Vendetta Part 12

"Oh, it is no greeting," I continued, calmly, noting the various signs of embarra.s.sment in his manner with a careful eye. "It is a mere message, which, however, may enable you to understand why I was anxious to see the young man who is dead. In my very early manhood the elder Count Romani did me an inestimable service. I never forgot his kindness--my memory is extraordinarily tenacious of both benefits and injuries--and I have always desired to repay it in some suitable manner. I have with me a few jewels of almost priceless value--I have myself collected them, and I reserved them as a present to the son of my old friend, simply as a trifling souvenir or expression of grat.i.tude for past favors received from his family. His sudden death has deprived me of the pleasure of fulfilling this intention--but as the jewels are quite useless to me, I am perfectly willing to hand them over to the Countess Romani, should she care to have them. They would have been hers had her husband lived--they should be hers now. If you, signor, will report these facts to her and learn her wishes with respect to the matter, I shall be much indebted to you."

"I shall be delighted to obey you," replied Ferrari, courteously, rising at the same time to take his leave. "I am proud to be the bearer of so pleasing an errand. Beautiful women love jewels, and who shall blame them? Bright eyes and diamonds go well together! A rivederci, Signer Conte! I trust we shall meet often."

"I have no doubt we shall," I answered, quietly.

He shook hands cordially--I responded to his farewell salutations with the brief coldness which was now my habitual manner, and we parted.

From the window of my saloon I could see him sauntering easily down the hotel steps and from thence along the street. How I cursed him as he stepped jauntily on--how I hated his debonair grace and easy manner! I watched the even poise of his handsome head and shoulders, I noted the a.s.sured tread, the air of conscious vanity--the whole demeanor of the man bespoke his perfect self-satisfaction and his absolute confidence in the brightness of the future that awaited him when that stipulated six months of pretended mourning for my untimely death should have expired. Once, as he walked on his way, he turned and paused--looking back--he raised his hat to enjoy the coolness of the breeze on his forehead and hair. The light of the moon fell full on his features and showed them in profile, like a finely-cut cameo against the dense dark-blue background of the evening sky. I gazed at him with a sort of grim fascination--the fascination of a hunter for the stag when it stands at bay, just before he draws his knife across its throat. He was in my power--he had deliberately thrown himself in the trap I had set for him. He lay at the mercy of one in whom there was no mercy. He had said and done nothing to deter me from my settled plans. Had he shown the least tenderness of recollection for me as Fabio Romani, his friend and benefactor--had he hallowed my memory by one generous word--had he expressed one regret for my loss--I might have hesitated, I might have somewhat changed my course of action so that punishment should have fallen more lightly on him than on her. For I knew well enough that she, my wife, was the worst sinner of the two. Had SHE chosen to respect herself, not all the forbidden love in the world could have touched her honor. Therefore, the least sign of compunction or affection from Ferrari for me, his supposed dead friend, would have turned the scale in his favor, and in spite of his treachery, remembering how SHE must have encouraged him, I would at least have spared him torture. But no sign had been given, no word had been spoken, there was no need for hesitation or pity, and I was glad of it!

All this I thought as I watched him standing bareheaded in the moonlight, on his way to--whom? To my wife, of course. I knew that well enough. He was going to console her widow's tears--to soothe her aching heart--a good Samaritan in very earnest! He moved, he pa.s.sed slowly out of my sight. I waited till I had seen the last glimpse of his retreating figure, and then I left the window satisfied with my day's work. Vengeance had begun.

CHAPTER XIII.

Quite early in the next day Ferrari called to see me. I was at breakfast--he apologized for disturbing me at the meal.

"But," he explained, frankly, "the Countess Romani laid such urgent commands upon me that I was compelled to obey. We men are the slaves of women!"

"Not always," I said, dryly, as I motioned him to take a seat--"there are exceptions--myself for instance. Will you have some coffee?"

"Thanks, I have already breakfasted. Pray do not let me be in your way, my errand is soon done. The countess wishes me to say--"

"You saw her last night?" I interrupted him.

He flushed slightly. "Yes--that is--for a few minutes only. I gave her your message. She thanks you, and desires me to tell you that she cannot think of receiving the jewels unless you will first honor her by a visit. She is not at home to ordinary callers in consequence of her recent bereavement--but to you, so old a friend of her husband's family, a hearty welcome will be accorded."

I bowed stiffly. "I am extremely flattered!" I said, in a somewhat sarcastical tone, "it is seldom I receive so tempting an invitation! I regret that I cannot accept it--at least, not at present. Make my compliments to the lady, and tell her so in whatever sugared form of words you may think best fitted to please her ears."

He looked surprised and puzzled.

