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And finally, because it is a human parish pump et nihil humanum . . . . So please go on. How did Sampaolo come to be an Island of the Distressed?" "He 's not such a poor dissembler, after all, when roused to action," thought Susanna. "But perhaps we have had enough Sampaolo for one session. I must leave him with an appetite for more."
The Counts of Sampaolo were counts regnant, holding the island by feudal tenure from the Pope, who was their suzerain, and to whom they paid a tribute.
He must conform to the customs of the country," insisted Commendatore Fregi, in the dialect of Sampaolo, twirling his fierce old moustaches, glaring with his mild old eyes. "No," said Susanna, softly, firmly; "we must stretch a point in his favour. He is English. We will adopt the custom of his country. So you will call upon him. I wish it."
A great nobleman should not evade or hide his nobility he should bear it nobly in the sight of the world. That is the mission of the Conte di Sampaolo that is the work he was born to do. It seems to me that at present he is pretty thoroughly neglecting his work." She shot a smile at him, then lowered her eyes again upon her encircled star.
Torrebianca, I need n't remind those who are familiar with Sampaolo, is the name of a mountain, a bare, white, tower-like peak of rock, that rises in the middle of the island, the apex of the ridge separating the coast of Vallanza from the coast of Orca. "Madame Torrebianca? La Nobil Donna Susanna Torrebianca?" She tried the name on her tongue. "Yes, for an impromptu, Torrebianca is n't bad.
If I seemed moved, it was because oh, because I was so taken by surprise, I suppose." She was getting herself in hand. She looked at him quite fearlessly now, with eyes that pretended to forget they had ever been complaisant. "The Count of Sampaolo," she argued calmly, "is not free to marry whom he will. He has his inheritance to regain, his mission to fulfil.
"Conte Antonio Decimose'mo was Conte when, as a lad, I had the honour to join the family," the old servant went on. "It was he who had for consort the Lordessa Crahforrdi of England. After his death, there was the Revolution, by which we annexed to Sampaolo another island called Sardinia. The Lordessa was taken prisoner in these rooms, with the Conte-figlio, and banished from the country.
"Can you actually suppose that I 've passed all these golden days and weeks in friendly hob-nobbings with her, and not learned that she came from the island of Sampaolo? A fellow of penetration, like me? I appeal to your honour is it likely?" "Why the devil have you never told me?" Anthony demanded, with asperity. "You 've never asked me you 've never given me a chance.
"'The Homesick Glutton's Dream." Then, making a face, "Why did you order coffee?" he grumbled. "Why did n't you order tea?" "Tut, don't be peevish," said Adrian. "Sit up, and tie your table-napkin round your neck, and try to be polite when the kind gentleman speaks to you. I did order tea. But tea at Sampaolo is regarded in the light of a pharmaceutical preparation.
"Ah ?" said Anthony, but with a suspension of the voice, with a solicitude of eye and posture, that pressed her to continue. "He is a poor dissembler," thought Susanna. "As if any mere chance outsider would care a fig to hear about Sampaolo. However, so much the better." "Yes," she said, and again she seemed rapt in dreamy contemplation of an air-vision.
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