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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31723-8.txt b/31723-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..009d1cf --- /dev/null +++ b/31723-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12644 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cecilia, by F. Marion Crawford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cecilia + A Story of Modern Rome + +Author: F. Marion Crawford + +Release Date: March 21, 2010 [EBook #31723] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CECILIA *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Joanna Johnston and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + CECILIA + + A Story of Modern Rome + + BY + + F. MARION CRAWFORD + + AUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA," "MARIETTA," "AVE ROMA + IMMORTALIS," ETC. + + + New York + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. + 1902 + + All rights reserved + + + + + Copyright, 1902, + + By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. + + Set up and electrotyped October, 1902. + + Sixteenth Thousand + + + + + * NORWOOD PRESS * + J. S. CUSHING & CO. - BERWICK & SMITH + * NORWOOD MASS. U.S.A. * + + + + + CECILIA + + A STORY OF MODERN ROME + + + + + CHAPTER I + + +Two men were sitting side by side on a stone bench in the forgotten +garden of the Arcadian Society, in Rome; and it was in early spring, not +long ago. Few people, Romans or strangers, ever find their way to that +lonely and beautiful spot beyond the Tiber, niched in a hollow of the +Janiculum below San Pietro in Montorio, where Beatrice Cenci sleeps. The +Arcadians were men and women who loved poetry in an artificial time, +took names of shepherds and shepherdesses, rhymed as best they could, +met in pleasant places to recite their verses, and played that the world +was young, and gentle, and sweet, and unpoisoned, just when it had +declined to one of its recurring periods of vicious old age. The Society +did not die with its times, and it still exists, less sprightly, less +ready to mask in pastorals, but rhyming, meeting, and reciting verses +now and then, in the old manner, though rarely in the old haunts. Even +now fresh inscriptions in honour of the Arcadians are set into the +stuccoed walls of the little terraced garden under the hill. + +It is very peaceful there. Above, the concave wall of the small house of +meeting looks down upon circular tiers of brick seats, and beyond these +there are bushes and a little fountain. To the right and left, +symmetrical walks lead down in two wide curves to the lower levels, +where the water falls again into a basin in a shaded grotto, and rises +the third time in another fountain. An ancient stone-pine tree springs +straight upwards, spreading out lovely branches. There are bushes again +and a magnolia, and a Japanese medlar, and there is moss. The stone +mouldings of the fountains are rich with the green tints of time. The +air is softly damp, smelling of leaves and flowers; there are corners +into which the sunlight never shines, little mysteries of perpetual +shade that are full of sadness in winter, but in summer repeat the +fanciful confidences of a delicious and imaginary past. + +The Sister who had let in the two visitors had left them to themselves, +and had gone back to the little convent door; for she was the portress, +and therefore a small judge of character in her way, and she understood +that the two gentlemen were not like the other half-dozen strangers who +came every year to see the garden, and went away after ten minutes, +dropping half a franc into her hand for the Sisters, and not even +lifting their hats to her as she let them out. These two evidently knew +the place; they spoke to each other as intimate friends do; they had +come to enjoy the peace and silence for an hour, and they would neither +carry off the flowers from the magnolia tree, as some did, nor scrawl +their names in pencil on the stucco. Therefore they might safely be left +to their own leisure and will. + +The men were friends, as the portress had guessed; they were very +unlike, and their unlikeness was in part the reason of their friendship. +The one was squarely built, of average height, a man of action at every +point, with bold blue eyes that could be piercing, a rugged Roman head, +prominent at the brows, short reddish hair and pointed beard, great jaw +and cheek-bones, a tanned and freckled skin. He sat leaning back, one +leg crossed over the other, the knee that was upper-most pressing +against the stout stick he held across it, and the big veins swelled on +his hands and wrists. He was a sailor, and a born fighting man; and in +ten years of service he had managed to find himself in every affair that +had concerned Italy in the remotest degree, in Africa, in China, and +elsewhere. He was now at home on leave, expecting immediate promotion. +He bore a historical name; he was called Lamberto Lamberti. + +His companion sat with folded arms and bent head, a rather dark young +man with deep-set grey eyes that often looked black, a thoughtful face, +a grave mouth that could smile suddenly and almost strangely, with a +child's sweet frankness, and yet with a look that was tender and +human--the smile of a man who understands the meaning of life and yet +does not despise it. Most people would have taken him for a man of +leisure, probably given to reading or the cultivation of some artistic +taste. Guido d'Este was one of those Italians who are content to survive +from a very beautiful past without joining the frantic rush for a very +problematic future. But there was more in him than a love of books and a +knowledge of pictures; for he was a dreamer, and there are dreams better +worth dreaming than many deeds are worth the doing. + +"I sometimes wonder what would have happened to you and me," he said, +after there had been a long pause, "if we had been obliged to live each +other's lives." + +"We should both have been bored to extinction," answered Lamberti, +without hesitating. + +"I suppose so," assented Guido, and relapsed into silence. + +He was very glad that he was not condemned to the life of a naval +officer, to the perpetual motion of active service, to the narrow +quarters of a lieutenant on a modern man-of-war, to the daily +companionship of a dozen or eighteen other officers with whom he could +certainly not have an idea in common. It would be a detestable thing to +be sent at a moment's notice from one end of the world to the other, +from heat to cold, from cold to heat, through all sorts of weather, only +to be a part of an organisation, a wheel in a machine, a pawn in some +one's game of chess. He had been on board a line-of-battle ship once to +see his friend off, and had mentally noted the discomfort. There was +nothing in the cabin but a bunk built over a chest of drawers, a narrow +transom, a wash-stand that disappeared into a recess when pushed back, +an exiguous table fastened to a bulkhead, and one camp-stool. There was +no particular means of ventilation, and the place smelt of cold iron, +paint, and soft soap. Yet his friend had been about to live at least six +months in this cell, which would have been condemned as too narrow in an +ordinarily well-managed prison. + +Nevertheless, it would be pleasant in itself, no doubt, to be a living +part of what most men only read about, to really know what fighting +meant, to be one of the few who are invariably chosen first for missions +of danger and difficulty. Besides, Guido d'Este was just now in a very +difficult situation, which might become dangerous, and from which he saw +no immediate means of escape; and, for once in his life, he almost +envied his friend his simple career, in which nothing seemed to be +required of a man but courage and obedience. + +"I suppose I should be bored," he said again, after a short and +thoughtful pause, "but I would rather be bored than live the life I am +living." + +The sailor looked at him sharply a moment, and instantly understood that +Guido had brought him to the little garden in order to tell him +something of importance without risk of interruption. + +"Have you had more trouble with that horrible old woman?" he asked +roughly. + +"Yes. She is draining the life out of me. She will ruin me in the end." + +Guido did not look up as he spoke, and he slowly tapped the hard earth +with the toe of his shoe. He felt very helpless, and he shook his head +over his misfortunes, which seemed great. + +"That comes of being connected with royalty," said Lamberti, in the same +rough tone. + +"Is it my fault?" asked Guido, with a melancholy smile. + +The sailor snorted discontentedly, and changed his position. + +"What can I do?" he asked presently. "Tell me." + +"Nothing." + +"If I were only rich!" + +"My dear friend," said Guido, "she demands a million of francs!" + +"There are men who have fifty. Would a hundred thousand francs be of any +use?" + +"Not the least. Besides, that is all you have." + +"What would that matter?" asked Lamberti. + +Guido looked up at last, for he knew that the words were true and +earnest. + +"Thank you," he answered. "I know you would do that for me. But it would +not be of any use. Things have gone too far." + +"Shall I go to her and talk the matter over? I believe I could frighten +her into justice. After all, she has no legal claim upon you." + +Guido shook his head. + +"That is not the question," he answered. "She never pretends that her +right is legal, for it is not. On the contrary, she says it is a +question of honour, that I have lost her money for her in speculations, +and that I am bound to restore it to her. It is true that I only did +with it exactly what she wished, and what she insisted that I should do, +against my own judgment. She knows that." + +"But then, I do not see----" + +"She also knows that I cannot prove it," interrupted Guido, "and as she +is perfectly unscrupulous, she will use everything against me to make +out that I have deliberately cheated her out of the money." + +"But it cannot make so much difference to her, after all," objected +Lamberti. "She must have an immense fortune somewhere." + +"She is a miser, in spite of that sudden attack of the gaming fever. +Money is the only passion of her life." + +"Possibly, though I doubt it. There is Monsieur Leroy, you know." + +Lamberti spoke the name with contempt, but Guido said nothing, for, +after all, the high and mighty lady about whom they were talking was his +father's sister, and he preferred not to talk scandal about her, even +with his intimate friend. + +"If matters grow worse," said Lamberti, "there are at least the +worthless securities in her name, to prove that you acted for her." + +"You are mistaken. That is the worst of it. Everything was done in my +name, for she would not let her own appear. She used to give me the +money in cash, telling me exactly what to do with it, and I brought her +the broker's accounts." + +"I daresay she made you sign receipts for the sums she gave you," +laughed Lamberti. + +"Yes, she did." + +Lamberti sat up suddenly and stared at his friend. Such folly was hardly +to be believed. + +"She is capable of saying that she lent you the money on your promise!" +he cried. + +"That is exactly what she threatens to do," answered Guido d'Este, +dejectedly. "As I cannot possibly pay it, she can force me to do one of +two things." + +"What things?" + +"Either to disappear from honourable society and begin life somewhere +else, or else to make an end of myself. And she will do it. I have felt +for more than a year that she means to ruin me." + +Lamberti set his teeth, and stared at the stone-pine. If Guido had not +been just the man he was, sensitive to morbidness where his honour was +concerned, the situation might have seemed less desperate. If his aunt, +her Serene Highness the Princess Anatolie, had not been a monster of +avarice, selfishness, and vindictiveness, there would perhaps have been +some hope of moving her. As it was, matters looked ill, and to make them +worse there was the well-known fact that Guido had formerly played high +and had lost considerable sums at cards. It would be easy to make +society believe that he had paid his debts, which had always been +promptly settled, with money which the Princess had intrusted to him for +investment. + +"What possible object can she have in ruining you?" asked Lamberti, +presently. + +"I cannot guess," Guido answered after another short pause. "I have +little enough left as it is, except the bare chance of inheriting +something, some day, from my brother, who likes me about as much as my +aunt does, and is not bound to leave me a penny." + +"But, after all," argued Lamberti, "you are the only heir left to either +of them." + +"I suppose so," assented Guido in an uncertain tone. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Nothing--it does not matter. Of course," he continued quietly, "this +may go on for some time, but it can only end in one way, sooner or +later. I shall be lucky if I am only reduced to starvation." + +"You might marry an heiress," suggested Lamberti, as a last resource. + +"And pay my aunt out of my wife's fortune? No. I will not do that." + +"Of course not. But I should think that if ever an honest man could be +tempted to do such a thing, it would be in some such case as yours." + +"Perhaps to save his father from ruin, or his mother from starvation," +said Guido. "I could understand it then; but not to save himself. +Besides, no heiress in our world would marry me, for I have nothing to +offer." + +Lamberti smiled incredulously. He was not a cynic, because he believed +in action; but his faith in the disinterested simplicity of mankind was +not strong. He had also some experience of the world, and was quite +ready to admit that a marriageable heiress might fairly expect an +equivalent for the fortune she was to bring her husband. Yet he wholly +rejected the statement that Guido d'Este had nothing of social value to +offer, merely because he was now a poor man and had never been a very +rich one. Guido had neither lands nor money, and bore no title, it was +true; and could but just live like a gentleman on the small allowance +that was paid him yearly according to his father's will. But there was +no secret about his birth, and he was closely related to several of the +reigning houses of Europe. His father had been one of the minor +sovereigns dethroned in the revolutions of the nineteenth century; late +in life, a widower, the ex-king had married a beautiful young girl of no +great family, who had died in giving birth to Guido. The marriage had of +course been morganatic, though perfectly legal, and Guido neither bore +the name of his father's royal race, nor could he ever lay claim to the +succession, in the utterly improbable event of a restoration. But he was +half brother to the childless man, nearly forty years older than +himself, whose faithful friends still called him "your Majesty" in +private; he was nephew to the extremely authentic Princess Anatolie, and +he was first cousin to at least one king who had held his own. In the +eyes of an heiress in search of social position as an equivalent for her +millions, all this would more than compensate for the fact that his +visiting card bore the somewhat romantic and unlikely name, "Guido +d'Este," without any title or explanation whatever. + +But apart from the sordid consideration of values to be given and +received, Guido was young, good-looking if not handsome, and rather +better gifted than most men; he had reached the age of twenty-seven +without having what society is pleased to call a past--in other words +without ever having been the chief actor in a social tragedy, comedy, or +farce; and finally, though he had once been fond of cards, he had now +entirely given up play. If he had been a little richer, he could almost +have passed for a model young man in the eyes of the exacting and +prudent parent of marriageable daughters. Judging from the Princess +Anatolie, it was probable that he resembled his mother's family more +than his father's. + +For all these reasons his friend thought that, if he chose, he might +easily find an heiress who would marry him with enthusiasm; but, being +his friend, Lamberti was very glad that he rejected the idea. + +The two were not men who ever talked together of their principles, +though they sometimes spoke of their beliefs and differed about them. +Belief is usually absolute, but principle is always a matter of +conscience, and the conscience is a part of the mixed self in which soul +and mind and matter are all involved together. Men born in the same +surroundings and brought up in the same way generally hold to the same +principles as guides in life, and show the same abhorrence for the sins +that are accounted dishonourable, and the same indulgence for those not +condemned by the code of honour, not even admitting discussion upon such +points. But the same men may have very different opinions about +spiritual matters. + +Eliminating the vulgar average of society, there remain always a certain +number who, while possibly holding even more divergent beliefs than most +people, agree more precisely, or disagree more essentially, about +matters of conscience, either stretching or contracting the code of +honour according to their own temper, and especially according to the +traditions of their own most immediate surroundings. Other conditions +being favourable, it seems as if men whose consciences are most alike +should be the best fitted for each other's friendship, no matter what +they may think or believe about religion. + +This was certainly the case with Guido d'Este and Lamberto Lamberti, and +they simultaneously dismissed, as detestable, dishonourable, and +unworthy, the mere thought that Guido should try to marry an heiress, +with a view to satisfying the outrageous claims of his ex-royal aunt, +the Princess Anatolie. + +"In simpler times," observed Lamberti, who liked to recall the middle +ages, "we should have poisoned the old woman." + +Guido did not smile. + +"Without meaning to do her an injustice," he answered, "I think it much +more probable that she would have poisoned me." + +"With the help of Monsieur Leroy, she might have succeeded." + +At the thought of the man whom he so cordially detested, Lamberti's blue +eyes grew hard, and his upper lip tightened a little, just showing his +teeth under his red moustache. Guido looked at him and smiled in his +turn. + +"There are your ferocious instincts again," he said; "you wish you could +kill him." + +"I do," answered Lamberti, simply. + +He rose from his seat and stretched himself a little, as some big dogs +always do after the preliminary growl at an approaching enemy. + +"I think Monsieur Leroy is the most repulsive human being I ever saw," +he said. "I am not exactly a sensitive person, but it makes me very +uncomfortable to be near him. He once gave me his hand, and I had to +take it. It felt like a live toad. How old is that man?" + +"He must be forty," said Guido, "but he is wonderfully well preserved. +Any one would take him for five-and-thirty." + +"It is disgusting!" Lamberti kicked a pebble away, as he stood. + +"He looked just as he does now, when I was seventeen," observed Guido. + +"The creature paints his face. I am sure of it." + +"No. I have seen him drenched in a shower, when he had no umbrella. The +rain ran down his cheeks, but the colour did not change." + +"It is all the more disgusting," retorted Lamberti, illogically, but +with strong emphasis. + +Guido rose from his seat rather wearily. As he stood up, he was much +taller than his friend, who had seemed the larger man while both were +seated. + +"I am glad that we have talked this over," he said. "Not that talking +can help matters, of course. It never does. But I wanted you to know +just how things stand, in case anything should happen to me." + +Lamberti turned rather sharply. + +"In case what should happen to you?" he asked, his eyes hardening. + +"I am very tired of it all," Guido answered, "I have nothing to live +for, and I am being driven straight to disgrace and ruin without any +fault of my own. I daresay that some day I may--well, you know what I +mean." + +"What?" + +"I should not care to exile myself to South America. I am not fit for +that sort of life." + +"Well?" + +"There is the other alternative," said Guido, with a tuneless little +laugh. "When life is intolerable, what can be simpler than to part with +it?" + +Lamberti's strong hand was already on his friend's arm, and tightened +energetically. + +"Do you believe in God?" he asked abruptly. + +"No. At least, I think not." + +"I do," said Lamberti, with conviction, "and I shall not let you make +away with yourself if I can help it." + +He loosed his hold, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked as if +he wished he could fight somebody or something. + +"A man who kills himself to escape his troubles is a coward," he said. + +Guido made a gesture of indifference. + +"You know very well that I am not a coward," he said. + +"You will be, the day you are afraid to go on living," returned his +friend. "If you kill yourself, I shall think you are an arrant coward, +and I shall be sorry I ever knew you." + +Guido looked at him incredulously. + +"Are you in earnest?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +There was no mistaking the look in Lamberti's hard blue eyes. Guido +faced him. + +"Do you think that every man who commits suicide is a coward?" + +"If it is to escape his own troubles, yes. A man who gives his life for +his country, his mother, or his wife, is not a coward, though he may +kill himself with his own hand." + +"The Church would call him a suicide." + +"I do not know, in all cases," said Lamberti. "I am not a theologian, +and as the Church means nothing to you, it would be of no use if I +were." + +"Why do you say that the Church means nothing to me?" Guido asked. + +"Since you are an atheist, what meaning can it possibly have?" + +"It means the whole tradition of morality by which we live, and our +fathers lived. Even the code of honour, which is a little out of shape +nowadays, is based on Christianity, and was once the rule of a good +life, the best rule in the days when it grew up." + +"I daresay. Even the code of honour, degenerate as it is, and twist it +how you will, cannot give you an excuse for killing yourself when you +have always behaved honourably, or for running away from the enemy +simply because you are tired of fighting and will not take the trouble +to go on." + +"Perhaps you are right," Guido answered. "But the whole question is not +worth arguing. What is life, after all, that we should attach any +importance to it?" + +"It is all you have, and you only have it once." + +"Who knows? Perhaps we may come back to it again, hundreds and hundreds +of times. There are more people in the world who believe that than there +are Christians." + +"If that is what you believe," retorted Lamberti, "you must believe that +the sooner you leave life, the sooner you will come back to it." + +"Possibly. But there is a chance that it may not be true, and that +everything may end here. That one chance may be worth taking." + +"There is a chance that a man who deserts from his ship may not be +caught. That is not an argument in favour of desertion." + +Guido laughed carelessly. + +"You have a most unpleasant way of naming things," he said. "Shall we +go? It is growing late, and I have promised to see my aunt before +dinner." + +"Will there be any one else there?" asked Lamberti. + +"Why? Did you think of going with me?" + +"I might. It is a long time since I have called. I think I shall be a +little more assiduous in future." + +"It is not gay, at my aunt's," observed Guido. "Monsieur Leroy will be +there. You may have to shake hands with him!" + +"You do not seem anxious that I should go with you," laughed Lamberti. + +Guido said nothing for a moment, and seemed to be weighing the question, +as if it might be of some importance. Lamberti afterwards remembered the +slight hesitation. + +"By all means come," Guido said, when he had made up his mind. + +He glanced once more at the place, for he liked it, and it was pleasant +to carry away pictures of what one liked, even of a bit of neglected old +garden with a stone-pine in the middle, clearly cut out against the sky. +He wondered idly whether he should ever come again--whether, after all, +it would be cowardly to go to sleep with the certainty of not waking, +and whether he should find anything beyond, or not. + +The world looked too familiar to him to be interesting, as if he had +known it too long, and he vaguely wished that he could change it, and +desire to stay in it for its own sake; and just then it occurred to him +that every man carries with him the world in which he must live, the +stage and the scenery for his own play. It would be absurd to pretend, +he thought, that his own material world was the same as Lamberti's, even +when the latter was at home. They knew the same people, heard the same +talk, ate the same things, looked on the same sights, breathed the same +air. There was perhaps no sacrifice worthy of honourable men which +either of them would not make for the other. Yet, to Guido d'Este, life +seemed miserably indifferent where it did not seem a real calamity, +while to Lamberti every second of it was worth fighting for, because it +was worth enjoying. + +Guido looked at his friend's tanned neck and sturdy shoulders, following +him to the door, and he realised more clearly than ever before that he +was not of the same race. He felt the satiety bred in many generations +of destiny's spoilt and flattered sons; the absence of anything like a +grasping will, caused by the too easy fulfilment of every careless wish; +the over-critical sense that guesses at hidden imperfection, the cruelly +unerring instinct of a taste too tired to enjoy and yet too fine to be +deceived. + +Lamberti turned at the door and saw his face. + +"What are you thinking about?" + +"I was envying you," Guido murmured. "You are glad to be alive." + +Lamberti made rather an impatient gesture, but said nothing. The Sister +who had admitted the two opened the little iron door for them to go out. +She was a small woman, with a worn face and kind brown eyes, one of the +half-dozen who live in the little convent and work among the children of +the very poor in that quarter. Both men had taken out money. + +"For the poor children, if you please," said Guido, placing his offering +in the nun's hand. + +"And tell them to pray for a man who is in trouble," added Lamberti, +giving her money. + +She looked at him curiously, thinking, perhaps, that +he meant himself. Then she gravely bent her head. + +"I thank you very much," she said. + +The small iron door closed with a rusty clang, and the friends began to +descend the steep way that leads down from the Porta San Pancrazio to +the Via Garibaldi. + +"Why did you say that to the nun?" asked Guido. + +"Are you past praying for?" enquired Lamberti, with a careless and +good-natured laugh. + +"It is not like you," said Guido. + +"I do not pretend to be more consistent than other people, you know. Are +you going directly to the Princess's?" + +"No. I must go home first. The old lady would never forgive me if I went +to see her without a silk hat in my hand." + +"Then I suppose I must dress, too," said Lamberti. "I will leave you at +your door, and drive home, and we can meet at your aunt's." + +"Very well." + +They walked down the street and found a cab, scarcely speaking again +until they parted at Guido's door. + +He lived alone in a quiet apartment of the Palazzo Farnese, overlooking +the Via Giulia and the river beyond. The afternoon sun was still +streaming through the open windows of his sitting room, and the warm +breeze came with it. + +"There are two notes, sir," said his servant, who had followed him. "The +one from the Princess is urgent. The man wished to wait for you, but I +sent him away." + +"That was right," said Guido, taking the letters from the salver. "Get +my things ready. I have visits to make." + +The man went out and shut the door. He was a Venetian, and had been in +the navy, where he had served Lamberti during the affair in China. +Lamberti had recommended him to his friend. + +Guido remained standing while he opened the note. The first was an +engraved invitation to a garden party from a lady he scarcely knew. It +was the first he had ever received from her, and he was not aware that +she ever asked people to her house. The second was from his aunt, +begging him to come to tea that afternoon as he had promised, for a very +particular reason, and asking him to let her know beforehand if anything +made it impossible. It began with "Dearest Guido" and was signed "Your +devoted aunt, Anatolie." She was evidently very anxious that he should +come, for he was generally her "dear nephew," and she was his +"affectionate aunt." + +The handwriting was fine and hard to read, though it was regular. Some +of the letters were quite unlike those of most people, and many of them +were what experts call "blind." + +Guido d'Este read the note through twice, with an expression of dislike, +and then tore it up. He threw the invitation upon some others that lay +in a chiselled copper dish on his writing table, lit a cigarette, and +looked out of the window. His aunt's note was too affectionate and too +anxious to bode well, and he was tempted to write that he could not go. +It would be pleasant to end the afternoon with a book and a cup of tea, +and then to dine alone and dream away the evening in soothing silence. + +But he had promised to go; and, moreover, nothing was of any real +importance at all, nothing whatsoever, from the moment of beginning life +to the instant of leaving it. He therefore dressed and went out again. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + +Lamberto Lamberti never wasted time, whether he was at sea, doing his +daily duty as an officer, or ashore in Africa, fighting savages, or on +leave, amusing himself in Rome, or Paris, or London. Time was life, and +life was far too good to be squandered in dawdling. In ten minutes after +he had reached his room he was ready to go out again. As he took his hat +and gloves, his eye fell on a note which he had not seen when he had +come in. + +He opened it carelessly and found the same formal invitation which Guido +had received at the same time. The Countess Fortiguerra requested the +pleasure of his company at the Villa Palladio between four and six, and +the date was just a fortnight ahead. + +Lamberti was a Roman, and though he had only seen the Countess three or +four times in his life, he remembered very well that she had been twice +married, and that her first husband had been a certain Count Palladio, +whose name was vaguely connected in Lamberti's mind with South American +railways, the Suez Canal, and a machine gun that had been tried in the +Italian navy; but it was not a Roman name, and he could not remember any +villa that was called by it. Palladio--it recalled something else, +besides a great architect--something connected with Pallas--but +Lamberti was no great scholar. Guido would know. Guido knew everything +about literature, ancient and modern--or at least Lamberti thought so. + +He had kept his cab while he dressed, and in a few minutes the little +horse had toiled up the long hill that leads to Porta Pinciana, and +Lamberti got out at the gate of one of those beautiful villas of which +there are still a few within the walls of Rome. It belonged to a +foreigner of infinite taste, whose love of roses was proverbial. A +legend says that some of them were watered with the most carefully +prepared beef tea from the princely kitchen. The rich man had gone back +to his own country, and the Princess Anatolie had taken the villa and +meant to spend the rest of her life there. She was only seventy years +old, and had made up her mind to live to be a hundred, so that it was +worth while to make permanent arrangements for her comfort. + +Lamberti might have driven through the gate and up to the house, but he +was not sure whether the Princess liked to see such plebeian vehicles as +cabs in her grounds. He had a strong suspicion that, in spite of her +royal blood, she had the soul of a snob, and thought much more about +appearances than he did; and as for Monsieur Leroy, he was one of the +most complete specimens of the snob species in the world. Therefore +Lamberti, who now had reasons for wishing to propitiate the dwellers in +the villa, left his cab outside and walked up the steep drive to the +house. + +He did not look particularly well in a frock coat and high hat. He was +too muscular, his hair was too red, his neck was too sunburnt, and he +was more accustomed to wearing a uniform or the rough clothes in which +fighting is usually done. The footman looked at him and did not +recognise him. + +"Her Highness is not at home," said the man, coolly. + +A private carriage was waiting at a little distance from the porch, and +the footman who belonged to it was lounging in the vestibule within. + +"Be good enough to ask whether her Highness will see me," said Lamberti. + +The fellow looked at him again, and evidently made up his mind that it +would be safer to obey a red-haired gentleman who had such a very +unusual look in his eyes and spoke so quietly, for he disappeared +without making any further objection. + +When Lamberti entered the drawing-room, he was aware that the Princess +was established in a high arm-chair near a tea-table, that Monsieur +Leroy was coming towards him, and that an elderly lady in a hat was +seated near the Princess in an attitude which may be described as one of +respectful importance. He was aware of the presence of these three +persons in the room, but he only saw the fourth, a young girl, standing +beside the table with a cup in her hand, and just turning her face +towards him with a look that was like a surprised recognition after not +having seen him for a very long time. He started perceptibly as his eyes +met hers, and he almost uttered an exclamation of astonishment. + +He was checked by feeling Monsieur Leroy's toad-like hand in his. + +"Her Highness is very glad to see you," said an oily voice in French, +but with a thick and rolling pronunciation that was South American +unless it was Roumanian. + +For once Lamberti did not notice the sensual, pink and white face, the +hanging lips, the colourless brown hair, the insolent eyes, the +effeminate figure and dress of the little man he detested, and whose +mere touch was disgusting to him. By a strong effort he went directly up +to the Princess without looking again at the young girl whose presence +had affected him so oddly. + +Princess Anatolie was gracious enough to give him her hand to kiss; he +bent over it, and his lips touched a few of the cold precious stones in +the rings that loaded her fingers. She had not changed in the year that +had passed since he had seen her, except that her eyes looked smaller +than ever and nearer together. Her hair might or might not be her own, +for it was carefully crimped and arranged upon her forehead; it was not +certain that her excellent teeth were false; there was about her an air +of youth and vitality that was really surprising, and yet it was +impossible not to feel that she might be altogether a marvellous sham, +on the verge of dissolution. + +"This is most charming!" she said, in a voice that was not cracked, but +rang false. "I expect my nephew, Guido, at any moment. He is your great +friend, is he not? Yes, I never forget anything. This is my nephew +Guido's great friend," she continued volubly, and turning to the elderly +lady on her right, "Prince Lamberti." + +"Don Lamberto Lamberti," said Monsieur Leroy in a low voice, correcting +her. But even this was not quite right. + +"I have the good fortune to know the Countess Fortiguerra," said +Lamberti, bowing, as he suddenly recognised her, but very much surprised +that she should be there. "I have just received a very kind invitation +from you," he added, as she gave him her hand. + +"I hope you will come," she said quietly. "I knew your mother very well. +We were at the school of the Sacred Heart together." + +Lamberti bent his head a little, in acknowledgment of the claim upon him +possessed by one of his mother's school friends. + +"I shall do my best to come," he answered. + +He felt that the young girl was watching him, and he ventured to look at +her, with a little movement, as if he wished to be introduced. Again he +felt the absolute certainty of having met her before, somewhere, very +long ago--so long ago that she could not have been born then, and he +must have been a small boy. Therefore what he felt was absurd. + +"Cecilia," said the Countess, speaking to the girl, "this is Signor +Lamberto Lamberti." "My daughter," she explained, as he bowed, "Cecilia +Palladio." + +"Most charming!" cried the Princess, "the son and the daughter of two +old friends." + +"Touching," echoed Monsieur Leroy. "Such a picture! There is true +sentiment in it." + +Lamberti did not hear, but Cecilia Palladio did, and a straight shadow, +fine as a hair line, appeared for an instant, perpendicular between her +brows, while she looked directly at the man before her. A moment later +Lamberti was seated between her and her mother, and Monsieur Leroy had +resumed the position he had left to welcome the newcomer, sitting on a +very low cushioned stool almost at the Princess's feet. + +In formal circumstances, a man who has been long in the army or navy can +usually trust himself not to show astonishment or emotion, and after the +first slight start of surprise, which only Monsieur Leroy had seen, +Lamberti had behaved as if nothing out of the common way had happened to +him. But he had felt as if he were in a dream, while healthily sure that +he was awake; and now that he was more at ease, he began to examine the +cause of his inward disturbance. + +It was not only out of the question to suppose that he had ever before +now met Cecilia Palladio, but he was quite certain that he had never +seen any one who was at all like her. + +If extinct types of men could be revived now and then, of those which +the world once thought admirable and tried to copy, it would be +interesting to see how many persons of taste would acknowledge any +beauty in them. Cecilia Palladio had been eighteen years old early in +the winter, and in the usual course of things would have made her +appearance in society during the carnival season. The garden party for +which her mother had now sent out invitations was to take the place of +the dance which should have been given in January. Afterwards, when it +was over, and everybody had seen her, some people said that she was +perfectly beautiful, others declared that she was a freak of nature and +would soon be hideous, but, meanwhile, was an interesting study; one +young gentleman, addicted to art, said that her face belonged to the +type seen in the Elgin marbles; a Sicilian lady said that her head was +even more archaic than that, and resembled a fragment from the temples +of Selinunte, preserved in the museum at Palermo; and the Russian +ambassador, who was of unknown age, said that she was the perfect Psyche +of Naples, brought to life, and that he wished he were Eros. + +In southern Europe what is called the Greek type of beauty is often +seen, and does not surprise any one. Many people think it cold and +uninteresting. It was a small something in the arch of the brows, it was +a very slight upward turn of the point of the nose, it was the small +irregularity of the broader and less curving upper lip that gave to +Cecilia Palladio's face the force and character that are so utterly +wanting in the faces of the best Greek statues. The Greeks, by the time +they had gained the perfect knowledge of the human body that produced +the Hermes of Olympia, had made a conventional mask of the human face, +and rarely ever tried to give it a little of the daring originality that +stands out in the features of many a crudely archaic statue. The artist +who made the Psyche attempted something of the kind, for the right side +of the face differs from the left, as it generally does in living +people. The right eyebrow is higher and more curved than the left one, +which lends some archness to the expression, but its effect is destroyed +by the tiresome perfection of the simpering mouth. + +Cecilia Palladio was not like a Greek statue, but she looked as if she +had come alive from an age in which the individual ranked above the many +as a model, and in which nothing accidentally unfit for life could +survive and nothing degenerate had begun to be. With the same general +proportion, there was less symmetry in her face than in those of modern +beauties, and there was more light, more feeling, more understanding. +She was very fair, but her eyes were not blue; it would have been hard +to define their colour, and sometimes there seemed to be golden lights +in them. While she was standing, Lamberti had seen that she was almost +as tall as himself, and therefore taller than most women; and she was +slender, and moved like a very perfectly proportioned young wild animal, +continuously, but without haste, till each motion was completed in rest. +Most men and women really move in a succession of very short movements, +entirely interrupted at more or less perceptible intervals. If our sight +were perfect we should see that people walk, for instance, by a series +of jerks so rapid as to be like the vibrations of a humming-bird's +wings. Perhaps this is due to the unconscious exercise of the human will +in every voluntary motion, for a man who moves in his sleep seems to +move continuously like an animal, till he has changed his position and +rests again. + +Lamberti made none of these reflections, and did not analyse the face he +could not help watching whenever the chance of conversation allowed him +to look at Cecilia without seeming to stare at her. He only tried to +discover why her face was so familiar to him. + +"We have been in Paris all winter," said her mother, in answer to some +question of his. + +"They have been in Paris all winter!" cried the Princess. "Think what +that means! The cold, the rain, the solitude! What in the world did you +do with yourselves?" + +"Cecilia wished to continue her studies," answered the Countess +Fortiguerra. + +"What sort of things have you been learning, Mademoiselle?" asked +Lamberti. + +"I followed a course of lectures on philosophy at the Sorbonne, and I +read Nietzsche with a man who had known him," answered the young lady, +as naturally as if she had said that she had been taking lessons on the +piano. + +A momentary silence followed, and everybody stared at the girl, except +her mother, who smiled pleasantly and looked from one to the other with +the expression which mothers of prodigies often assume, and which +clearly says: "I did it. Is it not perfectly wonderful?" + +Then Monsieur Leroy laughed, in spite of himself. + +"Hush, Doudou!" cried the Princess. "You are very rude!" + +No one present chanced to know that she always called him Doudou when +she was in a good humour. Cecilia Palladio turned her head quietly, +fixed her eyes on him and laughed, deliberately, long, and very sweetly. +Monsieur Leroy met her gaze for a moment, then looked away and moved +uneasily on his low seat. + +"What are you laughing at?" he asked, in a tone of annoyance. + +"It seems so funny that you should be called Doudou--at your age," +answered Cecilia. + +"Really--" Monsieur Leroy looked at the Princess as if asking for +protection. She laughed good-humouredly, somewhat to Lamberti's +surprise. + +"You are very direct with my friends, my dear," she said to Cecilia, +still smiling. The Countess Fortiguerra, not knowing exactly what to do, +also smiled, but rather foolishly. + +"I am very sorry," said Cecilia, with contrition, and looking down. "I +really beg Monsieur Leroy's pardon. I could not help it." + +But she had been revenged, for she had made him ridiculous. + +"Not at all, not at all," he answered, in a tone that did not promise +forgiveness. Lamberti wondered what sort of man Palladio had been, since +the girl did not at all resemble her mother, who had clearly been pretty +and foolish in her youth, and had only lost her looks as she grew older. +The obliteration of middle age had set in. + +There might have been some awkwardness, but it was dispelled by the +appearance of Guido, who came in unannounced at that moment, glancing +quickly at each of the group as he came forward, to see who was there. + +"At last!" exclaimed the Princess, with evident satisfaction. "How late +you are, my dear," she said as Guido ceremoniously kissed her hand. + +"I am very sorry," he said. "I was out when your note came. But I should +have come in any case." + +"You know the Countess Fortiguerra, of course," said the Princess. + +"Certainly," answered Guido, who had not recognised the lady at all, and +was glad to be told who she was, and that he knew her. + +Lamberti watched him closely, for he understood every shade of his +friend's expression and manner. Guido shook hands with a pleasant smile, +and then glanced at Cecilia. + +"My nephew, Guido d'Este," said the Princess, introducing him. + +Cecilia looked at him quietly, and bent her head in acknowledgment of +the introduction. + +"My daughter," murmured the Countess Fortiguerra, with satisfaction. + +"Mademoiselle Palladio and her mother have just come back from Paris," +explained Monsieur Leroy officiously, as Guido nodded to him. + +Guido caught the name, and was glad of the information it conveyed, and +he sat down between the young girl and her mother. Lamberti was now +almost sure that his friend was not especially struck by Cecilia's face; +but she looked at him with some interest, which was not at all to be +wondered at, considering his looks, his romantic name, and his +half-royal birth. For the first time Lamberti envied him a little, and +was ashamed of it. + +Barely an hour earlier he had wished that he could make Guido more like +himself, and now he wished that he were more like Guido. + +"The Countess has been kind enough to ask me to her garden party," Guido +said, looking at his aunt, for he instinctively connected the latter's +anxiety to see him with the invitation. + +So did Lamberti, and it flashed upon him that this meeting was the first +step in an attempt to marry his friend to Cecilia Palladio. The girl was +probably an heiress, and Guido's aunt saw a possibility of recovering +through her the money she had lost in speculations. + +This explanation did not occur to Guido, simply because he was bored and +was already thinking of an excuse for getting away after staying as +short a time as possible. + +"I hope you will come," said Cecilia, rather unexpectedly. + +"Of course he will," the Princess answered for him, in an encouraging +tone. + +"The villa is really very pretty," continued the young girl. + +"Let me see," said Guido, who liked her voice as soon as she spoke, "the +Villa Palladio--I do not quite remember where it is." + +"It used to be the Villa Madama," explained Monsieur Leroy. "I have +always wondered who the 'Madama' was, after whom it was called. It seems +such a foolish name." + +The Princess looked displeased, and bit her lip a little. + +"I think," said Guido, as if suggesting a possibility, rather than +stating a fact, "that she was a daughter of the Emperor Charles the +Fifth, who was Duchess of Parma." + +"Of course, of course!" cried Monsieur Leroy, eagerly assenting, "I had +forgotten!" + +"My daughter's guardians bought it for her not long ago," explained the +Countess Fortiguerra, "with my approval, and we have of course changed +the name." + +"Naturally," said Guido, gravely, but looking at Lamberti, who almost +smiled under his red beard. "And you approved of the change, +Mademoiselle," Guido added, turning to Cecilia, and with an +interrogation in his voice. + +"Not at all," she answered, with sudden coldness. "It was Goldbirn--" + +"Yes," said the Countess, weakly, "it was Baron Goldbirn who insisted +upon it, in spite of us." + +"Goldbirn--Goldbirn," repeated the Princess vaguely. "The name has a +familiar sound." + +"Your Highness has a current account with them in Vienna," observed +Monsieur Leroy. + +"Yes, yes, certainly. Doudou acts as my secretary sometimes, you know." + +The information seemed necessary, as Monsieur Leroy's position had been +far from clear. + +"Baron Goldbirn was associated with Cecilia's father in some railways in +South America," said the Countess, "and is her principal guardian. He +will always continue to manage her fortune for her, I hope." + +Clearly, Cecilia was an heiress, and was to marry Guido d'Este as soon +as the matter could be arranged. That was the Princess's plan. Lamberti +thought that it remained to be seen whether Guido would agree to the +match. + +"Has Baron Goldbirn made many--improvements--in the Villa Madama?" +enquired Guido, hesitating a little, perhaps intentionally. + +"Oh no!" Cecilia answered. "He lets me do as I please about such +things." + +"And what has been your pleasure?" asked Guido, with a beginning of +interest, as well as for the sake of hearing her young voice, which +contrasted pleasantly with her mother's satisfied purring and the +Princess's disagreeable tone. + +"I got the best artist I could find to restore the whole place as nearly +as possible to what it was meant to be. I am satisfied with the result. +So is my mother," she added, with an evident afterthought. + +"My daughter is very artistic," the Countess explained. + +Cecilia looked at Guido, and a faint smile illuminated her face for a +moment. Guido bent his head almost imperceptibly, as if to say that he +knew what she meant, and it seemed to Lamberti that the two already +understood each other. He rose to go, moved by an impulse he could not +resist. Guido looked at him in surprise, for he had expected his friend +to wait for him. + +"Must you go already?" asked the Princess, in a colourless tone that did +not invite Lamberti to stay. "But I suppose you are very busy when you +are in Rome. Good-bye." + +As he took his leave, his eyes met Cecilia's. It might have been only +his imagination, after all, but he felt sure that her whole expression +changed instantly to a look of deep and sincere understanding, even of +profound sympathy. + +"I hope you will come to the villa," she said gravely, and she seemed to +wait for his answer. + +"Thank you. I shall be there." + +There was a short silence, as Monsieur Leroy went with him to the door +at the other end of the long room, but Cecilia did not watch him; she +seemed to be interested in a large portrait that hung opposite the +nearest window, and which was suddenly lighted up by the glow of the +sunset. It represented a young king, standing on a step, in coronation +robes, with a vast ermine mantle spreading behind him and to one side, +and an uncomfortable-looking crown on his head; a sceptre lay on a +highly polished table at his elbow, beside an open arch, through which +the domes and spires of a city were visible. There was no particular +reason why he should be standing there, apparently alone, and in a +distinctly theatrical attitude, and the portrait was not a good picture; +but Cecilia looked at it steadily till she heard the door shut, after +Lamberti had gone out. + +"Your friend is not a very gay person," observed the Princess. "Is he +always so silent?" + +"Yes," Guido answered. "He is not very talkative." + +"Do you like silent people?" enquired Cecilia. + +"I like a woman who can talk, and a man who can hold his tongue," +replied Guido readily. + +Cecilia looked at him and smiled carelessly. The Princess rose slowly, +but she was so short, and her arm-chair was so high, that she seemed to +walk away from it without being any taller than when she had been +sitting, rather than really to get up. + +"Shall we go into the garden?" she suggested. "It is not too cold. +Doudou, my cloak!" + +Monsieur Leroy brought a pretty confusion of mouse-coloured silk and +lace, disentangled it skilfully, and held it up behind the Princess's +shoulders. It looked like a big butterfly as he spread it in the air, +and it had ribands that hung down to the floor. + +When she had put it on, the Princess led the way to a long window, which +Leroy opened, and leaning lightly on the Countess Fortiguerra's arm, she +went out into the evening light. She evidently meant to give the young +people a chance of talking together by themselves, for as soon as they +were outside she sent Monsieur Leroy away. + +"My dear Doudou!" she cried, as if suddenly remembering something, "we +have quite forgotten those invitations for to-morrow! Should you mind +writing them now, so that they can be sent before dinner?" + +Monsieur Leroy disappeared with an alacrity which suggested that the +plan had been arranged beforehand. + +"Take Mademoiselle Palladio round the garden, Guido," said the Princess. +"We will walk a little before the house till you come back. It is drier +here." + +Guido must have been dull indeed if he had not at last understood why he +had been made to come, and what was expected of him. He was annoyed, and +raised his eyebrows a little. + +"Will you come, Mademoiselle?" he asked coldly. + +"Yes," answered Cecilia in a constrained tone, for she understood as +well as Guido himself. + +Her mother was often afraid of her, and had not dared to tell her that +the whole object of their visit was that she should see Guido and be +seen by him. She thought that the Princess was really pushing matters +too hastily, considering the time-honoured traditions of Latin +etiquette, which forbid that young people should be left alone together +for a moment, even when engaged to be married. But the Countess had +great faith in the correctness of anything which such a very high-born +person as the Princess Anatolie chose to suggest, and as the latter held +her by the arm with affectionate condescension, she could not possibly +run after her daughter. + +The two moved away in silence towards the flower garden, and soon +disappeared round the corner of the house. + +"The roses are pretty," said Guido, apologetically. "My aunt likes +people to see them." + +"They are magnificent," answered Cecilia, without enthusiasm, and after +a suitable interval. + +They went on, along a narrow gravel path, and though there was really +room enough for Guido to walk by her side, he pretended that there was +not, and followed her. She was very graceful, and he would not have +thought of denying it. He even looked at her as she went before him, and +he noticed the fact; but after he had taken cognisance of it, he was +quite as indifferent as before. He no longer thought her voice pleasant, +in his resentment at finding that a trap had been laid for him. + +"You see, there are a good many kinds of roses," he observed, because it +would have been rude to say nothing at all. "They are not all in flower +yet." + +"It is only the beginning of May," the young girl answered, without +interest. + +They came to the broader walk on the other side of the plot of roses, +and Guido had to walk by her side again. + +"I like your friend," she said suddenly. + +"I am very glad," Guido replied, unbending at once and quietly looking +at her now. "People do not always like him at first sight." + +"No, I understand that. He has the look in his eyes that men get who +have killed." + +"Has he?" Guido seemed surprised. "Yes, he killed several men in Africa, +when he was alone against many, and they meant to murder him. He is +brave. Make him tell you about it, if you can induce him to talk." + +"Is that so very hard?" Cecilia laughed. "Is he really more silent than +you?" + +"Nobody ever called me silent," answered Guido, smiling. "I suppose you +thought so--stopped. + +"Because I did not know how to begin, and because you would not. Is that +what you were going to say?" + +"It is very near the truth," Guido admitted, very much amused. + +"I do not blame you," said Cecilia. "How could you suppose that a mere +girl like me could possibly have anything to say--a child that has not +even been to her first party?" + +"Perhaps I was afraid that the mere child might talk about philosophy +and Nietzsche," suggested Guido. + +"And that would be dreadful, of course! Why? Is there any reason why a +girl should not study such things? If there is, tell me. No one ever +tells me what I ought to do." + +"It is quite unnecessary, I have no doubt," Guido answered promptly, and +smiling again. + +"You mean quite useless, because I should not do it?" + +"Why should I be supposed to know that you are spoiled--if you are? +Besides, you must not take up a man every time he makes you a silly +compliment." + +"Ah, now you are telling me what I ought to do! I like that better. +Thank you!" Guido was amused. + +"Are you really grateful?" he asked, laughing a little. "Do you always +speak the truth?" + +"Yes! Do you?" She asked the question sharply, as if she meant to +surprise him. + +"I never lied to a man in my life," Guido answered. + +"But you have to women?" + +"I suppose so," said Guido, considerably diverted. "Most of us do, in +moments of enthusiasm." + +"Really! And--are you often--enthusiastic?" + +"No. Very rarely. Besides, I do not know whether it is worse in a man to +tell fibs to please a woman, than it is in a woman to disbelieve what an +honest man tells her on his word. Which is the least wrong, do you +think?" + +"But since you admit that most men do not tell the truth to women----" + +"I said, on one's word of honour. There is a difference." + +"In theory," said Cecilia. + +"Are there theories about lying?" asked Guido. + +"Oh yes," answered the young girl, without hesitation. "There is +Puffendorf's, for instance, in his book on the Law of Nature and +Nations----" + +"Good heavens!" exclaimed Guido. + +"Certainly. He makes out that there is a sort of unwritten agreement +amongst all men that words shall be used in a definite sense which +others can understand. That sounds sensible. And then, Saint Augustin, +and La Placette, and Noodt----" + +"My dear young lady, you have led me quite out of my depth! What do +those good people say?" + +"That all lying is absolutely wrong in itself, whether it harms anybody +or not." + +"And what do you think about it? That would be much more interesting to +know." + +"I told you, I always tell the truth," Cecilia answered demurely. + +"Oh yes, of course! I had forgotten." + +"And you do not believe it," laughed the young girl. "It is time to go +back to the house." + +"If you will stay a little longer, I will believe everything you tell +me." + +"No, it is late," answered Cecilia, her manner suddenly changing as the +laugh died out of her voice. + +She walked on quickly, and he kept behind her. + +"I shall certainly go to your garden party," said Guido. + +"Shall you?" + +She spoke in a tone of such utter indifference that Guido stared at her +in surprise. A moment later they had rejoined her mother and the +Princess. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + +At the beginning of the twentieth century Rome has become even more +cosmopolitan than it used to be, for the Romans themselves are turning +into cosmopolitans, and the old traditional, serious, gloomy, and +sometimes dramatic life of the patriarchal system has almost died out. +One meets Romans of historical names everywhere, nowadays, in London, in +Paris, and in Vienna, speaking English and French, and sometimes German, +with extraordinary correctness, as much at home, to all appearance, in +other capitals as they are in their own, and intimately familiar with +the ways of many societies in many places. + +Cecilia Palladio, at eighteen years of age, had probably not spent a +third of her life in Rome, and had been educated in different parts of +the world and in a variety of ways. Her father, Count Palladio, as has +been explained, had been engaged in promoting a number of undertakings, +of which several had succeeded, and at his death, which had happened +when Cecilia had been eight years old, he had left her part of his +considerable fortune in safe guardianship, leaving his wife a life +interest in the remainder. His old ally, the banker Solomon Goldbirn of +Vienna, had administered the whole inheritance with wisdom and +integrity, and at her marriage Cecilia would dispose of several millions +of francs, and would ultimately inherit as much more from her mother's +share. From a European point of view, she was therefore a notable +heiress, and even in the new world of millionnaires she would at least +have been considered tolerably well off, though by no means what is +there called rich. + +Two years after Palladio's death her mother had married Count +Fortiguerra, who had begun life in the army, then passed to diplomacy, +had risen rapidly to the post of ambassador, and had died suddenly at +Madrid when barely fifty years old, and when Cecilia was sixteen. + +The girl had a clear recollection of her own father, though she had +never been with him very much, as his occupations constantly took him to +distant parts of the world. He had seemed an old man to her, and had +indeed been much older than her mother, for he had been a patriot in the +later days of the Italian revolutions, and when still young he had been +with Garibaldi in 1860. Cecilia remembered him a tall, active, +grey-haired man with a pointed beard and big moustaches, and eyes which +she now knew had been like her own. She remembered his unbounded energy, +his patriotic and sometimes rather boastful talk, his black cigars, the +vast heap of papers that always seemed to be in hopeless confusion on +his writing table when he was at home, and the numerous +eccentric-looking people who used to come and see him. She had been told +that he was never to be disturbed, and never to be questioned, and that +he was a great man. She had loved him with all her heart when he told +her stories, and at other times she had been distinctly afraid of him. +These stories had been fairy tales to the child, but she had now +discovered that they had been history, or what passes for it. + +He had told her about King Amulius of Alba Longa, and of the twin +founders of Rome, and of all the far-off times and doings, and he had +described to her six wonderful maidens who lived in a palace in the +Forum and kept a little fire burning day and night, which he compared to +the great Roman race over whose destiny the mystic ladies were always +watching. It was only quite lately that she had heard any learned men +say in earnest some of the things which he had told her with a smile as +if he were inventing a tale to amuse her child's fancy. But what he had +said had made a deep and abiding impression, and had become a part of +her thought. She sometimes dreamed very vividly that she was again a +little girl, sitting on his knee and listening to his wonderful stories. +In other ways she had not missed him much after his death. Possibly her +mother had not missed him either; for though she spoke of him +occasionally with a sort of awe, it was never with anything like +emotion. + +Count Fortiguerra had been kind to the child, or it might be truer to +say that he had spoilt her by encouraging her without much judgment in +her insatiable thirst for knowledge, and in her unnecessary ambition to +excel in everything her fancy led her to attempt. Her mother, with a +good deal of social foolishness and a very pliable character, possessed +nevertheless a fair share of womanly intelligence, and knew by instinct +that a young girl who is very different from other girls, no matter how +clever she may be, rarely makes what people call a good marriage. + +There is probably nothing which leads a young woman to think a man a +desirable husband so much as some exceptional gift, or even some +brilliant eccentricity, which distinguishes him from other people; but +there is nothing which frightens away the average desirable husband so +much as anything of that sort in the young lady of his affections, and +every married woman knows it very well. + +The excellent Countess used to wish that her daughter would grow up more +like other girls, and in the sincere belief that a little womanly vanity +must certainly counteract a desire for super-feminine mental +cultivation, she honestly tried to interest Cecilia in such frivolities +as dress, dancing, and romantic fiction. The result was only very +partially successful. Cecilia was dressed to perfection, without seeming +to take any trouble about it, and she danced marvellously before she had +ever been to a ball; but she cared nothing for the novels she was +allowed to read, and she devoured serious books with increasing +intellectual voracity. + +Her stepfather laughed, and said that the girl was a genius and ought +not to be hampered by ordinary rules; and his wife, who had at first +feared lest he should dislike the child of her first husband, was only +too glad that he should, on the contrary, show something like paternal +infatuation for Cecilia, since no children of his own were born to him. +He was a man, too, of wide reading and experience, and having +considerable political insight into his times. Before Cecilia was eleven +years old he talked to her about serious matters, as if she had been +grown up, and often wished that the child should be at table and in the +drawing-room when men who were making history came informally to the +embassy. Cecilia had listened to their talk, and had remembered a very +large part of what she had heard, understanding more and more as she +grew up; and by far the greatest sorrow of her life had been the death +of her stepfather. + +She was a modern Italian girl, and her mother was a Roman who had been +brought up in something of the old strictness and narrowness, first in a +convent, and afterwards in a rather gloomy home under the shadow of the +most rigid parental authority. Exceptional gifts, exceptional +surroundings, and exceptional opportunities had made Cecilia Palladio an +exception to all types, and as unlike the average modern Italian young +girl as could be imagined. + +The sun had already set as the mother and daughter drove away, but it +was still broad day, and a canopy of golden clouds, floating high over +the city, reflected rosy lights through the blue shadows in the crowded +streets. The Countess Fortiguerra was pleasantly aware that every man +under seventy turned to look after her daughter, from the smart old +colonel of cavalry in his perfect uniform to the ragged and haggard +waifs who sold wax matches at the corners of the streets. She was not in +the least jealous of her, as mothers have been before now, and perhaps +she was able to enjoy vicariously what she herself had never had, but +had often wished for, the gift of nature which instantly fixes the +attention of the other sex. + +"Why did you not tell me?" asked Cecilia, after a silence that had +lasted five minutes. + +The Countess pretended not to understand, coloured a little, and tried +to look surprised. + +"Why did you not tell me that you and the Princess wish me to marry her +nephew?" + +This was direct, and an answer was necessary. The Countess laughed +soothingly. + +"Dear child!" she cried, "it is impossible to deceive you! We only +wished that you two might meet, and perhaps like each other." + +"Well," answered Cecilia, "we have met." + +The answer was not encouraging, and she did not seem inclined to say +more of her own accord, but her mother could not restrain a natural +curiosity. + +"Yes," she said, in a conciliatory tone, "but how do you like him?" + +Cecilia seemed to be hesitating for a moment. + +"Very much," she answered, unexpectedly, after the pause. + +The Countess was so much pleased that she coloured again. She had never +been able to hide what she felt, and she secretly envied people who +never blushed. + +"I am so glad!" she said. "I was sure you would like each other." + +"It does not follow that because I like him, he likes me," answered +Cecilia, quietly. "And even if he does, that is not a reason why we +should marry. I may never marry at all." + +"How can you say such things!" cried the Countess, not at all satisfied. + +Cecilia shrank a little in her corner of the deep phaeton and +instinctively drew the edges of her little silk mantle together over her +chest, as if to protect herself from something. + +"You know," she said, almost sharply. + +"I shall never understand you," her mother sighed. + +"Give me time to understand myself, mother," answered the young girl, +suddenly unbending. "I am only eighteen; I have never been into the +world, and the mere idea of marrying----" + +She stopped short, and her firm lips closed tightly. + +"No, I do not understand," said the Countess. "The thought of marriage +was never disagreeable to me, even when I was quite young. It is the +natural object of a woman's life." + +"There are exceptions, surely! There are nuns, for instance." + +"Oh, if you wish to go into a convent----" + +"I have no religious vocation," Cecilia answered gravely. "Or if I have, +it is not of that sort." + +"I am glad to hear it!" The Countess was beginning to lose her temper. +"If you thought you had, you would be quite capable of taking the veil." + +"Yes," the young girl replied. "If I wished to be a nun, and if I were +sure that I should be a good nun, I would enter a convent at once. But I +am not naturally devout, I suppose." + +"In my time," said the Countess, with emphasis, "when young girls did +not take the veil, they married." + +As an argument, this was weak and lacked logic, and Cecilia felt rather +pitiless just then. + +"There are only two possible ways of living," she said; "either by +religion, if you have any, and that is the easier, or by rule." + +"And pray what sort of rule can there be to take the place of religion?" + +"Act so that the reason for your actions may be considered a universal +law." + +"That is nonsense!" cried the Countess. + +"No," replied Cecilia, unmoved, "it is Kant's Categorical Imperative." + +"It makes no difference," retorted her mother. "It is nonsense." + +Cecilia said nothing, and her expression did not change, for she knew +that her mother could not understand her, and she was not at all sure +that she understood herself, as she had almost confessed. Seeing that +she did not answer, the excellent Countess took the opportunity of +telling her that her head had been turned by too much reading, though it +was all her poor, dear stepfather's fault, since he had filled her head +with ideas. What she meant by "ideas" was not clear, except that they +were of course dangerous in themselves and utterly subversive of social +order, and that the main purpose of all education should be to +discourage them in the young. + +"They should be left to old people," she concluded; "they have nothing +else to think of." + +Cecilia had heard very little, being absorbed in her own reflections, +but as her mother often spoke in the same way, the general drift of what +she had said was unmistakable. The two were very unlike, but they were +not unloving. In her heart the Countess took the most unbounded pride in +her only child's beauty and cleverness, except when the latter opposed +itself to her social inclinations and ambitions; and the young girl +really loved her mother when not irritated by some speech or action that +offended her taste. That her mother should not always understand her +seemed quite natural. + +They had almost reached their door, the great pillared porch of the +mysterious Palazzo Massimo, in which they had an apartment, for they did +not live in the villa where the garden party was to be given. Cecilia's +gloved hand went out quietly to the Countess's and gently pressed it. + +"Let me think my own thoughts, mother," she said; "they shall never hurt +you." + +"Yes, dear, of course," answered the elder woman meekly, her little +burst of temper having already subsided. + +Cecilia left her early that evening and went to her own room to be +alone. It was not that she was tired, nor painfully affected by a +strange sensation she had felt during the afternoon; but she realised +that she had reached the end of the first stage in life, and that +another was going to begin, and it was part of her nature to seek for a +complete understanding of everything in her existence. It seemed to her +unworthy of a thinking being to act or to feel, without clearly defining +the cause of every feeling and action. Youth dreams of an impossible +completeness in carrying out its self-set rules of perfection, and is +swayed and stunned, and often paralysed, when they are broken to pieces +by rebellious human nature. + +The room was very large and dim, for Cecilia had put out the electric +light, and had lit two big wax candles, of the sort that are burned in +churches. The blinds and shutters of the windows were open, and the +moonlight fell in two broad floods upon the pale carpet, half across the +floor. The white bed with its high canopy of lace looked ghostly against +the furthest wall, like a marble sepulchre under a mist. The light blue +damask on the walls was dark in the gloom, and there was not much +furniture to break the long surfaces. The dusky air was cool and pure, +for Cecilia detested perfumes of all sorts. + +She sat motionless in a high carved seat, just in the moonlight, one +hand upon an arm of the chair, the other on her breast. She had gathered +her hair into a knot, low at the back of her head, and the folds of a +soft white robe just followed the outlines of her figure. The table on +which the candles stood was a little behind her, and away from the +window, and the still yellow light only touched her hair in one or two +places, sending back dull golden reflections. + +The strange young face was very quiet, and even the lids rarely moved as +she steadily stared into the shadow. There was no look of thought, nor +any visible effort of concentration in her features; there was rather an +air of patient waiting, of perfect readiness to receive whatever should +come to her out of the depths. So, a beautiful marble face on a tomb +gazes into the shadows of a dim church, and gazes on, and waits, neither +growing nor changing, neither satisfied nor disappointed, but calm and +enduring, as if expecting the resurrection of the dead and the life of +the world to come. But for the rare drooping of the lids, that rested +her sight, the girl would have seemed to be in a trance; she was in a +state of almost perfect contemplation that approached to perfect +happiness, since she was hardly conscious that her strongest wishes were +still unsatisfied. + +She had been in the same state before now--last week, last month, last +year, and again and again, as it seemed to her, very long ago; so long, +that the time seemed like ages, and the intervals like centuries, until +it all disappeared altogether in the immeasurable, and the past, the +present, and the future were around her at once, unbroken, always +ending, yet always beginning again. In the midst floated the soul, the +self, the undying individuality, a light that shot out long rays, like a +star, towards the ever present moments in an ever recurring life of +which she had been, and was, and was to be, most keenly conscious. + +So far, the truth, perhaps; the truth, guessed by the mystics of all +ages, sometimes hidden in secret writings, sometimes proclaimed to the +light in symbols too plain to be understood, now veiled in the reasoned +propositions of philosophers, now sung in sublime verse by inspired +seers; present, as truth always is, to the few, misunderstood, as all +truths are, by the many. + +But beside the truth, and outshining it, came the illusion, clear and +bright, and appealing to the heart with the music of all the changes +that are illusion's life. Sitting very still in the moonlight, Cecilia +saw pictures in the shadow, and herself walking in the mazes of many +dreams; and she watched them, till even her eyelids no longer drooped +from time to time, and her breathing ceased to stir the folds of white +upon her bosom. + +Even then, she knew that she herself was not dreaming, but was calling +up dreams which she saw, which could be nothing but visions after all, +and would end in a darkness beyond which she could see nothing, and in +which she would feel real physical pain, that would be almost +unbearable, though she knew that she would gladly bear it again and +again, for the sake of again seeing the phantasms of herself drawn in +mystic light upon the shadow. + +They came and followed one upon another, like days of life. There was +the beautiful marble court with its deep portico, its pillars, and its +overhanging upper story, all gleaming in the low morning sun; she could +hear the water softly laughing its way through the square marble-edged +basins, level with the ground, she could smell the spring violets that +grew in the neatly trimmed borders, she knew the faces of the statues +that stood between the columns, and smiled at her. She knew herself, +young, golden-haired, all in white, a little pale from the night's vigil +before the eternal fire, just entering the court as she came back from +the temple, and then standing quite still for a moment, facing the +morning sun and drinking in long draughts of the sweet spring air. From +far above, the matin song of birds came down out of the gardens of +Cæsar's palace, and high over the court the sounds of the Forum began to +ring and echo, as they did all day and half the night. + +It was herself, her very self, that was there, resting one hand upon a +fluted column and looking upwards, her eyes, her face, her figure, real +and unchanged after ages, as they were hers now; and in her look there +was the infinite longing, the readiness to receive, which she felt still +and must feel always, to the end of time. + +Now, the dream would move on, slowly and full of details. The lithe +dream figure would rest in the small white room at the upper end of the +court, and resting, would dream dreams within that dream; and, looking +on, she herself would know what they were. They would be full of a deep +desire to be free for ever from earth and body and life, joined for all +eternity with something pure and high that could not be seen, but of +which her soul was a part, mingled with the changing things for a time, +but to be withdrawn from them again, maiden and spotless as it had come +amongst them, a true and perfect Vestal. + +The precious treasures in the secret places of the little temple would +pass away, the rudely carved wooden image of Pallas would crumble to +dust, the shields that had come down from heaven would fall to pieces in +green corrosion, the sacred vessels would be broken or come to a base +use, the fire would go out and Vesta's hearth would be cold for ever. + +At the mere thought, the sleeping face in the vision would tremble and +grow pale for a moment, but soon would smile again, for the fire had +been faithfully tended all the night long. + +But it would all pass away, even the place, even Rome herself, and in +the sphere of divine joy the sleeper would forget even to dream, and +would be quite at rest, until the mid-hour of day, when a companion +would come softly to the door and wake her with gentle words and kindly +touch, to join the other Vestals at the thrice-purified table in the +cool hall. + +So the warm hours would pass, and later, if she chose, the holy maiden +might go out into the city, whithersoever she would, borne in a high, +open litter by many slaves, with a stern lictor walking before her, and +the people would fall back on either side. If she chanced to meet one of +the Prætors, or even the Consul himself, their guards would salute her +as no sovereign would be saluted in Rome; and should she see some +wretched thieving slave being led to death on the cross upon the +Esquiline, her slightest word could reverse all his condemnation, and +blot out all his crimes. For she was sacred to the Goddess, and above +Consuls and Prætors and judges. But none of those things would touch her +heart nor please her vanity, for all her pure young soul was bent on +freedom from this earth, divine and eternal, as the end of a sinless +life. + +The eyes in the dream, the eyes of the girl who stood by the column, +drinking the morning air, had never met the eyes of a man with the wish +that a glance might linger to a look. But she who watched the dream knew +that the time was at hand, and that the dark cloud of fear was already +gathering which was to darken her sun and break by and by in an unknown +fear. She knew it, she, the waking Cecilia Palladio; but the other +Cecilia, the Vestal of long ago, guessed nothing of the future, and +stood there breathing softly, already refreshed after the night's +watching. It would all happen, as it always happened, little by little, +detail after detail, till the dreaded moment. + +But it did not. The dream changed. Instead of crossing the marble court, +and lingering a moment by the water, the Vestal stood by the column, +against the background of shade cast by the portico. She was listening +now, she was expecting some one, she was glancing anxiously about as if +to see whether any one were there; but she was alone. + +Then it came, in the shadow behind her, the face of a man, moving +nearer--a rugged Roman head, with deep-set, bold blue eye, big brows, a +great jaw, reddish hair. It came nearer, and the girl knew it was +coming. In an instant more, she would spring forward across the court, +crying out for protection. + +No, she did not move till the man was close to her, looking over her +shoulder, whispering in her ear. Cecilia saw it all, and it was so real +that she tried to call out, to shriek, to make any sound that could save +her image from destruction, for the kiss that was coming would be death +to both, and death with unutterable shame and pain. But her voice was +gone, and her lips were frozen. She sat paralysed with a horror she had +never known before, while the face of the phantom girl blushed softly, +and turned to the strong man, and the two gazed into each other's eyes a +moment, knowing that they loved. + +She felt that it was her other self, and that she had the will to +resist, even then, and that the will must still be supreme over the +illusion. Never, it seemed to her, had she made such a supreme effort, +never had she felt such power concentrated in her strong determination, +never in all her life had she been so sure of the result when she had +willed anything with all her might. Every fibre of her being, every +nerve in her body, every throbbing cell of her brain was strained to +breaking. The two faces were quite close, the longing lips had almost +met--nothing could hinder, nothing could save; the phantasms did not +know that she was watching them. + +Suddenly something changed. She no longer saw herself in a vision, she +was herself there, somewhere, in the dark, in the light--she did not +know--and there was no will, nor thought, nor straining resistance any +more, for Lamberto Lamberti held her in his arms, her, Cecilia Palladio, +her very living self, and his lips were upon hers, and she loved him +beyond death, or life, or fear, or torment. Surely she was dying then, +for the darkness was whirling with her, spinning itself into myriads of +circles of fiery stars, tearing her over the brink of the world to +eternity beyond. + +One second more and it must have ended so. Instead, she was leaning back +in her chair, between the moonlight and the steadily burning candles, in +her own room, alone. From head to foot she trembled, and now and then +drew a short and gasping breath. Her parted lips were moist and very +cold. She touched them, and they felt like flowers at night, wet with +dew. She pushed the hair from her forehead, and her brow was strangely +damp. + +She sprang to her feet with a cry of terror, and stared at the door, for +she was quite sure that she had heard it close softly. It was a heavy +door, that turned noiselessly on its hinges and fitted perfectly, and +she knew the soft click of the well-made French lock when the spring +quietly pushed the bevelled latch-bolt into the socket. In an instant +she had crossed the room and had turned the handle to draw it in. But +the door was locked, beyond all doubt--she had turned the key before she +had sat down in the chair. She felt intensely cold, and an icy wave +seemed to lift her hair from her forehead. Her hand instinctively found +the white button, close beside the door-frame, which controlled all the +electric lamps, and pushed it in, and the room was flooded with light. +She must have imagined that she had heard the sound that had frightened +her. + +Half dazed, she moved slowly to the windows, and closed the inner +shutters, one by one, shutting out the cold moonlight, then stood by the +chair a moment, looked at it, and glanced in the direction whence the +vision had come to her out of the shadow. + +She did not know how it happened, but presently she was lying on her +bed, her face buried in the pillows, and she was tearing her heart out +in a tearless storm of shame and self-contempt. + +What right had that man whom she had so often seen in her dreams to be +alive in the real world, walking among other men, recognising her, as +she had felt that he did that very afternoon? What right had he to come +to her again in the vision and to change it all, to take her in his +violent arms and kiss her on the mouth, and burn the mark of shame into +her soul, and fill her with a pleasure more horrible than any pain? Was +this the end of all her girlish meditation, of the Vestal's longing for +higher things, of the mystic's perfect way? A man's brutal kiss not even +resisted? Was that all? It could not have been worse if on that same day +she had been alone with him in the garden, instead of with Guido d'Este, +and if he had suddenly put his arms round her, and if she had not even +turned her face from his. + +It was only a dream. Yes, to-morrow she would awake, if she slept at +all, and the sunshine would be streaming in where the moonlight had +shone, and it would only be a dream, past and to be forgotten. Perhaps. +But what were dreams, then? She had not been asleep, she was quite sure. +There was not even that poor excuse. The man's phantasm had come to her +awake. + +And Lamberto Lamberti was nothing to her. Beyond the startling +recognition of a face long familiar, but never seen among the living, he +was to her a man she had met but once, and did not wish to meet again. +She had been aware of his presence near her at the Princess's, and when +he had gone away she had looked at him once more with a sort of wonder; +but she had felt nothing else, she had not touched his hand, the thought +that he would ever dare to seize her roughly in his arms brought burning +blushes to her cheek and outraged all her maiden senses. She had never +seen any man whom she could suffer to touch her; her whole nature +revolted at the thought. Yet, just now, there had been neither revolt +nor resistance; she felt that she had been herself, awake, alive, and +consenting to an unknown but frightfully real contamination, from which +her soul could never again be wholly clean. + +The storm subsided, and sullen waves of self-contempt swelled and sank, +as if to overwhelm her drowning soul. She understood at last the +ascetic's wrath against the mortal body and his irresistible craving for +bodily pain. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + +Very early in the morning Cecilia fell into a dreamless sleep at last, +and awoke, unrefreshed, after nine o'clock. She felt very tired and +listless as she opened the window a little and let in the light and air, +with the sounds of the busy thoroughfare below. The weather was suddenly +much warmer, and her head was heavy. + +It had all been a dream, no doubt, and was gone where dreams go; but it +had been like a fight, out of which she had come alive by a miracle, +bruised and wounded, and offended in her whole being. Never again would +she sit alone at night and look for her image in the shadow, since such +things could come of playing with visions; and she trusted that she +might never again set eyes upon Lamberto Lamberti. She was alone, but at +the thought of meeting him she blushed and bit her lip angrily. How was +it possible that he should know what she had dreamt? For years, in that +dream of the Vestal, a being had played a part, a being too like him in +face to be another man, but who had loved her as a goddess, and whom she +had loved for his matchless bravery and his glorious strength over +himself. It was a long story, that had gradually grown clear in every +detail, that had gone far beyond death to a spiritual life in a place of +light, though it had always ended in something vaguely fearful that +brought her back to the world, and to her present living self, to begin +again. She could not go over it now, but she was conscious, and to her +shame, that the spell of perfect happiness had always been broken at +last by the taint of earthly longing and regret that crept up stealthily +from the world below, an evil mist, laden with poison and fever and +mortality. + +That change had been undefined, though it had been horrible and +irresistible; it had been evil, but it had not been brutal, and it had +thrilled her with the certainty of passion and pain to come, realising +neither while dreading and loving both. + +She had read the writings of men who believe that by long meditation and +practised intention the real self of man or woman can be separated from +all that darkens it, though not easily, because it is bound up with +fragments, as it were, of the selves of others, with all the +inheritances of a hundred generations of good and bad, with sleeping +instincts and passions any of which may suddenly spring up and overwhelm +the rest. She had also read that the real self, when found at last, +might be far better and purer than the mixed self of every day, which +each of us knows and counts upon; but that it might also be much worse, +much coarser, much more violent, when freed from every other influence, +and that coming upon it unawares and unprepared, men had lost their +reason altogether beyond recovery. + +She asked herself now whether this was what had happened to her, and no +answer came; there was only the very weary blank of a great uncertainty, +in which anything might be, or in which there might be nothing; and +then, there was the vivid burning fear of meeting Lamberto Lamberti face +to face. That was by far the strongest and most clearly defined of her +sensations. + +If the Princess Anatolie could have known what Cecilia felt that +morning, she would have been exceedingly well pleased, and Cecilia's own +mother would have considered that this was a case in which the powers of +evil had been permitted to work for the accomplishment of a good end. +Nothing could have distressed the excellent Countess more than that her +daughter should accidentally fall in love with Lamberti, who was a +younger son in a numerous family, with no prospects beyond those offered +by his profession. Nothing could have interfered more directly with the +Princess's sensible intentions for her nephew. Perhaps nothing could +have caused greater surprise to Lamberti himself. On the other hand, +Guido d'Este would have been glad, but not surprised. He rarely was. + +In the course of the day he left a card at the Palazzo Massimo for the +Countess Fortiguerra, and as he turned away he regretted that he could +not ask for her, and see her, and possibly see her daughter also. That +was evidently out of the question as yet, according to his social laws, +but his regret was real. It was long since any woman's face had left him +more than a vague impression of good looks, or dulness, but he had +thought a good deal about Cecilia Palladio since he had met her, and he +knew that he wished to talk with her again, however much he might resent +the idea that he was meant to marry her. She was the first young girl he +had ever known who had not bored him with platitudes or made +conversation impossible by obstinate silence. + +It was true that he had not talked with her much, and at first it had +seemed hard to talk at all, but the ice had been broken suddenly, and +for a few minutes he had found it easy. As for the chilling coldness of +her last words, he could account for that easily enough. Like himself, +she had seen that a marriage had been planned for her without her +knowledge, and, like him, she had resented the trap. For a while she had +forgotten, as he had done, but had remembered suddenly when they were +about to part. She had meant to show him plainly that she had not had +any voice in the matter, and he liked her the better for it, now that he +understood her meaning. + +She was like the Psyche, he thought, and it occurred to him that he +could buy a cast of the statue. He had always thought it beautiful. He +strolled through narrow streets in the late afternoon till he came to +the shop of a dealer in casts, of whom he had once bought something, and +he went in. The man had what he wanted, and he examined it carefully. + +She was not like the Psyche after all, and the crude white plaster +shocked his taste for the first time. If the marble original had been in +Rome, instead of in Naples, he could have gone to see it. He left the +shop disappointed, and walked slowly towards the Farnese palace. The day +seemed endless, and there was no particular reason why all days should +not seem as long. There was nothing to do; nothing amused him, and +nobody asked anything of him. It would be very strange and pleasant to +be of use in the world. + +He went home and sat down by the open window that looked across the +Tiber. The wide room was flooded with the evening light, and warm with +much colour that lingered and floated about beautiful objects here and +there. It was not a very luxuriously furnished room, but it was not the +habitation of an ascetic or puritanical man either. Guido cared more for +rare engravings and etchings than for pictures, and a few very fine +framed prints stood on the big writing table; there was Dürer's +Melancholia, and the Saint Jerome, and the Little White Horse, and the +small Saint Anthony, and Rembrandt's Three Trees, all by itself, as the +most wonderful etching in the world deserved to be; and here and there, +about the room, were a few good engravings by Martin Schöngauer, and by +Mantegna, and by Marcantonio Raimondi. The bold, careless, effective +drawing of the Italian engravers contrasted strongly with the profoundly +conscientious work of Schöngauer and Lucas van Leyden, and revealed at a +glance the incomparable mastery of Dürer's dry point and Rembrandt's +etching needle, the deep conviction of the German, and the inexhaustible +richness of the Dutchman's imagination. + +A picture hung over the fireplace, the picture of a woman, at half +length and a little smaller than life, holding in exquisite hands a +small covered vessel of silver encrusted with gold, and gazing out into +the warm light with the gentlest hazel eyes. A veil of olive green +covered her head, but the fair hair found its way out, tresses and +ringlets, on each side of the face. The woman was perhaps a Magdalen, +not like any other Magdalen in all the paintings of the world, and more +the great lady of the castle of Magdalon, she of the Golden Legend. When +Andrea del Sarto painted that face, he meant something that he never +told, and it pleased Guido d'Este to try and guess the secret. As he +glanced at the canvas, glowing in the rich light, it struck him that +perhaps Cecilia Palladio was more like the woman in the picture than she +was like the Psyche. Then he almost laughed, and turned away, for he +realised that he was thinking of the girl continually, and saw her face +everywhere. + +He turned away impatiently, in spite of the smile. He was annoyed by the +attraction he felt towards Cecilia, because the thought of marrying an +heiress, in order that his aunt might recover money she had literally +thrown away, was grossly repulsive; and also, no doubt, because he was +not docile, though he was good-natured, and he hated to have anything in +his life planned for him by others. He was still less pleased now that +he found himself searching for reasons which should justify him in +marrying Cecilia in spite of all this. Nothing irritates a man more than +his own inborn inconsistency, whereas he enjoys diabolical satisfaction +in convicting any woman of the same fault. + +After all, said his Inclination, as if coolly arguing the case, if poor +men were only to marry poor girls, and rich men rich ones, something +unnatural would happen to the distribution of wealth, which was +undesirable for the future of society. Of course, a rich man might marry +a poor girl if he chose. That was done, and the men who did it got an +extraordinary amount of credit for being disinterested, unless they were +laughed at for falling in love with a pretty face. If anything could +prove the hopeless inequality of woman with man, it would be that! No +one thought much the worse of a penniless girl who married for money, +whereas a starving dandy who did the same thing immediately became an +object of derision. + +But then, added the Inclination, with subtlety, the opinions of society +were entirely manufactured by women for their own advantage, and that +was an excellent reason for not caring what society thought. The +all-powerful, impersonal "they," of whom we only know what "they say," +what "they wear," and what "they pretend," are feminine and plural; they +rule all that region of the world within which women do not work with +their hands, and are therefore at full liberty to exercise those gifts +of intelligence which it has pleased Providence to bestow upon them so +plentifully. They do so to some purpose. + +Surely, argued Inclination, it was not very dignified of Guido to care +much, and to care beforehand, for the opinions of a pack of women, +supposing that he should come to like Cecilia enough to wish to marry +her for her own sake. And besides, though he was poor, he was not +uncomfortably so. Poverty meant not having horses and carriages, nor a +yacht, and living in bachelor's rooms, and not giving dinner parties, +and not playing cards, and not giving every woman whatever she fancied, +if it happened to be a pearl or a pigeon's blood ruby. That was poverty, +of course, but it was relative. + +If his aunt did not drive him to blow out his brains in a fit of +impatience, there was no reason why Guido should not go on living, as he +lived now, to the far end of a long and sufficiently well-fed life. And +if he married Cecilia and her fortune, it would certainly not be because +he wished to give other women rubies and pearls, nor for the sake of +keeping a couple of hunters, two or three carriages, and a coach; still +less, because he could ever wish to lose money again at baccara, or +poker, or bridge. He had done all those things, and they had not amused +him long. If he ever married Cecilia, it would be because he fell in +love with her, which, thank goodness, had not happened yet. Inclination +was quite sure of that, but was willing to admit the possibility in the +future, merely for the sake of argument. + +Before it was time to dress for dinner that evening, Guido received a +long letter from his aunt, written with her own hand, which probably +meant that Monsieur Leroy knew little or nothing of its contents. Guido +glanced at the pages, one after another, and saw that the whole letter +was in the writer's most affectionate manner. Then he read it carefully. +It had been so kind of him to be civil to her friends on the previous +day, said the Princess. He reminded her of his poor father, her dear +brother, who, in all his many misfortunes, had never once lost his +beautiful affability of temper and unfailing courtesy to every one about +him. + +This was very pretty, but Guido had heard that his father's beautiful +affability had sometimes been ruffled so far as to allow a certain +harmless violence, such as hurling a light chair at the head of a +faithful courtier and friend who gave him advice that was too good to be +taken, or summarily boxing the ears of his son and heir when the latter +was already over thirty years old. + +Guido sometimes wondered why he had not inherited some of that very +unroyal temper, which must have been such a thoroughly satisfactory +relief to the ex-king's feelings. He never felt the least desire to +dance with rage and throw the furniture about the room. + +His aunt's letter was evidently meant to please him and flatter his +vanity, and she did not once refer to matters of business. She asked his +opinion about a new novel he had not read yet, and had he thought of +leaving a card on the Countess Fortiguerra? She lived in the Palazzo +Massimo. What a strange girl the daughter was, to be sure! so very +unlike other girls that it was almost disquieting to talk with her. Of +course there was nothing real behind all that superficial talk about +lectures at the Sorbonne, and Nietzsche, and all that. Everybody +pretended to have read Nietzsche nowadays, and after all the girl might +be quite sensible. One could not help wondering what she would make of +her life, with her handsome fortune, and her odd ideas, and no one to +look after her except that dear, gentle, sweet-tempered, foolish mother, +who was in perpetual adoration before her! It would be a brave man who +would marry such a girl, the Princess wrote, in spite of her money; but +there was this to be said, he would not have any trouble with his +mother-in-law. + +Subtle, very subtle of the Princess, who left the subject there and +ended her letter by asking a favour of Guido. It was indeed only for the +sake of asking it, she explained, that she was writing to him at all. +Would he allow a great friend of hers to see his Andrea del Sarto? It +was the celebrated art critic, Doctor Baumgarten, of whom he had heard. +Leroy would bring him the next morning about ten o'clock, if Guido had +no objection. He need not answer; he must not take any trouble about the +matter. If he had an engagement at ten, perhaps he would leave orders +that the Doctor should be allowed to see the picture. + +Guido did not think at once of any good reason for refusing such a +request. He was very fond of his Andrea del Sarto; indeed, he liked it +much better than a small Raphael of undoubted authenticity which was +hung in another part of the room. The German critic was quite welcome to +see both, and perhaps knew something about prints which might be worth +learning. He was probably writing a book. Germans were always writing +books. Guido wrote a line to thank his aunt for her letter, and to say +that her friend would be welcome at the appointed hour. + +He was sealing the note when the door opened and Lamberto Lamberti came +in. + +"Will you come and dine with me?" he asked, standing still before the +writing table. + +"Let us dine here," answered Guido, without looking up, and examining +the little seal he had made on the envelope. "I daresay there is +something to eat." He held out the note to his servant, who stood in the +open doorway. "Send this at once," he said. + +"Yes," said Lamberti, answering the invitation. "I do not care whether +there is anything to eat or not, and it is always quiet here." + +"What is the matter?" asked Guido, looking at him attentively for the +first time since he had entered. "Yes," he added to his man, "Signor +Lamberti will dine with me." + +The servant disappeared and shut the door. Guido repeated his question, +but Lamberti only shook his head carelessly and relit his half-smoked +cigar. Guido watched him. He was less red than usual, and his eyes +glittered in the light of the wax match. His voice had sounded sharp and +metallic, as Guido had never heard it before. + +When two men are intimate friends and really trust each other they do +not overwhelm one another with questions. Each knows that each will +speak when he is ready, or needs help or sympathy. + +"I have just been answering a very balmy letter from my aunt," Guido +said, rising from the table. "Sweeter than honey in the honeycomb! Read +it. It has a distinctly literary and biographical turn. The allusion to +my father's gentle disposition is touching." + +Lamberti looked through the letter carelessly, dropped it on the table, +and sucked hard at his cigar. + +"What did you expect?" he asked, between two puffs. "For the present you +are the apple of her eye. She will handle you as tenderly as a new-laid +egg, until she gets what she wants!" + +Lamberti's similes lacked sequence, but not character. + +"The Romans," observed Guido, "began with the egg and ended with the +apple. I have an idea that we are going to do the same thing at dinner, +and that there will be nothing between. But we can smoke between the +courses." + +"Yes," answered Lamberti, who had not heard a word. "I daresay." + +Guido looked at him again, rather furtively. Lamberti never drank and +had iron nerves, but he was visibly disturbed. He was what people +vaguely call "not quite himself." + +Guido went to the door of his bedroom. + +"Where are you going?" asked Lamberti, sharply. + +"I am going to wash my hands before dinner," Guido answered with a +smile. "Do you want to wash yours?" + +"No, thank you. I have just dressed." + +He turned his back and went to the open window as Guido left the room. +In a few seconds his cigar had gone out again, and he was leaning on the +sill with both hands, staring at the twilight sky in the west. The +colours had all faded away to the almost neutral tint of straw-tempered +steel. + +The outline of the Janiculum stood out sharp and black in an uneven +line. Below, there were the scattered lights of Trastevere, the flowing +river, and the silence of the deserted Via Giulia. Lamberti looked +steadily out, biting his extinguished cigar, and his features contracted +as if he were in pain. + +He had come to his friend instinctively, as his friend would have come +to him, meaning to tell him what had happened. But he hesitated. +Besides, it might all have been only his imagination; in part it could +have been nothing else, and the rest was a mere coincidence. But he had +never been an imaginative man, and it was strange that he should be so +much affected by a mere illusion. + +He started and turned suddenly, sure that some one was close behind him. +But there was no one, and a moment later Guido came back. Anxious not to +annoy his friend by anything like curiosity, he made a pretence of +setting his writing table in order, turned one of the lamps down a +little--he hated electric light--and then looked at the picture over the +fireplace. + +"Did you ever hear of that Baumgarten, the German art critic?" he asked, +without turning round. + +"Baumgarten--let me see! I fancy I have seen the name to-day." Lamberti +tried to concentrate his attention. + +"You just read it in my aunt's letter," Guido answered. "You +remember--she asks if he may come to-morrow. I wonder why." + +"To value your property, of course," replied Lamberti, roughly. + +"Do you think so?" Guido did not seem at all surprised. "I daresay. She +is quite capable of it. She is welcome to everything I possess if she +will only leave me in peace. But just now, when she has evidently made +up her mind to marry me to this new heiress, it does not seem likely +that she would take trouble to find out what my pictures are worth, does +it?" + +"It all depends on what she thinks of the chances that you will marry or +not." + +"What do you think of them, yourself?" asked Guido, idly. + +He was glad of anything to talk about while Lamberti was in his present +mood. + +"What a question!" exclaimed the latter. "How should I know whether you +are going to fall in love with the girl or not?" + +"I am half afraid I am," said Guido, thoughtfully. + +His man announced dinner, and the two friends crossed the hall to the +little dining room, and sat down under the soft light of the +old-fashioned olive-oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. Everything on +the table was old, worn, and spotless. The silver was all of the style +of the first Empire, with an interlaced monogram surmounted by a royal +crown. The same device was painted in gold in the middle of the plain +white plates, which were more or less chipped at the edges. The glasses +and decanters were of that heavy cut glass, ornamented with gold lines, +which used to be made in Venice in the eighteenth century. Some of them +were chipped, too, like the plates. It had never occurred to Guido to +put the whole service away as a somewhat valuable collection, though he +sometimes thought that it was growing shabby. But he liked the old +things which had come to him from the ex-king, part of the furniture of +a small shooting box that had been left to him, and which he had sold to +an Austrian Archduke. + +Lamberti took a little soup and swallowed half a glass of white wine. + +"I had an odd dream last night," he said, "and I have had a little +adventure to-day. I will tell you by-and-by." + +"Just as you like," Guido answered. "I hope the adventure was not an +accident--you look as if you had been badly shaken." + +"Yes. I did not know that I could be so nervous. You see, I do not often +dream. I generally go to sleep when I lay my head upon the pillow and +wake when I have slept seven hours. At sea, I always have to be called +when it is my watch. Yes, I have solid nerves. But last night----" + +He stopped, as the man entered, bringing a dish. + +"Well?" enquired Guido, who did not suppose that Lamberti could have any +reason for not telling his dream in the presence of the servant. + +Lamberti hesitated a moment, and helped himself before he answered. + +"Do you believe in dreams?" he asked. + +"What do you mean? Do I believe that dreams come true? No. When they do, +it is a coincidence." + +"Yes. I suppose so. But this is rather more than a coincidence. I do not +understand it at all. After all, I am a perfectly healthy man. It never +occurred to you that my mind might be unbalanced, did it?" + +Guido looked at the rugged Roman head, the muscular throat, the broad +shoulders. + +"No," he answered. "It certainly never occurred to me." + +"Nor to me either," said Lamberti, and he ate slowly and thoughtfully. + +"My friend," observed Guido, "you are just a little enigmatical this +evening." + +"Not at all, not at all! I tell you that my nerves are good. You know +something about archæology, do you not?" + +The apparently irrelevant question came after a short pause. + +"Not much," Guido answered, supposing that Lamberti wished to change the +subject on account of the servant. "What do you want to know?" + +"Nothing," said Lamberti. "The question is, whether what I dreamt last +night was all imagination or whether it was a memory of something I once +knew and had forgotten." + +"What did you dream?" Guido sipped his wine and leaned back to listen, +hoping that his friend was going to speak out at last. + +"Was the temple of Vesta in the Forum?" enquired Lamberti. + +"Certainly." + +"But why did they always say that it was the round one in front of Santa +Maria in Cosmedin? I have an old bronze inkstand that is a model of it. +My mother used to tell me it was the temple of Vesta." + +"People thought it was--thirty years ago. There is nothing left of the +temple but the round mass of masonry on which it stood. It is between +the Fountain of Juturna and the house of the Vestals. I have Signor +Boni's plans of it. Should you like to see them?" + +"Yes--presently," answered Lamberti, with more eagerness than Guido had +expected. "Is there anything like a reconstruction of the temple or of +the house--a picture of one, I mean?" + +"I think so," said Guido. "I am sure there is Baldassare Peruzzi's +sketch of the temple, as it was in his day." + +"I dreamt that I saw it last night, the temple and the house, and all +the Forum besides, and not in ruins either, but just as everything was +in old times. Could the Vestals' house have had an upper story? Is that +possible?" + +"The archæologists are sure that it had," answered Guido, becoming more +interested. "Do you mean to say that you dreamt you saw it with an upper +story?" + +"Yes. And the temple was something like the one they used to call +Vesta's, only it was more ornamented, and the columns seemed very near +together. The round wall, just within the columns, was decorated with +curious designs in low relief--something like a wheel, and scallops, and +curved lines. It is hard to describe, but I can see it all now." + +Guido rose from his seat quickly. + +"I will get the number that has the drawing in it," he said, explaining. + +During the few moments that passed while he was out of the room Lamberti +sat staring at his empty place as fixedly as he had stared at the dark +line of the Janiculum a few minutes earlier. The man-servant, who had +been with him at sea, watched him with a sort of grave sympathy that is +peculiarly Italian. Then, as if an idea of great value had struck him, +he changed Lamberti's plate, poured some red wine into the tumbler, and +filled it up with water. Then he retired and watched to see whether his +old master would drink. But Lamberti did not move. + +"Here it is," said Guido, entering the room with a large yellow-covered +pamphlet open in his hands. "Was it like this?" + +As he asked the question he laid the pamphlet on the clean plate before +his friend. The pages were opened at Baldassare Peruzzi's rough +pen-and-ink sketch of the temple of Vesta; and as Lamberti looked at it, +his lids slowly contracted, and his features took an expression of +mingled curiosity and interest. + +"The man who drew that had seen what I saw," he said at last. "Did he +draw it from some description?" + +"He drew it on the spot," answered Guido. "The temple was standing then. +But as for your dream, it is quite possible that you may have seen this +same drawing in a shop window at Spithoever's or Loescher's, for +instance, without noticing it, and that the picture seemed quite new to +you when you dreamt it. That is a simple explanation." + +"Very," said Lamberti. "But I saw the whole Forum." + +"There are big engravings of imaginary reconstructions of the Forum, in +the booksellers' windows." + +"With the people walking about? The two young priests standing in the +morning sun on the steps of the temple of Castor and Pollux? The dirty +market woman trudging past the corner of the Vestals' house with a +basket of vegetables on her head? The door slave sweeping the threshold +of the Regia with a green broom?" + +"I thought you knew nothing about the Forum," said Guido, curiously. +"How do you come to know of the Regia?" + +"Did I say Regia? I daresay--the name came to my lips." + +"Somebody has hypnotised you," said Guido. "You are repeating things you +have heard in your sleep." + +"No. I am describing things I saw in my sleep. Am I the sort of man who +is easily hypnotised? I have let men try it once or twice. We were all +interested in hypnotism on my last ship, and the surgeon made some +curious experiments with a lad who went to sleep easily. But last night +I was at home, alone, in my own room, in bed, and I dreamt." + +Guido shrugged his shoulders a little indifferently. + +"There must be some explanation," he said. "What else did you dream?" + +Lamberti's lids drooped as if he were concentrating his attention on the +remembered vision. + +"I dreamt," he said, "that I saw a veiled woman in white come out of the +temple door straight into the sunlight, and though I could not see the +face, I knew who she was. She went down the steps and then up the others +to the house of the Vestals, and entered in without looking back. I +followed her. The door was open, and there was no one to stop me." + +"That is very improbable," observed Guido. "There must have always been +a slave at the door." + +"I went in," continued Lamberti without heeding the interruption, "and +she was standing beside one of the pillars, a little way from the door. +She had one hand on the column, and she was facing the sun; her veil was +thrown back and the light shone through her hair. I came nearer, very +softly. She knew that I was there and was not afraid. When I was close +to her she turned her face to mine. Then I took her in my arms and +kissed her, and she did not resist." + +Guido smiled gravely. + +"And she turned out to be some one you know in real life, I suppose," he +said. + +"Yes," answered Lamberti. "Some one I know--slightly." + +"Beautiful, of course. Fair or dark?" + +"You need not try to guess," Lamberti said. "I shall not tell you. My +head went round, and I woke." + +"Very well. But is it this absurd dream that has made you so nervous?" + +"No. Something happened to me to-day." + +Lamberti ate a few mouthfuls in silence, before he went on. + +"I daresay I might have invented some explanation of the dream," he said +at last. "But it only made me want to see the place. I never cared for +those things, you know. I had never gone down into the Forum in my +life--why should I? I went there this morning." + +"And you could not find anything of what you had seen, of course." + +"I took one of those guides who hang about the entrance waiting for +foreigners. He showed me where the temple had been, and the house, and +the temple of Castor and Pollux. I did not believe him implicitly, but +the ruins were in the right places. Then I walked up a bridge of boards +to the house of the Vestals, and went in." + +"But there was no lady." + +"On the contrary," said Lamberti, and his eyes glittered oddly, "the +lady was there." + +"The same one whom you had seen in your dream?" + +"The same. She was standing facing the sun, for it was still early, and +one of her hands was resting against the brick pillar, just as it had +rested against the column." + +"That is certainly very extraordinary," said Guido, his tone changing. +Then he seemed about to speak again, but checked himself. + +Lamberti rested his elbows on the table and his chin on his folded +hands, and looked into his friend's eyes in silence. His own face had +grown perceptibly paler in the last few minutes. + +"Guido," he said, after what seemed a long pause, "you were going to ask +what happened next. I do not know what you thought, nor what stopped +you, for between you and me there is no such thing as indiscretion, and, +besides, you will never know who the lady was." + +"I do not wish to guess. Do not say anything that could help me." + +"Of course not. Any woman you know might have taken it into her head to +go to the Forum this morning." + +"Certainly." + +"This is what happened. I stood perfectly still in surprise. She may +have heard my footstep or not; she knew some one was behind her. Then +she slowly turned her head till we could see each other's faces." + +He paused again, and passed one hand lightly over his eyes. + +"Yes," said Guido, "I suppose I can guess what is coming." + +"No!" Lamberti cried, in such a tone that the other started. "You cannot +guess. We looked at each other. It seemed a very long time--two or three +minutes at least--as if we were both paralysed. Though we recognised +each other perfectly well, we could neither of us speak. Then it seemed +to me that something I could not resist was drawing me towards her, but +I am sure I did not really move the hundredth part of a step. I shall +never forget the look in her face." + +Another pause, not long, but strangely breathless. + +"I have seen men badly frightened in battle," Lamberti went on. "The +cheeks get hollow all at once, the eyes are wide open, with black rings +round them, the face turns a greenish grey, and the sweat runs down the +forehead into the eyebrows. Men totter with fear, too, as if their +joints were unstrung. But I never saw a woman really terrified before. +There was a sort of awful tension of all her features, as though they +were suddenly made brittle, like beautiful glass, and were going to +shiver into fragments. And her eyes had no visible pupils--her lips +turned violet. I remember every detail. Then, without warning, she +shrieked and staggered backwards; and she turned as I moved to catch +her, and she ran like a deer, straight up the court, past those basins +they have excavated, and up two or three steps, to the dark rooms at the +other end." + +"And what did you do?" asked Guido, wondering. + +"My dear fellow, I turned and went back as fast as I could, without +exactly running, and I found the guide looking for me below the temple, +for he had not seen me go into the Vestals' house. What else was there +to be done?" + +"Nothing, I suppose. You could not pursue a lady who shrieked with fear +and ran away from you. What a strange story! You say you only know her +slightly." + +"Literally, very slightly," answered Lamberti. + +He had become fluent, telling his story almost excitedly. He now +relapsed into his former mood, and stared at the pamphlet before him a +moment, before shutting it and putting it away from him. + +"It is like all those things--perfectly unaccountable, except on a +theory of coincidence," said Guido, at last. "Will you have any cheese?" + +Lamberti roused himself and saw the servant at his elbow. + +"No, thank you. I forgot one thing. Just as I awoke from that dream last +night, I heard the door of my room softly closed." + +"What has that to do with the matter?" enquired Guido, carelessly. + +"Nothing, except that the door was locked. I always lock my door. I +first fell into the habit when I was travelling, for I sleep so soundly +that in a hotel any one might come in and steal my things. I should +never wake. So I turn the key before going to bed." + +"You may have forgotten to do it last night," suggested Guido. + +"No. I got up at once, and the key was turned. No one could have come +in." + +"A mouse, then," said Guido, rather contemptuously. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + +Cecilia Palladio was very much ashamed of having uttered a cry of terror +at the sight of Lamberti, and still more of having run away from him +like a frightened child. To him it seemed as if she had really shrieked +with fear, whereas she fancied that she had scarcely found voice enough +to utter an incoherent exclamation. The truth lay somewhere between the +two impressions, but Cecilia now felt that she could easily have +accounted for being startled into crying out, but that it would always +be impossible to explain her flight. She had run the whole length of the +Court, which must be fifty yards long, before realising what she was +doing, and had not paused for breath till she was out of his sight and +within the second of the three rooms on the left. There were no gates to +the rooms then, as there are now, and she could not have given any +reason for her entering the second instead of the first, which was the +nearest. The choice was instinctive. + +She certainly had not gone there to join the elderly woman servant who +had come to the Forum with her. That excellent and obedient person was +waiting where Cecilia had made her sit down, not far from the entrance +to the Forum, and would not move till her mistress returned. The young +girl hated to be followed about and protected at every step, especially +by a servant, who could have no real understanding of what she saw. + +"I shall only be seen by foreigners and Cook's Tourists," she had said, +"and they do not count as human beings at all!" + +Therefore the middle-aged Petersen, who was a German, and therefore a +species of foreigner herself, had meekly sat down upon the comparatively +comfortable stone which Cecilia had selected for her, and which was one +of the steps of the Julian Basilica. She was called Frau Petersen, Mrs. +Petersen, or Madame Petersen, according to circumstances, by the +servants of different nationalities who were successively in the +employment of the Countess Fortiguerra, for she was a superior woman and +the widow of a paymaster in the Bavarian army, and so eminently +respectable and well educated that she had more than once been taken for +Cecilia's governess. + +Petersen was excessively near-sighted, but her nose was not adapted by +its nature and position for wearing eyeglasses; for it was not only a +flat nose without anything like a prominent bridge to it, but it was +placed uncommonly low in her face, so that a pair of eyeglasses pinched +upon it would have found themselves in the region of Petersen's +cheek-bones. Even when she wore spectacles, they were always slipping +down, which was a great nuisance; so she resigned herself to seeing less +than other people, except when something interested her enough to make +the discomfort of glasses worth enduring. + +This sufficiently explains why she noticed nothing unusual in Cecilia's +looks when the latter came back to her, pale and disturbed; and she had +not heard her mistress's faint cry, the distance being too great for +that, not to mention the fact that the huge ruins intercepted the sound. +Cecilia was glad of that, as she drove home with Petersen. + +"Signor Lamberti has called," said the Countess Fortiguerra the next day +at luncheon. "I see by his card that he is in the Navy. You know he is +one of the Marchese Lamberti's sons. Shall we ask him to dinner?" + +"Did you like him?" enquired Cecilia, evasively. + +"He is not very good-looking," observed the Countess, whose judgment of +unknown people always began with their appearance, and often penetrated +no farther. "But he may be intelligent, for all that," she added, as a +concession. + +"Yes," said Cecilia, thoughtfully, "perhaps." + +"I think we might ask him to dinner, then," answered the Countess, as if +she had given an excellent reason for doing so. + +"Is it not rather early, considering that we have only met him once?" +Cecilia ventured to ask. + +"I used to know his mother very well, though she was older than I. It is +pleasant to find that he is so intimate with Signor d'Este. We might ask +them together." + +"After the garden party," suggested Cecilia. "Of course, as you and the +Marchesa were great friends, that is a reason for asking the other, but +Signor d'Este--really! It would positively be throwing me at his head, +mother!" + +"He expects it, my dear," answered the Countess, with more precision +than tact. "I mean," she added hastily, "I mean, that is, I did not +mean----" + +Cecilia laughed. + +"Oh yes, you did, mother! You meant exactly that, you know. You and that +dreadful old Princess have made up your minds that I am to marry him, +and nothing else matters, does it?" + +"Well," said the Countess, without any perceptible hesitation, "I cannot +help hoping that you will consent, for I should like the match very +much." + +She knew that it was always better to be quite frank with her daughter; +and even if she had thought otherwise, she could never have succeeded in +being diplomatic with her. While her second husband had been alive, her +position as an ambassadress had obliged her to be tactful in the world, +and even occasionally to say things which she had some difficulty in +believing, being a very simple soul; but with Cecilia she was quite +unable to conceal her thoughts for five minutes. If the girl loved her +mother, and she really did, it was largely because her mother was so +perfectly truthful. Cynical people called her helplessly honest, and +said that her veracity would have amounted to a disease of the mind if +she had possessed any; but that since she did not, it was probably a +form of degeneration, because all perfectly healthy human beings lied +naturally. David had said in his heart that all men were liars, and his +experience of men, and of women, too, was worth considering. + +"Yes," Cecilia said, after a thoughtful pause, "I know that you wish me +to marry Signor d'Este, and I have not refused to think of it. But I +have not promised anything, either, and I do not like to feel that he +expects me to be thrust upon him at every turn, till he is obliged to +offer himself as the only way of escaping the persecution." + +"I wish you would not express it in that way!" + +The Countess sighed and looked at her daughter with a sort of +half-comical and loving hopelessness in her eyes--as a faithful dog +might look at his master who, seeming to be hungry, would refuse to +steal food that was within reach. The dog would try to lead the man to +the bread, the man would gently resist; each would be obeying the +dictation of his own conscience--the man would know that he could never +explain his moral position to the dog, and the dog would feel that he +could never understand the man. Yet the affection between the two would +not be in the least diminished. + +On the next evening Cecilia found herself next to Guido d'Este at +dinner. Though she was not supposed to make her formal appearance in +society before the garden party, the Countess's many old friends, some +of whom had more or less impecunious sons, were anxious to welcome her +to Rome, and asked her to small dinners with her mother. Guido had +arrived late, and had not been able to speak to her till he was told by +their host that he was to take her in. It was quite natural that he +should, for, in spite of his birth, he was only plain Signor d'Este, and +was not entitled to any sort of precedence in a society which is, if +anything, overcareful in such matters. + +Neither spoke as they walked through the rooms, near the end of the +small procession. Guido glanced at the young girl, who knew that he did, +but paid no attention. He thought her rather pale, and there was no +light in her eyes. Her hand lay like gossamer on his arm, so lightly +that he could not feel it; but he was aware of her perfectly graceful +motion as she walked. + +"I suppose this was predestined," he said, as soon as the rest of the +guests were talking. + +She glanced at him quickly now, her head bent rather low, her eyebrows +arching higher than usual. He was not sure whether the little +irregularity of her upper lip was accentuated by amusement, or by a +touch of scorn. + +"Is it?" she asked. "Do you happen to know that it was arranged?" + +It was amusement, then, and not scorn. They understood each other, and +the ice was in no need of being broken again. + +"No," Guido answered with a smile. Then his voice grew suddenly low and +earnest. "Will you please believe that if I had been told beforehand +that I was asked in order to sit next to you, I would not have come?" + +Cecilia laughed lightly. + +"I believe you, and I understand," she answered. "But how it sounds! If +you had known that you were to sit next to me, nothing would have +induced you to come!" + +From her place next the master of the house, the Countess Fortiguerra +looked at them, and was pleased to see that they were already on good +terms. + +"Thank you," Cecilia added in a quiet voice, and gravely. "Besides," she +continued, "there is no reason, in the world why we should not be good +friends, is there?" + +She looked full at him now, without a smile, and he realised for the +first time how very young she was. A married woman with an instinct for +flirtation might have made the speech, but a girl older than Cecilia +would have known that it might be misunderstood. Guido answered her look +with one in which doubt did not keep the upper hand more than a single +second. + +"There is no reason whatever why we should not be the best of friends," +he answered, in a tone as low as her own. "Perhaps I may be of service +to you. I hope so. Besides, I am made for friendship!" + +He laughed rather carelessly as he spoke the last words, and glanced +round the table to see whether anybody was watching him. He met the +Countess Fortiguerra's approving glance. + +"Why do you laugh at friendship?" asked Cecilia, not quite pleased. + +"I do not laugh at friendship at all," Guido answered. "I laugh in order +that people may see me and hear me. This is the first service I can +render you, to be natural and unconcerned, as I generally am. If I +behaved in any unusual way--if I were too grave, or too much +interested--you understand!" + +"Yes. You are thoughtful. Thank you." + +There was a little pause, during which a luxuriant lady in green, who +sat on Guido's other side, determined to attract his attention, and +spoke to him; but before he could answer, some one opposite asked her a +question about dress, which was intensely interesting to her, because +she dressed abominably. She promptly fell into the snare which had been +set for her with the evil intention of leading her on to talk foolishly. +She followed at once, and Guido was free again. + +"Now that we are friends," he said to Cecilia, "may I ask you a friendly +question?" + +"Ask me anything you like," she answered, and her innocent eyes promised +him the truth. + +"Were you told anything, before we met at my aunt's the other day?" + +"Not a word! And you?" + +"Nothing," he replied. "I remember that on that very afternoon----" he +stopped short. + +"What?" + +"You may not like what I was going to say." + +"I shall, if it is true, and if you have a good reason for saying it." + +"Lamberti and I were together, talking, and I said that nothing would +ever induce me to marry an heiress, unless it were to save my father or +mother from ruin. As that can never happen, all heiresses are perfectly +safe from me! Do you mind my having said that?" + +"No. I am sure you were in earnest." + +A shadow had crossed her face at the mention of Lamberti's name. + +"You do not like my friend," he said, and as he spoke, the shadow came +again and deepened. + +"How can I like him or dislike him? I hardly know him." + +She felt very uncomfortable, for it would have been quite natural that +Lamberti should have spoken to Guido of her strange behaviour in the +Forum. Guido answered that one often liked or disliked people at first +sight. + +"I think that you and I liked each other as soon as we met," he +concluded. + +"Yes," Cecilia answered, after a little thought. "I am sure we did. Tell +me, what makes you think that I dislike your friend? I should be very +sorry if he thought I did." + +"When I first spoke of him a few moments ago, your expression changed, +and when I referred to him again, you frowned." + +"Is that all? Are you sure that is the only reason for your opinion?" + +Guido laughed a little. + +"What other reason could I have?" he asked. "Do not take it so +seriously!" + +"He might have told you that he himself had the impression----" + +"He has hardly mentioned your name since we both met you," Guido +answered. + +It was a relief to know that Lamberti had not spoken of having met her +unexpectedly, and of her cry, and of her flight. Yet somehow she had +already been sure that he had kept the matter to himself. As a matter of +fact, Guido had never thought of her, even in the most passing way, as +the possible heroine of the adventure in the Forum. The story had +interested him, but the personality of the lady did not; and, moreover, +from the way in which Lamberti had spoken, Guido had very naturally +supposed her to be a married woman, for it would not have occurred to +him that a young girl could be strolling among the ruins quite alone. + +Cecilia felt relieved, and yet, at the same time, she felt a little +girlish disappointment at the thought that Lamberti had hardly ever +spoken of her to his most intimate friend, for she was quite sure that +Guido told her the exact truth. She was angry with herself for being +disappointed, too. The man's face had haunted her so long in half-waking +dreams; or at least, a face exactly like his, which, the last time, had +turned into his without doubt. Yet she had evidently made no impression +upon him, until she had made a very bad one, the other day. She wondered +whether he thought she was a little mad. She was afraid of meeting him +wherever she went, and yet she now wished he were at the table, in order +that she might prove to him that she was not only sane, but very clever. +She knew that she wished it, and for a few moments she did not hear what +Guido was saying, but gazed absently at the flowers on the table, +unconsciously hoping that she might see them turn into the face she +feared; but that did not happen. + +Guido talked on, till he saw that she was not listening, and then he was +silent, and only glanced at her from time to time while he heard in his +ears the cackling of the vivid lady in green. There was going to be a +change in the destinies of womankind, and everybody was to be perfectly +frightful for ever afterwards. To be plain, the sleeves "they" were +wearing now were to be altogether given up. "They" had begun to wear the +new ones already in Paris. Réjane had worn them in her new piece, and of +course that meant an imminent and universal change. And as for the way +the skirts were to be made, it was positively indecent. Réjane was far +too much of a lady to wear one, of course, but one could see what was +coming. Here some one observed that coming events cast their shadows +before. + +"Not at all, not at all!" cried the lady in green. "I mean behind." + +"How long shall you stay in Rome?" Guido asked, to see whether Cecilia +would hear him now. + +"Always," she answered. "For the rest of my life." + +"I am glad of that. But I meant to ask how late you intended to stay +this year?" + +"I should like to spend the summer here." + +"It is the pleasantest time," Guido said. + +"Is it? Or are you only saying that in order to agree with me? You need +not, you know. I like people who have their own opinions, and are full +of prejudices, and try to force them upon everybody, whether they are +good for every one or not!" + +"I am afraid I shall not please you, then. I have no prejudices to speak +of, and my opinions are worth so little that I never hesitate to change +them." + +"But you do not look at all feeble-minded," said Cecilia, innocently +studying his face. + +"Thank you!" Guido laughed. "You are adorable!" he added rather +flippantly. + +"Is that your opinion?" asked the young girl, smiling, too, as if she +were pleased. + +"Yes. That is my firm opinion. Do you object to it?" + +"Oh no!" Cecilia answered, still smiling sweetly. "You have just told me +that your opinions are worth so little that you never hesitate to change +them. So why in the world should I object to any of them?" + +"Exactly," said Guido, unmoved. "Why should you? Especially as this +particular one gives me so much pleasure while it lasts." + +"It will not last long, I daresay. Do you know that you are not at all +dull?" + +"No one could be in your company." + +"That is the first dull thing you have said this evening," Cecilia +answered, to see what he would say. + +"Shall it be the last?" he asked. + +"Yes, please." + +There was a little wilful command in the tone that Guido liked. He felt +her presence in a way he did not remember to have felt that of any +woman, and in the atmosphere of her own in which she seemed to live he +breathed as one does in some very high places, less easily, perhaps, but +with conscious pleasure in drawing breath. He could not have described +his sensations in those first meetings with her, and he could have +analysed them less. One might as well seek the form and perfume of the +flower in the first tender shoot that thrusts up its joy of living out +of the mystery of the dull brown earth. Yet he knew well enough that +something was beginning to grow in him which had not begun, and grown, +and perished before. + +Many times he had talked with women famous for their beauty, or for +their charm, or for their wit, and he himself had said clever things +which he had remembered with a little vanity or had forgotten with +regret, and had turned compliments in many manners, guessing at the +taste of her who sat beside him, wishing to please her, and wishing even +more to find some general key to women's thought, some universal +explanation of their ways, some logical solution of their seemingly +inconsequent actions. His mind was of the sort that is satisfied by +suspended judgment, that dreads the chillingly triumphant phrase of +reason, "which was to be proved," as much as the despairing tone of a +reduction to the impossible. He loved problems that could not be solved +easily, if at all, because he could think of them continually in a +hundred new and different ways. He hated equally a final affirmation +past appeal, and an ultimate negation which might make his thoughts +ridiculous in his own eyes. A quiet suspense was his natural state of +equilibrium. Anything might be, or might not be, and decision was +hateful; it was delicious to float on the calm waters of meditative +indifference, between the giant rocks, hope and despair, in the straits +that lead the sea of life to the ocean of eternity. + +He knew that he was the end of a race that had reigned and could never +reign again. It was better that the end should be a question than a hope +deceived, or a cry of impotent hatred uttered against Something which +might not exist after all. If he had a philosophy it was that, and +nothing more; and though it was not much, it had helped him to live +without much pain and almost always with a certain dreamy, intellectual, +wondering pleasure in his own thoughts. Sometimes he was irritated out +of that state by the demands and doings of the Princess Anatolie, as on +the day when he and his friend had talked in the garden beyond the +river; and then he spoke of ending all at a stroke, and almost believed +that he might do it; and he envied Lamberti his love of life and action. +But such moods soon passed and left him himself again, so that he +marvelled how he could ever have been so much moved. It was always the +same, in the end, but such as it was the world was not a bad world for +him. + +Here was something different from all the past, and it had begun without +warning, and was growing against his will, because it fed on that with +which his will had nothing to do. There is no fatalism like that of the +indifferent man who believes in nothing, not even in himself, and who +admits nothing to be positive except crime and dishonour. Why should he +not fall in love with Cecilia Palladio, since he had previously stated +to himself, to her, and to his trusted friend, that nothing could induce +him to marry her? It was quite clear from the first that she, on her +side, would never fall in love with him. He looked upon that as +altogether out of the question, and perhaps with reason. On the other +hand, he had not the slightest faith in the lasting nature of anything +he might feel, and therefore he was not afraid of consequences, which +rarely indeed frighten a man who is doing what he likes. It is more +generally the woman that thinks of them, and points them out because +"there is still time!" She also heaps her scorn upon the man if he is +wise enough to agree with her; but that is a detail, and perhaps it +ought not to be mentioned. + +As for the fact that he was beginning to be in love, Guido no longer +doubted it. The pleasure he felt in saying to Cecilia things of even +less than average conversational merit was proof enough that it was not +only what he said that interested him. When a man of ordinary assurance +wishes to shine in the eyes of a woman, he generally succeeds at least +in shining in his own. + +Guido was not any more self-conscious than most people, and he was +certainly not more diffident of his own gifts, which he could judge +impartially because he attached little importance to what they might +bring him. But the categorical command to say nothing dull made it quite +impossible to say anything witty, and the conversation languished a +little and then broke off. + +It was past ten o'clock when Guido again found a chance of speaking to +Cecilia. He had looked at her more often than he knew, after dinner, and +had given rather vague answers to one or two people who had spoken to +him. He had moved about the great room idly, looking at the familiar old +portraits, and at objects he had known in the same places for years. He +had smoked a cigarette, standing with his host, while the latter talked +to him about the Etruscan tomb he had just discovered on his place, and +he had nodded pleasantly to the sound of the old gentleman's voice +without hearing a word. Then he had smoked another cigarette at the +opposite end of the room with a group of younger men, who talked of +nothing but motor cars; and when they asked his opinion about something, +he had said that he had none, and preferred walking, which speech caused +such a perceptible chill that he turned away and left the young men to +their discussion. + +All the while his eyes followed Cecilia's movements, and lingered upon +her when she stood still or sat down. In the course of the evening each +of the young men who talked about motor cars managed to try his luck at +a conversation with her, and all, by way of being original, talked to +her about the same thing. As she had just come from Paris, and was rich, +it was to be supposed that she, of course, owned a motor car, had passed +her examination as an engineer, and spent most of her time in a mask and +broad-visored cap scouring Europe at the rate of fifty miles an hour. + +"But why do you not get an automobile?" asked each of the young men, as +soon as her answer had disappointed him. + +"Do you play the violin?" she enquired sweetly of each. + +"No," each answered. + +"Then why do you not get a violin?" + +In this way she confounded the young men, and their heads moved uneasily +on the tops of their high collars, until they were able to get away from +her. + +Guido saw how they left her, with a discomfited expression, and as if +they had suddenly acquired the conviction that their clothes did not fit +them, for that is generally the first sensation experienced by a very +well-dressed young man when he has been made to feel that he is foolish. +Guido saw, and understood, and he was worldly wise enough to know that +unless Cecilia would show a little more willingness to seem pleased, she +would presently be sitting alone on a sofa, waiting for her mother to go +home. As soon as this inevitable result followed, he sat down beside +her. She turned her face slowly, when he had settled himself, and she +looked at him with slightly bent head, a little upwards, from under her +lids. The light that fell from a shaded lamp above her marked the sharp +curve of arching brows sharply against the warm shadow over the deep-set +and widely opened eyes. + +For a few seconds Guido returned the steady gaze, before he spoke. + +"Are you the Sphinx?" he asked suddenly. "Have you come to life again to +ask men your riddle?" + +"I ask it of myself," she answered softly, and then looked away. "I +cannot answer it." + +"Are you good or evil?" Guido asked, speaking again. + +The questions came to his lips as if some one else were asking them with +his voice. + +"Good--I think," answered the young girl, motionless beside him. "But I +might be very bad." + +"What is the riddle?" Guido enquired, and now he felt that he was +speaking out of his own curiosity, and not as the mouthpiece of some one +in a dream. "Do you ask yourself what it all means? I suppose so. We all +ask that, and we never get any answer." + +"It is too vague a question. It cannot have a definite answer. No. I ask +three questions which I found in a German book of philosophy when I was +a little girl. I tried hard to understand what all the rest of the book +was about, but I found on one page three questions, printed by +themselves. I can see the page now, and the questions were numbered one, +two, and three. I have asked them ever since." + +"What were they?" + +"They were these: 'What can I know? What ought I to do? What may I +hope?'" + +"There would be everything in the answers," Guido said, "for they are +big questions. I think I have answered them all in the negative in my +own life. I know nothing, I do nothing, and I hope nothing." + +Cecilia looked at him again. "I would not be you," she said gravely. "I +can do nothing, perhaps, and I am sure I know nothing worth knowing, but +I hope. I have that at least. I hope everything, with all my heart and +soul--everything, even things you could not dream of." + +"Help me to dream of them. Perhaps I might." + +"Then dream that faith is knowledge, that charity is action, and that +hope is heaven itself," answered Cecilia. + +Her voice was sweet and low, and far away as spirit land, and Guido +wondered at the words. + +"Where did you hear that?" he asked. + +"Ah, where?" she asked, almost sadly, and very longingly. "If I could +tell you that, I should know the great secret, the only secret ever yet +worth knowing. Where have we heard the voices that come back to us, not +in sleeping dreams only, but when we are waking, too, voices that come +back softly like evening bells across the sea, with the touch of hands +that lay in ours long ago, and faces that we know better than our own! +Where was it all, before the memory of it all was here?" + +"I have often wondered whether those impressions are memories," said +Guido. + +"What else could they be?" Cecilia asked, her tone growing colder at +once. + +Guido had been happy in listening to her talk, with its suggestion of +fantastical extravagance, but he had not known how to answer her, nor +how to lead her on. He felt that the spell was broken, because something +was lacking in himself. To be a magician one must believe in magic, +unless one would be a mere conjurer. Guido at least knew enough not to +answer the girl's last question with a string of so-called scientific +theories about atavism and transmitted recollections. If he had taken +that ground he would have been surprised to find that Cecilia Palladio +was quite as familiar with it as himself. + +"I am afraid," he said, "that I am not fit to talk with you about such +things. You start from a point which I can never hope to reach, and +instead of coming down to me, you rise higher and higher, almost out of +my sight. I am afraid that if our friendship is to be real, it will be a +one-sided bond." + +"How do you mean?" asked the young girl, who had listened. + +"It will mean much more to me than it ever can to you." + +"No," Cecilia answered. "I think I shall like you very much." + +"I like you very much already," said Guido, smiling. "I have an amusing +idea." + +"Have you? What is it? Neither of us has been very amusing this +evening." + +"Suppose that we take advantage of the Princess's conspiracy. Shall we?" + +"My mother is the other conspirator!" Cecilia laughed. + +"Is there any harm in letting people see that we like each other?" Guido +asked. + +"None in the least. Every one hopes that we may. Besides----" she stopped +short. + +"What is the other consideration?" Guido enquired. + +"If I am perfectly frank--brutally frank--shall you be less my friend?" + +"No. Much more." + +"I do not wish to marry at all," said Cecilia, and again she reminded +him of the Sphinx. "But if I ever should change my mind, since you and I +have been picked out to make a match, I suppose I might as well marry +you as any one else." + +"Oh, quite as well!" + +Then Guido laughed, as he rarely did, not loudly, but with all his +heart, and Cecilia did not try to check her amusement either. + +"I suppose it really is very funny," she said. + +"The only thing necessary is that no one should ever guess that we have +made a compact. That would be fatal." + +"No one!" cried the young girl, eagerly. "No one! Not even your friend!" + +"Lamberti? No, least of all, Lamberti!" + +"Why do you say, least of all?" + +"Because you do not like him," Guido answered, with perfect sincerity. + +"Oh! I see. I am not sure, of course, but I am glad you do not mean to +tell him. It would make me nervous to think that he might know. I--I am +not quite certain why it makes me nervous, but it does." + +"Have no fear. When shall I see you?" + +He had noticed that Cecilia's mother was beginning that little comedy of +movements, and glances, and uneasy turnings of the head, by which +mothers of marriageable daughters signify their intention of going home. +The works of a clock probably act in the same way before striking. + +"I will make my mother ask you to dinner. Are you free to-morrow night?" + +"Any night." + +"No--I mean really. Are you?" + +"Yes, really. Lamberti does not count, for we generally dine together +when we have no other engagement." + +The shadow again flitted across Cecilia's brow, and she said nothing, +only nodding quickly. Then she looked across the room at her mother. +Young girls are always instantly aware that their mothers are making +signs. When Nelson's commander-in-chief signalled to him at the battle +of Copenhagen the order to retire, Nelson put his spy-glass to his blind +eye and assured his officers that he could see nothing, went on, and won +the fight. Every young girl is totally blind of one eye during periods +that vary between ten minutes and three hours. + +Cecilia having recovered her sight, and seen her mother, rose with +obedient alacrity. + +"Good night," she said to Guido. "I am glad we are friends." + +Their glances met for a moment, and Guido made an imperceptible gesture +to put out his hand, but she did not answer it. He thought her refusal a +little old-fashioned, since young girls now shake hands in Italy more +often than not; but he liked her ways, chiefly because they were hers, +and, moreover, he remembered just then that at her age she was supposed +to be barely out of the schoolroom or the convent. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + +"Spiritualism, your Highness, is the devil, without doubt," said the +learned ecclesiastical archæologist, Don Nicola Francesetti, in an +apologetic tone, and looking at his knees. "If there is anything more +heretical, it is a belief in a possible migration of souls from one body +to another, in a series of lives." + +The Princess Anatolie smiled at the excellent man and exchanged a glance +of compassionate intelligence with Monsieur Leroy. She did not care a +straw what the Church thought about anything except Protestants and +Jews, and she did not believe that Don Nicola cared either. He chanced +to be a priest, instead of a professor, and it was of course his duty to +protest against heresy when it was thrust under his cogitative +observation. Spiritualism was not exactly heresy, therefore he said it +was the devil, and no mistake; but as she was sure that he did not +believe in the devil, that only proved that he did not believe in +spiritualism. + +In this she was mistaken, however, as people often are in their judgment +of priests. Nicola Francesetti had long ago placed his conscience in +safety, so to speak, by telling himself that he was not a theologian, +but an archæologist, and that as he could not afford to divide his time +and his intelligence between two subjects, where one was too vast, it +was therefore his plain duty to think about all questions of religion as +the Church taught him to think. He admitted that if his life could begin +again he would perhaps not again enter the priesthood, but he would +never have conceded that he could have been anything but a believing +Catholic. He had no vocation whatever for saving souls, whereas he +possessed the archæological gift in a high degree; and yet, as a +clergyman and a good Christian, he was convinced at heart that a man in +holy orders had no right to give his whole life and strength to another +profession. He had asked the advice of a wise and good man on this +point, however, and the theologian had thought that he should continue +to live as he was living. Had he a cure? No, he had none. Had he ever +evaded a priest's work? That is, had work been offered to him where a +priest was needed, and where he could have done active good, and had he +refused because it was distasteful to him? No, never. Was he receiving +any stipend for performing a priest's duties, with the tacit +understanding that he was at liberty to pay an impecunious substitute a +part of the money for taking his place, so that he himself profited by +the transaction? No, certainly not. Don Nicola had a sufficient income +of his own to live on. Had he ever made a solemn promise to devote his +life to missionary labours among the heathen? No. + +"In that case, my dear friend," concluded the theologian, "you are +tormenting yourself with perfectly useless scruples. You are making a +mountain of your molehill, and when you have made your mountain you will +not be satisfied until you have made another beside it. In the course of +time you will, in fact, oppress your innocent conscience with a whole +range of mountains; you will be immobilised under the weight, and then +you will become hateful to yourself, useless to others, and an object of +pity to wise men. Stick to your archæology." + +"Is pure study a good in itself?" asked Don Nicola. + +"What is good?" retorted the theologian viciously. "I wish you would +define it!" + +Don Nicola was silent, for though he could think of a number of synonyms +for the conception, he remembered no definition corresponding to any of +them. He waited. + +"Good and goodness are not the same thing," observed the theologian; +"you might as well say that study and knowledge are the same thing." + +"But study should lead to knowledge." + +"And goodness should lead to good; and, compared with ignorance, +knowledge is a form of good. Therefore study is a form of goodness. +Consequently, as you have a turn for erudition, the best thing you can +do is to go on with your studies." + +"I see," said Don Nicola. + +"I wish I did," sighed the theologian, when the priest was gone. "How +very pleasant it must be, to be an archæologist!" + +After that, whenever Don Nicola was troubled with uneasiness about his +profession, he soothed himself with his friend's little syllogism, which +was as full of holes as a sieve, as flimsy as a tissue-paper balloon, +and as unstable as a pyramid upside down, but nevertheless perfectly +satisfactory. + +"Of course," says humanity, "I know nothing about it. But I am perfectly +sure." + +And so forth. And moreover, if humanity were not frequently quite sure +of things concerning which it knows nothing, the world would soon come +to a standstill, and never move again; like the ass in the fable, that +died of hunger in its stall between two bundles of hay, unable to decide +which to eat first. That also was an instance of stable equilibrium. + +Don Nicola avoided all questions of religion in general conversation, +and tried to make other people avoid them when he was the only clergyman +present, because he did not like to be asked his opinion about them. But +when the Princess Anatolie and Monsieur Leroy gravely declared their +belief in the communications of departed persons by means of rappings, +not to say by touch, and by strains of music, and perfumes, and even, on +rare occasions, by actual apparition, then Don Nicola felt that it was +his duty to protest, and he accordingly protested with considerable +energy. He said that spiritualism was the devil. + +"The chief object of the devil's existence," observed Monsieur Leroy, +"is to bear responsibility." + +The Princess laughed and nodded her approval, as she always did when +Monsieur Leroy said anything which she thought clever. Don Nicola was +too wise to discuss the matter, if, indeed, it admitted of discussion; +for the devil was certainly responsible for a good deal. + +"Your definition of spiritualism is so very liberal," Monsieur Leroy +added, with a fine supercilious smile on his red lips. + +"It is not mine," answered Don Nicola, modestly. + +"No. I suppose it is the opinion of the Church. At all events, you do +not doubt the possibility of communicating with the spirits of dead +persons, do you?" + +"I have never examined the matter, my dear sir." + +"It seems to me," said Monsieur Leroy, with airy superiority, "that it +is rather rash to attribute to Satan everything which you will not take +the trouble to examine." + +"Hush, Doudou!" cried the Princess. "You are very rude!" + +"Not at all, not at all, your Highness!" protested Don Nicola, rising. +"I should be very much surprised if Monsieur Leroy expressed himself +differently." + +Monsieur Leroy had no retort ready, and tried to smile. + +"It will give me the greatest pleasure to be your guide to the new +excavations in the Forum," added the priest, as he took his leave. + +The Princess and Monsieur Leroy were left alone. + +"Shall we?" he asked after a moment's silence, and waited anxiously for +the answer. + +"I am afraid They will not come to-night, Doudou," said the Princess. +"You have excited yourself in argument. You know that always has a bad +effect." + +"That man irritates me," answered Monsieur Leroy, peevishly. "Why do you +receive him?" + +He spoke in the tone of a spoilt child--a spoilt child of forty, or +thereabouts. + +"I thought you liked him," replied the Princess, very meekly. "I will +give orders that he is not to be received. We will not go to the Forum +with him." + +"No, no! How you exaggerate! You always think that I mean a great deal +more than I say. I only said that he irritated me." + +"Why should you be irritated for nothing? You know it is bad for you." + +She looked at him with an air of concern, and there was a gentleness in +her eyes which few had ever seen in them. + +"It does not matter," answered Monsieur Leroy, crossly. + +He had risen, and he brought a very small and light mahogany table from +a corner. It was one of those which used to be made during the second +Empire in sets of six and of successive sizes, so that each fitted each +under the next larger one. He moved awkwardly and yet without noise; +there was something very womanish in his figure and gait. + +He set the little table before the Princess, very close to her, lit a +single candle, which he placed on the floor behind an arm-chair, and +turned out the electric light. Then he sat down on the opposite side of +the table and spread out his hands upon it, side by side, the right +thumb resting on the left. The Princess did the same. They glanced at +each other once or twice, hardly distinguishing each other's features in +the gloom. Then they looked steadily down upon the table, and neither +stirred for a long time. + +"I am sure They will not come," said the Princess at last, in a very low +voice. + +"Hush!" + +Silence again, for a quarter of an hour. Somewhere in the room a small +clock, or a watch, ticked quickly, with a little rhythmical, insisting +accent on the fourth beat. + +"It moved, then!" whispered the Princess, excitedly. + +"Yes. Hush!" + +The little table certainly moved, with a queerly soft rocking motion, as +if its feet only just touched the carpet and supported no weight. The +Princess's hands felt as if they were floating over tiny rippling waves, +and between her shoulders came the almost stinging thrill she loved. She +wished that the room were quite dark now, in order that she might feel +more. There were tiny beads of perspiration on Monsieur Leroy's +forehead, and his hands were moist. The candle behind the arm-chair +flickered. + +"Are You there?" asked Monsieur Leroy, in a voice unlike his own. + +There was no answer. The table moved more uneasily. + +"Rap once for 'yes,' twice for 'no,'" said Monsieur Leroy. "Is this the +first time you have come to us?" + +One rap answered the question, sharp and clear, as if the butt of a +pencil had struck the table underneath it and near the middle. + +"Are you the spirit of a man?" + +Two raps very distinct. + +"Then you are a woman. Tell us----" + +Several raps came in quick succession, in pairs, as if to repeat the +negative energetically. Monsieur Leroy seemed to hesitate what question +to ask. + +"Perhaps it is a child," suggested the Princess, in a tremulous tone. + +A sharp rap. Yes, it was a child. Was it a little girl? Yes. Had it been +dead long? Yes. More than ten years? Yes. More than twenty? Yes. Fifty? +No. Forty? Yes. + +Monsieur Leroy began to count, pausing after each number. + +"Forty-one--forty-two--forty-three--forty-four----" + +The sharp rap again. The Princess drew a quick breath. + +"How old was it when it died?" she managed to ask. + +Monsieur Leroy began to count again, beginning with one. At the word +seven, the rap came. The Princess started violently, almost upsetting +the table against her companion. + +"Adelaide!" She cried in a broken voice. + +One rap. + +"Oh, my darling, my darling!" + +The old woman bent down over the table, and her outspread hands tried +frantically to take up the flat surface, and she kissed the polished +wood passionately, again and again, not knowing what she did, nor +hearing her own incoherent words of mixed joy and agony. + +"My child! My little thing--my sweet--speak to me----" + +Her whole being was convulsed. Little storms of rappings seemed to +answer her. The perspiration trickled down Monsieur Leroy's temples. He +seemed to be making an effort altogether beyond his natural strength. + +"Speak to me--call me by the little name!" sobbed the Princess, and her +tears wet her hands and the table. + +Monsieur Leroy began to repeat the alphabet. From time to time a rap +stopped him at a letter, and then he began over again. In this way the +rapping spelt out the word "Mamette." + +"She says 'Mamette,'" said Monsieur Leroy, in a puzzled tone. "Does that +mean anything?" + +But the Princess burst into passionate weeping. It was the name she had +asked for, the child's own pet name for her, its mother; it was the last +word the poor little dying lips had tried to form. Never since that +moment had the heart-broken woman spoken it, never since the fourth year +before Monsieur Leroy had been born. + +He looked at her, for he seemed to have preserved his self-control, and +he saw that if matters went much further the poor sobbing woman would +reach a state which might be dangerous. He withdrew his hands from the +table and waited. + +"She is gone, but she will come again now, whenever you call her," he +said gently. + +"No, do not go!" cried the Princess, clutching at the smooth wood +frantically. "Come back, come back and speak to me once more!" + +"She is gone, for to-night," said Monsieur Leroy, in the same gentle +tone. "I am very much exhausted." + +He pressed his handkerchief to his forehead and to his temples, again +and again, while the Princess moaned, her cheek upon the table, as she +had once let it rest upon the breast of her dead child. + +Monsieur Leroy rose cautiously, fearing to disturb her. He was trembling +now, as men sometimes do who have escaped alive from a great danger. He +steadied himself by the back of the arm-chair, behind which the candle +was burning steadily. With an effort, he stooped and took up the +candlestick and set it on the table. Then he looked at his watch and saw +that it was past eleven o'clock. