The cardinal's face was stony. His blue eyes flashed.
'What do you know of him? From whom have you heard this?'
Briefly, Marianne described the scene which she had witnessed at the inn. At the end, she added: 'They say he suffers from some terrible disease and that is why he hides himself away, they say even that he is mad —'
'People will talk and if they do not talk, still they will think. No, he is not mad. As for why he chooses to live in seclusion, that is not for me to divulge. It is his secret. He may reveal it to you one day, if he sees fit – although I should be surprised. All you need to know is that his motives are not merely honourable but very noble.'
'But – surely I must see him – if we are to be married?' Unconsciously, Marianne spoke hopefully.
The cardinal shook his head. 'There is no curbing feminine curiosity. Listen to me, Marianne, for I shall not say this again. Between you and Corrado is a new pact, like the one you and I have made together. He will give you his name and acknowledge your child, who will one day inherit all his titles and possessions, but it is unlikely that you will ever look upon his face, even during the wedding ceremony.'
'But you know him?' Marianne cried, galled by this mystery to which the cardinal appeared to be a party. 'You have seen him? Why does he hide himself like this? Is he a monster?'
'Certainly I have seen him, many times. I have known him ever since the dreadful day of his birth. But I have sworn on my honour and on the Gospels never to speak of his person. Yet God knows, I would give much to make it possible for your marriage to be a real one in the sight of all, for I have met few men of such worth. But as things are, I believe that in bringing about this marriage I am acting in the best interests of both of you, by joining together, as it were, two people in trouble. As for you, you must repay him for what he gives to you, for in future you will be a very great lady, by conducting yourself honourably, with due respect for the ancient family to which you will belong. Its roots go back as far as classical times and she who lies in this tomb was not unconnected with it. Are you prepared for this? For make no mistake, if you have come seeking nothing but a cover that will allow you to live as you please with any man, you had better go away and look elsewhere. Never forget that what I am offering you is not happiness but the honour and dignity of a man who will not be beside you to defend them, that and a life free from all material cares. In short, I expect you to behave as befits your birth and breeding. If these conditions seem too hard to you, you may still draw back. I will give you ten minutes to think whether you will remain the singer Maria Stella or become the Princess Sant'Anna.'
He made a move as if to leave her alone to her thoughts but Marianne, seized with a sudden panic, gripped his arm.
'One thing more, godfather, I beg of you. I must make you understand what this decision means to me. I know it is not for the daughter of a great house to raise objections to the match made for her by her family, but you must admit the circumstances are unusual.'
'I do admit it. Yet I thought you had done with objections.'
'It is not that. I do not object. I trust you and I love you as I should my own father. All I ask is that you explain a little more. You tell me that I must live henceforth as befits a Sant'Anna, respect the name I bear?'
The cardinal's voice hardened. 'I did not think to hear such a question from your lips.'
'I do not know how to say it,' Marianne said desperately. 'What I mean is: what will be my life when I have married the Prince? Shall I be obliged to live in his house, under his roof —?'
'I have already told you, no. You may live precisely where you choose, in your own house, at the Hotel d'Asselnat or where you will. You may also reside whenever you wish to in any of the houses belonging to the Sant'Annas, either in the villa you will see tomorrow or in any of their palaces, in Venice or in Florence. You will be perfectly free and Sant'Anna's steward will ensure that your life is not merely free from practical cares but as magnificent as befits your station. I only mean that you should live up to that station. No scandals, no passing fancies, no —'
'Oh, godfather!' Marianne cried, hurt. 'What right have I ever given you to think that I could sink so low —'
'Forgive me. I too am expressing myself badly. That was not what I meant to say. I was still thinking of your chosen profession. You may not have been aware of its dangers. I know you have a lover, and who he is. I may deplore the choice of your heart, but I know that he can call you back to him whenever he will. You cannot fight both him and yourself. All I ask, my child, is that you should remember the name you bear and be discreet. Never do anything that may give your child – now the child of both of you – any cause to reproach you. Indeed, I believe that I may trust you. You are still my own dear child. Only you have been unlucky. Now I will leave you to think.'
The cardinal moved away quietly to kneel before the statue of St John, leaving Marianne alone by the tomb. She turned to it instinctively, as if those stone lips could give the answer for which the cardinal was waiting. Dignity, that must have been the story of the girl who lay there. She had lived and died in dignity, and in what grace she clothed it! Marianne had to confess, moreover, that she did not honestly care for adventures, not at least for those she had encountered, and she could not help thinking that if things, and especially Francis, had been different, she would at that very moment have been living a life of peace and dignity amid the grandeurs of Selton Hall.
Stepping softly up to the tomb, she laid her hand on the marble folds. Their coldness surprised her. Was it an illusion, or had there been a suggestion of a fleeting smile on the narrow face with its closed eyes, resting so quietly in its high, framing collar? As if Ilaria were trying from beyond the grave to give encouragement to her living sister.
'I must be going mad,' Marianne told herself furiously. 'I am seeing things! This has gone on long enough.'
She turned her back firmly on the statue and went to her godfather where he was praying, his head bowed on his hands. She did not kneel but said in a small, clear voice: 'I am ready. Tomorrow I will marry the Prince.'
The cardinal did not turn or look up. With his eyes still on the statue, he answered softly: 'It is well. Go home now. Leave the inn at noon tomorrow and tell your coachman to take the road leading to the Baths of Lucca. It is some twelve or fifteen miles. This will cause no surprise since you are supposed to have come for the purpose of taking the waters, but you will not go all the way. About three miles from here you will see a small wayside shrine. I will be waiting for you there. Go now.'
'You are staying? It is so dark – and cold.'
'I am staying here. The verger is one – is a friend. Go in peace, my child, and God be with you.'
He seemed suddenly tired, and anxious for her to be gone. With one last look at the statue of Ilaria, Marianne left by the way that she had come, her mind busy with a new idea. There seemed no end to her godfather's capacity to surprise her. What was it that he had started to say about the verger? That he was one of what? Was it possible that a Roman cardinal, a prince of the Church, could belong to a secret society? And if so, which? This was a fresh mystery which might be better left alone. Marianne was tired of all these secrets which were creeping into her life.
After the smell of cold wax and moist stone inside the cathedral the night air was delicious, soft and fragrant, and the sky was beautiful. To her surprise, Marianne found that she was at peace with herself now that her decision had been made. She felt almost glad that she had finally agreed to this strange marriage, and indeed it would have been madness to have rejected a match which guaranteed her the kind of life she had been born to and understood while at the same time leaving her fully her own mistress. All she had to do was to be worthy of the name of Sant'Anna.
Even the momentary thought of Jason could not disturb her new-found serenity. She had probably been wrong to persist in looking to him for help. Fate had chosen for her and perhaps it was better so. All things considered, the only person she really missed was her dear Arcadius. Everything was always so much easier when he was there.
As she crossed the dark square she was struck by the silence. No sound was to be heard there now, no love songs hung in the air. There was only the night with its disquieting shadows beyond which lay another dawn whose colours she could not foresee. Marianne shivered, without quite knowing why.
CHAPTER TEN
