The Fool Errant Part 27

CHAPTER XLIII

AGITATIONS AT THE VILLA SAN GIORGIO

The servant, an old one of Donna Giulia's, who knew me well by sight, had grimaced pleasantly as he saluted. "Buon di, signoria," he had said, and "Servitore del 'l.u.s.trissimo." The padrona, he felt sure, was in the house, and the Excellency of the count was paying a visit. Let the 'l.u.s.trissimo accommodate himself, take repose, walk in the garden, do his perfect pleasure. In two little moments the padrona should be informed. With that he had gone away, leaving a volley of nods, winks and exclamations behind him. The windows stood open, the hour, the season invited. I saw the long, velvety vista of the cypress avenue, the slender feathers of trees in young leaf, the pleasantness of the gra.s.s, heard the invitation of a calling thrush, thought poignantly of Virginia, and went out, hoping to see her spirit there.

I paced the well-remembered long avenue to where it opened into a circle to meet two others. A sun-dial stood here in the midst and marked a point from which you could look three ways--behind you to the house, to the right and to the left. I chose for the right, and sauntered slowly towards the statue of the Dancing Faun, which closed that particular alley.

Strange, indeed, it was to be within the personal circle of Donna Aurelia, and undisturbed! But I did not realise then how near her I was.

The sound of voices in debate broke in upon my meditations--a woman's clear "No, no. At this hour, no!" and a man's, which urged, "Signora, if my devotion--" I knew both voices--the woman's was not to be mistaken.

Aurelia was there--the divine Aurelia--close at hand. Without thinking what I did, I took a strong breath and stepped forward to my task. I reached the statue of the faun, which leered and writhed its leathery tongue at me; and in the bay which opened out beyond it I found Aurelia and the count together.

The fair Aurelia was flushed and disarrayed. Her hair was half uncoiled, her bodice undone. She lay, or rather reclined, upon a garden seat; one hand was clapped to her side, one hand guarded her bosom. The count, who had his back to me, was upon one knee before her. He was, or had been, eloquent. At the moment of my appearance he had finished his period, and still trembled with the pa.s.sion of it. For the cynic philosopher he professed to be, he was, at the moment, singularly without relish of the humours of his position.

Coming upon all this, I stopped suddenly short. Aurelia saw me, and uttered a cry. At the same instant her hands were busy with her dress.

The count, on his feet in a moment, turned his head, started violently, then controlled himself, and advanced to meet me, whom he had once called his friend.

"My dear Don Francis," he said briskly, "let me be one of the first to welcome you. I had heard of your arrival only to-day--indeed, I came here to prepare Donna Aurelia for a pleasant surprise. I believe I was being eloquent on your account at this moment. You may have overheard me--if I was too partial, blame my esteem."

I scarcely heard him, and was perhaps barely civil. I went past him, hat in hand, towards the lady. I saluted her profoundly.

"Madam," I said, "my intrusion is pure accident. I was told that your ladyship was in the house. Ten thousand pardons that I come unannounced before you--unwelcome I must needs be, unworthy of your clemency--since we parted unhappily. Forgive me, I beseech you." I then offered the count my hand.

"Oh, Signor Francesco," says Aurelia in a twitter, "I am glad to see you again." She was tremulous, beautiful; she had her old wayward, ardent ways, her childish bloom and roundness had not left her, nor her sumptuousness, nor her allure--and yet I could look calmly into her face and know that she had no charm left for me.

"Madam," I said, "since you showed me so plainly that my company was not to your taste, I have no right to be here. My fault--my old fault--is so clearly before me that I should not have dared commit another. If I may once more ask your pardon----"

"Oh, my pardon!" cried she, faltering. "Why, what harm have you done me now, pray?"

"Madam," says the count, "my young friend's fault is a very natural one.

If he is a sinner, what must your ladyship be? For if it is sinful to love, is it not worse to inspire it?" The lady made no reply at this gallant diversion.

The position was very awkward. I could not speak as I felt, or as I ought to feel; the count would not, and Donna Aurelia was on the verge of tears. Obviously I must retire.

"Madam," I said, "I intruded upon you by misfortune, and may not trespa.s.s. I beg my service to the learned judge, my profoundest respect to your ladyship. The young man who once showed himself unworthy to be at your feet may now stand upon his own. Don Francis has offended Donna Aurelia----"

"Oh, no, no, no!" said Aurelia in distress. "Oh, Checho, don't leave me."

I came off my stilts, for I saw that she was unhappy.

"Can I serve you?" I asked her. "Can I be so honoured?"

"Yes, yes," she said brokenly, "stay with me. I need you--stay." Count Giraldi took a step forward.

"Madam," he said, "I salute your ladyship's hand, and shall do myself the honour to wait upon you upon a less urgent occasion. Don Francis, your humble servant--to meet again, no doubt."

He bowed himself away, and left me alone with Aurelia.

For some time neither of us spoke. She sat pensive, with signs of distress--storm signals--still displayed; she was very nervous, looking at her fingers at play in her lap. I stood up beside her, not knowing, in truth, what in the world she wanted with me. The silence, as it became oppressive, made Aurelia angry. She bit her lip.

"Well," she said at last. "Well! have you nothing to say to me, now that you have found me?"

