Sant' Ilario

by F. Marion Crawford

  CHAPTER XII.

  As Giovanni sat in solitude in his room he was not aware that hisfather had received a visit from no less a personage than PrinceMontevarchi. The latter found Saracinesca very much preoccupied, and inno mood for conversation, and consequently did not stay very long. Whenhe went away, however, he carried under his arm a bundle of deeds anddocuments which he had long desired to see and in the perusal of whichhe promised himself to spend a very interesting day. He had come withthe avowed object of getting them, and he neither anticipated nor metwith any difficulty in obtaining what he wanted. He spoke of hisdaughter's approaching marriage with San Giacinto, and after expressinghis satisfaction at the alliance with the Saracinesca, remarked thathis son-in-law had told him the story of the ancient deed, and beggedpermission to see it for himself. The request was natural, andSaracinesca was not suspicious at any time; at present, he was too muchoccupied with his own most unpleasant reflections to attach anyimportance to the incident. Montevarchi thought there was somethingwrong with his friend, but inasmuch as he had received the papers, heasked no questions and presently departed with them, hasteninghomewards in order to lose no time in satisfying his curiosity.

  Two hours later he was still sitting in his dismal study with themanuscripts before him. He had ascertained what he wanted to know,namely, that the papers really existed and were drawn up in a legalform. He had hoped to find a rambling agreement, made out principallyby the parties concerned, and copied with some improvements by thefamily notary of the time, for he had made up his mind that if any flawcould be discovered in the deed San Giacinto should become PrinceSaracinesca, and should have possession of all the immense wealth thatbelonged to the family. San Giacinto was the heir in the direct line,and although his great-grand-father had relinquished his birthright inthe firm expectation of having no children, the existence of hisdescendants might greatly modify the provisions of the agreement.

  Montevarchi's face fell when he had finished deciphering the principaldocument. The provisions and conditions were short and concise, andwere contained upon one large sheet of parchment, signed, witnessed andbearing the official seal and signature which proved that it had beenratified.

  It was set forth therein that Don Leone Saracinesca, being the eldestson of Don Giovanni Saracinesca, deceased, Prince of Saracinesca, ofSant' Ilario and of Torleone, Duke of Barda, and possessor of manyother titles, Grandee of Spain of the first class and Count of the HolyRoman Empire, did of his own free will, by his own motion and will,make over and convey to, and bestow upon, Don Orsino Saracinesca, hisyounger and only brother, the principalities of Saracinesca--herefollowed a complete list of the various titles and estates--includingthe titles, revenues, seigneurial rights, appanages, holdings, powersand sovereignty attached to and belonging to each and every one, tohim, the aforesaid Don Orsino Saracinesca and to the heirs of his bodyin the male line direct for ever.

  Here there was a stop, and the manuscript began again at the top of theother side of the sheet. The next clause contained the solitaryprovision to the effect that Don Leone reserved to himself the estateand title of San Giacinto in the kingdom of Naples, which at his death,he having no children, should revert to the aforesaid Don OrsinoSaracinesca and his heirs for ever. It was further stated that theagreement was wholly of a friendly character, and that Don Leone boundhimself to take no steps whatever to reinstate himself in the titlesand possessions which, of his own free will, he relinquished, the saidagreement being, in the opinion of both parties, for the advantage ofthe whole house of Saracinesca.

  "He bound himself, not his descendants," remarked Montevarchi at last,as he again bent his head over the document and examined the lastclause. "And he says 'having no children'--in Latin the words may meanin case he had none, being in the ablative absolute. Having nochildren, to Orsino and his heirs for ever--but since he had a son, thecase is altered. Ay, but that clause in the first part says to Orsinoand his heirs for ever, and says nothing about Leone having nochildren. It is more absolute than the ablative. That is bad."