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + +It was some time since Guido had seen Lamberti, but the latter had +written him a line to say that he was going with a party of men to stop +in an old country house near the seashore, not far from Cività Vecchia. +The quail were very abundant in May that year, and Lamberti was a good +shot. He had left home suddenly on the morning after telling Guido the +story of his adventure in the Forum. Guido had at first been mildly +surprised that his friend should not have spoken of his intention on +that evening; but some one had told him that the party had been made up +at the club, late at night, which accounted for everything. + +Guido was soon too much occupied to miss the daily companionship, and +was glad to be alone, when he could not be with Cecilia. He no longer +concealed from himself that he was very much in love with her, and that, +compared with this fact, nothing in his previous life had been of any +importance whatever. Even the circumstances of his position with regard +to his aunt sank into insignificance. She might do what she pleased, she +might try to ruin him, she might persecute him to the extreme limit of +her ingenuity, she might invent calumnies intended to disgrace him; he +was confident of victory and sure of himself. + +One of the first unmistakable signs of genuine love is the certainty of +doing the impossible. An hour before meeting Cecilia, Guido had been +reduced to the deepest despondency, and had talked gravely of ending a +life that was not worth living. A fortnight had passed, and he defied +his aunt, Monsieur Leroy, the whole world, an adverse fate, and the +powers of evil. They might do their worst, now, for he was full of +strength, and ten times more alive than he had ever been before. + +It was true that he could not see the smallest change in Cecilia's +manner towards him since the memorable evening on which she had +laughingly agreed to take advantage of what was thrust upon them both. +Her colour did not change by the least shade of a blush when she met +him; there was not the slightest quivering of the delicate eyelids, +there was nothing but the most friendly frankness in the steady look of +welcome. But she liked him very much, and was at no pains to conceal it. +She liked him better than any one she had ever met in her short life, +except her stepfather, and she told Guido so with charming unconcern. +As he could not be jealous of the dead ambassador, he was not at all +discouraged by the comparison. Sometimes he was rather flattered by it, +and he could not but feel that he had already acquired a position from +which any future suitor would find it hard to dislodge him. + +The Countess Fortiguerra looked on with wondering satisfaction. Her +daughter had not led her to believe that she would readily accept what +must soon be looked upon by society as an engagement, and what would +certainly be one before long. When Guido went to see his aunt, she +received him with expansive expressions of affection. + +He noticed a change in the Princess, which he could only explain by the +satisfaction he supposed she felt in his conduct. There were times when +her artificial face softened with a look of genuine feeling, especially +when she was silent and inattentive. Guido knew her well enough, he +thought, to impute these signs to her inward contentment at the prospect +of his marriage, from which she was sure of extracting notable financial +advantage. But in this he was not just, though he judged from long +experience. Monsieur Leroy alone knew the secret, and he kept his own +counsel. + +An inquisitive friend asked the Countess Fortiguerra boldly whether she +intended to announce the engagement of her daughter at the garden party. + +"No," she answered, without hesitation, "that would be premature." + +She was careful, in a way, to do nothing irrevocable--never to take +Guido into her carriage, not to ask him to dinner when there were other +guests, not to leave him alone with Cecilia when there was a possibility +of such a thing being noticed by the servants, except by the discreet +Petersen, who could be trusted, and who strongly approved of Guido from +the first. But when it was quite safe, the Countess used to go and sit +in a little boudoir adjoining the drawing-room, leaving the doors open, +of course, and occupying herself with her correspondence; and Guido and +Cecilia talked without restraint. + +The Countess had enough womanly and instinctive wisdom not to ask +questions of her daughter at this stage, but on the day before the +long-expected garden party she spoke to Guido alone, in a little set +speech which she had prepared with more conscientiousness than +diplomatic skill. + +"You have seen," she said, "that I am always glad to receive you here, +and that I often leave you and Cecilia together in the drawing-room. +Dear Signor d'Este, I am sure you will understand me if I ask you +to--to--to tell me something." + +She had meant to end the sentence differently, rounding it off with +"your intentions with regard to my daughter"; but that sounded like +something in a letter, so she tried to make it more vague. But Guido +understood, which is not surprising. + +"You have been very kind to me," he said simply. "I love your daughter +sincerely, and if she will consent to marry me I shall do my best to +make her happy. But, so far, I have no reason to think that she will +accept me. Besides, whether you know it already or not, I must tell you +that I am a poor man. I have no fortune whatever, though I receive an +allowance by my father's will, which is enough for a bachelor. It will +cease at my death. Your daughter could make a very much more brilliant +marriage." + +The good Countess had listened in silence. The Princess, for reasons of +her own, had explained Guido's position with considerable minuteness, if +not with scrupulous accuracy. + +"Cecilia is rich enough to marry whom she pleases," the Countess +answered. "Even without considering her inclinations, your social +position would make up for your want of fortune." + +"My social position is not very exalted," Guido answered, smiling at her +frankness. "I am plain 'Signor d'Este,' without any title whatsoever, or +without the least prospect of one." + +"But your royal blood----" protested the Countess. + +"I am more proud of the fact that my mother was an honest woman," +replied Guido, quietly. + +"Yes--oh--of course!" The Countess was a little abashed. "But you know +what I mean," she added, by way of making matters clear. "And as for +your fortune--I would say, your allowance, and all that--it really does +not matter. It is natural that you should have made debts, too. All +young men do, I believe." + +"No," said Guido. "I have not a debt in the world." + +"Really?" + +The single word sounded more like an exclamation of extreme surprise +than like an interrogation, and the Countess, who was incapable of +concealment, stared at Guido for a moment in undisguised astonishment. + +"Why are you so much surprised?" he asked, with evident amusement. "My +allowance is fifty thousand francs a year. That is not wealth, but it is +quite enough for me." + +"Yes. I should think so. That is--of course, it is not much--is it? I +never know anything about money, you know! Baron Goldbirn manages +everything for us." + +"I suppose," Guido said, looking at her curiously, "that some one must +have told you that I had made debts." + +"Yes--yes! Some one did tell me so." + +"Whoever said it was quite mistaken. I can easily satisfy you on that +point, for I am a very orderly person. I used to play high when I was +twenty-one, but I got tired of it, and I do not care for cards any +longer." + +"It is very strange, all the same!" The Countess was still wondering, +though she believed him. "How people lie!" she exclaimed. + +"Oh, admirably, and most of the time," Guido answered, with a little +laugh. + +There was a short pause. He also was wondering who could have maligned +him. No doubt it must have been some designing mother who had a son to +marry. + +"Forgive me," he said at last. "I have told you exactly what my position +is. Have you, on your side, any reason to think that your daughter will +consent?" + +"Oh, I am sure she will!" answered the Countess, promptly. + +Guido repressed a movement, and for an instant the colour rose faintly +in his face, then sank away. + +"Quite sure?" he asked, controlling his voice. + +"I mean, in the end, you know. She will marry you in the end. I am +convinced of it. But I think I had better not ask her just yet." + +There were matters in regard to which she was distinctly afraid of her +daughter. + +"May I?" Guido enquired. "Will you let me ask her to marry me, when I +think that the time has come?" + +"Certainly! That is----" The Countess believed that she ought to hesitate. +"After all, we have only known you a fortnight. That is not long. Is +it?" + +"No. But, on the other hand, you had never seen me when you and my aunt +agreed that your daughter and I should be married." + +"How did you know that we had talked about it?" + +"It was rather evident," Guido answered, with a smile. + +The artlessness which is often a charm in a young girl looks terribly +like foolishness if it lasts till a woman is forty. Yet in old age it +may seem charming again, as if second childhood brought with it a second +innocence. + +Guido was an Italian only by his mother, and from his father he +inherited the profoundly complicated character of races that had ruled +the world for a thousand years or more, and not always either wisely or +justly. Under his indifference and quiet dislike of all action, as well +as of most emotions, he had always felt the conflicting instincts +towards good and evil, and the contempt of consequences bordering on +folly, if not upon real insanity, which had brought about the decline +and fall of his father's kingdom. The perfect simplicity of the real +Italian character when in a state of equilibrium always amused him, and +often pleased him, and he had a genuine admiration for the splendidly +violent contrasts which it develops when roused by passion. He could +read it like an open book, and predict what it would do in almost any +circumstances. + +For the first time in his life, he felt something of its directness in +himself, moving to a definite aim through the maze of useless +complications, hesitations, and turns and returns of thought with which +he was familiar in his own character. He smiled at the idea that he +might end by resembling Lamberti, with whom to think was to feel, and to +feel was to act. Were there two selves in him, of which the one was in +love, and the other was not? That was an amusing theory, and a fortnight +ago it would have been pleasant to sit in his room at night, among his +Dürers, his Rembrandts, and his pictures, with an old book on his knee, +dreaming about his two conflicting individualities. But somehow dreaming +had lost its charm of late. He thought only of one question, and asked +only one of the future. Was Cecilia Palladio's friendship about to turn +into anything that could be called love, or not? His intention warned +him that if the change had come she herself was not conscious of it. He +was authorised to ask her, now that the Countess had spoken--formally +authorised, but he was quite sure that if he had believed that she +already loved him, he would not have waited for any such permission. His +father's blood resented the restraint of all ordinary conventions, and +in the most profound inaction he had always morally and inwardly +reserved the right to do what he pleased, if he should ever care to do +anything at all. + +He was just going to dress for dinner that evening when Lamberti came +in, a little more sunburned than usual, but thinner, and very restless +in his manner. Guido explained that he was going to dine with the +Countess Fortiguerra. He offered to telephone for permission to bring +Lamberti with him. + +"Do you know them well enough for that already?" Lamberti asked. + +"Yes. I have seen them a great deal since you left. Shall I ask?" + +"No, thank you. I shall dine at home with my people." + +"Shall you go to the garden party to-morrow?" + +"No." + +Guido looked at him curiously, and he immediately turned away, unlike +himself. + +"Have you had any more strange dreams since I saw you?" Guido asked. + +"Yes." + +Lamberti did not turn round again, but looked attentively at an etching +on the table, so that Guido could not see his face. His monosyllabic +answers were nervous and sharp. It was clear that he was under some kind +of strain that was becoming intolerable, but of which he did not care to +speak. + +"How is it going?" he asked suddenly. + +"I think everything is going well," answered Guido, who knew what he +meant, though neither of them had spoken to the other of Cecilia, except +in the most casual way, since they had both met her. + +"So you are going to marry an heiress after all," said Lamberti, with +something like a laugh. + +"I love her," Guido replied. "I cannot help the fact that she is rich." + +"It does no harm." + +"Perhaps not, but I wish she had no more than I. If she had nothing at +all, I should be just as anxious to marry her." + +"You do not suppose that I doubt that, do you?" Lamberti asked quickly. + +"No. But you spoke at first as if you were reproaching me for changing +my mind." + +"Did I? I am sorry. I did not mean it in that way. I was only thinking +that fate generally makes us do just what we do not intend. There is +something diabolically ingenious about destiny. It lies in wait for you, +it seems to leave everything to your own choice, it makes you think that +you are a perfectly free agent, and then, without the least warning, it +springs at you from behind a tree, knocks you down, tramples the breath +out of you, and drags you off by the heels straight to the very thing +you have sworn to avoid. Man a free agent? Nonsense! There is no such +thing as free will." + +"What in the world has happened to you?" Guido asked, by way of answer. +"Is anything wrong?" + +"Everything is wrong. Good night. You ought to be dressing for dinner." + +"Come with me." + +"To dine with people whom I hardly know, and who have not asked me? +Besides, I told you that I meant to dine at home." + +"At least, promise me that you will go with me to-morrow to the Villa +Madama." + +"No." + +"Look here, Lamberti," said Guido, changing his tone, "you and I have +known each other since we were boys, and I do not believe there exist +two men who are better friends. I am not sure that the Contessina +Palladio will marry me, but her mother wishes it, and heaven knows that +I do. They are both perfectly well aware that you are my most intimate +friend. If you absolutely refuse to go near them they can only suppose +that you have something against them. They have already asked me if they +are never to see you. Now, what will it cost you to be decently civil to +a lady who may be my wife next year, and to her mother, who was your +mother's friend long ago? You need not stay half an hour at the villa +unless you please. But go with me. Let them see you with me. If I really +marry, do you suppose I am going to have any one but you for my best +man?" + +Lamberti listened to this long speech without attempting to interrupt +Guido. Then he was silent for a few moments. + +"If you put it in that light," he said, rising to go, "I cannot refuse. +What time shall you start? I will come here for you." + +"Thank you," said Guido. "I should like to get there early. At four +o'clock, I should say. I suppose we ought not to leave here later than +half-past three." + +"Very well. I shall be here in plenty of time. Good night." + +When Guido pressed his hand, it was icy cold. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + +On the following morning Lamberti went out early, and before nine +o'clock he was in the private study of a famous physician, who was a +specialist for diseases of the nerves. Lamberti had never seen him and +had not asked for an appointment, for the simple reason that his visit +was spontaneous and unpremeditated. He had spent a wretched night, and +it suddenly struck him that he might be ill. As he had never been ill in +his life except from two or three wounds got in fight, he had been slow +to admit that anything could be wrong with his physical condition. But +it was possible. The strongest men sometimes fell ill unaccountably. A +good doctor would see the truth at a glance. + +The specialist was a young man, squarely built, with a fresh complexion, +smooth brown hair, and a well-trimmed chestnut beard. At first sight, no +one would have noticed anything remarkable in his appearance, except, +perhaps, that he had unusually bright blue eyes, which had a fixed look +when he spoke earnestly. + +"I am a naval officer," said Lamberti, as he took the seat the doctor +offered him. "Can you tell me whether I am ill or not? I mean, whether I +have any bodily illness. Then I will explain what brings me." + +The doctor looked at him keenly a few seconds, felt his pulse, pressed +one ear on his waistcoat to listen to his heart, and then against his +back, made him face the light and gently drew down the lower lids of his +eyes, and finally stood off and made a sort of general survey of his +appearance. Then he made him stretch out one hand, with the fingers +spread out. There was not the least tremor. Last of all, he asked him to +shut his eyes tightly and walk slowly across the room, turn round, and +walk back. Lamberti did so, steadily and quietly. + +"There is nothing wrong with your body," said the doctor, sitting down. +"Before you tell me why you come here, I should like to know one thing +more. Do you come of sound and healthy people?" + +"Yes. My father is the Marchese Lamberti. My brothers and sisters are +all alive and well. So far as I know, there was never any insanity in my +family." + +"Were your father and mother cousins?" enquired the doctor. + +"No." + +"Very good. That is all I need to know. I am at your service. What is +the matter?" + +"If we lived in the Middle Ages," said Lamberti, "I should say that I +was possessed by the devil, or haunted." He stopped and laughed oddly. + +"Why not say so now?" asked the doctor. "The names of things do not +matter in the least. Let us say that you are haunted, if that describes +what troubles you. Very good. What haunts you?" + +"A young girl," Lamberti answered, after a moment's pause. + +"Do you mean that you see, or think you see, the apparition of a young +girl who is dead?" + +"She is alive, but I have only met her once. That is the strange thing +about it, or, at least, the beginning of the strange thing. Of course it +is perfectly absurd, but when I first saw her, the only time we met, I +had the sensation of recognising some one I had not seen for many years. +As she is only just eighteen, that is impossible." + +"Excuse me, my dear sir, nothing is impossible. Every one is +absent-minded sometimes. You may have seen the young lady in the street, +or at the theatre. You may have stared at her quite unconsciously while +you were thinking of something else, and her features may have so +impressed themselves upon your memory, without your knowing it, that you +actually recognised her when you met her in a drawing-room." + +"I daresay," admitted Lamberti, indifferently. "But that is no reason +why I should dream of her every night." + +"I am not sure. It might be a reason. Such things happen." + +"And every night when I wake from the dream, I hear some one close the +door of my room softly, as if she were just going out. I always lock my +door at night." + +"Perhaps it sometimes shakes a little in the frame." + +"It began at home. But I have been stopping in the country nearly a +fortnight, and the same thing has happened every night." + +"You dream it. One may get the habit of dreaming the same dream every +time one sleeps." + +"It is not always the same dream, though the door is always closed +softly when she goes away. But there is something else. I was wrong in +saying that I only met the lady once. I should have said that I have +spoken with her only once. This is how it happened." + +Lamberti told the doctor the story of his meeting Cecilia at the house +of the Vestals. The specialist listened attentively, for he was already +convinced that Lamberti was a man of solid reason and practical good +sense, probably the victim of a series of coincidences that had made a +strong impression on his mind. When Lamberti paused, there was a +moment's silence. + +"What do you yourself think was the cause of the lady's fright?" asked +the doctor at last. + +"I believe that she had dreamed the same dream," Lamberti answered +without hesitation. + +"What makes you believe anything so improbable?" + +"Well--I hardly know. It is an impression. It was all so amazingly real, +you see, and when our eyes met, she looked as if she knew exactly what +would happen if she did not run away--exactly what had happened in the +dream." + +"That was on the morning after you had first dreamt it, you say. Of +course it helped very much to strengthen the impression the dream had +made, and it is not at all surprising that the dream should have come +again. You know as well as I, that a dream which seems to last hours +really passes in a second, perhaps in no time at all. The slightest +sound in your room which suggested the closing of a door would be enough +to bring it all back before you were awake, and the sound might still be +audible to you." + +"Possibly. Whatever it is, I wish to get rid of it." + +"It may be merely coincidence," the doctor said. "I think it is. But I +do not exclude the theory that two people who have made a very strong +impression one on another, may be the subjects of some sort of mutual +thought transference. We know very little about those things. Some queer +cases come under my observation, but my patients are never sound and +sane men like you. What I should like to know is, why did the lady run +away?" + +"That is probably the one thing I can never find out," Lamberti +answered. + +"There is a very simple way. Ask her." The doctor smiled. "Is it so very +hard?" he enquired, as Lamberti looked at him in surprise. "I take it +for granted that you can find some opportunity of seeing her in a +drawing-room, where she cannot fly from you, and will not do anything to +attract attention. What could be more natural than that you should ask +her quite frankly why she was so frightened the other day? I do not see +how she could possibly be offended. Do you? When you ask her, you need +not seem too serious, as if you attached a great deal of importance to +what she had done." + +"I certainly could try it," said Lamberti thoughtfully. "I shall see her +to-day." + +"She may try to avoid you, because she is ashamed of what she did. But +if I were you, I would not let the chance slip. If you succeed in +talking to her for a few minutes, and break the ice, I can almost +promise that you will also break the habit of this dream that annoys +you. Will you make the attempt? It seems to me by far the wisest and +most sensible remedy, for I am nearly sure that it will turn out to be +one." + +"I daresay you are right. Is there any other way of curing such habits +of the mind?" + +"I could hypnotise you and stop your dreaming by suggestion." + +"Nobody could make me sleep against my will." Lamberti laughed at the +mere idea. + +"No," answered the doctor, "but it would not be against your will, if +you submitted to it as a cure. However, try the simpler plan first, and +come and see me in a day or two. You seem to hesitate. Perhaps you have +some reason for not wishing to make the nearer acquaintance of the lady. +That is your affair, but one more interview of a few minutes will not +make much difference, as your health is at stake. You are under a mental +strain altogether out of proportion with the cause that produces it, and +the longer you allow it to last the stronger the reaction will be, when +it comes." + +"I have no good reason for not knowing her better," Lamberti said after +a moment's thought, for he was convinced against his previous +determination. "I will take your advice, and then I will come and see +you again." + +He took his leave and went out into the bright morning air. It was a +relief to feel that he had been brought to a determination at last, and +he knew that it was a sensible one, from any ordinary point of view, and +that his one great objection to acting upon it had no logical value. + +But the objection subsisted, though he had made up his mind to override +it. It was out of the question that he could really be in love with +Cecilia Palladio, who was probably quite unlike what she seemed to be in +his dreams. He had fallen in love with a fancy, a shadow, an unreal +image that haunted him as soon as he closed his eyes; but when he was +wide awake and busy with life the girl was nothing to him but a mere +acquaintance. His pulse would not beat as fast when he met her that very +afternoon as it had done just now, in the doctor's study, when he had +been thinking of the vision. + +Besides, what Guido had said was quite true. He could not possibly +continue not to know Guido's future wife; and as there was no danger of +his falling in love with her when his eyes were open, he really could +not see why he should be so anxious to avoid her. So the matter was +settled. He took a long walk, far out of Porta San Giovanni, and turned +to the right by the road that leads through the fields to the tomb of +Cecilia Metella. + +As he passed the great round monument, swinging along steadily, its name +naturally came to his mind, and it occurred to him for the first time +that Cecilia had been a noble name among the old Romans, that it had +come down unchanged, and that there had doubtless been more than one +Vestal Virgin who had borne it. The Vestal in his dream was certainly +called Cecilia. He was in the humour, now, to smile at what he called +his own folly, and as he strode along he almost laughed aloud. Before +the sun should set, the whole matter would be definitely at rest, and he +would be wondering how he could ever have been foolish enough to attach +any importance to it. He followed the Appian Way back to the city, with +a light heart. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + +The Villa Madama was probably never inhabited, for it was certainly +never quite finished, and the grand staircase was not rebuilt after +Cardinal Pompeo Colonna set fire to the house. That was in the wild days +when Rome was sacked by the Constable of Bourbon's Spaniards and +Franzperg's Germans, and Pope Clement the Seventh was shut up in the +stronghold of Sant' Angelo; and at nightfall he looked from the windows +of the fortress and saw the flames shoot up on the slope of Monte Mario, +from the beautiful place which Raphael of Urbino had designed for him, +and which Giovanni of Udine had decorated, and he told those who were +with him that Cardinal Colonna was revenging himself for his castles +sacked and burned by the Pope's orders. + +That was nearly four hundred years ago, and the great exterior staircase +was never rebuilt; but in order to save that part of the little palace +from ruin unsightly arches were reared up against the once beautiful +wing, and because of Giulio Romano's frescoes and Giovanni of Udine's +marvellous stucco work, the roof has been always kept in good repair. +Moreover, a good deal has been written about the building, some of which +is inaccurate, to say the least; as, for instance, that one may see the +dome of Saint Peter's from the windows, whereas the villa stands halfway +down the slope of the hill on the side which is away from the church, +and looks towards the Sabines and towards Tivoli and Frascati. + +Those who have taken the trouble to visit the villa in its half-ruinous +condition, and who have lingered on the grass-grown terraces and at the +noble windows, on spring afternoons, when the sun is behind the hill, +can easily guess what it became when it passed into the ownership of the +Contessina Cecilia Palladio. Her guardian, the excellent Baron Goldbirn, +had bought it for her because it was offered for sale at a low price, +and was an excellent investment as well as a treasure of art; and he had +purposed to coat the brown stone walls with fresh stucco, to erect a +"belvedere" with nice green blinds on the roof, to hang the rooms with +rich magenta damask, to carpet them with Brussels carpets, to furnish +them with gilt furniture, to warm the house with steam heat, and to +light it with electricity. + +To his surprise, his ward rejected each of these proposals in detail and +all of them generally, and declared that since the villa was hers she +could deal with it according to her own taste, which, she maintained, +was better than Goldbirn's. The latter answered that as he was +sixty-five years old and Cecilia was only eighteen, this was impossible; +but that under the circumstances he washed his hands of the matter, only +warning her that the Italian law would not allow her to cut down the +trees more than once in nine years. + +"As if anything could induce me to cut them down at all!" Cecilia +answered indignantly. "There are few enough as it is!" + +"My dear," the Countess had answered with admirable relevancy, "I hope +you are not ungrateful to your guardian." + +Cecilia was not ungrateful, but she had her own way, for it was +preordained that she generally should, and it was well for the Villa +Madama that it was so. She only asked her guardian how much he would +allow her to spend on the place, and then, to his amazement and +satisfaction, she only spent half the sum he named. She easily persuaded +a good artist, whom her stepfather had helped at the beginning of his +career, to take charge of the work, and it was carried out with loving +and reverent taste. The wilderness of sloping land became a garden, the +beautiful "court of honour" was so skilfully restored with old stone and +brick that the restoration could hardly be detected, the great exterior +staircase was rebuilt, the close garden on the other side was made a +carpet of flowers; the water that gushed abundantly from a deep spring +in the hillside poured into an old fountain bought from the remains of a +villa in the Campagna, and then, below, filled the vast square basin +that already existed, and thence it was distributed through the lower +grounds. There were roses everywhere, already beginning to climb, and +the scent of a few young orange trees in blossom mingled delicately with +the odour of the flowers. Within the house the floor of the great hall +was paved with plain white tiles, and up to the cornice and between the +marvellous pilasters the bare walls were hung with coarse linen woven in +simple and tasteful patterns and in subdued colours. + +The little gods and goddesses and the emblematic figures of the seasons +in the glorious vaults overhead, smiled down upon such a scene as had +not rejoiced the great hall for centuries. The Countess had asked all +Rome to come, with an admirable indifference to political parties and +social discords; and all Rome came, as it sometimes does, in the best of +tempers with itself and with its hostess. Roman society is good to look +at, when it is gathered together in such ways; for mere looks, there is +perhaps nothing better in all Europe, except in England. The French are +more brilliant, no doubt, for their women, and, alas, their men also, +affect a greater variety of dress and ornament than any other people. +German society is magnificent with military uniforms, Austrians +generally have very perfect taste; and so on, to each its own advantage. +But the Romans have something of their own, a beauty most distinctly +theirs, a sort of distinction that is genuine and unaffected, but which +nevertheless seems to belong to more splendid times than ours. When the +women are beautiful, and they often are, they are like the pictures in +their own galleries; among the men there are heads and faces that remind +one of Lionardo da Vinci, of Cæsar Borgia, of Lorenzo de' Medici, of +Guidarello Guidarelli, even of Michelangelo. Romans, at their best, have +about them a grave suavity, or a suave gravity, that is a charm in +itself, with a perfect self-possession which is the very opposite of +arrogance; when they laugh, their mirth is real, though a little +subdued; when they are grave, they do not look dull; when they are in +deep earnest, they are not theatrical. + +Those who went to the Fortiguerra garden party never quite forgot the +impression they received. It was one of those events that are remembered +as memorable social successes, and spoken of after many years. It was +unlike anything that had ever been done in Rome before, unlike the +solemn receptions of the chief of the clericals, when the cardinals come +in state and are escorted by torch-bearers from their carriages to the +entrance of the great drawing-room, and back again when they go away; +unlike the supremely magnificent balls in honour of the foreign +sovereigns who occasionally spend a week in Rome, and are amusingly +ready to accept the hospitality of Roman princes; most of all, it was +unlike an ordinary garden party, because the Villa Madama is quite +unlike ordinary villas. + +Moreover, every one was pleased that such very rich people should not +attempt to surprise society by vulgar display. There were no state +liveries, there were no ostentatious armorial bearings, there was no +overpowering show of silver and gold, there was no Hungarian band +brought expressly from Vienna, nor any fashionable pianist paid to play +about five thousand notes at about a franc apiece, to the great +annoyance of all the people who preferred conversation to music. +Everything was simple, everything was good, everything was beautiful, +from the entrancing view of Rome beyond the yellow river, and of the +undulating Campagna beyond, with the soft hills in the far distance, to +the lovely flowers in the garden; from the flowers without, to the +stately halls within; from their charming frescoes and exquisite white +traceries, to the lovely girl who was the centre, and the reason, and +the soul of it all. + +Her mother received the guests out of doors, in the close garden, and +thirty or forty people were already there when Guido d'Este and Lamberti +arrived; for every one came early, fearing lest the air might be chilly +towards sunset. The Countess introduced the men and the young girls to +her daughter, and presented her to the married women. Presently, when +the garden became too full, the people would go back through the house +and wander away about the grounds, lighting up the shadowed hillside +with colour, and filling the air with the sound of their voices. They +would stray far out, as far as the little grove on the knoll, planted in +old times for the old-fashioned sport of netting birds. + +Guido had told Cecilia on the previous evening that his friend had +returned from the country and was coming to the villa, and he had again +seen the very slight contraction of her brows at the mere mention of +Lamberti's name. He wondered whether there were not some connection +between what he took for her dislike of Lamberti, and the latter's +strong disinclination to meet her. Perhaps Lamberti had guessed at a +glance that she would not like him. He would of course keep such an +opinion to himself. + +Guido watched Cecilia narrowly from the moment she caught sight of him +with Lamberti--so attentively indeed that he did not even glance at the +latter's face. It was set like a mask, and under the tanned colour any +one could see that the man turned pale. + +"You know Cecilia already," said the Countess Fortiguerra, pleasantly. +"I hope the rest of your family are coming?" + +"I think they are all coming," Lamberti answered very mechanically. + +He had resolutely looked at the Countess until now, but he felt the +daughter's eyes upon him, and he was obliged to meet them, if only for a +single instant. The last time he had met their gaze she had cried aloud +and had fled from him in terror. He would have given much to turn from +her now, without a glance, and mingle with the other guests. + +He was perfectly cool and self-possessed, as he afterwards remembered, +but he felt that it was the sort of coolness which always came upon him +in moments of supreme danger. It was familiar to him, for he had been in +many hand-to-hand engagements in wild countries, and he knew that it +would not forsake him; but he missed the thrill of rare delight that +made him love fighting as he loved no sport he had ever tried. This was +more like walking bravely to certain death. + +Cecilia was all in white, but her face was whiter than the silk she +wore, and as motionless as marble; and her fixed eyes shone with an +almost dazzling light. Guido saw and wondered. Then he heard Lamberti's +voice, steady, precise, and metallic as the notes of a bell striking the +hour. + +"I hope to see something of you by-and-by, Signorina." + +Cecilia's lips moved, but no sound came from them. Then Guido was sure +that they smiled perceptibly, and she bent her head in assent, but so +slightly that her eyes were still fixed on Lamberti's. + +Other guests came up at that moment, and the two friends made way for +them. + +"Come back through the house," said Guido, in a low voice. + +Lamberti followed him into the great hall, and to the left through the +next, where there was no one, and out to a small balcony beyond. Then +both stood still and faced each other, and the silence lasted a few +seconds. Guido spoke first. + +"What has there been between you two?" he asked, with something like +sternness in his tone. + +"This is the second time in my life that I have spoken to the +Contessina," Lamberti answered. "The first time I ever saw her was at +your aunt's house." + +Guido had never doubted the word of Lamberto Lamberti, but he could not +doubt the evidence of his own senses either, and he had watched +Cecilia's face. It seemed utterly impossible that she should look as she +had looked just now, unless there were some very grave matter between +her and Lamberti. All sorts of horrible suspicions clouded Guido's +brain, all sorts of reasons why Lamberti should lie to him, this once, +this only time. Yet he spoke quietly enough. + +"It is very strange that two people should behave as you and she do, +when you meet, if you have only met twice. It is past my comprehension." + +"It is very strange," Lamberti repeated. + +"So strange," said Guido, "that it is very hard to believe. You are +asking a great deal of me." + +"I have asked nothing, my friend. You put a question to me,--a +reasonable question, I admit,--and I have answered you with the truth. I +have never touched that young lady's hand, I have only spoken with her +twice in my life, and not alone on either occasion. I did not wish to +come here to-day, but you practically forced me to." + +"You did not wish to come, because you knew what would happen," Guido +answered coldly. + +"How could I know?" + +"That is the question. But you did know, and until you are willing to +explain to me how you knew it----" + +He stopped short and looked hard at Lamberti, as if the latter must +understand the rest. His usually gentle and thoughtful face was as hard +and stern as stone. Until lately his friendship for Lamberti had been by +far the strongest and most lasting affection of his life. The thought +that it was to be suddenly broken and ended by an atrocious deception +was hard to bear. + +"You mean that if I cannot explain, as you call it, you and I are to be +like strangers. Is that what you mean, Guido? Speak out, man! Let us be +plain." + +Guido was silent for a while, leaning over the balcony and looking down, +while Lamberti stood upright and waited for his answer. + +"How can I act otherwise?" asked Guido, at last, without looking up. +"You would do the same in my place. So would any man of honour." + +"I should try to believe you, whatever you said." + +"And if you could not?" Guido enquired almost fiercely. + +It was very nearly an insult, but Lamberti answered quietly and firmly. + +"Before refusing to believe me, merely on apparent evidence, you can ask +the Contessina herself." + +"As if a woman could tell the truth when a man will not!" Guido laughed +harshly. + +"You forget that you love her, and that she probably loves you. That +should make a difference." + +"What do you wish me to do? Ask her the question you will not answer?" + +"The question I have answered," said Lamberti, correcting him. "Yes. Ask +her." + +"Your mother was an old friend of her mother's," Guido said, with a new +thought. + +"Yes." + +"Why is it impossible that you two should have met before now?" + +"Because I tell you that we have not. If we had, I should not have any +reason for hiding the fact. It would be much easier to explain, if we +had. But I am not going to argue about the matter, for it is quite +useless. Before you quarrel with me, go and ask the Contessina to +explain, if she will, or can. If she cannot, or if she can and will not, +I shall try to make you understand as much as I do, though that is very +little." + +Guido listened without attempting to interrupt. He was not a rash or +violent man, and he valued Lamberti's friendship far too highly to +forfeit it without the most convincing reasons. Unfortunately, what he +had seen would have convinced an even less suspicious man that there was +a secret which his friend shared with Cecilia, and which both had an +object in concealing from him. Lamberti ceased speaking and a long +silence followed, for he had nothing more to say. + +At last Guido straightened himself with an evident effort, as if he had +forced himself to decide the matter, but he did not look at Lamberti. + +"Very well," he said. "I will speak to her." + +Lamberti bent his head, silently acknowledging Guido's sensible +conclusion. Then Guido turned and went away alone. It was long before +Lamberti left the balcony, for he was glad of the solitude and the +chance of quietly thinking over his extraordinary situation. + +Meanwhile Guido found it no easy matter to approach Cecilia at all, and +it looked as if it would be quite impossible to speak with her alone. He +went back through the great hall where people were beginning to gather +about the tea-table, and he stood in the vast door that opens upon the +close garden. Cecilia was still standing beside her mother, but they +were surrounded by a group of people who all seemed to be trying to talk +to them at once. The garden was crowded, and it would be impossible for +Guido to get near them without talking his way, so to say, through +countless acquaintances. By this time, however, most of the guests had +arrived, and those who were in the inner garden would soon begin to go +out to the grounds. + +Cecilia was no longer pale; on the contrary, she had more colour than +usual, and delicate though the slight flush in her cheeks was, it looked +a little feverish to Guido. As he began to make his way forward he tried +to catch her eye, but he thought she purposely avoided an exchange of +glances. At last he was beside her, and to his surprise she looked at +him quite naturally, and answered him without embarrassment. + +"You must be tired," he said. "Will you not sit down for a little +while?" + +"I should like to," she answered, smiling. + +Then she looked at her mother, and seemed to hesitate. + +"May I go and sit down?" she asked, in a low voice. "I am so tired!" + +"Of course, child!" answered the Countess, cheerfully. "Signor d'Este +will take you to the seat over there by the fountain. I hardly think +that any one else will come now." + +Guido and Cecilia moved away, and the Countess smiled affectionately at +their backs. Some one said that they were a very well-matched pair, and +another asked if it were true that Signor d'Este would inherit the +Princess Anatolie's fortune at her death. A third observed that she +would never die; and a fourth, who was going to dine with her that +evening, said that she was a very charming woman; whereupon everybody +laughed a little, and the Countess changed the subject. + +Cecilia was really tired, and gave a little sigh of satisfaction as she +sat down and leaned back. Guido looked at her and hesitated. + +"I must have shaken hands with at least two hundred people," she said, +"and I am sure I have spoken to as many more!" + +"Do you like it?" Guido asked, by way of gaining time. + +"What an idle question!" laughed Cecilia. + +"I had another to ask you," he answered gravely. "Not an idle one." + +She looked at him quickly, wondering whether he was going to ask her to +be his wife, and wondering, too, what she should answer if he did. For +some days past she had understood that what they called their compact of +friendship was becoming a mere comedy on his side, if not on hers, and +that he loved her with all his heart, though he had not told her so. + +"It is rather an odd question," he continued, as she said nothing. "You +have not formally given me any right to ask it, and yet I feel that I +have the right, all the same." + +"Friendship gives rights, and takes them," Cecilia answered +thoughtfully. + +"Exactly. That is what I feel about it. That is why I think I may ask +you something that may seem strange. At all events, I cannot go on +living in doubt about the answer." + +"Is it as important as that?" asked the young girl. + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +"Wait a moment. Let these people pass. How in the world did you succeed +in getting so many roses to grow in such a short time?" + +"You must ask the gardener," Cecilia answered, in order to say something +while a young couple passed before the bench, evidently very much +absorbed in each other's conversation. + +Guido bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and not looking at +her, but turning his face a little, so that he could speak in a very low +tone with an outward appearance of carelessness. It was very hard to put +the question, after all, now that he was so near her, and felt her +thrilling presence. + +"Our agreement is a failure," he began. "At all events, it is one on my +side. I really did not think it would turn out as it has." + +She said nothing, and he knew that she did not move, and was looking at +the people in the distance. He knew, also, that she understood him and +had expected something of the sort. That made it a little easier to go +on. + +"That is the reason why I am going to ask you this question. What has +there ever been between you and Lamberti? Why do you turn deathly pale +when you meet him, and why does he try to avoid you?" + +He heard her move now, and he slowly turned his face till he could see +hers. The colour in her cheeks had deepened a little, and there was an +angry light in her eyes which he had never seen there. But she said not +a word in answer. + +"Do you love him?" Guido asked in a very low tone, and his voice +trembled slightly. + +"No!" The word came with sharp energy. + +"How long have you known him?" Guido enquired. + +"Since I have known you. I met him first on the same day. I have not +spoken with him since. I tried to-day, I could not." + +"Why not?" + +"Do not ask me. I cannot tell you." + +"Are you speaking the truth?" Guido asked, suddenly meeting her eyes. + +She drew back with a quick movement, deeply offended and angry at the +brutal question. + +"How dare you doubt what I tell you!" She seemed about to rise. + +"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "I really beg your pardon. It is +all so strange. I hardly knew what I was saying. Please forgive me!" + +"I will try," Cecilia answered. "But I think I would rather go back now. +We cannot talk here." + +She rose to her feet, but Guido tried to detain her, remaining seated +and looking up. + +"Please, please stay a little longer!" he pleaded. + +"No." + +"You are still angry with me?" + +"No. But I cannot talk to you yet. If you do not come with me, I shall +go back alone." + +There was nothing to be done. He rose and walked by her side in silence. +The garden was almost empty now, and the Countess herself had gone in to +get a cup of tea. + +"The roses are really marvellous," Guido remarked in a set tone, as they +came to the door. + +Suddenly they were face to face with Lamberti, who was coming out, hat +in hand. He had waited for his opportunity, watching them from a +distance, and Guido knew it instinctively. He was quite cool and +collected, and smiled pleasantly as he spoke to Cecilia. + +"May I not have the pleasure of talking with you a little, Signorina?" +he asked. + +Guido could not help looking anxiously at the young girl. + +"Certainly," she answered, without hesitation. "You will find my mother +near the tea table, Signor d'Este," she added, to Guido. "It is really +time that I should make your friend's acquaintance!" + +He was as much amazed at her self-possession now as he had been at her +evident disturbance before. He drew back as Cecilia turned away from him +after speaking, and he stood looking after the pair a few seconds before +he went in. At that moment he would have gladly strangled the man who +had so long been his best friend. He had never guessed that he could +wish to kill any one. + +Lamberti did not make vague remarks about the roses as Guido had done, +on the mere chance that some one might hear him, and indeed there was +now hardly anybody to hear. As for Cecilia, her anger against Guido had +sustained her at first, but she could not have talked unconcernedly now, +as she walked beside Lamberti, waiting for him to speak. She felt just +then that she would have walked on and on, whithersoever he chose to +lead her, and until it pleased him to stop. + +"D'Este asked me this afternoon how long I had known you," he said, at +last. "I said that I had spoken with you twice, once at the Princess's, +and once to-day. Was that right?" + +"Yes. Did he believe you?" + +"No." + +"He did not believe me either." + +"And of course he asked you what there was between us," said Lamberti. + +"Yes. I said that I could not tell him. What did you say?" + +"The same thing." + +There was a pause, and both realised that they were talking as if they +had known each other for years, and that they understood each other +almost without words. At the end of the walk they turned towards one +another, and their eyes met. + +"Why did you run away from me?" Lamberti asked. + +"I was frightened. I was frightened to-day when you spoke to me. Why did +you go to the Forum that morning?" + +"I had dreamt something strange about you. It happened just where I +found you." + +"I dreamt the same dream, the same night. That is, I think it must have +been the same." + +She turned her face away, blushing red. + +He saw, and understood. + +"Yes," he said. "What am I to tell d'Este?" he asked, after a short +pause. + +"Nothing!" said Cecilia quickly, and the subsiding blush rose again. +"Besides," she continued, speaking rapidly in her embarrassment, "he +would not believe us, whatever we told him, and it is of no use to let +him know----" she stopped suddenly. + +"Has he no right to know?" + +"No. At least--no--I think not. I do not mean----" + +They were standing still, facing each other. In another moment she would +be telling Lamberti what she had never told Guido about her feelings +towards him. On a sudden she turned away with a sort of desperate +movement, clasping her hands and looking over the low wall. + +"Oh, what is it all?" she cried, in great distress. "I am in the dream +again, talking as if I had known you all my life! What must you think of +me?" + +Lamberti stood beside her, resting his hands upon the wall. + +"It is exactly what I feel," he said quietly. + +"Then you dream, too?" she asked. + +"Every night--of you." + +"We are both dreaming now! I am sure of it. I shall wake up in the dark +and hear the door shut softly, though I always lock it now." + +"The door? Do you hear that, too?" asked Lamberti. "But I am wide awake +when I hear it." + +"So am I! Sometimes I can manage to turn up the electric light before +the sound has quite stopped. Are we both mad? What is it? In the name of +Heaven, what is it all?" + +"I wish I knew. Whatever it is, if you and I meet often, it is quite +impossible that we should talk like ordinary acquaintances. Yes, I +thought I was going mad, and this morning I went to a great doctor and +told him everything. He seemed to think it was all a set of +coincidences. He advised me to see you and ask you why you ran away that +day, and he thought that if we talked about it, I might perhaps not +dream again." + +"You are not mad, you are not mad!" Cecilia repeated the words in a low +voice, almost mechanically. + +Then there was silence, and presently she turned from the wall and began +to walk back along the wide path that passed by the central fountain. +The sun, long out of sight behind the hill, was sinking now, the thin +violet mist had begun to rise from the Campagna far to south and east, +and the mountains had taken the first tinge of evening purple. From the +ilex woods above the house, the voice of a nightingale rang out in a +long and delicious trill. The garden was deserted, and now and then the +sound of women's laughter rippled out through the high, open door. + +"We must meet soon," Lamberti said, as they reached the fountain. + +It seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should say it. She +stopped and looked at him, and recognised every feature of the face she +had seen in her dreams almost ever since she could remember dreaming. +Her fear was all gone now, and she was sure that it would never come +back. Had she not heard him say those very words, "We must meet soon," +hundreds and hundreds of times, just as he had said them long ago--ever +so long ago--in a language that she could not remember when she was +awake? And had they not always met soon? + +"I shall see you to-night," she answered, almost unconsciously. + +"Tell me," he said, looking into the clear water in the fountain, "does +your dreaming make you restless and nervous? Does it wear on you?" + +"Oh no! I have always dreamt a great deal all my life. I rest just as +well." + +"Yes--but those were ordinary dreams. I mean----" + +"No, they were always the same. They were always about you. I almost +screamed when I recognised you at the Princess's that afternoon." + +"I had never dreamt of your face," said Lamberti, "but I was sure I had +seen you before." + +They looked down into the moving water, and the music of its fall made +it harmonious with the distant song of the nightingale. Lamberti tried +to think connectedly, and could not. It was as if he were under a spell. +Questions rose to his lips, but he could not speak the words, he could +not put them together in the right way. Once, at sea, on the training +ship, he had fallen from the foreyard, and though the fall was broken by +the gear and he had not been injured, he had been badly stunned, and for +more than an hour he had lost all sense of direction, of what was +forward and what was aft, so that at one moment the vessel seemed to be +sailing backwards, and then forwards, and then sideways. He felt +something like that now, and he knew intuitively that Cecilia felt it +also. Amazingly absurd thoughts passed through his mind. Was to-morrow +going to be yesterday? Would what was coming be just what was long past? +Or was there no past, no future, nothing but all time present at once? + +He was not moved by Cecilia's presence in the same way that Guido was. +Guido was merely in love with her; very much in love, no doubt, but that +was all. She was to him, first, the being of all others with whom he was +most in sympathy, the only being whom he understood, and who, he was +sure, understood him, the only being without whom life would be +unendurable. And, secondly, she was the one and only creature in the +world created to be his natural mate, and when he was near her he was +aware of nature's mysterious forces, and felt the thrill of them +continually. + +Lamberti experienced nothing of that sort at present. He was overwhelmed +and carried away out of the region of normal thought and volition +towards something which he somehow knew was at hand, which he was sure +he had reached before, but which he could not distinctly remember. +Between it and him in the past there was a wall of darkness; between him +and it in the future there was a veil not yet lifted, but on which his +dreams already cast strange and beautiful shadows. + +"I used to see things in the water," Cecilia said softly, "things that +were going to happen. That was long, long ago." + +"I remember," said Lamberti, quite naturally. "You told me once----" + +He stopped. It was gone back behind the wall of darkness. When he had +begun to speak, quite unconsciously, he had known what it was that +Cecilia had told him, but he had forgotten it all now. He passed his +hand over his forehead, and suddenly everything changed, and he came +back out of an immeasurable distance to real life. + +"I shall be going away in a few days," he said. "May I see you before I +go?" + +"Certainly. Come and see us about three o'clock. We are always at home +then." + +"Thank you." + +They turned from the fountain while they spoke, and walked slowly +towards the house. + +"Does your mother know about your dreaming?" Lamberti asked. + +"No. No one knows. And you?" + +"I have told that doctor. No one else. I wonder whether it will go on +when I am far away." + +"I wonder, too. Where are you going?" + +"I do not know yet. Perhaps to China again. I shall get my orders in a +few days." + +They reached the threshold of the door. Lamberti had been looking for +Guido's face amongst the people he could see as he came up, but Guido +was gone. + +"Good-bye," said Cecilia, softly. + +"Good night," Lamberti answered, almost in a whisper. "God bless you." + +He afterwards thought it strange that he should have said that, but at +the time it seemed quite natural, and Cecilia was not at all surprised. +She smiled and bent her graceful head. Then she joined her mother, and +Lamberti disappeared. + +"My dear," said the Countess, "you remember Monsieur Leroy? You met him +at Princess Anatolie's," she added, in a stage whisper. + +Monsieur Leroy bowed, and Cecilia nodded. She had forgotten his +existence, and now remembered that she had not liked him, and that she +had said something sharp to him. He spoke first. + +"The Princess wished me to tell you how very sorry she is that she +cannot be here this afternoon. She has one of her attacks." + +"I am very sorry," Cecilia answered. "Pray tell her how sorry I am." + +"Thank you. But I daresay Guido brought you the same message." + +"Who is Guido?" asked Cecilia, raising her eyebrows a little. + +"Guido d'Este. I thought you knew. You are surprised that I should call +him by his Christian name? You see, I have known him ever since he was +quite a boy. To all intents and purposes, he was brought up by the +Princess." + +"And you are often at the house, I suppose." + +"I live there," explained Monsieur Leroy. "To change the subject, my +dear young lady, I have an apology to make, which I hope you will +accept." + +Cecilia did not like to be called any one's "dear young lady," and her +manner froze instantly. + +"I cannot imagine why you should apologise to me," she said coldly. + +"I was rude to you the other day, about your courses of philosophy, or +something of that sort. Was not that it?" + +"Indeed, I had quite forgotten," Cecilia answered, with truth. "It did +not matter in the least what you thought of my reading Nietzsche, I +assure you." + +Monsieur Leroy reddened and laughed awkwardly, for he was particularly +anxious to win her good grace. + +"I am not very clever, you know," he said humbly. "You must forgive me." + +"Oh certainly," replied Cecilia. "Your explanation is more than +adequate. In my mind, the matter had already explained itself. Will you +have some tea?" + +"No, thank you. My nerves are rather troublesome. If I take tea in the +afternoon I cannot sleep at night. I met Guido going away as I came. He +was enthusiastic!" + +"In what way?" + +"About the villa, and the house, and the flowers, and about you." He +lowered his voice to a confidential tone as he spoke the last words. + +"About me?" Cecilia was somewhat surprised. + +"Oh yes! He was overcome by your perfection--like every one else. How +could it be otherwise? It is true that Guido has always been very +impressionable." + +"I should not have thought it," Cecilia said, wishing that the man would +go away. + +But he would not, and, to make matters worse, nobody would come and +oblige him to move. It was plain to the meanest mind that since Cecilia +was to marry Princess Anatolie's nephew, the extraordinary person whom +the Princess called her secretary must not be disturbed when he was +talking to Cecilia, since he might be the bearer of some important +message. Besides, a good many people were afraid of him, in a vague way, +as a rather spiteful gossip who had more influence than he should have +had. + +"Yes," he continued, in an apologetic tone, "Guido is always falling in +love, poor boy. Of course, it is not to be wondered at. A king's son, +and handsome as he is, and so very clever, too--all the pretty ladies +fall in love with him at once, and he naturally falls in love with them. +You see how simple it is. He has more opportunities than are good for +him!" + +The disagreeable little man giggled, and his loose pink and white cheeks +shook unpleasantly. Cecilia thought him horribly vulgar and familiar, +and she inwardly wondered how the Princess Anatolie could even tolerate +him, not to speak of treating him affectionately and calling him +"Doudou." + +"I supposed that you counted yourself among Signor d'Este's friends," +said the young girl, frigidly. + +"I do, I do! Have I said anything unfriendly? I merely said that all the +women fell in love with him." + +"You said a good deal more than that." + +"At all events, I wish I were he," said Monsieur Leroy. "And if that is +not paying him a compliment I do not know what you would call it. He is +handsome, clever, generous, everything!" + +"And faithless, according to you." + +"No, no! Not faithless; only fickle, very fickle." + +"It is the same thing," said the young girl, scornfully. + +She did not believe Monsieur Leroy in the least, but she wondered what +his object could be in speaking against Guido, and whether he were +really silly, as he often seemed, or malicious, as she suspected, or +possibly both at the same time, since the combination is not uncommon. +What he was telling her, if she believed it, was certainly not of a +nature to hasten her marriage with Guido; and yet it was the Princess +who had first suggested the match, and it could hardly be supposed that +Monsieur Leroy would attempt to oppose his protectress. + +Just then there was a general move to go away, and the conversation was +interrupted, much to Cecilia's satisfaction. There was a great stir in +the wide hall, for though many people had slipped away without +disturbing the Countess by taking leave, there were many of her nearer +friends who wished to say a word to her before going, just to tell her +that they had enjoyed themselves vastly, that Cecilia was a model of +beauty and good behaviour, and of everything charming, and that the +villa was the most delightful place they had ever seen. By these means +they conveyed the impression that they would all accept any future +invitation which the Countess might send them, and they audibly +congratulated one another upon her having at last established herself in +Rome, adding that Cecilia was a great acquisition to society. More than +that it was manifestly impossible to say in a few well-chosen words. +Even in a language as rich as Italian, the number of approving +adjectives is limited, and each can only have one superlative. The +Countess Fortiguerra's guests distributed these useful words amongst +them and exhausted the supply. + +"It has been a great success, my dear," said the Countess, when she and +her daughter were left alone in the hall. "Did you see the Duchess of +Pallacorda's hat?" + +"No, mother. At least, I did not notice it." Cecilia was nibbling a +cake, thoughtfully. + +"My dear!" cried the Countess. "It was the most wonderful thing you ever +saw. She was in terror lest it should come too late. Monsieur Leroy knew +all about it." + +"I cannot bear that man," Cecilia said, still nibbling, for she was +hungry. + +"I cannot say that I like him, either. But the Duchess's new hat----" + +Cecilia heard her voice, but was too much occupied with her own thoughts +to listen attentively, while the good Countess criticised the hat in +question, admired its beauties, corrected its defects, put it a little +further back on the Duchess's pretty head, and, indeed, did everything +with it which every woman can do, in imagination, with every imaginary +hat. Finally, she asked Cecilia if she should not like to have one +exactly like it. + +"No, thank you. Not now, at all events. Mother dear," and she looked +affectionately at the Countess, "what a deal of trouble you have taken +to make it all beautiful for me to-day. I am so grateful!" + +She kissed her mother on both cheeks just as she had always done when +she was pleased, ever since she had been a child, and suddenly the elder +woman's eyes glistened. + +"It is a pleasure to do anything for you, darling," she said. "I have +only you in the world," she added quietly, after a little pause, "but I +sometimes think I have more than all the other women." + +Then Cecilia laid her head on her mother's shoulder for a moment, and +gently patted her cheek, and they both felt very happy. + +They drove home in the warm dusk, and when they reached the high road +down by the Tiber they looked up and saw moving lights through the great +open windows of the villa, and on the terrace, and in the gardens, like +fireflies. For the servants were bringing in the chairs and putting +things in order. The nightingale was singing again, far up in the woods, +but Cecilia could hear the song distinctly as the carriage swept along. + +Now the Countess was kind and true, and loved her daughter devotedly, +but she would not have been a woman if she had not wished to know what +Guido had said to Cecilia that afternoon; and before they had entered +Porta Angelica she asked what she considered a leading question, in her +own peculiar contradictory way. + +"Of course, I am not going to ask you anything, my dear," she began, +"but did Signor d'Este say anything especial to you when you went off +together?" + +Cecilia remembered how they had driven home from the Princess's a +fortnight earlier, almost at the same hour, and how her mother had then +first spoken of Guido d'Este. The young girl asked herself in the moment +she took before answering, whether she were any nearer to the thought of +marrying him than she had been after that first short meeting. + +"He loves me, mother," she answered softly. "He has made me understand +that he does, without quite saying so. I like him very much. That is our +position now. I would rather not talk about it much, but you have a +right to know." + +"Yes, dear. But what I mean is--I mean, what I meant was--he has not +asked you to marry him, has he?" + +"No. I am not sure that he will, now." + +"Yes, he will. He asked me yesterday evening if he might, and of course +I gave him my permission." + +It was a relief to have told Cecilia this, for concealment was +intolerable to the Countess. + +"I see," Cecilia answered. + +"Yes, of course you do. But when he does ask you, what shall you say, +dear? He is sure to ask you to-morrow, and I really want to know what I +am to expect. Surely, by this time you must have made up your mind." + +"I have only known him a fortnight, mother. That is not a long time when +one is to decide about one's whole life, is it?" + +"No. Well--it seems to me that a fortnight--you see, it is so +important!" + +"Precisely," Cecilia answered. "It is very important. That is why I do +not mean to do anything in a hurry. Either you must tell Signor d'Este +to wait a little while before he asks me, or else, when he does, I must +beg him to wait some time for his answer." + +"But it seems to me, if you like him so much, that is quite enough." + +"Why are you in such a hurry, mother?" asked Cecilia, with a smile. + +"Because I am sure you will be perfectly happy if you marry him," +answered the Countess, with much conviction. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + +Guido d'Este walked home from the Villa Madama in a very bad temper with +everything. He was not of a dramatic disposition, nor easily inclined to +sudden resolutions, and when placed in new and unexpected circumstances +his instinct was rather to let them develop as they would than to direct +them or oppose them actively. For the first time in his life he now felt +that he must do one or the other. + +To treat Lamberti as if nothing had happened was impossible, and it was +equally out of the question to behave towards Cecilia as though she had +not done or said anything to check the growth of intimacy and friendship +on her side and of genuine love on his. He took the facts as he knew +them and tried to state them justly, but he could make nothing of them +that did not plainly accuse both Cecilia and Lamberti of deceiving him. +Again and again, he recalled the words and behaviour of both, and he +could reach no other conclusion. They had a joint secret which they had +agreed to keep from him, and rather than reveal it his best friend was +ready to break with him, and the woman he loved preferred never to see +him again. He reflected that he was not the first man who had been +checked by a girl and forsaken by a friend, but that did not make it any +easier to bear. + +It was quite clear that he could not submit to be so treated by them. +Lamberti had asked him to speak to Cecilia before quarrelling +definitely. He had done so, and he was more fully convinced than before +that both were deceiving him. There was no way out of that conviction, +there was not the smallest argument on the other side, and nothing that +either could ever say could shake his belief. It was plainly his duty to +tell them so, and it would be wisest to write to them, for he felt that +he might lose his temper if he tried to say what he meant, instead of +writing it. + +He wrote to Lamberti first, because it was easier, though it was quite +the hardest thing he had ever done. He began by proving to himself, and +therefore to his friend, that he was writing after mature reflection and +without the least hastiness, or temper, or unwillingness to be +convinced, if Lamberti had anything to say in self-defence. He expressed +no suspicion as to the probable nature of the secret that was withheld +from him; he even wrote that he no longer wished to know what it was. +His argument was that by refusing to reveal it, Lamberti had convicted +himself of some unknown deed which he was ashamed to acknowledge, and +Guido did not hesitate to add that such unjustifiable reticence might +easily be construed in such a way as to cast a slur upon the character +of an innocent young girl. + +Having got so far, Guido immediately tore the whole letter to shreds and +rose from his writing table, convinced that it was impossible to write +what he meant without saying things which he did not mean. After all, he +could simply avoid his old friend in future. The idea of quarrelling +with him aggressively had never entered his mind, and it was therefore +of no use to write anything at all. Lamberti must have guessed already +that all friendship was at an end, and it would consequently be quite +useless to tell him so. + +He must write to Cecilia, however. He could not allow her to think, +because he had apologised for rudely doubting her word, that he +therefore believed what she had told him. He would write. + +Here he was confronted by much greater difficulties than he had found in +composing his unsuccessful letter to Lamberti. In the first place, he +was in love with her, and it seemed to him that he should love her just +as much, whatever she did. He wondered what it was that he felt, for at +first he hardly thought it was jealousy, and it was assuredly not a mere +passing fit of ill-tempered resentment. + +It must be jealousy, after all. He fancied that she had known Lamberti +before, and that she had been girlishly in love with him, and that when +she had met him again she had been startled and annoyed. It was not so +hard to imagine that this might be possible, though he could not see why +they should both make such a secret of having known each other. But +perhaps, by some accident, they had become intimate without the +knowledge of the Countess, so that Cecilia was now very much afraid lest +her mother should find it out. + +Guido's reflections stopped there. At any other time he would have +laughed at their absurdity, and now he resented it. The plain fact +stared him in the face, the fact he had known all along and had +forgotten--Lamberti could not possibly have met Cecilia since she had +been a mere child, because Guido could account for all his friend's +movements during the last five years. Five years ago, Cecilia had been +thirteen. + +He was glad that he had torn up his letter to Lamberti, and that he had +not even begun the one to Cecilia, after sitting half an hour with his +pen in his hand. Yes, he went over those five years, and then took from +a drawer the last five of the little pocket diaries he always carried. +There was a small space for each day of the year, and he never failed to +note at least the name of the place in which he was, while travelling. +He also recorded Lamberti's coming and going, the names of the ships to +which he was ordered, and the dates of any notable facts in his life. It +is tolerably easy to record the exact movements of a sailor in active +service who is only at home on very short leave once in a year or two. +Guido turned over the pages carefully and set down on a slip of paper +what he found. In five years Lamberti's leave had not amounted to eight +months in all, and Guido could account for every day of it, for they had +spent all of it either in Rome or in travelling together. He laid the +little diaries in the drawer again, and leaned back in his chair with a +deep sigh of satisfaction. + +He was too generous not to wish to find his friend at once and +acknowledge frankly that he had been wrong. He telephoned to ask whether +Lamberti had come back from the Villa Madama. Yes, he had come back, but +he had gone out again. No one knew where he was. He had said that he +should not dine at home. That was all. If he returned before half-past +ten o'clock d'Este should be informed. + +Guido dined alone and waited, but no message came during the evening. At +half-past ten he wrote a few words on a correspondence card, told his +man to send the note to Lamberti early in the morning, and went to bed, +convinced that everything would explain itself satisfactorily before +long. As soon as he was positively sure that Lamberti and Cecilia could +not possibly have known each other more than a fortnight, his natural +indolence returned. Of course it was very extraordinary that Cecilia +should have felt such a strong dislike for Lamberti at first sight, for +it could be nothing else, since she seemed displeased whenever his name +was mentioned; and it was equally strange that Lamberti should feel the +same antipathy for her. But since it was so, she would naturally draw +back from telling Guido that his best friend was repulsive to her, and +Lamberti would not like to acknowledge that the young girl Guido wished +to marry produced a disagreeable impression on him. It was quite +natural, too, that after what Guido had said to each of them, each +should have been anxious to show him that he was mistaken, and that they +should have taken the first opportunity of talking together just when he +should most notice it. + +Everything was accounted for by this ingenious theory. Guido knew a man +who turned pale when a cat came near him, though he was a manly man, +good at sports and undeniably courageous. Those things could not be +explained, but it was much easier to understand that a sensitive young +girl might be violently affected by an instinctive antipathy for a man, +than that a strong man's teeth should chatter if a cat got under his +chair at dinner. That was undoubtedly what happened. How could either of +them tell him so, since he was so fond of both? Lamberti had said that +as a last resource, he would try to explain what the trouble was. Guido +would spare him that. He knew what he had felt almost daily in the +presence of Monsieur Leroy, ever since he had been a boy. Lamberti and +Cecilia probably acted on each other in the same way. It was a +misfortune, of course, that his best friend and his future wife should +hate the sight and presence of one another, but it was not their fault, +and they would probably get over it. + +It was wonderful to see how everything that had happened exactly fitted +into Guido's simple explanation, the passing shadow on Cecilia's face, +the evident embarrassment of both when Guido asked each the same +question, the agreement of their answers, the readiness both had shown +to try and overcome their mutual dislike--it was simply wonderful! By +the time Guido laid his head on his pillow, he was serenely calm and +certain of the future. With the words of sincere regret he had written +to Lamberti, and with the decision to say much the same thing to Cecilia +on the following day, his conscience was at rest; and he went to sleep +in the pleasant assurance that after having done something very hasty he +had just avoided doing something quite irreparable. + +Lamberti had spent a less pleasant evening, and was not prepared for the +agreeable surprise that awaited him on the following morning in Guido's +note. He was neither indolent nor at all given to self-examination, and +he had generally found it a good plan to act upon impulse, and do what +he wished to do before it occurred to any one else to do the same thing; +and when he could not see what he ought to do, and was nevertheless sure +that he ought to act at once, he lost his temper with himself and +sometimes with other people. + +He was afraid to go to bed that night, and he went to the club and +watched some of his friends playing cards until he could not keep his +eyes open; for gambling bored him to extinction. Then he walked the +whole length of the Corso and back, in the hope that the exercise might +prevent him from dreaming. But it only roused him again; and when he was +in his own room he stood nearly two hours at the open window, smoking +one cigar after another. At last he lay down without putting out the +light and read a French novel till it dropped from his hand, and he fell +asleep at four o'clock in the morning. + +He was not visited by the dream that had disturbed his rest nightly for +a full fortnight. Possibly the doctor had been right after all, and the +habit was broken. At all events, what he remembered having felt when he +awoke was something quite new and not altogether unpleasant after the +first beginning, yet so strangely undefined that he would have found it +hard to describe it in any words. + +He had no consciousness of any sort of shape or body belonging to him, +nor of motion, nor of sight, after the darkness had closed in upon him. +That moment, indeed, was terrible. It reminded him of the approach of a +cyclone in the West Indies, which he remembered well--the dreadful +stillness in the air; the long, sullen, greenish brown swell of the oily +sea; the appalling bank of solid darkness that moved upon the ship over +the noiseless waves; the shreds of black cloud torn forwards by an +unseen and unheard force, and the vast flashes of lightning that shot +upwards like columns of flame. He remembered the awful waiting. + +Not a storm, then, but an instant change from something to nothing, with +consciousness preserved; complete, far-reaching consciousness, that was +more perfect than sight, yet was not sight, but a being everywhere at +once, a universal understanding, a part of something all pervading, a +unification with all things past, present, and to come, with no desire +for them, nor vision of them, but perfect knowledge of them all. + +At the same time, there was the presence of another immeasurable +identity in the same space, so that his own being and that other were +coexistent and alike, each in the other, everywhere at once, and +inseparable from the other, and also, in some unaccountable way, each +dear to the other beyond and above all description. And there was +perfect peace and a state very far beyond any possible waking happiness, +without any conception of time or of motion, but only of infinite space +with infinite understanding. + +Another phase began. There was time again, there were minutes, hours, +months, years, ages; and there was a longing for something that could +change, a stirring of human memories in the boundless immaterial +consciousness, a desire for sight and hearing, a gradual, growing wish +to see a face remembered before the wall of darkness had closed in, to +hear a voice that had once sounded in ears that had once understood, to +touch a hand that had felt his long ago. And the longing became +intolerable, for lack of these things, like a burning thirst where there +is no water; and the perfect peace was all consumed in that raging wish, +and the quiet was disquiet, and the two consciousnesses felt that each +was learning to suffer again for want of the other, till what had been +heaven was hell, and earth would be better, or total destruction and the +extinguishing of all identity, or anything that was not, rather than the +least prolonging of what was. + +The last change now; back to the world, and to a human body. Lamberti +was waked by a vigorous knocking at his door, which was locked as usual. +It was nine o'clock, and a servant had brought him Guido's note. + +"My dear friend," it said, "I was altogether in the wrong yesterday. +Please forgive me. I quite understand your position with regard to the +Contessina, and hers towards you, but I sincerely hope that in the end +you may be good friends. I appreciate very much the effort you both made +this afternoon to overcome your mutual antipathy. Thank you. G. d'E." + +Lamberti read the note three times before the truth dawned upon him, and +he at last understood what Guido meant. At first the note seemed to have +been written in irony, if not in anger, but that would have been very +unlike Guido; the second reading convinced Lamberti that his friend was +in earnest, whatever his meaning might be, and at the third perusal, +Lamberti saw the true state of the case. Guido supposed that he and +Cecilia were violently repelled by each other. + +He did not smile at the absurdity of the idea, for he felt at once that +the results of such a misunderstanding must before long place Cecilia +and himself in a false position, from which it would be hard to escape. +Yet he was well aware that Guido would not believe the truth--that the +coincidences were too extraordinary to be readily admitted, while no +other rational theory could be found to explain what had happened. If +Lamberti saw Cecilia often, Guido would soon perceive that instead of +mutual dislike and repulsion the strongest sympathy existed between +them, and that they would always understand each other without words. It +would be impossible to conceal that very long. + +Besides, they would love each other, if they met frequently; about that +Lamberti had not the smallest doubt. His instincts were direct and +unhesitating, and he knew that he had never felt for any living woman +what he felt for the fair young girl whose unreal presence visited his +dreams, and who, in those long visions, loved him dearly in return, with +a spiritual passion that rose far above perishable things and yet was +not wholly immaterial. There was that one moment when they stood near +together in the early morning, and their lips met as if body, heart, and +soul were all meeting at once, and only for once. + +After that, in his dreams, there was much that Lamberti could not +understand in himself, and which seemed very unlike the self he knew, +very much higher, very much purer, very much more inclined to sacrifice, +constantly in a sort of spiritual tension and always striving towards a +perfect life, which was as far as anything could be, he supposed, from +his own personality, as he thought he knew it. The story he dreamed was +simple enough. He was a Christian, the girl a Vestal Virgin, the +youngest of those last six who still guarded the sacred hearth when the +Christian Emperor dissolved all that was left of the worship of the old +gods. He bade the noble maidens close the doors of the temple and depart +in peace to their parents' homes, freed from their vows and service, and +from all obligations to the state, but deprived also of all their old +honours and lands and privileges. And sadly they buried the things that +had been holy, where no man knew, and watched the fire together, one +last night, till it burned out to white ashes in the spring dawn; and +they embraced one another with tears and went away. Some became +Christians, and some afterwards married; but there was one who would +not, though she loved as none of them loved, and she withdrew from the +world and lived a pure life for the sake of the old faith and of her +solemn vows. + +So, at last, the Christian believed what she told him, that it was +better to love in that way, because when he and she were freed at last +from all earthly longings, they would be united for ever and ever; and +she became a Christian, too, and after the other five Vestals were dead, +she also passed away; and the man who had loved her so long, in her own +way, died peacefully on the next day, loving her and hoping to join her, +and having led a good life. After that there was peace, and they seemed +to be together. + +That was their story as it gradually took shape out of fragments and +broken visions, and though the man who dreamt these things could not +conceive, when he remembered them, that he could ever become at all a +saintly character, yet in the vision he knew that he was always himself, +and all that he thought and did seemed natural, though it often seemed +hard, and he suffered much in some ways, but in others he found great +happiness. + +It was a simple story and a most improbable one. He was quite sure that +no matter in what age he might have lived, instead of in the twentieth +century, he would have felt and acted as he now did when he was wide +awake. But that did not matter. The important point was that his +imagination was making for him a sort of secondary existence in sleep, +in which he was desperately in love with some one who exactly resembled +Cecilia Palladio and who bore her first name; and this dreaming created +such a strong and lasting impression in his mind that, in real life, he +could not separate Cecilia Palladio from Cecilia the Vestal, and found +himself on the point of saying to her in reality the very things which +he had said to her in imagination while sleeping. The worst of it was +this identity of the real and the unreal, for he was persuaded that with +very small opportunity the two would turn into one. + +He hated thinking, under all circumstances, as compared with action. It +was easier to follow his impulses, and fortunately for him they were +brave and honourable. He never analysed his feelings, never troubled +himself about his motives, never examined his conscience. It told him +well enough whether he was doing right or wrong, and on general +principles he always meant to do right. It was not his fault if his +imagination made him fall in love in a dream with the young girl who was +probably to be his friend's wife. But it would be distinctly his fault +if he gave himself the chance of falling in love with her in reality. + +Moreover, though he did not know how much further Cecilia's dream +coincided with his own, and believed it impossible that the coincidence +should be nearly as complete as it seemed, he felt that she would love +him if he chose that she should. The intuitions of very masculine men +about women are far keener and more trustworthy than women guess; and +when such a man is not devoured by fatuous vanity he is rarely mistaken +if he feels sure that a woman he meets will love him, provided that +circumstances favour him ever so little. There is not necessarily the +least particle of conceit in that certainty, which depends on the direct +attraction between any two beings who are natural complements to each +other. + +Lamberti was a man who had the most profound respect for every woman who +deserved to be respected ever so little, and a good-natured contempt for +all the rest, together with a careless willingness to be amused by them. +And of all the women in the world, next to his own mother, the one whom +he would treat with something approaching to veneration would be Guido's +wife, if Guido married. + +Without any reasoning, it was plain that he must see as little as +possible of Cecilia Palladio. But as this would not please Guido, the +best plan was to go away while there was time. In all probability, when +he next returned, say in two years, he would no longer feel the +dangerous attraction that was almost driving him out of his senses at +present. + +He had been in Rome some time, expecting his promotion to the rank of +lieutenant-commander, which would certainly be accompanied by orders to +join another ship, possibly very far away. If he showed himself very +anxious to go at once, before his leave expired, the Admiralty would +probably oblige him, especially as he just now cared much less for the +promised step in the service than for getting away at short notice. The +best thing to be done was to go and see the Minister, who had of late +been very friendly to him; everything might be settled in half an hour, +and next week he would be on his way to China, or South America, or East +Africa, which would be perfectly satisfactory to everybody concerned. + +It was a wise and honourable resolution, and he determined to act on it +at once. His hand was on the door to go out, when he stopped suddenly +and stood quite still for a few seconds. It was as if something unseen +surrounded him on all sides, in the air, invisible but solid as lead, +making it impossible for him to move. It did not last long, and he went +out, wondering at his nervousness. + +In half an hour he was in the presence of the Minister, who was speaking +to him. + +"You are promoted to the rank of lieutenant-commander. You are +temporarily attached to the ministerial commission which is to study the +Somali question, which you understand so well from experience on the +spot. His Majesty specially desires it." + +"How long may this last, sir?" enquired Lamberti, with a look of blank +disappointment. + +"Oh, a year or two, I should say," laughed the Minister. "They do not +hurry themselves. You can enjoy a long holiday at home." + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + +Though it was late in the season, everybody wished to do something to +welcome the appearance of Cecilia Palladio in society. It was too warm +to give balls, but it did not follow that it was at all too hot to dance +informally, with the windows open. We do not know why a ball is hotter +than a dance; but it is so. There are things that men do not understand. + +So dinners were given, to which young people were asked, and afterwards +an artistic-looking man appeared from somewhere and played waltzes, and +twenty or thirty couples amused themselves to their hearts' delight till +one o'clock in the morning. Moreover, people who had villas gave +afternoon teas, without any pretence of giving garden parties, and there +also the young ones danced, sometimes on marble pavements in great old +rooms that smelt slightly of musty furniture, but were cool and +pleasant. Besides these things, there were picnic dinners at Frascati +and Castel Gandolfo, and everybody drove home across the Campagna by +moonlight. Altogether, and chiefly in Cecilia Palladio's honour, there +was a very pretty little revival of winter gaiety, which is not always +very gay in Rome, nowadays. + +The young girl accepted it all much more graciously than her mother had +expected, and was ready to enjoy everything that people offered her, +which is a great secret of social success. The Countess had always +feared that Cecilia was too fond of books and of serious talk to care +much for what amuses most people. But, instead, she suddenly seemed to +have been made for society; she delighted in dancing, she liked to be +well dressed, she smiled at well-meaning young men who made compliments +to her, and she chatted with young girls about the myriad important +nothings that grow like wild flowers just outside life's gate. + +Every one liked her, and she let almost every one think that she liked +them. She never said disagreeable things about them, and she never +attracted to herself the young gentleman who was looked upon as the +property of another. Every one said that she was going to marry d'Este +in the autumn, though the engagement was not yet announced. Wherever she +was, he was there also, generally accompanied by his inseparable friend, +Lamberto Lamberti. + +The latter had grown thinner during the last few weeks. When any one +spoke of it, he explained that life ashore did not suit him, and that he +was obliged to work a good deal over papers and maps for the ministerial +commission. But he was evidently not much inclined to talk of himself, +and he changed the subject immediately. His life was not easy, for he +was not only in serious trouble himself, but he was also becoming +anxious about Guido. + +The one matter about which a man is instinctively reticent with his most +intimate man friend is his love affair, if he has one. He would rather +tell a woman all about it, though he does not know her nearly so well, +than talk about it, even vaguely, with the one man in the world whom he +trusts. Where women are concerned, all men are more or less one +another's natural enemies, in spite of civilisation and civilised +morals; and each knows this of the other, and respects the other's +silence as both inevitable and decent. + +Guido had told Lamberti that he should be the first to know of the +engagement as soon as there was any, and Lamberti waited. He did not +know whether Guido had spoken yet, nor whether there was any sort of +agreement between him and Cecilia by which the latter was to give her +answer after a certain time. He could not guess what they talked of +during the hour they spent together nearly every day. People made +inquiries of him, some openly and some by roundabout means, and he +always answered that if his friend were engaged to be married he would +assuredly announce the fact at once. Those who received this answer were +obliged to be satisfied with it, because Lamberti was not the kind of +man to submit to cross-questioning. + +He wondered whether Cecilia knew that he loved her, since what he had +foreseen had happened, and he did not even try to deny the fact to +himself. He would not let his thoughts dwell on what she might feel for +him, for that would have seemed like the beginning of a betrayal. + +She never asked him questions nor did anything to make him spend more +time near her than was inevitable, and neither had ever gone back to the +subject of their dreams. She had asked Lamberti to come to the house at +an hour when there would not be other visitors, but he had not come, and +neither had ever referred to the matter since. He sometimes felt that +she was watching him earnestly, but at those times he would not meet her +eyes lest his own should say too much. + +It was hard, it was quite the hardest thing he had ever done in his +life, and he was never quite sure that he could go on with it to the +end. But it was the only honourable course he could follow, and it would +surely grow easier when he knew definitely that Cecilia meant to marry +Guido. It was bitter to feel that if the man had been any one but his +friend, there would have been no reason for making any such sacrifice. +He inwardly prayed that Cecilia would come to a decision soon, and he +was deeply grateful to her for not making his position harder by +referring to their first conversation at the Villa Madama. + +Guido had not the slightest suspicion of the true state of things, but +he himself was growing impatient, and daily resolved to put the final +question. Every day, however, he put it off again, not from lack of +courage, nor even because he was naturally so very indolent, but because +he felt sure that the answer would not be the one hoped for. Though +Cecilia's manner with him had never changed from the first, it was +perfectly clear that, however much she might enjoy his conversation, she +was calmly indifferent to his personality. She never blushed with +pleasure when he came, nor did her eyes grow sad when he left her; and +when she talked with him she spoke exactly as when she was speaking with +her mother. He listened in vain for an added earnestness of tone, meant +for him only; it never came. She liked him, beyond doubt, from the +first, and liking had changed to friendship very fast, but Guido knew +how very rarely the friendship a woman feels for a man can ever turn to +love. Starting from the same point, it grows steadily in another +direction, and its calm intellectual sympathy makes the mere suggestion +of any unreasoning impulse of the heart seem almost absurd. + +But where the man and woman do not feel alike, this state of things +cannot last for ever, and when it comes to an end there is generally +trouble and often bitterness. Guido knew that very well and hesitated in +consequence. + +Princess Anatolie could not understand the reason for this delay, and +was not at all pleased. She said it would be positively not decent if +the girl refused to marry Guido after acting in public as if she were +engaged to him, and Monsieur Leroy agreed with her. She asked him if he +could not do anything to hasten matters, and he said he would try. The +old lady had felt quite sure of the marriage, and in imagination she had +already extracted from Guido's wife all the money she had made Guido +lose for her. It is now hardly necessary to say that she had received +spirit messages through Monsieur Leroy, bidding her to invest money in +the most improbable schemes, and that she had followed his advice in +making her nephew act as her agent in the matter. Monsieur Leroy had +pleaded his total ignorance of business as a reason for keeping out of +the transaction, by which, however, it may be supposed that he profited +indirectly for a time. He never hesitated to say that the unfortunate +result was due to Guido's negligence and failure to carry out the +instructions given him. + +But the Princess knew that at least a part of the fault belonged to +Monsieur Leroy, though she never had the courage to tell him so; and +though it looked as if nothing could sever the mysterious tie that +linked their lives together, he had forfeited some of his influence over +her with the loss of the money, and had only recently regained it by +convincing her that she was in communication with her dead child. So +long as he could keep her in this belief he was in no danger of losing +his power again. On the contrary, it increased from day to day. + +"Guido is so very quixotic," he said. "He hesitates because the girl is +so rich. But we may be able to bring a little pressure to bear on him. +After all, you have his receipts for all the money that passed through +his hands." + +"Unless he marries this girl, they are not worth the paper they are +written on." + +"I am not sure. He is very sensitive about matters of honour. Now a +receipt for money given to a lady looks to me very much like a debt of +honour. What happened in the eyes of the world? You lent him money which +he lost in speculation." + +"No doubt," answered the Princess, willing to be convinced of any +absurdity that could help her to get back her money. "But when a man has +no means of paying a debt of honour----" + +"He shoots himself," said Monsieur Leroy, completing the sentence. + +"That would not help us. Besides, I should be very sorry if anything +happened to Guido." + +"Of course!" cried Monsieur Leroy. "Not for worlds! But nothing need +happen to him. You have only to persuade him that the sole way to save +his honour is to marry an heiress, and he will marry at once, as a +matter of conscience. Unless something is done to move him, he will +not." + +"But he is in love with the girl!" + +"Enough to occupy him and amuse him. That is all. By-the-bye, where are +those receipts?" + +"In the small strong-box, in the lower drawer of the writing table." + +Monsieur Leroy found the papers, and transferred them to his +pocket-book, not yet sure how he could best turn them to account, but +quite certain that their proper use would reveal itself to him before +long. + +"And besides," he concluded, "we can always make him sell the Andrea del +Sarto and the Raphael. Baumgarten thinks they are worth a good sum. You +know that he buys for the Berlin gallery, and the British Museum people +think everything of his opinion." + +In this way the Princess and her favourite disposed of Guido and his +property; but he would not have been much surprised if he could have +heard their conversation. They were only saying what he had expected of +them as far back as the day when he had talked with Lamberti in the +garden of the Arcadians. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + +It is not strange that Cecilia should have been much less disturbed than +Lamberti by what he had described to the doctor as a possession of the +devil, or a haunting. Men who have never been ailing in their lives +sometimes behave like frightened children if they fall ill, though the +ailment may not be very serious, whereas a hardened old invalid, +determined to make the best of life in spite of his ills, often laughs +himself into the belief that he can recover from the two or three mortal +diseases that have hold of him. Bearing bodily pain is a mere matter of +habit, as every one knows who has had to bear much, or who has tried it +as an experiment. In barbarous countries conspirators have practised +suffering the tortures likely to be inflicted on them to extract +confession. + +Lamberti had never before been troubled by anything at all resembling +what people call the supernatural, nor even by anything unaccountable. +It was natural that he should be made nervous and almost ill by the +persistence of the dreams that had visited him since he had met Cecilia, +and by what he believed to be the closing of a door each time he awoke +from them. + +Cecilia, on the contrary, had practised dreaming all her life and was +not permanently disturbed by any vision that presented itself, nor by +anything like a "phenomenon" which might accompany it. She felt that her +dreams brought her nearer to a truth of some sort, hidden from most of +the world, but of vital value, and after which she was groping +continually without much sense of direction. The specialist whom +Lamberti had consulted would have told her plainly that she had learned +to hypnotise herself, and a Japanese Buddhist monk would have told her +the same thing, adding that she was doing one of the most dangerous +things possible. The western man of science would have assured her that +a certain resemblance of the face in the dream to Lamberti was a mere +coincidence, and that since she had met him the likeness had perfected +itself, so that she now really dreamed of Lamberti; and the doctor would +have gone on to say that the rest of her vision was the result of +auto-suggestion, because the story of the Vestal Virgins had always had +a very great attraction for her. She had read a great deal about them, +she had followed Giacomo Boni's astonishing discoveries with breathless +interest, she knew more of Roman history than most girls, and probably +more than most men, and it was not at all astonishing that she should be +able to construct a whole imaginary past life with all its details and +even its end, and to dream it all at will, as if she were reading a +novel. + +She would have admitted that the pictured history of Cecilia, the last +Vestal, had been at first fragmentary, and had gradually completed +itself in her visions, and that even now it was constantly growing, and +that it might continue to grow, and even to change, for a long time. + +Further, if the specialist had known positively that similar fragments +of dreams were little by little putting themselves together in +Lamberti's imagination, though the latter had only once spoken with +Cecilia of one or two coincidences, he would have said, provided that he +chose to be frank with a mere girl, that no one knows much about +telepathy, and that modern science does not deny what it cannot explain, +as the science of the nineteenth century did, but collects and examines +facts, only requiring to be persuaded that they are really facts and not +fictions. No one, he would have said, would build a theory on one +instance; he would write down the best account of the case which he +could find, and would then proceed to look for another. Since wireless +telegraphy was possible, the specialist would not care to seek a reason +why telepathy should not be a possibility, too. If it were, it explained +thoroughly what was going on between Cecilia and Lamberti; if it were +not, there must be some other equally satisfactory explanation, still to +be found. The attitude of science used to be extremely aggressive, but +she has advanced to a higher stage; in these days she is serene. Men of +science still occasionally come into conflict with the official +representatives of different beliefs, but science herself no longer +assails religion. Lamberti's specialist professed no form of faith, +wherefore he would rather not have been called upon to answer all three +of Kant's questions: What can I know? What is it my duty to do? What may +I hope? But it by no means followed that his answers, if he gave any, +would have been shocking to people who knew less and hoped more than he +did. + +Cecilia thought much, but she followed no such form of reasoning to +convince herself that her experiences were all scientifically possible; +on the contrary, the illusion she loved best was the one which science +and religion alike would have altogether condemned as contrary to faith +and revolting to reason, namely, her cherished belief that she had +really once lived as a Vestal in old days, and had died, and had come +back to earth after a long time, irresistibly drawn towards life after +having almost attained to perfect detachment from material things. + +Her meeting with Lamberti, and, most of all, her one short conversation +with him, had greatly strengthened her illusion. He had come back, too, +and they understood each other. But that should be all. + +Then she took up Nietzsche again, not because every one read _Thus spake +Zarathushthra_, or was supposed to read the book, and talked about it in +a manner that discredited the supposition, but because she wanted to +decide once for all whether his theory of the endless return to life at +all suited her own case. + +She turned over the pages, but she knew the main thought by heart. Time +is infinite. In space there is matter consisting of elements which, +however numerous, are limited in number, and can therefore only combine +in a finite number of ways. When those possible combinations are +exhausted, they must repeat themselves. And because time is infinite, +they must repeat themselves an infinite number of times. Therefore +precisely the same combinations have returned always and will return +again and again for ever. Therefore in the past, every one of us has +lived precisely the same life, in a precisely similar world, an infinite +number of times, and will live the same life over again, to the minutest +detail, an infinite number of times in the future. In the fewest words, +this is Nietzsche's argument to prove what he calls the "Eternal +Return." + +No. That was not at all what she wished to believe, nor could believe, +though it was very plausible as a theory. If men lived over again, they +did not live the same lives but other lives, worse or better than the +first. Nietzsche in this was speaking only of matter which combined and +combined again. If it did, each combination might have a new soul of its +own. It was conceivable that different souls should be made to suffer +and enjoy in precisely the same way. And as for the rest, as for a good +deal of _Thus spake Zarathushthra_, including the Over-Man, and the +overcoming of Pity, and the Man who had killed God, she thought it +merely fantastic, though much of it was very beautiful and some of it +was terrible, and she thought she had understood what Nietzsche meant. + +Tired of reading, she lay back in her deep chair and let the open book +fall upon her knees. She was in her own room, late in the morning, and +the blinds were drawn together to keep out the glare of the wide street, +for it was June and the summer was at hand. Outside, the air was all +alive with the coming heat, as it is in Italy at the end of spring, and +perhaps nowhere else. The sunshine seems to grow in it, like a living +thing, that also fills everything with life. It gets into the people, +too, and into their voices, and even the grave Romans unbend a little, +and laugh more gaily, and their step is more elastic. By-and-by, when +the full warmth of summer fills the city, the white streets will be +almost deserted in the middle of the day, and men who have to be abroad +will drag themselves along where the walls cast a narrow shade, and +everything will grow lazy and sleepy and silently hot. But the first +good sunshine in June is to the southern people the elixir of life, the +magic gold-mist that floats before the coming gods, the breath of the +gods themselves breathed into mortals. + +Within the girl's room the light was very soft on the pale blue damask +hangings, and a gentle air blew now and then from window to window, as +if a sweet spirit passed by, bringing a message and taking one away. It +stirred Cecilia's golden hair, and fanned her forehead, and somehow, +just then, it brought intuitions of beautiful unknown things with it, +and inspiration with peace, and clear sight. + +Maidenhood is blessed with such moments, beyond all other states. In all +times and in all countries it has been half divine, and ever +mysteriously linked with divine things. The maid was ever the priestess, +the prophetess, and the seer, whose eyes looked beyond the veil and +whose ears heard the voices of the immortals; and she of Orleans was not +the only maiden, though she was the last, that lifted her fallen country +up out of despair and led men to fight and victory who would follow no +man-leader where all had failed. + +Maidenhood meets evil, and passes by on the other side, not seeing; +maidenhood is whole and perfect in itself and sweetly careless of what +it need not know; maidenhood dreams of a world that is not, nor was, nor +shall be, hitherwards of heaven; maidenhood is angelhood. In its +unconsciousness of evil lies its strength, in its ignorance of itself +lies its danger. + +Cecilia was not trying to call up visions now; she was thinking of her +life, and wondering what was to happen, and now and then she was asking +herself what she ought to do. Should she marry Guido d'Este, or not? +That was the sum of her thoughts and her wonderings and her questions. + +She knew she was perfectly free, and that her mother would never try to +make her marry against her will. But if she married Guido, would she be +acting against her will? + +In her own mind she was well aware that he would speak whenever she +chose to let him do so. The most maidenly girl of eighteen knows when a +man is waiting for an opportunity to ask her to be his wife, whereas +most young men who are much in love do not know exactly when they are +going to put the question, and are often surprised when it rises to +their lips. Cecilia considered that issue a foregone conclusion. The +vital matter was to find out her own answer. + +She had never known any man, since her stepfather died, whom she liked +nearly as much as Guido, and she had met more interesting and gifted men +before she was really in society than most women ever know in a +lifetime. She liked him so much that if he had any faults she could not +see them, and she did not believe that he had any which deserved the +name. But that was not the question. No woman likes a man because he has +no faults; on the contrary, if he has a few, she thinks it will be her +mission to eradicate them, and reform him according to her ideal. She +believes that it will be easy, and she knows that it will be delightful +to succeed, because no other woman has succeeded before. That is one +reason why the wildest rakes are often loved by the best of women. + +Cecilia liked Guido for his own sake, and felt an intellectual sympathy +for him which took the place of what she had sorely missed since her +stepfather died; she liked him also, because he was always ready to do +whatever she wished; and because, with the exception of that one day at +the Villa Madama, his moral attitude before her was one of respectful +and chivalrous devotion; and also because he and she were fond of the +same things, and because he took her seriously and never told her that +she was wasting time in trying to understand Kant and Fichte and Hegel, +though he possibly thought so; and she liked the little ways he had, and +his modesty, though he knew so much, and his simple manner of dressing, +and the colour of his hair, and a sort of very faint atmosphere of +Russian leather, good cigarettes, and Cologne water that was always +about him. There were a great many reasons why she was fond of him. For +instance, she had found that he never repeated to any one, not even to +Lamberti, a word of any conversation they had together; and if any one +at a dinner party or at a picnic attacked any favourite idea or theory +of hers, he defended it, using all her arguments as well as his own; and +when he knew she could say something clever in the general talk, he +always said something else which made it possible for her to bring out +her own speech, and he was always apparently just as much pleased with +it as if he had not heard it already, when they had been alone. It would +be impossible to enumerate all the reasons why she was sure that there +was nobody like him. + +She knew that what she felt for him was affection, and she was quite +willing to believe that it was love. He certainly had no rival with her +at that time, and if she hesitated, it was because the thought of +marriage itself was repugnant to her. + +In the secondary life of her imagination she was bound by the most +solemn vows, and under the most terrible penalties, to preserve herself +intact from the touch of man. In the dream, it was sacrilege for a man +to love her, and meant death to love him in return. She knew that it was +a dream, but she loved to believe that all the dream was true, and she +was too much accustomed to the thought not to be influenced by it. + +There are great actors who become so used to a favourite part that they +go on acting it in real life, and have sometimes gone mad in the end, it +is said, believing themselves really to be the heroes or tyrants they +have represented. Only great second-rate actors "learn" their parts and +attain to a sort of perfection in them by mechanical means. The really +great first-rate artists make themselves a secondary existence by +self-suggestion, and really have two selves, one that thinks and acts +like Othello, or Hamlet, or Louis the Eleventh, the other that goes +through life with the opinions, convictions, and principles of Sir Henry +Irving, of Tommaso Salvini, or of Madame Sarah Bernhardt. + +In a higher degree, because she had never learned but one part, and that +one proceeded in some way out of her own intelligence, Cecilia was in +the same state of dual consciousness, and if her waking life was +influenced by her imaginary existence in dreams, her dreams were +probably affected also by her waking life. + +"Thou shalt so act, as to be worthy of happiness," said her favourite +philosopher. She could undoubtedly marry Guido, in spite of her +imaginary vows, if she chose to shake off the shadowy bond by an act of +everyday will. Would that be acting so as to deserve to be happy? What +is happiness? The belief that one is happy; nothing else. As Guido's +wife, should she believe that she was happy? Yes, if there were +happiness to be found in marriage. But she was happy already without it, +and would always be so, she was sure. Therefore she would be risking a +certainty for a possibility. "Who leaves the old and takes new, knows +what he leaves, not what he may find"; so says the old Italian proverb. +And again, she had heard a friend of her stepfather's say with a laugh +that hope seems cheap food, but is always paid for by those who live on +it. + +To act so as to be worthy of happiness, meant to act in such a way that +the reason for each action might be a law for the happiness of all. That +was the Categorical Imperative, and Cecilia believed in it. + +Then, if she married Guido, she ought to be sure that all young girls in +her position would marry under the circumstances, and that the majority +of them would be happy. With a return of practical sense from the +regions of philosophy, she asked herself how she should feel if Guido +married some one else, one of the many young girls who were among her +friends. Should she be jealous? + +At the mere thought she felt a little dull sinking that was anticipated +disappointment. Yes, she liked him enough, she was fond enough of him to +miss him terribly if he were taken away from her. This was undoubtedly +love, she thought. She could not be happy without that companionship, +though she wished that it might continue all her life, without the +necessity of being married to him. + +Of all the other men she had met during the last month, the only one +whom she instinctively understood was Lamberti, but that was different. +It was the understanding of a fear that was sometimes almost abject; it +was the certainty that if he only would, he could lead her anywhere, +make her do anything, direct her as he directed his own hand. When she +had met him in the house of the Vestals, she had been sure that if she +stood a moment longer where he had come upon her, he would take her in +his arms and kiss her, and she would not resist. It was of no use to +argue about it, to tell herself that she would have been safe on a +desert island with Guido's trusted friend; the conviction was strong. At +the Villa Madama, he had made her say what he pleased, go with him where +he chose, tell him her secret. It was too horrible for words. She had +asked him to come to see her at an hour when there would be no visitors, +and she knew that she had meant to see him alone, in spite of her +mother, and even by stealth if need were. When he was out of her sight, +his influence was gone with him, and she thanked heaven that he had not +come, and that he apparently took care never to be alone with her for a +moment now. He had only to look at her in a certain way, and she must +obey him; if he ever touched her hand she would be his slave, powerless +to resist him. + +Sometimes she could not help looking at him, but then he never turned +his eyes towards her, and she was thankful when she could turn hers +away. When he was not present, she hoped that she might never see his +face again, except in dreams, for there he was not the same. There, but +for that one passionate kiss that told all, he was tender, and gentle, +and true, and he listened to her, and in the end he lived as she wished +him to live. But he had come back to life with the same face, another +man--one whom she feared as she feared nothing in the world, and few +things beyond it, for he was born her master, and was strong, and had +ruthless eyes. Even Guido could not save her from him, she was sure. + +Yet in spite of all this, she could meet him with outward indifference +in the world, before other people. She felt that there was no danger so +long as she was not alone with him, because he would not dare to use his +power, and the world protected her by its cheerful, careless presence. +She did not hate him, she only feared him, with every part of her, body +and soul. + +She was sure that he knew it, but she was not grateful to him for +avoiding her. She could not be grateful to any one of whom she was in +terror. It was merely his will to avoid her, or perhaps, as Guido seemed +to think, he did not like her; or possibly it was for Guido's sake, +because Guido trusted him, and he was a man of honour. + +He was that beyond doubt, for every one said so, and she knew that he +was brave; but though he might possess every quality and virtue under +the sun, she could never be less afraid of him. Her fear had nothing to +do with his character; it was bodily and spiritual, not reasonable. She +had found out that he was perfectly truthful, for nothing he said +escaped her, and Guido told her that he was kind, but that was hard to +believe of any one with those eyes. Yet the man in the dream was +gentleness itself, and his eyes never glittered when they looked at her. + +To think that she could ever love Lamberti was utterly absurd. When she +was married to Guido she would tell him that she feared his friend. Now, +it was impossible. He would smile quietly and tell her there was nothing +to be afraid of; he would smile, too, if she told him that she had a +dual existence, and dreamed herself into the other every day. + +And now she was smiling, too, as she thought of him, for she had thought +too long about Lamberti, and it was soothing to go back to Guido's +companionship and to all that her real affection for him meant to her. +It was like coming home after a dangerous journey. There he was, always +the same, his hands stretched out to welcome her back. She would have +just that sensation presently when he came to luncheon, and he would +have just that look. She and he were made to spend endless days +together, sometimes talking, sometimes thoughtful and silent, always +happy, and calm, and utterly peaceful. + +After all, she thought, what more could a woman ask? With each other's +society and her fortune, they would have all the world held that was +pleasant and beautiful around them, and they would enjoy it together, as +long as it lasted, and it would never make the least difference to them +that they should grow old, and older, until the end came; and at +eighteen it was of no use to think of that. + +Surely this was love, at its best, and of the kind that must last; and +if, after all, in order to get such happiness as that seemed, there was +no way except to marry, why then, she must do as others did and be Guido +d'Este's wife. + +What could she know? That she loved him, in a way not at all like what +she had supposed to be the way of love, but sincerely and truly. What +should she do? She should marry him, since that was necessary. What +might she hope? She could hope for a lifetime of happiness. Should she +then have acted so as to deserve it? Yes. Why not? Might the reason for +her marriage be a rule for others? Yes, for others in exactly the same +case. + +So she smilingly answered the mightiest questions of transcendental +philosophy as if they all referred to the pleasant world in which she +lived, instead of to the lofty regions of Pure Reason. In that, indeed, +she knew that she was playing with them, or applying them empirically, +if any one chose to define in those terms what she was doing. After all, +why should she not? Of the three questions, the first only was +"speculative," and the other two were "practical." The philosopher +himself said so. + +Besides, it did not matter, for Guido d'Este was coming to luncheon, and +afterwards her mother would go and write notes, unless she dozed a +little in her boudoir, as she sometimes did while the two talked; and +then Cecilia would say something quite natural, but quite new, and she +would let her look linger in Guido's a little longer than ever before, +and then he would ask her to marry him. It was all decided beforehand in +her small head. + +She was glad that it was, and she felt much happier at the prospect of +what was coming than she had expected. That must be a sign that she +really loved Guido in the right way, and the pleasant little thrill of +excitement she felt now and again could only be due to that; it would be +outrageous to suppose that it was caused merely by the certainty that +for the first time in her life she was going to receive an offer of +marriage. Why should any young girl care for such a thing, unless she +meant to marry the man, and why in the world should it give her any +pleasure to hear a man stammer something that would be unintelligible if +it were not expected, and then see him wait with painful anxiety for the +answer which every woman likes to hesitate a little in giving, in order +that it may have its full value? Such doings are manifestly wicked, +unless they are sheer nonsense! + +Cecilia rose and rang for her maid; for it was twelve o'clock, and +Romans lunch at half-past twelve, because they do not begin the day +between eight and nine in the morning with ham and eggs, omelets and +bacon, beefsteak and onions, fried liver, cold joints, tongue, cold ham +and pickles, hot cakes, cold cakes, hot bread, cold bread, butter, jam, +honey, fruit of all kinds in season, tea, coffee, chocolate, and a +tendency to complain that they have not had enough, which is the +unchangeable custom of the conquering races, as everybody knows. It is +true that the conquerors do not lunch to any great extent; they go on +conquering from breakfast till dinner time without much intermission, +because that is their business; but it is believed that their women, who +stay at home, have a little something at twelve, luncheon at half-past +two, tea between five and six, dinner at eight, and supper about +midnight, when they can get it. + +Cecilia rang for the excellent Petersen, and said that she would wear +the new costume which had arrived from Doucet's two days ago. + +There was certainly no reason why she should not wish to look well on +this day of all others, and as she turned and saw herself in the glass, +she had not the least thought of making a better impression than usual +on Guido. She was far too sure of herself for that. If she chose, he +would ask her to marry him though she might be dressed in an old +waterproof and overshoes. It was merely because she was happy and was +sure that she was going to do the right thing. When a normal woman is +very happy, she puts on a perfectly new frock, if she has one, in real +life or on the stage, even when she is not going to be seen by any one +in particular. In this, therefore, Cecilia only followed the instinct of +her kind, and if the pretty new costume had not chanced to have come +from Paris, she would not have missed it at all, but would have worn +something else. As it happened to be ready, however, it would have been +a pity not to put it on, since she expected to remember that particular +day all the rest of her life. + +Petersen said it was perfection, and Cecilia was not far from thinking +so, too. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + +Guido d'Este was already in the drawing-room with the Countess when +Cecilia entered, but she knew by their faces and voices that they had +not been talking of her, and was glad of it; for sometimes, when she was +quite sure that they had, she felt a little embarrassment at first, and +found Guido a trifle absent-minded for some time afterwards. + +She took his hand, and perhaps she held it a second longer than usual, +and she looked into his eyes as she spoke to her mother. Yesterday she +would have very likely looked at her mother while speaking to him. + +"I hope I am not late," she said, "Have I kept you waiting?" + +"It was worth while, if you did," Guido said, looking at her with +undisguised admiration. + +"It really is a success, is it not?" Cecilia asked, turning to her +mother now, for approval. + +Then she turned slowly round, raised herself on tiptoe a moment, came +back to her original position, and smiled happily. Guido waited for the +Countess to speak. + +"Yes--yes," the latter answered critically, but almost satisfied. "When +one has a figure like yours, my dear, one should always have things +quite perfect. A woman who has a good figure and is really well dressed, +hardly ever needs a pin. Let me see. Does it not draw under the right +arm, just the slightest bit? Put your arm down, child, let it hang +naturally! So. No, I was mistaken, there is nothing. You really ought to +keep your arm in the right position, darling. It makes so much +difference! You are not going to play tennis, or ride a bicycle in that +costume. No, of course not! Well, then--you understand. Do be careful!" + +Cecilia looked at Guido and smiled again, and her lips parted just +enough to show her two front teeth a little, and then, still parted, +grew grave, which gave her an expression Guido had never seen. For a +moment there was something between a question and an appeal in her face. + +"It is very becoming," he said gravely. "It is a pleasure to see +anything so faultless." + +"I am glad you really like it," she answered. "I always want you to like +my things." + +Everything happened exactly as she had expected and wished, and the +Countess, when she had sipped her cup of coffee after luncheon, went to +the writing table in the boudoir, and though the door was open into the +great drawing-room, she was out of sight, and out of hearing too. + +Cecilia did not sit down again at once, but moved slowly about, went to +one of the windows and looked down at the white street through the slats +of the closed blinds, turned and met Guido's eyes, for he was watching +her, and at last stood still not far from him, but a little further from +the open door of the boudoir than he was. At the end of the room a short +sofa was placed across the corner; before it stood a low table on which +lay a few large books, of the sort that are supposed to amuse people who +are waiting for the lady of the house, or who are stranded alone in the +evening when every one else is talking. They are always books of the +type described as magnificent and not dear; if they were really +valuable, they would not be left there. + +"How you watch me!" Cecilia smiled, as if she did not object to being +watched. "Come and sit down," she added, without waiting for an answer. + +She established herself in one corner of the short sofa behind the +table, Guido took his place in the other, and there would not have been +room for a third person between them. The two had never sat together in +that particular place, and there was a small sensation of novelty about +it which was delightful to them both. There was not the least +calculation of such a thing in Cecilia's choice of the sofa, but only +the unerring instinct of woman which outwits man's deepest schemes at +every turn in life. + +"Yes," Guido said, "I was watching you. I often do, for it is good to +look at you. Why should one not get as much aesthetic pleasure as +possible out of life?" + +The speech was far from brilliant, for Guido was beginning to feel the +spell, and was not thinking so much of what he was saying as of what he +longed to say. Most clever men are dull enough to suppose that they bore +women when they suddenly lose their cleverness and say rather foolish +things with an air of conviction, instead of very witty things with a +studied look of indifference. The hundred and fifty generations of men, +more or less, that separate us moderns from the days of Eden, never +found out that those are the very moments at which a woman first feels +her power, and that it is much less dangerous to bore her just then than +before or afterwards. It is a rare delight to her to feel that her mere +look can turn careless wit to earnest foolishness. For nothing is ever +more in earnest than real folly, except real love. + +"You always say nice things," Cecilia answered, and Guido was pleasantly +surprised, for he had been quite sure that the silly compliment was +hardly worth answering. + +"And you are always kind," he said gratefully. "Always the same," he +added after a moment, with a little accent of regret. + +"Am I? You say it as if you wished I might sometimes change. Is that +what you mean?" + +She looked down at her hands, that lay in her lap motionless and white, +one upon the other, on the delicate dove-coloured stuff of her frock; +and her voice was rather low. + +"No," Guido answered. "That is not what I mean." + +"Then I do not understand," she said, neither moving nor looking up. + +Guido said nothing. He leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, and +stared down at the Persian rug that lay before the sofa on the smooth +matting. It was warm and still in the great room. + +"Try and make me understand." + +Still he was silent. Without changing his position he glanced at the +open door of the boudoir. The Countess was invisible and inaudible. +Guido could hear the young girl's soft and regular breathing, and he +felt the pulse in his own throat. He knew that he must say something, +and yet the only thing he could think of to say was that he loved her. + +"Try and make me understand," she repeated. "I think you could." + +He started and changed his position a little. He had been accustomed so +long to the belief that if he spoke out frankly the thread of his +intercourse with her would be broken, that he made a strong effort to +get back to the ordinary tone of their conversation. + +"Do you never say absurd things that have no meaning?" he asked, and +tried to laugh. + +"It was not what you said," Cecilia answered quietly. "It was the way +you said it, as if you rather regretted saying that I am always the +same. I should be sorry if you thought that an absurd speech." + +"You know that I do not!" cried Guido, with a little indignation. "We +understand each other so well, as a rule, but there is something you +will never understand, I am afraid." + +"That is just what I wish you would explain," replied the young girl, +unmoved. + +"Are you in earnest?" Guido asked, suddenly turning his face to her. + +"Of course. We are such good friends that it is a pity there should ever +be the least little bit of misunderstanding between us." + +"You talk about it very philosophically!" + +"About what?" She had felt that she must make him lose patience, and she +succeeded. + +"After all, I am a man," he said rather hoarsely. "Do you suppose it is +possible for me to see you day after day, to talk with you day after +day, to be alone with you day after day, as I am, to hear your voice, to +touch your hand--and to be satisfied with friendship?" + +"How should I know?" Cecilia asked thoughtfully. "I have never known any +one as well as I know you. I never liked anyone else well enough," she +added after an instant. + +A very faint colour rose in her cheeks, for she was afraid that she had +been too forward. + +"Yes. I am sure of that," he said. "But you never feel that mere liking +is turning into something stronger, and that friendship is changing into +love. You never will!" + +She said nothing, but looked at him steadily while he looked away from +her, absorbed in his own thought and expecting no answer. When at last +he felt her eyes on him, he turned quickly with a start of surprise, +catching his breath, and speaking incoherently. + +"You do not mean to tell me--you are not----" + +Again her lips parted and she smiled at his wonder. + +"Why not?" she asked, at last. + +"You love me? You?" He could not believe his ears. + +"Why not?" she asked again, but so low that he could hardly hear the +words. + +He turned half round, as he sat, and covered her crossed hands with his, +and for a while neither spoke. He was supremely happy; she was convinced +that she ought to be, and that she therefore believed that she was, and +that her happiness was consequently real. + +But when she heard his voice, she knew, in spite of all, that she did +not feel what he felt, even in the smallest degree, and there was a +doubt which she had not anticipated, and which she at once faced in her +heart with every argument she could use. She must have done right, it +was absolutely necessary that what she had done should be right, now +that it was too late to undo it. The mere suggestion that it might turn +out to be a mistake was awful. It would all be her fault if she had +deceived him, though ever so unwittingly. + +His hands shook a little as they lay on hers. Then they took one of hers +and held it, drawing it slowly away from the other. + +"Do you really love me?" Guido asked, still wondering, and not quite +convinced. + +"Yes," she answered faintly, and not trying to withdraw her hand. + +She had been really happy before she had first answered him. A minute +had not passed, and her martyrdom had begun, the martyrdom by the doubt +which made that one "yes" possibly a lie. Guido raised her hand to his +lips, and she felt that they were cold. Then he began to speak, and she +heard his voice far off and as if it came to her through a dense mist. + +"I have loved you almost since we first met," he said, "but I was sure +from the beginning that you would never feel anything but friendship for +me." + +A voice that was neither his nor hers, cried out in her heart: + +"Nor ever can!" + +She almost believed that he could hear the words. She would have given +all she had to have the strength to speak them, to disappoint him +bravely, to tell him that she had meant to do right, but had done wrong. +But she could not. He did not pause as he spoke, and his soft, deep +voice poured into her ear unceasingly the pent-up thoughts of love that +had been gathering in his heart for weeks. She knew that he was looking +in her face for some response, and now and then, as her head lay back +against the sofa cushion, she turned her eyes to his and smiled, and +twice she felt that her fingers pressed his hand a little. + +It was not out of mere weakness that she did not interrupt him, for she +was not weak, nor cowardly. She had been so sure that she loved him, +until he had made her say so, that even now, whenever she could think at +all, she went back to her reasoning, and could all but persuade herself +again. It was when she was obliged to speak that her lips almost refused +the word. + +For she was very fond of him. It would have been pleasant to sit there, +and even to press his hand affectionately, and to listen to his words, +if only they had been words of friendship and not of love, and spoken in +another tone--in his voice of every day. But she had waked in him +something she could not understand, and to which nothing in herself +responded, nothing thrilled, nothing consented; and the inner voice in +her heart cried out perpetually, warning her against something unknown. + +He was eloquent now, and spoke without doubt or fear, as men do when +they have been told at last that they are loved; and her occasional +glance and the pressure of her hand were all he wanted in return. He +said everything for her, which he wished to hear her say, and it seemed +to him that she spoke the words by his lips. They would be happy +together always, happy beyond volumes of words to say, beyond thought to +think, beyond imagination to imagine. Quick plans for the future, near +and far, flashed into words that were pictures, and the pictures showed +him a visible earthly paradise, in which they two should live always, in +which he should always be speaking as he was speaking now, and she +listening, as she now listened. + +He forgot the time, and forgot to glance at the open door of the +boudoir, but at last Cecilia started, and drew back her hand from his, +and blushed as she raised her head from the back of the sofa. Her mother +was standing in the doorway watching, and hearing, an expression of rapt +delight on her face, not daring to move forwards or backwards, lest she +should interrupt the scene. + +Cecilia started, and Guido, following the direction of her eyes, saw the +Countess, and felt that small touch of disappointment which a man feels +when the woman he is addressing in passionate language is less +absent-minded than he is. He rose to his feet instantly, and went +forwards, as the Countess came towards him. + +"My dear lady," he said, "Cecilia has consented to be my wife." + +Cecilia did not afterwards remember precisely what happened next, for +the room swam with her as she left her seat, and she steadied herself +against a chair, and saw nothing for a moment; but presently she found +herself in her mother's arms, which pressed her very hard, and her +mother was kissing her again and again, and was saying incoherent +things, and was on the point of crying. Guido stood a few steps away, +apparently seeing nothing, but looking the picture of happiness, and +very busy with his cigarette case, of which he seemed to think the +fastening must be out of order, for he opened it and shut it again +several times and tried it in every way. + +Then Cecilia was quite aware of outward things again, and she kissed her +mother once or twice. + +"Let me go, mother dear," she whispered desperately. "I want to be +alone--do let me go!" + +She slipped away, pale and trembling, and had disappeared almost before +Guido was aware that she was going towards the door. She heard her +mother's voice just as she reached the threshold. + +"We will announce it this evening," the Countess said to Guido. + +Cecilia sped through the long suite of rooms that led to her own. She +met no one, not even Petersen, for the servants were all at dinner. She +locked the door, stood still a moment, and then went to the tall glass +between the windows, and looked at herself as if trying to read the +truth in the reflection of her eyes. It seemed to her that her beauty +was suddenly gone from her, and that she was utterly changed. She saw a +pale, drawn face, eyes that looked weak and frightened, lips that +trembled, a figure that had lost all its elasticity and half its grace. + +She did not throw herself upon her bed and burst into tears. Old +Fortiguerra had taught her that it was not really more natural for a +woman to cry than it is for a man; and she had overcome even the very +slight tendency she had ever had towards such outward weakness. But like +other people who train themselves to keep down emotion, she suffered +much more than if she had given way to what she felt. She turned from +the reflection of herself with a sort of dumb horror, and sat down in +the place where she had come to her great decision less than two hours +ago. + +The room looked very differently now; the air was not the same, the June +sunshine was still beating on the blinds, but it was cruel now, and +pitiless, as all light is that shines on grief. + +She tried to collect her thoughts, and asked herself whether it was a +crime that she had committed against her will, and many other such +questions that had no answer. Little by little reason began to assert +itself again, as emotion subsided. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + +The news of Cecilia Palladio's engagement to Guido d'Este surprised no +one, and was generally received with that satisfaction which society +feels when those things happen which are appropriate in themselves and +have been long expected. A few mothers of marriageable sons were +disappointed, but no mothers of marriageable daughters, because Guido +had no fortune and was so much liked as to have been looked upon rather +as a danger than a prize. + +Though it was late in the season, and she was about to leave Rome, the +Princess Anatolie gave a dinner party in honour of the betrothed pair, +and by way of producing an impression on Cecilia and her mother, invited +all the most imposing people who happened to be in Rome at that time; +and they were chiefly related to her in some way or other, as all +semi-royal personages, and German dukes and grand-dukes and mediatised +princes, and princes of the Holy Empire, seemed to be. Now all these +great people seemed to know Cecilia's future husband intimately and +liked him, and called him "Guido"; and he called some of them by their +first names, and was evidently not the least in awe of any of them. They +were his relations, as the Princess was, and they acknowledged him; and +they were inclined to be affectionate relatives, because he had never +asked any of them for anything, and differed from most of them in never +having done anything too scandalous to be mentioned. They were his +family, for his mother had been an only child; and Princess Anatolie, +who was distinctly a snob in soul, in spite of her royal blood, took +care that the good Countess Fortiguerra should know exactly how matters +stood, and that her daughter ought to be thankful that she was to marry +among the exalted ones of the earth--at any price. + +Now, when she had been an ambassadress, the Countess had met two or +three of those people, and had been accustomed to look upon them as +personages whom the Embassy entertained in state, one at a time, when +they condescended to accept an invitation, but who lived in a region of +their own, which was often, and perhaps fortunately so, beyond the +experience of ordinary society. She was therefore really pleased and +flattered to find herself in their intimacy and to hear what they had to +say when they talked without restraint. Her position was certainly very +good already, but there was no denying that her daughter's marriage +would make it a privileged one. + +In the first place, Guido and Cecilia were clearly expected to visit +some of his relations during their wedding trip and afterwards, and at +some future time the Countess would go with them and see wonderful +castles and palaces she had heard of from her childhood. That would be +delightful, she thought, and the excellent Baron Goldbirn of Vienna +would die of envy. Not that she wished him to die of envy, nor of +anything else; she merely thought of his feelings. + +Then--and perhaps that was what gave her the most real +satisfaction--Cecilia was to take the place for which her beauty and her +talents had destined her, but which her birth had not given her. The +mother's heart was filled with affectionate pride when she realised that +the marvel she had brought into the world, the most wonderful girl that +ever lived, her only child, was to be the mother of kings' and queens' +second cousins. It was quite indifferent that she should be called plain +Signora d'Este, and not princess, or duchess, or marchioness. The +Countess did not care a straw for titles, for she had lived in a world +where they are as plentiful as figs in August; but to be the mother of a +king's second cousin was something worth living for, and she herself +would be the mother-in-law of an ex-King's son, which would have made +her the something-in-law of the ex-King himself, if he had been alive. +Yet she cared very little for herself in comparison with Cecilia. She +was only a vicarious snob, after all, and a very motherly and loving +one, with harmless faults and weaknesses which every one forgave. + +The Princess Anatolie saw that the impression was made, and was +satisfied for the present. She meant to have a little serious +conversation with the Countess before they parted for the summer, and +before the first impression had worn off, but it would have been a great +mistake to talk business on such an occasion as the present. The fish +was netted, that was the main thing; the next was to hasten the marriage +as much as possible, for the Princess saw at once that Cecilia was not +really in love with Guido, and as the fortune was hers, the girl had the +power to draw back at the last moment; that is to say, that all the +mothers of marriageable sons would declare that she was quite right in +doing what Italian society never quite pardons in ordinary cases. An +Italian girl who has broken off an engagement after it is announced does +not easily find a husband at any price. + +Cecilia noticed that Monsieur Leroy was not present at the dinner, and +as she sat next to Guido she asked him the reason in an undertone. + +"I do not know," he answered. "He is probably dining out. My aunt's +relations do not like him much, I believe." + +The Countess was affectionately intent on everything her daughter said +and did, and was possessed of very good hearing; she caught the exchange +of question and answer, and it occurred to her that an absent person +might always be made a subject of conversation. She was not far from the +Princess at table. + +"By-the-bye," she asked, agreeably, "where is Monsieur Leroy?" + +Every one heard her speak, and to her amazement and confusion her words +produced one of those appalling silences which are remembered through +life by those who have accidentally caused them. Cecilia looked at +Guido, and he was gravely occupied in digging the little bits of truffle +out of some pâté de foie gras on his plate, for he did not like +truffles. Not a muscle of his face moved. + +"I suppose he is at home," the Princess answered after a few seconds, in +her most disagreeable and metallic tone. + +As Monsieur Leroy had told Cecilia that he lived in the house, she +opened her eyes. Nobody spoke for several moments, and the Countess got +very red, and fanned herself. A stout old gentleman of an apoplectic +complexion and a merry turn of mind struggled a moment with an evident +desire to laugh, then grasped his glass desperately, tried to drink, +choked himself, and coughed and sputtered, just as if he had not been a +member of an imperial family, but just a common mortal. + +"You are a good shot, Guido," said a man who was very much like him, but +was older and had iron-grey hair, "you must be sure to come to us for +the opening of the season." + +"I should like to," Guido answered, "but it is always a state function +at your place." + +"The Emperor is not coming this year," explained the first speaker. + +"Why not?" asked the Princess Anatolie. "I thought he always did." + +The man with the iron-grey hair proceeded to explain why the Emperor was +not coming, and the conversation began again, much to the relief of +every one. The Countess listened attentively, for she was not quite sure +which Emperor they meant. + +"Please ask your mother not to talk about Monsieur Leroy," Guido said, +almost in a whisper. + +Cecilia thought that the advice would scarcely be needed after what had +just happened, but she promised to convey it, and begged Guido to tell +her the reason for what he said when he should have a chance. + +"I am sorry to say that I cannot," he answered, and at once began to +talk about an indifferent subject. + +Cecilia answered him rather indolently, but not absently. She was at +least glad that he did not speak of their future plans, where any one +might hear what he said. + +She was growing used to the idea that she had promised to marry him, and +that everybody expected the wedding to take place in a few weeks, though +it looked utterly impossible to her. + +It was as if she had exchanged characters with him. He had become +hopeful, enthusiastic, in love with life, actively exerting himself in +every way. In a few days she had grown indolent and vacillating, and was +willing to let every question decide itself rather than to force her +decision upon circumstances. She felt that she was not what she had +believed herself to be, and that it therefore mattered little what +became of her. If she married Guido she should not live long, but it +would be the same if she married any one else, since there was no one +whom she liked half as much. + +On the day after the engagement was announced Lamberti came, with Guido, +to offer his congratulations. Cecilia saw that he was thin and looked as +if he were living under a strain of some sort, but she did not think +that his manner changed in the least when he spoke to her. His words +were what she might have expected, few, concise, and well chosen, but +his face was expressionless, and his eyes were dull and impenetrable. He +stayed twenty minutes, talking most of the time with her mother, and +then took his leave. As soon as he had turned to go, Cecilia +unconsciously watched him. He went out and shut the door very softly +after him, and she started and caught her breath. It was only the +shutting of a door, of course, and the door was like any other door, and +made the same noise when one shut it--the click of a well-made lock when +the spring pushes the bevelled latch-bolt into the socket. But it was +exactly the sound she thought she heard each time her dream ended. + +The impression had passed in a flash, and no one had noticed her nervous +movement. Since then, she had not met Lamberti, for after the engagement +was made known she went out less, and Guido spent much more of his time +at the Palazzo Massimo. Many people were leaving Rome, too, and those +who remained were no longer inclined to congregate together, but stayed +at home in the evening and only went out in the daytime when it was +cool. Some had boys who had to pass their public examinations before the +family could go into the country. Others were senators of the Kingdom, +obliged to stay in town till the end of the session; some were connected +with the ministry and had work to do; and some stayed because they liked +it, for though the weather was warm it was not yet what could be called +hot. + +The Countess wished the wedding to take place in July, and Guido agreed +to anything that could hasten it. Cecilia said nothing, for she could +not believe that she was really to be married. Something must happen to +prevent it, even at the last minute, something natural but unexpected, +something, above all, by which she should be spared the humiliation of +explaining to Guido what she felt, and why she had honestly believed +that she loved him. + +And after all, if she were obliged to marry him, she supposed that she +would never be more unhappy than she was already. It was her fate, that +was all that could be said, and she must bear it, and perhaps it would +not be so hard as it seemed. A character weaker than hers might perhaps +have turned against Guido; she might have found her friendly affection +suddenly changed into a capricious dislike that would soon lead to +positive hatred. But there was no fear of that. She only wished that he +would not talk perpetually about the future, with so much absolute +confidence, when it seemed to her so terribly problematic. + +Such conversations were made all the more difficult to sustain by the +fact that if they were married, she, as the possessor of the fortune, +would be obliged to decide many questions with regard to their manner of +life. + +"For my part," Guido said, "I do not care where we live, so long as you +like the place, but you will naturally wish to be near your mother." + +"Oh yes!" cried Cecilia, with more conviction than she had shown about +anything of late. "I could not bear to be separated from her!" + +Lamberti had once observed to Guido that she was an indulgent daughter; +and Guido had smiled and reminded his friend of the younger Dumas, who +once said that his father always seemed to him a favourite child that +had been born to him before he came into the world. Cecilia was +certainly fond of her mother, but it had never occurred to Guido that +she could not live without her. He was in a state of mind, however, in +which a man in love accepts everything as a matter of course, and he +merely answered that in that case they would naturally live in Rome. + +"We could just live here, for the present," she said. "There is the +Palazzo Massimo. I am sure it is big enough. Should you dislike it?" + +She was thinking that if she could keep her own room, and have Petersen +with her, and her mother, the change would not be so great after all. +Guido said nothing, and his expression was a blank. + +"Why not?" Cecilia insisted, and all sorts of practical reasons +suggested themselves at once. "It is a very comfortable house, though it +is a little ghostly at night. There are dreadful stories about it, you +know. But what does that matter? It is big, and in a good part of the +city, and we have just furnished it; so of what use in the world is it +to go and do the same thing over again, in the next street?" + +"That is very sensible," Guido was obliged to admit. + +"But you do not like the idea, I am sure," Cecilia said, in a tone of +disappointment. + +"I had not meant that we should live in the same house with your +mother," Guido said, with a smile. "Of course, she is a very charming +woman, and I like her very much, but I think that when people marry they +had much better go and live by themselves." + +"Nobody ever used to," objected Cecilia. "It is only of late years that +they do it in Rome. Oh, I see!" she cried suddenly. "How dull of me! +Yes. I understand. It is quite natural." + +"What?" asked Guido with some curiosity. + +"You would feel that you had simply come to live in our house, because +you have no house of your own for us to live in. I ought to have thought +of that." + +She seemed distressed, fancying that she had hurt him, but he had no +false pride. + +"Every one knows my position," he answered. "Every one knows that if we +live in a palace, in the way you are used to live, it will be with your +money." + +There was a little pause, for Cecilia did not know what to say. Guido +continued, following his own thoughts: + +"If I did not love you as much as I do, I could not possibly live on +your fortune," he said. "I used to say that nothing could ever make me +marry an heiress, and I meant it. One generally ends by doing what one +says one will never do. A cousin of mine detested Germans and had the +most extraordinary aversion for people who had any physical defect. She +married a German who had lost the use of one leg by a wound in battle, +and was extremely lame." + +"Did she love him?" asked Cecilia. + +"Devotedly, to his dying day. They were the most perfectly loving couple +I ever knew." + +"Would you rather I were lame than rich?" Cecilia asked, with a little +laugh. + +Guido laughed too. + +"That is one of those questions that have no answers. How could I wish +anything so perfect as you are to have any defect? But I will tell you a +story. An Englishman was very much in love with a lady who was lame, and +she loved him but would not marry him. She said that he should not be +tied to a cripple all his life. He was one of those magnificent +Englishmen you see sometimes, bigger and better looking than other men. +When he saw that she was in earnest he went away and scoured Europe till +he found what he wanted--a starving young surgeon who was willing to cut +off one of his legs for a large sum of money. That was before the days +of chloroform. When the Englishman had recovered, he went home with his +wooden leg, and asked the lady if she would marry him, then. She did, +and they were happy." + +"Is that true?" Cecilia asked. + +"I have always believed it. That was the real thing." + +"Yes. That was the real thing." + +Cecilia's voice trembled a very little, and her eyes glistened. + +"The truth is," said Guido, "that it is easier to have one's leg cut off +than to make a fortune." + +He was amused at his thought, but Cecilia was wondering what she would +be willing to suffer, and able to bear, if any suffering could buy her +freedom. At the same time, she knew that she would do a great deal to +help him if he were in need or distress. She wondered, too, whether +there could be any fixed relation between a sacrifice made for love and +one made for friendship's sake. + +"There must never be any question of money between us," she said, after +a pause. "What is mine must be ours, and what is ours must be as much +yours as mine." + +"No," Guido answered gently. "That is not possible. I have quite enough +for anything I shall ever need, but you must live in the way you like, +and where you like, with your own fortune." + +"And you will be a sort of perpetual guest in my house!" + +For the first time there was a little bitterness in her laugh, and he +looked at her quickly, for after the way she had spoken he had not +thought that what he had said could have offended her. Of the two, he +fancied that his own position was the harder to accept, the position of +the "perpetual guest" in his wife's palace, just able to pay for his +gloves, his cigarettes, and his small luxuries. He did not quite +understand why she was hurt, as she seemed to be. + +On her part she felt as if she had done all she could, and was angry +with herself, and not with him, because all her fortune was not worth a +tenth of what he was giving her, nor a hundredth part. For an instant +she was on the point of speaking out frankly, to tell him that she had +made a great mistake. Then she thought of what he would suffer, and once +more she resolved to think it all over before finally deciding. + +So nothing was decided. For when she was alone, all the old reasons came +and arrayed themselves before her, with their hopeless little faces, +like poor children standing in a row to be inspected, and trying to look +their best though their clothes were ragged and their little shoes were +out at the toes. + +But they were the only reasons she had, and she coaxed them into a sort +of unreal activity till they brought her back to the listless state in +which she had lived of late, and in which it did not matter what became +of her, since she must marry Guido in the end. + +Her mother paid no attention to her moods. Cecilia had always been +subject to moods, she said to herself, and it was not at all strange +that she should not behave like other girls. Guido seemed satisfied, and +that was the main thing, after all. He was not, but he was careful not +to say so. + +The preparations for the wedding went on, and the Countess made up her +mind that it should take place at the end of July. It would be so much +more convenient to get it over at once, and the sooner Cecilia returned +from her honeymoon, the sooner her mother could see her again. The good +lady knew that she should be very unhappy when she was separated from +the child she had idolised all her life; but she had always looked upon +marriage as an absolute necessity, and after being married twice +herself, she was inclined to consider it as an absolute good. She would +no more have thought of delaying the wedding from selfish considerations +than she would have thought of cutting off Cecilia's beautiful hair in +order to have it made up into a false braid and wear it herself. So she +busied herself with the dressmakers, and only regretted that both +Cecilia and Guido flatly refused to go to Paris. It did not matter quite +so much, because only three months had elapsed since the last interview +with Doucet, and all the new summer things had come; and after all one +could write, and some things were very good in Rome, as for instance all +the fine needle-work done by the nuns. It would have been easier if +Cecilia had shown some little interest in her wedding outfit. + +The girl tried hard to care about what was being made for her, and was +patient in having gowns tried on, and in listening to her mother's +advice. The days passed slowly and it grew hotter. + +After she had become engaged to Guido, she had broken with her dream +life by an effort which had cost her more than she cared to remember. + +She had felt that it was not the part of a faithful woman to go on +loving an imaginary man in her dreams, when she was the promised wife of +another, even though she loved that other less or not at all. + +It was a maidenly and an honest conviction, but at the root of it lay +also an unacknowledged fear which made it even stronger. The man in the +dream might grow more and more like Lamberti, the dream itself might +change, the man might have power over her, instead of submitting to her +will, and he might begin to lead her whither he would. The mere idea was +horrible. It was better to break off, if she could, and to remember the +exquisite Vestal, faithful to her vows, living her life of saintly +purity to the very end, in a love altogether beyond material things. To +let that vision be marred, to suffer that life to be polluted by +mortality, to see the Vestal break the old promises and fall to the +level of an ordinary woman, would be to lose a part of herself and all +that portion of her own existence which had been dearest to her. That +would happen if the man's eyes changed ever so little from what they +were in the dream to the likeness of those living ones that glittered +and were ruthless. For the dream had really changed on the very night +after she had met Lamberti; the loving look had been followed by the one +fierce kiss she could never forget, and though afterwards the rest of +the dream had all come back and had gone on to its end as before, that +one kiss came with it again and again, and in that moment the eyes were +Lamberti's own. It was no wonder that she dared not look into them when +she met him. + +And worse still, she had begun to long for it in the dream. She blushed +at the thought. If by any unheard-of outrage Lamberti should ever touch +her lips with his in real life, she knew that she would scream and +struggle and escape, unless his eyes forced her to yield. Then she +should die. She was sure of it. But she would kill herself rather than +be touched by him. + +She did not understand exactly, that is to say, scientifically, how she +put herself into the dream state, for it was not a natural sleep, if it +were sleep at all. She did not put out the light and lay her head on the +pillow and lose consciousness, as Lamberti did, and then at once see the +vision. In real sleep, she rarely dreamed at all, and never of what she +always thought of as her other life. To reach that, she had to use her +will, being wide awake, with her eyes open, concentrating her thoughts +at first, as it seemed to her, to a single point, and then abandoning +that point altogether, so that she thought of nothing while she waited. + +It was in her power not to begin the process, in other words not to +hypnotise herself, though she never thought of it by that name; and when +she had answered Guido's question, rightly or wrongly, she knew that it +must be right to break the old habit. But she did not know what she had +resolved to forego till the temptation came, that very night, after she +had shut the door, and when she was about to light the candles, by force +of habit. She checked herself. There was the high chair she loved to sit +in, with the candles behind her, waiting for her in the same place. If +she sat in it, the light would cast her shadow before her and the vision +would presently rise in it. + +She had taken the lid off the little Wedgwood match box and the candles +were before her. It seemed as if some physical power were going to force +her to strike the wax match in spite of herself. If she did, five +minutes would not pass before she should see the marble court of the +Vestals' house, and then the rest--the kiss, and then the rest. She +stiffened her arm, as if to resist the force that tried to move it +against her will, and she held her breath and then breathed hard again. +She felt her throat growing slowly dry and the blood rising with a +strange pressure to the back of her head. If she let her hand move to +take the match, she was lost. As the temptation increased she tried to +say a prayer. + +Then, she did not know how, it grew less, as if a sort of crisis were +past, and she drew a long breath of relief as her arm relaxed, and she +replaced the lid on the box. She turned from the table and took the big +chair away from its usual place. It was a heavy thing for a woman to +carry, but she did not notice the weight till she had set it against the +wall at the further end of the room. + +She slept little that night, but she slept naturally, and when she awoke +there was no sound of the door being softly closed. But she missed +something, and felt a dull, inexplicable want all the next day. + +A habit is not broken by a single interruption. It is hard for a man +whose nerves are accustomed to a stimulant or a narcotic to go without +it for one day, but that is as nothing compared with giving it up +altogether. Specialists can decide whether there is any resemblance +between the condition of a person under the influence of morphia or +alcohol, and the state of a person hypnotised, whether by himself or by +another, when that state is regularly accompanied by the illusion of +some strong and agreeable emotion. Probably all means which produce an +unnatural condition of the nerves at more or less regular hours may be +classed together, and there is not much difference between the kind of +craving they produce in those who use them. Moreover it is often said +that it is harder for a woman to break a habit of that sort, than for a +man. + +Cecilia was young, fairly strong and very elastic, but she suffered +intensely when night came and she had to face the struggle. Bodily pain +would have been a relief then, and she knew it, but there was none to +bear. The chair looked at her from its distant place against the wall, +and seemed to draw her to it, till she had it taken away, pretending +that it did not suit the room. But when it was gone, she knew perfectly +well that it really made no difference, and that she could dream in any +other chair as easily. + +And then came a wild desire to see the man's face again, and to be sure +that it had not changed. She was certain that she only wished to see it; +she would have been overwhelmed with shame, all alone in her room, if +she had acknowledged that it was the kiss that she craved and the one +moment of indescribable intoxication that came with it. + +Are there not hundreds of men who earn their living by risking their +lives every night in feats of danger, and who miss that recurring moment +when they cannot have it? They will never admit that what they crave is +really the chance of a painful death, yet it is perfectly true. + +Cecilia could not have been induced to think that she desired no longer +the lovely vision of a perfect life; that she could have parted with +that easily enough, though with much calm regret; and that, instead, she +had a nervous, material, most earthly longing for the single moment in +that life which was the contrary of perfect, which she despised, or +tried to despise, and which she believed she feared. + +She struggled hard, and succeeded, and at last she could go to bed +quietly, without even glancing at the place where the chair had stood, +or at the candles on the table. + +Then, when it all seemed over, a terrible thing happened. She dreamed of +the real Lamberti in her natural sleep, in a dream about real life. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + +Cecilia knelt in the church of Santa Croce, near one of the ancient +pillars. At a little distance behind her, Petersen sat in a chair +reading a queer little German book that told her the stories of the +principal Roman churches with the legends of the saints to which they +are dedicated. A thin, smooth-shaven lay brother in black and white +frock was slowly sweeping the choir behind the high altar. There was no +one else in the church. + +Cecilia was kneeling on the marble floor, resting her folded hands upon +the back of a rough chair, and there was no sound in the dim building, +but the regular, soft brushing of the monk's broom. The girl's face was +still and pale, her eyes were half closed, and her lips did not move; +she did not hear the broom. + +That was the first time she had ever tried to spend an hour in +meditation in a church, for her religion had never seemed very real to +her. It was compounded of habit and the natural respect of a girl for +what her mother practises and has taught her to practise, and it had +continued to hold a place in her life because she had quietly exempted +it from her own criticism; perhaps, too, because her reading had not +really tended to disturb it, since by nature she was strongly inclined +to believe in something much higher than the visible world. + +The Countess Fortiguerra believed with the simplicity of a child. Her +first husband, freethinker, Garibaldian, Mazzinian, had at first tried +to laugh her out of all belief, and had said that he would baptize her +in the name of reason, as Garibaldi is said to have once baptized a +new-born infant. But to his surprise his jests had not the slightest +effect on the rather foolish, very pretty, perfectly frank young woman +with whom he had fallen in love in his older years, and who, in all +other matters, thought him a great man. She laughed at his atheism much +more good-naturedly than he at her beliefs, and she went to church +regularly in spite of anything he could say; so that at last he shrugged +his shoulders and said in his heart that all women were half-witted +creatures, where priests were concerned, but that fortunately the +weakness did not detract from their charm. On her side, she prayed for +his conversion every day, with clock-like regularity, but without the +slightest result. + +Fortiguerra had been a man of remarkable gifts, extremely tolerant of +other people's opinions. He never laughed at any sort of belief, though +his wife never succeeded in finding out what he really thought about +spiritual matters. He evidently believed in something, so she did not +pray for his conversion, but interceded steadily for his enlightenment. +Before he died he made no objection to seeing a priest, but his wife +never knew whether he consented because it would have given her pain if +he had refused, or whether he really desired spiritual comfort in his +last moments. He was always most considerate of others and especially of +her; but he was very reticent. So she mourned him and prayed that +everything might be well with both her departed husbands, though she +doubted whether they were in the same place. She supposed that +Fortiguerra had sometimes discussed religion with his step-daughter, but +he always seemed to take it for granted that the latter should do what +her mother desired of her. + +It could hardly be expected that the girl should be what is called very +devout, and as Petersen turned over the pages of her little book she +wondered what had happened that Cecilia should kneel motionless on the +marble pavement for more than half an hour in a church to which they had +never come before, and on a week-day which was not a saint's day either. + +It was something like despair that had brought her to Santa Croce, and +she had chosen the place because she could think of no other in which +she could be quite sure of being alone, and out of the way of all +acquaintances. She wanted something which her books could not give her, +and which she could not find in herself; she wanted peace and good +advice, and she felt that she was dealt with unjustly. + +Indeed, it was of little profit that she should have forced herself to +give up what was dearest to her, unreal though it might be, since she +was to be haunted by Lamberti's face and voice whenever she fell asleep. +It was more like a possession of the evil one now than anything else. +She would have used his own words to describe it, if she had dared to +speak of it to any one, but that seemed impossible. She had thought of +going to some confessor who did not know her by sight, to tell him the +whole story, but her common sense assured her that she had done no +wrong. It was advice she needed, and perhaps it was protection too, but +it was certainly not forgiveness, so far as she knew. + +Lamberti pursued her, in her imagination, and she lived in terror of +him. If she had been already married to Guido, she would have told her +husband everything, and he would have helped her. By a revulsion that +was not unnatural, it began to seem much easier to marry him now, and +she turned to him in her thoughts, asking him to shield her from a man +she feared. Guido loved her, and she was at least a devoted friend to +him; there was no one but him to help her. + +As she knelt by the pillar she went over the past weeks of her life in a +concentrated self-examination of which she would never have believed +herself capable. + +"I am a grown woman," she said to herself, "and I have a right to think +what grown women think. I know perfectly well which thoughts are good +and which are bad, just as I know right from wrong in other ways. It was +wrong to put myself into that dream state, because I wanted him to come +to me. Yes, I confess it, I wanted him to come and kiss me that once, in +the vision every night. It would not have been wrong if I had not said +that I would marry Guido, but that made the difference. Therefore I gave +it up. I will not do anything wrong with my eyes open. I will not. I +would not, if I did not believe in God, because the thing would be wrong +just the same. Religion makes it more wrong, that is all. If I were not +engaged to Guido, and if I loved the other instead, then I should have a +right to wish and dream that the other kissed me." + +She thought some time about this point, and there was something that +disturbed her, in spite of her reasoning. + +"It would have been unmaidenly," she decided, at last. "I should be +ashamed to tell my mother that I had done it. But it would not have been +wrong, distinctly not. It would be wrong and abominable to think of two +men in that way. + +"That is what is happening now, against my will. I go to sleep saying my +prayers, and yet he comes to me in my dreams, and looks at me, and I +cannot help letting him kiss me, and it is only afterwards that I feel +how revolting it was. And in the daytime I am engaged to Guido, and I +cannot help knowing that when we are married he will want to kiss me +like that. It was different before, since I was able to give up seeing +the marble court and being the Vestal, and did give it up. This is +another thing, and it is bad, but it is not a wrong thing I am doing. +Therefore it is something outside of my soul that is trying to do me +harm, and may succeed in the end. It is a power of evil. How can I fight +against it, since it comes when I am asleep and have no will? What ought +I to do? + +"I am afraid to meet Signor Lamberti now, much more afraid than I was a +week ago, before this other trouble began. But when I am dreaming, I am +not afraid of him. I do what he makes me do without any resistance, and +I am glad to do it. I want to be his slave, then. He makes me sit down +and listen to him, and I believe all he says. We always sit on that +bench near the fountain in my villa. He tells me that he loves me much +better than Guido does, and that he is much better able to protect me +than Guido. He says that his heart is breaking because he loves me and +is Guido's friend, and he looks thin and worn, just as he does in real +life. When I dream of him, I do not mind the glittering in his eyes, but +when I meet him it frightens me. Of course, it is quite impossible that +he should know how I dream of him now. Yet, I am sure he knew all about +the other vision. He said very little, but I am sure of it, though I +cannot explain it. This is much worse than the other. But if I go back +to the other, I shall be doing wrong, because I shall be consenting; and +now I am not doing wrong, because it happens against my will, and I go +to sleep praying that it may never happen again, and I am in earnest. +God help me! I know that when I sit beside him on the bench I love him! +And yet he is the only man in all the world whom I wish never to meet +again. God help me!" + +Her head sank upon her folded hands at last, and her eyes were closely +shut. She threw her whole soul into the appeal to heaven for help and +strength, till she believed that it must come to her at once in some +real shape, with inspired wisdom and the comfort of the Holy Spirit. She +had never before in her life prayed as she was praying now, with heart +and soul and mind, though not with any form of words. + +Then came a moment in which she thought of nothing and waited. She knew +it well, that blank between one state and the other, that total +suspension of all her faculties just before she began to see an unreal +world, that breathless stillness of anticipation before the supreme +moment of change. She was quite powerless now, for her waking will was +already asleep. + +The instant was over, and the vision had come, but it was not what she +had always seen before. It was something strangely familiar, yet +beautiful and high and clear. Her consciousness was in the midst of a +world of light, at peace; and then, all round her, a brightness stole +upwards as out of a clear and soft horizon, more radiant than the light +itself that was already in the air. And as when evening creeps up to the +sky the stars begin to shine faintly, more guessed at than really seen, +so she began to see heavenly beings, growing more and more distinct, and +she was lifted up among them, and all her heart cried out in joy and +praise. And suddenly the cross shone out in a rosy radiance brighter +than all, and from head to foot and from arm to arm of it the light +flowed and flashed, and joined and passed and parted, in the holy sign. +From itself came forth a melody, in which she was rapt and swept upwards +as though she were herself a wave of the glorious sound. But of the +words, three only came to her, and they were these: Arise and +conquer![1] + +[1: A free translation of some passages in the fourteenth canto +of Dante's _Paradiso_.] + +Then all was still and calm again, and she was kneeling at her chair, +the sight still in her inward eyes, the words still ringing in her +heart, but herself awake again. + +She knew the vision now that it was past; for often, reading the +matchless verses of the "Paradise," she had intensely longed to see as +the dead poet must have seen before he could write as he wrote. It did +not seem strange that her hope should have been fulfilled at last in the +church of the Holy Cross. Her lips formed the words, and she spoke them, +consciously in her own voice, sweet and low: + +"Arise and conquer!" + +It was what she had prayed for--the peace, the strength, the knowledge; +it was all in that little sentence. She rose to her feet, and stood +still a moment, and her face was calm and radiant, like the faces of the +heavenly beings she had looked upon. There was a world before her of +which she had not dreamt before, better than that ancient one that had +vanished and in which she had been a Vestal Virgin, more real than that +mysterious one in which she had floated between two existences, and +whence the miserable longing for an earthly body had brought her back to +be Cecilia Palladio, and to fight again her battle for freedom and +immortality. + +It mattered little that her prayer should have been answered by the +imagined sight of something described by another, and long familiar to +her in his lofty verse. The prayer was answered, and she had strength to +go on, and she should find wisdom and light to choose the right path. +Henceforth, when she was weak and weary, and filled with loathing of +what she dreaded most, she could shut her eyes as she had done just now, +and pray, and wait, and the transcendent glory of paradise would rise +within her, and give her strength to live, and drive away that power of +evil that hurt her, and made night frightful, and day but a long waiting +for the night. + +She came out into the summer glare with the patient Petersen, and +breathed the summer heat as if she were drawing in new life with every +breath; and they drove home, down the long and lonely road that leads to +the new quarter, between dust-whitened trees, and then down into the +city and through the cooler streets, till at last the cab stopped before +the columns of the Palazzo Massimo. + +Celia ran up the stairs, as if her light feet did not need to touch them +to carry her upwards, while Petersen solemnly panted after her, and she +went to her own room. + +She had a vague desire to change everything in it, to get rid of all the +objects that reminded her of the miserable nights, and the sad hours of +day, which she had spent there; she wanted to move the bed to the other +end of the room, the writing table to the other window, the long glass +to a different place, to hang the walls with another colour, and to +banish the two tall candlesticks for ever. It would be like beginning +her life over again. