The Children of the King

ed, as though regretting the sleep she might be still enjoying. Beatrice was sitting by a table, an open book beside her which she was not reading, and she hard

nger and regret-shame at having been so easily deceived by the play of a man's face and voice, anger against him for the part he had acted, and regret for something unknown but dreamt of and almost understood, and which could never be. She was too young and girlish t

hich, this morning, seemed further from her than ever before. It was bitter to think that any man could say she had uttered those three words "I love you," when there was less truth in them than in the commonest, most pardonable social lie. He had planned the excursion, knowing how beautiful things in nature affected her, knowing exactly at what point the moon would rise, precisely at what hour that mysterious light would gleam upon the water, knowing the magic of the place and counting upon it to supplement his acting where it lacked reality. It had been clever of him to think it out so carefully, to plan each detail so thoughtfully, to behave so naturally until his opportunity was all

ove for her upon his face. What matter if he were but an unlettered sailor, scarcely knowing what moved him nor the words he spoke? Beatrice was a

, and that she is right is truly shown in that those are the sins which the most manly men despise in others. They are, I think, cowardic

nch in danger, lie to save himself, tell the name of a woman whose love for him has betrayed her, or break his faith to her without boldly saying that

t only this. She felt deeply for him and pitied him with all her heart, since she had seen his own almost breaking before her eyes for her sake. She had always been kind to

er long chair, and slowly moved her fan, from habit, though too indolent t

ma," she said. "Are you very

my angel. A cigarette, my dear

her. Then the Marchesa shut her eyes, inhaled the smok

hild," she said at last, "but

I know what you are going to s

save me infinite tr

y? Do you know

o, and we have the best excuse in the world f

," said Beatrice. "I have mad

igarette from her lips, and turned her head slo

owly. "You cannot break your word. You know

ve my word! It is not t

e and then san

esa, raising her brows. For the first

will tell you everything and you know that I

when you tell him you l

che

d again, with a

robably he planned it the night before last, out here with you, while I was playing waltzes. You could not make me marry him, and he got leave of you to speak to me. Do you think I do not understand it all? Would you have let me go away last night and sit with him on the rocks, out of your hearing, without so much as a remark, unless you had arranged the matter between you? It is not like you, and I know you meant it. It was all a plot. He had even been there to study the place, to see the very point at which the moon would rise, the very place where he would make me sit, the very spot where your table could stand. He said to

ay hidden a small store of determination which had hardly ever expressed itself clearly in her life. Now, however, she felt that much was at stake. For many reasons San Miniato was precisely the son-in-law she desired. He would give Beatrice an ancient and honourable name, a leading position in any Italian society he chose to frequent, whether in the north o

f and in San Miniato. I am quite unable to go through all the

d a little and she s

it. Can you deny that what I say is true? Can you say that you did not a

he may love you as sincerely as he can love any one. I do not suppose you expect a man of his sense a

to show that he is in

hesa. "The real question concerns you much more

was no

r the circumstances that meant that you were willing to

thought

o have him, saying that you meant to exercise your own free will. You had an opportunity of exercising it last night. You told him clearly that you loved him, a

h is attached in Italy to a distinct promise of marriage. It indeed almost amounts, morally speaking, to marriage itself, and the breaking of it is looked upon socially almost as an act of infidelity to the marriage bond. A young girl who refuses to keep her engagement is called a civetta-an owlet-probably because owlets

errace, her head bent, her hands clasped together. The Marchesa slowly

nes, and she repeated the words again and again, pa

were not such an exertion to talk, I am sure I could make y

do not understand! T

here is there anyth

ve! And for what? Because he has an old name, and I a new one, and I can bu

t know what strong w

lf strong enough

r sweet young face pale and weary with pain, her finger

om the table beside her. "The thing is done. You are engaged, and you must either marry San Min

but you and I and he?" asked Beatrice, standing

gentleman, however, and would be considerate. But who is to assure

Beatrice, leaning back ag

anging her tone. "You have changed to

sake! Do not make

oked at her and smiled a little, and shook her head, waiting for th

ke for the idea perhaps, but that will be gone to-morrow. Meanwhile the one thing which is really sure is that you are engaged to San Miniato, who, as I say, has undoubtedly telegraphed the fact

