"Ah," exclaimed Silvio, quickly, "but supposing you didn't know?"
"Then I should ask her," said Bianca Acorari, bluntly.
Silvio started violently. Then he came and stood beside her.
"Donna Bianca," he said, in a low, eager voice, "do you know what you are saying?"
Bianca looked at him a little wonderingly. She could not but notice his agitation. "Certainly I do," she replied. "You see, Monsieur Silvio," she added, and then stopped in confusion. "I beg your pardon," she said, blushing violently. "I am very rude – but I have so often heard Mademoiselle Durand speak of you as 'Monsieur Silvio,' that I fear – I am afraid – "
Silvio Rossano's head began to swim. He looked at her and said nothing. Then he swore at himself for being a fool and losing his opportunities.
"You see," proceeded Bianca, picking up the train of her thoughts again, "I am afraid I am not like other girls. I have lived most of my life alone, and I suppose I have odd ideas. When I am of age, I shall certainly please myself – but until then, I have to please other people. Of course, I know that a man is obliged to speak to a girl's parents before he can tell her that he loves her. But I am quite sure that if I were a man and wanted to know if my love were returned, I should ask the person I loved."
Silvio looked at her curiously.
"And is that your advice to me, Donna Bianca?" he said. "You advise me to ask the girl I love – whom I have loved ever since I first saw her seven months ago, though I have scarcely spoken to her in my life – whether she returns my love?"
"If I were in your place – yes," returned Bianca. "Why not, Mons – Signor Rossano?"
Silvio drew a long breath.
"It is what I came here this afternoon to do," he said, quietly.
Bianca looked at him with a bewildered expression. The blood left her face and she became very pale.
"What – you came here to do?" she repeated, slowly – "here? I do not understand."
"Ah, no? You do not understand? Then I will take your advice – I will make you understand." The words came to his lips fast enough now.
"Dear," he burst out, "you shall understand. I love you! Do you know what it means – love? I have loved you ever since that night – that Christmas night – when you looked into my eyes with yours. Do you understand now? I know I have no right to love you – no right to ask you to be my wife – for you are Donna Bianca Acorari, Princess of Montefiano, and I am – nobody. But this is what I have come to ask you – only this – whether you love me? If you do, I swear by God and by the Son of God that I will marry you, or I will marry no woman. If you do not love me, or will not love me, send me away from you – now, at once."
Bianca Acorari sprang up from her chair.
"Me?" she exclaimed. "You love me? Ah, but it is absurd – how can you love me? You are mad – or dreaming. You have forgotten. It is she you love – that other one – "
Silvio seized her hand almost roughly.
"Bianca!" he said, hoarsely, "what, in God's name, do you mean? I love you – you only. I have never looked at another woman – I never knew what love meant till I saw you."
Suddenly Bianca began to tremble violently. In a moment Silvio's arms were round her, and he was pressing hot, passionate kisses to her lips.
"Bianca!" he exclaimed. "Tell me – for God's sake, tell me – "
With a quick gesture she yielded herself wholly to him, drawing his face to hers and running her hands through his close, curly hair.
"Silvio," she whispered, "ah, Silvio! And it was I all the time! I thought – Mademoiselle Durand pretended that it was somebody else – some girl like me – and all the time I wondered why I cared – why I was angry – "
His arms were round her again, and he crushed her to him, while his lips blinded her eyes.
"Ah, Silvio mio," she sighed, "it is too much – you hurt me – ah, but it is sweet to be hurt by you – "
Suddenly she wrenched herself from him, crimson and trembling.
"God!" she exclaimed. "What have I done – what must you think of me? I did not know love was like that. It – hurts."
Silvio laughed aloud in the very intoxication of his joy.
"Beloved," he said, "that is only the beginning."
But Bianca shook her head. "I must be very wicked," she said. "I did not know I was quite so wicked. Silvio," she added, looking at him, shyly, "for the love of God, go! It is getting late. At any moment they may be coming to look for me. No – not again – "
"But I must speak with you here to-morrow – the day after," urged Silvio.
"Yes," said Bianca, hurriedly. "I must think," she added. "We must confide everything now to Mademoiselle Durand. Ah, Silvio, you should not have loved me – I shall bring you unhappiness."
Silvio looked at her gravely. "If we are true to each other," he said, "everything must come right. Even if we have to wait till you are of age and free to do as you choose, that is not a very long time."
They had left the casino as Silvio was speaking, and Bianca glanced uneasily down the avenue. Not a soul was visible. The rain had cleared away, and the sun, sinking westward, was streaming into the darkest recesses of the ilex grove. No sound broke the stillness except the splashing of the fountains, and now and again the notes of birds announcing that the hot hours were passed and the cool of evening was approaching.
Bianca turned and laid her hands on Silvio's. "Go, beloved," she said. "We must not be seen together – yet."
Silvio drew her to him once more. "Do you know," he said, "that you have never told me whether you will marry me or not?"
Bianca Acorari looked at him for a moment. Then she answered, simply:
"If I do not marry you, Silvio, I will marry no man. I swear it! Now go," she added, hastily – "do not delay a moment longer. I will communicate with you through Mademoiselle Durand."
"After all," said Silvio, "even if we have to wait three years – "
Bianca stamped her foot on the turf.
"Silvio," she exclaimed, "if you do not go, now – at once – I will not marry you for six years."
She turned away from him and sped down the avenue, while Silvio vanished through the undergrowth.
And the ilex grove was left in possession of the spirits of Pan and his Luperci; also in that of Monsieur d'Antin, who, with a little chuckle, stepped from behind the casino and emerged into the sunlight.
X
"You do not congratulate me, Giacinta."
Silvio and his sister were sitting alone together after a late dinner which was practically merely a supper. In the summer months in Rome, to be compelled by fashion to sit down to a meal at the pleasantest hour in all the twenty-four is a weariness to the flesh and a vexation to the spirit. Entirely in opposition to all the orthodox ideas inculcated by the guide-books and received by the British tourist, the Romans do not labor under the delusion that death stalks abroad with the sunset, and that deadly diseases dog the footsteps of those who wander through the streets or gardens when the shadows of evening are beginning to fall.
Those whose duties or inclinations keep them in Rome during the summer months do not, as a rule, complain of their lot, knowing full well that of all the larger Italian cities, and, indeed, of all southern capitals, it is on the whole by far the coolest and healthiest.
The Rossano family, like the majority of Romans, adapted their hours to the various seasons, and dinner, which was at any time from half-past seven to half-past eight in winter, became supper at nine or so in summer.
This evening the professor, as was his usual habit on fine