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + +After this Cecilia no longer avoided Lamberti; on the contrary, she +sought opportunities of seeing him and of talking with him, for she was +sure that she had gained some sort of new strength which could protect +her against her imagination, till all her old illusions should vanish in +the clear light of daily familiarity. For some time she did not dream of +Lamberti, she believed that the spell was broken, and her fear of +meeting him diminished quickly. + +She made her mother ask him to dinner, but he wrote an excuse and did +not come. Then she complained to Guido, and Guido reproached his friend. + +"They really wish to know you better," he said. "If the Contessina ever +felt for you quite the same antipathy which you felt for her, she has +got over it. I think you ought to try to do as much. Will you?" + +The invitation was renewed for another day, and Lamberti accepted it. In +the evening, in order to give his friend a chance of talking with +Cecilia, Guido sat down by the Countess, and began to discuss matters +connected with the wedding. It would have been contrary to all +established custom that the marriage should take place without a +contract, and that alone was a subject about which much could be said. +Guido insisted that Cecilia should remain sole mistress of her fortune, +and the Countess would naturally have made no objection, but the +Princess had told her, and had repeated more than once, that she +expected Cecilia to bring her husband a dowry of at least a million of +francs. Baron Goldbirn thought this too much, but the Countess was +willing to consent, because she feared that the Princess would make +trouble at the last minute if she did not. Cecilia had of course never +discussed the matter with the Princess, but she was altogether of the +latter's opinion, and told her mother so. The obstacle lay in Guido's +refusal to accept a penny of his future wife's fortune, and on this +point the whole obstinacy of his father's race was roused. The Countess +could manifestly not threaten to break off the engagement because Guido +would not accept the dowry, but on the other hand she greatly feared +Guido's aunt. So there was ample matter for discussion whenever the +subject was broached. + +It was a hot evening, and all the curtains were drawn back before the +open windows, only the blinds being closed. Cecilia and Lamberti +gravitated, as it were, to the farther end of the room. A piano stood +near the window there. + +"Do you play?" Lamberti asked, looking at the instrument. + +He thought that she did. All young girls are supposed to have talent for +music. + +"No," Cecilia answered. "I have no accomplishments. Do you play the +piano?" + +"Only by ear. I do not know a note of music." + +"Play me something. Will you? But I suppose the piano is out of tune, +for nobody ever uses it since we stopped dancing." + +Lamberti touched the keys, standing, and struck a few soft chords. + +"No," he said. "It is not badly out of tune. But if I play, it will be +the end of our acquaintance." + +"Perhaps it may be the beginning," Cecilia answered, and their eyes met +for a moment. + +"If it amuses you, I will try," said Lamberti, looking away, and sitting +down before the keys. "You must be easily pleased if you can listen to +me," he added, laughing, as he struck a few chords again. + +Cecilia sat down in a low chair between him and the window, at the left +of the key-board. Her mother glanced at Lamberti with a little surprise, +and then went on talking with Guido. + +Lamberti began to play a favourite waltz, not loud, but with a good deal +of spirit and a perfect sense of time. Cecilia had often danced to the +tune in the spring, and liked it. He broke off suddenly, and made slow +chords again. + +"Have you forgotten the rest?" Cecilia asked. + +"No. I was thinking of something else. Did you ever hear this?" + +He played an old Sicilian melody with one hand, and then took it up in a +second part, and then a third, that made strange minor harmonies. + +"I never heard that," Cecilia said, as he looked at her. "I like it. It +must be very ancient. Play it again." + +By way of answer, he began to sing the old song, accompanying himself +with the same old harmonies. He had no particular voice, and it was more +like humming than singing, so far as the tone was concerned, but he +pronounced every word distinctly, and imitated the peculiar intonation +of the southern people to perfection. + +"Do you understand?" he asked, when he came to the end. + +"Not a word." Cecilia asked, "Is it Arabic? It sounds like it." + +"No. It is our own beloved Italian," laughed Lamberti, "only it is the +Sicilian dialect. If that sort of thing amuses you, I can go on for +hours." + +Many Italians have the facility he possessed, and the good memory for +both words and music, and he had unconsciously developed what talent he +had, in places where time was long and there was nothing to do. He +changed the key and hummed a little Arab melody from the desert. + +Cecilia sat quite still and watched the outline of his head against the +light. It was an energetic head, but the face was not a cruel one, and +this evening she had not seen what she called the ruthless look in his +eyes. She was not at all afraid of him now, nor would she have been even +if they had been quite alone in the room. She almost wished to tell him +so, and then smiled at the thought. + +So this was the reality of the vision that had haunted her dreams and +had caused her such unutterable suffering until she had found strength +to break the habit of her imagination. The reality was not at all +terrible. She could imagine the man roused to action, fighting for his +life, single-handed against many, as she had been told that he had +fought. He looked both brave and strong. But she could not imagine that +she should ever have cause to be afraid of him again. There he sat, +beside her, humming snatches of songs he remembered from his many +voyages, his hands moving not at all gracefully over the keys; he was +evidently a very simple and good-natured man, willing to do anything +that could amuse her, without the slightest affectation. He was just the +kind of friend for Guido, and it was her duty to like Guido's friend. It +would not be hard, now that she had got out of the labyrinth of absurd +illusions that had made it impossible. She resolutely put aside the +recollection of that afternoon at the Villa Madama. It belonged to the +class of things about which she was determined never to think again. +"Arise and conquer!" She had come back to her real self, and had +overcome. + +He stopped singing, but his hands still lay on the keys and he struck +occasional chords; and he turned his face half towards her, and spoke in +an undertone. + +"I am very sorry if I offended you by not coming more often to your +house," he said. "Guido told me. I thought perhaps you would understand +why I did not come." + +Cecilia looked at him and was silent for a moment, but she felt very +strong and sure of herself. + +"Signor Lamberti," she said presently, "I want to ask you to do +something--for me." + +There was a little emphasis on the last word. He turned quite towards +her now, but he still made chords on the instrument, for he knew that +the Countess had extraordinary ears. His impulse was to tell her that he +would do anything she asked of him, no matter how hard it might be; but +he controlled it. + +"Certainly," he answered. "What is it?" + +"Forget that we met in the Forum, and forget what we said to each other +at the garden party. Will you? It was all a coincidence, of course, but +I behaved very foolishly, and I do not like to think that you remember +it. Will you try and forget it all?" + +"I will try," Lamberti answered, looking down at the keys. "At all +events, I can promise never to remind you of it, as I did just now." + +"That is what I meant," Cecilia said. "Let us never remind each other of +it. Of course we cannot really forget, in our own selves, but we can +begin again from the beginning, this evening, as if it had never +happened. We can be real friends, as we ought to be." + +"Can we?" Lamberti asked the question in a doubtful tone, and glanced +uneasily at her. + +"I can, if you can," she answered courageously, "and I mean to be." + +"Then I can, too," Lamberti said, but his lips shut tightly as if he +regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. + +"It will be easy, now," Cecilia went on. "It will be much easier +because----" She stopped. + +"Why will it be so much easier?" Lamberti asked, looking down again. + +"We were not going to speak of those things again," Cecilia said. "We +had better not begin." + +"I only ask that one question. Tell me why it will be easier now. It may +help me to forget." + +"It will be easier--because I do not dream of you any more--I mean of +the man who is like you." She was blushing faintly, but she knew that he +would not look at her, and she was sitting in the shadow. + +"On what day did you stop dreaming?" he asked, between two chords. + +"It was last week. Let me see. It was a Wednesday. On Wednesday night I +did not dream." He nodded gravely over the keys, as if he had expected +the answer. + +"Did you ever read anything about telepathy?" he asked. "I did not dream +of you on Wednesday night either. It seemed to me that I tried to find +you and could not." + +"Were you trying to find me before?" Cecilia asked, as if it were the +most natural question in the world. + +"Yes. In my dreams I almost always found you. There was a break--I +forget when. The old dream about the house of the Vestals stopped +suddenly. Then I missed you and tried to find you. You were always +sitting on that bench by the fountain in the villa. Last Wednesday I +dreamt I was there, but you did not come." + +Cecilia shuddered, as if the night air from the open window chilled her. + +"Are you cold?" he asked. "Shall I shut the window?" + +"No, I was frightened," she answered. "We must never talk about all that +again. Do you know, I think it is wrong to talk about them. There is +some power of evil----" + +"I do not deny the existence of the devil at all," Lamberti answered, +with a faint smile. "But I think this is only a strange case of +telepathy. I will do as you wish; though my own belief is, after this +evening, that it is better to talk about it all quite fearlessly, and +grow used to it. We shall be much less afraid of it if we look upon it +as something not at all supernatural, which could easily be explained if +we knew enough about those things." + +"Perhaps," Cecilia answered doubtfully. "You may be right. I do not +know." + +"You are going to marry my most intimate friend," Lamberti continued, +"and I am unfortunately condemned to stay in Rome for some time, for a +year, I fancy, and perhaps even longer." + +"Why do you say that you are 'unfortunately condemned' to stay?" + +"Because I did my best to get away. You look surprised. I begged the +Minister to shorten my leave and send me to sea at once, with or without +promotion. Instead, I was named a member of a commission which will sit +a long time. Since we are talking frankly, I wanted to get away from +you, and not to see you again for years. But now that I must stay here, +or leave the service, we cannot help meeting; so I think it is more +sensible not to take any solemn oaths never to allude to these strange +coincidences, or whatever they are, but to talk them out of existence; +all the more so, as they seem to have suddenly come to an end. I only +tell you what would be easier for me; but I will do whatever makes it +most easy for you." + +"I prayed that they might stop," said Cecilia, in a very low voice. "I +want you to be my friend, and as long as I dreamt of you--in that way--I +felt that it was impossible." + +"Of course," Lamberti answered, without hesitation. Then, with an +attempt at a laugh, he corrected himself. "I apologise for all the +things I said to you in my dreams." + +"Please do not laugh about it." Her voice was a little unsteady, and she +was looking down, so that he could not see her face. + +"It is better not to take it too seriously," he replied gravely. "Could +anything be more absurd than that two people who were mere acquaintances +then should fall in love with each other in their dreams? It is utterly +ridiculous. Any sane person would laugh at the idea." + +"Yes; no doubt. But there is more than that. Call it telepathy, or +whatever you please, it cannot be a mere coincidence. Do you know that, +until last Wednesday, I met you in my dream, just where you dreamed of +meeting me, at the bench in the villa?" + +He did not seem surprised, but listened attentively while she continued. + +"I am sure that we really met," she went on gravely. "It may be in some +natural way or not. It does not matter. We must never meet again like +that--never. Do you understand? We must promise never to try and find +each other in our dreams. Will you promise?" + +"Yes; I promise." Lamberti spoke gravely. + +"I promise, too," Cecilia said. + +Then they were both silent for a time. It was like a real parting, and +they felt it, and for a few moments each was thinking of the bench by +the fountain in the Villa Madama. + +"We owe it to Guido," Lamberti said at last, almost unconsciously. + +"Yes," the girl answered; "and to ourselves. Thank you." + +With an impulse she did not suspect, she held out her hand to him, and +waited for him to take it. Neither her mother nor Guido could see the +gesture, for Lamberti's seated figure screened her from them; but he +could not have taken her hand in his right without changing his +position, since she was seated low on his other side; so he took it +quietly in his left, and the two met and pressed each the other for a +second. + +In that touch Cecilia felt that all her fear of him ended for ever, and +that of all men she could trust him the most, and that he would protect +her, if ever he might, even more effectually than Guido. His hand was +cool, and steady, and strong, and enfolding--the hand of a brave man. +But if she had looked she would have seen that his face was paler than +usual, and that his eyes seemed veiled. + +She rose, and he followed her as she moved slowly forward. + +"What a charming talent you have!" cried the Countess in an encouraging +tone, when Lamberti was near her. + +"Have you made acquaintance at last?" Guido was asking of Cecilia, in an +undertone. + +"Yes," she answered gravely. "I think we shall be good friends." + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + +People said that Guido had ceased to be interesting since he had been +engaged to be married. Until that time, there had been an element of +romance about him, which many women thought attractive; and most men had +been willing to look upon him as a being slightly superior to +themselves, who cared only for books and engravings, though he never +thrust his tastes upon other people, nor made any show of knowing more +than others, and whose opinion on points of honour was the very best +that could be had. It was so good, indeed, that he was not often asked +to give it. + +Now, however, they said that he was changed; that he was complacent and +pleased with himself; that this was no wonder, because he was marrying a +handsome fortune with a pretty and charming wife; that he had done +uncommonly well for himself; and much more to the same purpose. Also, +the mothers of impecunious marriageable sons of noble lineage said in +their maternal hearts that if they had only guessed that Countess +Fortiguerra would give her daughter to the first man who asked for her, +they would not have let Guido be the one. + +The judgments of society are rarely quite at fault, but they are almost +always relative and liable to change. They are, indeed, appreciations of +an existing state of things, rather than verdicts from which there is no +appeal. The verdict comes after the state of things has ceased to exist. + +Guido was happy, and nothing looks duller than the happiness of quiet +people. Nobody will go far to look at the sea when it is calm, if he is +used to seeing it at all; but those who live near it will walk a mile or +two to watch the breakers in a storm. + +In the first place, Guido was in love, and more in love with Cecilia's +face and figure than he guessed. In the early days of their acquaintance +he had enjoyed talking with her about the subjects in which she was +interested. Such conversation generally brought him to that condition of +intellectual suspense which was peculiarly delightful to him, for though +she did not persuade him to accept her own points of view, she made him +feel more doubtful about his own, so far as any of them were fixed, and +doubt meant revery, musing, imaginative argument about questions that +might never be answered. But he and she had now advanced to another +stage. Unconsciously, all that side of his nature had fallen into +abeyance, and he thought only of positive things in the immediate +future. When he was with Cecilia, no matter how the conversation began, +it soon turned upon their plans for their married life; and he found it +so infinitely pleasant to talk of such matters that it did not occur to +him to ask whether she regarded them as equally interesting. + +She did not; she saw the change in him, and regretted it. A woman who is +not really in love, generally likes a man less after he has fallen +hopelessly in love with her. It is true that she sometimes likes herself +the better for her new conquest, and there may be some compensation in +that; but there is something tiresome, if not repugnant to her, in the +placid, possessive complacency of a future husband, who seems to forget +that a woman has any intelligence except in matters concerning furniture +and the decoration of a house. + +Cecilia was not capricious; she really liked Guido as much as ever, and +she would not even admit that he bored her when he came back again and +again to the same topics. She tried hard to look forward to the time +when all the former charm of their intercourse should return, and when, +besides being the best of friends, he would again be the most agreeable +of companions. It seemed very far off; and yet, in her heart, she hoped +that something might happen to hinder her marriage, or at least to put +it off another year. + +Her life seemed very blank after the great struggle was ended, and in +the long summer mornings before Guido came to luncheon, she was +conscious of longing for something that should take the place of the old +dreams, something she could not understand, that awoke under the +listlessness which had come upon her. It was a sort of sadness, like a +regret for a loss that had not really been suffered, and yet was +present; it was a craving for sympathy where she had deserved none, and +it made her inclined to pity herself without reason. She sometimes felt +it after Guido had come, and it stayed with her, a strange yearning +after an unknown happiness that was never to be hers, a half-comforting +and infinitely sad conviction that she was to die young and that people +would mourn for her, but not those, or not that one, who ought to be +most sorry that she was gone. All her books were empty of what she +wanted, and for hours she sat still, doing nothing, or stood leaning on +the window-sill, gazing down through the slats of the blinds at the +glaring street, unconscious of the heat and the strong light, and of the +moving figures that passed. + +Occasionally she drove out to the Villa Madama in the afternoon with her +mother, and Guido joined them. Lamberti did not come there, though he +often came to the house in the evening, sometimes with his friend, and +sometimes later. The two always went away together. At the villa, +Cecilia never sat down on the bench by the fountain, but from a distance +she looked at it, and it was like looking at a grave. In dreams she had +sat there too often with another to go there alone now; she had heard +words there that touched her heart too deeply to be so easily forgotten, +and there had been silences too happy to forget. She had buried all that +by the garden seat, but it was better not to go near the place again. +What she had laid out of sight there might not be quite dead yet, and if +she sat in the old place she might hear some piteous cry from beneath +her feet; or its ghost might rise and stare at her, the ghost of a +dream. Then, the yearning and the longing grew stronger and hurt her +sharply, and she turned under the great door, into the hall, and was +very glad when her mother began to chatter about dress and people. + +But one day the very thing happened which she had always tried to avert. +Guido insisted on walking up and down the path with her, and they passed +and repassed the bench, till she was sure that he would make her sit +down upon it. She tried to linger at the opposite end, but he was +interested in what he was saying and did not notice her reluctance to +turn back. + +Then it came. He stood still by the fountain, and then he sat down quite +naturally, and evidently expecting her readiness to do the same. She +started slightly and looked about, as if to find some means of escape, +but a moment later she had gathered her courage and was sitting beside +him. + +The scene came back with excessive vividness. There was the evening +light, the first tinge of violet on the Samnite mountains, the base of +Monte Cavo already purple, the glow on Frascati, and nearer, on Marino; +Rome was at her feet, in a rising mist beyond the flowing river. Guido +talked on, but she did not hear him. She heard another voice and other +words, less gentle and less calm. She felt other eyes upon her, waiting +for hers to answer them, she felt a hand stealing near to hers as her +own lay on the bench at her side. + +Still Guido talked, needing no reply, perfectly confident and happy. She +did not hear what he said, but when he paused she mechanically nodded +her head, as if agreeing with him, and instantly lost herself again. She +could not help it. She expected the touch, and the look, and then the +blinding rush that used to come after it, lifting her from her feet and +carrying her whole nature away as the south wind whirls dry leaves up +with it and far away. + +That did not come, and presently she was covering her face with both +hands, shaking a little, and Guido was anxiously asking what had +happened. + +"Nothing," she answered rather faintly. "It is nothing. It will be over +in a moment." + +He thought that she had felt the sudden chill of the evening which is +sometimes dangerous in Rome in midsummer, and he rose at once. + +"We had better go in before you catch cold," he said. + +"Yes. Let us go in." + +For the first time, his words really jarred on her. For the rest of her +life, he would tell her when to go indoors before catching cold. He was +possessive, complacent; he already looked upon her as a person in his +charge, if not as a part of his property. Unreasoningly, she said to +herself it was no concern of his whether she caught cold or not, and +besides, there was no question of such a thing. She had covered her eyes +with her hands for a very different reason, and was ashamed of having +done it, which made matters worse. In anger she told herself boldly that +she wished that he were not himself, only that once, but that he were +Lamberti, who at least took the trouble to amuse her and never put on +paternal airs to enquire about her health. + +It was the beginning of revolt. Guido dined with them that evening, and +she was silent and absent-minded. Before the hour at which he usually +went away, she rose and bade him good night, saying that she was a +little tired. + +"I am sure you caught cold to-day," he said, with real anxiety. + +"We will not go to the villa again," she answered. "Good night." + +It was late before she really went to bed, for when she was at last rid +of the conscientious Petersen, she sat long in her chair at the writing +table with a blank sheet of letter paper before her and a pen in her +hand. She dipped it into the ink often, and her fingers moved as if she +were going to write, but the point never touched the paper. At last the +pen lay on the table, and she was resting her chin upon her folded +hands, her eyes half closed, her breath drawn in short sighs that came +and went between her parted lips. Then, though she was all alone, the +blood rose suddenly in her face and she sprang to her feet, angry with +herself and frowning, and ashamed of her thoughts. + +She felt hot, and then cold, and then almost sick with disgust. The +vision that had delighted her was far away now; she had forced herself +not to see it, but the man in it had come back to her in dreams; she had +driven him out of them, and for a time she had found peace, but now he +came to her in her waking thoughts and she longed to see his living face +and to hear his real voice. With utter self-contempt and scorn of her +own heart, she guessed that this was love, or love's beginning, and that +nothing could save her now. + +Her first impulse was to write to him, to beg him to go away at any +price, never to see her again as long as she lived. As that was out of +the question, she next thought of writing to Guido, to tell him that she +could not marry him, and that she had made up her mind to retire from +the world and spend her life in a convent. But that was impossible, too. + +There was no time to be lost. Either she must make one supreme effort to +drive Lamberti from her thoughts and to get back to the state in which +she had felt that she could marry Guido and be a good wife to him, or +else she must tell him frankly that the engagement must end. He would +ask why, and she would refuse to tell him, and after that she did not +dare to think of what would happen. It might ruin his life, for she knew +that he loved her very much. She was honestly and truly much more +concerned for him than for herself. It did not matter what became of +her, if only she could speak the truth to him without bringing harm to +him in the future. The world might say what it pleased. + +It was right to break off her engagement, beyond question, and she had +done very wrong in ever agreeing to it; it was the greatest sin she had +ever committed, and with a despairing impulse she sank upon her knees +and poured out her heart in full confession of her fault. + +Never in her life had she confessed as she did now, with such a +whole-hearted hatred of her own weakness, such willingness to bear all +blame, such earnest desire for forgiveness, such hope for divine +guidance in making reparation. She would not plead ignorance, nor even +any omission to examine herself, as an excuse for what she had done. It +was all her fault, and her eyes had been open from the first, and she +was about to see the whole life of a good friend ruined through her +miserable weakness. + +As she went over it all, burying her face in her hands, the conviction +that she loved Lamberti grew with amazing quickness to the certainty of +a fact long known. This was her crime, that she had been too proud to +own that she had loved him at first sight; her punishment should be +never to see him again. She would abase herself before Guido and confess +everything to him in the very words she was whispering now, and she +would implore his forgiveness. Then, since Lamberti could not leave +Rome, she and her mother would go away on a long journey, to Russia, +perhaps, or to America, or China, and they would never come back. It +must be easy enough to avoid one particular person in the whole world. + +This she would do, but she would not deny that she loved him. All her +fault had lain in trying to deny it in spite of what she felt when he +was near her, and it must be still more wrong to force the fact out of +sight now that it had brought her into such great trouble. There was +nothing to be done but to acknowledge it, though it was shame and +humiliation to do so. It stared her in the face, now that she had +courage to own the truth, and a voice called out that she had lied to +herself, to her mother, and to Guido for many weeks, and persistently, +rather than admit that she could fall so low. But even then, in the +midst of her self-abasement, another voice answered that it was no shame +to love a good and true man, and that Lamberto Lamberti was both. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + +That night seemed the longest in all Cecilia's young life. She was worn +out with fatigue, and could have slept ten hours, yet she dreaded to +fall asleep lest she should dream of Lamberti, and speak to him in her +dream as she meant never to speak to any man now. Just when she was +losing consciousness, she roused herself as one does who fears a +horrible nightmare that comes back again and again. She was afraid to be +alone in the dark with her fear, and she had left one light burning +where it could not shine into her eyes. If she did not sleep before +daylight, she might not dream after that. When she shut her eyes she saw +Lamberti looking at her. + +She rose and bathed her face and temples. The water was not very cold in +July, after standing in the room half the night, but it cooled her brows +a little and she lay down again, and tried to repeat things she knew by +heart. She knew all the fourteenth canto of the "Paradise," for +instance, and said it over, and tried to see what it described as she +had seen it all in the church of Santa Croce. While she whispered the +words she looked forward to those she loved best, the ones that bade her +rise and get the victory, and she went on with intense anticipation. +Before she reached them she lost herself, and they formed themselves on +her lips unnoticed as she saw Lamberti's face again. + +It was unbearable. She sat up on the edge of the bed and stared into the +shadow, and presently she grasped her left arm above the elbow and tried +to force her nails into the flesh, with the instinctive idea that pain +must bring peace after it. But she could hardly hurt herself at all in +that way. Again she rose, and she went and looked at her reflection in +the tall glass. + +There was not much light in the room, but she could see that she was +very pale, and that her eyes had a strange look in them, more like +Lamberti's than her own. It was a possession; she found him everywhere. +Behind her image in the glass she saw the door of the room, the only one +there was, which she had so often heard closed softly just as her dream +ended. She shivered, for the Palazzo Massimo is a ghostly place at +night, and her nerves were unstrung by what she had suffered. She knew +that she was dizzy for a moment, and the glass grew misty and then +clear, and reflected nothing to her sight, nothing but the whole door, +as if she herself were not standing there, all in white, between it and +the mirror. + +It was going to open, she felt sure. It was going to open softly, though +she knew it was locked, and then some one would enter. She shivered +again, and felt her loose hair rising on her head, as if lifted by a +cool breeze. It was a moment of agony, and her teeth chattered. He was +coming, and she was paralysed, helpless to move, rooted to the spot. In +one second more she must hear the slipping of the latch bolt, and he +would be behind her. + +No, nothing came. Gradually she began to see herself in the glass again, +a faint ashy outline, then a transparent image, like the wraith of her +dead self, with staring eyes and dishevelled colourless hair. Her terror +was gone; she vaguely wondered where she had been, and looked curiously +at her reflected face. + +"I think I am going mad," she said aloud, but quite quietly, as she +turned away from the mirror. + +She lay down again on her back, her arms straightened by her sides, and +she looked at the ceiling. Since she must think of something, she would +try to think out what she was to say and do on the morrow. She would +telephone to Guido in the morning to come and see her, of course, and in +twenty minutes he would be sitting beside her on the little sofa in the +drawing-room. Then she would tell him everything, just as she had +confessed it all to herself that evening. She would throw herself upon +his mercy, she would say that she was irresistibly drawn to his friend; +but she would promise never to see Lamberti again, since that was to be +the punishment of her fault. There was clearly nothing else to do, if +she had any self-respect left, any modesty, any sense of decency. It +would be hard in the beginning, but afterwards it would grow easier. + +Poor Guido! he would not understand at first, and he would look at her +as if he were dazed. She would give anything to save him the pain of it +all, but he must bear it, and in the end it would be much better. Of +course, the cowardly way would be to make her mother tell him. + +She had not thought of her mother till then, but she had grown used to +directing her, and to feeling that she herself was the ruling spirit of +the two. Her mother would accept the decision, though she would protest +a good deal, and cry a little. That was to be regretted, but it did not +really matter since this was a question of absolute right or absolute +wrong, in which there was no choice. + +She would not see Lamberti again, not even to say good-bye. It would be +wicked to see him, now that she knew the truth. But it was right to own +bravely that she loved him. If she hesitated in that, there would be no +sense in what she meant to do. She loved him with all her heart, with +everything in her, with every thought and every instinct, as she had +loved long ago in her vision. And as she had overcome then, for the sake +of a vow from which she was really freed, so she would conquer again for +the sake of the promise she had given to Guido d'Este, and was going to +revoke to-morrow. + +A far cry echoed through the silent street, and there was a faint grey +light between the slats of the blinds. The darkness was ended at last, +and perhaps she might allow herself to sleep now. She tried, but she +could not, and she watched the dawn growing to cold daylight in the +room, till the single lamp hardly glimmered in the corner. She closed +her lids and rested as well as she could till it was time to get up. + +She was very pale, and there were deep violet shadows under her eyes and +below the sharp arches of her brows, but Petersen was very near-sighted, +and noticed nothing unusual. Cecilia told her to telephone to Guido, +asking him to come at ten o'clock. When the maid returned, Cecilia bade +her arrange her hair very low at the back and to make it as smooth as +possible. There was not the slightest conscious desire for effect in the +order; when a woman has made up her mind to humiliate herself she always +makes her hair look as unobtrusive as possible, just as a +conscience-stricken dog drops his tail between his legs and hangs down +his ears to avert wrath. We men are often very unjust to women about +such things, which depend on instincts as old as humanity. Eastern +mourners do not strew ashes on their heads because it is becoming to +their appearance, and a woman's equivalents for ashes and sackcloth are +to do her hair low and wear grey, if she chances to dislike that colour. + +"Are you going to confession, my dear?" asked the Countess in some +surprise when they met. + +"No," Cecilia answered. "I could not sleep last night. I have telephoned +to Guido to come at ten." The Countess looked at her and instantly +understood that there was trouble. + +"You are as white as a sheet," she said, with caution. "You had better +let him come after luncheon to-day." + +"No. I must see him at once." + +"Something has happened," the Countess said nervously. "I know something +has happened." + +"I will tell you by-and-by. Please do not ask me now." + +Her mother's look of anxiety turned slowly to an expression of real +fear, her eyes opened wide, she grew pale, and her jaw fell as her lips +parted. She looked suddenly old and grey. + +"You are not going to marry him after all," she said, after a breathless +little silence. + +Some seconds passed before Cecilia answered, and then her voice was sad +and low. + +"How can I? I do not love him." + +The Countess was horror-struck now, for she knew her daughter well. She +began to speak rather incoherently, but with real earnestness, imploring +Cecilia to think of what she was doing before it was too late, to +consider Guido's feelings, her own, everybody's, to reflect upon the +view the world would take of such bad faith, and, finally, to give some +reason for her sudden decision. + +It was in vain that she pleaded. Cecilia, grave and suffering, answered +that she had taken everything into consideration and knew that she was +doing right. The world might call it bad faith to break an engagement, +but it would be nothing short of a betrayal to marry Guido since she had +become sure that she could never love him. That was reason enough, and +she would give no other. It was better that Guido should suffer for a +few days than be made to suffer for a lifetime. She had not consulted +any one, she said, when her mother questioned her; she would have done +so if this had been a matter needing judgment and wisdom, but it was +merely one of right and wrong, and she knew what was right, and meant to +do it. + +The Countess began to cry, and when Cecilia tried to soothe her, she +pushed the girl aside and left the room in tears. A few minutes later +Petersen telephoned for the carriage, and in less than half an hour the +Countess was on her way to see Princess Anatolie, entirely forgetful of +the fact that Cecilia would be quite alone when Guido came at ten +o'clock. + +Cecilia sat quite still in the drawing-room waiting for him. She was +very tired and pale, and her eyes smarted for want of sleep, but her +courage was not likely to fail her. She only wished that all might be +over soon, as condemned men do when they are waiting for execution. + +She sat still a long time and she heard the little French clock on her +mother's writing table in the boudoir strike its soft chimes at the +third quarter, and then ring ten strokes at the full hour. She listened +anxiously for the servant's step beyond the door, and now and then she +caught her breath a little when she thought she heard a sound. It was +twenty minutes past ten when the door opened. She expected the man to +stand still, and announce Guido, and she looked away; but the footsteps +came nearer and nearer and stopped beside her. The man held out a small +salver on which lay a note addressed in Guido's hand. It was like a +reprieve after the long tension, for something must have happened to +prevent him from coming, something unexpected, but welcome, though she +would not own it. + +In answer to her question, the man said that the messenger had gone +away, and he left the room. She tore the envelope with trembling +fingers. + +Guido was ill. That was the substance of the note. He had felt ill when +he awoke early in the morning, but had thought it nothing serious, +though he was very uncomfortable. Unknown to him, his man had sent for a +doctor, who had come half an hour ago, after Cecilia's message had been +received and answered. The doctor had found him with high fever, and +thought it was a sharp attack of influenza; at all events he had ordered +Guido to stay in bed, and gave him little hope of going out for several +days. + +The note dropped on Cecilia's knees before she had read the words of +loving regret with which it closed, and she found herself wondering +whether Lamberti would have been hindered from coming by a mere touch of +fever, under the same circumstances. But she would not allow herself to +dwell on that long, for it gave her pleasure to think of Lamberti, and +all such pleasure she intended to deny herself. It was quite bad enough +to know that she loved him with all her heart. She went back to her own +room. + +There was nothing to be done but to write to Guido at once, for she +would not allow the day to pass without telling him what she meant to +do. She sat down and wrote as well as she could, weighing each sentence, +not out of caution, but in fear lest she should not make it clear that +she was altogether to blame for the mistake she had made, and meant to +bear all the consequences in the eyes of the world. She was truly and +sincerely penitent, and asked his forgiveness with touching humility. +She did not mention Lamberti, but she confessed frankly that since she +had been in Rome she had begun to love another man, as she ought to have +loved Guido, a man whom she rarely saw, and who had never shown the +least inclination to make love to her. + +That was the substance of what she wrote. She read the words over, to be +sure that they said what she meant, and she told Petersen to send a man +at once with the letter. There was no answer, he was not to wait. She +gave the order rather hurriedly, for she wished her decision to become +irrevocable as soon as possible. It was a physical relief, but not a +mental one, to feel that it was done and that she could never recall the +fatal words. After reading such a letter there could be nothing for +Guido to do but to accept the situation and tell his friends that she +had broken the engagement. As for the immediate effect it might have on +him, she did not even take his slight illness into consideration. The +fact that he could not come and see her might even make it easier for +him to bear the blow. Of course, if he came, she should be obliged to +receive him, but she hoped that he would not. It would hurt her to see +how much he was hurt, and she was suffering enough already. In time she +trusted that he and she might be good friends, as young girls have an +unreasonable inclination to hope in such cases. + +When the Countess came back from her visit to the Princess Anatolie she +was a little flushed, and there was a hard look in her face which +Cecilia had never seen before, and which made her expect trouble. To her +surprise, her mother kissed her affectionately on both cheeks. + +"That old woman is a harpy," she said, as she left the room. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + +Guido took Cecilia's letter with a smile of pleasure when his man +brought it to him, and, as he felt its thickness between his fingers, +the delightful anticipation of reading it alone was already a real +happiness. She was distressed and anxious for him, he was sure, and +perhaps in saying so she had found some expression less formal than +those she generally used when she talked with him and assured him that +she really liked him very much. + +"You may go," he said to his servant. "I need nothing more, thank you." + +He was in bed, propped up by three or four pillows, and his face was +unnaturally flushed and already looked thin. A new book of memoirs, half +cut, and with the paper-knife between the leaves, lay on the arras +counterpane, in the middle of which royal armorial bearings with crown +and sceptre were represented in the fat arms of smiling cherubs. The +head of the carved bed was towards the windows of the wide room, so that +the light fell from behind; for Guido was an indolent man, and often lay +reading for an hour before he got up. On the small table beside him +stood a heavy Venetian tumbler of the eighteenth century, ornamented +with gold designs. A cigarette-case lay beside it. The carpet of the +room had been taken up for the summer, and the floor was of dark red +tiles, waxed and immaculate. In a modest way, and though he was +comparatively a poor man, Guido had always managed to have what he +wanted in the way of surroundings. + +He looked at the address on the note, prolonging his anticipation as +much as possible. He recognised the neat French envelope as one of those +the Countess always had on her table in a stamped leather paper-rack. He +felt it again, and was sure that it contained at least four sheets. It +was good of her to write so much, and he had not really expected +anything. He forgot that his head was aching, that he had a tiresome +pain in his bones, and could feel the fever pulse beating in his +temples. + +He glanced at the door, and then raised the letter to his dry lips, with +a look of boyish pleasure. Five minutes later the crumpled pages were +crushed in his straining fingers, and he lay twisted to one side, his +face to the wall and half buried in the pillow. The grief of his life +had come upon him unawares, and he was not able to bear it. Even if he +had not been alone, he could not have hidden what he felt then. + +After a long time he got up and softly locked the door. He felt very +dizzy as he came and lay down again. One of the crumpled sheets of +Cecilia's letter had fallen to the floor, the rest lay on the bed beside +him and under him. + +He lay still, and when he shut his eyes he saw red waves coming and +going, for the fever was high, and the blood beat up under his ears as +if the arteries must burst. + +In an hour his man knocked at the door, and almost at the same instant +turned the handle, for he was accustomed to be admitted at once. + +"Go away!" cried Guido, in a hoarse voice that stuck in his throat. + +The servant's footsteps echoed in the corridor, and there was silence +again, and time passed. Then the knock was repeated, very discreetly and +with no attempt to turn the handle. Guido answered with an oath. + +But his man was not satisfied this time, and he stood still outside, +with a puzzled expression. He had never heard Guido swear at any one, in +all the years of his service, much less at himself. His master was +either in a delirium, or something very grave had happened which he had +learned by the letter. The doctor had said that he was not dangerously +ill, so it was not likely that he should be already raving with the +fever. The man went softly away to his pantry, where the telephone was, +shutting each door carefully behind him. There was nothing to be done +but to inform Lamberti at once, if he could be found. + +It was late in the afternoon before he got the message, on coming home +from a long day's work at the Ministry of War. He had not breakfasted +that day, for he had been unexpectedly sent for in the morning and had +been kept at the Ministry without a moment's respite. Without going to +his room he ran down the stairs again and hailed the first cab he met as +he hurried towards the Palazzo Farnese. + +The bedroom door was still locked, but he spoke to Guido through it, in +answer to the rough order to go away which followed his first knock. +There was no reply. + +"Please let me in," Lamberti said quietly. "I want very much to see +you." + +Something like a growl came from the room, and presently there was a +sound of slippers on the smooth tiles, coming nearer. The key turned and +the door was opened a little. + +"What is it?" Guido asked, in a voice unlike his own. + +"I heard you were ill, and I have come to see you." + +Lamberti spoke gently and steadily, but he was shocked by Guido's +appearance, as the latter stood before him in his loose silk garments, +looking gaunt and wild. There were great rings round his eyes, his face +was haggard and drawn, and his cheek-bones were flushed with the fever. +He looked much more ill than he really was, so far as his body was +concerned. + +"Well, come in," he said, after a moment's hesitation. + +As soon as Lamberti had entered Guido locked the door again to keep his +servant out. + +"I suppose you had better be the first to know," he said hoarsely, as he +recrossed the room with unsteady steps. + +He sat down upon the edge of his bed, supporting himself with his hands +on each side, his head a little bent. + +"What has happened?" Lamberti asked, sitting on the nearest chair and +watching him. "Has your aunt been troubling you again?" + +"No. It is worse than that." Guido paused, and his head sank lower. "The +Contessina has changed her mind," he managed to say clearly enough to be +understood. + +Lamberti started and leaned forward. + +"Do you mean to say that she has thrown you over?" + +"Yes." + +A dead silence followed. Then Guido threw himself on the bed again and +turned his face away. + +"Say something, man," he cried, almost angrily. + +The afternoon light streamed through the closed blinds and fell on the +crumpled sheet of the letter that lay at Lamberti's feet. He did not +know what he saw as he stared down at it, and he would have cut off his +hand rather than pry into any one's letters, but four words had +photographed themselves upon his brain before he had realised their +meaning, or even that he had seen them. + +"I love another man." + +Those were the words, and he had never seen the handwriting, but he knew +that Cecilia had written them. Guido's cry for some sort of consolation +was still ringing in his ears. + +"It is impossible," he said, in a dull voice. "She cannot break off such +an engagement." + +"She has," Guido answered, still looking away. "It is done. She has +written to say that she will never marry me." + +"Why?" Lamberti asked mechanically. + +"Because----" Guido stopped short. "That is her secret. Unless she chooses +to tell you herself." + +Lamberti knew the secret already, but he would not pain Guido by saying +so. The four words he had read had explained enough, though he had not +the slightest clew to the name of the man concerned, and his anger was +rising quietly, as it did when he was going to be dangerous. He loved +Cecilia much and unreasoningly, yet so long as his friend had stood +between her and himself he had been strong enough not to be jealous of +him; but he was under no obligation to that other man, and now he wished +that he had him in his hands. Moreover, his anger was against the girl, +too. + +"It is outrageous," he said, at last, with a conviction that comforted +Guido a little. "It is perfectly abominable! What shall you do?" + +"I can do nothing, of course." + +Guido tossed on his pillows, turned his head, and stared at Lamberti, +hoping to be contradicted. + +"It is of no use to go to bed because a woman is faithless," answered +Lamberti rather savagely. Guido almost laughed. + +"I am ill," he said. "I can hardly stand. She telephoned to me to go and +see her, but I could not, and so she wrote what she had to say. It is +just as well. I am glad she cannot see me just now." + +"I wish she could," answered Lamberti, closing his teeth on the words +sharply. "But you will see her, will you not?" he asked, after a pause. +"You will not accept such a dismissal without telling her what you think +of her?" + +"Why should I tell her anything? If I have not succeeded in making her +love me yet, I shall never succeed at all! It is better to bear it as if +I had never expected anything else." + +"Is there any reason why a woman should be allowed to do with impunity +what one man would shoot another for doing?" asked Lamberti, roughly. +"She has changed her mind once, she can be made to change it again." + +The more he thought of what had happened the angrier he grew, and his +jealousy against the unknown man who had caused the trouble was boiling +up. + +Guido caught at the straw like a drowning man, and raised himself on his +elbow. + +"Do you really think that she may change her mind? That this is only a +caprice?" + +"I should not wonder. All women have caprices now and then. It is a fit +of conscience. She is not quite sure that she likes you enough to marry +you, and you have said something that jarred on her, perhaps. If you had +been able to go and see her this morning, she would have begun by being +very brave, but in five minutes she would have been as ready to marry +you as ever. I will wager anything that when she had written that letter +she sent it off as soon as possible for fear that she should not send it +at all!" + +"What do you advise me to do?" asked Guido, his hopes rising. "I believe +you understand women better than I do, after all!" + +"They are only human animals, like ourselves," Lamberti answered +carelessly. "The chief difference is that they do all the things that we +are sometimes inclined to do, but should be ashamed of doing." + +"I daresay. But I want your advice." + +"Go and tell her that she has made a mistake, that she cannot possibly +be in earnest, but that if she does not feel that she can marry you in a +fortnight, she can put off the wedding till the autumn. It is quite +simple. It has all been rather sudden, from the first, and it is much +better that the engagement should go on a little longer." + +"That is reasonable," Guido answered, growing calmer every moment. "I +wish I could go to her at once." + +"I suppose you cannot," said Lamberti, looking at him rather curiously. + +He remembered that he had once dragged himself five miles with a bad +spear-wound in his leg, to take news to a handful of men in danger, but +he supposed that Guido was differently organised. He did not like him +the less. + +"No!" Guido answered. "The fever makes me so giddy that I can hardly +stand." + +He put out his hand for the tumbler on the table, but it was empty. + +"Lamberti!" he said. + +"Yes, I will get you some water at once," the other answered, rising to +his feet. + +"No," Guido said. "Never mind that, I will ring presently. Will you do +something for me?" + +"Of course." + +"Will you speak to her for me?" + +Lamberti was standing by the bedside, and he saw the serious and almost +timid look in his friend's eyes. But he had not expected the request, +and he hesitated a moment. + +"You would rather not," said Guido, disappointed. "I suppose I must wait +till I am well. Only it may be too late then. She will tell every one +that she has broken off the engagement." + +"You misunderstood me," Lamberti said calmly, for he had found time to +think while Guido was speaking. "I will see her at once." + +It had not been easy to say, for he knew what it meant. + +"Thank you," Guido murmured. "Thank you, thank you!" he repeated with a +profound sense of relief, as his head sank back on the pillow. + +"Will it do you any harm if I smoke?" asked Lamberti, looking at a cigar +he had taken from his pocket. + +"No. I wish you would. I cannot even smoke a cigarette to-day. It tastes +like bad hay." + +There is a hideous triviality about the things people say at important +moments in their lives. But Lamberti was not listening, and he lit his +cigar thoughtfully, without answering. Then he went to the window and +looked down through the blinds in silence, pondering on what was before +him. + +It was certainly the place of a friend in such a case to accept the +position Guido was thrusting upon him, and from the first Lamberti had +not meant to refuse. He had a strong sense of man's individual right to +get what he wanted for himself without great regard for the feelings of +others, and he was quite sure that he would not have done for his own +brother what he was about to do for Guido. It is even possible that he +would not have been so ready to do it for Guido himself if he had not +accidentally seen those four words of Cecilia's letter. The knowledge of +her secret had at once determined the direction of his impulses. For +himself he hoped nothing, but he had made up his mind that if Cecilia +would not marry Guido she should by no means marry any other man living, +and he was fully determined to make her confess her passing fancy for +the unknown one, in order that he might have the right to reproach her +with it. He even hoped that he could find out the man's name, and, as he +was of a violent disposition, he at once planned vengeance to be wreaked +upon him. He turned from the window at last, and blew a cloud of grey +smoke into the quiet room. + +"I will send a message now," he said, "and I will go myself this +evening. They can hardly be dining out." + +"No. They are at home. I was to have dined with them." + +Guido's voice was faint, but he was calm now. Lamberti unlocked the door +and opened it. The man servant was just coming towards it followed by +the doctor. + +The latter found Guido worse than when he had seen him in the morning. +He said it was what he had expected, a sharp attack of influenza, and +that Guido must not think of leaving his bed till the fever had +disappeared. He dilated a little upon the probable consequences of any +exposure to the outer air, even in summer. No one could ever tell what +the influenza might leave behind it, and it was much safer to be +patient. + +"You see," said Guido to Lamberti, when the physician was gone. "It will +be quite impossible for me to go out to-morrow, or for several days." + +"Quite," Lamberti answered, looking for his straw hat. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + +Lamberti dined at home that evening, and soon after nine o'clock he was +on his way to the Palazzo Massimo. Though the evening was hot and close +he walked there, for it was easier to think on his feet than leaning +back in a cab. His normal condition was one of action and not of +reflection. + +His thoughts also took an active dramatic shape. He did not try to bind +future events together in a connected sequence leading to a result; on +the contrary, he seemed to hear the very words he would soon be +speaking, and Cecilia Palladio's answers to them; he saw her face and +noted her expression, and the interview grew violent by degrees till he +felt the inward coolness stealing through him which he had often known +in fight. + +He had written a note to Countess Fortiguerra which he had left at her +door on his way home. He had explained that Guido, being too ill to +move, had begged him to speak to the Contessina, and he expressed the +hope that he might be allowed to see the young lady for a few minutes +alone that evening, in the capacity of the sick man's representative and +trusted friend. + +Such a request could hardly be refused, and the Countess had always felt +that Lamberti was one of those exceptional men in whom one may safely +believe, even without knowing them well. She said that Cecilia had +better see him when he came. She herself had letters to write and would +sit in the boudoir. + +It was the last thing Cecilia had expected, and the mere thought was +like breaking the promise she had made to herself, never to see Lamberti +again; yet she realised that it was impossible to avoid the meeting. The +course she had taken was so extraordinary that she felt bound to give +Guido a chance to answer her letter in any way he could. In the +afternoon her mother had exhausted every argument in trying to make her +revoke her decision. She did not love Guido; that was her only reply; +but she felt that it ought to be sufficient, and she bowed her head +meekly when the Countess grew angry and told her that she should have +found that out long ago. Yes, she answered, it was all her fault, she +ought to have known, she would bear all the blame, she would tell her +friends that she had broken off the engagement, she would do everything +that could be required of her. But she would not marry Guido d'Este. + +The Countess could say nothing more. On her side she was reticent for +once in her life, and told nothing of her own interview with Princess +Anatolie. Whether something had been said which the mother thought unfit +for her daughter's ears, or whether the Princess's words had been of a +nature to hurt Cecilia's pride, the young girl could not guess; and +though her maidenly instinct told her to accept her mother's silence +without question, if it proceeded from the first cause, she could not +help fearing that the Countess had done or said something hopelessly +tactless which might produce disagreeable consequences, or might even do +some harm to Guido. + +Her heart was beating so fast when Lamberti entered the drawing-room +that she wondered how she should find breath to speak to him, and she +did not raise her eyes again after she had seen his face at the door, +till he was close to her, and had bowed without holding out his hand. + +"I hope you got my note," he said to her mother. "D'Este is ill, and has +given me a verbal message for your daughter." + +"Yes," said the Countess. "I will go into the next room and write my +letters." + +She was gone and the two stood opposite each other in momentary silence. +Lamberti's voice had been formal, and his face was almost +expressionless. + +"Where will you sit?" he asked. "It will take some time to tell you all +that he wishes me to say." + +Cecilia led the way to the little sofa in the corner farthest from the +boudoir. It was there that Guido had asked her to be his wife, and it +was there that she had waited for him a few hours ago to tell him that +she could not marry him. She took her accustomed place, but Lamberti +drew forward a light chair and sat down facing her. He felt that he got +an advantage by the position, and that to a small extent it placed him +outside of her personal atmosphere. At such a moment he could not afford +to neglect the least circumstance which might help him. As for what he +should say, he had thought of many speeches while he was in the street, +but he did not remember any of them now, nor even that he had seemed to +hear himself speaking them. + +"Why did you write that letter?" he asked, after a moment's pause. + +Cecilia looked up quickly, surprised by the direct question, and then +gazed into his face in silence. She had confessed to herself that she +loved him, but she had not known how much, nor what it would mean to sit +so near him and hear him asking the question that had only one answer. +His eyes were steady and brave, when she looked at them, but not so hard +as she had expected. In earlier days she had always felt that they could +command her and even send her to sleep if he chose, but she did not feel +that now. The question had been asked suddenly and directly, but not +harshly. She did not answer it. + +"Did Guido show you my letter?" she asked in a low voice. + +But she was sure of the reply before it came. + +"No. He told me that you broke off your engagement with him very +suddenly. I suppose you have done so because you think you do not care +for him enough to marry him, but he did not tell me so. Is that it?" + +Cecilia nodded quickly, folded her hands nervously upon her knees, and +looked across the room. + +"Yes," she said. "That is it. I do not love him." + +"Yet you like him very much," Lamberti answered. "I have often seen you +together, and I am sure you do." + +"I am very fond of him. If I had not been foolish, he might always have +been my best friend." + +"I do not think you were foolish. You could hardly do better than marry +your best friend, I think. He is mine, and I know what his friendship is +worth. You will find out, as I have, that if he is sometimes indolent +and slow to make up his mind, he never changes afterwards. You may be +separated from him for a year or two, but you will find him always the +same when you meet him again, always gentle, always true, always the +most honourable of men." + +"He is that, and more," Cecilia said softly. "I like everything about +him." + +"And he loves you," Lamberti continued. "He loves you as men do not +often love the women they marry, and as you, with your fortune, may +never be loved again." + +"I know it. I feel it. It makes it all the harder." + +"But you thought you loved him, I am sure. You would not have accepted +him otherwise." + +"Yes. Thank you for believing that much of me," Cecilia answered humbly. +"I thought I loved him." + +"You sent for him this morning, because you had suddenly persuaded +yourself that you had made a great mistake. When you heard that he could +not come, you wrote the letter, and when it was written you sent it off +as fast as you could, for fear that you would not send it at all. Is +that true?" + +"Yes. That is just what happened. How did you know?" + +"Listen to me, please, for d'Este's sake. If you had not felt that you +were perhaps making another mistake, should you have been in such a +hurry to send the letter?" + +Cecilia hesitated an instant. + +"It was a hard thing to do. That is why I made haste to get it over. I +knew it would hurt him, but I thought it was wrong to deceive him for +even a few hours, after I had understood myself." + +"It would have been kinder to wait until you could see him, and break it +gently to him. He was ill when he got your letter, and it made him +worse." + +"How is he?" Cecilia asked quietly, a little ashamed of not having +enquired already. "It is nothing very serious, is it? Only a little +influenza, he said." + +"He is not dangerously ill, but he had a good deal of fever this +afternoon. You will not see him for a week, I fancy. That is the reason +why I am here. I want you to postpone your decision, at least until he +is well and you have talked with him." + +"But I have decided already. I shall take all the blame. I will tell my +friends that it is all my fault." + +"Is that the only answer you can give me for him?" + +"Yes. What can I say? I do not love him. I never shall." + +"What if something happens?" + +"What?" + +"Suppose that I go to him to-morrow morning, and tell him what you say, +and that when I have left him there alone with his servant, as I must in +the course of the day, he locks the door, and in a fit of despair puts a +bullet through his head? What then?" + +Cecilia leaned forward, wide-eyed and frightened. + +"You do not really believe that he would kill himself?" she cried in a +low voice. + +"I think it is more than likely," Lamberti answered quietly enough. +"D'Este is the most good-hearted, charitable, honourable fellow in the +world, but he believes in nothing beyond death. We differ about those +questions, and never talk about them; but he has often spoken of killing +himself when he has been depressed. I remember that we had an argument +about it on the very afternoon when we both first met you." + +"Was he so unhappy then?" Cecilia asked with nervous interest. + +"Perhaps. At all events I know that he has a bad habit of keeping a +loaded revolver in the drawer of the table by his bed, in case he should +have a fancy to go out of the world, and it is very well known that +people who talk of suicide, and think of it a great deal, often end in +that way. When I left him this afternoon I gave him some hope that you +might at least prolong the engagement for a few months, and give +yourself a chance to grow more fond of him. If I have to tell him that +you flatly refuse, I am really afraid that it may be the end of him." + +Cecilia leaned back in the sofa and closed her eyes, confronted by the +awful doubt that Lamberti might be right. He was certainly in earnest, +for he was not the man to say such a thing merely for the sake of +frightening her. She could not reason any more. + +"Please, please do not say that!" she said piteously, but scarcely above +her breath. + +"What else can I say? It is quite true. You must have some very strong +reason for refusing to reconsider your decision, since your refusal may +cost as much as that." + +"But men do not kill themselves for love in real life!" + +"I am sorry to say they do," Lamberti answered. "A fellow-officer of +mine shot himself on board the ship I was last with for exactly the same +reason. He left a letter so that there should be no suspicion that he +had done it to escape from any dishonour." + +"How awful!" + +"I repeat that you must have a very strong reason indeed for not waiting +a couple of months. In that time you may learn to like Guido better--or +he may learn to love you less." + +"He may change," Cecilia said, not resenting the rather rough speech; "I +never shall." + +Lamberti fixed his eyes on her. + +"There is only one reason that could make you so sure about yourself," +he said. "If I thought you were like most women, I would tell you that +you were heartless, faithless, and cruel, as well as capricious, and +that you were risking a man's life and soul for a scruple of conscience, +or, worse than that, for a passing fancy." + +"Oh, please do not say such things of me!" She spoke in great distress. + +"I do not. I know that you are honest and true, and are trying to do +right, but that you have made a mistake which you can mend if you will. +Take my advice. There is only one possible reason to account for what +you have done. You think that you love some other man better than +d'Este." + +Cecilia started and stared at him. + +"You said that Guido did not show you my letter!" She was offended as +well as distressed now. + +"No; he did not. But I will not pretend that I have guessed your secret. +As Guido lay on his bed talking to me, I was staring at a crumpled sheet +of a letter that lay on the floor. Before I knew what I was looking at I +had read four words: 'I love another man.' When I realised that I ought +not to have seen even that much, I knew, of course, that it was your +writing. You see how much I know. All the same, if you were not what I +know you are, I would call you a heartless flirt to your face." + +Again he looked at her steadily, but she said nothing. + +"If you are not that," he continued, "you never loved Guido at all, but +really believed you did, because you did not know what love was, and you +are sure that you love this other man with all your heart." + +Cecilia was still silent, but a delicate colour was rising in her pale +face. + +"Has the other ever made love to you?" Lamberti asked. + +"No, no--never!" + +She could not help answering him and forgetting that she might have been +offended. She loved him beyond words, he did not know it, and he was +unconsciously asking her questions about himself. + +"Is he younger than Guido? Handsomer? Has he a great name? A great +fortune?" + +"Are those reasons for loving a man?" + +Cecilia asked the question reproachfully, and as she looked at him and +thought of what he was, and how little she cared for the things he had +spoken of, but how wholly for the man himself, her love for him rose in +her face, against her will. + +"There must be something about him which makes you prefer him to Guido," +he said obstinately. + +"Yes. But I do not know what it is. Do not ask me about him." + +"Considering that you are endangering the life of my dearest friend for +him, I think I have some right to speak of him." + +She was silent, and they faced each other for several seconds with very +different expressions. She was pale again, now, but her eyes were full +of light and softness, and there was a very faint shadow of a smile +flickering about her slightly parted lips, as if she saw a wonderful and +absorbing sight. Lamberti's gaze, on the contrary, was cold and hard, +for he was jealous of the unknown man and angry at not being able to +find out who he was. She did not guess his jealousy, indeed, for she did +not suspect what he felt; but she knew that his righteous anger on +Guido's behalf was unconsciously directed against himself. + +"You will never know who he is," she said at last, very gently. + +"We shall all know, when you marry him," Lamberti answered with +unnecessary roughness. + +"No, I shall never marry him," she said. "I mean never to see him again. +I would not marry him, even if he should ever love me." + +"Why not?" + +"For Guido's sake. I have treated Guido very badly, though I did not +mean to do it. If I cannot marry Guido, I will never marry at all." + +"That is like you," Lamberti answered, and his voice softened. "I +believe you are in earnest." + +"With all my heart. But promise me one thing, please, on your word." + +"Not till I know whether I may." + +"For his sake, not for mine. Stay with him. Do not leave him alone for a +moment till you are sure that he is safe and will not try to kill +himself. Will you promise?" + +"Not unless you will promise something, too." + +"Do not ask me to pretend that I love him. I cannot do it." + +"Very well. You need not pretend anything. Let me tell him that you will +let your engagement continue to all appearance, and that you will see +him, but that you put off the wedding for the reasons you gave in your +letter. Let me tell him that you hope you may yet care for him enough to +marry him. You do, do you not?" + +"No!" + +"At least let me say that you are willing to wait a few months, in order +to be sure of yourself. It is the only thing you can do for him. Perhaps +you can accustom him by slow degrees to the idea that you will never +marry him." + +"Perhaps." + +"In any case, you ought to do your best, and that is the best you can +do. See him a few times when he is well enough, and then leave Rome. +Tell him that it will be a good thing to be parted for a month or two, +and that you will write to him. Do not destroy what hope he may have, +but let it die out by degrees, if it will." + +Cecilia hesitated. After what had passed between them she could hardly +refuse to follow such good advice, though it was hard to go back to +anything approaching the state of things with which she had broken by +her letter. But that was only obstinacy and pride. + +"Let it be distinctly understood that I do not take back my letter at +all," she said. "If I consent to what you ask, it is only for Guido's +sake, and I will only admit that I may be more sure of myself in a few +months than I am now, though I cannot see how that is possible." + +"It shall be understood most distinctly," Lamberti answered. "You say, +too, that you mean never to see this other man again." + +"I cannot help seeing him if I stay longer in Rome," Cecilia said. + +Lamberti wondered who he might be, with growing hatred of him. + +"If he is an honourable man, and if he had the slightest idea that he +had unconsciously come between you and Guido, he would go away at once." + +"Perhaps he could not," Cecilia suggested. + +"That is absurd." + +"No. Take your own case. You told me not long ago that you were +unfortunately condemned to stay in Rome, unless you gave up your career. +He might be in a very similar position. In fact, he is." + +There was something so unexpected in the bitter little laugh that +followed the last words that Lamberti started. She had kept her secret +well, so far, but she had now given him the beginning of a clew. He +wished, for once, that he possessed the detective instinct, and could +follow the scent. There could not be many men in society who were in a +position very similar to his own. + +"I wish I knew his name," he said, only half aloud. + +But she heard him, and again she laughed a little harshly. + +"If I told you who he is, what would you do to him? Go and quarrel with +him? Call him out and kill him in a duel? I suppose that is what you +would do if you could, for Guido's sake." + +"I should like to know his name," Lamberti answered. + +"You never shall. You can never find it out, no matter how ingenious you +are." + +"If I ever see you together, I shall." + +"How can you be so sure of that?" + +"You forget something," Lamberti said. "You forget the odd coincidences +of our dreams, and that I have seen you in them when you were in +earnest--not as you have been with Guido, but as you seem to be about +this other man. I know every look in your eyes, every movement of your +lips, every tone of your voice. Do you think I should not recognise +anything of all that in real life?" + +"These were only dreams," Cecilia tried to say, avoiding his look. "I +asked you not to speak of them." + +"Do you dream of him now?" Lamberti asked the question suddenly. + +"Not now--no--that is--please do not ask me such questions. You have no +right to." + +"I beg your pardon. Perhaps I have not." + +He was not in the least sorry for having spoken, but his anger increased +against the unknown man. She had evidently dreamt of him at one time or +another, as she used to dream of himself. + +"You have such an extraordinary talent for dreaming," he said, "that the +question seemed quite natural. I daresay you have seen Guido in your +visions, too, when you believed that you cared for him!" + +"Never!" Cecilia could hardly speak just then. + +"Poor Guido! that was a natural question too. Since you used to see a +mere acquaintance, like myself, and fancy that you were----" + +"Stop!" + +"----that you were talking familiarly with him," continued Lamberti +unmoved, "it would hardly be strange that you should often have seen +Guido d'Este in the same way, while you thought you loved him, and it is +stranger that you should not now dream about a man you really love--if +you do!" + +"I say that you have no right to talk in this way," said Cecilia. + +"I have the right to say a great many things," Lamberti answered. "I +have the right to reproach you----" + +"You said that you believed me honest and true." + +The words checked his angry mood suddenly. He passed his hand over his +eyes and changed his position. + +"I do," he said. "There is no woman alive of whom I believe more good +than I do of you." + +"Then trust me a little, and believe, too, that I am suffering quite as +much as Guido. I have agreed to take your advice, to obey you, since it +is that and nothing else----" + +"I have no power to give you orders. I wish I had!" + +"You have right on your side. That is power, and I obey you. You have +told me what to do, and I shall do it, and be glad to do it. But even +after what I have done, I have some privileges left. I have a secret, +and I am ashamed of it, and it can do no good to Guido to know it, much +less to you. Please let me keep it in my own way." + +"Yes. But if you are afraid that I should hurt the man, if I knew his +name, you are mistaken." + +"I am not in the least afraid of that," Cecilia answered, and the light +filled her eyes again as she looked at him. "You are too just to hate an +innocent man. It is not his fault that I love him, and he will never +know it. He will never guess that I think him the best, and truest, and +bravest man alive, and that he is all this world to me, now and for +ever!" + +She spoke quietly enough, but there was a radiant joy in her face which +Lamberti never forgot. While keeping her secret, she was telling him at +last to his face that she loved him, and it was the first time she had +ever spoken such words out of her dreams. In them indeed they had been +familiar to her lips, as words like them had been to his. + +He leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee, and his chin upon his +closed hand, and he looked at her long in silence. He envied her for +having been able to say aloud what she felt, under cover of her secret, +and he longed to answer her, to tell her that he loved her even better +than she loved that unknown man, to hear himself say it to her only +once, come what might. But for Guido he would have spoken, for as he +gazed at her the instinctive masculine conviction returned stronger than +ever, that if he chose he could make her love him. For a moment he was +absolutely sure of it, but he only sat still, looking at her. + +"You believe me now," she said at last, leaning back and turning her +eyes away. + +"Poor Guido!" he exclaimed. + +He knew indeed that there was no longer any hope for his friend. + +"Yes," he added thoughtfully. "It was in your eyes just then, when you +were speaking, just as if that man had been there before you. I shall +know who he is if I ever see you together. It is understood, then," he +went on, changing his tone, "I am to tell him that you wish to put off +the marriage till you are more sure of yourself--that you wrote that +letter under an impulse." + +"Yes, that is true. And you wish me to try to make him understand by +degrees that it is all over, and to go away from Rome in a few days, +asking him not to follow me at once." + +"I think that is the kindest thing you can do. On my part I will give +him what hope I can that you may change your mind again." + +"You know that I never shall." + +"I may hope what I please. There is always a possibility. We are human, +after all. One may hope against conviction. May I see you again +to-morrow to tell you how he takes your message?" + +To his surprise Cecilia hesitated several seconds before she answered. + +"Of course," she said at last. "Or you can write to me or to my mother, +which will save you the trouble of coming here." + +"It is no trouble," Lamberti answered mechanically. "But of course it is +painful for you to talk about it all, so unless something unexpected +happens I will write a line to your mother to say that Guido accepts +your decision, and to let you know how he is. If there is anything +wrong, I will come in the evening." + +"Thank you. That is the best way." + +"Good night." He rose as he spoke. + +"Good night. Thank you." She held out her hand rather timidly. + +He took it, and she withdrew it precipitately, after the merest touch. +She rose quickly and went towards the door of the boudoir, calling to +her mother as she walked. + +"Signor Lamberti is going," she said. + +There was a little rustle of thin silk in the distance, and the Countess +appeared at the door and came forward. + +"Well?" she asked, as she met Lamberti in the middle of the room. + +"Your daughter has decided to do what seems best for everybody," +Lamberti said. "She will tell you all about it. Let me thank you for +having allowed me to talk it over with her. Good night." + +"Do stay and have some tea!" urged the Countess, and she wondered why +Cecilia, standing behind Lamberti, frowned and shook her head. "Of +course, if you will not stay," she added hastily, "I will not try to +keep you. Pray give my best messages to Signor d'Este, and tell him how +distressed I am, and say--but you will know just what to say, I am sure. +Good night." + +Lamberti bowed and shook hands. As he turned, he met Cecilia face to +face and bade her good night again. She nodded rather coldly, and then +went quickly to ring the bell for the footman. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + +Princess Anatolie was very angry when she learned that Cecilia was +breaking her engagement, and she said things to the poor Countess which +she did not regret, and which hurt very much, because they were said +with such perfect skill and knowledge of the world that it was +impossible to answer them and it did not even seem proper to show any +outward resentment, considering that Cecilia's conduct was apparently +indefensible. As it is needless to say, the Princess appeared to regret +the circumstance much more for Cecilia's sake than for Guido's. She said +that Guido, of course, would soon get over it, for all men were +perfectly heartless in reality, and could turn from one woman to another +as carelessly as if women were pictures in a gallery. She really did not +think that Guido had much more heart than the rest of his kind, and he +would soon be consoled. After all, he could marry whom he pleased, and +Cecilia's fortune had never been any object to him. She, his thoughtful +and affectionate aunt, would naturally leave him her property, or a +large part of it. Guido was not at all to be pitied. + +But Cecilia, poor Cecilia! What a life she had before her, sighed the +Princess, after treating a man in such a way! Of course, she could never +live in Rome after this, and as for Paris, she would be no better off +there. Guido's friends and relations were everywhere, and none of them +would ever forgive her for having jilted him. Perhaps England was the +only place for her now. The English were a sordid people, consisting +chiefly of shopkeepers, jockeys, tyrants, and professional beauties, and +as they thought of nothing but money and their own advantage, Cecilia's +fortune would insure her a good reception among them, even though it was +not a very large one. Not that the girl was lacking in the most charming +qualities and the most exceptional gifts, which would have made her a +desirable wife for any man, if only she had not made this fatal mistake. +Such things stuck to a woman through life, like a disgrace, though that +was a great injustice, because Cecilia was acting under conviction, poor +girl, and believed she was doing right! It was most unfortunate. The +Princess pitied her very much and would always treat her just as if +nothing had happened, if they ever met. Guido would certainly behave in +the same way and would always be kind, though he would naturally not +seek her society. + +The Princess was very angry, and it was not strange that the Countess +should have come home a little flushed after the interview and very +unexpectedly inclined to be glad, after all, that the engagement was at +an end. The Princess had not said one rude word to her, but it was quite +clear that she was furious at seeing Cecilia's fortune slip from the +grasp of her nephew. It almost looked as if she had expected to get a +part of it herself, though the Countess supposed that should be out of +the question. Nevertheless the past question of the million which was to +have constituted Cecilia's dowry began to rankle, and the Countess's +instinct told her that the old lady had probably had some interest in +the matter. Indeed, the Princess had told her that Guido had +considerable debts, and had vaguely hinted that she had herself +sometimes helped him in his difficulties. Of the two, Guido was more to +be believed than his aunt, but there was a mysterious element in the +whole matter. + +The Princess and Monsieur Leroy consulted the spirits now, and she found +some consolation when she was told that she should yet get back most of +the money she had lost, if she would only trust herself to her truest +friend, who was none other than Monsieur Leroy himself. The forlorn +little ghost of the only being she had ever really loved in the world +was made to assume the character of a financial adviser, and she herself +was led like a lamb by the thread of affection that bound her to her +dead child. + +Monsieur Leroy had not foreseen what was to happen, but he was not +altogether at a loss, and the first step was to insure the Princess's +obedience to his will. He did not understand the nature of the phenomena +he caused, but he knew that in some way certain things that passed in +her mind were instantly present in his, and that he could generally +produce by rappings the answers he desired her to receive. He at least +knew beforehand, in almost every case, what those answers would be, if +he did not consciously make the sounds that signified them. If he had +ever examined his conscience, supposing that he had any left, he would +have found that he himself did not know just where deception ended, and +where something else began which he could not explain, which frightened +him when he was alone, and which, when he had submitted wholly to it, +left him in a state of real physical exhaustion. He was inclined to +believe that the mysterious powers were really the spirits of dead +persons which possessed him for a short time, and spoke through him. Yet +when one of these spirits represented itself as being that of some one +whom neither he nor the Princess had ever met in life, he was dimly +conscious that it never said anything which had not been already known +to her or to him at some time, or which, if unknown, was the spontaneous +creation of his own clouded brain. + +To her, he always gravely asserted his sure belief in the authenticity +of the spirits that came, and since he had unexpectedly succeeded in +producing messages from her little girl, any doubt she had ever +entertained had completely disappeared. She was wholly at his mercy so +long as this state of things could be made to last, and he was +correspondingly careful in the use he made of his new power. + +The Princess was therefore told that she must trust him altogether, and +that he could get back the most of her money for her. She was consoled, +indeed, but she was naturally curious as to the means he meant to use, +and she questioned him when the rappings ceased and the lights were +turned up. He seemed less tired than usual. + +"I shall trust to the inspiration of the spirits," he said evasively. +"In any case we have the law on our side. Guido cannot deny his +signature to those receipts for your money, and he will find it hard to +show what became of such large sums. They are a gentleman's promise to +pay a lady, but they are also legal documents." + +"But they are not stamped," objected the Princess, who knew more about +such things than she sometimes admitted. + +"You are mistaken. They are all stamped for their respective values, and +the stamps are cancelled by Guido's signature." + +"That is very strange! I could almost have sworn that there was not a +stamp on any of them! How could that be? He used to write them on half +sheets of very thick note paper, and I never gave him any stamps." + +"He probably had some in his pocket-book," said Monsieur Leroy. "At all +events, they are there." + +"So much the better. But it is very strange that I should never have +noticed them." + +Like many of those singular beings whom we commonly call "mediums," +Monsieur Leroy was a degenerate in mind and body, and his character was +a compound of malign astuteness, blundering vanity, and hysterical +sensitiveness, all directed by impulses which he did not try to +understand. Without the Princess's protection through life, he must have +come to unutterable grief more than once. But she had always excused his +mistakes, made apologies for him, and taken infinite pains to make him +appear in the best light to her friends. He naturally attributed her +solicitude to the value she set upon his devotion to herself, since +there could be no other reason for it. Doubtless a charitable impulse +had at first impelled her to take in the starving baby that had been +found on the doorstep of an inn in the south of France. That was all he +knew of his origin. But he knew enough of her character to be sure that +if he had not shown some exceptional gifts at an early age, he would +soon have been handed over to servants or peasants to be taken care of, +and would have been altogether forgotten before long. Instead, he had +been spoiled, sent to the best schools, educated as a gentleman, treated +as an equal, and protected like a son. The Princess had given him money +to spend though she was miserly, and had not checked his fancies in his +early youth. She had even tried to marry him to the daughter of a rich +manufacturer, but had discovered that it is not easy to marry a young +gentleman who has no certificate of birth at all, and whose certificate +of baptism describes him as of unknown parents. On one point only she +had been inexorable. When she did not wish him to dine with her or to +appear in the evening, she insisted that he should stay away. Once or +twice he had attempted to disobey these formal orders, but he had +regretted it, for he had found himself face to face with one of the most +merciless human beings in existence, and his own character was far from +strong. He had therefore submitted altogether to the rule, well +satisfied with the power he had over her in most other respects, but he +felt that he must not lose it. The Princess was old and was growing +daily more capricious. She had left him a handsome competence in her +will, as much, indeed, as most bachelors would consider a fortune, but +she was not dead yet, and she might change her mind at the last moment. +He trembled to think what his end must be if she should die and leave +him penniless to face the world alone at his age, without a profession +and without real friends. For no one liked him, though some people +feared his tongue, and he knew it. Perhaps Guido would take pity on him +and give him shelter, for Guido was charitable, but the thought was not +pleasant. Never having been hungry since he could remember, Monsieur +Leroy thought starvation would be preferable to eating Guido d'Este's +bread. There was certainly no one else who would throw him a crust, and +though he had received a good deal of money from the Princess, and had +managed to take a good deal more from her, he had never succeeded in +keeping any of it. + +It was necessary to form some plan at once for extracting money by means +of Guido's receipts, since the marriage was not to take place, and as +Monsieur Leroy altogether failed to hit upon any satisfactory scheme he +consulted a lawyer in confidence, and asked what could be done to +recover the value. The lawyer was a man of doubtful reputation but of +incontestable skill, and after considering the matter in all its +bearings he gave his client some slight hope of success, proportionate +to the amount of money Guido could raise by the sale of his effects and +by borrowing from his many friends. He was glad to learn that Guido had +never borrowed, except, as Monsieur Leroy explained, from his aunt. A +man in such a position could raise a round sum if suddenly driven to +extremities to save his honour. + +The lawyer also asked Monsieur Leroy for details concerning Guido's life +during the last four or five years, inquiring very particularly about +his social relations and as to his having ever been in love with a woman +of his own rank, or with one of inferior station. Monsieur Leroy +answered all these questions with a conscientious desire to speak the +truth, which was new to him, for he realised that only the truth could +be of use in such a case, and that the slightest unfounded invention of +his own against Guido's character must mislead the man he was +consulting. In this he showed himself wiser than he often was. + +"Above all," the lawyer concluded, "never mention my name to any one, +and try to appear surprised at anything unexpected which you may hear +about Signor d'Este." + +Monsieur Leroy promised readily enough, though reticence was not his +strong point, and he went away well pleased with himself, after signing +a little paper by which it was agreed that the lawyer should receive +twenty per cent of any sums obtained from Guido through him. He had not +omitted to inform his adviser of the celebrated Doctor Baumgarten's +favourable opinion on the Andrea del Sarto and the small Raphael. The +lawyer told him not to be impatient, as affairs of this sort required +the utmost discretion. + +But the man saw that he had a good chance of being engaged in one of +those cases that make an unnecessary amount of noise and are therefore +excellent advertisements for a comparatively unknown practitioner who +has more wit than scruples. He did not believe that all of Guido's many +high and mighty relations would take the side of Princess Anatolie, and +if any of them took the trouble to defend her nephew against her, the +newspapers would be full of the case and his own name would be famous in +a day. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + +Cecilia told her mother what Lamberti had advised her to do for Guido's +sake, and that she had sent her message by him. The Countess was +surprised and did not quite like the plan. + +"Either you love him, or you do not, my dear," she said. "You were sure +that you did not, and you told him so. That was sensible, at least, +though I think you might have found out earlier what you felt. It is +much better to let him understand at once that you will not marry him. +Men would always rather know the truth at once and get over it than be +kept dangling at a capricious woman's beck and call." + +Cecilia did not explain that Lamberti feared for his friend's life. In +broad daylight that looked dramatic, and her mother would not believe +it. She only said that she was sure she was acting for the best and that +the engagement was to stand a little longer, adding that she wished to +leave Rome, as it was very hot. In her heart she was hurt at being +called capricious, but was too penitent to deny the charge. + +The Countess at once wrote a formal note to Princess Anatolie in which +she said that she had been hasty and spoken too soon, that her daughter +seemed undecided, and that nothing was to be said at present about +breaking the engagement. The marriage, she added, would be put off until +the autumn. + +The Princess showed this communication to Monsieur Leroy when he came +in. He did not mean to tell her about his visit to the lawyer, for he +had made up his mind to play on her credulity as much as he could and to +attribute any advantage she might gain by his manoeuvres to +supernatural intervention. The Countess's letter surprised him very +much, and as he did not know what to do, it seemed easy to do nothing. +He expressed his disgust at Cecilia's vacillation. + +"She is a flirt and her mother is a fool," he said, and the speech +seemed to him pithy and concise. + +The old Princess raised her aristocratic eyebrows a little. She would +have expressed the same idea more delicately. There was a vulgar streak +in his character that often jarred on her, but she said nothing, for she +was inexplicably fond of him. For her own part, she was glad that +Cecilia had apparently changed her mind again. + +Later in the day she received a few words from Guido, written in an +unsteady hand, to say that he was sorry he could not come and see her as +he had a bad attack of influenza. At the word she dropped the note as if +it burnt her fingers, and called Monsieur Leroy, for she believed that +influenza could be communicated in almost any way, and it was the only +disease she really feared: she had a presentiment that she was to die of +it. + +"Take that thing away, Doudou!" she cried nervously. "Pick it up with +the tongs and burn it. He has the influenza! I am sure I have caught +it!" + +Monsieur Leroy obeyed, while she retired to her own room to spend half +an hour in those various measures of disinfection which prophylactic +medicine has recently taught timid people. She had caused her maid to +telephone to Guido not to send any more notes until he was quite well. + +"You must not go near him for a week, Doudou," she said when she came +back at last, feeling herself comparatively safe. "But you may ask how +he is by telephone every morning. I do not believe there can be any +danger in that." + +Electricity was a mysterious power after all, and seemed infinitely +harder to understand than the ways of the supernatural beings with whom +Monsieur Leroy placed her in daily communication. She had heard a +celebrated man of science say that he himself was not quite sure what +electricity might or might not do since the discovery of the X-rays. + +Her precautions had the effect of cutting off communication between her +and her nephew until her departure from Rome, which took place in the +course of a few days, considerably to the relief of the Countess, who +did not wish to meet her after what had passed. + +Monsieur Leroy could not make up his mind to go and see the lawyer again +in order to stop any proceedings which the latter might be already +taking. Below his wish to serve the Princess and his hope of profiting +by his success, there lay his deep-rooted and unreasoning jealousy of +Guido d'Este, which he had never before seen any safe chance of +gratifying. It would be a profound satisfaction to see this man, who was +the mirror of honour, driven to extremities to escape disgrace. Another +element in his decision, if it could be called that, was the hopeless +disorder of his degenerate intelligence, which made it far easier for +him to allow anything he had done to bear fruit, to the last +consequence, than to make a second effort in order to arrest the growth +of evil. + +The lawyer was at work, silently and skilfully, and in a few days +Princess Anatolie and Monsieur Leroy were comfortably established in her +place in Styria, where the air was delightfully cool. + +What was left of society in Rome learned with a little surprise, but +without much regret, that the wedding was put off, and those who had +country places not far from the city, and had already gone out to them +for the summer, were delighted to know that they would not be expected +to come into town for the marriage during the great heat. No date had +ever been really fixed for it, and there was therefore no matter for +gossip or discussion. The only persons who knew that Cecilia had made an +attempt to break it off altogether were those most nearly concerned. + +The Countess and Cecilia made preparations for going away, and the +dressmakers and other tradespeople breathed more freely when they were +told that they need not hurry themselves any longer. + +But Cecilia had no intention of leaving without having seen Guido more +than once again, hard as it might be for her to face him. Lamberti had +written to her mother that he accepted Cecilia's decision gladly, and +hoped to be out of his room in a few days, but that he did not appear to +be recovering fast. He did not seem to be so strong as his friend had +thought, and the short illness, together with the mental shock of +Cecilia's letter, had made him very weak. The news of him was much the +same for three days, and the young girl grew anxious. She knew that +Lamberti spent most of his time with Guido, but he had not been to the +Palazzo Massimo since his interview with her. She wished she could see +him and ask questions, if only he could temporarily be turned into some +one else; but since that was impossible, she was glad that he did not +come to the house. She spent long hours in reading, while Petersen and +the servants made preparations for the journey, and she wrote a line to +Guido every day, to tell him how sorry she was for him. She received +grateful notes from him, so badly written that she could hardly read +them. + +On the fourth day, no answer came, but Lamberti sent her mother a line +an hour later to say that Guido had more fever than usual and could not +write that morning, but was in no danger, as far as the doctor could +say. + +"I should like to go and see him," Cecilia said. "He is very ill, and it +is my fault." + +The Countess was horrified at the suggestion. + +"My dear child," she cried, "you are quite mad! Why, the poor man is in +bed, of course!" + +"I hope so," Cecilia answered unmoved. "But Signor Lamberti could carry +him to his sitting room." + +"Who ever heard of such a thing!" + +"We could go in a cab, with thick veils," Cecilia continued. "No one +would ever know." + +"Think of Petersen, my dear! Women of our class do not wear thick veils +in the street. For heaven's sake put this absurd idea out of your head." + +"It does not seem absurd to me." + +"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," retorted the Countess, +losing her temper. "You do not even mean to marry him, and yet you talk +of going to see him when he is ill, as if he were already your husband!" + +"What if he dies?" Cecilia asked suddenly. + +"There will be time enough to think about it then," answered the +Countess, with insufficient reflection. "Besides he is not going to die +of a touch of influenza." + +"Signor Lamberti says he is very ill. Several people died of it last +winter, you know. I suppose you mean that I need not think of trying to +see him until we hear that there is no hope for him." + +"Well?" + +"That might be too late. He might not know me. It seems to me that it +would be better to try and save his life, or if he is not in real +danger, to help him to get well." + +"If you insist upon it," said the Countess, "I will go and see him +myself and take a message from you. I suppose that nobody could find +anything serious to say against me for it, though, really--I am not so +old as that, am I?" + +"I think every one would think it was very kind of you to go and see +him." + +"Do you? Well--perhaps--I am not sure. I never did such a thing in my +life. I am sure I should feel most uncomfortable when I found myself in +a young man's rooms. We had better send him some jelly and beef-tea. A +bachelor can never get those things." + +"It would not be the same as if I could see him," said Cecilia, mildly. + +Her mother did not like to admit this proposition, and disappeared soon +afterward. Without telling her daughter, she wrote an urgent note to +Lamberti begging him to come and dine and tell them all about Guido's +illness, as she and Cecilia were very anxious about him. + +Cecilia went out alone with Petersen late in the hot afternoon. She +wished she could have walked the length of Rome and back, but her +companion was not equal to any such effort in the heat, so the two got +into a cab. She did not like to drive with her maid in her own carriage, +simply because she had never done it. For the first time in her life she +wished she were a man, free to go alone where she pleased, and when she +pleased. She could be alone in the house, but nowhere out of doors, +unless she went to the villa, and she was determined not to go there +again before leaving Rome. It had disagreeable associations, since she +had been obliged to sit on the bench by the fountain with Guido a few +days ago. She remembered, too, that at the very moment when his paternal +warning not to catch cold had annoyed her, he had probably caught cold +himself, and she did not know why this lowered him a little in her +estimation, but it did. She was ashamed to think that such a trifle +might have helped to make her write the letter which had hurt him so +much. + +She went to the Forum, for there she could make Petersen sit down, and +could walk about a little, and nobody would care, because she should +meet no one she knew. + +As they went down the broad way inside the wicket at which the tickets +are sold, she saw a party of tourists on their way to the House of the +Vestals. Of late years both Germans and Americans have discovered that +Rome is not so hot in summer as the English all say it is, and that +fever does not lurk behind every wall to spring upon the defenceless +foreigner. + +The tourists were of the usual class, and Cecilia was annoyed to find +them where she had hoped to be alone; but they would soon go away, and +she sat down with Petersen to wait for their going, under the shadow of +the temple of Castor and Pollux. Petersen began to read her guide-book, +and the young girl fell to thinking while she pushed a little stone from +side to side with the point of her parasol, trying to bring it each time +to the exact spot on which it had lain before. + +She was thinking of all that had happened to her since she left Petersen +in that same place on the May morning that seemed left behind in another +existence, and she was wondering whether she would go back to that +point, if she could, and live the months over again; or whether, if the +return were possible, she would have made the rest different from what +it had been. + +It would have been so much easier to go on loving the man in the dream +to the end of her life, meeting him again and again in the old +surroundings that were more familiar to her than those in which she +lived. It would have been so much better to be always her fancied self, +to be the faithful Vestal, leading the man she loved by sure degrees to +heights of immaterial blessedness in that cool outer firmament where +sight and hearing and feeling, and thinking and loving, were all merged +in a universal consciousness. It would have been so much easier not to +love a real man, above all not to love one who never could love her, +come what might. And besides, if all that had gone on, she would never +have brought disappointment and suffering upon Guido d'Este. + +She decided that it would have been preferable, by far, to have gone on +with her life of dreams, and when awake to have been as she had always +known herself, in love with everything that made her think and with +nothing that made her feel. + +But in the very moment when the matter seemed decided, she remembered +how she had looked into Lamberti's eyes three nights ago, and had felt +something more delicious than all thinking while she told him how she +loved that other man, who was himself. That one moment had seemed worth +an age of dreams and a lifetime of visions, and for it she knew that she +would give them all, again and again. + +The point of the parasol did not move now, but lay against the little +stone, just where she was looking, for she was no longer weighing +anything in her mind nor answering reasons with reasons. With the +realisation of fact, came quickly the infinite regret and longing she +knew so well, yet which always consoled her a little. She had a right to +love as she did, since she was to suffer by it all her life. If she had +thrown over Guido d'Este to marry Lamberti, there would have been +something guilty in loving him. But there was not. She was perfectly +disinterested, absolutely without one thought for her own happiness, and +if she had done wrong she had done it unconsciously and was going to pay +the penalty with the fullest consciousness of its keenness. + +The tourists trooped back, grinding the path with their heavy shoes, +hot, dusty, tired, and persevering, as all good tourists are. They +stared at her when they thought she was not watching them, for they were +simple and discreet souls, bent on improving themselves, and though they +despised her a little for not toiling like themselves, they saw that she +was beautiful and cool and quiet, sitting there in the shade, in her +light summer frock, and her white gloves, and her Paris hat, and the men +admired her as a superior being, who might be an angel or a demon, while +all the women envied her to the verge of hatred; and because she was +accompanied by such an evidently respectable person as Peterson was, +they could not even say that she was probably an actress. This +distressed them very much. + +Kant says somewhere that when a man turns from argument and appeals to +mankind's common sense, it is a sure sign that his reasoning is +worthless. Similarly, when women can find nothing reasonable to say +against a fellow-woman who is pretty and well dressed, they generally +say that she looks like an actress; and this means according to the +customs of a hundred years ago, which women seem to remember though most +men have forgotten them, that she is an excommunicated person not fit to +be buried like a Christian. Really, they could hardly say more in a +single word. + +When the tourists were at a safe distance Cecilia rose, bidding Petersen +sit still, and she went slowly on towards the House of the Vestals, and +up the little inclined wooden bridge which at that time led up to it, +till she stood within the court, her hand resting almost on the very +spot where it had been when Lamberti had come upon her in the spring +morning. + +Her memories rose and her thoughts flashed back with them through ages, +giving the ruined house its early beauty again, out of her own youth. +She was not dreaming now, but she knew instinctively how it had been in +those last days of the Vestals' existence, and wished every pillar, and +angle, and cornice, and ornament back, each into its own place and +unchanged, and herself, where she was, in full consciousness of life and +thought, at the very moment when she had first seen the man's face and +had understood that one may vow away the dying body but not the +deathless soul. That had been the beginning of her being alive. Before +that, she had been as a flower, growing by the universal will, one of +those things that are created pure and beautiful and fragrant from the +first without thought or merit of their own; and then, as a young bird +in the nest, high in air, in a deep forest, in early summer, looking out +and wondering, but not knowing yet, its little heart beating fast with +only one instinct, to be out and alone on the wing. But afterwards all +had changed instantly and knowledge had come without learning, because +what was to make it was already present in subtle elements that needed +only the first breath of understanding to unite themselves in an ordered +and perfect meaning; as the electric spark, striking through invisible +mingled gases, makes perfect union of them in crystal drops of water. + +That had been the beginning, since conscious life begins in the very +instant when the soul is first knowingly answerable for the whole +being's actions, in the light of good and evil, and first asks the only +three questions which human reason has never wholly answered, which are +as to knowledge, and duty, and hope. + +Who shall say that life, in that sense, may not begin in a dream, as +well as in what we call reality? What is a dream? Sometimes a wandering +through a maze of absurdities, in which we feel as madmen must, +believing ourselves to be other beings than ourselves, conceiving the +laws of nature to be reversed for our advantage or our ruin, seeing +right as wrong and wrong as right, in the pathetic innocence of the +idiot or the senseless rage of the maniac, convinced beyond all argument +that the absolutely impossible is happening before our eyes, yet never +in the least astonished by any wonders, though subject to terrors we +never feel when we are awake. Has no one ever understood that confused +dreaming must be exactly like the mental state of the insane, and that +if we dreamed such dreams with open eyes, we should be raving mad, or +hopelessly idiotic? It is true, whether any one has ever said so or not. +Inanimate things turn into living creatures, the chair we sit on becomes +a horse, the arm-chair is turned into a wild beast; and we ride +a-hunting through endless drawing-rooms which are full of trees and +undergrowth, till the trees are suddenly people and are all dancing and +laughing at us, because we have come to the ball in attire so +exceedingly scanty that we wonder how the servants could have let us in. +And in the midst of all this, when we are frantically searching for our +clothes, and for a railway ticket, which we are sure is in the +right-hand pocket of the waistcoat, if only we could find it, and if +some one would tell us from which side of the station the train starts, +and we wish we had not forgotten to eat something, and had not unpacked +all our luggage and scattered everything about the railway refreshment +room, and that some kind person would tell us where our money is, and +that another would take a few of the fifty things we are trying to hold +in our hands without dropping any of them; in the midst of all this, I +say, a dead man we knew comes from his grave and stares at us, and asks +why we cruelly let him die, long ago, without saying that one word which +would have meant joy or despair to him at the last moment. Then our hair +stands up and our teeth chatter, because the secret of the soul has +risen against us where we least expected it; and we wake alone in the +dark with the memory of the dead. + +Is not that madness? What else can madness be but that disjointing of +ordered facts into dim and disorderly fiction, pierced here and there by +lingering lights of memory and reason? All of us sometimes go mad in our +sleep. But it does not follow that in dreaming we are not sometimes +sane, rational, responsible, our own selves, good or bad, doing and +saying things which we might say and do in real life, but which we have +never said nor done, incurring the consequences of our words and deeds +as if they were actual, keeping good faith or breaking it, according to +our own natures, accomplishing by effort, or failing through indolence, +as the case may be, blushing with genuine shame, laughing with genuine +mirth, and burning with genuine anger; and all this may go on from the +beginning to the end of the dream, without a single moment of +impossibility, without one incident which would surprise us in the +waking state. With most people dreams of this kind are rare, but every +one who dreams at all must have had them once or twice in life. + +If we are therefore sometimes sane in dreams we can remember, and act in +them as we really should, according to our individual consciences and +possessed of our usual intelligence and knowledge, it cannot be denied +that a series of such imaginary actions constitutes a real experience, +during which we have risen or fallen, according as we have thought or +acted. Some dreams of this kind leave impressions as lasting as that +made by any reality. The merit or fault is wholly fictitious, no doubt, +because although we have fancied that we could exercise our free will, +we were powerless to use it; but the experience gained is not imaginary, +where the dream has been strictly sane, any more than thought, in the +abstract, is fictitious because it is not action. People of some +imagination can easily, while wide awake, imagine a series of actions +and decide rationally what course they would pursue in each, and such +decisions constitute undoubted experience, which may materially affect +the conduct of the individual if cases similar to the fancied ones +present themselves in life. When there is no time to be lost, the +instantaneous recollection of a train of reasoning may often mean +instant decision, followed by immediate action, upon which the most +important consequences may follow. + +Will any one venture to maintain that the vivid impressions left by +rational dreams do not act in the same way upon the mind, and through +the mind upon the will, and by the will upon our actions? And if we +could direct our dreams as we pleased, so that they should be always +rational, as some persons believe that we can, should we not be +continually gaining experience of ourselves while sleeping, as well as +when awake? Moreover, it is certain that there are men and women who are +particularly endowed with the faculty of dreaming, and who can very +often dream of any subject they please. + +Since this digression is already so long, let one more thing be said, +which has not been said before, so far as the writer can find out. Our +waking memory is defective; with most men it is so to a lamentable +degree. It often happens that people forget that they have read a story, +for instance, and begin to read it again, and do not discover that they +have already done so till they have turned over many pages. It happens +constantly that the taste of something we eat, or the odour of something +we smell, recalls a scene we cannot remember at first, but which +sometimes comes back after a little while. Almost every one has felt now +and then that a fragment of present conversation is not new to him, and +that he has performed certain actions already, though he cannot remember +when. With some people these broken recollections are so frequent and +vivid as to lead to all sorts of theories to explain them, such as the +possibility of former existences on earth, or the more materialistic +probability that memories are transmitted from parents and ancestors +from the direct ascending lines. + +One theory has been neglected. At such times we may be remembering +vaguely, or even with some distinctness, parts of dreams of which we had +no recollection on waking, but which, nevertheless, made their +impressions on the brain that produced them, while we were asleep. +Unconscious ratiocination is certainly not a myth; and if, by it, we can +produce our own forgotten actions, and even find objects we have lost, +by doing over again exactly what we were doing when the thing we seek +was last in our hands, sure that the rest of the action will repeat +itself spontaneously, we should not be going much farther if we repeated +both actions and words unconsciously remembered out of dreams. Much that +seems very mysterious in our sensations may be explained in that way, +and the explanation has the advantage of being simpler than that +afforded by the theory of atavism, and more orthodox than that offered +by the believers in the transmigration of souls. + +Cecilia Palladio had no need of it, for she did not forget the one dream +that pleased her best, and she was never puzzled by uncertain +recollections of any other. Her life had begun in it, and had turned +upon it always, and after she had parted with it by an act of will, she +had retained the fullest remembrance of its details. + +She left the place where she had paused near the entrance, and slowly +walked up the long court, by the dry excavated basins; she ascended the +low steps to the raised floor beyond, and stood still before the door of +her own room, the second on the left. She had meant to go in and look at +it quietly, but since she had taken refuge there when she ran away from +Lamberti, iron gates had been placed at the entrances of all the six +rooms, and they were locked. In hers a quantity of fragments of +sculptured marble and broken earthen vessels were laid side by side on +the floor, or were standing against the walls and in the corners. + +She felt as if she had been shut out by an act of tyranny, just as when +she and her five companions had sadly left the House, obedient to the +Christian Emperor's decree, long ago. It had always been her room ever +since she had first dreamt. The beautiful narrow bronze bedstead used to +stand on the left, the carved oak wardrobe inlaid with ivory was on the +right, the marble table was just under the window, covered with objects +she needed for her toilet, exquisite things of chiselled silver and of +polished ivory. The chair, rounded at the back and with cushioned seat, +like Agrippina's, was near it. In winter, the large bronze brazier of +coals, changed twice daily, was always placed in the middle of the room. +The walls were wainscoted with Asian marble, and painted above that with +portraits in fresco of great and ancient Vestals who had been holier +than the rest, each in her snowy robes, with the white veil drawn up and +backwards over her head, and brought forward again over the shoulder, +and each holding some sacred vessel or instrument in her one uncovered +hand. There were stories about each which the Virgo Maxima used to read +to the younger ones from a great rolled manuscript, that was kept in an +ancient bronze box, or which she sometimes told in the moonlight on +summer nights when the maidens sat together in the court. + +She closed her eyes, her forehead resting against the iron bars, and she +saw it all as it had been; she looked again and the desolation hurt her +and shocked her as when in a wilderness an explorer comes suddenly upon +the bleached bones of one who had gone before him and had been his +friend. She sighed and turned away. + +The dream was better than the reality, in that and in many other ways. +She was overcome by the sense of utter failure, as she sat down on the +steps below the raised floor, lonely and forlorn. + +It was all a comedy now, a miserable petty play to hide a great truth +from herself and others. She had begun her part already, writing her +wretched little notes to poor Guido. She knew that, ill as he was, the +words that seemed lies to her were ten times true to him, and that he +exaggerated every enquiry after his condition and each expression of +hope for his recovery into signs of loving solicitude, that he had +already forgiven what he thought her caprice, and was looking forward to +his marriage as more certain than ever, in spite of her message. It was +all a vile trick meant to save his feelings and help him to get well, +and she hated and despised it. + +She was playing a part with Lamberti, too, and that was no better. She +had fallen low enough to love a man who did not care a straw for her, +and it needed all the energy of character she had left to keep him from +finding it out. Nothing could be more contemptible. If any one but he +had told her that she ought to go back to the appearance of an +engagement with Guido, she would have refused to do it. But Lamberti +dominated her; he had only to say, "Do this," and she did it, "Say +this," and she said it, whether it were true or not. She complained +bitterly in her heart that if he had bidden her lie to her mother, she +would have lied, because she had no will of her own when she was with +him. + +And this was the end of her inspired visions, of her lofty ideals, of +her magnificent rules of life, of her studies of philosophy, her +meditations upon religion, and her dream of the last Vestal. She was +nothing but a weak girl, under the orders of a man she loved against her +will, and ready to do things she despised whenever he chose to give his +orders. He cared for no human being except his one friend. He was not to +be blamed for that, of course, but he was utterly indifferent to every +one else where his friend was concerned; every one must lie, or steal, +or do murder, if that could help Guido to get well. She was only one of +his instruments, and he probably had others. She was sure that half the +women in Rome loved Lamberto Lamberti without daring to say so. It was a +satisfaction to have heard from every one that he cared for none of +them. People spoke of him as a woman-hater, and one woman had said that +he had married a negress in Africa, and was the father of black savages +with red hair. That accounted for his going to Somali Land, she said, +and for his knowing so much about the habits of the people there. +Cecilia would have gladly killed the lady with a hat pin. + +She was very unhappy, sitting alone on the steps after the sun had sunk +out of sight. The comedy was all to begin over again in an hour, for she +must go home and defend her conduct when her mother reproached her with +not acting fairly, and laughed at the idea that Guido was in danger of +his life. To-morrow she would have to write the daily note to him, she +would be obliged to compose affectionate phrases which would have come +quite naturally if she could have treated him merely as her best friend; +and he would translate affection to mean love, and another lie would +have been told. There was this, at least, about Guido, that he could not +order her about as Lamberti could. There was no authority in his eyes, +not even when he told her not to catch cold. Perhaps in all the time she +had known him, she had liked him best when he had been angry, at the +garden party, and had demanded to know her secret. But she would not +acknowledge that. If the situation had been reversed and Lamberti, +instead of Guido, had insisted on knowing what she meant to hide, she +could not have helped telling him. It was an abominable state of things, +but there was nothing to be done, and that was the worst part of it. +Lamberti knew Guido much better than she did, and if Lamberti told her +gravely that Guido might do something desperate if she broke with him, +she was obliged to believe it and to act accordingly. There might not be +one chance in a thousand, but the one-thousandth chance was just the one +that might have its turn. One might disregard it for oneself, but one +had no right to overlook it where another's life was concerned. At all +events she must wait till Guido was quite well again, for a man in a +fever really might do anything rash. Why did Lamberti not take away the +revolver that always lay ready in the drawer? It would be much safer, +though Guido probably had plenty of other weapons that would serve the +purpose. Guido was just the kind of pacific man who would have a whole +armoury of guns and pistols, as if he were always expecting to kill +something or somebody. She was sure that Lamberti, who had killed men +with his own hand, did not keep any sort of weapon in his room. If he +had a revolver of his own, it was probably carefully cleaned, greased, +wrapped up and put away with the things he used when he was sent on +expeditions. It was a thousand pities that Guido was not exactly like +Lamberti! + +Cecilia rose at last, weary of thinking about it all, disgusted with her +own weakness, and decidedly ill-disposed towards her fellow-creatures. +The slightly flattened upper lip was compressed rather tightly against +the fuller lower one as she went back to find Petersen, and as she held +her head very high, her lids drooped somewhat scornfully over her eyes. +No one can ever be as supercilious as some people look when they are +angry with themselves and are thinking what miserable creatures they +really are. + +It was late when Cecilia reached the Palazzo Massimo and went in on foot +under the dark carriageway after Petersen had paid the cab under the +watchful gaze of the big liveried porter. The Countess was already +dressing for dinner, and Cecilia went to her own room at once. The +consequence was that she did not know of her mother's invitation to +Lamberti, until she came into the drawing-room and saw the two together, +waiting for her. + +"Did I forget to tell you that Signor Lamberti was coming to dinner?" +asked her mother. + +"There was no particular reason why you should have told me," she +answered indifferently, as she held out her hand to Lamberti. "It is not +exactly a dinner party! How is he?" she asked, speaking to him. + +"He is better this evening, thank you." + +Why should he say "thank you," as if Guido were his brother or his +father? She resented it. Surely there was no need for continually +accentuating the fact that Guido was the only person living for whom he +had the slightest natural affection! This was perhaps exaggerated, but +she was glad of it, just then. + +She, who would have given all for him, wished savagely that some woman +would make him fall in love and treat him with merciless barbarity. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + +Cecilia felt that evening as if she could resist Lamberti's influence at +last, for she was out of humour with herself and with every one else. +When they had dined, and had said a multitude of uninteresting things +about Guido, for they were all under a certain constraint while the meal +lasted, they came back to the drawing-room. Lamberti had the inscrutable +look Cecilia had lately seen in his face, and which she took for the +outward sign of his indifference to anything that did not concern his +friend. When he spoke to her, he looked at her as if she were a chair or +a table, and when he was not speaking to her he did not look at her at +all. + +In the drawing-room, she waited her opportunity until her mother had sat +down. The butler had set the little tray with the coffee and three cups +on a small three-legged table. On pretence that the latter was unsteady, +Cecilia carried the tray to another place at some distance from her +mother. Lamberti followed her to take the Countess's cup, and then came +back for his own. Cecilia spoke to him in a low voice while she was +putting in the sugar and pouring out the coffee, a duty which in many +parts of Italy and France is still assigned to the daughter of the +house, and recalls a time when servants did not know how to prepare the +beverage. + +"Come and talk to me presently," she said. "I am sure you have more to +tell me about him." + +"No," said Lamberti, not taking the trouble to lower his voice much, +"there is nothing more to tell. I do not think I have forgotten +anything." + +He stirred his coffee slowly, but with evident reluctance to stay near +her. She would not have been a human woman if she had not been annoyed +by his cool manner, and a shade of displeasure passed over her face. + +"I have something to say to you," she answered. "I thought you would +understand." + +"That is different." + +In his turn he showed a little annoyance. They went back together to the +Countess's side, carrying their cups. In due time the good lady went to +write letters, feeling that it was quite safe to leave her daughter with +Lamberti, who seemed to be as cold as ice, and not at all bent on making +himself agreeable. Besides, the Countess was tired of the situation, and +could hardly conceal the fact that she reproached Guido for not getting +well sooner, in order that she might speak to him herself. + +There was silence for a time after she had gone into the next room, +while Cecilia and Lamberti sat side by side on the sofa she had left. +Neither seemed inclined to speak first, for both felt that some danger +was at hand, which could not be avoided, but which must be approached +with caution. She wished that he would say something, for she was not at +all sure what she meant to tell him; but he was silent, which was +natural enough, as she had asked for the interview. + +She would have given anything to have seen him somewhere else, in new +surroundings, anywhere except in her own drawing-room, where every +familiar object oppressed her and reminded her of her mistakes and +illusions. She felt that she must say something, but the blood rose in +her brain and confused her. He saw her embarrassment, or guessed it. + +"So far things have gone better than I expected," he said at last, "but +that only makes the end more doubtful." + +She turned to him slowly and with an involuntary look of gratitude for +having broken the silence. + +"I mean," he went on, "that since Guido is so ready to grasp at any +straw you throw him, it will be hard to make him understand you, when +things have gone a little further." + +"Is that all you mean?" She asked the question almost sharply. + +"Yes." + +"You do not mean that you still wish I would marry him after--after what +I told you the other evening?" + +The interrogation was in her voice, and that was hard, and demanded an +answer. Lamberti looked away, and did not reply at once, for he meant to +tell the exact truth, and was not quite sure where it lay. He felt, too, +that her manner had changed notably since they had last talked, and +though he had no intention of taking the upper hand, it was not in his +nature to submit to any dictation, even from the woman he loved. + +"Answer me, please," said Cecilia, rather imperiously. + +"Yes, I will. I wish it were possible for you to marry him, that is +all." + +"And you know that it is not." + +"I am almost sure that it is not." + +"How cautious you are!" + +"The matter is serious. But you said that you had something to say to +me. What is it?" + +"I wanted to tell you that I am sick of all this deception, of writing +notes that are meant to deceive a man for whom I have the most sincere +friendship, of letting the whole world think that I will do what I would +not do, if I were to die for it." + +He looked at her, then clasped his hands upon his knees and shook his +head. + +"I must see him," she said, after a pause, "I must see him at once, and +you must help me. If I could only speak to him I could make him +understand, and he would be glad I had spoken, and we should always be +good friends. But I must see him alone, and talk to him. Make it +possible, for I know you can. I am not afraid of the consequences. Take +me to him. It is the only true and honest thing to do!" + +Lamberti believed that this was true; he was a man of action and had no +respect for society's prejudices, when society was not present to +enforce its laws. It would have seemed incredible to Romans that an +Italian girl could think of doing what Cecilia proposed, and if it were +ever known, her reputation would be gravely damaged. But Cecilia was not +like other young girls; society should never know what she had done, and +she was quite right in saying that her plan was really the best and most +honourable. + +"I can take you to him," Lamberti said. "I suppose you know what you are +risking." + +"Nothing, if I go with you. You would not let me run any risk." + +She did not raise her voice, she hardly changed her tone, but nothing +she had ever said had given him such a thrilling sensation of pleasure. + +"Do you trust me as much as that?" he asked. + +"Yes, as much as that." + +She smiled, and looked down at her hand, and then glanced at him +quickly, and almost happily. If she had studied men for ten years she +could not have found word or look more certain to touch him and win him +to her way. + +"Thank you," he said, rather curtly, for he was thinking of another +answer. "If I take you to Guido, what shall you say to him?" + +She drew herself up against the back of the sofa, but the smile still +lingered on her lips. + +"You must trust me, too," she answered. "Do you think I can compose set +speeches beforehand? When shall we go? How is it to be managed?" + +"You often go out with your maid, do you not? What sort of woman is she? +A dragon?" + +"No!" Cecilia laughed. "She is very respectable and nice, and thinks I +am perfection. But then, she is terribly near-sighted, and cannot wear +spectacles because they fall off her nose." + +"Then she loses her way easily, I suppose?" said Lamberti, too much +intent on his plans to be amused at trifles. + +"Yes. She is always losing her way." + +"That might easily happen to her in the Palazzo Farnese. It is a huge +place, and you could manage to go up one way while she went up the +other. Besides, there is a lift at the back, not to mention the +servants' staircases, in which she might be hopelessly lost. Can you +trust her not to lose her head and make the porters search the palace +for you, if you are separated from her?" + +"I am not sure. But she will stay wherever I tell her to wait for me. +That might be better. You see, my only excuse for going to the Palazzo +Farnese would be to see the ambassador's daughter, and she is in the +country." + +"I think she must have come to town for a day or two, for I met her this +afternoon. That is a good reason for going to see her. At the door of +the embassy send your maid on an errand that will take an hour, and tell +her to wait for you in the cab at the gate. If the girl is at home you +need not stay ten minutes. Then you can see Guido during the rest of the +time. It will be long enough, and besides, the maid will wait." + +"For ever, if I tell her to! But you, where shall you be?" + +"You will meet me on the stairs as you come down from the embassy. Wear +something simple and dark that people have not seen you wear before, and +carry a black parasol and a guide-book. Have one of those brown veils +that tourists wear against the sun. Fold it up neatly and put it into +the pocket of the guide-book instead of the map, or pin it to the inside +of your parasol. You can put it on as soon as you have turned the corner +of the stairs, out of sight of the embassy door, for the footman will +not go in till you are as far as that. If you cannot put it on yourself, +I will do it for you." + +"Do you know how to put on a woman's veil?" Cecilia asked, with a little +laugh. + +"Of course! It is easy enough. I have often fastened my sister's for her +at picnics." + +"What time shall I come?" + +"A little before eleven. Guido cannot be ready before that." + +"But he has a servant," said Cecilia, suddenly remembering the detail. +"What will he think?" + +"He has two, but they shall both be out, and I shall have the key to his +door in my pocket. We will manage that." + +"Shall you be sure to know just when I come?" + +"I shall see you, but you will not see me till we meet on the landing." + +"I knew you could manage it, if you only would." + +"It is simple enough. There is not the slightest risk, if you will do +exactly what I have told you." + +It seemed easy indeed, and Cecilia was almost happy at the thought that +she was soon to be freed from the intolerable situation into which she +allowed herself to be forced. She was very grateful, too, and beyond her +gratitude was the unspeakable satisfaction in the man she loved. Instead +of making difficulties, he smoothed them; instead of prating of what +society might think, he would help her to defy it, because he knew that +she was right. + +"I should like to thank you," she said simply. "I do not know how." + +He seemed to say something in answer, in a rather discontented way, but +so low that she could not catch the words. + +"What did you say?" she asked unwisely. + +"Nothing. I am glad to be of service to you. Say the right things to +Guido; for you are going to do rather an eccentric thing in order to say +them, and a mistake would be fatal." + +He spoke almost roughly, but she was not offended. He had a right to be +rough, since he was ready to do whatever she asked of him; yet not +understanding him, while loving him, her instinct made her wish him +really to know how pleased she was. She put out her hand a little +timidly and touched his, as a much older woman might have done. To her +surprise, he grasped it instantly, and held it so tightly that he hurt +her for a moment. He dropped it then, pushing it from him as his hold +relaxed, almost throwing it off. + +"What is the matter?" Cecilia asked, surprised. + +But at that moment her mother entered the room from the boudoir. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + +In agreeing to the dangerous scheme, Lamberti had yielded to an impulse +founded upon his intuitive knowledge of women, and not at all upon his +inborn love of anything in which there was risk. The danger was for +Cecilia, not for himself, in any case; and it was real, for, if it +should ever be known that she had gone to Guido's rooms, nothing but her +marriage with him would silence the gossips. Society cannot be blamed +for drawing a line somewhere, considering how very far back it sets the +limit. + +Lamberti, without reasoning about it, knew that no woman ever does well +what she does not like doing. If he persisted in making Cecilia attempt +to break gradually with Guido, she would soon make mistakes and spoil +everything. That was his conviction. She felt, at present, that if she +could see Guido face to face, she could persuade him to give her up; and +the probability was that she would succeed, or else that she would be +moved by real pity for him and thus become genuinely ready to follow +Lamberti's original advice. The sensible course to follow was, +therefore, to help her in the direction she had chosen. + +Early in the morning Lamberti was at his friend's bedside. Guido was +much better now, and there was no risk in taking him to his sitting +room. Lamberti suggested this before saying anything else, and the +doctor came soon afterwards and approved of it. By ten o'clock Guido was +comfortably installed in a long cane chair, amongst his engravings and +pictures, very pale and thin, but cheerful and expectant. As he had no +fever, and was quite calm, Lamberti told him frankly that Cecilia had +something to say to him which no one could say for her, and was coming +herself. He was amazed and delighted at first, and then was angry with +Lamberti for allowing her to come; but, as the latter explained in +detail how her visit was to be managed, his fears subsided, and he +looked at his watch with growing impatience. His man had been sitting up +with him at night since his illness had begun, and was easily persuaded +to go to bed for the day. The other servant, who cooked what Guido +needed, had prepared everything for the day, and had gone out. He always +came back a little after twelve o'clock. At twenty minutes to eleven +Lamberti took the key of the door and went to watch for Cecilia's +coming, and half an hour later he admitted her to the sitting room, shut +the door after her, and left the two together. He went and sat down in +the outer hall, in case any one should ring the bell, which had been +muffled with a bit of soft leather while Guido was ill. + +Cecilia stood still a moment, after the door was closed; behind her, and +she lifted her veil to see her way, for there was not much light in the +room. As she caught sight of Guido, a frank smile lighted up her face +for an instant, and then died away in a look of genuine concern and +anxiety. She had not realised how much he could change in so short a +time, in not more than four or five days. She came forward quickly, took +his hand, and bent over him, looking into his face. His eyes widened +with pleasure and his thin fingers lifted hers to his lips. + +"You have been very ill," she said, "very, very ill! I had no idea that +it was so bad as this!" + +"I am better," he answered gently. "How good of you! How endlessly good +of you to come!" + +"Nobody saw me," she said, by way of answer. + +She smoothed the old pink damask cushion under his head, and +instinctively looked to see if he had all he needed within reach, before +she thought of sitting down in the chair Lamberti had placed ready for +her. + +"Tell me," he said, in a low and somewhat anxious voice, "you did not +mean it? You were out of temper, or you were annoyed by something, or--I +do not know! Something happened that made you write, and you had sent +the letter before you knew what you were doing----" + +He broke off, quite sure of her answer. He thought she turned pale, +though the light was not strong and brought the green colour of the +closed blinds into the room. + +"Hush!" she exclaimed soothingly, and she sat down beside him, still +holding his hand. "I have come expressly to talk to you about it all, +because letters only make misunderstandings, and there must not be any +more misunderstandings between us two." + +"No, never again!" He looked up with love in his hollow eyes, not +suspecting what she meant. "I have forgotten all that was in that +letter, and I wish to forget it. You never wrote that you did not love +me, nor that you loved another man. It is all gone, quite gone, and I +shall never remember it again." + +Cecilia sighed and gazed into his face sadly. He looked so ill and weak +that she wondered how she could be cruel enough to tell him the truth, +though she had risked her good name to get a chance of speaking plainly. +It seemed like bringing a cup of cold water to the lips of a man dying +of thirst, only to take it away again untasted and leave him to his +fate. She pitied him with all her heart, but there was nothing in her +compassion that at all resembled love. It was the purest and most +friendly affection, of the sort that lasts a lifetime and can devote +itself in almost any sacrifice; but it was all quite clear and +comprehensible, without the smallest element of the inexplicable +attraction that is deaf, and dumb, and, above all, blind, and which +proceeds from the deep prime cause and mover of nature, and mates lions +in the wilderness and birds in the air, and men and women among their +fellows, two and two, from generation to generation. + +"Guido," said Cecilia, after a long silence, "do you not think that two +people can be very, very fond of each other all their lives, and trust +each other, and like to be together as much as possible, without being +married?" + +She spoke quietly and steadily, trying to make her voice sound more +gentle than ever before; but there was no possibility of mistaking her +meaning. His thin hand started and shook under her soothing touch, and +then drew itself away. The light went out of his eyes and the rings of +shadow round them grew visibly darker as he turned his head painfully on +the damask cushion. + +"Is that what you have come to say?" he asked, in a groan. + +Cecilia leaned back in her chair and folded her hands. She felt as if +she had killed an unresisting, loving creature, as a sacrifice for her +fault. + +"God forgive me if I have done wrong," she said, speaking to herself. "I +only mean to do right." + +Guido moved his head on his cushion again, as if suffering unbearable +pain, and a sort of harsh laugh answered her words. + +"Your God will forgive you," he said bitterly, after a moment. "Man made +God in his own image, and God must needs obey his creator. When you +cannot forgive yourself, you set up an image and ask it to pardon you. I +do not wonder." + +The cruel words hurt her in more ways than one, and she drew her breath +between her teeth as if she had struck unawares against something sharp +and was repressing a cry of pain. Then there was silence for a long +time. + +"Why do you stay here?" Guido asked, in a low tone, not looking at her. +"You cannot have anything more to say. You have done what you came to +do. Let me be alone." + +"Guido!" + +She touched his shoulder gently as he lay turned from her, but he moved +and pushed her away. + +"It cannot give you pleasure to see me suffer," he said. "Please go +away." + +"How can I leave you like this?" + +There was despair in her voice, and the sound of tears that would never +come to her eyes. He did not answer. She would not go away without +trying to appease him, and she made a strong effort to collect her +thoughts. + +"You are angry with me, of course," she began. "You despise me for not +having known my own mind, but you cannot say anything that I have not +said to myself. I ought to have known long ago. All I can say in +self-defence now is that it is better to have told you the truth before +we were married than to have been obliged to confess it afterwards, or +else to have lied to you all my life if I could not find courage to +speak. It is better, is it not? Oh, say that it is better!" + +"It would have been much better if neither of us had ever been born," +Guido answered. + +"I only ask you to say that you would rather be suffering now than have +had me tell you in a year that I was an unfaithful wife at heart. That +is all. Will you not say it? It is all I ask." + +"Why should you ask anything of me, even that? The only kindness you can +show me now is to go away." + +He would not look at her. His throat was parched, and he put out his +hand to take the tumbler from the little table on the other side of his +long chair. Instantly she rose and tried to help him, but he would not +let her. + +"I am not so weak as that," he said coldly. "My hand is steady enough, +thank you." + +She sighed and drew back. Perhaps it would be better to leave him, as he +wished that she should, but his words recalled Lamberti's warning; his +hand was steady, he said, and that meant that it was steady enough to +take the pistol from the drawer in the little table and use it. He +believed in nothing, in no future, in no retribution, in no God, and he +was ill, lonely, and in despair through her fault. His friend knew him, +and the danger was real. The conviction flashed through her brain that +if she left him alone he would probably kill himself, and she fancied +him lying there dead, on the red tiles. She fancied, too, Lamberti's +face, when he should come to tell her what had happened, for he would +surely come, and to the end of her life and his he would never forgive +her. + +She stood still, wavering and unstrung by her thoughts, looking steadily +down at Guido's head. + +"Since you will not go away," he said at last, "answer me one question. +Tell me the name of the man who has come between us." + +Cecilia bit her lip and turned her face from the light. + +"Then it is true," Guido said, after a silence. "There is a man whom you +really love, a man whom you would really marry and to whom you could +really be faithful." + +"Yes. It is true. Everything I wrote you is true." + +"Who is he?" + +She was silent again. + +"Do you hope that I shall ever forgive you for what you have done to +me?" + +"Yes. I pray heaven that you may!" + +"Leave heaven out of the question. You have turned my life into +something like what you call hell. Do I know the man you love?" + +"Yes," Cecilia answered, after a moment's hesitation. + +"Do I often meet him? Have I met him often since you have loved him?" + +She said nothing, but stood still with bent head and clasped hands. + +"Why do you not answer me?" he asked sternly. + +"You must never know his name," she said, in a low voice. + +"Have I no right to know who has ruined my life?" + +"I have. Blame me. Visit it on me." + +He laughed, not harshly now, but gently and sarcastically. + +"You women are fond of offering yourselves as expiatory victims for your +own sins, for you know very well that we shall not hurt you! After all, +you cannot help yourself if you have fallen in love with some one else. +I suppose I ought to be sorry for you. I probably shall be, when I know +who he is!" + +He laughed again, already despising the man she had preferred in his +stead. His words had cut her, but she said nothing, for she was in dread +lest the slightest word should betray the truth. + +"You say that I know him," Guido continued, his cheeks beginning to +flush feverishly, "and you would not answer me when I asked you if I had +often met him since you have loved him. That means that I have, of +course. You were too honest to lie, and too much frightened to tell the +truth. I meet him often. Then he is one of a score of men whom I know +better than all the others. There are not many men whom I meet often. It +cannot be very hard to find out which of them it is." + +Cecilia turned her face away, resting one hand on the back of the chair, +and a deep blush rose in her cheeks. But she spoke steadily. + +"You can never find out," she said. "He does not love me. He does not +guess that I love him. But I will not answer any more questions, for you +must not know who he is." + +"Why not? Do you think I shall quarrel with him and make him fight a +duel with me?" + +"Perhaps." + +"That is absurd," Guido answered quietly. "I do not value my life much, +I believe, but I have not the least inclination to risk it in such a +ridiculous way. The man has injured me without knowing it. You have +taken from me the one thing I treasured and you are keeping it for him; +but he does not want it, he does not even know that it is his, he is not +responsible for your caprices." + +"Not caprice, Guido! Do not call it that!" + +"I do. Forgive me for being frank. Say that I am ill, if you please, as +an excuse for me. I call such things by their right name, caprices. If +you are going to be subject to them all your life, you had better go +into a convent before you throw away your good name." + +"I have not deserved that!" + +She turned upon him now, with flashing eyes. He had raised himself upon +one elbow and was looking at her with cool contempt. + +"You have deserved that and more," he answered, "and if you insist upon +staying here you must hear what I choose to say. I advised you to go +away, but you would not. I have no apology to make for telling you the +truth, but you are free to go. Lamberti is in the hall and will see you +to your carriage." + +There was something royal in his anger and in his look now, which she +could not help respecting, in spite of his words. She had thought that +he would behave very differently; she had looked for some passionate +outburst, perhaps for some unmanly weakness, excusable since he was so +ill, and more in accordance with his outwardly gentle character. She had +thought that because he had made his friend speak to her for him he +lacked energy to speak for himself. But now that the moment had come, he +showed himself as manly and determined as ever Lamberti could be, and +she could not help respecting him for it. Doubtless Lamberti had always +known what was in his friend's nature, below the indolent surface. +Perhaps he was like his father, the old king. But Cecilia was proud, +too. + +"If I have stayed too long," she said, facing him, "it was because I +came here at some risk to confess my fault, and hoped for your +forgiveness. I shall always hope for it, as long as we both live, but I +shall not ask for it again. I had thought that you would accept my +devoted friendship instead of what I cannot give you and never gave you, +though I believed that I did. But you will not take what I offer. We had +better part on that rather than risk being enemies. You have already +said one thing which you will regret and which I shall always remember. +Good-bye." + +She held out her hand frankly, and he took it and kept it a moment, +while their eyes met, and he spoke more gently. + +"I said too much. I am sorry. I shall forgive you when I do not love you +any more. Good-bye." + +He let her hand fall and looked away. + +"Thank you," she said. + +She left his side and went towards the door, her head a little bent. As +she laid her hand upon the handle, and looked back at Guido once again, +it turned in her fingers and was drawn quickly away from them. She +started and turned her head to see who was there. + +Lamberti stood before her, and immediately pushed her back into the room +and shut the door, visibly disturbed. + +"This way!" he said quickly, in an undertone. + +He led her swiftly to another door, which he opened for her and closed +as soon as she had passed. + +"Wait for me there!" he said, as she went in. + +"What is the matter?" asked Guido rather faintly, when he realised what +his friend had done. + +"Her mother is in the hall," Lamberti said. "Do not be startled, she +knows nothing. She insists on seeing for herself how you are. She says +her daughter begged her to come." + +"Tell her I am too ill to see her, please, and thank her very much. It +is all over, Lamberti, we have parted." + +A dark flush rose in Lamberti's face. + +"You must see the Countess," he said hurriedly. "I am sorry, but unless +she comes here, her daughter cannot get out without being seen. We +cannot leave her in your room. I will not do it, for your man may wake +up and go there. There is no time to be lost either!" + +"Bring the Countess in," said Guido, with an effort, and moving uneasily +on his couch. + +He felt that nothing was spared him. In the few seconds that elapsed, he +tried to decide what he should say to the Countess, and how he could +account for knowing that Cecilia had now definitely broken off the +engagement. Before he had come to any conclusion the Countess was +ushered in, rosy and smiling, but a little timid at finding herself in a +young bachelor's quarters. + +Meanwhile, Cecilia was in Guido's bedroom. An older woman might have +suspected some ignoble treachery, but her perfect innocence protected +her from all fear. Lamberti would not have brought her there in such a +hurry unless there had been some absolute necessity for getting her out +of sight at once. Undoubtedly some visitor had come who could not be +turned away. Perhaps it was the doctor. Moreover, she was too much +disturbed by what had taken place to pay much attention to what was, +after all, a detail. + +She looked about her and saw that there was another door by which +Lamberti would presently enter to let her out. There was the great bed +with the coverlet of old arras displaying the royal arms, and beside it +stood a small table of mahogany inlaid with brass. It had tall and +slender legs that ended below in little brass lions' paws, and it had a +single drawer. + +Without hesitation she went and opened it. Lamberti had been right. +There was the revolver, a silver-mounted weapon with an ivory handle, +much more for ornament than use, but quite effective enough for the +purpose to which Guido might put it. Beside it lay a little pile of +notes in their envelopes, and she involuntarily recognised her own +handwriting. He had kept all she had written to him within his reach +while he had been ill, and the thought pained her. The revolver was a +very light one, made with only five chambers. She took it and examined +it when she had shut the drawer again, and she saw that it was fully +loaded. Old Fortiguerra had taught her to use firearms a little, and she +knew how to load and unload them. She slipped the cartridges out quickly +and tied them together in her handkerchief, and then dropped them into +her parasol and the revolver after them. + +She went to the tall mirror in the door of the wardrobe and began to +arrange her veil, expecting Lamberti every moment. She had hardly +finished when he entered and beckoned to her. She caught up her parasol +by the middle so as to hold its contents safely, and in a few seconds +she was outside the front door of the apartment. Lamberti drew a breath +of relief. + +"Take those!" she said quickly, producing the pistol and the cartridges. +"He must not have them." + +Lamberti took the weapon and put it into his pocket, and held the +parasol, while she untied the handkerchief and gave him the contents. +Both began to go downstairs. + +"I had better tell you who came," Lamberti said, as they went. "You will +be surprised. It was your mother." + +"My mother!" Cecilia stopped short on the step she had reached. "I did +not think she meant to come!" + +She went on, and Lamberti kept by her side. + +"You can seem surprised when she tells you," he said. "You have +definitely broken your engagement, then? Guido had time to tell me so." + +"Yes, I could not lie to him. It was very hard, but I am glad it is all +over, though he is very angry now." + +They reached the last landing before the court without meeting any one, +and she paused again. He wondered what expression was on her face while +she spoke, for he could scarcely see the outline of her features through +the veil. + +"Thank you again," she said. "We may not meet for a long time, for my +mother and I shall go away at once, and I suppose we shall not come back +next winter." She spoke rather bitterly now. "My reputation is damaged, +I fancy, because I have refused to marry a man I do not love!" + +"I will take care of your reputation," Lamberti answered, as if he were +saying the most natural thing in the world. + +"It is hardly your place to do that," Cecilia answered, much surprised. + +"It may not be my right," Lamberti said, "as people consider those +things. But it is my place, as Guido's friend and yours, as the only man +alive who is devoted to you both." + +"I am more grateful than I can tell you. But please let people say what +they like of me, and do not take my defence. You, of all the men I know, +must not." + +"Why not I, of all men? I, of all men, will." + +She was standing with her back to the wall on the landing, and he was +facing her now. His face looked a little more set and determined than +usual, and he was rather pale, and he stood sturdily still before her. +She could see his face through her veil, though he could hardly +distinguish hers. He felt for a moment as if he were talking to a sort +of lay figure that represented her and could not answer him. + +"I, of all men, will take care that no one says a word against you," he +said, as she was silent. + +"But why? Why you?" + +"You have definitely given up all idea of marrying Guido? Absolutely? +For ever? You are sure, in your own conscience, that he has no sort of +claim on you left, and that he knows it?" + +"Yes, yes! But----" + +"Then," he said, not heeding her, "as you and I may not meet again for a +long time, and as it cannot do you the least harm to know it, and as you +will have no right to feel that I shall be lacking in respect to you, if +I say it, I am going to give myself the satisfaction of telling you +something I have taken great pains to hide since we first met." + +"What is it?" asked Cecilia, nervously. + +"It is a very simple matter, and one that will not interest you much." + +He paused one moment, and fixed his eyes on the brown veil, where he +knew that hers were. + +"I love you." + +Cecilia started violently, and put out one hand against the wall behind +her. + +"Do not be frightened, Contessina," he said gently. "Many men will say +that to you before you are old. But none of them will mean it more truly +than I. Shall we go? Your mother may not stay long with Guido." + +He moved, expecting her to go on, but she leaned against the wall where +she stood, and she stared at his face through her veil. For an instant +she thought she was going to faint, for her heart stopped beating and +the blood left her head. She did not know whether it was happiness, or +surprise, or fear that paralysed her, when his simple words revealed the +vastness of the mistake in which she had lived, and the immensity of joy +she had missed by so little. She pressed her hand flat against the wall +beside her, sure that if she moved it she must fall. + +"Have I offended you, Signorina?" Lamberti asked, and the low tones +shook a little. + +She could not speak yet, but his voice seemed to steady her, and her +heart beat again. As if she were making a great effort her hand slowly +left the wall, and she stretched it out towards him, silently asking for +his. He did not understand, but he took it and held it quietly, coming a +little nearer to her. + +"You have forgiven me," he said. "Thank you. You are kind. Good-bye." + +But then her fingers closed on his with almost frantic pressure. + +"No, no!" she cried. "Not yet! One moment more!" + +Still he did not understand, but he felt the blood rising and singing in +his heart like the tide when it is almost high. A strange expectation +filled him, as of a great change in his whole being that must come in +the most fearful pain, or else in a happiness almost unbearable, +something swelling, bursting, overwhelming, and enormous beyond +imagination. + +She did not know that she was drawing him nearer to her, she would have +blushed scarlet at the thought; he did not know that his feet moved, +that he was quite close to her, that she was clutching his hand and +pressing it upon her own heart. They did not see what they were doing. +They were standing together by a marble pillar in the Vestals' House. +They were out in the firmament beyond worlds, not seeing, not hearing, +not touching, but knowing and one in knowledge. + +The veil touched his cheek and lightly pressed against it. It was the +Vestal's veil. He had felt it in dreams, between his face and hers. Then +the world broke into visible light, and he heard her whisper in his ear. + +"That was my secret. You know it now." + +A distant footfall echoed from far up the stone staircase. Once more as +she heard it she pressed his hand to her heart with all her might, and +he, with his left round her neck, drew her veiled face against his and +held it there an instant in simple pressure, not trying to kiss her. + +Then those two separated and went down the remaining steps in silence, +side by side, and very demurely, as if nothing had happened. The +Countess's brougham was in the courtyard, and the porter, just going +into his lodge under the archway, touched his big-visored cap to +Lamberti and glanced at Cecilia carelessly as they went out. Petersen +was sitting in an open cab in the blazing sun, under a large white +parasol lined with green cotton, and her mistress was seated beside her +before she had time to rise. Cecilia had quickly turned up her veil over +the brim of her hat as soon as she had passed the porter's lodge, for he +knew her face and she did not wish him to see her go out with Lamberti. + +"Thank you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone as Lamberti stood hat in +hand in the sun by the step of the cab. "Palazzo Massimo," she called +out to the coach-man. + +She nodded to Lamberti indifferently, and the cab drove quickly away to +the right, rattling over the white paving-stones of the Piazza Farnese +in the direction of San Carlo a Catinari. + +"Did you see your mother?" Petersen asked. "She stopped the carriage and +called me when she saw me, and she said she was going to ask after +Signor d'Este. I said you had gone up to the embassy." + +"No," Cecilia answered, "I did not see her. We shall be at home before +she is." + +She did not speak again on the way. Petersen was too near-sighted and +unsuspicious to see that she surreptitiously loosened the brown veil +from her hat, got it down beside her on the other side, and rolled it up +into a ball with one hand. Somehow, when she reached her own door, it +was inside the parasol, just where the revolver had been half an hour +earlier. + +Lamberti put on his straw hat and glanced indifferently at the departing +cab as he turned away, quite sure that Cecilia would not look round. He +went back into the palace, feeling for a cigar in his outer breast +pocket. His hands felt numb with cold under the scorching sun, and he +knew that he was taking pains to look indifferent and to move as if +nothing extraordinary had happened to him; for in a few minutes he would +be face to face with Guido d'Este and the Countess Fortiguerra. He lit +his cigar under the archway, and blew a cloud of smoke before him as he +turned into the staircase; but on the first landing he stopped, just +where he had stood with Cecilia. He paused, his cigar between his teeth, +his legs a little apart as if he were on deck in a sea-way, and his +hands behind him. He looked curiously at the wall where she had leaned +against it, and he smoked vigorously. At last he took out a small pocket +knife and with the point of the blade scratched a little cross on the +hard surface, looked at it, touched it again and was satisfied, returned +the knife to his pocket, and went quietly upstairs. Most seafaring men +do absurdly sentimental things sometimes. Lamberti's expression had +neither softened nor changed while he was scratching the mark, and when +he went on his way he looked precisely as he did when he was going up +the steps of the Ministry to attend a meeting of the Commission. He had +good nerves, as he had told the specialist whom he had consulted in the +spring. + +But he would have given much not to meet Guido for a day or two, though +he did not in the least mind meeting the Countess. Cecilia could keep a +secret as well as he himself, almost too well, and there was not the +slightest danger that her mother should guess the truth from the +behaviour of either of them, even when together. Nor would Guido guess +it for that matter; that was not what Lamberti was thinking of just +then. + +He felt that chance, or fate, had made him the instrument of a sort of +betrayal for which he was not responsible, and as he had never been in +such a position in his life, even by accident, it was almost as bad at +first as if he had intentionally taken Cecilia from his friend. He had +always been instinctively sure that she would love him some day, but +when he had at last spoken he had really not had the least idea that she +already loved him. He had acted on an impulse as soon as he was quite +sure that she would never marry Guido; perhaps, if he could have +analysed his feelings, as Guido could have done, he would have found +that he really meant to shock her a little, or frighten her by the +point-blank statement that he loved her, in the hope of widening the +distance which he supposed to exist between them, and thereby making it +much more improbable that she should ever care for him. + +Even now he did not see how he could ever marry her and remain Guido's +friend. He was far too sensible to tell Guido the truth and appeal to +his generosity, for the best man living is not inclined to be generous +when he has just been jilted, least of all to the man to whom he owes +his discomfiture. In the course of time Guido might grow more +indifferent. That was the most that could be hoped. Nevertheless, from +the instant in which Lamberti had realised the truth, coming back to his +senses out of a whirlwind of delight, he had known that he meant to have +the woman he loved for himself, since she loved him already, and that he +would count nothing that chanced to stand in his way, neither his +friend, nor his career, nor his own family, nor neck nor life, either, +if any such improbable risk should present itself. He was very glad that +he had waited till he was quite sure that she was free, for he knew very +well that if the moment had come too soon he should have felt the same +reckless desire to win her, though he would have exiled himself to a +desert island in the Pacific Ocean rather than yield to it. + +And more than that. He, who had a rough and strong belief in God, in an +ever living soul within him, and in everlasting happiness and suffering +hereafter, he, who called suicide the most dastardly and execrable crime +against self that it lies in the power of a believing man to commit, +would have shot himself without hesitation rather than steal the love of +his only friend's wedded wife, content to give his body to instant +destruction, and his soul to eternal hell--if that were the only way not +to be a traitor. God might forgive him or not; salvation or damnation +would matter little compared with escaping such a monstrous evil. + +He did not think these things. They were instinctive with him and sure +as fate, like all the impulses of violent temperaments; just as certain +as that if a man should give him the lie he would have struck him in the +face before he had realised that he had even raised his hand. Guido +d'Este, as brave in a different way, but hating any violent action, +would never strike a man at all if he could possibly help it, though he +would probably not miss him at the first shot the next morning. + +A quarter of an hour had not elapsed since Lamberti had left the +Countess and Guido together when he let himself in again with his +latch-key. He went at once to the bedroom, walking slowly and +scrutinising the floor as he went along. He had heard of tragedies +brought about by a hairpin, a glove, or a pocket handkerchief, dropped +or forgotten in places where they ought not to be. He looked everywhere +in the passage and in Guido's room, but Cecilia had not dropped +anything. Then he examined his beard in the glass, with an absurd +exaggeration of caution. Her loose brown veil had touched his cheek, a +single silk thread of it clinging to his beard might tell a tale. He was +a man who had more than once lived among savages and knew how slight a +trace might lead to a broad trail. Then he got a chair and set it +against the side of the tall wardrobe. Standing on it he got hold of the +cornice with his hands, drew himself up till he could see over it, +remained suspended by one hand and, with the other, laid the revolver +and the cartridges on the top. Guido would never find them there. + +The Countess's unnecessary shyness had disappeared as soon as she saw +how ill Guido looked. His head was aching terribly now, and he had a +little fever again, but he raised himself as well as he could to greet +her, and smiled courteously as she held out her hand. + +"This is very kind of you, my dear lady," he managed to say, but his own +voice sounded far off. + +"I was really so anxious about you!" the Countess said, with a little +laugh. "And--and about it all, you know. Now tell me how you really +are!" + +Guido said that he had felt better in the morning, but now had a bad +headache. She sympathised with him and suggested bathing his temples +with Eau de Cologne, which seemed simple. She always did it herself when +she had a headache, she said. The best was the Forty-Seven Eleven kind. +But of course he knew that. + +He felt that he should probably go mad if she stayed five minutes +longer, but his courteous manner did not change, though her face seemed +to be jumping up and down at every throb he felt in his head. She was +very kind, he repeated. He had some Eau de Cologne of that very sort. He +never used any other. This sounded in his own ears so absurdly like the +advertisements of patent soap that he smiled in his pain. + +Yes, she repeated, it was quite the best; and she seemed a little +embarrassed, as if she wanted to say something else but could not make +up her mind to speak. Could she do anything to make him more +comfortable? She could go away, but he could not tell her so. He thanked +her. Lamberti and his man had taken most excellent care of him. Why did +he not have a nurse? There were the Sisters of Charity, and the French +sisters who wore dark blue and were very good; she could not remember +the name of the order, but she knew where they lived. Should she send +him one? He thanked her again, and the room turned itself upside down +before his eyes and then whirled back again at the next throb. Still he +tried to smile. + +She coughed a little and looked at her perfectly fitting gloves, wishing +that he would ask after Cecilia. If he had been suffering less he would +have known that he was expected to do so, but it was all he could do +just then to keep his face from twitching. + +Then she suddenly said that she had something on her mind to say to him, +but that, of course, as he was so very ill, she would not say it now, +but as soon as he was quite well they would have a long talk together. + +Guido was a man more nervous than sanguine, and probably more phlegmatic +than either, and his nervous strength asserted itself now, just when he +began to believe that he was on the verge of delirium. He felt suddenly +much quieter and the pain in his head diminished, or he noticed it less. +He said that he was quite able to talk now, and wished to know at once +what she had to say to him. + +She needed no second invitation to pour out her heart about Cecilia, and +in a long string of involved and often disjointed sentences she told him +just what she felt. Cecilia had done her best to love him, after having +really believed that she did love him, but it was of no use, and it was +much better that Guido should know the truth now, than find it out by +degrees. Cecilia was dreadfully sorry to have made such a mistake, and +both Cecilia and she herself would always be the best friends he had in +the world; but the engagement had better be broken off at once, and of +course, as it would injure Cecilia if everything were known, it would be +very generous of him to let it be thought that it had been broken by +mutual agreement, and without any quarrel. She stopped at last, rather +frightened at having said so much, but quite sure that she had done +right, and believing that she knew the whole truth and had told it all. +She waited for his answer in some trepidation. + +"My dear lady," he said at last, "I am very glad you have been so frank. +Ever since your daughter wrote me that letter I have felt that it must +end in this way. As she does not wish to marry me, I quite agree that +our engagement should end at once, so that the agreement is really +mutual and friendly, and I shall say so." + +"How good you are!" cried the Countess, delighted. + +"There is only one thing I ask of you," Guido said, after pressing his +right hand upon his forehead in an attempt to stop the throbbing that +now began again. "I do not think I am asking too much, considering what +has happened, and I promise not to make any use of what you tell me." + +"You have a right to ask us anything," the Countess answered, +contritely. + +"Who is the man that has taken my place?" + +The Countess stared at him blankly a moment, and her mouth opened a +little. + +"What man?" she asked, evidently not understanding him. + +"I naturally supposed that your daughter felt a strong inclination for +some one else," Guido said. + +"Oh dear, no!" cried the Countess. "You are quite mistaken!" + +"I beg your pardon, then. Pray forget what I said." + +He saw that she was speaking the truth, as far as she knew it, and he +had long ago discovered that she was quite unable to conceal anything +not of the most vital importance. She repeated her assurance several +times, and then began to review the whole situation, till Guido was in +torment again. + +At last the door opened and Lamberti entered. He saw at a glance how +Guido was suffering, and came to his side. + +"I am afraid he is not so well to-day," he said. "He looks very tired. +If he could sleep more, he would get well sooner." + +The Countess rose at once, and became repentant for having stayed too +long. + +"I could not help telling him everything," she explained, looking at +Lamberti. "And as for Cecilia being in love with some one else," she +added, looking down into Guido's face and taking his hand, "you must put +that out of your head at once! As if I should not know it! It is +perfectly absurd!" + +Lamberti stared fixedly at the top of her hat while she bent down. + +"Of course," Guido said, summoning his strength to bid her good-bye +courteously, and to show some gratitude for her visit. "I am sorry I +spoke of it. Thank you very much for coming to see me, and for being so +frank." + +In a sense he was glad she had come, for her coming had solved the +difficulty in which he had been placed. He sank back exhausted and +suffering as she left the room, and was hardly aware that Lamberti came +back soon afterwards and sat down beside him. Before long his friend +carried him back to his bed, for he seemed unable to walk. + +Lamberti stayed with him till he fell asleep under the influence of a +soporific medicine, and then called the man-servant. He told him he had +taken the revolver from the drawer, because his master was not to be +married after all, and might do something foolish, and ought to be +watched continually, and he said that he would come back and stay +through the night. The man had been in his own service, and could be +trusted now that he had slept. + +Lamberti left the Palazzo Farnese and walked slowly homeward in the +white glare, smoking steadily all the way, and looking straight before +him. