THE BARON'S ASSAULTS.
On the eventful afternoon when the Baron had effected an entrance into
the heart of the enemy's country, another caller had come there--one
equally intent and equally determined, but not quite so aggressive.
This was the Count Girasole. The same answer was given to him which
had been given to the Baron, but with far different effect. The Baron
had carelessly brushed the slight obstacle aside. To the Count it was
an impenetrable barrier. It was a bitter disappointment, too; for he
had been filled with the brightest hopes and expectations by the
reception with which he had met on his last visit. That reception had
made him believe that they had changed their sentiments and their
attitude toward him, and that for the future he would be received in
the same fashion. He had determined, therefore, to make the most of
this favorable change, and so he at once repeated his call. This time,
however, his hopes were crushed. What made it worse, he had seen the
entrance of the Baron and the Reverend Saul, and knew by this that
instead of being a favored mortal in the eyes of these ladies, he was
really, in their estimation, placed below these comparative strangers.
By the language of Lord Hawbury on his previous call, he knew that the
acquaintance of the Baron with Mrs. Willoughby was but recent.
The disappointment of the Count filled him with rage, and revived all
his old feelings and plans and projects. The Count was not one who
could suffer in silence. He was a crafty, wily, subtle, scheming
Italian, whose fertile brain was full of plans to achieve his desires,
and who preferred to accomplish his aims by a tortuous path, rather
than by a straight one. This repulse revived old projects, and he took
his departure with several little schemes in his mind, some of which,
at least, were destined to bear fruit afterward.
On the following day the Baron called once more. The ladies in the
mean time had talked over the situation, but were unable to see what
they were to do with a man who insisted on forcing his way into their
house. Their treatment would have been easy enough if it had not been
for Minnie. She insisted that they should not be unkind to him. He had
saved her life, she said, and she could not treat him with rudeness.
Lady Dalrymple was in despair, and Mrs. Willoughby at her wit's end,
while Ethel, to whom the circumstance was made known, was roused by it
from her sadness, and tried to remonstrate with Minnie. All her
efforts, however, were as vain as those of her friends. Minnie could
not be induced to take any decided stand. She insisted on seeing him
whenever he called, on the ground that it would be unkind not to.
"And will you insist on seeing Girasole also?" asked Mrs. Willoughby.
"I don't know. I'm awfully sorry for him," said Minnie.
"Well, then, Captain Kirby will be here next. Of course you will see
him?"
"I suppose so," said Minnie, resignedly.
"And how long do you think this sort of thing can go on? They'll meet,
and blood will be shed."
"Oh dear! I'm afraid so."
"Then I'm not going to allow it. I've telegraphed to papa. He'll see
whether you are going to have your own way or not."
"I'm sure I don't see what dear papa can do."
"He won't let you see those horrid men."
"He won't be cruel enough to lock me up in the house. I do wish he
would come and take me away. I don't want them. They're all horrid."
[Illustration: "MIN, IT'S ME!"]
"This last one--this Gunn--is the most terrible man I ever saw."
"Oh, Kitty dearest! How _can_ you say so? Why, his rudeness and
violence are perfectly irresistible. He's charming. He bullies one so
deliciously."
Mrs. Willoughby at this turned away in despair.
Minnie's very peculiar situation was certainly one which required a
speedy change. The forced entrance of the Baron had thrown
consternation into the family. Ethel herself had been roused, and took
a part in the debate. She began to see Minnie in a new light, and
Hawbury's attention to her began to assume the appearance of a very
mournful joke. To her mind Minnie was now the subject of desperate
attention from five men.
Thus:
1. Lord Hawbury.
2. Count Girasole.
3. Scone Dacres.
4. Baron Atramonte.
5. Captain Kirby, of whom Mrs. Willoughby had just told her.
And of these, four had saved her life, and consequently had the
strongest possible claims on her.
And the only satisfaction which Ethel could gain out of this was the
thought that Hawbury, at least, had not saved Minnie's life.
And now to proceed.
The Baron called, as has been said, on the following day. This time he
did not bring the Reverend Saul with him. He wished to see Minnie
alone, and felt the presence of third persons to be rather unpleasant.
On reaching the place he was told, as before, that the ladies were not
at home.
Now the Baron remembered that on the preceding day the servant had
said the same, while all the time the ladies were home. He was
charitably inclined to suppose that it was a mistake, and not a
deliberate lie; and, as he was in a frame of good-will to mankind, he
adopted this first theory.
"All right, young man," said he; "but as you lied yesterday--under a
mistake--I prefer seeing for myself to-day."
So the Baron brushed by the servant, and went in. He entered the room.
No one was there. He waited a little while, and thought. He was too
impatient to wait long. He could not trust these lying servants. So he
determined to try for himself. Her room was up stairs, somewhere in
the story above.
So he went out of the room, and up the stairs, until his head was on a
level with the floor of the story above. Then he called:
"_Min!_"
No answer.
"MIN!" in a louder voice.
