"Signore," I said, "you are under a misapprehension. I have ensnared nobody's affections, and I am entirely guiltless of all the crimes which you are pleased to attribute to me.""What? Are you not, then, the hound who bears the vile and dishonoured name of Von Rosenau?""I am not. I bear the less distinguished, but, I hope, equally respectable patronymic of Jenkinson."But my modest disclaimer passed unheeded, for now another combatant had thrown himself into the fray.
"Vile and dishonoured name! No one shall permit himself such language in my presence. I am Lieutenant-General Graf von Rosenau, sir, and you shall answer to me for your words."The Herr Graf's knowledge of Italian was somewhat limited; but, such as it was, it had enabled him to catch the sense of the stigma cast upon his family, and now he was upon his feet, red and gobbling, like a turkey-cock, and prepared to do battle with a hundred irate Venetians if need were.
The marchese stared at him in blank amazement. "/You!/" he ejaculated--"you Von Rosenau! It is incredible--preposterous. Why, you are old enough to be her grandfather.""Not old enough to be in my dotage,--as I should be if I permitted myson to marry a beggarly Italian,--nor too old to punish impertinence as it deserves," retorted the Graf.
"Your son? You are the father then? It is all the same to me. I will fight you both. But the marriage shall take place first.""It shall not." "It shall."
"Insolent slave of an Italian, I will make you eat your words!" "Triple brute of a German, I spit upon you!""Silence, sir!"
"Silence yourself!" During this animated dialogue I sat apart, softly rubbing my hands. What a happy dispensation it would be, I could not help thinking, if these two old madmen were to exterminate each other, like the Kilkenny cats! Anyhow, their attention was effectually diverted from my humble person, and that was something to be thankful for.
Never before had I been privileged to listen to so rich a vocabulary of vituperation. Each disputant had expressed himself, after the first few words, in his own language, and between them they were now ****** hubbub enough to bring the old house down about their ears. Up came the padrona to see the fun; up came her fat husband, in his shirt- sleeves and slippers; and her long-legged sons, and her tousle-headed daughters, and the maid-servant, and the cook, and the ostler--the whole establishment, in fact, collected at the open folding-doors, and watched with delight the progress of this battle of words. Last of all, a poor little trembling figure, with pale face and eyes big with fright, crept in, and stood, hand on heart, a little in advance of the group. I slipped to her side, and offered her a chair, but she neither answered me nor noticed my presence. She was staring at her father as a bird stares at a snake, and seemed unable to realise anything except the terrible fact that he had followed and found her.
Presently the old man wheeled round, and became aware of his daughter.
"Unhappy girl!" he exclaimed, "what is this that you have done?"I greatly fear that the marchese's paternal corrections must have sometimes taken a more practical shape than mere verbal upbraidings; forpoor Bianca shrank back, throwing up one arm, as if to shield her face, and, with a wild cry of "Alberto! come to me!" fell into the arms of that tardy lover, who at that appropriate moment had made his appearance, unobserved, upon the scene.
The polyglot disturbance that ensued baffles all description. Indeed, I should be puzzled to say exactly what took place, or after how many commands, defiances, threats, protestations, insults, and explanations, a semblance of peace was finally restored. I only know that, at the expiration of a certain time, three of us were sitting by the open window, in a softened and subdued frame of mind, considerately turning our backs upon the other two, who were bidding each other farewell at the farther end of the room.
