When Orsino was alone that night, he asked himself more than one
question which he did not find it easy to answer. He could define,
indeed, the relation in which he now stood to Maria Consuelo, for though
she had ultimately refused to speak the words of a promise, he no longer
doubted that she meant to be his wife and that her scruples were
overcome for ever. This was, undeniably, the most important point in the
whole affair, so far as his own satisfaction was concerned, but there
were others of the gravest import to be considered and elucidated before
he could even weigh the probabilities of future happiness.
He had not lost his head on the present occasion, as he had formerly
done when his passion had been anything but sincere. He was perfectly
conscious that Maria Consuelo was now the principal person concerned in
his life and that the moment would inevitably have come, sooner or
later, in which he must have told her so as he had done on this day. He
had not yielded to a sudden impulse, but to a steady and growing
pressure from which there had been no means of escape, and which he had
not sought to elude. He was not in one of those moods of half-senseless,
exuberant spirits, such as had come upon him more than once during the
winter after he had been an hour in her society and had said or done
something more than usually rash. On the contrary, he was inclined to
look the whole situation soberly in the face, and to doubt whether the
love which dominated him might not prove a source of unhappiness to
Maria Consuelo as well as to himself. At the same time he knew that it
would be useless to fight against that domination, for he knew that he
was now absolutely sincere.
But the difficulties to be met and overcome were many and great. He
might have betrothed himself to almost any woman in society, widow or
spinster, without anticipating one hundredth part of the opposition
which he must now certainly encounter. He was not even angry beforehand
with the prejudice which would animate his father and mother, for he
admitted that it was hardly a prejudice at all, and certainly not one
peculiar to them, or to their class. It would be hard to find a family,
anywhere, of any respectability, no matter how modest, that would accept
without question such a choice as he had made. Maria Consuelo was one of
those persons about whom the world is ready to speak in disparagement,
knowing that it will not be easy to find defenders for them. The world
indeed, loves its own and treats them with consideration, especially in
the matter of passing follies, and after it had been plain to society
that Orsino had fallen under Maria Consuelo's charm, he had heard no
more disagreeable remarks about her origin nor the circumstances of her
widowhood. But he remembered what had been said before that, when he
himself had listened indifferently enough, and he guessed that
ill-natured people called her an adventuress or little better. If
anything could have increased the suffering which this intuitive
knowledge caused him, it was the fact that he possessed no proof of her
right to rank with the best, except his own implicit faith in her, and
the few words Spicca had chosen to let fall. Spicca was still thought so
dangerous that people hesitated to contradict him openly, but his mere
assertion, Orsino thought, though it might be accepted in appearance,
was not of enough weight to carry inward conviction with it in the
minds of people who had no interest in being convinced. It was only too
plain that, unless Maria Consuelo, or Spicca, or both, were willing to
tell the strange story in its integrity, there were not proof enough to
convince the most willing person of her right to the social position she
occupied after that had once been called into question. To Orsino's mind
the very fact that it had been questioned at all demonstrated
sufficiently a carelessness on her own part which could only proceed
from the certainty of possessing that right beyond dispute. It would
doubtless have been possible for her to provide herself from the first
with something in the nature of a guarantee for her identity. She could
surely have had the means, through some friend of her own elsewhere, of
making the acquaintance of some one in society, who would have vouched
for her and silenced the carelessly spiteful talk concerning her which
had gone the rounds when she first appeared. But she had seemed to be
quite indifferent. She had refused Orsino's pressing offer to bring her
into relations with his mother, whose influence would have been enough
to straighten a reputation far more doubtful than Maria Consuelo's, and
she had almost wilfully thrown herself into a sort of intimacy with the
Countess Del Ferice.
But Orsino, as he thought of these matters, saw how futile such
arguments must seem to his own people, and how absurdly inadequate they
were to better his own state of mind, since he needed no conviction
himself but sought the means of convincing others. One point alone gave
him some hope. Under the existing laws the inevitable legal marriage
would require the production of documents which would clear the whole
story at once. On the other hand, that fact could make Orsino's position
no easier with his father and mother until the papers were actually
produced. People cannot easily be married secretly in Rome, where the
law requires the publication of banns by posting them upon the doors of
the Capitol, and the name of Orsino Saracinesca would not be easily
overlooked. Orsino was aware of course that he was not in need of his
parents' consent for his marriage, but he had not been brought up in a
way to look upon their acquiescence as unnecessary. He was deeply
attached to them both, but especially to his mother who had been his
staunch friend in his efforts to do something for himself, and to whom
he naturally looked for sympathy if not for actual help. However certain
he might be of the ultimate result of his marriage, the idea of being
married in direct opposition to her wishes was so repugnant to him as to
be almost an insurmountable barrier. He might, indeed, and probably
would, conceal his engagement for some time, but solely with the
intention of so preparing the evidence in favour of it as to make it
immediately acceptable to his father and mother when announced.