  For a long time he pondered over the writing. The remaining documentswere merely transfers of the individual estates, in each of which itwas briefly stated that the property in question was conveyed inaccordance with the conditions of the main deed. There was nodifficulty there. The Saracinesca inheritance depended solely on theexistence of this one piece of parchment, and of the copy orregistration of it in the government offices. Montevarchi glanced atthe candle that stood before him in a battered brass candlestick, andhis old heart beat a little faster than usual. To burn the sheet ofparchment, and then deny on oath that he had ever seen it--it was verysimple. Saracinesca would find it hard to prove the existence of thething. Montevarchi hesitated, and then laughed at himself for hisfolly. It would be necessary first to ascertain what there was at theChancery office, otherwise he would be ruining himself for nothing.That was certainly the most important step at present. He pondered overthe matter for some time and then rose from his chair.

  As he stood before the table he glanced once more at the sheet. Asthough the greater distance made it more clear to his old sight, henoticed that there was a blank space, capable of containing three linesof writing like what was above, while still leaving a reasonable marginat the bottom of the page. As the second clause was the shorter, thescribe had doubtless thought it better to begin afresh on the otherside.

  Montevarchi sat down again, and took a large sheet of paper and a pen.He rapidly copied the first clause to the end, but after the words "inthe male line direct for ever" his pen still ran on. The deed then readas follows:--

  "... In the male line direct for ever, provided that the aforesaid DonLeone Saracinesca shall have no son born to him in wedlock, in whichcase, and if such a son be born, this present deed is wholly null, voidand ineffectual."

  Montevarchi did not stop here. He carefully copied the remainder as itstood, to the last word. Then he put away the original and read what hehad written very slowly and carefully. With the addition it wasperfectly clear that San Giacinto must be considered to be the lawfuland only Prince Saracinesca.

  "How well those few words would look at the bottom of the page!"exclaimed the old man half aloud. He sat still and gloated inimagination over the immense wealth which would thus be brought intohis family.

  "They shall be there--they must be there!" he muttered at last."Millions! millions! After all it is only common justice. The oldreprobate would never have disinherited his son if he had expected tohave one."

  His long thin fingers crooked themselves and scratched the shabby greenbaize that covered the table, as though heaping together little pilesof money, and then hiding them under the palm of his hand.

  "Even if there is a copy," he said again under his breath, "the littlework will look as prettily upon it as on this--if only the sheets arethe same size and there is the same space," he added, his face fallingagain at the disagreeable reflection that the duplicate might differ insome respect from the original.

  The plan was simple enough in appearance, and provided that thehandwriting could be successfully forged, there was no reason why itshould not succeed. The man who could do it, if he would, was in thehouse at that moment, and Montevarchi knew it. Arnoldo Meschini, theshrivelled little secretary and librarian, who had a profound knowledgeof the law and spent his days as well as most of his nights in poringover crabbed manuscripts, was the very person for such a piece of work.He understood the smallest variations in handwriting which belonged todifferent periods, and the minutest details of old-fashioned penmanshipwere as familiar to him as the common alphabet. But would he do it?Would he undertake the responsibility of a forgery of which the successwould produce such tremendous responsibilities, of which the failurewould involve such awful disgrace? Montevarchi had reasons of his ownfor believing that Arnoldo Meschini would do anything he was ordered todo, and would moreover keep the secret faithfully. Indeed, as far asdiscretion was concerned, he would, in case of exposure, have to bearthe pe
nalty. Montevarchi would arrange that. If discovered it would beeasy for him to pretend that being unable to read the manuscript he hademployed his secretary to do so, and that the latter, in the hope ofreward, had gratuitously imposed upon the prince and the courts of lawbefore whom the case would be tried.

  One thing was necessary. San Giacinto must never see the documentsuntil they were produced as evidence. In the first place it wasimportant that he, who was the person nearest concerned, should be inreality perfectly innocent, and should be himself as much deceived asany one. Nothing impresses judges like real and unaffected innocence.Secondly, if he were consulted, it was impossible to say what view hemight take of the matter. Montevarchi suspected him of possessing someof the hereditary boldness of the Saracinesca. He might refuse to be aparty in a deception, even though he himself was to benefit by it, aconsideration which chilled the old man's blood and determined him atonce to confide the secret to no one but Arnoldo Meschini, who wascompletely in his power.

