THE ZOUAVE OFFICER.
Whatever trouble Ethel had experienced at Naples from her conviction
that Hawbury was false was increased and, if possible, intensified by
the discovery that he had followed them to Rome. His true motives for
this could not possibly be known to her, so she, of course, concluded
that it was his infatuation for Minnie, and his determination to win
her for himself. She felt confident that he knew that she belonged to
the party, but was so utterly indifferent to her that he completely
ignored her, and had not sufficient interest in her to ask the
commonest question about her. All this, of course, only confirmed her
previous opinion, and it also deepened her melancholy. One additional
effect it also had, and that was to deprive her of any pleasure that
might be had from drives about Rome. She felt a morbid dread of
meeting him somewhere; she did not yet feel able to encounter him; she
could not trust herself; she felt sure that if she saw him she would
lose all self-control, and make an exhibition of humiliating weakness.
The dread of this was sufficient to detain her at home; and so she
remained indoors, a prisoner, refusing her liberty, brooding over her
troubles, and striving to acquire that indifference to him which she
believed he had toward her. Now going about was the very thing which
would have alleviated her woes, but this was the very thing that she
was unwilling to do; nor could any persuasion shake her resolve.
One day Mrs. Willoughby and Minnie were out driving, and in passing
through a street they encountered a crowd in front of one of the
churches. Another crowd was inside, and, as something was going on,
they stopped the carriage and sat looking. The Swiss Guards were there
in their picturesque costume, and the cardinals in their scarlet robes
and scarlet coaches, and military officers of high rank, and carriages
of the Roman aristocracy filled with beautiful ladies. Something of
importance was going on, the nature of which they did not know. A
little knot of Englishmen stood near; and from their remarks the
ladies gathered that this was the Church of the Jesuits, and that the
Pope in person was going to perform high-mass, and afterward hold a
reception.
Soon there arose a murmur and a bustle among the crowd, which was
succeeded by a deep stillness. The Swiss Guards drove the throng to
either side, and a passage-way was thus formed through the people to
the church. A carriage drove up in great state. In this was seated an
elderly gentleman in rich pontifical robes. He had a mild and gentle
face, upon which was a sweet and winning smile. No face is more
attractive than that of Pio Nono.
"Oh, look!" cried Minnie; "that must be the Pope. Oh, what a darling!"
Mrs. Willoughby, however, was looking elsewhere.
"Minnie," said she.
"What, Kitty dear?"
"Are you acquainted with any Zouave officer?"
"Zouave officer! Why, no; what put such a thing as that into your
head, you old silly?"
"Because there's a Zouave officer over there in the crowd who has been
staring fixedly at us ever since we came up, and trying to make
signals, and it's my opinion he's signaling to you. Look at him; he's
over there on the top of the steps."
"I won't look," said Minnie, pettishly. "How do I know who he is? I
declare I'm afraid to look at any body. He'll be coming and saving my
life."
"I'm sure this man is an old acquaintance."
"Nonsense! how can he be?"
"It may be Captain Kirby."
"How silly! Why, Captain Kirby is in the Rifles."
"Perhaps he is dressed this way just for amusement. Look at him."
"Now, Kitty, I think you're unkind. You _know_ I don't want to look at
him; I don't want to see him. I don't care who he is--the great, big,
ugly, old horrid! And if you say any thing more, I'll go home."
Mrs. Willoughby was about to say something, but her attention and
Minnie's, and that of every one else, was suddenly diverted to another
quarter.
Among the crowd they had noticed a tall man, very thin, with a lean,
cadaverous face, and long, lanky, rusty black hair. He wore a white
neck-tie, and a suit of rusty black clothes. He also held a large
umbrella in his hand, which he kept carefully up out of the way of the
crowd. This figure was a conspicuous one, even in that crowd, and the
ladies had noticed it at the very first.
As the Pope drove up they saw this long, slim, thin, cadaverous man,
in his suit of rusty black, edging his way through the crowd, so as to
get nearer, until at length he stood immediately behind the line of
Swiss Guards, who were keeping the crowd back, and forming a
passageway for the Pope. Meanwhile his Holiness was advancing through
the crowd. He reached out his hand, and smiled and bowed and murmured
a blessing over them. At last his carriage stopped. The door was
opened, and several attendants prepared to receive the Pope and assist
him out.