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + +The Countess wrote that afternoon to Baron Goldbirn, of Vienna, and to +the Princess Anatolie, now in Styria, that the engagement between her +daughter and Signor Guido d'Este was broken off by mutual agreement. She +had told Cecilia that she had been to see Guido and had confessed the +plain truth, and that there need be no more comedies, because men never +died of that sort of thing after all, and it was much better for them to +be told everything outright. Cecilia seemed perfectly satisfied and +thanked her. Then the Countess said she would like to go to Brittany, or +perhaps to Norway, where she had never been, but that if Cecilia +preferred Scotland, she would make no objection. She would go anywhere, +provided the place were cool, and on the top of a mountain, or by the +sea, but she wished to leave at once. Everything had been ready for +their departure several days ago. + +"You do not really mean to leave Rome till Guido--I mean, till Signor +d'Este is out of all danger, do you?" asked the young girl. + +"My dear, since you are not going to marry him, what difference can it +make?" asked the Countess, unconsciously heartless. "The sooner we go, +the better. You are as pale as a sheet and as thin as a skeleton. You +will lose all your looks if you stay here!" + +Cecilia was in a loose white silk garment with open sleeves. She looked +at the perfect curve of her arm, from the slender wrist to the +delicately rounded elbow, and smiled. + +"I am not a skeleton yet," she said. + +"You will be in a few days," her mother answered cheerfully. "There is a +telegraph to everywhere nowadays, and Signor Lamberti will be here and +can send us news all the time. You cannot possibly go and see the poor +man, you know. If you could only guess how I felt, my dear, when I found +myself there this morning alone with him! I confess, I half expected +that the walls would be covered with the most dreadful pictures, those +things I do not like you to look at in the Paris Salon, you know. Women +apparently waiting for tea on the lawn--before dressing--that sort of +thing." The good Countess blushed at the thought. + +"They are only women!" said Cecilia. "Why should I not look at them?" + +"Because they are horrid," answered the Countess. "But I must say I saw +nothing of the sort in Guido's rooms. Nevertheless, I felt like the +wicked ladies in the French novels, who always go out in thick veils and +have little gold keys hidden somewhere inside their clothes. It must be +very uncomfortable." + +She prattled on and her daughter scarcely heard her. All sorts of hard +questions were presenting themselves to Cecilia's mind together. Had she +done wrong, or right? And then, though it might have been quite right to +let Lamberti know that she loved him, had her behaviour been modest and +maidenly, or over bold? After all, could she have helped putting out her +hand to find his just then? And when she had found it, could she +possibly have checked herself from drawing him nearer to her? Had she +any will of her own left at that moment, or had she been taken unawares +and made to do something which she would never have done, if she had +been quite calm? Calm! She almost laughed at the word as it came into +her thought. + +Her mother was reading the _Figaro_ now, having given up talking when +she saw that Cecilia did not listen. Ever since Cecilia could remember +her mother had read the _Figaro_. When it did not come by the usual post +she read the number of the preceding day over again. + +Cecilia was trying to decide where to spend the rest of the summer, +tolerably sure that she could make her mother accept any reasonable plan +she offered. By a reasonable plan she meant one that should not take her +too far from Rome. For her own part she would have been glad not to go +away at all. There was Vallombrosa, which was high up and very cool, and +there was Viareggio, which was by the sea, but much warmer, and there +was Sorrento, which had become fashionable in the summer, and was never +very hot and was the prettiest place of all. Something must be decided +at once, for she knew her mother well. When the Countess grew restless +to leave town, it was impossible to live with her. A startled +exclamation interrupted Cecilia's reflections. + +"My dear! How awful!" + +"What is it?" asked Cecilia, placidly, expecting her mother to read out +some blood-curdling tale of runaway motor cars and mangled nursery +maids. + +"This is too dreadful!" cried the Countess, still buried in the article +she had found, and reading on to herself, too much interested to stop a +moment. + +"Is anybody amusing dead?" enquired Cecilia, with calm. + +"What did you say?" asked the Countess, reaching the end. "This is the +most frightful thing I ever heard of! A million of francs--in small +sums--extracted on all sorts of pretexts--probably as blackmail--it is +perfectly horrible." + +"Who has extracted a million of francs from whom?" asked Cecilia, quite +indifferent. + +"Guido d'Este, of course! I told you--from the Princess Anatolie----" + +"Guido?" Cecilia started from her seat. "It is a lie!" she cried, +leaning over her mother's shoulder and reading quickly. "It is an +infamous lie!" + +"My dear?" protested the Countess. "They would not dare to print such a +thing if it were not true! Poor Guido! Of course, I suppose they take an +exaggerated view, but the Princess always gave me to understand that he +had large debts. It was a million, you see, just that million they +wished us to give for your dowry! Yes, that would have set him straight. +But they did not get it! My child, what an escape you have made! Just +fancy if you had been already married!" + +"I do not believe a word of it," said Cecilia, indignantly throwing down +the paper she had taken from her mother's hand. "Besides, there is only +an initial. It only speaks of a certain Monsieur d'E." + +"Oh, there is no doubt about it, I am afraid. His aunt, 'a certain +Princess,' his father 'one of the great of the earth.' It could not be +any one else." + +"I should like to kill the people who write such things!" Cecilia was +righteously angry. + +The seed sown by Monsieur Leroy was bearing fruit already, and in a much +more public place than he had expected, or even wished. The young lawyer +cared much less for the money he might make out of the affair than for +the advantage of having his name connected with a famous scandal, and he +had not found it hard to make the story public. The article appeared in +the shape of a letter from an occasional correspondent, and said it was +rumoured that since her nephew was to make a rich marriage the Princess +would bring suit to recover the sums she had been induced to lend him on +divers pretences. Her legal representative in Rome, it was stated, had +been interviewed, but had positively refused to give any information, +and his name was given in full, whereas all the others were indicated by +initials followed by dots. The lawyer flattered himself that this was a +remarkably neat way of letting the world know who he was and with what +great discretion he was endowed. + +As Cecilia thought of Guido's face as she had seen it that morning, her +heart beat with anger and she clenched her hand and turned away. Her +mother believed the story, or a part of it, and others would believe as +much. The _Figaro_ had come in the morning, and the article would +certainly appear in the Roman papers that very evening. Guido would not +hear of it at present, because Lamberti would keep it from him, but he +must know it in the end. + +The girl was powerless, and realised it. If she had been mistress of her +own fortune she would readily have satisfied the Princess's demands on +Guido, for she suspected that in some way the abominable article had +been authorised by his aunt. But she was still Baron Goldbirn's ward, +and the sensible financier would have laughed to scorn the idea of +ransoming Guido d'Este's reputation. So would her mother, though she was +generous; and besides, the Countess could not touch her capital, which +was held in trust for Cecilia. + +"What a mercy that you are not married to him!" she said, reading the +article again, while her daughter walked up and down the small boudoir. + +"You should not say such things!" Cecilia answered hotly. "Why do you +read that disgusting paper? You know the story is a vile falsehood, from +beginning to end. You know that as well as I do! Signor Lamberti will go +to Paris to-night and kill the man who wrote it." + +Her eyes flashed, and she had visions of the man she loved shaking a +miserable creature to death, as a terrier kills a rat. Oddly enough the +miserable creature took the shape of Monsieur Leroy in her vivid +imagination. + +"Monsieur Leroy is at the bottom of this," she said with instant +conviction. "He hates Guido." + +"I daresay," answered the Countess. "I never liked Monsieur Leroy. Do +you remember, when I asked about him at the Princess's dinner, what an +awful silence there was? That was one of the most dreadful moments of my +life! I am sure her relations never mention him." + +"He does what he likes with her. He is a spiritualist." + +"Who told you that, child?" + +"That dear old Don Nicola Francesetti, the archæologist who showed us +the discoveries in Saint Cecilia's church." + +"I remember. I had quite forgotten him." + +"Yes. He told me that Monsieur Leroy makes tables turn and rap, and all +that, and persuades the Princess that he is in communication with +spirits. Don Nicola said quite gravely that the devil was in all +spiritualism." + +"Of course he is," assented the Countess. "I have heard of dreadful +things happening to people who made tables turn. They go mad, and all +sorts of things." + +"All sorts of things," in the Countess's mind represented everything she +could not remember or would not take the trouble to say. The expression +did not always stand grammatically in the sentence, but that was of no +importance whatever compared with the convenience of using it in any +language she chanced to be speaking. She belonged to a generation in +which a woman was considered to have finished her education when she had +learned to play the piano and had forgotten arithmetic, and she had now +forgotten both, which did not prevent her from being generally liked, +while some people thought her amusing. + +Just at that moment she seemed hopelessly frivolous to Cecilia, who was +in the greatest distress for Guido, and left her to take refuge in +solitude. She could remember no day in her life on which so much had +happened to change it, and she felt that she must be alone at last. + +In her old way she sat down to let herself dream with open eyes in the +darkened room. There could be no harm in it now, and the old longing +came upon her as if she had never tried to resist it. She sat facing the +shadows and concentrated all her thoughts on one point with a steady +effort, sure that presently she should be thinking of nothing and +waiting for the vision to appear, and for the dream-man she had loved so +long. He might take her into his arms now, and she would not resist him; +she would let his lips meet hers, and for one endless instant she would +be lifted up in strong and strange delight, as when to-day her veiled +cheek had pressed against his for a second--or an hour--she did not +know. He might kiss her in dreams now, for in real life he loved her as +she loved him, and some day, far off no doubt, when poor Guido was well +and strong again, and Lamberti had silenced all the calumnies invented +against him, then it would all surely come true indeed. + +But now she waited long, patiently, in the certainty that she could go +back to the marble court and stand by the pillar in the morning light +till she felt him coming up behind her. Yet she saw nothing, and her +eyes grew weary of watching the shadows, and closed themselves, for it +was afternoon, and very hot, and she was tired. She fell into a sweet +sleep in her chair, and presently the refreshing breeze that springs up +in Rome towards five o'clock in summer blew through the drawn blinds to +fan her delicate cheek, and stir the little golden ringlets at her +temples. While she slept her face grew sad by slow degrees, and on her +lap her hands moved and lay with their palms turned upwards as if she +were appealing piteously to some higher power for mercy and help. + +Shadows darkened softly under her eyes, as she lay thus, and the young +lids swelled and trembled; and she, who never shed tears waking, wept +silently in her sleep. The bright drops hung by the lashes and broke, +trickling down her cheeks, one by one, till they fell sideways upon her +bare white neck. Many they were and long they fell, and when they ceased +at last, her face was very white and still, as if she were quite dead, +and dead of a sorrow that could be consoled only in heaven. + +She had dreamed that the Vestal's vow was broken at last, and that she +was sitting alone at night on the steps of the closed Temple, leaning +back against the base of a pillar, watching the stars that slowly +ascended out of the east; and she was thinking of what she had been, and +that she should never again stand within the holy place to feed the +sacred fire with the consecrated wood, and sweep the precious ashes into +the mysterious pit beneath the altar. Never again was she to write down +the records of the lordly Roman unions that had kept the stock great and +pure and the free blood clean from that of slaves for a thousand years. +Never might she sit at the feet of the Chief Virgin in the moonlit +court, listening to tales of holy Vestals in old time, while the slow +water murmured in the channels between one fountain and another. + +It was all over, all ended, all behind her in the past for ever. Her vow +was broken, because her veiled cheek had touched the cheek of a living, +breathing man who had laid a strong hand upon her neck and had pressed +her close to him, she consenting, and always to consent. She was not to +die for it, since it was no mortal sin, but she was no longer a Vestal +now, and the Temple and the house of the pure in heart were shut against +her henceforth and would not be opened again. She knew that she had +passed the threshold for the last time, and that the man she loved would +soon come and take her away to another life. After that there would be +no fear in the world, since she would always be with him, and he would +make her forget all. But he had not come yet, and while she waited her +tears flowed quietly and sadly for all that was no more to be hers, but +most of all because she had broken a high and solemn promise which had +been the foundation of her life. In the old dream, when the Vestals were +dismissed from their office each to her own home, she was the most +faithful of them all, to the very end. But now she had been the very +first to yield, and they had put her out of their midst, sadly and +silently, to wait alone in the night for him she loved. So she waited +and wept, and the night wind seemed to freeze the salt tears on her face +and neck; yet he did not come. + +Then she heard his step; but she was wakened by the soft sound of the +latch bolt of her door in its socket, and she sprang to her feet, +straight and white, with a little sharp cry, for the fancied sound had +always frightened her as nothing else could. This time she had not +turned the key, and the door opened. + +"Did I startle you, child?" asked her mother's voice, kindly. "I am +sorry. Signor Lamberti is in the drawing-room. I think you had better +come. He has heard of the article in the _Figaro_, and is reading it +now." + +"I will come in a minute, mother," Cecilia answered, turning her face +away. "Let me slip on my frock." + +"It is only Signor Lamberti," the Countess observed, rather +thoughtlessly. "But I will send you Petersen." + +The door was shut again, and Cecilia heard her mother's tripping +footsteps on the glazed tiles in the corridor. She knew that she had +blushed quickly, for she had been taken unawares, but the room was +darkened and her mother had noticed nothing. She was suddenly aware that +her cheeks and her neck were wet, and she remembered what she had dreamt +and wondered that her tears should have been real. She had let in more +light now and she looked at herself in the glass with curiosity, for she +did not remember to have cried since she had been a little girl. The +dried tears gave her face a stained and spotted look she did not like, +and she made haste to bathe it in cold water. Even the near-sighted +Petersen might see something unusual, and she would not let Lamberti +guess that she had been crying on that day of all days. + +It was all very strange, and while she dressed she wondered still why +the real tears had come, and why she had dreamt she had broken her vow. +She had never dreamt that before, not even when she used to meet +Lamberti in her dreams by the fountain in the Villa Madama. It was +stranger still that she should not have been able to call up the waking +vision in the old way. It was as if some power she had once possessed +had left her very suddenly, a power, or a faculty, or a gift; she could +not tell what it was, but it was gone and something told her that it +would not return. She made haste, and almost ran along the broad +passage. + +When she went into the drawing-room Lamberti was standing with the +_Figaro_ in his hand, before her mother who was sitting down. He bowed +rather stiffly, though he smiled a little, and she saw that his blue +eyes glittered and his face had the ruthless look she used to dread. She +knew what it meant now, and was pleased. She wished she could see him +shake the wretch who had written the article; she was glad that he was +just what he was, not too tall, strong, active, red-haired and angry, a +fighting man from head to foot, roused and ready for a violent deed. She +had waited for him so long, outside the closed Temple of Vesta in the +cold night wind! + +"It is not the article that matters," he said, taking it for granted +that she knew the contents. "It is what Guido would feel if he read it." + +"Especially just now," observed the Countess, looking at Cecilia. + +"What are you going to do?" Cecilia asked as quietly as she could. +"Shall you go to Paris?" + +"No! this was written in Rome. I will wager my life that the lawyer who +is mentioned here wrote it all and got some clever Frenchman to +translate it for him. I know the fellow by name." + +"I thought Monsieur Leroy was at the bottom of it," said Cecilia. + +Lamberti looked at her a moment. + +"I daresay," he said. "I am sure that the Princess never meant that +anything of this sort should be printed. Did Guido ever tell you about +her money dealings with him?" + +Guido had never mentioned them, of course, and Lamberti explained in a +few words exactly what had happened, and the nature of the receipts +Guido had given to his aunt. + +"I daresay you are right about Monsieur Leroy," he concluded, "for the +old lady is far too clever to have done such an absurd thing as this, +and it is just like his blundering hatred of Guido." + +"I wish he were here," said Cecilia, looking at Lamberti's hands. "I +wonder what you would do to him." + +"The lawyer is here, which is more to the purpose," Lamberti answered. + +"You cannot fight a lawyer, can you?" asked the young girl. "You cannot +shoot him." + +"One can without doubt," returned Lamberti, smiling. "But it will not be +necessary." + +"My dear child," cried the Countess in a reproachful tone, "I had no +idea you could be so bloodthirsty! Your father fought with Garibaldi, +but I am sure he never talked like that." + +"Men have no need of talking, mother. They can fight themselves." + +"May I take the _Figaro_ with me?" asked Lamberti. "I may not be able to +buy a copy. By the bye, Baron Goldbirn is your guardian, is he not? He +must have important relations with the financiers in Paris." + +Cecilia looked at her mother, meaning her to answer the question. + +"He is always in Paris himself," said the Countess. "I mean when he is +not in Vienna." + +"Can you telegraph to him to use his influence in Paris, so that the +_Figaro_ shall correct the article? Newspapers never take back what they +say, but it will be enough if a paragraph appears in a prominent part of +the paper stating that some ill-disposed people having supposed that the +person referred to in a recent letter from a Roman correspondent was +Guido d'Este, the editors take the opportunity of stating positively +that no reference to him was intended. Will you telegraph that?" + +"But will it be of any use?" asked the Countess, who was slightly in awe +of Baron Goldbirn. + +"Please write the telegram yourself," Cecilia said. "Then there cannot +be any mistake. The address is Kärnthner Ring, Vienna." + +"You will find writing paper in my boudoir," said the Countess. "Cecilia +will show you." + +The young girl led the way to her mother's table in the next room, and +Lamberti sat down before it, while she pulled out a sheet of paper and +gave him a pen. Neither looked at the other, and Lamberti wrote slowly +in a laboured round hand unlike his own, intended for the telegraph +clerk to read easily. + +"How shall I sign it?" he asked when he had finished. + +"'Countess Fortiguerra.'" + +He wrote, blotted the page, and rose. For one moment he stood close +beside her. + +"Shall I tell your mother?" he asked, in a low voice. + +"Not yet." + +He bent his head and looked at her, and his face softened wonderfully in +that instant. But there was not a touch of their hands, though they were +alone in the room, nor a tender word spoken in a whisper to have told +any one that they loved each other so well. They were alike, and they +understood without speech or touch. + +Lamberti read the telegram to the Countess, who seemed satisfied, but +not very hopeful about the result. + +"I never could understand what financiers and newspapers have to do with +each other," she observed. "They seem to me so different." + +"There is not often any resemblance between a horse and his rider," said +Lamberti, enigmatically. + +"Will you come this evening and tell us what the lawyer says?" Cecilia +asked. + +"Yes, if I may." + +"Pray do," said the Countess. "We should so much like to know. Poor +Guido! Good-bye!" Lamberti left the room. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + +When Lamberti reached the Palazzo Farnese at eight o'clock he had all +Guido's receipts for the Princess's money in his pocket. He had +difficulty in getting the lawyer to see him on business so late in the +afternoon, and when he succeeded at last he did not find it easy to +carry matters with a high hand; but he had come prepared to go to any +length, for he was in no gentle humour, and if he could not get the +papers by persuasion, he fully intended to take them by force, though +that might be the end of his career as an officer, and might even bring +him into court for something very like robbery. + +The lawyer was obdurate at first. He of course denied all knowledge of +the article in the _Figaro_, but he said that he was the Princess's +legal representative, that the case had been formally placed in his +hands, and that he should use all his professional energy in her +interests. + +"After all," said Lamberti at last, "you have nothing but a few informal +bits of writing to base your case upon. They have no legal value." + +"They are stamped receipts," answered the lawyer. + +"They are not stamped," Lamberti replied. + +"They are!" + +"They are not!" + +"You are giving me the lie, sir," said the lawyer, angrily. + +"I say that they are not stamped," retorted Lamberti. "You dare not show +them to me." + +The lawyer was human, after all. He opened his safe, in a rage, found +the receipts, and showed one of them to Lamberti triumphantly. + +"There!" he cried. "Are they stamped or not? Is the signature written +across the stamp or not?" + +Lamberti had the advantage of knowing positively that when Guido had +given the acknowledgments to his aunt, there had been no stamps on them. +He did not know how they had got them now, but he was sure that some +fraud had been committed. It was broad daylight still, and he examined +the signature carefully while the lawyer held the half sheet of note +paper before his eyes. The paper was certainly the Princess's, and the +writing was Guido's beyond doubt. The Princess always used violet ink, +and Guido had written with it. It struck Lamberti suddenly that it had +turned black where the signature crossed the stamp, but had remained +violet everywhere else. Now violet ink sometimes turns black altogether, +but it does not change colour in parts. As he looked nearer, he saw that +the letters formed on the stamp were a little tremulous. Though he had +never heard of such a thing, it now occurred to him that the stamp had +been simply stuck upon the middle of the signature, and that the part of +the latter that had been covered by it had been cleverly forged over it. + +"The stamp makes very much less difference in law than you seem to +suppose," said the lawyer, enjoying his triumph. + +"It will make a considerable difference in law," answered Lamberti, "if +I prove to you that the stamp was put on over the first writing, and +part of the signature forged upon it. It has not even been done with the +same ink! The one is black and the other is violet. Do you know that +this is forgery, and that you may lose your reputation if you try to +found an action at law upon a forged document?" + +The lawyer was now scrutinising the signatures of the notes one by one +in the strong evening light. His anger had disappeared and there were +drops of perspiration on his forehead. + +"There is only one way of proving it to you," Lamberti said quietly. +"Moisten one of the stamps and raise it. If the signature runs +underneath it in violet ink, I am right, and the wisest thing you can do +is to hand me those pieces of paper and say nothing more about them. You +can write to Monsieur Leroy that you have done so. I even believe that +he would pay a considerable sum for them." + +It was as he said, and the lawyer was soon convinced that he had been +imposed upon, and had narrowly escaped being laughed at as a dupe, or +prosecuted as a party accessory to a fraud. He was glad to be out of the +whole affair so easily. Therefore, when Lamberti reached his friend's +door, he had the receipts in his pocket and he now meant to tell Guido +what had happened, after first giving them back to him. Guido would +laugh at Monsieur Leroy's stupid attempt to hurt him. But some one had +been before Lamberti. + +"He is very ill," said the servant, gravely, as he admitted him. "The +doctor is there and has sent for a nurse. I telephoned for him." + +Lamberti asked him what had happened, fearing the truth. Guido had felt +a little better in the afternoon and had asked for his letters and +papers. Half an hour later his servant had gone in with his tea and had +found him raving in delirium. That was all, but Lamberti knew what it +meant. Guido did not take the _Figaro_, but some one had sent the +article to him and he had read it. He had brain fever, and Lamberti was +not surprised, for he had suffered as much on that day as would have +killed some men, and might have driven some men mad. + +Lamberti did not wish to frighten Cecilia or her mother, but he sent +them word that he would not leave Guido that night, nor till he was +better, and that he had seen the lawyer and had recovered a number of +forged papers. + +After that there was nothing to be done but to watch and wait, and hear +the broken phrases that fell from the sick man's lips, now high, now +low, now laughing, now despairing, as if a host of mad spirits were +sporting with his helpless brain and body and mocking each other with +his voice. + +So it went on, hour after hour, and all the next day, till his strength +seemed almost spent. Lamberti listened, because he could not help it +when he was in the room, and again and again Cecilia's name rang out, +and the first passionate words of speeches that ran into incoherent +sounds and were drowned in a groan. + +Lamberti had nursed men who were ill and had seen them die in several +ways, but he had never taken care of one who was very near to him. It +was bad enough, but it was worse to know that he had an unwilling share +in causing his friend's suffering, and to feel that if Guido lived he +must some day be told that Lamberti had taken his place. It was +strangest of all to hear the name of the woman he loved so constantly on +another's lips. When the two men talked of her she had always been "the +Contessina," while she had been "Cecilia" in the hearts of both. + +There was something in the thought of not having told Guido all before +the delirium seized him, that still offended Lamberti's scrupulous +loyalty. It would be almost horrible if Guido should die without knowing +the truth. Somehow, his consent still seemed needful to Lamberti's love, +and it seemed so to Cecilia, too, and there was no denying that he was +now in danger of his life. If he was to die, there would probably be a +lucid hour before death, but what right would his best friend have to +embitter those final moments for one who would certainly go out of this +world with no hope of the next? Yet, when he was gone at last, would it +be no slur on the memory of such true friendship to do what would have +hurt him, if he could have known of it? Lamberti was not sure. Like some +strong men of rough temperament, he had hidden delicacies of feeling +that many a girl would have thought foolish and exaggerated, and they +were the more sensitive because they were so secret, and he never +suffered outward things to come in contact with them, nor spoke of them, +even to Guido. + +Some people said that Guido was Quixotic, and he was certainly the +personification of honour. If the papers Lamberti had safe in his pocket +had come into Guido's possession as they had come into Lamberti's own, +Guido would have sent them back to Princess Anatolie, quite sure that +she had a right to them, whether they were partly forged or not, because +he had originally given them to her and nothing could induce him to take +them back. The reason why Guido's illness had turned into brain fever +was simply that he believed his honourable reputation among men to have +been gravely damaged by an article in a newspaper. Honour was his god, +his religion, and his rule of life; it was all he had beyond the +material world, and it was sacred. He had not that something else, +simple but undefinable, and as sensitive as an uncovered nerve, that lay +under his friend's rougher character and sturdier heart. Nature would +never have chosen him to be one instrument in that mysterious harmony of +two sleeping beings which had linked Cecilia and Lamberti in their +dreams. It was not the melancholy and intellectual Cassius who trembled +before Cæsar's ghost at Philippi; it was rough Brutus, the believer in +himself and the man of action. + +The illness ran its course. While it continued Lamberti went every other +day to the Palazzo Massimo and told the two ladies of Guido's state. He +and Cecilia looked at each other silently, but she never showed that she +wished to be alone with him, and he made no attempt to see her except in +her mother's presence. Both felt that Guido was dying, and knew that +they had some share in his sufferings. As soon as the Countess learned +that the danger was real she gave up all thought of leaving Rome, and +there was no discussion about it between her and her daughter. She was +worldly and often foolish, but she was not unkind, and she had grown +really fond of Guido since the spring. So they waited for the turn of +the illness, or for its sudden end, and the days dragged on painfully. +Lamberti was as lean as a man trained for a race, and the cords stood +out on his throat when he spoke, but nothing seemed to tire him. The +good Countess lost her fresh colour and grew listless, but she +complained only of the heat and the solitude of Rome in summer, and if +she felt any impatience she never showed it. Cecilia was as slender and +pale as one of the lilies of the Annunciation, but her eyes were full of +light. In the early morning she often used to go with her maid to the +distant church of Santa Croce, and late in the afternoons she went for +long drives with her mother in the Campagna. Twice Lamberti came to +luncheon, and the three were silent and subdued when they were together. + +Then the news came that Princess Anatolie had died suddenly at her place +in Styria, and one of the secretaries of the Austrian embassy, who was +obliged to stay in town, came to the Palazzo Massimo the same afternoon +and told the Countess some details of the old lady's death. There was +certainly something mysterious about it, but no one regretted her +translation to a better world, though it put a number of high and mighty +persons into mourning for a little while. + +She died in the drawing-room after dinner, almost with her coffee cup in +her hand. It was the heart, of course, said the young secretary. Two or +three of her relations were staying in the house, and one of them was +the man who had been at her dinner-party given for the engaged couple, +and who resembled Guido but was older. The Countess remembered his name +very well. It had leaked out that he was exceedingly angry at the +article in the _Figaro_ and had said one or two sharp things to the +Princess, when Monsieur Leroy had come in unexpectedly, though the +Princess had sent him away for a few days. No one knew exactly what +followed, but Monsieur Leroy was an insolent person and the Princess's +cousin was not patient of impertinence nor of anything like an attack on +Guido d'Este. It was said that Monsieur Leroy had left the room hastily +and that the other had followed him at once, in a very bad temper, and +that the Princess, who thought Monsieur Leroy was going to be badly +hurt, if not killed, had died of fright, without uttering a word or a +cry. She had always been unaccountably attached to Monsieur Leroy. The +secretary glanced at Cecilia, asked for another cup of tea, and +discreetly changed the subject, fearing that he had already said a +little too much. + +"I believe Guido may recover, now that she is dead," Lamberti said, when +he heard the story. + +The change in Guido's state came one night about eleven o'clock, when +Lamberti and the French nun were standing beside the bed, looking into +his face and wondering whether he would open his eyes before he died. He +had been lying motionless for many hours, turned a little on one side, +and his breathing was very faint. There seemed to be hardly any life +left in the wasted body. + +"I think he will die about midnight," Lamberti whispered to the nurse. + +The good nun, who thought so too, bent down and spoke gently close to +the sick man's ear. She could not bear to let him go out of life without +a Christian word, though Lamberti had told her again and again that his +friend believed in nothing beyond death. + +"You are dying," she said, softly and clearly. "Think of God! Try to +think of God, Signor d'Este!" + +That was all she could find to say, for she was a simple soul and not +eloquent; but perhaps it might do some good. She knelt down then, by the +bedside. + +"Look!" cried Lamberti in a low voice, bending forwards. + +Guido had opened his eyes, and they were wide and grave. + +"Thank you," he said, after a few seconds, faintly but distinctly. "You +are very kind. But I am not going to die." + +The quiet eyes closed, and the mystery of life went on in silence. That +was all he had to say. The nun knelt down again and folded her hands, +but in less than a minute she rose and busied herself noiselessly, +preparing something in a glass. It would be the last time that anything +would pass his lips, she thought, and it might be quite useless to give +it to him, but it must be ready. Many and many a time she had heard the +dying declare quietly that they were out of danger. Lamberti stood +motionless by the bedside, thinking much the same things and feeling as +if his own heart were slowly turning into lead. + +He stood there a long time, convinced that it was useless to send for +the doctor, who always came about midnight, for Guido would probably be +dead before he came. He would stop breathing presently, and that would +be the end. The lids would open a little, but the eyes would not see, +there would be a little white froth on the parted lips, and that would +be the end. Guido would know the great secret then. + +But the breathing did not cease, and the eyes did not open again; on the +contrary, at the end of half an hour Lamberti was almost sure that the +lids were more tightly closed than before, and that the breath came and +went with a fuller sound. In ten minutes more he was sure that the sick +man was peacefully sleeping, and not likely to die that night. He turned +away with a deep sigh of relief. + +The doctor came soon after midnight. He would not disturb Guido; he +looked at him a long time and listened to his breathing, and nodded with +evident satisfaction. + +"You may begin to hope now," he said quietly to Lamberti, not even +whispering, for he knew how deep such sleep was sure to be. "He may not +wake before to-morrow afternoon. Do not be anxious. I will come early in +the morning." + +"Very well," answered Lamberti. "By the bye, a near relation of his has +died suddenly while he has been delirious. Shall I tell him if he wakes +quite conscious?" + +"If it will give him great satisfaction to know of his relative's death, +tell him of it by all means," answered the doctor, his quiet eye +twinkling a little, for he had often heard of the Princess Anatolie, and +knew that she was dead. + +"I do not think the news will cause him pain," said Lamberti, with +perfect gravity. + +The doctor gave the nurse a few directions and went away, evidently +convinced that Guido was out of all immediate danger. Then Lamberti +rested at last, for the nun slept in the daytime and was fresh for the +night's watching. He stretched himself upon Guido's long chair in the +drawing-room, leaving the door open, and one light burning, so that the +nurse could call him at once. He had earned his rest, and as he shut his +eyes his only wish was that he could have let Cecilia know of the change +before he went to sleep. A moment later he was sitting beside her on the +bench in the Villa Madama, by the fountain, telling her that Guido was +safe at last. + +When he awoke the sun had risen an hour. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + +"I am like Dante," said Guido to Lamberti, when he was recovering. "I +have been in Hell, and now I am in Purgatory. But I shall not reach the +earthly Paradise at the top, much less the Heaven beyond." + +He smiled sadly and looked at his friend. + +"Who knows?" Lamberti asked, by way of answer. + +"Beatrice will not lead me further." + +Guido closed his eyes, and wondered why he had come back to life, out of +so much suffering, only to be tormented again in the same way, perhaps +when the end really came. His memories of his serious illness were vague +and indistinct, but they were all horrible. He only recalled the +beginning very clearly, how he had glanced through the newspaper article +and had dropped it in sudden and overwhelming despair; and then, how he +had roused himself and had felt in the drawer for his revolver; not +finding it, he had lost consciousness just as he realised that even that +means of escape from life had been taken from him. He remembered having +felt as if something broke in his brain, though he knew that he was not +dying. + +After that, fragments of his ravings came back to him with the still +vivid recollection of awful pain, of monstrous darkness, of lurid +lights, of hideous beings glaring and gnashing their jagged teeth at +him, and of a continual discordant noise of voices that had run all +through his delirium like the crying out and moaning of many creatures +in agony. It was no wonder that he compared what he remembered of his +sufferings to hell itself. + +And now that he was alive, of what use was life to him? His honour was +cleared, indeed, for Lamberti had taken care of that. Lamberti had +burned the papers before his eyes after telling him how Princess +Anatolie had died, and had read him the paragraph which Baron Goldbirn +had caused to be inserted in the _Figaro_. The Princess was dead, and +Monsieur Leroy would probably never trouble any one again. When he had +squandered what she had left him, he would probably get a living as a +medium in Vienna. Guido knew the secret of the tie that bound him to the +Princess, but was quite sure that the proud old woman had never let him +guess it himself, in spite of her doting affection for him. Those of her +family who knew it would not tell him, of all people, and if Monsieur +Leroy ever begged money of Guido he would not present himself as an +unfortunate cousin. + +Guido foresaw no difficulties in the future, but he anticipated no +happiness, and his life stretched before him, colourless, blank, and +idle. + +Since his delirium had ceased, he had not once spoken of Cecilia, and +Lamberti began to fear that he would not allude to her for a long time. +That did not make it easier to tell him the story he must hear, and the +time had come when he must hear it, come what might, lest he should ever +think that he had been intentionally kept in ignorance of the truth. +Lamberti was glad when he spoke of Cecilia as a Beatrice who would never +appear to lead him further, and knew at once that the opportunity must +not be lost. + +It was the hardest moment in Lamberti's life. It had been far easier to +hide what he felt, so long as he had not guessed that Cecilia loved him, +than it was to speak out now; it had cost him much less to be steadfast +in his silence with her while Guido's illness lasted. To make Guido +understand all, it would be necessary to tell all from the beginning, +even to explaining that what he had taken for mutual aversion at first, +had been an attraction so irresistible that it had frightened Cecilia +and had made Lamberti compare it with a possession of the devil and a +haunting spirit. + +The two men were sitting on the brick steps of the miniature Roman +theatre close to the oak which is still called Tasso's, a few yards from +the new road that leads over the Janiculum through what was once the +Villa Corsini. It was shady there, and Rome lay at their feet in the +still afternoon. The waiting carriage was out of sight, and there was no +sound but the rustling of leaves stirred by the summer breeze. It was +nearly the middle of August. + +"They are still in Rome," Lamberti said, after a moment's pause, during +which he had decided to speak at last. + +"Are they?" asked Guido, coldly. + +"Yes. Neither the Countess nor her daughter would go away till you were +well." + +"I am well now." + +He was painfully thin and his eyes were hollow. The doctor had ordered +mountain air and he was going to stay with one of his relatives in the +Austrian Tyrol as soon as he could bear the journey without too much +fatigue. + +"They wish to see you," Lamberti said, glancing sideways at his face. + +"I cannot refuse, but I would rather not see them. They ought to +understand that, I think." + +He was offended by what seemed very like an intrusion on the privacy of +a suffering that was still keen. Why could they not leave him alone? + +"They would not have gone away in any case till you recovered," Lamberti +answered, "but the Contessina would not have the bad taste to wish for a +meeting just now, unless there were a reason which you do not know, and +which I must explain to you, cost what it may." + +Guido looked at Lamberti in surprise and then laughed a little +scornfully. + +"Is she going to be married?" he asked. + +"Perhaps." + +"Already!" + +His tone was sad, and pitying, and slightly contemptuous. His lips +closed after the single word and he drew his eyelids together, as he +looked steadily out over the deep city towards the hills to eastward. + +"Then it was true that she cared for another man," he said, in a low +voice. + +"Yes. It was quite true." + +"She wrote me in that letter that he did not know it." + +"That was true also." + +"And that he was not in the least in love with her." + +"She thought so." + +"But she was mistaken, you mean to say. He loved her, but did not show +it." + +"Precisely. He loved her, but he was careful not to show it because he +understood that her mother and the Princess wished to marry her to you, +and because he happened to know that you were in earnest." + +"That was decent of him, at all events," Guido said wearily. "Some men +would have behaved differently." + +"I daresay," Lamberti answered. + +"Is he a man I know?" + +"Yes. You know him very well." + +"And now she has asked you to tell me his name. I suppose that is why +you begin this conversation. You are trying to break it gently to me." +He smiled contemptuously. + +"Yes!" + +The word was spoken as if it cost an effort. Lamberti held his stout +stick with both hands over his crossed knee and leaned back, so that it +bent a little with the strain. + +"My dear fellow," said Guido, with a little impatience, "it seems to me +that you need not take so much trouble to spare my feelings! If you do +not tell me who the man is, some one else will." + +"No one else can," Lamberti answered, with emphasis. + +"Why not? I would rather speak of her with you, if I must speak of her +at all, of course. But some obliging person is sure to tell me, or write +to me about it, as soon as the engagement is announced. 'My dear d'Este, +do you remember that girl you were engaged to last spring?' And so on. +Remember her!" + +"There is no engagement," Lamberti said. "No one will write to you about +it, and no one knows who the man is, except the Contessina and the man +himself." + +"And you," corrected Guido. "You may as well keep the secret, so far as +I am concerned. I have no curiosity about it. There will be time enough +to tell me when the engagement is announced." + +"I do not think that there can be any engagement until you know." + +"Oh, this is absurd! The Contessina was frank. She did not love me, she +told me so, and we agreed that our engagement should end. What possible +claim have I to know whom she wishes to marry now?" + +"You have the strongest claim that any man can have, though not on her. +The man is your friend." + +"Nonsense!" exclaimed Guido, becoming impatient. "A dozen men I like +might be called friends of mine, I suppose, but you know very well that +you are the only intimate friend I have." + +"Yes, I know." + +"Well? I can hardly fancy that you mean yourself, can I?" + +Lamberti did not move, but as Guido looked at him for an answer, he saw +that he could not speak just then, and that he was clenching his teeth. +Guido stared at him a moment and then started. + +"Lamberti!" he cried sharply. + +Lamberti slowly turned his head and gazed into Guido's eyes without +speaking. Then they both looked out at the distant hills in silence for +a long time. + +"The Contessina was very loyal to you, Guido," Lamberti said at last, in +a low tone. "She could not tell you that it was I, and I did not know +it." + +Again there was a silence for a time. + +"When did you know it?" Guido asked slowly. + +"After she had been to see you. It was my fault, then." + +"What was your fault?" + +"When we went downstairs, I thought I should never see her again, and I +never meant to. How could I know what she felt? She never betrayed +herself by a glance or a tone of her voice. I loved her with all my +heart, and when you had both told me that everything was quite over +between you, I wanted her to know that I did. Was that disloyal to you, +since you had definitely given up the hope of marrying her, and since I +did not expect to see her again for years and thought she was quite +indifferent?" + +"No," Guido answered, after a moment's thought. "But you should have +told me at once." + +"When I came upstairs the Countess was still there, and you were quite +worn out. I put you to bed, meaning to tell you that same evening, after +you had rested. When I came back you had brain fever, and did not know +me. So I have had to wait until to-day." + +"And you have seen each other constantly while I have been ill, of +course," said Guido, with some bitterness. "It was natural, I suppose." + +"Since that day when we spoke on the staircase we have only been alone +together once, for a moment. I asked her then if I should tell her +mother, and she said 'Not yet.' Excepting that, we have never exchanged +a word that you and her mother might not have heard, nor a glance that +you might not have seen. We both knew that we were waiting for you to +get well, and we have waited." + +Guido looked at him with a sort of wonder. + +"That was like you," he said quietly. + +"You understand, now," Lamberti continued. "You and I met her on the +same day at your aunt's, and when I saw her, I felt as if I had always +known her and loved her. No one can explain such things. Then by a +strange coincidence we dreamt the same dream, on the same night." + +"Was it she whom you met in the Forum, and who ran away from you?" asked +Guido, in astonishment. + +"Yes. That is the reason why we always avoided each other, and why I +would not go to their house till you almost forced me to. We had never +spoken alone together till the garden party. It was then that we found +out that our dreams were alike, and after that I kept away from her more +than ever, but I dreamt of her every night." + +"So that was your secret, that afternoon!" + +"Yes. We had dreamt of each other and we had met in the Forum in the +place we had dreamt of, and she ran away without speaking to me. That +was the whole secret. She was afraid of me, and I loved her, and was +beginning to know it. I thought there was something wrong with my head +and went to see a doctor. He talked to me about telepathy, but seemed +inclined to consider that it might possibly be a mere train of +coincidences. I think I have told you everything." + +For a long time they sat side by side in silence, each thinking his own +thoughts. + +"Is there anything you do not understand?" Lamberti asked at last. + +"No," Guido answered thoughtfully. "I understand it all. It was rather a +shock at first, but I am glad you have told me. Perhaps I do not quite +understand why she wishes to see me." + +"We both wish to be sure that you bear us no ill-will. I am sure she +does, and I know that I do." + +There was a pause again. + +"Do you think I am that kind of friend?" Guido asked, with a little +sadness. "After what you have done, too?" + +"I am afraid my mere existence has broken up your life, after all," +Lamberti answered. + +"You must not think that. Please do not, my friend. There is only one +thing that could hurt me now that it is all over." + +"What is that?" + +"I am not afraid that it will happen. You are not the kind of man to +break her heart." + +"No," Lamberti answered very quietly. "I am not." + +"It was only a dream for me, after all," Guido said, after a little +while. "You have the reality. She used to talk of three great questions, +and I remember them now as if I heard her asking them: 'What can I know? +What is it my duty to do? What may I hope?' Those were the three." + +"And the answers?" + +"Nothing, nothing, nothing. Those are my answers. Unless----" + +He stopped. + +"Unless--what?" Lamberti asked. + +Guido smiled a little. + +"Unless there is really something beyond it all, something essentially +true, something absolute by nature." + +Lamberti had never known his friend to admit such a possibility even +under a condition. + +"At all events," Guido added, "our friendship is true and absolute. +Shall we go home? I feel a little tired." + +Lamberti helped him to the carriage and drew the light cover over his +knees before getting in himself. Then they drove down towards the city, +by the long and beautiful drive, past the Acqua Paola and San Pietro in +Montorio. + +"You must go and see her this evening," Guido said gently, as they came +near the Palazzo Farnese. "Will you tell her something from me? Tell +her, please, that it would be a little hard for me to talk with her now, +but that she must not think I am not glad that she is going to marry my +best friend." + +"Thank you. I will say that." Lamberti's voice was less steady than +Guido's. + +"And tell her that I will write to her from the Tyrol." + +"Yes." + +It was over. The two men knew that their faithful friendship was +unshaken still, and that they should meet on the morrow and trust each +other more than ever. But on this evening it was better that each should +go his own way, the one to his solitude and his thoughts, the other to +the happiest hour of his life. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + +On the following afternoon Lamberti waited for Cecilia at the Villa +Madama, and she came not long after him, with Petersen. He had been to +the Palazzo Massimo in the evening, and a glance and a sign had +explained to her that all was well. Then they had sat together awhile, +talking in a low tone, while the Countess read the newspaper. When +Lamberti had given Guido's brave message, they had looked earnestly at +each other, and had agreed to tell her mother the truth at once, and to +meet on the morrow at the villa, which was Cecilia's own house, after +all. For they felt that they must be really alone together, to say the +only words that really mattered. + +The head gardener had admitted Lamberti to the close garden, by the +outer steps, but had not let him into the house, as he had received no +orders. When Cecilia came, he accompanied her with the keys and opened +wide the doors of the great hall. Cecilia and Lamberti did not look at +each other while they waited, and when the man was gone away Cecilia +told Petersen to sit down in the court of honour on the other side of +the little palace. Petersen went meekly away and left the two to +themselves. + +They walked very slowly along the path towards the fountain, and past +it, to the parapet at the other end, where they had talked long ago. But +as they passed the bench, they glanced at it quietly, and saw that it +was still in its place. Cecilia had not been at the villa since the +afternoon before Guido fell ill, and Lamberti had never come there since +the garden party in May. + +They stood still before the low wall and looked across the shoulder of +the hill. Saving commonplace words at meeting, they had not spoken yet. +Cecilia broke the silence at last, looking straight before her, her lids +low, her face quiet, almost as if she were in a dream. + +"Have we done all that we could do, all that we ought to do for him?" +she asked. "Are you sure?" + +"We can do nothing more," Lamberti answered gravely. + +"Tell me again what he said. I want the very words." + +"He said, 'Tell her that it would be a little hard for me to talk with +her now, but that she must not think I am not glad that she is going to +marry my best friend.' He said those words, and he said he would write +to you from the Tyrol. He leaves to-morrow night." + +"He has been very generous," Cecilia said softly. + +"Yes. He will be your best friend, as he is mine." + +She knew that it was true. + +"We have done what we can," Lamberti continued presently. "He has given +all he has, and we have given him what we could. The rest is ours." + +He took her hand and drew her gently, turning back towards the fountain. + +"It was like this in the dream," she said, scarcely breathing the words +as she walked beside him. + +They stood still before the falling water, quite alone and out of sight +of every one, in the softening light, and suddenly the girl's heart beat +hard, and the man's face grew pale, and they were facing each other, +hands in hands, look in look, thought in thought, soul in soul; and they +remembered that day when each had learned the other's secret in the +shadowy staircase of the palace, and each dreamt again of a meeting long +ago in the House of the Vestals; but only the girl knew what she had +felt of mingled joy and regret when she had sat alone at night weeping +on the steps of the Temple. + +There was no veil between them now, as their eyes drew them closer +together by slow and delicious degrees. It was the first time, though +every instant was full of memories, all ending where this was to begin. +Their lips had never met, yet the thrill of life meeting life and the +blinding delight of each in the other were long familiar, as from ages, +while fresh and untasted still as the bloom on a flower at dawn. + +Then, when they had kissed once, they sat down in the old place, +wondering what words would come, and whether they should ever need words +at all after that. And somehow, Cecilia thought of her three questions, +and they all were answered as youth answers them, in one way and with +one word; and the answer seemed so full of meaning, and of faith and +hope and charity, that the questions need never be asked again, nor any +others like them, to the end of her life; nor did she believe that she +could ever trouble her brain again about _Thus spake Zarathushthra_, and +the Man who had killed God, and the overcoming of Pity, and the Eternal +Return, and all those terrible and wonderful things that live in +Nietzsche's mazy web, waiting to torment and devour the poor human moth +that tries to fly upward. + +But as for Kant's Categorical Imperative, in order to act in such a +manner that the reasons for her actions might be considered a universal +law, it was only necessary to realise how very much she loved the man +she had chosen, and how very much he loved her; for how indeed could it +then be possible not to live so as to deserve to be happy? + +She had thought of these things during the night and had fallen asleep +very happy in realising the perfect simplicity of all science, +philosophy, and transcendental reasoning, and vaguely wondering why +every one could not solve the problems of the universe as she had. + +"Is it all quite true?" she asked now, with a little fluttering wonder. +"Shall I wake and hear the door shutting, and be alone, and frightened +as I used to be?" + +Lamberti smiled. + +"I should have waked already," he said, "when we were standing there by +the fountain. I always did when I dreamt of you." + +"So did I. Do you think we really met in our dreams?" She blushed +faintly. + +"Do you know that you have not told me once to-day that you care for me, +ever so little?" he asked. + +"I have told you much more than that, a thousand times over, in a +thousand ways." + +"I wonder whether we really met!" + + + + + MARIETTA + + A MAID OF VENICE + + By F. MARION CRAWFORD + + _Author of "Saracinesca," etc._ + + Cloth. 12 mo. $1.50 + + +"There are two important departments of the novelist's art in which +Marion Crawford is entirely at home. He can tell a love story better +than any one now living save the unapproachable George Meredith. And he +can describe the artistic temperament and the artistic environment with +a security born of infallible instinct."--_The New York Herald._ + +"This is not the first time that Mr. Crawford's pen has drawn the +conscious love of a pure girl for a man whose own heart she believed to +be untouched, yet, in the love of Marietta for the Dalmatian, we have +something that, while so utterly human, is so delicately revealed that +the reader must be a stoic indeed who does not take a delightful +interest in the fate of that love."--_New York Times._ + +"It suggests the bright shimmer of the moon on still waters, the soft +gliding of brilliant-hued gondolas, the tuneful voices of the gondoliers +keeping rhythmic time to the oar stroke and the faint murmuring of +lovers' vows lightly made and lightly broken."--_Richmond Dispatch._ + +"Furnishes another illustration of the author's remarkable facility in +assimilating different atmospheres, and in mastering, in a minute way, +as well as sympathetically, very diverse conditions of life.... The plot +is intricate, and is handled with the ease and skill of a past-master in +the art of story-telling."--_Outlook._ + +"The workshop, its processes, the ways and thought of the time,--all +this is handled in so masterly a manner, not for its own sake, but for +that of the story.... It has charm, and the romance which is eternally +human, as well as that which was of the Venice of that day. And over it +all there is an atmosphere of worldly wisdom, of understanding, +sympathy, and tolerance, of intuition and recognition, that makes Marion +Crawford the excellent companion he is in his books for mature men and +women."--_New York Mail and Express._ + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + + 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK + + + + + WRITINGS OF F. MARION CRAWFORD + + 12 mo. Cloth + + + Corleone $1.00 + + Casa Braccio. 2 vols 2.00 + + Taquisara 1.50 + + Saracinesca 1.00 + + Sant' Ilario 1.00 + + Don Orsino 1.50 + + Mr. Isaacs 1.00 + + A Cigarette-Maker's Romance, + and Khaled 1.50 + + Marzio's Crucifix 1.00 + + An American Politician 1.00 + + Paul Patoff 1.00 + + To Leeward 1.00 + + Dr. Claudius 1.50 + + Zoroaster 1.50 + + A Tale of a Lonely Parish 1.00 + + With the Immortals 1.00 + + The Witch of Prague 1.00 + + A Roman Singer 1.50 + + Greifenstein 1.00 + + Pietro Ghisleri 1.00 + + Katherine Lauderdale 1.00 + + The Ralstons 1.00 + + Children of the King 1.00 + + The Three Fates 1.00 + + Adam Johnstone's Son, and A + Rose of Yesterday 1.50 + + Marion Darche 1.50 + + Love in Idleness 2.00 + + Via Crucis 1.50 + + In the Palace of the King 1.50 + + Ave Roma Immortalis. 2 v. $6.00 net + + Rulers of the South: Sicily, + Calabria, Malta. 2 vols $6.00 net + + + + + CORLEONE + + A TALE OF SICILY + The last of the famous Saracinesca Series + +"It is by far the most stirring and dramatic of all the author's Italian +stories.... The plot is a masterly one, bringing at almost every page a +fresh surprise, keeping the reader in suspense to the very end."--_The +Times_, New York. + + + MR. ISAACS + +"It is lofty and uplifting. It is strongly, sweetly, tenderly written. +It is in all respects an uncommon novel."--_The Literary World._ + + + DR. CLAUDIUS + +"The characters are strongly marked without any suspicion of caricature, +and the author's ideas on social and political subjects are often +brilliant and always striking. It is no exaggeration to say that there +is not a dull page in the book, which is peculiarly adapted for the +recreation of the student or thinker."--_Living Church._ + + + + A ROMAN SINGER + +"A powerful story of art and love in Rome."--_The New York Observer._ + + + + AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN + +"One of the characters is a visiting Englishman. Possibly Mr. Crawford's +long residence abroad has made him select such a hero as a safeguard +against slips, which does not seem to have been needed. His insight into +a phase of politics with which he could hardly be expected to be +familiar is remarkable."--_Buffalo Express._ + + + TO LEEWARD + +"It is an admirable tale of Italian life told in a spirited way and far +better than most of the fiction current."--_San Francisco Chronicle._ + + + ZOROASTER + +"As a matter of literary art solely, we doubt if Mr. Crawford has ever +before given us better work than the description of Belshazzar's feast +with which the story begins, or the death-scene with which it +closes."--_The Christian Union_ (now _The Outlook_). + + + A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH + +"It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief +and vivid story. It is doubly a success, being full of human sympathy, +as well as thoroughly artistic."--_The Critic._ + + + MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX + +"We take the liberty of saying that this work belongs to the highest +department of character-painting in words."--_The Churchman._ + + + PAUL PATOFF + +"It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely +written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined +surroundings."--_New York Commercial Advertiser._ + + + PIETRO GHISLERI + +"The strength of the story lies not only in the artistic and highly +dramatic working out of the plot, but also in the penetrating analysis +and understanding of the impulsive and passionate Italian +character."--_Public Opinion._ + + + THE CHILDREN OF THE KING + +"One of the most artistic and exquisitely finished pieces of work that +Crawford has produced. The picturesque setting, Calabria and its +surroundings, the beautiful Sorrento and the Gulf of Salerno, with the +bewitching accessories that climate, sea, and sky afford, give Mr. +Crawford rich opportunities to show his rare descriptive powers. As a +whole the book is strong and beautiful through its simplicity."--_Public +Opinion._ + + + MARION DARCHE + +"We are disposed to rank 'Marion Darche' as the best of Mr. Crawford's +American stories."--_The Literary World._ + + + KATHERINE LAUDERDALE + +"It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely +written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined +surroundings."--_New York Commercial Advertiser._ + + + THE RALSTONS + +"The whole group of character studies is strong and vivid."--_The +Literary World._ + + + LOVE IN IDLENESS + +"The story is told in the author's lightest vein; it is bright and +entertaining."--_The Literary World._ + + + CASA BRACCIO + +"We are grateful when Mr. Crawford keeps to his Italy. The poetry and +enchantment of the land are all his own, and 'Casa Braccio' gives +promise of being his masterpiece.... He has the life, the beauty, the +heart, and the soul of Italy at the tips of his fingers."--_Los Angeles +Express._ + + + TAQUISARA + +"A charming story this is, and one which will certainly be liked by all +admirers of Mr. Crawford's work."--_New York Herald._ + + + ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON and A ROSE OF YESTERDAY + +"It is not only one of the most enjoyable novels that Mr. Crawford has +ever written, but is a novel that will make people think."--_Boston +Beacon._ + +"Don't miss reading Marion Crawford's new novel, 'A Rose of Yesterday.' +It is brief, but beautiful and strong. It is as charming a piece of pure +idealism as ever came from Mr. Crawford's pen."--_Chicago Tribune._ + + + SARACINESCA + +"The work has two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make +it great: that of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of +giving a graphic picture of Roman society.... The story is exquisitely +told, and is the author's highest achievement, as yet, in the realm of +fiction."--_The Boston Traveler._ + + + SANT' ILARIO + + A SEQUEL TO SARACINESCA + +"A singularly powerful and beautiful story.... It fulfils every +requirement of artistic fiction. It brings out what is most impressive +in human action, without owing any of its effectiveness to +sensationalism or artifice. It is natural, fluent in evolution, +accordant with experience, graphic in description, penetrating in +analysis, and absorbing in interest."--_The New York Tribune._ + + + DON ORSINO + + A SEQUEL TO SARACINESCA AND SANT' ILARIO + +"Offers exceptional enjoyment in many ways, in the fascinating +absorption of good fiction, in the interest of faithful historic +accuracy, and in charm of style. The 'New Italy' is strikingly revealed +in 'Don Orsino.'"--_Boston Budget._ + + + WITH THE IMMORTALS + +"The strange central idea of the story could have occurred only to a +writer whose mind was very sensitive to the current of modern thought +and progress, while its execution, the setting it forth in proper +literary clothing, could be successfully attempted only by one whose +active literary ability should be fully equalled by his power of +assimilative knowledge both literary and scientific, and no less by his +courage, and so have a fascination entirely new for the habitual reader +of novels. Indeed, Mr. Crawford has succeeded in taking his readers +quite above the ordinary plane of novel interest."--_The Boston +Advertiser._ + + + GREIFENSTEIN + +"... Another notable contribution to the literature of the day. Like all +Mr. Crawford's work, this novel is crisp, clear, and vigorous, and will +be read with a great deal of interest."--_New York Evening Telegram._ + + + A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE and KHALED + +"It is a touching romance, filled with scenes of great dramatic +power."--_Boston Commercial Bulletin._ + +"It abounds in stirring incidents and barbaric picturesqueness; and the +love struggle of the unloved Khaled is manly in its simplicity and noble +in its ending."--_The Mail and Express._ + + + THE WITCH OF PRAGUE + +"The artistic skill with which this extraordinary story is constructed +and carried out is admirable and delightful.... Mr. Crawford has scored +a decided triumph, for the interest of the tale is sustained +throughout.... A very remarkable, powerful, and interesting +story."--_New York Tribune._ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cecilia, by F. 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Marion Crawford. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.padtop {padding-top: 4em;} +.padbase {padding-bottom: 4em;} +.padsmtop {padding-top: 2em;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.smlfont{font-size: 75%;} + +.tdl{text-align: left; vertical-align: top;} +.tdr{text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cecilia, by F. Marion Crawford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cecilia + A Story of Modern Rome + +Author: F. Marion Crawford + +Release Date: March 21, 2010 [EBook #31723] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CECILIA *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Joanna Johnston and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p class="padtop"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 312px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="312" height="483" alt="Decorative cover" title="Cover" /> +</div> + +<p class="padtop"></p> +<p class="padtop"></p> + +<h1> CECILIA </h1> + +<p class="center padtop padbase">A Story of Modern Rome</p> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">F. MARION CRAWFORD</p> + +<p class="center smlfont padbase">AUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA," "MARIETTA," "AVE ROMA<br /> +IMMORTALIS," ETC.</p> + +<p class="center">New York<br /> +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> +LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., <span class="smcap">LTD.</span><br /> +1902</p> + +<p class="center smlfont padsmtop"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> + + +<p class="center padsmtop">Copyright, 1902,<br /> +By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.</p> + +<p class="center smlfont padsmtop">Set up and electrotyped October, 1902.</p> + + +<p class="center padsmtop"><i>Sixteenth Thousand</i></p> + + +<p class="center smlfont padsmtop">* +NORWOOD PRESS *<br /> +J. S. CUSHING & CO. — BERWICK & SMITH<br /> +* NORWOOD MASS. U.S.A. *<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CECILIA</h2> + +<p class="center">A STORY OF MODERN ROME</p> + + +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER XV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>CHAPTER XVIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>CHAPTER XIX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>CHAPTER XX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b>CHAPTER XXI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b>CHAPTER XXII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><b>CHAPTER XXIV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><b>CHAPTER XXV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><b>CHAPTER XXVI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"><b>CHAPTER XXVII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"><b>CHAPTER XXVIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#WRITINGS_OF_F_MARION_CRAWFORD"><b>WRITINGS OF F. MARION CRAWFORD</b></a><br /> +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p>Two men were sitting side by side on a stone bench in the forgotten +garden of the Arcadian Society, in Rome; and it was in early spring, not +long ago. Few people, Romans or strangers, ever find their way to that +lonely and beautiful spot beyond the Tiber, niched in a hollow of the +Janiculum below San Pietro in Montorio, where Beatrice Cenci sleeps. The +Arcadians were men and women who loved poetry in an artificial time, +took names of shepherds and shepherdesses, rhymed as best they could, +met in pleasant places to recite their verses, and played that the world +was young, and gentle, and sweet, and unpoisoned, just when it had +declined to one of its recurring periods of vicious old age. The Society +did not die with its times, and it still exists, less sprightly, less +ready to mask in pastorals, but rhyming, meeting, and reciting verses +now and then, in the old manner, though rarely in the old haunts. Even +now fresh inscriptions in honour of the Arcadians are set into the +stuccoed walls of the little terraced garden under the hill.</p> + +<p>It is very peaceful there. Above, the concave wall of the small house of +meeting looks down upon circular tiers of brick seats, and beyond these +there are bushes and a little fountain. To the right and left, +symmetrical walks lead down in two wide curves to the lower levels, +where the water falls again into a basin in a shaded grotto, and rises +the third time in another fountain. An ancient stone-pine tree springs +straight upwards, spreading out lovely branches. There are bushes again +and a magnolia, and a Japanese medlar, and there is moss. The stone +mouldings of the fountains are rich with the green tints of time. The +air is softly damp, smelling of leaves and flowers; there are corners +into which the sunlight never shines, little mysteries of perpetual +shade that are full of sadness in winter, but in summer repeat the +fanciful confidences of a delicious and imaginary past.</p> + +<p>The Sister who had let in the two visitors had left them to themselves, +and had gone back to the little convent door; for she was the portress, +and therefore a small judge of character in her way, and she understood +that the two gentlemen were not like the other half-dozen strangers who +came every year to see the garden, and went away after ten minutes, +dropping half a franc into her hand for the Sisters, and not even +lifting their hats to her as she let them out. These two evidently knew +the place; they spoke to each other as intimate friends do; they had +come to enjoy the peace and silence for an hour, and they would neither +carry off the flowers from the magnolia tree, as some did, nor scrawl +their names in pencil on the stucco. Therefore they might safely be left +to their own leisure and will.</p> + +<p>The men were friends, as the portress had guessed; they were very +unlike, and their unlikeness was in part the reason of their friendship. +The one was squarely built, of average height, a man of action at every +point, with bold blue eyes that could be piercing, a rugged Roman head, +prominent at the brows, short reddish hair and pointed beard, great jaw +and cheek-bones, a tanned and freckled skin. He sat leaning back, one +leg crossed over the other, the knee that was upper-most pressing +against the stout stick he held across it, and the big veins swelled on +his hands and wrists. He was a sailor, and a born fighting man; and in +ten years of service he had managed to find himself in every affair that +had concerned Italy in the remotest degree, in Africa, in China, and +elsewhere. He was now at home on leave, expecting immediate promotion. +He bore a historical name; he was called Lamberto Lamberti.</p> + +<p>His companion sat with folded arms and bent head, a rather dark young +man with deep-set grey eyes that often looked black, a thoughtful face, +a grave mouth that could smile suddenly and almost strangely, with a +child's sweet frankness, and yet with a look that was tender and +human—the smile of a man who understands the meaning of life and yet +does not despise it. Most people would have taken him for a man of +leisure, probably given to reading or the cultivation of some artistic +taste. Guido d'Este was one of those Italians who are content to survive +from a very beautiful past without joining the frantic rush for a very +problematic future. But there was more in him than a love of books and a +knowledge of pictures; for he was a dreamer, and there are dreams better +worth dreaming than many deeds are worth the doing.</p> + +<p>"I sometimes wonder what would have happened to you and me," he said, +after there had been a long pause, "if we had been obliged to live each +other's lives."</p> + +<p>"We should both have been bored to extinction," answered Lamberti, +without hesitating.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," assented Guido, and relapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>He was very glad that he was not condemned to the life of a naval +officer, to the perpetual motion of active service, to the narrow +quarters of a lieutenant on a modern man-of-war, to the daily +companionship of a dozen or eighteen other officers with whom he could +certainly not have an idea in common. It would be a detestable thing to +be sent at a moment's notice from one end of the world to the other, +from heat to cold, from cold to heat, through all sorts of weather, only +to be a part of an organisation, a wheel in a machine, a pawn in some +one's game of chess. He had been on board a line-of-battle ship once to +see his friend off, and had mentally noted the discomfort. There was +nothing in the cabin but a bunk built over a chest of drawers, a narrow +transom, a wash-stand that disappeared into a recess when pushed back, +an exiguous table fastened to a bulkhead, and one camp-stool. There was +no particular means of ventilation, and the place smelt of cold iron, +paint, and soft soap. Yet his friend had been about to live at least six +months in this cell, which would have been condemned as too narrow in an +ordinarily well-managed prison.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, it would be pleasant in itself, no doubt, to be a living +part of what most men only read about, to really know what fighting +meant, to be one of the few who are invariably chosen first for missions +of danger and difficulty. Besides, Guido d'Este was just now in a very +difficult situation, which might become dangerous, and from which he saw +no immediate means of escape; and, for once in his life, he almost +envied his friend his simple career, in which nothing seemed to be +required of a man but courage and obedience.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I should be bored," he said again, after a short and +thoughtful pause, "but I would rather be bored than live the life I am +living."</p> + +<p>The sailor looked at him sharply a moment, and instantly understood that +Guido had brought him to the little garden in order to tell him +something of importance without risk of interruption.</p> + +<p>"Have you had more trouble with that horrible old woman?" he asked +roughly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. She is draining the life out of me. She will ruin me in the end."</p> + +<p>Guido did not look up as he spoke, and he slowly tapped the hard earth +with the toe of his shoe. He felt very helpless, and he shook his head +over his misfortunes, which seemed great.</p> + +<p>"That comes of being connected with royalty," said Lamberti, in the same +rough tone.</p> + +<p>"Is it my fault?" asked Guido, with a melancholy smile.</p> + +<p>The sailor snorted discontentedly, and changed his position.</p> + +<p>"What can I do?" he asked presently. "Tell me."</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"If I were only rich!"</p> + +<p>"My dear friend," said Guido, "she demands a million of francs!"</p> + +<p>"There are men who have fifty. Would a hundred thousand francs be of any +use?"</p> + +<p>"Not the least. Besides, that is all you have."</p> + +<p>"What would that matter?" asked Lamberti.</p> + +<p>Guido looked up at last, for he knew that the words were true and +earnest.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he answered. "I know you would do that for me. But it would +not be of any use. Things have gone too far."</p> + +<p>"Shall I go to her and talk the matter over? I believe I could frighten +her into justice. After all, she has no legal claim upon you."</p> + +<p>Guido shook his head.</p> + +<p>"That is not the question," he answered. "She never pretends that her +right is legal, for it is not. On the contrary, she says it is a +question of honour, that I have lost her money for her in speculations, +and that I am bound to restore it to her. It is true that I only did +with it exactly what she wished, and what she insisted that I should do, +against my own judgment. She knows that."</p> + +<p>"But then, I do not see—"</p> + +<p>"She also knows that I cannot prove it," interrupted Guido, "and as she +is perfectly unscrupulous, she will use everything against me to make +out that I have deliberately cheated her out of the money."</p> + +<p>"But it cannot make so much difference to her, after all," objected +Lamberti. "She must have an immense fortune somewhere."</p> + +<p>"She is a miser, in spite of that sudden attack of the gaming fever. +Money is the only passion of her life."</p> + +<p>"Possibly, though I doubt it. There is Monsieur Leroy, you know."</p> + +<p>Lamberti spoke the name with contempt, but Guido said nothing, for, +after all, the high and mighty lady about whom they were talking was his +father's sister, and he preferred not to talk scandal about her, even +with his intimate friend.</p> + +<p>"If matters grow worse," said Lamberti, "there are at least the +worthless securities in her name, to prove that you acted for her."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken. That is the worst of it. Everything was done in my +name, for she would not let her own appear. She used to give me the +money in cash, telling me exactly what to do with it, and I brought her +the broker's accounts."</p> + +<p>"I daresay she made you sign receipts for the sums she gave you," +laughed Lamberti.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she did."</p> + +<p>Lamberti sat up suddenly and stared at his friend. Such folly was hardly +to be believed.</p> + +<p>"She is capable of saying that she lent you the money on your promise!" +he cried.</p> + +<p>"That is exactly what she threatens to do," answered Guido d'Este, +dejectedly. "As I cannot possibly pay it, she can force me to do one of +two things."</p> + +<p>"What things?"</p> + +<p>"Either to disappear from honourable society and begin life somewhere +else, or else to make an end of myself. And she will do it. I have felt +for more than a year that she means to ruin me."</p> + +<p>Lamberti set his teeth, and stared at the stone-pine. If Guido had not +been just the man he was, sensitive to morbidness where his honour was +concerned, the situation might have seemed less desperate. If his aunt, +her Serene Highness the Princess Anatolie, had not been a monster of +avarice, selfishness, and vindictiveness, there would perhaps have been +some hope of moving her. As it was, matters looked ill, and to make them +worse there was the well-known fact that Guido had formerly played high +and had lost considerable sums at cards. It would be easy to make +society believe that he had paid his debts, which had always been +promptly settled, with money which the Princess had intrusted to him for +investment.</p> + +<p>"What possible object can she have in ruining you?" asked Lamberti, +presently.</p> + +<p>"I cannot guess," Guido answered after another short pause. "I have +little enough left as it is, except the bare chance of inheriting +something, some day, from my brother, who likes me about as much as my +aunt does, and is not bound to leave me a penny."</p> + +<p>"But, after all," argued Lamberti, "you are the only heir left to either +of them."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," assented Guido in an uncertain tone.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing—it does not matter. Of course," he continued quietly, "this +may go on for some time, but it can only end in one way, sooner or +later. I shall be lucky if I am only reduced to starvation."</p> + +<p>"You might marry an heiress," suggested Lamberti, as a last resource.</p> + +<p>"And pay my aunt out of my wife's fortune? No. I will not do that."</p> + +<p>"Of course not. But I should think that if ever an honest man could be +tempted to do such a thing, it would be in some such case as yours."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps to save his father from ruin, or his mother from starvation," +said Guido. "I could understand it then; but not to save himself. +Besides, no heiress in our world would marry me, for I have nothing to +offer."</p> + +<p>Lamberti smiled incredulously. He was not a cynic, because he believed +in action; but his faith in the disinterested simplicity of mankind was +not strong. He had also some experience of the world, and was quite +ready to admit that a marriageable heiress might fairly expect an +equivalent for the fortune she was to bring her husband. Yet he wholly +rejected the statement that Guido d'Este had nothing of social value to +offer, merely because he was now a poor man and had never been a very +rich one. Guido had neither lands nor money, and bore no title, it was +true; and could but just live like a gentleman on the small allowance +that was paid him yearly according to his father's will. But there was +no secret about his birth, and he was closely related to several of the +reigning houses of Europe. His father had been one of the minor +sovereigns dethroned in the revolutions of the nineteenth century; late +in life, a widower, the ex-king had married a beautiful young girl of no +great family, who had died in giving birth to Guido. The marriage had of +course been morganatic, though perfectly legal, and Guido neither bore +the name of his father's royal race, nor could he ever lay claim to the +succession, in the utterly improbable event of a restoration. But he was +half brother to the childless man, nearly forty years older than +himself, whose faithful friends still called him "your Majesty" in +private; he was nephew to the extremely authentic Princess Anatolie, and +he was first cousin to at least one king who had held his own. In the +eyes of an heiress in search of social position as an equivalent for her +millions, all this would more than compensate for the fact that his +visiting card bore the somewhat romantic and unlikely name, "Guido +d'Este," without any title or explanation whatever.</p> + +<p>But apart from the sordid consideration of values to be given and +received, Guido was young, good-looking if not handsome, and rather +better gifted than most men; he had reached the age of twenty-seven +without having what society is pleased to call a past—in other words +without ever having been the chief actor in a social tragedy, comedy, or +farce; and finally, though he had once been fond of cards, he had now +entirely given up play. If he had been a little richer, he could almost +have passed for a model young man in the eyes of the exacting and +prudent parent of marriageable daughters. Judging from the Princess +Anatolie, it was probable that he resembled his mother's family more +than his father's.</p> + +<p>For all these reasons his friend thought that, if he chose, he might +easily find an heiress who would marry him with enthusiasm; but, being +his friend, Lamberti was very glad that he rejected the idea.</p> + +<p>The two were not men who ever talked together of their principles, +though they sometimes spoke of their beliefs and differed about them. +Belief is usually absolute, but principle is always a matter of +conscience, and the conscience is a part of the mixed self in which soul +and mind and matter are all involved together. Men born in the same +surroundings and brought up in the same way generally hold to the same +principles as guides in life, and show the same abhorrence for the sins +that are accounted dishonourable, and the same indulgence for those not +condemned by the code of honour, not even admitting discussion upon such +points. But the same men may have very different opinions about +spiritual matters.</p> + +<p>Eliminating the vulgar average of society, there remain always a certain +number who, while possibly holding even more divergent beliefs than most +people, agree more precisely, or disagree more essentially, about +matters of conscience, either stretching or contracting the code of +honour according to their own temper, and especially according to the +traditions of their own most immediate surroundings. Other conditions +being favourable, it seems as if men whose consciences are most alike +should be the best fitted for each other's friendship, no matter what +they may think or believe about religion.</p> + +<p>This was certainly the case with Guido d'Este and Lamberto Lamberti, and +they simultaneously dismissed, as detestable, dishonourable, and +unworthy, the mere thought that Guido should try to marry an heiress, +with a view to satisfying the outrageous claims of his ex-royal aunt, +the Princess Anatolie.</p> + +<p>"In simpler times," observed Lamberti, who liked to recall the middle +ages, "we should have poisoned the old woman."</p> + +<p>Guido did not smile.</p> + +<p>"Without meaning to do her an injustice," he answered, "I think it much +more probable that she would have poisoned me."</p> + +<p>"With the help of Monsieur Leroy, she might have succeeded."</p> + +<p>At the thought of the man whom he so cordially detested, Lamberti's blue +eyes grew hard, and his upper lip tightened a little, just showing his +teeth under his red moustache. Guido looked at him and smiled in his +turn.</p> + +<p>"There are your ferocious instincts again," he said; "you wish you could +kill him."</p> + +<p>"I do," answered Lamberti, simply.</p> + +<p>He rose from his seat and stretched himself a little, as some big dogs +always do after the preliminary growl at an approaching enemy.</p> + +<p>"I think Monsieur Leroy is the most repulsive human being I ever saw," +he said. "I am not exactly a sensitive person, but it makes me very +uncomfortable to be near him. He once gave me his hand, and I had to +take it. It felt like a live toad. How old is that man?"</p> + +<p>"He must be forty," said Guido, "but he is wonderfully well preserved. +Any one would take him for five-and-thirty."</p> + +<p>"It is disgusting!" Lamberti kicked a pebble away, as he stood.</p> + +<p>"He looked just as he does now, when I was seventeen," observed Guido.</p> + +<p>"The creature paints his face. I am sure of it."</p> + +<p>"No. I have seen him drenched in a shower, when he had no umbrella. The +rain ran down his cheeks, but the colour did not change."</p> + +<p>"It is all the more disgusting," retorted Lamberti, illogically, but +with strong emphasis.</p> + +<p>Guido rose from his seat rather wearily. As he stood up, he was much +taller than his friend, who had seemed the larger man while both were +seated.</p> + +<p>"I am glad that we have talked this over," he said. "Not that talking +can help matters, of course. It never does. But I wanted you to know +just how things stand, in case anything should happen to me."</p> + +<p>Lamberti turned rather sharply.</p> + +<p>"In case what should happen to you?" he asked, his eyes hardening.</p> + +<p>"I am very tired of it all," Guido answered, "I have nothing to live +for, and I am being driven straight to disgrace and ruin without any +fault of my own. I daresay that some day I may—well, you know what I +mean."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I should not care to exile myself to South America. I am not fit for +that sort of life."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"There is the other alternative," said Guido, with a tuneless little +laugh. "When life is intolerable, what can be simpler than to part with +it?"</p> + +<p>Lamberti's strong hand was already on his friend's arm, and tightened +energetically.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in God?" he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"No. At least, I think not."</p> + +<p>"I do," said Lamberti, with conviction, "and I shall not let you make +away with yourself if I can help it."</p> + +<p>He loosed his hold, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked as if +he wished he could fight somebody or something.</p> + +<p>"A man who kills himself to escape his troubles is a coward," he said.</p> + +<p>Guido made a gesture of indifference.</p> + +<p>"You know very well that I am not a coward," he said.</p> + +<p>"You will be, the day you are afraid to go on living," returned his +friend. "If you kill yourself, I shall think you are an arrant coward, +and I shall be sorry I ever knew you."</p> + +<p>Guido looked at him incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Are you in earnest?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>There was no mistaking the look in Lamberti's hard blue eyes. Guido +faced him.</p> + +<p>"Do you think that every man who commits suicide is a coward?"</p> + +<p>"If it is to escape his own troubles, yes. A man who gives his life for +his country, his mother, or his wife, is not a coward, though he may +kill himself with his own hand."</p> + +<p>"The Church would call him a suicide."</p> + +<p>"I do not know, in all cases," said Lamberti. "I am not a theologian, +and as the Church means nothing to you, it would be of no use if I +were."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that the Church means nothing to me?" Guido asked.</p> + +<p>"Since you are an atheist, what meaning can it possibly have?"</p> + +<p>"It means the whole tradition of morality by which we live, and our +fathers lived. Even the code of honour, which is a little out of shape +nowadays, is based on Christianity, and was once the rule of a good +life, the best rule in the days when it grew up."</p> + +<p>"I daresay. Even the code of honour, degenerate as it is, and twist it +how you will, cannot give you an excuse for killing yourself when you +have always behaved honourably, or for running away from the enemy +simply because you are tired of fighting and will not take the trouble +to go on."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you are right," Guido answered. "But the whole question is not +worth arguing. What is life, after all, that we should attach any +importance to it?"</p> + +<p>"It is all you have, and you only have it once."</p> + +<p>"Who knows? Perhaps we may come back to it again, hundreds and hundreds +of times. There are more people in the world who believe that than there +are Christians."</p> + +<p>"If that is what you believe," retorted Lamberti, "you must believe that +the sooner you leave life, the sooner you will come back to it."</p> + +<p>"Possibly. But there is a chance that it may not be true, and that +everything may end here. That one chance may be worth taking."</p> + +<p>"There is a chance that a man who deserts from his ship may not be +caught. That is not an argument in favour of desertion."</p> + +<p>Guido laughed carelessly.</p> + +<p>"You have a most unpleasant way of naming things," he said. "Shall we +go? It is growing late, and I have promised to see my aunt before +dinner."</p> + +<p>"Will there be any one else there?" asked Lamberti.</p> + +<p>"Why? Did you think of going with me?"</p> + +<p>"I might. It is a long time since I have called. I think I shall be a +little more assiduous in future."</p> + +<p>"It is not gay, at my aunt's," observed Guido. "Monsieur Leroy will be +there. You may have to shake hands with him!"</p> + +<p>"You do not seem anxious that I should go with you," laughed Lamberti.</p> + +<p>Guido said nothing for a moment, and seemed to be weighing the question, +as if it might be of some importance. Lamberti afterwards remembered the +slight hesitation.</p> + +<p>"By all means come," Guido said, when he had made up his mind.</p> + +<p>He glanced once more at the place, for he liked it, and it was pleasant +to carry away pictures of what one liked, even of a bit of neglected old +garden with a stone-pine in the middle, clearly cut out against the sky. +He wondered idly whether he should ever come again—whether, after all, +it would be cowardly to go to sleep with the certainty of not waking, +and whether he should find anything beyond, or not.</p> + +<p>The world looked too familiar to him to be interesting, as if he had +known it too long, and he vaguely wished that he could change it, and +desire to stay in it for its own sake; and just then it occurred to him +that every man carries with him the world in which he must live, the +stage and the scenery for his own play. It would be absurd to pretend, +he thought, that his own material world was the same as Lamberti's, even +when the latter was at home. They knew the same people, heard the same +talk, ate the same things, looked on the same sights, breathed the same +air. There was perhaps no sacrifice worthy of honourable men which +either of them would not make for the other. Yet, to Guido d'Este, life +seemed miserably indifferent where it did not seem a real calamity, +while to Lamberti every second of it was worth fighting for, because it +was worth enjoying.</p> + +<p>Guido looked at his friend's tanned neck and sturdy shoulders, following +him to the door, and he realised more clearly than ever before that he +was not of the same race. He felt the satiety bred in many generations +of destiny's spoilt and flattered sons; the absence of anything like a +grasping will, caused by the too easy fulfilment of every careless wish; +the over-critical sense that guesses at hidden imperfection, the cruelly +unerring instinct of a taste too tired to enjoy and yet too fine to be +deceived.</p> + +<p>Lamberti turned at the door and saw his face.</p> + +<p>"What are you thinking about?"</p> + +<p>"I was envying you," Guido murmured. "You are glad to be alive."</p> + +<p>Lamberti made rather an impatient gesture, but said nothing. The Sister +who had admitted the two opened the little iron door for them to go out. +She was a small woman, with a worn face and kind brown eyes, one of the +half-dozen who live in the little convent and work among the children of +the very poor in that quarter. Both men had taken out money.</p> + +<p>"For the poor children, if you please," said Guido, placing his offering +in the nun's hand.</p> + +<p>"And tell them to pray for a man who is in trouble," added Lamberti, +giving her money.</p> + +<p>She looked at him curiously, thinking, perhaps, that +he meant himself. Then she gravely bent her head.</p> + +<p>"I thank you very much," she said.</p> + +<p>The small iron door closed with a rusty clang, and the friends began to +descend the steep way that leads down from the Porta San Pancrazio to +the Via Garibaldi.</p> + +<p>"Why did you say that to the nun?" asked Guido.</p> + +<p>"Are you past praying for?" enquired Lamberti, with a careless and +good-natured laugh.</p> + +<p>"It is not like you," said Guido.</p> + +<p>"I do not pretend to be more consistent than other people, you know. Are +you going directly to the Princess's?"</p> + +<p>"No. I must go home first. The old lady would never forgive me if I went +to see her without a silk hat in my hand."</p> + +<p>"Then I suppose I must dress, too," said Lamberti. "I will leave you at +your door, and drive home, and we can meet at your aunt's."</p> + +<p>"Very well."</p> + +<p>They walked down the street and found a cab, scarcely speaking again +until they parted at Guido's door.</p> + +<p>He lived alone in a quiet apartment of the Palazzo Farnese, overlooking +the Via Giulia and the river beyond. The afternoon sun was still +streaming through the open windows of his sitting room, and the warm +breeze came with it.</p> + +<p>"There are two notes, sir," said his servant, who had followed him. "The +one from the Princess is urgent. The man wished to wait for you, but I +sent him away."</p> + +<p>"That was right," said Guido, taking the letters from the salver. "Get +my things ready. I have visits to make."</p> + +<p>The man went out and shut the door. He was a Venetian, and had been in +the navy, where he had served Lamberti during the affair in China. +Lamberti had recommended him to his friend.</p> + +<p>Guido remained standing while he opened the note. The first was an +engraved invitation to a garden party from a lady he scarcely knew. It +was the first he had ever received from her, and he was not aware that +she ever asked people to her house. The second was from his aunt, +begging him to come to tea that afternoon as he had promised, for a very +particular reason, and asking him to let her know beforehand if anything +made it impossible. It began with "Dearest Guido" and was signed "Your +devoted aunt, Anatolie." She was evidently very anxious that he should +come, for he was generally her "dear nephew," and she was his +"affectionate aunt."</p> + +<p>The handwriting was fine and hard to read, though it was regular. Some +of the letters were quite unlike those of most people, and many of them +were what experts call "blind."</p> + +<p>Guido d'Este read the note through twice, with an expression of dislike, +and then tore it up. He threw the invitation upon some others that lay +in a chiselled copper dish on his writing table, lit a cigarette, and +looked out of the window. His aunt's note was too affectionate and too +anxious to bode well, and he was tempted to write that he could not go. +It would be pleasant to end the afternoon with a book and a cup of tea, +and then to dine alone and dream away the evening in soothing silence.</p> + +<p>But he had promised to go; and, moreover, nothing was of any real +importance at all, nothing whatsoever, from the moment of beginning life +to the instant of leaving it. He therefore dressed and went out again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<p>Lamberto Lamberti never wasted time, whether he was at sea, doing his +daily duty as an officer, or ashore in Africa, fighting savages, or on +leave, amusing himself in Rome, or Paris, or London. Time was life, and +life was far too good to be squandered in dawdling. In ten minutes after +he had reached his room he was ready to go out again. As he took his hat +and gloves, his eye fell on a note which he had not seen when he had +come in.</p> + +<p>He opened it carelessly and found the same formal invitation which Guido +had received at the same time. The Countess Fortiguerra requested the +pleasure of his company at the Villa Palladio between four and six, and +the date was just a fortnight ahead.</p> + +<p>Lamberti was a Roman, and though he had only seen the Countess three or +four times in his life, he remembered very well that she had been twice +married, and that her first husband had been a certain Count Palladio, +whose name was vaguely connected in Lamberti's mind with South American +railways, the Suez Canal, and a machine gun that had been tried in the +Italian navy; but it was not a Roman name, and he could not remember any +villa that was called by it. Palladio—it recalled something else, +besides a great architect—something connected with Pallas—but +Lamberti was no great scholar. Guido would know. Guido knew everything +about literature, ancient and modern—or at least Lamberti thought so.</p> + +<p>He had kept his cab while he dressed, and in a few minutes the little +horse had toiled up the long hill that leads to Porta Pinciana, and +Lamberti got out at the gate of one of those beautiful villas of which +there are still a few within the walls of Rome. It belonged to a +foreigner of infinite taste, whose love of roses was proverbial. A +legend says that some of them were watered with the most carefully +prepared beef tea from the princely kitchen. The rich man had gone back +to his own country, and the Princess Anatolie had taken the villa and +meant to spend the rest of her life there. She was only seventy years +old, and had made up her mind to live to be a hundred, so that it was +worth while to make permanent arrangements for her comfort.</p> + +<p>Lamberti might have driven through the gate and up to the house, but he +was not sure whether the Princess liked to see such plebeian vehicles as +cabs in her grounds. He had a strong suspicion that, in spite of her +royal blood, she had the soul of a snob, and thought much more about +appearances than he did; and as for Monsieur Leroy, he was one of the +most complete specimens of the snob species in the world. Therefore +Lamberti, who now had reasons for wishing to propitiate the dwellers in +the villa, left his cab outside and walked up the steep drive to the +house.</p> + +<p>He did not look particularly well in a frock coat and high hat. He was +too muscular, his hair was too red, his neck was too sunburnt, and he +was more accustomed to wearing a uniform or the rough clothes in which +fighting is usually done. The footman looked at him and did not +recognise him.</p> + +<p>"Her Highness is not at home," said the man, coolly.</p> + +<p>A private carriage was waiting at a little distance from the porch, and +the footman who belonged to it was lounging in the vestibule within.</p> + +<p>"Be good enough to ask whether her Highness will see me," said Lamberti.</p> + +<p>The fellow looked at him again, and evidently made up his mind that it +would be safer to obey a red-haired gentleman who had such a very +unusual look in his eyes and spoke so quietly, for he disappeared +without making any further objection.</p> + +<p>When Lamberti entered the drawing-room, he was aware that the Princess +was established in a high arm-chair near a tea-table, that Monsieur +Leroy was coming towards him, and that an elderly lady in a hat was +seated near the Princess in an attitude which may be described as one of +respectful importance. He was aware of the presence of these three +persons in the room, but he only saw the fourth, a young girl, standing +beside the table with a cup in her hand, and just turning her face +towards him with a look that was like a surprised recognition after not +having seen him for a very long time. He started perceptibly as his eyes +met hers, and he almost uttered an exclamation of astonishment.</p> + +<p>He was checked by feeling Monsieur Leroy's toad-like hand in his.</p> + +<p>"Her Highness is very glad to see you," said an oily voice in French, +but with a thick and rolling pronunciation that was South American +unless it was Roumanian.</p> + +<p>For once Lamberti did not notice the sensual, pink and white face, the +hanging lips, the colourless brown hair, the insolent eyes, the +effeminate figure and dress of the little man he detested, and whose +mere touch was disgusting to him. By a strong effort he went directly up +to the Princess without looking again at the young girl whose presence +had affected him so oddly.</p> + +<p>Princess Anatolie was gracious enough to give him her hand to kiss; he +bent over it, and his lips touched a few of the cold precious stones in +the rings that loaded her fingers. She had not changed in the year that +had passed since he had seen her, except that her eyes looked smaller +than ever and nearer together. Her hair might or might not be her own, +for it was carefully crimped and arranged upon her forehead; it was not +certain that her excellent teeth were false; there was about her an air +of youth and vitality that was really surprising, and yet it was +impossible not to feel that she might be altogether a marvellous sham, +on the verge of dissolution.</p> + +<p>"This is most charming!" she said, in a voice that was not cracked, but +rang false. "I expect my nephew, Guido, at any moment. He is your great +friend, is he not? Yes, I never forget anything. This is my nephew +Guido's great friend," she continued volubly, and turning to the elderly +lady on her right, "Prince Lamberti."</p> + +<p>"Don Lamberto Lamberti," said Monsieur Leroy in a low voice, correcting +her. But even this was not quite right.</p> + +<p>"I have the good fortune to know the Countess Fortiguerra," said +Lamberti, bowing, as he suddenly recognised her, but very much surprised +that she should be there. "I have just received a very kind invitation +from you," he added, as she gave him her hand.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will come," she said quietly. "I knew your mother very well. +We were at the school of the Sacred Heart together."</p> + +<p>Lamberti bent his head a little, in acknowledgment of the claim upon him +possessed by one of his mother's school friends.</p> + +<p>"I shall do my best to come," he answered.</p> + +<p>He felt that the young girl was watching him, and he ventured to look at +her, with a little movement, as if he wished to be introduced. Again he +felt the absolute certainty of having met her before, somewhere, very +long ago—so long ago that she could not have been born then, and he +must have been a small boy. Therefore what he felt was absurd.</p> + +<p>"Cecilia," said the Countess, speaking to the girl, "this is Signor +Lamberto Lamberti." "My daughter," she explained, as he bowed, "Cecilia +Palladio."</p> + +<p>"Most charming!" cried the Princess, "the son and the daughter of two +old friends."</p> + +<p>"Touching," echoed Monsieur Leroy. "Such a picture! There is true +sentiment in it."</p> + +<p>Lamberti did not hear, but Cecilia Palladio did, and a straight shadow, +fine as a hair line, appeared for an instant, perpendicular between her +brows, while she looked directly at the man before her. A moment later +Lamberti was seated between her and her mother, and Monsieur Leroy had +resumed the position he had left to welcome the newcomer, sitting on a +very low cushioned stool almost at the Princess's feet.</p> + +<p>In formal circumstances, a man who has been long in the army or navy can +usually trust himself not to show astonishment or emotion, and after the +first slight start of surprise, which only Monsieur Leroy had seen, +Lamberti had behaved as if nothing out of the common way had happened to +him. But he had felt as if he were in a dream, while healthily sure that +he was awake; and now that he was more at ease, he began to examine the +cause of his inward disturbance.</p> + +<p>It was not only out of the question to suppose that he had ever before +now met Cecilia Palladio, but he was quite certain that he had never +seen any one who was at all like her.</p> + +<p>If extinct types of men could be revived now and then, of those which +the world once thought admirable and tried to copy, it would be +interesting to see how many persons of taste would acknowledge any +beauty in them. Cecilia Palladio had been eighteen years old early in +the winter, and in the usual course of things would have made her +appearance in society during the carnival season. The garden party for +which her mother had now sent out invitations was to take the place of +the dance which should have been given in January. Afterwards, when it +was over, and everybody had seen her, some people said that she was +perfectly beautiful, others declared that she was a freak of nature and +would soon be hideous, but, meanwhile, was an interesting study; one +young gentleman, addicted to art, said that her face belonged to the +type seen in the Elgin marbles; a Sicilian lady said that her head was +even more archaic than that, and resembled a fragment from the temples +of Selinunte, preserved in the museum at Palermo; and the Russian +ambassador, who was of unknown age, said that she was the perfect Psyche +of Naples, brought to life, and that he wished he were Eros.</p> + +<p>In southern Europe what is called the Greek type of beauty is often +seen, and does not surprise any one. Many people think it cold and +uninteresting. It was a small something in the arch of the brows, it was +a very slight upward turn of the point of the nose, it was the small +irregularity of the broader and less curving upper lip that gave to +Cecilia Palladio's face the force and character that are so utterly +wanting in the faces of the best Greek statues. The Greeks, by the time +they had gained the perfect knowledge of the human body that produced +the Hermes of Olympia, had made a conventional mask of the human face, +and rarely ever tried to give it a little of the daring originality that +stands out in the features of many a crudely archaic statue. The artist +who made the Psyche attempted something of the kind, for the right side +of the face differs from the left, as it generally does in living +people. The right eyebrow is higher and more curved than the left one, +which lends some archness to the expression, but its effect is destroyed +by the tiresome perfection of the simpering mouth.</p> + +<p>Cecilia Palladio was not like a Greek statue, but she looked as if she +had come alive from an age in which the individual ranked above the many +as a model, and in which nothing accidentally unfit for life could +survive and nothing degenerate had begun to be. With the same general +proportion, there was less symmetry in her face than in those of modern +beauties, and there was more light, more feeling, more understanding. +She was very fair, but her eyes were not blue; it would have been hard +to define their colour, and sometimes there seemed to be golden lights +in them. While she was standing, Lamberti had seen that she was almost +as tall as himself, and therefore taller than most women; and she was +slender, and moved like a very perfectly proportioned young wild animal, +continuously, but without haste, till each motion was completed in rest. +Most men and women really move in a succession of very short movements, +entirely interrupted at more or less perceptible intervals. If our sight +were perfect we should see that people walk, for instance, by a series +of jerks so rapid as to be like the vibrations of a humming-bird's +wings. Perhaps this is due to the unconscious exercise of the human will +in every voluntary motion, for a man who moves in his sleep seems to +move continuously like an animal, till he has changed his position and +rests again.</p> + +<p>Lamberti made none of these reflections, and did not analyse the face he +could not help watching whenever the chance of conversation allowed him +to look at Cecilia without seeming to stare at her. He only tried to +discover why her face was so familiar to him.</p> + +<p>"We have been in Paris all winter," said her mother, in answer to some +question of his.</p> + +<p>"They have been in Paris all winter!" cried the Princess. "Think what +that means! The cold, the rain, the solitude! What in the world did you +do with yourselves?"</p> + +<p>"Cecilia wished to continue her studies," answered the Countess +Fortiguerra.</p> + +<p>"What sort of things have you been learning, Mademoiselle?" asked +Lamberti.</p> + +<p>"I followed a course of lectures on philosophy at the Sorbonne, and I +read Nietzsche with a man who had known him," answered the young lady, +as naturally as if she had said that she had been taking lessons on the +piano.</p> + +<p>A momentary silence followed, and everybody stared at the girl, except +her mother, who smiled pleasantly and looked from one to the other with +the expression which mothers of prodigies often assume, and which +clearly says: "I did it. Is it not perfectly wonderful?"</p> + +<p>Then Monsieur Leroy laughed, in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>"Hush, Doudou!" cried the Princess. "You are very rude!"</p> + +<p>No one present chanced to know that she always called him Doudou when +she was in a good humour. Cecilia Palladio turned her head quietly, +fixed her eyes on him and laughed, deliberately, long, and very sweetly. +Monsieur Leroy met her gaze for a moment, then looked away and moved +uneasily on his low seat.</p> + +<p>"What are you laughing at?" he asked, in a tone of annoyance.</p> + +<p>"It seems so funny that you should be called Doudou—at your age," +answered Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"Really—" Monsieur Leroy looked at the Princess as if asking for +protection. She laughed good-humouredly, somewhat to Lamberti's +surprise.</p> + +<p>"You are very direct with my friends, my dear," she said to Cecilia, +still smiling. The Countess Fortiguerra, not knowing exactly what to do, +also smiled, but rather foolishly.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry," said Cecilia, with contrition, and looking down. "I +really beg Monsieur Leroy's pardon. I could not help it."</p> + +<p>But she had been revenged, for she had made him ridiculous.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all," he answered, in a tone that did not promise +forgiveness. Lamberti wondered what sort of man Palladio had been, since +the girl did not at all resemble her mother, who had clearly been pretty +and foolish in her youth, and had only lost her looks as she grew older. +The obliteration of middle age had set in.</p> + +<p>There might have been some awkwardness, but it was dispelled by the +appearance of Guido, who came in unannounced at that moment, glancing +quickly at each of the group as he came forward, to see who was there.</p> + +<p>"At last!" exclaimed the Princess, with evident satisfaction. "How late +you are, my dear," she said as Guido ceremoniously kissed her hand.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry," he said. "I was out when your note came. But I should +have come in any case."</p> + +<p>"You know the Countess Fortiguerra, of course," said the Princess.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," answered Guido, who had not recognised the lady at all, and +was glad to be told who she was, and that he knew her.</p> + +<p>Lamberti watched him closely, for he understood every shade of his +friend's expression and manner. Guido shook hands with a pleasant smile, +and then glanced at Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"My nephew, Guido d'Este," said the Princess, introducing him.</p> + +<p>Cecilia looked at him quietly, and bent her head in acknowledgment of +the introduction.</p> + +<p>"My daughter," murmured the Countess Fortiguerra, with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle Palladio and her mother have just come back from Paris," +explained Monsieur Leroy officiously, as Guido nodded to him.</p> + +<p>Guido caught the name, and was glad of the information it conveyed, and +he sat down between the young girl and her mother. Lamberti was now +almost sure that his friend was not especially struck by Cecilia's face; +but she looked at him with some interest, which was not at all to be +wondered at, considering his looks, his romantic name, and his +half-royal birth. For the first time Lamberti envied him a little, and +was ashamed of it.</p> + +<p>Barely an hour earlier he had wished that he could make Guido more like +himself, and now he wished that he were more like Guido.</p> + +<p>"The Countess has been kind enough to ask me to her garden party," Guido +said, looking at his aunt, for he instinctively connected the latter's +anxiety to see him with the invitation.</p> + +<p>So did Lamberti, and it flashed upon him that this meeting was the first +step in an attempt to marry his friend to Cecilia Palladio. The girl was +probably an heiress, and Guido's aunt saw a possibility of recovering +through her the money she had lost in speculations.</p> + +<p>This explanation did not occur to Guido, simply because he was bored and +was already thinking of an excuse for getting away after staying as +short a time as possible.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will come," said Cecilia, rather unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>"Of course he will," the Princess answered for him, in an encouraging +tone.</p> + +<p>"The villa is really very pretty," continued the young girl.</p> + +<p>"Let me see," said Guido, who liked her voice as soon as she spoke, "the +Villa Palladio—I do not quite remember where it is."</p> + +<p>"It used to be the Villa Madama," explained Monsieur Leroy. "I have +always wondered who the 'Madama' was, after whom it was called. It seems +such a foolish name."</p> + +<p>The Princess looked displeased, and bit her lip a little.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Guido, as if suggesting a possibility, rather than +stating a fact, "that she was a daughter of the Emperor Charles the +Fifth, who was Duchess of Parma."</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course!" cried Monsieur Leroy, eagerly assenting, "I had +forgotten!"</p> + +<p>"My daughter's guardians bought it for her not long ago," explained the +Countess Fortiguerra, "with my approval, and we have of course changed +the name."</p> + +<p>"Naturally," said Guido, gravely, but looking at Lamberti, who almost +smiled under his red beard. "And you approved of the change, +Mademoiselle," Guido added, turning to Cecilia, and with an +interrogation in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," she answered, with sudden coldness. "It was Goldbirn—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Countess, weakly, "it was Baron Goldbirn who insisted +upon it, in spite of us."</p> + +<p>"Goldbirn—Goldbirn," repeated the Princess vaguely. "The name has a +familiar sound."</p> + +<p>"Your Highness has a current account with them in Vienna," observed +Monsieur Leroy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, certainly. Doudou acts as my secretary sometimes, you know."</p> + +<p>The information seemed necessary, as Monsieur Leroy's position had been +far from clear.</p> + +<p>"Baron Goldbirn was associated with Cecilia's father in some railways in +South America," said the Countess, "and is her principal guardian. He +will always continue to manage her fortune for her, I hope."</p> + +<p>Clearly, Cecilia was an heiress, and was to marry Guido d'Este as soon +as the matter could be arranged. That was the Princess's plan. Lamberti +thought that it remained to be seen whether Guido would agree to the +match.</p> + +<p>"Has Baron Goldbirn made many—improvements—in the Villa Madama?" +enquired Guido, hesitating a little, perhaps intentionally.</p> + +<p>"Oh no!" Cecilia answered. "He lets me do as I please about such +things."</p> + +<p>"And what has been your pleasure?" asked Guido, with a beginning of +interest, as well as for the sake of hearing her young voice, which +contrasted pleasantly with her mother's satisfied purring and the +Princess's disagreeable tone.</p> + +<p>"I got the best artist I could find to restore the whole place as nearly +as possible to what it was meant to be. I am satisfied with the result. +So is my mother," she added, with an evident afterthought.</p> + +<p>"My daughter is very artistic," the Countess explained.</p> + +<p>Cecilia looked at Guido, and a faint smile illuminated her face for a +moment. Guido bent his head almost imperceptibly, as if to say that he +knew what she meant, and it seemed to Lamberti that the two already +understood each other. He rose to go, moved by an impulse he could not +resist. Guido looked at him in surprise, for he had expected his friend +to wait for him.</p> + +<p>"Must you go already?" asked the Princess, in a colourless tone that did +not invite Lamberti to stay. "But I suppose you are very busy when you +are in Rome. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>As he took his leave, his eyes met Cecilia's. It might have been only +his imagination, after all, but he felt sure that her whole expression +changed instantly to a look of deep and sincere understanding, even of +profound sympathy.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will come to the villa," she said gravely, and she seemed to +wait for his answer.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I shall be there."</p> + +<p>There was a short silence, as Monsieur Leroy went with him to the door +at the other end of the long room, but Cecilia did not watch him; she +seemed to be interested in a large portrait that hung opposite the +nearest window, and which was suddenly lighted up by the glow of the +sunset. It represented a young king, standing on a step, in coronation +robes, with a vast ermine mantle spreading behind him and to one side, +and an uncomfortable-looking crown on his head; a sceptre lay on a +highly polished table at his elbow, beside an open arch, through which +the domes and spires of a city were visible. There was no particular +reason why he should be standing there, apparently alone, and in a +distinctly theatrical attitude, and the portrait was not a good picture; +but Cecilia looked at it steadily till she heard the door shut, after +Lamberti had gone out.</p> + +<p>"Your friend is not a very gay person," observed the Princess. "Is he +always so silent?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Guido answered. "He is not very talkative."</p> + +<p>"Do you like silent people?" enquired Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"I like a woman who can talk, and a man who can hold his tongue," +replied Guido readily.</p> + +<p>Cecilia looked at him and smiled carelessly. The Princess rose slowly, +but she was so short, and her arm-chair was so high, that she seemed to +walk away from it without being any taller than when she had been +sitting, rather than really to get up.</p> + +<p>"Shall we go into the garden?" she suggested. "It is not too cold. +Doudou, my cloak!"</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy brought a pretty confusion of mouse-coloured silk and +lace, disentangled it skilfully, and held it up behind the Princess's +shoulders. It looked like a big butterfly as he spread it in the air, +and it had ribands that hung down to the floor.</p> + +<p>When she had put it on, the Princess led the way to a long window, which +Leroy opened, and leaning lightly on the Countess Fortiguerra's arm, she +went out into the evening light. She evidently meant to give the young +people a chance of talking together by themselves, for as soon as they +were outside she sent Monsieur Leroy away.</p> + +<p>"My dear Doudou!" she cried, as if suddenly remembering something, "we +have quite forgotten those invitations for to-morrow! Should you mind +writing them now, so that they can be sent before dinner?"</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy disappeared with an alacrity which suggested that the +plan had been arranged beforehand.</p> + +<p>"Take Mademoiselle Palladio round the garden, Guido," said the Princess. +"We will walk a little before the house till you come back. It is drier +here."</p> + +<p>Guido must have been dull indeed if he had not at last understood why he +had been made to come, and what was expected of him. He was annoyed, and +raised his eyebrows a little.</p> + +<p>"Will you come, Mademoiselle?" he asked coldly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Cecilia in a constrained tone, for she understood as +well as Guido himself.</p> + +<p>Her mother was often afraid of her, and had not dared to tell her that +the whole object of their visit was that she should see Guido and be +seen by him. She thought that the Princess was really pushing matters +too hastily, considering the time-honoured traditions of Latin +etiquette, which forbid that young people should be left alone together +for a moment, even when engaged to be married. But the Countess had +great faith in the correctness of anything which such a very high-born +person as the Princess Anatolie chose to suggest, and as the latter held +her by the arm with affectionate condescension, she could not possibly +run after her daughter.</p> + +<p>The two moved away in silence towards the flower garden, and soon +disappeared round the corner of the house.</p> + +<p>"The roses are pretty," said Guido, apologetically. "My aunt likes +people to see them."</p> + +<p>"They are magnificent," answered Cecilia, without enthusiasm, and after +a suitable interval.</p> + +<p>They went on, along a narrow gravel path, and though there was really +room enough for Guido to walk by her side, he pretended that there was +not, and followed her. She was very graceful, and he would not have +thought of denying it. He even looked at her as she went before him, and +he noticed the fact; but after he had taken cognisance of it, he was +quite as indifferent as before. He no longer thought her voice pleasant, +in his resentment at finding that a trap had been laid for him.</p> + +<p>"You see, there are a good many kinds of roses," he observed, because it +would have been rude to say nothing at all. "They are not all in flower +yet."</p> + +<p>"It is only the beginning of May," the young girl answered, without +interest.</p> + +<p>They came to the broader walk on the other side of the plot of roses, +and Guido had to walk by her side again.</p> + +<p>"I like your friend," she said suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad," Guido replied, unbending at once and quietly looking +at her now. "People do not always like him at first sight."</p> + +<p>"No, I understand that. He has the look in his eyes that men get who +have killed."</p> + +<p>"Has he?" Guido seemed surprised. "Yes, he killed several men in Africa, +when he was alone against many, and they meant to murder him. He is +brave. Make him tell you about it, if you can induce him to talk."</p> + +<p>"Is that so very hard?" Cecilia laughed. "Is he really more silent than +you?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody ever called me silent," answered Guido, smiling. "I suppose you +thought so—" he stopped.</p> + +<p>"Because I did not know how to begin, and because you would not. Is that +what you were going to say?"</p> + +<p>"It is very near the truth," Guido admitted, very much amused.</p> + +<p>"I do not blame you," said Cecilia. "How could you suppose that a mere +girl like me could possibly have anything to say—a child that has not +even been to her first party?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I was afraid that the mere child might talk about philosophy +and Nietzsche," suggested Guido.</p> + +<p>"And that would be dreadful, of course! Why? Is there any reason why a +girl should not study such things? If there is, tell me. No one ever +tells me what I ought to do."</p> + +<p>"It is quite unnecessary, I have no doubt," Guido answered promptly, and +smiling again.</p> + +<p>"You mean quite useless, because I should not do it?"</p> + +<p>"Why should I be supposed to know that you are spoiled—if you are? +Besides, you must not take up a man every time he makes you a silly +compliment."</p> + +<p>"Ah, now you are telling me what I ought to do! I like that better. +Thank you!" Guido was amused.</p> + +<p>"Are you really grateful?" he asked, laughing a little. "Do you always +speak the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! Do you?" She asked the question sharply, as if she meant to +surprise him.</p> + +<p>"I never lied to a man in my life," Guido answered.</p> + +<p>"But you have to women?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," said Guido, considerably diverted. "Most of us do, in +moments of enthusiasm."</p> + +<p>"Really! And—are you often—enthusiastic?"</p> + +<p>"No. Very rarely. Besides, I do not know whether it is worse in a man to +tell fibs to please a woman, than it is in a woman to disbelieve what an +honest man tells her on his word. Which is the least wrong, do you +think?"</p> + +<p>"But since you admit that most men do not tell the truth to women—"</p> + +<p>"I said, on one's word of honour. There is a difference."</p> + +<p>"In theory," said Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"Are there theories about lying?" asked Guido.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," answered the young girl, without hesitation. "There is +Puffendorf's, for instance, in his book on the Law of Nature and +Nations—"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" exclaimed Guido.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. He makes out that there is a sort of unwritten agreement +amongst all men that words shall be used in a definite sense which +others can understand. That sounds sensible. And then, Saint Augustin, +and La Placette, and Noodt—"</p> + +<p>"My dear young lady, you have led me quite out of my depth! What do +those good people say?"</p> + +<p>"That all lying is absolutely wrong in itself, whether it harms anybody +or not."</p> + +<p>"And what do you think about it? That would be much more interesting to +know."</p> + +<p>"I told you, I always tell the truth," Cecilia answered demurely.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, of course! I had forgotten."</p> + +<p>"And you do not believe it," laughed the young girl. "It is time to go +back to the house."</p> + +<p>"If you will stay a little longer, I will believe everything you tell +me."</p> + +<p>"No, it is late," answered Cecilia, her manner suddenly changing as the +laugh died out of her voice.</p> + +<p>She walked on quickly, and he kept behind her.</p> + +<p>"I shall certainly go to your garden party," said Guido.</p> + +<p>"Shall you?"</p> + +<p>She spoke in a tone of such utter indifference that Guido stared at her +in surprise. A moment later they had rejoined her mother and the +Princess.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + + +<p>At the beginning of the twentieth century Rome has become even more +cosmopolitan than it used to be, for the Romans themselves are turning +into cosmopolitans, and the old traditional, serious, gloomy, and +sometimes dramatic life of the patriarchal system has almost died out. +One meets Romans of historical names everywhere, nowadays, in London, in +Paris, and in Vienna, speaking English and French, and sometimes German, +with extraordinary correctness, as much at home, to all appearance, in +other capitals as they are in their own, and intimately familiar with +the ways of many societies in many places.</p> + +<p>Cecilia Palladio, at eighteen years of age, had probably not spent a +third of her life in Rome, and had been educated in different parts of +the world and in a variety of ways. Her father, Count Palladio, as has +been explained, had been engaged in promoting a number of undertakings, +of which several had succeeded, and at his death, which had happened +when Cecilia had been eight years old, he had left her part of his +considerable fortune in safe guardianship, leaving his wife a life +interest in the remainder. His old ally, the banker Solomon Goldbirn of +Vienna, had administered the whole inheritance with wisdom and +integrity, and at her marriage Cecilia would dispose of several millions +of francs, and would ultimately inherit as much more from her mother's +share. From a European point of view, she was therefore a notable +heiress, and even in the new world of millionnaires she would at least +have been considered tolerably well off, though by no means what is +there called rich.</p> + +<p>Two years after Palladio's death her mother had married Count +Fortiguerra, who had begun life in the army, then passed to diplomacy, +had risen rapidly to the post of ambassador, and had died suddenly at +Madrid when barely fifty years old, and when Cecilia was sixteen.</p> + +<p>The girl had a clear recollection of her own father, though she had +never been with him very much, as his occupations constantly took him to +distant parts of the world. He had seemed an old man to her, and had +indeed been much older than her mother, for he had been a patriot in the +later days of the Italian revolutions, and when still young he had been +with Garibaldi in 1860. Cecilia remembered him a tall, active, +grey-haired man with a pointed beard and big moustaches, and eyes which +she now knew had been like her own. She remembered his unbounded energy, +his patriotic and sometimes rather boastful talk, his black cigars, the +vast heap of papers that always seemed to be in hopeless confusion on +his writing table when he was at home, and the numerous +eccentric-looking people who used to come and see him. She had been told +that he was never to be disturbed, and never to be questioned, and that +he was a great man. She had loved him with all her heart when he told +her stories, and at other times she had been distinctly afraid of him. +These stories had been fairy tales to the child, but she had now +discovered that they had been history, or what passes for it.</p> + +<p>He had told her about King Amulius of Alba Longa, and of the twin +founders of Rome, and of all the far-off times and doings, and he had +described to her six wonderful maidens who lived in a palace in the +Forum and kept a little fire burning day and night, which he compared to +the great Roman race over whose destiny the mystic ladies were always +watching. It was only quite lately that she had heard any learned men +say in earnest some of the things which he had told her with a smile as +if he were inventing a tale to amuse her child's fancy. But what he had +said had made a deep and abiding impression, and had become a part of +her thought. She sometimes dreamed very vividly that she was again a +little girl, sitting on his knee and listening to his wonderful stories. +In other ways she had not missed him much after his death. Possibly her +mother had not missed him either; for though she spoke of him +occasionally with a sort of awe, it was never with anything like +emotion.</p> + +<p>Count Fortiguerra had been kind to the child, or it might be truer to +say that he had spoilt her by encouraging her without much judgment in +her insatiable thirst for knowledge, and in her unnecessary ambition to +excel in everything her fancy led her to attempt. Her mother, with a +good deal of social foolishness and a very pliable character, possessed +nevertheless a fair share of womanly intelligence, and knew by instinct +that a young girl who is very different from other girls, no matter how +clever she may be, rarely makes what people call a good marriage.</p> + +<p>There is probably nothing which leads a young woman to think a man a +desirable husband so much as some exceptional gift, or even some +brilliant eccentricity, which distinguishes him from other people; but +there is nothing which frightens away the average desirable husband so +much as anything of that sort in the young lady of his affections, and +every married woman knows it very well.</p> + +<p>The excellent Countess used to wish that her daughter would grow up more +like other girls, and in the sincere belief that a little womanly vanity +must certainly counteract a desire for super-feminine mental +cultivation, she honestly tried to interest Cecilia in such frivolities +as dress, dancing, and romantic fiction. The result was only very +partially successful. Cecilia was dressed to perfection, without seeming +to take any trouble about it, and she danced marvellously before she had +ever been to a ball; but she cared nothing for the novels she was +allowed to read, and she devoured serious books with increasing +intellectual voracity.</p> + +<p>Her stepfather laughed, and said that the girl was a genius and ought +not to be hampered by ordinary rules; and his wife, who had at first +feared lest he should dislike the child of her first husband, was only +too glad that he should, on the contrary, show something like paternal +infatuation for Cecilia, since no children of his own were born to him. +He was a man, too, of wide reading and experience, and having +considerable political insight into his times. Before Cecilia was eleven +years old he talked to her about serious matters, as if she had been +grown up, and often wished that the child should be at table and in the +drawing-room when men who were making history came informally to the +embassy. Cecilia had listened to their talk, and had remembered a very +large part of what she had heard, understanding more and more as she +grew up; and by far the greatest sorrow of her life had been the death +of her stepfather.</p> + +<p>She was a modern Italian girl, and her mother was a Roman who had been +brought up in something of the old strictness and narrowness, first in a +convent, and afterwards in a rather gloomy home under the shadow of the +most rigid parental authority. Exceptional gifts, exceptional +surroundings, and exceptional opportunities had made Cecilia Palladio an +exception to all types, and as unlike the average modern Italian young +girl as could be imagined.</p> + +<p>The sun had already set as the mother and daughter drove away, but it +was still broad day, and a canopy of golden clouds, floating high over +the city, reflected rosy lights through the blue shadows in the crowded +streets. The Countess Fortiguerra was pleasantly aware that every man +under seventy turned to look after her daughter, from the smart old +colonel of cavalry in his perfect uniform to the ragged and haggard +waifs who sold wax matches at the corners of the streets. She was not in +the least jealous of her, as mothers have been before now, and perhaps +she was able to enjoy vicariously what she herself had never had, but +had often wished for, the gift of nature which instantly fixes the +attention of the other sex.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not tell me?" asked Cecilia, after a silence that had +lasted five minutes.</p> + +<p>The Countess pretended not to understand, coloured a little, and tried +to look surprised.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not tell me that you and the Princess wish me to marry her +nephew?"</p> + +<p>This was direct, and an answer was necessary. The Countess laughed +soothingly.</p> + +<p>"Dear child!" she cried, "it is impossible to deceive you! We only +wished that you two might meet, and perhaps like each other."</p> + +<p>"Well," answered Cecilia, "we have met."</p> + +<p>The answer was not encouraging, and she did not seem inclined to say +more of her own accord, but her mother could not restrain a natural +curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, in a conciliatory tone, "but how do you like him?"</p> + +<p>Cecilia seemed to be hesitating for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Very much," she answered, unexpectedly, after the pause.</p> + +<p>The Countess was so much pleased that she coloured again. She had never +been able to hide what she felt, and she secretly envied people who +never blushed.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad!" she said. "I was sure you would like each other."</p> + +<p>"It does not follow that because I like him, he likes me," answered +Cecilia, quietly. "And even if he does, that is not a reason why we +should marry. I may never marry at all."</p> + +<p>"How can you say such things!" cried the Countess, not at all satisfied.</p> + +<p>Cecilia shrank a little in her corner of the deep phaeton and +instinctively drew the edges of her little silk mantle together over her +chest, as if to protect herself from something.</p> + +<p>"You know," she said, almost sharply.</p> + +<p>"I shall never understand you," her mother sighed.</p> + +<p>"Give me time to understand myself, mother," answered the young girl, +suddenly unbending. "I am only eighteen; I have never been into the +world, and the mere idea of marrying—"</p> + +<p>She stopped short, and her firm lips closed tightly.</p> + +<p>"No, I do not understand," said the Countess. "The thought of marriage +was never disagreeable to me, even when I was quite young. It is the +natural object of a woman's life."</p> + +<p>"There are exceptions, surely! There are nuns, for instance."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you wish to go into a convent—"</p> + +<p>"I have no religious vocation," Cecilia answered gravely. "Or if I have, +it is not of that sort."</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear it!" The Countess was beginning to lose her temper. +"If you thought you had, you would be quite capable of taking the veil."</p> + +<p>"Yes," the young girl replied. "If I wished to be a nun, and if I were +sure that I should be a good nun, I would enter a convent at once. But I +am not naturally devout, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"In my time," said the Countess, with emphasis, "when young girls did +not take the veil, they married."</p> + +<p>As an argument, this was weak and lacked logic, and Cecilia felt rather +pitiless just then.</p> + +<p>"There are only two possible ways of living," she said; "either by +religion, if you have any, and that is the easier, or by rule."</p> + +<p>"And pray what sort of rule can there be to take the place of religion?"</p> + +<p>"Act so that the reason for your actions may be considered a universal +law."</p> + +<p>"That is nonsense!" cried the Countess.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Cecilia, unmoved, "it is Kant's Categorical Imperative."</p> + +<p>"It makes no difference," retorted her mother. "It is nonsense."</p> + +<p>Cecilia said nothing, and her expression did not change, for she knew +that her mother could not understand her, and she was not at all sure +that she understood herself, as she had almost confessed. Seeing that +she did not answer, the excellent Countess took the opportunity of +telling her that her head had been turned by too much reading, though it +was all her poor, dear stepfather's fault, since he had filled her head +with ideas. What she meant by "ideas" was not clear, except that they +were of course dangerous in themselves and utterly subversive of social +order, and that the main purpose of all education should be to +discourage them in the young.</p> + +<p>"They should be left to old people," she concluded; "they have nothing +else to think of."</p> + +<p>Cecilia had heard very little, being absorbed in her own reflections, +but as her mother often spoke in the same way, the general drift of what +she had said was unmistakable. The two were very unlike, but they were +not unloving. In her heart the Countess took the most unbounded pride in +her only child's beauty and cleverness, except when the latter opposed +itself to her social inclinations and ambitions; and the young girl +really loved her mother when not irritated by some speech or action that +offended her taste. That her mother should not always understand her +seemed quite natural.</p> + +<p>They had almost reached their door, the great pillared porch of the +mysterious Palazzo Massimo, in which they had an apartment, for they did +not live in the villa where the garden party was to be given. Cecilia's +gloved hand went out quietly to the Countess's and gently pressed it.</p> + +<p>"Let me think my own thoughts, mother," she said; "they shall never hurt +you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, of course," answered the elder woman meekly, her little +burst of temper having already subsided.</p> + +<p>Cecilia left her early that evening and went to her own room to be +alone. It was not that she was tired, nor painfully affected by a +strange sensation she had felt during the afternoon; but she realised +that she had reached the end of the first stage in life, and that +another was going to begin, and it was part of her nature to seek for a +complete understanding of everything in her existence. It seemed to her +unworthy of a thinking being to act or to feel, without clearly defining +the cause of every feeling and action. Youth dreams of an impossible +completeness in carrying out its self-set rules of perfection, and is +swayed and stunned, and often paralysed, when they are broken to pieces +by rebellious human nature.</p> + +<p>The room was very large and dim, for Cecilia had put out the electric +light, and had lit two big wax candles, of the sort that are burned in +churches. The blinds and shutters of the windows were open, and the +moonlight fell in two broad floods upon the pale carpet, half across the +floor. The white bed with its high canopy of lace looked ghostly against +the furthest wall, like a marble sepulchre under a mist. The light blue +damask on the walls was dark in the gloom, and there was not much +furniture to break the long surfaces. The dusky air was cool and pure, +for Cecilia detested perfumes of all sorts.</p> + +<p>She sat motionless in a high carved seat, just in the moonlight, one +hand upon an arm of the chair, the other on her breast. She had gathered +her hair into a knot, low at the back of her head, and the folds of a +soft white robe just followed the outlines of her figure. The table on +which the candles stood was a little behind her, and away from the +window, and the still yellow light only touched her hair in one or two +places, sending back dull golden reflections.</p> + +<p>The strange young face was very quiet, and even the lids rarely moved as +she steadily stared into the shadow. There was no look of thought, nor +any visible effort of concentration in her features; there was rather an +air of patient waiting, of perfect readiness to receive whatever should +come to her out of the depths. So, a beautiful marble face on a tomb +gazes into the shadows of a dim church, and gazes on, and waits, neither +growing nor changing, neither satisfied nor disappointed, but calm and +enduring, as if expecting the resurrection of the dead and the life of +the world to come. But for the rare drooping of the lids, that rested +her sight, the girl would have seemed to be in a trance; she was in a +state of almost perfect contemplation that approached to perfect +happiness, since she was hardly conscious that her strongest wishes were +still unsatisfied.</p> + +<p>She had been in the same state before now—last week, last month, last +year, and again and again, as it seemed to her, very long ago; so long, +that the time seemed like ages, and the intervals like centuries, until +it all disappeared altogether in the immeasurable, and the past, the +present, and the future were around her at once, unbroken, always +ending, yet always beginning again. In the midst floated the soul, the +self, the undying individuality, a light that shot out long rays, like a +star, towards the ever present moments in an ever recurring life of +which she had been, and was, and was to be, most keenly conscious.</p> + +<p>So far, the truth, perhaps; the truth, guessed by the mystics of all +ages, sometimes hidden in secret writings, sometimes proclaimed to the +light in symbols too plain to be understood, now veiled in the reasoned +propositions of philosophers, now sung in sublime verse by inspired +seers; present, as truth always is, to the few, misunderstood, as all +truths are, by the many.</p> + +<p>But beside the truth, and outshining it, came the illusion, clear and +bright, and appealing to the heart with the music of all the changes +that are illusion's life. Sitting very still in the moonlight, Cecilia +saw pictures in the shadow, and herself walking in the mazes of many +dreams; and she watched them, till even her eyelids no longer drooped +from time to time, and her breathing ceased to stir the folds of white +upon her bosom.</p> + +<p>Even then, she knew that she herself was not dreaming, but was calling +up dreams which she saw, which could be nothing but visions after all, +and would end in a darkness beyond which she could see nothing, and in +which she would feel real physical pain, that would be almost +unbearable, though she knew that she would gladly bear it again and +again, for the sake of again seeing the phantasms of herself drawn in +mystic light upon the shadow.</p> + +<p>They came and followed one upon another, like days of life. There was +the beautiful marble court with its deep portico, its pillars, and its +overhanging upper story, all gleaming in the low morning sun; she could +hear the water softly laughing its way through the square marble-edged +basins, level with the ground, she could smell the spring violets that +grew in the neatly trimmed borders, she knew the faces of the statues +that stood between the columns, and smiled at her. She knew herself, +young, golden-haired, all in white, a little pale from the night's vigil +before the eternal fire, just entering the court as she came back from +the temple, and then standing quite still for a moment, facing the +morning sun and drinking in long draughts of the sweet spring air. From +far above, the matin song of birds came down out of the gardens of +Cæsar's palace, and high over the court the sounds of the Forum began to +ring and echo, as they did all day and half the night.</p> + +<p>It was herself, her very self, that was there, resting one hand upon a +fluted column and looking upwards, her eyes, her face, her figure, real +and unchanged after ages, as they were hers now; and in her look there +was the infinite longing, the readiness to receive, which she felt still +and must feel always, to the end of time.</p> + +<p>Now, the dream would move on, slowly and full of details. The lithe +dream figure would rest in the small white room at the upper end of the +court, and resting, would dream dreams within that dream; and, looking +on, she herself would know what they were. They would be full of a deep +desire to be free for ever from earth and body and life, joined for all +eternity with something pure and high that could not be seen, but of +which her soul was a part, mingled with the changing things for a time, +but to be withdrawn from them again, maiden and spotless as it had come +amongst them, a true and perfect Vestal.</p> + +<p>The precious treasures in the secret places of the little temple would +pass away, the rudely carved wooden image of Pallas would crumble to +dust, the shields that had come down from heaven would fall to pieces in +green corrosion, the sacred vessels would be broken or come to a base +use, the fire would go out and Vesta's hearth would be cold for ever.</p> + +<p>At the mere thought, the sleeping face in the vision would tremble and +grow pale for a moment, but soon would smile again, for the fire had +been faithfully tended all the night long.</p> + +<p>But it would all pass away, even the place, even Rome herself, and in +the sphere of divine joy the sleeper would forget even to dream, and +would be quite at rest, until the mid-hour of day, when a companion +would come softly to the door and wake her with gentle words and kindly +touch, to join the other Vestals at the thrice-purified table in the +cool hall.</p> + +<p>So the warm hours would pass, and later, if she chose, the holy maiden +might go out into the city, whithersoever she would, borne in a high, +open litter by many slaves, with a stern lictor walking before her, and +the people would fall back on either side. If she chanced to meet one of +the Prætors, or even the Consul himself, their guards would salute her +as no sovereign would be saluted in Rome; and should she see some +wretched thieving slave being led to death on the cross upon the +Esquiline, her slightest word could reverse all his condemnation, and +blot out all his crimes. For she was sacred to the Goddess, and above +Consuls and Prætors and judges. But none of those things would touch her +heart nor please her vanity, for all her pure young soul was bent on +freedom from this earth, divine and eternal, as the end of a sinless +life.</p> + +<p>The eyes in the dream, the eyes of the girl who stood by the column, +drinking the morning air, had never met the eyes of a man with the wish +that a glance might linger to a look. But she who watched the dream knew +that the time was at hand, and that the dark cloud of fear was already +gathering which was to darken her sun and break by and by in an unknown +fear. She knew it, she, the waking Cecilia Palladio; but the other +Cecilia, the Vestal of long ago, guessed nothing of the future, and +stood there breathing softly, already refreshed after the night's +watching. It would all happen, as it always happened, little by little, +detail after detail, till the dreaded moment.</p> + +<p>But it did not. The dream changed. Instead of crossing the marble court, +and lingering a moment by the water, the Vestal stood by the column, +against the background of shade cast by the portico. She was listening +now, she was expecting some one, she was glancing anxiously about as if +to see whether any one were there; but she was alone.</p> + +<p>Then it came, in the shadow behind her, the face of a man, moving +nearer—a rugged Roman head, with deep-set, bold blue eye, big brows, a +great jaw, reddish hair. It came nearer, and the girl knew it was +coming. In an instant more, she would spring forward across the court, +crying out for protection.</p> + +<p>No, she did not move till the man was close to her, looking over her +shoulder, whispering in her ear. Cecilia saw it all, and it was so real +that she tried to call out, to shriek, to make any sound that could save +her image from destruction, for the kiss that was coming would be death +to both, and death with unutterable shame and pain. But her voice was +gone, and her lips were frozen. She sat paralysed with a horror she had +never known before, while the face of the phantom girl blushed softly, +and turned to the strong man, and the two gazed into each other's eyes a +moment, knowing that they loved.</p> + +<p>She felt that it was her other self, and that she had the will to +resist, even then, and that the will must still be supreme over the +illusion. Never, it seemed to her, had she made such a supreme effort, +never had she felt such power concentrated in her strong determination, +never in all her life had she been so sure of the result when she had +willed anything with all her might. Every fibre of her being, every +nerve in her body, every throbbing cell of her brain was strained to +breaking. The two faces were quite close, the longing lips had almost +met—nothing could hinder, nothing could save; the phantasms did not +know that she was watching them.</p> + +<p>Suddenly something changed. She no longer saw herself in a vision, she +was herself there, somewhere, in the dark, in the light—she did not +know—and there was no will, nor thought, nor straining resistance any +more, for Lamberto Lamberti held her in his arms, her, Cecilia Palladio, +her very living self, and his lips were upon hers, and she loved him +beyond death, or life, or fear, or torment. Surely she was dying then, +for the darkness was whirling with her, spinning itself into myriads of +circles of fiery stars, tearing her over the brink of the world to +eternity beyond.</p> + +<p>One second more and it must have ended so. Instead, she was leaning back +in her chair, between the moonlight and the steadily burning candles, in +her own room, alone. From head to foot she trembled, and now and then +drew a short and gasping breath. Her parted lips were moist and very +cold. She touched them, and they felt like flowers at night, wet with +dew. She pushed the hair from her forehead, and her brow was strangely +damp.</p> + +<p>She sprang to her feet with a cry of terror, and stared at the door, for +she was quite sure that she had heard it close softly. It was a heavy +door, that turned noiselessly on its hinges and fitted perfectly, and +she knew the soft click of the well-made French lock when the spring +quietly pushed the bevelled latch-bolt into the socket. In an instant +she had crossed the room and had turned the handle to draw it in. But +the door was locked, beyond all doubt—she had turned the key before she +had sat down in the chair. She felt intensely cold, and an icy wave +seemed to lift her hair from her forehead. Her hand instinctively found +the white button, close beside the door-frame, which controlled all the +electric lamps, and pushed it in, and the room was flooded with light. +She must have imagined that she had heard the sound that had frightened +her.</p> + +<p>Half dazed, she moved slowly to the windows, and closed the inner +shutters, one by one, shutting out the cold moonlight, then stood by the +chair a moment, looked at it, and glanced in the direction whence the +vision had come to her out of the shadow.</p> + +<p>She did not know how it happened, but presently she was lying on her +bed, her face buried in the pillows, and she was tearing her heart out +in a tearless storm of shame and self-contempt.</p> + +<p>What right had that man whom she had so often seen in her dreams to be +alive in the real world, walking among other men, recognising her, as +she had felt that he did that very afternoon? What right had he to come +to her again in the vision and to change it all, to take her in his +violent arms and kiss her on the mouth, and burn the mark of shame into +her soul, and fill her with a pleasure more horrible than any pain? Was +this the end of all her girlish meditation, of the Vestal's longing for +higher things, of the mystic's perfect way? A man's brutal kiss not even +resisted? Was that all? It could not have been worse if on that same day +she had been alone with him in the garden, instead of with Guido d'Este, +and if he had suddenly put his arms round her, and if she had not even +turned her face from his.</p> + +<p>It was only a dream. Yes, to-morrow she would awake, if she slept at +all, and the sunshine would be streaming in where the moonlight had +shone, and it would only be a dream, past and to be forgotten. Perhaps. +But what were dreams, then? She had not been asleep, she was quite sure. +There was not even that poor excuse. The man's phantasm had come to her +awake.</p> + +<p>And Lamberto Lamberti was nothing to her. Beyond the startling +recognition of a face long familiar, but never seen among the living, he +was to her a man she had met but once, and did not wish to meet again. +She had been aware of his presence near her at the Princess's, and when +he had gone away she had looked at him once more with a sort of wonder; +but she had felt nothing else, she had not touched his hand, the thought +that he would ever dare to seize her roughly in his arms brought burning +blushes to her cheek and outraged all her maiden senses. She had never +seen any man whom she could suffer to touch her; her whole nature +revolted at the thought. Yet, just now, there had been neither revolt +nor resistance; she felt that she had been herself, awake, alive, and +consenting to an unknown but frightfully real contamination, from which +her soul could never again be wholly clean.</p> + +<p>The storm subsided, and sullen waves of self-contempt swelled and sank, +as if to overwhelm her drowning soul. She understood at last the +ascetic's wrath against the mortal body and his irresistible craving for +bodily pain.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<p>Very early in the morning Cecilia fell into a dreamless sleep at last, +and awoke, unrefreshed, after nine o'clock. She felt very tired and +listless as she opened the window a little and let in the light and air, +with the sounds of the busy thoroughfare below. The weather was suddenly +much warmer, and her head was heavy.</p> + +<p>It had all been a dream, no doubt, and was gone where dreams go; but it +had been like a fight, out of which she had come alive by a miracle, +bruised and wounded, and offended in her whole being. Never again would +she sit alone at night and look for her image in the shadow, since such +things could come of playing with visions; and she trusted that she +might never again set eyes upon Lamberto Lamberti. She was alone, but at +the thought of meeting him she blushed and bit her lip angrily. How was +it possible that he should know what she had dreamt? For years, in that +dream of the Vestal, a being had played a part, a being too like him in +face to be another man, but who had loved her as a goddess, and whom she +had loved for his matchless bravery and his glorious strength over +himself. It was a long story, that had gradually grown clear in every +detail, that had gone far beyond death to a spiritual life in a place of +light, though it had always ended in something vaguely fearful that +brought her back to the world, and to her present living self, to begin +again. She could not go over it now, but she was conscious, and to her +shame, that the spell of perfect happiness had always been broken at +last by the taint of earthly longing and regret that crept up stealthily +from the world below, an evil mist, laden with poison and fever and +mortality.</p> + +<p>That change had been undefined, though it had been horrible and +irresistible; it had been evil, but it had not been brutal, and it had +thrilled her with the certainty of passion and pain to come, realising +neither while dreading and loving both.</p> + +<p>She had read the writings of men who believe that by long meditation and +practised intention the real self of man or woman can be separated from +all that darkens it, though not easily, because it is bound up with +fragments, as it were, of the selves of others, with all the +inheritances of a hundred generations of good and bad, with sleeping +instincts and passions any of which may suddenly spring up and overwhelm +the rest. She had also read that the real self, when found at last, +might be far better and purer than the mixed self of every day, which +each of us knows and counts upon; but that it might also be much worse, +much coarser, much more violent, when freed from every other influence, +and that coming upon it unawares and unprepared, men had lost their +reason altogether beyond recovery.</p> + +<p>She asked herself now whether this was what had happened to her, and no +answer came; there was only the very weary blank of a great uncertainty, +in which anything might be, or in which there might be nothing; and +then, there was the vivid burning fear of meeting Lamberto Lamberti face +to face. That was by far the strongest and most clearly defined of her +sensations.</p> + +<p>If the Princess Anatolie could have known what Cecilia felt that +morning, she would have been exceedingly well pleased, and Cecilia's own +mother would have considered that this was a case in which the powers of +evil had been permitted to work for the accomplishment of a good end. +Nothing could have distressed the excellent Countess more than that her +daughter should accidentally fall in love with Lamberti, who was a +younger son in a numerous family, with no prospects beyond those offered +by his profession. Nothing could have interfered more directly with the +Princess's sensible intentions for her nephew. Perhaps nothing could +have caused greater surprise to Lamberti himself. On the other hand, +Guido d'Este would have been glad, but not surprised. He rarely was.