“Are you going?” she asked, as though she were surprised.
“Since I cannot please you.”
“Since you will not.”
“I do not know how.”
“Be yourself — the same that you always are. You are affecting to be some one else, to-day.”
“I fancy it is the other way,” answered Orsino, with more truth than he really owned to himself.
“Then I prefer the affectation to the reality.”
“As you will, Madame. Good evening.”
He crossed the room to go out. She called him back.
“Don Orsino!”
He turned sharply round.
“Madame?”
Seeing that he did not move, she rose and went to him. He looked down into her face and saw that it was changed again.
“Are you really angry?” she asked. There was something girlish in the way she asked the question, and, for a moment, in her whole manner.
Orsino could not help smiling. But he said nothing.
“No, you are not,” she continued. “I can see it. Do you know? I am very glad. It was foolish of me to tease you. You will forgive me? This once?”
“If you will give me warning the next time.” He found that he was looking into her eyes.
“What is the use of warning?” she asked.
They were very close together, and there was a moment’s silence. Suddenly Orsino forgot everything and bent down, clasping her in his arms and kissing her again and again. It was brutal, rough, senseless, but he could not help it.
Maria Consuelo uttered a short, sharp cry, more of surprise, perhaps, than of horror. To Orsino’s amazement and confusion her voice was immediately answered by another, which was that of the dark and usually silent maid, whom he had seen once or twice. The woman ran into the room, terrified by the cry she had heard.
“Madame felt faint in crossing the room, and was falling when I caught her,” said Orsino, with a coolness that did him credit.
And, in fact, Maria Consuelo closed her eyes as he let her sink into the nearest chair. The maid fell on her knees beside her mistress and began chafing her hands.
“The poor Signora!” she exclaimed. “She should never be left alone! She has not been herself since the poor Signore died. You had better leave us, sir — I will put her to bed when she revives. It often happens — pray do not be anxious!”
Orsino picked up his hat and left the room.
“Oh — it often happens, does it?” he said to himself as he closed the door softly behind him and walked down the corridor of the hotel.
He was more amazed at his own boldness than he cared to own. He had not supposed that scenes of this description produced themselves so very unexpectedly, and, as it were, without any fixed intention on the part of the chief actor. He remembered that he had been very angry with Madame d’Aranjuez, that she had spoken half a dozen words, and that he had felt an irresistible impulse to kiss her. He had done so, and he thought with considerable trepidation of their next meeting. She had screamed, which showed that she was outraged by his boldness. It was doubtful whether she would receive him again. The best thing to be done, he thought, was to write her a very humble letter of apology, explaining his conduct as best he could. This did not accord very well with his principles, but he had already transgressed them in being so excessively hasty. Her eyes had certainly been provoking in the extreme, and it had been impossible to resist the expression on her lips. But at all events, he should have begun by kissing her hand, which she would certainly not have withdrawn again — then he might have put his arm round her and drawn her head to his shoulder. These were preliminaries in the matter of kissing which it was undoubtedly right to observe, and he had culpably neglected them. He had been abominably brutal, and he ought to apologise. Nevertheless, he would not have forfeited the recollection of that moment for all the other recollections of his life, and he knew it. As he walked along the street he felt a wild exhilaration such as he had never known before. He owned gladly to himself that he loved Maria Consuelo, and resolutely thrust away the idea that his boyish vanity was pleased by the snatching of a kiss.
Whatever the real nature of his delight might be it was for the time so sincere that he even forgot to light a cigarette in order to think over the circumstances.
Walking rapidly up the Corso he came to the Piazza Colonna, and the glare of the electric light somehow recalled him to himself.
“Great speech of the Honourable Del Ferice!” yelled a newsboy in his ear. “Ministerial crisis! Horrible murder of a grocer!”
Orsino mechanically turned to the right in the direction of the Chambers. Del Ferice had probably gone home, since his speech was already in print. But fate had ordained otherwise. Del Ferice had corrected his proofs on the spot and had lingered to talk with his friends before going home. Not that it mattered much, for Orsino could have found him as well on the following day. His brougham was standing in front of the great entrance and he himself was shaking hands with a tall man under the light of the lamps. Orsino went up to him.
“Could you spare me a quarter of an hour?” asked the young man in a voice constrained by excitement. He felt that he was embarked at last upon his great enterprise.
Del Ferice looked up in some astonishment. He had reason to dread the quarrelsome disposition of the Saracinesca as a family, and he wondered what Orsino wanted.
“Certainly, certainly, Don Orsino,” he answered, with a particularly bland smile. “Shall we drive, or at least sit in my carriage? I am a little fatigued with my exertions to-day.”
The tall man bowed and strolled away, biting the end of an unlit cigar.
“It is a matter of business,” said Orsino, before entering the carriage. “Can you help me to try my luck — in a very small way — in one of the building enterprises you manage?”
“Of course I can, and will,” answered Del Ferice, more and more astonished. “After you, my dear Don Orsino, after you,” he repeated, pushing the young man into the brougham. “Quiet streets — till I stop you,” he said to the footman, as he himself got in.
