The Saint by Antonio Fogazzaro

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_"C'est vous qui me dites ca? C'est vous qui me dites ca?"_

In fact, Donna Rosetta had replied, laughing:

_"Oh c'est enorme, je le sais!"_

It was a speech which might cost her husband his title of Excellency.
But then "the most eminent one" had as good as promised her that the
desires of the Turin _haute_ should be satisfied.

_"Ce sera lui, ce sera lui!"_ Finally he had said to her:

_"Comment donc, madame, avez-vous epouse un francmacon? Un des pires,
aussi! Un des pires! Faites lui lire cela!"_

And he had given her a little book on the doctrines of hell and the
inevitable damnation of Freemasons. It was this little book she had cast
at her feet on entering the carriage.

"Fancy my husband reading that rubbish!" she said.

But what was all this to Jeanne? Jeanne was impatient to hear the news
from the Ministry of the Interior. And now, whom were they going to see?
The Minister, or the Under-Secretary of State?

They were going to see the Under-Secretary of State, going to see Donna
Rosetta's husband. Up to the present moment Donna Rosetta had kept
silent concerning the purpose and object of this visit, in order that
Jeanne might not have time to draw back or to prepare herself too
carefully. The Right Honourable Albacina was aware of his wife's
friendship for Signora Dessalle as well as of Signora Dessalle's
friendship for the Selvas, who in their turn were so devoted to Maironi.
He had told his wife that he wished to speak with this lady, for reasons
of his own, which he did not intend to reveal. He should expect her at
the Ministry of the Interior soon after three o'clock. She, his wife,
might come with her if she liked, but she could not be present at the
interview. Jeanne's first movement on hearing this was an exclamation of
refusal. Donna Rosetta, however, had little difficulty in persuading her
to change her mind. She could not tell what projects her husband had in
his mind, she did not know; but in her opinion it would be madness not
to go, not to listen, because there could be no danger, and Jeanne need
not commit herself in any way. Jeanne yielded, although the silence
Signora Albacina had maintained up to the last moment in a matter of
such importance made her tremble. She felt like an invalid to whom after
much frivolous talk the visit of a celebrated surgeon is announced, who
is coming to examine the patient.

"I would not advise you to go alone," Signora Albacina concluded,
smiling. "The ushers saw many things in the times of certain ministers
and their deputies! But I am going with you, and I am well known at the
Ministry of the Interior! Besides, the things that used to happen do not
happen now!"

The Right Honourable Albacina was with the Minister. A deputy, who had
just been requested to enter, recognised Donna Rosetta, and offered to
announce her to her husband. He had only a word or two to say, and would
come out at once. Indeed, in about five minutes the deputy reappeared
with Albacina, who begged Jeanne to enter the Minister's room with
him. The two ladies had not expected this, and Donna Rosetta asked her
husband if it were not he himself who wished to speak with Jeanne. His
Excellency did not allow himself to be disturbed for so little; he
dismissed his wife in a summary manner, and hurried Signora Dessalle,
taken by surprise, into the Minister's presence. When he presented her
to his superior, she was embarrassed and almost angry.

The Minister received her with the most respectful courtesy, with the
manner of a stern man, who honours woman, but keeps her at a distance.
He had known the banker Dessalle, Jeanne's father, and immediately spoke
of him:

