"Well," interrupted Don Agostino, "what about them?"
The agent took a letter from his pocket and spread it out on the pommel of his saddle. Then he handed it to Don Agostino.
"There!" he exclaimed. "It is her excellency herself who writes. They are coming here--to the palace--to stay for weeks--months, perhaps."
Don Agostino uttered a sudden ejaculation. It was difficult to say whether it was of surprise or dismay.
"Here!" he said--"to Montefiano? But the place is dismantled--a barrack!"
"And do I not know it--I?" returned Sor Beppe. "There are some tables and some chairs--and there are things that once were beds; but there is nothing else, unless it is some pictures on the walls--and the prince--blessed soul--took the best of those to Rome years ago."
Don Agostino read the letter attentively.
"The princess says that all the necessary furniture will be sent from Rome at once," he observed, "and servants--everything, in fact. The rooms on the _piano nobile_ are to be made ready--and the chapel. Well, Signor Fontana," he continued, "you will have plenty to occupy your time if, as the princess says, everything is to be ready in a fortnight from to-day. After all, the palace was built to be lived in--is it not true?"
"Very true, reverence; but it is so sudden. After so many years, to want everything done in fifteen days--"
"Women, my dear Signor Fontana--women!" said Don Agostino, deprecatingly.
The agent laughed. "That is what I said to my wife," he replied.
"It was not a wise thing to say," observed Don Agostino.
"It is an incredible affair," resumed the other, brushing a fly from his horse's flank as he spoke; "and no reception by the people--as little notice as possible to be taken of their excellencies' arrival. You see what the letter says, reverence?"
"Yes," replied Don Agostino, meditatively. "It is unusual, certainly, under the circumstances."
"But," he added, "the princess has undoubtedly some good reason for wishing to arrive at Montefiano in as quiet a manner as possible. Perhaps she is ill, or her daughter is ill--who knows?"
"They say she is a saint," observed Fontana.
Don Agostino looked at him; the tone of Sor Beppe's voice implied that such a fact would account for any eccentricity. Then he smiled.