</p> + +<p>In the course of the day he left a card at the Palazzo Massimo for the +Countess Fortiguerra, and as he turned away he regretted that he could +not ask for her, and see her, and possibly see her daughter also. That +was evidently out of the question as yet, according to his social laws, +but his regret was real. It was long since any woman's face had left him +more than a vague impression of good looks, or dulness, but he had +thought a good deal about Cecilia Palladio since he had met her, and he +knew that he wished to talk with her again, however much he might resent +the idea that he was meant to marry her. She was the first young girl he +had ever known who had not bored him with platitudes or made +conversation impossible by obstinate silence.</p> + +<p>It was true that he had not talked with her much, and at first it had +seemed hard to talk at all, but the ice had been broken suddenly, and +for a few minutes he had found it easy. As for the chilling coldness of +her last words, he could account for that easily enough. Like himself, +she had seen that a marriage had been planned for her without her +knowledge, and, like him, she had resented the trap. For a while she had +forgotten, as he had done, but had remembered suddenly when they were +about to part. She had meant to show him plainly that she had not had +any voice in the matter, and he liked her the better for it, now that he +understood her meaning.</p> + +<p>She was like the Psyche, he thought, and it occurred to him that he +could buy a cast of the statue. He had always thought it beautiful. He +strolled through narrow streets in the late afternoon till he came to +the shop of a dealer in casts, of whom he had once bought something, and +he went in. The man had what he wanted, and he examined it carefully.</p> + +<p>She was not like the Psyche after all, and the crude white plaster +shocked his taste for the first time. If the marble original had been in +Rome, instead of in Naples, he could have gone to see it. He left the +shop disappointed, and walked slowly towards the Farnese palace. The day +seemed endless, and there was no particular reason why all days should +not seem as long. There was nothing to do; nothing amused him, and +nobody asked anything of him. It would be very strange and pleasant to +be of use in the world.</p> + +<p>He went home and sat down by the open window that looked across the +Tiber. The wide room was flooded with the evening light, and warm with +much colour that lingered and floated about beautiful objects here and +there. It was not a very luxuriously furnished room, but it was not the +habitation of an ascetic or puritanical man either. Guido cared more for +rare engravings and etchings than for pictures, and a few very fine +framed prints stood on the big writing table; there was Dürer's +Melancholia, and the Saint Jerome, and the Little White Horse, and the +small Saint Anthony, and Rembrandt's Three Trees, all by itself, as the +most wonderful etching in the world deserved to be; and here and there, +about the room, were a few good engravings by Martin Schöngauer, and by +Mantegna, and by Marcantonio Raimondi. The bold, careless, effective +drawing of the Italian engravers contrasted strongly with the profoundly +conscientious work of Schöngauer and Lucas van Leyden, and revealed at a +glance the incomparable mastery of Dürer's dry point and Rembrandt's +etching needle, the deep conviction of the German, and the inexhaustible +richness of the Dutchman's imagination.</p> + +<p>A picture hung over the fireplace, the picture of a woman, at half +length and a little smaller than life, holding in exquisite hands a +small covered vessel of silver encrusted with gold, and gazing out into +the warm light with the gentlest hazel eyes. A veil of olive green +covered her head, but the fair hair found its way out, tresses and +ringlets, on each side of the face. The woman was perhaps a Magdalen, +not like any other Magdalen in all the paintings of the world, and more +the great lady of the castle of Magdalon, she of the Golden Legend. When +Andrea del Sarto painted that face, he meant something that he never +told, and it pleased Guido d'Este to try and guess the secret. As he +glanced at the canvas, glowing in the rich light, it struck him that +perhaps Cecilia Palladio was more like the woman in the picture than she +was like the Psyche. Then he almost laughed, and turned away, for he +realised that he was thinking of the girl continually, and saw her face +everywhere.</p> + +<p>He turned away impatiently, in spite of the smile. He was annoyed by the +attraction he felt towards Cecilia, because the thought of marrying an +heiress, in order that his aunt might recover money she had literally +thrown away, was grossly repulsive; and also, no doubt, because he was +not docile, though he was good-natured, and he hated to have anything in +his life planned for him by others. He was still less pleased now that +he found himself searching for reasons which should justify him in +marrying Cecilia in spite of all this. Nothing irritates a man more than +his own inborn inconsistency, whereas he enjoys diabolical satisfaction +in convicting any woman of the same fault.</p> + +<p>After all, said his Inclination, as if coolly arguing the case, if poor +men were only to marry poor girls, and rich men rich ones, something +unnatural would happen to the distribution of wealth, which was +undesirable for the future of society. Of course, a rich man might marry +a poor girl if he chose. That was done, and the men who did it got an +extraordinary amount of credit for being disinterested, unless they were +laughed at for falling in love with a pretty face. If anything could +prove the hopeless inequality of woman with man, it would be that! No +one thought much the worse of a penniless girl who married for money, +whereas a starving dandy who did the same thing immediately became an +object of derision.</p> + +<p>But then, added the Inclination, with subtlety, the opinions of society +were entirely manufactured by women for their own advantage, and that +was an excellent reason for not caring what society thought. The +all-powerful, impersonal "they," of whom we only know what "they say," +what "they wear," and what "they pretend," are feminine and plural; they +rule all that region of the world within which women do not work with +their hands, and are therefore at full liberty to exercise those gifts +of intelligence which it has pleased Providence to bestow upon them so +plentifully. They do so to some purpose.</p> + +<p>Surely, argued Inclination, it was not very dignified of Guido to care +much, and to care beforehand, for the opinions of a pack of women, +supposing that he should come to like Cecilia enough to wish to marry +her for her own sake. And besides, though he was poor, he was not +uncomfortably so. Poverty meant not having horses and carriages, nor a +yacht, and living in bachelor's rooms, and not giving dinner parties, +and not playing cards, and not giving every woman whatever she fancied, +if it happened to be a pearl or a pigeon's blood ruby. That was poverty, +of course, but it was relative.</p> + +<p>If his aunt did not drive him to blow out his brains in a fit of +impatience, there was no reason why Guido should not go on living, as he +lived now, to the far end of a long and sufficiently well-fed life. And +if he married Cecilia and her fortune, it would certainly not be because +he wished to give other women rubies and pearls, nor for the sake of +keeping a couple of hunters, two or three carriages, and a coach; still +less, because he could ever wish to lose money again at baccara, or +poker, or bridge. He had done all those things, and they had not amused +him long. If he ever married Cecilia, it would be because he fell in +love with her, which, thank goodness, had not happened yet. Inclination +was quite sure of that, but was willing to admit the possibility in the +future, merely for the sake of argument.</p> + +<p>Before it was time to dress for dinner that evening, Guido received a +long letter from his aunt, written with her own hand, which probably +meant that Monsieur Leroy knew little or nothing of its contents. Guido +glanced at the pages, one after another, and saw that the whole letter +was in the writer's most affectionate manner. Then he read it carefully. +It had been so kind of him to be civil to her friends on the previous +day, said the Princess. He reminded her of his poor father, her dear +brother, who, in all his many misfortunes, had never once lost his +beautiful affability of temper and unfailing courtesy to every one about +him.</p> + +<p>This was very pretty, but Guido had heard that his father's beautiful +affability had sometimes been ruffled so far as to allow a certain +harmless violence, such as hurling a light chair at the head of a +faithful courtier and friend who gave him advice that was too good to be +taken, or summarily boxing the ears of his son and heir when the latter +was already over thirty years old.</p> + +<p>Guido sometimes wondered why he had not inherited some of that very +unroyal temper, which must have been such a thoroughly satisfactory +relief to the ex-king's feelings. He never felt the least desire to +dance with rage and throw the furniture about the room.</p> + +<p>His aunt's letter was evidently meant to please him and flatter his +vanity, and she did not once refer to matters of business. She asked his +opinion about a new novel he had not read yet, and had he thought of +leaving a card on the Countess Fortiguerra? She lived in the Palazzo +Massimo. What a strange girl the daughter was, to be sure! so very +unlike other girls that it was almost disquieting to talk with her. Of +course there was nothing real behind all that superficial talk about +lectures at the Sorbonne, and Nietzsche, and all that. Everybody +pretended to have read Nietzsche nowadays, and after all the girl might +be quite sensible. One could not help wondering what she would make of +her life, with her handsome fortune, and her odd ideas, and no one to +look after her except that dear, gentle, sweet-tempered, foolish mother, +who was in perpetual adoration before her! It would be a brave man who +would marry such a girl, the Princess wrote, in spite of her money; but +there was this to be said, he would not have any trouble with his +mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>Subtle, very subtle of the Princess, who left the subject there and +ended her letter by asking a favour of Guido. It was indeed only for the +sake of asking it, she explained, that she was writing to him at all. +Would he allow a great friend of hers to see his Andrea del Sarto? It +was the celebrated art critic, Doctor Baumgarten, of whom he had heard. +Leroy would bring him the next morning about ten o'clock, if Guido had +no objection. He need not answer; he must not take any trouble about the +matter. If he had an engagement at ten, perhaps he would leave orders +that the Doctor should be allowed to see the picture.</p> + +<p>Guido did not think at once of any good reason for refusing such a +request. He was very fond of his Andrea del Sarto; indeed, he liked it +much better than a small Raphael of undoubted authenticity which was +hung in another part of the room. The German critic was quite welcome to +see both, and perhaps knew something about prints which might be worth +learning. He was probably writing a book. Germans were always writing +books. Guido wrote a line to thank his aunt for her letter, and to say +that her friend would be welcome at the appointed hour.</p> + +<p>He was sealing the note when the door opened and Lamberto Lamberti came +in.</p> + +<p>"Will you come and dine with me?" he asked, standing still before the +writing table.</p> + +<p>"Let us dine here," answered Guido, without looking up, and examining +the little seal he had made on the envelope. "I daresay there is +something to eat." He held out the note to his servant, who stood in the +open doorway. "Send this at once," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lamberti, answering the invitation. "I do not care whether +there is anything to eat or not, and it is always quiet here."</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" asked Guido, looking at him attentively for the +first time since he had entered. "Yes," he added to his man, "Signor +Lamberti will dine with me."</p> + +<p>The servant disappeared and shut the door. Guido repeated his question, +but Lamberti only shook his head carelessly and relit his half-smoked +cigar. Guido watched him. He was less red than usual, and his eyes +glittered in the light of the wax match. His voice had sounded sharp and +metallic, as Guido had never heard it before.</p> + +<p>When two men are intimate friends and really trust each other they do +not overwhelm one another with questions. Each knows that each will +speak when he is ready, or needs help or sympathy.</p> + +<p>"I have just been answering a very balmy letter from my aunt," Guido +said, rising from the table. "Sweeter than honey in the honeycomb! Read +it. It has a distinctly literary and biographical turn. The allusion to +my father's gentle disposition is touching."</p> + +<p>Lamberti looked through the letter carelessly, dropped it on the table, +and sucked hard at his cigar.</p> + +<p>"What did you expect?" he asked, between two puffs. "For the present you +are the apple of her eye. She will handle you as tenderly as a new-laid +egg, until she gets what she wants!"</p> + +<p>Lamberti's similes lacked sequence, but not character.</p> + +<p>"The Romans," observed Guido, "began with the egg and ended with the +apple. I have an idea that we are going to do the same thing at dinner, +and that there will be nothing between. But we can smoke between the +courses."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Lamberti, who had not heard a word. "I daresay."</p> + +<p>Guido looked at him again, rather furtively. Lamberti never drank and +had iron nerves, but he was visibly disturbed. He was what people +vaguely call "not quite himself."</p> + +<p>Guido went to the door of his bedroom.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" asked Lamberti, sharply.</p> + +<p>"I am going to wash my hands before dinner," Guido answered with a +smile. "Do you want to wash yours?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I have just dressed."</p> + +<p>He turned his back and went to the open window as Guido left the room. +In a few seconds his cigar had gone out again, and he was leaning on the +sill with both hands, staring at the twilight sky in the west. The +colours had all faded away to the almost neutral tint of straw-tempered +steel.</p> + +<p>The outline of the Janiculum stood out sharp and black in an uneven +line. Below, there were the scattered lights of Trastevere, the flowing +river, and the silence of the deserted Via Giulia. Lamberti looked +steadily out, biting his extinguished cigar, and his features contracted +as if he were in pain.</p> + +<p>He had come to his friend instinctively, as his friend would have come +to him, meaning to tell him what had happened. But he hesitated. +Besides, it might all have been only his imagination; in part it could +have been nothing else, and the rest was a mere coincidence. But he had +never been an imaginative man, and it was strange that he should be so +much affected by a mere illusion.</p> + +<p>He started and turned suddenly, sure that some one was close behind him. +But there was no one, and a moment later Guido came back. Anxious not to +annoy his friend by anything like curiosity, he made a pretence of +setting his writing table in order, turned one of the lamps down a +little—he hated electric light—and then looked at the picture over the +fireplace.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of that Baumgarten, the German art critic?" he asked, +without turning round.</p> + +<p>"Baumgarten—let me see! I fancy I have seen the name to-day." Lamberti +tried to concentrate his attention.</p> + +<p>"You just read it in my aunt's letter," Guido answered. "You +remember—she asks if he may come to-morrow. I wonder why."</p> + +<p>"To value your property, of course," replied Lamberti, roughly.</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" Guido did not seem at all surprised. "I daresay. She +is quite capable of it. She is welcome to everything I possess if she +will only leave me in peace. But just now, when she has evidently made +up her mind to marry me to this new heiress, it does not seem likely +that she would take trouble to find out what my pictures are worth, does +it?"</p> + +<p>"It all depends on what she thinks of the chances that you will marry or +not."</p> + +<p>"What do you think of them, yourself?" asked Guido, idly.</p> + +<p>He was glad of anything to talk about while Lamberti was in his present +mood.</p> + +<p>"What a question!" exclaimed the latter. "How should I know whether you +are going to fall in love with the girl or not?"</p> + +<p>"I am half afraid I am," said Guido, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>His man announced dinner, and the two friends crossed the hall to the +little dining room, and sat down under the soft light of the +old-fashioned olive-oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. Everything on +the table was old, worn, and spotless. The silver was all of the style +of the first Empire, with an interlaced monogram surmounted by a royal +crown. The same device was painted in gold in the middle of the plain +white plates, which were more or less chipped at the edges. The glasses +and decanters were of that heavy cut glass, ornamented with gold lines, +which used to be made in Venice in the eighteenth century. Some of them +were chipped, too, like the plates. It had never occurred to Guido to +put the whole service away as a somewhat valuable collection, though he +sometimes thought that it was growing shabby. But he liked the old +things which had come to him from the ex-king, part of the furniture of +a small shooting box that had been left to him, and which he had sold to +an Austrian Archduke.</p> + +<p>Lamberti took a little soup and swallowed half a glass of white wine.</p> + +<p>"I had an odd dream last night," he said, "and I have had a little +adventure to-day. I will tell you by-and-by."</p> + +<p>"Just as you like," Guido answered. "I hope the adventure was not an +accident—you look as if you had been badly shaken."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I did not know that I could be so nervous. You see, I do not often +dream. I generally go to sleep when I lay my head upon the pillow and +wake when I have slept seven hours. At sea, I always have to be called +when it is my watch. Yes, I have solid nerves. But last night—"</p> + +<p>He stopped, as the man entered, bringing a dish.</p> + +<p>"Well?" enquired Guido, who did not suppose that Lamberti could have any +reason for not telling his dream in the presence of the servant.</p> + +<p>Lamberti hesitated a moment, and helped himself before he answered.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in dreams?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? Do I believe that dreams come true? No. When they do, +it is a coincidence."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I suppose so. But this is rather more than a coincidence. I do not +understand it at all. After all, I am a perfectly healthy man. It never +occurred to you that my mind might be unbalanced, did it?"</p> + +<p>Guido looked at the rugged Roman head, the muscular throat, the broad +shoulders.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered. "It certainly never occurred to me."</p> + +<p>"Nor to me either," said Lamberti, and he ate slowly and thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"My friend," observed Guido, "you are just a little enigmatical this +evening."</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all! I tell you that my nerves are good. You know +something about archæology, do you not?"</p> + +<p>The apparently irrelevant question came after a short pause.</p> + +<p>"Not much," Guido answered, supposing that Lamberti wished to change the +subject on account of the servant. "What do you want to know?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Lamberti. "The question is, whether what I dreamt last +night was all imagination or whether it was a memory of something I once +knew and had forgotten."</p> + +<p>"What did you dream?" Guido sipped his wine and leaned back to listen, +hoping that his friend was going to speak out at last.</p> + +<p>"Was the temple of Vesta in the Forum?" enquired Lamberti.</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"But why did they always say that it was the round one in front of Santa +Maria in Cosmedin? I have an old bronze inkstand that is a model of it. +My mother used to tell me it was the temple of Vesta."</p> + +<p>"People thought it was—thirty years ago. There is nothing left of the +temple but the round mass of masonry on which it stood. It is between +the Fountain of Juturna and the house of the Vestals. I have Signor +Boni's plans of it. Should you like to see them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—presently," answered Lamberti, with more eagerness than Guido had +expected. "Is there anything like a reconstruction of the temple or of +the house—a picture of one, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"I think so," said Guido. "I am sure there is Baldassare Peruzzi's +sketch of the temple, as it was in his day."</p> + +<p>"I dreamt that I saw it last night, the temple and the house, and all +the Forum besides, and not in ruins either, but just as everything was +in old times. Could the Vestals' house have had an upper story? Is that +possible?"</p> + +<p>"The archæologists are sure that it had," answered Guido, becoming more +interested. "Do you mean to say that you dreamt you saw it with an upper +story?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And the temple was something like the one they used to call +Vesta's, only it was more ornamented, and the columns seemed very near +together. The round wall, just within the columns, was decorated with +curious designs in low relief—something like a wheel, and scallops, and +curved lines. It is hard to describe, but I can see it all now."</p> + +<p>Guido rose from his seat quickly.</p> + +<p>"I will get the number that has the drawing in it," he said, explaining.</p> + +<p>During the few moments that passed while he was out of the room Lamberti +sat staring at his empty place as fixedly as he had stared at the dark +line of the Janiculum a few minutes earlier. The man-servant, who had +been with him at sea, watched him with a sort of grave sympathy that is +peculiarly Italian. Then, as if an idea of great value had struck him, +he changed Lamberti's plate, poured some red wine into the tumbler, and +filled it up with water. Then he retired and watched to see whether his +old master would drink. But Lamberti did not move.</p> + +<p>"Here it is," said Guido, entering the room with a large yellow-covered +pamphlet open in his hands. "Was it like this?"</p> + +<p>As he asked the question he laid the pamphlet on the clean plate before +his friend. The pages were opened at Baldassare Peruzzi's rough +pen-and-ink sketch of the temple of Vesta; and as Lamberti looked at it, +his lids slowly contracted, and his features took an expression of +mingled curiosity and interest.</p> + +<p>"The man who drew that had seen what I saw," he said at last. "Did he +draw it from some description?"</p> + +<p>"He drew it on the spot," answered Guido. "The temple was standing then. +But as for your dream, it is quite possible that you may have seen this +same drawing in a shop window at Spithœver's or Lœscher's, for +instance, without noticing it, and that the picture seemed quite new to +you when you dreamt it. That is a simple explanation."</p> + +<p>"Very," said Lamberti. "But I saw the whole Forum."</p> + +<p>"There are big engravings of imaginary reconstructions of the Forum, in +the booksellers' windows."</p> + +<p>"With the people walking about? The two young priests standing in the +morning sun on the steps of the temple of Castor and Pollux? The dirty +market woman trudging past the corner of the Vestals' house with a +basket of vegetables on her head? The door slave sweeping the threshold +of the Regia with a green broom?"</p> + +<p>"I thought you knew nothing about the Forum," said Guido, curiously. +"How do you come to know of the Regia?"</p> + +<p>"Did I say Regia? I daresay—the name came to my lips."</p> + +<p>"Somebody has hypnotised you," said Guido. "You are repeating things you +have heard in your sleep."</p> + +<p>"No. I am describing things I saw in my sleep. Am I the sort of man who +is easily hypnotised? I have let men try it once or twice. We were all +interested in hypnotism on my last ship, and the surgeon made some +curious experiments with a lad who went to sleep easily. But last night +I was at home, alone, in my own room, in bed, and I dreamt."</p> + +<p>Guido shrugged his shoulders a little indifferently.</p> + +<p>"There must be some explanation," he said. "What else did you dream?"</p> + +<p>Lamberti's lids drooped as if he were concentrating his attention on the +remembered vision.</p> + +<p>"I dreamt," he said, "that I saw a veiled woman in white come out of the +temple door straight into the sunlight, and though I could not see the +face, I knew who she was. She went down the steps and then up the others +to the house of the Vestals, and entered in without looking back. I +followed her. The door was open, and there was no one to stop me."</p> + +<p>"That is very improbable," observed Guido. "There must have always been +a slave at the door."</p> + +<p>"I went in," continued Lamberti without heeding the interruption, "and +she was standing beside one of the pillars, a little way from the door. +She had one hand on the column, and she was facing the sun; her veil was +thrown back and the light shone through her hair. I came nearer, very +softly. She knew that I was there and was not afraid. When I was close +to her she turned her face to mine. Then I took her in my arms and +kissed her, and she did not resist."</p> + +<p>Guido smiled gravely.</p> + +<p>"And she turned out to be some one you know in real life, I suppose," he +said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Lamberti. "Some one I know—slightly."</p> + +<p>"Beautiful, of course. Fair or dark?"</p> + +<p>"You need not try to guess," Lamberti said. "I shall not tell you. My +head went round, and I woke."</p> + +<p>"Very well. But is it this absurd dream that has made you so nervous?"</p> + +<p>"No. Something happened to me to-day."</p> + +<p>Lamberti ate a few mouthfuls in silence, before he went on.</p> + +<p>"I daresay I might have invented some explanation of the dream," he said +at last. "But it only made me want to see the place. I never cared for +those things, you know. I had never gone down into the Forum in my +life—why should I? I went there this morning."</p> + +<p>"And you could not find anything of what you had seen, of course."</p> + +<p>"I took one of those guides who hang about the entrance waiting for +foreigners. He showed me where the temple had been, and the house, and +the temple of Castor and Pollux. I did not believe him implicitly, but +the ruins were in the right places. Then I walked up a bridge of boards +to the house of the Vestals, and went in."</p> + +<p>"But there was no lady."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," said Lamberti, and his eyes glittered oddly, "the +lady was there."</p> + +<p>"The same one whom you had seen in your dream?"</p> + +<p>"The same. She was standing facing the sun, for it was still early, and +one of her hands was resting against the brick pillar, just as it had +rested against the column."</p> + +<p>"That is certainly very extraordinary," said Guido, his tone changing. +Then he seemed about to speak again, but checked himself.</p> + +<p>Lamberti rested his elbows on the table and his chin on his folded +hands, and looked into his friend's eyes in silence. His own face had +grown perceptibly paler in the last few minutes.</p> + +<p>"Guido," he said, after what seemed a long pause, "you were going to ask +what happened next. I do not know what you thought, nor what stopped +you, for between you and me there is no such thing as indiscretion, and, +besides, you will never know who the lady was."</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to guess. Do not say anything that could help me."</p> + +<p>"Of course not. Any woman you know might have taken it into her head to +go to the Forum this morning."</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"This is what happened. I stood perfectly still in surprise. She may +have heard my footstep or not; she knew some one was behind her. Then +she slowly turned her head till we could see each other's faces."</p> + +<p>He paused again, and passed one hand lightly over his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Guido, "I suppose I can guess what is coming."</p> + +<p>"No!" Lamberti cried, in such a tone that the other started. "You cannot +guess. We looked at each other. It seemed a very long time—two or three +minutes at least—as if we were both paralysed. Though we recognised +each other perfectly well, we could neither of us speak. Then it seemed +to me that something I could not resist was drawing me towards her, but +I am sure I did not really move the hundredth part of a step. I shall +never forget the look in her face."</p> + +<p>Another pause, not long, but strangely breathless.</p> + +<p>"I have seen men badly frightened in battle," Lamberti went on. "The +cheeks get hollow all at once, the eyes are wide open, with black rings +round them, the face turns a greenish grey, and the sweat runs down the +forehead into the eyebrows. Men totter with fear, too, as if their +joints were unstrung. But I never saw a woman really terrified before. +There was a sort of awful tension of all her features, as though they +were suddenly made brittle, like beautiful glass, and were going to +shiver into fragments. And her eyes had no visible pupils—her lips +turned violet. I remember every detail. Then, without warning, she +shrieked and staggered backwards; and she turned as I moved to catch +her, and she ran like a deer, straight up the court, past those basins +they have excavated, and up two or three steps, to the dark rooms at the +other end."</p> + +<p>"And what did you do?" asked Guido, wondering.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, I turned and went back as fast as I could, without +exactly running, and I found the guide looking for me below the temple, +for he had not seen me go into the Vestals' house. What else was there +to be done?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, I suppose. You could not pursue a lady who shrieked with fear +and ran away from you. What a strange story! You say you only know her +slightly."</p> + +<p>"Literally, very slightly," answered Lamberti.</p> + +<p>He had become fluent, telling his story almost excitedly. He now +relapsed into his former mood, and stared at the pamphlet before him a +moment, before shutting it and putting it away from him.</p> + +<p>"It is like all those things—perfectly unaccountable, except on a +theory of coincidence," said Guido, at last. "Will you have any cheese?"</p> + +<p>Lamberti roused himself and saw the servant at his elbow.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I forgot one thing. Just as I awoke from that dream last +night, I heard the door of my room softly closed."</p> + +<p>"What has that to do with the matter?" enquired Guido, carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, except that the door was locked. I always lock my door. I +first fell into the habit when I was travelling, for I sleep so soundly +that in a hotel any one might come in and steal my things. I should +never wake. So I turn the key before going to bed."</p> + +<p>"You may have forgotten to do it last night," suggested Guido.</p> + +<p>"No. I got up at once, and the key was turned. No one could have come +in."</p> + +<p>"A mouse, then," said Guido, rather contemptuously.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + + +<p>Cecilia Palladio was very much ashamed of having uttered a cry of terror +at the sight of Lamberti, and still more of having run away from him +like a frightened child. To him it seemed as if she had really shrieked +with fear, whereas she fancied that she had scarcely found voice enough +to utter an incoherent exclamation. The truth lay somewhere between the +two impressions, but Cecilia now felt that she could easily have +accounted for being startled into crying out, but that it would always +be impossible to explain her flight. She had run the whole length of the +Court, which must be fifty yards long, before realising what she was +doing, and had not paused for breath till she was out of his sight and +within the second of the three rooms on the left. There were no gates to +the rooms then, as there are now, and she could not have given any +reason for her entering the second instead of the first, which was the +nearest. The choice was instinctive.</p> + +<p>She certainly had not gone there to join the elderly woman servant who +had come to the Forum with her. That excellent and obedient person was +waiting where Cecilia had made her sit down, not far from the entrance +to the Forum, and would not move till her mistress returned. The young +girl hated to be followed about and protected at every step, especially +by a servant, who could have no real understanding of what she saw.</p> + +<p>"I shall only be seen by foreigners and Cook's Tourists," she had said, +"and they do not count as human beings at all!"</p> + +<p>Therefore the middle-aged Petersen, who was a German, and therefore a +species of foreigner herself, had meekly sat down upon the comparatively +comfortable stone which Cecilia had selected for her, and which was one +of the steps of the Julian Basilica. She was called Frau Petersen, Mrs. +Petersen, or Madame Petersen, according to circumstances, by the +servants of different nationalities who were successively in the +employment of the Countess Fortiguerra, for she was a superior woman and +the widow of a paymaster in the Bavarian army, and so eminently +respectable and well educated that she had more than once been taken for +Cecilia's governess.</p> + +<p>Petersen was excessively near-sighted, but her nose was not adapted by +its nature and position for wearing eyeglasses; for it was not only a +flat nose without anything like a prominent bridge to it, but it was +placed uncommonly low in her face, so that a pair of eyeglasses pinched +upon it would have found themselves in the region of Petersen's +cheek-bones. Even when she wore spectacles, they were always slipping +down, which was a great nuisance; so she resigned herself to seeing less +than other people, except when something interested her enough to make +the discomfort of glasses worth enduring.</p> + +<p>This sufficiently explains why she noticed nothing unusual in Cecilia's +looks when the latter came back to her, pale and disturbed; and she had +not heard her mistress's faint cry, the distance being too great for +that, not to mention the fact that the huge ruins intercepted the sound. +Cecilia was glad of that, as she drove home with Petersen.</p> + +<p>"Signor Lamberti has called," said the Countess Fortiguerra the next day +at luncheon. "I see by his card that he is in the Navy. You know he is +one of the Marchese Lamberti's sons. Shall we ask him to dinner?"</p> + +<p>"Did you like him?" enquired Cecilia, evasively.</p> + +<p>"He is not very good-looking," observed the Countess, whose judgment of +unknown people always began with their appearance, and often penetrated +no farther. "But he may be intelligent, for all that," she added, as a +concession.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Cecilia, thoughtfully, "perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I think we might ask him to dinner, then," answered the Countess, as if +she had given an excellent reason for doing so.</p> + +<p>"Is it not rather early, considering that we have only met him once?" +Cecilia ventured to ask.</p> + +<p>"I used to know his mother very well, though she was older than I. It is +pleasant to find that he is so intimate with Signor d'Este. We might ask +them together."</p> + +<p>"After the garden party," suggested Cecilia. "Of course, as you and the +Marchesa were great friends, that is a reason for asking the other, but +Signor d'Este—really! It would positively be throwing me at his head, +mother!"</p> + +<p>"He expects it, my dear," answered the Countess, with more precision +than tact. "I mean," she added hastily, "I mean, that is, I did not +mean—"</p> + +<p>Cecilia laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you did, mother! You meant exactly that, you know. You and that +dreadful old Princess have made up your minds that I am to marry him, +and nothing else matters, does it?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Countess, without any perceptible hesitation, "I cannot +help hoping that you will consent, for I should like the match very +much."</p> + +<p>She knew that it was always better to be quite frank with her daughter; +and even if she had thought otherwise, she could never have succeeded in +being diplomatic with her. While her second husband had been alive, her +position as an ambassadress had obliged her to be tactful in the world, +and even occasionally to say things which she had some difficulty in +believing, being a very simple soul; but with Cecilia she was quite +unable to conceal her thoughts for five minutes. If the girl loved her +mother, and she really did, it was largely because her mother was so +perfectly truthful. Cynical people called her helplessly honest, and +said that her veracity would have amounted to a disease of the mind if +she had possessed any; but that since she did not, it was probably a +form of degeneration, because all perfectly healthy human beings lied +naturally. David had said in his heart that all men were liars, and his +experience of men, and of women, too, was worth considering.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Cecilia said, after a thoughtful pause, "I know that you wish me +to marry Signor d'Este, and I have not refused to think of it. But I +have not promised anything, either, and I do not like to feel that he +expects me to be thrust upon him at every turn, till he is obliged to +offer himself as the only way of escaping the persecution."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would not express it in that way!"</p> + +<p>The Countess sighed and looked at her daughter with a sort of +half-comical and loving hopelessness in her eyes—as a faithful dog +might look at his master who, seeming to be hungry, would refuse to +steal food that was within reach. The dog would try to lead the man to +the bread, the man would gently resist; each would be obeying the +dictation of his own conscience—the man would know that he could never +explain his moral position to the dog, and the dog would feel that he +could never understand the man. Yet the affection between the two would +not be in the least diminished.</p> + +<p>On the next evening Cecilia found herself next to Guido d'Este at +dinner. Though she was not supposed to make her formal appearance in +society before the garden party, the Countess's many old friends, some +of whom had more or less impecunious sons, were anxious to welcome her +to Rome, and asked her to small dinners with her mother. Guido had +arrived late, and had not been able to speak to her till he was told by +their host that he was to take her in. It was quite natural that he +should, for, in spite of his birth, he was only plain Signor d'Este, and +was not entitled to any sort of precedence in a society which is, if +anything, overcareful in such matters.</p> + +<p>Neither spoke as they walked through the rooms, near the end of the +small procession. Guido glanced at the young girl, who knew that he did, +but paid no attention. He thought her rather pale, and there was no +light in her eyes. Her hand lay like gossamer on his arm, so lightly +that he could not feel it; but he was aware of her perfectly graceful +motion as she walked.</p> + +<p>"I suppose this was predestined," he said, as soon as the rest of the +guests were talking.</p> + +<p>She glanced at him quickly now, her head bent rather low, her eyebrows +arching higher than usual. He was not sure whether the little +irregularity of her upper lip was accentuated by amusement, or by a +touch of scorn.</p> + +<p>"Is it?" she asked. "Do you happen to know that it was arranged?"</p> + +<p>It was amusement, then, and not scorn. They understood each other, and +the ice was in no need of being broken again.</p> + +<p>"No," Guido answered with a smile. Then his voice grew suddenly low and +earnest. "Will you please believe that if I had been told beforehand +that I was asked in order to sit next to you, I would not have come?"</p> + +<p>Cecilia laughed lightly.</p> + +<p>"I believe you, and I understand," she answered. "But how it sounds! If +you had known that you were to sit next to me, nothing would have +induced you to come!"</p> + +<p>From her place next the master of the house, the Countess Fortiguerra +looked at them, and was pleased to see that they were already on good +terms.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," Cecilia added in a quiet voice, and gravely. "Besides," she +continued, "there is no reason, in the world why we should not be good +friends, is there?"</p> + +<p>She looked full at him now, without a smile, and he realised for the +first time how very young she was. A married woman with an instinct for +flirtation might have made the speech, but a girl older than Cecilia +would have known that it might be misunderstood. Guido answered her look +with one in which doubt did not keep the upper hand more than a single +second.</p> + +<p>"There is no reason whatever why we should not be the best of friends," +he answered, in a tone as low as her own. "Perhaps I may be of service +to you. I hope so. Besides, I am made for friendship!"</p> + +<p>He laughed rather carelessly as he spoke the last words, and glanced +round the table to see whether anybody was watching him. He met the +Countess Fortiguerra's approving glance.</p> + +<p>"Why do you laugh at friendship?" asked Cecilia, not quite pleased.</p> + +<p>"I do not laugh at friendship at all," Guido answered. "I laugh in order +that people may see me and hear me. This is the first service I can +render you, to be natural and unconcerned, as I generally am. If I +behaved in any unusual way—if I were too grave, or too much +interested—you understand!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You are thoughtful. Thank you."</p> + +<p>There was a little pause, during which a luxuriant lady in green, who +sat on Guido's other side, determined to attract his attention, and +spoke to him; but before he could answer, some one opposite asked her a +question about dress, which was intensely interesting to her, because +she dressed abominably. She promptly fell into the snare which had been +set for her with the evil intention of leading her on to talk foolishly. +She followed at once, and Guido was free again.</p> + +<p>"Now that we are friends," he said to Cecilia, "may I ask you a friendly +question?"</p> + +<p>"Ask me anything you like," she answered, and her innocent eyes promised +him the truth.</p> + +<p>"Were you told anything, before we met at my aunt's the other day?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word! And you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he replied. "I remember that on that very afternoon—" he +stopped short.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"You may not like what I was going to say."</p> + +<p>"I shall, if it is true, and if you have a good reason for saying it."</p> + +<p>"Lamberti and I were together, talking, and I said that nothing would +ever induce me to marry an heiress, unless it were to save my father or +mother from ruin. As that can never happen, all heiresses are perfectly +safe from me! Do you mind my having said that?"</p> + +<p>"No. I am sure you were in earnest."</p> + +<p>A shadow had crossed her face at the mention of Lamberti's name.</p> + +<p>"You do not like my friend," he said, and as he spoke, the shadow came +again and deepened.</p> + +<p>"How can I like him or dislike him? I hardly know him."</p> + +<p>She felt very uncomfortable, for it would have been quite natural that +Lamberti should have spoken to Guido of her strange behaviour in the +Forum. Guido answered that one often liked or disliked people at first +sight.</p> + +<p>"I think that you and I liked each other as soon as we met," he +concluded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Cecilia answered, after a little thought. "I am sure we did. Tell +me, what makes you think that I dislike your friend? I should be very +sorry if he thought I did."</p> + +<p>"When I first spoke of him a few moments ago, your expression changed, +and when I referred to him again, you frowned."</p> + +<p>"Is that all? Are you sure that is the only reason for your opinion?"</p> + +<p>Guido laughed a little.</p> + +<p>"What other reason could I have?" he asked. "Do not take it so +seriously!"</p> + +<p>"He might have told you that he himself had the impression—"</p> + +<p>"He has hardly mentioned your name since we both met you," Guido +answered.</p> + +<p>It was a relief to know that Lamberti had not spoken of having met her +unexpectedly, and of her cry, and of her flight. Yet somehow she had +already been sure that he had kept the matter to himself. As a matter of +fact, Guido had never thought of her, even in the most passing way, as +the possible heroine of the adventure in the Forum. The story had +interested him, but the personality of the lady did not; and, moreover, +from the way in which Lamberti had spoken, Guido had very naturally +supposed her to be a married woman, for it would not have occurred to +him that a young girl could be strolling among the ruins quite alone.</p> + +<p>Cecilia felt relieved, and yet, at the same time, she felt a little +girlish disappointment at the thought that Lamberti had hardly ever +spoken of her to his most intimate friend, for she was quite sure that +Guido told her the exact truth. She was angry with herself for being +disappointed, too. The man's face had haunted her so long in half-waking +dreams; or at least, a face exactly like his, which, the last time, had +turned into his without doubt. Yet she had evidently made no impression +upon him, until she had made a very bad one, the other day. She wondered +whether he thought she was a little mad. She was afraid of meeting him +wherever she went, and yet she now wished he were at the table, in order +that she might prove to him that she was not only sane, but very clever. +She knew that she wished it, and for a few moments she did not hear what +Guido was saying, but gazed absently at the flowers on the table, +unconsciously hoping that she might see them turn into the face she +feared; but that did not happen.</p> + +<p>Guido talked on, till he saw that she was not listening, and then he was +silent, and only glanced at her from time to time while he heard in his +ears the cackling of the vivid lady in green. There was going to be a +change in the destinies of womankind, and everybody was to be perfectly +frightful for ever afterwards. To be plain, the sleeves "they" were +wearing now were to be altogether given up. "They" had begun to wear the +new ones already in Paris. Réjane had worn them in her new piece, and of +course that meant an imminent and universal change. And as for the way +the skirts were to be made, it was positively indecent. Réjane was far +too much of a lady to wear one, of course, but one could see what was +coming. Here some one observed that coming events cast their shadows +before.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all!" cried the lady in green. "I mean behind."</p> + +<p>"How long shall you stay in Rome?" Guido asked, to see whether Cecilia +would hear him now.</p> + +<p>"Always," she answered. "For the rest of my life."</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that. But I meant to ask how late you intended to stay +this year?"</p> + +<p>"I should like to spend the summer here."</p> + +<p>"It is the pleasantest time," Guido said.</p> + +<p>"Is it? Or are you only saying that in order to agree with me? You need +not, you know. I like people who have their own opinions, and are full +of prejudices, and try to force them upon everybody, whether they are +good for every one or not!"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I shall not please you, then. I have no prejudices to speak +of, and my opinions are worth so little that I never hesitate to change +them."</p> + +<p>"But you do not look at all feeble-minded," said Cecilia, innocently +studying his face.</p> + +<p>"Thank you!" Guido laughed. "You are adorable!" he added rather +flippantly.</p> + +<p>"Is that your opinion?" asked the young girl, smiling, too, as if she +were pleased.</p> + +<p>"Yes. That is my firm opinion. Do you object to it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no!" Cecilia answered, still smiling sweetly. "You have just told me +that your opinions are worth so little that you never hesitate to change +them. So why in the world should I object to any of them?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Guido, unmoved. "Why should you? Especially as this +particular one gives me so much pleasure while it lasts."</p> + +<p>"It will not last long, I daresay. Do you know that you are not at all +dull?"</p> + +<p>"No one could be in your company."</p> + +<p>"That is the first dull thing you have said this evening," Cecilia +answered, to see what he would say.</p> + +<p>"Shall it be the last?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, please."</p> + +<p>There was a little wilful command in the tone that Guido liked. He felt +her presence in a way he did not remember to have felt that of any +woman, and in the atmosphere of her own in which she seemed to live he +breathed as one does in some very high places, less easily, perhaps, but +with conscious pleasure in drawing breath. He could not have described +his sensations in those first meetings with her, and he could have +analysed them less. One might as well seek the form and perfume of the +flower in the first tender shoot that thrusts up its joy of living out +of the mystery of the dull brown earth. Yet he knew well enough that +something was beginning to grow in him which had not begun, and grown, +and perished before.</p> + +<p>Many times he had talked with women famous for their beauty, or for +their charm, or for their wit, and he himself had said clever things +which he had remembered with a little vanity or had forgotten with +regret, and had turned compliments in many manners, guessing at the +taste of her who sat beside him, wishing to please her, and wishing even +more to find some general key to women's thought, some universal +explanation of their ways, some logical solution of their seemingly +inconsequent actions. His mind was of the sort that is satisfied by +suspended judgment, that dreads the chillingly triumphant phrase of +reason, "which was to be proved," as much as the despairing tone of a +reduction to the impossible. He loved problems that could not be solved +easily, if at all, because he could think of them continually in a +hundred new and different ways. He hated equally a final affirmation +past appeal, and an ultimate negation which might make his thoughts +ridiculous in his own eyes. A quiet suspense was his natural state of +equilibrium. Anything might be, or might not be, and decision was +hateful; it was delicious to float on the calm waters of meditative +indifference, between the giant rocks, hope and despair, in the straits +that lead the sea of life to the ocean of eternity.</p> + +<p>He knew that he was the end of a race that had reigned and could never +reign again. It was better that the end should be a question than a hope +deceived, or a cry of impotent hatred uttered against Something which +might not exist after all. If he had a philosophy it was that, and +nothing more; and though it was not much, it had helped him to live +without much pain and almost always with a certain dreamy, intellectual, +wondering pleasure in his own thoughts. Sometimes he was irritated out +of that state by the demands and doings of the Princess Anatolie, as on +the day when he and his friend had talked in the garden beyond the +river; and then he spoke of ending all at a stroke, and almost believed +that he might do it; and he envied Lamberti his love of life and action. +But such moods soon passed and left him himself again, so that he +marvelled how he could ever have been so much moved. It was always the +same, in the end, but such as it was the world was not a bad world for +him.</p> + +<p>Here was something different from all the past, and it had begun without +warning, and was growing against his will, because it fed on that with +which his will had nothing to do. There is no fatalism like that of the +indifferent man who believes in nothing, not even in himself, and who +admits nothing to be positive except crime and dishonour. Why should he +not fall in love with Cecilia Palladio, since he had previously stated +to himself, to her, and to his trusted friend, that nothing could induce +him to marry her? It was quite clear from the first that she, on her +side, would never fall in love with him. He looked upon that as +altogether out of the question, and perhaps with reason. On the other +hand, he had not the slightest faith in the lasting nature of anything +he might feel, and therefore he was not afraid of consequences, which +rarely indeed frighten a man who is doing what he likes. It is more +generally the woman that thinks of them, and points them out because +"there is still time!" She also heaps her scorn upon the man if he is +wise enough to agree with her; but that is a detail, and perhaps it +ought not to be mentioned.</p> + +<p>As for the fact that he was beginning to be in love, Guido no longer +doubted it. The pleasure he felt in saying to Cecilia things of even +less than average conversational merit was proof enough that it was not +only what he said that interested him. When a man of ordinary assurance +wishes to shine in the eyes of a woman, he generally succeeds at least +in shining in his own.</p> + +<p>Guido was not any more self-conscious than most people, and he was +certainly not more diffident of his own gifts, which he could judge +impartially because he attached little importance to what they might +bring him. But the categorical command to say nothing dull made it quite +impossible to say anything witty, and the conversation languished a +little and then broke off.</p> + +<p>It was past ten o'clock when Guido again found a chance of speaking to +Cecilia. He had looked at her more often than he knew, after dinner, and +had given rather vague answers to one or two people who had spoken to +him. He had moved about the great room idly, looking at the familiar old +portraits, and at objects he had known in the same places for years. He +had smoked a cigarette, standing with his host, while the latter talked +to him about the Etruscan tomb he had just discovered on his place, and +he had nodded pleasantly to the sound of the old gentleman's voice +without hearing a word. Then he had smoked another cigarette at the +opposite end of the room with a group of younger men, who talked of +nothing but motor cars; and when they asked his opinion about something, +he had said that he had none, and preferred walking, which speech caused +such a perceptible chill that he turned away and left the young men to +their discussion.</p> + +<p>All the while his eyes followed Cecilia's movements, and lingered upon +her when she stood still or sat down. In the course of the evening each +of the young men who talked about motor cars managed to try his luck at +a conversation with her, and all, by way of being original, talked to +her about the same thing. As she had just come from Paris, and was rich, +it was to be supposed that she, of course, owned a motor car, had passed +her examination as an engineer, and spent most of her time in a mask and +broad-visored cap scouring Europe at the rate of fifty miles an hour.</p> + +<p>"But why do you not get an automobile?" asked each of the young men, as +soon as her answer had disappointed him.</p> + +<p>"Do you play the violin?" she enquired sweetly of each.</p> + +<p>"No," each answered.</p> + +<p>"Then why do you not get a violin?"</p> + +<p>In this way she confounded the young men, and their heads moved uneasily +on the tops of their high collars, until they were able to get away from +her.</p> + +<p>Guido saw how they left her, with a discomfited expression, and as if +they had suddenly acquired the conviction that their clothes did not fit +them, for that is generally the first sensation experienced by a very +well-dressed young man when he has been made to feel that he is foolish. +Guido saw, and understood, and he was worldly wise enough to know that +unless Cecilia would show a little more willingness to seem pleased, she +would presently be sitting alone on a sofa, waiting for her mother to go +home. As soon as this inevitable result followed, he sat down beside +her. She turned her face slowly, when he had settled himself, and she +looked at him with slightly bent head, a little upwards, from under her +lids. The light that fell from a shaded lamp above her marked the sharp +curve of arching brows sharply against the warm shadow over the deep-set +and widely opened eyes.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds Guido returned the steady gaze, before he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Are you the Sphinx?" he asked suddenly. "Have you come to life again to +ask men your riddle?"</p> + +<p>"I ask it of myself," she answered softly, and then looked away. "I +cannot answer it."</p> + +<p>"Are you good or evil?" Guido asked, speaking again.</p> + +<p>The questions came to his lips as if some one else were asking them with +his voice.</p> + +<p>"Good—I think," answered the young girl, motionless beside him. "But I +might be very bad."</p> + +<p>"What is the riddle?" Guido enquired, and now he felt that he was +speaking out of his own curiosity, and not as the mouthpiece of some one +in a dream. "Do you ask yourself what it all means? I suppose so. We all +ask that, and we never get any answer."</p> + +<p>"It is too vague a question. It cannot have a definite answer. No. I ask +three questions which I found in a German book of philosophy when I was +a little girl. I tried hard to understand what all the rest of the book +was about, but I found on one page three questions, printed by +themselves. I can see the page now, and the questions were numbered one, +two, and three. I have asked them ever since."</p> + +<p>"What were they?"</p> + +<p>"They were these: 'What can I know? What ought I to do? What may I +hope?'"</p> + +<p>"There would be everything in the answers," Guido said, "for they are +big questions. I think I have answered them all in the negative in my +own life. I know nothing, I do nothing, and I hope nothing."</p> + +<p>Cecilia looked at him again. "I would not be you," she said gravely. "I +can do nothing, perhaps, and I am sure I know nothing worth knowing, but +I hope. I have that at least. I hope everything, with all my heart and +soul—everything, even things you could not dream of."</p> + +<p>"Help me to dream of them. Perhaps I might."</p> + +<p>"Then dream that faith is knowledge, that charity is action, and that +hope is heaven itself," answered Cecilia.</p> + +<p>Her voice was sweet and low, and far away as spirit land, and Guido +wondered at the words.</p> + +<p>"Where did you hear that?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Ah, where?" she asked, almost sadly, and very longingly. "If I could +tell you that, I should know the great secret, the only secret ever yet +worth knowing. Where have we heard the voices that come back to us, not +in sleeping dreams only, but when we are waking, too, voices that come +back softly like evening bells across the sea, with the touch of hands +that lay in ours long ago, and faces that we know better than our own! +Where was it all, before the memory of it all was here?"</p> + +<p>"I have often wondered whether those impressions are memories," said +Guido.</p> + +<p>"What else could they be?" Cecilia asked, her tone growing colder at +once.</p> + +<p>Guido had been happy in listening to her talk, with its suggestion of +fantastical extravagance, but he had not known how to answer her, nor +how to lead her on. He felt that the spell was broken, because something +was lacking in himself. To be a magician one must believe in magic, +unless one would be a mere conjurer. Guido at least knew enough not to +answer the girl's last question with a string of so-called scientific +theories about atavism and transmitted recollections. If he had taken +that ground he would have been surprised to find that Cecilia Palladio +was quite as familiar with it as himself.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," he said, "that I am not fit to talk with you about such +things. You start from a point which I can never hope to reach, and +instead of coming down to me, you rise higher and higher, almost out of +my sight. I am afraid that if our friendship is to be real, it will be a +one-sided bond."</p> + +<p>"How do you mean?" asked the young girl, who had listened.</p> + +<p>"It will mean much more to me than it ever can to you."</p> + +<p>"No," Cecilia answered. "I think I shall like you very much."</p> + +<p>"I like you very much already," said Guido, smiling. "I have an amusing +idea."</p> + +<p>"Have you? What is it? Neither of us has been very amusing this +evening."</p> + +<p>"Suppose that we take advantage of the Princess's conspiracy. Shall we?"</p> + +<p>"My mother is the other conspirator!" Cecilia laughed.</p> + +<p>"Is there any harm in letting people see that we like each other?" Guido +asked.</p> + +<p>"None in the least. Every one hopes that we may. Besides—" she stopped +short.</p> + +<p>"What is the other consideration?" Guido enquired.</p> + +<p>"If I am perfectly frank—brutally frank—shall you be less my friend?"</p> + +<p>"No. Much more."</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to marry at all," said Cecilia, and again she reminded +him of the Sphinx. "But if I ever should change my mind, since you and I +have been picked out to make a match, I suppose I might as well marry +you as any one else."</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite as well!"</p> + +<p>Then Guido laughed, as he rarely did, not loudly, but with all his +heart, and Cecilia did not try to check her amusement either.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it really is very funny," she said.</p> + +<p>"The only thing necessary is that no one should ever guess that we have +made a compact. That would be fatal."</p> + +<p>"No one!" cried the young girl, eagerly. "No one! Not even your friend!"</p> + +<p>"Lamberti? No, least of all, Lamberti!"</p> + +<p>"Why do you say, least of all?"</p> + +<p>"Because you do not like him," Guido answered, with perfect sincerity.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I see. I am not sure, of course, but I am glad you do not mean to +tell him. It would make me nervous to think that he might know. I—I am +not quite certain why it makes me nervous, but it does."</p> + +<p>"Have no fear. When shall I see you?"</p> + +<p>He had noticed that Cecilia's mother was beginning that little comedy of +movements, and glances, and uneasy turnings of the head, by which +mothers of marriageable daughters signify their intention of going home. +The works of a clock probably act in the same way before striking.</p> + +<p>"I will make my mother ask you to dinner. Are you free to-morrow night?"</p> + +<p>"Any night."</p> + +<p>"No—I mean really. Are you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, really. Lamberti does not count, for we generally dine together +when we have no other engagement."</p> + +<p>The shadow again flitted across Cecilia's brow, and she said nothing, +only nodding quickly. Then she looked across the room at her mother. +Young girls are always instantly aware that their mothers are making +signs. When Nelson's commander-in-chief signalled to him at the battle +of Copenhagen the order to retire, Nelson put his spy-glass to his blind +eye and assured his officers that he could see nothing, went on, and won +the fight. Every young girl is totally blind of one eye during periods +that vary between ten minutes and three hours.</p> + +<p>Cecilia having recovered her sight, and seen her mother, rose with +obedient alacrity.</p> + +<p>"Good night," she said to Guido. "I am glad we are friends."</p> + +<p>Their glances met for a moment, and Guido made an imperceptible gesture +to put out his hand, but she did not answer it. He thought her refusal a +little old-fashioned, since young girls now shake hands in Italy more +often than not; but he liked her ways, chiefly because they were hers, +and, moreover, he remembered just then that at her age she was supposed +to be barely out of the schoolroom or the convent.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + + +<p>"Spiritualism, your Highness, is the devil, without doubt," said the +learned ecclesiastical archæologist, Don Nicola Francesetti, in an +apologetic tone, and looking at his knees. "If there is anything more +heretical, it is a belief in a possible migration of souls from one body +to another, in a series of lives."</p> + +<p>The Princess Anatolie smiled at the excellent man and exchanged a glance +of compassionate intelligence with Monsieur Leroy. She did not care a +straw what the Church thought about anything except Protestants and +Jews, and she did not believe that Don Nicola cared either. He chanced +to be a priest, instead of a professor, and it was of course his duty to +protest against heresy when it was thrust under his cogitative +observation. Spiritualism was not exactly heresy, therefore he said it +was the devil, and no mistake; but as she was sure that he did not +believe in the devil, that only proved that he did not believe in +spiritualism.</p> + +<p>In this she was mistaken, however, as people often are in their judgment +of priests. Nicola Francesetti had long ago placed his conscience in +safety, so to speak, by telling himself that he was not a theologian, +but an archæologist, and that as he could not afford to divide his time +and his intelligence between two subjects, where one was too vast, it +was therefore his plain duty to think about all questions of religion as +the Church taught him to think. He admitted that if his life could begin +again he would perhaps not again enter the priesthood, but he would +never have conceded that he could have been anything but a believing +Catholic. He had no vocation whatever for saving souls, whereas he +possessed the archæological gift in a high degree; and yet, as a +clergyman and a good Christian, he was convinced at heart that a man in +holy orders had no right to give his whole life and strength to another +profession. He had asked the advice of a wise and good man on this +point, however, and the theologian had thought that he should continue +to live as he was living. Had he a cure? No, he had none. Had he ever +evaded a priest's work? That is, had work been offered to him where a +priest was needed, and where he could have done active good, and had he +refused because it was distasteful to him? No, never. Was he receiving +any stipend for performing a priest's duties, with the tacit +understanding that he was at liberty to pay an impecunious substitute a +part of the money for taking his place, so that he himself profited by +the transaction? No, certainly not. Don Nicola had a sufficient income +of his own to live on. Had he ever made a solemn promise to devote his +life to missionary labours among the heathen? No.</p> + +<p>"In that case, my dear friend," concluded the theologian, "you are +tormenting yourself with perfectly useless scruples. You are making a +mountain of your molehill, and when you have made your mountain you will +not be satisfied until you have made another beside it. In the course of +time you will, in fact, oppress your innocent conscience with a whole +range of mountains; you will be immobilised under the weight, and then +you will become hateful to yourself, useless to others, and an object of +pity to wise men. Stick to your archæology."</p> + +<p>"Is pure study a good in itself?" asked Don Nicola.</p> + +<p>"What is good?" retorted the theologian viciously. "I wish you would +define it!"</p> + +<p>Don Nicola was silent, for though he could think of a number of synonyms +for the conception, he remembered no definition corresponding to any of +them. He waited.</p> + +<p>"Good and goodness are not the same thing," observed the theologian; +"you might as well say that study and knowledge are the same thing."</p> + +<p>"But study should lead to knowledge."</p> + +<p>"And goodness should lead to good; and, compared with ignorance, +knowledge is a form of good. Therefore study is a form of goodness. +Consequently, as you have a turn for erudition, the best thing you can +do is to go on with your studies."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Don Nicola.</p> + +<p>"I wish I did," sighed the theologian, when the priest was gone. "How +very pleasant it must be, to be an archæologist!"</p> + +<p>After that, whenever Don Nicola was troubled with uneasiness about his +profession, he soothed himself with his friend's little syllogism, which +was as full of holes as a sieve, as flimsy as a tissue-paper balloon, +and as unstable as a pyramid upside down, but nevertheless perfectly +satisfactory.</p> + +<p>"Of course," says humanity, "I know nothing about it. But I am perfectly +sure."</p> + +<p>And so forth. And moreover, if humanity were not frequently quite sure +of things concerning which it knows nothing, the world would soon come +to a standstill, and never move again; like the ass in the fable, that +died of hunger in its stall between two bundles of hay, unable to decide +which to eat first. That also was an instance of stable equilibrium.</p> + +<p>Don Nicola avoided all questions of religion in general conversation, +and tried to make other people avoid them when he was the only clergyman +present, because he did not like to be asked his opinion about them. But +when the Princess Anatolie and Monsieur Leroy gravely declared their +belief in the communications of departed persons by means of rappings, +not to say by touch, and by strains of music, and perfumes, and even, on +rare occasions, by actual apparition, then Don Nicola felt that it was +his duty to protest, and he accordingly protested with considerable +energy. He said that spiritualism was the devil.</p> + +<p>"The chief object of the devil's existence," observed Monsieur Leroy, +"is to bear responsibility."</p> + +<p>The Princess laughed and nodded her approval, as she always did when +Monsieur Leroy said anything which she thought clever. Don Nicola was +too wise to discuss the matter, if, indeed, it admitted of discussion; +for the devil was certainly responsible for a good deal.</p> + +<p>"Your definition of spiritualism is so very liberal," Monsieur Leroy +added, with a fine supercilious smile on his red lips.</p> + +<p>"It is not mine," answered Don Nicola, modestly.</p> + +<p>"No. I suppose it is the opinion of the Church. At all events, you do +not doubt the possibility of communicating with the spirits of dead +persons, do you?"</p> + +<p>"I have never examined the matter, my dear sir."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," said Monsieur Leroy, with airy superiority, "that it +is rather rash to attribute to Satan everything which you will not take +the trouble to examine."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Doudou!" cried the Princess. "You are very rude!"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all, your Highness!" protested Don Nicola, rising. +"I should be very much surprised if Monsieur Leroy expressed himself +differently."</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy had no retort ready, and tried to smile.</p> + +<p>"It will give me the greatest pleasure to be your guide to the new +excavations in the Forum," added the priest, as he took his leave.</p> + +<p>The Princess and Monsieur Leroy were left alone.</p> + +<p>"Shall we?" he asked after a moment's silence, and waited anxiously for +the answer.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid They will not come to-night, Doudou," said the Princess. +"You have excited yourself in argument. You know that always has a bad +effect."</p> + +<p>"That man irritates me," answered Monsieur Leroy, peevishly. "Why do you +receive him?"</p> + +<p>He spoke in the tone of a spoilt child—a spoilt child of forty, or +thereabouts.</p> + +<p>"I thought you liked him," replied the Princess, very meekly. "I will +give orders that he is not to be received. We will not go to the Forum +with him."</p> + +<p>"No, no! How you exaggerate! You always think that I mean a great deal +more than I say. I only said that he irritated me."</p> + +<p>"Why should you be irritated for nothing? You know it is bad for you."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with an air of concern, and there was a gentleness in +her eyes which few had ever seen in them.</p> + +<p>"It does not matter," answered Monsieur Leroy, crossly.</p> + +<p>He had risen, and he brought a very small and light mahogany table from +a corner. It was one of those which used to be made during the second +Empire in sets of six and of successive sizes, so that each fitted each +under the next larger one. He moved awkwardly and yet without noise; +there was something very womanish in his figure and gait.</p> + +<p>He set the little table before the Princess, very close to her, lit a +single candle, which he placed on the floor behind an arm-chair, and +turned out the electric light. Then he sat down on the opposite side of +the table and spread out his hands upon it, side by side, the right +thumb resting on the left. The Princess did the same. They glanced at +each other once or twice, hardly distinguishing each other's features in +the gloom. Then they looked steadily down upon the table, and neither +stirred for a long time.</p> + +<p>"I am sure They will not come," said the Princess at last, in a very low +voice.</p> + +<p>"Hush!"</p> + +<p>Silence again, for a quarter of an hour. Somewhere in the room a small +clock, or a watch, ticked quickly, with a little rhythmical, insisting +accent on the fourth beat.</p> + +<p>"It moved, then!" whispered the Princess, excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Hush!"</p> + +<p>The little table certainly moved, with a queerly soft rocking motion, as +if its feet only just touched the carpet and supported no weight. The +Princess's hands felt as if they were floating over tiny rippling waves, +and between her shoulders came the almost stinging thrill she loved. She +wished that the room were quite dark now, in order that she might feel +more. There were tiny beads of perspiration on Monsieur Leroy's +forehead, and his hands were moist. The candle behind the arm-chair +flickered.</p> + +<p>"Are You there?" asked Monsieur Leroy, in a voice unlike his own.</p> + +<p>There was no answer. The table moved more uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Rap once for 'yes,' twice for 'no,'" said Monsieur Leroy. "Is this the +first time you have come to us?"</p> + +<p>One rap answered the question, sharp and clear, as if the butt of a +pencil had struck the table underneath it and near the middle.</p> + +<p>"Are you the spirit of a man?"</p> + +<p>Two raps very distinct.</p> + +<p>"Then you are a woman. Tell us—"</p> + +<p>Several raps came in quick succession, in pairs, as if to repeat the +negative energetically. Monsieur Leroy seemed to hesitate what question +to ask.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is a child," suggested the Princess, in a tremulous tone.</p> + +<p>A sharp rap. Yes, it was a child. Was it a little girl? Yes. Had it been +dead long? Yes. More than ten years? Yes. More than twenty? Yes. Fifty? +No. Forty? Yes.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy began to count, pausing after each number.</p> + +<p>"Forty-one—forty-two—forty-three—forty-four—"</p> + +<p>The sharp rap again. The Princess drew a quick breath.</p> + +<p>"How old was it when it died?" she managed to ask.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy began to count again, beginning with one. At the word +seven, the rap came. The Princess started violently, almost upsetting +the table against her companion.</p> + +<p>"Adelaide!" She cried in a broken voice.</p> + +<p>One rap.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my darling, my darling!"</p> + +<p>The old woman bent down over the table, and her outspread hands tried +frantically to take up the flat surface, and she kissed the polished +wood passionately, again and again, not knowing what she did, nor +hearing her own incoherent words of mixed joy and agony.</p> + +<p>"My child! My little thing—my sweet—speak to me—"</p> + +<p>Her whole being was convulsed. Little storms of rappings seemed to +answer her. The perspiration trickled down Monsieur Leroy's temples. He +seemed to be making an effort altogether beyond his natural strength.</p> + +<p>"Speak to me—call me by the little name!" sobbed the Princess, and her +tears wet her hands and the table.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy began to repeat the alphabet. From time to time a rap +stopped him at a letter, and then he began over again. In this way the +rapping spelt out the word "Mamette."</p> + +<p>"She says 'Mamette,'" said Monsieur Leroy, in a puzzled tone. "Does that +mean anything?"</p> + +<p>But the Princess burst into passionate weeping. It was the name she had +asked for, the child's own pet name for her, its mother; it was the last +word the poor little dying lips had tried to form. Never since that +moment had the heart-broken woman spoken it, never since the fourth year +before Monsieur Leroy had been born.</p> + +<p>He looked at her, for he seemed to have preserved his self-control, and +he saw that if matters went much further the poor sobbing woman would +reach a state which might be dangerous. He withdrew his hands from the +table and waited.</p> + +<p>"She is gone, but she will come again now, whenever you call her," he +said gently.</p> + +<p>"No, do not go!" cried the Princess, clutching at the smooth wood +frantically. "Come back, come back and speak to me once more!"</p> + +<p>"She is gone, for to-night," said Monsieur Leroy, in the same gentle +tone. "I am very much exhausted."</p> + +<p>He pressed his handkerchief to his forehead and to his temples, again +and again, while the Princess moaned, her cheek upon the table, as she +had once let it rest upon the breast of her dead child.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy rose cautiously, fearing to disturb her. He was trembling +now, as men sometimes do who have escaped alive from a great danger. He +steadied himself by the back of the arm-chair, behind which the candle +was burning steadily. With an effort, he stooped and took up the +candlestick and set it on the table. Then he looked at his watch and saw +that it was past eleven o'clock.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + + +<p>It was some time since Guido had seen Lamberti, but the latter had +written him a line to say that he was going with a party of men to stop +in an old country house near the seashore, not far from Cività Vecchia. +The quail were very abundant in May that year, and Lamberti was a good +shot. He had left home suddenly on the morning after telling Guido the +story of his adventure in the Forum. Guido had at first been mildly +surprised that his friend should not have spoken of his intention on +that evening; but some one had told him that the party had been made up +at the club, late at night, which accounted for everything.</p> + +<p>Guido was soon too much occupied to miss the daily companionship, and +was glad to be alone, when he could not be with Cecilia. He no longer +concealed from himself that he was very much in love with her, and that, +compared with this fact, nothing in his previous life had been of any +importance whatever. Even the circumstances of his position with regard +to his aunt sank into insignificance. She might do what she pleased, she +might try to ruin him, she might persecute him to the extreme limit of +her ingenuity, she might invent calumnies intended to disgrace him; he +was confident of victory and sure of himself.</p> + +<p>One of the first unmistakable signs of genuine love is the certainty of +doing the impossible. An hour before meeting Cecilia, Guido had been +reduced to the deepest despondency, and had talked gravely of ending a +life that was not worth living. A fortnight had passed, and he defied +his aunt, Monsieur Leroy, the whole world, an adverse fate, and the +powers of evil. They might do their worst, now, for he was full of +strength, and ten times more alive than he had ever been before.</p> + +<p>It was true that he could not see the smallest change in Cecilia's +manner towards him since the memorable evening on which she had +laughingly agreed to take advantage of what was thrust upon them both. +Her colour did not change by the least shade of a blush when she met +him; there was not the slightest quivering of the delicate eyelids, +there was nothing but the most friendly frankness in the steady look of +welcome. But she liked him very much, and was at no pains to conceal it. +She liked him better than any one she had ever met in her short life, +except her step-father, and she told Guido so with charming unconcern. +As he could not be jealous of the dead ambassador, he was not at all +discouraged by the comparison. Sometimes he was rather flattered by it, +and he could not but feel that he had already acquired a position from +which any future suitor would find it hard to dislodge him.</p> + +<p>The Countess Fortiguerra looked on with wondering satisfaction. Her +daughter had not led her to believe that she would readily accept what +must soon be looked upon by society as an engagement, and what would +certainly be one before long. When Guido went to see his aunt, she +received him with expansive expressions of affection.</p> + +<p>He noticed a change in the Princess, which he could only explain by the +satisfaction he supposed she felt in his conduct. There were times when +her artificial face softened with a look of genuine feeling, especially +when she was silent and inattentive. Guido knew her well enough, he +thought, to impute these signs to her inward contentment at the prospect +of his marriage, from which she was sure of extracting notable financial +advantage. But in this he was not just, though he judged from long +experience. Monsieur Leroy alone knew the secret, and he kept his own +counsel.</p> + +<p>An inquisitive friend asked the Countess Fortiguerra boldly whether she +intended to announce the engagement of her daughter at the garden party.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, without hesitation, "that would be premature."</p> + +<p>She was careful, in a way, to do nothing irrevocable—never to take +Guido into her carriage, not to ask him to dinner when there were other +guests, not to leave him alone with Cecilia when there was a possibility +of such a thing being noticed by the servants, except by the discreet +Petersen, who could be trusted, and who strongly approved of Guido from +the first. But when it was quite safe, the Countess used to go and sit +in a little boudoir adjoining the drawing-room, leaving the doors open, +of course, and occupying herself with her correspondence; and Guido and +Cecilia talked without restraint.</p> + +<p>The Countess had enough womanly and instinctive wisdom not to ask +questions of her daughter at this stage, but on the day before the +long-expected garden party she spoke to Guido alone, in a little set +speech which she had prepared with more conscientiousness than +diplomatic skill.</p> + +<p>"You have seen," she said, "that I am always glad to receive you here, +and that I often leave you and Cecilia together in the drawing-room. +Dear Signor d'Este, I am sure you will understand me if I ask you +to—to—to tell me something."</p> + +<p>She had meant to end the sentence differently, rounding it off with +"your intentions with regard to my daughter"; but that sounded like +something in a letter, so she tried to make it more vague. But Guido +understood, which is not surprising.</p> + +<p>"You have been very kind to me," he said simply. "I love your daughter +sincerely, and if she will consent to marry me I shall do my best to +make her happy. But, so far, I have no reason to think that she will +accept me. Besides, whether you know it already or not, I must tell you +that I am a poor man. I have no fortune whatever, though I receive an +allowance by my father's will, which is enough for a bachelor. It will +cease at my death. Your daughter could make a very much more brilliant +marriage."</p> + +<p>The good Countess had listened in silence. The Princess, for reasons of +her own, had explained Guido's position with considerable minuteness, if +not with scrupulous accuracy.</p> + +<p>"Cecilia is rich enough to marry whom she pleases," the Countess +answered. "Even without considering her inclinations, your social +position would make up for your want of fortune."</p> + +<p>"My social position is not very exalted," Guido answered, smiling at her +frankness. "I am plain 'Signor d'Este,' without any title whatsoever, or +without the least prospect of one."</p> + +<p>"But your royal blood—" protested the Countess.</p> + +<p>"I am more proud of the fact that my mother was an honest woman," +replied Guido, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Yes—oh—of course!" The Countess was a little abashed. "But you know +what I mean," she added, by way of making matters clear. "And as for +your fortune—I would say, your allowance, and all that—it really does +not matter. It is natural that you should have made debts, too. All +young men do, I believe."</p> + +<p>"No," said Guido. "I have not a debt in the world."</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>The single word sounded more like an exclamation of extreme surprise +than like an interrogation, and the Countess, who was incapable of +concealment, stared at Guido for a moment in undisguised astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Why are you so much surprised?" he asked, with evident amusement. "My +allowance is fifty thousand francs a year. That is not wealth, but it is +quite enough for me."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I should think so. That is—of course, it is not much—is it? I +never know anything about money, you know! Baron Goldbirn manages +everything for us."</p> + +<p>"I suppose," Guido said, looking at her curiously, "that some one must +have told you that I had made debts."</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes! Some one did tell me so."</p> + +<p>"Whoever said it was quite mistaken. I can easily satisfy you on that +point, for I am a very orderly person. I used to play high when I was +twenty-one, but I got tired of it, and I do not care for cards any +longer."</p> + +<p>"It is very strange, all the same!" The Countess was still wondering, +though she believed him. "How people lie!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, admirably, and most of the time," Guido answered, with a little +laugh.</p> + +<p>There was a short pause. He also was wondering who could have maligned +him. No doubt it must have been some designing mother who had a son to +marry.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he said at last. "I have told you exactly what my position +is. Have you, on your side, any reason to think that your daughter will +consent?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am sure she will!" answered the Countess, promptly.</p> + +<p>Guido repressed a movement, and for an instant the colour rose faintly +in his face, then sank away.</p> + +<p>"Quite sure?" he asked, controlling his voice.</p> + +<p>"I mean, in the end, you know. She will marry you in the end. I am +convinced of it. But I think I had better not ask her just yet."</p> + +<p>There were matters in regard to which she was distinctly afraid of her +daughter.</p> + +<p>"May I?" Guido enquired. "Will you let me ask her to marry me, when I +think that the time has come?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly! That is—" The Countess believed that she ought to hesitate. +"After all, we have only known you a fortnight. That is not long. Is +it?"</p> + +<p>"No. But, on the other hand, you had never seen me when you and my aunt +agreed that your daughter and I should be married."</p> + +<p>"How did you know that we had talked about it?"</p> + +<p>"It was rather evident," Guido answered, with a smile.</p> + +<p>The artlessness which is often a charm in a young girl looks terribly +like foolishness if it lasts till a woman is forty. Yet in old age it +may seem charming again, as if second childhood brought with it a second +innocence.</p> + +<p>Guido was an Italian only by his mother, and from his father he +inherited the profoundly complicated character of races that had ruled +the world for a thousand years or more, and not always either wisely or +justly. Under his indifference and quiet dislike of all action, as well +as of most emotions, he had always felt the conflicting instincts +towards good and evil, and the contempt of consequences bordering on +folly, if not upon real insanity, which had brought about the decline +and fall of his father's kingdom. The perfect simplicity of the real +Italian character when in a state of equilibrium always amused him, and +often pleased him, and he had a genuine admiration for the splendidly +violent contrasts which it develops when roused by passion. He could +read it like an open book, and predict what it would do in almost any +circumstances.</p> + +<p>For the first time in his life, he felt something of its directness in +himself, moving to a definite aim through the maze of useless +complications, hesitations, and turns and returns of thought with which +he was familiar in his own character. He smiled at the idea that he +might end by resembling Lamberti, with whom to think was to feel, and to +feel was to act. Were there two selves in him, of which the one was in +love, and the other was not? That was an amusing theory, and a fortnight +ago it would have been pleasant to sit in his room at night, among his +Dürers, his Rembrandts, and his pictures, with an old book on his knee, +dreaming about his two conflicting individualities. But somehow dreaming +had lost its charm of late. He thought only of one question, and asked +only one of the future. Was Cecilia Palladio's friendship about to turn +into anything that could be called love, or not? His intention warned +him that if the change had come she herself was not conscious of it. He +was authorised to ask her, now that the Countess had spoken—formally +authorised, but he was quite sure that if he had believed that she +already loved him, he would not have waited for any such permission. His +father's blood resented the restraint of all ordinary conventions, and +in the most profound inaction he had always morally and inwardly +reserved the right to do what he pleased, if he should ever care to do +anything at all.</p> + +<p>He was just going to dress for dinner that evening when Lamberti came +in, a little more sunburned than usual, but thinner, and very restless +in his manner. Guido explained that he was going to dine with the +Countess Fortiguerra. He offered to telephone for permission to bring +Lamberti with him.</p> + +<p>"Do you know them well enough for that already?" Lamberti asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I have seen them a great deal since you left. Shall I ask?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I shall dine at home with my people."</p> + +<p>"Shall you go to the garden party to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Guido looked at him curiously, and he immediately turned away, unlike +himself.</p> + +<p>"Have you had any more strange dreams since I saw you?" Guido asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Lamberti did not turn round again, but looked attentively at an etching +on the table, so that Guido could not see his face. His monosyllabic +answers were nervous and sharp. It was clear that he was under some kind +of strain that was becoming intolerable, but of which he did not care to +speak.</p> + +<p>"How is it going?" he asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I think everything is going well," answered Guido, who knew what he +meant, though neither of them had spoken to the other of Cecilia, except +in the most casual way, since they had both met her.</p> + +<p>"So you are going to marry an heiress after all," said Lamberti, with +something like a laugh.</p> + +<p>"I love her," Guido replied. "I cannot help the fact that she is rich."</p> + +<p>"It does no harm."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, but I wish she had no more than I. If she had nothing at +all, I should be just as anxious to marry her."</p> + +<p>"You do not suppose that I doubt that, do you?" Lamberti asked quickly.</p> + +<p>"No. But you spoke at first as if you were reproaching me for changing +my mind."</p> + +<p>"Did I? I am sorry. I did not mean it in that way. I was only thinking +that fate generally makes us do just what we do not intend. There is +something diabolically ingenious about destiny. It lies in wait for you, +it seems to leave everything to your own choice, it makes you think that +you are a perfectly free agent, and then, without the least warning, it +springs at you from behind a tree, knocks you down, tramples the breath +out of you, and drags you off by the heels straight to the very thing +you have sworn to avoid. Man a free agent? Nonsense! There is no such +thing as free will."</p> + +<p>"What in the world has happened to you?" Guido asked, by way of answer. +"Is anything wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Everything is wrong. Good night. You ought to be dressing for dinner."</p> + +<p>"Come with me."</p> + +<p>"To dine with people whom I hardly know, and who have not asked me? +Besides, I told you that I meant to dine at home."</p> + +<p>"At least, promise me that you will go with me to-morrow to the Villa +Madama."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Lamberti," said Guido, changing his tone, "you and I have +known each other since we were boys, and I do not believe there exist +two men who are better friends. I am not sure that the Contessina +Palladio will marry me, but her mother wishes it, and heaven knows that +I do. They are both perfectly well aware that you are my most intimate +friend. If you absolutely refuse to go near them they can only suppose +that you have something against them. They have already asked me if they +are never to see you. Now, what will it cost you to be decently civil to +a lady who may be my wife next year, and to her mother, who was your +mother's friend long ago? You need not stay half an hour at the villa +unless you please. But go with me. Let them see you with me. If I really +marry, do you suppose I am going to have any one but you for my best +man?"</p> + +<p>Lamberti listened to this long speech without attempting to interrupt +Guido. Then he was silent for a few moments.</p> + +<p>"If you put it in that light," he said, rising to go, "I cannot refuse. +What time shall you start? I will come here for you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Guido. "I should like to get there early. At four +o'clock, I should say. I suppose we ought not to leave here later than +half-past three."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I shall be here in plenty of time. Good night."</p> + +<p>When Guido pressed his hand, it was icy cold.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + + +<p>On the following morning Lamberti went out early, and before nine +o'clock he was in the private study of a famous physician, who was a +specialist for diseases of the nerves. Lamberti had never seen him and +had not asked for an appointment, for the simple reason that his visit +was spontaneous and unpremeditated. He had spent a wretched night, and +it suddenly struck him that he might be ill. As he had never been ill in +his life except from two or three wounds got in fight, he had been slow +to admit that anything could be wrong with his physical condition. But +it was possible. The strongest men sometimes fell ill unaccountably. A +good doctor would see the truth at a glance.</p> + +<p>The specialist was a young man, squarely built, with a fresh complexion, +smooth brown hair, and a well-trimmed chestnut beard. At first sight, no +one would have noticed anything remarkable in his appearance, except, +perhaps, that he had unusually bright blue eyes, which had a fixed look +when he spoke earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I am a naval officer," said Lamberti, as he took the seat the doctor +offered him. "Can you tell me whether I am ill or not? I mean, whether I +have any bodily illness. Then I will explain what brings me."</p> + + +<p>The doctor looked at him keenly a few seconds, felt his pulse, pressed +one ear on his waistcoat to listen to his heart, and then against his +back, made him face the light and gently drew down the lower lids of his +eyes, and finally stood off and made a sort of general survey of his +appearance. Then he made him stretch out one hand, with the fingers +spread out. There was not the least tremor. Last of all, he asked him to +shut his eyes tightly and walk slowly across the room, turn round, and +walk back. Lamberti did so, steadily and quietly.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing wrong with your body," said the doctor, sitting down. +"Before you tell me why you come here, I should like to know one thing +more. Do you come of sound and healthy people?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. My father is the Marchese Lamberti. My brothers and sisters are +all alive and well. So far as I know, there was never any insanity in my +family."</p> + +<p>"Were your father and mother cousins?" enquired the doctor.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Very good. That is all I need to know. I am at your service. What is +the matter?"</p> + +<p>"If we lived in the Middle Ages," said Lamberti, "I should say that I +was possessed by the devil, or haunted." He stopped and laughed oddly.</p> + +<p>"Why not say so now?" asked the doctor. "The names of things do not +matter in the least. Let us say that you are haunted, if that describes +what troubles you. Very good. What haunts you?"</p> + +<p>"A young girl," Lamberti answered, after a moment's pause.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you see, or think you see, the apparition of a young +girl who is dead?"</p> + +<p>"She is alive, but I have only met her once. That is the strange thing +about it, or, at least, the beginning of the strange thing. Of course it +is perfectly absurd, but when I first saw her, the only time we met, I +had the sensation of recognising some one I had not seen for many years. +As she is only just eighteen, that is impossible."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, my dear sir, nothing is impossible. Every one is +absent-minded sometimes. You may have seen the young lady in the street, +or at the theatre. You may have stared at her quite unconsciously while +you were thinking of something else, and her features may have so +impressed themselves upon your memory, without your knowing it, that you +actually recognised her when you met her in a drawing-room."</p> + +<p>"I daresay," admitted Lamberti, indifferently. "But that is no reason +why I should dream of her every night."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure. It might be a reason. Such things happen."</p> + +<p>"And every night when I wake from the dream, I hear some one close the +door of my room softly, as if she were just going out. I always lock my +door at night."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it sometimes shakes a little in the frame."</p> + +<p>"It began at home. But I have been stopping in the country nearly a +fortnight, and the same thing has happened every night."</p> + +<p>"You dream it. One may get the habit of dreaming the same dream every +time one sleeps."</p> + +<p>"It is not always the same dream, though the door is always closed +softly when she goes away. But there is something else. I was wrong in +saying that I only met the lady once. I should have said that I have +spoken with her only once. This is how it happened."</p> + +<p>Lamberti told the doctor the story of his meeting Cecilia at the house +of the Vestals. The specialist listened attentively, for he was already +convinced that Lamberti was a man of solid reason and practical good +sense, probably the victim of a series of coincidences that had made a +strong impression on his mind. When Lamberti paused, there was a +moment's silence.</p> + +<p>"What do you yourself think was the cause of the lady's fright?" asked +the doctor at last.</p> + +<p>"I believe that she had dreamed the same dream," Lamberti answered +without hesitation.</p> + +<p>"What makes you believe anything so improbable?"</p> + +<p>"Well—I hardly know. It is an impression. It was all so amazingly real, +you see, and when our eyes met, she looked as if she knew exactly what +would happen if she did not run away—exactly what had happened in the +dream."</p> + +<p>"That was on the morning after you had first dreamt it, you say. Of +course it helped very much to strengthen the impression the dream had +made, and it is not at all surprising that the dream should have come +again. You know as well as I, that a dream which seems to last hours +really passes in a second, perhaps in no time at all. The slightest +sound in your room which suggested the closing of a door would be enough +to bring it all back before you were awake, and the sound might still be +audible to you."</p> + +<p>"Possibly. Whatever it is, I wish to get rid of it."</p> + +<p>"It may be merely coincidence," the doctor said. "I think it is. But I +do not exclude the theory that two people who have made a very strong +impression one on another, may be the subjects of some sort of mutual +thought transference. We know very little about those things. Some queer +cases come under my observation, but my patients are never sound and +sane men like you. What I should like to know is, why did the lady run +away?"</p> + +<p>"That is probably the one thing I can never find out," Lamberti +answered.</p> + +<p>"There is a very simple way. Ask her." The doctor smiled. "Is it so very +hard?" he enquired, as Lamberti looked at him in surprise. "I take it +for granted that you can find some opportunity of seeing her in a +drawing-room, where she cannot fly from you, and will not do anything to +attract attention. What could be more natural than that you should ask +her quite frankly why she was so frightened the other day? I do not see +how she could possibly be offended. Do you? When you ask her, you need +not seem too serious, as if you attached a great deal of importance to +what she had done."</p> + +<p>"I certainly could try it," said Lamberti thoughtfully. "I shall see her +to-day."</p> + +<p>"She may try to avoid you, because she is ashamed of what she did. But +if I were you, I would not let the chance slip. If you succeed in +talking to her for a few minutes, and break the ice, I can almost +promise that you will also break the habit of this dream that annoys +you. Will you make the attempt? It seems to me by far the wisest and +most sensible remedy, for I am nearly sure that it will turn out to be +one."</p> + +<p>"I daresay you are right. Is there any other way of curing such habits +of the mind?"</p> + +<p>"I could hypnotise you and stop your dreaming by suggestion."</p> + +<p>"Nobody could make me sleep against my will." Lamberti laughed at the +mere idea.</p> + +<p>"No," answered the doctor, "but it would not be against your will, if +you submitted to it as a cure. However, try the simpler plan first, and +come and see me in a day or two. You seem to hesitate. Perhaps you have +some reason for not wishing to make the nearer acquaintance of the lady. +That is your affair, but one more interview of a few minutes will not +make much difference, as your health is at stake. You are under a mental +strain altogether out of proportion with the cause that produces it, and +the longer you allow it to last the stronger the reaction will be, when +it comes."</p> + +<p>"I have no good reason for not knowing her better," Lamberti said after +a moment's thought, for he was convinced against his previous +determination. "I will take your advice, and then I will come and see +you again."</p> + +<p>He took his leave and went out into the bright morning air. It was a +relief to feel that he had been brought to a determination at last, and +he knew that it was a sensible one, from any ordinary point of view, and +that his one great objection to acting upon it had no logical value.</p> + +<p>But the objection subsisted, though he had made up his mind to override +it. It was out of the question that he could really be in love with +Cecilia Palladio, who was probably quite unlike what she seemed to be in +his dreams. He had fallen in love with a fancy, a shadow, an unreal +image that haunted him as soon as he closed his eyes; but when he was +wide awake and busy with life the girl was nothing to him but a mere +acquaintance. His pulse would not beat as fast when he met her that very +afternoon as it had done just now, in the doctor's study, when he had +been thinking of the vision.</p> + +<p>Besides, what Guido had said was quite true. He could not possibly +continue not to know Guido's future wife; and as there was no danger of +his falling in love with her when his eyes were open, he really could +not see why he should be so anxious to avoid her. So the matter was +settled. He took a long walk, far out of Porta San Giovanni, and turned +to the right by the road that leads through the fields to the tomb of +Cecilia Metella.</p> + +<p>As he passed the great round monument, swinging along steadily, its name +naturally came to his mind, and it occurred to him for the first time +that Cecilia had been a noble name among the old Romans, that it had +come down unchanged, and that there had doubtless been more than one +Vestal Virgin who had borne it. The Vestal in his dream was certainly +called Cecilia. He was in the humour, now, to smile at what he called +his own folly, and as he strode along he almost laughed aloud. Before +the sun should set, the whole matter would be definitely at rest, and he +would be wondering how he could ever have been foolish enough to attach +any importance to it. He followed the Appian Way back to the city, with +a light heart.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + + +<p>The Villa Madama was probably never inhabited, for it was certainly +never quite finished, and the grand staircase was not rebuilt after +Cardinal Pompeo Colonna set fire to the house. That was in the wild days +when Rome was sacked by the Constable of Bourbon's Spaniards and +Franzperg's Germans, and Pope Clement the Seventh was shut up in the +stronghold of Sant' Angelo; and at nightfall he looked from the windows +of the fortress and saw the flames shoot up on the slope of Monte Mario, +from the beautiful place which Raphael of Urbino had designed for him, +and which Giovanni of Udine had decorated, and he told those who were +with him that Cardinal Colonna was revenging himself for his castles +sacked and burned by the Pope's orders.</p> + +<p>That was nearly four hundred years ago, and the great exterior staircase +was never rebuilt; but in order to save that part of the little palace +from ruin unsightly arches were reared up against the once beautiful +wing, and because of Giulio Romano's frescoes and Giovanni of Udine's +marvellous stucco work, the roof has been always kept in good repair. +Moreover, a good deal has been written about the building, some of which +is inaccurate, to say the least; as, for instance, that one may see the +dome of Saint Peter's from the windows, whereas the villa stands halfway +down the slope of the hill on the side which is away from the church, +and looks towards the Sabines and towards Tivoli and Frascati.</p> + +<p>Those who have taken the trouble to visit the villa in its half-ruinous +condition, and who have lingered on the grass-grown terraces and at the +noble windows, on spring afternoons, when the sun is behind the hill, +can easily guess what it became when it passed into the ownership of the +Contessina Cecilia Palladio. Her guardian, the excellent Baron Goldbirn, +had bought it for her because it was offered for sale at a low price, +and was an excellent investment as well as a treasure of art; and he had +purposed to coat the brown stone walls with fresh stucco, to erect a +"belvedere" with nice green blinds on the roof, to hang the rooms with +rich magenta damask, to carpet them with Brussels carpets, to furnish +them with gilt furniture, to warm the house with steam heat, and to +light it with electricity.</p> + +<p>To his surprise, his ward rejected each of these proposals in detail and +all of them generally, and declared that since the villa was hers she +could deal with it according to her own taste, which, she maintained, +was better than Goldbirn's. The latter answered that as he was +sixty-five years old and Cecilia was only eighteen, this was impossible; +but that under the circumstances he washed his hands of the matter, only +warning her that the Italian law would not allow her to cut down the +trees more than once in nine years.</p> + +<p>"As if anything could induce me to cut them down at all!" Cecilia +answered indignantly. "There are few enough as it is!"</p> + +<p>"My dear," the Countess had answered with admirable relevancy, "I hope +you are not ungrateful to your guardian."</p> + +<p>Cecilia was not ungrateful, but she had her own way, for it was +preordained that she generally should, and it was well for the Villa +Madama that it was so. She only asked her guardian how much he would +allow her to spend on the place, and then, to his amazement and +satisfaction, she only spent half the sum he named. She easily persuaded +a good artist, whom her stepfather had helped at the beginning of his +career, to take charge of the work, and it was carried out with loving +and reverent taste. The wilderness of sloping land became a garden, the +beautiful "court of honour" was so skilfully restored with old stone and +brick that the restoration could hardly be detected, the great exterior +staircase was rebuilt, the close garden on the other side was made a +carpet of flowers; the water that gushed abundantly from a deep spring +in the hillside poured into an old fountain bought from the remains of a +villa in the Campagna, and then, below, filled the vast square basin +that already existed, and thence it was distributed through the lower +grounds. There were roses everywhere, already beginning to climb, and +the scent of a few young orange trees in blossom mingled delicately with +the odour of the flowers. Within the house the floor of the great hall +was paved with plain white tiles, and up to the cornice and between the +marvellous pilasters the bare walls were hung with coarse linen woven in +simple and tasteful patterns and in subdued colours.</p> + +<p>The little gods and goddesses and the emblematic figures of the seasons +in the glorious vaults overhead, smiled down upon such a scene as had +not rejoiced the great hall for centuries. The Countess had asked all +Rome to come, with an admirable indifference to political parties and +social discords; and all Rome came, as it sometimes does, in the best of +tempers with itself and with its hostess. Roman society is good to look +at, when it is gathered together in such ways; for mere looks, there is +perhaps nothing better in all Europe, except in England. The French are +more brilliant, no doubt, for their women, and, alas, their men also, +affect a greater variety of dress and ornament than any other people. +German society is magnificent with military uniforms, Austrians +generally have very perfect taste; and so on, to each its own advantage. +But the Romans have something of their own, a beauty most distinctly +theirs, a sort of distinction that is genuine and unaffected, but which +nevertheless seems to belong to more splendid times than ours. When the +women are beautiful, and they often are, they are like the pictures in +their own galleries; among the men there are heads and faces that remind +one of Lionardo da Vinci, of Cæsar Borgia, of Lorenzo de' Medici, of +Guidarello Guidarelli, even of Michelangelo. Romans, at their best, have +about them a grave suavity, or a suave gravity, that is a charm in +itself, with a perfect self-possession which is the very opposite of +arrogance; when they laugh, their mirth is real, though a little +subdued; when they are grave, they do not look dull; when they are in +deep earnest, they are not theatrical.</p> + +<p>Those who went to the Fortiguerra garden party never quite forgot the +impression they received. It was one of those events that are remembered +as memorable social successes, and spoken of after many years. It was +unlike anything that had ever been done in Rome before, unlike the +solemn receptions of the chief of the clericals, when the cardinals come +in state and are escorted by torch-bearers from their carriages to the +entrance of the great drawing-room, and back again when they go away; +unlike the supremely magnificent balls in honour of the foreign +sovereigns who occasionally spend a week in Rome, and are amusingly +ready to accept the hospitality of Roman princes; most of all, it was +unlike an ordinary garden party, because the Villa Madama is quite +unlike ordinary villas.</p> + +<p>Moreover, every one was pleased that such very rich people should not +attempt to surprise society by vulgar display. There were no state +liveries, there were no ostentatious armorial bearings, there was no +overpowering show of silver and gold, there was no Hungarian band +brought expressly from Vienna, nor any fashionable pianist paid to play +about five thousand notes at about a franc apiece, to the great +annoyance of all the people who preferred conversation to music. +Everything was simple, everything was good, everything was beautiful, +from the entrancing view of Rome beyond the yellow river, and of the +undulating Campagna beyond, with the soft hills in the far distance, to +the lovely flowers in the garden; from the flowers without, to the +stately halls within; from their charming frescoes and exquisite white +traceries, to the lovely girl who was the centre, and the reason, and +the soul of it all.</p> + +<p>Her mother received the guests out of doors, in the close garden, and +thirty or forty people were already there when Guido d'Este and Lamberti +arrived; for every one came early, fearing lest the air might be chilly +towards sunset. The Countess introduced the men and the young girls to +her daughter, and presented her to the married women. Presently, when +the garden became too full, the people would go back through the house +and wander away about the grounds, lighting up the shadowed hillside +with colour, and filling the air with the sound of their voices. They +would stray far out, as far as the little grove on the knoll, planted in +old times for the old-fashioned sport of netting birds.</p> + +<p>Guido had told Cecilia on the previous evening that his friend had +returned from the country and was coming to the villa, and he had again +seen the very slight contraction of her brows at the mere mention of +Lamberti's name. He wondered whether there were not some connection +between what he took for her dislike of Lamberti, and the latter's +strong disinclination to meet her. Perhaps Lamberti had guessed at a +glance that she would not like him. He would of course keep such an +opinion to himself.</p> + +<p>Guido watched Cecilia narrowly from the moment she caught sight of him +with Lamberti—so attentively indeed that he did not even glance at the +latter's face. It was set like a mask, and under the tanned colour any +one could see that the man turned pale.</p> + +<p>"You know Cecilia already," said the Countess Fortiguerra, pleasantly. +"I hope the rest of your family are coming?"</p> + +<p>"I think they are all coming," Lamberti answered very mechanically.</p> + +<p>He had resolutely looked at the Countess until now, but he felt the +daughter's eyes upon him, and he was obliged to meet them, if only for a +single instant. The last time he had met their gaze she had cried aloud +and had fled from him in terror. He would have given much to turn from +her now, without a glance, and mingle with the other guests.</p> + +<p>He was perfectly cool and self-possessed, as he afterwards remembered, +but he felt that it was the sort of coolness which always came upon him +in moments of supreme danger. It was familiar to him, for he had been in +many hand-to-hand engagements in wild countries, and he knew that it +would not forsake him; but he missed the thrill of rare delight that +made him love fighting as he loved no sport he had ever tried. This was +more like walking bravely to certain death.</p> + +<p>Cecilia was all in white, but her face was whiter than the silk she +wore, and as motionless as marble; and her fixed eyes shone with an +almost dazzling light. Guido saw and wondered. Then he heard Lamberti's +voice, steady, precise, and metallic as the notes of a bell striking the +hour.</p> + +<p>"I hope to see something of you by-and-by, Signorina."</p> + +<p>Cecilia's lips moved, but no sound came from them. Then Guido was sure +that they smiled perceptibly, and she bent her head in assent, but so +slightly that her eyes were still fixed on Lamberti's.</p> + +<p>Other guests came up at that moment, and the two friends made way for +them.</p> + +<p>"Come back through the house," said Guido, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>Lamberti followed him into the great hall, and to the left through the +next, where there was no one, and out to a small balcony beyond. Then +both stood still and faced each other, and the silence lasted a few +seconds. Guido spoke first.</p> + +<p>"What has there been between you two?" he asked, with something like +sternness in his tone.</p> + +<p>"This is the second time in my life that I have spoken to the +Contessina," Lamberti answered. "The first time I ever saw her was at +your aunt's house."</p> + +<p>Guido had never doubted the word of Lamberto Lamberti, but he could not +doubt the evidence of his own senses either, and he had watched +Cecilia's face. It seemed utterly impossible that she should look as she +had looked just now, unless there were some very grave matter between +her and Lamberti. All sorts of horrible suspicions clouded Guido's +brain, all sorts of reasons why Lamberti should lie to him, this once, +this only time. Yet he spoke quietly enough.</p> + +<p>"It is very strange that two people should behave as you and she do, +when you meet, if you have only met twice. It is past my comprehension."</p> + +<p>"It is very strange," Lamberti repeated.</p> + +<p>"So strange," said Guido, "that it is very hard to believe. You are +asking a great deal of me."</p> + +<p>"I have asked nothing, my friend. You put a question to me,—a +reasonable question, I admit,—and I have answered you with the truth. I +have never touched that young lady's hand, I have only spoken with her +twice in my life, and not alone on either occasion. I did not wish to +come here to-day, but you practically forced me to."</p> + +<p>"You did not wish to come, because you knew what would happen," Guido +answered coldly.</p> + +<p>"How could I know?"</p> + +<p>"That is the question. But you did know, and until you are willing to +explain to me how you knew it——"</p> + +<p>He stopped short and looked hard at Lamberti, as if the latter must +understand the rest. His usually gentle and thoughtful face was as hard +and stern as stone. Until lately his friendship for Lamberti had been by +far the strongest and most lasting affection of his life. The thought +that it was to be suddenly broken and ended by an atrocious deception +was hard to bear.</p> + +<p>"You mean that if I cannot explain, as you call it, you and I are to be +like strangers. Is that what you mean, Guido? Speak out, man! Let us be +plain."</p> + +<p>Guido was silent for a while, leaning over the balcony and looking down, +while Lamberti stood upright and waited for his answer.</p> + +<p>"How can I act otherwise?" asked Guido, at last, without looking up. +"You would do the same in my place. So would any man of honour."</p> + +<p>"I should try to believe you, whatever you said."</p> + +<p>"And if you could not?" Guido enquired almost fiercely.</p> + +<p>It was very nearly an insult, but Lamberti answered quietly and firmly.</p> + +<p>"Before refusing to believe me, merely on apparent evidence, you can ask +the Contessina herself."</p> + +<p>"As if a woman could tell the truth when a man will not!" Guido laughed +harshly.</p> + +<p>"You forget that you love her, and that she probably loves you. That +should make a difference."</p> + +<p>"What do you wish me to do? Ask her the question you will not answer?"</p> + +<p>"The question I have answered," said Lamberti, correcting him. "Yes. Ask +her."</p> + +<p>"Your mother was an old friend of her mother's," Guido said, with a new +thought.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why is it impossible that you two should have met before now?"</p> + +<p>"Because I tell you that we have not. If we had, I should not have any +reason for hiding the fact. It would be much easier to explain, if we +had. But I am not going to argue about the matter, for it is quite +useless. Before you quarrel with me, go and ask the Contessina to +explain, if she will, or can. If she cannot, or if she can and will not, +I shall try to make you understand as much as I do, though that is very +little."</p> + +<p>Guido listened without attempting to interrupt. He was not a rash or +violent man, and he valued Lamberti's friendship far too highly to +forfeit it without the most convincing reasons. Unfortunately, what he +had seen would have convinced an even less suspicious man that there was +a secret which his friend shared with Cecilia, and which both had an +object in concealing from him. Lamberti ceased speaking and a long +silence followed, for he had nothing more to say.</p> + +<p>At last Guido straightened himself with an evident effort, as if he had +forced himself to decide the matter, but he did not look at Lamberti.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said. "I will speak to her."</p> + +<p>Lamberti bent his head, silently acknowledging Guido's sensible +conclusion. Then Guido turned and went away alone. It was long before +Lamberti left the balcony, for he was glad of the solitude and the +chance of quietly thinking over his extraordinary situation.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Guido found it no easy matter to approach Cecilia at all, and +it looked as if it would be quite impossible to speak with her alone. He +went back through the great hall where people were beginning to gather +about the tea-table, and he stood in the vast door that opens upon the +close garden. Cecilia was still standing beside her mother, but they +were surrounded by a group of people who all seemed to be trying to talk +to them at once. The garden was crowded, and it would be impossible for +Guido to get near them without talking his way, so to say, through +countless acquaintances. By this time, however, most of the guests had +arrived, and those who were in the inner garden would soon begin to go +out to the grounds.</p> + +<p>Cecilia was no longer pale; on the contrary, she had more colour than +usual, and delicate though the slight flush in her cheeks was, it looked +a little feverish to Guido. As he began to make his way forward he tried +to catch her eye, but he thought she purposely avoided an exchange of +glances. At last he was beside her, and to his surprise she looked at +him quite naturally, and answered him without embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"You must be tired," he said. "Will you not sit down for a little +while?"</p> + +<p>"I should like to," she answered, smiling.</p> + +<p>Then she looked at her mother, and seemed to hesitate.</p> + +<p>"May I go and sit down?" she asked, in a low voice. "I am so tired!"</p> + +<p>"Of course, child!" answered the Countess, cheerfully. "Signor d'Este +will take you to the seat over there by the fountain. I hardly think +that any one else will come now."</p> + +<p>Guido and Cecilia moved away, and the Countess smiled affectionately at +their backs. Some one said that they were a very well-matched pair, and +another asked if it were true that Signor d'Este would inherit the +Princess Anatolie's fortune at her death. A third observed that she +would never die; and a fourth, who was going to dine with her that +evening, said that she was a very charming woman; whereupon everybody +laughed a little, and the Countess changed the subject.</p> + +<p>Cecilia was really tired, and gave a little sigh of satisfaction as she +sat down and leaned back. Guido looked at her and hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I must have shaken hands with at least two hundred people," she said, +"and I am sure I have spoken to as many more!"</p> + +<p>"Do you like it?" Guido asked, by way of gaining time.</p> + +<p>"What an idle question!" laughed Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"I had another to ask you," he answered gravely. "Not an idle one."</p> + +<p>She looked at him quickly, wondering whether he was going to ask her to +be his wife, and wondering, too, what she should answer if he did. For +some days past she had understood that what they called their compact of +friendship was becoming a mere comedy on his side, if not on hers, and +that he loved her with all his heart, though he had not told her so.</p> + +<p>"It is rather an odd question," he continued, as she said nothing. "You +have not formally given me any right to ask it, and yet I feel that I +have the right, all the same."</p> + +<p>"Friendship gives rights, and takes them," Cecilia answered +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. That is what I feel about it. That is why I think I may ask +you something that may seem strange. At all events, I cannot go on +living in doubt about the answer."</p> + +<p>"Is it as important as that?" asked the young girl.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment. Let these people pass. How in the world did you succeed +in getting so many roses to grow in such a short time?"</p> + +<p>"You must ask the gardener," Cecilia answered, in order to say something +while a young couple passed before the bench, evidently very much +absorbed in each other's conversation.</p> + +<p>Guido bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and not looking at +her, but turning his face a little, so that he could speak in a very low +tone with an outward appearance of carelessness. It was very hard to put +the question, after all, now that he was so near her, and felt her +thrilling presence.</p> + +<p>"Our agreement is a failure," he began. "At all events, it is one on my +side. I really did not think it would turn out as it has."</p> + +<p>She said nothing, and he knew that she did not move, and was looking at +the people in the distance. He knew, also, that she understood him and +had expected something of the sort. That made it a little easier to go +on.</p> + +<p>"That is the reason why I am going to ask you this question. What has +there ever been between you and Lamberti? Why do you turn deathly pale +when you meet him, and why does he try to avoid you?"</p> + +<p>He heard her move now, and he slowly turned his face till he could see +hers. The colour in her cheeks had deepened a little, and there was an +angry light in her eyes which he had never seen there. But she said not +a word in answer.</p> + +<p>"Do you love him?" Guido asked in a very low tone, and his voice +trembled slightly.</p> + +<p>"No!" The word came with sharp energy.</p> + +<p>"How long have you known him?" Guido enquired.</p> + +<p>"Since I have known you. I met him first on the same day. I have not +spoken with him since. I tried to-day, I could not."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Do not ask me. I cannot tell you."</p> + +<p>"Are you speaking the truth?" Guido asked, suddenly meeting her eyes.</p> + +<p>She drew back with a quick movement, deeply offended and angry at the +brutal question.</p> + +<p>"How dare you doubt what I tell you!" She seemed about to rise.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "I really beg your pardon. It is +all so strange. I hardly knew what I was saying. Please forgive me!"</p> + +<p>"I will try," Cecilia answered. "But I think I would rather go back now. +We cannot talk here."</p> + +<p>She rose to her feet, but Guido tried to detain her, remaining seated +and looking up.</p> + +<p>"Please, please stay a little longer!" he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You are still angry with me?"</p> + +<p>"No. But I cannot talk to you yet. If you do not come with me, I shall +go back alone."</p> + +<p>There was nothing to be done. He rose and walked by her side in silence. +The garden was almost empty now, and the Countess herself had gone in to +get a cup of tea.</p> + +<p>"The roses are really marvellous," Guido remarked in a set tone, as they +came to the door.</p> + +<p>Suddenly they were face to face with Lamberti, who was coming out, hat +in hand. He had waited for his opportunity, watching them from a +distance, and Guido knew it instinctively. He was quite cool and +collected, and smiled pleasantly as he spoke to Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"May I not have the pleasure of talking with you a little, Signorina?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>Guido could not help looking anxiously at the young girl.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," she answered, without hesitation. "You will find my mother +near the tea table, Signor d'Este," she added, to Guido. "It is really +time that I should make your friend's acquaintance!"</p> + +<p>He was as much amazed at her self-possession now as he had been at her +evident disturbance before. He drew back as Cecilia turned away from him +after speaking, and he stood looking after the pair a few seconds before +he went in. At that moment he would have gladly strangled the man who +had so long been his best friend. He had never guessed that he could +wish to kill any one.</p> + +<p>Lamberti did not make vague remarks about the roses as Guido had done, +on the mere chance that some one might hear him, and indeed there was +now hardly anybody to hear. As for Cecilia, her anger against Guido had +sustained her at first, but she could not have talked unconcernedly now, +as she walked beside Lamberti, waiting for him to speak. She felt just +then that she would have walked on and on, whithersoever he chose to +lead her, and until it pleased him to stop.</p> + +<p>"D'Este asked me this afternoon how long I had known you," he said, at +last. "I said that I had spoken with you twice, once at the Princess's, +and once to-day. Was that right?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Did he believe you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"He did not believe me either."</p> + +<p>"And of course he asked you what there was between us," said Lamberti.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I said that I could not tell him. What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"The same thing."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and both realised that they were talking as if they +had known each other for years, and that they understood each other +almost without words. At the end of the walk they turned towards one +another, and their eyes met.</p> + +<p>"Why did you run away from me?" Lamberti asked.</p> + +<p>"I was frightened. I was frightened to-day when you spoke to me. Why did +you go to the Forum that morning?"</p> + +<p>"I had dreamt something strange about you. It happened just where I +found you."</p> + +<p>"I dreamt the same dream, the same night. That is, I think it must have +been the same."</p> + +<p>She turned her face away, blushing red.</p> + +<p>He saw, and understood.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said. "What am I to tell d'Este?" he asked, after a short +pause.</p> + +<p>"Nothing!" said Cecilia quickly, and the subsiding blush rose again. +"Besides," she continued, speaking rapidly in her embarrassment, "he +would not believe us, whatever we told him, and it is of no use to let +him know—" she stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Has he no right to know?"</p> + +<p>"No. At least—no—I think not. I do not mean—"</p> + +<p>They were standing still, facing each other. In another moment she would +be telling Lamberti what she had never told Guido about her feelings +towards him. On a sudden she turned away with a sort of desperate +movement, clasping her hands and looking over the low wall.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what is it all?" she cried, in great distress. "I am in the dream +again, talking as if I had known you all my life! What must you think of +me?"</p> + +<p>Lamberti stood beside her, resting his hands upon the wall.</p> + +<p>"It is exactly what I feel," he said quietly.</p> + +<p>"Then you dream, too?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Every night—of you."</p> + +<p>"We are both dreaming now! I am sure of it. I shall wake up in the dark +and hear the door shut softly, though I always lock it now."</p> + +<p>"The door? Do you hear that, too?" asked Lamberti. "But I am wide awake +when I hear it."</p> + +<p>"So am I! Sometimes I can manage to turn up the electric light before +the sound has quite stopped. Are we both mad? What is it? In the name of +Heaven, what is it all?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I knew. Whatever it is, if you and I meet often, it is quite +impossible that we should talk like ordinary acquaintances. Yes, I +thought I was going mad, and this morning I went to a great doctor and +told him everything. He seemed to think it was all a set of +coincidences. He advised me to see you and ask you why you ran away that +day, and he thought that if we talked about it, I might perhaps not +dream again."</p> + +<p>"You are not mad, you are not mad!" Cecilia repeated the words in a low +voice, almost mechanically.</p> + +<p>Then there was silence, and presently she turned from the wall and began +to walk back along the wide path that passed by the central fountain. +The sun, long out of sight behind the hill, was sinking now, the thin +violet mist had begun to rise from the Campagna far to south and east, +and the mountains had taken the first tinge of evening purple. From the +ilex woods above the house, the voice of a nightingale rang out in a +long and delicious trill. The garden was deserted, and now and then the +sound of women's laughter rippled out through the high, open door.</p> + +<p>"We must meet soon," Lamberti said, as they reached the fountain.</p> + +<p>It seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should say it. She +stopped and looked at him, and recognised every feature of the face she +had seen in her dreams almost ever since she could remember dreaming. +Her fear was all gone now, and she was sure that it would never come +back. Had she not heard him say those very words, "We must meet soon," +hundreds and hundreds of times, just as he had said them long ago—ever +so long ago—in a language that she could not remember when she was +awake? And had they not always met soon?</p> + +<p>"I shall see you to-night," she answered, almost unconsciously.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he said, looking into the clear water in the fountain, "does +your dreaming make you restless and nervous? Does it wear on you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! I have always dreamt a great deal all my life. I rest just as +well."</p> + +<p>"Yes—but those were ordinary dreams. I mean—"</p> + +<p>"No, they were always the same. They were always about you. I almost +screamed when I recognised you at the Princess's that afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I had never dreamt of your face," said Lamberti, "but I was sure I had +seen you before."</p> + +<p>They looked down into the moving water, and the music of its fall made +it harmonious with the distant song of the nightingale. Lamberti tried +to think connectedly, and could not. It was as if he were under a spell. +Questions rose to his lips, but he could not speak the words, he could +not put them together in the right way. Once, at sea, on the training +ship, he had fallen from the foreyard, and though the fall was broken by +the gear and he had not been injured, he had been badly stunned, and for +more than an hour he had lost all sense of direction, of what was +forward and what was aft, so that at one moment the vessel seemed to be +sailing backwards, and then forwards, and then sideways. He felt +something like that now, and he knew intuitively that Cecilia felt it +also. Amazingly absurd thoughts passed through his mind. Was to-morrow +going to be yesterday? Would what was coming be just what was long past? +Or was there no past, no future, nothing but all time present at once?</p> + +<p>He was not moved by Cecilia's presence in the same way that Guido was. +Guido was merely in love with her; very much in love, no doubt, but that +was all. She was to him, first, the being of all others with whom he was +most in sympathy, the only being whom he understood, and who, he was +sure, understood him, the only being without whom life would be +unendurable. And, secondly, she was the one and only creature in the +world created to be his natural mate, and when he was near her he was +aware of nature's mysterious forces, and felt the thrill of them +continually.</p> + +<p>Lamberti experienced nothing of that sort at present. He was overwhelmed +and carried away out of the region of normal thought and volition +towards something which he somehow knew was at hand, which he was sure +he had reached before, but which he could not distinctly remember. +Between it and him in the past there was a wall of darkness; between him +and it in the future there was a veil not yet lifted, but on which his +dreams already cast strange and beautiful shadows.</p> + +<p>"I used to see things in the water," Cecilia said softly, "things that +were going to happen. That was long, long ago."</p> + +<p>"I remember," said Lamberti, quite naturally. "You told me once—"</p> + +<p>He stopped. It was gone back behind the wall of darkness. When he had +begun to speak, quite unconsciously, he had known what it was that +Cecilia had told him, but he had forgotten it all now. He passed his +hand over his forehead, and suddenly everything changed, and he came +back out of an immeasurable distance to real life.</p> + +<p>"I shall be going away in a few days," he said. "May I see you before I +go?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Come and see us about three o'clock. We are always at home +then."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>They turned from the fountain while they spoke, and walked slowly +towards the house.</p> + +<p>"Does your mother know about your dreaming?" Lamberti asked.</p> + +<p>"No. No one knows. And you?"</p> + +<p>"I have told that doctor. No one else. I wonder whether it will go on +when I am far away."</p> + +<p>"I wonder, too. Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know yet. Perhaps to China again. I shall get my orders in a +few days."</p> + +<p>They reached the threshold of the door. Lamberti had been looking for +Guido's face amongst the people he could see as he came up, but Guido +was gone.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said Cecilia, softly.</p> + +<p>"Good night," Lamberti answered, almost in a whisper. "God bless you."</p> + +<p>He afterwards thought it strange that he should have said that, but at +the time it seemed quite natural, and Cecilia was not at all surprised. +She smiled and bent her graceful head. Then she joined her mother, and +Lamberti disappeared.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said the Countess, "you remember Monsieur Leroy? You met him +at Princess Anatolie's," she added, in a stage whisper.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy bowed, and Cecilia nodded. She had forgotten his +existence, and now remembered that she had not liked him, and that she +had said something sharp to him. He spoke first.</p> + +<p>"The Princess wished me to tell you how very sorry she is that she +cannot be here this afternoon. She has one of her attacks."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry," Cecilia answered. "Pray tell her how sorry I am."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. But I daresay Guido brought you the same message."</p> + +<p>"Who is Guido?" asked Cecilia, raising her eyebrows a little.</p> + +<p>"Guido d'Este. I thought you knew. You are surprised that I should call +him by his Christian name? You see, I have known him ever since he was +quite a boy. To all intents and purposes, he was brought up by the +Princess."</p> + +<p>"And you are often at the house, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"I live there," explained Monsieur Leroy. "To change the subject, my +dear young lady, I have an apology to make, which I hope you will +accept."</p> + +<p>Cecilia did not like to be called any one's "dear young lady," and her +manner froze instantly.</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine why you should apologise to me," she said coldly.</p> + +<p>"I was rude to you the other day, about your courses of philosophy, or +something of that sort. Was not that it?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I had quite forgotten," Cecilia answered, with truth. "It did +not matter in the least what you thought of my reading Nietzsche, I +assure you."</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy reddened and laughed awkwardly, for he was particularly +anxious to win her good grace.</p> + +<p>"I am not very clever, you know," he said humbly. "You must forgive me."</p> + +<p>"Oh certainly," replied Cecilia. "Your explanation is more than +adequate. In my mind, the matter had already explained itself. Will you +have some tea?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. My nerves are rather troublesome. If I take tea in the +afternoon I cannot sleep at night. I met Guido going away as I came. He +was enthusiastic!"</p> + +<p>"In what way?"</p> + +<p>"About the villa, and the house, and the flowers, and about you." He +lowered his voice to a confidential tone as he spoke the last words.</p> + +<p>"About me?" Cecilia was somewhat surprised.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes! He was overcome by your perfection—like every one else. How +could it be otherwise? It is true that Guido has always been very +impressionable."</p> + +<p>"I should not have thought it," Cecilia said, wishing that the man would +go away.</p> + +<p>But he would not, and, to make matters worse, nobody would come and +oblige him to move. It was plain to the meanest mind that since Cecilia +was to marry Princess Anatolie's nephew, the extraordinary person whom +the Princess called her secretary must not be disturbed when he was +talking to Cecilia, since he might be the bearer of some important +message. Besides, a good many people were afraid of him, in a vague way, +as a rather spiteful gossip who had more influence than he should have +had.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he continued, in an apologetic tone, "Guido is always falling in +love, poor boy. Of course, it is not to be wondered at. A king's son, +and handsome as he is, and so very clever, too—all the pretty ladies +fall in love with him at once, and he naturally falls in love with them. +You see how simple it is. He has more opportunities than are good for +him!"</p> + +<p>The disagreeable little man giggled, and his loose pink and white cheeks +shook unpleasantly. Cecilia thought him horribly vulgar and familiar, +and she inwardly wondered how the Princess Anatolie could even tolerate +him, not to speak of treating him affectionately and calling him +"Doudou."</p> + +<p>"I supposed that you counted yourself among Signor d'Este's friends," +said the young girl, frigidly.</p> + +<p>"I do, I do! Have I said anything unfriendly? I merely said that all the +women fell in love with him."</p> + +<p>"You said a good deal more than that."</p> + +<p>"At all events, I wish I were he," said Monsieur Leroy. "And if that is +not paying him a compliment I do not know what you would call it. He is +handsome, clever, generous, everything!"</p> + +<p>"And faithless, according to you."</p> + +<p>"No, no! Not faithless; only fickle, very fickle."</p> + +<p>"It is the same thing," said the young girl, scornfully.</p> + +<p>She did not believe Monsieur Leroy in the least, but she wondered what +his object could be in speaking against Guido, and whether he were +really silly, as he often seemed, or malicious, as she suspected, or +possibly both at the same time, since the combination is not uncommon. +What he was telling her, if she believed it, was certainly not of a +nature to hasten her marriage with Guido; and yet it was the Princess +who had first suggested the match, and it could hardly be supposed that +Monsieur Leroy would attempt to oppose his protectress.</p> + +<p>Just then there was a general move to go away, and the conversation was +interrupted, much to Cecilia's satisfaction. There was a great stir in +the wide hall, for though many people had slipped away without +disturbing the Countess by taking leave, there were many of her nearer +friends who wished to say a word to her before going, just to tell her +that they had enjoyed themselves vastly, that Cecilia was a model of +beauty and good behaviour, and of everything charming, and that the +villa was the most delightful place they had ever seen. By these means +they conveyed the impression that they would all accept any future +invitation which the Countess might send them, and they audibly +congratulated one another upon her having at last established herself in +Rome, adding that Cecilia was a great acquisition to society. More than +that it was manifestly impossible to say in a few well-chosen words. +Even in a language as rich as Italian, the number of approving +adjectives is limited, and each can only have one superlative. The +Countess Fortiguerra's guests distributed these useful words amongst +them and exhausted the supply.</p> + +<p>"It has been a great success, my dear," said the Countess, when she and +her daughter were left alone in the hall. "Did you see the Duchess of +Pallacorda's hat?"</p> + +<p>"No, mother. At least, I did not notice it." Cecilia was nibbling a +cake, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"My dear!" cried the Countess. "It was the most wonderful thing you ever +saw. She was in terror lest it should come too late. Monsieur Leroy knew +all about it."</p> + +<p>"I cannot bear that man," Cecilia said, still nibbling, for she was +hungry.</p> + +<p>"I cannot say that I like him, either. But the Duchess's new hat—"</p> + +<p>Cecilia heard her voice, but was too much occupied with her own thoughts +to listen attentively, while the good Countess criticised the hat in +question, admired its beauties, corrected its defects, put it a little +further back on the Duchess's pretty head, and, indeed, did everything +with it which every woman can do, in imagination, with every imaginary +hat. Finally, she asked Cecilia if she should not like to have one +exactly like it.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. Not now, at all events. Mother dear," and she looked +affectionately at the Countess, "what a deal of trouble you have taken +to make it all beautiful for me to-day. I am so grateful!"</p> + +<p>She kissed her mother on both cheeks just as she had always done when +she was pleased, ever since she had been a child, and suddenly the elder +woman's eyes glistened.</p> + +<p>"It is a pleasure to do anything for you, darling," she said. "I have +only you in the world," she added quietly, after a little pause, "but I +sometimes think I have more than all the other women."</p> + +<p>Then Cecilia laid her head on her mother's shoulder for a moment, and +gently patted her cheek, and they both felt very happy.</p> + +<p>They drove home in the warm dusk, and when they reached the high road +down by the Tiber they looked up and saw moving lights through the great +open windows of the villa, and on the terrace, and in the gardens, like +fireflies. For the servants were bringing in the chairs and putting +things in order. The nightingale was singing again, far up in the woods, +but Cecilia could hear the song distinctly as the carriage swept along.</p> + +<p>Now the Countess was kind and true, and loved her daughter devotedly, +but she would not have been a woman if she had not wished to know what +Guido had said to Cecilia that afternoon; and before they had entered +Porta Angelica she asked what she considered a leading question, in her +own peculiar contradictory way.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I am not going to ask you anything, my dear," she began, +"but did Signor d'Este say anything especial to you when you went off +together?"</p> + +<p>Cecilia remembered how they had driven home from the Princess's a +fortnight earlier, almost at the same hour, and how her mother had then +first spoken of Guido d'Este. The young girl asked herself in the moment +she took before answering, whether she were any nearer to the thought of +marrying him than she had been after that first short meeting.</p> + +<p>"He loves me, mother," she answered softly. "He has made me understand +that he does, without quite saying so. I like him very much. That is our +position now. I would rather not talk about it much, but you have a +right to know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear. But what I mean is—I mean, what I meant was—he has not +asked you to marry him, has he?"</p> + +<p>"No. I am not sure that he will, now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he will. He asked me yesterday evening if he might, and of course +I gave him my permission."</p> + +<p>It was a relief to have told Cecilia this, for concealment was +intolerable to the Countess.</p> + +<p>"I see," Cecilia answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course you do. But when he does ask you, what shall you say, +dear? He is sure to ask you to-morrow, and I really want to know what I +am to expect. Surely, by this time you must have made up your mind."</p> + +<p>"I have only known him a fortnight, mother. That is not a long time when +one is to decide about one's whole life, is it?"</p> + +<p>"No. Well—it seems to me that a fortnight—you see, it is so +important!"</p> + +<p>"Precisely," Cecilia answered. "It is very important. That is why I do +not mean to do anything in a hurry. Either you must tell Signor d'Este +to wait a little while before he asks me, or else, when he does, I must +beg him to wait some time for his answer."</p> + +<p>"But it seems to me, if you like him so much, that is quite enough."</p> + +<p>"Why are you in such a hurry, mother?" asked Cecilia, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Because I am sure you will be perfectly happy if you marry him," +answered the Countess, with much conviction.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + + +<p>Guido d'Este walked home from the Villa Madama in a very bad temper with +everything. He was not of a dramatic disposition, nor easily inclined to +sudden resolutions, and when placed in new and unexpected circumstances +his instinct was rather to let them develop as they would than to direct +them or oppose them actively. For the first time in his life he now felt +that he must do one or the other.</p> + +<p>To treat Lamberti as if nothing had happened was impossible, and it was +equally out of the question to behave towards Cecilia as though she had +not done or said anything to check the growth of intimacy and friendship +on her side and of genuine love on his. He took the facts as he knew +them and tried to state them justly, but he could make nothing of them +that did not plainly accuse both Cecilia and Lamberti of deceiving him. +Again and again, he recalled the words and behaviour of both, and he +could reach no other conclusion. They had a joint secret which they had +agreed to keep from him, and rather than reveal it his best friend was +ready to break with him, and the woman he loved preferred never to see +him again. He reflected that he was not the first man who had been +checked by a girl and forsaken by a friend, but that did not make it any +easier to bear.</p> + +<p>It was quite clear that he could not submit to be so treated by them. +Lamberti had asked him to speak to Cecilia before quarrelling +definitely. He had done so, and he was more fully convinced than before +that both were deceiving him. There was no way out of that conviction, +there was not the smallest argument on the other side, and nothing that +either could ever say could shake his belief. It was plainly his duty to +tell them so, and it would be wisest to write to them, for he felt that +he might lose his temper if he tried to say what he meant, instead of +writing it.</p> + +<p>He wrote to Lamberti first, because it was easier, though it was quite +the hardest thing he had ever done. He began by proving to himself, and +therefore to his friend, that he was writing after mature reflection and +without the least hastiness, or temper, or unwillingness to be +convinced, if Lamberti had anything to say in self-defence. He expressed +no suspicion as to the probable nature of the secret that was withheld +from him; he even wrote that he no longer wished to know what it was. +His argument was that by refusing to reveal it, Lamberti had convicted +himself of some unknown deed which he was ashamed to acknowledge, and +Guido did not hesitate to add that such unjustifiable reticence might +easily be construed in such a way as to cast a slur upon the character +of an innocent young girl.</p> + +<p>Having got so far, Guido immediately tore the whole letter to shreds and +rose from his writing table, convinced that it was impossible to write +what he meant without saying things which he did not mean. After all, he +could simply avoid his old friend in future. The idea of quarrelling +with him aggressively had never entered his mind, and it was therefore +of no use to write anything at all. Lamberti must have guessed already +that all friendship was at an end, and it would consequently be quite +useless to tell him so.</p> + +<p>He must write to Cecilia, however. He could not allow her to think, +because he had apologised for rudely doubting her word, that he +therefore believed what she had told him. He would write.</p> + +<p>Here he was confronted by much greater difficulties than he had found in +composing his unsuccessful letter to Lamberti. In the first place, he +was in love with her, and it seemed to him that he should love her just +as much, whatever she did. He wondered what it was that he felt, for at +first he hardly thought it was jealousy, and it was assuredly not a mere +passing fit of ill-tempered resentment.</p> + +<p>It must be jealousy, after all. He fancied that she had known Lamberti +before, and that she had been girlishly in love with him, and that when +she had met him again she had been startled and annoyed. It was not so +hard to imagine that this might be possible, though he could not see why +they should both make such a secret of having known each other. But +perhaps, by some accident, they had become intimate without the +knowledge of the Countess, so that Cecilia was now very much afraid lest +her mother should find it out.</p> + +<p>Guido's reflections stopped there. At any other time he would have +laughed at their absurdity, and now he resented it. The plain fact +stared him in the face, the fact he had known all along and had +forgotten—Lamberti could not possibly have met Cecilia since she had +been a mere child, because Guido could account for all his friend's +movements during the last five years. Five years ago, Cecilia had been +thirteen.</p> + +<p>He was glad that he had torn up his letter to Lamberti, and that he had +not even begun the one to Cecilia, after sitting half an hour with his +pen in his hand. Yes, he went over those five years, and then took from +a drawer the last five of the little pocket diaries he always carried. +There was a small space for each day of the year, and he never failed to +note at least the name of the place in which he was, while travelling. +He also recorded Lamberti's coming and going, the names of the ships to +which he was ordered, and the dates of any notable facts in his life. It +is tolerably easy to record the exact movements of a sailor in active +service who is only at home on very short leave once in a year or two. +Guido turned over the pages carefully and set down on a slip of paper +what he found. In five years Lamberti's leave had not amounted to eight +months in all, and Guido could account for every day of it, for they had +spent all of it either in Rome or in travelling together. He laid the +little diaries in the drawer again, and leaned back in his chair with a +deep sigh of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>He was too generous not to wish to find his friend at once and +acknowledge frankly that he had been wrong. He telephoned to ask whether +Lamberti had come back from the Villa Madama. Yes, he had come back, but +he had gone out again. No one knew where he was. He had said that he +should not dine at home. That was all. If he returned before half-past +ten o'clock d'Este should be informed.</p> + +<p>Guido dined alone and waited, but no message came during the evening. At +half-past ten he wrote a few words on a correspondence card, told his +man to send the note to Lamberti early in the morning, and went to bed, +convinced that everything would explain itself satisfactorily before +long. As soon as he was positively sure that Lamberti and Cecilia could +not possibly have known each other more than a fortnight, his natural +indolence returned. Of course it was very extraordinary that Cecilia +should have felt such a strong dislike for Lamberti at first sight, for +it could be nothing else, since she seemed displeased whenever his name +was mentioned; and it was equally strange that Lamberti should feel the +same antipathy for her. But since it was so, she would naturally draw +back from telling Guido that his best friend was repulsive to her, and +Lamberti would not like to acknowledge that the young girl Guido wished +to marry produced a disagreeable impression on him. It was quite +natural, too, that after what Guido had said to each of them, each +should have been anxious to show him that he was mistaken, and that they +should have taken the first opportunity of talking together just when he +should most notice it.</p> + +<p>Everything was accounted for by this ingenious theory. Guido knew a man +who turned pale when a cat came near him, though he was a manly man, +good at sports and undeniably courageous. Those things could not be +explained, but it was much easier to understand that a sensitive young +girl might be violently affected by an instinctive antipathy for a man, +than that a strong man's teeth should chatter if a cat got under his +chair at dinner. That was undoubtedly what happened. How could either of +them tell him so, since he was so fond of both? Lamberti had said that +as a last resource, he would try to explain what the trouble was. Guido +would spare him that. He knew what he had felt almost daily in the +presence of Monsieur Leroy, ever since he had been a boy. Lamberti and +Cecilia probably acted on each other in the same way. It was a +misfortune, of course, that his best friend and his future wife should +hate the sight and presence of one another, but it was not their fault, +and they would probably get over it.</p> + +<p>It was wonderful to see how everything that had happened exactly fitted +into Guido's simple explanation, the passing shadow on Cecilia's face, +the evident embarrassment of both when Guido asked each the same +question, the agreement of their answers, the readiness both had shown +to try and overcome their mutual dislike—it was simply wonderful! By +the time Guido laid his head on his pillow, he was serenely calm and +certain of the future. With the words of sincere regret he had written +to Lamberti, and with the decision to say much the same thing to Cecilia +on the following day, his conscience was at rest; and he went to sleep +in the pleasant assurance that after having done something very hasty he +had just avoided doing something quite irreparable.</p> + +<p>Lamberti had spent a less pleasant evening, and was not prepared for the +agreeable surprise that awaited him on the following morning in Guido's +note. He was neither indolent nor at all given to self-examination, and +he had generally found it a good plan to act upon impulse, and do what +he wished to do before it occurred to any one else to do the same thing; +and when he could not see what he ought to do, and was nevertheless sure +that he ought to act at once, he lost his temper with himself and +sometimes with other people.</p> + +<p>He was afraid to go to bed that night, and he went to the club and +watched some of his friends playing cards until he could not keep his +eyes open; for gambling bored him to extinction. Then he walked the +whole length of the Corso and back, in the hope that the exercise might +prevent him from dreaming. But it only roused him again; and when he was +in his own room he stood nearly two hours at the open window, smoking +one cigar after another. At last he lay down without putting out the +light and read a French novel till it dropped from his hand, and he fell +asleep at four o'clock in the morning.</p> + +<p>He was not visited by the dream that had disturbed his rest nightly for +a full fortnight. Possibly the doctor had been right after all, and the +habit was broken. At all events, what he remembered having felt when he +awoke was something quite new and not altogether unpleasant after the +first beginning, yet so strangely undefined that he would have found it +hard to describe it in any words.</p> + +<p>He had no consciousness of any sort of shape or body belonging to him, +nor of motion, nor of sight, after the darkness had closed in upon him. +That moment, indeed, was terrible. It reminded him of the approach of a +cyclone in the West Indies, which he remembered well—the dreadful +stillness in the air; the long, sullen, greenish brown swell of the oily +sea; the appalling bank of solid darkness that moved upon the ship over +the noiseless waves; the shreds of black cloud torn forwards by an +unseen and unheard force, and the vast flashes of lightning that shot +upwards like columns of flame. He remembered the awful waiting.</p> + +<p>Not a storm, then, but an instant change from something to nothing, with +consciousness preserved; complete, far-reaching consciousness, that was +more perfect than sight, yet was not sight, but a being everywhere at +once, a universal understanding, a part of something all pervading, a +unification with all things past, present, and to come, with no desire +for them, nor vision of them, but perfect knowledge of them all.</p> + +<p>At the same time, there was the presence of another immeasurable +identity in the same space, so that his own being and that other were +coexistent and alike, each in the other, everywhere at once, and +inseparable from the other, and also, in some unaccountable way, each +dear to the other beyond and above all description. And there was +perfect peace and a state very far beyond any possible waking happiness, +without any conception of time or of motion, but only of infinite space +with infinite understanding.</p> + +<p>Another phase began. There was time again, there were minutes, hours, +months, years, ages; and there was a longing for something that could +change, a stirring of human memories in the boundless immaterial +consciousness, a desire for sight and hearing, a gradual, growing wish +to see a face remembered before the wall of darkness had closed in, to +hear a voice that had once sounded in ears that had once understood, to +touch a hand that had felt his long ago. And the longing became +intolerable, for lack of these things, like a burning thirst where there +is no water; and the perfect peace was all consumed in that raging wish, +and the quiet was disquiet, and the two consciousnesses felt that each +was learning to suffer again for want of the other, till what had been +heaven was hell, and earth would be better, or total destruction and the +extinguishing of all identity, or anything that was not, rather than the +least prolonging of what was.</p> + +<p>The last change now; back to the world, and to a human body. Lamberti +was waked by a vigorous knocking at his door, which was locked as usual. +It was nine o'clock, and a servant had brought him Guido's note.</p> + +<p>"My dear friend," it said, "I was altogether in the wrong yesterday. +Please forgive me. I quite understand your position with regard to the +Contessina, and hers towards you, but I sincerely hope that in the end +you may be good friends. I appreciate very much the effort you both made +this afternoon to overcome your mutual antipathy. Thank you. G. d'E."</p> + +<p>Lamberti read the note three times before the truth dawned upon him, and +he at last understood what Guido meant. At first the note seemed to have +been written in irony, if not in anger, but that would have been very +unlike Guido; the second reading convinced Lamberti that his friend was +in earnest, whatever his meaning might be, and at the third perusal, +Lamberti saw the true state of the case. Guido supposed that he and +Cecilia were violently repelled by each other.</p> + +<p>He did not smile at the absurdity of the idea, for he felt at once that +the results of such a misunderstanding must before long place Cecilia +and himself in a false position, from which it would be hard to escape. +Yet he was well aware that Guido would not believe the truth—that the +coincidences were too extraordinary to be readily admitted, while no +other rational theory could be found to explain what had happened. If +Lamberti saw Cecilia often, Guido would soon perceive that instead of +mutual dislike and repulsion the strongest sympathy existed between +them, and that they would always understand each other without words. It +would be impossible to conceal that very long.</p> + +<p>Besides, they would love each other, if they met frequently; about that +Lamberti had not the smallest doubt. His instincts were direct and +unhesitating, and he knew that he had never felt for any living woman +what he felt for the fair young girl whose unreal presence visited his +dreams, and who, in those long visions, loved him dearly in return, with +a spiritual passion that rose far above perishable things and yet was +not wholly immaterial. There was that one moment when they stood near +together in the early morning, and their lips met as if body, heart, and +soul were all meeting at once, and only for once.</p> + +<p>After that, in his dreams, there was much that Lamberti could not +understand in himself, and which seemed very unlike the self he knew, +very much higher, very much purer, very much more inclined to sacrifice, +constantly in a sort of spiritual tension and always striving towards a +perfect life, which was as far as anything could be, he supposed, from +his own personality, as he thought he knew it. The story he dreamed was +simple enough. He was a Christian, the girl a Vestal Virgin, the +youngest of those last six who still guarded the sacred hearth when the +Christian Emperor dissolved all that was left of the worship of the old +gods. He bade the noble maidens close the doors of the temple and depart +in peace to their parents' homes, freed from their vows and service, and +from all obligations to the state, but deprived also of all their old +honours and lands and privileges. And sadly they buried the things that +had been holy, where no man knew, and watched the fire together, one +last night, till it burned out to white ashes in the spring dawn; and +they embraced one another with tears and went away. Some became +Christians, and some afterwards married; but there was one who would +not, though she loved as none of them loved, and she withdrew from the +world and lived a pure life for the sake of the old faith and of her +solemn vows.</p> + +<p>So, at last, the Christian believed what she told him, that it was +better to love in that way, because when he and she were freed at last +from all earthly longings, they would be united for ever and ever; and +she became a Christian, too, and after the other five Vestals were dead, +she also passed away; and the man who had loved her so long, in her own +way, died peacefully on the next day, loving her and hoping to join her, +and having led a good life. After that there was peace, and they seemed +to be together.</p> + +<p>That was their story as it gradually took shape out of fragments and +broken visions, and though the man who dreamt these things could not +conceive, when he remembered them, that he could ever become at all a +saintly character, yet in the vision he knew that he was always himself, +and all that he thought and did seemed natural, though it often seemed +hard, and he suffered much in some ways, but in others he found great +happiness.</p> + +<p>It was a simple story and a most improbable one. He was quite sure that +no matter in what age he might have lived, instead of in the twentieth +century, he would have felt and acted as he now did when he was wide +awake. But that did not matter. The important point was that his +imagination was making for him a sort of secondary existence in sleep, +in which he was desperately in love with some one who exactly resembled +Cecilia Palladio and who bore her first name; and this dreaming created +such a strong and lasting impression in his mind that, in real life, he +could not separate Cecilia Palladio from Cecilia the Vestal, and found +himself on the point of saying to her in reality the very things which +he had said to her in imagination while sleeping. The worst of it was +this identity of the real and the unreal, for he was persuaded that with +very small opportunity the two would turn into one.</p> + +<p>He hated thinking, under all circumstances, as compared with action. It +was easier to follow his impulses, and fortunately for him they were +brave and honourable. He never analysed his feelings, never troubled +himself about his motives, never examined his conscience. It told him +well enough whether he was doing right or wrong, and on general +principles he always meant to do right. It was not his fault if his +imagination made him fall in love in a dream with the young girl who was +probably to be his friend's wife. But it would be distinctly his fault +if he gave himself the chance of falling in love with her in reality.</p> + +<p>Moreover, though he did not know how much further Cecilia's dream +coincided with his own, and believed it impossible that the coincidence +should be nearly as complete as it seemed, he felt that she would love +him if he chose that she should. The intuitions of very masculine men +about women are far keener and more trustworthy than women guess; and +when such a man is not devoured by fatuous vanity he is rarely mistaken +if he feels sure that a woman he meets will love him, provided that +circumstances favour him ever so little. There is not necessarily the +least particle of conceit in that certainty, which depends on the direct +attraction between any two beings who are natural complements to each +other.</p> + +<p>Lamberti was a man who had the most profound respect for every woman who +deserved to be respected ever so little, and a good-natured contempt for +all the rest, together with a careless willingness to be amused by them. +And of all the women in the world, next to his own mother, the one whom +he would treat with something approaching to veneration would be Guido's +wife, if Guido married.</p> + +<p>Without any reasoning, it was plain that he must see as little as +possible of Cecilia Palladio. But as this would not please Guido, the +best plan was to go away while there was time. In all probability, when +he next returned, say in two years, he would no longer feel the +dangerous attraction that was almost driving him out of his senses at +present.