"A man," he said, "who had much gold in his coffers, but the purest gold
of all in his conscience!" He added that the memory of this man had
encouraged him to speak with her about a very delicate matter. When he
had spoken those words, or rather while he was speaking them, Jeanne
felt sure that this man knew the past. She could not refrain from
glancing stealthily at the Under-Secretary. She read the same knowledge
in his eyes, but the Under-Secretary's expression troubled her and
irritated her, while the Minister's gaze seemed to open a paternal heart
to her. The Minister introduced the topic by speaking of Giovanni Selva,
whom he freely praised. He expressed regret that he had no personal
acquaintance with him. He said he was aware that Jeanne was a friend of
the Selvas. He must beg her to persuade her friends to undertake a most
important mission to another person. And then he spoke of Maironi,
always careful to place the Selvas between Maironi and Jeanne, and
careful to avoid allusion to any possible direct communication between
them. Jeanne listened, striving to pay close attention to his words,
to prepare a prudent and pertinent answer, and ever conscious of the
discomfort the presence of this little Mephistopheles of an Albacina
caused her. The Minister's discourse did not prove to be what she had
expected; more favourable perhaps, but more embarrassing. He told her he
was not speaking as the Minister, but as a friend; that he did not wish
to hide things from her; that certain shadows had had absolutely no
substance; that neither ministers, nor magistrates, nor police-agents,
had any right to interfere with Signor Maironi, who was perfectly free
to do as he liked, and had nothing to fear from the laws of his country.
He was, he said, convinced of the inanity of certain accusations which
had been brought against him out of religious animosity. He felt much
sympathy for Signor Maironi's religious views, and much esteem for his
proposed apostolate, but Signor Selva must really convince him of the
wisdom of leaving Rome for some time at least, and this in the interest
of his apostolate itself; for his religious antagonists in Rome were
waging war against him so violently, dealing him such slanderous
blows, that very soon he must inevitably find himself entirely without
disciples. Here the Minister, thinking to please Jeanne, assured her
of his own interest in religion. What a tragic illusion! she thought,
bitterly. He trusted that in the near future Signer Maironi would be
able to exert his influence freely in a very high place; there were many
signs of an imminent transformation, of an imminent misfortune to befall
the non-concessionists; but, for the moment, it would be more prudent
for him to disappear. This was the friendly but pressing advice which
they desired to convey to him through his distinguished friend. Would
Signora Dessalle consent to speak to that distinguished friend?

Jeanne trembled. Could she trust him? Would she be revealing things
which perhaps these two did not know, and were trying to find out from
her? Involuntarily she glanced at the Undersecretary, and her eyes spoke
so plainly that he could not avoid taking a decisive step.

"Signora," he said, with his habitual sarcastic smile, "I see that you
do not want rue here. My presence is not necessary, and I will go, in
obedience to your wish; it is a just wish, and one easily explained."

Jeanne blushed, and he noticed it, and was pleased at having succeeded
in wounding her by the covert allusion contained in his last words, and,
above all, in his malicious smile.

"Nevertheless," he added, still smiling in the same way, "I cannot leave
without assuring you, on my honour, that my wife is a most loyal friend
to you; that she has never uttered an indiscreet word to me concerning
you, as I myself have never been guilty of indiscretion when discussing
the same subject with my wife."

Having thus taken his revenge, the little man departed, leaving Jeanne
greatly agitated. Good God! Did they really intend to oblige her to
speak to Piero? Did they suppose she saw him? Did these men also believe
that Piero's saintliness was a lie? By an effort she composed herself,
seeking help in the Minister's grave, sad, and respectful gaze.

"I will speak to Signer Giovanni" she said. "But I believe," she added
hesitatingly, "that Signor Maironi is ill, and not able to travel."

When she uttered Maironi's name flames rushed to her face. She felt them
far hotter than they appeared, but the Minister noticed them, and came
to her aid.

"Perhaps, Signora," he said, "you fear to compromise your friends the
Selvas. Do not fear this. I once more repeat that Signor Maironi has
nothing to fear from any quarter, and I will add that we know all about
him. We know he is in Rome, that he is staying--but only for a few hours
longer--in the house of a senator in Via della Polveriera. We know he is
ill, but that he is able to travel. You may even tell Signor Selva that,
if he desire it, I will request my colleague, the Minister of Public
Works, to place a reserved compartment at Signor Maironi's service."

Jeanne, trembling violently, was about to interrupt him, to exclaim,
"Only for a few hours longer?" but, controlling herself with difficulty,
she took leave of the Minister, anxious to hasten to the Senate, to
know!

As he accompanied her to the door the Minister said:

"Perhaps Signor Selva is unaware that the Senator is expecting visitors,
relations I believe, and so will not be able to keep Signor Maironi
any longer. He much regrets this. What a fine man he is! We are old
friends."

Jeanne shuddered, fearing to have guessed the truth. They had been
scheming to oblige the Senator to send Piero away; they were indeed
pushing him out of Rome! But was it possible the Senator had allowed
himself to be persuaded? To drive out an invalid in his condition! She
entered her _coupe_ and drove to Palazza Madama, where she inquired
for the Senator. He was not there. The usher who gave her this answer
appeared rather embarrassed. Was he acting under orders? Not daring to
insist, she left her card, with a request that the Senator would call at
the Grand Hotel before dinner. She herself started for the Grand Hotel,
her heart quivering and groaning, the point of her shoe beating upon the
little book against Freemasonry, which Donna Rosetta had forgotten. She
would have liked the two sorrels to fly. It was a quarter to five, and
at half-past four it was daily her duty to prepare Carlino's medicine.

