The conversation was prolonged some time, without coming to any satisfactory conclusion, and Renzo returned home to relate it. "I came off," said he, "because I feared I should lose all patience. At times he behaved exactly as he did before, and I verily believe if I had remained a little longer, he would have spoken Latin again. I see that all this portends a tedious business. It would be better to do as he says, and go and be married where we intend to live."

"Let us go and see what we can do," said the widow, "perhaps he will be more tractable to the ladies."

They followed this advice, and in the afternoon proceeded to the parsonage. The curate evinced much pleasure on seeing Lucy and Agnes, and much politeness towards the stranger. He endeavoured to divert the discourse from that which he knew to be the purport of their visit. He begged from Lucy a recital of all her woes, and availed himself of the account of the lazaretto to draw the stranger into the conversation. He then expatiated on his own miseries, which he detailed at full length.

The pause so long watched for came at last. One of the widows broke the ice; but Don Abbondio was no longer the same man; he did not say _no_; but he returned to his doubts and his difficulties, jumping like a bird from branch to branch. "It would be necessary," said he, "to get free from this unlucky order. You, signora, who live at Milan, you ought to know the course of these things; if we had the protection of some powerful man, all wounds would be healed. After all, the shortest way would be to have the ceremony performed where these young people are going, and where this proscription cannot affect them. Here, with this order, which is known to every one, to utter from the altar the name of Lorenzo Tramaglino is a thing I should be very unwilling to do. I wish him too well; it would be rendering him an ill service."

While Agnes and the widow were endeavouring to reply to these reasons, which the subtle curate as often reproduced under another form, Renzo entered the room, with the air of one bringing important intelligence, "The Lord Marquis *** has arrived!" said he.

"What do you mean? arrived! where?" said Don Abbondio, rising.

"He has arrived at his castle, which was Don Roderick's: he is the heir by feoffment of trust, as they say. So that there is no longer a doubt on the subject. And as to the marquis, he is a most worthy man."

"That he is," said Don Abbondio; "I have often heard him spoken of as an excellent lord. But is it really true that----"

"Will you believe your s.e.xton?"

"Why----"

"Because he saw him with his own eyes. Will you hear Ambrose? I made him wait without expressly."

Renzo called the s.e.xton, who confirmed the intelligence.

"Ah, he is dead then! he is really gone!" said Don Abbondio. "You see, my children, the hand of Providence. It is a happy thing for this poor country: we could not live with this man. The plague has been a great scourge, but it has also been, as it were, a serviceable broom; it has swept off certain people, of whom, my children, we could never have delivered ourselves. In the twinkling of an eye they have disappeared by the hundred. We shall no longer see him wandering about with that haughty air, followed by his cut throats, and looking at every body as if they were all placed on earth for his pleasure. He is gone, and we are still here! He will send no more messages to honest people. He has made us all pa.s.s a sad life; and now we are at liberty to say so."

"I pardon him," said Renzo, "with all my heart."

"And you do well; it is your duty; but we may also thank Heaven for delivering us from him. Now, if you wish to be married, I am ready. As to the _order for your seizure_, that is of little importance; the plague has carried off that too. If you choose--to-day is Thursday--on Sunday, I will publish the banns, and then I shall have the happiness of uniting you."

"You know we came for that purpose," said Renzo.

"Very well; and I will send word of it to his Eminence."

"Who is his Eminence?" asked Agnes.

"His Eminence? our lord cardinal archbishop, whom may G.o.d preserve!"

"Oh, as to that, you are mistaken; I can tell you they do not call him so, because the second time we went to speak with him, one of the priests drew me aside, and told me I must call him your ill.u.s.trious lordship, and my lord."

"And now, if that same priest were to tell you, he would say you must call him _Your Eminence_; the pope has ordered, that this t.i.tle be given to the cardinals. And do you know why? Because _Most Ill.u.s.trious_ was a.s.sumed by so many people who had no right to it. By and by, they will call the bishops _Your Eminence_, then the abbots will claim it, then the canons----"

"And the curates," said the widow.

"No, no, let the curates alone for that; they will be only _Your Reverence_ to the end of the world. But to return to our affairs. On Sunday, I will publish the banns at the church, and obtain, in the mean time, a dispensation for omitting the two other publications. There will be plenty of similar applications, if things go on elsewhere as they do here; the fire has taken; no one will wish to live alone, I imagine; I have already three marriages on hand besides yours; what a pity Perpetua is dead, she might find a husband! And at Milan, signora, I imagine it is the same thing."

"Yes, indeed. In my parish alone there were fifty marriages last Sunday."

