Toward six o’clock next morning one of the prefect’s servants came and
knocked at the door of Orso’s house. He was received by Colomba, and
informed her the prefect was about to start, and was expecting her
brother. Without a moment’s hesitation Colomba replied that her brother
had just had a fall on the stairs, and sprained his foot; and he was
unable to walk a single step, that he begged the prefect to excuse him,
and would be very grateful if he would condescend to take the trouble
of coming over to him. A few minutes after this message had been
despatched, Orso came downstairs, and asked his sister whether the
prefect had not sent for him.
With the most perfect assurance she rejoined:
“He begs you’ll wait for him here.”
Half an hour went by without the slightest perceptible stir in the
Barricini dwelling. Meanwhile Orso asked Colomba whether she had
discovered anything. She replied that she proposed to make her statement
when the prefect came. She affected an extreme composure. But her colour
and her eyes betrayed her state of feverish excitement.
At last the door of the Barricini mansion was seen to open. The prefect
came out first, in travelling garb; he was followed by the mayor and his
two sons. What was the stupefaction of the inhabitants of the village of
Pietranera, who had been on the watch since sunrise for the departure of
the chief magistrate of their department, when they saw him go straight
across the square and enter the della Rebbia dwelling, accompanied
by the three Barricini. “They are going to make peace!” exclaimed the
village politicians.
“Just as I told you,” one old man went on. “Ors’ Anton’ has lived too
much on the mainland to carry things through like a man of mettle.”
“Yet,” responded a Rebbianite, “you may notice it is the Barricini who
have gone across to him. They are suing for mercy.”
“It’s the prefect who had wheedled them all round,” answered the old
fellow. “There is no such thing as courage nowadays, and the young
chaps make no more fuss about their father’s blood than if they were all
bastards.”
The prefect was not a little astounded to find Orso up and walking about
with perfect ease. In the briefest fashion Colomba avowed her own lie,
and begged him to forgive it.
“If you had been staying anywhere else, monsieur, my brother would have
gone to pay his respects to you yesterday.”
Orso made endless apologies, vowing he had nothing to do with his
sister’s absurd stratagem, by which he appeared deeply mortified. The
prefect and the elder Barricini appeared to believe in the sincerity
of his regret, and indeed this belief was justified by his evident
confusion and the reproaches he addressed to his sister. But the mayor’s
two sons did not seem satisfied.
“We are being made to look like fools,” said Orlanduccio audibly.
“If my sister were to play me such tricks,” said Vincentello, “I’d soon
cure her fancy for beginning them again.”
The words, and the tone in which they were uttered, offended Orso, and
diminished his good-will. Glances that were anything but friendly were
exchanged between him and the two young men.
Meanwhile, everybody being seated save Colomba, who remained standing
close to the kitchen door, the prefect took up his parable, and after a
few common-places as to local prejudices, he recalled the fact that
the most inveterate enmities generally have their root in some mere
misunderstanding. Next, turning to the mayor, he told him that Signor
della Rebbia had never believed the Barricini family had played any
part, direct or indirect, in the deplorable event which had bereft him
of his father; that he had, indeed, nursed some doubts as to one
detail in the lawsuit between the two families; that Signor Orso’s long
absence, and the nature of the information sent him, excused the doubt
in question; that in the light of recent revelations he felt completely
satisfied, and desired to re-open friendly and neighbourly relations
with Signor Barricini and his sons.
Orso bowed stiffly. Signor Barricini stammered a few words that nobody
could hear, and his sons stared steadily at the ceiling rafters. The
prefect was about to continue his speech, and address the counterpart
of the remarks he had made to Signor Barricini, to Orso, when Colomba
stepped gravely forward between the contracting parties, at the same
time drawing some papers from beneath her neckerchief.
“I should be happy indeed,” she said, “to see the quarrel between our
two families brought to an end. But if the reconciliation is to be
sincere, there must be a full explanation, and nothing must be left in
doubt. Signor Prefetto, Tomaso Bianchi’s declaration, coming from a man
of such vile report, seemed to me justly open to doubt. I said your sons
had possibly seen this man in the prison at Bastia.”
“It’s false!” interrupted Orlanduccio; “I didn’t see him!”
Colomba cast a scornful glance at him, and proceeded with great apparent
composure.
“You explained Tomaso’s probable interest in threatening Signor
Barricini, in the name of a dreaded bandit, by his desire to keep his
brother Teodoro in possession of the mill which my father allowed him to
hire at a very low rent.”
