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
Machiavelli, 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
surprise, which Randal was at that very time racking his yet cleverer
brains to disappoint.
These plans conned sufficiently, Riccabocca shut up his Machiavelli, 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 overburden her discretion with another.