in this damned town. As well to keep on eye on them. You never know…'
The militia trailed out of the room in a great clatter of boots and sword belts. Orlandi turned to Marianne who had been waiting quietly, with Gracchus and Agathe peering avidly over her shoulder, for this bizarre scene to end.
'Signorina, excuse please, but I could not let these men attack the Villa Sant'Anna. It would have brought trouble for everyone, for them and for us.'
Curiosity impelled Marianne to find out more about the strange person whom the innkeeper had described.
'Are you really so much afraid of the Prince? Yet you yourself have never seen him?'
Orlandi shrugged and picking up a lighted candle from a side table turned to conduct the travellers upstairs.
'No, I have never seen him, but I have seen the good which is done in his name. The Prince is very generous to the poor and who knows how far his power may extend? I would rather he were left alone. We know his generosity, we do not yet know his anger – and what if he should indeed be in league with the Evil One…' Once again, Orlandi crossed himself three times in quick succession. This way, signorina. Your coachman's lodging shall be seen to and there is a small room for your maid next door to your own.'
In a moment he had thrown open a door and ushered Marianne into a chamber, simple but clean, with bare, whitewashed walls and furnished with a table, a pair of upright chairs and a long, narrow bed, its massive black wooden head so tall that it reminded Marianne uncomfortably of a tomb. There was also a large crucifix and a number of holy pictures. Except for the red, cotton counterpane and window curtains, the room might have been a convent cell. Jug and basin, made of thick green and white pottery, were shut away neatly in a cupboard and the whole room was dimly illuminated by a single oil lamp.
'My best room,' Signor Orlandi remarked with pride. 'I hope the signorina will be comfortable. Should I perhaps inform the Signor Zecchini?'
Marianne gave a little shiver. The story of the invisible Prince had in some degree taken her mind from her own troubles and from this mysterious individual who had been waiting for her since that morning. She thought she might as well find out at once who he was.
'Yes, tell him I am ready to receive him. Then you may bring us some food.'
'Does the signorina wish her baggage brought up?'
Marianne hesitated. She had no idea whether her godfather's plans for her included a lengthy stay at the inn, but she reckoned that her baggage would not suffer from one more night strapped to the coach.
'No, I do not know if I shall be staying. Just send up the big carpet bag from inside.'
When Orlandi had gone, Marianne took the precaution of despatching Agathe, who was practically asleep on her feet, to explore her own small chamber, a cubby-hole reached by a door in the corner of the room. Marianne told her not to come back until she was called.
'But – suppose I fall asleep?' the girl said.
'Then sleep well. I will wake you in time for supper. My poor Agathe, you had no idea this journey would prove such a penance, had you?'
Under her crumpled bonnet, Agathe smiled happily at her mistress. 'Oh it has been tiring, but ever so interesting. And I would go anywhere with mademoiselle. All the same, I can't say I think much of this inn. A nice fire would do no harm. It's that damp in here.'
Marianne's gesture of dismissal silenced her. There had been a light tap on the door.
'Come in,' Marianne called when the girl had gone.
The door opened slowly, so slowly that it seemed as if the person outside were nervous or embarrassed. A lanky figure appeared, dressed in a coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth with knee breeches and white stockings, big, buckled shoes and a round hat set atop a curious kind of cap. The hat was raised, the cap remained in place, after which the visitor clasped both hands and raised his eyes to heaven and sighed deeply.
'God be praised! You have come! I cannot tell you how anxious I have been all day with all these soldiers. But you are here, and that is all that matters.'
During the utterance of this thankful greeting, Marianne had time to get over her initial surprise at the realization that Signor Zecchini was none other than the Abbe Bichette. Even so, she could not help laughing a little at the poor man, he was so obviously ill-at-ease in his unfamiliar garb.
'Why, monsieur l'Abbe, how strange you look! Surely carnival time is long past now?'
'I beg you, do not laugh. I feel sufficiently uncomfortable, I can assure you. If it were not for the most urgent necessity, if His Eminence had not particularly requested it…'
Instantly, Marianne was serious again. 'Where is my godfather? I thought to find him here.'
'In these dreadful days you will understand that a Prince of the Church must be especially careful. We have been staying at the monastery of Monte Oliveto but we considered it wiser to leave there.'
'As indeed it was,' Marianne agreed, remembering what the angry captain had said not long before.
'Where is His Eminence now?'
'Over there,' the Abbe answered, indicating through the window the campanile of the cathedral opposite. 'He has been waiting for you in the verger's house since this morning.'
Marianne looked at the tiny gold-enamelled watch that she wore round her neck. 'It is late. The church will be closed – perhaps watched…'
'The evening service has only just begun. The Emperor's orders concern religious houses only. Church services are not affected. In any case, the verger was to leave a door open all night in case of need. His Eminence will be waiting for you after the service.'
'But where? The church is very large —'
'Enter by the left-hand door and go straight to the transept. Find the tomb of Ilaria. You will know it by the figure of a young woman lying with a little dog at her feet. The cardinal will meet you there.'
'Will you not come with me?'
'No. My orders from Monseigneur are to leave the inn during the night. He does not wish us to be seen together. My task is done and I have other business.'
'Thank you, monsieur l'Abbe. I will tell my godfather how faithfully you have carried out your trust. And now I must go to him.'
'May God keep you in His holy care. I will pray for you.'
Putting one long finger to his lips to enjoin her to silence and walking on tiptoe in his clumsy shoes, the so- called Signor Zecchini departed as quietly as he had come.
Marianne went quickly to her dressing-table and took off her hat. A swift glance at her hair and she turned to the carpet bag which Orlandi had sent up before the Abbes entrance and extracted from it a big, dark-red cashmere shawl. This she put over her head, wrapping it closely round her in imitation of the local women she had seen. She opened the door that led into Agathe's room. As she had expected, the maid was lying on her bed, fully dressed, and so sound asleep that she did not even hear the door open. Marianne smiled, knowing that Agathe would not wake while she was out.
On her way downstairs she encountered Orlandi carrying a tray loaded with plates, glasses and dishes.
'Bring supper in a little while, if you please,' she said. 'I – I wish to slip across to the church to say a prayer or two, if I may.'
Orlandi's professional smile became touched with a hint of something warmer.
'But of course you may! The evening service has just this moment begun! You run along now, signorina, and I will have supper for you when you return.'
'The soldiers – they will not hinder me?'
'Hinder you going to church?' The worthy landlord was indignant. 'I should think not indeed. We are good Christians here. The town would be up in arms if they tried to close the churches. Would you like me to go with you?'
'Thank you, but only as far as the inn door, I will go alone from there.'
Escorted by Orlandi, his moustaches bristling, Marianne passed through the main room of the inn without interference from the soldiers who seemed, in fact, little disposed to make trouble. The sergeant was playing cards with one of his corporals and the other men were quietly drinking. One or two had produced long clay pipes