It seemed possible that, if he could bring Maria Consuelo to see the
matter as he saw it, she might at once throw aside her reticence and
furnish him with the information he so greatly needed. But it would be a
delicate matter to bring her to that point of view, unconscious as she
must be of her equivocal position. He could not go to her and tell her
that in order to announce their engagement he must be able to tell the
world who and what she really was. The most he could do would be to tell
her exactly what papers were necessary for her marriage and to prevail
upon her to procure them as soon as possible, or to hand them to him at
once if they were already in her possession. But in order to require
even this much of her, it was necessary to push matters farther than
they had yet gone. He had certainly pledged himself to her, and he
firmly believed that she considered herself bound to him. But beyond
that, nothing definite had passed.
They had been interrupted by the entrance of workmen asking for orders,
and he had thought that Maria Consuelo had seemed anxious to detain the
men as long as possible. That such a scene could not be immediately
renewed where it had been broken off was clear enough, but Orsino
fancied that she had not wished even to attempt a renewal of it. He had
taken her home in the dusk, and she had refused to let him enter the
hotel with her. She said that she wished to be alone, and he had been
fain to be satisfied with the pressure of her hand and the look in her
eyes, which both said much while not saying half of what he longed to
hear and know.
He would see her, of course, at the usual hour on the following day, and
he determined to speak plainly and strongly. She could not ask him to
prolong such a state of uncertainty. Considering how gradual the steps
had been which had led up to what had taken place on that rainy
afternoon it was not conceivable, he thought, that she would still ask
for time to make up her mind. She would at least consent to some
preliminary agreement upon a line of conduct for both to follow.
But impossible as the other case seemed, Orsino did not neglect it. His
mind was developing with his character and was acquiring the habit of
foreseeing difficulties in order to forestall them. If Maria Consuelo
returned suddenly to her original point of view maintaining that the
promise given to her dying husband was still binding, Orsino determined
that he would go to Spicca in a last resort. Whatever the bond which
united them, it was clear that Spicca possessed some kind of power over
Maria Consuelo, and that he was so far acquainted with all the
circumstances of her previous life as to be eminently capable of giving
Orsino advice for the future.
He went to his office on the following morning with little inclination
for work. It would be more just, perhaps, to say that he felt the desire
to pursue his usual occupation while conscious that his mind was too
much disturbed by the events of the previous afternoon to concentrate
itself upon the details of accounts and plans. He found himself
committing all sorts of errors of oversight quite unusual with him.
Figures seemed to have lost their value and plans their meaning. With
the utmost determination he held himself to his task, not willing to
believe that his judgment and nerve could be so disturbed as to render
him unfit for any serious business. But the result was contemptible as
compared with the effort.
Andrea Contini, too, was inclined to take a gloomy view of things,
contrary to his usual habit. A report was spreading to the effect that a
certain big contractor was on the verge of bankruptcy, a man who had
hitherto been considered beyond the danger of heavy loss. There had been
more than one small failure of late, but no one had paid much attention
to such accidents which were generally attributed to personal causes
rather than to an approaching turn in the tide of speculation. But
Contini chose to believe that a crisis was not far off. He possessed in
a high degree that sort of caution which is valuable rather in an
assistant than in a chief. Orsino was little inclined to share his
architect's despondency for the present.
"You need a change of air," he said, pushing a heap of papers away from
him and lighting a cigarette. "You ought to go down to Porto d'Anzio for
a few days. You have been too long in the heat."
"No longer than you, Don Orsino," answered Contini, from his own table.
"You are depressed and gloomy. You have worked harder than I. You should
really go out of town for a day or two."
"I do not feel the need of it."
Contini bent over his table again and a short silence followed. Orsino's
mind instantly reverted to Maria Consuelo. He felt a violent desire to
leave the office and go to her at once. There was no reason why he
should not visit her in the morning if he pleased. At the worst, she
might refuse to receive him. He was thinking how she would look, and
wondering whether she would smile or meet him with earnest half
regretful eyes, when Contini's voice broke into his meditations again.