the tears she felt coming. Her beautiful young figure bent and trembled like a willow in the wind, and the soft white t

ere is nothing to cry over. Beatrice carissima

a great effort. During fully two minutes more she pressed her eyes with all he

lly is one and has seemed so to you and to him. But if I am a

hesa, in real horror this

not love?" asked the

r the love of Heav

never say it again-and

he terrace and met Sa

she said coldly,

your sister?" said the Marchesa as soon as she saw him, and ma

o-day she believed nothing he said. She went to her room and bathed her eyes in cold water and sat down for a moment before her glass and looked at herself thoughtfully. There she was, the same Beatrice she saw in the mirror every day, the same clear brown eyes, the same soft brown hair, the same broad, crayon-like eyebrows, the same free pose of the head. But there was something different in the face, w

uare stone box of a building which is the telegraph office stands on the other. She knew that just before twelve o'clock Ruggiero and his brother were generally seated on the bench before the lodge waiting for orders for the afternoon. As she expected, she found them

said, "will you

Excell

ing especial. You must tell n

-not even the ston

ster has sent a telegram anywhere this morning. Can you ask the

e, Exce

elieved the engagement already binding, as her mother had said. If he had lied, that would not prevent his really telegraphing within the next half hour, and matters would be in just the same situation with a slight difference of time. She would, indeed, in this la

inquired

ne o'clock this mo

mperceptibly under his glance. If she had seen herself at that moment she would have noticed that the har

ly?" sh

e will know that I have aske

hat did you say

nce at nine o'clock.' Then I said, 'I thank you, Don Gennaro, and I will do you a service when I can.' That was for good manners. Then I said, 'Don Gennaro, please not to tell any one that I asked the question, and if you

vident that Ruggiero had repeated accurately every word that had been spoken, and he looked the man to exe

o when you frightened h

Excellency. But he will say nothing, and will not c

ith it?" asked Beatric

f the King and put him in, as we say, and see that he does not run away, for he will do a hurt to somebody.' And perhaps they would catch me and perhaps they would not. Then Bastianello, my brother, would wait in the road in the evening for Don Genn

hough I see what you mean. I am afraid it is

spreading over his white forehead as he stood bareheaded befo

ally hurt him, and the thought pained her strongly. "You speak very well and I have always understood you p

r pardon. I do not wonder that you did no

till I do not

that-dei figli del Rè-" sa

e!" exclaim

d to show you that it is the tru

pocket, untied the thong and showed Beatrice the f

e late Ruggiero, native of Verbicaro, province o

g you say, Ruggiero,"

ilor, blushing this time with pleasure. "F

t shade under the trees, the light playing upon his fair hair and beard, and his blue

ily came by that strange

essed us and said this to us. 'Ruggiero, Sebastiano, dear sons, you could not save me and I am going. God bless you,' said she. 'Our Lady help you. Remember, you are the Children of the King.' Then she said, 'Rem

eatrice, strangely interested and

was the anger to give us strength. And so we ran away from Verbicaro, because we had no one and we had to eat, and had beaten Don Pietr

what were those stories they

stianello half a cigar or a pipe of tobacco in the morning-it is true he always has his own-and so the Son of the King stayed in that place and lived there, and I have heard old men say that when their fathers-who were also old, Excellency-were boys, many houses in Verbicaro b

xclaimed the young girl.

do you say i

is well, or that there is a west wind, or that his boat is sound, he says 'to-day is Saturday,'

uggiero," said Beatrice. "I h

n I have to speak to you, Exce

red Beatrice. "My father was only a Marchese. So if you wish to ple

Ruggiero, opening his blue eyes v

e said, "you

not forget again. When the tongue of the ignor

ery interesting. I am going to breakfast,

erve any thanks. And

d and walked slowly b

ch over every hair of your blessed head!" said Ruggiero in a low v