  The early history of this remarkable individual was uncertain. He hadreceived an excellent education and it is no exaggeration to call himlearned, for he possessed a surprising knowledge of ancient manuscriptsand a great experience in everything connected with this branch ofarchaeology. It was generally believed that he had been bred to enterthe church, but he himself never admitted that he had been anythingmore than a scholar in a religious seminary. He had subsequentlystudied law and had practised for some time, when he had suddenlyabandoned his profession in order to accept the ill-paid post oflibrarian and secretary to the father of the present PrinceMontevarchi. Probably his love of mediaeval lore had got the better ofhis desire for money, and during the five and twenty years he had spentin the palace he had never been heard to complain of his condition. Helived in a small chamber in the attic and passed his days in thelibrary, winter and summer alike, perpetually poring over themanuscripts and making endless extracts in his odd, old-fashionedhandwriting. The result of his labours was never published, and atfirst sight it would have been hard to account for his enormousindustry and for the evident satisfaction he derived from his work. Thenature of the man, however, was peculiar, and his occupation wasundoubtedly congenial to him, and far more profitable than it appearedto be.

  Arnoldo Meschini was a forger. He was one of that band of manufacturersof antiquities who have played such a part in the dealings of foreigncollectors during the last century, and whose occupation, though slowand laborious, occasionally produces immense profits. He had not givenup his calling with the deliberate intention of resorting to thismethod of earning a subsistence, but had drifted into his evilpractices by degrees. In the first instance he had quitted the bar inconsequence of having been connected with a scandalous case ofextortion and blackmailing, in which he had been suspected ofconstructing forged documents for his client, though the crime had notbeen proved against him. His reputation, however, had been ruined, andhe had been forced to seek his bread elsewhere. It chanced that theformer librarian of the Montevarchi died at that time and that theprince was in search of a learned man ready to give his services for astipend about equal to the wages of a footman. Meschini presentedhimself and got the place. The old prince was delighted with him andagreed to forget the aforesaid disgrace he had incurred, inconsideration of his exceptional qualities. He set himselfsystematically to study the contents of the ancient library, with theintention of publishing the contents of the more precious manuscripts,and for two or three years he pursued his object with this laudablepurpose, and with the full consent of his employer.

  One day a foreign newspaper fell into his hands containing an accountof a recent sale in which sundry old manuscripts had brought largeprices. A new idea crossed his mind, and the prospect of unexpectedwealth unfolded itself to his imagination. For several months hestudied even more industriously than before, until, having made up hismind, he began to attempt the reproduction of a certain valuablewriting dating from the fourteenth century. He worked in his own roomduring the evening and allowed no one to see what he was doing, foralthough it was rarely that the old prince honoured the library with avisit, yet Meschini was inclined to run no risks, and proceeded in histask with the utmost secrecy.

  Nothing could exceed the care he showed in the preparation and use ofhis materials. One of his few acquaintances was a starving, but cleverchemist, who kept a dingy shop in the neighbourhood of the PonteQuattro Capi. To this poor man he applied in order to obtain aknowledge of the ink used in the old writings. He professed himselfanxious to get all possible details on the subject for a work he waspreparing upon mediaeval calligraphy, and his friend soon set his mindat rest by informing him that if the ink contained any metallic partshe would easily detect them, but that if it was composed of animal andvegetable matter it would be almost impossible to give a satisfactoryanalysis. At the end of a few days Meschini was in possession of arecipe for concocting what he wanted, and after numerous experiments,in the course of which he himself acquired great practical knowledge ofthe subject, he succeeded in producing an ink apparently in allrespects similar to that used by the scribe whose work he proposed tocopy. He had meanwhile busied himself with the preparation ofparchment, which is by no means an easy matter when it is necessary togive it the colour and consistency of very ancient skin. He learnedthat the ligneous acids contained in the smoke of wood could be easilydetected, and it was only through the assistance of the chemist that hefinally hit upon the method of staining the sheets with a thin broth ofuntanned leather, of which the analysis would give a result closelyapproaching that of the parchment itself. Moreover, he made all sortsof trials of quill pens, until he had found a method of cutting whichproduced the exact thickness of stroke required, and during the wholetime he exercised himself in copying and recopying many pages of themanuscript upon common paper, in order to familiarise himself with themethod of forming the letters.

