“You are wrong, Monsieur l’Abbé. Milady is the daughter of a French
nobleman, called the Comte Joinville, who had great possessions in
Champagne; and I have no doubt that if Madame la Baronne went to that
province she would find documents that I have been told were handed over
to a worthy ecclesiastic.”
On this combined advice, I decided to return at once to Florence to get
further information. I had the satisfaction of finding no incredulity; my
many friends all told me that they had never believed I belonged to the
family of the Chiappinis.
I was told that the constable, having at one time been in danger on
account of his political opinions, had entrusted the lady Massina
Calamini with some papers which he told her were of the highest
importance, and which he carefully reclaimed the very moment he was set
free.
It is equally certain that he had a great number in a strong box, the key
of which he never gave up to any one whatsoever.
But it was impossible to get anything from his son, except a few letters
of no consequence, which he had already shown me with a laugh as being
the only asset of his inheritance.
As to her whom up to now I had called my aunt, she came to see me
several times, and I continued to look after her welfare.
It seemed to her that her brother had been quite capable of the thing he
had so tardily confessed to me; she even maintained that she remembered
his wife, in her fits of rage often throwing these cutting words at him—
“You monster! Have you forgotten that you’ve committed a crime worthy of
the gallows?”
Count Borghi and the two old maid-servants living at Faenza having been
applied to for information, the latter replied that first of all they
wished to see me and to speak to me alone; the Count indignantly asserted
that I had made an unpardonable mistake about him, and swore that he
would make me pay dearly for it.
Not knowing what more to do, I went and asked a clever lawyer what steps
I ought to take. He told me I must submit Chiappini’s letter to the
authorities and have it legally verified.
As this verification entailed great formalities and much delay, I went
back to Leghorn to continue my sea-bathing. I soon heard the news that
my two elder sons were coming to visit me; my heart overflowed with joy;
I hastened to meet them, and received them at Florence.
They rapturously embraced me and gave me a thousand proofs of their love
for me. We spent five delightful weeks together, and about the middle of
November they started for Rome. I could not accompany them; my presence
had become indispensable to accelerate my business, which still lasted
more than another month.
At last the experts, having carefully compared the writing submitted to
them with several authentic signatures, decided that it was entirely in
the hand of Lorenzo Chiappini.[3]
As soon as this was finished, I hastened to join my children, and managed
to arrive on the first day of the year 1823, so as to give them my
presents and renew the heartfelt proofs of my love for them, which they
received with touching gratitude and profound respect.
The first thing they told me of was their fortunate meeting with my old
and most faithful friend, the Marchioness of B., who was looking forward
with the liveliest impatience for the moment of my arrival. My delight
was at its height; seeing her once more seemed to give me back a part of
myself.
They went very fast—those happy days I spent with her and my three
children.
Obliged to return to England, she gave me two letters of introduction to
use after the journey to France which I intended to make; one was for the
Duke of Orleans, the other for the British Ambassador.
She earnestly begged them to give me their powerful assistance, and,
moreover, entreated the first to be so kind as to present me to his
sister, who, she said, would soon become my friend, since my features and
manners were exactly like hers.
My son was close upon one-and-twenty, and was bound to be in London on
the 3rd of April, the day he would attain his majority, in order to take
his seat in Parliament.
Consequently, he and his brother left Rome about the end of February. I
went with them to Florence, to Pisa, and to Leghorn, and there I said my
last farewell to them.
Never was anything sadder or more harrowing than this cruel separation; a
secret presentiment warned me, alas! that it would be but too long a one.