"Do you really mean," he said, with a tinge of hauteur in his accents, "that you will not visit her--that you refuse her request?"

I smiled. "I really mean, my dear Signor Ferrari, that, being always accustomed to have my own way, I can make no exception in favor of ladies, however fascinating they may be. I have business in Naples--it claims my first and best attention. When it is transacted I may possibly try a few frivolities for a change--at present I am unfit for the society of the fair s.e.x--an old battered traveler as you see, brusque, and unaccustomed to polite lying. But I promise you I will practice suave manners and a court bow for the countess when I can spare time to call upon her. In the meanwhile I trust to you to make her a suitable and graceful apology for my non-appearance."

Ferrari's puzzled and vexed expression gave way to a smile--finally he laughed aloud. "Upon my word!" he exclaimed, gayly, "you are really a remarkable man, conte! You are extremely cynical! I am almost inclined to believe that you positively hate women."

"Oh, by no means! Nothing so strong as hatred," I said, coolly, as I peeled and divided a fine peach as a finish to my morning's meal.

"Hatred is a strong pa.s.sion--to hate well one must first have loved.

No, no--I do not find women worth hating--I am simply indifferent to them. They seem to me merely one of the burdens imposed on man's existence--graceful, neatly packed, light burdens in appearance, but in truth, terribly heavy and soul-crushing."

"Yet many accept such burdens gayly!" interrupted Ferrari, with a smile. I glanced at him keenly.

"Men seldom attain the mastery over their own pa.s.sions," I replied; "they are in haste to seize every apparent pleasure that comes in their way, Led by a hot animal impulse which they call love, they s.n.a.t.c.h at a woman's beauty as a greedy school-boy s.n.a.t.c.hes ripe fruit--and when possessed, what is it worth? Here is its emblem"--and I held up the stone of the peach I had just eaten--"the fruit is devoured--what remains? A stone with a bitter kernel."

Ferrari shrugged his shoulders.

"I cannot agree with you, count," he said; "but I will not argue with you. From your point of view you may be right--but when one is young, and life stretches before you like a fair pleasure-ground, love and the smile of woman are like sunlight falling on flowers! You too must have felt this--in spite of what you say, there must have been a time in your life when you also loved!"

"Oh, I have had my fancies, of course!" I answered, with an indifferent laugh. "The woman I fancied turned out to be a saint--I was not worthy of her--at least, so I was told. At any rate, I was so convinced of her virtue and my own unworthiness--that--I left her."

He looked surprised. "An odd reason, surely, for resigning her, was it not?"

"Very odd--very unusual--but a sufficient one for me. Pray let us talk of something more interesting--your pictures, for instance. When may I see them?"

"When you please," he answered, readily--"though I fear they are scarcely worth a visit. I have not worked much lately. I really doubt whether I have any that will merit your notice."

"You underrate your powers, signor," I said with formal politeness.

"Allow me to call at your studio this afternoon. I have a few minutes to spare between three and four o'clock, if that time will suit you."

"It will suit me admirably," he said, with a look of gratification; "but I fear you will be disappointed. I a.s.sure you I am no artist."

I smiled. I knew that well enough. But I made no reply to his remark--I said, "Regarding the matter of the jewels for the Countess Romani--would you care to see them?"

"I should indeed," he answered; "they are unique specimens, I think?"

"I believe so," I answered, and going to an escritoire in the corner of the room, I unlocked it and took out a ma.s.sive carved oaken jewel-chest of square shape, which I had had made in Palermo. It contained a necklace of large rubies and diamonds, with bracelets to match, and pins of their hair--also a sapphire ring--a cross of fine rose-brilliants, and the pearl pendant I had first found in the vault.

All the gems, with the exception of this pendant, had been reset by a skillful jeweler in Palermo, who had acted under my superintendence--and Ferrari uttered an exclamation of astonishment and admiration as he lifted the glittering toys out one by one and noted the size and brilliancy of the precious stones.

"They are trifles," I said, carelessly--"but they may please a woman's taste--and they amount to a certain fixed value. You would do me a great service if you consented to take them to the Contessa Romani for me--tell her to accept them as heralds of my forthcoming visit. I am sure you will know how to persuade her to take what would unquestionably have been hers had her husband lived. They are really her property--she must not refuse to receive what is her own."

Ferrari hesitated and looked at me earnestly.

"You--WILL visit her--she may rely on your coming for a certainty, I hope?"

I smiled. "You seem very anxious about it. May I ask why?"

"I think," he replied at once, "that it would embarra.s.s the countess very much if you gave her no opportunity to thank you for so munificent and splendid a gift--and unless she knew she could do so, I am certain she would not accept it."