No answer.
"MIN! it's ME!" still louder.
No answer.
"_MIN!_" a perfect yell.
At this last shout there was a response. One of the doors opened, and
a lady made her appearance, while at two other doors appeared two
maids. The lady was young and beautiful, and her face was stern, and
her dark eyes looked indignantly toward the Baron.
"Who are you?" she asked, abruptly; "and what do you want?"
"Me? I'm the Baron Atramonte; and I want Min. Don't you know where she
is?"
"Who?"
"Min."
"Min?" asked the other, in amazement.
"Yes. My Min--Minnie, you know. Minnie Fay."
At this the lady looked at the Baron with utter horror.
"I want her."
"She's not at home," said the lady.
"Well, really, it's too bad. I must see her. Is she out?"
"Yes."
"Really? Honor bright now?"
The lady retired and shut the door.
"Well, darn it all, you needn't be so peppery," muttered the Baron. "I
didn't say any thing. I only asked a civil question. Out, hey? Well,
she must be this time. If she'd been in, she'd have made her
appearance. Well, I'd best go out and hunt her up. They don't seem to
me altogether so cordial as I'd like to have them. They're just a
leetle too 'ristocratic."
With these observations to himself, the Baron descended the stairs,
and made his way to the door. Here he threw an engaging smile upon the
servant, and made a remark which set the other on the broad grin for
the remainder of the day. After this the Baron took his departure.
The Baron this time went to some stables, and reappeared in a short
time mounted upon a gallant steed, and careering down the Corso. In
due time he reached the Piazza del Popolo, and then he ascended the
Pincian Hill. Here he rode about for some time, and finally his
perseverance was rewarded. He was looking down from the summit of the
hill upon the Piazza below, when he caught sight of a barouche, in
which were three ladies. One of these sat on the front seat, and her
white face and short golden hair seemed to indicate to him the one he
sought.
In an instant he put spurs to his horse, and rode down the hill as
quick as possible, to the great alarm of the crowds who were going up
and down. In a short time he had caught up with the carriage. He was
right. It was the right one, and Minnie was there, together with Lady
Dalrymple and Mrs. Willoughby. The ladies, on learning of his
approach, exhibited no emotion. They were prepared for this, and
resigned. They had determined that Minnie should have no more
interviews with him indoors; and since they could not imprison her
altogether, they would have to submit for the present to his advances.
But they were rapidly becoming desperate.
Lord Hawbury was riding by the carriage as the Baron came up.
"Hallo!" said he to the former. "How do? and _how_ are you all? Why,
I've been hunting all over creation. Well, Minnie, how goes it? Feel
lively? That's right. Keep out in the open air. Take all the exercise
you can, and eat as hard as you can. You live too quiet as a general
thing, and want to knock around more. But we'll fix all that, won't
we, Min, before a month of Sundays?"
The advent of the Baron in this manner, and his familiar address to
Minnie, filled Hawbury with amazement. He had been surprised at
finding him with the ladies on the previous day, but there was nothing
in his demeanor which was at all remarkable. Now, however, he noticed
the very great familiarity of his tone and manner toward Minnie, and
was naturally amazed. The Baron had not confided to him his secret,
and he could not understand the cause of such intimacy between the
representatives of such different classes. He therefore listened with
inexpressible astonishment to the Baron's language, and to Minnie's
artless replies.
Minnie was sitting on the front seat of the barouche, and was alone in
that seat. As the gentlemen rode on each side of the carriage her face
was turned toward them. Hawbury rode back, so that he was beside Lady
Dalrymple; but the Baron rode forward, on the other side, so as to
bring himself as near to Minnie as possible. The Baron was exceedingly
happy. His happiness showed itself in the flush of his face, in the
glow of his eyes, and in the general exuberance and all-embracing
swell of his manner. His voice was loud, his gestures demonstrative,
and his remarks were addressed by turns to each one in the company.
The others soon gave up the attempt to talk, and left it all to the
Baron. Lady Dalrymple and Mrs. Willoughby exchanged glances of
despair. Hawbury still looked on in surprise, while Minnie remained
perfectly calm, perfectly self-possessed, and conversed with her usual
simplicity.
As the party thus rode on they met a horseman, who threw a rapid
glance over all of them. It was Girasole. The ladies bowed, and Mrs.
Willoughby wished that he had come a little before, so that he could
have taken the place beside the carriage where the Baron now was. But
the place was now appropriated, and there was no chance for the Count.
Girasole threw a dark look over them, which rested more particularly
on Hawbury. Hawbury nodded lightly at the Count, and didn't appear to
take any further notice of him. All this took up but a few moments,
and the Count passed on.
Shortly after they met another horseman. He sat erect, pale, sad, with
a solemn, earnest glow in his melancholy eyes. Minnie's back was
turned toward him, so that she could not see his face, but his eyes
were fixed upon Mrs. Willoughby. She looked back at him and bowed, as
did also Lady Dalrymple. He took off his hat, and the carriage rolled
past. Then he turned and looked after it, bareheaded, and Minnie
caught sight of him, and smiled and bowed. And then in a few moments
more the crowd swallowed up Scone Dacres.