At that instant the tall, slim stranger pushed forward his sallow
head, with its long, lanky, and rusty black hair, between two Swiss
Guards, and tried to squeeze between them. The Swiss at first stood
motionless, and the stranger had actually succeeded in getting about
half-way through. He was immediately in front of his Holiness, and
staring at him with all his might. His Holiness saw this very peculiar
face, and was so surprised that he uttered an involuntary exclamation,
and stopped short in his descent.
The stranger stopped short too, and quite involuntarily also. For the
Swiss Guards, irritated by his pertinacity, and seeing the Pope's
gesture, turned suddenly, and two of them grasped the stranger by his
coat collar.
It was, of course, an extremely undignified attitude for the Swiss
Guards, whose position is simply an ornamental one. Nothing but the
most unparalleled outrage to their dignity could have moved them to
this. So unusual a display of energy, however, did not last long. A
few persons in citizens' clothes darted forward from among the crowd,
and secured the stranger; while the Swiss, seeing who they were,
resumed their erect, rigid, and ornamental attitude. The Pope found no
longer any obstacle, and resumed his descent. For a moment the
stranger had created a wide-spread consternation in the breasts of all
the different and very numerous classes of men who composed that
crowd. The arrest was the signal for a murmur of voices, among which
the ladies heard those of the knot of Englishmen who stood near.
"It's some Garibaldian," said they.
And this was the general sentiment.
Several hours after this they were at home, and a caller was
announced. It was the Baron Atramonte.
"Atramonte!" said Lady Dalrymple. "Who is that? We're not at home, of
course. Atramonte! Some of these Italian nobles. Really, I think we
have seen enough of them. Who is he, Kitty?"
"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea. I never heard of him in my
life."
"We're not at home, of course. It's a singular way, and surely can not
be Roman fashion. It's not civilized fashion. But the Continental
nobility are _so_ odd."
In a few minutes the servant, who had been dispatched to say, "Not at
home," returned with the statement that the Baron wished particularly
to see Miss Fay on urgent business.
[Illustration: "TWO OF THEM GRASPED THE STRANGER BY HIS COAT COLLAR."]
At this extraordinary message Lady Dalrymple and Mrs. Willoughby
looked first at one another, and then at Minnie, in amazement.
"I'm sure _I_ don't know any thing about him," said Minnie. "They
_always_ tease me so. Oh, do go and see who he is, and send him
away--please! Oh, do, please, Dowdy dear!"
"Well, I suppose I had better see the person," said Lady Dalrymple,
good-naturedly. "There must be some mistake. How is he dressed?" she
asked the servant. "Is he a military gentleman? Most of them seem to
belong to the army."
"Yes, my lady. Zouave dress, my lady."
At this Mrs. Willoughby and Minnie looked at one another. Lady
Dalrymple went away; and as no other was present, Ethel being, as
usual, in her room, Mrs. Willoughby sighed and said,
"I thought that man must know you."
"Well, I'm sure I don't know him," said Minnie. "I never knew a Zouave
officer in my life."
"It may be Captain Kirby, under an assumed name and a disguise."
"Oh no, it isn't. I don't believe he would be such a perfect--monster.
Oh dear! It's somebody, though. It must be. And he wants me. Oh, what
_shall_ I do?"
"Nonsense! You need not go. Aunty will see him, and send him off."
"Oh, I do so hope he'll go; but I'm afraid he won't."
After a short time Lady Dalrymple returned.
"Really," said she, "this is a most extraordinary person. He speaks
English, but not at all like an Englishman. I don't know who he is. He
calls himself a Baron, but he doesn't seem to be a foreigner. I'm
puzzled."
"I hope he's gone," said Mrs. Willoughby.
"No--that's the worst of it. He won't go. He says he must see Minnie,
and he won't tell his errand. I told him that he could not see you,
but that I would tell you what he wanted, and that you were not at
home. And what do you think he said?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Dowdy dear."