"You think I am despondent because I have been working too long in the
heat," said the young man, rising and beginning to pace the floor before
Orsino. "No. I am not that kind of man. I am never tired. I can go on
for ever. But affairs in Rome will not go on for ever. I tell you that,
Don Orsino. There is trouble in the air. I wish we had sold everything
and could wait. It would be much better."
"All this is very vague, Contini."
"It is very clear to me. Matters are going from bad to worse. There is
no doubt that Ronco has failed."
"Well, and if he has? We are not Ronco. He was involved in all sorts of
other speculations. If he had stuck to land and building he would be as
sound as ever."
"For another month, perhaps. Do you know why he is ruined?"
"By his own fault, as people always are. He was rash."
"No rasher than we are. I believe that the game is played out. Ronco is
bankrupt because the bank with which he deals cannot discount any more
bills this week."
"And why not?"
"Because the foreign banks will not take any more of all this paper that
is flying about. Those small failures in the summer have produced their
effect. Some of the paper was in Paris and some in Vienna. It turned out
worthless, and the foreigners have taken fright. It is all a fraud, at
best--or something very like it."
"What do you mean?"
"Tell me the truth, Don Orsino--have you seen a centime of all these
millions which every one is dealing with? Do you believe they really
exist? No. It is all paper, paper, and more paper. There is no cash in
the business."
"But there is land and there are houses, which represent the millions
substantially."
"Substantially! Yes--as long as the inflation lasts. After that they
will represent nothing."
"You are talking nonsense, Contini. Prices may fall, and some people
will lose, but you cannot destroy real estate permanently."
"Its value may be destroyed for ten or twenty years, which is
practically the same thing when people have no other property. Take this
block we are building. It represents a large sum. Say that in the next
six months there are half a dozen failures like Ronco's and that a panic
sets in. We could then neither sell the houses nor let them. What would
they represent to us? Nothing. Failure--like the failure of everybody
else. Do you know where the millions really are? You ought to know
better than most people. They are in Casa Saracinesca and in a few other
great houses which have not dabbled in all this business, and perhaps
they are in the pockets of a few clever men who have got out of it all
in time. They are certainly not in the firm of Andrea Contini and
Company, which will assuredly be bankrupt before the winter is out."
Contini bit his cigar savagely, thrust his hands into his pockets and
looked out of the window, turning his back on Orsino. The latter watched
his companion in surprise, not understanding why his dismal forebodings
should find such sudden and strong expression.
"I think you exaggerate very much," said Orsino. "There is always risk
in such business as this. But it strikes me that the risk was greater
when we had less capital."
"Capital!" exclaimed the architect contemptuously and without turning
round. "Can we draw a cheque--a plain unadorned cheque and not a
draft--for a hundred thousand francs to-day? Or shall we be able to draw
it to-morrow? Capital! We have a lot of brick and mortar in our
possession, put together more or less symmetrically according to our
taste, and practically unpaid for. If we manage to sell it in time we
shall get the difference between what is paid and what we owe. That is
our capital. It is problematical, to say the least of it. If we realise
less than we owe we are bankrupt."
He came back suddenly to Orsino's table as he ceased speaking and his
face showed that he was really disturbed. Orsino looked at him steadily
for a few seconds.
"It is not only Ronco's failure that frightens you, Contini. There must
be something else."
"More of the same kind. There is enough to frighten any one."
"No, there is something else. You have been talking with somebody."
"With Del Ferice's confidential clerk. Yes--it is quite true. I was with
him last night."
"And what did he say? What you have been telling me, I suppose."
"Something much more disagreeable--something you would rather not hear."
"I wish to hear it."
"You should, as a matter of fact."
"Go on."
"We are completely in Del Ferice's hands."
"We are in the hands of his bank."
"What is the difference? To all intents and purposes he is our bank. The
proof is that but for him we should have failed already."
Orsino looked up sharply.
"Be clear, Contini. Tell me what you mean."
"I mean this. For a month past the bank could not have discounted a
hundred francs' worth of our paper. Del Ferice has taken it all and
advanced the money out of his private account."
"Are you sure of what you are telling me?" Orsino asked the question in
a low voice, and his brow contracted.
"One can hardly have better authority than the clerk's own statement."
"And he distinctly told you this, did he?"
