Randal had scarcely left the house, before Mrs Riccabocca, who was
affectionately anxious in all that concerned Violante, rejoined her
husband.
"I like the young man very well," said the sage--"very well indeed.
I find him just what I expected from my general knowledge of human
nature; for as love ordinarily goes with youth, so modesty usually
accompanies talent. He is young, _ergo_ he is in love; he has
talent, _ergo_ he is modest--modest and ingenuous."
"And you think not in any way swayed by interest in his affections?"
"Quite the contrary; and to prove him the more, I have not said a
word as to the worldly advantages which, in any case, would accrue
to him from an alliance with my daughter. In any case; for if I
regain my country, her fortune is assured; and if not, I trust (said
the poor exile, lifting his brow with stately and becoming pride)
that I am too well aware of my child's dignity as well as my own, to
ask any one to marry her to his own worldly injury."
"Eh! I don't quite understand you, Alphonso. To be sure, your dear
life is insured for her marriage portion; but--"
"_Pazzie_--stuff!" said Riccabocca petulantly; "her marriage portion
would be as nothing to a young man of Randal's birth and prospects.
I think not of that. But listen: I have never consented to profit
by Harley L'Estrange's friendship for me; my scruples would not
extend to my son-in-law. This noble friend has not only high rank,
but considerable influence--influence with the government--influence
with Randal's patron--who, between ourselves, does not seem to push
the young man as he might do; I judge by what Randal says. I should
write, therefore, before anything was settled, to L'Estrange, and I
should say to him simply, 'I never asked you to save me from penury,
but I do ask you to save a daughter of my house from humiliation.
I can give to her no dowry; can her husband owe to my friend
that advance in an honourable career--that opening to energy and
talent--which is more than a dowry to generous ambition?'"
"Oh, it is in vain you would disguise your rank," cried Jemima with
enthusiasm, "it speaks in all you utter, when your passions are
moved."
The Italian did not seem flattered by that eulogy. "Pish," said he,
"there you are! rank again!"
But Jemima was right. There was something about her husband that
was grandiose and princely, whenever he escaped from his accursed
Machiavel, and gave fair play to his heart.
And he spent the next hour or so in thinking over all that he
could do for Randal, and devising for his intended son-in-law the
agreeable surprises, which Randal was at that very time racking his
yet cleverer brains to disappoint.
These plans conned sufficiently, Riccabocca shut up his Machiavel,
and hunted out of his scanty collection of books Buffon on Man,
and various other psychological volumes, in which he soon became
deeply absorbed. Why were these works the object of the sage's
study? Perhaps he will let us know soon, for it is clearly a secret
known to his wife; and though she has hitherto kept one secret,
that is precisely the reason why Riccabocca would not wish long to
overburthen her discretion with another.