"Why, he said he had nothing to do, and would wait till you came back.
And he took his seat in a way that showed that he meant to wait.
Really, I'm quite at a loss what to do. You'll have to see him, Kitty
dear."
"What a strange person!" said Mrs. Willoughby. "It's _so_ rude. And
don't you know what he is? How do you know he isn't an Italian?"
"Oh, his English, you know. He speaks it perfectly, but not like an
Englishman, you know, nor like a Scotchman either, or an Irishman. I
wonder whether he may not be an American?"
At this Minnie started.
"Oh dear!" she said.
"What's the matter, darling?"
"An American! Oh dear! what _will_ become of me!"
"Why," said Lady Dalrymple, "do you know him, then, after all?"
"Oh, I'm _so_ afraid that I know him!"
"Who is it, dear?"
"Oh, Dowdy! Oh, Kitty!"
"What's the matter?"
"It must be that man. Oh, was there _ever_ such a trouble--"
"Really, Minnie dearest, you are allowing yourself to get too
agitated. Who _is_ this person?"
"He--he's--an--American."
"An American? Why, I just said that I thought he might be one. I
didn't know that you were acquainted with any."
"Oh yes; I did get acquainted with some in--in Canada."
"Oh; and is this man a Canadian?"
"No, Dowdy darling; only an American."
"Well, if he's a friend of yours, I suppose you know something about
him. But how singular it is that you have so completely forgotten his
name. Atramonte? Why, I'm sure it's a _very_ singular name for an
American gentleman--at least it seems so to me--but I don't know much
about them, you know. Tell me, darling, who is he?"
"He--he saved my life."
"What! saved your life? Why, my precious child, what _are_ you talking
about? It was the Italian that saved your life, you know, not this
one."
"Oh, but he did too," said Minnie, despairingly. "I couldn't help it.
He would do it. Papa was washed away. I wish they all wouldn't be so
horrid."
Lady Dalrymple looked in an equally despairing manner at Mrs.
Willoughby.
"What is it, Kitty dear? _Is_ the child insane, or what does she mean?
How could this person have saved her life?"
"That's just what distracts me," said Minnie. "They all do it. Every
single person comes and saves my life. And now I suppose I must go
down and see this person."
"Well, really, since you say he saved your life, perhaps it would be
as well not to be uncivil," said Lady Dalrymple; "but, at the same
time, he seems to me to act in a very extraordinary manner. And he
calls himself a Baron. Do they have nobles in America?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Dowdy dear. I never knew that he was a Baron.
He may have been the son of some American Baron; and--and--I'm sure I
don't know."
"Nonsense, Minnie dear," said Mrs. Willoughby. "This man's title is a
foreign one. He probably obtained it in Italy or Spain, or perhaps
Mexico. I think they have titles in Mexico, though I really don't
know."
"Why, of course, one isn't expected to know any thing about America,"
said Lady Dalrymple. "I can mention quite a number of English
statesmen, members of the cabinet, and others, who don't know any more
about America than I do."
"Do you really intend to go down yourself and see him, Minnie dear?"
asked Mrs. Willoughby.
"How can I help it? What am I to do? I must go, Kitty darling. He is
so very positive, and--and he insists so. I don't want to hurt his
feelings, you know; and I really think there is nothing for me to do
but to go. What do you think about it, Dowdy dear?" and she appealed
to her aunt.
"Well, Minnie, my child, I think it would be best not to be unkind or
uncivil, since he saved your life."
Upon this Minnie accompanied her sister to see the visitor.
Mrs. Willoughby entered the room first, and Minnie was close behind
her, as though she sought protection from some unknown peril. On
entering the room they saw a man dressed in Zouave uniform. His hair
was cropped short; he wore a mustache and no beard; his features were
regular and handsome; while a pair of fine dark eyes were looking
earnestly at the door, and the face and the eyes had the expression of
one who is triumphantly awaiting the result of some agreeable
surprise. Mrs. Willoughby at once recognized the stranger as the
Zouave officer who had stared at them near the Church of the Jesuits.
