"Get your antiquities together for tomorrow. Be there early. I shall be there, and I shall bring my Californian friends. Now come!" And without one word to Paolini, who stood as if struck dumb, she led down the narrow step and left the artist to bring her mother and Carlton, and in a little time they were back to the Hotel Ville as if nothing had happened.
Start reading Chapter 39 ofThe One Fair Lady