CHAPTER VIII.
When Anastase Gouache was at last relieved from duty and went home inthe gray dawn of the twenty-third, he lay down to rest expecting toreflect upon the events of the night. The last twelve hours had beenthe most eventful of his life; indeed less than that time had elapsedsince he had bid farewell to Faustina in the drawing-room of thePalazzo Saracinesca, and yet the events which had occurred in thatshort space had done much towards making him another man. The changehad begun two years earlier, and had progressed slowly until it wascompleted all at once by a chain of unforeseen circumstances. Herealised the fact, and as this change was not disagreeable to him heset himself to think about it. Instead of reviewing what had happened,however, he did what was much more natural in his case, he turned uponhis pillow and fell fast asleep. He was younger than his years, thoughhe counted less than thirty, and his happy nature had not yet formedthat horrible habit of wakefulness which will not yield even to bodilyfatigue. He lay down and slept like a boy, disturbed by no dreams andtroubled by no shadowy revival of dangers or emotions past.
He had placed a gulf between himself and his former life. What hadpassed between him and Faustina, might under other circumstances havebecome but a romantic episode in the past, to be thought of with acertain tender regret, half fatuous, half genuine, whenever themoonlight chanced to cast the right shadow and the artist's mind was inthe contemplative mood. The peculiar smell of broken masonry, when itis a little damp, would recall the impression, perhaps; an old wallknocked to pieces by builders would, through his nostrils, bringvividly before him that midnight meeting amid the ruins of thebarracks, just as the savour of a certain truffle might bring back thememory of a supper at Voisin's, or as, twenty years hence, the pastygrittiness of rough maize bread would make him remember the days whenhe was chasing brigands in the Samnite hills. But this was not to bethe case this time. There was more matter for reminiscence than a rayof moonlight on a fair face, or the smell of crumbling mortar.
There was a deep and sincere devotion on both sides, in two personsboth singularly capable of sincerity, and both foresaw that the resultof this love could never be indifference. The end could only beexceeding happiness, or mortal sorrow. Anastase and Faustina were notonly themselves in earnest; each knew instinctively that the otherwould be faithful, a condition extremely rare in ordinary cases. Eachrecognised that the obstacles were enormous, but neither doubted for amoment that means would be found to overcome them.
In some countries the marriage of these two would have been a simplematter enough. A man of the world, honourable, successful, beginning tobe famous, possessed of some fortune, might aspire to marry any one hepleased in lands where it is not a disgrace to have acquired the meansof subsistence by one's own talent and industry. Artists and poets havesometimes made what are called great marriages. But in Rome, twentyyears ago, things were very different. It is enough to consider the wayin which Montevarchi arranged to dispose of his daughter Flavia tounderstand the light in which he would have regarded Faustina'smarriage with Anastase Gouache. The very name of Gouache would haveraised a laugh in the Montevarchi household had any one suggested thata woman of that traditionally correct race could ever make it her own.There were persons in Rome, indeed, who might have considered thematter more leniently. Corona Sant' Ilario was one of these; but herhusband and father-in-law would have opened their eyes as wide as oldLotario Montevarchi himself, had the match been discussed before them.Their patriarchally exclusive souls would have been shocked and thedear fabric of their inborn prejudices shaken to its deepestfoundations. It was bad enough, from the point of view of potentialmatrimony, to earn money, even if one had the right to prefix "Don" toone's baptismal name. But to be no Don and to receive coin for one'slabour was a far more insurmountable barrier against intermarriage withthe patriarchs than hereditary madness, toothless old age, leprosy, orlack of money.
Gouache had acquired enough knowledge of Roman life to understand this,and nothing short of physical exhaustion would have prevented hisspending his leisure in considering the means of overcoming suchstupendous difficulties. When he awoke his situation presented itselfclearly enough to his mind, however, and occupied his thoughtsthroughout the remainder of the day. Owing to the insurrection hisdeparture was delayed for twenty-four hours, and his duty was likely tokeep him busily engaged during the short time that remained to him. Thecity was in a state of siege and there would be a perpetual service ofpatrols, sentries and general maintenance of order. The performance oflabours almost mechanical left him plenty of time for reflection,though he found it hard to spare a moment in which to see any of hisfriends.