She advanced with lady-like grace toward him, when suddenly he stepped
hastily past her, without taking any notice of her, and catching
Minnie in his arms, he kissed her several times.
Mrs. Willoughby started back in horror.
Minnie did not resist, nor did she scream, or faint, or do any thing.
She only looked a little confused, and managed to extricate herself,
after which she took a seat as far away as she could, putting her
sister between her and the Zouave. But the Zouave's joy was full, and
he didn't appear to notice it. He settled himself in a chair, and
laughed loud in his happiness.
"Only to think of it," said he. "Why, I had no more idea of your being
here, Minnie, than _Victory_. Well, here you see me. Only been here a
couple of months or so. You got my last favor, of course? And ain't
you regular knocked up to see me a Baron? Yes, a Baron--a real, live
Baron! I'll tell you all about it. You see I was here two or three
years ago--the time of Mentana--and fought on the Pope's side. Odd
thing, too, wasn't it, for an American? But so it was. Well, they
promoted me, and wanted me to stay. But I couldn't fix it. I had
business off home, and was on my way there the time of the shipwreck.
Well, I've been dodgin' all round every where since then, but never
forgettin' little Min, mind you, and at last I found myself here, all
right. I'd been speculatin' in wines and raisins, and just dropped in
here to take pot-luck with some old Zouave friends, when, darn me! if
they didn't make me stay. It seems there's squally times ahead. They
wanted a live man. They knew I was that live man. They offered me any
thing I wanted. They offered me the title of Baron Atramonte. That
knocked me, I tell you. Says I, I'm your man. So now you see me Baron
Atramonte, captain in the Papal Zouaves, ready to go where glory waits
me--but fonder than ever of little Min. Oh, I tell you what, I ain't a
bit of a brag, but I'm _some_ here. The men think I'm a little the
tallest lot in the shape of a commander they ever _did_ see. When I'm
in Rome I do as the Romans do, and so I let fly at them a speech every
now and then. Why, I've gone through nearly the whole 'National
Speaker' by this time. I've given them Marcellus's speech to the mob,
Brutus's to the Romans, and Antony's over Cæsar's dead body. I tried a
bit of Cicero against Catiline, but I couldn't remember it very well.
You know it, of course. _Quousque tandem_, you know."
[Illustration:
"CATCHING MINNIE IN HIS ARMS, HE KISSED HER SEVERAL TIMES."]
"Well, Min, how goes it?" he continued. "This _is_ jolly; and, what's
more, it's real good in you--darn me if it ain't! I knew you'd be
regularly struck up all of a heap when you heard of me as a Baron, but
I really didn't think you'd come all the way here to see me. And you
do look stunning! You do beat all! And this lady? You haven't
introduced me, you know."
The Baron rose, and looked expectantly at Mrs. Willoughby, and then at
Minnie. The latter faltered forth some words, among which the Baron
caught the names Mrs. Willoughby and Rufus K. Gunn, the latter name
pronounced, with the middle initial and all, in a queer, prim way.
"Mrs. Willoughby--ah!--Min's sister, I presume. Well, I'm pleased to
see you, ma'am. Do you know, ma'am, I have reason to remember your
name? It's associated with the brightest hours of my life. It was in
your parlor, ma'am, that I first obtained Min's promise of her hand.
Your hand, madam."
And, stooping down, he grasped Mrs. Willoughby's hand, which was not
extended, and wrung it so hard that she actually gave a little shriek.
"For my part, ma'am," he continued, "I'm not ashamed of my name--not a
mite. It's a good, honest name; but being as the Holy Father's gone
and made me a noble, I prefer being addressed by my title. All
Americans are above titles. They despise them. But being in Rome, you
see, we must do as the Romans do; and so you needn't know me as Rufus
K. Gunn, but as the Baron Atramonte. As for you, Min--you and I won't
stand on ceremony--you may call me 'Roof,' or any other name you
fancy. I would suggest some pet name--something a little loving, you
know."
In the midst of all this, which was poured forth with extreme
volubility, the servant came and handed a card.
"Count Girasole."
[Illustration: "HAWBURY, AS I'M A LIVING SINNER!"]