"Most distinctly."
"He must have had an object in betraying such a confidence," said
Orsino. "It is not likely that such a man would carelessly tell you or
me a secret which is evidently meant to be kept."
He spoke quietly enough, but the tone of his voice was changed and
betrayed how greatly he was moved by the news. Contini began to walk up
and down again, but did not make any answer to the remark.
"How much do we owe the bank?" Orsino asked suddenly.
"Roughly, about six hundred thousand."
"How much of that paper do you think Del Ferice has taken up himself?"
"About a quarter, I fancy, from what the clerk told me."
A long silence followed, during which Orsino tried to review the
situation in all its various aspects. It was clear that Del Ferice did
not wish Andrea Contini and Company to fail and was putting himself to
serious inconvenience in order to avert the catastrophe. Whether he
wished, in so doing, to keep Orsino in his power, or whether he merely
desired to escape the charge of having ruined his old enemy's son out of
spite, it was hard to decide. Orsino passed over that question quickly
enough. So far as any sense of humiliation was concerned he knew very
well that his mother would be ready and able to pay off all his
liabilities at the shortest notice. What Orsino felt most deeply was
profound disappointment and utter disgust at his own folly. It seemed to
him that he had been played with and flattered into the belief that he
was a serious man of business, while all along he had been pushed and
helped by unseen hands. There was nothing to prove that Del Ferice had
not thus deceived him from the first; and, indeed, when he thought of
his small beginnings early in the year and realised the dimensions which
the business had now assumed, he could not help believing that Del
Ferice had been at the bottom of all his apparent success and that his
own earnest and ceaseless efforts had really had but little to do with
the development of his affairs. His vanity suffered terribly under the
first shock.
He was bitterly disappointed. During the preceding months he had begun
to feel himself independent and able to stand alone, and he had looked
forward in the near future to telling his father that he had made a
fortune for himself without any man's help. He had remembered every word
of cold discouragement to which he had been forced to listen at the very
beginning, and he had felt sure of having a success to set against each
one of those words. He knew that he had not been idle and he had fancied
that every hour of work had produced its permanent result, and left him
with something more to show. He had seen his mother's pride in him
growing day by day in his apparent success, and he had been confident of
proving to her that she was not half proud enough. All that was gone in
a moment. He saw, or fancied that he saw, nothing but a series of
failures which had been bolstered up and inflated into seeming triumphs
by a man whom his father despised and hated and whom, as a man, he
himself did not respect. The disillusionment was complete.
At first it seemed to him that there was nothing to be done but to go
directly to Saracinesca and tell the truth to his father and mother.
Financially, when the wealth of the family was taken into consideration
there was nothing very alarming in the situation. He would borrow of his
father enough to clear him with Del Ferice and would sell the unfinished
buildings for what they would bring. He might even induce his father to
help him in finishing the work. There would be no trouble about the
business question. As for Contini, he should not lose by the transaction
and permanent occupation could doubtless be found for him on one of the
estates if he chose to accept it.
He thought of the interview and his vanity dreaded it. Another plan
suggested itself to him. On the whole, it seemed easier to bear his
dependence on Del Ferice than to confess himself beaten. There was
nothing dishonourable, nothing which could be called so at least, in
accepting financial accommodation from a man whose business it was to
lend money on security. If Del Ferice chose to advance sums which his
bank would not advance, he did it for good reasons of his own and
certainly not in the intention of losing by it in the end. In case of
failure Del Ferice would take the buildings for the debt and would
certainly in that case get them for much less than they were worth.
Orsino would be no worse off than when he had begun, he would frankly
confess that though he had lost nothing he had not made a fortune, and
the matter would be at an end. That would be very much easier to bear
than the humiliation of confessing at the present moment that he was in
Del Ferice's power and would be bankrupt but for Del Ferice's personal
help. And again he repeated to himself that Del Ferice was not a man to
throw money away without hope of recovery with interest. It was
inconceivable, too, that Ugo should have pushed him so far merely to
flatter a young man's vanity. He meant to make use of him, or to make
money out of his failure. In either case Orsino would be his dupe and
would not be under any obligation to him. Compared with the necessity of
acknowledging the present state of his affairs to his father, the
prospect of being made a tool of by Del Ferice was bearable, not to say
attractive.
"What had we better do, Contini?" he asked at length.