</p> + +<p>He had been in Rome some time, expecting his promotion to the rank of +lieutenant-commander, which would certainly be accompanied by orders to +join another ship, possibly very far away. If he showed himself very +anxious to go at once, before his leave expired, the Admiralty would +probably oblige him, especially as he just now cared much less for the +promised step in the service than for getting away at short notice. The +best thing to be done was to go and see the Minister, who had of late +been very friendly to him; everything might be settled in half an hour, +and next week he would be on his way to China, or South America, or East +Africa, which would be perfectly satisfactory to everybody concerned.</p> + +<p>It was a wise and honourable resolution, and he determined to act on it +at once. His hand was on the door to go out, when he stopped suddenly +and stood quite still for a few seconds. It was as if something unseen +surrounded him on all sides, in the air, invisible but solid as lead, +making it impossible for him to move. It did not last long, and he went +out, wondering at his nervousness.</p> + +<p>In half an hour he was in the presence of the Minister, who was speaking +to him.</p> + +<p>"You are promoted to the rank of lieutenant-commander. You are +temporarily attached to the ministerial commission which is to study the +Somali question, which you understand so well from experience on the +spot. His Majesty specially desires it."</p> + +<p>"How long may this last, sir?" enquired Lamberti, with a look of blank +disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a year or two, I should say," laughed the Minister. "They do not +hurry themselves. You can enjoy a long holiday at home."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + + +<p>Though it was late in the season, everybody wished to do something to +welcome the appearance of Cecilia Palladio in society. It was too warm +to give balls, but it did not follow that it was at all too hot to dance +informally, with the windows open. We do not know why a ball is hotter +than a dance; but it is so. There are things that men do not understand.</p> + +<p>So dinners were given, to which young people were asked, and afterwards +an artistic-looking man appeared from somewhere and played waltzes, and +twenty or thirty couples amused themselves to their hearts' delight till +one o'clock in the morning. Moreover, people who had villas gave +afternoon teas, without any pretence of giving garden parties, and there +also the young ones danced, sometimes on marble pavements in great old +rooms that smelt slightly of musty furniture, but were cool and +pleasant. Besides these things, there were picnic dinners at Frascati +and Castel Gandolfo, and everybody drove home across the Campagna by +moonlight. Altogether, and chiefly in Cecilia Palladio's honour, there +was a very pretty little revival of winter gaiety, which is not always +very gay in Rome, nowadays.</p> + +<p>The young girl accepted it all much more graciously than her mother had +expected, and was ready to enjoy everything that people offered her, +which is a great secret of social success. The Countess had always +feared that Cecilia was too fond of books and of serious talk to care +much for what amuses most people. But, instead, she suddenly seemed to +have been made for society; she delighted in dancing, she liked to be +well dressed, she smiled at well-meaning young men who made compliments +to her, and she chatted with young girls about the myriad important +nothings that grow like wild flowers just outside life's gate.</p> + +<p>Every one liked her, and she let almost every one think that she liked +them. She never said disagreeable things about them, and she never +attracted to herself the young gentleman who was looked upon as the +property of another. Every one said that she was going to marry d'Este +in the autumn, though the engagement was not yet announced. Wherever she +was, he was there also, generally accompanied by his inseparable friend, +Lamberto Lamberti.</p> + +<p>The latter had grown thinner during the last few weeks. When any one +spoke of it, he explained that life ashore did not suit him, and that he +was obliged to work a good deal over papers and maps for the ministerial +commission. But he was evidently not much inclined to talk of himself, +and he changed the subject immediately. His life was not easy, for he +was not only in serious trouble himself, but he was also becoming +anxious about Guido.</p> + +<p>The one matter about which a man is instinctively reticent with his most +intimate man friend is his love affair, if he has one. He would rather +tell a woman all about it, though he does not know her nearly so well, +than talk about it, even vaguely, with the one man in the world whom he +trusts. Where women are concerned, all men are more or less one +another's natural enemies, in spite of civilisation and civilised +morals; and each knows this of the other, and respects the other's +silence as both inevitable and decent.</p> + +<p>Guido had told Lamberti that he should be the first to know of the +engagement as soon as there was any, and Lamberti waited. He did not +know whether Guido had spoken yet, nor whether there was any sort of +agreement between him and Cecilia by which the latter was to give her +answer after a certain time. He could not guess what they talked of +during the hour they spent together nearly every day. People made +inquiries of him, some openly and some by roundabout means, and he +always answered that if his friend were engaged to be married he would +assuredly announce the fact at once. Those who received this answer were +obliged to be satisfied with it, because Lamberti was not the kind of +man to submit to cross-questioning.</p> + +<p>He wondered whether Cecilia knew that he loved her, since what he had +foreseen had happened, and he did not even try to deny the fact to +himself. He would not let his thoughts dwell on what she might feel for +him, for that would have seemed like the beginning of a betrayal.</p> + +<p>She never asked him questions nor did anything to make him spend more +time near her than was inevitable, and neither had ever gone back to the +subject of their dreams. She had asked Lamberti to come to the house at +an hour when there would not be other visitors, but he had not come, and +neither had ever referred to the matter since. He sometimes felt that +she was watching him earnestly, but at those times he would not meet her +eyes lest his own should say too much.</p> + +<p>It was hard, it was quite the hardest thing he had ever done in his +life, and he was never quite sure that he could go on with it to the +end. But it was the only honourable course he could follow, and it would +surely grow easier when he knew definitely that Cecilia meant to marry +Guido. It was bitter to feel that if the man had been any one but his +friend, there would have been no reason for making any such sacrifice. +He inwardly prayed that Cecilia would come to a decision soon, and he +was deeply grateful to her for not making his position harder by +referring to their first conversation at the Villa Madama.</p> + +<p>Guido had not the slightest suspicion of the true state of things, but +he himself was growing impatient, and daily resolved to put the final +question. Every day, however, he put it off again, not from lack of +courage, nor even because he was naturally so very indolent, but because +he felt sure that the answer would not be the one hoped for. Though +Cecilia's manner with him had never changed from the first, it was +perfectly clear that, however much she might enjoy his conversation, she +was calmly indifferent to his personality. She never blushed with +pleasure when he came, nor did her eyes grow sad when he left her; and +when she talked with him she spoke exactly as when she was speaking with +her mother. He listened in vain for an added earnestness of tone, meant +for him only; it never came. She liked him, beyond doubt, from the +first, and liking had changed to friendship very fast, but Guido knew +how very rarely the friendship a woman feels for a man can ever turn to +love. Starting from the same point, it grows steadily in another +direction, and its calm intellectual sympathy makes the mere suggestion +of any unreasoning impulse of the heart seem almost absurd.</p> + +<p>But where the man and woman do not feel alike, this state of things +cannot last for ever, and when it comes to an end there is generally +trouble and often bitterness. Guido knew that very well and hesitated in +consequence.</p> + +<p>Princess Anatolie could not understand the reason for this delay, and +was not at all pleased. She said it would be positively not decent if +the girl refused to marry Guido after acting in public as if she were +engaged to him, and Monsieur Leroy agreed with her. She asked him if he +could not do anything to hasten matters, and he said he would try. The +old lady had felt quite sure of the marriage, and in imagination she had +already extracted from Guido's wife all the money she had made Guido +lose for her. It is now hardly necessary to say that she had received +spirit messages through Monsieur Leroy, bidding her to invest money in +the most improbable schemes, and that she had followed his advice in +making her nephew act as her agent in the matter. Monsieur Leroy had +pleaded his total ignorance of business as a reason for keeping out of +the transaction, by which, however, it may be supposed that he profited +indirectly for a time. He never hesitated to say that the unfortunate +result was due to Guido's negligence and failure to carry out the +instructions given him.</p> + +<p>But the Princess knew that at least a part of the fault belonged to +Monsieur Leroy, though she never had the courage to tell him so; and +though it looked as if nothing could sever the mysterious tie that +linked their lives together, he had forfeited some of his influence over +her with the loss of the money, and had only recently regained it by +convincing her that she was in communication with her dead child. So +long as he could keep her in this belief he was in no danger of losing +his power again. On the contrary, it increased from day to day.</p> + +<p>"Guido is so very quixotic," he said. "He hesitates because the girl is +so rich. But we may be able to bring a little pressure to bear on him. +After all, you have his receipts for all the money that passed through +his hands."</p> + +<p>"Unless he marries this girl, they are not worth the paper they are +written on."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure. He is very sensitive about matters of honour. Now a +receipt for money given to a lady looks to me very much like a debt of +honour. What happened in the eyes of the world? You lent him money which +he lost in speculation."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," answered the Princess, willing to be convinced of any +absurdity that could help her to get back her money. "But when a man has +no means of paying a debt of honour—"</p> + +<p>"He shoots himself," said Monsieur Leroy, completing the sentence.</p> + +<p>"That would not help us. Besides, I should be very sorry if anything +happened to Guido."</p> + +<p>"Of course!" cried Monsieur Leroy. "Not for worlds! But nothing need +happen to him. You have only to persuade him that the sole way to save +his honour is to marry an heiress, and he will marry at once, as a +matter of conscience. Unless something is done to move him, he will +not."</p> + +<p>"But he is in love with the girl!"</p> + +<p>"Enough to occupy him and amuse him. That is all. By-the-bye, where are +those receipts?"</p> + +<p>"In the small strong-box, in the lower drawer of the writing table."</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy found the papers, and transferred them to his +pocket-book, not yet sure how he could best turn them to account, but +quite certain that their proper use would reveal itself to him before +long.</p> + +<p>"And besides," he concluded, "we can always make him sell the Andrea del +Sarto and the Raphael. Baumgarten thinks they are worth a good sum. You +know that he buys for the Berlin gallery, and the British Museum people +think everything of his opinion."</p> + +<p>In this way the Princess and her favourite disposed of Guido and his +property; but he would not have been much surprised if he could have +heard their conversation. They were only saying what he had expected of +them as far back as the day when he had talked with Lamberti in the +garden of the Arcadians.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + + +<p>It is not strange that Cecilia should have been much less disturbed than +Lamberti by what he had described to the doctor as a possession of the +devil, or a haunting. Men who have never been ailing in their lives +sometimes behave like frightened children if they fall ill, though the +ailment may not be very serious, whereas a hardened old invalid, +determined to make the best of life in spite of his ills, often laughs +himself into the belief that he can recover from the two or three mortal +diseases that have hold of him. Bearing bodily pain is a mere matter of +habit, as every one knows who has had to bear much, or who has tried it +as an experiment. In barbarous countries conspirators have practised +suffering the tortures likely to be inflicted on them to extract +confession.</p> + +<p>Lamberti had never before been troubled by anything at all resembling +what people call the supernatural, nor even by anything unaccountable. +It was natural that he should be made nervous and almost ill by the +persistence of the dreams that had visited him since he had met Cecilia, +and by what he believed to be the closing of a door each time he awoke +from them.</p> + +<p>Cecilia, on the contrary, had practised dreaming all her life and was +not permanently disturbed by any vision that presented itself, nor by +anything like a "phenomenon" which might accompany it. She felt that her +dreams brought her nearer to a truth of some sort, hidden from most of +the world, but of vital value, and after which she was groping +continually without much sense of direction. The specialist whom +Lamberti had consulted would have told her plainly that she had learned +to hypnotise herself, and a Japanese Buddhist monk would have told her +the same thing, adding that she was doing one of the most dangerous +things possible. The western man of science would have assured her that +a certain resemblance of the face in the dream to Lamberti was a mere +coincidence, and that since she had met him the likeness had perfected +itself, so that she now really dreamed of Lamberti; and the doctor would +have gone on to say that the rest of her vision was the result of +auto-suggestion, because the story of the Vestal Virgins had always had +a very great attraction for her. She had read a great deal about them, +she had followed Giacomo Boni's astonishing discoveries with breathless +interest, she knew more of Roman history than most girls, and probably +more than most men, and it was not at all astonishing that she should be +able to construct a whole imaginary past life with all its details and +even its end, and to dream it all at will, as if she were reading a +novel.</p> + +<p>She would have admitted that the pictured history of Cecilia, the last +Vestal, had been at first fragmentary, and had gradually completed +itself in her visions, and that even now it was constantly growing, and +that it might continue to grow, and even to change, for a long time.</p> + +<p>Further, if the specialist had known positively that similar fragments +of dreams were little by little putting themselves together in +Lamberti's imagination, though the latter had only once spoken with +Cecilia of one or two coincidences, he would have said, provided that he +chose to be frank with a mere girl, that no one knows much about +telepathy, and that modern science does not deny what it cannot explain, +as the science of the nineteenth century did, but collects and examines +facts, only requiring to be persuaded that they are really facts and not +fictions. No one, he would have said, would build a theory on one +instance; he would write down the best account of the case which he +could find, and would then proceed to look for another. Since wireless +telegraphy was possible, the specialist would not care to seek a reason +why telepathy should not be a possibility, too. If it were, it explained +thoroughly what was going on between Cecilia and Lamberti; if it were +not, there must be some other equally satisfactory explanation, still to +be found. The attitude of science used to be extremely aggressive, but +she has advanced to a higher stage; in these days she is serene. Men of +science still occasionally come into conflict with the official +representatives of different beliefs, but science herself no longer +assails religion. Lamberti's specialist professed no form of faith, +wherefore he would rather not have been called upon to answer all three +of Kant's questions: What can I know? What is it my duty to do? What may +I hope? But it by no means followed that his answers, if he gave any, +would have been shocking to people who knew less and hoped more than he +did.</p> + +<p>Cecilia thought much, but she followed no such form of reasoning to +convince herself that her experiences were all scientifically possible; +on the contrary, the illusion she loved best was the one which science +and religion alike would have altogether condemned as contrary to faith +and revolting to reason, namely, her cherished belief that she had +really once lived as a Vestal in old days, and had died, and had come +back to earth after a long time, irresistibly drawn towards life after +having almost attained to perfect detachment from material things.</p> + +<p>Her meeting with Lamberti, and, most of all, her one short conversation +with him, had greatly strengthened her illusion. He had come back, too, +and they understood each other. But that should be all.</p> + +<p>Then she took up Nietzsche again, not because every one read <i>Thus spake +Zarathushthra</i>, or was supposed to read the book, and talked about it in +a manner that discredited the supposition, but because she wanted to +decide once for all whether his theory of the endless return to life at +all suited her own case.</p> + +<p>She turned over the pages, but she knew the main thought by heart. Time +is infinite. In space there is matter consisting of elements which, +however numerous, are limited in number, and can therefore only combine +in a finite number of ways. When those possible combinations are +exhausted, they must repeat themselves. And because time is infinite, +they must repeat themselves an infinite number of times. Therefore +precisely the same combinations have returned always and will return +again and again for ever. Therefore in the past, every one of us has +lived precisely the same life, in a precisely similar world, an infinite +number of times, and will live the same life over again, to the minutest +detail, an infinite number of times in the future. In the fewest words, +this is Nietzsche's argument to prove what he calls the "Eternal +Return."</p> + +<p>No. That was not at all what she wished to believe, nor could believe, +though it was very plausible as a theory. If men lived over again, they +did not live the same lives but other lives, worse or better than the +first. Nietzsche in this was speaking only of matter which combined and +combined again. If it did, each combination might have a new soul of its +own. It was conceivable that different souls should be made to suffer +and enjoy in precisely the same way. And as for the rest, as for a good +deal of <i>Thus spake Zarathushthra</i>, including the Over-Man, and the +overcoming of Pity, and the Man who had killed God, she thought it +merely fantastic, though much of it was very beautiful and some of it +was terrible, and she thought she had understood what Nietzsche meant.</p> + +<p>Tired of reading, she lay back in her deep chair and let the open book +fall upon her knees. She was in her own room, late in the morning, and +the blinds were drawn together to keep out the glare of the wide street, +for it was June and the summer was at hand. Outside, the air was all +alive with the coming heat, as it is in Italy at the end of spring, and +perhaps nowhere else. The sunshine seems to grow in it, like a living +thing, that also fills everything with life. It gets into the people, +too, and into their voices, and even the grave Romans unbend a little, +and laugh more gaily, and their step is more elastic. By-and-by, when +the full warmth of summer fills the city, the white streets will be +almost deserted in the middle of the day, and men who have to be abroad +will drag themselves along where the walls cast a narrow shade, and +everything will grow lazy and sleepy and silently hot. But the first +good sunshine in June is to the southern people the elixir of life, the +magic gold-mist that floats before the coming gods, the breath of the +gods themselves breathed into mortals.</p> + +<p>Within the girl's room the light was very soft on the pale blue damask +hangings, and a gentle air blew now and then from window to window, as +if a sweet spirit passed by, bringing a message and taking one away. It +stirred Cecilia's golden hair, and fanned her forehead, and somehow, +just then, it brought intuitions of beautiful unknown things with it, +and inspiration with peace, and clear sight.</p> + +<p>Maidenhood is blessed with such moments, beyond all other states. In all +times and in all countries it has been half divine, and ever +mysteriously linked with divine things. The maid was ever the priestess, +the prophetess, and the seer, whose eyes looked beyond the veil and +whose ears heard the voices of the immortals; and she of Orleans was not +the only maiden, though she was the last, that lifted her fallen country +up out of despair and led men to fight and victory who would follow no +man-leader where all had failed.</p> + +<p>Maidenhood meets evil, and passes by on the other side, not seeing; +maidenhood is whole and perfect in itself and sweetly careless of what +it need not know; maidenhood dreams of a world that is not, nor was, nor +shall be, hitherwards of heaven; maidenhood is angelhood. In its +unconsciousness of evil lies its strength, in its ignorance of itself +lies its danger.</p> + +<p>Cecilia was not trying to call up visions now; she was thinking of her +life, and wondering what was to happen, and now and then she was asking +herself what she ought to do. Should she marry Guido d'Este, or not? +That was the sum of her thoughts and her wonderings and her questions.</p> + +<p>She knew she was perfectly free, and that her mother would never try to +make her marry against her will. But if she married Guido, would she be +acting against her will?</p> + +<p>In her own mind she was well aware that he would speak whenever she +chose to let him do so. The most maidenly girl of eighteen knows when a +man is waiting for an opportunity to ask her to be his wife, whereas +most young men who are much in love do not know exactly when they are +going to put the question, and are often surprised when it rises to +their lips. Cecilia considered that issue a foregone conclusion. The +vital matter was to find out her own answer.</p> + +<p>She had never known any man, since her step-father died, whom she liked +nearly as much as Guido, and she had met more interesting and gifted men +before she was really in society than most women ever know in a +lifetime. She liked him so much that if he had any faults she could not +see them, and she did not believe that he had any which deserved the +name. But that was not the question. No woman likes a man because he has +no faults; on the contrary, if he has a few, she thinks it will be her +mission to eradicate them, and reform him according to her ideal. She +believes that it will be easy, and she knows that it will be delightful +to succeed, because no other woman has succeeded before. That is one +reason why the wildest rakes are often loved by the best of women.</p> + +<p>Cecilia liked Guido for his own sake, and felt an intellectual sympathy +for him which took the place of what she had sorely missed since her +step-father died; she liked him also, because he was always ready to do +whatever she wished; and because, with the exception of that one day at +the Villa Madama, his moral attitude before her was one of respectful +and chivalrous devotion; and also because he and she were fond of the +same things, and because he took her seriously and never told her that +she was wasting time in trying to understand Kant and Fichte and Hegel, +though he possibly thought so; and she liked the little ways he had, and +his modesty, though he knew so much, and his simple manner of dressing, +and the colour of his hair, and a sort of very faint atmosphere of +Russian leather, good cigarettes, and Cologne water that was always +about him. There were a great many reasons why she was fond of him. For +instance, she had found that he never repeated to any one, not even to +Lamberti, a word of any conversation they had together; and if any one +at a dinner party or at a picnic attacked any favourite idea or theory +of hers, he defended it, using all her arguments as well as his own; and +when he knew she could say something clever in the general talk, he +always said something else which made it possible for her to bring out +her own speech, and he was always apparently just as much pleased with +it as if he had not heard it already, when they had been alone. It would +be impossible to enumerate all the reasons why she was sure that there +was nobody like him.</p> + +<p>She knew that what she felt for him was affection, and she was quite +willing to believe that it was love. He certainly had no rival with her +at that time, and if she hesitated, it was because the thought of +marriage itself was repugnant to her.</p> + +<p>In the secondary life of her imagination she was bound by the most +solemn vows, and under the most terrible penalties, to preserve herself +intact from the touch of man. In the dream, it was sacrilege for a man +to love her, and meant death to love him in return. She knew that it was +a dream, but she loved to believe that all the dream was true, and she +was too much accustomed to the thought not to be influenced by it.</p> + +<p>There are great actors who become so used to a favourite part that they +go on acting it in real life, and have sometimes gone mad in the end, it +is said, believing themselves really to be the heroes or tyrants they +have represented. Only great second-rate actors "learn" their parts and +attain to a sort of perfection in them by mechanical means. The really +great first-rate artists make themselves a secondary existence by +self-suggestion, and really have two selves, one that thinks and acts +like Othello, or Hamlet, or Louis the Eleventh, the other that goes +through life with the opinions, convictions, and principles of Sir Henry +Irving, of Tommaso Salvini, or of Madame Sarah Bernhardt.</p> + +<p>In a higher degree, because she had never learned but one part, and that +one proceeded in some way out of her own intelligence, Cecilia was in +the same state of dual consciousness, and if her waking life was +influenced by her imaginary existence in dreams, her dreams were +probably affected also by her waking life.</p> + +<p>"Thou shalt so act, as to be worthy of happiness," said her favourite +philosopher. She could undoubtedly marry Guido, in spite of her +imaginary vows, if she chose to shake off the shadowy bond by an act of +everyday will. Would that be acting so as to deserve to be happy? What +is happiness? The belief that one is happy; nothing else. As Guido's +wife, should she believe that she was happy? Yes, if there were +happiness to be found in marriage. But she was happy already without it, +and would always be so, she was sure. Therefore she would be risking a +certainty for a possibility. "Who leaves the old and takes new, knows +what he leaves, not what he may find"; so says the old Italian proverb. +And again, she had heard a friend of her step-father's say with a laugh +that hope seems cheap food, but is always paid for by those who live on +it.</p> + +<p>To act so as to be worthy of happiness, meant to act in such a way that +the reason for each action might be a law for the happiness of all. That +was the Categorical Imperative, and Cecilia believed in it.</p> + +<p>Then, if she married Guido, she ought to be sure that all young girls in +her position would marry under the circumstances, and that the majority +of them would be happy. With a return of practical sense from the +regions of philosophy, she asked herself how she should feel if Guido +married some one else, one of the many young girls who were among her +friends. Should she be jealous?</p> + +<p>At the mere thought she felt a little dull sinking that was anticipated +disappointment. Yes, she liked him enough, she was fond enough of him to +miss him terribly if he were taken away from her. This was undoubtedly +love, she thought. She could not be happy without that companionship, +though she wished that it might continue all her life, without the +necessity of being married to him.</p> + +<p>Of all the other men she had met during the last month, the only one +whom she instinctively understood was Lamberti, but that was different. +It was the understanding of a fear that was sometimes almost abject; it +was the certainty that if he only would, he could lead her anywhere, +make her do anything, direct her as he directed his own hand. When she +had met him in the house of the Vestals, she had been sure that if she +stood a moment longer where he had come upon her, he would take her in +his arms and kiss her, and she would not resist. It was of no use to +argue about it, to tell herself that she would have been safe on a +desert island with Guido's trusted friend; the conviction was strong. At +the Villa Madama, he had made her say what he pleased, go with him where +he chose, tell him her secret. It was too horrible for words. She had +asked him to come to see her at an hour when there would be no visitors, +and she knew that she had meant to see him alone, in spite of her +mother, and even by stealth if need were. When he was out of her sight, +his influence was gone with him, and she thanked heaven that he had not +come, and that he apparently took care never to be alone with her for a +moment now. He had only to look at her in a certain way, and she must +obey him; if he ever touched her hand she would be his slave, powerless +to resist him.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she could not help looking at him, but then he never turned +his eyes towards her, and she was thankful when she could turn hers +away. When he was not present, she hoped that she might never see his +face again, except in dreams, for there he was not the same. There, but +for that one passionate kiss that told all, he was tender, and gentle, +and true, and he listened to her, and in the end he lived as she wished +him to live. But he had come back to life with the same face, another +man—one whom she feared as she feared nothing in the world, and few +things beyond it, for he was born her master, and was strong, and had +ruthless eyes. Even Guido could not save her from him, she was sure.</p> + +<p>Yet in spite of all this, she could meet him with outward indifference +in the world, before other people. She felt that there was no danger so +long as she was not alone with him, because he would not dare to use his +power, and the world protected her by its cheerful, careless presence. +She did not hate him, she only feared him, with every part of her, body +and soul.</p> + +<p>She was sure that he knew it, but she was not grateful to him for +avoiding her. She could not be grateful to any one of whom she was in +terror. It was merely his will to avoid her, or perhaps, as Guido seemed +to think, he did not like her; or possibly it was for Guido's sake, +because Guido trusted him, and he was a man of honour.</p> + +<p>He was that beyond doubt, for every one said so, and she knew that he +was brave; but though he might possess every quality and virtue under +the sun, she could never be less afraid of him. Her fear had nothing to +do with his character; it was bodily and spiritual, not reasonable. She +had found out that he was perfectly truthful, for nothing he said +escaped her, and Guido told her that he was kind, but that was hard to +believe of any one with those eyes. Yet the man in the dream was +gentleness itself, and his eyes never glittered when they looked at her.</p> + +<p>To think that she could ever love Lamberti was utterly absurd. When she +was married to Guido she would tell him that she feared his friend. Now, +it was impossible. He would smile quietly and tell her there was nothing +to be afraid of; he would smile, too, if she told him that she had a +dual existence, and dreamed herself into the other every day.</p> + +<p>And now she was smiling, too, as she thought of him, for she had thought +too long about Lamberti, and it was soothing to go back to Guido's +companionship and to all that her real affection for him meant to her. +It was like coming home after a dangerous journey. There he was, always +the same, his hands stretched out to welcome her back. She would have +just that sensation presently when he came to luncheon, and he would +have just that look. She and he were made to spend endless days +together, sometimes talking, sometimes thoughtful and silent, always +happy, and calm, and utterly peaceful.</p> + +<p>After all, she thought, what more could a woman ask? With each other's +society and her fortune, they would have all the world held that was +pleasant and beautiful around them, and they would enjoy it together, as +long as it lasted, and it would never make the least difference to them +that they should grow old, and older, until the end came; and at +eighteen it was of no use to think of that.</p> + +<p>Surely this was love, at its best, and of the kind that must last; and +if, after all, in order to get such happiness as that seemed, there was +no way except to marry, why then, she must do as others did and be Guido +d'Este's wife.</p> + +<p>What could she know? That she loved him, in a way not at all like what +she had supposed to be the way of love, but sincerely and truly. What +should she do? She should marry him, since that was necessary. What +might she hope? She could hope for a lifetime of happiness. Should she +then have acted so as to deserve it? Yes. Why not? Might the reason for +her marriage be a rule for others? Yes, for others in exactly the same +case.</p> + +<p>So she smilingly answered the mightiest questions of transcendental +philosophy as if they all referred to the pleasant world in which she +lived, instead of to the lofty regions of Pure Reason. In that, indeed, +she knew that she was playing with them, or applying them empirically, +if any one chose to define in those terms what she was doing. After all, +why should she not? Of the three questions, the first only was +"speculative," and the other two were "practical." The philosopher +himself said so.</p> + +<p>Besides, it did not matter, for Guido d'Este was coming to luncheon, and +afterwards her mother would go and write notes, unless she dozed a +little in her boudoir, as she sometimes did while the two talked; and +then Cecilia would say something quite natural, but quite new, and she +would let her look linger in Guido's a little longer than ever before, +and then he would ask her to marry him. It was all decided beforehand in +her small head.</p> + +<p>She was glad that it was, and she felt much happier at the prospect of +what was coming than she had expected. That must be a sign that she +really loved Guido in the right way, and the pleasant little thrill of +excitement she felt now and again could only be due to that; it would be +outrageous to suppose that it was caused merely by the certainty that +for the first time in her life she was going to receive an offer of +marriage. Why should any young girl care for such a thing, unless she +meant to marry the man, and why in the world should it give her any +pleasure to hear a man stammer something that would be unintelligible if +it were not expected, and then see him wait with painful anxiety for the +answer which every woman likes to hesitate a little in giving, in order +that it may have its full value? Such doings are manifestly wicked, +unless they are sheer nonsense!</p> + +<p>Cecilia rose and rang for her maid; for it was twelve o'clock, and +Romans lunch at half-past twelve, because they do not begin the day +between eight and nine in the morning with ham and eggs, omelets and +bacon, beefsteak and onions, fried liver, cold joints, tongue, cold ham +and pickles, hot cakes, cold cakes, hot bread, cold bread, butter, jam, +honey, fruit of all kinds in season, tea, coffee, chocolate, and a +tendency to complain that they have not had enough, which is the +unchangeable custom of the conquering races, as everybody knows. It is +true that the conquerors do not lunch to any great extent; they go on +conquering from breakfast till dinner time without much intermission, +because that is their business; but it is believed that their women, who +stay at home, have a little something at twelve, luncheon at half-past +two, tea between five and six, dinner at eight, and supper about +midnight, when they can get it.</p> + +<p>Cecilia rang for the excellent Petersen, and said that she would wear +the new costume which had arrived from Doucet's two days ago.</p> + +<p>There was certainly no reason why she should not wish to look well on +this day of all others, and as she turned and saw herself in the glass, +she had not the least thought of making a better impression than usual +on Guido. She was far too sure of herself for that. If she chose, he +would ask her to marry him though she might be dressed in an old +waterproof and overshoes. It was merely because she was happy and was +sure that she was going to do the right thing. When a normal woman is +very happy, she puts on a perfectly new frock, if she has one, in real +life or on the stage, even when she is not going to be seen by any one +in particular. In this, therefore, Cecilia only followed the instinct of +her kind, and if the pretty new costume had not chanced to have come +from Paris, she would not have missed it at all, but would have worn +something else. As it happened to be ready, however, it would have been +a pity not to put it on, since she expected to remember that particular +day all the rest of her life.</p> + +<p>Petersen said it was perfection, and Cecilia was not far from thinking +so, too.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + + +<p>Guido d'Este was already in the drawing-room with the Countess when +Cecilia entered, but she knew by their faces and voices that they had +not been talking of her, and was glad of it; for sometimes, when she was +quite sure that they had, she felt a little embarrassment at first, and +found Guido a trifle absent-minded for some time afterwards.</p> + +<p>She took his hand, and perhaps she held it a second longer than usual, +and she looked into his eyes as she spoke to her mother. Yesterday she +would have very likely looked at her mother while speaking to him.</p> + +<p>"I hope I am not late," she said, "Have I kept you waiting?"</p> + +<p>"It was worth while, if you did," Guido said, looking at her with +undisguised admiration.</p> + +<p>"It really is a success, is it not?" Cecilia asked, turning to her +mother now, for approval.</p> + +<p>Then she turned slowly round, raised herself on tiptoe a moment, came +back to her original position, and smiled happily. Guido waited for the +Countess to speak.</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes," the latter answered critically, but almost satisfied. "When +one has a figure like yours, my dear, one should always have things +quite perfect. A woman who has a good figure and is really well dressed, +hardly ever needs a pin. Let me see. Does it not draw under the right +arm, just the slightest bit? Put your arm down, child, let it hang +naturally! So. No, I was mistaken, there is nothing. You really ought to +keep your arm in the right position, darling. It makes so much +difference! You are not going to play tennis, or ride a bicycle in that +costume. No, of course not! Well, then—you understand. Do be careful!"</p> + +<p>Cecilia looked at Guido and smiled again, and her lips parted just +enough to show her two front teeth a little, and then, still parted, +grew grave, which gave her an expression Guido had never seen. For a +moment there was something between a question and an appeal in her face.</p> + +<p>"It is very becoming," he said gravely. "It is a pleasure to see +anything so faultless."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you really like it," she answered. "I always want you to like +my things."</p> + +<p>Everything happened exactly as she had expected and wished, and the +Countess, when she had sipped her cup of coffee after luncheon, went to +the writing table in the boudoir, and though the door was open into the +great drawing-room, she was out of sight, and out of hearing too.</p> + +<p>Cecilia did not sit down again at once, but moved slowly about, went to +one of the windows and looked down at the white street through the slats +of the closed blinds, turned and met Guido's eyes, for he was watching +her, and at last stood still not far from him, but a little further from +the open door of the boudoir than he was. At the end of the room a short +sofa was placed across the corner; before it stood a low table on which +lay a few large books, of the sort that are supposed to amuse people who +are waiting for the lady of the house, or who are stranded alone in the +evening when every one else is talking. They are always books of the +type described as magnificent and not dear; if they were really +valuable, they would not be left there.</p> + +<p>"How you watch me!" Cecilia smiled, as if she did not object to being +watched. "Come and sit down," she added, without waiting for an answer.</p> + +<p>She established herself in one corner of the short sofa behind the +table, Guido took his place in the other, and there would not have been +room for a third person between them. The two had never sat together in +that particular place, and there was a small sensation of novelty about +it which was delightful to them both. There was not the least +calculation of such a thing in Cecilia's choice of the sofa, but only +the unerring instinct of woman which outwits man's deepest schemes at +every turn in life.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Guido said, "I was watching you. I often do, for it is good to +look at you. Why should one not get as much æsthetic pleasure as +possible out of life?"</p> + +<p>The speech was far from brilliant, for Guido was beginning to feel the +spell, and was not thinking so much of what he was saying as of what he +longed to say. Most clever men are dull enough to suppose that they bore +women when they suddenly lose their cleverness and say rather foolish +things with an air of conviction, instead of very witty things with a +studied look of indifference. The hundred and fifty generations of men, +more or less, that separate us moderns from the days of Eden, never +found out that those are the very moments at which a woman first feels +her power, and that it is much less dangerous to bore her just then than +before or afterwards. It is a rare delight to her to feel that her mere +look can turn careless wit to earnest foolishness. For nothing is ever +more in earnest than real folly, except real love.</p> + +<p>"You always say nice things," Cecilia answered, and Guido was pleasantly +surprised, for he had been quite sure that the silly compliment was +hardly worth answering.</p> + +<p>"And you are always kind," he said gratefully. "Always the same," he +added after a moment, with a little accent of regret.</p> + +<p>"Am I? You say it as if you wished I might sometimes change. Is that +what you mean?"</p> + +<p>She looked down at her hands, that lay in her lap motionless and white, +one upon the other, on the delicate dove-coloured stuff of her frock; +and her voice was rather low.</p> + +<p>"No," Guido answered. "That is not what I mean."</p> + +<p>"Then I do not understand," she said, neither moving nor looking up.</p> + +<p>Guido said nothing. He leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, and +stared down at the Persian rug that lay before the sofa on the smooth +matting. It was warm and still in the great room.</p> + +<p>"Try and make me understand."</p> + +<p>Still he was silent. Without changing his position he glanced at the +open door of the boudoir. The Countess was invisible and inaudible. +Guido could hear the young girl's soft and regular breathing, and he +felt the pulse in his own throat. He knew that he must say something, +and yet the only thing he could think of to say was that he loved her.</p> + +<p>"Try and make me understand," she repeated. "I think you could."</p> + +<p>He started and changed his position a little. He had been accustomed so +long to the belief that if he spoke out frankly the thread of his +intercourse with her would be broken, that he made a strong effort to +get back to the ordinary tone of their conversation.</p> + +<p>"Do you never say absurd things that have no meaning?" he asked, and +tried to laugh.</p> + +<p>"It was not what you said," Cecilia answered quietly. "It was the way +you said it, as if you rather regretted saying that I am always the +same. I should be sorry if you thought that an absurd speech."</p> + +<p>"You know that I do not!" cried Guido, with a little indignation. "We +understand each other so well, as a rule, but there is something you +will never understand, I am afraid."</p> + +<p>"That is just what I wish you would explain," replied the young girl, +unmoved.</p> + +<p>"Are you in earnest?" Guido asked, suddenly turning his face to her.</p> + +<p>"Of course. We are such good friends that it is a pity there should ever +be the least little bit of misunderstanding between us."</p> + +<p>"You talk about it very philosophically!"</p> + +<p>"About what?" She had felt that she must make him lose patience, and she +succeeded.</p> + +<p>"After all, I am a man," he said rather hoarsely. "Do you suppose it is +possible for me to see you day after day, to talk with you day after +day, to be alone with you day after day, as I am, to hear your voice, to +touch your hand—and to be satisfied with friendship?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know?" Cecilia asked thoughtfully. "I have never known any +one as well as I know you. I never liked anyone else well enough," she +added after an instant.</p> + +<p>A very faint colour rose in her cheeks, for she was afraid that she had +been too forward.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I am sure of that," he said. "But you never feel that mere liking +is turning into something stronger, and that friendship is changing into +love. You never will!"</p> + +<p>She said nothing, but looked at him steadily while he looked away from +her, absorbed in his own thought and expecting no answer. When at last +he felt her eyes on him, he turned quickly with a start of surprise, +catching his breath, and speaking incoherently.</p> + +<p>"You do not mean to tell me—you are not—"</p> + +<p>Again her lips parted and she smiled at his wonder.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" she asked, at last.</p> + +<p>"You love me? You?" He could not believe his ears.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" she asked again, but so low that he could hardly hear the +words.</p> + +<p>He turned half round, as he sat, and covered her crossed hands with his, +and for a while neither spoke. He was supremely happy; she was convinced +that she ought to be, and that she therefore believed that she was, and +that her happiness was consequently real.</p> + +<p>But when she heard his voice, she knew, in spite of all, that she did +not feel what he felt, even in the smallest degree, and there was a +doubt which she had not anticipated, and which she at once faced in her +heart with every argument she could use. She must have done right, it +was absolutely necessary that what she had done should be right, now +that it was too late to undo it. The mere suggestion that it might turn +out to be a mistake was awful. It would all be her fault if she had +deceived him, though ever so unwittingly.</p> + +<p>His hands shook a little as they lay on hers. Then they took one of hers +and held it, drawing it slowly away from the other.</p> + +<p>"Do you really love me?" Guido asked, still wondering, and not quite +convinced.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered faintly, and not trying to withdraw her hand.</p> + +<p>She had been really happy before she had first answered him. A minute +had not passed, and her martyrdom had begun, the martyrdom by the doubt +which made that one "yes" possibly a lie. Guido raised her hand to his +lips, and she felt that they were cold. Then he began to speak, and she +heard his voice far off and as if it came to her through a dense mist.</p> + +<p>"I have loved you almost since we first met," he said, "but I was sure +from the beginning that you would never feel anything but friendship for +me."</p> + +<p>A voice that was neither his nor hers, cried out in her heart:</p> + +<p>"Nor ever can!"</p> + +<p>She almost believed that he could hear the words. She would have given +all she had to have the strength to speak them, to disappoint him +bravely, to tell him that she had meant to do right, but had done wrong. +But she could not. He did not pause as he spoke, and his soft, deep +voice poured into her ear unceasingly the pent-up thoughts of love that +had been gathering in his heart for weeks. She knew that he was looking +in her face for some response, and now and then, as her head lay back +against the sofa cushion, she turned her eyes to his and smiled, and +twice she felt that her fingers pressed his hand a little.</p> + +<p>It was not out of mere weakness that she did not interrupt him, for she +was not weak, nor cowardly. She had been so sure that she loved him, +until he had made her say so, that even now, whenever she could think at +all, she went back to her reasoning, and could all but persuade herself +again. It was when she was obliged to speak that her lips almost refused +the word.</p> + +<p>For she was very fond of him. It would have been pleasant to sit there, +and even to press his hand affectionately, and to listen to his words, +if only they had been words of friendship and not of love, and spoken in +another tone—in his voice of every day. But she had waked in him +something she could not understand, and to which nothing in herself +responded, nothing thrilled, nothing consented; and the inner voice in +her heart cried out perpetually, warning her against something unknown.</p> + +<p>He was eloquent now, and spoke without doubt or fear, as men do when +they have been told at last that they are loved; and her occasional +glance and the pressure of her hand were all he wanted in return. He +said everything for her, which he wished to hear her say, and it seemed +to him that she spoke the words by his lips. They would be happy +together always, happy beyond volumes of words to say, beyond thought to +think, beyond imagination to imagine. Quick plans for the future, near +and far, flashed into words that were pictures, and the pictures showed +him a visible earthly paradise, in which they two should live always, in +which he should always be speaking as he was speaking now, and she +listening, as she now listened.</p> + +<p>He forgot the time, and forgot to glance at the open door of the +boudoir, but at last Cecilia started, and drew back her hand from his, +and blushed as she raised her head from the back of the sofa. Her mother +was standing in the doorway watching, and hearing, an expression of rapt +delight on her face, not daring to move forwards or backwards, lest she +should interrupt the scene.</p> + +<p>Cecilia started, and Guido, following the direction of her eyes, saw the +Countess, and felt that small touch of disappointment which a man feels +when the woman he is addressing in passionate language is less +absent-minded than he is. He rose to his feet instantly, and went +forwards, as the Countess came towards him.</p> + +<p>"My dear lady," he said, "Cecilia has consented to be my wife."</p> + +<p>Cecilia did not afterwards remember precisely what happened next, for +the room swam with her as she left her seat, and she steadied herself +against a chair, and saw nothing for a moment; but presently she found +herself in her mother's arms, which pressed her very hard, and her +mother was kissing her again and again, and was saying incoherent +things, and was on the point of crying. Guido stood a few steps away, +apparently seeing nothing, but looking the picture of happiness, and +very busy with his cigarette case, of which he seemed to think the +fastening must be out of order, for he opened it and shut it again +several times and tried it in every way.</p> + +<p>Then Cecilia was quite aware of outward things again, and she kissed her +mother once or twice.</p> + +<p>"Let me go, mother dear," she whispered desperately. "I want to be +alone—do let me go!"</p> + +<p>She slipped away, pale and trembling, and had disappeared almost before +Guido was aware that she was going towards the door. She heard her +mother's voice just as she reached the threshold.</p> + +<p>"We will announce it this evening," the Countess said to Guido.</p> + +<p>Cecilia sped through the long suite of rooms that led to her own. She +met no one, not even Petersen, for the servants were all at dinner. She +locked the door, stood still a moment, and then went to the tall glass +between the windows, and looked at herself as if trying to read the +truth in the reflection of her eyes. It seemed to her that her beauty +was suddenly gone from her, and that she was utterly changed. She saw a +pale, drawn face, eyes that looked weak and frightened, lips that +trembled, a figure that had lost all its elasticity and half its grace.</p> + +<p>She did not throw herself upon her bed and burst into tears. Old +Fortiguerra had taught her that it was not really more natural for a +woman to cry than it is for a man; and she had overcome even the very +slight tendency she had ever had towards such outward weakness. But like +other people who train themselves to keep down emotion, she suffered +much more than if she had given way to what she felt. She turned from +the reflection of herself with a sort of dumb horror, and sat down in +the place where she had come to her great decision less than two hours +ago.</p> + +<p>The room looked very differently now; the air was not the same, the June +sunshine was still beating on the blinds, but it was cruel now, and +pitiless, as all light is that shines on grief.</p> + +<p>She tried to collect her thoughts, and asked herself whether it was a +crime that she had committed against her will, and many other such +questions that had no answer. Little by little reason began to assert +itself again, as emotion subsided.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + + +<p>The news of Cecilia Palladio's engagement to Guido d'Este surprised no +one, and was generally received with that satisfaction which society +feels when those things happen which are appropriate in themselves and +have been long expected. A few mothers of marriageable sons were +disappointed, but no mothers of marriageable daughters, because Guido +had no fortune and was so much liked as to have been looked upon rather +as a danger than a prize.</p> + +<p>Though it was late in the season, and she was about to leave Rome, the +Princess Anatolie gave a dinner party in honour of the betrothed pair, +and by way of producing an impression on Cecilia and her mother, invited +all the most imposing people who happened to be in Rome at that time; +and they were chiefly related to her in some way or other, as all +semi-royal personages, and German dukes and grand-dukes and mediatised +princes, and princes of the Holy Empire, seemed to be. Now all these +great people seemed to know Cecilia's future husband intimately and +liked him, and called him "Guido"; and he called some of them by their +first names, and was evidently not the least in awe of any of them. They +were his relations, as the Princess was, and they acknowledged him; and +they were inclined to be affectionate relatives, because he had never +asked any of them for anything, and differed from most of them in never +having done anything too scandalous to be mentioned. They were his +family, for his mother had been an only child; and Princess Anatolie, +who was distinctly a snob in soul, in spite of her royal blood, took +care that the good Countess Fortiguerra should know exactly how matters +stood, and that her daughter ought to be thankful that she was to marry +among the exalted ones of the earth—at any price.</p> + +<p>Now, when she had been an ambassadress, the Countess had met two or +three of those people, and had been accustomed to look upon them as +personages whom the Embassy entertained in state, one at a time, when +they condescended to accept an invitation, but who lived in a region of +their own, which was often, and perhaps fortunately so, beyond the +experience of ordinary society. She was therefore really pleased and +flattered to find herself in their intimacy and to hear what they had to +say when they talked without restraint. Her position was certainly very +good already, but there was no denying that her daughter's marriage +would make it a privileged one.</p> + +<p>In the first place, Guido and Cecilia were clearly expected to visit +some of his relations during their wedding trip and afterwards, and at +some future time the Countess would go with them and see wonderful +castles and palaces she had heard of from her childhood. That would be +delightful, she thought, and the excellent Baron Goldbirn of Vienna +would die of envy. Not that she wished him to die of envy, nor of +anything else; she merely thought of his feelings.</p> + +<p>Then—and perhaps that was what gave her the most real +satisfaction—Cecilia was to take the place for which her beauty and her +talents had destined her, but which her birth had not given her. The +mother's heart was filled with affectionate pride when she realised that +the marvel she had brought into the world, the most wonderful girl that +ever lived, her only child, was to be the mother of kings' and queens' +second cousins. It was quite indifferent that she should be called plain +Signora d'Este, and not princess, or duchess, or marchioness. The +Countess did not care a straw for titles, for she had lived in a world +where they are as plentiful as figs in August; but to be the mother of a +king's second cousin was something worth living for, and she herself +would be the mother-in-law of an ex-King's son, which would have made +her the something-in-law of the ex-King himself, if he had been alive. +Yet she cared very little for herself in comparison with Cecilia. She +was only a vicarious snob, after all, and a very motherly and loving +one, with harmless faults and weaknesses which every one forgave.</p> + +<p>The Princess Anatolie saw that the impression was made, and was +satisfied for the present. She meant to have a little serious +conversation with the Countess before they parted for the summer, and +before the first impression had worn off, but it would have been a great +mistake to talk business on such an occasion as the present. The fish +was netted, that was the main thing; the next was to hasten the marriage +as much as possible, for the Princess saw at once that Cecilia was not +really in love with Guido, and as the fortune was hers, the girl had the +power to draw back at the last moment; that is to say, that all the +mothers of marriageable sons would declare that she was quite right in +doing what Italian society never quite pardons in ordinary cases. An +Italian girl who has broken off an engagement after it is announced does +not easily find a husband at any price.</p> + +<p>Cecilia noticed that Monsieur Leroy was not present at the dinner, and +as she sat next to Guido she asked him the reason in an undertone.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," he answered. "He is probably dining out. My aunt's +relations do not like him much, I believe."</p> + +<p>The Countess was affectionately intent on everything her daughter said +and did, and was possessed of very good hearing; she caught the exchange +of question and answer, and it occurred to her that an absent person +might always be made a subject of conversation. She was not far from the +Princess at table.</p> + +<p>"By-the-bye," she asked, agreeably, "where is Monsieur Leroy?"</p> + +<p>Every one heard her speak, and to her amazement and confusion her words +produced one of those appalling silences which are remembered through +life by those who have accidentally caused them. Cecilia looked at +Guido, and he was gravely occupied in digging the little bits of truffle +out of some pâté de foie gras on his plate, for he did not like +truffles. Not a muscle of his face moved.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he is at home," the Princess answered after a few seconds, in +her most disagreeable and metallic tone.</p> + +<p>As Monsieur Leroy had told Cecilia that he lived in the house, she +opened her eyes. Nobody spoke for several moments, and the Countess got +very red, and fanned herself. A stout old gentleman of an apoplectic +complexion and a merry turn of mind struggled a moment with an evident +desire to laugh, then grasped his glass desperately, tried to drink, +choked himself, and coughed and sputtered, just as if he had not been a +member of an imperial family, but just a common mortal.</p> + +<p>"You are a good shot, Guido," said a man who was very much like him, but +was older and had iron-grey hair, "you must be sure to come to us for +the opening of the season."</p> + +<p>"I should like to," Guido answered, "but it is always a state function +at your place."</p> + +<p>"The Emperor is not coming this year," explained the first speaker.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked the Princess Anatolie. "I thought he always did."</p> + +<p>The man with the iron-grey hair proceeded to explain why the Emperor was +not coming, and the conversation began again, much to the relief of +every one. The Countess listened attentively, for she was not quite sure +which Emperor they meant.</p> + +<p>"Please ask your mother not to talk about Monsieur Leroy," Guido said, +almost in a whisper.</p> + +<p>Cecilia thought that the advice would scarcely be needed after what had +just happened, but she promised to convey it, and begged Guido to tell +her the reason for what he said when he should have a chance.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to say that I cannot," he answered, and at once began to +talk about an indifferent subject.</p> + +<p>Cecilia answered him rather indolently, but not absently. She was at +least glad that he did not speak of their future plans, where any one +might hear what he said.</p> + +<p>She was growing used to the idea that she had promised to marry him, and +that everybody expected the wedding to take place in a few weeks, though +it looked utterly impossible to her.</p> + +<p>It was as if she had exchanged characters with him. He had become +hopeful, enthusiastic, in love with life, actively exerting himself in +every way. In a few days she had grown indolent and vacillating, and was +willing to let every question decide itself rather than to force her +decision upon circumstances. She felt that she was not what she had +believed herself to be, and that it therefore mattered little what +became of her. If she married Guido she should not live long, but it +would be the same if she married any one else, since there was no one +whom she liked half as much.</p> + +<p>On the day after the engagement was announced Lamberti came, with Guido, +to offer his congratulations. Cecilia saw that he was thin and looked as +if he were living under a strain of some sort, but she did not think +that his manner changed in the least when he spoke to her. His words +were what she might have expected, few, concise, and well chosen, but +his face was expressionless, and his eyes were dull and impenetrable. He +stayed twenty minutes, talking most of the time with her mother, and +then took his leave. As soon as he had turned to go, Cecilia +unconsciously watched him. He went out and shut the door very softly +after him, and she started and caught her breath. It was only the +shutting of a door, of course, and the door was like any other door, and +made the same noise when one shut it—the click of a well-made lock when +the spring pushes the bevelled latch-bolt into the socket. But it was +exactly the sound she thought she heard each time her dream ended.</p> + +<p>The impression had passed in a flash, and no one had noticed her nervous +movement. Since then, she had not met Lamberti, for after the engagement +was made known she went out less, and Guido spent much more of his time +at the Palazzo Massimo. Many people were leaving Rome, too, and those +who remained were no longer inclined to congregate together, but stayed +at home in the evening and only went out in the daytime when it was +cool. Some had boys who had to pass their public examinations before the +family could go into the country. Others were senators of the Kingdom, +obliged to stay in town till the end of the session; some were connected +with the ministry and had work to do; and some stayed because they liked +it, for though the weather was warm it was not yet what could be called +hot.</p> + +<p>The Countess wished the wedding to take place in July, and Guido agreed +to anything that could hasten it. Cecilia said nothing, for she could +not believe that she was really to be married. Something must happen to +prevent it, even at the last minute, something natural but unexpected, +something, above all, by which she should be spared the humiliation of +explaining to Guido what she felt, and why she had honestly believed +that she loved him.</p> + +<p>And after all, if she were obliged to marry him, she supposed that she +would never be more unhappy than she was already. It was her fate, that +was all that could be said, and she must bear it, and perhaps it would +not be so hard as it seemed. A character weaker than hers might perhaps +have turned against Guido; she might have found her friendly affection +suddenly changed into a capricious dislike that would soon lead to +positive hatred. But there was no fear of that. She only wished that he +would not talk perpetually about the future, with so much absolute +confidence, when it seemed to her so terribly problematic.</p> + +<p>Such conversations were made all the more difficult to sustain by the +fact that if they were married, she, as the possessor of the fortune, +would be obliged to decide many questions with regard to their manner of +life.</p> + +<p>"For my part," Guido said, "I do not care where we live, so long as you +like the place, but you will naturally wish to be near your mother."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes!" cried Cecilia, with more conviction than she had shown about +anything of late. "I could not bear to be separated from her!"</p> + +<p>Lamberti had once observed to Guido that she was an indulgent daughter; +and Guido had smiled and reminded his friend of the younger Dumas, who +once said that his father always seemed to him a favourite child that +had been born to him before he came into the world. Cecilia was +certainly fond of her mother, but it had never occurred to Guido that +she could not live without her. He was in a state of mind, however, in +which a man in love accepts everything as a matter of course, and he +merely answered that in that case they would naturally live in Rome.</p> + +<p>"We could just live here, for the present," she said. "There is the +Palazzo Massimo. I am sure it is big enough. Should you dislike it?"</p> + +<p>She was thinking that if she could keep her own room, and have Petersen +with her, and her mother, the change would not be so great after all. +Guido said nothing, and his expression was a blank.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Cecilia insisted, and all sorts of practical reasons +suggested themselves at once. "It is a very comfortable house, though it +is a little ghostly at night. There are dreadful stories about it, you +know. But what does that matter? It is big, and in a good part of the +city, and we have just furnished it; so of what use in the world is it +to go and do the same thing over again, in the next street?"</p> + +<p>"That is very sensible," Guido was obliged to admit.</p> + +<p>"But you do not like the idea, I am sure," Cecilia said, in a tone of +disappointment.</p> + +<p>"I had not meant that we should live in the same house with your +mother," Guido said, with a smile. "Of course, she is a very charming +woman, and I like her very much, but I think that when people marry they +had much better go and live by themselves."</p> + +<p>"Nobody ever used to," objected Cecilia. "It is only of late years that +they do it in Rome. Oh, I see!" she cried suddenly. "How dull of me! +Yes. I understand. It is quite natural."</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Guido with some curiosity.</p> + +<p>"You would feel that you had simply come to live in our house, because +you have no house of your own for us to live in. I ought to have thought +of that."</p> + +<p>She seemed distressed, fancying that she had hurt him, but he had no +false pride.</p> + +<p>"Every one knows my position," he answered. "Every one knows that if we +live in a palace, in the way you are used to live, it will be with your +money."</p> + +<p>There was a little pause, for Cecilia did not know what to say. Guido +continued, following his own thoughts:</p> + +<p>"If I did not love you as much as I do, I could not possibly live on +your fortune," he said. "I used to say that nothing could ever make me +marry an heiress, and I meant it. One generally ends by doing what one +says one will never do. A cousin of mine detested Germans and had the +most extraordinary aversion for people who had any physical defect. She +married a German who had lost the use of one leg by a wound in battle, +and was extremely lame."</p> + +<p>"Did she love him?" asked Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"Devotedly, to his dying day. They were the most perfectly loving couple +I ever knew."</p> + +<p>"Would you rather I were lame than rich?" Cecilia asked, with a little +laugh.</p> + +<p>Guido laughed too.</p> + +<p>"That is one of those questions that have no answers. How could I wish +anything so perfect as you are to have any defect? But I will tell you a +story. An Englishman was very much in love with a lady who was lame, and +she loved him but would not marry him. She said that he should not be +tied to a cripple all his life. He was one of those magnificent +Englishmen you see sometimes, bigger and better looking than other men. +When he saw that she was in earnest he went away and scoured Europe till +he found what he wanted—a starving young surgeon who was willing to cut +off one of his legs for a large sum of money. That was before the days +of chloroform. When the Englishman had recovered, he went home with his +wooden leg, and asked the lady if she would marry him, then. She did, +and they were happy."</p> + +<p>"Is that true?" Cecilia asked.</p> + +<p>"I have always believed it. That was the real thing."</p> + +<p>"Yes. That was the real thing."</p> + +<p>Cecilia's voice trembled a very little, and her eyes glistened.</p> + +<p>"The truth is," said Guido, "that it is easier to have one's leg cut off +than to make a fortune."</p> + +<p>He was amused at his thought, but Cecilia was wondering what she would +be willing to suffer, and able to bear, if any suffering could buy her +freedom. At the same time, she knew that she would do a great deal to +help him if he were in need or distress. She wondered, too, whether +there could be any fixed relation between a sacrifice made for love and +one made for friendship's sake.</p> + +<p>"There must never be any question of money between us," she said, after +a pause. "What is mine must be ours, and what is ours must be as much +yours as mine."</p> + +<p>"No," Guido answered gently. "That is not possible. I have quite enough +for anything I shall ever need, but you must live in the way you like, +and where you like, with your own fortune."</p> + +<p>"And you will be a sort of perpetual guest in my house!"</p> + +<p>For the first time there was a little bitterness in her laugh, and he +looked at her quickly, for after the way she had spoken he had not +thought that what he had said could have offended her. Of the two, he +fancied that his own position was the harder to accept, the position of +the "perpetual guest" in his wife's palace, just able to pay for his +gloves, his cigarettes, and his small luxuries. He did not quite +understand why she was hurt, as she seemed to be.</p> + +<p>On her part she felt as if she had done all she could, and was angry +with herself, and not with him, because all her fortune was not worth a +tenth of what he was giving her, nor a hundredth part. For an instant +she was on the point of speaking out frankly, to tell him that she had +made a great mistake. Then she thought of what he would suffer, and once +more she resolved to think it all over before finally deciding.</p> + +<p>So nothing was decided. For when she was alone, all the old reasons came +and arrayed themselves before her, with their hopeless little faces, +like poor children standing in a row to be inspected, and trying to look +their best though their clothes were ragged and their little shoes were +out at the toes.</p> + +<p>But they were the only reasons she had, and she coaxed them into a sort +of unreal activity till they brought her back to the listless state in +which she had lived of late, and in which it did not matter what became +of her, since she must marry Guido in the end.</p> + +<p>Her mother paid no attention to her moods. Cecilia had always been +subject to moods, she said to herself, and it was not at all strange +that she should not behave like other girls. Guido seemed satisfied, and +that was the main thing, after all. He was not, but he was careful not +to say so.</p> + +<p>The preparations for the wedding went on, and the Countess made up her +mind that it should take place at the end of July. It would be so much +more convenient to get it over at once, and the sooner Cecilia returned +from her honeymoon, the sooner her mother could see her again. The good +lady knew that she should be very unhappy when she was separated from +the child she had idolised all her life; but she had always looked upon +marriage as an absolute necessity, and after being married twice +herself, she was inclined to consider it as an absolute good. She would +no more have thought of delaying the wedding from selfish considerations +than she would have thought of cutting off Cecilia's beautiful hair in +order to have it made up into a false braid and wear it herself. So she +busied herself with the dressmakers, and only regretted that both +Cecilia and Guido flatly refused to go to Paris. It did not matter quite +so much, because only three months had elapsed since the last interview +with Doucet, and all the new summer things had come; and after all one +could write, and some things were very good in Rome, as for instance all +the fine needle-work done by the nuns. It would have been easier if +Cecilia had shown some little interest in her wedding outfit.</p> + +<p>The girl tried hard to care about what was being made for her, and was +patient in having gowns tried on, and in listening to her mother's +advice. The days passed slowly and it grew hotter.</p> + +<p>After she had become engaged to Guido, she had broken with her dream +life by an effort which had cost her more than she cared to remember.</p> + +<p>She had felt that it was not the part of a faithful woman to go on +loving an imaginary man in her dreams, when she was the promised wife of +another, even though she loved that other less or not at all.</p> + +<p>It was a maidenly and an honest conviction, but at the root of it lay +also an unacknowledged fear which made it even stronger. The man in the +dream might grow more and more like Lamberti, the dream itself might +change, the man might have power over her, instead of submitting to her +will, and he might begin to lead her whither he would. The mere idea was +horrible. It was better to break off, if she could, and to remember the +exquisite Vestal, faithful to her vows, living her life of saintly +purity to the very end, in a love altogether beyond material things. To +let that vision be marred, to suffer that life to be polluted by +mortality, to see the Vestal break the old promises and fall to the +level of an ordinary woman, would be to lose a part of herself and all +that portion of her own existence which had been dearest to her. That +would happen if the man's eyes changed ever so little from what they +were in the dream to the likeness of those living ones that glittered +and were ruthless. For the dream had really changed on the very night +after she had met Lamberti; the loving look had been followed by the one +fierce kiss she could never forget, and though afterwards the rest of +the dream had all come back and had gone on to its end as before, that +one kiss came with it again and again, and in that moment the eyes were +Lamberti's own. It was no wonder that she dared not look into them when +she met him.</p> + +<p>And worse still, she had begun to long for it in the dream. She blushed +at the thought. If by any unheard-of outrage Lamberti should ever touch +her lips with his in real life, she knew that she would scream and +struggle and escape, unless his eyes forced her to yield. Then she +should die. She was sure of it. But she would kill herself rather than +be touched by him.</p> + +<p>She did not understand exactly, that is to say, scientifically, how she +put herself into the dream state, for it was not a natural sleep, if it +were sleep at all. She did not put out the light and lay her head on the +pillow and lose consciousness, as Lamberti did, and then at once see the +vision. In real sleep, she rarely dreamed at all, and never of what she +always thought of as her other life. To reach that, she had to use her +will, being wide awake, with her eyes open, concentrating her thoughts +at first, as it seemed to her, to a single point, and then abandoning +that point altogether, so that she thought of nothing while she waited.</p> + +<p>It was in her power not to begin the process, in other words not to +hypnotise herself, though she never thought of it by that name; and when +she had answered Guido's question, rightly or wrongly, she knew that it +must be right to break the old habit. But she did not know what she had +resolved to forego till the temptation came, that very night, after she +had shut the door, and when she was about to light the candles, by force +of habit. She checked herself. There was the high chair she loved to sit +in, with the candles behind her, waiting for her in the same place. If +she sat in it, the light would cast her shadow before her and the vision +would presently rise in it.</p> + +<p>She had taken the lid off the little Wedgwood match box and the candles +were before her. It seemed as if some physical power were going to force +her to strike the wax match in spite of herself. If she did, five +minutes would not pass before she should see the marble court of the +Vestals' house, and then the rest—the kiss, and then the rest. She +stiffened her arm, as if to resist the force that tried to move it +against her will, and she held her breath and then breathed hard again. +She felt her throat growing slowly dry and the blood rising with a +strange pressure to the back of her head. If she let her hand move to +take the match, she was lost. As the temptation increased she tried to +say a prayer.</p> + +<p>Then, she did not know how, it grew less, as if a sort of crisis were +past, and she drew a long breath of relief as her arm relaxed, and she +replaced the lid on the box. She turned from the table and took the big +chair away from its usual place. It was a heavy thing for a woman to +carry, but she did not notice the weight till she had set it against the +wall at the further end of the room.</p> + +<p>She slept little that night, but she slept naturally, and when she awoke +there was no sound of the door being softly closed. But she missed +something, and felt a dull, inexplicable want all the next day.</p> + +<p>A habit is not broken by a single interruption. It is hard for a man +whose nerves are accustomed to a stimulant or a narcotic to go without +it for one day, but that is as nothing compared with giving it up +altogether. Specialists can decide whether there is any resemblance +between the condition of a person under the influence of morphia or +alcohol, and the state of a person hypnotised, whether by himself or by +another, when that state is regularly accompanied by the illusion of +some strong and agreeable emotion. Probably all means which produce an +unnatural condition of the nerves at more or less regular hours may be +classed together, and there is not much difference between the kind of +craving they produce in those who use them. Moreover it is often said +that it is harder for a woman to break a habit of that sort, than for a +man.</p> + +<p>Cecilia was young, fairly strong and very elastic, but she suffered +intensely when night came and she had to face the struggle. Bodily pain +would have been a relief then, and she knew it, but there was none to +bear. The chair looked at her from its distant place against the wall, +and seemed to draw her to it, till she had it taken away, pretending +that it did not suit the room. But when it was gone, she knew perfectly +well that it really made no difference, and that she could dream in any +other chair as easily.</p> + +<p>And then came a wild desire to see the man's face again, and to be sure +that it had not changed. She was certain that she only wished to see it; +she would have been overwhelmed with shame, all alone in her room, if +she had acknowledged that it was the kiss that she craved and the one +moment of indescribable intoxication that came with it.</p> + +<p>Are there not hundreds of men who earn their living by risking their +lives every night in feats of danger, and who miss that recurring moment +when they cannot have it? They will never admit that what they crave is +really the chance of a painful death, yet it is perfectly true.</p> + +<p>Cecilia could not have been induced to think that she desired no longer +the lovely vision of a perfect life; that she could have parted with +that easily enough, though with much calm regret; and that, instead, she +had a nervous, material, most earthly longing for the single moment in +that life which was the contrary of perfect, which she despised, or +tried to despise, and which she believed she feared.</p> + +<p>She struggled hard, and succeeded, and at last she could go to bed +quietly, without even glancing at the place where the chair had stood, +or at the candles on the table.</p> + +<p>Then, when it all seemed over, a terrible thing happened. She dreamed of +the real Lamberti in her natural sleep, in a dream about real life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + + +<p>Cecilia knelt in the church of Santa Croce, near one of the ancient +pillars. At a little distance behind her, Petersen sat in a chair +reading a queer little German book that told her the stories of the +principal Roman churches with the legends of the saints to which they +are dedicated. A thin, smooth-shaven lay brother in black and white +frock was slowly sweeping the choir behind the high altar. There was no +one else in the church.</p> + +<p>Cecilia was kneeling on the marble floor, resting her folded hands upon +the back of a rough chair, and there was no sound in the dim building, +but the regular, soft brushing of the monk's broom. The girl's face was +still and pale, her eyes were half closed, and her lips did not move; +she did not hear the broom.</p> + +<p>That was the first time she had ever tried to spend an hour in +meditation in a church, for her religion had never seemed very real to +her. It was compounded of habit and the natural respect of a girl for +what her mother practises and has taught her to practise, and it had +continued to hold a place in her life because she had quietly exempted +it from her own criticism; perhaps, too, because her reading had not +really tended to disturb it, since by nature she was strongly inclined +to believe in something much higher than the visible world.</p> + +<p>The Countess Fortiguerra believed with the simplicity of a child. Her +first husband, freethinker, Garibaldian, Mazzinian, had at first tried +to laugh her out of all belief, and had said that he would baptize her +in the name of reason, as Garibaldi is said to have once baptized a +new-born infant. But to his surprise his jests had not the slightest +effect on the rather foolish, very pretty, perfectly frank young woman +with whom he had fallen in love in his older years, and who, in all +other matters, thought him a great man. She laughed at his atheism much +more good-naturedly than he at her beliefs, and she went to church +regularly in spite of anything he could say; so that at last he shrugged +his shoulders and said in his heart that all women were half-witted +creatures, where priests were concerned, but that fortunately the +weakness did not detract from their charm. On her side, she prayed for +his conversion every day, with clock-like regularity, but without the +slightest result.</p> + +<p>Fortiguerra had been a man of remarkable gifts, extremely tolerant of +other people's opinions. He never laughed at any sort of belief, though +his wife never succeeded in finding out what he really thought about +spiritual matters. He evidently believed in something, so she did not +pray for his conversion, but interceded steadily for his enlightenment. +Before he died he made no objection to seeing a priest, but his wife +never knew whether he consented because it would have given her pain if +he had refused, or whether he really desired spiritual comfort in his +last moments. He was always most considerate of others and especially of +her; but he was very reticent. So she mourned him and prayed that +everything might be well with both her departed husbands, though she +doubted whether they were in the same place. She supposed that +Fortiguerra had sometimes discussed religion with his step-daughter, but +he always seemed to take it for granted that the latter should do what +her mother desired of her.</p> + +<p>It could hardly be expected that the girl should be what is called very +devout, and as Petersen turned over the pages of her little book she +wondered what had happened that Cecilia should kneel motionless on the +marble pavement for more than half an hour in a church to which they had +never come before, and on a week-day which was not a saint's day either.</p> + +<p>It was something like despair that had brought her to Santa Croce, and +she had chosen the place because she could think of no other in which +she could be quite sure of being alone, and out of the way of all +acquaintances. She wanted something which her books could not give her, +and which she could not find in herself; she wanted peace and good +advice, and she felt that she was dealt with unjustly.</p> + +<p>Indeed, it was of little profit that she should have forced herself to +give up what was dearest to her, unreal though it might be, since she +was to be haunted by Lamberti's face and voice whenever she fell asleep. +It was more like a possession of the evil one now than anything else. +She would have used his own words to describe it, if she had dared to +speak of it to any one, but that seemed impossible. She had thought of +going to some confessor who did not know her by sight, to tell him the +whole story, but her common sense assured her that she had done no +wrong. It was advice she needed, and perhaps it was protection too, but +it was certainly not forgiveness, so far as she knew.</p> + +<p>Lamberti pursued her, in her imagination, and she lived in terror of +him. If she had been already married to Guido, she would have told her +husband everything, and he would have helped her. By a revulsion that +was not unnatural, it began to seem much easier to marry him now, and +she turned to him in her thoughts, asking him to shield her from a man +she feared. Guido loved her, and she was at least a devoted friend to +him; there was no one but him to help her.</p> + +<p>As she knelt by the pillar she went over the past weeks of her life in a +concentrated self-examination of which she would never have believed +herself capable.</p> + +<p>"I am a grown woman," she said to herself, "and I have a right to think +what grown women think. I know perfectly well which thoughts are good +and which are bad, just as I know right from wrong in other ways. It was +wrong to put myself into that dream state, because I wanted him to come +to me. Yes, I confess it, I wanted him to come and kiss me that once, in +the vision every night. It would not have been wrong if I had not said +that I would marry Guido, but that made the difference. Therefore I gave +it up. I will not do anything wrong with my eyes open. I will not. I +would not, if I did not believe in God, because the thing would be wrong +just the same. Religion makes it more wrong, that is all. If I were not +engaged to Guido, and if I loved the other instead, then I should have a +right to wish and dream that the other kissed me."</p> + +<p>She thought some time about this point, and there was something that +disturbed her, in spite of her reasoning.</p> + +<p>"It would have been unmaidenly," she decided, at last. "I should be +ashamed to tell my mother that I had done it. But it would not have been +wrong, distinctly not. It would be wrong and abominable to think of two +men in that way.</p> + +<p>"That is what is happening now, against my will. I go to sleep saying my +prayers, and yet he comes to me in my dreams, and looks at me, and I +cannot help letting him kiss me, and it is only afterwards that I feel +how revolting it was. And in the daytime I am engaged to Guido, and I +cannot help knowing that when we are married he will want to kiss me +like that. It was different before, since I was able to give up seeing +the marble court and being the Vestal, and did give it up. This is +another thing, and it is bad, but it is not a wrong thing I am doing. +Therefore it is something outside of my soul that is trying to do me +harm, and may succeed in the end. It is a power of evil. How can I fight +against it, since it comes when I am asleep and have no will? What ought +I to do?</p> + +<p>"I am afraid to meet Signor Lamberti now, much more afraid than I was a +week ago, before this other trouble began. But when I am dreaming, I am +not afraid of him. I do what he makes me do without any resistance, and +I am glad to do it. I want to be his slave, then. He makes me sit down +and listen to him, and I believe all he says. We always sit on that +bench near the fountain in my villa. He tells me that he loves me much +better than Guido does, and that he is much better able to protect me +than Guido. He says that his heart is breaking because he loves me and +is Guido's friend, and he looks thin and worn, just as he does in real +life. When I dream of him, I do not mind the glittering in his eyes, but +when I meet him it frightens me. Of course, it is quite impossible that +he should know how I dream of him now. Yet, I am sure he knew all about +the other vision. He said very little, but I am sure of it, though I +cannot explain it. This is much worse than the other. But if I go back +to the other, I shall be doing wrong, because I shall be consenting; and +now I am not doing wrong, because it happens against my will, and I go +to sleep praying that it may never happen again, and I am in earnest. +God help me! I know that when I sit beside him on the bench I love him! +And yet he is the only man in all the world whom I wish never to meet +again. God help me!"</p> + +<p>Her head sank upon her folded hands at last, and her eyes were closely +shut. She threw her whole soul into the appeal to heaven for help and +strength, till she believed that it must come to her at once in some +real shape, with inspired wisdom and the comfort of the Holy Spirit. She +had never before in her life prayed as she was praying now, with heart +and soul and mind, though not with any form of words.</p> + +<p>Then came a moment in which she thought of nothing and waited. She knew +it well, that blank between one state and the other, that total +suspension of all her faculties just before she began to see an unreal +world, that breathless stillness of anticipation before the supreme +moment of change. She was quite powerless now, for her waking will was +already asleep.</p> + +<p>The instant was over, and the vision had come, but it was not what she +had always seen before. It was something strangely familiar, yet +beautiful and high and clear. Her consciousness was in the midst of a +world of light, at peace; and then, all round her, a brightness stole +upwards as out of a clear and soft horizon, more radiant than the light +itself that was already in the air. And as when evening creeps up to the +sky the stars begin to shine faintly, more guessed at than really seen, +so she began to see heavenly beings, growing more and more distinct, and +she was lifted up among them, and all her heart cried out in joy and +praise. And suddenly the cross shone out in a rosy radiance brighter +than all, and from head to foot and from arm to arm of it the light +flowed and flashed, and joined and passed and parted, in the holy sign. +From itself came forth a melody, in which she was rapt and swept upwards +as though she were herself a wave of the glorious sound. But of the +words, three only came to her, and they were these: Arise and +conquer![1]</p> + +<p>[1: A free translation of some passages in the fourteenth canto +of Dante's <i>Paradiso</i>.]</p> + +<p>Then all was still and calm again, and she was kneeling at her chair, +the sight still in her inward eyes, the words still ringing in her +heart, but herself awake again.</p> + +<p>She knew the vision now that it was past; for often, reading the +matchless verses of the "Paradise," she had intensely longed to see as +the dead poet must have seen before he could write as he wrote. It did +not seem strange that her hope should have been fulfilled at last in the +church of the Holy Cross. Her lips formed the words, and she spoke them, +consciously in her own voice, sweet and low:</p> + +<p>"Arise and conquer!"</p> + +<p>It was what she had prayed for—the peace, the strength, the knowledge; +it was all in that little sentence. She rose to her feet, and stood +still a moment, and her face was calm and radiant, like the faces of the +heavenly beings she had looked upon. There was a world before her of +which she had not dreamt before, better than that ancient one that had +vanished and in which she had been a Vestal Virgin, more real than that +mysterious one in which she had floated between two existences, and +whence the miserable longing for an earthly body had brought her back to +be Cecilia Palladio, and to fight again her battle for freedom and +immortality.</p> + +<p>It mattered little that her prayer should have been answered by the +imagined sight of something described by another, and long familiar to +her in his lofty verse. The prayer was answered, and she had strength to +go on, and she should find wisdom and light to choose the right path. +Henceforth, when she was weak and weary, and filled with loathing of +what she dreaded most, she could shut her eyes as she had done just now, +and pray, and wait, and the transcendent glory of paradise would rise +within her, and give her strength to live, and drive away that power of +evil that hurt her, and made night frightful, and day but a long waiting +for the night.</p> + +<p>She came out into the summer glare with the patient Petersen, and +breathed the summer heat as if she were drawing in new life with every +breath; and they drove home, down the long and lonely road that leads to +the new quarter, between dust-whitened trees, and then down into the +city and through the cooler streets, till at last the cab stopped before +the columns of the Palazzo Massimo.</p> + +<p>Celia ran up the stairs, as if her light feet did not need to touch them +to carry her upwards, while Petersen solemnly panted after her, and she +went to her own room.</p> + +<p>She had a vague desire to change everything in it, to get rid of all the +objects that reminded her of the miserable nights, and the sad hours of +day, which she had spent there; she wanted to move the bed to the other +end of the room, the writing table to the other window, the long glass +to a different place, to hang the walls with another colour, and to +banish the two tall candlesticks for ever. It would be like beginning +her life over again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + + +<p>After this Cecilia no longer avoided Lamberti; on the contrary, she +sought opportunities of seeing him and of talking with him, for she was +sure that she had gained some sort of new strength which could protect +her against her imagination, till all her old illusions should vanish in +the clear light of daily familiarity. For some time she did not dream of +Lamberti, she believed that the spell was broken, and her fear of +meeting him diminished quickly.</p> + +<p>She made her mother ask him to dinner, but he wrote an excuse and did +not come. Then she complained to Guido, and Guido reproached his friend.</p> + +<p>"They really wish to know you better," he said. "If the Contessina ever +felt for you quite the same antipathy which you felt for her, she has +got over it. I think you ought to try to do as much. Will you?"</p> + +<p>The invitation was renewed for another day, and Lamberti accepted it. In +the evening, in order to give his friend a chance of talking with +Cecilia, Guido sat down by the Countess, and began to discuss matters +connected with the wedding. It would have been contrary to all +established custom that the marriage should take place without a +contract, and that alone was a subject about which much could be said. +Guido insisted that Cecilia should remain sole mistress of her fortune, +and the Countess would naturally have made no objection, but the +Princess had told her, and had repeated more than once, that she +expected Cecilia to bring her husband a dowry of at least a million of +francs. Baron Goldbirn thought this too much, but the Countess was +willing to consent, because she feared that the Princess would make +trouble at the last minute if she did not. Cecilia had of course never +discussed the matter with the Princess, but she was altogether of the +latter's opinion, and told her mother so. The obstacle lay in Guido's +refusal to accept a penny of his future wife's fortune, and on this +point the whole obstinacy of his father's race was roused. The Countess +could manifestly not threaten to break off the engagement because Guido +would not accept the dowry, but on the other hand she greatly feared +Guido's aunt. So there was ample matter for discussion whenever the +subject was broached.</p> + +<p>It was a hot evening, and all the curtains were drawn back before the +open windows, only the blinds being closed. Cecilia and Lamberti +gravitated, as it were, to the farther end of the room. A piano stood +near the window there.</p> + +<p>"Do you play?" Lamberti asked, looking at the instrument.</p> + +<p>He thought that she did. All young girls are supposed to have talent for +music.</p> + +<p>"No," Cecilia answered. "I have no accomplishments. Do you play the +piano?"</p> + +<p>"Only by ear. I do not know a note of music."</p> + +<p>"Play me something. Will you? But I suppose the piano is out of tune, +for nobody ever uses it since we stopped dancing."</p> + +<p>Lamberti touched the keys, standing, and struck a few soft chords.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "It is not badly out of tune. But if I play, it will be +the end of our acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it may be the beginning," Cecilia answered, and their eyes met +for a moment.</p> + +<p>"If it amuses you, I will try," said Lamberti, looking away, and sitting +down before the keys. "You must be easily pleased if you can listen to +me," he added, laughing, as he struck a few chords again.</p> + +<p>Cecilia sat down in a low chair between him and the window, at the left +of the key-board. Her mother glanced at Lamberti with a little surprise, +and then went on talking with Guido.</p> + +<p>Lamberti began to play a favourite waltz, not loud, but with a good deal +of spirit and a perfect sense of time. Cecilia had often danced to the +tune in the spring, and liked it. He broke off suddenly, and made slow +chords again.</p> + +<p>"Have you forgotten the rest?" Cecilia asked.</p> + +<p>"No. I was thinking of something else. Did you ever hear this?"</p> + +<p>He played an old Sicilian melody with one hand, and then took it up in a +second part, and then a third, that made strange minor harmonies.</p> + +<p>"I never heard that," Cecilia said, as he looked at her. "I like it. It +must be very ancient. Play it again."</p> + +<p>By way of answer, he began to sing the old song, accompanying himself +with the same old harmonies. He had no particular voice, and it was more +like humming than singing, so far as the tone was concerned, but he +pronounced every word distinctly, and imitated the peculiar intonation +of the southern people to perfection.</p> + +<p>"Do you understand?" he asked, when he came to the end.</p> + +<p>"Not a word." Cecilia asked, "Is it Arabic? It sounds like it."</p> + +<p>"No. It is our own beloved Italian," laughed Lamberti, "only it is the +Sicilian dialect. If that sort of thing amuses you, I can go on for +hours."</p> + +<p>Many Italians have the facility he possessed, and the good memory for +both words and music, and he had unconsciously developed what talent he +had, in places where time was long and there was nothing to do. He +changed the key and hummed a little Arab melody from the desert.</p> + +<p>Cecilia sat quite still and watched the outline of his head against the +light. It was an energetic head, but the face was not a cruel one, and +this evening she had not seen what she called the ruthless look in his +eyes. She was not at all afraid of him now, nor would she have been even +if they had been quite alone in the room. She almost wished to tell him +so, and then smiled at the thought.</p> + +<p>So this was the reality of the vision that had haunted her dreams and +had caused her such unutterable suffering until she had found strength +to break the habit of her imagination. The reality was not at all +terrible. She could imagine the man roused to action, fighting for his +life, single-handed against many, as she had been told that he had +fought. He looked both brave and strong. But she could not imagine that +she should ever have cause to be afraid of him again. There he sat, +beside her, humming snatches of songs he remembered from his many +voyages, his hands moving not at all gracefully over the keys; he was +evidently a very simple and good-natured man, willing to do anything +that could amuse her, without the slightest affectation. He was just the +kind of friend for Guido, and it was her duty to like Guido's friend. It +would not be hard, now that she had got out of the labyrinth of absurd +illusions that had made it impossible. She resolutely put aside the +recollection of that afternoon at the Villa Madama. It belonged to the +class of things about which she was determined never to think again. +"Arise and conquer!" She had come back to her real self, and had +overcome.</p> + +<p>He stopped singing, but his hands still lay on the keys and he struck +occasional chords; and he turned his face half towards her, and spoke in +an undertone.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry if I offended you by not coming more often to your +house," he said. "Guido told me. I thought perhaps you would understand +why I did not come."</p> + +<p>Cecilia looked at him and was silent for a moment, but she felt very +strong and sure of herself.</p> + +<p>"Signor Lamberti," she said presently, "I want to ask you to do +something—for me."</p> + +<p>There was a little emphasis on the last word. He turned quite towards +her now, but he still made chords on the instrument, for he knew that +the Countess had extraordinary ears. His impulse was to tell her that he +would do anything she asked of him, no matter how hard it might be; but +he controlled it.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he answered. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Forget that we met in the Forum, and forget what we said to each other +at the garden party. Will you? It was all a coincidence, of course, but +I behaved very foolishly, and I do not like to think that you remember +it. Will you try and forget it all?"</p> + +<p>"I will try," Lamberti answered, looking down at the keys. "At all +events, I can promise never to remind you of it, as I did just now."</p> + +<p>"That is what I meant," Cecilia said. "Let us never remind each other of +it. Of course we cannot really forget, in our own selves, but we can +begin again from the beginning, this evening, as if it had never +happened. We can be real friends, as we ought to be."</p> + +<p>"Can we?" Lamberti asked the question in a doubtful tone, and glanced +uneasily at her.</p> + +<p>"I can, if you can," she answered courageously, "and I mean to be."</p> + +<p>"Then I can, too," Lamberti said, but his lips shut tightly as if he +regretted the words as soon as they were spoken.</p> + +<p>"It will be easy, now," Cecilia went on. "It will be much easier +because—" She stopped.</p> + +<p>"Why will it be so much easier?" Lamberti asked, looking down again.</p> + +<p>"We were not going to speak of those things again," Cecilia said. "We +had better not begin."</p> + +<p>"I only ask that one question. Tell me why it will be easier now. It may +help me to forget."</p> + +<p>"It will be easier—because I do not dream of you any more—I mean of +the man who is like you." She was blushing faintly, but she knew that he +would not look at her, and she was sitting in the shadow.</p> + +<p>"On what day did you stop dreaming?" he asked, between two chords.</p> + +<p>"It was last week. Let me see. It was a Wednesday. On Wednesday night I +did not dream." He nodded gravely over the keys, as if he had expected +the answer.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever read anything about telepathy?" he asked. "I did not dream +of you on Wednesday night either. It seemed to me that I tried to find +you and could not."</p> + +<p>"Were you trying to find me before?" Cecilia asked, as if it were the +most natural question in the world.</p> + +<p>"Yes. In my dreams I almost always found you. There was a break—I +forget when. The old dream about the house of the Vestals stopped +suddenly. Then I missed you and tried to find you. You were always +sitting on that bench by the fountain in the villa. Last Wednesday I +dreamt I was there, but you did not come."</p> + +<p>Cecilia shuddered, as if the night air from the open window chilled her.</p> + +<p>"Are you cold?" he asked. "Shall I shut the window?"</p> + +<p>"No, I was frightened," she answered. "We must never talk about all that +again. Do you know, I think it is wrong to talk about them. There is +some power of evil—"</p> + +<p>"I do not deny the existence of the devil at all," Lamberti answered, +with a faint smile. "But I think this is only a strange case of +telepathy. I will do as you wish; though my own belief is, after this +evening, that it is better to talk about it all quite fearlessly, and +grow used to it. We shall be much less afraid of it if we look upon it +as something not at all supernatural, which could easily be explained if +we knew enough about those things."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," Cecilia answered doubtfully. "You may be right. I do not +know."</p> + +<p>"You are going to marry my most intimate friend," Lamberti continued, +"and I am unfortunately condemned to stay in Rome for some time, for a +year, I fancy, and perhaps even longer."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that you are 'unfortunately condemned' to stay?"</p> + +<p>"Because I did my best to get away. You look surprised. I begged the +Minister to shorten my leave and send me to sea at once, with or without +promotion. Instead, I was named a member of a commission which will sit +a long time. Since we are talking frankly, I wanted to get away from +you, and not to see you again for years. But now that I must stay here, +or leave the service, we cannot help meeting; so I think it is more +sensible not to take any solemn oaths never to allude to these strange +coincidences, or whatever they are, but to talk them out of existence; +all the more so, as they seem to have suddenly come to an end. I only +tell you what would be easier for me; but I will do whatever makes it +most easy for you."</p> + +<p>"I prayed that they might stop," said Cecilia, in a very low voice. "I +want you to be my friend, and as long as I dreamt of you—in that way—I +felt that it was impossible."</p> + +<p>"Of course," Lamberti answered, without hesitation. Then, with an +attempt at a laugh, he corrected himself. "I apologise for all the +things I said to you in my dreams."</p> + +<p>"Please do not laugh about it." Her voice was a little unsteady, and she +was looking down, so that he could not see her face.</p> + +<p>"It is better not to take it too seriously," he replied gravely. "Could +anything be more absurd than that two people who were mere acquaintances +then should fall in love with each other in their dreams? It is utterly +ridiculous. Any sane person would laugh at the idea."</p> + +<p>"Yes; no doubt. But there is more than that. Call it telepathy, or +whatever you please, it cannot be a mere coincidence. Do you know that, +until last Wednesday, I met you in my dream, just where you dreamed of +meeting me, at the bench in the villa?"</p> + +<p>He did not seem surprised, but listened attentively while she continued.</p> + +<p>"I am sure that we really met," she went on gravely. "It may be in some +natural way or not. It does not matter. We must never meet again like +that—never. Do you understand? We must promise never to try and find +each other in our dreams. Will you promise?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I promise." Lamberti spoke gravely.</p> + +<p>"I promise, too," Cecilia said.</p> + +<p>Then they were both silent for a time. It was like a real parting, and +they felt it, and for a few moments each was thinking of the bench by +the fountain in the Villa Madama.</p> + +<p>"We owe it to Guido," Lamberti said at last, almost unconsciously.</p> + +<p>"Yes," the girl answered; "and to ourselves. Thank you."</p> + +<p>With an impulse she did not suspect, she held out her hand to him, and +waited for him to take it. Neither her mother nor Guido could see the +gesture, for Lamberti's seated figure screened her from them; but he +could not have taken her hand in his right without changing his +position, since she was seated low on his other side; so he took it +quietly in his left, and the two met and pressed each the other for a +second.</p> + +<p>In that touch Cecilia felt that all her fear of him ended for ever, and +that of all men she could trust him the most, and that he would protect +her, if ever he might, even more effectually than Guido. His hand was +cool, and steady, and strong, and enfolding—the hand of a brave man. +But if she had looked she would have seen that his face was paler than +usual, and that his eyes seemed veiled.</p> + +<p>She rose, and he followed her as she moved slowly forward.</p> + +<p>"What a charming talent you have!" cried the Countess in an encouraging +tone, when Lamberti was near her.</p> + +<p>"Have you made acquaintance at last?" Guido was asking of Cecilia, in an +undertone.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered gravely. "I think we shall be good friends."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + + +<p>People said that Guido had ceased to be interesting since he had been +engaged to be married. Until that time, there had been an element of +romance about him, which many women thought attractive; and most men had +been willing to look upon him as a being slightly superior to +themselves, who cared only for books and engravings, though he never +thrust his tastes upon other people, nor made any show of knowing more +than others, and whose opinion on points of honour was the very best +that could be had. It was so good, indeed, that he was not often asked +to give it.</p> + +<p>Now, however, they said that he was changed; that he was complacent and +pleased with himself; that this was no wonder, because he was marrying a +handsome fortune with a pretty and charming wife; that he had done +uncommonly well for himself; and much more to the same purpose. Also, +the mothers of impecunious marriageable sons of noble lineage said in +their maternal hearts that if they had only guessed that Countess +Fortiguerra would give her daughter to the first man who asked for her, +they would not have let Guido be the one.</p> + +<p>The judgments of society are rarely quite at fault, but they are almost +always relative and liable to change. They are, indeed, appreciations of +an existing state of things, rather than verdicts from which there is no +appeal. The verdict comes after the state of things has ceased to exist.</p> + +<p>Guido was happy, and nothing looks duller than the happiness of quiet +people. Nobody will go far to look at the sea when it is calm, if he is +used to seeing it at all; but those who live near it will walk a mile or +two to watch the breakers in a storm.</p> + +<p>In the first place, Guido was in love, and more in love with Cecilia's +face and figure than he guessed. In the early days of their acquaintance +he had enjoyed talking with her about the subjects in which she was +interested. Such conversation generally brought him to that condition of +intellectual suspense which was peculiarly delightful to him, for though +she did not persuade him to accept her own points of view, she made him +feel more doubtful about his own, so far as any of them were fixed, and +doubt meant revery, musing, imaginative argument about questions that +might never be answered. But he and she had now advanced to another +stage. Unconsciously, all that side of his nature had fallen into +abeyance, and he thought only of positive things in the immediate +future. When he was with Cecilia, no matter how the conversation began, +it soon turned upon their plans for their married life; and he found it +so infinitely pleasant to talk of such matters that it did not occur to +him to ask whether she regarded them as equally interesting.</p> + +<p>She did not; she saw the change in him, and regretted it. A woman who is +not really in love, generally likes a man less after he has fallen +hopelessly in love with her. It is true that she sometimes likes herself +the better for her new conquest, and there may be some compensation in +that; but there is something tiresome, if not repugnant to her, in the +placid, possessive complacency of a future husband, who seems to forget +that a woman has any intelligence except in matters concerning furniture +and the decoration of a house.</p> + +<p>Cecilia was not capricious; she really liked Guido as much as ever, and +she would not even admit that he bored her when he came back again and +again to the same topics. She tried hard to look forward to the time +when all the former charm of their intercourse should return, and when, +besides being the best of friends, he would again be the most agreeable +of companions. It seemed very far off; and yet, in her heart, she hoped +that something might happen to hinder her marriage, or at least to put +it off another year.</p> + +<p>Her life seemed very blank after the great struggle was ended, and in +the long summer mornings before Guido came to luncheon, she was +conscious of longing for something that should take the place of the old +dreams, something she could not understand, that awoke under the +listlessness which had come upon her. It was a sort of sadness, like a +regret for a loss that had not really been suffered, and yet was +present; it was a craving for sympathy where she had deserved none, and +it made her inclined to pity herself without reason. She sometimes felt +it after Guido had come, and it stayed with her, a strange yearning +after an unknown happiness that was never to be hers, a half-comforting +and infinitely sad conviction that she was to die young and that people +would mourn for her, but not those, or not that one, who ought to be +most sorry that she was gone. All her books were empty of what she +wanted, and for hours she sat still, doing nothing, or stood leaning on +the window-sill, gazing down through the slats of the blinds at the +glaring street, unconscious of the heat and the strong light, and of the +moving figures that passed.</p> + +<p>Occasionally she drove out to the Villa Madama in the afternoon with her +mother, and Guido joined them. Lamberti did not come there, though he +often came to the house in the evening, sometimes with his friend, and +sometimes later. The two always went away together. At the villa, +Cecilia never sat down on the bench by the fountain, but from a distance +she looked at it, and it was like looking at a grave. In dreams she had +sat there too often with another to go there alone now; she had heard +words there that touched her heart too deeply to be so easily forgotten, +and there had been silences too happy to forget. She had buried all that +by the garden seat, but it was better not to go near the place again. +What she had laid out of sight there might not be quite dead yet, and if +she sat in the old place she might hear some piteous cry from beneath +her feet; or its ghost might rise and stare at her, the ghost of a +dream. Then, the yearning and the longing grew stronger and hurt her +sharply, and she turned under the great door, into the hall, and was +very glad when her mother began to chatter about dress and people.</p> + +<p>But one day the very thing happened which she had always tried to avert. +Guido insisted on walking up and down the path with her, and they passed +and repassed the bench, till she was sure that he would make her sit +down upon it. She tried to linger at the opposite end, but he was +interested in what he was saying and did not notice her reluctance to +turn back.</p> + +<p>Then it came. He stood still by the fountain, and then he sat down quite +naturally, and evidently expecting her readiness to do the same. She +started slightly and looked about, as if to find some means of escape, +but a moment later she had gathered her courage and was sitting beside +him.</p> + +<p>The scene came back with excessive vividness. There was the evening +light, the first tinge of violet on the Samnite mountains, the base of +Monte Cavo already purple, the glow on Frascati, and nearer, on Marino; +Rome was at her feet, in a rising mist beyond the flowing river. Guido +talked on, but she did not hear him. She heard another voice and other +words, less gentle and less calm. She felt other eyes upon her, waiting +for hers to answer them, she felt a hand stealing near to hers as her +own lay on the bench at her side.</p> + +<p>Still Guido talked, needing no reply, perfectly confident and happy. She +did not hear what he said, but when he paused she mechanically nodded +her head, as if agreeing with him, and instantly lost herself again. She +could not help it. She expected the touch, and the look, and then the +blinding rush that used to come after it, lifting her from her feet and +carrying her whole nature away as the south wind whirls dry leaves up +with it and far away.</p> + +<p>That did not come, and presently she was covering her face with both +hands, shaking a little, and Guido was anxiously asking what had +happened.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," she answered rather faintly. "It is nothing. It will be over +in a moment."</p> + +<p>He thought that she had felt the sudden chill of the evening which is +sometimes dangerous in Rome in midsummer, and he rose at once.</p> + +<p>"We had better go in before you catch cold," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Let us go in."</p> + +<p>For the first time, his words really jarred on her. For the rest of her +life, he would tell her when to go indoors before catching cold. He was +possessive, complacent; he already looked upon her as a person in his +charge, if not as a part of his property. Unreasoningly, she said to +herself it was no concern of his whether she caught cold or not, and +besides, there was no question of such a thing. She had covered her eyes +with her hands for a very different reason, and was ashamed of having +done it, which made matters worse. In anger she told herself boldly that +she wished that he were not himself, only that once, but that he were +Lamberti, who at least took the trouble to amuse her and never put on +paternal airs to enquire about her health.</p> + +<p>It was the beginning of revolt. Guido dined with them that evening, and +she was silent and absent-minded. Before the hour at which he usually +went away, she rose and bade him good night, saying that she was a +little tired.</p> + +<p>"I am sure you caught cold to-day," he said, with real anxiety.</p> + +<p>"We will not go to the villa again," she answered. "Good night."</p> + +<p>It was late before she really went to bed, for when she was at last rid +of the conscientious Petersen, she sat long in her chair at the writing +table with a blank sheet of letter paper before her and a pen in her +hand. She dipped it into the ink often, and her fingers moved as if she +were going to write, but the point never touched the paper. At last the +pen lay on the table, and she was resting her chin upon her folded +hands, her eyes half closed, her breath drawn in short sighs that came +and went between her parted lips. Then, though she was all alone, the +blood rose suddenly in her face and she sprang to her feet, angry with +herself and frowning, and ashamed of her thoughts.</p> + +<p>She felt hot, and then cold, and then almost sick with disgust. The +vision that had delighted her was far away now; she had forced herself +not to see it, but the man in it had come back to her in dreams; she had +driven him out of them, and for a time she had found peace, but now he +came to her in her waking thoughts and she longed to see his living face +and to hear his real voice. With utter self-contempt and scorn of her +own heart, she guessed that this was love, or love's beginning, and that +nothing could save her now.</p> + +<p>Her first impulse was to write to him, to beg him to go away at any +price, never to see her again as long as she lived. As that was out of +the question, she next thought of writing to Guido, to tell him that she +could not marry him, and that she had made up her mind to retire from +the world and spend her life in a convent. But that was impossible, too.</p> + +<p>There was no time to be lost. Either she must make one supreme effort to +drive Lamberti from her thoughts and to get back to the state in which +she had felt that she could marry Guido and be a good wife to him, or +else she must tell him frankly that the engagement must end. He would +ask why, and she would refuse to tell him, and after that she did not +dare to think of what would happen. It might ruin his life, for she knew +that he loved her very much. She was honestly and truly much more +concerned for him than for herself. It did not matter what became of +her, if only she could speak the truth to him without bringing harm to +him in the future. The world might say what it pleased.</p> + +<p>It was right to break off her engagement, beyond question, and she had +done very wrong in ever agreeing to it; it was the greatest sin she had +ever committed, and with a despairing impulse she sank upon her knees +and poured out her heart in full confession of her fault.</p> + +<p>Never in her life had she confessed as she did now, with such a +whole-hearted hatred of her own weakness, such willingness to bear all +blame, such earnest desire for forgiveness, such hope for divine +guidance in making reparation. She would not plead ignorance, nor even +any omission to examine herself, as an excuse for what she had done. It +was all her fault, and her eyes had been open from the first, and she +was about to see the whole life of a good friend ruined through her +miserable weakness.</p> + +<p>As she went over it all, burying her face in her hands, the conviction +that she loved Lamberti grew with amazing quickness to the certainty of +a fact long known. This was her crime, that she had been too proud to +own that she had loved him at first sight; her punishment should be +never to see him again. She would abase herself before Guido and confess +everything to him in the very words she was whispering now, and she +would implore his forgiveness. Then, since Lamberti could not leave +Rome, she and her mother would go away on a long journey, to Russia, +perhaps, or to America, or China, and they would never come back. It +must be easy enough to avoid one particular person in the whole world.</p> + +<p>This she would do, but she would not deny that she loved him. All her +fault had lain in trying to deny it in spite of what she felt when he +was near her, and it must be still more wrong to force the fact out of +sight now that it had brought her into such great trouble. There was +nothing to be done but to acknowledge it, though it was shame and +humiliation to do so. It stared her in the face, now that she had +courage to own the truth, and a voice called out that she had lied to +herself, to her mother, and to Guido for many weeks, and persistently, +rather than admit that she could fall so low. But even then, in the +midst of her self-abasement, another voice answered that it was no shame +to love a good and true man, and that Lamberto Lamberti was both.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + + +<p>That night seemed the longest in all Cecilia's young life. She was worn +out with fatigue, and could have slept ten hours, yet she dreaded to +fall asleep lest she should dream of Lamberti, and speak to him in her +dream as she meant never to speak to any man now. Just when she was +losing consciousness, she roused herself as one does who fears a +horrible nightmare that comes back again and again. She was afraid to be +alone in the dark with her fear, and she had left one light burning +where it could not shine into her eyes. If she did not sleep before +daylight, she might not dream after that. When she shut her eyes she saw +Lamberti looking at her.</p> + +<p>She rose and bathed her face and temples. The water was not very cold in +July, after standing in the room half the night, but it cooled her brows +a little and she lay down again, and tried to repeat things she knew by +heart. She knew all the fourteenth canto of the "Paradise," for +instance, and said it over, and tried to see what it described as she +had seen it all in the church of Santa Croce. While she whispered the +words she looked forward to those she loved best, the ones that bade her +rise and get the victory, and she went on with intense anticipation. +Before she reached them she lost herself, and they formed themselves on +her lips unnoticed as she saw Lamberti's face again.</p> + +<p>It was unbearable. She sat up on the edge of the bed and stared into the +shadow, and presently she grasped her left arm above the elbow and tried +to force her nails into the flesh, with the instinctive idea that pain +must bring peace after it. But she could hardly hurt herself at all in +that way. Again she rose, and she went and looked at her reflection in +the tall glass.</p> + +<p>There was not much light in the room, but she could see that she was +very pale, and that her eyes had a strange look in them, more like +Lamberti's than her own. It was a possession; she found him everywhere. +Behind her image in the glass she saw the door of the room, the only one +there was, which she had so often heard closed softly just as her dream +ended. She shivered, for the Palazzo Massimo is a ghostly place at +night, and her nerves were unstrung by what she had suffered. She knew +that she was dizzy for a moment, and the glass grew misty and then +clear, and reflected nothing to her sight, nothing but the whole door, +as if she herself were not standing there, all in white, between it and +the mirror.</p> + +<p>It was going to open, she felt sure. It was going to open softly, though +she knew it was locked, and then some one would enter. She shivered +again, and felt her loose hair rising on her head, as if lifted by a +cool breeze. It was a moment of agony, and her teeth chattered. He was +coming, and she was paralysed, helpless to move, rooted to the spot. In +one second more she must hear the slipping of the latch bolt, and he +would be behind her.</p> + +<p>No, nothing came. Gradually she began to see herself in the glass again, +a faint ashy outline, then a transparent image, like the wraith of her +dead self, with staring eyes and dishevelled colourless hair. Her terror +was gone; she vaguely wondered where she had been, and looked curiously +at her reflected face.</p> + +<p>"I think I am going mad," she said aloud, but quite quietly, as she +turned away from the mirror.</p> + +<p>She lay down again on her back, her arms straightened by her sides, and +she looked at the ceiling. Since she must think of something, she would +try to think out what she was to say and do on the morrow. She would +telephone to Guido in the morning to come and see her, of course, and in +twenty minutes he would be sitting beside her on the little sofa in the +drawing-room. Then she would tell him everything, just as she had +confessed it all to herself that evening. She would throw herself upon +his mercy, she would say that she was irresistibly drawn to his friend; +but she would promise never to see Lamberti again, since that was to be +the punishment of her fault. There was clearly nothing else to do, if +she had any self-respect left, any modesty, any sense of decency. It +would be hard in the beginning, but afterwards it would grow easier.</p> + +<p>Poor Guido! he would not understand at first, and he would look at her +as if he were dazed. She would give anything to save him the pain of it +all, but he must bear it, and in the end it would be much better. Of +course, the cowardly way would be to make her mother tell him.</p> + +<p>She had not thought of her mother till then, but she had grown used to +directing her, and to feeling that she herself was the ruling spirit of +the two. Her mother would accept the decision, though she would protest +a good deal, and cry a little. That was to be regretted, but it did not +really matter since this was a question of absolute right or absolute +wrong, in which there was no choice.</p> + +<p>She would not see Lamberti again, not even to say good-bye. It would be +wicked to see him, now that she knew the truth. But it was right to own +bravely that she loved him. If she hesitated in that, there would be no +sense in what she meant to do. She loved him with all her heart, with +everything in her, with every thought and every instinct, as she had +loved long ago in her vision. And as she had overcome then, for the sake +of a vow from which she was really freed, so she would conquer again for +the sake of the promise she had given to Guido d'Este, and was going to +revoke to-morrow.</p> + +<p>A far cry echoed through the silent street, and there was a faint grey +light between the slats of the blinds. The darkness was ended at last, +and perhaps she might allow herself to sleep now. She tried, but she +could not, and she watched the dawn growing to cold daylight in the +room, till the single lamp hardly glimmered in the corner. She closed +her lids and rested as well as she could till it was time to get up.</p> + +<p>She was very pale, and there were deep violet shadows under her eyes and +below the sharp arches of her brows, but Petersen was very near-sighted, +and noticed nothing unusual. Cecilia told her to telephone to Guido, +asking him to come at ten o'clock. When the maid returned, Cecilia bade +her arrange her hair very low at the back and to make it as smooth as +possible. There was not the slightest conscious desire for effect in the +order; when a woman has made up her mind to humiliate herself she always +makes her hair look as unobtrusive as possible, just as a +conscience-stricken dog drops his tail between his legs and hangs down +his ears to avert wrath. We men are often very unjust to women about +such things, which depend on instincts as old as humanity. Eastern +mourners do not strew ashes on their heads because it is becoming to +their appearance, and a woman's equivalents for ashes and sackcloth are +to do her hair low and wear grey, if she chances to dislike that colour.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to confession, my dear?" asked the Countess in some +surprise when they met.</p> + +<p>"No," Cecilia answered. "I could not sleep last night. I have telephoned +to Guido to come at ten." The Countess looked at her and instantly +understood that there was trouble.</p> + +<p>"You are as white as a sheet," she said, with caution. "You had better +let him come after luncheon to-day."</p> + +<p>"No. I must see him at once."</p> + +<p>"Something has happened," the Countess said nervously. "I know something +has happened."</p> + +<p>"I will tell you by-and-by. Please do not ask me now."</p> + +<p>Her mother's look of anxiety turned slowly to an expression of real +fear, her eyes opened wide, she grew pale, and her jaw fell as her lips +parted. She looked suddenly old and grey.</p> + +<p>"You are not going to marry him after all," she said, after a breathless +little silence.</p> + +<p>Some seconds passed before Cecilia answered, and then her voice was sad +and low.</p> + +<p>"How can I? I do not love him."</p> + +<p>The Countess was horror-struck now, for she knew her daughter well. She +began to speak rather incoherently, but with real earnestness, imploring +Cecilia to think of what she was doing before it was too late, to +consider Guido's feelings, her own, everybody's, to reflect upon the +view the world would take of such bad faith, and, finally, to give some +reason for her sudden decision.</p> + +<p>It was in vain that she pleaded. Cecilia, grave and suffering, answered +that she had taken everything into consideration and knew that she was +doing right. The world might call it bad faith to break an engagement, +but it would be nothing short of a betrayal to marry Guido since she had +become sure that she could never love him. That was reason enough, and +she would give no other. It was better that Guido should suffer for a +few days than be made to suffer for a lifetime. She had not consulted +any one, she said, when her mother questioned her; she would have done +so if this had been a matter needing judgment and wisdom, but it was +merely one of right and wrong, and she knew what was right, and meant to +do it.</p> + +<p>The Countess began to cry, and when Cecilia tried to soothe her, she +pushed the girl aside and left the room in tears. A few minutes later +Petersen telephoned for the carriage, and in less than half an hour the +Countess was on her way to see Princess Anatolie, entirely forgetful of +the fact that Cecilia would be quite alone when Guido came at ten +o'clock.</p> + +<p>Cecilia sat quite still in the drawing-room waiting for him. She was +very tired and pale, and her eyes smarted for want of sleep, but her +courage was not likely to fail her. She only wished that all might be +over soon, as condemned men do when they are waiting for execution.</p> + +<p>She sat still a long time and she heard the little French clock on her +mother's writing table in the boudoir strike its soft chimes at the +third quarter, and then ring ten strokes at the full hour. She listened +anxiously for the servant's step beyond the door, and now and then she +caught her breath a little when she thought she heard a sound. It was +twenty minutes past ten when the door opened. She expected the man to +stand still, and announce Guido, and she looked away; but the footsteps +came nearer and nearer and stopped beside her. The man held out a small +salver on which lay a note addressed in Guido's hand. It was like a +reprieve after the long tension, for something must have happened to +prevent him from coming, something unexpected, but welcome, though she +would not own it.</p> + +<p>In answer to her question, the man said that the messenger had gone +away, and he left the room. She tore the envelope with trembling +fingers.</p> + +<p>Guido was ill. That was the substance of the note. He had felt ill when +he awoke early in the morning, but had thought it nothing serious, +though he was very uncomfortable. Unknown to him, his man had sent for a +doctor, who had come half an hour ago, after Cecilia's message had been +received and answered. The doctor had found him with high fever, and +thought it was a sharp attack of influenza; at all events he had ordered +Guido to stay in bed, and gave him little hope of going out for several +days.</p> + +<p>The note dropped on Cecilia's knees before she had read the words of +loving regret with which it closed, and she found herself wondering +whether Lamberti would have been hindered from coming by a mere touch of +fever, under the same circumstances. But she would not allow herself to +dwell on that long, for it gave her pleasure to think of Lamberti, and +all such pleasure she intended to deny herself. It was quite bad enough +to know that she loved him with all her heart. She went back to her own +room.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to be done but to write to Guido at once, for she +would not allow the day to pass without telling him what she meant to +do. She sat down and wrote as well as she could, weighing each sentence, +not out of caution, but in fear lest she should not make it clear that +she was altogether to blame for the mistake she had made, and meant to +bear all the consequences in the eyes of the world. She was truly and +sincerely penitent, and asked his forgiveness with touching humility. +She did not mention Lamberti, but she confessed frankly that since she +had been in Rome she had begun to love another man, as she ought to have +loved Guido, a man whom she rarely saw, and who had never shown the +least inclination to make love to her.</p> + +<p>That was the substance of what she wrote. She read the words over, to be +sure that they said what she meant, and she told Petersen to send a man +at once with the letter. There was no answer, he was not to wait. She +gave the order rather hurriedly, for she wished her decision to become +irrevocable as soon as possible. It was a physical relief, but not a +mental one, to feel that it was done and that she could never recall the +fatal words. After reading such a letter there could be nothing for +Guido to do but to accept the situation and tell his friends that she +had broken the engagement. As for the immediate effect it might have on +him, she did not even take his slight illness into consideration. The +fact that he could not come and see her might even make it easier for +him to bear the blow. Of course, if he came, she should be obliged to +receive him, but she hoped that he would not. It would hurt her to see +how much he was hurt, and she was suffering enough already. In time she +trusted that he and she might be good friends, as young girls have an +unreasonable inclination to hope in such cases.</p> + +<p>When the Countess came back from her visit to the Princess Anatolie she +was a little flushed, and there was a hard look in her face which +Cecilia had never seen before, and which made her expect trouble. To her +surprise, her mother kissed her affectionately on both cheeks.</p> + +<p>"That old woman is a harpy," she said, as she left the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + + +<p>Guido took Cecilia's letter with a smile of pleasure when his man +brought it to him, and, as he felt its thickness between his fingers, +the delightful anticipation of reading it alone was already a real +happiness. She was distressed and anxious for him, he was sure, and +perhaps in saying so she had found some expression less formal than +those she generally used when she talked with him and assured him that +she really liked him very much.</p> + +<p>"You may go," he said to his servant. "I need nothing more, thank you."</p> + +<p>He was in bed, propped up by three or four pillows, and his face was +unnaturally flushed and already looked thin. A new book of memoirs, half +cut, and with the paper-knife between the leaves, lay on the arras +counterpane, in the middle of which royal armorial bearings with crown +and sceptre were represented in the fat arms of smiling cherubs. The +head of the carved bed was towards the windows of the wide room, so that +the light fell from behind; for Guido was an indolent man, and often lay +reading for an hour before he got up. On the small table beside him +stood a heavy Venetian tumbler of the eighteenth century, ornamented +with gold designs. A cigarette-case lay beside it. The carpet of the +room had been taken up for the summer, and the floor was of dark red +tiles, waxed and immaculate. In a modest way, and though he was +comparatively a poor man, Guido had always managed to have what he +wanted in the way of surroundings.</p> + +<p>He looked at the address on the note, prolonging his anticipation as +much as possible. He recognised the neat French envelope as one of those +the Countess always had on her table in a stamped leather paper-rack. He +felt it again, and was sure that it contained at least four sheets. It +was good of her to write so much, and he had not really expected +anything. He forgot that his head was aching, that he had a tiresome +pain in his bones, and could feel the fever pulse beating in his +temples.</p> + +<p>He glanced at the door, and then raised the letter to his dry lips, with +a look of boyish pleasure. Five minutes later the crumpled pages were +crushed in his straining fingers, and he lay twisted to one side, his +face to the wall and half buried in the pillow. The grief of his life +had come upon him unawares, and he was not able to bear it. Even if he +had not been alone, he could not have hidden what he felt then.</p> + +<p>After a long time he got up and softly locked the door. He felt very +dizzy as he came and lay down again. One of the crumpled sheets of +Cecilia's letter had fallen to the floor, the rest lay on the bed beside +him and under him.</p> + +<p>He lay still, and when he shut his eyes he saw red waves coming and +going, for the fever was high, and the blood beat up under his ears as +if the arteries must burst.</p> + +<p>In an hour his man knocked at the door, and almost at the same instant +turned the handle, for he was accustomed to be admitted at once.</p> + +<p>"Go away!" cried Guido, in a hoarse voice that stuck in his throat.</p> + +<p>The servant's footsteps echoed in the corridor, and there was silence +again, and time passed. Then the knock was repeated, very discreetly and +with no attempt to turn the handle. Guido answered with an oath.</p> + +<p>But his man was not satisfied this time, and he stood still outside, +with a puzzled expression. He had never heard Guido swear at any one, in +all the years of his service, much less at himself. His master was +either in a delirium, or something very grave had happened which he had +learned by the letter. The doctor had said that he was not dangerously +ill, so it was not likely that he should be already raving with the +fever. The man went softly away to his pantry, where the telephone was, +shutting each door carefully behind him. There was nothing to be done +but to inform Lamberti at once, if he could be found.</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon before he got the message, on coming home +from a long day's work at the Ministry of War. He had not breakfasted +that day, for he had been unexpectedly sent for in the morning and had +been kept at the Ministry without a moment's respite. Without going to +his room he ran down the stairs again and hailed the first cab he met as +he hurried towards the Palazzo Farnese.</p> + +<p>The bedroom door was still locked, but he spoke to Guido through it, in +answer to the rough order to go away which followed his first knock. +There was no reply.</p> + +<p>"Please let me in," Lamberti said quietly. "I want very much to see +you."</p> + +<p>Something like a growl came from the room, and presently there was a +sound of slippers on the smooth tiles, coming nearer. The key turned and +the door was opened a little.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" Guido asked, in a voice unlike his own.</p> + +<p>"I heard you were ill, and I have come to see you."</p> + +<p>Lamberti spoke gently and steadily, but he was shocked by Guido's +appearance, as the latter stood before him in his loose silk garments, +looking gaunt and wild. There were great rings round his eyes, his face +was haggard and drawn, and his cheek-bones were flushed with the fever. +He looked much more ill than he really was, so far as his body was +concerned.</p> + +<p>"Well, come in," he said, after a moment's hesitation.</p> + +<p>As soon as Lamberti had entered Guido locked the door again to keep his +servant out.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you had better be the first to know," he said hoarsely, as he +recrossed the room with unsteady steps.</p> + +<p>He sat down upon the edge of his bed, supporting himself with his hands +on each side, his head a little bent.</p> + +<p>"What has happened?" Lamberti asked, sitting on the nearest chair and +watching him. "Has your aunt been troubling you again?"</p> + +<p>"No. It is worse than that." Guido paused, and his head sank lower. "The +Contessina has changed her mind," he managed to say clearly enough to be +understood.</p> + +<p>Lamberti started and leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that she has thrown you over?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>A dead silence followed. Then Guido threw himself on the bed again and +turned his face away.</p> + +<p>"Say something, man," he cried, almost angrily.</p> + +<p>The afternoon light streamed through the closed blinds and fell on the +crumpled sheet of the letter that lay at Lamberti's feet. He did not +know what he saw as he stared down at it, and he would have cut off his +hand rather than pry into any one's letters, but four words had +photographed themselves upon his brain before he had realised their +meaning, or even that he had seen them.</p> + +<p>"I love another man."</p> + +<p>Those were the words, and he had never seen the handwriting, but he knew +that Cecilia had written them. Guido's cry for some sort of consolation +was still ringing in his ears.</p> + +<p>"It is impossible," he said, in a dull voice. "She cannot break off such +an engagement."</p> + +<p>"She has," Guido answered, still looking away. "It is done. She has +written to say that she will never marry me."</p> + +<p>"Why?" Lamberti asked mechanically.</p> + +<p>"Because—" Guido stopped short. "That is her secret. Unless she chooses +to tell you herself."</p> + +<p>Lamberti knew the secret already, but he would not pain Guido by saying +so. The four words he had read had explained enough, though he had not +the slightest clew to the name of the man concerned, and his anger was +rising quietly, as it did when he was going to be dangerous. He loved +Cecilia much and unreasoningly, yet so long as his friend had stood +between her and himself he had been strong enough not to be jealous of +him; but he was under no obligation to that other man, and now he wished +that he had him in his hands. Moreover, his anger was against the girl, +too.</p> + +<p>"It is outrageous," he said, at last, with a conviction that comforted +Guido a little. "It is perfectly abominable! What shall you do?"</p> + +<p>"I can do nothing, of course."</p> + +<p>Guido tossed on his pillows, turned his head, and stared at Lamberti, +hoping to be contradicted.</p> + +<p>"It is of no use to go to bed because a woman is faithless," answered +Lamberti rather savagely. Guido almost laughed.</p> + +<p>"I am ill," he said. "I can hardly stand. She telephoned to me to go and +see her, but I could not, and so she wrote what she had to say. It is +just as well. I am glad she cannot see me just now."</p> + +<p>"I wish she could," answered Lamberti, closing his teeth on the words +sharply. "But you will see her, will you not?" he asked, after a pause. +"You will not accept such a dismissal without telling her what you think +of her?"</p> + +<p>"Why should I tell her anything? If I have not succeeded in making her +love me yet, I shall never succeed at all! It is better to bear it as if +I had never expected anything else."</p> + +<p>"Is there any reason why a woman should be allowed to do with impunity +what one man would shoot another for doing?" asked Lamberti, roughly. +"She has changed her mind once, she can be made to change it again."</p> + +<p>The more he thought of what had happened the angrier he grew, and his +jealousy against the unknown man who had caused the trouble was boiling +up.</p> + +<p>Guido caught at the straw like a drowning man, and raised himself on his +elbow.</p> + +<p>"Do you really think that she may change her mind? That this is only a +caprice?"</p> + +<p>"I should not wonder. All women have caprices now and then. It is a fit +of conscience. She is not quite sure that she likes you enough to marry +you, and you have said something that jarred on her, perhaps. If you had +been able to go and see her this morning, she would have begun by being +very brave, but in five minutes she would have been as ready to marry +you as ever. I will wager anything that when she had written that letter +she sent it off as soon as possible for fear that she should not send it +at all!"</p> + +<p>"What do you advise me to do?" asked Guido, his hopes rising. "I believe +you understand women better than I do, after all!"</p> + +<p>"They are only human animals, like ourselves," Lamberti answered +carelessly. "The chief difference is that they do all the things that we +are sometimes inclined to do, but should be ashamed of doing."</p> + +<p>"I daresay. But I want your advice."</p> + +<p>"Go and tell her that she has made a mistake, that she cannot possibly +be in earnest, but that if she does not feel that she can marry you in a +fortnight, she can put off the wedding till the autumn. It is quite +simple. It has all been rather sudden, from the first, and it is much +better that the engagement should go on a little longer."</p> + +<p>"That is reasonable," Guido answered, growing calmer every moment. "I +wish I could go to her at once."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you cannot," said Lamberti, looking at him rather curiously.</p> + +<p>He remembered that he had once dragged himself five miles with a bad +spear-wound in his leg, to take news to a handful of men in danger, but +he supposed that Guido was differently organised. He did not like him +the less.</p> + +<p>"No!" Guido answered. "The fever makes me so giddy that I can hardly +stand."</p> + +<p>He put out his hand for the tumbler on the table, but it was empty.</p> + +<p>"Lamberti!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will get you some water at once," the other answered, rising to +his feet.</p> + +<p>"No," Guido said. "Never mind that, I will ring presently. Will you do +something for me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Will you speak to her for me?"</p> + +<p>Lamberti was standing by the bedside, and he saw the serious and almost +timid look in his friend's eyes. But he had not expected the request, +and he hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p>"You would rather not," said Guido, disappointed. "I suppose I must wait +till I am well. Only it may be too late then. She will tell every one +that she has broken off the engagement."</p> + +<p>"You misunderstood me," Lamberti said calmly, for he had found time to +think while Guido was speaking. "I will see her at once."</p> + +<p>It had not been easy to say, for he knew what it meant.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," Guido murmured. "Thank you, thank you!" he repeated with a +profound sense of relief, as his head sank back on the pillow.</p> + +<p>"Will it do you any harm if I smoke?" asked Lamberti, looking at a cigar +he had taken from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"No. I wish you would. I cannot even smoke a cigarette to-day. It tastes +like bad hay."</p> + +<p>There is a hideous triviality about the things people say at important +moments in their lives. But Lamberti was not listening, and he lit his +cigar thoughtfully, without answering. Then he went to the window and +looked down through the blinds in silence, pondering on what was before +him.</p> + +<p>It was certainly the place of a friend in such a case to accept the +position Guido was thrusting upon him, and from the first Lamberti had +not meant to refuse. He had a strong sense of man's individual right to +get what he wanted for himself without great regard for the feelings of +others, and he was quite sure that he would not have done for his own +brother what he was about to do for Guido. It is even possible that he +would not have been so ready to do it for Guido himself if he had not +accidentally seen those four words of Cecilia's letter. The knowledge of +her secret had at once determined the direction of his impulses. For +himself he hoped nothing, but he had made up his mind that if Cecilia +would not marry Guido she should by no means marry any other man living, +and he was fully determined to make her confess her passing fancy for +the unknown one, in order that he might have the right to reproach her +with it. He even hoped that he could find out the man's name, and, as he +was of a violent disposition, he at once planned vengeance to be wreaked +upon him. He turned from the window at last, and blew a cloud of grey +smoke into the quiet room.</p> + +<p>"I will send a message now," he said, "and I will go myself this +evening. They can hardly be dining out."</p> + +<p>"No. They are at home. I was to have dined with them."</p> + +<p>Guido's voice was faint, but he was calm now. Lamberti unlocked the door +and opened it. The man servant was just coming towards it followed by +the doctor.</p> + +<p>The latter found Guido worse than when he had seen him in the morning. +He said it was what he had expected, a sharp attack of influenza, and +that Guido must not think of leaving his bed till the fever had +disappeared. He dilated a little upon the probable consequences of any +exposure to the outer air, even in summer. No one could ever tell what +the influenza might leave behind it, and it was much safer to be +patient.</p> + +<p>"You see," said Guido to Lamberti, when the physician was gone. "It will +be quite impossible for me to go out to-morrow, or for several days."</p> + +<p>"Quite," Lamberti answered, looking for his straw hat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + + +<p>Lamberti dined at home that evening, and soon after nine o'clock he was +on his way to the Palazzo Massimo. Though the evening was hot and close +he walked there, for it was easier to think on his feet than leaning +back in a cab. His normal condition was one of action and not of +reflection.</p> + +<p>His thoughts also took an active dramatic shape. He did not try to bind +future events together in a connected sequence leading to a result; on +the contrary, he seemed to hear the very words he would soon be +speaking, and Cecilia Palladio's answers to them; he saw her face and +noted her expression, and the interview grew violent by degrees till he +felt the inward coolness stealing through him which he had often known +in fight.</p> + +<p>He had written a note to Countess Fortiguerra which he had left at her +door on his way home. He had explained that Guido, being too ill to +move, had begged him to speak to the Contessina, and he expressed the +hope that he might be allowed to see the young lady for a few minutes +alone that evening, in the capacity of the sick man's representative and +trusted friend.</p> + +<p>Such a request could hardly be refused, and the Countess had always felt +that Lamberti was one of those exceptional men in whom one may safely +believe, even without knowing them well. She said that Cecilia had +better see him when he came. She herself had letters to write and would +sit in the boudoir.</p> + +<p>It was the last thing Cecilia had expected, and the mere thought was +like breaking the promise she had made to herself, never to see Lamberti +again; yet she realised that it was impossible to avoid the meeting. The +course she had taken was so extraordinary that she felt bound to give +Guido a chance to answer her letter in any way he could. In the +afternoon her mother had exhausted every argument in trying to make her +revoke her decision. She did not love Guido; that was her only reply; +but she felt that it ought to be sufficient, and she bowed her head +meekly when the Countess grew angry and told her that she should have +found that out long ago. Yes, she answered, it was all her fault, she +ought to have known, she would bear all the blame, she would tell her +friends that she had broken off the engagement, she would do everything +that could be required of her. But she would not marry Guido d'Este.</p> + +<p>The Countess could say nothing more. On her side she was reticent for +once in her life, and told nothing of her own interview with Princess +Anatolie. Whether something had been said which the mother thought unfit +for her daughter's ears, or whether the Princess's words had been of a +nature to hurt Cecilia's pride, the young girl could not guess; and +though her maidenly instinct told her to accept her mother's silence +without question, if it proceeded from the first cause, she could not +help fearing that the Countess had done or said something hopelessly +tactless which might produce disagreeable consequences, or might even do +some harm to Guido.</p> + +<p>Her heart was beating so fast when Lamberti entered the drawing-room +that she wondered how she should find breath to speak to him, and she +did not raise her eyes again after she had seen his face at the door, +till he was close to her, and had bowed without holding out his hand.</p> + +<p>"I hope you got my note," he said to her mother. "D'Este is ill, and has +given me a verbal message for your daughter."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Countess. "I will go into the next room and write my +letters."</p> + +<p>She was gone and the two stood opposite each other in momentary silence. +Lamberti's voice had been formal, and his face was almost +expressionless.</p> + +<p>"Where will you sit?" he asked. "It will take some time to tell you all +that he wishes me to say."</p> + +<p>Cecilia led the way to the little sofa in the corner farthest from the +boudoir. It was there that Guido had asked her to be his wife, and it +was there that she had waited for him a few hours ago to tell him that +she could not marry him. She took her accustomed place, but Lamberti +drew forward a light chair and sat down facing her. He felt that he got +an advantage by the position, and that to a small extent it placed him +outside of her personal atmosphere. At such a moment he could not afford +to neglect the least circumstance which might help him. As for what he +should say, he had thought of many speeches while he was in the street, +but he did not remember any of them now, nor even that he had seemed to +hear himself speaking them.</p> + +<p>"Why did you write that letter?" he asked, after a moment's pause.</p> + +<p>Cecilia looked up quickly, surprised by the direct question, and then +gazed into his face in silence. She had confessed to herself that she +loved him, but she had not known how much, nor what it would mean to sit +so near him and hear him asking the question that had only one answer. +His eyes were steady and brave, when she looked at them, but not so hard +as she had expected. In earlier days she had always felt that they could +command her and even send her to sleep if he chose, but she did not feel +that now. The question had been asked suddenly and directly, but not +harshly. She did not answer it.</p> + +<p>"Did Guido show you my letter?" she asked in a low voice.</p> + +<p>But she was sure of the reply before it came.</p> + +<p>"No. He told me that you broke off your engagement with him very +suddenly. I suppose you have done so because you think you do not care +for him enough to marry him, but he did not tell me so. Is that it?"</p> + +<p>Cecilia nodded quickly, folded her hands nervously upon her knees, and +looked across the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "That is it. I do not love him."</p> + +<p>"Yet you like him very much," Lamberti answered. "I have often seen you +together, and I am sure you do."</p> + +<p>"I am very fond of him. If I had not been foolish, he might always have +been my best friend."</p> + +<p>"I do not think you were foolish. You could hardly do better than marry +your best friend, I think. He is mine, and I know what his friendship is +worth. You will find out, as I have, that if he is sometimes indolent +and slow to make up his mind, he never changes afterwards. You may be +separated from him for a year or two, but you will find him always the +same when you meet him again, always gentle, always true, always the +most honourable of men."</p> + +<p>"He is that, and more," Cecilia said softly. "I like everything about +him."</p> + +<p>"And he loves you," Lamberti continued. "He loves you as men do not +often love the women they marry, and as you, with your fortune, may +never be loved again."</p> + +<p>"I know it. I feel it. It makes it all the harder."</p> + +<p>"But you thought you loved him, I am sure. You would not have accepted +him otherwise."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Thank you for believing that much of me," Cecilia answered humbly. +"I thought I loved him."</p> + +<p>"You sent for him this morning, because you had suddenly persuaded +yourself that you had made a great mistake. When you heard that he could +not come, you wrote the letter, and when it was written you sent it off +as fast as you could, for fear that you would not send it at all. Is +that true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. That is just what happened. How did you know?"</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, please, for d'Este's sake. If you had not felt that you +were perhaps making another mistake, should you have been in such a +hurry to send the letter?"</p> + +<p>Cecilia hesitated an instant.</p> + +<p>"It was a hard thing to do. That is why I made haste to get it over. I +knew it would hurt him, but I thought it was wrong to deceive him for +even a few hours, after I had understood myself."</p> + +<p>"It would have been kinder to wait until you could see him, and break it +gently to him. He was ill when he got your letter, and it made him +worse."</p> + +<p>"How is he?" Cecilia asked quietly, a little ashamed of not having +enquired already. "It is nothing very serious, is it? Only a little +influenza, he said."</p> + +<p>"He is not dangerously ill, but he had a good deal of fever this +afternoon. You will not see him for a week, I fancy. That is the reason +why I am here. I want you to postpone your decision, at least until he +is well and you have talked with him."</p> + +<p>"But I have decided already. I shall take all the blame. I will tell my +friends that it is all my fault."</p> + +<p>"Is that the only answer you can give me for him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. What can I say? I do not love him. I never shall."</p> + +<p>"What if something happens?"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose that I go to him to-morrow morning, and tell him what you say, +and that when I have left him there alone with his servant, as I must in +the course of the day, he locks the door, and in a fit of despair puts a +bullet through his head? What then?"</p> + +<p>Cecilia leaned forward, wide-eyed and frightened.</p> + +<p>"You do not really believe that he would kill himself?" she cried in a +low voice.</p> + +<p>"I think it is more than likely," Lamberti answered quietly enough. +"D'Este is the most good-hearted, charitable, honourable fellow in the +world, but he believes in nothing beyond death. We differ about those +questions, and never talk about them; but he has often spoken of killing +himself when he has been depressed. I remember that we had an argument +about it on the very afternoon when we both first met you."</p> + +<p>"Was he so unhappy then?" Cecilia asked with nervous interest.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. At all events I know that he has a bad habit of keeping a +loaded revolver in the drawer of the table by his bed, in case he should +have a fancy to go out of the world, and it is very well known that +people who talk of suicide, and think of it a great deal, often end in +that way. When I left him this afternoon I gave him some hope that you +might at least prolong the engagement for a few months, and give +yourself a chance to grow more fond of him. If I have to tell him that +you flatly refuse, I am really afraid that it may be the end of him."</p> + +<p>Cecilia leaned back in the sofa and closed her eyes, confronted by the +awful doubt that Lamberti might be right. He was certainly in earnest, +for he was not the man to say such a thing merely for the sake of +frightening her. She could not reason any more.</p> + +<p>"Please, please do not say that!" she said piteously, but scarcely above +her breath.</p> + +<p>"What else can I say? It is quite true. You must have some very strong +reason for refusing to reconsider your decision, since your refusal may +cost as much as that."</p> + +<p>"But men do not kill themselves for love in real life!"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to say they do," Lamberti answered. "A fellow-officer of +mine shot himself on board the ship I was last with for exactly the same +reason. He left a letter so that there should be no suspicion that he +had done it to escape from any dishonour."</p> + +<p>"How awful!"</p> + +<p>"I repeat that you must have a very strong reason indeed for not waiting +a couple of months. In that time you may learn to like Guido better—or +he may learn to love you less."</p> + +<p>"He may change," Cecilia said, not resenting the rather rough speech; "I +never shall."</p> + +<p>Lamberti fixed his eyes on her.</p> + +<p>"There is only one reason that could make you so sure about yourself," +he said. "If I thought you were like most women, I would tell you that +you were heartless, faithless, and cruel, as well as capricious, and +that you were risking a man's life and soul for a scruple of conscience, +or, worse than that, for a passing fancy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, please do not say such things of me!" She spoke in great distress.</p> + +<p>"I do not. I know that you are honest and true, and are trying to do +right, but that you have made a mistake which you can mend if you will. +Take my advice. There is only one possible reason to account for what +you have done. You think that you love some other man better than +d'Este."</p> + +<p>Cecilia started and stared at him.</p> + +<p>"You said that Guido did not show you my letter!" She was offended as +well as distressed now.</p> + +<p>"No; he did not. But I will not pretend that I have guessed your secret. +As Guido lay on his bed talking to me, I was staring at a crumpled sheet +of a letter that lay on the floor. Before I knew what I was looking at I +had read four words: 'I love another man.' When I realised that I ought +not to have seen even that much, I knew, of course, that it was your +writing. You see how much I know. All the same, if you were not what I +know you are, I would call you a heartless flirt to your face."</p> + +<p>Again he looked at her steadily, but she said nothing.</p> + +<p>"If you are not that," he continued, "you never loved Guido at all, but +really believed you did, because you did not know what love was, and you +are sure that you love this other man with all your heart."</p> + +<p>Cecilia was still silent, but a delicate colour was rising in her pale +face.</p> + +<p>"Has the other ever made love to you?" Lamberti asked.</p> + +<p>"No, no—never!"</p> + +<p>She could not help answering him and forgetting that she might have been +offended. She loved him beyond words, he did not know it, and he was +unconsciously asking her questions about himself.</p> + +<p>"Is he younger than Guido? Handsomer? Has he a great name? A great +fortune?"</p> + +<p>"Are those reasons for loving a man?"</p> + +<p>Cecilia asked the question reproachfully, and as she looked at him and +thought of what he was, and how little she cared for the things he had +spoken of, but how wholly for the man himself, her love for him rose in +her face, against her will.</p> + +<p>"There must be something about him which makes you prefer him to Guido," +he said obstinately.</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I do not know what it is. Do not ask me about him."</p> + +<p>"Considering that you are endangering the life of my dearest friend for +him, I think I have some right to speak of him."</p> + +<p>She was silent, and they faced each other for several seconds with very +different expressions. She was pale again, now, but her eyes were full +of light and softness, and there was a very faint shadow of a smile +flickering about her slightly parted lips, as if she saw a wonderful and +absorbing sight. Lamberti's gaze, on the contrary, was cold and hard, +for he was jealous of the unknown man and angry at not being able to +find out who he was. She did not guess his jealousy, indeed, for she did +not suspect what he felt; but she knew that his righteous anger on +Guido's behalf was unconsciously directed against himself.</p> + +<p>"You will never know who he is," she said at last, very gently.</p> + +<p>"We shall all know, when you marry him," Lamberti answered with +unnecessary roughness.</p> + +<p>"No, I shall never marry him," she said. "I mean never to see him again. +I would not marry him, even if he should ever love me."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"For Guido's sake. I have treated Guido very badly, though I did not +mean to do it. If I cannot marry Guido, I will never marry at all."</p> + +<p>"That is like you," Lamberti answered, and his voice softened. "I +believe you are in earnest."</p> + +<p>"With all my heart. But promise me one thing, please, on your word."</p> + +<p>"Not till I know whether I may."</p> + +<p>"For his sake, not for mine. Stay with him. Do not leave him alone for a +moment till you are sure that he is safe and will not try to kill +himself. Will you promise?"</p> + +<p>"Not unless you will promise something, too."</p> + +<p>"Do not ask me to pretend that I love him. I cannot do it."</p> + +<p>"Very well. You need not pretend anything. Let me tell him that you will +let your engagement continue to all appearance, and that you will see +him, but that you put off the wedding for the reasons you gave in your +letter. Let me tell him that you hope you may yet care for him enough to +marry him. You do, do you not?"</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"At least let me say that you are willing to wait a few months, in order +to be sure of yourself. It is the only thing you can do for him. Perhaps +you can accustom him by slow degrees to the idea that you will never +marry him."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"In any case, you ought to do your best, and that is the best you can +do. See him a few times when he is well enough, and then leave Rome. +Tell him that it will be a good thing to be parted for a month or two, +and that you will write to him. Do not destroy what hope he may have, +but let it die out by degrees, if it will."</p> + +<p>Cecilia hesitated. After what had passed between them she could hardly +refuse to follow such good advice, though it was hard to go back to +anything approaching the state of things with which she had broken by +her letter. But that was only obstinacy and pride.</p> + +<p>"Let it be distinctly understood that I do not take back my letter at +all," she said. "If I consent to what you ask, it is only for Guido's +sake, and I will only admit that I may be more sure of myself in a few +months than I am now, though I cannot see how that is possible."</p> + +<p>"It shall be understood most distinctly," Lamberti answered. "You say, +too, that you mean never to see this other man again."</p> + +<p>"I cannot help seeing him if I stay longer in Rome," Cecilia said.</p> + +<p>Lamberti wondered who he might be, with growing hatred of him.</p> + +<p>"If he is an honourable man, and if he had the slightest idea that he +had unconsciously come between you and Guido, he would go away at once."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he could not," Cecilia suggested.</p> + +<p>"That is absurd."