  It was nearly two years before he felt himself able to begin his firstimitation, but the time and study he had expended were not lost, andthe result surpassed his expectations. So ingeniously perfect was thefacsimile when finished that Meschini himself would have found it hardto swear to the identity of the original if he had not been allowed tosee either of the two for some time. The minutest stains werereproduced with scrupulous fidelity. The slightest erasure was copiedminutely. He examined every sheet to ascertain exactly how it had beenworn by the fingers rubbing on the corners and spent days in turning apage thousands of times, till the oft-repeated touch of his thumb haddeepened the colour to the exact tint.

  When the work was finished he hesitated. It seemed to him very perfect,but he feared lest he should be deceiving himself from having seen thething daily for so many months. He took his copy one day to a famouscollector, and submitted it to him for examination, asking at the sametime what it was worth. The specialist spent several hours in examiningthe writing, and pronounced it very valuable, naming a large sum, whileadmitting that he was unable to buy it himself.

  Arnoldo Meschini took his work home with him, and spent a day inconsidering what he should do. Then he deliberately placed thefacsimile in his employer's library, and sold the original to a learnedman who was collecting for a great public institution in a foreigncountry. His train of reasoning was simple, for he said to himself thatthe forgery was less likely to be detected in the shelves of theMontevarchi's palace than if put into the hands of a body of famousscientists who naturally distrusted what was brought to them.Collectors do not ask questions as to whence a valuable thing has beentaken; they only examine whether it be genuine and worth the money.

  Emboldened by his success, the forger had continued to manufacturefacsimiles and sell originals for nearly twenty years, during which hesucceeded in producing nearly as many copies, and realised a sum whichto him appeared enormous and which was certainly not to be despised byany one. Some of the works he sold were published and annotated bygreat scholars, some were jealously guarded in the libraries of richamateurs, who treasured them with all the selfish
vigilance of thebibliomaniac. In the meanwhile Meschini's learning and skill constantlyincreased, till he possessed an almost diabolical skill in the art ofimitating ancient writings, and a familiarity with the subject whichamazed the men of learning who occasionally obtained permission toenter the library and study there. Upon these, too, Meschini now andthen experimented with his forgeries, not one of which was everdetected.

  Prince Montevarchi saw in his librarian only a poor wretch whosepassion for ancient literature seemed to dominate his life and whoseuntiring industry had made him master of the very secret necessary inthe present instance. He knew that such things as he contemplated hadbeen done before and he supposed that they had been done by just suchmen as Arnoldo Meschini. He knew the history of the man's earlydisgrace and calculated wisely enough that the fear of losing hissituation on the one hand, and the hope of a large reward on the other,would induce him to undertake the job. To all appearances he was aspoor as when he had entered the service of the prince's father five andtwenty years earlier. The promise of a few hundred scudi, thoughtMontevarchi, would have immense weight with such a man. In hiseagerness to accomplish his purpose, the nobleman never suspected thatthe offer would be refused by a fellow who had narrowly escaped beingconvicted of forgery in his youth, and whose poverty was a matterconcerning which no doubt could exist.