He was very anxious to meet the Princess Sant' Ilario, whose conduct onthe previous night had seriously alarmed him. It was to her that helooked for assistance in his troubles and the consciousness that shewas angry with him was a chief source of distress. In the course of thefew words he had exchanged with her, she had made it sufficiently clearto him that although she disapproved in principle of his attachment toFaustina, she would do nothing to hinder his marriage if he should beable to overcome the obstinacy of the girl's parents. He was at firstat a loss to explain her severity to him when she had left her house totake Faustina home. Being wholly innocent of any share in the latter'smad course, it did not at first enter his mind that Corona couldattribute to him any blame in the matter. On the contrary, he knew thatif the girl's visit to the ruined barracks remained a secret, thiswould be owing quite as much to his own discretion and presence of mindas to the princess's willingness to help him. Not a little, too, wasdue to good luck, since the least difference in the course of eventsmust have led to immediate discovery.
A little thought led him to a conclusion which wounded his pride whileit explained Corona's behaviour. It was evident that she had believedin a clandestine meeting, prearranged between the lovers at theinstigation of Gouache himself, and she had probably supposed thismeeting to be only the preliminary to a runaway match. How, indeed,could Faustina have expected to escape observation, even had there beenno revolution in Rome, that night? Corona clearly thought that the girlhad never intended to come back, that Gouache had devised means fortheir departure, and that Faustina had believed the elopement possiblein the face of the insurrection. Anastase, on finding himself in thesmall hours of the morning with Faustina on his hands and knowing thatdiscovery must follow soon after day-break, had boldly brought her tothe Palazzo Saracinesca and had demanded Corona's assistance.
As the artist thought the matter over, he became more and moreconvinced that he had understood the princess's conduct, and thereflection made him redden with shame and anger. He determined to seizethe first moment that presented itself for an explanation with thewoman who had wronged him. He unexpectedly found himself at libertytowards five o'clock in the afternoon and made haste at once to reachthe Palazzo Saracinesca. Knowing that no one would be allowed to be inthe streets after dark, he felt sure of finding Corona withoutvisitors, and expected the most favourable opportunity for talking overthe subject which distressed him.
After waiting several minutes in one of the outer halls he was usheredin, and to his extreme annoyance found himself in the midst of a familyparty. He had not counted upon the presence of the men of thehousehold, and the fact that the baby was also present did notfacilitate matters. Old Saracinesca greeted him warmly; Sant' Ilariolooked grave; Corona herself looked up from her game with littleOrsino, nodded and uttered a word of recognition, and then returned toher occupation.
Conversation under these circumstances was manifestly impossible, andGouache wished he had not had the unlucky idea of calling. There wasnothing to be done, however, but to put on a brave face and make thebest of it.
"Well, Monsieur Gouache," inquired the old prince, "and how did youspend the night?"
He could scarcely have asked a question better calculated to disturbthe composure of everyone present except the baby. Anastase could nothelp looking at Corona, who looked instinctively at her husband, whilethe
latter gazed at Gouache, wondering what he would say. All threeturned a shade paler, and during a very few seconds there was anawkward silence.
"I spent the night very uncomfortably," replied Anastase, afterhesitating a little. "We were driven from pillar to post, repellingattacks, doing sentry duty, clearing the streets, marching andcountermarching. It was daylight when I was relieved."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Sant' Ilario. "I had supposed that you had remainedall night at the Porta San Paolo. But there are many contradictoryaccounts. I was in some anxiety until I was assured that you had notbeen blown up in that infernal plot."
Gouache was on the point of asking who had told Giovanni that he hadescaped, but fortunately checked himself, and endeavoured to turn theconversation to the disaster at the barracks. Thereupon oldSaracinesca, whose blood was roused by the atrocity, delivered aterrible anathema against the murderous wretches who had ruined thebuilding, and expressed himself in favour of burning them alive, afate, indeed, far too good for them. Anastase profited by the oldgentleman's eloquence to make advances to the baby. Little Orsino,however, struck him a vigorous blow in the face with his tiny fist andyelled lustily.
"He does not like strangers," remarked Corona, coldly. She rose withthe child in her arms and moved towards the door, Gouache following herwith the intention of opening it for her to go out. The prince wasstill thundering out curses against the conspirators, and Anastaseattempted to say a word unobserved as Corona passed him.
"Will you not give me a hearing?" he asked in a low tone, accompanyinghis words with an imploring look.