CHAPTER XI.
DEL FERICE WAS surprised beyond measure at Orsino’s request, and was not guilty of any profoundly nefarious intention when he so readily acceded to it. His own character made him choose as a rule to refuse nothing that was asked of him, though his promises were not always fulfilled afterwards. To express his own willingness to help those who asked, was of course not the same as asserting his power to give assistance when the time should come. In the present case he did not even make up his mind which of two courses he would ultimately pursue. Orsino came to him with a small sum of ready money in his hand. Del Ferice had it in his power to make him lose that sum, and a great deal more besides, thereby causing the boy endless trouble with his family; or else the banker could, if he pleased, help him to a very considerable success. His really superior talent for diplomacy inclined him to choose the latter plan, but he was far too cautious to make any hasty decision.
The brougham rolled on through quiet and ill-lighted streets, and Del Ferice leaned back in his corner, not listening at all to Orsino’s talk, though he occasionally uttered a polite though utterly unintelligible syllable or two which might mean anything agreeable to his companion’s views. The situation was easy enough to understand, and he had grasped it in a moment. What Orsino might say was of no importance whatever, but the consequences of any action on Del Ferice’s part might be serious and lasting.
Orsino stated his many reasons for wishing to engage in business, as he had stated them more than once already during the day and during the past weeks, and when he had finished he repeated his first question.
“Can you help me to try my luck?” he asked.
Del Ferice awoke from his reverie with characteristic readiness and realised that he must say something. His voice had never been strong and he leaned out of his corner of the carriage in order to speak near Orsino’s ear.
“I a
m delighted with all you say,” he began, “and I scarcely need repeat that my services are altogether at your disposal. The only question is, how are we to begin? The sum you mention is certainly not large, but that does not matter. You would have little difficulty in raising as many hundreds of thousands as you have thousands, if money were necessary. But in business of this kind the only ready money needed is for stamp duty and for the wages of workmen, and the banks advance what is necessary for the latter purpose, in small sums on notes of hand guaranteed by a general mortgage. When you have paid the stamp duties, you may go to the club and lose the balance of your capital at baccarat if you please. The loss in that direction will not affect your credit as a contractor. All that is very simple. You wish to succeed, however, not at cards, but at business. That is the difficulty.”
Del Ferice paused.
“That is not very clear to me,” observed Orsino.
“No — no,” answered Del Ferice thoughtfully. “No — I daresay it is not so very clear. I wish I could make it clearer. Speculation means gambling only when the speculator is a gambler. Of course there are successful gamblers in the world, but there are not many of them. I read somewhere the other day that business was the art of handling other people’s-money. The remark is not particularly true. Business is the art of creating a value where none has yet existed. That is what you wish to do. I do not think that a Saracinesca would take pleasure in turning over money not belonging to him.”
“Certainly not!” exclaimed Orsino. “That is usury.”
“Not exactly, but it is banking; and banking, it is quite true, is usury within legal bounds. There is no question of that here. The operation is simple in the extreme. I sell you a piece of land on the understanding that you will build upon it, and instead of payment you give me a mortgage. I lend you money from month to month in small sums at a small interest, to pay for material and labour. You are only responsible upon one point. The money is to be used for the purpose stated. When the building is finished you sell it. If you sell it for cash, you pay off the mortgage, and receive the difference. If you sell it with the mortgage, the buyer becomes the mortgager and only pays you the difference, which remains yours, out and out. That is the whole process from beginning to end.”
“How wonderfully simple!”
“It is almost primitive in its simplicity,” answered Del Ferice gravely. “But in every case two difficulties present themselves, and I am bound to tell you that they are serious ones.”
“What are they?”
“You must know how to buy in the right part of the city and you must have a competent assistant. The two conditions are indispensable.”
“What sort of an assistant?” asked Orsino.
“A practical man. If possible, an architect, who will then have a share of the profits instead of being paid for his work.”
“Is it very hard to find such a person?”
“It is not easy.”
“Do you think you could help me?”
“I do not know. I am assuming a great responsibility in doing so. You do not seem to realise that, Don Orsino.”
Del Ferice laughed a little in his quiet way, but Orsino was silent. It was the first time that the banker had reminded him of the vast difference in their social and political positions.
“I do not think it would be very wise of me to help you into such a business as this,” said Del Ferice cautiously. “I speak quite selfishly and for my own sake. Success is never certain, and it would be a great injury to me if you failed.”
He was beginning to make up his mind.
“Why?” asked Orsino. His own instincts of generosity were aroused. He would certainly not do Del Ferice an injury if he could help it, nor allow him to incur the risk of one.
“If you fail,” answered the other, “all Rome will say that I have intentionally brought about your failure. You know how people talk. Thousands will become millions and I shall be accused of having plotted the destruction of your family, because your father once wounded me in a duel, nearly five and twenty years ago.”
“How absurd!”