  Montevarchi scarcely hesitated before going to the library. If hepaused at all, it was more to consider the words he intended to usethan to weigh in his mind the propriety of using them. The library wasa vast old hall, surrounded on all sides, and nearly to the ceiling,with carved bookcases of walnut blackened with age to the colour of oldmahogany. There were a number of massive tables in the room, upon whichthe light fell agreeably from high clerestory windows at each end ofthe apartment. Meschini himself was shuffling along in a pair ofancient leather slippers with a large volume under his arm, clad invery threadbare black clothes and wearing a dingy skullcap on his head.He was a man somewhat under the middle size, badly made, thoughpossessing considerable physical strength. His complexion was of amuddy yellow, disagreeable to see, but his features rendered himinteresting if not sympathetic. The brow was heavy and the grayeyebrows irregular and bushy, but his gray eyes were singularly clearand bright, betraying a hidden vitality which would not have beensuspected from the whole impression he made. A high forehead, veryprominent in the upper and middle part, contracted below, so that therewas very little breadth at the temples, but considerable expanse above.The eyes were near together and separated by the knifelike bridge ofthe nose, the latter descending in a fine curve of wonderfully delicateoutline. The chin was pointed, and the compressed mouth showed littleor nothing of the lips. On each side of his head the coarsely-shapedand prominent ears contrasted disagreeably with the fine keenness ofthe face. He stooped a little from the neck, and his shoulders slopedin a way that made them look narrower than they really were.

  As the prince closed the door behind him and advanced, Meschini liftedhis cap a little and laid down the book he was carrying, wonderinginwardly what had brought his employer to see him at that hour of themorning.

  "Sit down," said Montevarchi, with more than usual affability, andsetting the example by seating himself upon one of the high-backedchairs which were ranged along the tables. "Sit down, Meschini, and letus have a little conversation."

  "Willingly, Signor Principe," returned the librarian, obeying thecommand and placing himself opposite to the prince.

  "I have been thinking about you this morning," continued the latter."You have been with us a very long time. Let me see. How many years?Eighteen? Twenty?"

  "Twenty-five years, Excellency. It is a long time, indeed!"

  "Twenty-five years! Dear me! How the thought takes me back to my poorfather! Heaven bless him, he was a good man. But, as I was saying,Meschini, you have been with us many years, and we have not done muchfor you. No. Do not protest! I know your modesty, but one must be justbefore all things. I think you draw fifteen scudi a month? Yes. I havea good memory, you see. I occupy myself with the cares of my household.But you are not so young as you were once, my friend, and your faithfulservices deserve to be rewarded. Shall we say thirty scudi a month infuture? To continue all your life, even if--heaven avert it--you shouldever become disabled from superintending the library--yes, all yourlife."

  Meschini bowed as he sat in acknowledgment of so much generosity, andassumed a grateful expression suitable to the occasion. In reality, hissalary was of very little importance to him, as compared with what herealised from his illicit traffic in manuscripts. But, like hisemployer, he was avaricious, and the prospect of three hundred andsixty scudi a year was pleasant to contemplate. He bowed and smiled.

  "I do not deserve so much liberality, Signor Principe," he said. "Mypoor services--"

  "Very far from poor, my dear friend, very far from poor," interruptedMontevarchi. "Moreover, if you will have confidence in me, you can dome a very great service indeed. But it is indeed a very private matter.You are a discreet man, however, and have few friends. You are notgiven to talking idly of what concerns no one but yourself."

  "No, Excellency," replied Meschini, laughing inwardly as he thought ofthe deceptions he had been practising with success during a quarter ofa century.

  "Well, well, this is a matter between ourselves, and one which, as youwill see, will bring its own reward. For although it might not passmuster in a court of law--the courts you know, Meschini, are verysensitive about little things--" he looked keenly at his companion,whose eyes were cast down.

  "Foolishly sensitive," echoed the librarian.

  "Yes. I may say that in the present instance, although the law mightthink differently of the matter, we shall be doing a good deed,redressing a great injustice, restoring to the fatherless hisbirthright, in a word fulfilling the will of Heaven, while perhapspaying little attention to the laws of man. Man, my friend, is oftenvery unjust in his wisdom."