"Well, the world wo'n't end yet. And you, signora, has no b.u.t.terfly begun to fly around you?"

"No, no, I think not of it; I do not mean to think of it."

"Oh, yes, yes; would you be alone indeed? Agnes also, Agnes also----"

"You have a mind to jest," said Agnes.

"To be sure I have; it is high time. We may hope that the few days that remain to us will be less sad. As for me, poor old man! there is no remedy for years, as they say, _Senectus ipsa est morbus_."

"Oh, now," said Renzo, "you may speak Latin as much as you like; I don't care about it now."

"You still quarrel with Latin, do you? Well, I will not forget you. When you come before me with Lucy, to p.r.o.nounce some little words in Latin, I will say to you, You do not like Latin, go in peace. Eh?"

"Ah, it is not that Latin I dislike, pure and holy like that of the ma.s.s; I speak of the Latin which falls on one as a traitor, in the very midst of conversation. For example, now that we are here, and all is past, the Latin you spoke there, in that corner, to make me understand that you could not, and----I know not what. Tell me now in language I can understand, will you?"

"Hush! you mischievous fellow, hush!" said Don Abbondio. "Do not stir up old grievances: if we were to settle our accounts, I do not know which of us would be in debt to the other. I have forgiven you, but you also played me an ill turn. As for you, it did not astonish me, because you are a good-for-nothing fellow; but I speak of this silent--this little saint; one would have thought it a sin to distrust her. But I know who advised her; I know I do," added he, pointing to Agnes.

It is impossible to describe the change which had come over him. His mind, so long the slave of continual apprehension, was now emanc.i.p.ated from its fetters, and his tongue, liberated from its bonds, recurred to its former habits. He playfully prolonged the conversation, even following them to the door, with some parting jest.

The following morning, Don Abbondio received a visit, as agreeable as it was unexpected, from the lord marquis, whose appearance confirmed all that report had said of him. "I come," said he, "to bring you the salutations of the cardinal archbishop."

"Oh, what condescension in both of you!"

"When I took leave of that incomparable man, who honours me with his friendship, he spoke to me of two young people of this parish who have suffered much from the unfortunate Don Roderick. My lord wishes to hear of them. Are they living? Are their affairs settled?"

"Their affairs are settled; and I had thought of writing to his Eminence about it, but now that I have the honour----"

"Are they here?"

"Yes; and as soon as possible, they will be man and wife."

"I request you to tell me what I can do for them, and the best manner of doing it. You will render me a service by enabling me to dispose of some of my superfluous wealth for their benefit."

"May Heaven reward you! I thank you in the name of my children," said Don Abbondio; "and since your lordship allows me, I have an expedient to suggest which perhaps will not displease you. These good people have resolved to establish themselves elsewhere, and to sell the little that belongs to them here. The best charity you can render them, is to buy their property, as otherwise it will be sold for little or nothing. But your lordship will decide, I have spoken in obedience to your commands."

The marquis thanked Don Abbondio, telling him he should leave it to him to fix the price, and to do so entirely to their advantage, as it was an object with him to make the amount as large as possible. He then proposed that they should go together to the cottage of Lucy.

On their way, Don Abbondio, quite overjoyed continued the conversation,--"Since your lordship is so disposed to benefit this people, there is another service you can render them. The young man has an order for his apprehension out against him, for some folly he committed two years ago at Milan, on the day of the great Tumult. A recommendation, a word, from a man like yourself, might hereafter be of service to him."

"Are there not heavy charges against him?"

"They made a great deal of noise about it; but really there was nothing in it."

"Well, well; I will take it upon myself to free him from all embarra.s.sment."

We may imagine the surprise of our little company, at a visit from such a guest. He entered agreeably into conversation with them and after a while, made his proposal. Don Abbondio, being requested by him to fix the price, did so; the purchaser said he was well satisfied, and, if he had not understood him, in repeating it, doubled the sum. He would not hear of rectifying the mistake, and ended the conversation by inviting the company to dinner the day after the wedding, when the affair could be settled with every necessary formality.

"Ah!" thought Don Abbondio when he returned home, "if the pestilence acted everywhere with so much discrimination, it would be a pity to speak ill of it. We should want one every generation."

The happy day at length arrived. The betrothed went to the church where they were united by Don Abbondio. The day after, the wedding party made their visit at the castle. We will leave the reader to imagine their reflections on entering those walls! In the midst of their joy, however, they felt that the presence of the good Father Christopher was wanting to complete it. "But," said Lucy, "he is even happier than we are, a.s.suredly."