III

Half an hour before she reached the Grand Hotel Giovanni and Maria Selva
arrived there. Young di Leyni arrived at the same time. He also had come
to inquire for Signora Dessalle, and expressed his satisfaction at this
meeting; but he was far from cheerful.

Upon learning that Signora Dessalle was out, the three visitors asked to
be allowed to wait for her in the parlour. The Selvas seemed even less
cheerful than di Leyni.

After a brief silence Maria observed that it was already a quarter past
four, therefore Jeanne would not be long, for every day at half-past
four she was engaged with her brother. Di Leyni begged that they would
present him to her on her arrival. He had a message for her, but was not
acquainted with her. The message, indeed, concerned all of Benedetto's
friends, therefore concerned the Selvas also. Maria trembled.

"A message from him?" she asked eagerly. "A message from Benedetto?"

Di Leyni looked at her, astonished at her eagerness, and hesitated
slightly before answering. No, it was not from Benedetto, but it
concerned him. As Signora Dessalle might come in at any moment, and as
the matter was rather lengthy, rather complicated, he judged it as
well not to begin discussing it until she arrived. Then he inquired,
innocently, how this Signora Dessalle had come to take such an interest
in Benedetto's fate. She had never been seen at the meetings in Via
della Vite, and he had never even heard her name mentioned.

"But what makes you think she does take an interest in his fate?" said
Maria.

"Because, you see," di Leyni answered, "I have a message for her which
is about him."

Di Leyni, whose devotion to Benedetto was boundless, had never credited
the scandalous rumours which had been spread concerning him; he had
repulsed them with passionate indignation. He would not admit that his
master could habour either a guilty or an ideal love. In asking that
question, he could have had no idea that a relation of a shameful nature
had existed between Jeanne and Benedetto. Giovanni changed the subject
by remarking that Signora Dessalle might not come in for some time, and
that, therefore, di Leyni had better speak.

Di Leyni spoke.

He had been to see Benedetto. On reaching Via della Polveriera from San
Pietro in Vincoli, he had recognised two policemen in plain clothes, who
were walking up and down. He might have been mistaken, or this might
have happened by chance. At any rate it was something to take note of.
As soon as he entered the house the Senator had sent to beg him to come
into his study. There, speaking with much affability but with manifest
embarrassment, he had told him that he was glad to see a friend of his
dear guest's at that special moment; that Benedetto was fortunately free
from fever, and, in his opinion, on the road to recovery. A telegram, he
said, had just announced to him that his old sister was to arrive very
shortly, that his apartment contained only one bedroom besides his own
and the one occupied by the servant; that he could not possibly send his
sister to an hotel, neither could he telegraph her to delay her visit,
for she had already started; therefore--

The Senator had allowed di Leyni to complete the sentence for himself.
Di Leyni who, with a few other faithful ones, was aware of the secret
plots against Benedetto, was amazed. What should he answer? That the
Senator alone was master in his own house? That was, perhaps, the only
answer possible. Di Leyni had ventured, with much circumspection, to
express his fear that a move might prove fatal to the sick man. The
Senator was convinced of the contrary. He believed a change of air would
greatly benefit him. He had not as yet been able to consult the doctor,
but he had no doubt of this. He suggested Sorrento. As di Leyni did
not know what to say, and did not move, the Senator had dismissed him,
begging him to go, in his name, to the Grand Hotel, and see Signora
Dessalle, at whose request he had received Benedetto into his house, and
desire her to arrange matters, for his sister would arrive that same
evening before eleven o'clock.

Then di Leyni had gone in to see Benedetto. Good God! in what a state
he had found him! Without fever, perhaps, but with the appearance of a
dying man.

The young man's eyes were full of tears as he told of it. Benedetto did
not know he would be obliged to leave. He had spoken of it to him as of
something not yet certain but possible. Benedetto had looked at him in
silence, as if to read in his soul, and then had questioned, with a
smile: "Must I go to prison?" Then di Leyni repented of not having at
once told the whole truth to a man so strong and serene in God, and he
repeated to him all the Senator had said.