Corona raised her eyebrows slightly as though surprised, but hisexpression of genuine contrition softened her heart a little andrendered her answer perhaps a trifle less unkind than she had meant itto be.
"You should be satisfied--since I keep your secret," she said, andpassed quickly out.
When Gouache turned after closing the door he was aware that Sant'Ilario had been watching him, by the fixed way in which he was nowlooking in another direction. The Zouave wished more and more ferventlythat he had not come to the house, but resolved to prolong his visit inthe hope that Corona might return. Sant' Ilario was unaccountablysilent, but his father kept up a lively conversation, needing only anoccasional remark from Gouache to give a fillip to his eloquence.
This situation continued during nearly half an hour, at the end ofwhich time Anastase gave up all hope of seeing Corona again. The twomen evidently did not expect her to return, for they had madethemselves comfortable and had lighted their cigarettes.
"Good-bye, Monsieur Gouache," said the old prince, cordially shakinghim by the hand. "I hope we shall see you back again alive and well ina few days."
While he was speaking Giovanni had rung the bell for the servant toshow the visitor out, an insignificant action, destined to produce arather singular result. Sant' Ilario himself, feeling that after all hemight never see Gouache alive again, repented a little of his coldness,and while the latter stood ready to go, detained him with a question asto his destination on leaving the city. This resulted in a livelydiscussion of Garibaldi's probable movements, which lasted severalminutes.
Corona in the meantime had taken Orsino back to his nurse, and hadbidden her maid let her know when the visitor in the drawing-room wasgone. The woman went to the hall, and when Giovanni rang the bell,returned to inform her mistress of the fact, supposing that Gouachewould go at once. Corona waited a few minutes, and then went back tothe sitting-room, which was at the end of the long suite of apartments.The result was that she met Anastase in one of the rooms on his wayout, preceded by the footman, who went on towards the hall after hismistress had passed. Corona and Gouache were left face to face andquite alone in the huge dim drawing-room. Gouache had found hisopportunity and did not hesitate.
"Madame," he said, "I beg your pardon for trespassing on your time, butI have a serious word to say. I am going to the frontier and am aslikely to be killed as any one else. On the faith of a man who may bedead to-morrow, I am wholly innocent of what happened last night. If Icome back I will prove it to you some day. If not, will you believe me,and not think of me unkindly?"
Corona hesitated and stood leaning against the heavy curtain of awindow for a moment. Though the room was very dim, she could see thehonest look in the young man's eyes and she hesitated before sheanswered. She had heard that day that two of her acquaintances hadfallen fighting against the Garibaldians and she knew that Anastase wasspeaking of a very near possibility when he talked of being killed.There were many chances that he was telling the truth, and she felt howdeeply she should regret her unbelief if he should indeed meet his fatebefore they met again.
"You tell me a strange thing," she said at last. "You ask me to believethat this poor girl, of her own free will and out of love for you,followed you out of this room last night into the midst of arevolution. It is a hard thing to believe---"
"And yet I implore you to believe it, princess. A man who should loveher less than I, would be the basest of men to speak thus of her love.God knows, if things had been otherwise, I would not have let you know.But was there any other way of taking her home? Did I not do the onlything that was at all possible to keep last night's doings a secret? Ilove her to such a point that I glory in her love for me. If I couldhave shielded her last night by giving up my life, you know that Iwould have ended my existence that very moment. It would have done nogood. I had to confide in some one, and you, who knew half my secret,since I had told you I loved her, were the only person who could beallowed to guess the remainder. If it could profit her that you shouldthink me a villain, you might think me so--even you, whom I reverencebeyond all women save her. But to let you think so would be to degradeher, and that you shall not do. You shall not think that she has beenso foolish as to pin her faith on a man who would lead her todestruction--ah! if I loved her less I could tell you better what Imean."
Corona was moved by his sincerity, if not by his arguments. She saw allthe strangeness of the situation; how he had been forced to confide insome one, and how it seemed better in his eyes that she should know howFaustina had really behaved, than think that the young girl had agreedto a premeditated meeting. She was touched and her heart relented.
"I believe you," she said. "Forgive me if I have wronged you."
"Thank you, thank you, dear princess!" cried Gouache, taking her handand touching it with his lips. "I can never thank you as I would. Andnow, good-bye--I am going. Will you give me your blessing, as my motherwould?" He smiled, as he recalled the conversation of the previousevening.