"Make yourself quite easy," I answered. "She shall thank me to her heart's content. I give you my word that within a few days I will call upon the lady--in fact you said you would introduce me--I accept your offer!"

He seemed delighted, and seizing my hand, shook it cordially.

"Then in that case I will gladly take the jewels to her," he exclaimed.

"And I may say, count, that had you searched the whole world over, you could not have found one whose beauty was more fitted to show them off to advantage. I a.s.sure you her loveliness is of a most exquisite character!"

"No doubt!" I said, dryly. "I take your word for it. I am no judge of a fair face or form. And now, my good friend, do not think me churlish if I request you leave me in solitude for the present. Between three and four o'clock I shall be at your studio."

He rose at once to take his leave. I placed the oaken box of jewels in the leathern case which had been made to contain it, strapped and locked it, and handed it to him together with its key. He was profuse in his compliments and thanks--almost obsequious, in truth--and I discovered another defect in his character--a defect which, as his friend in former days, I had guessed nothing of. I saw that very little encouragement would make him a toady--a fawning servitor on the wealthy--and in our old time of friendship I had believed him to be far above all such meanness, but rather of a manly, independent nature that scorned hypocrisy. Thus we are deluded even by our nearest and dearest--and is it well or ill for us, I wonder, when we are at last undeceived? Is not the destruction of illusion worse than illusion itself? I thought so, as my quondam friend clasped my hand in farewell that morning. What would I not have given to believe in him as I once did! I held open the door of my room as he pa.s.sed out, carrying the box of jewels for my wife, and as I bade him a brief adieu, the well-worn story of Tristram and Kind Mark came to my mind. He, Guido, like Tristram, would in a short s.p.a.ce clasp the gemmed necklace round the throat of one as fair and false as the fabled Iseulte, and I--should I figure as the wronged king? How does the English laureate put it in his idyl on the subject?

"'Mark's way,' said Mark, and clove him through the brain."

Too sudden and sweet a death by far for such a traitor! The Cornish king should have known how to torture his betrayer! I knew--and I meditated deeply on every point of my design, as I sat alone for an hour after Ferrari had left me. I had many things to do--I had resolved on making myself a personage of importance in Naples, and I wrote several letters and sent out visiting-cards to certain well-established families of distinction as necessary preliminaries to the result I had in view. That day, too, I engaged a valet--a silent and discreet Tuscan named Vincenzo Flamma. He was an admirably trained servant--he never asked questions--was too dignified to gossip, and rendered me instant and implicit obedience--in fact he was a gentleman in his way, with far better manners than many who lay claim to that t.i.tle. He entered upon his duties at once, and never did I know him to neglect the most trifling thing that could add to my satisfaction or comfort. In making arrangements with him, and in attending to various little matters of business, the hours slipped rapidly away, and in the afternoon, at the time appointed, I made my way to Ferrari's studio. I knew it of old--I had no need to consult the card he had left with me on which the address was written. It was a queer, quaintly built little place, situated at the top of an ascending road--its windows commanded an extensive view of the bay and the surrounding scenery. Many and many a happy hour had I pa.s.sed there before my marriage reading some favorite book or watching Ferrari as he painted his crude landscapes and figures, most of which I good-naturedly purchased as soon as completed.

The little porch over-grown with star-jasmine looked strangely and sorrowfully familiar to my eyes, and my heart experienced a sickening pang of regret for the past, as I pulled the bell and heard the little tinkling sound to which I was so well accustomed. Ferrari himself opened the door to me with eager rapidity--he looked excited and radiant.

"Come in, come in!" he cried with effusive cordiality. "You will find everything in confusion, but pray excuse it. It is some time since I had any visitors. Mind the steps, conte!--the place is rather dark just here--every one stumbles at this particular corner."

So talking, and laughing as he talked, he escorted me up the short narrow flight of stairs to the light airy room where he usually worked.

Glancing round it, I saw at once the evidences of neglect and disorder--he had certainly not been there for many days, though he had made an attempt to arrange it tastefully for my reception. On the table stood a large vase of flowers grouped with artistic elegance--I felt instinctively that my wife had put them there. I noticed that Ferrari had begun nothing new--all the finished and unfinished studies I saw I recognized directly. I seated myself in an easy-chair and looked at my betrayer with a calmly critical eye. He was what the English would call "got up for effect." Though in black, he had donned a velvet coat instead of the cloth one he had worn in the morning--he had a single white j.a.ponica in his b.u.t.tonhole--his face was pale and his eyes unusually brilliant. He looked his best--I admitted it, and could readily understand how an idle, pleasure-seeking feminine animal might be easily attracted by the purely physical beauty of his form and features. I spoke a part of my thoughts aloud.