"He took my hand," the young man continued, his voice broken with
emotion, "and while he held it and caressed it, he said these precise
words: 'I will not leave Rome. Do you wish me to come and die in your
house?' I was so deeply moved that I had not the strength to answer, for
indeed I am not sure that he is not really in danger of arrest; perhaps
this incredible act of the Senator's may be a pretext to prevent the
arrest taking place in his house. And how could he be carried to another
place of safety, with the police watching for him? I embraced him,
murmured a few meaningless words, and hastened away; hastened here to
speak to this Signora Dessalle. Perhaps she will come and persuade the
Senator."

The Selvas had often interrupted di Leyni with exclamations of surprise
and indignation. When he had finished his recital, they were speechless
and amazed. The first to break the silence was Signora Maria.

"If Jeanne would only come!" she said softly.

She made an imperceptible sign to her husband, and proposed that they
both go and see if by any chance she had returned and they had not been
informed. While they were crossing the Jardin d'Hiver she said she
thought di Leyni should be told who Jeanne really was. Signora Dessalle
had not yet returned. Giovanni took the young man aside, and spoke to
him in a low tone. Maria, who was watching him, saw him tremble and turn
pale, his eyes dilate; saw him, in his turn, speak, asking something.
Jeanne Dessalle entered hurriedly, smiling.

The porter had given her a note from a doctor. It said:

"I do not expect to be able to come back. This morning he was without
fever. Let us hope the attack may not return."

Jeanne saw at once that there was no question of removing the patient.
She embraced Maria and shook hands with Selva, who presented di Leyni.
Then she apologised to them all because she was obliged to leave them
for five minutes. Her brother was waiting for her. As soon as she had
left the room, promising to return at once, di Leyni drew Selva aside
once more. Maria saw the look of anxiety he had worn before reappear on
his face, saw that he was asking many questions, and that her husband's
answers seemed to be calming him. At last she saw her husband place
his hands on the young man's shoulders, and say something to him, she
believed she knew what; it was something secret, not yet known to
Jeanne. She saw emotion and profound reverence in the young man's eyes.

A waiter came to say that Signora Dessalle was waiting for them in her
apartment. There was much movement in the hotel. The rustling of long
skirts, the muffled beat of footsteps mingled on the carpets of the
corridors; subdued foreign voices, gay, plaintive, flattering or
indifferent, came and went; the lifts were being taken by storm. Each
member of the little silent group experienced the same bitter sense
of all this indifferent worldliness. Jeanne was in her salon next to
Carlino's room, where he was accompanying Chieco's violoncello on the
piano. She came forward to meet her friends with a smile that, combined
with the music--antique Italian music, simple and peaceful--made their
hearts ache. She seemed rather surprised to see di Leyni, from whom she
had not expected a visit. She had really asked them to come up stairs
that they might speak more freely, but she told them she had wished to
offer them a little of Chieco's music, and now he would not allow the
door to remain open. However, one could hear very well with the door
closed. Giovanni at once informed her that the Cavaliere di Leyni had a
message for her from, the Senator.

"While you are speaking together we will listen to the music," he said.

He and his wife stepped aside from Jeanne, who had turned pale, and who,
in spite of her violent effort to do so, could not entirely conceal her
impatience to hear this message. Di Leyni sat down beside her, and began
to speak in a low tone.

The violoncello and the piano were jesting together on a pastoral theme,
full of caresses and of simple and lively tenderness. Maria could not
refrain from murmuring, "_Dio!_ Poor woman!" and her husband could
not refrain from following, on Jeanne's face, the painful words her
companion was speaking to the sound of this tender and lively music.
He watched the young man's face also, who, while speaking to the lady,
often looked towards him as if to express his grief and to ask for
advice. Jeanne listened to him, her eyes fixed on the ground. When he
had finished she raised to the Selvas those great eyes of hers, so full
of pitiful distress. She looked from one to the other saying mutely,
involuntarily, "You know?" The sad eyes of both husband and wife
replied, "Yes, we know!" There came a loud outburst of joyous music.
Maria took advantage of this to murmur to her husband:

"Do you think he told her what he said about wishing to die in Rome?"

Her husband answered that it would be best for her to know, that he
hoped he had told her. Jeanne let her gaze rest on the door whence came
the sound of the music. She waited a moment, and then signed to the
Selvas to approach. She said, her voice quite firm, that she felt the
Senator should have informed them, that she did not understand why he
had appealed to her. They must now arrange what was to be done.