“That’s quite clear,” assented the prefect.
“Where was Tomaso Bianchi’s interest?” exclaimed Colomba triumphantly.
“His brother’s lease had run out. My father had given him notice on
the 1st of July. Here is my father’s account-book; here is his note of
warning given to Teodoro, and the letter from a business man at Ajaccio
suggesting a new tenant.”
As she spoke she gave the prefect the papers she had been holding in her
hand.
There was an astonished pause. The mayor turned visibly pale. Orso,
knitting his brows, leaned forward to look at the papers, which the
prefect was perusing most attentively.
“We are being made to look like fools!” cried Orlanduccio again,
springing angrily to his feet. “Let us be off, father! We ought never to
have come here!”
One instant’s delay gave Signor Barricini time to recover his composure.
He asked leave to see the papers. Without a word the prefect handed them
over to him. Pushing his green spectacles up to his forehead, he looked
through them with a somewhat indifferent air, while Colomba watched
him with the eyes of a tigress who sees a buck drawing near to the lair
where she had hidden her cubs.
“Well,” said Signor Barricini, as he pulled down his spectacles and
returned the documents, “knowing the late colonel’s kind heart, Tomaso
thought--most likely he thought--that the colonel would change his mind
about the notice. As a matter of fact, Bianchi is still at the mill,
so--”
“It was I,” said Colomba, and there was scorn in her voice, “who left
him there. My father was dead, and situated as I was, I was obliged to
treat my brother’s dependents with consideration.”
“Yet,” quoth the prefect, “this man Tomaso acknowledges that he wrote
the letter. That much is clear.”
“The thing that is clear to me,” broke in Orso, “is that there is some
vile infamy underneath this whole business.”
“I have to contradict another assertion made by these gentlemen,” said
Colomba.
She threw open the door into the kitchen and instantly Brandolaccio, the
licentiate in theology, and Brusco, the dog, marched into the room. The
two bandits were unarmed--apparently, at all events; they wore their
cartridge belts, but the pistols, which are their necessary complement,
were absent. As they entered the room they doffed their caps
respectfully.
The effect produced by their sudden appearance may be conceived. The
mayor almost fell backward. His sons threw themselves boldly in front
of him, each one feeling for his dagger in his coat pocket. The prefect
made a step toward the door, and Orso, seizing Brandolaccio by the
collar, shouted:
“What have you come here for, you villain?”
“This is a trap!” cried the mayor, trying to get the door open. But, by
the bandits’ orders, as was afterward discovered, Saveria had locked it
on the outside.
“Good people,” said Brandolaccio, “don’t be afraid of me. I’m not such a
devil as I look. We mean no harm at all. Signor Prefetto, I’m your very
humble servant. Gently, lieutenant! You’re strangling me! We’re here as
witnesses! Now then, Padre, speak up! Your tongue’s glib enough!”
“Signor Prefetto,” quoth the licentiate, “I have not the honour of being
known to you. My name is Giocanto Castriconi, better known as the Padre.
Aha, it’s coming back to you! The signorina here, whom I have not
the pleasure of knowing either, has sent to ask me to supply some
information about a fellow of the name of Tomaso Bianchi, with whom I
chanced to be shut up, about three weeks ago, in the prison at Bastia.
This is what I have to tell you.”
“Spare yourself the trouble,” said the prefect. “I can not listen to
anything from such a man as you. Signor della Rebbia, I am willing to
believe you have had nothing to do with this detestable plot. But are
you master in your own house? Will you have the door opened? Your sister
may have to give an account of the strange relations in which she lives
with a set of bandits.”
“Signor Prefetto!” cried Colomba, “I beseech you to listen to what this
man has to say! You are here to do justice to everybody, and it is your
duty to search out the truth. Speak, Giocanto Castriconi!”
“Don’t listen to him,” chorused the three Barricini.
“If everybody talks at once,” remarked the bandit, with a smile, “nobody
can contrive to hear what anybody says. Well, in the prison at Bastia
I had as my companion--not as my friend--this very man, Tomaso. He
received frequent visits from Signor Orlanduccio.”
“You lie!” shouted the two brothers together.