</p> + +<p>"No. Take your own case. You told me not long ago that you were +unfortunately condemned to stay in Rome, unless you gave up your career. +He might be in a very similar position. In fact, he is."</p> + +<p>There was something so unexpected in the bitter little laugh that +followed the last words that Lamberti started. She had kept her secret +well, so far, but she had now given him the beginning of a clew. He +wished, for once, that he possessed the detective instinct, and could +follow the scent. There could not be many men in society who were in a +position very similar to his own.</p> + +<p>"I wish I knew his name," he said, only half aloud.</p> + +<p>But she heard him, and again she laughed a little harshly.</p> + +<p>"If I told you who he is, what would you do to him? Go and quarrel with +him? Call him out and kill him in a duel? I suppose that is what you +would do if you could, for Guido's sake."</p> + +<p>"I should like to know his name," Lamberti answered.</p> + +<p>"You never shall. You can never find it out, no matter how ingenious you +are."</p> + +<p>"If I ever see you together, I shall."</p> + +<p>"How can you be so sure of that?"</p> + +<p>"You forget something," Lamberti said. "You forget the odd coincidences +of our dreams, and that I have seen you in them when you were in +earnest—not as you have been with Guido, but as you seem to be about +this other man. I know every look in your eyes, every movement of your +lips, every tone of your voice. Do you think I should not recognise +anything of all that in real life?"</p> + +<p>"These were only dreams," Cecilia tried to say, avoiding his look. "I +asked you not to speak of them."</p> + +<p>"Do you dream of him now?" Lamberti asked the question suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Not now—no—that is—please do not ask me such questions. You have no +right to."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon. Perhaps I have not."</p> + +<p>He was not in the least sorry for having spoken, but his anger increased +against the unknown man. She had evidently dreamt of him at one time or +another, as she used to dream of himself.</p> + +<p>"You have such an extraordinary talent for dreaming," he said, "that the +question seemed quite natural. I daresay you have seen Guido in your +visions, too, when you believed that you cared for him!"</p> + +<p>"Never!" Cecilia could hardly speak just then.</p> + +<p>"Poor Guido! that was a natural question too. Since you used to see a +mere acquaintance, like myself, and fancy that you were—"</p> + +<p>"Stop!"</p> + +<p>"—that you were talking familiarly with him," continued Lamberti +unmoved, "it would hardly be strange that you should often have seen +Guido d'Este in the same way, while you thought you loved him, and it is +stranger that you should not now dream about a man you really love—if +you do!"</p> + +<p>"I say that you have no right to talk in this way," said Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"I have the right to say a great many things," Lamberti answered. "I +have the right to reproach you—"</p> + +<p>"You said that you believed me honest and true."</p> + +<p>The words checked his angry mood suddenly. He passed his hand over his +eyes and changed his position.</p> + +<p>"I do," he said. "There is no woman alive of whom I believe more good +than I do of you."</p> + +<p>"Then trust me a little, and believe, too, that I am suffering quite as +much as Guido. I have agreed to take your advice, to obey you, since it +is that and nothing else—"</p> + +<p>"I have no power to give you orders. I wish I had!"</p> + +<p>"You have right on your side. That is power, and I obey you. You have +told me what to do, and I shall do it, and be glad to do it. But even +after what I have done, I have some privileges left. I have a secret, +and I am ashamed of it, and it can do no good to Guido to know it, much +less to you. Please let me keep it in my own way."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But if you are afraid that I should hurt the man, if I knew his +name, you are mistaken."</p> + +<p>"I am not in the least afraid of that," Cecilia answered, and the light +filled her eyes again as she looked at him. "You are too just to hate an +innocent man. It is not his fault that I love him, and he will never +know it. He will never guess that I think him the best, and truest, and +bravest man alive, and that he is all this world to me, now and for +ever!"</p> + +<p>She spoke quietly enough, but there was a radiant joy in her face which +Lamberti never forgot. While keeping her secret, she was telling him at +last to his face that she loved him, and it was the first time she had +ever spoken such words out of her dreams. In them indeed they had been +familiar to her lips, as words like them had been to his.</p> + +<p>He leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee, and his chin upon his +closed hand, and he looked at her long in silence. He envied her for +having been able to say aloud what she felt, under cover of her secret, +and he longed to answer her, to tell her that he loved her even better +than she loved that unknown man, to hear himself say it to her only +once, come what might. But for Guido he would have spoken, for as he +gazed at her the instinctive masculine conviction returned stronger than +ever, that if he chose he could make her love him. For a moment he was +absolutely sure of it, but he only sat still, looking at her.</p> + +<p>"You believe me now," she said at last, leaning back and turning her +eyes away.</p> + +<p>"Poor Guido!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>He knew indeed that there was no longer any hope for his friend.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he added thoughtfully. "It was in your eyes just then, when you +were speaking, just as if that man had been there before you. I shall +know who he is if I ever see you together. It is understood, then," he +went on, changing his tone, "I am to tell him that you wish to put off +the marriage till you are more sure of yourself—that you wrote that +letter under an impulse."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is true. And you wish me to try to make him understand by +degrees that it is all over, and to go away from Rome in a few days, +asking him not to follow me at once."</p> + +<p>"I think that is the kindest thing you can do. On my part I will give +him what hope I can that you may change your mind again."</p> + +<p>"You know that I never shall."</p> + +<p>"I may hope what I please. There is always a possibility. We are human, +after all. One may hope against conviction. May I see you again +to-morrow to tell you how he takes your message?"</p> + +<p>To his surprise Cecilia hesitated several seconds before she answered.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said at last. "Or you can write to me or to my mother, +which will save you the trouble of coming here."</p> + +<p>"It is no trouble," Lamberti answered mechanically. "But of course it is +painful for you to talk about it all, so unless something unexpected +happens I will write a line to your mother to say that Guido accepts +your decision, and to let you know how he is. If there is anything +wrong, I will come in the evening."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. That is the best way."</p> + +<p>"Good night." He rose as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Good night. Thank you." She held out her hand rather timidly.</p> + +<p>He took it, and she withdrew it precipitately, after the merest touch. +She rose quickly and went towards the door of the boudoir, calling to +her mother as she walked.</p> + +<p>"Signor Lamberti is going," she said.</p> + +<p>There was a little rustle of thin silk in the distance, and the Countess +appeared at the door and came forward.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she asked, as she met Lamberti in the middle of the room.</p> + +<p>"Your daughter has decided to do what seems best for everybody," +Lamberti said. "She will tell you all about it. Let me thank you for +having allowed me to talk it over with her. Good night."</p> + +<p>"Do stay and have some tea!" urged the Countess, and she wondered why +Cecilia, standing behind Lamberti, frowned and shook her head. "Of +course, if you will not stay," she added hastily, "I will not try to +keep you. Pray give my best messages to Signor d'Este, and tell him how +distressed I am, and say—but you will know just what to say, I am sure. +Good night."</p> + +<p>Lamberti bowed and shook hands. As he turned, he met Cecilia face to +face and bade her good night again. She nodded rather coldly, and then +went quickly to ring the bell for the footman.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + + +<p>Princess Anatolie was very angry when she learned that Cecilia was +breaking her engagement, and she said things to the poor Countess which +she did not regret, and which hurt very much, because they were said +with such perfect skill and knowledge of the world that it was +impossible to answer them and it did not even seem proper to show any +outward resentment, considering that Cecilia's conduct was apparently +indefensible. As it is needless to say, the Princess appeared to regret +the circumstance much more for Cecilia's sake than for Guido's. She said +that Guido, of course, would soon get over it, for all men were +perfectly heartless in reality, and could turn from one woman to another +as carelessly as if women were pictures in a gallery. She really did not +think that Guido had much more heart than the rest of his kind, and he +would soon be consoled. After all, he could marry whom he pleased, and +Cecilia's fortune had never been any object to him. She, his thoughtful +and affectionate aunt, would naturally leave him her property, or a +large part of it. Guido was not at all to be pitied.</p> + +<p>But Cecilia, poor Cecilia! What a life she had before her, sighed the +Princess, after treating a man in such a way! Of course, she could never +live in Rome after this, and as for Paris, she would be no better off +there. Guido's friends and relations were everywhere, and none of them +would ever forgive her for having jilted him. Perhaps England was the +only place for her now. The English were a sordid people, consisting +chiefly of shopkeepers, jockeys, tyrants, and professional beauties, and +as they thought of nothing but money and their own advantage, Cecilia's +fortune would insure her a good reception among them, even though it was +not a very large one. Not that the girl was lacking in the most charming +qualities and the most exceptional gifts, which would have made her a +desirable wife for any man, if only she had not made this fatal mistake. +Such things stuck to a woman through life, like a disgrace, though that +was a great injustice, because Cecilia was acting under conviction, poor +girl, and believed she was doing right! It was most unfortunate. The +Princess pitied her very much and would always treat her just as if +nothing had happened, if they ever met. Guido would certainly behave in +the same way and would always be kind, though he would naturally not +seek her society.</p> + +<p>The Princess was very angry, and it was not strange that the Countess +should have come home a little flushed after the interview and very +unexpectedly inclined to be glad, after all, that the engagement was at +an end. The Princess had not said one rude word to her, but it was quite +clear that she was furious at seeing Cecilia's fortune slip from the +grasp of her nephew. It almost looked as if she had expected to get a +part of it herself, though the Countess supposed that should be out of +the question. Nevertheless the past question of the million which was to +have constituted Cecilia's dowry began to rankle, and the Countess's +instinct told her that the old lady had probably had some interest in +the matter. Indeed, the Princess had told her that Guido had +considerable debts, and had vaguely hinted that she had herself +sometimes helped him in his difficulties. Of the two, Guido was more to +be believed than his aunt, but there was a mysterious element in the +whole matter.</p> + +<p>The Princess and Monsieur Leroy consulted the spirits now, and she found +some consolation when she was told that she should yet get back most of +the money she had lost, if she would only trust herself to her truest +friend, who was none other than Monsieur Leroy himself. The forlorn +little ghost of the only being she had ever really loved in the world +was made to assume the character of a financial adviser, and she herself +was led like a lamb by the thread of affection that bound her to her +dead child.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy had not foreseen what was to happen, but he was not +altogether at a loss, and the first step was to insure the Princess's +obedience to his will. He did not understand the nature of the phenomena +he caused, but he knew that in some way certain things that passed in +her mind were instantly present in his, and that he could generally +produce by rappings the answers he desired her to receive. He at least +knew beforehand, in almost every case, what those answers would be, if +he did not consciously make the sounds that signified them. If he had +ever examined his conscience, supposing that he had any left, he would +have found that he himself did not know just where deception ended, and +where something else began which he could not explain, which frightened +him when he was alone, and which, when he had submitted wholly to it, +left him in a state of real physical exhaustion. He was inclined to +believe that the mysterious powers were really the spirits of dead +persons which possessed him for a short time, and spoke through him. Yet +when one of these spirits represented itself as being that of some one +whom neither he nor the Princess had ever met in life, he was dimly +conscious that it never said anything which had not been already known +to her or to him at some time, or which, if unknown, was the spontaneous +creation of his own clouded brain.</p> + +<p>To her, he always gravely asserted his sure belief in the authenticity +of the spirits that came, and since he had unexpectedly succeeded in +producing messages from her little girl, any doubt she had ever +entertained had completely disappeared. She was wholly at his mercy so +long as this state of things could be made to last, and he was +correspondingly careful in the use he made of his new power.</p> + +<p>The Princess was therefore told that she must trust him altogether, and +that he could get back the most of her money for her. She was consoled, +indeed, but she was naturally curious as to the means he meant to use, +and she questioned him when the rappings ceased and the lights were +turned up. He seemed less tired than usual.</p> + +<p>"I shall trust to the inspiration of the spirits," he said evasively. +"In any case we have the law on our side. Guido cannot deny his +signature to those receipts for your money, and he will find it hard to +show what became of such large sums. They are a gentleman's promise to +pay a lady, but they are also legal documents."</p> + +<p>"But they are not stamped," objected the Princess, who knew more about +such things than she sometimes admitted.</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken. They are all stamped for their respective values, and +the stamps are cancelled by Guido's signature."</p> + +<p>"That is very strange! I could almost have sworn that there was not a +stamp on any of them! How could that be? He used to write them on half +sheets of very thick note paper, and I never gave him any stamps."</p> + +<p>"He probably had some in his pocket-book," said Monsieur Leroy. "At all +events, they are there."</p> + +<p>"So much the better. But it is very strange that I should never have +noticed them."</p> + +<p>Like many of those singular beings whom we commonly call "mediums," +Monsieur Leroy was a degenerate in mind and body, and his character was +a compound of malign astuteness, blundering vanity, and hysterical +sensitiveness, all directed by impulses which he did not try to +understand. Without the Princess's protection through life, he must have +come to unutterable grief more than once. But she had always excused his +mistakes, made apologies for him, and taken infinite pains to make him +appear in the best light to her friends. He naturally attributed her +solicitude to the value she set upon his devotion to herself, since +there could be no other reason for it. Doubtless a charitable impulse +had at first impelled her to take in the starving baby that had been +found on the doorstep of an inn in the south of France. That was all he +knew of his origin. But he knew enough of her character to be sure that +if he had not shown some exceptional gifts at an early age, he would +soon have been handed over to servants or peasants to be taken care of, +and would have been altogether forgotten before long. Instead, he had +been spoiled, sent to the best schools, educated as a gentleman, treated +as an equal, and protected like a son. The Princess had given him money +to spend though she was miserly, and had not checked his fancies in his +early youth. She had even tried to marry him to the daughter of a rich +manufacturer, but had discovered that it is not easy to marry a young +gentleman who has no certificate of birth at all, and whose certificate +of baptism describes him as of unknown parents. On one point only she +had been inexorable. When she did not wish him to dine with her or to +appear in the evening, she insisted that he should stay away. Once or +twice he had attempted to disobey these formal orders, but he had +regretted it, for he had found himself face to face with one of the most +merciless human beings in existence, and his own character was far from +strong. He had therefore submitted altogether to the rule, well +satisfied with the power he had over her in most other respects, but he +felt that he must not lose it. The Princess was old and was growing +daily more capricious. She had left him a handsome competence in her +will, as much, indeed, as most bachelors would consider a fortune, but +she was not dead yet, and she might change her mind at the last moment. +He trembled to think what his end must be if she should die and leave +him penniless to face the world alone at his age, without a profession +and without real friends. For no one liked him, though some people +feared his tongue, and he knew it. Perhaps Guido would take pity on him +and give him shelter, for Guido was charitable, but the thought was not +pleasant. Never having been hungry since he could remember, Monsieur +Leroy thought starvation would be preferable to eating Guido d'Este's +bread. There was certainly no one else who would throw him a crust, and +though he had received a good deal of money from the Princess, and had +managed to take a good deal more from her, he had never succeeded in +keeping any of it.</p> + +<p>It was necessary to form some plan at once for extracting money by means +of Guido's receipts, since the marriage was not to take place, and as +Monsieur Leroy altogether failed to hit upon any satisfactory scheme he +consulted a lawyer in confidence, and asked what could be done to +recover the value. The lawyer was a man of doubtful reputation but of +incontestable skill, and after considering the matter in all its +bearings he gave his client some slight hope of success, proportionate +to the amount of money Guido could raise by the sale of his effects and +by borrowing from his many friends. He was glad to learn that Guido had +never borrowed, except, as Monsieur Leroy explained, from his aunt. A +man in such a position could raise a round sum if suddenly driven to +extremities to save his honour.</p> + +<p>The lawyer also asked Monsieur Leroy for details concerning Guido's life +during the last four or five years, inquiring very particularly about +his social relations and as to his having ever been in love with a woman +of his own rank, or with one of inferior station. Monsieur Leroy +answered all these questions with a conscientious desire to speak the +truth, which was new to him, for he realised that only the truth could +be of use in such a case, and that the slightest unfounded invention of +his own against Guido's character must mislead the man he was +consulting. In this he showed himself wiser than he often was.</p> + +<p>"Above all," the lawyer concluded, "never mention my name to any one, +and try to appear surprised at anything unexpected which you may hear +about Signor d'Este."</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy promised readily enough, though reticence was not his +strong point, and he went away well pleased with himself, after signing +a little paper by which it was agreed that the lawyer should receive +twenty per cent of any sums obtained from Guido through him. He had not +omitted to inform his adviser of the celebrated Doctor Baumgarten's +favourable opinion on the Andrea del Sarto and the small Raphael. The +lawyer told him not to be impatient, as affairs of this sort required +the utmost discretion.</p> + +<p>But the man saw that he had a good chance of being engaged in one of +those cases that make an unnecessary amount of noise and are therefore +excellent advertisements for a comparatively unknown practitioner who +has more wit than scruples. He did not believe that all of Guido's many +high and mighty relations would take the side of Princess Anatolie, and +if any of them took the trouble to defend her nephew against her, the +newspapers would be full of the case and his own name would be famous in +a day.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + + +<p>Cecilia told her mother what Lamberti had advised her to do for Guido's +sake, and that she had sent her message by him. The Countess was +surprised and did not quite like the plan.</p> + +<p>"Either you love him, or you do not, my dear," she said. "You were sure +that you did not, and you told him so. That was sensible, at least, +though I think you might have found out earlier what you felt. It is +much better to let him understand at once that you will not marry him. +Men would always rather know the truth at once and get over it than be +kept dangling at a capricious woman's beck and call."</p> + +<p>Cecilia did not explain that Lamberti feared for his friend's life. In +broad daylight that looked dramatic, and her mother would not believe +it. She only said that she was sure she was acting for the best and that +the engagement was to stand a little longer, adding that she wished to +leave Rome, as it was very hot. In her heart she was hurt at being +called capricious, but was too penitent to deny the charge.</p> + +<p>The Countess at once wrote a formal note to Princess Anatolie in which +she said that she had been hasty and spoken too soon, that her daughter +seemed undecided, and that nothing was to be said at present about +breaking the engagement. The marriage, she added, would be put off until +the autumn.</p> + +<p>The Princess showed this communication to Monsieur Leroy when he came +in. He did not mean to tell her about his visit to the lawyer, for he +had made up his mind to play on her credulity as much as he could and to +attribute any advantage she might gain by his manœuvres to +supernatural intervention. The Countess's letter surprised him very +much, and as he did not know what to do, it seemed easy to do nothing. +He expressed his disgust at Cecilia's vacillation.</p> + +<p>"She is a flirt and her mother is a fool," he said, and the speech +seemed to him pithy and concise.</p> + +<p>The old Princess raised her aristocratic eyebrows a little. She would +have expressed the same idea more delicately. There was a vulgar streak +in his character that often jarred on her, but she said nothing, for she +was inexplicably fond of him. For her own part, she was glad that +Cecilia had apparently changed her mind again.</p> + +<p>Later in the day she received a few words from Guido, written in an +unsteady hand, to say that he was sorry he could not come and see her as +he had a bad attack of influenza. At the word she dropped the note as if +it burnt her fingers, and called Monsieur Leroy, for she believed that +influenza could be communicated in almost any way, and it was the only +disease she really feared: she had a presentiment that she was to die of +it.</p> + +<p>"Take that thing away, Doudou!" she cried nervously. "Pick it up with +the tongs and burn it. He has the influenza! I am sure I have caught +it!"</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy obeyed, while she retired to her own room to spend half +an hour in those various measures of disinfection which prophylactic +medicine has recently taught timid people. She had caused her maid to +telephone to Guido not to send any more notes until he was quite well.</p> + +<p>"You must not go near him for a week, Doudou," she said when she came +back at last, feeling herself comparatively safe. "But you may ask how +he is by telephone every morning. I do not believe there can be any +danger in that."</p> + +<p>Electricity was a mysterious power after all, and seemed infinitely +harder to understand than the ways of the supernatural beings with whom +Monsieur Leroy placed her in daily communication. She had heard a +celebrated man of science say that he himself was not quite sure what +electricity might or might not do since the discovery of the X-rays.</p> + +<p>Her precautions had the effect of cutting off communication between her +and her nephew until her departure from Rome, which took place in the +course of a few days, considerably to the relief of the Countess, who +did not wish to meet her after what had passed.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Leroy could not make up his mind to go and see the lawyer again +in order to stop any proceedings which the latter might be already +taking. Below his wish to serve the Princess and his hope of profiting +by his success, there lay his deep-rooted and unreasoning jealousy of +Guido d'Este, which he had never before seen any safe chance of +gratifying. It would be a profound satisfaction to see this man, who was +the mirror of honour, driven to extremities to escape disgrace. Another +element in his decision, if it could be called that, was the hopeless +disorder of his degenerate intelligence, which made it far easier for +him to allow anything he had done to bear fruit, to the last +consequence, than to make a second effort in order to arrest the growth +of evil.</p> + +<p>The lawyer was at work, silently and skilfully, and in a few days +Princess Anatolie and Monsieur Leroy were comfortably established in her +place in Styria, where the air was delightfully cool.</p> + +<p>What was left of society in Rome learned with a little surprise, but +without much regret, that the wedding was put off, and those who had +country places not far from the city, and had already gone out to them +for the summer, were delighted to know that they would not be expected +to come into town for the marriage during the great heat. No date had +ever been really fixed for it, and there was therefore no matter for +gossip or discussion. The only persons who knew that Cecilia had made an +attempt to break it off altogether were those most nearly concerned.</p> + +<p>The Countess and Cecilia made preparations for going away, and the +dressmakers and other tradespeople breathed more freely when they were +told that they need not hurry themselves any longer.</p> + +<p>But Cecilia had no intention of leaving without having seen Guido more +than once again, hard as it might be for her to face him. Lamberti had +written to her mother that he accepted Cecilia's decision gladly, and +hoped to be out of his room in a few days, but that he did not appear to +be recovering fast. He did not seem to be so strong as his friend had +thought, and the short illness, together with the mental shock of +Cecilia's letter, had made him very weak. The news of him was much the +same for three days, and the young girl grew anxious. She knew that +Lamberti spent most of his time with Guido, but he had not been to the +Palazzo Massimo since his interview with her. She wished she could see +him and ask questions, if only he could temporarily be turned into some +one else; but since that was impossible, she was glad that he did not +come to the house. She spent long hours in reading, while Petersen and +the servants made preparations for the journey, and she wrote a line to +Guido every day, to tell him how sorry she was for him. She received +grateful notes from him, so badly written that she could hardly read +them.</p> + +<p>On the fourth day, no answer came, but Lamberti sent her mother a line +an hour later to say that Guido had more fever than usual and could not +write that morning, but was in no danger, as far as the doctor could +say.</p> + +<p>"I should like to go and see him," Cecilia said. "He is very ill, and it +is my fault."</p> + +<p>The Countess was horrified at the suggestion.</p> + +<p>"My dear child," she cried, "you are quite mad! Why, the poor man is in +bed, of course!"</p> + +<p>"I hope so," Cecilia answered unmoved. "But Signor Lamberti could carry +him to his sitting room."</p> + +<p>"Who ever heard of such a thing!"</p> + +<p>"We could go in a cab, with thick veils," Cecilia continued. "No one +would ever know."</p> + +<p>"Think of Petersen, my dear! Women of our class do not wear thick veils +in the street. For heaven's sake put this absurd idea out of your head."</p> + +<p>"It does not seem absurd to me."</p> + +<p>"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," retorted the Countess, +losing her temper. "You do not even mean to marry him, and yet you talk +of going to see him when he is ill, as if he were already your husband!"</p> + +<p>"What if he dies?" Cecilia asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>"There will be time enough to think about it then," answered the +Countess, with insufficient reflection. "Besides he is not going to die +of a touch of influenza."</p> + +<p>"Signor Lamberti says he is very ill. Several people died of it last +winter, you know. I suppose you mean that I need not think of trying to +see him until we hear that there is no hope for him."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"That might be too late. He might not know me. It seems to me that it +would be better to try and save his life, or if he is not in real +danger, to help him to get well."</p> + +<p>"If you insist upon it," said the Countess, "I will go and see him +myself and take a message from you. I suppose that nobody could find +anything serious to say against me for it, though, really—I am not so +old as that, am I?"</p> + +<p>"I think every one would think it was very kind of you to go and see +him."</p> + +<p>"Do you? Well—perhaps—I am not sure. I never did such a thing in my +life. I am sure I should feel most uncomfortable when I found myself in +a young man's rooms. We had better send him some jelly and beef-tea. A +bachelor can never get those things."</p> + +<p>"It would not be the same as if I could see him," said Cecilia, mildly.</p> + +<p>Her mother did not like to admit this proposition, and disappeared soon +afterward. Without telling her daughter, she wrote an urgent note to +Lamberti begging him to come and dine and tell them all about Guido's +illness, as she and Cecilia were very anxious about him.</p> + +<p>Cecilia went out alone with Petersen late in the hot afternoon. She +wished she could have walked the length of Rome and back, but her +companion was not equal to any such effort in the heat, so the two got +into a cab. She did not like to drive with her maid in her own carriage, +simply because she had never done it. For the first time in her life she +wished she were a man, free to go alone where she pleased, and when she +pleased. She could be alone in the house, but nowhere out of doors, +unless she went to the villa, and she was determined not to go there +again before leaving Rome. It had disagreeable associations, since she +had been obliged to sit on the bench by the fountain with Guido a few +days ago. She remembered, too, that at the very moment when his paternal +warning not to catch cold had annoyed her, he had probably caught cold +himself, and she did not know why this lowered him a little in her +estimation, but it did. She was ashamed to think that such a trifle +might have helped to make her write the letter which had hurt him so +much.</p> + +<p>She went to the Forum, for there she could make Petersen sit down, and +could walk about a little, and nobody would care, because she should +meet no one she knew.</p> + +<p>As they went down the broad way inside the wicket at which the tickets +are sold, she saw a party of tourists on their way to the House of the +Vestals. Of late years both Germans and Americans have discovered that +Rome is not so hot in summer as the English all say it is, and that +fever does not lurk behind every wall to spring upon the defenceless +foreigner.</p> + +<p>The tourists were of the usual class, and Cecilia was annoyed to find +them where she had hoped to be alone; but they would soon go away, and +she sat down with Petersen to wait for their going, under the shadow of +the temple of Castor and Pollux. Petersen began to read her guide-book, +and the young girl fell to thinking while she pushed a little stone from +side to side with the point of her parasol, trying to bring it each time +to the exact spot on which it had lain before.</p> + +<p>She was thinking of all that had happened to her since she left Petersen +in that same place on the May morning that seemed left behind in another +existence, and she was wondering whether she would go back to that +point, if she could, and live the months over again; or whether, if the +return were possible, she would have made the rest different from what +it had been.</p> + +<p>It would have been so much easier to go on loving the man in the dream +to the end of her life, meeting him again and again in the old +surroundings that were more familiar to her than those in which she +lived. It would have been so much better to be always her fancied self, +to be the faithful Vestal, leading the man she loved by sure degrees to +heights of immaterial blessedness in that cool outer firmament where +sight and hearing and feeling, and thinking and loving, were all merged +in a universal consciousness. It would have been so much easier not to +love a real man, above all not to love one who never could love her, +come what might. And besides, if all that had gone on, she would never +have brought disappointment and suffering upon Guido d'Este.</p> + +<p>She decided that it would have been preferable, by far, to have gone on +with her life of dreams, and when awake to have been as she had always +known herself, in love with everything that made her think and with +nothing that made her feel.</p> + +<p>But in the very moment when the matter seemed decided, she remembered +how she had looked into Lamberti's eyes three nights ago, and had felt +something more delicious than all thinking while she told him how she +loved that other man, who was himself. That one moment had seemed worth +an age of dreams and a lifetime of visions, and for it she knew that she +would give them all, again and again.</p> + +<p>The point of the parasol did not move now, but lay against the little +stone, just where she was looking, for she was no longer weighing +anything in her mind nor answering reasons with reasons. With the +realisation of fact, came quickly the infinite regret and longing she +knew so well, yet which always consoled her a little. She had a right to +love as she did, since she was to suffer by it all her life. If she had +thrown over Guido d'Este to marry Lamberti, there would have been +something guilty in loving him. But there was not. She was perfectly +disinterested, absolutely without one thought for her own happiness, and +if she had done wrong she had done it unconsciously and was going to pay +the penalty with the fullest consciousness of its keenness.</p> + +<p>The tourists trooped back, grinding the path with their heavy shoes, +hot, dusty, tired, and persevering, as all good tourists are. They +stared at her when they thought she was not watching them, for they were +simple and discreet souls, bent on improving themselves, and though they +despised her a little for not toiling like themselves, they saw that she +was beautiful and cool and quiet, sitting there in the shade, in her +light summer frock, and her white gloves, and her Paris hat, and the men +admired her as a superior being, who might be an angel or a demon, while +all the women envied her to the verge of hatred; and because she was +accompanied by such an evidently respectable person as Peterson was, +they could not even say that she was probably an actress. This +distressed them very much.</p> + +<p>Kant says somewhere that when a man turns from argument and appeals to +mankind's common sense, it is a sure sign that his reasoning is +worthless. Similarly, when women can find nothing reasonable to say +against a fellow-woman who is pretty and well dressed, they generally +say that she looks like an actress; and this means according to the +customs of a hundred years ago, which women seem to remember though most +men have forgotten them, that she is an excommunicated person not fit to +be buried like a Christian. Really, they could hardly say more in a +single word.</p> + +<p>When the tourists were at a safe distance Cecilia rose, bidding Petersen +sit still, and she went slowly on towards the House of the Vestals, and +up the little inclined wooden bridge which at that time led up to it, +till she stood within the court, her hand resting almost on the very +spot where it had been when Lamberti had come upon her in the spring +morning.</p> + +<p>Her memories rose and her thoughts flashed back with them through ages, +giving the ruined house its early beauty again, out of her own youth. +She was not dreaming now, but she knew instinctively how it had been in +those last days of the Vestals' existence, and wished every pillar, and +angle, and cornice, and ornament back, each into its own place and +unchanged, and herself, where she was, in full consciousness of life and +thought, at the very moment when she had first seen the man's face and +had understood that one may vow away the dying body but not the +deathless soul. That had been the beginning of her being alive. Before +that, she had been as a flower, growing by the universal will, one of +those things that are created pure and beautiful and fragrant from the +first without thought or merit of their own; and then, as a young bird +in the nest, high in air, in a deep forest, in early summer, looking out +and wondering, but not knowing yet, its little heart beating fast with +only one instinct, to be out and alone on the wing. But afterwards all +had changed instantly and knowledge had come without learning, because +what was to make it was already present in subtle elements that needed +only the first breath of understanding to unite themselves in an ordered +and perfect meaning; as the electric spark, striking through invisible +mingled gases, makes perfect union of them in crystal drops of water.</p> + +<p>That had been the beginning, since conscious life begins in the very +instant when the soul is first knowingly answerable for the whole +being's actions, in the light of good and evil, and first asks the only +three questions which human reason has never wholly answered, which are +as to knowledge, and duty, and hope.</p> + +<p>Who shall say that life, in that sense, may not begin in a dream, as +well as in what we call reality? What is a dream? Sometimes a wandering +through a maze of absurdities, in which we feel as madmen must, +believing ourselves to be other beings than ourselves, conceiving the +laws of nature to be reversed for our advantage or our ruin, seeing +right as wrong and wrong as right, in the pathetic innocence of the +idiot or the senseless rage of the maniac, convinced beyond all argument +that the absolutely impossible is happening before our eyes, yet never +in the least astonished by any wonders, though subject to terrors we +never feel when we are awake. Has no one ever understood that confused +dreaming must be exactly like the mental state of the insane, and that +if we dreamed such dreams with open eyes, we should be raving mad, or +hopelessly idiotic? It is true, whether any one has ever said so or not. +Inanimate things turn into living creatures, the chair we sit on becomes +a horse, the arm-chair is turned into a wild beast; and we ride +a-hunting through endless drawing-rooms which are full of trees and +undergrowth, till the trees are suddenly people and are all dancing and +laughing at us, because we have come to the ball in attire so +exceedingly scanty that we wonder how the servants could have let us in. +And in the midst of all this, when we are frantically searching for our +clothes, and for a railway ticket, which we are sure is in the +right-hand pocket of the waistcoat, if only we could find it, and if +some one would tell us from which side of the station the train starts, +and we wish we had not forgotten to eat something, and had not unpacked +all our luggage and scattered everything about the railway refreshment +room, and that some kind person would tell us where our money is, and +that another would take a few of the fifty things we are trying to hold +in our hands without dropping any of them; in the midst of all this, I +say, a dead man we knew comes from his grave and stares at us, and asks +why we cruelly let him die, long ago, without saying that one word which +would have meant joy or despair to him at the last moment. Then our hair +stands up and our teeth chatter, because the secret of the soul has +risen against us where we least expected it; and we wake alone in the +dark with the memory of the dead.</p> + +<p>Is not that madness? What else can madness be but that disjointing of +ordered facts into dim and disorderly fiction, pierced here and there by +lingering lights of memory and reason? All of us sometimes go mad in our +sleep. But it does not follow that in dreaming we are not sometimes +sane, rational, responsible, our own selves, good or bad, doing and +saying things which we might say and do in real life, but which we have +never said nor done, incurring the consequences of our words and deeds +as if they were actual, keeping good faith or breaking it, according to +our own natures, accomplishing by effort, or failing through indolence, +as the case may be, blushing with genuine shame, laughing with genuine +mirth, and burning with genuine anger; and all this may go on from the +beginning to the end of the dream, without a single moment of +impossibility, without one incident which would surprise us in the +waking state. With most people dreams of this kind are rare, but every +one who dreams at all must have had them once or twice in life.</p> + +<p>If we are therefore sometimes sane in dreams we can remember, and act in +them as we really should, according to our individual consciences and +possessed of our usual intelligence and knowledge, it cannot be denied +that a series of such imaginary actions constitutes a real experience, +during which we have risen or fallen, according as we have thought or +acted. Some dreams of this kind leave impressions as lasting as that +made by any reality. The merit or fault is wholly fictitious, no doubt, +because although we have fancied that we could exercise our free will, +we were powerless to use it; but the experience gained is not imaginary, +where the dream has been strictly sane, any more than thought, in the +abstract, is fictitious because it is not action. People of some +imagination can easily, while wide awake, imagine a series of actions +and decide rationally what course they would pursue in each, and such +decisions constitute undoubted experience, which may materially affect +the conduct of the individual if cases similar to the fancied ones +present themselves in life. When there is no time to be lost, the +instantaneous recollection of a train of reasoning may often mean +instant decision, followed by immediate action, upon which the most +important consequences may follow.</p> + +<p>Will any one venture to maintain that the vivid impressions left by +rational dreams do not act in the same way upon the mind, and through +the mind upon the will, and by the will upon our actions? And if we +could direct our dreams as we pleased, so that they should be always +rational, as some persons believe that we can, should we not be +continually gaining experience of ourselves while sleeping, as well as +when awake? Moreover, it is certain that there are men and women who are +particularly endowed with the faculty of dreaming, and who can very +often dream of any subject they please.</p> + +<p>Since this digression is already so long, let one more thing be said, +which has not been said before, so far as the writer can find out. Our +waking memory is defective; with most men it is so to a lamentable +degree. It often happens that people forget that they have read a story, +for instance, and begin to read it again, and do not discover that they +have already done so till they have turned over many pages. It happens +constantly that the taste of something we eat, or the odour of something +we smell, recalls a scene we cannot remember at first, but which +sometimes comes back after a little while. Almost every one has felt now +and then that a fragment of present conversation is not new to him, and +that he has performed certain actions already, though he cannot remember +when. With some people these broken recollections are so frequent and +vivid as to lead to all sorts of theories to explain them, such as the +possibility of former existences on earth, or the more materialistic +probability that memories are transmitted from parents and ancestors +from the direct ascending lines.</p> + +<p>One theory has been neglected. At such times we may be remembering +vaguely, or even with some distinctness, parts of dreams of which we had +no recollection on waking, but which, nevertheless, made their +impressions on the brain that produced them, while we were asleep. +Unconscious ratiocination is certainly not a myth; and if, by it, we can +produce our own forgotten actions, and even find objects we have lost, +by doing over again exactly what we were doing when the thing we seek +was last in our hands, sure that the rest of the action will repeat +itself spontaneously, we should not be going much farther if we repeated +both actions and words unconsciously remembered out of dreams. Much that +seems very mysterious in our sensations may be explained in that way, +and the explanation has the advantage of being simpler than that +afforded by the theory of atavism, and more orthodox than that offered +by the believers in the transmigration of souls.</p> + +<p>Cecilia Palladio had no need of it, for she did not forget the one dream +that pleased her best, and she was never puzzled by uncertain +recollections of any other. Her life had begun in it, and had turned +upon it always, and after she had parted with it by an act of will, she +had retained the fullest remembrance of its details.</p> + +<p>She left the place where she had paused near the entrance, and slowly +walked up the long court, by the dry excavated basins; she ascended the +low steps to the raised floor beyond, and stood still before the door of +her own room, the second on the left. She had meant to go in and look at +it quietly, but since she had taken refuge there when she ran away from +Lamberti, iron gates had been placed at the entrances of all the six +rooms, and they were locked. In hers a quantity of fragments of +sculptured marble and broken earthen vessels were laid side by side on +the floor, or were standing against the walls and in the corners.</p> + +<p>She felt as if she had been shut out by an act of tyranny, just as when +she and her five companions had sadly left the House, obedient to the +Christian Emperor's decree, long ago. It had always been her room ever +since she had first dreamt. The beautiful narrow bronze bedstead used to +stand on the left, the carved oak wardrobe inlaid with ivory was on the +right, the marble table was just under the window, covered with objects +she needed for her toilet, exquisite things of chiselled silver and of +polished ivory. The chair, rounded at the back and with cushioned seat, +like Agrippina's, was near it. In winter, the large bronze brazier of +coals, changed twice daily, was always placed in the middle of the room. +The walls were wainscoted with Asian marble, and painted above that with +portraits in fresco of great and ancient Vestals who had been holier +than the rest, each in her snowy robes, with the white veil drawn up and +backwards over her head, and brought forward again over the shoulder, +and each holding some sacred vessel or instrument in her one uncovered +hand. There were stories about each which the Virgo Maxima used to read +to the younger ones from a great rolled manuscript, that was kept in an +ancient bronze box, or which she sometimes told in the moonlight on +summer nights when the maidens sat together in the court.</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes, her forehead resting against the iron bars, and she +saw it all as it had been; she looked again and the desolation hurt her +and shocked her as when in a wilderness an explorer comes suddenly upon +the bleached bones of one who had gone before him and had been his +friend. She sighed and turned away.</p> + +<p>The dream was better than the reality, in that and in many other ways. +She was overcome by the sense of utter failure, as she sat down on the +steps below the raised floor, lonely and forlorn.</p> + +<p>It was all a comedy now, a miserable petty play to hide a great truth +from herself and others. She had begun her part already, writing her +wretched little notes to poor Guido. She knew that, ill as he was, the +words that seemed lies to her were ten times true to him, and that he +exaggerated every enquiry after his condition and each expression of +hope for his recovery into signs of loving solicitude, that he had +already forgiven what he thought her caprice, and was looking forward to +his marriage as more certain than ever, in spite of her message. It was +all a vile trick meant to save his feelings and help him to get well, +and she hated and despised it.</p> + +<p>She was playing a part with Lamberti, too, and that was no better. She +had fallen low enough to love a man who did not care a straw for her, +and it needed all the energy of character she had left to keep him from +finding it out. Nothing could be more contemptible. If any one but he +had told her that she ought to go back to the appearance of an +engagement with Guido, she would have refused to do it. But Lamberti +dominated her; he had only to say, "Do this," and she did it, "Say +this," and she said it, whether it were true or not. She complained +bitterly in her heart that if he had bidden her lie to her mother, she +would have lied, because she had no will of her own when she was with +him.</p> + +<p>And this was the end of her inspired visions, of her lofty ideals, of +her magnificent rules of life, of her studies of philosophy, her +meditations upon religion, and her dream of the last Vestal. She was +nothing but a weak girl, under the orders of a man she loved against her +will, and ready to do things she despised whenever he chose to give his +orders. He cared for no human being except his one friend. He was not to +be blamed for that, of course, but he was utterly indifferent to every +one else where his friend was concerned; every one must lie, or steal, +or do murder, if that could help Guido to get well. She was only one of +his instruments, and he probably had others. She was sure that half the +women in Rome loved Lamberto Lamberti without daring to say so. It was a +satisfaction to have heard from every one that he cared for none of +them. People spoke of him as a woman-hater, and one woman had said that +he had married a negress in Africa, and was the father of black savages +with red hair. That accounted for his going to Somali Land, she said, +and for his knowing so much about the habits of the people there. +Cecilia would have gladly killed the lady with a hat pin.</p> + +<p>She was very unhappy, sitting alone on the steps after the sun had sunk +out of sight. The comedy was all to begin over again in an hour, for she +must go home and defend her conduct when her mother reproached her with +not acting fairly, and laughed at the idea that Guido was in danger of +his life. To-morrow she would have to write the daily note to him, she +would be obliged to compose affectionate phrases which would have come +quite naturally if she could have treated him merely as her best friend; +and he would translate affection to mean love, and another lie would +have been told. There was this, at least, about Guido, that he could not +order her about as Lamberti could. There was no authority in his eyes, +not even when he told her not to catch cold. Perhaps in all the time she +had known him, she had liked him best when he had been angry, at the +garden party, and had demanded to know her secret. But she would not +acknowledge that. If the situation had been reversed and Lamberti, +instead of Guido, had insisted on knowing what she meant to hide, she +could not have helped telling him. It was an abominable state of things, +but there was nothing to be done, and that was the worst part of it. +Lamberti knew Guido much better than she did, and if Lamberti told her +gravely that Guido might do something desperate if she broke with him, +she was obliged to believe it and to act accordingly. There might not be +one chance in a thousand, but the one-thousandth chance was just the one +that might have its turn. One might disregard it for oneself, but one +had no right to overlook it where another's life was concerned. At all +events she must wait till Guido was quite well again, for a man in a +fever really might do anything rash. Why did Lamberti not take away the +revolver that always lay ready in the drawer? It would be much safer, +though Guido probably had plenty of other weapons that would serve the +purpose. Guido was just the kind of pacific man who would have a whole +armoury of guns and pistols, as if he were always expecting to kill +something or somebody. She was sure that Lamberti, who had killed men +with his own hand, did not keep any sort of weapon in his room. If he +had a revolver of his own, it was probably carefully cleaned, greased, +wrapped up and put away with the things he used when he was sent on +expeditions. It was a thousand pities that Guido was not exactly like +Lamberti!</p> + +<p>Cecilia rose at last, weary of thinking about it all, disgusted with her +own weakness, and decidedly ill-disposed towards her fellow-creatures. +The slightly flattened upper lip was compressed rather tightly against +the fuller lower one as she went back to find Petersen, and as she held +her head very high, her lids drooped somewhat scornfully over her eyes. +No one can ever be as supercilious as some people look when they are +angry with themselves and are thinking what miserable creatures they +really are.</p> + +<p>It was late when Cecilia reached the Palazzo Massimo and went in on foot +under the dark carriageway after Petersen had paid the cab under the +watchful gaze of the big liveried porter. The Countess was already +dressing for dinner, and Cecilia went to her own room at once. The +consequence was that she did not know of her mother's invitation to +Lamberti, until she came into the drawing-room and saw the two together, +waiting for her.</p> + +<p>"Did I forget to tell you that Signor Lamberti was coming to dinner?" +asked her mother.</p> + +<p>"There was no particular reason why you should have told me," she +answered indifferently, as she held out her hand to Lamberti. "It is not +exactly a dinner party! How is he?" she asked, speaking to him.</p> + +<p>"He is better this evening, thank you."</p> + +<p>Why should he say "thank you," as if Guido were his brother or his +father? She resented it. Surely there was no need for continually +accentuating the fact that Guido was the only person living for whom he +had the slightest natural affection! This was perhaps exaggerated, but +she was glad of it, just then.</p> + +<p>She, who would have given all for him, wished savagely that some woman +would make him fall in love and treat him with merciless barbarity.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + + +<p>Cecilia felt that evening as if she could resist Lamberti's influence at +last, for she was out of humour with herself and with every one else. +When they had dined, and had said a multitude of uninteresting things +about Guido, for they were all under a certain constraint while the meal +lasted, they came back to the drawing-room. Lamberti had the inscrutable +look Cecilia had lately seen in his face, and which she took for the +outward sign of his indifference to anything that did not concern his +friend. When he spoke to her, he looked at her as if she were a chair or +a table, and when he was not speaking to her he did not look at her at +all.</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room, she waited her opportunity until her mother had sat +down. The butler had set the little tray with the coffee and three cups +on a small three-legged table. On pretence that the latter was unsteady, +Cecilia carried the tray to another place at some distance from her +mother. Lamberti followed her to take the Countess's cup, and then came +back for his own. Cecilia spoke to him in a low voice while she was +putting in the sugar and pouring out the coffee, a duty which in many +parts of Italy and France is still assigned to the daughter of the +house, and recalls a time when servants did not know how to prepare the +beverage.</p> + +<p>"Come and talk to me presently," she said. "I am sure you have more to +tell me about him."</p> + +<p>"No," said Lamberti, not taking the trouble to lower his voice much, +"there is nothing more to tell. I do not think I have forgotten +anything."</p> + +<p>He stirred his coffee slowly, but with evident reluctance to stay near +her. She would not have been a human woman if she had not been annoyed +by his cool manner, and a shade of displeasure passed over her face.</p> + +<p>"I have something to say to you," she answered. "I thought you would +understand."</p> + +<p>"That is different."</p> + +<p>In his turn he showed a little annoyance. They went back together to the +Countess's side, carrying their cups. In due time the good lady went to +write letters, feeling that it was quite safe to leave her daughter with +Lamberti, who seemed to be as cold as ice, and not at all bent on making +himself agreeable. Besides, the Countess was tired of the situation, and +could hardly conceal the fact that she reproached Guido for not getting +well sooner, in order that she might speak to him herself.</p> + +<p>There was silence for a time after she had gone into the next room, +while Cecilia and Lamberti sat side by side on the sofa she had left. +Neither seemed inclined to speak first, for both felt that some danger +was at hand, which could not be avoided, but which must be approached +with caution. She wished that he would say something, for she was not at +all sure what she meant to tell him; but he was silent, which was +natural enough, as she had asked for the interview.</p> + +<p>She would have given anything to have seen him somewhere else, in new +surroundings, anywhere except in her own drawing-room, where every +familiar object oppressed her and reminded her of her mistakes and +illusions. She felt that she must say something, but the blood rose in +her brain and confused her. He saw her embarrassment, or guessed it.</p> + +<p>"So far things have gone better than I expected," he said at last, "but +that only makes the end more doubtful."</p> + +<p>She turned to him slowly and with an involuntary look of gratitude for +having broken the silence.</p> + +<p>"I mean," he went on, "that since Guido is so ready to grasp at any +straw you throw him, it will be hard to make him understand you, when +things have gone a little further."</p> + +<p>"Is that all you mean?" She asked the question almost sharply.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You do not mean that you still wish I would marry him after—after what +I told you the other evening?"</p> + +<p>The interrogation was in her voice, and that was hard, and demanded an +answer. Lamberti looked away, and did not reply at once, for he meant to +tell the exact truth, and was not quite sure where it lay. He felt, too, +that her manner had changed notably since they had last talked, and +though he had no intention of taking the upper hand, it was not in his +nature to submit to any dictation, even from the woman he loved.</p> + +<p>"Answer me, please," said Cecilia, rather imperiously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will. I wish it were possible for you to marry him, that is +all."</p> + +<p>"And you know that it is not."</p> + +<p>"I am almost sure that it is not."</p> + +<p>"How cautious you are!"</p> + +<p>"The matter is serious. But you said that you had something to say to +me. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"I wanted to tell you that I am sick of all this deception, of writing +notes that are meant to deceive a man for whom I have the most sincere +friendship, of letting the whole world think that I will do what I would +not do, if I were to die for it."</p> + +<p>He looked at her, then clasped his hands upon his knees and shook his +head.</p> + +<p>"I must see him," she said, after a pause, "I must see him at once, and +you must help me. If I could only speak to him I could make him +understand, and he would be glad I had spoken, and we should always be +good friends. But I must see him alone, and talk to him. Make it +possible, for I know you can. I am not afraid of the consequences. Take +me to him. It is the only true and honest thing to do!"</p> + +<p>Lamberti believed that this was true; he was a man of action and had no +respect for society's prejudices, when society was not present to +enforce its laws. It would have seemed incredible to Romans that an +Italian girl could think of doing what Cecilia proposed, and if it were +ever known, her reputation would be gravely damaged. But Cecilia was not +like other young girls; society should never know what she had done, and +she was quite right in saying that her plan was really the best and most +honourable.</p> + +<p>"I can take you to him," Lamberti said. "I suppose you know what you are +risking."</p> + +<p>"Nothing, if I go with you. You would not let me run any risk."</p> + +<p>She did not raise her voice, she hardly changed her tone, but nothing +she had ever said had given him such a thrilling sensation of pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Do you trust me as much as that?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, as much as that."</p> + +<p>She smiled, and looked down at her hand, and then glanced at him +quickly, and almost happily. If she had studied men for ten years she +could not have found word or look more certain to touch him and win him +to her way.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he said, rather curtly, for he was thinking of another +answer. "If I take you to Guido, what shall you say to him?"</p> + +<p>She drew herself up against the back of the sofa, but the smile still +lingered on her lips.</p> + +<p>"You must trust me, too," she answered. "Do you think I can compose set +speeches beforehand? When shall we go? How is it to be managed?"</p> + +<p>"You often go out with your maid, do you not? What sort of woman is she? +A dragon?"</p> + +<p>"No!" Cecilia laughed. "She is very respectable and nice, and thinks I +am perfection. But then, she is terribly near-sighted, and cannot wear +spectacles because they fall off her nose."</p> + +<p>"Then she loses her way easily, I suppose?" said Lamberti, too much +intent on his plans to be amused at trifles.</p> + +<p>"Yes. She is always losing her way."</p> + +<p>"That might easily happen to her in the Palazzo Farnese. It is a huge +place, and you could manage to go up one way while she went up the +other. Besides, there is a lift at the back, not to mention the +servants' staircases, in which she might be hopelessly lost. Can you +trust her not to lose her head and make the porters search the palace +for you, if you are separated from her?"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure. But she will stay wherever I tell her to wait for me. +That might be better. You see, my only excuse for going to the Palazzo +Farnese would be to see the ambassador's daughter, and she is in the +country."</p> + +<p>"I think she must have come to town for a day or two, for I met her this +afternoon. That is a good reason for going to see her. At the door of +the embassy send your maid on an errand that will take an hour, and tell +her to wait for you in the cab at the gate. If the girl is at home you +need not stay ten minutes. Then you can see Guido during the rest of the +time. It will be long enough, and besides, the maid will wait."</p> + +<p>"For ever, if I tell her to! But you, where shall you be?"</p> + +<p>"You will meet me on the stairs as you come down from the embassy. Wear +something simple and dark that people have not seen you wear before, and +carry a black parasol and a guide-book. Have one of those brown veils +that tourists wear against the sun. Fold it up neatly and put it into +the pocket of the guide-book instead of the map, or pin it to the inside +of your parasol. You can put it on as soon as you have turned the corner +of the stairs, out of sight of the embassy door, for the footman will +not go in till you are as far as that. If you cannot put it on yourself, +I will do it for you."</p> + +<p>"Do you know how to put on a woman's veil?" Cecilia asked, with a little +laugh.</p> + +<p>"Of course! It is easy enough. I have often fastened my sister's for her +at picnics."</p> + +<p>"What time shall I come?"</p> + +<p>"A little before eleven. Guido cannot be ready before that."</p> + +<p>"But he has a servant," said Cecilia, suddenly remembering the detail. +"What will he think?"</p> + +<p>"He has two, but they shall both be out, and I shall have the key to his +door in my pocket. We will manage that."</p> + +<p>"Shall you be sure to know just when I come?"</p> + +<p>"I shall see you, but you will not see me till we meet on the landing."</p> + +<p>"I knew you could manage it, if you only would."</p> + +<p>"It is simple enough. There is not the slightest risk, if you will do +exactly what I have told you."</p> + +<p>It seemed easy indeed, and Cecilia was almost happy at the thought that +she was soon to be freed from the intolerable situation into which she +allowed herself to be forced. She was very grateful, too, and beyond her +gratitude was the unspeakable satisfaction in the man she loved. Instead +of making difficulties, he smoothed them; instead of prating of what +society might think, he would help her to defy it, because he knew that +she was right.</p> + +<p>"I should like to thank you," she said simply. "I do not know how."</p> + +<p>He seemed to say something in answer, in a rather discontented way, but +so low that she could not catch the words.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?" she asked unwisely.</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I am glad to be of service to you. Say the right things to +Guido; for you are going to do rather an eccentric thing in order to say +them, and a mistake would be fatal."</p> + +<p>He spoke almost roughly, but she was not offended. He had a right to be +rough, since he was ready to do whatever she asked of him; yet not +understanding him, while loving him, her instinct made her wish him +really to know how pleased she was. She put out her hand a little +timidly and touched his, as a much older woman might have done. To her +surprise, he grasped it instantly, and held it so tightly that he hurt +her for a moment. He dropped it then, pushing it from him as his hold +relaxed, almost throwing it off.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" Cecilia asked, surprised.</p> + +<p>But at that moment her mother entered the room from the boudoir.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + + +<p>In agreeing to the dangerous scheme, Lamberti had yielded to an impulse +founded upon his intuitive knowledge of women, and not at all upon his +inborn love of anything in which there was risk. The danger was for +Cecilia, not for himself, in any case; and it was real, for, if it +should ever be known that she had gone to Guido's rooms, nothing but her +marriage with him would silence the gossips. Society cannot be blamed +for drawing a line somewhere, considering how very far back it sets the +limit.</p> + +<p>Lamberti, without reasoning about it, knew that no woman ever does well +what she does not like doing. If he persisted in making Cecilia attempt +to break gradually with Guido, she would soon make mistakes and spoil +everything. That was his conviction. She felt, at present, that if she +could see Guido face to face, she could persuade him to give her up; and +the probability was that she would succeed, or else that she would be +moved by real pity for him and thus become genuinely ready to follow +Lamberti's original advice. The sensible course to follow was, +therefore, to help her in the direction she had chosen.</p> + +<p>Early in the morning Lamberti was at his friend's bedside. Guido was +much better now, and there was no risk in taking him to his sitting +room. Lamberti suggested this before saying anything else, and the +doctor came soon afterwards and approved of it. By ten o'clock Guido was +comfortably installed in a long cane chair, amongst his engravings and +pictures, very pale and thin, but cheerful and expectant. As he had no +fever, and was quite calm, Lamberti told him frankly that Cecilia had +something to say to him which no one could say for her, and was coming +herself. He was amazed and delighted at first, and then was angry with +Lamberti for allowing her to come; but, as the latter explained in +detail how her visit was to be managed, his fears subsided, and he +looked at his watch with growing impatience. His man had been sitting up +with him at night since his illness had begun, and was easily persuaded +to go to bed for the day. The other servant, who cooked what Guido +needed, had prepared everything for the day, and had gone out. He always +came back a little after twelve o'clock. At twenty minutes to eleven +Lamberti took the key of the door and went to watch for Cecilia's +coming, and half an hour later he admitted her to the sitting room, shut +the door after her, and left the two together. He went and sat down in +the outer hall, in case any one should ring the bell, which had been +muffled with a bit of soft leather while Guido was ill.</p> + +<p>Cecilia stood still a moment, after the door was closed; behind her, and +she lifted her veil to see her way, for there was not much light in the +room. As she caught sight of Guido, a frank smile lighted up her face +for an instant, and then died away in a look of genuine concern and +anxiety. She had not realised how much he could change in so short a +time, in not more than four or five days. She came forward quickly, took +his hand, and bent over him, looking into his face. His eyes widened +with pleasure and his thin fingers lifted hers to his lips.</p> + +<p>"You have been very ill," she said, "very, very ill! I had no idea that +it was so bad as this!"</p> + +<p>"I am better," he answered gently. "How good of you! How endlessly good +of you to come!"</p> + +<p>"Nobody saw me," she said, by way of answer.</p> + +<p>She smoothed the old pink damask cushion under his head, and +instinctively looked to see if he had all he needed within reach, before +she thought of sitting down in the chair Lamberti had placed ready for +her.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he said, in a low and somewhat anxious voice, "you did not +mean it? You were out of temper, or you were annoyed by something, or—I +do not know! Something happened that made you write, and you had sent +the letter before you knew what you were doing—"</p> + +<p>He broke off, quite sure of her answer. He thought she turned pale, +though the light was not strong and brought the green colour of the +closed blinds into the room.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" she exclaimed soothingly, and she sat down beside him, still +holding his hand. "I have come expressly to talk to you about it all, +because letters only make misunderstandings, and there must not be any +more misunderstandings between us two."</p> + +<p>"No, never again!" He looked up with love in his hollow eyes, not +suspecting what she meant. "I have forgotten all that was in that +letter, and I wish to forget it. You never wrote that you did not love +me, nor that you loved another man. It is all gone, quite gone, and I +shall never remember it again."</p> + +<p>Cecilia sighed and gazed into his face sadly. He looked so ill and weak +that she wondered how she could be cruel enough to tell him the truth, +though she had risked her good name to get a chance of speaking plainly. +It seemed like bringing a cup of cold water to the lips of a man dying +of thirst, only to take it away again untasted and leave him to his +fate. She pitied him with all her heart, but there was nothing in her +compassion that at all resembled love. It was the purest and most +friendly affection, of the sort that lasts a lifetime and can devote +itself in almost any sacrifice; but it was all quite clear and +comprehensible, without the smallest element of the inexplicable +attraction that is deaf, and dumb, and, above all, blind, and which +proceeds from the deep prime cause and mover of nature, and mates lions +in the wilderness and birds in the air, and men and women among their +fellows, two and two, from generation to generation.</p> + +<p>"Guido," said Cecilia, after a long silence, "do you not think that two +people can be very, very fond of each other all their lives, and trust +each other, and like to be together as much as possible, without being +married?"</p> + +<p>She spoke quietly and steadily, trying to make her voice sound more +gentle than ever before; but there was no possibility of mistaking her +meaning. His thin hand started and shook under her soothing touch, and +then drew itself away. The light went out of his eyes and the rings of +shadow round them grew visibly darker as he turned his head painfully on +the damask cushion.</p> + +<p>"Is that what you have come to say?" he asked, in a groan.</p> + +<p>Cecilia leaned back in her chair and folded her hands. She felt as if +she had killed an unresisting, loving creature, as a sacrifice for her +fault.</p> + +<p>"God forgive me if I have done wrong," she said, speaking to herself. "I +only mean to do right."</p> + +<p>Guido moved his head on his cushion again, as if suffering unbearable +pain, and a sort of harsh laugh answered her words.</p> + +<p>"Your God will forgive you," he said bitterly, after a moment. "Man made +God in his own image, and God must needs obey his creator. When you +cannot forgive yourself, you set up an image and ask it to pardon you. I +do not wonder."</p> + +<p>The cruel words hurt her in more ways than one, and she drew her breath +between her teeth as if she had struck unawares against something sharp +and was repressing a cry of pain. Then there was silence for a long +time.</p> + +<p>"Why do you stay here?" Guido asked, in a low tone, not looking at her. +"You cannot have anything more to say. You have done what you came to +do. Let me be alone."</p> + +<p>"Guido!"</p> + +<p>She touched his shoulder gently as he lay turned from her, but he moved +and pushed her away.</p> + +<p>"It cannot give you pleasure to see me suffer," he said. "Please go +away."</p> + +<p>"How can I leave you like this?"</p> + +<p>There was despair in her voice, and the sound of tears that would never +come to her eyes. He did not answer. She would not go away without +trying to appease him, and she made a strong effort to collect her +thoughts.</p> + +<p>"You are angry with me, of course," she began. "You despise me for not +having known my own mind, but you cannot say anything that I have not +said to myself. I ought to have known long ago. All I can say in +self-defence now is that it is better to have told you the truth before +we were married than to have been obliged to confess it afterwards, or +else to have lied to you all my life if I could not find courage to +speak. It is better, is it not? Oh, say that it is better!"</p> + +<p>"It would have been much better if neither of us had ever been born," +Guido answered.</p> + +<p>"I only ask you to say that you would rather be suffering now than have +had me tell you in a year that I was an unfaithful wife at heart. That +is all. Will you not say it? It is all I ask."</p> + +<p>"Why should you ask anything of me, even that? The only kindness you can +show me now is to go away."</p> + +<p>He would not look at her. His throat was parched, and he put out his +hand to take the tumbler from the little table on the other side of his +long chair. Instantly she rose and tried to help him, but he would not +let her.</p> + +<p>"I am not so weak as that," he said coldly. "My hand is steady enough, +thank you."</p> + +<p>She sighed and drew back. Perhaps it would be better to leave him, as he +wished that she should, but his words recalled Lamberti's warning; his +hand was steady, he said, and that meant that it was steady enough to +take the pistol from the drawer in the little table and use it. He +believed in nothing, in no future, in no retribution, in no God, and he +was ill, lonely, and in despair through her fault. His friend knew him, +and the danger was real. The conviction flashed through her brain that +if she left him alone he would probably kill himself, and she fancied +him lying there dead, on the red tiles. She fancied, too, Lamberti's +face, when he should come to tell her what had happened, for he would +surely come, and to the end of her life and his he would never forgive +her.</p> + +<p>She stood still, wavering and unstrung by her thoughts, looking steadily +down at Guido's head.</p> + +<p>"Since you will not go away," he said at last, "answer me one question. +Tell me the name of the man who has come between us."</p> + +<p>Cecilia bit her lip and turned her face from the light.</p> + +<p>"Then it is true," Guido said, after a silence. "There is a man whom you +really love, a man whom you would really marry and to whom you could +really be faithful."</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is true. Everything I wrote you is true."</p> + +<p>"Who is he?"</p> + +<p>She was silent again.</p> + +<p>"Do you hope that I shall ever forgive you for what you have done to +me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I pray heaven that you may!"</p> + +<p>"Leave heaven out of the question. You have turned my life into +something like what you call hell. Do I know the man you love?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Cecilia answered, after a moment's hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Do I often meet him? Have I met him often since you have loved him?"</p> + +<p>She said nothing, but stood still with bent head and clasped hands.</p> + +<p>"Why do you not answer me?" he asked sternly.</p> + +<p>"You must never know his name," she said, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Have I no right to know who has ruined my life?"</p> + +<p>"I have. Blame me. Visit it on me."</p> + +<p>He laughed, not harshly now, but gently and sarcastically.</p> + +<p>"You women are fond of offering yourselves as expiatory victims for your +own sins, for you know very well that we shall not hurt you! After all, +you cannot help yourself if you have fallen in love with some one else. +I suppose I ought to be sorry for you. I probably shall be, when I know +who he is!"</p> + +<p>He laughed again, already despising the man she had preferred in his +stead. His words had cut her, but she said nothing, for she was in dread +lest the slightest word should betray the truth.</p> + +<p>"You say that I know him," Guido continued, his cheeks beginning to +flush feverishly, "and you would not answer me when I asked you if I had +often met him since you have loved him. That means that I have, of +course. You were too honest to lie, and too much frightened to tell the +truth. I meet him often. Then he is one of a score of men whom I know +better than all the others. There are not many men whom I meet often. It +cannot be very hard to find out which of them it is."</p> + +<p>Cecilia turned her face away, resting one hand on the back of the chair, +and a deep blush rose in her cheeks. But she spoke steadily.</p> + +<p>"You can never find out," she said. "He does not love me. He does not +guess that I love him. But I will not answer any more questions, for you +must not know who he is."</p> + +<p>"Why not? Do you think I shall quarrel with him and make him fight a +duel with me?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"That is absurd," Guido answered quietly. "I do not value my life much, +I believe, but I have not the least inclination to risk it in such a +ridiculous way. The man has injured me without knowing it. You have +taken from me the one thing I treasured and you are keeping it for him; +but he does not want it, he does not even know that it is his, he is not +responsible for your caprices."</p> + +<p>"Not caprice, Guido! Do not call it that!"</p> + +<p>"I do. Forgive me for being frank. Say that I am ill, if you please, as +an excuse for me. I call such things by their right name, caprices. If +you are going to be subject to them all your life, you had better go +into a convent before you throw away your good name."</p> + +<p>"I have not deserved that!"</p> + +<p>She turned upon him now, with flashing eyes. He had raised himself upon +one elbow and was looking at her with cool contempt.</p> + +<p>"You have deserved that and more," he answered, "and if you insist upon +staying here you must hear what I choose to say. I advised you to go +away, but you would not. I have no apology to make for telling you the +truth, but you are free to go. Lamberti is in the hall and will see you +to your carriage."</p> + +<p>There was something royal in his anger and in his look now, which she +could not help respecting, in spite of his words. She had thought that +he would behave very differently; she had looked for some passionate +outburst, perhaps for some unmanly weakness, excusable since he was so +ill, and more in accordance with his outwardly gentle character. She had +thought that because he had made his friend speak to her for him he +lacked energy to speak for himself. But now that the moment had come, he +showed himself as manly and determined as ever Lamberti could be, and +she could not help respecting him for it. Doubtless Lamberti had always +known what was in his friend's nature, below the indolent surface. +Perhaps he was like his father, the old king. But Cecilia was proud, +too.</p> + +<p>"If I have stayed too long," she said, facing him, "it was because I +came here at some risk to confess my fault, and hoped for your +forgiveness. I shall always hope for it, as long as we both live, but I +shall not ask for it again. I had thought that you would accept my +devoted friendship instead of what I cannot give you and never gave you, +though I believed that I did. But you will not take what I offer. We had +better part on that rather than risk being enemies. You have already +said one thing which you will regret and which I shall always remember. +Good-bye."</p> + +<p>She held out her hand frankly, and he took it and kept it a moment, +while their eyes met, and he spoke more gently.</p> + +<p>"I said too much. I am sorry. I shall forgive you when I do not love you +any more. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He let her hand fall and looked away.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said.</p> + +<p>She left his side and went towards the door, her head a little bent. As +she laid her hand upon the handle, and looked back at Guido once again, +it turned in her fingers and was drawn quickly away from them. She +started and turned her head to see who was there.</p> + +<p>Lamberti stood before her, and immediately pushed her back into the room +and shut the door, visibly disturbed.</p> + +<p>"This way!" he said quickly, in an undertone.</p> + +<p>He led her swiftly to another door, which he opened for her and closed +as soon as she had passed.</p> + +<p>"Wait for me there!" he said, as she went in.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" asked Guido rather faintly, when he realised what +his friend had done.</p> + +<p>"Her mother is in the hall," Lamberti said. "Do not be startled, she +knows nothing. She insists on seeing for herself how you are. She says +her daughter begged her to come."</p> + +<p>"Tell her I am too ill to see her, please, and thank her very much. It +is all over, Lamberti, we have parted."</p> + +<p>A dark flush rose in Lamberti's face.</p> + +<p>"You must see the Countess," he said hurriedly. "I am sorry, but unless +she comes here, her daughter cannot get out without being seen. We +cannot leave her in your room. I will not do it, for your man may wake +up and go there. There is no time to be lost either!"</p> + +<p>"Bring the Countess in," said Guido, with an effort, and moving uneasily +on his couch.</p> + +<p>He felt that nothing was spared him. In the few seconds that elapsed, he +tried to decide what he should say to the Countess, and how he could +account for knowing that Cecilia had now definitely broken off the +engagement. Before he had come to any conclusion the Countess was +ushered in, rosy and smiling, but a little timid at finding herself in a +young bachelor's quarters.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Cecilia was in Guido's bedroom. An older woman might have +suspected some ignoble treachery, but her perfect innocence protected +her from all fear. Lamberti would not have brought her there in such a +hurry unless there had been some absolute necessity for getting her out +of sight at once. Undoubtedly some visitor had come who could not be +turned away. Perhaps it was the doctor. Moreover, she was too much +disturbed by what had taken place to pay much attention to what was, +after all, a detail.</p> + +<p>She looked about her and saw that there was another door by which +Lamberti would presently enter to let her out. There was the great bed +with the coverlet of old arras displaying the royal arms, and beside it +stood a small table of mahogany inlaid with brass. It had tall and +slender legs that ended below in little brass lions' paws, and it had a +single drawer.</p> + +<p>Without hesitation she went and opened it. Lamberti had been right. +There was the revolver, a silver-mounted weapon with an ivory handle, +much more for ornament than use, but quite effective enough for the +purpose to which Guido might put it. Beside it lay a little pile of +notes in their envelopes, and she involuntarily recognised her own +handwriting. He had kept all she had written to him within his reach +while he had been ill, and the thought pained her. The revolver was a +very light one, made with only five chambers. She took it and examined +it when she had shut the drawer again, and she saw that it was fully +loaded. Old Fortiguerra had taught her to use firearms a little, and she +knew how to load and unload them. She slipped the cartridges out quickly +and tied them together in her handkerchief, and then dropped them into +her parasol and the revolver after them.</p> + +<p>She went to the tall mirror in the door of the wardrobe and began to +arrange her veil, expecting Lamberti every moment. She had hardly +finished when he entered and beckoned to her. She caught up her parasol +by the middle so as to hold its contents safely, and in a few seconds +she was outside the front door of the apartment. Lamberti drew a breath +of relief.</p> + +<p>"Take those!" she said quickly, producing the pistol and the cartridges. +"He must not have them."</p> + +<p>Lamberti took the weapon and put it into his pocket, and held the +parasol, while she untied the handkerchief and gave him the contents. +Both began to go downstairs.</p> + +<p>"I had better tell you who came," Lamberti said, as they went. "You will +be surprised. It was your mother."</p> + +<p>"My mother!" Cecilia stopped short on the step she had reached. "I did +not think she meant to come!"</p> + +<p>She went on, and Lamberti kept by her side.</p> + +<p>"You can seem surprised when she tells you," he said. "You have +definitely broken your engagement, then? Guido had time to tell me so."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I could not lie to him. It was very hard, but I am glad it is all +over, though he is very angry now."</p> + +<p>They reached the last landing before the court without meeting any one, +and she paused again. He wondered what expression was on her face while +she spoke, for he could scarcely see the outline of her features through +the veil.</p> + +<p>"Thank you again," she said. "We may not meet for a long time, for my +mother and I shall go away at once, and I suppose we shall not come back +next winter." She spoke rather bitterly now. "My reputation is damaged, +I fancy, because I have refused to marry a man I do not love!"</p> + +<p>"I will take care of your reputation," Lamberti answered, as if he were +saying the most natural thing in the world.</p> + +<p>"It is hardly your place to do that," Cecilia answered, much surprised.</p> + +<p>"It may not be my right," Lamberti said, "as people consider those +things. But it is my place, as Guido's friend and yours, as the only man +alive who is devoted to you both."</p> + +<p>"I am more grateful than I can tell you. But please let people say what +they like of me, and do not take my defence. You, of all the men I know, +must not."</p> + +<p>"Why not I, of all men? I, of all men, will."</p> + +<p>She was standing with her back to the wall on the landing, and he was +facing her now. His face looked a little more set and determined than +usual, and he was rather pale, and he stood sturdily still before her. +She could see his face through her veil, though he could hardly +distinguish hers. He felt for a moment as if he were talking to a sort +of lay figure that represented her and could not answer him.</p> + +<p>"I, of all men, will take care that no one says a word against you," he +said, as she was silent.</p> + +<p>"But why? Why you?"</p> + +<p>"You have definitely given up all idea of marrying Guido? Absolutely? +For ever? You are sure, in your own conscience, that he has no sort of +claim on you left, and that he knows it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes! But—"</p> + +<p>"Then," he said, not heeding her, "as you and I may not meet again for a +long time, and as it cannot do you the least harm to know it, and as you +will have no right to feel that I shall be lacking in respect to you, if +I say it, I am going to give myself the satisfaction of telling you +something I have taken great pains to hide since we first met."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Cecilia, nervously.</p> + +<p>"It is a very simple matter, and one that will not interest you much."</p> + +<p>He paused one moment, and fixed his eyes on the brown veil, where he +knew that hers were.</p> + +<p>"I love you."</p> + +<p>Cecilia started violently, and put out one hand against the wall behind +her.</p> + +<p>"Do not be frightened, Contessina," he said gently. "Many men will say +that to you before you are old. But none of them will mean it more truly +than I. Shall we go? Your mother may not stay long with Guido."</p> + +<p>He moved, expecting her to go on, but she leaned against the wall where +she stood, and she stared at his face through her veil. For an instant +she thought she was going to faint, for her heart stopped beating and +the blood left her head. She did not know whether it was happiness, or +surprise, or fear that paralysed her, when his simple words revealed the +vastness of the mistake in which she had lived, and the immensity of joy +she had missed by so little. She pressed her hand flat against the wall +beside her, sure that if she moved it she must fall.</p> + +<p>"Have I offended you, Signorina?" Lamberti asked, and the low tones +shook a little.</p> + +<p>She could not speak yet, but his voice seemed to steady her, and her +heart beat again. As if she were making a great effort her hand slowly +left the wall, and she stretched it out towards him, silently asking for +his. He did not understand, but he took it and held it quietly, coming a +little nearer to her.</p> + +<p>"You have forgiven me," he said. "Thank you. You are kind. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>But then her fingers closed on his with almost frantic pressure.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" she cried. "Not yet! One moment more!"</p> + +<p>Still he did not understand, but he felt the blood rising and singing in +his heart like the tide when it is almost high. A strange expectation +filled him, as of a great change in his whole being that must come in +the most fearful pain, or else in a happiness almost unbearable, +something swelling, bursting, overwhelming, and enormous beyond +imagination.</p> + +<p>She did not know that she was drawing him nearer to her, she would have +blushed scarlet at the thought; he did not know that his feet moved, +that he was quite close to her, that she was clutching his hand and +pressing it upon her own heart. They did not see what they were doing. +They were standing together by a marble pillar in the Vestals' House. +They were out in the firmament beyond worlds, not seeing, not hearing, +not touching, but knowing and one in knowledge.</p> + +<p>The veil touched his cheek and lightly pressed against it. It was the +Vestal's veil. He had felt it in dreams, between his face and hers. Then +the world broke into visible light, and he heard her whisper in his ear.</p> + +<p>"That was my secret. You know it now."</p> + +<p>A distant footfall echoed from far up the stone staircase. Once more as +she heard it she pressed his hand to her heart with all her might, and +he, with his left round her neck, drew her veiled face against his and +held it there an instant in simple pressure, not trying to kiss her.</p> + +<p>Then those two separated and went down the remaining steps in silence, +side by side, and very demurely, as if nothing had happened. The +Countess's brougham was in the courtyard, and the porter, just going +into his lodge under the archway, touched his big-visored cap to +Lamberti and glanced at Cecilia carelessly as they went out. Petersen +was sitting in an open cab in the blazing sun, under a large white +parasol lined with green cotton, and her mistress was seated beside her +before she had time to rise. Cecilia had quickly turned up her veil over +the brim of her hat as soon as she had passed the porter's lodge, for he +knew her face and she did not wish him to see her go out with Lamberti.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone as Lamberti stood hat in +hand in the sun by the step of the cab. "Palazzo Massimo," she called +out to the coach-man.</p> + +<p>She nodded to Lamberti indifferently, and the cab drove quickly away to +the right, rattling over the white paving-stones of the Piazza Farnese +in the direction of San Carlo a Catinari.</p> + +<p>"Did you see your mother?" Petersen asked. "She stopped the carriage and +called me when she saw me, and she said she was going to ask after +Signor d'Este. I said you had gone up to the embassy."</p> + +<p>"No," Cecilia answered, "I did not see her. We shall be at home before +she is."</p> + +<p>She did not speak again on the way. Petersen was too near-sighted and +unsuspicious to see that she surreptitiously loosened the brown veil +from her hat, got it down beside her on the other side, and rolled it up +into a ball with one hand. Somehow, when she reached her own door, it +was inside the parasol, just where the revolver had been half an hour +earlier.</p> + +<p>Lamberti put on his straw hat and glanced indifferently at the departing +cab as he turned away, quite sure that Cecilia would not look round. He +went back into the palace, feeling for a cigar in his outer breast +pocket. His hands felt numb with cold under the scorching sun, and he +knew that he was taking pains to look indifferent and to move as if +nothing extraordinary had happened to him; for in a few minutes he would +be face to face with Guido d'Este and the Countess Fortiguerra. He lit +his cigar under the archway, and blew a cloud of smoke before him as he +turned into the staircase; but on the first landing he stopped, just +where he had stood with Cecilia. He paused, his cigar between his teeth, +his legs a little apart as if he were on deck in a sea-way, and his +hands behind him. He looked curiously at the wall where she had leaned +against it, and he smoked vigorously. At last he took out a small pocket +knife and with the point of the blade scratched a little cross on the +hard surface, looked at it, touched it again and was satisfied, returned +the knife to his pocket, and went quietly upstairs. Most seafaring men +do absurdly sentimental things sometimes. Lamberti's expression had +neither softened nor changed while he was scratching the mark, and when +he went on his way he looked precisely as he did when he was going up +the steps of the Ministry to attend a meeting of the Commission. He had +good nerves, as he had told the specialist whom he had consulted in the +spring.</p> + +<p>But he would have given much not to meet Guido for a day or two, though +he did not in the least mind meeting the Countess. Cecilia could keep a +secret as well as he himself, almost too well, and there was not the +slightest danger that her mother should guess the truth from the +behaviour of either of them, even when together. Nor would Guido guess +it for that matter; that was not what Lamberti was thinking of just +then.</p> + +<p>He felt that chance, or fate, had made him the instrument of a sort of +betrayal for which he was not responsible, and as he had never been in +such a position in his life, even by accident, it was almost as bad at +first as if he had intentionally taken Cecilia from his friend. He had +always been instinctively sure that she would love him some day, but +when he had at last spoken he had really not had the least idea that she +already loved him. He had acted on an impulse as soon as he was quite +sure that she would never marry Guido; perhaps, if he could have +analysed his feelings, as Guido could have done, he would have found +that he really meant to shock her a little, or frighten her by the +point-blank statement that he loved her, in the hope of widening the +distance which he supposed to exist between them, and thereby making it +much more improbable that she should ever care for him.</p> + +<p>Even now he did not see how he could ever marry her and remain Guido's +friend. He was far too sensible to tell Guido the truth and appeal to +his generosity, for the best man living is not inclined to be generous +when he has just been jilted, least of all to the man to whom he owes +his discomfiture. In the course of time Guido might grow more +indifferent. That was the most that could be hoped. Nevertheless, from +the instant in which Lamberti had realised the truth, coming back to his +senses out of a whirlwind of delight, he had known that he meant to have +the woman he loved for himself, since she loved him already, and that he +would count nothing that chanced to stand in his way, neither his +friend, nor his career, nor his own family, nor neck nor life, either, +if any such improbable risk should present itself. He was very glad that +he had waited till he was quite sure that she was free, for he knew very +well that if the moment had come too soon he should have felt the same +reckless desire to win her, though he would have exiled himself to a +desert island in the Pacific Ocean rather than yield to it.</p> + +<p>And more than that. He, who had a rough and strong belief in God, in an +ever living soul within him, and in everlasting happiness and suffering +hereafter, he, who called suicide the most dastardly and execrable crime +against self that it lies in the power of a believing man to commit, +would have shot himself without hesitation rather than steal the love of +his only friend's wedded wife, content to give his body to instant +destruction, and his soul to eternal hell—if that were the only way not +to be a traitor. God might forgive him or not; salvation or damnation +would matter little compared with escaping such a monstrous evil.</p> + +<p>He did not think these things. They were instinctive with him and sure +as fate, like all the impulses of violent temperaments; just as certain +as that if a man should give him the lie he would have struck him in the +face before he had realised that he had even raised his hand. Guido +d'Este, as brave in a different way, but hating any violent action, +would never strike a man at all if he could possibly help it, though he +would probably not miss him at the first shot the next morning.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour had not elapsed since Lamberti had left the +Countess and Guido together when he let himself in again with his +latch-key. He went at once to the bedroom, walking slowly and +scrutinising the floor as he went along. He had heard of tragedies +brought about by a hairpin, a glove, or a pocket handkerchief, dropped +or forgotten in places where they ought not to be. He looked everywhere +in the passage and in Guido's room, but Cecilia had not dropped +anything. Then he examined his beard in the glass, with an absurd +exaggeration of caution. Her loose brown veil had touched his cheek, a +single silk thread of it clinging to his beard might tell a tale. He was +a man who had more than once lived among savages and knew how slight a +trace might lead to a broad trail. Then he got a chair and set it +against the side of the tall wardrobe. Standing on it he got hold of the +cornice with his hands, drew himself up till he could see over it, +remained suspended by one hand and, with the other, laid the revolver +and the cartridges on the top. Guido would never find them there.</p> + +<p>The Countess's unnecessary shyness had disappeared as soon as she saw +how ill Guido looked. His head was aching terribly now, and he had a +little fever again, but he raised himself as well as he could to greet +her, and smiled courteously as she held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"This is very kind of you, my dear lady," he managed to say, but his own +voice sounded far off.</p> + +<p>"I was really so anxious about you!" the Countess said, with a little +laugh. "And—and about it all, you know. Now tell me how you really +are!"</p> + +<p>Guido said that he had felt better in the morning, but now had a bad +headache. She sympathised with him and suggested bathing his temples +with Eau de Cologne, which seemed simple. She always did it herself when +she had a headache, she said. The best was the Forty-Seven Eleven kind. +But of course he knew that.</p> + +<p>He felt that he should probably go mad if she stayed five minutes +longer, but his courteous manner did not change, though her face seemed +to be jumping up and down at every throb he felt in his head. She was +very kind, he repeated. He had some Eau de Cologne of that very sort. He +never used any other. This sounded in his own ears so absurdly like the +advertisements of patent soap that he smiled in his pain.</p> + +<p>Yes, she repeated, it was quite the best; and she seemed a little +embarrassed, as if she wanted to say something else but could not make +up her mind to speak. Could she do anything to make him more +comfortable? She could go away, but he could not tell her so. He thanked +her. Lamberti and his man had taken most excellent care of him. Why did +he not have a nurse? There were the Sisters of Charity, and the French +sisters who wore dark blue and were very good; she could not remember +the name of the order, but she knew where they lived. Should she send +him one? He thanked her again, and the room turned itself upside down +before his eyes and then whirled back again at the next throb. Still he +tried to smile.</p> + +<p>She coughed a little and looked at her perfectly fitting gloves, wishing +that he would ask after Cecilia. If he had been suffering less he would +have known that he was expected to do so, but it was all he could do +just then to keep his face from twitching.</p> + +<p>Then she suddenly said that she had something on her mind to say to him, +but that, of course, as he was so very ill, she would not say it now, +but as soon as he was quite well they would have a long talk together.</p> + +<p>Guido was a man more nervous than sanguine, and probably more phlegmatic +than either, and his nervous strength asserted itself now, just when he +began to believe that he was on the verge of delirium. He felt suddenly +much quieter and the pain in his head diminished, or he noticed it less. +He said that he was quite able to talk now, and wished to know at once +what she had to say to him.</p> + +<p>She needed no second invitation to pour out her heart about Cecilia, and +in a long string of involved and often disjointed sentences she told him +just what she felt. Cecilia had done her best to love him, after having +really believed that she did love him, but it was of no use, and it was +much better that Guido should know the truth now, than find it out by +degrees. Cecilia was dreadfully sorry to have made such a mistake, and +both Cecilia and she herself would always be the best friends he had in +the world; but the engagement had better be broken off at once, and of +course, as it would injure Cecilia if everything were known, it would be +very generous of him to let it be thought that it had been broken by +mutual agreement, and without any quarrel. She stopped at last, rather +frightened at having said so much, but quite sure that she had done +right, and believing that she knew the whole truth and had told it all. +She waited for his answer in some trepidation.</p> + +<p>"My dear lady," he said at last, "I am very glad you have been so frank. +Ever since your daughter wrote me that letter I have felt that it must +end in this way. As she does not wish to marry me, I quite agree that +our engagement should end at once, so that the agreement is really +mutual and friendly, and I shall say so."</p> + +<p>"How good you are!" cried the Countess, delighted.</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing I ask of you," Guido said, after pressing his +right hand upon his forehead in an attempt to stop the throbbing that +now began again. "I do not think I am asking too much, considering what +has happened, and I promise not to make any use of what you tell me."</p> + +<p>"You have a right to ask us anything," the Countess answered, +contritely.</p> + +<p>"Who is the man that has taken my place?"</p> + +<p>The Countess stared at him blankly a moment, and her mouth opened a +little.</p> + +<p>"What man?" she asked, evidently not understanding him.</p> + +<p>"I naturally supposed that your daughter felt a strong inclination for +some one else," Guido said.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, no!" cried the Countess. "You are quite mistaken!"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, then. Pray forget what I said."</p> + +<p>He saw that she was speaking the truth, as far as she knew it, and he +had long ago discovered that she was quite unable to conceal anything +not of the most vital importance. She repeated her assurance several +times, and then began to review the whole situation, till Guido was in +torment again.</p> + +<p>At last the door opened and Lamberti entered. He saw at a glance how +Guido was suffering, and came to his side.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid he is not so well to-day," he said. "He looks very tired. +If he could sleep more, he would get well sooner."</p> + +<p>The Countess rose at once, and became repentant for having stayed too +long.</p> + +<p>"I could not help telling him everything," she explained, looking at +Lamberti. "And as for Cecilia being in love with some one else," she +added, looking down into Guido's face and taking his hand, "you must put +that out of your head at once! As if I should not know it! It is +perfectly absurd!"</p> + +<p>Lamberti stared fixedly at the top of her hat while she bent down.</p> + +<p>"Of course," Guido said, summoning his strength to bid her good-bye +courteously, and to show some gratitude for her visit. "I am sorry I +spoke of it. Thank you very much for coming to see me, and for being so +frank."</p> + +<p>In a sense he was glad she had come, for her coming had solved the +difficulty in which he had been placed. He sank back exhausted and +suffering as she left the room, and was hardly aware that Lamberti came +back soon afterwards and sat down beside him. Before long his friend +carried him back to his bed, for he seemed unable to walk.</p> + +<p>Lamberti stayed with him till he fell asleep under the influence of a +soporific medicine, and then called the man-servant. He told him he had +taken the revolver from the drawer, because his master was not to be +married after all, and might do something foolish, and ought to be +watched continually, and he said that he would come back and stay +through the night. The man had been in his own service, and could be +trusted now that he had slept.</p> + +<p>Lamberti left the Palazzo Farnese and walked slowly homeward in the +white glare, smoking steadily all the way, and looking straight before +him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + + +<p>The Countess wrote that afternoon to Baron Goldbirn, of Vienna, and to +the Princess Anatolie, now in Styria, that the engagement between her +daughter and Signor Guido d'Este was broken off by mutual agreement. She +had told Cecilia that she had been to see Guido and had confessed the +plain truth, and that there need be no more comedies, because men never +died of that sort of thing after all, and it was much better for them to +be told everything outright. Cecilia seemed perfectly satisfied and +thanked her. Then the Countess said she would like to go to Brittany, or +perhaps to Norway, where she had never been, but that if Cecilia +preferred Scotland, she would make no objection. She would go anywhere, +provided the place were cool, and on the top of a mountain, or by the +sea, but she wished to leave at once. Everything had been ready for +their departure several days ago.</p> + +<p>"You do not really mean to leave Rome till Guido—I mean, till Signor +d'Este is out of all danger, do you?" asked the young girl.</p> + +<p>"My dear, since you are not going to marry him, what difference can it +make?" asked the Countess, unconsciously heartless. "The sooner we go, +the better. You are as pale as a sheet and as thin as a skeleton. You +will lose all your looks if you stay here!"</p> + +<p>Cecilia was in a loose white silk garment with open sleeves. She looked +at the perfect curve of her arm, from the slender wrist to the +delicately rounded elbow, and smiled.</p> + +<p>"I am not a skeleton yet," she said.</p> + +<p>"You will be in a few days," her mother answered cheerfully. "There is a +telegraph to everywhere nowadays, and Signor Lamberti will be here and +can send us news all the time. You cannot possibly go and see the poor +man, you know. If you could only guess how I felt, my dear, when I found +myself there this morning alone with him! I confess, I half expected +that the walls would be covered with the most dreadful pictures, those +things I do not like you to look at in the Paris Salon, you know. Women +apparently waiting for tea on the lawn—before dressing—that sort of +thing." The good Countess blushed at the thought.</p> + +<p>"They are only women!" said Cecilia. "Why should I not look at them?"</p> + +<p>"Because they are horrid," answered the Countess. "But I must say I saw +nothing of the sort in Guido's rooms. Nevertheless, I felt like the +wicked ladies in the French novels, who always go out in thick veils and +have little gold keys hidden somewhere inside their clothes. It must be +very uncomfortable."</p> + +<p>She prattled on and her daughter scarcely heard her. All sorts of hard +questions were presenting themselves to Cecilia's mind together. Had she +done wrong, or right? And then, though it might have been quite right to +let Lamberti know that she loved him, had her behaviour been modest and +maidenly, or over bold? After all, could she have helped putting out her +hand to find his just then? And when she had found it, could she +possibly have checked herself from drawing him nearer to her? Had she +any will of her own left at that moment, or had she been taken unawares +and made to do something which she would never have done, if she had +been quite calm? Calm! She almost laughed at the word as it came into +her thought.</p> + +<p>Her mother was reading the <i>Figaro</i> now, having given up talking when +she saw that Cecilia did not listen. Ever since Cecilia could remember +her mother had read the <i>Figaro</i>. When it did not come by the usual post +she read the number of the preceding day over again.</p> + +<p>Cecilia was trying to decide where to spend the rest of the summer, +tolerably sure that she could make her mother accept any reasonable plan +she offered. By a reasonable plan she meant one that should not take her +too far from Rome. For her own part she would have been glad not to go +away at all. There was Vallombrosa, which was high up and very cool, and +there was Viareggio, which was by the sea, but much warmer, and there +was Sorrento, which had become fashionable in the summer, and was never +very hot and was the prettiest place of all. Something must be decided +at once, for she knew her mother well. When the Countess grew restless +to leave town, it was impossible to live with her. A startled +exclamation interrupted Cecilia's reflections.</p> + +<p>"My dear! How awful!"</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Cecilia, placidly, expecting her mother to read out +some blood-curdling tale of runaway motor cars and mangled nursery +maids.</p> + +<p>"This is too dreadful!" cried the Countess, still buried in the article +she had found, and reading on to herself, too much interested to stop a +moment.</p> + +<p>"Is anybody amusing dead?" enquired Cecilia, with calm.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?" asked the Countess, reaching the end. "This is the +most frightful thing I ever heard of! A million of francs—in small +sums—extracted on all sorts of pretexts—probably as blackmail—it is +perfectly horrible."</p> + +<p>"Who has extracted a million of francs from whom?" asked Cecilia, quite +indifferent.</p> + +<p>"Guido d'Este, of course! I told you—from the Princess Anatolie—"</p> + +<p>"Guido?" Cecilia started from her seat. "It is a lie!" she cried, +leaning over her mother's shoulder and reading quickly. "It is an +infamous lie!"</p> + +<p>"My dear?" protested the Countess. "They would not dare to print such a +thing if it were not true! Poor Guido! Of course, I suppose they take an +exaggerated view, but the Princess always gave me to understand that he +had large debts. It was a million, you see, just that million they +wished us to give for your dowry! Yes, that would have set him straight. +But they did not get it! My child, what an escape you have made! Just +fancy if you had been already married!"</p> + +<p>"I do not believe a word of it," said Cecilia, indignantly throwing down +the paper she had taken from her mother's hand. "Besides, there is only +an initial. It only speaks of a certain Monsieur d'E."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there is no doubt about it, I am afraid. His aunt, 'a certain +Princess,' his father 'one of the great of the earth.' It could not be +any one else."</p> + +<p>"I should like to kill the people who write such things!" Cecilia was +righteously angry.</p> + +<p>The seed sown by Monsieur Leroy was bearing fruit already, and in a much +more public place than he had expected, or even wished. The young lawyer +cared much less for the money he might make out of the affair than for +the advantage of having his name connected with a famous scandal, and he +had not found it hard to make the story public. The article appeared in +the shape of a letter from an occasional correspondent, and said it was +rumoured that since her nephew was to make a rich marriage the Princess +would bring suit to recover the sums she had been induced to lend him on +divers pretences. Her legal representative in Rome, it was stated, had +been interviewed, but had positively refused to give any information, +and his name was given in full, whereas all the others were indicated by +initials followed by dots. The lawyer flattered himself that this was a +remarkably neat way of letting the world know who he was and with what +great discretion he was endowed.</p> + +<p>As Cecilia thought of Guido's face as she had seen it that morning, her +heart beat with anger and she clenched her hand and turned away. Her +mother believed the story, or a part of it, and others would believe as +much. The <i>Figaro</i> had come in the morning, and the article would +certainly appear in the Roman papers that very evening. Guido would not +hear of it at present, because Lamberti would keep it from him, but he +must know it in the end.</p> + +<p>The girl was powerless, and realised it. If she had been mistress of her +own fortune she would readily have satisfied the Princess's demands on +Guido, for she suspected that in some way the abominable article had +been authorised by his aunt. But she was still Baron Goldbirn's ward, +and the sensible financier would have laughed to scorn the idea of +ransoming Guido d'Este's reputation. So would her mother, though she was +generous; and besides, the Countess could not touch her capital, which +was held in trust for Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"What a mercy that you are not married to him!" she said, reading the +article again, while her daughter walked up and down the small boudoir.</p> + +<p>"You should not say such things!" Cecilia answered hotly. "Why do you +read that disgusting paper? You know the story is a vile falsehood, from +beginning to end. You know that as well as I do! Signor Lamberti will go +to Paris to-night and kill the man who wrote it."</p> + +<p>Her eyes flashed, and she had visions of the man she loved shaking a +miserable creature to death, as a terrier kills a rat. Oddly enough the +miserable creature took the shape of Monsieur Leroy in her vivid +imagination.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur Leroy is at the bottom of this," she said with instant +conviction. "He hates Guido."</p> + +<p>"I daresay," answered the Countess. "I never liked Monsieur Leroy. Do +you remember, when I asked about him at the Princess's dinner, what an +awful silence there was? That was one of the most dreadful moments of my +life! I am sure her relations never mention him."</p> + +<p>"He does what he likes with her. He is a spiritualist."</p> + +<p>"Who told you that, child?"</p> + +<p>"That dear old Don Nicola Francesetti, the archæologist who showed us +the discoveries in Saint Cecilia's church."</p> + +<p>"I remember. I had quite forgotten him."</p> + +<p>"Yes. He told me that Monsieur Leroy makes tables turn and rap, and all +that, and persuades the Princess that he is in communication with +spirits. Don Nicola said quite gravely that the devil was in all +spiritualism."</p> + +<p>"Of course he is," assented the Countess. "I have heard of dreadful +things happening to people who made tables turn. They go mad, and all +sorts of things."</p> + +<p>"All sorts of things," in the Countess's mind represented everything she +could not remember or would not take the trouble to say. The expression +did not always stand grammatically in the sentence, but that was of no +importance whatever compared with the convenience of using it in any +language she chanced to be speaking. She belonged to a generation in +which a woman was considered to have finished her education when she had +learned to play the piano and had forgotten arithmetic, and she had now +forgotten both, which did not prevent her from being generally liked, +while some people thought her amusing.</p> + +<p>Just at that moment she seemed hopelessly frivolous to Cecilia, who was +in the greatest distress for Guido, and left her to take refuge in +solitude. She could remember no day in her life on which so much had +happened to change it, and she felt that she must be alone at last.</p> + +<p>In her old way she sat down to let herself dream with open eyes in the +darkened room. There could be no harm in it now, and the old longing +came upon her as if she had never tried to resist it. She sat facing the +shadows and concentrated all her thoughts on one point with a steady +effort, sure that presently she should be thinking of nothing and +waiting for the vision to appear, and for the dream-man she had loved so +long. He might take her into his arms now, and she would not resist him; +she would let his lips meet hers, and for one endless instant she would +be lifted up in strong and strange delight, as when to-day her veiled +cheek had pressed against his for a second—or an hour—she did not +know. He might kiss her in dreams now, for in real life he loved her as +she loved him, and some day, far off no doubt, when poor Guido was well +and strong again, and Lamberti had silenced all the calumnies invented +against him, then it would all surely come true indeed.</p> + +<p>But now she waited long, patiently, in the certainty that she could go +back to the marble court and stand by the pillar in the morning light +till she felt him coming up behind her. Yet she saw nothing, and her +eyes grew weary of watching the shadows, and closed themselves, for it +was afternoon, and very hot, and she was tired. She fell into a sweet +sleep in her chair, and presently the refreshing breeze that springs up +in Rome towards five o'clock in summer blew through the drawn blinds to +fan her delicate cheek, and stir the little golden ringlets at her +temples. While she slept her face grew sad by slow degrees, and on her +lap her hands moved and lay with their palms turned upwards as if she +were appealing piteously to some higher power for mercy and help.</p> + +<p>Shadows darkened softly under her eyes, as she lay thus, and the young +lids swelled and trembled; and she, who never shed tears waking, wept +silently in her sleep. The bright drops hung by the lashes and broke, +trickling down her cheeks, one by one, till they fell sideways upon her +bare white neck. Many they were and long they fell, and when they ceased +at last, her face was very white and still, as if she were quite dead, +and dead of a sorrow that could be consoled only in heaven.</p> + +<p>She had dreamed that the Vestal's vow was broken at last, and that she +was sitting alone at night on the steps of the closed Temple, leaning +back against the base of a pillar, watching the stars that slowly +ascended out of the east; and she was thinking of what she had been, and +that she should never again stand within the holy place to feed the +sacred fire with the consecrated wood, and sweep the precious ashes into +the mysterious pit beneath the altar. Never again was she to write down +the records of the lordly Roman unions that had kept the stock great and +pure and the free blood clean from that of slaves for a thousand years. +Never might she sit at the feet of the Chief Virgin in the moonlit +court, listening to tales of holy Vestals in old time, while the slow +water murmured in the channels between one fountain and another.</p> + +<p>It was all over, all ended, all behind her in the past for ever. Her vow +was broken, because her veiled cheek had touched the cheek of a living, +breathing man who had laid a strong hand upon her neck and had pressed +her close to him, she consenting, and always to consent. She was not to +die for it, since it was no mortal sin, but she was no longer a Vestal +now, and the Temple and the house of the pure in heart were shut against +her henceforth and would not be opened again. She knew that she had +passed the threshold for the last time, and that the man she loved would +soon come and take her away to another life. After that there would be +no fear in the world, since she would always be with him, and he would +make her forget all. But he had not come yet, and while she waited her +tears flowed quietly and sadly for all that was no more to be hers, but +most of all because she had broken a high and solemn promise which had +been the foundation of her life. In the old dream, when the Vestals were +dismissed from their office each to her own home, she was the most +faithful of them all, to the very end. But now she had been the very +first to yield, and they had put her out of their midst, sadly and +silently, to wait alone in the night for him she loved. So she waited +and wept, and the night wind seemed to freeze the salt tears on her face +and neck; yet he did not come.</p> + +<p>Then she heard his step; but she was wakened by the soft sound of the +latch bolt of her door in its socket, and she sprang to her feet, +straight and white, with a little sharp cry, for the fancied sound had +always frightened her as nothing else could. This time she had not +turned the key, and the door opened.</p> + +<p>"Did I startle you, child?" asked her mother's voice, kindly. "I am +sorry. Signor Lamberti is in the drawing-room. I think you had better +come. He has heard of the article in the <i>Figaro</i>, and is reading it +now."</p> + +<p>"I will come in a minute, mother," Cecilia answered, turning her face +away. "Let me slip on my frock."</p> + +<p>"It is only Signor Lamberti," the Countess observed, rather +thoughtlessly. "But I will send you Petersen."</p> + +<p>The door was shut again, and Cecilia heard her mother's tripping +footsteps on the glazed tiles in the corridor. She knew that she had +blushed quickly, for she had been taken unawares, but the room was +darkened and her mother had noticed nothing. She was suddenly aware that +her cheeks and her neck were wet, and she remembered what she had dreamt +and wondered that her tears should have been real. She had let in more +light now and she looked at herself in the glass with curiosity, for she +did not remember to have cried since she had been a little girl. The +dried tears gave her face a stained and spotted look she did not like, +and she made haste to bathe it in cold water. Even the near-sighted +Petersen might see something unusual, and she would not let Lamberti +guess that she had been crying on that day of all days.</p> + +<p>It was all very strange, and while she dressed she wondered still why +the real tears had come, and why she had dreamt she had broken her vow. +She had never dreamt that before, not even when she used to meet +Lamberti in her dreams by the fountain in the Villa Madama. It was +stranger still that she should not have been able to call up the waking +vision in the old way. It was as if some power she had once possessed +had left her very suddenly, a power, or a faculty, or a gift; she could +not tell what it was, but it was gone and something told her that it +would not return. She made haste, and almost ran along the broad +passage.</p> + +<p>When she went into the drawing-room Lamberti was standing with the +<i>Figaro</i> in his hand, before her mother who was sitting down. He bowed +rather stiffly, though he smiled a little, and she saw that his blue +eyes glittered and his face had the ruthless look she used to dread. She +knew what it meant now, and was pleased. She wished she could see him +shake the wretch who had written the article; she was glad that he was +just what he was, not too tall, strong, active, red-haired and angry, a +fighting man from head to foot, roused and ready for a violent deed. She +had waited for him so long, outside the closed Temple of Vesta in the +cold night wind!</p> + +<p>"It is not the article that matters," he said, taking it for granted +that she knew the contents. "It is what Guido would feel if he read it."</p> + +<p>"Especially just now," observed the Countess, looking at Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?" Cecilia asked as quietly as she could. +"Shall you go to Paris?"</p> + +<p>"No! this was written in Rome. I will wager my life that the lawyer who +is mentioned here wrote it all and got some clever Frenchman to +translate it for him. I know the fellow by name."</p> + +<p>"I thought Monsieur Leroy was at the bottom of it," said Cecilia.</p> + +<p>Lamberti looked at her a moment.</p> + +<p>"I daresay," he said. "I am sure that the Princess never meant that +anything of this sort should be printed. Did Guido ever tell you about +her money dealings with him?"</p> + +<p>Guido had never mentioned them, of course, and Lamberti explained in a +few words exactly what had happened, and the nature of the receipts +Guido had given to his aunt.</p> + +<p>"I daresay you are right about Monsieur Leroy," he concluded, "for the +old lady is far too clever to have done such an absurd thing as this, +and it is just like his blundering hatred of Guido."</p> + +<p>"I wish he were here," said Cecilia, looking at Lamberti's hands. "I +wonder what you would do to him."</p> + +<p>"The lawyer is here, which is more to the purpose," Lamberti answered.</p> + +<p>"You cannot fight a lawyer, can you?" asked the young girl. "You cannot +shoot him."</p> + +<p>"One can without doubt," returned Lamberti, smiling. "But it will not be +necessary."</p> + +<p>"My dear child," cried the Countess in a reproachful tone, "I had no +idea you could be so bloodthirsty! Your father fought with Garibaldi, +but I am sure he never talked like that."</p> + +<p>"Men have no need of talking, mother. They can fight themselves."</p> + +<p>"May I take the <i>Figaro</i> with me?" asked Lamberti. "I may not be able to +buy a copy. By the bye, Baron Goldbirn is your guardian, is he not? He +must have important relations with the financiers in Paris."</p> + +<p>Cecilia looked at her mother, meaning her to answer the question.</p> + +<p>"He is always in Paris himself," said the Countess. "I mean when he is +not in Vienna."</p> + +<p>"Can you telegraph to him to use his influence in Paris, so that the +<i>Figaro</i> shall correct the article? Newspapers never take back what they +say, but it will be enough if a paragraph appears in a prominent part of +the paper stating that some ill-disposed people having supposed that the +person referred to in a recent letter from a Roman correspondent was +Guido d'Este, the editors take the opportunity of stating positively +that no reference to him was intended. Will you telegraph that?"</p> + +<p>"But will it be of any use?" asked the Countess, who was slightly in awe +of Baron Goldbirn.</p> + +<p>"Please write the telegram yourself," Cecilia said. "Then there cannot +be any mistake. The address is Kärnthner Ring, Vienna."</p> + +<p>"You will find writing paper in my boudoir," said the Countess. "Cecilia +will show you."</p> + +<p>The young girl led the way to her mother's table in the next room, and +Lamberti sat down before it, while she pulled out a sheet of paper and +gave him a pen. Neither looked at the other, and Lamberti wrote slowly +in a laboured round hand unlike his own, intended for the telegraph +clerk to read easily.</p> + +<p>"How shall I sign it?" he asked when he had finished.</p> + +<p>"'Countess Fortiguerra.'"</p> + +<p>He wrote, blotted the page, and rose. For one moment he stood close +beside her.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell your mother?" he asked, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Not yet."</p> + +<p>He bent his head and looked at her, and his face softened wonderfully in +that instant. But there was not a touch of their hands, though they were +alone in the room, nor a tender word spoken in a whisper to have told +any one that they loved each other so well. They were alike, and they +understood without speech or touch.</p> + +<p>Lamberti read the telegram to the Countess, who seemed satisfied, but +not very hopeful about the result.</p> + +<p>"I never could understand what financiers and newspapers have to do with +each other," she observed. "They seem to me so different."</p> + +<p>"There is not often any resemblance between a horse and his rider," said +Lamberti, enigmatically.</p> + +<p>"Will you come this evening and tell us what the lawyer says?" Cecilia +asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, if I may."</p> + +<p>"Pray do," said the Countess. "We should so much like to know. Poor +Guido! Good-bye!" Lamberti left the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + + +<p>When Lamberti reached the Palazzo Farnese at eight o'clock he had all +Guido's receipts for the Princess's money in his pocket. He had +difficulty in getting the lawyer to see him on business so late in the +afternoon, and when he succeeded at last he did not find it easy to +carry matters with a high hand; but he had come prepared to go to any +length, for he was in no gentle humour, and if he could not get the +papers by persuasion, he fully intended to take them by force, though +that might be the end of his career as an officer, and might even bring +him into court for something very like robbery.</p> + +<p>The lawyer was obdurate at first. He of course denied all knowledge of +the article in the <i>Figaro</i>, but he said that he was the Princess's +legal representative, that the case had been formally placed in his +hands, and that he should use all his professional energy in her +interests.</p> + +<p>"After all," said Lamberti at last, "you have nothing but a few informal +bits of writing to base your case upon. They have no legal value."</p> + +<p>"They are stamped receipts," answered the lawyer.</p> + +<p>"They are not stamped," Lamberti replied.</p> + +<p>"They are!"</p> + +<p>"They are not!"</p> + +<p>"You are giving me the lie, sir," said the lawyer, angrily.</p> + +<p>"I say that they are not stamped," retorted Lamberti. "You dare not show +them to me."</p> + +<p>The lawyer was human, after all. He opened his safe, in a rage, found +the receipts, and showed one of them to Lamberti triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"There!" he cried. "Are they stamped or not? Is the signature written +across the stamp or not?"</p> + +<p>Lamberti had the advantage of knowing positively that when Guido had +given the acknowledgments to his aunt, there had been no stamps on them. +He did not know how they had got them now, but he was sure that some +fraud had been committed. It was broad daylight still, and he examined +the signature carefully while the lawyer held the half sheet of note +paper before his eyes. The paper was certainly the Princess's, and the +writing was Guido's beyond doubt. The Princess always used violet ink, +and Guido had written with it. It struck Lamberti suddenly that it had +turned black where the signature crossed the stamp, but had remained +violet everywhere else. Now violet ink sometimes turns black altogether, +but it does not change colour in parts. As he looked nearer, he saw that +the letters formed on the stamp were a little tremulous. Though he had +never heard of such a thing, it now occurred to him that the stamp had +been simply stuck upon the middle of the signature, and that the part of +the latter that had been covered by it had been cleverly forged over it.</p> + +<p>"The stamp makes very much less difference in law than you seem to +suppose," said the lawyer, enjoying his triumph.</p> + +<p>"It will make a considerable difference in law," answered Lamberti, "if +I prove to you that the stamp was put on over the first writing, and +part of the signature forged upon it. It has not even been done with the +same ink! The one is black and the other is violet. Do you know that +this is forgery, and that you may lose your reputation if you try to +found an action at law upon a forged document?"</p> + +<p>The lawyer was now scrutinising the signatures of the notes one by one +in the strong evening light. His anger had disappeared and there were +drops of perspiration on his forehead.</p> + +<p>"There is only one way of proving it to you," Lamberti said quietly. +"Moisten one of the stamps and raise it. If the signature runs +underneath it in violet ink, I am right, and the wisest thing you can do +is to hand me those pieces of paper and say nothing more about them. You +can write to Monsieur Leroy that you have done so. I even believe that +he would pay a considerable sum for them."</p> + +<p>It was as he said, and the lawyer was soon convinced that he had been +imposed upon, and had narrowly escaped being laughed at as a dupe, or +prosecuted as a party accessory to a fraud. He was glad to be out of the +whole affair so easily. Therefore, when Lamberti reached his friend's +door, he had the receipts in his pocket and he now meant to tell Guido +what had happened, after first giving them back to him. Guido would +laugh at Monsieur Leroy's stupid attempt to hurt him. But some one had +been before Lamberti.</p> + +<p>"He is very ill," said the servant, gravely, as he admitted him. "The +doctor is there and has sent for a nurse. I telephoned for him."</p> + +<p>Lamberti asked him what had happened, fearing the truth. Guido had felt +a little better in the afternoon and had asked for his letters and +papers. Half an hour later his servant had gone in with his tea and had +found him raving in delirium. That was all, but Lamberti knew what it +meant. Guido did not take the <i>Figaro</i>, but some one had sent the +article to him and he had read it. He had brain fever, and Lamberti was +not surprised, for he had suffered as much on that day as would have +killed some men, and might have driven some men mad.</p> + +<p>Lamberti did not wish to frighten Cecilia or her mother, but he sent +them word that he would not leave Guido that night, nor till he was +better, and that he had seen the lawyer and had recovered a number of +forged papers.</p> + +<p>After that there was nothing to be done but to watch and wait, and hear +the broken phrases that fell from the sick man's lips, now high, now +low, now laughing, now despairing, as if a host of mad spirits were +sporting with his helpless brain and body and mocking each other with +his voice.</p> + +<p>So it went on, hour after hour, and all the next day, till his strength +seemed almost spent. Lamberti listened, because he could not help it +when he was in the room, and again and again Cecilia's name rang out, +and the first passionate words of speeches that ran into incoherent +sounds and were drowned in a groan.</p> + +<p>Lamberti had nursed men who were ill and had seen them die in several +ways, but he had never taken care of one who was very near to him. It +was bad enough, but it was worse to know that he had an unwilling share +in causing his friend's suffering, and to feel that if Guido lived he +must some day be told that Lamberti had taken his place. It was +strangest of all to hear the name of the woman he loved so constantly on +another's lips. When the two men talked of her she had always been "the +Contessina," while she had been "Cecilia" in the hearts of both.</p> + +<p>There was something in the thought of not having told Guido all before +the delirium seized him, that still offended Lamberti's scrupulous +loyalty. It would be almost horrible if Guido should die without knowing +the truth. Somehow, his consent still seemed needful to Lamberti's love, +and it seemed so to Cecilia, too, and there was no denying that he was +now in danger of his life. If he was to die, there would probably be a +lucid hour before death, but what right would his best friend have to +embitter those final moments for one who would certainly go out of this +world with no hope of the next? Yet, when he was gone at last, would it +be no slur on the memory of such true friendship to do what would have +hurt him, if he could have known of it? Lamberti was not sure. Like some +strong men of rough temperament, he had hidden delicacies of feeling +that many a girl would have thought foolish and exaggerated, and they +were the more sensitive because they were so secret, and he never +suffered outward things to come in contact with them, nor spoke of them, +even to Guido.</p> + +<p>Some people said that Guido was Quixotic, and he was certainly the +personification of honour. If the papers Lamberti had safe in his pocket +had come into Guido's possession as they had come into Lamberti's own, +Guido would have sent them back to Princess Anatolie, quite sure that +she had a right to them, whether they were partly forged or not, because +he had originally given them to her and nothing could induce him to take +them back. The reason why Guido's illness had turned into brain fever +was simply that he believed his honourable reputation among men to have +been gravely damaged by an article in a newspaper. Honour was his god, +his religion, and his rule of life; it was all he had beyond the +material world, and it was sacred. He had not that something else, +simple but undefinable, and as sensitive as an uncovered nerve, that lay +under his friend's rougher character and sturdier heart. Nature would +never have chosen him to be one instrument in that mysterious harmony of +two sleeping beings which had linked Cecilia and Lamberti in their +dreams. It was not the melancholy and intellectual Cassius who trembled +before Cæsar's ghost at Philippi; it was rough Brutus, the believer in +himself and the man of action.</p> + +<p>The illness ran its course. While it continued Lamberti went every other +day to the Palazzo Massimo and told the two ladies of Guido's state. He +and Cecilia looked at each other silently, but she never showed that she +wished to be alone with him, and he made no attempt to see her except in +her mother's presence. Both felt that Guido was dying, and knew that +they had some share in his sufferings. As soon as the Countess learned +that the danger was real she gave up all thought of leaving Rome, and +there was no discussion about it between her and her daughter. She was +worldly and often foolish, but she was not unkind, and she had grown +really fond of Guido since the spring. So they waited for the turn of +the illness, or for its sudden end, and the days dragged on painfully. +Lamberti was as lean as a man trained for a race, and the cords stood +out on his throat when he spoke, but nothing seemed to tire him. The +good Countess lost her fresh colour and grew listless, but she +complained only of the heat and the solitude of Rome in summer, and if +she felt any impatience she never showed it. Cecilia was as slender and +pale as one of the lilies of the Annunciation, but her eyes were full of +light. In the early morning she often used to go with her maid to the +distant church of Santa Croce, and late in the afternoons she went for +long drives with her mother in the Campagna. Twice Lamberti came to +luncheon, and the three were silent and subdued when they were together.</p> + +<p>Then the news came that Princess Anatolie had died suddenly at her place +in Styria, and one of the secretaries of the Austrian embassy, who was +obliged to stay in town, came to the Palazzo Massimo the same afternoon +and told the Countess some details of the old lady's death. There was +certainly something mysterious about it, but no one regretted her +translation to a better world, though it put a number of high and mighty +persons into mourning for a little while.</p> + +<p>She died in the drawing-room after dinner, almost with her coffee cup in +her hand. It was the heart, of course, said the young secretary. Two or +three of her relations were staying in the house, and one of them was +the man who had been at her dinner-party given for the engaged couple, +and who resembled Guido but was older. The Countess remembered his name +very well. It had leaked out that he was exceedingly angry at the +article in the <i>Figaro</i> and had said one or two sharp things to the +Princess, when Monsieur Leroy had come in unexpectedly, though the +Princess had sent him away for a few days. No one knew exactly what +followed, but Monsieur Leroy was an insolent person and the Princess's +cousin was not patient of impertinence nor of anything like an attack on +Guido d'Este. It was said that Monsieur Leroy had left the room hastily +and that the other had followed him at once, in a very bad temper, and +that the Princess, who thought Monsieur Leroy was going to be badly +hurt, if not killed, had died of fright, without uttering a word or a +cry. She had always been unaccountably attached to Monsieur Leroy. The +secretary glanced at Cecilia, asked for another cup of tea, and +discreetly changed the subject, fearing that he had already said a +little too much.</p> + +<p>"I believe Guido may recover, now that she is dead," Lamberti said, when +he heard the story.</p> + +<p>The change in Guido's state came one night about eleven o'clock, when +Lamberti and the French nun were standing beside the bed, looking into +his face and wondering whether he would open his eyes before he died. He +had been lying motionless for many hours, turned a little on one side, +and his breathing was very faint. There seemed to be hardly any life +left in the wasted body.</p> + +<p>"I think he will die about midnight," Lamberti whispered to the nurse.</p> + +<p>The good nun, who thought so too, bent down and spoke gently close to +the sick man's ear. She could not bear to let him go out of life without +a Christian word, though Lamberti had told her again and again that his +friend believed in nothing beyond death.</p> + +<p>"You are dying," she said, softly and clearly. "Think of God! Try to +think of God, Signor d'Este!"</p> + +<p>That was all she could find to say, for she was a simple soul and not +eloquent; but perhaps it might do some good. She knelt down then, by the +bedside.</p> + +<p>"Look!" cried Lamberti in a low voice, bending forwards.</p> + +<p>Guido had opened his eyes, and they were wide and grave.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he said, after a few seconds, faintly but distinctly. "You +are very kind. But I am not going to die."</p> + +<p>The quiet eyes closed, and the mystery of life went on in silence. That +was all he had to say. The nun knelt down again and folded her hands, +but in less than a minute she rose and busied herself noiselessly, +preparing something in a glass. It would be the last time that anything +would pass his lips, she thought, and it might be quite useless to give +it to him, but it must be ready. Many and many a time she had heard the +dying declare quietly that they were out of danger. Lamberti stood +motionless by the bedside, thinking much the same things and feeling as +if his own heart were slowly turning into lead.</p> + +<p>He stood there a long time, convinced that it was useless to send for +the doctor, who always came about midnight, for Guido would probably be +dead before he came. He would stop breathing presently, and that would +be the end. The lids would open a little, but the eyes would not see, +there would be a little white froth on the parted lips, and that would +be the end. Guido would know the great secret then.</p> + +<p>But the breathing did not cease, and the eyes did not open again; on the +contrary, at the end of half an hour Lamberti was almost sure that the +lids were more tightly closed than before, and that the breath came and +went with a fuller sound. In ten minutes more he was sure that the sick +man was peacefully sleeping, and not likely to die that night. He turned +away with a deep sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>The doctor came soon after midnight. He would not disturb Guido; he +looked at him a long time and listened to his breathing, and nodded with +evident satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"You may begin to hope now," he said quietly to Lamberti, not even +whispering, for he knew how deep such sleep was sure to be. "He may not +wake before to-morrow afternoon. Do not be anxious. I will come early in +the morning."</p> + +<p>"Very well," answered Lamberti. "By the bye, a near relation of his has +died suddenly while he has been delirious. Shall I tell him if he wakes +quite conscious?"</p> + +<p>"If it will give him great satisfaction to know of his relative's death, +tell him of it by all means," answered the doctor, his quiet eye +twinkling a little, for he had often heard of the Princess Anatolie, and +knew that she was dead.</p> + +<p>"I do not think the news will cause him pain," said Lamberti, with +perfect gravity.</p> + +<p>The doctor gave the nurse a few directions and went away, evidently +convinced that Guido was out of all immediate danger. Then Lamberti +rested at last, for the nun slept in the daytime and was fresh for the +night's watching. He stretched himself upon Guido's long chair in the +drawing-room, leaving the door open, and one light burning, so that the +nurse could call him at once. He had earned his rest, and as he shut his +eyes his only wish was that he could have let Cecilia know of the change +before he went to sleep. A moment later he was sitting beside her on the +bench in the Villa Madama, by the fountain, telling her that Guido was +safe at last.</p> + +<p>When he awoke the sun had risen an hour.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + + +<p>"I am like Dante," said Guido to Lamberti, when he was recovering. "I +have been in Hell, and now I am in Purgatory. But I shall not reach the +earthly Paradise at the top, much less the Heaven beyond."</p> + +<p>He smiled sadly and looked at his friend.</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" Lamberti asked, by way of answer.</p> + +<p>"Beatrice will not lead me further."</p> + +<p>Guido closed his eyes, and wondered why he had come back to life, out of +so much suffering, only to be tormented again in the same way, perhaps +when the end really came. His memories of his serious illness were vague +and indistinct, but they were all horrible. He only recalled the +beginning very clearly, how he had glanced through the newspaper article +and had dropped it in sudden and overwhelming despair; and then, how he +had roused himself and had felt in the drawer for his revolver; not +finding it, he had lost consciousness just as he realised that even that +means of escape from life had been taken from him. He remembered having +felt as if something broke in his brain, though he knew that he was not +dying.</p> + +<p>After that, fragments of his ravings came back to him with the still +vivid recollection of awful pain, of monstrous darkness, of lurid +lights, of hideous beings glaring and gnashing their jagged teeth at +him, and of a continual discordant noise of voices that had run all +through his delirium like the crying out and moaning of many creatures +in agony. It was no wonder that he compared what he remembered of his +sufferings to hell itself.</p> + +<p>And now that he was alive, of what use was life to him? His honour was +cleared, indeed, for Lamberti had taken care of that. Lamberti had +burned the papers before his eyes after telling him how Princess +Anatolie had died, and had read him the paragraph which Baron Goldbirn +had caused to be inserted in the <i>Figaro</i>. The Princess was dead, and +Monsieur Leroy would probably never trouble any one again. When he had +squandered what she had left him, he would probably get a living as a +medium in Vienna. Guido knew the secret of the tie that bound him to the +Princess, but was quite sure that the proud old woman had never let him +guess it himself, in spite of her doting affection for him. Those of her +family who knew it would not tell him, of all people, and if Monsieur +Leroy ever begged money of Guido he would not present himself as an +unfortunate cousin.</p> + +<p>Guido foresaw no difficulties in the future, but he anticipated no +happiness, and his life stretched before him, colourless, blank, and +idle.</p> + +<p>Since his delirium had ceased, he had not once spoken of Cecilia, and +Lamberti began to fear that he would not allude to her for a long time. +That did not make it easier to tell him the story he must hear, and the +time had come when he must hear it, come what might, lest he should ever +think that he had been intentionally kept in ignorance of the truth. +Lamberti was glad when he spoke of Cecilia as a Beatrice who would never +appear to lead him further, and knew at once that the opportunity must +not be lost.</p> + +<p>It was the hardest moment in Lamberti's life. It had been far easier to +hide what he felt, so long as he had not guessed that Cecilia loved him, +than it was to speak out now; it had cost him much less to be steadfast +in his silence with her while Guido's illness lasted. To make Guido +understand all, it would be necessary to tell all from the beginning, +even to explaining that what he had taken for mutual aversion at first, +had been an attraction so irresistible that it had frightened Cecilia +and had made Lamberti compare it with a possession of the devil and a +haunting spirit.</p> + +<p>The two men were sitting on the brick steps of the miniature Roman +theatre close to the oak which is still called Tasso's, a few yards from +the new road that leads over the Janiculum through what was once the +Villa Corsini. It was shady there, and Rome lay at their feet in the +still afternoon. The waiting carriage was out of sight, and there was no +sound but the rustling of leaves stirred by the summer breeze. It was +nearly the middle of August.</p> + +<p>"They are still in Rome," Lamberti said, after a moment's pause, during +which he had decided to speak at last.</p> + +<p>"Are they?" asked Guido, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Neither the Countess nor her daughter would go away till you were +well."</p> + +<p>"I am well now."</p> + +<p>He was painfully thin and his eyes were hollow. The doctor had ordered +mountain air and he was going to stay with one of his relatives in the +Austrian Tyrol as soon as he could bear the journey without too much +fatigue.</p> + +<p>"They wish to see you," Lamberti said, glancing sideways at his face.</p> + +<p>"I cannot refuse, but I would rather not see them. They ought to +understand that, I think."</p> + +<p>He was offended by what seemed very like an intrusion on the privacy of +a suffering that was still keen. Why could they not leave him alone?</p> + +<p>"They would not have gone away in any case till you recovered," Lamberti +answered, "but the Contessina would not have the bad taste to wish for a +meeting just now, unless there were a reason which you do not know, and +which I must explain to you, cost what it may."</p> + +<p>Guido looked at Lamberti in surprise and then laughed a little +scornfully.</p> + +<p>"Is she going to be married?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Already!"</p> + +<p>His tone was sad, and pitying, and slightly contemptuous. His lips +closed after the single word and he drew his eyelids together, as he +looked steadily out over the deep city towards the hills to eastward.</p> + +<p>"Then it was true that she cared for another man," he said, in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It was quite true."</p> + +<p>"She wrote me in that letter that he did not know it."</p> + +<p>"That was true also."</p> + +<p>"And that he was not in the least in love with her."</p> + +<p>"She thought so."</p> + +<p>"But she was mistaken, you mean to say. He loved her, but did not show +it."</p> + +<p>"Precisely. He loved her, but he was careful not to show it because he +understood that her mother and the Princess wished to marry her to you, +and because he happened to know that you were in earnest."</p> + +<p>"That was decent of him, at all events," Guido said wearily. "Some men +would have behaved differently."</p> + +<p>"I daresay," Lamberti answered.</p> + +<p>"Is he a man I know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You know him very well."</p> + +<p>"And now she has asked you to tell me his name. I suppose that is why +you begin this conversation. You are trying to break it gently to me." +He smiled contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Yes!"</p> + +<p>The word was spoken as if it cost an effort. Lamberti held his stout +stick with both hands over his crossed knee and leaned back, so that it +bent a little with the strain.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," said Guido, with a little impatience, "it seems to me +that you need not take so much trouble to spare my feelings! If you do +not tell me who the man is, some one else will."</p> + +<p>"No one else can," Lamberti answered, with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"Why not? I would rather speak of her with you, if I must speak of her +at all, of course. But some obliging person is sure to tell me, or write +to me about it, as soon as the engagement is announced. 'My dear d'Este, +do you remember that girl you were engaged to last spring?' And so on. +Remember her!"</p> + +<p>"There is no engagement," Lamberti said. "No one will write to you about +it, and no one knows who the man is, except the Contessina and the man +himself."</p> + +<p>"And you," corrected Guido. "You may as well keep the secret, so far as +I am concerned. I have no curiosity about it. There will be time enough +to tell me when the engagement is announced."</p> + +<p>"I do not think that there can be any engagement until you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, this is absurd! The Contessina was frank. She did not love me, she +told me so, and we agreed that our engagement should end. What possible +claim have I to know whom she wishes to marry now?"</p> + +<p>"You have the strongest claim that any man can have, though not on her. +The man is your friend."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" exclaimed Guido, becoming impatient. "A dozen men I like +might be called friends of mine, I suppose, but you know very well that +you are the only intimate friend I have."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know."</p> + +<p>"Well? I can hardly fancy that you mean yourself, can I?"</p> + +<p>Lamberti did not move, but as Guido looked at him for an answer, he saw +that he could not speak just then, and that he was clenching his teeth. +Guido stared at him a moment and then started.</p> + +<p>"Lamberti!" he cried sharply.</p> + +<p>Lamberti slowly turned his head and gazed into Guido's eyes without +speaking. Then they both looked out at the distant hills in silence for +a long time.</p> + +<p>"The Contessina was very loyal to you, Guido," Lamberti said at last, in +a low tone. "She could not tell you that it was I, and I did not know +it."</p> + +<p>Again there was a silence for a time.</p> + +<p>"When did you know it?" Guido asked slowly.</p> + +<p>"After she had been to see you. It was my fault, then."</p> + +<p>"What was your fault?"</p> + +<p>"When we went downstairs, I thought I should never see her again, and I +never meant to. How could I know what she felt? She never betrayed +herself by a glance or a tone of her voice. I loved her with all my +heart, and when you had both told me that everything was quite over +between you, I wanted her to know that I did. Was that disloyal to you, +since you had definitely given up the hope of marrying her, and since I +did not expect to see her again for years and thought she was quite +indifferent?"</p> + +<p>"No," Guido answered, after a moment's thought. "But you should have +told me at once."</p> + +<p>"When I came upstairs the Countess was still there, and you were quite +worn out. I put you to bed, meaning to tell you that same evening, after +you had rested. When I came back you had brain fever, and did not know +me. So I have had to wait until to-day."</p> + +<p>"And you have seen each other constantly while I have been ill, of +course," said Guido, with some bitterness. "It was natural, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Since that day when we spoke on the staircase we have only been alone +together once, for a moment. I asked her then if I should tell her +mother, and she said 'Not yet.' Excepting that, we have never exchanged +a word that you and her mother might not have heard, nor a glance that +you might not have seen. We both knew that we were waiting for you to +get well, and we have waited."</p> + +<p>Guido looked at him with a sort of wonder.</p> + +<p>"That was like you," he said quietly.</p> + +<p>"You understand, now," Lamberti continued. "You and I met her on the +same day at your aunt's, and when I saw her, I felt as if I had always +known her and loved her. No one can explain such things. Then by a +strange coincidence we dreamt the same dream, on the same night."</p> + +<p>"Was it she whom you met in the Forum, and who ran away from you?" asked +Guido, in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Yes. That is the reason why we always avoided each other, and why I +would not go to their house till you almost forced me to. We had never +spoken alone together till the garden party. It was then that we found +out that our dreams were alike, and after that I kept away from her more +than ever, but I dreamt of her every night."</p> + +<p>"So that was your secret, that afternoon!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. We had dreamt of each other and we had met in the Forum in the +place we had dreamt of, and she ran away without speaking to me. That +was the whole secret. She was afraid of me, and I loved her, and was +beginning to know it. I thought there was something wrong with my head +and went to see a doctor. He talked to me about telepathy, but seemed +inclined to consider that it might possibly be a mere train of +coincidences. I think I have told you everything."</p> + +<p>For a long time they sat side by side in silence, each thinking his own +thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything you do not understand?" Lamberti asked at last.</p> + +<p>"No," Guido answered thoughtfully. "I understand it all. It was rather a +shock at first, but I am glad you have told me. Perhaps I do not quite +understand why she wishes to see me."</p> + +<p>"We both wish to be sure that you bear us no ill-will. I am sure she +does, and I know that I do."</p> + +<p>There was a pause again.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I am that kind of friend?" Guido asked, with a little +sadness. "After what you have done, too?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid my mere existence has broken up your life, after all," +Lamberti answered.</p> + +<p>"You must not think that. Please do not, my friend. There is only one +thing that could hurt me now that it is all over."</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid that it will happen. You are not the kind of man to +break her heart."</p> + +<p>"No," Lamberti answered very quietly. "I am not."</p> + +<p>"It was only a dream for me, after all," Guido said, after a little +while. "You have the reality. She used to talk of three great questions, +and I remember them now as if I heard her asking them: 'What can I know? +What is it my duty to do? What may I hope?' Those were the three."</p> + +<p>"And the answers?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, nothing, nothing. Those are my answers. Unless—"</p> + +<p>He stopped.</p> + +<p>"Unless—what?" Lamberti asked.</p> + +<p>Guido smiled a little.</p> + +<p>"Unless there is really something beyond it all, something essentially +true, something absolute by nature."</p> + +<p>Lamberti had never known his friend to admit such a possibility even +under a condition.</p> + +<p>"At all events," Guido added, "our friendship is true and absolute. +Shall we go home? I feel a little tired."</p> + +<p>Lamberti helped him to the carriage and drew the light cover over his +knees before getting in himself. Then they drove down towards the city, +by the long and beautiful drive, past the Acqua Paola and San Pietro in +Montorio.</p> + +<p>"You must go and see her this evening," Guido said gently, as they came +near the Palazzo Farnese. "Will you tell her something from me? Tell +her, please, that it would be a little hard for me to talk with her now, +but that she must not think I am not glad that she is going to marry my +best friend."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I will say that." Lamberti's voice was less steady than +Guido's.</p> + +<p>"And tell her that I will write to her from the Tyrol."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>It was over. The two men knew that their faithful friendship was +unshaken still, and that they should meet on the morrow and trust each +other more than ever. But on this evening it was better that each should +go his own way, the one to his solitude and his thoughts, the other to +the happiest hour of his life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + + +<p>On the following afternoon Lamberti waited for Cecilia at the Villa +Madama, and she came not long after him, with Petersen. He had been to +the Palazzo Massimo in the evening, and a glance and a sign had +explained to her that all was well. Then they had sat together awhile, +talking in a low tone, while the Countess read the newspaper. When +Lamberti had given Guido's brave message, they had looked earnestly at +each other, and had agreed to tell her mother the truth at once, and to +meet on the morrow at the villa, which was Cecilia's own house, after +all. For they felt that they must be really alone together, to say the +only words that really mattered.</p> + +<p>The head gardener had admitted Lamberti to the close garden, by the +outer steps, but had not let him into the house, as he had received no +orders. When Cecilia came, he accompanied her with the keys and opened +wide the doors of the great hall. Cecilia and Lamberti did not look at +each other while they waited, and when the man was gone away Cecilia +told Petersen to sit down in the court of honour on the other side of +the little palace. Petersen went meekly away and left the two to +themselves.</p> + +<p>They walked very slowly along the path towards the fountain, and past +it, to the parapet at the other end, where they had talked long ago. But +as they passed the bench, they glanced at it quietly, and saw that it +was still in its place. Cecilia had not been at the villa since the +afternoon before Guido fell ill, and Lamberti had never come there since +the garden party in May.</p> + +<p>They stood still before the low wall and looked across the shoulder of +the hill. Saving commonplace words at meeting, they had not spoken yet. +Cecilia broke the silence at last, looking straight before her, her lids +low, her face quiet, almost as if she were in a dream.</p> + +<p>"Have we done all that we could do, all that we ought to do for him?" +she asked. "Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"We can do nothing more," Lamberti answered gravely.</p> + +<p>"Tell me again what he said. I want the very words."</p> + +<p>"He said, 'Tell her that it would be a little hard for me to talk with +her now, but that she must not think I am not glad that she is going to +marry my best friend.' He said those words, and he said he would write +to you from the Tyrol. He leaves to-morrow night."</p> + +<p>"He has been very generous," Cecilia said softly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He will be your best friend, as he is mine."</p> + +<p>She knew that it was true.</p> + +<p>"We have done what we can," Lamberti continued presently. "He has given +all he has, and we have given him what we could. The rest is ours."</p> + +<p>He took her hand and drew her gently, turning back towards the fountain.</p> + +<p>"It was like this in the dream," she said, scarcely breathing the words +as she walked beside him.</p> + +<p>They stood still before the falling water, quite alone and out of sight +of every one, in the softening light, and suddenly the girl's heart beat +hard, and the man's face grew pale, and they were facing each other, +hands in hands, look in look, thought in thought, soul in soul; and they +remembered that day when each had learned the other's secret in the +shadowy staircase of the palace, and each dreamt again of a meeting long +ago in the House of the Vestals; but only the girl knew what she had +felt of mingled joy and regret when she had sat alone at night weeping +on the steps of the Temple.</p> + +<p>There was no veil between them now, as their eyes drew them closer +together by slow and delicious degrees. It was the first time, though +every instant was full of memories, all ending where this was to begin. +Their lips had never met, yet the thrill of life meeting life and the +blinding delight of each in the other were long familiar, as from ages, +while fresh and untasted still as the bloom on a flower at dawn.</p> + +<p>Then, when they had kissed once, they sat down in the old place, +wondering what words would come, and whether they should ever need words +at all after that. And somehow, Cecilia thought of her three questions, +and they all were answered as youth answers them, in one way and with +one word; and the answer seemed so full of meaning, and of faith and +hope and charity, that the questions need never be asked again, nor any +others like them, to the end of her life; nor did she believe that she +could ever trouble her brain again about <i>Thus spake Zarathushthra</i>, and +the Man who had killed God, and the overcoming of Pity, and the Eternal +Return, and all those terrible and wonderful things that live in +Nietzsche's mazy web, waiting to torment and devour the poor human moth +that tries to fly upward.</p> + +<p>But as for Kant's Categorical Imperative, in order to act in such a +manner that the reasons for her actions might be considered a universal +law, it was only necessary to realise how very much she loved the man +she had chosen, and how very much he loved her; for how indeed could it +then be possible not to live so as to deserve to be happy?</p> + +<p>She had thought of these things during the night and had fallen asleep +very happy in realising the perfect simplicity of all science, +philosophy, and transcendental reasoning, and vaguely wondering why +every one could not solve the problems of the universe as she had.</p> + +<p>"Is it all quite true?" she asked now, with a little fluttering wonder. +"Shall I wake and hear the door shutting, and be alone, and frightened +as I used to be?"</p> + +<p>Lamberti smiled.</p> + +<p>"I should have waked already," he said, "when we were standing there by +the fountain. I always did when I dreamt of you."</p> + +<p>"So did I. Do you think we really met in our dreams?" She blushed +faintly.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that you have not told me once to-day that you care for me, +ever so little?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I have told you much more than that, a thousand times over, in a +thousand ways."</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether we really met!"</p> + + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + +<p class="padtop padbottom"></p> + +<h1>MARIETTA</h1> + +<h4>A MAID OF VENICE</h4> + +<h3>By F. MARION CRAWFORD</h3> + +<p class="center smlfont"><i>Author of "Saracinesca," etc.</i></p> + +<p class="center">Cloth. 12mo. $1.50<br /></p> + +<p>"There are two important departments of the novelist's art in which +Marion Crawford is entirely at home. He can tell a love story better +than any one now living save the unapproachable George Meredith. And he +can describe the artistic temperament and the artistic environment with +a security born of infallible instinct."—<i>The New York Herald.</i></p> + +<p>"This is not the first time that Mr. Crawford's pen has drawn the +conscious love of a pure girl for a man whose own heart she believed to +be untouched, yet, in the love of Marietta for the Dalmatian, we have +something that, while so utterly human, is so delicately revealed that +the reader must be a stoic indeed who does not take a delightful +interest in the fate of that love."—<i>New York Times.</i></p> + +<p>"It suggests the bright shimmer of the moon on still waters, the soft +gliding of brilliant-hued gondolas, the tuneful voices of the gondoliers +keeping rhythmic time to the oar stroke and the faint murmuring of +lovers' vows lightly made and lightly broken."—<i>Richmond Dispatch.</i></p> + +<p>"Furnishes another illustration of the author's remarkable facility in +assimilating different atmospheres, and in mastering, in a minute way, +as well as sympathetically, very diverse conditions of life.... The plot +is intricate, and is handled with the ease and skill of a past-master in +the art of story-telling."—<i>Outlook.</i></p> + +<p>"The workshop, its processes, the ways and thought of the time,—all +this is handled in so masterly a manner, not for its own sake, but for +that of the story.... It has charm, and the romance which is eternally +human, as well as that which was of the Venice of that day. And over it +all there is an atmosphere of worldly wisdom, of understanding, +sympathy, and tolerance, of intuition and recognition, that makes Marion +Crawford the excellent companion he is in his books for mature men and +women."—<i>New York Mail and Express.