Riven Bonds Volume I Part 14

CHAPTER VIII.

Meanwhile Hugo had sought his brother, whom he found in conversation with Marchese Tortoni; both stood a little apart from the rest of the company.

"No, no, Cesario," said Reinhold, at that moment, refusing something.

"I have only shortly returned from M----, and cannot possibly think of leaving town again. Perhaps later--"

"But the opera is postponed," interrupted the young Marchese, in a beseeching tone, "and the heat begins to be oppressive. You are sure to select some _villegiatura_ in a few weeks. Come to my a.s.sistance, Captain," said he, turning to Hugo, just then approaching. "You intend, surely, to become acquainted with our south, and there is no better opportunity than in my Mirando."

"Do you know the Marchese already?" asked Reinhold. "Then I need not introduce you."

"Certainly not," replied Hugo, mischievously. "I introduced myself personally to these gentlemen, just as they were sitting in judgment upon you, and I had the harmless pleasure, as an unknown listener, of rousing them against you by casual remarks. Unfortunately it only succeeded with one. Marchese Tortoni, on the contrary, took your part most pa.s.sionately; I had to feel the whole weight of his displeasure, as I allowed myself to doubt your talent."

Reinhold shook his head. "Has he been playing his tricks already, Cesario? Take care, Hugo, with your jokes! We are here on Italian ground, where people do not take such things so lightly as in our home."

"Well, in this case the name was only required to reconcile us," said the Marchese, smiling. "But we are losing the thread of our discussion entirely," continued he, impatiently. "I have still received no reply to my request. I count positively upon your visit, Rinaldo; naturally on yours also, Signor."

"I am my brother's guest," exclaimed Hugo, to whom the last words were addressed. "Such a decision depends upon him and--Signora Biancona."

"Upon Beatrice! How so?" asked Reinhold, quickly.

"Well, she is already greatly annoyed that my presence keeps you so much from her. It is decidedly a question whether she will set you at liberty for any time, as Marchese Tortoni seems to wish."

"Do you think I should allow myself to be so entirely governed by her whims?" Reinhold's voice betrayed rising irritation. "I shall have to show that I can form a decision without her leave. We will come, Cesario, next month, I promise you."

An expression of great pleasure pa.s.sed over the young man's face at this rapid, impetuous a.s.sent; he turned politely to the Captain.

"Rinaldo knows my Mirando well, and has always praised it. I hope also to be able to make your stay agreeable to you. The villa is beautifully situated, close to the sea sh.o.r.e--"

"And isolated," said Reinhold, with a peculiar mixture of melancholy and longing. "One can breathe there while one is almost suffocated in the drawing-room atmosphere. But our friends are going to dinner," said he, turning the conversation, with an upward glance to the terrace. "We must, I suppose, join the others. Will you take Beatrice to dinner, Hugo?"

"No, thank you," declined the Captain, coolly. "That is surely your exclusive right. I do not wish to dispute it."

"Your conversation with her was remarkably short," said Reinhold, as together they ascended the steps of the terrace. "What was the matter with you both?"

"Nothing particular. A little outpost skirmish; nothing more. Signora and I have taken up our positions towards one another at once. I hope you do not object."

He received no answer, as Signora Biancona's silk dress rustled close by them, and the next moment stood between the brothers. The Captain bowed low, with consummate gallantry, before the beautiful woman. It would indeed have been impossible to find the least fault with this mode of greeting, and Beatrice acknowledged it with an inclination of her head, but the glance which she shot towards him showed sufficiently that she also had taken up her position. The intense hatred of the roused southerner blazed in her eye, only for a moment to be sure; the next she turned round, laid her hand on Reinhold's arm, to let him lead her into the dining-room.

"That seems to me neither more nor less than a declaration of war,"

murmured Hugo, as he followed the pair. "Wordless, but sufficiently comprehensible. The enmity has begun--at your commands, Signora."

Marchese Tortoni was not wrong in his remarks; the heat, notwithstanding the early season of the year, began to be oppressive.

The season was not over yet, but many families had already exchanged their residence in the town for the usual _villegiatura_ in the mountains or by the seaside, and the rest of the society was also on the point of dispersing itself earlier than usual to all points of the compa.s.s, until autumn brought them together once more.