"There is nothing to be done but to go on, I suppose, until we are
ruined," replied the architect. "Even if we had the money, we should
gain nothing by taking off all our bills as they fall due, instead of
renewing them."
"But if the bank will not discount any more--"
"Del Ferice will, in the bank's name. When he is ready for the failure,
we shall fail and he will profit by our loss."
"Do you think that is what he means to do?"
Contini looked at Orsino in surprise.
"Of course. What did you expect? You do not suppose that he means to
make us a present of that paper, or to hold it indefinitely until we can
make a good sale."
"And he will ultimately get possession of all the paper himself."
"Naturally. As the old bills fall due we shall renew them with him,
practically, and not with the bank. He knows what he is about. He
probably has some scheme for selling the whole block to the government,
or to some institution, and is sure of his profit beforehand. Our
failure will give him a profit of twenty-five or thirty per cent."
Orsino was strangely reassured by his partner's gloomy view. To him
every word proved that he was free from any personal obligation to Del
Ferice and might accept the latter's assistance without the least
compunction. He did not like to remember that a man of Ugo's subtle
intelligence might have something more important in view than a profit
of a few hundred thousand francs, if indeed the sum should amount to
that. Orsino's brow cleared and his expression changed.
"You seem to like the idea," observed Contini rather irritably.
"I would rather be ruined by Del Ferice than helped by him."
"Ruin means so little to you, Don Orsino. It means the inheritance of an
enormous fortune, a princess for a wife and the choice of two or three
palaces to live in."
"That is one way of putting it," answered Orsino, almost laughing. "As
for yourself, my friend, I do not see that your prospects are so very
bad. Do you suppose that I shall abandon you after having led you into
this scrape, and after having learned to like you and understand your
talent? You are very much mistaken. We have tried this together and
failed, but as you rightly say I shall not be in the least ruined by the
failure. Do you know what will happen? My father will tell me that
since I have gained some experience I should go and manage one of the
estates and improve the buildings. Then you and I will go together."
Contini smiled suddenly and his bright eyes sparkled. He was profoundly
attached to Orsino, and thought perhaps as much of the loss of his
companionship as of the destruction of his material hopes in the event
of a liquidation.
"If that could be, I should not care what became of the business," he
said simply.
"How long do you think we shall last?" asked Orsino after a short pause.
"If business grows worse, as I think it will, we shall last until the
first bill that falls due after the doors and windows are put in."
"That is precise, at least."
"It will probably take us into January, or perhaps February."
"But suppose that Del Ferice himself gets into trouble between now and
then. If he cannot discount any more, what will happen?"
"We shall fail a little sooner. But you need not be afraid of that. Del
Ferice knows what he is about better than we do, better than his
confidential clerk, much better than most men of business in Rome. If he
fails, he will fail intentionally and at the right moment."
"And do you not think that there is even a remote possibility of an
improvement in business, so that nobody will fail at all?"
"No," answered Contini thoughtfully. "I do not think so. It is a paper
system and it will go to pieces."
"Why have you not said the same thing before? You must have had this
opinion a long time."
"I did not believe that Ronco could fail. An accident opens the eyes."
Orsino had almost decided to let matters go on but he found some
difficulty in actually making up his mind. In spite of Contini's
assurances he could not get rid of the idea that he was under an
obligation to Del Ferice. Once, at least, he thought of going directly
to Ugo and asking for a clear explanation of the whole affair. But Ugo
was not in town, as he knew, and the impossibility of going at once made
it improbable that Orsino would go at all. It would not have been a very
wise move, for Del Ferice could easily deny the story, seeing that the
paper was all in the bank's name, and he would probably have visited the
indiscretion upon the unfortunate clerk.
In the long silence which followed, Orsino relapsed into his former
despondency. After all, whether he confessed his failure or not, he had
undeniably failed and been played upon from the first, and he admitted
it to himself without attempting to spare his vanity, and his
self-contempt was great and painful. The fact that he had grown from a
boy to a man during his experience did not make it easier to bear such
wounds, which are felt more keenly by the strong than by the weak when
they are real.
As the day wore on the longing to see Maria Consuelo grew upon him until
he felt that he had never before wished to be with her as he wished it
now. He had no intention of telling her his trouble but he needed the
assurance of an ever ready sympathy which he so often saw in her eyes,
and which was always there for him when he asked it. When there is love
there is reliance, whether expressed or not, and where there is
reliance, be it ever so slender, there is comfort for many ills of body,
mind and soul.