"Good-bye," answered Corona. "May all blessings go with you." He turnedaway and she stood a moment looking after him as he disappeared in thegloom.
She was sorry for him in her heart and repented a little of havingtreated him so harshly. And yet, as soon as he was gone she began todoubt again, wondering vaguely whether she had not been deceived. Therewas an odd fascination about the soldier-artist which somehowinfluenced her in his favour when he was present, and of which she wasnot conscious until he was out of her sight. Now that she was alone,she found herself considering how this peculiar charm which hepossessed would be likely to affect a young girl like Faustina, and shewas obliged to acknowledge that it would account well enough for thelatter's foolish doings. She could not look into Gouache's eyes anddoubt what he said, but she found it hard afterwards to explain thefaith she put in him.
She was roused from her short reflection by her husband who, withoutbeing observed by her, had come to her side. Seeing that she did notreturn to the sitting-room when Gouache was gone he had come in searchof her, and by the merest chance had overheard the last words which hadpassed between her and Anastase, and had seen how the latter ferventlykissed her hand. The phrase in which she had wished him good luck rangunpleasantly in his ears and startled the inmost sensibilities of hisnature. He remembered how she had blessed him once, in her calm, gentleway, on that memorable night of the Frangipani ball nearly three yearsbefore, and there was a s
imilarity between the words she had used thenand the simple expression which had now fallen from her lips.
Giovanni stood beside her now and laid his hand upon her arm. It wasnot his nature to break out suddenly as his father did, when anythingoccurred to disturb his peace of mind. The Spanish blood he hadinherited from his mother had imparted a profound reserve to hischaracter, which gave it depth rather than coldness. It was hard forhim to speak out violently when under the influence of emotion, butthis very difficulty of finding words and his aversion to using themmade him more sincere, more enduring and less forgiving than other men.He could wait long before he gave vent to his feelings, but theyneither grew cool nor dull for the waiting. He detested concealment andsecrecy more than most people, but his disinclination to speak of anymatter until he was sure of it had given him the reputation of beingboth reticent and calculating. Giovanni now no longer concealed fromhimself the fact that he was annoyed by what was passing, but hedenied, even in his heart, that he was jealous. To doubt Corona wouldbe to upset the whole fabric of his existence, which he had foundedupon her love and which had been built up to such great proportionsduring the past three years. His first impulse was to ask anexplanation, and it carried him just far enough to lay his hand on hiswife's arm, when it was checked by a multitude of reflections andunconscious arguments which altogether changed his determination.
"I thought he was gone," he said, quietly enough.
"So did I," replied Corona, in a cooler tone than she generally used inspeaking to her husband.
She, too, was annoyed, for she suspected that Giovanni had beenwatching her; and since, on the previous evening he had promised totrust her altogether in this affair, she looked upon his coming almostin the light of an infringement upon the treaty, and resented itaccordingly. She did not reflect that it was unlikely that Giovannishould expect her to try to meet Gouache on his way out, and wouldtherefore not think of lying in wait for her. His accidental comingseemed premeditated. He, on his side, had noticed her marked coldnessto Anastase in the sitting-room and thought it contrasted verystrangely with the over-friendly parting of which he had chanced to bea witness. Corona, too, knew very well that the last words spoken werecapable of misinterpretation, and as she had no intention of tellingher husband Faustina's story at present she saw no way of clearing upthe situation, and therefore prepared to ignore it altogether.
They turned together and walked slowly back in the direction of thesitting-room, neither speaking a word until they had almost reached thedoor. Then Giovanni stopped and looked at his wife.
"Is it part of last night's secret?" he asked, almost indifferently.
"Yes," answered Corona. "What could you suppose it was? I met him byaccident and we exchanged a few words."
"I know. I heard you say good-bye. I confess I was surprised. I thoughtyou meant to be rude to him when we were all together, but I wasmistaken. I hope your blessing will profit him, my dear!" He spokequite naturally and without effort.
"I hope so too," returned Corona. "You might have added yours, sinceyou were present."
"To tell the truth," said Giovanni, with a short laugh, "I fancy itmight not have been so acceptable."
"You talk very strangely, Giovanni!"
"Do I? It seems to me quite natural. Shall we go into the sitting-room?"
"Giovanni--you promised to trust me last night, and I promised toexplain everything to you some day. You must keep your promise whollyor not at all."