In Signora Biancona's house no preparations had been made so far which might lead to the inference of a speedy departure, and yet one seemed to be under discussion in the interview which had just taken place between her and Reinhold Almbach. The two were alone in the singer's brilliantly and dazzlingly illuminated saloon; but Beatrice's beautiful face bore an expression of unmistakable excitement. Leaning against the cushions of the divan, her lips pressed angrily together, she plucked to pieces one of the beautiful bouquets which ornamented the celebrated actress' reception-room so plentifully; while Reinhold was walking up and down the room with folded arms and gloomily clouded brow. It only required a single glance to guess that one of those stormy scenes was being enacted which Maestro Gianelli declared were as frequent between the two as was sunshine.

"I beg you, Beatrice, spare me any more of these exhibitions," said Reinhold, with great violence. "You cannot alter an affair already determined upon. Marchese Tortoni received my promise, and our departure for Mirando is arranged for to-morrow."

"Well, then, you must retract this promise," replied Beatrice, in the same tone. "You gave it without my knowledge, gave it weeks ago, and then we had already decided to spend our _villegiatura_ in the mountains this year."

"Certainly! And I shall follow you there as soon as I return from Mirando."

"As soon as you return! As if Tortoni would not try every means to chain you there as usual, and if now, in addition, you go in your brother's company, it is a matter of course that you will be kept away from me as long as possible."

Reinhold stopped suddenly, and a dark look was turned towards her.

"Will you not have the goodness to leave this wearisome, exhausted subject at last?" asked he, sharply. "I know already quite well enough that there is no sympathy between you and Hugo; but he, at any rate, spares me any dissertations upon it, and does not require me to share his sympathies and antipathies. Besides, you must allow that he has never been impolite towards you."

Beatrice threw her bouquet aside and rose. "Oh, yes, I allow that, certainly; and it is just this courteousness which annoys me so much.

The agreeable conversations, with the everlasting, scornful smile on his lips; the attentions, with contempt in his eyes; that is quite the German manner, from which I suffered so much in your north, which governs and rules us in the so-called circles of society, which knows how to restrain us there, even when fighting ever so bitterly with any one. Your brother understands that perfectly; nothing hits him, nothing wounds him; everything glances off from his everlasting, mocking smile.

I--I hate him, and he me not less."

"With difficulty," said Reinhold bitterly, "as you are such a mistress of the art, as few others can be. I have often enough seen that, when you have imagined yourself insulted by anyone. With you it overflows all bounds at once. But this time, you will remember, that it is my brother against whom this hatred is directed, and that through it I am not disposed to let myself be robbed of our first short meeting for years. I shall endure no insult, no attack, upon Hugo."

"Because you love him more than me," cried Beatrice, wildly. "Because I count for nothing beside your brother. To be sure, what am I to you?"

And now the way was opened to a regular flood of reproaches, complaints, and threats, which finally ended in a torrent of tears. All the pa.s.sion of the Italian broke forth; but Reinhold seemed to be moved to nothing less than concession by it. He attempted to restrain her several times, and as he did not succeed, he stamped furiously with his foot.

"Once more, Beatrice, cease these scenes. You know that you never gain anything with me by them, and I should have thought you had already found by experience that I am not such a slave without a will, that a word or a caprice from you is a command. I shall not put up with these continual exhibitions any longer, which you call forth on every occasion."

He went furiously to the balcony, and, turning his back upon the room, looked down into the street, where the busy movement of the Corso was visible. For a few minutes Beatrice's pa.s.sionate sobs were heard in the saloon; then all was still, and immediately after she placed a hand on his shoulder, as he stood at the window.

"Rinaldo!"

Half-reluctantly he turned round. His glance met Beatrice's glowing dark eye; a tear still stood in it, but it was no longer a tear of anger, and her voice, just now so excited, had a soft, melting ring in it.

"You say I am a mistress in the art of hating. Only in hating, Rinaldo?

You have often enough experienced the contrary."

Reinhold now turned completely to her, and returned from the balcony.

"I know that you can love," replied he, more mildly, "love warmly and wholly. But you can also torment with this love; that I have to feel every day."

"And you would wish to flee this torment, at least for a time?"

A deep reproach sounded in her voice. Almbach made an impatient movement.

"I seek peace, Beatrice," said he, "and that I do not find at all near you. You can only breathe in constant heat and excitement, both are your conditions of life, and you drag your entire surroundings with you in the everlasting fire of your nature. I--am tired."

"Of society or of me?" asked Beatrice, with freshly rising fury.

"Can you not cease from seeking a stab in every word?" asked Reinhold, angrily. "I see we do not understand each other again to-day. Adieu!"

"You are going!" cried the Italian, half-frightened, half-threateningly. "And with this farewell for a separation of weeks!"

Reinhold, who was already at the door, thought a moment and turned slowly round.