The Baron thus enjoyed himself in a large, exuberant fashion, and
monopolized the conversation in a large, exuberant way. He outdid
himself. He confided to the ladies his plans for the regeneration of
the Roman Church and the Roman State. He told stories of his
adventures in the Rocky Mountains. He mentioned the state of his
finances, and his prospects for the future. He was as open, as free,
and as communicative as if he had been at home, with fond sisters and
admiring brothers around him. The ladies were disgusted at it all; and
by the ladies I mean only Mrs. Willoughby and Lady Dalrymple. For
Minnie was not--she actually listened in delight. It was not
conventional. Very well. Neither was the Baron. And for that matter,
neither was she. He was a child of nature. So was she. His rudeness,
his aggressiveness, his noise, his talkativeness, his egotism, his
confidences about himself--all these did not make him so very
disagreeable to her as to her sister and aunt.
So Minnie treated the Baron with the utmost complaisance, and Hawbury
was surprised, and Mrs. Willoughby and Lady Dalrymple were disgusted;
but the Baron was delighted, and his soul was filled with perfect joy.
Too soon for him was this drive over. But the end came, and they
reached the hotel. Hawbury left them, but the Baron lingered. The spot
was too sweet, the charm too dear--he could not tear himself away.
In fact, he actually followed the ladies into the house.
"I think I'll just make myself comfortable in here, Min, till you come
down," said the Baron. And with these words he walked into the
reception-room, where he selected a place on a sofa, and composed
himself to wait patiently for Minnie to come down.
So he waited, and waited, and waited--but Minnie did not come. At last
he grew impatient. He walked out, and up the stairs, and listened.
He heard ladies' voices.
He spoke.
"_Min!_"
No answer.
"MIN!" louder.
No answer.
"MIN! HALLO-O-O-O!"
No answer.
"_MIN!_" a perfect shout.
At this a door was opened violently, and Mrs. Willoughby walked out.
Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glanced fire.
"Sir," she said, "this is intolerable! You must be intoxicated. Go
away at once, or I shall certainly have you turned out of the house."
And saying this she went back, shut the door, and locked it.
The Baron was thunder-struck. He had never been treated so in his
life. He was cut to the heart. His feelings were deeply wounded.
"Darn it!" he muttered. "What's all this for? I ain't been doing any
thing."
He walked out very thoughtfully. He couldn't understand it at all. He
was troubled for some time. But at last his buoyant spirit rose
superior to this temporary depression. To-morrow would explain all, he
thought. Yes, to-morrow would make it all right. To-morrow he would
see Min, and get her to tell him what in thunder the row was. She'd
have to tell, for he could never find out. So he made up his mind to
keep his soul in patience.
That evening Hawbury was over at the Baron's quarters, by special
invitation, and the Baron decided to ask his advice. So in the course
of the evening, while in the full, easy, and confidential mood that
arises out of social intercourse, he told Hawbury his whole
story--beginning with the account of his first meeting with Minnie,
and his rescue of her, and her acceptance of him, down to this very
day, when he had been so terribly snubbed by Mrs. Willoughby. To all
this Hawbury listened in amazement. It was completely new to him. He
wondered particularly to find another man who had saved the life of
this quiet, timid little girl.
The Baron asked his advice, but Hawbury declined giving any. He said
he couldn't advise any man in a love-affair. Every man must trust to
himself. No one's advice could be of any avail. Hawbury, in fact, was
puzzled, but he said the best he could. The Baron himself was fully of
Hawbury's opinion. He swore that it was truth, and declared the man
that followed another's advice in a love-affair was a "darned fool
that didn't deserve to win his gal."
There followed a general conversation on things of a different kind.
The Baron again discoursed on church and state. He then exhibited some
curiosities. Among other things a skull. He used it to hold his
tobacco. He declared that it was the skull of an ancient Roman. On the
inside was a paper pasted there, on which he had written the
following:
"Oh, I'm the skull of a Roman bold
That fit in the ancient war;
From East to West I bore the flag
Of S. P. Q. and R.
"In East and West, and North and South,
We made the nations fear us--
Both Nebuchadnezzar and Hannibal,
And Pharaoh too, and Pyrrhus.
"We took their statutes from the Greeks,
And lots of manuscripts too;
We set adrift on his world-wide tramp
The original wandering Jew.
"But at last the beggarly Dutchman came,
With his lager and sauerkraut;
And wherever that beggarly Dutchman went
He made a terrible rout.
"Wo ist der Deutscher's Vaterland?
Is it near the ocean wild?
Is it where the feathery palm-trees grow?
Not there, not there, my child.
"But it's somewhere down around the Rhine;
And now that Bismarck's come,
Down goes Napoleon to the ground,
And away goes the Pope from Rome!"