"Madam," said I, "my fault----"

"Oh," cried she in a rage. "Your fault! Do you not see how hateful your 'fault' makes me appear? Do you think the best way of amending this wonderful fault of yours is to be for ever bewailing it? Has a gentleman never loved a lady before, or am I a lady whom no man should love? Do you suppose I am flattered to learn that you have hunted me all over Italy only for the pleasure of telling me that you are ashamed of ever having loved me?"

I said, "I loved you unworthily--I played a knave's part. I distorted your lovely image, I presumed upon your gracious kindness. I was accursed--accursed. I did sacrilege--I profaned the temple." I strode about before her declaiming against myself, not looking at her.

She laughed her vexation away. "My poor Checho," she said, "if you knew, if you could understand! Those days and nights of ours were very sweet.

Come, let us walk a little. It is chilly here. Come, we will go into the house and you shall tell me of your travels." She took my arm; I led her back to the house.

I sat by her side in the little saloon which had been Donna Giulia's boudoir, and served Aurelia now for the same purpose; and judging honesty the kindest, and only, course, I told her everything of my defence of Virginia, hinting at the same time at my suspicions of Count Giraldi. I said that the poor child had certainly been betrayed to the marchese, that the count and Father Carnesecchi alone had known her story, that I could not suspect the Jesuit, and therefore----At this point Aurelia stopped me, not by any words, but by her appearance of being upon the point of words. She was very much excited, but she controlled her speech; and I went on to tell her that, in consequence of that betrayal, I had felt bound to make Virginia my wife. At this I thought that she was ill. She stared at me as if I had suddenly stabbed her; she went perfectly white. "Your wife!" she whispered--"you have---- "

"Madam," I said, "that is the truth. I have never shrunk from my duty, I believe, and never saw duty plainlier than then. I married Virginia, or thought that I did; but it now appears that my marriage was none at all-- not by my fault, but by that n.o.ble girl's mistaken generosity. And now that I have lost her I must by all means find her. She must be mine for ever."

Aurelia had recovered her colour and self-possession. She was now also very angry, tapping her foot and breathing fast. She looked disdainfully at me, and reproachfully. "But," she said, with scorn, "But what I am to think of you, Don Francis? Do you purpose to spend your life seeking ladies whom you have compromised? No sooner have you lost me than you look for another! And when you find your wife--as you choose to call her--if you are so fortunate, shall you treat her as you have treated me?"

"I hope so," said I. "My first duty will be to ask her forgiveness; my second to convince her of my repentance; my third----"

"Oh, spare me your THIRDLY," said Aurelia drily. "I have no doubt what your third duty will be, and I am sure you will perform it admirably."

She grew red, tears gathered in her eyes--she stamped her foot.

"Vexatious boy!" she cried out, "I wish to Heaven I had never seen you!

You loved me once--but I was not ready. Now that I am--what I am--you are not ready." "I did you a wrong--I was a villain." A great terror struck me. "G.o.d have mercy upon me," I cried. "Aurelia! is it possible-- is it possible--that you----?"

She came very near me--so near that her quick breath fanned my face--so near that I could distinguish her heart-beats. She took my hands, tried to draw me to her.

"Yes, yes--it is possible--it is possible--it is certain--it is true! I love you--I need you--I will follow you across the world. Do you think me bold? Judge then of my need. Do you suppose such a confession easy to a woman--or lightly made----? Do you think me a bad woman? I shall not deny it--but I shall add to your judgment that I am a loving one. Ah, there was a time," she said bitterly--for she saw my dismay--"there was a time when you prayed me to love you, and I refused. If then I had agreed, would you have gone white and red by turns--would you have averted your eyes--would you have looked on the ground?" She took me in her eager arms, she clung to me, she strove, panted for a kiss. "To me, to me, Francis--you loved me first--you taught me--I am yours by right of conquest. Here I am--on your breast, the forgiving, the longing Aurelia!"

I cannot express what I felt during this scene. Painful as it was to me to know myself unaffected by it, it was exquisite grief to me to have her unqueen herself before my eyes. O Aurelia, to stoop from thy celestial commerce to barter for a kiss! I know not what I said, nor can remember exactly what it was that I did. I was, I trust, gentle with her. I disengaged myself without abruptness and led her to a seat. I said nothing--but when she was more at ease within herself, I knelt before her, kissed her hand respectfully, and left her. It was, I am sure, a case where fewest words were best. I believe that she was weeping; I know that I was.

Going out of the villa gates into the street, I was aware of a cloaked figure standing at the first corner towards Florence, evidently upon the watch for me. The moment I was clear of the gate he came to meet me, and I saw that he was followed by another m.u.f.fled man, and that both carried swords. I kept my course, however, as if they were no concern of mine, and made room for them to pa.s.s me on the side of the wall. But the first of them stopped in front of me.

"A fine night, Don Francis," he said. It was Count Giraldi.

CHAPTER XLIV

I CONFRONT MY ENEMIES

I could not see his face, for besides that it was now very dark, he kept his cloak up, and had pulled his hat downwards over his brow; but his voice was perfectly familiar. His companion was similarly m.u.f.fled; I did not then recognise him.

I saluted the count and admitted the fineness of the night. It seemed to me that he had more to say--and he had.

"I have wished a little conversation with you, Don Francis," he said.

"Shall we walk together? You are returning to your lodging--after an interview which, to judge from its duration, must have been pleasant."