"Certainly," answered Sant' Ilario, opening the door for his wife andthus forcing the conversation to end suddenly, since old Saracinescamust now hear whatever was said.
He would not allow the situation to last, for fear lest he should saysomething of which he might repent, for in spite of his words he didnot wish to seem suspicious. Unfortunately, Corona's evident annoyanceat having been overheard did more to strengthen the feeling ofresentment which was growing in him than what he had heard and seen afew moments earlier. The way in which she had reproached him with notadding his blessing to hers showed plainly enough, he thought, that shewas angry at what had occurred. They both entered the room, but beforethey had been long together Giovanni left his wife and father andretired to his own room under pretext of writing letters untildinner-time.
When he was alone, the situation presented itself to his mind in a verydisagreeable light. Corona's assurance that the mystery was a harmlessone seemed wholly inadequate to account for her meeting with Gouacheand for her kind treatment of him, especially after she had shownherself so evidently cold to him in the presence of the others. EitherGiovanni was a very silly fellow, or he was being deceived as no manwas ever deceived before. Either conclusion was exasperating. He askedhimself whether he were such a fool as to invent a misconstruction uponoccurrences which to any one else would have seemed void of anyimportance whatsoever; and his heart answered that if he were indeed sosenseless he must have lost his intelligence very recently. On theother hand to suspect Corona of actually entertaining a secret passionfor Gouache was an hypothesis which seemed too monstrous to bediscussed. He sat down to think about it, and was suddenly startled bythe host of little circumstances which all at once detached themselvesfrom the hazy past and stood out in condemnation of his wife. Gouache,as he himself had acknowledged, had long worshipped the princess in arespectful, almost reverential way. He had taken every occasion oftalking with her, and had expressed even by his outward manner a degreeof devotion he never manifested to other women. Giovanni was now awarethat for some time past, even as far back as the previous winter, hehad almost unconsciously watched Corona and Anastase when they weretogether. Nothing in her conduct had excited his suspicions in theleast, but he had certainly suspected that Gouache was a littleinclined to idolise her, and had laughed to himself more than once atthe idea of the French artist's hopeless passion, with something ofthat careless satisfaction a man feels who sees a less favoured mortalin dangerous proximity to a flame which burns only for himself. It wasrather a contemptible amusement, and Giovanni had never indulged in itvery long. He liked Gouache, and, if anything, pitied him for hishopeless passion. Corona treated the Zouave in her grand, quiet way,which had an air of protection with it, and Giovanni would have scoffedat the thought that she cared for the man. Nevertheless, now thatmatters had taken such a strange turn, he recollected with surprisethat Gouache was undeniably the one of all their acquaintance who mostconsistently followed Corona wherever they met. The young man was afavourite in society. His great talent, his modesty, and above all whatpeople were pleased to describe as his harmlessness, made everybodylike him. He went everywhere, and his opportunities of meeting theprincess were almost numberless. Giovanni had certainly watched himvery often, though he was hardly conscious of having bestowed so muchattention on the French artist-soldier, that he never failed to glanceat his wife when Anastase was mentioned.
Now, and all at once, a hundred details rushed to his recollection, andhe was staggered by the vista of incidents that rose before his mind.Within the last twenty-four hours, especially, the evidence had assumedterrible proportions. In the first place there had been that scene inthe drawing-room, enacted quietly enough and in a corner, while therewere twenty persons present, but with the coolness of two people of theworld who know what surprising things may be done unobserved in a roomfull of people. If Anastase had kissed Corona's hand a littledifferently, and with the evident intention of being seen, the actionwould have been natural. But there was a look in Gouache's face whichGiovanni remembered, and an expression of kindness in Corona's eyesthat he had not forgotten; above all they had both seemed as thoughthey were sure that no one was watching them. Indeed, Sant' Ilario nowasked himself how he had chanced to see what passed, and the onlyanswer was that he generally watched them when they were together. Thiswas a revelation to himself, and told much. Then there was her midnightexpedition with Gouache, a far more serious matter. After all, he hadonly Corona's own assurance that Faustina Montevarchi had been in anyway concerned in that extrao
rdinary piece of rashness. He must indeedhave had faith in his wife to pass over such conduct without a word ofexplanation. Next came the events of that very afternoon. Corona hadbeen rude to Gouache, had then suddenly left the room, and in passingout had exchanged a few words with him in a low tone. She had met himagain by accident, if it had been an accident, and fancying herselfunseen had behaved very differently to the young man. There had been aparting which savoured unpleasantly of the affectionate, and which wascertainly something more than merely friendly. Lastly, Corona hadevidently been annoyed at Giovanni's appearance, a fact which seemed toconclude the whole argument with a terrible certainty.