The music ceased. They could hear Carlino and Chieco talking. Di Leyni,
who occupied bachelor's quarters on the Sant' Onofrio hillside, offered
them eagerly. But what about the warrant? What if they were only waiting
to serve it until Benedetto should have left the Senator's house?

Jeanne calmly denied the possibility of an arrest. The Selvas looked at
her, full of admiration for that forced calm. For some time past Jeanne
had suspected that they were acquainted with Benedetto's real name. Was
it then possible that Noemi (though, indeed, she had admonished her
often enough) should never have allowed a word to escape her? A moment
before, when they had exchanged those silent and sorrowful glances, the
Selvas and Jeanne had understood one another, Giovanni and his wife saw
that if Jeanne were thus heroically controlling herself it was not on
their account, but on di Leyni's account. And now, after Giovanni's
words, di Leyni himself knew everything! It seemed to them they had
almost been guilty of treason.

They were convinced that Jeanne must have reasons of which they were
ignorant for saying she did not believe in the possibility of an
arrest. They remarked that Benedetto might now accept their proffered
hospitality. Jeanne was quick to remind them that Benedetto himself had
expressed a desire, and that the Sant' Onofrio hillside would seem more
suitable than the Via Arenula as the residence of an invalid who needed
quiet. Nevertheless, it was her opinion that they could not possibly
allow him to be moved without the doctor's express permission. All were
of one mind on this point. The Selvas charged di Leyni to inform the
Senator that Benedetto's friends would find him another place of refuge,
but only on condition that the physician in attendance gave a written
permission to remove him. While Giovanni was talking, a noisy _allegro_
burst from the piano in the next room, an _allegro_ all sobs and cries.
He ceased speaking, not wishing to raise his voice too high, and let
the rush of sad music pass. And sad was the word which his eyes and the
young man's eyes uttered to each other, while their lips were silent.

Di Leyni had no time to lose, and so took his leave. He disliked going
alone; he could have wished to appear before the Senator with some one
of Benedetto's friends whose presence would intimidate him a little, for
his conduct was inexplicable.

Giovanni muttered something about the vice-presidency of the Senate,
to which that old man aspired, and which he would not obtain. It is
a bitter grief to discover such sordid motives where they are least
expected! Maria rose and offered to accompany di Leyni.

"You will stay?" Jeanne asked Giovanni anxiously. Her tone said, "You
must stay!" Selva said that he had, indeed, intended to remain, and the
expression of his voice, of his face, was such as to acquaint Jeanne
with the fact that sad words, not yet spoken, were weighing on his
heart. Oh! thought Jeanne, what if Chieco should leave now, and Carlino
call? Then it would not be possible for us to speak together! For she
also had something to say to Selva. She must repeat the Minister's
discourse to him. The two musicians had once more ceased playing, and
were talking. Jeanne knocked softly on the door, and blew a few gay
words against it:

"_Bravi!_ Have you finished already?"

"No, pretty one," Chieco answered from the other side. "So much the
worse for you if you are bored!"

He sent forth a fiendish whistle, fit to pierce a hole in the door.
Jeanne clapped her hands. The piano and the violoncello attacked a
solemn _andante_.

She turned to Selva, who was coming in again after having accompanied
his wife into the corridor, in order to tell her to telegraph to Don
Clemente. She went towards him with clasped hands, her eyes full of
tears.

"Selva," she murmured in a stifled voice, "you know everything now. I
cannot hide my feelings from you. Is there something worse? Tell me the
truth."

Selva took her hands and pressed them in silence, while the violoncello
answered for him, bitterly and sadly: "Weep, weep, for there is no fate
like thy fate of love and of grief." He pressed the poor icy hands,
unable to speak. He saw clearly di Leyni had not dared to repeat the
terrible words to her--"I will come and die in your house." It was his
lot to deal her the first blow.

"My dear," he said, gently and paternally, "did he not tell you at the
Sacro Speco that he would call you to him in a solemn hour? The hour is
come, he calls you."

Jeanne started violently. She did not believe she had heard aright.

"Oh, how is this? No!" she exclaimed.

Then, as Selva continued silent, with the same pity in his eyes, a flash
shot through her heart. "Ah!" she cried, and her whole being went out in
mute and agonized questioning. Selva pressed her hands still harder, his
tightly closed lips twitched, and a suppressed sob wrung his breast. She
said never a word, but would have fallen had not his hands upheld her.
He supported her, and then led her to a seat,

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