“Two negatives make an affirmative,” pursued Castriconi coolly. “Tomaso
had money, he ate and drank of the best. I have always been fond of good
cheer (that’s the least of my failings), and in spite of my repugnance
to rubbing shoulders with such a wretch, I let myself be tempted,
several times over, into dining with him. Out of gratitude, I proposed
he should escape with me. A young person--to whom I had shown some
kindness--had provided me with the necessary means. I don’t intend to
compromise anybody. Tomaso refused my offer, telling me he was certain
to be all right, as lawyer Barricini had spoken to all the judges for
him, and he was sure to get out of prison with a character as white as
snow, and with money in his pocket, too. As for me, I thought it better
to get into the fresh air. _Dixi_.”
“Everything that fellow has said is a heap of lies,” reiterated
Orlanduccio stoutly. “If we were in the open country, and each of us had
his gun, he wouldn’t talk in that way.”
“Here’s a pretty folly!” cried Brandolaccio. “Don’t you quarrel with the
Padre, Orlanduccio!”
“Will you be good enough to allow me to leave this room, Signor della
Rebbia,” said the prefect, and he stamped his foot in his impatience.
“Saveria! Saveria!” shouted Orso, “open the door, in the devil’s name!”
“One moment,” said Brandolaccio. “We have to slip away first, on our
side. Signor Prefetto, the custom, when people meet in the house of
a mutual friend, is to allow each other half an hour’s law, after
departure.”
The prefect cast a scornful glance at him.
“Your servant, signorina, and gentlemen all!” said Brandolaccio. Then
stretching out his arm, “Hi, Brusco,” he cried to his dog, “jump for the
Signor Prefetto!”
The dog jumped; the bandits swiftly snatched up their arms in the
kitchen, fled across the garden, and at a shrill whistle the door of the
room flew open as though by magic.
“Signor Barricini,” said Orso, and suppressed fury vibrated in his
voice, “I hold you to be a forger! This very day I shall charge you
before the public prosecutor with forgery and complicity with Bianchi. I
may perhaps have a still more terrible accusation to bring against you!”
“And I, Signor della Rebbia,” replied the mayor, “shall lay my charge
against you for conspiracy and complicity with bandits. Meanwhile the
prefect will desire the gendarmes to keep an eye upon you.”
“The prefect will do his duty,” said that gentleman sternly. “He will
see the public order is not disturbed at Pietranera; he will take care
justice is done. I say this to you all, gentlemen!”
The mayor and Vincentello were outside the room already, and Orlanduccio
was following them, stepping backward, when Orso said to him in an
undertone:
“Your father is an old man. One cuff from me would kill him. It is with
you and with your brother that I intend to deal.”
Orlanduccio’s only response was to draw his dagger and fly like a madman
at Orso. But before he could use his weapon Colomba caught hold of his
arm and twisted it violently, while Orso gave him a blow in the face
with his fist, which made him stagger several paces back, and come into
violent collision with the door frame. Orlanduccio’s dagger dropped from
his hand. But Vincentello had his ready, and was rushing back into the
room, when Colomba, snatching up a gun convinced him that the struggle
must be unequal. At the same time the prefect threw himself between the
combatants.
“We shall soon meet, Ors’ Anton’!” shouted Orlanduccio, and slamming
the door of the room violently, he turned the key in the lock, so as to
insure himself time to retreat.
For a full quarter of an hour Orso and the prefect kept their places
in dead silence, at opposite ends of the room. Colomba, the pride of
triumph shining on her brow, gazed first at one and then at the other,
as she leaned on the gun that had turned the scale of victory.
“What a country! Oh, what a country!” cried the prefect at last, rising
hastily from his chair. “Signor della Rebbia, you did wrong! You must
give me your word of honour to abstain from all violence, and to wait
till the law settles this cursed business.”
“Yes, Signor Prefetto, I was wrong to strike that villain. But I did
strike him, after all, and I can’t refuse him the satisfaction he has
demanded of me.”
“Pooh! no! He doesn’t want to fight you! But supposing he murders you?
You’ve done everything you could to insure it.”
“We’ll protect ourselves,” said Colomba.
“Orlanduccio,” said Orso, “strikes me as being a plucky fellow, and I
think better of him than that, monsieur. He was very quick about drawing
his dagger. But perhaps I should have done the same thing in his place,
and I’m glad my sister has not an ordinary fine lady’s wrist.”
“You are not to fight,” exclaimed the prefect. “I forbid it!”
“Allow me to say, monsieur, that in matters that affect my honour the
only authority I acknowledge is that of my own conscience.”
“You sha’n’t fight, I tell you!”
“You can put me under arrest, monsieur--that is, if I let you catch me.
But if you were to do that, you would only delay a thing that has now
become inevitable. You are a man of honour yourself, monsieur; you know
there can be no other course.”