  "Very. I can only applaud your Excellency's sentiments, which dojustice to a man of heart."

  "No, no, I want no praise," replied the prince in a tone ofdeprecation. "What I need in order to accomplish this good action isyour assistance and friendly help. To whom should I turn, but to theold and confidential friend of the family? To a man whose knowledge ofthe matter on hand is only equalled by his fidelity to those who haveso long employed him?"

  "You are very good, Signor Principe. I will do my best to serve you, asI have served you and his departed Excellency, the Signor Principe,your father."

  "Very well, Meschini. Now I need only repeat that the reward for yourservices will be great, as I trust that hereafter your recompense maybe adequate for having had a share in so good a deed. But, to be short,the best way to acquaint you with the matter is to show you thisdocument which I have brought for the purpose."

  Montevarchi produced the famous deed and carefully unfolded it upon thetable. Then, after glancing over it once more, he handed it to thelibrarian. The latter bent his keen eyes upon the page and rapidlydeciphered the contents. Then he read it through a second time and atlast laid it down upon the table and looked up at the prince with anair of inquiry.

  "You see, my dear Meschini," said Montevarchi in suave tones, "thisagreement was made by Don Leone Saracinesca because he expected to haveno children. Had he foreseen what was to happen--for he has legitimatedescendants alive, he would have added a clause here, at the foot ofthe first page--do you see? The clause he would have added would havebeen very short--something like this, 'Provided that the aforesaid DonLeone Saracinesca shall have no son born to him in wedlock, in whichcase, and if such a son be born, this present deed is wholly null, voidand ineffectual.' Do you follow me?"

  "Perfectly," replied Meschini, with a strange look in his eyes. Heagain took the parchment and looked it over, mentally inserting thewords suggested by his employer. "If those words were inserted, therecould be no question about the view the tribunals would take. But theremust be a duplicate of the deed at the Cancellaria."<
br />
  "Perhaps. I leave that to your industry to discover. Meanwhile, I amsure you agree with me that a piece of horrible injustice has beencaused by this document; a piece of injustice, I repeat, which it isour sacred duty to remedy and set right."

  "You propose to me to introduce this clause, as I understand, in thisdocument and in the original," said the librarian, as though he wishedto be quite certain of the nature of the scheme.

  Montevarchi turned his eyes away and slowly scratched the table withhis long nails.

  "I mean to say," he answered in a lower voice, "that if it could bemade out in law that it was the intention of the person, of Don Leone--"

  "Let us speak plainly," interrupted Meschini. "We are alone. It is ofno use to mince matters here. The only way to accomplish what youdesire is to forge the words in both parchments. The thing can be done,and I can do it. It will be successful, without a shadow of a doubt.But I must have my price. There must be no misunderstanding. I do notthink much of your considerations of justice, but I will do what yourequire, for money."

  "How much?" asked Montevarchi in a thick voice. His heart misgave him,for he had placed himself in the man's power, and Meschini'sauthoritative tone showed that the latter knew it, and meant to use hisadvantage.

  "I will be moderate, for I am a poor man. You shall give me twentythousand scudi in cash, on the day the verdict is given in favour ofDon Giovanni Saracinesca, Marchese di San Giacinto. That is yourfriend's name, I believe."

  Montevarchi started as the librarian named the sum, and he turned verypale, passing his bony hand upon the edge of the table.

  "I would not have expected this of you!" he exclaimed.

  "You have your choice," returned the other, bringing his yellow facenearer to his employer's and speaking very distinctly. "You know whatit all means. Saracinesca, Sant' Ilario, and Barda to your son-in-law,besides all the rest, amounting perhaps to several millions. To me, whoget you all this, a paltry twenty thousand. Or else--" he paused andhis bright eyes seemed to penetrate into Montevarchi's soul. Thelatter's face exhibited a sudden terror, which Meschini understood.

