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His garden-paths ran with muddy brooklets; the high-road beyond his hedge was transformed to a shallow torrent.... And, just at that moment, looking off along the highroad, he saw something that brought his heart into his throat. Three figures were hurrying down it, half-drowned in the rain the Duchessa di Santangiolo, Emilia Manfredi, and a priest.
"Marietta," he observed, that evening, as he dined, "I would have you to know that the Aco is bridged. Hence, there is one symbol the fewer in Lombardy. But why does you mustn't mind the Ollendorfian form of my enquiry why does the chaplain of the Duchessa wear red stockings?" "The chaplain of the Duchessa ?" repeated Marietta, wrinkling up her brow. "Ang of the Duchessa di Santangiolo.
That evening, among the letters Peter received from England, there was one from his friend Mrs. Winchfield, which contained certain statistics. "Your Duchessa di Santangiolo 'was' indeed, as your funny old servant told you, English: the only child and heiress of the last Lord Belfont.
"For all the attention she gives it, the water might be undermining her property on both sides." "That old dowager ?" repeated Marietta, blank. "That old widow woman my landlady the Duchessa Vedova di Santangiolo." "She is not very old only twenty-six, twenty-seven," said Marietta. "Don't try to persuade me that she is n't old enough to know better," retorted Peter, sternly.
"But" she raised her voice, screamed almost, as to one deaf "but the Duchessa di Santangiolo is the Signorino's landlady la, proprietaria di tutte queste terre, tutte queste case, tutte, tutte." And she twice, with some violence, reacted her comprehensive gesture, like a swimmer's. "You evade me by a vicious circle," Peter murmured.
"But will you have the kindness to explain to me," the young man continued, "how it happens that the Duchessa di Santangiolo speaks English as well as I do?" The old woman frowned surprise. "Come? She speaks English?" "For all the world like an Englishman," asseverated Peter. "Ah, well," Marietta reflected, "she was English, you know." "Oho!" exclaimed Peter. "She was English! Was she?"
"The Signorino's landlady is the Duchessa di Santangiolo," she answered, in accents of resignation. But then the name seemed to stimulate her; and she went on "She lives there at Castel Ventirose." Marietta pointed towards the castle. "She owns all, all this country, all these houses all, all."
She was married at nineteen to Baldassarre Agosto, Principe Udeschini, Duca di Santangiolo, Marchese di Castellofranco, Count of the Holy Roman Empire, Knight of the Holy Ghost and of St. A younger brother still is Bishop of Sardagna. Cardinal Udeschini is the uncle. "That, dear child, empties my sack of information.
"She is the widow of the Duca di Santangiolo," said Marietta. "Enfin vous entrez dans la voie des aveux," said Peter. "Scusi?" said Marietta. "I am glad to hear she's a widow," said he. "She she might strike a casual observer as somewhat young, for a widow." "She is not very old," agreed Marietta; "only twenty-six, twenty-seven. She was married from the convent. That was eight, nine years ago.
"Yes, now you may bring me my coffee only, let it be tea. When your coffee is coffee it keeps me awake at night." Marietta trudged back to her kitchen, nodding at the sky. The next afternoon, however, the Duchessa di Santangiolo appeared on the opposite bank of the tumultuous Aco. Peter happened to be engaged in the amiable pastime of tossing bread-crumbs to his goldfinches.
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