“No, no. It is not absurd. I am afraid I have the reputation of being vindictive. Well, well — it is in bad taste to talk of oneself. I am good at hating, perhaps, but I have always felt that I preferred peace to war, and now I am growing old. I am not what I once was, Don Orsino, and I do not like quarrelling. But I would not allow people to say impertinent things about me, and if you failed and lost money, I should be abused by your friends, and perhaps censured by my own. Do you see? Yes, I am selfish. I admit it. You must forgive that weakness in me. I like peace.”
“It is very natural,” said Orsino, “and I have no right to put you in danger of the slightest inconvenience. But, after all, why need I appear before the public?”
Del Ferice smiled in the dark.
“True,” he answered. “You could establish an anonymous firm, so to say, and the documents would be a secret between you and me and the notary. Of course there are many ways of managing such an affair quietly.”
He did not add that the secret could only be kept so long as Orsino was successful. It seemed a pity to damp so much good enthusiasm.
“We will do that, then, if you will show me how. My ambition is not to see my name on a door-plate, but to be really occupied.”
“I understand, I understand,” said Del Ferice thoughtfully. “I must ask you to give me until to-morrow to consider the matter. It needs a little thought.”
“Where can I find you, to hear your decision?”
Del Ferice was silent for a moment.
“I think I once met you late in the afternoon at Madame d’Aranjuez’s. We might manage to meet there to-morrow and come away together. Shall we name an hour? Would it suit you?”
“Perfectly,” answered Orsino with alacrity.
The idea of meeting Maria Consuelo alone was very disturbing in his present state of mind. He felt that he had lost his balance in his relations with her, and that in order to regain it he must see her in the presence of a third person, if only for a quarter of an hour. It would be easier, then, to resume the former intercourse and to say whatever he should determine upon saying. If she were offended, she would at least not show it in any marked way before Del Ferice. Orsino’s existence, he thought, was becoming complicated for the first time, and though he enjoyed the vague sensation of impending difficulty, he wanted as many opportunities as possible of reviewing the situation and of meditating upon each new move.
He got out of Del Ferice’s carriage at no great distance from his own home, and after a few words of very sincere thanks walked slowly away. He found it very hard to arrange his thoughts in any consecutive order, though he tried several methods of self-analysis, and repeated to himself that he had experienced a great happiness and was probably on the threshold of a great success. These two reflections did not help him much. The happiness had been of the explosive kind, and the success in the business matter was more than problematic, as well as certainly distant in the future.
He was very restless and craved the immediate excitement of further emotions, so that he would certainly have gone to the club that night, had not the fear of losing his small and precious capital deterred him. He thought of all that was coming and he determined to be careful, even sordid if necessary, rather than lose his chance of making the great attempt. Besides, he would cut a poor figure on the morrow if he were obliged to admit to Del Ferice that he had lost his fifteen thousand francs and was momentarily penniless. He accordingly shut himself up in his own room at an early hour, and smoked in solitude until he was sleepy, reviewing the various events of the day, or trying to do so, though his mind reverted constantly to the one chief event of all, to the unaccountable outburst of passion by which he had perhaps offended Maria Consuelo beyond forgiveness. With all his affectation of cynicism he had not learned that sin is easy only because it meets with such very general encouragement. Even if he had been aware of that undeniable f
act, the knowledge might not have helped him very materially.
The hours passed very slowly during the next day, and even when the appointed time had come, Orsino allowed another quarter of an hour to go by before he entered the hotel and ascended to the little sitting-room in which Maria Consuelo received. He meant to be sure that Del Ferice was there before entering, but he was too proud to watch for the latter’s coming, or to inquire of the porter whether Maria Consuelo were alone or not. It seemed simpler in every way to appear a little late.
But Del Ferice was a busy man and not always punctual, so that to Orsino’s considerable confusion, he found Maria Consuelo alone, in spite of his precaution. He was so much surprised as to become awkward, for the first time in his life, and he felt the blood rising in his face, dark as he was.
“Will you forgive me?” he asked, almost timidly, as he held out his hand.
Maria Consuelo’s tawny eyes looked curiously at him. Then she smiled suddenly.
“My dear child,” she said, “you should not do such things! It is very foolish, you know.”
The answer was so unexpected and so exceedingly humiliating, as Orsino thought at first, that he grew pale and drew back a little. But Maria Consuelo took no notice of his behaviour, and settled herself in her accustomed chair.
“Did you find Del Ferice last night?” she asked, changing the subject without the least hesitation.
“Yes,” answered Orsino.
Almost before the word was spoken there was a knock at the door and Del Ferice appeared. Orsino’s face cleared, as though something pleasant had happened, and Maria Consuelo observed the fact. She concluded, naturally enough, that the two men had agreed to meet in her sitting-room, and she resented the punctuality which she supposed they had displayed in coming almost together, especially after what had happened on the preceding day. She noted the cordiality with which they greeted each other and she felt sure that she was right. On the other hand she could not afford to show the least coldness to Del Ferice, lest he should suppose that she was annoyed at being disturbed in her conversation with Orsino. The situation was irritating to her, but she made the best of it and began to talk to Del Ferice about the speech he had made on the previous evening. He had spoken well, and she found it easy to be just and flattering at the same time.
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 547