Saracinesca Part 16

"I would rather not guess it."

"Of course; but you have already--you know it all. Have I not told you?"

Giovanni spoke in despairing tones. He was utterly weak and spellbound; he could hardly find any words at all.

"Don Giovanni," said Corona, speaking very proudly and calmly, but not unkindly, "I have known you so long, I believe you to be so honourable a man, that I am willing to suppose that you said--what you said--in a moment of madness."

"Madness! It was madness; but it is more sweet to remember than all the other doings of my life," said Saracinesca, his tongue unloosed at last.

"If it is madness to love you, I am mad past all cure. There is no healing for me now; I shall never find my senses again, for they are lost in you, and lost for ever. Drive me away, crush me, trample on me if you will; you cannot kill me nor kill my madness, for I live in you and for you, and I cannot die. That is all. I am not eloquent as other men are, to use smooth words and twist phrases. I love you--"

"You have said too much already--too much, far too much," murmured Corona, in broken tones. She had withdrawn her hand from his during his pa.s.sionate speech, and stood back from him against the dark wall of green plants, her head drooping upon her breast, her fingers clasped fast together. His short rude words were terribly sweet to hear, it was fearful to think that she was alone with him, that one step would bring her to his side, that with one pa.s.sionate impulse she might throw her white arms about his neck, that one faltering sigh of overwhelming love might bring her queenly head down upon his shoulder. Ah, G.o.d! how gladly she would let her tears flow and speak for her! how unutterably sweet it would be rest for one instant in his arms, to love and be loved as she longed to be!

"You are so cold," he cried, pa.s.sionately. "You cannot understand. All spoken words are not too much, are not enough to move you, to make you see that I do really worship and adore you; you, the whole of you--your glorious face, your sweet small hands, your queenly ways, the light of your eyes, and the words of your lips--all of you, body and soul, I love.

I would I might die now, for you know it, even if you will not understand--"

He moved a step nearer to her, stretching out his hands as he spoke.

Corona trembled convulsively, and her lips turned white in the torture of temptation; she leaned far back against the green leaves, staring wildly at Giovanni, held as in a vice by the mighty pa.s.sions of love and fear.

Having yielded her ears to his words, they fascinated her horribly. He, poor man, had long lost all control of himself. His resolutions, long pondered in the solitude of Saracinesca, had vanished like unsubstantial vapours before a strong fire, and his heart and soul were ablaze.

"Do not look at me so," he said almost tenderly. "Do not look at me as though you feared me, as though you hated me. Can you not see that it is I who fear you as well as love you, who tremble at your coldness, who watch for your slightest kind look? Ah, Corona, you have made me so happy!--there is no angel in all heaven but would give up his Paradise to change for mine!"

He had taken her hand and pressed it wildly to his lips. Her eyelids drooped, and her head fell back for one moment. They stood so very near that his arm had almost stolen about her slender waist, he almost thought he was supporting her.

Suddenly, without the least warning, she drew herself up to her full height, and thrust Giovanni back to her arm's length strongly, almost roughly.

"Never!" she said. "I am a weak woman, but not so weak as that. I am miserable, but not so miserable as to listen to you. Giovanni Saracinesca, you say you love me--G.o.d grant it is not true! but you say it. Then, have you no honour, no courage, no strength? Is there nothing of the man left in you? Is there no truth in your love, no generosity in your heart? If you so love me as you say you do, do you care so little what becomes of me as to tempt me to love you?"

She spoke very earnestly, not scornfully nor angrily, but in the certainty of strength and right, and in the strong persuasion that the headstrong man would hear and be convinced. She was weak no longer, for one desperate moment her fate had trembled in the balance, but she had not hesitated even then; she had struggled bravely, and her brave soul had won the great battle. She had been weak the other day at the theatre, in letting herself ask the question to which she knew the answer; she had been miserably weak that very night in so abandoning herself to the influence she loved and dreaded; but at the great moment, when heaven and earth swam before her as in a wild and unreal mirage, with the voice of the man she loved ringing in her ears, speaking such words as it was an ecstasy to hear, she had been no longer weak--the reality of danger had brought forth the sincerity of her goodness, and her heart had found courage to do a great deed. She had overcome, and she knew it.

Giovanni stood back from her, and hung his head. In a moment the force of his pa.s.sion was checked, and from the supreme verge of unspeakable and rapturous delight, he was cast suddenly into the depths of his own remorse. He stood silent before her, trembling and awestruck.

"You cannot understand me," she said, "I do not understand myself. But this I know, that you are not what you have seemed to-night--that there is enough manliness and n.o.bility in you to respect a woman, and that you will hereafter prove that I am right. I pray that I may not see you any more; but if I must see you, I will trust you thus much--say that I may trust you," she added, her strong smooth voice sinking in a trembling cadence, half beseeching, and yet wholly commanding.

Saracinesca bent his heavy brows, and was silent for a moment. Then he looked up, and his eyes met hers, and seemed to gather strength from her.

"If you will let me see you sometimes, you may trust me. I would I were as n.o.ble and good as you--I am not. I will try to be. Ah, Corona!" he cried suddenly, "forgive me, forgive me! I hardly knew what I said."

"Hush!" said the d.u.c.h.essa, gently; "you must not speak like that, nor call me Corona. Perhaps I am wrong to forgive you wholly, but I believe in you. I believe you will understand, and that you will be worthy of the trust I place in you."

"Indeed, d.u.c.h.essa, none shall say that they have trusted me in vain,"

answered Giovanni very proudly--"neither man nor woman--and, least of all women, you."

