The Italians Part 37

A type of perfect womanhood. Fresh, and strong, and healthy--a mother for heroes.

"We have heard of you," went on Nera, throwing her grand head backward, a quiet deliberation in each word, as if she were dropping them out, word by word, like poison. "A case of Perseus and Andromeda, only you rescued the lady from the flames. You half killed me, Count n.o.bili, and _en revanche_ you have saved another lady. She must be very grateful."

"O Nera!" one of her sisters exclaimed, reproachfully. These innocent sisters never could accommodate themselves to Nera's caustic tongue.

Nera gave her sister a look. She rose at once; then the other sister rose also. They both slipped out of the room.

"Now," thought the marchesa, "I must go, too."

"May I be permitted," she said, rising, "before I leave the room to speak to my confessor, who is waiting for me, on a matter of business"--this was an excellent sham, and sounded decorous and natural--"may I be permitted, Count n.o.bili, to congratulate you on your approaching marriage? I do not know Enrica Guinigi, but I hear that she is lovely."

n.o.bili bowed with evident constraint.

"And I," said Nera, softly, directing a broadside upon him from her brilliant eyes--"allow me to congratulate you also."

"Thank you," murmured n.o.bili, scarcely able to form the words.

"Excuse me," the marchesa said. She courtesied to n.o.bili and left the room.

n.o.bili and Nera were now alone. n.o.bili watched her under his eyelids.

Yes, she was splendid. A luxuriant form, a skin mellow and ruddy as a ripe peach, and such eyes!

Nera was silent. She guessed his thoughts. She knew men so well. Men had been her special study. Nera was only twenty-four, but she was clever, and would have excelled in any thing she pleased. To draw men to her, as the magnet draws the needle, was the pa.s.sion of her life; whether she cared for them or not, to draw them. Not to succeed argued a want of skill. That maddened her. She was keen and hot upon the scent, knocking over her man as a sportsman does his bird, full in the breast. Her aim was marriage. Count n.o.bili would have suited her exactly. She had felt for him a warmth that rarely quickened her pulses. n.o.bili had evaded her. But revenge is sweet. Now his hour is come.

"Count n.o.bili"--Nera's tempting looks spoke more than words--"come and sit down by me." She signed to him to place himself upon the sofa.

n.o.bili rose as she bade him. He came upon his fate without a word.

Seated so near to Nera, he gazed into her starry eyes, and felt it did him good.

"You look ill," Nera said, tuning her voice to a tone of tender pity; "you have grown older too since I last saw you. Is it love, or grief, or jealousy, or what?"

n.o.bili heaved a deep sigh. His hand, which rested near hers, slipped forward, and touched her fingers. Nera withdrew them to smooth the braids of her glossy hair. While she did so she scanned n.o.bili closely. "You are not a triumphant lover, certainly. What is the matter?"

"You are very good to care," answered n.o.bili, sighing again, gazing into her face; "once I thought that my fate did touch you."

"Yes, once," Nera rejoined. "Once--long ago." She gave an airy laugh that grated on n.o.bili's ears. "But we meet so seldom."

"True, true," he answered hurriedly, "too seldom." His manner was most constrained. It was plain his mind was running upon some unspoken thought.

"Yes," Nera said. "Spite of your absence, however you make yourself remembered. You give us so much to talk of! Such a succession of surprises!"

One by one Nera's phrases dropped out, suggesting so much behind.

n.o.bili, greatly excited, felt he must speak or flee.

"I must confess," she added, giving a stealthy glance out of the corners of her eyes, "you have surprised me. When do you bring your wife home, Count n.o.bili?" As Nera asked this question she bent over n.o.bili, so that her breath just swept his heated cheek.

"Never, perhaps!" cried n.o.bili, wildly. He could contain himself no longer. His heart beat almost to bursting. A desperate seduction was stealing over him. "Never, perhaps!" he repeated.

Nera gave a little start; then she drew back and leaned against the sofa, gazing at him.

"I am come to you, Nera"--n.o.bili spoke in a hoa.r.s.e voice--his features worked with agitation--"I am come to tell you all; to ask you what I shall do. I am distracted, heart-broken, degraded! Nera, dear Nera, will you help me? In mercy say you will!"

He had grasped her hand--he was covering it with hot kisses. He was so heated with wine and beauty, and a sense of wrong, he had lost all self-command.

Nera did not withdraw her hand. Her eyelids dropped, and she replied, softly:

"Help you? Oh! so willingly. Could you see my heart you would understand me."

She stopped.

"You can make all right," urged n.o.bili, maddened by her seductions.

Again that waltz was buzzing in his ears. n.o.bili was about to clasp her in his arms, and ask her he knew not what, when Nera rose, and seated herself upon a chair opposite to him.

"You leave me," cried n.o.bili, piteously, seizing her dress. "That is not helping me."

"I must know what you want," she answered, settling the folds of her dress about her. "Of course, in making this marriage, you have weighed all the consequences? I take that for granted."

As Nera spoke she leaned her head upon her hand; the rich beauty of her face was brought under the lamp's full light.

"I thought I had," was n.o.bili's reply, recalled by her movement to himself, and speaking with more composure--"I thought I had--but within the last three hours every thing is changed. I have been insulted at the club."

"Ah!--you must expect that sort of thing if you marry Enrica Guinigi.

That is inevitable."

n.o.bili knit his brows. This was hard from her.

"What reason do you give for this?" he asked, trying to master his feelings. "I came to ask you this."

"Reason, my dear count?" and a smile parted Nera's lips. "A very obvious reason. Why force me to name it? No one can respect you if you make such a marriage. You will be always liked--you are so charming."

She paused to fling an amorous glance upon him. "Why did you select the Guinigi girl?" The question was sharply put. "The marchesa would never receive you. Why choose her niece?"

"Because I liked her." n.o.bili was driven to bay. "A man chooses the woman he likes."

"How strange!" exclaimed Nera, throwing up her hands. "How strange!--A pale-faced school-girl! But--ha! ha!"--(that discordant laugh almost betrayed her)--"she is not so, it seems."

n.o.bili changed color. With every word Nera uttered, he grew hot or cold, soothed or wild, by turns. Nera watched it all. She read n.o.bili like a book.

"How cunning Enrica Guinigi must be!--very cunning!" Nera repeated as if the idea had just struck her. "The marchesa's tool!--They are so poor!--Her niece! Che vuole!--The family blood! Anyhow, Enrica has caught you, n.o.bili."

Nera leaned back, drew out a fan from behind a cushion, and swayed it to and fro.

"Not yet," gasped n.o.bili--"not yet."

And n.o.bili had listened to Nera's cruel words, and had not risen up and torn out the lying tongue that uttered them! He had sat and heard Enrica torn to pieces as a panting dove is severed by a hawk limb by limb! Even now n.o.bili's better nature, spite of the glamour of this woman, told him he was a coward to listen to such words, but his good angel had veiled her wings and fled.

"I am glad you say 'not yet.' I hope you will take time to consider.

If I can help you, you may command me, Count n.o.bili." And Nera paused and sighed.