  "Or else?" said the prince. "Or else, I suppose you will try andintimidate me by threatening to expose what I have told you?"

  "Not at all, Excellency," replied the old scholar with sudden humility."If you do not care for the bargain let us leave it alone. I am onlyyour faithful servant, Signor Principe. Do not suspect me of suchingratitude! I only say that if we undertake it, the plan will besuccessful. It is for you to decide. Millions or no millions, it is thesame to me. I am but a poor student. But if I help to get them foryou--or for your son-in-law--I must have what I asked. It is not oneper cent--scarcely a broker's commission! And you will have so much.Not but what your Excellency deserves it all, and is the best judge."

  "One per cent?" muttered Montevarchi. "Perhaps not more than half percent. But is it safe?" he asked suddenly, his fears all at onceasserting themselves with a force that bewildered him.

  "Leave all that to me," answered Meschini confidently. "The insertionshall be made, unknown to any one, in this parchment and in the one inthe Chancery. The documents shall be returned to their places with noobservation, and a month or two later the Marchese di San Giacinto caninstitute proceedings for the recovery of his birthright. I would onlyadvise you not to mention the matter to him. It is essential that heshould be quite innocent in order that the tribunal may suspectnothing. You and I, Signor Principe, can stay at home while the case isproceeding. We shall not even see the Signor Marchese's lawyers, forwhat have we to do with it all? But the Signor Marchese himself must bereally free from all blame, or he will show a weak point. Now, when allis ready, he should go to the Cancellaria and examine the papers therefor himself. He himself will suspect nothing. He will be agreeablysurprised."

  "And how long will it take you to do the--the work?" asked Montevarchiin hesitating tones.

  "Let me see," Meschini began to make a calculation under his breath."Ink, two days--preparing parchment for experiments, a week--writing,twice over, two days--giving age, drying and rubbing, three days, atleast. Two, nine, eleven, fourteen. A fortnight," he said aloud. "Icannot do it in less time than that. If the copy in the Chancery is byanother hand it will take longer."

  "But how can you work at the Chancery?" asked the prince, as though anew objection had presented itself.

  "Have no fear, Excellency. I will manage it so that no one shall findit out. Two visits will suffice. Shall I begin at once? Is it agreed?"

  Montevarchi was silent for several minutes, and his hands moveduneasily.

  "Begin at once," he said at last, as though forcing himself to make adetermination. He rose to go as he spoke.

  "Twenty thousand scudi on the day the verdict is given in favour of theSignor Marchese. Is that it?"

  "Yes, yes. That is it. I leave it all to you."

  "I will serve your Excellency faithfully, never fear."

  "Do, Meschini. Yes. Be faithful as you have always been. Remember, I amnot avaricious. It is in the cause of sound justice that I stoop toassume the appearance of dishonesty. Can a man do more? Can one gofarther than to lose one's self-esteem by appearing to transgress thelaws of honour in order to accomplish a good object; for the sake ofrestoring the birthright to the fatherless and the portion to thewidow, or indeed to the widower, in this case? No, my dear friend. Themeans are more than justified by the righteousness of our purpose.Believe me, my good Meschini--yes, you are good in the best sense ofthe word--believe me, the justice of this world is not always the sameas the justice of Heaven. The dispensations of providence aremysterious."

  "And must remain so, in this case," observed the librarian with an evilsmile.

  "Yes, unfortunately, in this case we shall not reap the worldly praisewhich so kind an action undoubtedly deserves. But we must have patienceunder these trials. Good-bye, Meschini, good-bye, my friend. I mustbusy myself with the affairs of my household. Every man must do hisduty in this world, you know."

  The scholar bowed his employer to the door, and then went back to theparchment, which he studied attentively for more than an hour, keepinga huge folio volume open before him, into which he might slip theprecious deed in case he were interrupted in his occupation.