“If you were to have my brother arrested,” added Colomba, “half the
village would take his part, and we should have a fine fusillade.”
“I give you fair notice, monsieur, and I entreat you not to think I am
talking mere bravado. I warn you that if Signor Barricini abuses his
authority as mayor, to have me arrested, I shall defend myself.”
“From this very day,” said the prefect, “Signor Barricini is suspended.
I trust he will exculpate himself. Listen to me, my young gentleman, I
have a liking for you. What I ask of you is nothing to speak of. Just to
stay quietly at home till I get back from Corte. I shall only be three
days away. I’ll bring back the public prosecutor with me, and then we’ll
sift this wretched business to the bottom. Will you promise me you will
abstain from all hostilities till then?”
“I can not promise that, monsieur, if, as I expect, Orlanduccio asks me
to meet him.”
“What, Signor della Rebbia! Would you--a French officer--think of going
out with a man you suspect of being a forger?”
“I struck him, monsieur!”
“But supposing you struck a convict, and he demanded satisfaction of
you, would you fight him? Come, come, Signor Orso! But I’ll ask you to
do even less, do nothing to seek out Orlanduccio. I’ll consent to your
fighting him if he asks you for a meeting.”
“He will ask for it, I haven’t a doubt of that. But I’ll promise I won’t
give him fresh cuffs to induce him to do it.”
“What a country!” cried the prefect once more, as he strode to and fro.
“Shall I never get back to France?”
“Signor Prefetto,” said Colomba in her most dulcet tones, “it is growing
very late. Would you do us the honour of breakfasting here?”
The prefect could not help laughing.
“I’ve been here too long already--it may look like partiality. And there
is that cursed foundation-stone. I must be off. Signorina della Rebbia!
what calamities you may have prepared this day!”
“At all events, Signor Prefetto, you will do my sister the justice of
believing her convictions are deeply rooted--and I am sure, now, that
you yourself believe them to be well-founded.”
“Farewell, sir!” said the prefect, waving his hand. “I warn you that the
sergeant of gendarmes will have orders to watch everything you do.”
When the prefect had departed--
“Orso,” said Colomba, “this isn’t the Continent. Orlanduccio knows
nothing about your duels, and besides, that wretch must not die the
death of a brave man.”
“Colomba, my dear, you are a clever woman. I owe you a great deal from
having saved me from a hearty knife-thrust. Give me your little hand to
kiss! But, hark ye, let me have my way. There are certain matters that
you don’t understand. Give me my breakfast. And as soon as the prefect
had started off send for little Chilina, who seems to perform all the
commissions she is given in the most wonderful fashion. I shall want her
to take a letter for me.”
While Colomba was superintending the preparation of his breakfast, Orso
went up to his own room and wrote the following note:
“You must be in a hurry to meet me, and I am no less eager. We can meet
at six o’clock to-morrow morning in the valley of Acquaviva. I am a
skilful pistol-shot, so I do not suggest that weapon to you. I hear you
are a good shot with a gun. Let us each take a double-barrelled gun. I
shall be accompanied by a man from this village. If your brother wishes
to go with you, take a second witness, and let me know. In that case
only, I should bring two with me.
“ORSO ANTONIO DELLA REBBIA.”
After spending an hour with the deputy-mayor, and going into the
Barricini house for a few minutes, the prefect, attended by a single
gendarme, started for Corte. A quarter of an hour later, Chilina carried
over the letter my readers have just perused, and delivered it into
Orlanduccio’s own hands.
The answer was not prompt, and did not arrive till evening. It bore the
signature of the elder Barricini, and informed Orso that he was laying
the threatening letter sent to his son before the public prosecutor. His
missive concluded thus: “Strong in the sense of a clear conscience, I
patiently wait till the law has pronounced on your calumnies.”
Meanwhile five or six herdsmen, summoned by Colomba, arrived to garrison
the della Rebbia Tower. In spite of Orso’s protests, _archere_ were
arranged in the windows looking onto the square, and all through the
evening offers of service kept coming in from various persons belonging
to the village. There was even a letter from the bandit-theologian,
undertaking, for himself and Brandolaccio, that in the event of the
mayor’s calling on the gendarmes, they themselves would straightway
intervene. The following postscript closed the letter:
“Dare I ask you what the Signor Prefetto thinks of the excellent
education bestowed by my friend on Brusco, the dog? Next to Chilina, he
is the most docile and promising pupil I have ever come across.”