I was to lose my reputation as a result; I expected it; I sacrificed reputation to love, and that concerns me alone. What right have those people who condemn me to say that my example is dangerous? As soon as the culprit is condemned he is executed, therefore he can do no further harm; and those who might be tempted to imitate him, are sufficiently warned by the punishment”

Karol de Roswald and Salvator Albani left their boat at the entrance of the park, close to the cottage which the innkeeper at Iseo had pointed out to them. It was here that Madame Floriani had been born and here her father, an old, white-haired fisherman still occupied it. Nothing had been able to persuade him to leave this poor abode where he had spent his life and where long habit kept him; but he had consented to having it repaired, improved in sanitation and protected from the waters of the lake by a pretty, rustic terrace adorned with flowers and shrubs. He was sitting at his door amid his irises and gladioli, and was using the last few minutes of daylight in mending his nets, for, although his existence was henceforth assured, and his daughter piously watched not only over all his needs but also the anticipation of the rare extravagant whims he might have, he retained the parsimonious habits and tastes of the peasant, and he never discarded a single one of the tools of his work, as long as he could still make the slightest use of it.

5.

Karol noticed the handsome but somewhat hard face of the old man, and not dreaming that this could be the signora’s father, greeted him and was prepared to pass on But Salvator had stopped to contemplate the picturesque thatched cottage and the old fisherman who with his white beard, slightly yellowed by the sun, resembled a muddy lakeside divinity. The memories which Madame Floriani, almost weeping, had repeated to him so often, and the eloquence of her repentance, passed confusedly through his mind; moreover the austere features of the old man seemed to preserve some similarity to those of the beautiful young woman. He saluted him twice and went on to try and open the park gate, which stood ten yards away; at the same time he looked back several times in the direction of the fisherman who was watching him with an attentive and suspicious eye.

When the latter saw that the two young men were really attempting to enter the abode of Madame Floriani he rose and shouted, in a far from welcoming tone, that one was not allowed to enter there and it was not a public walk.

“I know this quite well, my good man,” replied Salvator, “but I am an intimate friend of the signora and I have come to see her.”

The old man approached and looked at him attentively. Then he continued, “I don’t know you. You don’t come from these parts, do you?”

“I am from Milan and I tell you that I am a great friend of the signora. Tell me, which is the correct entrance?”

“You won’t get in that way! Are you expected? Do you know if you will be received? What is your name?”

“Count Albani. And you, my good fellow, will you tell me your name? Aren’t you, by any chance, a certain worthy man called Renzo, or Beppo, or Checco Menapace?”

“Renzo Menapace. Yes, that’s me,” said the old man doffing his hat in keeping with the custom in Italy where the lower classes defer to a title. “How do you know me, signor? I have never seen you.”

“Nor I you; but your daughter resembles you and I know her real name.”

“A better name than the one she goes by now! However, they all call her by her stage name now; it’s become a habit. So you want to see her? Have you come just for that?”

“Of course, – if you have no objection. I hope she will be good enough to commend us to you and that you will not regret opening the gate to us. I presume that you have the key?”

“Yes, I have the key and yet, your Lordships, I can’t open it. Is this young gentleman with you?”

“Yes, he is the Prince de Roswald,” said Salvator who was fully aware of the influence of titles.

Old Menapace bowed more deeply than before although his face remained cold and stern. “My lords,” said he, “have the goodness to enter my home and wait there until I have sent my servant to inform my daughter, because I cannot promise that she will be prepared to see you.”

“Come,” said Salvator to the prince, “We must be resigned to waiting. It appears that Madame Floriani has now developed a mania for living the life of a recluse. But as I have no doubt that we shall be well received, let us go and have a look at the cottage where she was born. It will be rather curious.”

“What is indeed curious is the fact that she now lives in a palace herself and leaves her father in a cottage,” replied Karol.

“I beg your pardon, your Highness,” said the old man who turned around with a displeased expression, much to the surprise of the two young men, for they were in the habit of talking German when they were alone, and Karol had expressed himself in that language.

“Forgive me,” continued Menapace, “if I overheard you. I have always had excellent hearing and that is why I was the best fisherman of the lake, without mentioning my sight, which was equally excellent and is still not too bad.”

“So you understand German?” said the prince.

“I was a soldier for a long time; and I spent years in your country. I can’t speak your language very well although I still understand it a little, so allow me to answer you in my own. If I don’t live in my daughter’s palace, it is because I like my cottage, and if she doesn’t live in my cottage, it is because the accommodation is too small and we would interfere with each other. Besides, I am accustomed to living alone and it is only under protest that I tolerate the man servant she gave me with the pretext that at my age a man may need someone to help him. Fortunately he is a good lad. I chose him myself and I am teaching him how to become a fisherman. Come, Biffi, leave your supper for a while, my boy, and go and tell the signora that two foreign gentlemen are asking to see her. Your names, again, please, your Lordships?”

“Mine will suffice,” replied Albani who, together with Karol, had followed old Menapace as far as the entrance of his cottage. From his pocket book he drew a visiting card which he handed to the youth who acted as the fisherman’s servant Biffi left in all haste, after his master had given him a key which he kept hidden in his belt.

“You see, your Lordships,” said Menapace to his guests as he offered them rustic chairs which he had woven and stuffed himself with various kinds of aquatic grass, “you must not think that I am not well treated by my daughter.