Finding himself face to face with a conclusion which threatened todestroy his happiness altogether, Giovanni started up from his chairand began to walk backwards and forwards in the room, pausing a momenteach time he turned, as though to gather strength, or to shake off anevil thought. In the light of his present reflections an explanationseemed inevitable, but when he thought of that he saw too clearly thatany explanation must begin by his accusing his wife, and he knew thatif he accused her justly, it would only end in a denial from her. Whatwoman, however guilty, would not deny her guilt when charged with it.What man either, where love was concerned? Giovanni laughed bitterly,then turned pale and sat down again. To accuse Corona of lovingGouache! It was too monstrous to be believed. And yet--what did allthose doings mean? There must be a reason for them. If he called herand told her what he felt, and if she were innocent, she would tell himall, everything would be explained, and he would doubtless see that allthis damning evidence was no more than the natural outward appearanceof perfectly harmless circumstances of which he knew nothing. Ay, butif they were harmless, why should she implore him to ask no questions?Because the honour of some one else was concerned, of course. But washe, Giovanni Saracinesca, not to be trusted with the keeping of thatother person's honour as well as Corona herself? Had they ever hadsecrets from each other? Would it not have been simpler for her totrust him with the story, if she was innocent, than to be silent andask him to trust her motives? Far simpler, of course. And then, if onlya third person's feelings were at stake, what necessity had there beenfor such a sentimental parting? She had given Gouache a blessing verylike the one she had given Giovanni. Worst of all, were not thecircumstances the same, the very same?
Giovanni remembered the Frangipani ball. At that time Corona wasmarried to Astrardente, who had died a few days afterwards. Giovannihad that night told Corona that he loved her, in very passionate terms.She had silenced him, and he had behaved like a gentleman, for he hadasked her pardon for what he had done. She had forgiven him, and toshow that she bore no malice had spoken a kind of benediction--a prayerthat all might be well with him. He knew now that she had loved himeven then when she repelled him.
And now that she was married to Giovanni, another had come, and hadtalked with her, and exchanged words in a low tone even as he himselfhad once done. And she had treated this man roughly before her husband,and presently afterwards had allowed him to kiss her hand and had senthim away saying that she forgave him--just as she had formerly forgivenGiovanni--and praying that all blessings might go with him. Why was itnot possible that she loved this man, too? Because she was so grandlybeautiful, and dark and calm, and had such a noble fearlessness in hereyes? Other women had been beautiful and had deceived wiser men thanGiovanni, and had fallen. Beauty was no argument for the defence, norbrave eyes, nor the magnificent dignity of movement and speech--norwords either, for that matter.
Suspense was agony, and yet a twofold horror seemed the only issue, theone inevitable, the other possible. First, to accuse this woman whom heloved so dearly, and then, perhaps, to hear her deny the charge boldlyand yet refuse all explanation. Once more Giovanni rose from his deepchair and paced his room with regular strides, though he scarcely sawthe carpet under his feet, nor realised any longer where he was. Atlast he stopped and laughed. The sound was strange and false, as when aman tries to be merry who feels no mirth.
He was making a desperate effort to shake off this nightmare that besethim, to say to himself that he was but a fool, and that there was nocause for all this suffering which he was inflicting on his heart, norfor all these questions he had been asking of his intelligence. It wassurely not true! He would laugh now, would laugh heartily within thenext half hour with Corona herself, at the mere thought of supposingthat she could love Gouache, Gouache, a painter! Gouache, a Zouave!Gouache, a contemptibly good-natured, harmless little foreigner!--andCorona del Carmine, Duchessa d'Astrardente, Principessa di Sant'Ilario, mother of all the Saracinesca yet to come! It was better tolaugh, truly, at such an absurd juxtaposition of ideas, ofpersonalities, of high and low. And Giovanni laughed, but the sound,was very harsh and died away without rousing one honest echo in thevaulted room.