"That is well," said she, with a faint shadow of a smile. "I would rather see you proud than reckless. See that you remain so--that neither by word nor deed you ever remind me that I have had anything to forgive. It is the only way in which any intercourse between us can be possible after this--this dreadful night."

Giovanni bowed his head. He was still pale, but he had regained control of himself.

"I solemnly promise that I will not recall it to your memory, and I implore your forgiveness, even though you cannot forget."

"I cannot forget," said Corona, almost under her breath. Giovanni's eyes flashed for a moment. "Shall we go back to the ball-room? I will go home soon."

As they turned to go, a loud crash, as of broken gla.s.s, with the fall of some heavy body, startled them, and made them stand still in the middle of the walk. The noisy concussion was followed by a complete silence.

Corona, whose nerves had been severely tried, trembled slightly.

"It is strange," she said; "they say it always happens."

There was nothing to be seen. The thick web of plants hid the cause of the noise from view, whatever it might be. Giovanni hesitated a moment, looking about to see how he could get behind the banks of flower-pots.

Then he left Corona without a word, and striding to the end of the walk, disappeared into the depths of the conservatory. He had noticed that there was a narrow entrance at the end nearest the fountain, intended probably to admit the gardener for the purpose of watering the plants.

Corona could hear his quick steps; she thought she heard a low groan and a voice whispering,--but she might have been mistaken, for the place was large, and her heart was beating fast.

Giovanni had not gone far in the narrow way, which was sufficiently lighted by the soft light of the many candles concealed in various parts of the conservatory, when he came upon the figure of a man sitting, as he had apparently fallen, across the small pa.s.sage. The fragments of a heavy earthenware vase lay beyond him, with a heap of earth and roots; and the tall india-rubber plant which grew in it had fallen against the sloping gla.s.s roof and shattered several panes. As Giovanni came suddenly upon him, the man struggled to rise, and in the dim light Saracinesca recognised Del Ferice. The truth flashed upon him at once. The fellow had been listening, and had probably heard all. Giovanni instantly resolved to conceal the fact from the d.u.c.h.essa, to whom the knowledge that the painful scene had been overheard would be a bitter mortification.

Giovanni could undertake to silence the eavesdropper.

Quick as thought his strong brown hands gripped the throat of Ugo del Ferice, stifling his breath like a collar of iron.

"Dog!" he whispered fiercely in the wretch's ear, "if you breathe, I will kill you now! You will find me in my own house in an hour. Be silent now!" Giovanni whispered, with such a terrible grip on the fellow's throat that his eyeb.a.l.l.s seemed starting from his head. Then he turned and went out by the way he had entered, leaving Del Ferice writhing with pain and gasping for breath. As he joined Corona, his face betrayed no emotion--he had been so pale before that he could not turn whiter in his anger--but his eyes gleamed fiercely at the thought of fight. The d.u.c.h.essa stood where he had left her, still much agitated.

"It is nothing," said Giovanni, with a forced laugh, as he offered her his arm and led her quickly away. "Imagine. A great vase with one of Frangipani's favourite plants in it had been badly propped, and had fallen right through the gla.s.s, outward."

"It is strange," said Corona. "I was almost sure I heard a groan."

"It was the wind. The gla.s.s was broken, and it is a stormy night."

"That was just the way that window fell in five years ago," said Corona.

"Something always happens here. I think I will go home--let us find my husband."

No one would have guessed, from Corona's face, that anything extraordinary had occurred in the half-hour she had spent in the conservatory. She walked calmly by Giovanni's side, not a trace of excitement on her pale proud face, not a sign of uneasiness in the quiet glance of her splendid eyes. She had conquered, and she knew it, never to be tempted again; she had conquered herself and she had overcome the man beside her. Giovanni glanced at her in wondering admiration.

"You are the bravest woman in the world, as I am the most contemptible of men," he said suddenly, as they entered the picture-gallery.

"I am not brave," she answered calmly, "neither are you contemptible, my friend. We have both been very near to our destruction, but it has pleased G.o.d to save us."

"By you," said Saracinesca, very solemnly. He knew that within six hours he might be lying dead upon some plot of wet gra.s.s without the city, and he grew very grave, after the manner of brave men when death is abroad.

"You have saved my soul to-night," he said earnestly. "Will you give me your blessing and whole forgiveness? Do not laugh at me, nor think me foolish. The blessing of such women as you should make men braver and better."

The gallery was again deserted. The cotillon had begun, and those who were not dancing were at supper. Corona stood still for one moment by the very chair where they had sat so long.

"I forgive you wholly. I pray that all blessings may be upon you always, in life and in death, for ever."

Giovanni bowed his head reverently. It seemed as though the woman he so loved was speaking a benediction upon his death, a last _in pace_ which should follow him for all eternity.

"In life and in death, I will honour you truly and serve you faithfully for ever," he answered. As he raised his head, Corona saw that there were tears in his eyes, and she felt that there were tears in her own.

"Come," she said, and they pa.s.sed on in silence.

She found her husband at last in the supper-room. He was leisurely discussing the wing of a chicken and a small gla.s.s of claret-and-water, with a gouty amba.s.sador whose wife had insisted upon dancing the cotillon, and who was revenging himself upon a Strasbourg _pate_ and a bottle of dry champagne.

"Ah, my dear," said Astrardente, looking up from his modest fare, "you have been dancing? You have come to supper? You are very wise. I have danced a great deal myself, but I have not seen you--the room was so crowded. Here--this small table will hold us all, just a quartet."