Had Corona seen his face at that moment, or had she guessed what waspassing in his mind, she would have sacrificed Faustina's secret tentimes over rather than let Giovanni suffer a moment longer as he wassuffering now. But Corona had no idea that he could put such aconstruction upon her doings. He had shown her nothing of what he felt,except perhaps a slight annoyance at not being put in possession of thesecret. It was natural, she thought, that he should be a little out oftemper, but as she saw no way of remedying the trouble except byexposing to him the innocent girl whom she had undertaken to protect,she held her peace and trusted that her husband's displeasure wouldsoon be past. Had there been more time for reflection on the previousevening, in the interval between her learning from the porter thatGiovanni knew of her absence, and her being confronted with Giovannihimself, she might have resolved to act differently; but having oncemade up her mind that he ought not to know the truth for the present,opposition only strengthened her determination. There was nothing wrongin the course she was pursuing, or her conscience would have spoken andbidden her speak out. Her nature was too like Giovanni's own, proud,reserved, and outwardly cold, to yield any point easily. It was herinstinct, like his, to be silent rather than to speak, and to weighconsiderations before acting upon them. This very similarity of temperin the two rendered it certain that if they were ever opposed to eachother the struggle would be a serious one. They were both too strong tolead a life of petty quarrelling; if they ceased to live in perfectharmony they were only too sure to come to open hostility. There isnothing which will wound pride and raise anger so inevitably as findingunexpected but determined opposition in those who very closely resembleourselves. In such a case a man cannot fall back upon the comfortablealternative of despising his enemy, since he has an intimate convictionthat it would be paramount to despising himself; and if he is led intoa pitched battle he will find his foe possessed of weapons which areexactly like his own.
Giovanni and Corona were very evenly matched, as nearly resembling eachother as is possible for a man and a woman. Corona was outwardly alittle the colder, Giovanni a little the more resentful of the two.Corona had learned during the years of her marriage with Astrardente towear a mask of serene indifference, and the assumed habit had at lastbecome in some degree a part of her nature. Giovanni, whose firstimpulses had originally been quicker than they now were, had learnedthe power of waiting by constant intercourse with his father, whosefiery temper seemed to snatch at trifles for the mere pleasure oftearing them to pieces, and did injustice to the generous heart heconcealed under his rough exterior.
Under these circumstances it was not probable that Sant' Ilario wouldmake any exhibition of his jealousy for some time to come. As he pacedthe floor of his room, the bitterness of his situation slowly sank fromthe surface, leaving his face calm and almost serene. He forced himselfto look at the facts again and again, trying bravely to be impartialand to survey them as though he were the judge and not the plaintiff.He admitted at last that there was undoubtedly abundant matter forjealousy, but Corona still stood protected as it were by the love hebore her, a love which even her guilt would be unable to destroy. Hislove indeed, must outlast everything, all evil,
all disgrace, and heknew it. He thought of that Latin poet who, writing to his mistress,said in the bitterness of his heart that though she were to become thebest woman in the world he could never again respect her, but that hecould not cease to love her, were she guilty of all crimes. He knewthat if the worst turned out true that must be his case, and perhapsfor the first time in his life he understood all the humanity ofCatullus, and saw how a man might love even what he despised.
Happily matters had not yet come to that. He knew that he might bedeceived, and that circumstantial evidence was not always to betrusted. Even while his heart grew cold with the strongest and mostdeadly passion of which man is capable, with jealousy which is cruel asthe grave, the nobility of his nature rose up and made him see that hisduty was to believe Corona innocent until she were proved unfaithful.The effort to quench the flame was great, though fruitless, but thedetermination to cover it and hide it from every one, even from Coronaherself, appealed to all that was brave and manly in his strongcharacter. When at last he once more sat down, his face betrayed noemotion, his eyes were quiet, his hands did not tremble. He took up abook and forced his attention upon the pages for nearly an hour withoutinterruption. Then he dressed himself, and went and sat at table withhis father and his wife as though nothing had occurred to disturb hisequanimity.
Corona supposed that he had recovered from his annoyance at not beingadmitted to share the secret for which she was unconsciouslysacrificing so much. She had expected this result and was more thanusually cheerful. Once old Saracinesca mentioned Gouache, but bothCorona and Giovanni hastened to change the subject. This time, however,Giovanni did not look at his wife when the name was pronounced. Thosedays were over now.
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