</i></p> + +<p class="center">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p> + +<p class="center">66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK</p> + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + +<p class="padtop padbottom"></p> + + + + + +<h2><a name="WRITINGS_OF_F_MARION_CRAWFORD" id="WRITINGS_OF_F_MARION_CRAWFORD"></a>WRITINGS OF F. MARION CRAWFORD</h2> + +<p class="center">12mo. Cloth</p> + +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> + +<table border="0" summary="List of books and prices"> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Corleone</td> + <td class="tdr">$1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Casa Braccio. 2 vols</td> + <td class="tdr">2.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Taquisara</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Saracinesca</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Sant' Ilario</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Don Orsino</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Mr. Isaacs</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Cigarette-Maker's Romance, and Khaled</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Marzio's Crucifix</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">An American Politician</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Paul Patoff</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">To Leeward</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Dr. Claudius</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Zoroaster</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Tale of a Lonely Parish</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">With the Immortals</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Witch of Prague</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Roman Singer</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Greifenstein</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Pietro Ghisleri</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Katherine Lauderdale</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Ralstons</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Children of the King</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Three Fates</td> + <td class="tdr">1.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Adam Johnstone's Son, and A Rose of Yesterday</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Marion Darche</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Love in Idleness</td> + <td class="tdr">2.00</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Via Crucis</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">In the Palace of the King</td> + <td class="tdr">1.50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Ave Roma Immortalis. 2 v.</td> + <td class="tdr">$6.00 net</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Rulers of the South: Sicily, Calabria, Malta. 2 vols</td> + <td class="tdr">$6.00 net</td> + </tr> + +</table> + +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> + +<p class="padtop"></p> + +<h3>CORLEONE</h3> + +<p class="center">A TALE OF SICILY</p> + +<p class="center">The last of the famous Saracinesca Series</p> + +<p>"It is by far the most stirring and dramatic of all the author's Italian +stories.... The plot is a masterly one, bringing at almost every page a +fresh surprise, keeping the reader in suspense to the very end."—<i>The +Times</i>, New York.<br /></p> + + +<h3>MR. ISAACS</h3> + +<p>"It is lofty and uplifting. It is strongly, sweetly, tenderly written. +It is in all respects an uncommon novel."—<i>The Literary World.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>DR. CLAUDIUS</h3> + +<p>"The characters are strongly marked without any suspicion of caricature, +and the author's ideas on social and political subjects are often +brilliant and always striking. It is no exaggeration to say that there +is not a dull page in the book, which is peculiarly adapted for the +recreation of the student or thinker."—<i>Living Church.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>A ROMAN SINGER</h3> + +<p>"A powerful story of art and love in Rome."—<i>The New York Observer.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN</h3> + +<p>"One of the characters is a visiting Englishman. Possibly Mr. Crawford's +long residence abroad has made him select such a hero as a safeguard +against slips, which does not seem to have been needed. His insight into +a phase of politics with which he could hardly be expected to be +familiar is remarkable."—<i>Buffalo Express.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>TO LEEWARD</h3> + +<p>"It is an admirable tale of Italian life told in a spirited way and far +better than most of the fiction current."—<i>San Francisco Chronicle.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>ZOROASTER</h3> + +<p>"As a matter of literary art solely, we doubt if Mr. Crawford has ever +before given us better work than the description of Belshazzar's feast +with which the story begins, or the death-scene with which it +closes."—<i>The Christian Union</i> (now <i>The Outlook</i>).<br /></p> + + +<h3>A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH</h3> + +<p>"It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief +and vivid story. It is doubly a success, being full of human sympathy, +as well as thoroughly artistic."—<i>The Critic.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX</h3> + +<p>"We take the liberty of saying that this work belongs to the highest +department of character-painting in words."—<i>The Churchman.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>PAUL PATOFF</h3> + +<p>"It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely +written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined +surroundings."—<i>New York Commercial Advertiser.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>PIETRO GHISLERI</h3> + +<p>"The strength of the story lies not only in the artistic and highly +dramatic working out of the plot, but also in the penetrating analysis +and understanding of the impulsive and passionate Italian +character."—<i>Public Opinion.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>THE CHILDREN OF THE KING</h3> + +<p>"One of the most artistic and exquisitely finished pieces of work that +Crawford has produced. The picturesque setting, Calabria and its +surroundings, the beautiful Sorrento and the Gulf of Salerno, with the +bewitching accessories that climate, sea, and sky afford, give Mr. +Crawford rich opportunities to show his rare descriptive powers. As a +whole the book is strong and beautiful through its simplicity."—<i>Public +Opinion.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>MARION DARCHE</h3> + +<p>"We are disposed to rank 'Marion Darche' as the best of Mr. Crawford's +American stories."—<i>The Literary World.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>KATHERINE LAUDERDALE</h3> + +<p>"It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely +written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined +surroundings."—<i>New York Commercial Advertiser.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>THE RALSTONS</h3> + +<p>"The whole group of character studies is strong and vivid."—<i>The +Literary World.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>LOVE IN IDLENESS</h3> + +<p>"The story is told in the author's lightest vein; it is bright and +entertaining."—<i>The Literary World.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>CASA BRACCIO</h3> + +<p>"We are grateful when Mr. Crawford keeps to his Italy. The poetry and +enchantment of the land are all his own, and 'Casa Braccio' gives +promise of being his masterpiece.... He has the life, the beauty, the +heart, and the soul of Italy at the tips of his fingers."—<i>Los Angeles +Express.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>TAQUISARA</h3> + +<p>"A charming story this is, and one which will certainly be liked by all +admirers of Mr. Crawford's work."—<i>New York Herald.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON and A ROSE OF YESTERDAY</h3> + +<p>"It is not only one of the most enjoyable novels that Mr. Crawford has +ever written, but is a novel that will make people think."—<i>Boston +Beacon.</i></p> + +<p>"Don't miss reading Marion Crawford's new novel, 'A Rose of Yesterday.' +It is brief, but beautiful and strong. It is as charming a piece of pure +idealism as ever came from Mr. Crawford's pen."—<i>Chicago Tribune.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>SARACINESCA</h3> + +<p>"The work has two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make +it great: that of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of +giving a graphic picture of Roman society.... The story is exquisitely +told, and is the author's highest achievement, as yet, in the realm of +fiction."—<i>The Boston Traveler.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>SANT' ILARIO</h3> + +<p class="center">A SEQUEL TO SARACINESCA</p> + +<p>"A singularly powerful and beautiful story.... It fulfils every +requirement of artistic fiction. It brings out what is most impressive +in human action, without owing any of its effectiveness to +sensationalism or artifice. It is natural, fluent in evolution, +accordant with experience, graphic in description, penetrating in +analysis, and absorbing in interest."—<i>The New York Tribune.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>DON ORSINO</h3> + +<p class="center">A SEQUEL TO SARACINESCA AND SANT' ILARIO</p> + +<p>"Offers exceptional enjoyment in many ways, in the fascinating +absorption of good fiction, in the interest of faithful historic +accuracy, and in charm of style. The 'New Italy' is strikingly revealed +in 'Don Orsino.'"—<i>Boston Budget.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>WITH THE IMMORTALS</h3> + +<p>"The strange central idea of the story could have occurred only to a +writer whose mind was very sensitive to the current of modern thought +and progress, while its execution, the setting it forth in proper +literary clothing, could be successfully attempted only by one whose +active literary ability should be fully equalled by his power of +assimilative knowledge both literary and scientific, and no less by his +courage, and so have a fascination entirely new for the habitual reader +of novels. Indeed, Mr. Crawford has succeeded in taking his readers +quite above the ordinary plane of novel interest."—<i>The Boston +Advertiser.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>GREIFENSTEIN</h3> + +<p>"... Another notable contribution to the literature of the day. Like all +Mr. Crawford's work, this novel is crisp, clear, and vigorous, and will +be read with a great deal of interest."—<i>New York Evening Telegram.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE and KHALED</h3> + +<p>"It is a touching romance, filled with scenes of great dramatic +power."—<i>Boston Commercial Bulletin.</i></p> + +<p>"It abounds in stirring incidents and barbaric picturesqueness; and the +love struggle of the unloved Khaled is manly in its simplicity and noble +in its ending."—<i>The Mail and Express.</i><br /></p> + + +<h3>THE WITCH OF PRAGUE</h3> + +<p>"The artistic skill with which this extraordinary story is constructed +and carried out is admirable and delightful.... Mr. Crawford has scored +a decided triumph, for the interest of the tale is sustained +throughout.... A very remarkable, powerful, and interesting +story."—<i>New York Tribune.</i><br /></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cecilia, by F. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cecilia + A Story of Modern Rome + +Author: F. Marion Crawford + +Release Date: March 21, 2010 [EBook #31723] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CECILIA *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Joanna Johnston and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + CECILIA + + A Story of Modern Rome + + BY + + F. MARION CRAWFORD + + AUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA," "MARIETTA," "AVE ROMA + IMMORTALIS," ETC. + + + New York + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. + 1902 + + All rights reserved + + + + + Copyright, 1902, + + By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. + + Set up and electrotyped October, 1902. + + Sixteenth Thousand + + + + + * NORWOOD PRESS * + J. S. CUSHING & CO. - BERWICK & SMITH + * NORWOOD MASS. U.S.A. * + + + + + CECILIA + + A STORY OF MODERN ROME + + + + + CHAPTER I + + +Two men were sitting side by side on a stone bench in the forgotten +garden of the Arcadian Society, in Rome; and it was in early spring, not +long ago. Few people, Romans or strangers, ever find their way to that +lonely and beautiful spot beyond the Tiber, niched in a hollow of the +Janiculum below San Pietro in Montorio, where Beatrice Cenci sleeps. The +Arcadians were men and women who loved poetry in an artificial time, +took names of shepherds and shepherdesses, rhymed as best they could, +met in pleasant places to recite their verses, and played that the world +was young, and gentle, and sweet, and unpoisoned, just when it had +declined to one of its recurring periods of vicious old age. The Society +did not die with its times, and it still exists, less sprightly, less +ready to mask in pastorals, but rhyming, meeting, and reciting verses +now and then, in the old manner, though rarely in the old haunts. Even +now fresh inscriptions in honour of the Arcadians are set into the +stuccoed walls of the little terraced garden under the hill. + +It is very peaceful there. Above, the concave wall of the small house of +meeting looks down upon circular tiers of brick seats, and beyond these +there are bushes and a little fountain. To the right and left, +symmetrical walks lead down in two wide curves to the lower levels, +where the water falls again into a basin in a shaded grotto, and rises +the third time in another fountain. An ancient stone-pine tree springs +straight upwards, spreading out lovely branches. There are bushes again +and a magnolia, and a Japanese medlar, and there is moss. The stone +mouldings of the fountains are rich with the green tints of time. The +air is softly damp, smelling of leaves and flowers; there are corners +into which the sunlight never shines, little mysteries of perpetual +shade that are full of sadness in winter, but in summer repeat the +fanciful confidences of a delicious and imaginary past. + +The Sister who had let in the two visitors had left them to themselves, +and had gone back to the little convent door; for she was the portress, +and therefore a small judge of character in her way, and she understood +that the two gentlemen were not like the other half-dozen strangers who +came every year to see the garden, and went away after ten minutes, +dropping half a franc into her hand for the Sisters, and not even +lifting their hats to her as she let them out. These two evidently knew +the place; they spoke to each other as intimate friends do; they had +come to enjoy the peace and silence for an hour, and they would neither +carry off the flowers from the magnolia tree, as some did, nor scrawl +their names in pencil on the stucco. Therefore they might safely be left +to their own leisure and will. + +The men were friends, as the portress had guessed; they were very +unlike, and their unlikeness was in part the reason of their friendship. +The one was squarely built, of average height, a man of action at every +point, with bold blue eyes that could be piercing, a rugged Roman head, +prominent at the brows, short reddish hair and pointed beard, great jaw +and cheek-bones, a tanned and freckled skin. He sat leaning back, one +leg crossed over the other, the knee that was upper-most pressing +against the stout stick he held across it, and the big veins swelled on +his hands and wrists. He was a sailor, and a born fighting man; and in +ten years of service he had managed to find himself in every affair that +had concerned Italy in the remotest degree, in Africa, in China, and +elsewhere. He was now at home on leave, expecting immediate promotion. +He bore a historical name; he was called Lamberto Lamberti. + +His companion sat with folded arms and bent head, a rather dark young +man with deep-set grey eyes that often looked black, a thoughtful face, +a grave mouth that could smile suddenly and almost strangely, with a +child's sweet frankness, and yet with a look that was tender and +human--the smile of a man who understands the meaning of life and yet +does not despise it. Most people would have taken him for a man of +leisure, probably given to reading or the cultivation of some artistic +taste. Guido d'Este was one of those Italians who are content to survive +from a very beautiful past without joining the frantic rush for a very +problematic future. But there was more in him than a love of books and a +knowledge of pictures; for he was a dreamer, and there are dreams better +worth dreaming than many deeds are worth the doing. + +"I sometimes wonder what would have happened to you and me," he said, +after there had been a long pause, "if we had been obliged to live each +other's lives." + +"We should both have been bored to extinction," answered Lamberti, +without hesitating. + +"I suppose so," assented Guido, and relapsed into silence. + +He was very glad that he was not condemned to the life of a naval +officer, to the perpetual motion of active service, to the narrow +quarters of a lieutenant on a modern man-of-war, to the daily +companionship of a dozen or eighteen other officers with whom he could +certainly not have an idea in common. It would be a detestable thing to +be sent at a moment's notice from one end of the world to the other, +from heat to cold, from cold to heat, through all sorts of weather, only +to be a part of an organisation, a wheel in a machine, a pawn in some +one's game of chess. He had been on board a line-of-battle ship once to +see his friend off, and had mentally noted the discomfort. There was +nothing in the cabin but a bunk built over a chest of drawers, a narrow +transom, a wash-stand that disappeared into a recess when pushed back, +an exiguous table fastened to a bulkhead, and one camp-stool. There was +no particular means of ventilation, and the place smelt of cold iron, +paint, and soft soap. Yet his friend had been about to live at least six +months in this cell, which would have been condemned as too narrow in an +ordinarily well-managed prison. + +Nevertheless, it would be pleasant in itself, no doubt, to be a living +part of what most men only read about, to really know what fighting +meant, to be one of the few who are invariably chosen first for missions +of danger and difficulty. Besides, Guido d'Este was just now in a very +difficult situation, which might become dangerous, and from which he saw +no immediate means of escape; and, for once in his life, he almost +envied his friend his simple career, in which nothing seemed to be +required of a man but courage and obedience. + +"I suppose I should be bored," he said again, after a short and +thoughtful pause, "but I would rather be bored than live the life I am +living." + +The sailor looked at him sharply a moment, and instantly understood that +Guido had brought him to the little garden in order to tell him +something of importance without risk of interruption. + +"Have you had more trouble with that horrible old woman?" he asked +roughly. + +"Yes. She is draining the life out of me. She will ruin me in the end." + +Guido did not look up as he spoke, and he slowly tapped the hard earth +with the toe of his shoe. He felt very helpless, and he shook his head +over his misfortunes, which seemed great. + +"That comes of being connected with royalty," said Lamberti, in the same +rough tone. + +"Is it my fault?" asked Guido, with a melancholy smile. + +The sailor snorted discontentedly, and changed his position. + +"What can I do?" he asked presently. "Tell me." + +"Nothing." + +"If I were only rich!" + +"My dear friend," said Guido, "she demands a million of francs!" + +"There are men who have fifty. Would a hundred thousand francs be of any +use?" + +"Not the least. Besides, that is all you have." + +"What would that matter?" asked Lamberti. + +Guido looked up at last, for he knew that the words were true and +earnest. + +"Thank you," he answered. "I know you would do that for me. But it would +not be of any use. Things have gone too far." + +"Shall I go to her and talk the matter over? I believe I could frighten +her into justice. After all, she has no legal claim upon you." + +Guido shook his head. + +"That is not the question," he answered. "She never pretends that her +right is legal, for it is not. On the contrary, she says it is a +question of honour, that I have lost her money for her in speculations, +and that I am bound to restore it to her. It is true that I only did +with it exactly what she wished, and what she insisted that I should do, +against my own judgment. She knows that." + +"But then, I do not see----" + +"She also knows that I cannot prove it," interrupted Guido, "and as she +is perfectly unscrupulous, she will use everything against me to make +out that I have deliberately cheated her out of the money." + +"But it cannot make so much difference to her, after all," objected +Lamberti. "She must have an immense fortune somewhere." + +"She is a miser, in spite of that sudden attack of the gaming fever. +Money is the only passion of her life." + +"Possibly, though I doubt it. There is Monsieur Leroy, you know." + +Lamberti spoke the name with contempt, but Guido said nothing, for, +after all, the high and mighty lady about whom they were talking was his +father's sister, and he preferred not to talk scandal about her, even +with his intimate friend. + +"If matters grow worse," said Lamberti, "there are at least the +worthless securities in her name, to prove that you acted for her." + +"You are mistaken. That is the worst of it. Everything was done in my +name, for she would not let her own appear. She used to give me the +money in cash, telling me exactly what to do with it, and I brought her +the broker's accounts." + +"I daresay she made you sign receipts for the sums she gave you," +laughed Lamberti. + +"Yes, she did." + +Lamberti sat up suddenly and stared at his friend. Such folly was hardly +to be believed. + +"She is capable of saying that she lent you the money on your promise!" +he cried. + +"That is exactly what she threatens to do," answered Guido d'Este, +dejectedly. "As I cannot possibly pay it, she can force me to do one of +two things." + +"What things?" + +"Either to disappear from honourable society and begin life somewhere +else, or else to make an end of myself. And she will do it. I have felt +for more than a year that she means to ruin me." + +Lamberti set his teeth, and stared at the stone-pine. If Guido had not +been just the man he was, sensitive to morbidness where his honour was +concerned, the situation might have seemed less desperate. If his aunt, +her Serene Highness the Princess Anatolie, had not been a monster of +avarice, selfishness, and vindictiveness, there would perhaps have been +some hope of moving her. As it was, matters looked ill, and to make them +worse there was the well-known fact that Guido had formerly played high +and had lost considerable sums at cards. It would be easy to make +society believe that he had paid his debts, which had always been +promptly settled, with money which the Princess had intrusted to him for +investment. + +"What possible object can she have in ruining you?" asked Lamberti, +presently. + +"I cannot guess," Guido answered after another short pause. "I have +little enough left as it is, except the bare chance of inheriting +something, some day, from my brother, who likes me about as much as my +aunt does, and is not bound to leave me a penny." + +"But, after all," argued Lamberti, "you are the only heir left to either +of them." + +"I suppose so," assented Guido in an uncertain tone. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Nothing--it does not matter. Of course," he continued quietly, "this +may go on for some time, but it can only end in one way, sooner or +later. I shall be lucky if I am only reduced to starvation." + +"You might marry an heiress," suggested Lamberti, as a last resource. + +"And pay my aunt out of my wife's fortune? No. I will not do that." + +"Of course not. But I should think that if ever an honest man could be +tempted to do such a thing, it would be in some such case as yours." + +"Perhaps to save his father from ruin, or his mother from starvation," +said Guido. "I could understand it then; but not to save himself. +Besides, no heiress in our world would marry me, for I have nothing to +offer." + +Lamberti smiled incredulously. He was not a cynic, because he believed +in action; but his faith in the disinterested simplicity of mankind was +not strong. He had also some experience of the world, and was quite +ready to admit that a marriageable heiress might fairly expect an +equivalent for the fortune she was to bring her husband. Yet he wholly +rejected the statement that Guido d'Este had nothing of social value to +offer, merely because he was now a poor man and had never been a very +rich one. Guido had neither lands nor money, and bore no title, it was +true; and could but just live like a gentleman on the small allowance +that was paid him yearly according to his father's will. But there was +no secret about his birth, and he was closely related to several of the +reigning houses of Europe. His father had been one of the minor +sovereigns dethroned in the revolutions of the nineteenth century; late +in life, a widower, the ex-king had married a beautiful young girl of no +great family, who had died in giving birth to Guido. The marriage had of +course been morganatic, though perfectly legal, and Guido neither bore +the name of his father's royal race, nor could he ever lay claim to the +succession, in the utterly improbable event of a restoration. But he was +half brother to the childless man, nearly forty years older than +himself, whose faithful friends still called him "your Majesty" in +private; he was nephew to the extremely authentic Princess Anatolie, and +he was first cousin to at least one king who had held his own. In the +eyes of an heiress in search of social position as an equivalent for her +millions, all this would more than compensate for the fact that his +visiting card bore the somewhat romantic and unlikely name, "Guido +d'Este," without any title or explanation whatever. + +But apart from the sordid consideration of values to be given and +received, Guido was young, good-looking if not handsome, and rather +better gifted than most men; he had reached the age of twenty-seven +without having what society is pleased to call a past--in other words +without ever having been the chief actor in a social tragedy, comedy, or +farce; and finally, though he had once been fond of cards, he had now +entirely given up play. If he had been a little richer, he could almost +have passed for a model young man in the eyes of the exacting and +prudent parent of marriageable daughters. Judging from the Princess +Anatolie, it was probable that he resembled his mother's family more +than his father's. + +For all these reasons his friend thought that, if he chose, he might +easily find an heiress who would marry him with enthusiasm; but, being +his friend, Lamberti was very glad that he rejected the idea. + +The two were not men who ever talked together of their principles, +though they sometimes spoke of their beliefs and differed about them. +Belief is usually absolute, but principle is always a matter of +conscience, and the conscience is a part of the mixed self in which soul +and mind and matter are all involved together. Men born in the same +surroundings and brought up in the same way generally hold to the same +principles as guides in life, and show the same abhorrence for the sins +that are accounted dishonourable, and the same indulgence for those not +condemned by the code of honour, not even admitting discussion upon such +points. But the same men may have very different opinions about +spiritual matters. + +Eliminating the vulgar average of society, there remain always a certain +number who, while possibly holding even more divergent beliefs than most +people, agree more precisely, or disagree more essentially, about +matters of conscience, either stretching or contracting the code of +honour according to their own temper, and especially according to the +traditions of their own most immediate surroundings. Other conditions +being favourable, it seems as if men whose consciences are most alike +should be the best fitted for each other's friendship, no matter what +they may think or believe about religion. + +This was certainly the case with Guido d'Este and Lamberto Lamberti, and +they simultaneously dismissed, as detestable, dishonourable, and +unworthy, the mere thought that Guido should try to marry an heiress, +with a view to satisfying the outrageous claims of his ex-royal aunt, +the Princess Anatolie. + +"In simpler times," observed Lamberti, who liked to recall the middle +ages, "we should have poisoned the old woman." + +Guido did not smile. + +"Without meaning to do her an injustice," he answered, "I think it much +more probable that she would have poisoned me." + +"With the help of Monsieur Leroy, she might have succeeded." + +At the thought of the man whom he so cordially detested, Lamberti's blue +eyes grew hard, and his upper lip tightened a little, just showing his +teeth under his red moustache. Guido looked at him and smiled in his +turn. + +"There are your ferocious instincts again," he said; "you wish you could +kill him." + +"I do," answered Lamberti, simply. + +He rose from his seat and stretched himself a little, as some big dogs +always do after the preliminary growl at an approaching enemy. + +"I think Monsieur Leroy is the most repulsive human being I ever saw," +he said. "I am not exactly a sensitive person, but it makes me very +uncomfortable to be near him. He once gave me his hand, and I had to +take it. It felt like a live toad. How old is that man?" + +"He must be forty," said Guido, "but he is wonderfully well preserved. +Any one would take him for five-and-thirty." + +"It is disgusting!" Lamberti kicked a pebble away, as he stood. + +"He looked just as he does now, when I was seventeen," observed Guido. + +"The creature paints his face. I am sure of it." + +"No. I have seen him drenched in a shower, when he had no umbrella. The +rain ran down his cheeks, but the colour did not change." + +"It is all the more disgusting," retorted Lamberti, illogically, but +with strong emphasis. + +Guido rose from his seat rather wearily. As he stood up, he was much +taller than his friend, who had seemed the larger man while both were +seated. + +"I am glad that we have talked this over," he said. "Not that talking +can help matters, of course. It never does. But I wanted you to know +just how things stand, in case anything should happen to me." + +Lamberti turned rather sharply. + +"In case what should happen to you?" he asked, his eyes hardening. + +"I am very tired of it all," Guido answered, "I have nothing to live +for, and I am being driven straight to disgrace and ruin without any +fault of my own. I daresay that some day I may--well, you know what I +mean." + +"What?" + +"I should not care to exile myself to South America. I am not fit for +that sort of life." + +"Well?" + +"There is the other alternative," said Guido, with a tuneless little +laugh. "When life is intolerable, what can be simpler than to part with +it?" + +Lamberti's strong hand was already on his friend's arm, and tightened +energetically. + +"Do you believe in God?" he asked abruptly. + +"No. At least, I think not." + +"I do," said Lamberti, with conviction, "and I shall not let you make +away with yourself if I can help it." + +He loosed his hold, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked as if +he wished he could fight somebody or something. + +"A man who kills himself to escape his troubles is a coward," he said. + +Guido made a gesture of indifference. + +"You know very well that I am not a coward," he said. + +"You will be, the day you are afraid to go on living," returned his +friend. "If you kill yourself, I shall think you are an arrant coward, +and I shall be sorry I ever knew you." + +Guido looked at him incredulously. + +"Are you in earnest?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +There was no mistaking the look in Lamberti's hard blue eyes. Guido +faced him. + +"Do you think that every man who commits suicide is a coward?" + +"If it is to escape his own troubles, yes. A man who gives his life for +his country, his mother, or his wife, is not a coward, though he may +kill himself with his own hand." + +"The Church would call him a suicide." + +"I do not know, in all cases," said Lamberti. "I am not a theologian, +and as the Church means nothing to you, it would be of no use if I +were." + +"Why do you say that the Church means nothing to me?" Guido asked. + +"Since you are an atheist, what meaning can it possibly have?" + +"It means the whole tradition of morality by which we live, and our +fathers lived. Even the code of honour, which is a little out of shape +nowadays, is based on Christianity, and was once the rule of a good +life, the best rule in the days when it grew up." + +"I daresay. Even the code of honour, degenerate as it is, and twist it +how you will, cannot give you an excuse for killing yourself when you +have always behaved honourably, or for running away from the enemy +simply because you are tired of fighting and will not take the trouble +to go on." + +"Perhaps you are right," Guido answered. "But the whole question is not +worth arguing. What is life, after all, that we should attach any +importance to it?" + +"It is all you have, and you only have it once." + +"Who knows? Perhaps we may come back to it again, hundreds and hundreds +of times. There are more people in the world who believe that than there +are Christians." + +"If that is what you believe," retorted Lamberti, "you must believe that +the sooner you leave life, the sooner you will come back to it." + +"Possibly. But there is a chance that it may not be true, and that +everything may end here. That one chance may be worth taking." + +"There is a chance that a man who deserts from his ship may not be +caught. That is not an argument in favour of desertion." + +Guido laughed carelessly. + +"You have a most unpleasant way of naming things," he said. "Shall we +go? It is growing late, and I have promised to see my aunt before +dinner." + +"Will there be any one else there?" asked Lamberti. + +"Why? Did you think of going with me?" + +"I might. It is a long time since I have called. I think I shall be a +little more assiduous in future." + +"It is not gay, at my aunt's," observed Guido. "Monsieur Leroy will be +there. You may have to shake hands with him!" + +"You do not seem anxious that I should go with you," laughed Lamberti. + +Guido said nothing for a moment, and seemed to be weighing the question, +as if it might be of some importance. Lamberti afterwards remembered the +slight hesitation. + +"By all means come," Guido said, when he had made up his mind. + +He glanced once more at the place, for he liked it, and it was pleasant +to carry away pictures of what one liked, even of a bit of neglected old +garden with a stone-pine in the middle, clearly cut out against the sky. +He wondered idly whether he should ever come again--whether, after all, +it would be cowardly to go to sleep with the certainty of not waking, +and whether he should find anything beyond, or not. + +The world looked too familiar to him to be interesting, as if he had +known it too long, and he vaguely wished that he could change it, and +desire to stay in it for its own sake; and just then it occurred to him +that every man carries with him the world in which he must live, the +stage and the scenery for his own play. It would be absurd to pretend, +he thought, that his own material world was the same as Lamberti's, even +when the latter was at home. They knew the same people, heard the same +talk, ate the same things, looked on the same sights, breathed the same +air. There was perhaps no sacrifice worthy of honourable men which +either of them would not make for the other. Yet, to Guido d'Este, life +seemed miserably indifferent where it did not seem a real calamity, +while to Lamberti every second of it was worth fighting for, because it +was worth enjoying. + +Guido looked at his friend's tanned neck and sturdy shoulders, following +him to the door, and he realised more clearly than ever before that he +was not of the same race. He felt the satiety bred in many generations +of destiny's spoilt and flattered sons; the absence of anything like a +grasping will, caused by the too easy fulfilment of every careless wish; +the over-critical sense that guesses at hidden imperfection, the cruelly +unerring instinct of a taste too tired to enjoy and yet too fine to be +deceived. + +Lamberti turned at the door and saw his face. + +"What are you thinking about?" + +"I was envying you," Guido murmured. "You are glad to be alive." + +Lamberti made rather an impatient gesture, but said nothing. The Sister +who had admitted the two opened the little iron door for them to go out. +She was a small woman, with a worn face and kind brown eyes, one of the +half-dozen who live in the little convent and work among the children of +the very poor in that quarter. Both men had taken out money. + +"For the poor children, if you please," said Guido, placing his offering +in the nun's hand. + +"And tell them to pray for a man who is in trouble," added Lamberti, +giving her money. + +She looked at him curiously, thinking, perhaps, that +he meant himself. Then she gravely bent her head. + +"I thank you very much," she said. + +The small iron door closed with a rusty clang, and the friends began to +descend the steep way that leads down from the Porta San Pancrazio to +the Via Garibaldi. + +"Why did you say that to the nun?" asked Guido. + +"Are you past praying for?" enquired Lamberti, with a careless and +good-natured laugh. + +"It is not like you," said Guido. + +"I do not pretend to be more consistent than other people, you know. Are +you going directly to the Princess's?" + +"No. I must go home first. The old lady would never forgive me if I went +to see her without a silk hat in my hand." + +"Then I suppose I must dress, too," said Lamberti. "I will leave you at +your door, and drive home, and we can meet at your aunt's." + +"Very well." + +They walked down the street and found a cab, scarcely speaking again +until they parted at Guido's door. + +He lived alone in a quiet apartment of the Palazzo Farnese, overlooking +the Via Giulia and the river beyond. The afternoon sun was still +streaming through the open windows of his sitting room, and the warm +breeze came with it. + +"There are two notes, sir," said his servant, who had followed him. "The +one from the Princess is urgent. The man wished to wait for you, but I +sent him away." + +"That was right," said Guido, taking the letters from the salver. "Get +my things ready. I have visits to make." + +The man went out and shut the door. He was a Venetian, and had been in +the navy, where he had served Lamberti during the affair in China. +Lamberti had recommended him to his friend. + +Guido remained standing while he opened the note. The first was an +engraved invitation to a garden party from a lady he scarcely knew. It +was the first he had ever received from her, and he was not aware that +she ever asked people to her house. The second was from his aunt, +begging him to come to tea that afternoon as he had promised, for a very +particular reason, and asking him to let her know beforehand if anything +made it impossible. It began with "Dearest Guido" and was signed "Your +devoted aunt, Anatolie." She was evidently very anxious that he should +come, for he was generally her "dear nephew," and she was his +"affectionate aunt." + +The handwriting was fine and hard to read, though it was regular. Some +of the letters were quite unlike those of most people, and many of them +were what experts call "blind." + +Guido d'Este read the note through twice, with an expression of dislike, +and then tore it up. He threw the invitation upon some others that lay +in a chiselled copper dish on his writing table, lit a cigarette, and +looked out of the window. His aunt's note was too affectionate and too +anxious to bode well, and he was tempted to write that he could not go. +It would be pleasant to end the afternoon with a book and a cup of tea, +and then to dine alone and dream away the evening in soothing silence. + +But he had promised to go; and, moreover, nothing was of any real +importance at all, nothing whatsoever, from the moment of beginning life +to the instant of leaving it. He therefore dressed and went out again. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + +Lamberto Lamberti never wasted time, whether he was at sea, doing his +daily duty as an officer, or ashore in Africa, fighting savages, or on +leave, amusing himself in Rome, or Paris, or London. Time was life, and +life was far too good to be squandered in dawdling. In ten minutes after +he had reached his room he was ready to go out again. As he took his hat +and gloves, his eye fell on a note which he had not seen when he had +come in. + +He opened it carelessly and found the same formal invitation which Guido +had received at the same time. The Countess Fortiguerra requested the +pleasure of his company at the Villa Palladio between four and six, and +the date was just a fortnight ahead. + +Lamberti was a Roman, and though he had only seen the Countess three or +four times in his life, he remembered very well that she had been twice +married, and that her first husband had been a certain Count Palladio, +whose name was vaguely connected in Lamberti's mind with South American +railways, the Suez Canal, and a machine gun that had been tried in the +Italian navy; but it was not a Roman name, and he could not remember any +villa that was called by it. Palladio--it recalled something else, +besides a great architect--something connected with Pallas--but +Lamberti was no great scholar. Guido would know. Guido knew everything +about literature, ancient and modern--or at least Lamberti thought so. + +He had kept his cab while he dressed, and in a few minutes the little +horse had toiled up the long hill that leads to Porta Pinciana, and +Lamberti got out at the gate of one of those beautiful villas of which +there are still a few within the walls of Rome. It belonged to a +foreigner of infinite taste, whose love of roses was proverbial. A +legend says that some of them were watered with the most carefully +prepared beef tea from the princely kitchen. The rich man had gone back +to his own country, and the Princess Anatolie had taken the villa and +meant to spend the rest of her life there. She was only seventy years +old, and had made up her mind to live to be a hundred, so that it was +worth while to make permanent arrangements for her comfort. + +Lamberti might have driven through the gate and up to the house, but he +was not sure whether the Princess liked to see such plebeian vehicles as +cabs in her grounds. He had a strong suspicion that, in spite of her +royal blood, she had the soul of a snob, and thought much more about +appearances than he did; and as for Monsieur Leroy, he was one of the +most complete specimens of the snob species in the world. Therefore +Lamberti, who now had reasons for wishing to propitiate the dwellers in +the villa, left his cab outside and walked up the steep drive to the +house. + +He did not look particularly well in a frock coat and high hat. He was +too muscular, his hair was too red, his neck was too sunburnt, and he +was more accustomed to wearing a uniform or the rough clothes in which +fighting is usually done. The footman looked at him and did not +recognise him. + +"Her Highness is not at home," said the man, coolly. + +A private carriage was waiting at a little distance from the porch, and +the footman who belonged to it was lounging in the vestibule within. + +"Be good enough to ask whether her Highness will see me," said Lamberti. + +The fellow looked at him again, and evidently made up his mind that it +would be safer to obey a red-haired gentleman who had such a very +unusual look in his eyes and spoke so quietly, for he disappeared +without making any further objection. + +When Lamberti entered the drawing-room, he was aware that the Princess +was established in a high arm-chair near a tea-table, that Monsieur +Leroy was coming towards him, and that an elderly lady in a hat was +seated near the Princess in an attitude which may be described as one of +respectful importance. He was aware of the presence of these three +persons in the room, but he only saw the fourth, a young girl, standing +beside the table with a cup in her hand, and just turning her face +towards him with a look that was like a surprised recognition after not +having seen him for a very long time. He started perceptibly as his eyes +met hers, and he almost uttered an exclamation of astonishment. + +He was checked by feeling Monsieur Leroy's toad-like hand in his. + +"Her Highness is very glad to see you," said an oily voice in French, +but with a thick and rolling pronunciation that was South American +unless it was Roumanian. + +For once Lamberti did not notice the sensual, pink and white face, the +hanging lips, the colourless brown hair, the insolent eyes, the +effeminate figure and dress of the little man he detested, and whose +mere touch was disgusting to him. By a strong effort he went directly up +to the Princess without looking again at the young girl whose presence +had affected him so oddly. + +Princess Anatolie was gracious enough to give him her hand to kiss; he +bent over it, and his lips touched a few of the cold precious stones in +the rings that loaded her fingers. She had not changed in the year that +had passed since he had seen her, except that her eyes looked smaller +than ever and nearer together. Her hair might or might not be her own, +for it was carefully crimped and arranged upon her forehead; it was not +certain that her excellent teeth were false; there was about her an air +of youth and vitality that was really surprising, and yet it was +impossible not to feel that she might be altogether a marvellous sham, +on the verge of dissolution. + +"This is most charming!" she said, in a voice that was not cracked, but +rang false. "I expect my nephew, Guido, at any moment. He is your great +friend, is he not? Yes, I never forget anything. This is my nephew +Guido's great friend," she continued volubly, and turning to the elderly +lady on her right, "Prince Lamberti." + +"Don Lamberto Lamberti," said Monsieur Leroy in a low voice, correcting +her. But even this was not quite right. + +"I have the good fortune to know the Countess Fortiguerra," said +Lamberti, bowing, as he suddenly recognised her, but very much surprised +that she should be there. "I have just received a very kind invitation +from you," he added, as she gave him her hand. + +"I hope you will come," she said quietly. "I knew your mother very well. +We were at the school of the Sacred Heart together." + +Lamberti bent his head a little, in acknowledgment of the claim upon him +possessed by one of his mother's school friends. + +"I shall do my best to come," he answered. + +He felt that the young girl was watching him, and he ventured to look at +her, with a little movement, as if he wished to be introduced. Again he +felt the absolute certainty of having met her before, somewhere, very +long ago--so long ago that she could not have been born then, and he +must have been a small boy. Therefore what he felt was absurd. + +"Cecilia," said the Countess, speaking to the girl, "this is Signor +Lamberto Lamberti." "My daughter," she explained, as he bowed, "Cecilia +Palladio." + +"Most charming!" cried the Princess, "the son and the daughter of two +old friends." + +"Touching," echoed Monsieur Leroy. "Such a picture! There is true +sentiment in it." + +Lamberti did not hear, but Cecilia Palladio did, and a straight shadow, +fine as a hair line, appeared for an instant, perpendicular between her +brows, while she looked directly at the man before her. A moment later +Lamberti was seated between her and her mother, and Monsieur Leroy had +resumed the position he had left to welcome the newcomer, sitting on a +very low cushioned stool almost at the Princess's feet. + +In formal circumstances, a man who has been long in the army or navy can +usually trust himself not to show astonishment or emotion, and after the +first slight start of surprise, which only Monsieur Leroy had seen, +Lamberti had behaved as if nothing out of the common way had happened to +him. But he had felt as if he were in a dream, while healthily sure that +he was awake; and now that he was more at ease, he began to examine the +cause of his inward disturbance. + +It was not only out of the question to suppose that he had ever before +now met Cecilia Palladio, but he was quite certain that he had never +seen any one who was at all like her. + +If extinct types of men could be revived now and then, of those which +the world once thought admirable and tried to copy, it would be +interesting to see how many persons of taste would acknowledge any +beauty in them. Cecilia Palladio had been eighteen years old early in +the winter, and in the usual course of things would have made her +appearance in society during the carnival season. The garden party for +which her mother had now sent out invitations was to take the place of +the dance which should have been given in January. Afterwards, when it +was over, and everybody had seen her, some people said that she was +perfectly beautiful, others declared that she was a freak of nature and +would soon be hideous, but, meanwhile, was an interesting study; one +young gentleman, addicted to art, said that her face belonged to the +type seen in the Elgin marbles; a Sicilian lady said that her head was +even more archaic than that, and resembled a fragment from the temples +of Selinunte, preserved in the museum at Palermo; and the Russian +ambassador, who was of unknown age, said that she was the perfect Psyche +of Naples, brought to life, and that he wished he were Eros. + +In southern Europe what is called the Greek type of beauty is often +seen, and does not surprise any one. Many people think it cold and +uninteresting. It was a small something in the arch of the brows, it was +a very slight upward turn of the point of the nose, it was the small +irregularity of the broader and less curving upper lip that gave to +Cecilia Palladio's face the force and character that are so utterly +wanting in the faces of the best Greek statues. The Greeks, by the time +they had gained the perfect knowledge of the human body that produced +the Hermes of Olympia, had made a conventional mask of the human face, +and rarely ever tried to give it a little of the daring originality that +stands out in the features of many a crudely archaic statue. The artist +who made the Psyche attempted something of the kind, for the right side +of the face differs from the left, as it generally does in living +people. The right eyebrow is higher and more curved than the left one, +which lends some archness to the expression, but its effect is destroyed +by the tiresome perfection of the simpering mouth. + +Cecilia Palladio was not like a Greek statue, but she looked as if she +had come alive from an age in which the individual ranked above the many +as a model, and in which nothing accidentally unfit for life could +survive and nothing degenerate had begun to be. With the same general +proportion, there was less symmetry in her face than in those of modern +beauties, and there was more light, more feeling, more understanding. +She was very fair, but her eyes were not blue; it would have been hard +to define their colour, and sometimes there seemed to be golden lights +in them. While she was standing, Lamberti had seen that she was almost +as tall as himself, and therefore taller than most women; and she was +slender, and moved like a very perfectly proportioned young wild animal, +continuously, but without haste, till each motion was completed in rest. +Most men and women really move in a succession of very short movements, +entirely interrupted at more or less perceptible intervals. If our sight +were perfect we should see that people walk, for instance, by a series +of jerks so rapid as to be like the vibrations of a humming-bird's +wings. Perhaps this is due to the unconscious exercise of the human will +in every voluntary motion, for a man who moves in his sleep seems to +move continuously like an animal, till he has changed his position and +rests again. + +Lamberti made none of these reflections, and did not analyse the face he +could not help watching whenever the chance of conversation allowed him +to look at Cecilia without seeming to stare at her. He only tried to +discover why her face was so familiar to him. + +"We have been in Paris all winter," said her mother, in answer to some +question of his. + +"They have been in Paris all winter!" cried the Princess. "Think what +that means! The cold, the rain, the solitude! What in the world did you +do with yourselves?" + +"Cecilia wished to continue her studies," answered the Countess +Fortiguerra. + +"What sort of things have you been learning, Mademoiselle?" asked +Lamberti. + +"I followed a course of lectures on philosophy at the Sorbonne, and I +read Nietzsche with a man who had known him," answered the young lady, +as naturally as if she had said that she had been taking lessons on the +piano. + +A momentary silence followed, and everybody stared at the girl, except +her mother, who smiled pleasantly and looked from one to the other with +the expression which mothers of prodigies often assume, and which +clearly says: "I did it. Is it not perfectly wonderful?" + +Then Monsieur Leroy laughed, in spite of himself. + +"Hush, Doudou!" cried the Princess. "You are very rude!" + +No one present chanced to know that she always called him Doudou when +she was in a good humour. Cecilia Palladio turned her head quietly, +fixed her eyes on him and laughed, deliberately, long, and very sweetly. +Monsieur Leroy met her gaze for a moment, then looked away and moved +uneasily on his low seat. + +"What are you laughing at?" he asked, in a tone of annoyance. + +"It seems so funny that you should be called Doudou--at your age," +answered Cecilia. + +"Really--" Monsieur Leroy looked at the Princess as if asking for +protection. She laughed good-humouredly, somewhat to Lamberti's +surprise. + +"You are very direct with my friends, my dear," she said to Cecilia, +still smiling. The Countess Fortiguerra, not knowing exactly what to do, +also smiled, but rather foolishly. + +"I am very sorry," said Cecilia, with contrition, and looking down. "I +really beg Monsieur Leroy's pardon. I could not help it." + +But she had been revenged, for she had made him ridiculous. + +"Not at all, not at all," he answered, in a tone that did not promise +forgiveness. Lamberti wondered what sort of man Palladio had been, since +the girl did not at all resemble her mother, who had clearly been pretty +and foolish in her youth, and had only lost her looks as she grew older. +The obliteration of middle age had set in. + +There might have been some awkwardness, but it was dispelled by the +appearance of Guido, who came in unannounced at that moment, glancing +quickly at each of the group as he came forward, to see who was there. + +"At last!" exclaimed the Princess, with evident satisfaction. "How late +you are, my dear," she said as Guido ceremoniously kissed her hand. + +"I am very sorry," he said. "I was out when your note came. But I should +have come in any case." + +"You know the Countess Fortiguerra, of course," said the Princess. + +"Certainly," answered Guido, who had not recognised the lady at all, and +was glad to be told who she was, and that he knew her. + +Lamberti watched him closely, for he understood every shade of his +friend's expression and manner. Guido shook hands with a pleasant smile, +and then glanced at Cecilia. + +"My nephew, Guido d'Este," said the Princess, introducing him. + +Cecilia looked at him quietly, and bent her head in acknowledgment of +the introduction. + +"My daughter," murmured the Countess Fortiguerra, with satisfaction. + +"Mademoiselle Palladio and her mother have just come back from Paris," +explained Monsieur Leroy officiously, as Guido nodded to him. + +Guido caught the name, and was glad of the information it conveyed, and +he sat down between the young girl and her mother. Lamberti was now +almost sure that his friend was not especially struck by Cecilia's face; +but she looked at him with some interest, which was not at all to be +wondered at, considering his looks, his romantic name, and his +half-royal birth. For the first time Lamberti envied him a little, and +was ashamed of it. + +Barely an hour earlier he had wished that he could make Guido more like +himself, and now he wished that he were more like Guido. + +"The Countess has been kind enough to ask me to her garden party," Guido +said, looking at his aunt, for he instinctively connected the latter's +anxiety to see him with the invitation. + +So did Lamberti, and it flashed upon him that this meeting was the first +step in an attempt to marry his friend to Cecilia Palladio. The girl was +probably an heiress, and Guido's aunt saw a possibility of recovering +through her the money she had lost in speculations. + +This explanation did not occur to Guido, simply because he was bored and +was already thinking of an excuse for getting away after staying as +short a time as possible. + +"I hope you will come," said Cecilia, rather unexpectedly. + +"Of course he will," the Princess answered for him, in an encouraging +tone. + +"The villa is really very pretty," continued the young girl. + +"Let me see," said Guido, who liked her voice as soon as she spoke, "the +Villa Palladio--I do not quite remember where it is." + +"It used to be the Villa Madama," explained Monsieur Leroy. "I have +always wondered who the 'Madama' was, after whom it was called. It seems +such a foolish name." + +The Princess looked displeased, and bit her lip a little. + +"I think," said Guido, as if suggesting a possibility, rather than +stating a fact, "that she was a daughter of the Emperor Charles the +Fifth, who was Duchess of Parma." + +"Of course, of course!" cried Monsieur Leroy, eagerly assenting, "I had +forgotten!" + +"My daughter's guardians bought it for her not long ago," explained the +Countess Fortiguerra, "with my approval, and we have of course changed +the name." + +"Naturally," said Guido, gravely, but looking at Lamberti, who almost +smiled under his red beard. "And you approved of the change, +Mademoiselle," Guido added, turning to Cecilia, and with an +interrogation in his voice. + +"Not at all," she answered, with sudden coldness. "It was Goldbirn--" + +"Yes," said the Countess, weakly, "it was Baron Goldbirn who insisted +upon it, in spite of us." + +"Goldbirn--Goldbirn," repeated the Princess vaguely. "The name has a +familiar sound." + +"Your Highness has a current account with them in Vienna," observed +Monsieur Leroy. + +"Yes, yes, certainly. Doudou acts as my secretary sometimes, you know." + +The information seemed necessary, as Monsieur Leroy's position had been +far from clear. + +"Baron Goldbirn was associated with Cecilia's father in some railways in +South America," said the Countess, "and is her principal guardian. He +will always continue to manage her fortune for her, I hope." + +Clearly, Cecilia was an heiress, and was to marry Guido d'Este as soon +as the matter could be arranged. That was the Princess's plan. Lamberti +thought that it remained to be seen whether Guido would agree to the +match. + +"Has Baron Goldbirn made many--improvements--in the Villa Madama?" +enquired Guido, hesitating a little, perhaps intentionally. + +"Oh no!" Cecilia answered. "He lets me do as I please about such +things." + +"And what has been your pleasure?" asked Guido, with a beginning of +interest, as well as for the sake of hearing her young voice, which +contrasted pleasantly with her mother's satisfied purring and the +Princess's disagreeable tone. + +"I got the best artist I could find to restore the whole place as nearly +as possible to what it was meant to be. I am satisfied with the result. +So is my mother," she added, with an evident afterthought. + +"My daughter is very artistic," the Countess explained. + +Cecilia looked at Guido, and a faint smile illuminated her face for a +moment. Guido bent his head almost imperceptibly, as if to say that he +knew what she meant, and it seemed to Lamberti that the two already +understood each other. He rose to go, moved by an impulse he could not +resist. Guido looked at him in surprise, for he had expected his friend +to wait for him. + +"Must you go already?" asked the Princess, in a colourless tone that did +not invite Lamberti to stay. "But I suppose you are very busy when you +are in Rome. Good-bye." + +As he took his leave, his eyes met Cecilia's. It might have been only +his imagination, after all, but he felt sure that her whole expression +changed instantly to a look of deep and sincere understanding, even of +profound sympathy. + +"I hope you will come to the villa," she said gravely, and she seemed to +wait for his answer. + +"Thank you. I shall be there." + +There was a short silence, as Monsieur Leroy went with him to the door +at the other end of the long room, but Cecilia did not watch him; she +seemed to be interested in a large portrait that hung opposite the +nearest window, and which was suddenly lighted up by the glow of the +sunset. It represented a young king, standing on a step, in coronation +robes, with a vast ermine mantle spreading behind him and to one side, +and an uncomfortable-looking crown on his head; a sceptre lay on a +highly polished table at his elbow, beside an open arch, through which +the domes and spires of a city were visible. There was no particular +reason why he should be standing there, apparently alone, and in a +distinctly theatrical attitude, and the portrait was not a good picture; +but Cecilia looked at it steadily till she heard the door shut, after +Lamberti had gone out. + +"Your friend is not a very gay person," observed the Princess. "Is he +always so silent?" + +"Yes," Guido answered. "He is not very talkative." + +"Do you like silent people?" enquired Cecilia. + +"I like a woman who can talk, and a man who can hold his tongue," +replied Guido readily. + +Cecilia looked at him and smiled carelessly. The Princess rose slowly, +but she was so short, and her arm-chair was so high, that she seemed to +walk away from it without being any taller than when she had been +sitting, rather than really to get up. + +"Shall we go into the garden?" she suggested. "It is not too cold. +Doudou, my cloak!" + +Monsieur Leroy brought a pretty confusion of mouse-coloured silk and +lace, disentangled it skilfully, and held it up behind the Princess's +shoulders. It looked like a big butterfly as he spread it in the air, +and it had ribands that hung down to the floor. + +When she had put it on, the Princess led the way to a long window, which +Leroy opened, and leaning lightly on the Countess Fortiguerra's arm, she +went out into the evening light. She evidently meant to give the young +people a chance of talking together by themselves, for as soon as they +were outside she sent Monsieur Leroy away. + +"My dear Doudou!" she cried, as if suddenly remembering something, "we +have quite forgotten those invitations for to-morrow! Should you mind +writing them now, so that they can be sent before dinner?" + +Monsieur Leroy disappeared with an alacrity which suggested that the +plan had been arranged beforehand. + +"Take Mademoiselle Palladio round the garden, Guido," said the Princess. +"We will walk a little before the house till you come back. It is drier +here." + +Guido must have been dull indeed if he had not at last understood why he +had been made to come, and what was expected of him. He was annoyed, and +raised his eyebrows a little. + +"Will you come, Mademoiselle?" he asked coldly. + +"Yes," answered Cecilia in a constrained tone, for she understood as +well as Guido himself. + +Her mother was often afraid of her, and had not dared to tell her that +the whole object of their visit was that she should see Guido and be +seen by him. She thought that the Princess was really pushing matters +too hastily, considering the time-honoured traditions of Latin +etiquette, which forbid that young people should be left alone together +for a moment, even when engaged to be married. But the Countess had +great faith in the correctness of anything which such a very high-born +person as the Princess Anatolie chose to suggest, and as the latter held +her by the arm with affectionate condescension, she could not possibly +run after her daughter. + +The two moved away in silence towards the flower garden, and soon +disappeared round the corner of the house. + +"The roses are pretty," said Guido, apologetically. "My aunt likes +people to see them." + +"They are magnificent," answered Cecilia, without enthusiasm, and after +a suitable interval. + +They went on, along a narrow gravel path, and though there was really +room enough for Guido to walk by her side, he pretended that there was +not, and followed her. She was very graceful, and he would not have +thought of denying it. He even looked at her as she went before him, and +he noticed the fact; but after he had taken cognisance of it, he was +quite as indifferent as before. He no longer thought her voice pleasant, +in his resentment at finding that a trap had been laid for him. + +"You see, there are a good many kinds of roses," he observed, because it +would have been rude to say nothing at all. "They are not all in flower +yet." + +"It is only the beginning of May," the young girl answered, without +interest. + +They came to the broader walk on the other side of the plot of roses, +and Guido had to walk by her side again. + +"I like your friend," she said suddenly. + +"I am very glad," Guido replied, unbending at once and quietly looking +at her now. "People do not always like him at first sight." + +"No, I understand that. He has the look in his eyes that men get who +have killed." + +"Has he?" Guido seemed surprised. "Yes, he killed several men in Africa, +when he was alone against many, and they meant to murder him. He is +brave. Make him tell you about it, if you can induce him to talk." + +"Is that so very hard?" Cecilia laughed. "Is he really more silent than +you?" + +"Nobody ever called me silent," answered Guido, smiling. "I suppose you +thought so--stopped. + +"Because I did not know how to begin, and because you would not. Is that +what you were going to say?" + +"It is very near the truth," Guido admitted, very much amused. + +"I do not blame you," said Cecilia. "How could you suppose that a mere +girl like me could possibly have anything to say--a child that has not +even been to her first party?" + +"Perhaps I was afraid that the mere child might talk about philosophy +and Nietzsche," suggested Guido. + +"And that would be dreadful, of course! Why? Is there any reason why a +girl should not study such things? If there is, tell me. No one ever +tells me what I ought to do." + +"It is quite unnecessary, I have no doubt," Guido answered promptly, and +smiling again. + +"You mean quite useless, because I should not do it?" + +"Why should I be supposed to know that you are spoiled--if you are? +Besides, you must not take up a man every time he makes you a silly +compliment." + +"Ah, now you are telling me what I ought to do! I like that better. +Thank you!" Guido was amused. + +"Are you really grateful?" he asked, laughing a little. "Do you always +speak the truth?" + +"Yes! Do you?" She asked the question sharply, as if she meant to +surprise him. + +"I never lied to a man in my life," Guido answered. + +"But you have to women?" + +"I suppose so," said Guido, considerably diverted. "Most of us do, in +moments of enthusiasm." + +"Really! And--are you often--enthusiastic?" + +"No. Very rarely. Besides, I do not know whether it is worse in a man to +tell fibs to please a woman, than it is in a woman to disbelieve what an +honest man tells her on his word. Which is the least wrong, do you +think?" + +"But since you admit that most men do not tell the truth to women----" + +"I said, on one's word of honour. There is a difference." + +"In theory," said Cecilia. + +"Are there theories about lying?" asked Guido. + +"Oh yes," answered the young girl, without hesitation. "There is +Puffendorf's, for instance, in his book on the Law of Nature and +Nations----" + +"Good heavens!" exclaimed Guido. + +"Certainly. He makes out that there is a sort of unwritten agreement +amongst all men that words shall be used in a definite sense which +others can understand. That sounds sensible. And then, Saint Augustin, +and La Placette, and Noodt----" + +"My dear young lady, you have led me quite out of my depth! What do +those good people say?" + +"That all lying is absolutely wrong in itself, whether it harms anybody +or not." + +"And what do you think about it? That would be much more interesting to +know." + +"I told you, I always tell the truth," Cecilia answered demurely. + +"Oh yes, of course! I had forgotten." + +"And you do not believe it," laughed the young girl. "It is time to go +back to the house." + +"If you will stay a little longer, I will believe everything you tell +me." + +"No, it is late," answered Cecilia, her manner suddenly changing as the +laugh died out of her voice. + +She walked on quickly, and he kept behind her. + +"I shall certainly go to your garden party," said Guido. + +"Shall you?" + +She spoke in a tone of such utter indifference that Guido stared at her +in surprise. A moment later they had rejoined her mother and the +Princess. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + +At the beginning of the twentieth century Rome has become even more +cosmopolitan than it used to be, for the Romans themselves are turning +into cosmopolitans, and the old traditional, serious, gloomy, and +sometimes dramatic life of the patriarchal system has almost died out. +One meets Romans of historical names everywhere, nowadays, in London, in +Paris, and in Vienna, speaking English and French, and sometimes German, +with extraordinary correctness, as much at home, to all appearance, in +other capitals as they are in their own, and intimately familiar with +the ways of many societies in many places. + +Cecilia Palladio, at eighteen years of age, had probably not spent a +third of her life in Rome, and had been educated in different parts of +the world and in a variety of ways. Her father, Count Palladio, as has +been explained, had been engaged in promoting a number of undertakings, +of which several had succeeded, and at his death, which had happened +when Cecilia had been eight years old, he had left her part of his +considerable fortune in safe guardianship, leaving his wife a life +interest in the remainder. His old ally, the banker Solomon Goldbirn of +Vienna, had administered the whole inheritance with wisdom and +integrity, and at her marriage Cecilia would dispose of several millions +of francs, and would ultimately inherit as much more from her mother's +share. From a European point of view, she was therefore a notable +heiress, and even in the new world of millionnaires she would at least +have been considered tolerably well off, though by no means what is +there called rich. + +Two years after Palladio's death her mother had married Count +Fortiguerra, who had begun life in the army, then passed to diplomacy, +had risen rapidly to the post of ambassador, and had died suddenly at +Madrid when barely fifty years old, and when Cecilia was sixteen. + +The girl had a clear recollection of her own father, though she had +never been with him very much, as his occupations constantly took him to +distant parts of the world. He had seemed an old man to her, and had +indeed been much older than her mother, for he had been a patriot in the +later days of the Italian revolutions, and when still young he had been +with Garibaldi in 1860. Cecilia remembered him a tall, active, +grey-haired man with a pointed beard and big moustaches, and eyes which +she now knew had been like her own. She remembered his unbounded energy, +his patriotic and sometimes rather boastful talk, his black cigars, the +vast heap of papers that always seemed to be in hopeless confusion on +his writing table when he was at home, and the numerous +eccentric-looking people who used to come and see him. She had been told +that he was never to be disturbed, and never to be questioned, and that +he was a great man. She had loved him with all her heart when he told +her stories, and at other times she had been distinctly afraid of him. +These stories had been fairy tales to the child, but she had now +discovered that they had been history, or what passes for it. + +He had told her about King Amulius of Alba Longa, and of the twin +founders of Rome, and of all the far-off times and doings, and he had +described to her six wonderful maidens who lived in a palace in the +Forum and kept a little fire burning day and night, which he compared to +the great Roman race over whose destiny the mystic ladies were always +watching. It was only quite lately that she had heard any learned men +say in earnest some of the things which he had told her with a smile as +if he were inventing a tale to amuse her child's fancy. But what he had +said had made a deep and abiding impression, and had become a part of +her thought. She sometimes dreamed very vividly that she was again a +little girl, sitting on his knee and listening to his wonderful stories. +In other ways she had not missed him much after his death. Possibly her +mother had not missed him either; for though she spoke of him +occasionally with a sort of awe, it was never with anything like +emotion. + +Count Fortiguerra had been kind to the child, or it might be truer to +say that he had spoilt her by encouraging her without much judgment in +her insatiable thirst for knowledge, and in her unnecessary ambition to +excel in everything her fancy led her to attempt. Her mother, with a +good deal of social foolishness and a very pliable character, possessed +nevertheless a fair share of womanly intelligence, and knew by instinct +that a young girl who is very different from other girls, no matter how +clever she may be, rarely makes what people call a good marriage. + +There is probably nothing which leads a young woman to think a man a +desirable husband so much as some exceptional gift, or even some +brilliant eccentricity, which distinguishes him from other people; but +there is nothing which frightens away the average desirable husband so +much as anything of that sort in the young lady of his affections, and +every married woman knows it very well. + +The excellent Countess used to wish that her daughter would grow up more +like other girls, and in the sincere belief that a little womanly vanity +must certainly counteract a desire for super-feminine mental +cultivation, she honestly tried to interest Cecilia in such frivolities +as dress, dancing, and romantic fiction. The result was only very +partially successful. Cecilia was dressed to perfection, without seeming +to take any trouble about it, and she danced marvellously before she had +ever been to a ball; but she cared nothing for the novels she was +allowed to read, and she devoured serious books with increasing +intellectual voracity. + +Her stepfather laughed, and said that the girl was a genius and ought +not to be hampered by ordinary rules; and his wife, who had at first +feared lest he should dislike the child of her first husband, was only +too glad that he should, on the contrary, show something like paternal +infatuation for Cecilia, since no children of his own were born to him. +He was a man, too, of wide reading and experience, and having +considerable political insight into his times. Before Cecilia was eleven +years old he talked to her about serious matters, as if she had been +grown up, and often wished that the child should be at table and in the +drawing-room when men who were making history came informally to the +embassy. Cecilia had listened to their talk, and had remembered a very +large part of what she had heard, understanding more and more as she +grew up; and by far the greatest sorrow of her life had been the death +of her stepfather. + +She was a modern Italian girl, and her mother was a Roman who had been +brought up in something of the old strictness and narrowness, first in a +convent, and afterwards in a rather gloomy home under the shadow of the +most rigid parental authority. Exceptional gifts, exceptional +surroundings, and exceptional opportunities had made Cecilia Palladio an +exception to all types, and as unlike the average modern Italian young +girl as could be imagined. + +The sun had already set as the mother and daughter drove away, but it +was still broad day, and a canopy of golden clouds, floating high over +the city, reflected rosy lights through the blue shadows in the crowded +streets. The Countess Fortiguerra was pleasantly aware that every man +under seventy turned to look after her daughter, from the smart old +colonel of cavalry in his perfect uniform to the ragged and haggard +waifs who sold wax matches at the corners of the streets. She was not in +the least jealous of her, as mothers have been before now, and perhaps +she was able to enjoy vicariously what she herself had never had, but +had often wished for, the gift of nature which instantly fixes the +attention of the other sex. + +"Why did you not tell me?" asked Cecilia, after a silence that had +lasted five minutes. + +The Countess pretended not to understand, coloured a little, and tried +to look surprised. + +"Why did you not tell me that you and the Princess wish me to marry her +nephew?" + +This was direct, and an answer was necessary. The Countess laughed +soothingly. + +"Dear child!" she cried, "it is impossible to deceive you! We only +wished that you two might meet, and perhaps like each other." + +"Well," answered Cecilia, "we have met." + +The answer was not encouraging, and she did not seem inclined to say +more of her own accord, but her mother could not restrain a natural +curiosity. + +"Yes," she said, in a conciliatory tone, "but how do you like him?" + +Cecilia seemed to be hesitating for a moment. + +"Very much," she answered, unexpectedly, after the pause. + +The Countess was so much pleased that she coloured again. She had never +been able to hide what she felt, and she secretly envied people who +never blushed. + +"I am so glad!" she said. "I was sure you would like each other." + +"It does not follow that because I like him, he likes me," answered +Cecilia, quietly. "And even if he does, that is not a reason why we +should marry. I may never marry at all." + +"How can you say such things!" cried the Countess, not at all satisfied. + +Cecilia shrank a little in her corner of the deep phaeton and +instinctively drew the edges of her little silk mantle together over her +chest, as if to protect herself from something. + +"You know," she said, almost sharply. + +"I shall never understand you," her mother sighed. + +"Give me time to understand myself, mother," answered the young girl, +suddenly unbending. "I am only eighteen; I have never been into the +world, and the mere idea of marrying----" + +She stopped short, and her firm lips closed tightly. + +"No, I do not understand," said the Countess. "The thought of marriage +was never disagreeable to me, even when I was quite young. It is the +natural object of a woman's life." + +"There are exceptions, surely! There are nuns, for instance." + +"Oh, if you wish to go into a convent----" + +"I have no religious vocation," Cecilia answered gravely. "Or if I have, +it is not of that sort." + +"I am glad to hear it!" The Countess was beginning to lose her temper. +"If you thought you had, you would be quite capable of taking the veil." + +"Yes," the young girl replied. "If I wished to be a nun, and if I were +sure that I should be a good nun, I would enter a convent at once. But I +am not naturally devout, I suppose." + +"In my time," said the Countess, with emphasis, "when young girls did +not take the veil, they married." + +As an argument, this was weak and lacked logic, and Cecilia felt rather +pitiless just then. + +"There are only two possible ways of living," she said; "either by +religion, if you have any, and that is the easier, or by rule." + +"And pray what sort of rule can there be to take the place of religion?" + +"Act so that the reason for your actions may be considered a universal +law." + +"That is nonsense!" cried the Countess. + +"No," replied Cecilia, unmoved, "it is Kant's Categorical Imperative." + +"It makes no difference," retorted her mother. "It is nonsense." + +Cecilia said nothing, and her expression did not change, for she knew +that her mother could not understand her, and she was not at all sure +that she understood herself, as she had almost confessed. Seeing that +she did not answer, the excellent Countess took the opportunity of +telling her that her head had been turned by too much reading, though it +was all her poor, dear stepfather's fault, since he had filled her head +with ideas. What she meant by "ideas" was not clear, except that they +were of course dangerous in themselves and utterly subversive of social +order, and that the main purpose of all education should be to +discourage them in the young. + +"They should be left to old people," she concluded; "they have nothing +else to think of." + +Cecilia had heard very little, being absorbed in her own reflections, +but as her mother often spoke in the same way, the general drift of what +she had said was unmistakable. The two were very unlike, but they were +not unloving. In her heart the Countess took the most unbounded pride in +her only child's beauty and cleverness, except when the latter opposed +itself to her social inclinations and ambitions; and the young girl +really loved her mother when not irritated by some speech or action that +offended her taste. That her mother should not always understand her +seemed quite natural. + +They had almost reached their door, the great pillared porch of the +mysterious Palazzo Massimo, in which they had an apartment, for they did +not live in the villa where the garden party was to be given. Cecilia's +gloved hand went out quietly to the Countess's and gently pressed it. + +"Let me think my own thoughts, mother," she said; "they shall never hurt +you." + +"Yes, dear, of course," answered the elder woman meekly, her little +burst of temper having already subsided. + +Cecilia left her early that evening and went to her own room to be +alone. It was not that she was tired, nor painfully affected by a +strange sensation she had felt during the afternoon; but she realised +that she had reached the end of the first stage in life, and that +another was going to begin, and it was part of her nature to seek for a +complete understanding of everything in her existence. It seemed to her +unworthy of a thinking being to act or to feel, without clearly defining +the cause of every feeling and action. Youth dreams of an impossible +completeness in carrying out its self-set rules of perfection, and is +swayed and stunned, and often paralysed, when they are broken to pieces +by rebellious human nature. + +The room was very large and dim, for Cecilia had put out the electric +light, and had lit two big wax candles, of the sort that are burned in +churches. The blinds and shutters of the windows were open, and the +moonlight fell in two broad floods upon the pale carpet, half across the +floor. The white bed with its high canopy of lace looked ghostly against +the furthest wall, like a marble sepulchre under a mist. The light blue +damask on the walls was dark in the gloom, and there was not much +furniture to break the long surfaces. The dusky air was cool and pure, +for Cecilia detested perfumes of all sorts. + +She sat motionless in a high carved seat, just in the moonlight, one +hand upon an arm of the chair, the other on her breast. She had gathered +her hair into a knot, low at the back of her head, and the folds of a +soft white robe just followed the outlines of her figure. The table on +which the candles stood was a little behind her, and away from the +window, and the still yellow light only touched her hair in one or two +places, sending back dull golden reflections. + +The strange young face was very quiet, and even the lids rarely moved as +she steadily stared into the shadow. There was no look of thought, nor +any visible effort of concentration in her features; there was rather an +air of patient waiting, of perfect readiness to receive whatever should +come to her out of the depths. So, a beautiful marble face on a tomb +gazes into the shadows of a dim church, and gazes on, and waits, neither +growing nor changing, neither satisfied nor disappointed, but calm and +enduring, as if expecting the resurrection of the dead and the life of +the world to come. But for the rare drooping of the lids, that rested +her sight, the girl would have seemed to be in a trance; she was in a +state of almost perfect contemplation that approached to perfect +happiness, since she was hardly conscious that her strongest wishes were +still unsatisfied. + +She had been in the same state before now--last week, last month, last +year, and again and again, as it seemed to her, very long ago; so long, +that the time seemed like ages, and the intervals like centuries, until +it all disappeared altogether in the immeasurable, and the past, the +present, and the future were around her at once, unbroken, always +ending, yet always beginning again. In the midst floated the soul, the +self, the undying individuality, a light that shot out long rays, like a +star, towards the ever present moments in an ever recurring life of +which she had been, and was, and was to be, most keenly conscious. + +So far, the truth, perhaps; the truth, guessed by the mystics of all +ages, sometimes hidden in secret writings, sometimes proclaimed to the +light in symbols too plain to be understood, now veiled in the reasoned +propositions of philosophers, now sung in sublime verse by inspired +seers; present, as truth always is, to the few, misunderstood, as all +truths are, by the many. + +But beside the truth, and outshining it, came the illusion, clear and +bright, and appealing to the heart with the music of all the changes +that are illusion's life. Sitting very still in the moonlight, Cecilia +saw pictures in the shadow, and herself walking in the mazes of many +dreams; and she watched them, till even her eyelids no longer drooped +from time to time, and her breathing ceased to stir the folds of white +upon her bosom. + +Even then, she knew that she herself was not dreaming, but was calling +up dreams which she saw, which could be nothing but visions after all, +and would end in a darkness beyond which she could see nothing, and in +which she would feel real physical pain, that would be almost +unbearable, though she knew that she would gladly bear it again and +again, for the sake of again seeing the phantasms of herself drawn in +mystic light upon the shadow. + +They came and followed one upon another, like days of life. There was +the beautiful marble court with its deep portico, its pillars, and its +overhanging upper story, all gleaming in the low morning sun; she could +hear the water softly laughing its way through the square marble-edged +basins, level with the ground, she could smell the spring violets that +grew in the neatly trimmed borders, she knew the faces of the statues +that stood between the columns, and smiled at her. She knew herself, +young, golden-haired, all in white, a little pale from the night's vigil +before the eternal fire, just entering the court as she came back from +the temple, and then standing quite still for a moment, facing the +morning sun and drinking in long draughts of the sweet spring air. From +far above, the matin song of birds came down out of the gardens of +Caesar's palace, and high over the court the sounds of the Forum began to +ring and echo, as they did all day and half the night. + +It was herself, her very self, that was there, resting one hand upon a +fluted column and looking upwards, her eyes, her face, her figure, real +and unchanged after ages, as they were hers now; and in her look there +was the infinite longing, the readiness to receive, which she felt still +and must feel always, to the end of time. + +Now, the dream would move on, slowly and full of details. The lithe +dream figure would rest in the small white room at the upper end of the +court, and resting, would dream dreams within that dream; and, looking +on, she herself would know what they were. They would be full of a deep +desire to be free for ever from earth and body and life, joined for all +eternity with something pure and high that could not be seen, but of +which her soul was a part, mingled with the changing things for a time, +but to be withdrawn from them again, maiden and spotless as it had come +amongst them, a true and perfect Vestal. + +The precious treasures in the secret places of the little temple would +pass away, the rudely carved wooden image of Pallas would crumble to +dust, the shields that had come down from heaven would fall to pieces in +green corrosion, the sacred vessels would be broken or come to a base +use, the fire would go out and Vesta's hearth would be cold for ever. + +At the mere thought, the sleeping face in the vision would tremble and +grow pale for a moment, but soon would smile again, for the fire had +been faithfully tended all the night long. + +But it would all pass away, even the place, even Rome herself, and in +the sphere of divine joy the sleeper would forget even to dream, and +would be quite at rest, until the mid-hour of day, when a companion +would come softly to the door and wake her with gentle words and kindly +touch, to join the other Vestals at the thrice-purified table in the +cool hall. + +So the warm hours would pass, and later, if she chose, the holy maiden +might go out into the city, whithersoever she would, borne in a high, +open litter by many slaves, with a stern lictor walking before her, and +the people would fall back on either side. If she chanced to meet one of +the Praetors, or even the Consul himself, their guards would salute her +as no sovereign would be saluted in Rome; and should she see some +wretched thieving slave being led to death on the cross upon the +Esquiline, her slightest word could reverse all his condemnation, and +blot out all his crimes. For she was sacred to the Goddess, and above +Consuls and Praetors and judges. But none of those things would touch her +heart nor please her vanity, for all her pure young soul was bent on +freedom from this earth, divine and eternal, as the end of a sinless +life. + +The eyes in the dream, the eyes of the girl who stood by the column, +drinking the morning air, had never met the eyes of a man with the wish +that a glance might linger to a look. But she who watched the dream knew +that the time was at hand, and that the dark cloud of fear was already +gathering which was to darken her sun and break by and by in an unknown +fear. She knew it, she, the waking Cecilia Palladio; but the other +Cecilia, the Vestal of long ago, guessed nothing of the future, and +stood there breathing softly, already refreshed after the night's +watching. It would all happen, as it always happened, little by little, +detail after detail, till the dreaded moment. + +But it did not. The dream changed. Instead of crossing the marble court, +and lingering a moment by the water, the Vestal stood by the column, +against the background of shade cast by the portico. She was listening +now, she was expecting some one, she was glancing anxiously about as if +to see whether any one were there; but she was alone. + +Then it came, in the shadow behind her, the face of a man, moving +nearer--a rugged Roman head, with deep-set, bold blue eye, big brows, a +great jaw, reddish hair. It came nearer, and the girl knew it was +coming. In an instant more, she would spring forward across the court, +crying out for protection. + +No, she did not move till the man was close to her, looking over her +shoulder, whispering in her ear. Cecilia saw it all, and it was so real +that she tried to call out, to shriek, to make any sound that could save +her image from destruction, for the kiss that was coming would be death +to both, and death with unutterable shame and pain. But her voice was +gone, and her lips were frozen. She sat paralysed with a horror she had +never known before, while the face of the phantom girl blushed softly, +and turned to the strong man, and the two gazed into each other's eyes a +moment, knowing that they loved. + +She felt that it was her other self, and that she had the will to +resist, even then, and that the will must still be supreme over the +illusion. Never, it seemed to her, had she made such a supreme effort, +never had she felt such power concentrated in her strong determination, +never in all her life had she been so sure of the result when she had +willed anything with all her might. Every fibre of her being, every +nerve in her body, every throbbing cell of her brain was strained to +breaking. The two faces were quite close, the longing lips had almost +met--nothing could hinder, nothing could save; the phantasms did not +know that she was watching them. + +Suddenly something changed. She no longer saw herself in a vision, she +was herself there, somewhere, in the dark, in the light--she did not +know--and there was no will, nor thought, nor straining resistance any +more, for Lamberto Lamberti held her in his arms, her, Cecilia Palladio, +her very living self, and his lips were upon hers, and she loved him +beyond death, or life, or fear, or torment. Surely she was dying then, +for the darkness was whirling with her, spinning itself into myriads of +circles of fiery stars, tearing her over the brink of the world to +eternity beyond. + +One second more and it must have ended so. Instead, she was leaning back +in her chair, between the moonlight and the steadily burning candles, in +her own room, alone. From head to foot she trembled, and now and then +drew a short and gasping breath. Her parted lips were moist and very +cold. She touched them, and they felt like flowers at night, wet with +dew. She pushed the hair from her forehead, and her brow was strangely +damp. + +She sprang to her feet with a cry of terror, and stared at the door, for +she was quite sure that she had heard it close softly. It was a heavy +door, that turned noiselessly on its hinges and fitted perfectly, and +she knew the soft click of the well-made French lock when the spring +quietly pushed the bevelled latch-bolt into the socket. In an instant +she had crossed the room and had turned the handle to draw it in. But +the door was locked, beyond all doubt--she had turned the key before she +had sat down in the chair. She felt intensely cold, and an icy wave +seemed to lift her hair from her forehead. Her hand instinctively found +the white button, close beside the door-frame, which controlled all the +electric lamps, and pushed it in, and the room was flooded with light. +She must have imagined that she had heard the sound that had frightened +her. + +Half dazed, she moved slowly to the windows, and closed the inner +shutters, one by one, shutting out the cold moonlight, then stood by the +chair a moment, looked at it, and glanced in the direction whence the +vision had come to her out of the shadow. + +She did not know how it happened, but presently she was lying on her +bed, her face buried in the pillows, and she was tearing her heart out +in a tearless storm of shame and self-contempt. + +What right had that man whom she had so often seen in her dreams to be +alive in the real world, walking among other men, recognising her, as +she had felt that he did that very afternoon? What right had he to come +to her again in the vision and to change it all, to take her in his +violent arms and kiss her on the mouth, and burn the mark of shame into +her soul, and fill her with a pleasure more horrible than any pain? Was +this the end of all her girlish meditation, of the Vestal's longing for +higher things, of the mystic's perfect way? A man's brutal kiss not even +resisted? Was that all? It could not have been worse if on that same day +she had been alone with him in the garden, instead of with Guido d'Este, +and if he had suddenly put his arms round her, and if she had not even +turned her face from his. + +It was only a dream. Yes, to-morrow she would awake, if she slept at +all, and the sunshine would be streaming in where the moonlight had +shone, and it would only be a dream, past and to be forgotten. Perhaps. +But what were dreams, then? She had not been asleep, she was quite sure. +There was not even that poor excuse. The man's phantasm had come to her +awake. + +And Lamberto Lamberti was nothing to her. Beyond the startling +recognition of a face long familiar, but never seen among the living, he +was to her a man she had met but once, and did not wish to meet again. +She had been aware of his presence near her at the Princess's, and when +he had gone away she had looked at him once more with a sort of wonder; +but she had felt nothing else, she had not touched his hand, the thought +that he would ever dare to seize her roughly in his arms brought burning +blushes to her cheek and outraged all her maiden senses. She had never +seen any man whom she could suffer to touch her; her whole nature +revolted at the thought. Yet, just now, there had been neither revolt +nor resistance; she felt that she had been herself, awake, alive, and +consenting to an unknown but frightfully real contamination, from which +her soul could never again be wholly clean. + +The storm subsided, and sullen waves of self-contempt swelled and sank, +as if to overwhelm her drowning soul. She understood at last the +ascetic's wrath against the mortal body and his irresistible craving for +bodily pain. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + +Very early in the morning Cecilia fell into a dreamless sleep at last, +and awoke, unrefreshed, after nine o'clock. She felt very tired and +listless as she opened the window a little and let in the light and air, +with the sounds of the busy thoroughfare below. The weather was suddenly +much warmer, and her head was heavy. + +It had all been a dream, no doubt, and was gone where dreams go; but it +had been like a fight, out of which she had come alive by a miracle, +bruised and wounded, and offended in her whole being. Never again would +she sit alone at night and look for her image in the shadow, since such +things could come of playing with visions; and she trusted that she +might never again set eyes upon Lamberto Lamberti. She was alone, but at +the thought of meeting him she blushed and bit her lip angrily. How was +it possible that he should know what she had dreamt? For years, in that +dream of the Vestal, a being had played a part, a being too like him in +face to be another man, but who had loved her as a goddess, and whom she +had loved for his matchless bravery and his glorious strength over +himself. It was a long story, that had gradually grown clear in every +detail, that had gone far beyond death to a spiritual life in a place of +light, though it had always ended in something vaguely fearful that +brought her back to the world, and to her present living self, to begin +again. She could not go over it now, but she was conscious, and to her +shame, that the spell of perfect happiness had always been broken at +last by the taint of earthly longing and regret that crept up stealthily +from the world below, an evil mist, laden with poison and fever and +mortality. + +That change had been undefined, though it had been horrible and +irresistible; it had been evil, but it had not been brutal, and it had +thrilled her with the certainty of passion and pain to come, realising +neither while dreading and loving both. + +She had read the writings of men who believe that by long meditation and +practised intention the real self of man or woman can be separated from +all that darkens it, though not easily, because it is bound up with +fragments, as it were, of the selves of others, with all the +inheritances of a hundred generations of good and bad, with sleeping +instincts and passions any of which may suddenly spring up and overwhelm +the rest. She had also read that the real self, when found at last, +might be far better and purer than the mixed self of every day, which +each of us knows and counts upon; but that it might also be much worse, +much coarser, much more violent, when freed from every other influence, +and that coming upon it unawares and unprepared, men had lost their +reason altogether beyond recovery. + +She asked herself now whether this was what had happened to her, and no +answer came; there was only the very weary blank of a great uncertainty, +in which anything might be, or in which there might be nothing; and +then, there was the vivid burning fear of meeting Lamberto Lamberti face +to face. That was by far the strongest and most clearly defined of her +sensations. + +If the Princess Anatolie could have known what Cecilia felt that +morning, she would have been exceedingly well pleased, and Cecilia's own +mother would have considered that this was a case in which the powers of +evil had been permitted to work for the accomplishment of a good end. +Nothing could have distressed the excellent Countess more than that her +daughter should accidentally fall in love with Lamberti, who was a +younger son in a numerous family, with no prospects beyond those offered +by his profession. Nothing could have interfered more directly with the +Princess's sensible intentions for her nephew. Perhaps nothing could +have caused greater surprise to Lamberti himself. On the other hand, +Guido d'Este would have been glad, but not surprised. He rarely was. + +In the course of the day he left a card at the Palazzo Massimo for the +Countess Fortiguerra, and as he turned away he regretted that he could +not ask for her, and see her, and possibly see her daughter also. That +was evidently out of the question as yet, according to his social laws, +but his regret was real. It was long since any woman's face had left him +more than a vague impression of good looks, or dulness, but he had +thought a good deal about Cecilia Palladio since he had met her, and he +knew that he wished to talk with her again, however much he might resent +the idea that he was meant to marry her. She was the first young girl he +had ever known who had not bored him with platitudes or made +conversation impossible by obstinate silence. + +It was true that he had not talked with her much, and at first it had +seemed hard to talk at all, but the ice had been broken suddenly, and +for a few minutes he had found it easy. As for the chilling coldness of +her last words, he could account for that easily enough. Like himself, +she had seen that a marriage had been planned for her without her +knowledge, and, like him, she had resented the trap. For a while she had +forgotten, as he had done, but had remembered suddenly when they were +about to part. She had meant to show him plainly that she had not had +any voice in the matter, and he liked her the better for it, now that he +understood her meaning. + +She was like the Psyche, he thought, and it occurred to him that he +could buy a cast of the statue. He had always thought it beautiful. He +strolled through narrow streets in the late afternoon till he came to +the shop of a dealer in casts, of whom he had once bought something, and +he went in. The man had what he wanted, and he examined it carefully. + +She was not like the Psyche after all, and the crude white plaster +shocked his taste for the first time. If the marble original had been in +Rome, instead of in Naples, he could have gone to see it. He left the +shop disappointed, and walked slowly towards the Farnese palace. The day +seemed endless, and there was no particular reason why all days should +not seem as long. There was nothing to do; nothing amused him, and +nobody asked anything of him. It would be very strange and pleasant to +be of use in the world. + +He went home and sat down by the open window that looked across the +Tiber. The wide room was flooded with the evening light, and warm with +much colour that lingered and floated about beautiful objects here and +there. It was not a very luxuriously furnished room, but it was not the +habitation of an ascetic or puritanical man either. Guido cared more for +rare engravings and etchings than for pictures, and a few very fine +framed prints stood on the big writing table; there was Duerer's +Melancholia, and the Saint Jerome, and the Little White Horse, and the +small Saint Anthony, and Rembrandt's Three Trees, all by itself, as the +most wonderful etching in the world deserved to be; and here and there, +about the room, were a few good engravings by Martin Schoengauer, and by +Mantegna, and by Marcantonio Raimondi. The bold, careless, effective +drawing of the Italian engravers contrasted strongly with the profoundly +conscientious work of Schoengauer and Lucas van Leyden, and revealed at a +glance the incomparable mastery of Duerer's dry point and Rembrandt's +etching needle, the deep conviction of the German, and the inexhaustible +richness of the Dutchman's imagination. + +A picture hung over the fireplace, the picture of a woman, at half +length and a little smaller than life, holding in exquisite hands a +small covered vessel of silver encrusted with gold, and gazing out into +the warm light with the gentlest hazel eyes. A veil of olive green +covered her head, but the fair hair found its way out, tresses and +ringlets, on each side of the face. The woman was perhaps a Magdalen, +not like any other Magdalen in all the paintings of the world, and more +the great lady of the castle of Magdalon, she of the Golden Legend. When +Andrea del Sarto painted that face, he meant something that he never +told, and it pleased Guido d'Este to try and guess the secret. As he +glanced at the canvas, glowing in the rich light, it struck him that +perhaps Cecilia Palladio was more like the woman in the picture than she +was like the Psyche. Then he almost laughed, and turned away, for he +realised that he was thinking of the girl continually, and saw her face +everywhere. + +He turned away impatiently, in spite of the smile. He was annoyed by the +attraction he felt towards Cecilia, because the thought of marrying an +heiress, in order that his aunt might recover money she had literally +thrown away, was grossly repulsive; and also, no doubt, because he was +not docile, though he was good-natured, and he hated to have anything in +his life planned for him by others. He was still less pleased now that +he found himself searching for reasons which should justify him in +marrying Cecilia in spite of all this. Nothing irritates a man more than +his own inborn inconsistency, whereas he enjoys diabolical satisfaction +in convicting any woman of the same fault. + +After all, said his Inclination, as if coolly arguing the case, if poor +men were only to marry poor girls, and rich men rich ones, something +unnatural would happen to the distribution of wealth, which was +undesirable for the future of society. Of course, a rich man might marry +a poor girl if he chose. That was done, and the men who did it got an +extraordinary amount of credit for being disinterested, unless they were +laughed at for falling in love with a pretty face. If anything could +prove the hopeless inequality of woman with man, it would be that! No +one thought much the worse of a penniless girl who married for money, +whereas a starving dandy who did the same thing immediately became an +object of derision. + +But then, added the Inclination, with subtlety, the opinions of society +were entirely manufactured by women for their own advantage, and that +was an excellent reason for not caring what society thought. The +all-powerful, impersonal "they," of whom we only know what "they say," +what "they wear," and what "they pretend," are feminine and plural; they +rule all that region of the world within which women do not work with +their hands, and are therefore at full liberty to exercise those gifts +of intelligence which it has pleased Providence to bestow upon them so +plentifully. They do so to some purpose. + +Surely, argued Inclination, it was not very dignified of Guido to care +much, and to care beforehand, for the opinions of a pack of women, +supposing that he should come to like Cecilia enough to wish to marry +her for her own sake. And besides, though he was poor, he was not +uncomfortably so. Poverty meant not having horses and carriages, nor a +yacht, and living in bachelor's rooms, and not giving dinner parties, +and not playing cards, and not giving every woman whatever she fancied, +if it happened to be a pearl or a pigeon's blood ruby. That was poverty, +of course, but it was relative. + +If his aunt did not drive him to blow out his brains in a fit of +impatience, there was no reason why Guido should not go on living, as he +lived now, to the far end of a long and sufficiently well-fed life. And +if he married Cecilia and her fortune, it would certainly not be because +he wished to give other women rubies and pearls, nor for the sake of +keeping a couple of hunters, two or three carriages, and a coach; still +less, because he could ever wish to lose money again at baccara, or +poker, or bridge. He had done all those things, and they had not amused +him long. If he ever married Cecilia, it would be because he fell in +love with her, which, thank goodness, had not happened yet. Inclination +was quite sure of that, but was willing to admit the possibility in the +future, merely for the sake of argument. + +Before it was time to dress for dinner that evening, Guido received a +long letter from his aunt, written with her own hand, which probably +meant that Monsieur Leroy knew little or nothing of its contents. Guido +glanced at the pages, one after another, and saw that the whole letter +was in the writer's most affectionate manner. Then he read it carefully. +It had been so kind of him to be civil to her friends on the previous +day, said the Princess. He reminded her of his poor father, her dear +brother, who, in all his many misfortunes, had never once lost his +beautiful affability of temper and unfailing courtesy to every one about +him. + +This was very pretty, but Guido had heard that his father's beautiful +affability had sometimes been ruffled so far as to allow a certain +harmless violence, such as hurling a light chair at the head of a +faithful courtier and friend who gave him advice that was too good to be +taken, or summarily boxing the ears of his son and heir when the latter +was already over thirty years old. + +Guido sometimes wondered why he had not inherited some of that very +unroyal temper, which must have been such a thoroughly satisfactory +relief to the ex-king's feelings. He never felt the least desire to +dance with rage and throw the furniture about the room. + +His aunt's letter was evidently meant to please him and flatter his +vanity, and she did not once refer to matters of business. She asked his +opinion about a new novel he had not read yet, and had he thought of +leaving a card on the Countess Fortiguerra? She lived in the Palazzo +Massimo. What a strange girl the daughter was, to be sure! so very +unlike other girls that it was almost disquieting to talk with her. Of +course there was nothing real behind all that superficial talk about +lectures at the Sorbonne, and Nietzsche, and all that. Everybody +pretended to have read Nietzsche nowadays, and after all the girl might +be quite sensible. One could not help wondering what she would make of +her life, with her handsome fortune, and her odd ideas, and no one to +look after her except that dear, gentle, sweet-tempered, foolish mother, +who was in perpetual adoration before her! It would be a brave man who +would marry such a girl, the Princess wrote, in spite of her money; but +there was this to be said, he would not have any trouble with his +mother-in-law. + +Subtle, very subtle of the Princess, who left the subject there and +ended her letter by asking a favour of Guido. It was indeed only for the +sake of asking it, she explained, that she was writing to him at all. +Would he allow a great friend of hers to see his Andrea del Sarto? It +was the celebrated art critic, Doctor Baumgarten, of whom he had heard. +Leroy would bring him the next morning about ten o'clock, if Guido had +no objection. He need not answer; he must not take any trouble about the +matter. If he had an engagement at ten, perhaps he would leave orders +that the Doctor should be allowed to see the picture. + +Guido did not think at once of any good reason for refusing such a +request. He was very fond of his Andrea del Sarto; indeed, he liked it +much better than a small Raphael of undoubted authenticity which was +hung in another part of the room. The German critic was quite welcome to +see both, and perhaps knew something about prints which might be worth +learning. He was probably writing a book. Germans were always writing +books. Guido wrote a line to thank his aunt for her letter, and to say +that her friend would be welcome at the appointed hour. + +He was sealing the note when the door opened and Lamberto Lamberti came +in. + +"Will you come and dine with me?" he asked, standing still before the +writing table. + +"Let us dine here," answered Guido, without looking up, and examining +the little seal he had made on the envelope. "I daresay there is +something to eat." He held out the note to his servant, who stood in the +open doorway. "Send this at once," he said. + +"Yes," said Lamberti, answering the invitation. "I do not care whether +there is anything to eat or not, and it is always quiet here." + +"What is the matter?" asked Guido, looking at him attentively for the +first time since he had entered. "Yes," he added to his man, "Signor +Lamberti will dine with me." + +The servant disappeared and shut the door. Guido repeated his question, +but Lamberti only shook his head carelessly and relit his half-smoked +cigar. Guido watched him. He was less red than usual, and his eyes +glittered in the light of the wax match. His voice had sounded sharp and +metallic, as Guido had never heard it before. + +When two men are intimate friends and really trust each other they do +not overwhelm one another with questions. Each knows that each will +speak when he is ready, or needs help or sympathy. + +"I have just been answering a very balmy letter from my aunt," Guido +said, rising from the table. "Sweeter than honey in the honeycomb! Read +it. It has a distinctly literary and biographical turn. The allusion to +my father's gentle disposition is touching." + +Lamberti looked through the letter carelessly, dropped it on the table, +and sucked hard at his cigar. + +"What did you expect?" he asked, between two puffs. "For the present you +are the apple of her eye. She will handle you as tenderly as a new-laid +egg, until she gets what she wants!" + +Lamberti's similes lacked sequence, but not character. + +"The Romans," observed Guido, "began with the egg and ended with the +apple. I have an idea that we are going to do the same thing at dinner, +and that there will be nothing between. But we can smoke between the +courses." + +"Yes," answered Lamberti, who had not heard a word. "I daresay." + +Guido looked at him again, rather furtively. Lamberti never drank and +had iron nerves, but he was visibly disturbed. He was what people +vaguely call "not quite himself." + +Guido went to the door of his bedroom. + +"Where are you going?" asked Lamberti, sharply. + +"I am going to wash my hands before dinner," Guido answered with a +smile. "Do you want to wash yours?" + +"No, thank you. I have just dressed." + +He turned his back and went to the open window as Guido left the room. +In a few seconds his cigar had gone out again, and he was leaning on the +sill with both hands, staring at the twilight sky in the west. The +colours had all faded away to the almost neutral tint of straw-tempered +steel. + +The outline of the Janiculum stood out sharp and black in an uneven +line. Below, there were the scattered lights of Trastevere, the flowing +river, and the silence of the deserted Via Giulia. Lamberti looked +steadily out, biting his extinguished cigar, and his features contracted +as if he were in pain. + +He had come to his friend instinctively, as his friend would have come +to him, meaning to tell him what had happened. But he hesitated. +Besides, it might all have been only his imagination; in part it could +have been nothing else, and the rest was a mere coincidence. But he had +never been an imaginative man, and it was strange that he should be so +much affected by a mere illusion. + +He started and turned suddenly, sure that some one was close behind him. +But there was no one, and a moment later Guido came back. Anxious not to +annoy his friend by anything like curiosity, he made a pretence of +setting his writing table in order, turned one of the lamps down a +little--he hated electric light--and then looked at the picture over the +fireplace. + +"Did you ever hear of that Baumgarten, the German art critic?" he asked, +without turning round. + +"Baumgarten--let me see! I fancy I have seen the name to-day." Lamberti +tried to concentrate his attention. + +"You just read it in my aunt's letter," Guido answered. "You +remember--she asks if he may come to-morrow. I wonder why." + +"To value your property, of course," replied Lamberti, roughly. + +"Do you think so?" Guido did not seem at all surprised. "I daresay. She +is quite capable of it. She is welcome to everything I possess if she +will only leave me in peace. But just now, when she has evidently made +up her mind to marry me to this new heiress, it does not seem likely +that she would take trouble to find out what my pictures are worth, does +it?" + +"It all depends on what she thinks of the chances that you will marry or +not." + +"What do you think of them, yourself?" asked Guido, idly. + +He was glad of anything to talk about while Lamberti was in his present +mood. + +"What a question!" exclaimed the latter. "How should I know whether you +are going to fall in love with the girl or not?" + +"I am half afraid I am," said Guido, thoughtfully. + +His man announced dinner, and the two friends crossed the hall to the +little dining room, and sat down under the soft light of the +old-fashioned olive-oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. Everything on +the table was old, worn, and spotless. The silver was all of the style +of the first Empire, with an interlaced monogram surmounted by a royal +crown. The same device was painted in gold in the middle of the plain +white plates, which were more or less chipped at the edges. The glasses +and decanters were of that heavy cut glass, ornamented with gold lines, +which used to be made in Venice in the eighteenth century. Some of them +were chipped, too, like the plates. It had never occurred to Guido to +put the whole service away as a somewhat valuable collection, though he +sometimes thought that it was growing shabby. But he liked the old +things which had come to him from the ex-king, part of the furniture of +a small shooting box that had been left to him, and which he had sold to +an Austrian Archduke. + +Lamberti took a little soup and swallowed half a glass of white wine. + +"I had an odd dream last night," he said, "and I have had a little +adventure to-day. I will tell you by-and-by." + +"Just as you like," Guido answered. "I hope the adventure was not an +accident--you look as if you had been badly shaken." + +"Yes. I did not know that I could be so nervous. You see, I do not often +dream. I generally go to sleep when I lay my head upon the pillow and +wake when I have slept seven hours. At sea, I always have to be called +when it is my watch. Yes, I have solid nerves. But last night----" + +He stopped, as the man entered, bringing a dish. + +"Well?" enquired Guido, who did not suppose that Lamberti could have any +reason for not telling his dream in the presence of the servant. + +Lamberti hesitated a moment, and helped himself before he answered. + +"Do you believe in dreams?" he asked. + +"What do you mean? Do I believe that dreams come true? No. When they do, +it is a coincidence." + +"Yes. I suppose so. But this is rather more than a coincidence. I do not +understand it at all. After all, I am a perfectly healthy man. It never +occurred to you that my mind might be unbalanced, did it?" + +Guido looked at the rugged Roman head, the muscular throat, the broad +shoulders. + +"No," he answered. "It certainly never occurred to me." + +"Nor to me either," said Lamberti, and he ate slowly and thoughtfully. + +"My friend," observed Guido, "you are just a little enigmatical this +evening." + +"Not at all, not at all! I tell you that my nerves are good. You know +something about archaeology, do you not?" + +The apparently irrelevant question came after a short pause. + +"Not much," Guido answered, supposing that Lamberti wished to change the +subject on account of the servant. "What do you want to know?" + +"Nothing," said Lamberti. "The question is, whether what I dreamt last +night was all imagination or whether it was a memory of something I once +knew and had forgotten." + +"What did you dream?" Guido sipped his wine and leaned back to listen, +hoping that his friend was going to speak out at last. + +"Was the temple of Vesta in the Forum?" enquired Lamberti. + +"Certainly." + +"But why did they always say that it was the round one in front of Santa +Maria in Cosmedin? I have an old bronze inkstand that is a model of it. +My mother used to tell me it was the temple of Vesta." + +"People thought it was--thirty years ago. There is nothing left of the +temple but the round mass of masonry on which it stood. It is between +the Fountain of Juturna and the house of the Vestals. I have Signor +Boni's plans of it. Should you like to see them?" + +"Yes--presently," answered Lamberti, with more eagerness than Guido had +expected. "Is there anything like a reconstruction of the temple or of +the house--a picture of one, I mean?" + +"I think so," said Guido. "I am sure there is Baldassare Peruzzi's +sketch of the temple, as it was in his day." + +"I dreamt that I saw it last night, the temple and the house, and all +the Forum besides, and not in ruins either, but just as everything was +in old times. Could the Vestals' house have had an upper story? Is that +possible?" + +"The archaeologists are sure that it had," answered Guido, becoming more +interested. "Do you mean to say that you dreamt you saw it with an upper +story?" + +"Yes. And the temple was something like the one they used to call +Vesta's, only it was more ornamented, and the columns seemed very near +together. The round wall, just within the columns, was decorated with +curious designs in low relief--something like a wheel, and scallops, and +curved lines. It is hard to describe, but I can see it all now." + +Guido rose from his seat quickly. + +"I will get the number that has the drawing in it," he said, explaining. + +During the few moments that passed while he was out of the room Lamberti +sat staring at his empty place as fixedly as he had stared at the dark +line of the Janiculum a few minutes earlier. The man-servant, who had +been with him at sea, watched him with a sort of grave sympathy that is +peculiarly Italian. Then, as if an idea of great value had struck him, +he changed Lamberti's plate, poured some red wine into the tumbler, and +filled it up with water. Then he retired and watched to see whether his +old master would drink. But Lamberti did not move. + +"Here it is," said Guido, entering the room with a large yellow-covered +pamphlet open in his hands. "Was it like this?" + +As he asked the question he laid the pamphlet on the clean plate before +his friend. The pages were opened at Baldassare Peruzzi's rough +pen-and-ink sketch of the temple of Vesta; and as Lamberti looked at it, +his lids slowly contracted, and his features took an expression of +mingled curiosity and interest. + +"The man who drew that had seen what I saw," he said at last. "Did he +draw it from some description?" + +"He drew it on the spot," answered Guido. "The temple was standing then. +But as for your dream, it is quite possible that you may have seen this +same drawing in a shop window at Spithoever's or Loescher's, for +instance, without noticing it, and that the picture seemed quite new to +you when you dreamt it. That is a simple explanation." + +"Very," said Lamberti. "But I saw the whole Forum." + +"There are big engravings of imaginary reconstructions of the Forum, in +the booksellers' windows." + +"With the people walking about? The two young priests standing in the +morning sun on the steps of the temple of Castor and Pollux? The dirty +market woman trudging past the corner of the Vestals' house with a +basket of vegetables on her head? The door slave sweeping the threshold +of the Regia with a green broom?" + +"I thought you knew nothing about the Forum," said Guido, curiously. +"How do you come to know of the Regia?" + +"Did I say Regia? I daresay--the name came to my lips." + +"Somebody has hypnotised you," said Guido. "You are repeating things you +have heard in your sleep." + +"No. I am describing things I saw in my sleep. Am I the sort of man who +is easily hypnotised? I have let men try it once or twice. We were all +interested in hypnotism on my last ship, and the surgeon made some +curious experiments with a lad who went to sleep easily. But last night +I was at home, alone, in my own room, in bed, and I dreamt." + +Guido shrugged his shoulders a little indifferently. + +"There must be some explanation," he said. "What else did you dream?" + +Lamberti's lids drooped as if he were concentrating his attention on the +remembered vision. + +"I dreamt," he said, "that I saw a veiled woman in white come out of the +temple door straight into the sunlight, and though I could not see the +face, I knew who she was. She went down the steps and then up the others +to the house of the Vestals, and entered in without looking back. I +followed her. The door was open, and there was no one to stop me." + +"That is very improbable," observed Guido. "There must have always been +a slave at the door." + +"I went in," continued Lamberti without heeding the interruption, "and +she was standing beside one of the pillars, a little way from the door. +She had one hand on the column, and she was facing the sun; her veil was +thrown back and the light shone through her hair. I came nearer, very +softly. She knew that I was there and was not afraid. When I was close +to her she turned her face to mine. Then I took her in my arms and +kissed her, and she did not resist." + +Guido smiled gravely. + +"And she turned out to be some one you know in real life, I suppose," he +said. + +"Yes," answered Lamberti. "Some one I know--slightly." + +"Beautiful, of course. Fair or dark?" + +"You need not try to guess," Lamberti said. "I shall not tell you. My +head went round, and I woke." + +"Very well. But is it this absurd dream that has made you so nervous?" + +"No. Something happened to me to-day." + +Lamberti ate a few mouthfuls in silence, before he went on. + +"I daresay I might have invented some explanation of the dream," he said +at last. "But it only made me want to see the place. I never cared for +those things, you know. I had never gone down into the Forum in my +life--why should I? I went there this morning." + +"And you could not find anything of what you had seen, of course." + +"I took one of those guides who hang about the entrance waiting for +foreigners. He showed me where the temple had been, and the house, and +the temple of Castor and Pollux. I did not believe him implicitly, but +the ruins were in the right places. Then I walked up a bridge of boards +to the house of the Vestals, and went in." + +"But there was no lady." + +"On the contrary," said Lamberti, and his eyes glittered oddly, "the +lady was there." + +"The same one whom you had seen in your dream?" + +"The same. She was standing facing the sun, for it was still early, and +one of her hands was resting against the brick pillar, just as it had +rested against the column." + +"That is certainly very extraordinary," said Guido, his tone changing. +Then he seemed about to speak again, but checked himself. + +Lamberti rested his elbows on the table and his chin on his folded +hands, and looked into his friend's eyes in silence. His own face had +grown perceptibly paler in the last few minutes. + +"Guido," he said, after what seemed a long pause, "you were going to ask +what happened next. I do not know what you thought, nor what stopped +you, for between you and me there is no such thing as indiscretion, and, +besides, you will never know who the lady was." + +"I do not wish to guess. Do not say anything that could help me." + +"Of course not. Any woman you know might have taken it into her head to +go to the Forum this morning." + +"Certainly." + +"This is what happened. I stood perfectly still in surprise. She may +have heard my footstep or not; she knew some one was behind her. Then +she slowly turned her head till we could see each other's faces." + +He paused again, and passed one hand lightly over his eyes. + +"Yes," said Guido, "I suppose I can guess what is coming." + +"No!" Lamberti cried, in such a tone that the other started. "You cannot +guess. We looked at each other. It seemed a very long time--two or three +minutes at least--as if we were both paralysed. Though we recognised +each other perfectly well, we could neither of us speak. Then it seemed +to me that something I could not resist was drawing me towards her, but +I am sure I did not really move the hundredth part of a step. I shall +never forget the look in her face." + +Another pause, not long, but strangely breathless. + +"I have seen men badly frightened in battle," Lamberti went on. "The +cheeks get hollow all at once, the eyes are wide open, with black rings +round them, the face turns a greenish grey, and the sweat runs down the +forehead into the eyebrows. Men totter with fear, too, as if their +joints were unstrung. But I never saw a woman really terrified before. +There was a sort of awful tension of all her features, as though they +were suddenly made brittle, like beautiful glass, and were going to +shiver into fragments. And her eyes had no visible pupils--her lips +turned violet. I remember every detail. Then, without warning, she +shrieked and staggered backwards; and she turned as I moved to catch +her, and she ran like a deer, straight up the court, past those basins +they have excavated, and up two or three steps, to the dark rooms at the +other end." + +"And what did you do?" asked Guido, wondering. + +"My dear fellow, I turned and went back as fast as I could, without +exactly running, and I found the guide looking for me below the temple, +for he had not seen me go into the Vestals' house. What else was there +to be done?" + +"Nothing, I suppose. You could not pursue a lady who shrieked with fear +and ran away from you. What a strange story! You say you only know her +slightly." + +"Literally, very slightly," answered Lamberti. + +He had become fluent, telling his story almost excitedly. He now +relapsed into his former mood, and stared at the pamphlet before him a +moment, before shutting it and putting it away from him. + +"It is like all those things--perfectly unaccountable, except on a +theory of coincidence," said Guido, at last. "Will you have any cheese?" + +Lamberti roused himself and saw the servant at his elbow. + +"No, thank you. I forgot one thing. Just as I awoke from that dream last +night, I heard the door of my room softly closed." + +"What has that to do with the matter?" enquired Guido, carelessly. + +"Nothing, except that the door was locked. I always lock my door. I +first fell into the habit when I was travelling, for I sleep so soundly +that in a hotel any one might come in and steal my things. I should +never wake. So I turn the key before going to bed." + +"You may have forgotten to do it last night," suggested Guido. + +"No. I got up at once, and the key was turned. No one could have come +in." + +"A mouse, then," said Guido, rather contemptuously. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + +Cecilia Palladio was very much ashamed of having uttered a cry of terror +at the sight of Lamberti, and still more of having run away from him +like a frightened child. To him it seemed as if she had really shrieked +with fear, whereas she fancied that she had scarcely found voice enough +to utter an incoherent exclamation. The truth lay somewhere between the +two impressions, but Cecilia now felt that she could easily have +accounted for being startled into crying out, but that it would always +be impossible to explain her flight. She had run the whole length of the +Court, which must be fifty yards long, before realising what she was +doing, and had not paused for breath till she was out of his sight and +within the second of the three rooms on the left. There were no gates to +the rooms then, as there are now, and she could not have given any +reason for her entering the second instead of the first, which was the +nearest. The choice was instinctive. + +She certainly had not gone there to join the elderly woman servant who +had come to the Forum with her. That excellent and obedient person was +waiting where Cecilia had made her sit down, not far from the entrance +to the Forum, and would not move till her mistress returned. The young +girl hated to be followed about and protected at every step, especially +by a servant, who could have no real understanding of what she saw. + +"I shall only be seen by foreigners and Cook's Tourists," she had said, +"and they do not count as human beings at all!" + +Therefore the middle-aged Petersen, who was a German, and therefore a +species of foreigner herself, had meekly sat down upon the comparatively +comfortable stone which Cecilia had selected for her, and which was one +of the steps of the Julian Basilica. She was called Frau Petersen, Mrs. +Petersen, or Madame Petersen, according to circumstances, by the +servants of different nationalities who were successively in the +employment of the Countess Fortiguerra, for she was a superior woman and +the widow of a paymaster in the Bavarian army, and so eminently +respectable and well educated that she had more than once been taken for +Cecilia's governess. + +Petersen was excessively near-sighted, but her nose was not adapted by +its nature and position for wearing eyeglasses; for it was not only a +flat nose without anything like a prominent bridge to it, but it was +placed uncommonly low in her face, so that a pair of eyeglasses pinched +upon it would have found themselves in the region of Petersen's +cheek-bones. Even when she wore spectacles, they were always slipping +down, which was a great nuisance; so she resigned herself to seeing less +than other people, except when something interested her enough to make +the discomfort of glasses worth enduring. + +This sufficiently explains why she noticed nothing unusual in Cecilia's +looks when the latter came back to her, pale and disturbed; and she had +not heard her mistress's faint cry, the distance being too great for +that, not to mention the fact that the huge ruins intercepted the sound. +Cecilia was glad of that, as she drove home with Petersen. + +"Signor Lamberti has called," said the Countess Fortiguerra the next day +at luncheon. "I see by his card that he is in the Navy. You know he is +one of the Marchese Lamberti's sons. Shall we ask him to dinner?" + +"Did you like him?" enquired Cecilia, evasively. + +"He is not very good-looking," observed the Countess, whose judgment of +unknown people always began with their appearance, and often penetrated +no farther. "But he may be intelligent, for all that," she added, as a +concession. + +"Yes," said Cecilia, thoughtfully, "perhaps." + +"I think we might ask him to dinner, then," answered the Countess, as if +she had given an excellent reason for doing so. + +"Is it not rather early, considering that we have only met him once?" +Cecilia ventured to ask. + +"I used to know his mother very well, though she was older than I. It is +pleasant to find that he is so intimate with Signor d'Este. We might ask +them together." + +"After the garden party," suggested Cecilia. "Of course, as you and the +Marchesa were great friends, that is a reason for asking the other, but +Signor d'Este--really! It would positively be throwing me at his head, +mother!" + +"He expects it, my dear," answered the Countess, with more precision +than tact. "I mean," she added hastily, "I mean, that is, I did not +mean----" + +Cecilia laughed. + +"Oh yes, you did, mother! You meant exactly that, you know. You and that +dreadful old Princess have made up your minds that I am to marry him, +and nothing else matters, does it?" + +"Well," said the Countess, without any perceptible hesitation, "I cannot +help hoping that you will consent, for I should like the match very +much." + +She knew that it was always better to be quite frank with her daughter; +and even if she had thought otherwise, she could never have succeeded in +being diplomatic with her. While her second husband had been alive, her +position as an ambassadress had obliged her to be tactful in the world, +and even occasionally to say things which she had some difficulty in +believing, being a very simple soul; but with Cecilia she was quite +unable to conceal her thoughts for five minutes. If the girl loved her +mother, and she really did, it was largely because her mother was so +perfectly truthful. Cynical people called her helplessly honest, and +said that her veracity would have amounted to a disease of the mind if +she had possessed any; but that since she did not, it was probably a +form of degeneration, because all perfectly healthy human beings lied +naturally. David had said in his heart that all men were liars, and his +experience of men, and of women, too, was worth considering. + +"Yes," Cecilia said, after a thoughtful pause, "I know that you wish me +to marry Signor d'Este, and I have not refused to think of it. But I +have not promised anything, either, and I do not like to feel that he +expects me to be thrust upon him at every turn, till he is obliged to +offer himself as the only way of escaping the persecution." + +"I wish you would not express it in that way!" + +The Countess sighed and looked at her daughter with a sort of +half-comical and loving hopelessness in her eyes--as a faithful dog +might look at his master who, seeming to be hungry, would refuse to +steal food that was within reach. The dog would try to lead the man to +the bread, the man would gently resist; each would be obeying the +dictation of his own conscience--the man would know that he could never +explain his moral position to the dog, and the dog would feel that he +could never understand the man. Yet the affection between the two would +not be in the least diminished. + +On the next evening Cecilia found herself next to Guido d'Este at +dinner. Though she was not supposed to make her formal appearance in +society before the garden party, the Countess's many old friends, some +of whom had more or less impecunious sons, were anxious to welcome her +to Rome, and asked her to small dinners with her mother. Guido had +arrived late, and had not been able to speak to her till he was told by +their host that he was to take her in. It was quite natural that he +should, for, in spite of his birth, he was only plain Signor d'Este, and +was not entitled to any sort of precedence in a society which is, if +anything, overcareful in such matters. + +Neither spoke as they walked through the rooms, near the end of the +small procession. Guido glanced at the young girl, who knew that he did, +but paid no attention. He thought her rather pale, and there was no +light in her eyes. Her hand lay like gossamer on his arm, so lightly +that he could not feel it; but he was aware of her perfectly graceful +motion as she walked. + +"I suppose this was predestined," he said, as soon as the rest of the +guests were talking. + +She glanced at him quickly now, her head bent rather low, her eyebrows +arching higher than usual. He was not sure whether the little +irregularity of her upper lip was accentuated by amusement, or by a +touch of scorn. + +"Is it?" she asked. "Do you happen to know that it was arranged?" + +It was amusement, then, and not scorn. They understood each other, and +the ice was in no need of being broken again. + +"No," Guido answered with a smile. Then his voice grew suddenly low and +earnest. "Will you please believe that if I had been told beforehand +that I was asked in order to sit next to you, I would not have come?" + +Cecilia laughed lightly. + +"I believe you, and I understand," she answered. "But how it sounds! If +you had known that you were to sit next to me, nothing would have +induced you to come!" + +From her place next the master of the house, the Countess Fortiguerra +looked at them, and was pleased to see that they were already on good +terms. + +"Thank you," Cecilia added in a quiet voice, and gravely. "Besides," she +continued, "there is no reason, in the world why we should not be good +friends, is there?" + +She looked full at him now, without a smile, and he realised for the +first time how very young she was. A married woman with an instinct for +flirtation might have made the speech, but a girl older than Cecilia +would have known that it might be misunderstood. Guido answered her look +with one in which doubt did not keep the upper hand more than a single +second. + +"There is no reason whatever why we should not be the best of friends," +he answered, in a tone as low as her own. "Perhaps I may be of service +to you. I hope so. Besides, I am made for friendship!" + +He laughed rather carelessly as he spoke the last words, and glanced +round the table to see whether anybody was watching him. He met the +Countess Fortiguerra's approving glance. + +"Why do you laugh at friendship?" asked Cecilia, not quite pleased. + +"I do not laugh at friendship at all," Guido answered. "I laugh in order +that people may see me and hear me. This is the first service I can +render you, to be natural and unconcerned, as I generally am. If I +behaved in any unusual way--if I were too grave, or too much +interested--you understand!" + +"Yes. You are thoughtful. Thank you." + +There was a little pause, during which a luxuriant lady in green, who +sat on Guido's other side, determined to attract his attention, and +spoke to him; but before he could answer, some one opposite asked her a +question about dress, which was intensely interesting to her, because +she dressed abominably. She promptly fell into the snare which had been +set for her with the evil intention of leading her on to talk foolishly. +She followed at once, and Guido was free again. + +"Now that we are friends," he said to Cecilia, "may I ask you a friendly +question?" + +"Ask me anything you like," she answered, and her innocent eyes promised +him the truth. + +"Were you told anything, before we met at my aunt's the other day?" + +"Not a word! And you?" + +"Nothing," he replied. "I remember that on that very afternoon----" he +stopped short. + +"What?" + +"You may not like what I was going to say." + +"I shall, if it is true, and if you have a good reason for saying it." + +"Lamberti and I were together, talking, and I said that nothing would +ever induce me to marry an heiress, unless it were to save my father or +mother from ruin. As that can never happen, all heiresses are perfectly +safe from me! Do you mind my having said that?" + +"No. I am sure you were in earnest." + +A shadow had crossed her face at the mention of Lamberti's name. + +"You do not like my friend," he said, and as he spoke, the shadow came +again and deepened. + +"How can I like him or dislike him? I hardly know him." + +She felt very uncomfortable, for it would have been quite natural that +Lamberti should have spoken to Guido of her strange behaviour in the +Forum. Guido answered that one often liked or disliked people at first +sight. + +"I think that you and I liked each other as soon as we met," he +concluded. + +"Yes," Cecilia answered, after a little thought. "I am sure we did. Tell +me, what makes you think that I dislike your friend? I should be very +sorry if he thought I did." + +"When I first spoke of him a few moments ago, your expression changed, +and when I referred to him again, you frowned." + +"Is that all? Are you sure that is the only reason for your opinion?" + +Guido laughed a little. + +"What other reason could I have?" he asked. "Do not take it so +seriously!" + +"He might have told you that he himself had the impression----" + +"He has hardly mentioned your name since we both met you," Guido +answered. + +It was a relief to know that Lamberti had not spoken of having met her +unexpectedly, and of her cry, and of her flight. Yet somehow she had +already been sure that he had kept the matter to himself. As a matter of +fact, Guido had never thought of her, even in the most passing way, as +the possible heroine of the adventure in the Forum. The story had +interested him, but the personality of the lady did not; and, moreover, +from the way in which Lamberti had spoken, Guido had very naturally +supposed her to be a married woman, for it would not have occurred to +him that a young girl could be strolling among the ruins quite alone. + +Cecilia felt relieved, and yet, at the same time, she felt a little +girlish disappointment at the thought that Lamberti had hardly ever +spoken of her to his most intimate friend, for she was quite sure that +Guido told her the exact truth. She was angry with herself for being +disappointed, too. The man's face had haunted her so long in half-waking +dreams; or at least, a face exactly like his, which, the last time, had +turned into his without doubt. Yet she had evidently made no impression +upon him, until she had made a very bad one, the other day. She wondered +whether he thought she was a little mad. She was afraid of meeting him +wherever she went, and yet she now wished he were at the table, in order +that she might prove to him that she was not only sane, but very clever. +She knew that she wished it, and for a few moments she did not hear what +Guido was saying, but gazed absently at the flowers on the table, +unconsciously hoping that she might see them turn into the face she +feared; but that did not happen. + +Guido talked on, till he saw that she was not listening, and then he was +silent, and only glanced at her from time to time while he heard in his +ears the cackling of the vivid lady in green. There was going to be a +change in the destinies of womankind, and everybody was to be perfectly +frightful for ever afterwards. To be plain, the sleeves "they" were +wearing now were to be altogether given up. "They" had begun to wear the +new ones already in Paris. Rejane had worn them in her new piece, and of +course that meant an imminent and universal change. And as for the way +the skirts were to be made, it was positively indecent. Rejane was far +too much of a lady to wear one, of course, but one could see what was +coming. Here some one observed that coming events cast their shadows +before. + +"Not at all, not at all!" cried the lady in green. "I mean behind." + +"How long shall you stay in Rome?" Guido asked, to see whether Cecilia +would hear him now. + +"Always," she answered. "For the rest of my life." + +"I am glad of that. But I meant to ask how late you intended to stay +this year?" + +"I should like to spend the summer here." + +"It is the pleasantest time," Guido said. + +"Is it? Or are you only saying that in order to agree with me? You need +not, you know. I like people who have their own opinions, and are full +of prejudices, and try to force them upon everybody, whether they are +good for every one or not!" + +"I am afraid I shall not please you, then. I have no prejudices to speak +of, and my opinions are worth so little that I never hesitate to change +them." + +"But you do not look at all feeble-minded," said Cecilia, innocently +studying his face. + +"Thank you!" Guido laughed. "You are adorable!" he added rather +flippantly. + +"Is that your opinion?" asked the young girl, smiling, too, as if she +were pleased. + +"Yes. That is my firm opinion. Do you object to it?" + +"Oh no!" Cecilia answered, still smiling sweetly. "You have just told me +that your opinions are worth so little that you never hesitate to change +them. So why in the world should I object to any of them?" + +"Exactly," said Guido, unmoved. "Why should you? Especially as this +particular one gives me so much pleasure while it lasts." + +"It will not last long, I daresay. Do you know that you are not at all +dull?" + +"No one could be in your company." + +"That is the first dull thing you have said this evening," Cecilia +answered, to see what he would say. + +"Shall it be the last?" he asked. + +"Yes, please." + +There was a little wilful command in the tone that Guido liked. He felt +her presence in a way he did not remember to have felt that of any +woman, and in the atmosphere of her own in which she seemed to live he +breathed as one does in some very high places, less easily, perhaps, but +with conscious pleasure in drawing breath. He could not have described +his sensations in those first meetings with her, and he could have +analysed them less. One might as well seek the form and perfume of the +flower in the first tender shoot that thrusts up its joy of living out +of the mystery of the dull brown earth. Yet he knew well enough that +something was beginning to grow in him which had not begun, and grown, +and perished before. + +Many times he had talked with women famous for their beauty, or for +their charm, or for their wit, and he himself had said clever things +which he had remembered with a little vanity or had forgotten with +regret, and had turned compliments in many manners, guessing at the +taste of her who sat beside him, wishing to please her, and wishing even +more to find some general key to women's thought, some universal +explanation of their ways, some logical solution of their seemingly +inconsequent actions. His mind was of the sort that is satisfied by +suspended judgment, that dreads the chillingly triumphant phrase of +reason, "which was to be proved," as much as the despairing tone of a +reduction to the impossible. He loved problems that could not be solved +easily, if at all, because he could think of them continually in a +hundred new and different ways. He hated equally a final affirmation +past appeal, and an ultimate negation which might make his thoughts +ridiculous in his own eyes. A quiet suspense was his natural state of +equilibrium. Anything might be, or might not be, and decision was +hateful; it was delicious to float on the calm waters of meditative +indifference, between the giant rocks, hope and despair, in the straits +that lead the sea of life to the ocean of eternity. + +He knew that he was the end of a race that had reigned and could never +reign again. It was better that the end should be a question than a hope +deceived, or a cry of impotent hatred uttered against Something which +might not exist after all. If he had a philosophy it was that, and +nothing more; and though it was not much, it had helped him to live +without much pain and almost always with a certain dreamy, intellectual, +wondering pleasure in his own thoughts. Sometimes he was irritated out +of that state by the demands and doings of the Princess Anatolie, as on +the day when he and his friend had talked in the garden beyond the +river; and then he spoke of ending all at a stroke, and almost believed +that he might do it; and he envied Lamberti his love of life and action. +But such moods soon passed and left him himself again, so that he +marvelled how he could ever have been so much moved. It was always the +same, in the end, but such as it was the world was not a bad world for +him. + +Here was something different from all the past, and it had begun without +warning, and was growing against his will, because it fed on that with +which his will had nothing to do. There is no fatalism like that of the +indifferent man who believes in nothing, not even in himself, and who +admits nothing to be positive except crime and dishonour. Why should he +not fall in love with Cecilia Palladio, since he had previously stated +to himself, to her, and to his trusted friend, that nothing could induce +him to marry her? It was quite clear from the first that she, on her +side, would never fall in love with him. He looked upon that as +altogether out of the question, and perhaps with reason. On the other +hand, he had not the slightest faith in the lasting nature of anything +he might feel, and therefore he was not afraid of consequences, which +rarely indeed frighten a man who is doing what he likes. It is more +generally the woman that thinks of them, and points them out because +"there is still time!" She also heaps her scorn upon the man if he is +wise enough to agree with her; but that is a detail, and perhaps it +ought not to be mentioned. + +As for the fact that he was beginning to be in love, Guido no longer +doubted it. The pleasure he felt in saying to Cecilia things of even +less than average conversational merit was proof enough that it was not +only what he said that interested him. When a man of ordinary assurance +wishes to shine in the eyes of a woman, he generally succeeds at least +in shining in his own. + +Guido was not any more self-conscious than most people, and he was +certainly not more diffident of his own gifts, which he could judge +impartially because he attached little importance to what they might +bring him. But the categorical command to say nothing dull made it quite +impossible to say anything witty, and the conversation languished a +little and then broke off. + +It was past ten o'clock when Guido again found a chance of speaking to +Cecilia. He had looked at her more often than he knew, after dinner, and +had given rather vague answers to one or two people who had spoken to +him. He had moved about the great room idly, looking at the familiar old +portraits, and at objects he had known in the same places for years. He +had smoked a cigarette, standing with his host, while the latter talked +to him about the Etruscan tomb he had just discovered on his place, and +he had nodded pleasantly to the sound of the old gentleman's voice +without hearing a word. Then he had smoked another cigarette at the +opposite end of the room with a group of younger men, who talked of +nothing but motor cars; and when they asked his opinion about something, +he had said that he had none, and preferred walking, which speech caused +such a perceptible chill that he turned away and left the young men to +their discussion. + +All the while his eyes followed Cecilia's movements, and lingered upon +her when she stood still or sat down. In the course of the evening each +of the young men who talked about motor cars managed to try his luck at +a conversation with her, and all, by way of being original, talked to +her about the same thing. As she had just come from Paris, and was rich, +it was to be supposed that she, of course, owned a motor car, had passed +her examination as an engineer, and spent most of her time in a mask and +broad-visored cap scouring Europe at the rate of fifty miles an hour. + +"But why do you not get an automobile?" asked each of the young men, as +soon as her answer had disappointed him. + +"Do you play the violin?" she enquired sweetly of each. + +"No," each answered. + +"Then why do you not get a violin?" + +In this way she confounded the young men, and their heads moved uneasily +on the tops of their high collars, until they were able to get away from +her. + +Guido saw how they left her, with a discomfited expression, and as if +they had suddenly acquired the conviction that their clothes did not fit +them, for that is generally the first sensation experienced by a very +well-dressed young man when he has been made to feel that he is foolish. +Guido saw, and understood, and he was worldly wise enough to know that +unless Cecilia would show a little more willingness to seem pleased, she +would presently be sitting alone on a sofa, waiting for her mother to go +home. As soon as this inevitable result followed, he sat down beside +her. She turned her face slowly, when he had settled himself, and she +looked at him with slightly bent head, a little upwards, from under her +lids. The light that fell from a shaded lamp above her marked the sharp +curve of arching brows sharply against the warm shadow over the deep-set +and widely opened eyes. + +For a few seconds Guido returned the steady gaze, before he spoke. + +"Are you the Sphinx?" he asked suddenly. "Have you come to life again to +ask men your riddle?" + +"I ask it of myself," she answered softly, and then looked away. "I +cannot answer it." + +"Are you good or evil?" Guido asked, speaking again. + +The questions came to his lips as if some one else were asking them with +his voice. + +"Good--I think," answered the young girl, motionless beside him. "But I +might be very bad." + +"What is the riddle?" Guido enquired, and now he felt that he was +speaking out of his own curiosity, and not as the mouthpiece of some one +in a dream. "Do you ask yourself what it all means? I suppose so. We all +ask that, and we never get any answer." + +"It is too vague a question. It cannot have a definite answer. No. I ask +three questions which I found in a German book of philosophy when I was +a little girl. I tried hard to understand what all the rest of the book +was about, but I found on one page three questions, printed by +themselves. I can see the page now, and the questions were numbered one, +two, and three. I have asked them ever since." + +"What were they?" + +"They were these: 'What can I know? What ought I to do? What may I +hope?'" + +"There would be everything in the answers," Guido said, "for they are +big questions. I think I have answered them all in the negative in my +own life. I know nothing, I do nothing, and I hope nothing." + +Cecilia looked at him again. "I would not be you," she said gravely. "I +can do nothing, perhaps, and I am sure I know nothing worth knowing, but +I hope. I have that at least. I hope everything, with all my heart and +soul--everything, even things you could not dream of." + +"Help me to dream of them. Perhaps I might." + +"Then dream that faith is knowledge, that charity is action, and that +hope is heaven itself," answered Cecilia. + +Her voice was sweet and low, and far away as spirit land, and Guido +wondered at the words. + +"Where did you hear that?" he asked. + +"Ah, where?" she asked, almost sadly, and very longingly. "If I could +tell you that, I should know the great secret, the only secret ever yet +worth knowing. Where have we heard the voices that come back to us, not +in sleeping dreams only, but when we are waking, too, voices that come +back softly like evening bells across the sea, with the touch of hands +that lay in ours long ago, and faces that we know better than our own! +Where was it all, before the memory of it all was here?" + +"I have often wondered whether those impressions are memories," said +Guido. + +"What else could they be?" Cecilia asked, her tone growing colder at +once. + +Guido had been happy in listening to her talk, with its suggestion of +fantastical extravagance, but he had not known how to answer her, nor +how to lead her on. He felt that the spell was broken, because something +was lacking in himself. To be a magician one must believe in magic, +unless one would be a mere conjurer. Guido at least knew enough not to +answer the girl's last question with a string of so-called scientific +theories about atavism and transmitted recollections. If he had taken +that ground he would have been surprised to find that Cecilia Palladio +was quite as familiar with it as himself. + +"I am afraid," he said, "that I am not fit to talk with you about such +things. You start from a point which I can never hope to reach, and +instead of coming down to me, you rise higher and higher, almost out of +my sight. I am afraid that if our friendship is to be real, it will be a +one-sided bond." + +"How do you mean?" asked the young girl, who had listened. + +"It will mean much more to me than it ever can to you." + +"No," Cecilia answered. "I think I shall like you very much." + +"I like you very much already," said Guido, smiling. "I have an amusing +idea." + +"Have you? What is it? Neither of us has been very amusing this +evening." + +"Suppose that we take advantage of the Princess's conspiracy. Shall we?" + +"My mother is the other conspirator!" Cecilia laughed. + +"Is there any harm in letting people see that we like each other?" Guido +asked. + +"None in the least. Every one hopes that we may. Besides----" she stopped +short. + +"What is the other consideration?" Guido enquired. + +"If I am perfectly frank--brutally frank--shall you be less my friend?" + +"No. Much more." + +"I do not wish to marry at all," said Cecilia, and again she reminded +him of the Sphinx. "But if I ever should change my mind, since you and I +have been picked out to make a match, I suppose I might as well marry +you as any one else." + +"Oh, quite as well!" + +Then Guido laughed, as he rarely did, not loudly, but with all his +heart, and Cecilia did not try to check her amusement either. + +"I suppose it really is very funny," she said. + +"The only thing necessary is that no one should ever guess that we have +made a compact. That would be fatal." + +"No one!" cried the young girl, eagerly. "No one! Not even your friend!" + +"Lamberti? No, least of all, Lamberti!" + +"Why do you say, least of all?" + +"Because you do not like him," Guido answered, with perfect sincerity. + +"Oh! I see. I am not sure, of course, but I am glad you do not mean to +tell him. It would make me nervous to think that he might know. I--I am +not quite certain why it makes me nervous, but it does." + +"Have no fear. When shall I see you?" + +He had noticed that Cecilia's mother was beginning that little comedy of +movements, and glances, and uneasy turnings of the head, by which +mothers of marriageable daughters signify their intention of going home. +The works of a clock probably act in the same way before striking. + +"I will make my mother ask you to dinner. Are you free to-morrow night?" + +"Any night." + +"No--I mean really. Are you?" + +"Yes, really. Lamberti does not count, for we generally dine together +when we have no other engagement." + +The shadow again flitted across Cecilia's brow, and she said nothing, +only nodding quickly. Then she looked across the room at her mother. +Young girls are always instantly aware that their mothers are making +signs. When Nelson's commander-in-chief signalled to him at the battle +of Copenhagen the order to retire, Nelson put his spy-glass to his blind +eye and assured his officers that he could see nothing, went on, and won +the fight. Every young girl is totally blind of one eye during periods +that vary between ten minutes and three hours. + +Cecilia having recovered her sight, and seen her mother, rose with +obedient alacrity. + +"Good night," she said to Guido. "I am glad we are friends." + +Their glances met for a moment, and Guido made an imperceptible gesture +to put out his hand, but she did not answer it. He thought her refusal a +little old-fashioned, since young girls now shake hands in Italy more +often than not; but he liked her ways, chiefly because they were hers, +and, moreover, he remembered just then that at her age she was supposed +to be barely out of the schoolroom or the convent. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + +"Spiritualism, your Highness, is the devil, without doubt," said the +learned ecclesiastical archaeologist, Don Nicola Francesetti, in an +apologetic tone, and looking at his knees. "If there is anything more +heretical, it is a belief in a possible migration of souls from one body +to another, in a series of lives." + +The Princess Anatolie smiled at the excellent man and exchanged a glance +of compassionate intelligence with Monsieur Leroy. She did not care a +straw what the Church thought about anything except Protestants and +Jews, and she did not believe that Don Nicola cared either. He chanced +to be a priest, instead of a professor, and it was of course his duty to +protest against heresy when it was thrust under his cogitative +observation. Spiritualism was not exactly heresy, therefore he said it +was the devil, and no mistake; but as she was sure that he did not +believe in the devil, that only proved that he did not believe in +spiritualism. + +In this she was mistaken, however, as people often are in their judgment +of priests. Nicola Francesetti had long ago placed his conscience in +safety, so to speak, by telling himself that he was not a theologian, +but an archaeologist, and that as he could not afford to divide his time +and his intelligence between two subjects, where one was too vast, it +was therefore his plain duty to think about all questions of religion as +the Church taught him to think. He admitted that if his life could begin +again he would perhaps not again enter the priesthood, but he would +never have conceded that he could have been anything but a believing +Catholic. He had no vocation whatever for saving souls, whereas he +possessed the archaeological gift in a high degree; and yet, as a +clergyman and a good Christian, he was convinced at heart that a man in +holy orders had no right to give his whole life and strength to another +profession. He had asked the advice of a wise and good man on this +point, however, and the theologian had thought that he should continue +to live as he was living. Had he a cure? No, he had none. Had he ever +evaded a priest's work? That is, had work been offered to him where a +priest was needed, and where he could have done active good, and had he +refused because it was distasteful to him? No, never. Was he receiving +any stipend for performing a priest's duties, with the tacit +understanding that he was at liberty to pay an impecunious substitute a +part of the money for taking his place, so that he himself profited by +the transaction? No, certainly not. Don Nicola had a sufficient income +of his own to live on. Had he ever made a solemn promise to devote his +life to missionary labours among the heathen? No. + +"In that case, my dear friend," concluded the theologian, "you are +tormenting yourself with perfectly useless scruples. You are making a +mountain of your molehill, and when you have made your mountain you will +not be satisfied until you have made another beside it. In the course of +time you will, in fact, oppress your innocent conscience with a whole +range of mountains; you will be immobilised under the weight, and then +you will become hateful to yourself, useless to others, and an object of +pity to wise men. Stick to your archaeology." + +"Is pure study a good in itself?" asked Don Nicola. + +"What is good?" retorted the theologian viciously. "I wish you would +define it!" + +Don Nicola was silent, for though he could think of a number of synonyms +for the conception, he remembered no definition corresponding to any of +them. He waited. + +"Good and goodness are not the same thing," observed the theologian; +"you might as well say that study and knowledge are the same thing." + +"But study should lead to knowledge." + +"And goodness should lead to good; and, compared with ignorance, +knowledge is a form of good. Therefore study is a form of goodness. +Consequently, as you have a turn for erudition, the best thing you can +do is to go on with your studies." + +"I see," said Don Nicola. + +"I wish I did," sighed the theologian, when the priest was gone. "How +very pleasant it must be, to be an archaeologist!" + +After that, whenever Don Nicola was troubled with uneasiness about his +profession, he soothed himself with his friend's little syllogism, which +was as full of holes as a sieve, as flimsy as a tissue-paper balloon, +and as unstable as a pyramid upside down, but nevertheless perfectly +satisfactory. + +"Of course," says humanity, "I know nothing about it. But I am perfectly +sure." + +And so forth. And moreover, if humanity were not frequently quite sure +of things concerning which it knows nothing, the world would soon come +to a standstill, and never move again; like the ass in the fable, that +died of hunger in its stall between two bundles of hay, unable to decide +which to eat first. That also was an instance of stable equilibrium. + +Don Nicola avoided all questions of religion in general conversation, +and tried to make other people avoid them when he was the only clergyman +present, because he did not like to be asked his opinion about them. But +when the Princess Anatolie and Monsieur Leroy gravely declared their +belief in the communications of departed persons by means of rappings, +not to say by touch, and by strains of music, and perfumes, and even, on +rare occasions, by actual apparition, then Don Nicola felt that it was +his duty to protest, and he accordingly protested with considerable +energy. He said that spiritualism was the devil. + +"The chief object of the devil's existence," observed Monsieur Leroy, +"is to bear responsibility." + +The Princess laughed and nodded her approval, as she always did when +Monsieur Leroy said anything which she thought clever. Don Nicola was +too wise to discuss the matter, if, indeed, it admitted of discussion; +for the devil was certainly responsible for a good deal. + +"Your definition of spiritualism is so very liberal," Monsieur Leroy +added, with a fine supercilious smile on his red lips. + +"It is not mine," answered Don Nicola, modestly. + +"No. I suppose it is the opinion of the Church. At all events, you do +not doubt the possibility of communicating with the spirits of dead +persons, do you?" + +"I have never examined the matter, my dear sir." + +"It seems to me," said Monsieur Leroy, with airy superiority, "that it +is rather rash to attribute to Satan everything which you will not take +the trouble to examine." + +"Hush, Doudou!" cried the Princess. "You are very rude!" + +"Not at all, not at all, your Highness!" protested Don Nicola, rising. +"I should be very much surprised if Monsieur Leroy expressed himself +differently." + +Monsieur Leroy had no retort ready, and tried to smile. + +"It will give me the greatest pleasure to be your guide to the new +excavations in the Forum," added the priest, as he took his leave. + +The Princess and Monsieur Leroy were left alone. + +"Shall we?" he asked after a moment's silence, and waited anxiously for +the answer. + +"I am afraid They will not come to-night, Doudou," said the Princess. +"You have excited yourself in argument. You know that always has a bad +effect." + +"That man irritates me," answered Monsieur Leroy, peevishly. "Why do you +receive him?" + +He spoke in the tone of a spoilt child--a spoilt child of forty, or +thereabouts. + +"I thought you liked him," replied the Princess, very meekly. "I will +give orders that he is not to be received. We will not go to the Forum +with him." + +"No, no! How you exaggerate! You always think that I mean a great deal +more than I say. I only said that he irritated me." + +"Why should you be irritated for nothing? You know it is bad for you." + +She looked at him with an air of concern, and there was a gentleness in +her eyes which few had ever seen in them. + +"It does not matter," answered Monsieur Leroy, crossly. + +He had risen, and he brought a very small and light mahogany table from +a corner. It was one of those which used to be made during the second +Empire in sets of six and of successive sizes, so that each fitted each +under the next larger one. He moved awkwardly and yet without noise; +there was something very womanish in his figure and gait. + +He set the little table before the Princess, very close to her, lit a +single candle, which he placed on the floor behind an arm-chair, and +turned out the electric light. Then he sat down on the opposite side of +the table and spread out his hands upon it, side by side, the right +thumb resting on the left. The Princess did the same. They glanced at +each other once or twice, hardly distinguishing each other's features in +the gloom. Then they looked steadily down upon the table, and neither +stirred for a long time. + +"I am sure They will not come," said the Princess at last, in a very low +voice. + +"Hush!" + +Silence again, for a quarter of an hour. Somewhere in the room a small +clock, or a watch, ticked quickly, with a little rhythmical, insisting +accent on the fourth beat. + +"It moved, then!" whispered the Princess, excitedly. + +"Yes. Hush!" + +The little table certainly moved, with a queerly soft rocking motion, as +if its feet only just touched the carpet and supported no weight. The +Princess's hands felt as if they were floating over tiny rippling waves, +and between her shoulders came the almost stinging thrill she loved. She +wished that the room were quite dark now, in order that she might feel +more. There were tiny beads of perspiration on Monsieur Leroy's +forehead, and his hands were moist. The candle behind the arm-chair +flickered. + +"Are You there?" asked Monsieur Leroy, in a voice unlike his own. + +There was no answer. The table moved more uneasily. + +"Rap once for 'yes,' twice for 'no,'" said Monsieur Leroy. "Is this the +first time you have come to us?" + +One rap answered the question, sharp and clear, as if the butt of a +pencil had struck the table underneath it and near the middle. + +"Are you the spirit of a man?" + +Two raps very distinct. + +"Then you are a woman. Tell us----" + +Several raps came in quick succession, in pairs, as if to repeat the +negative energetically. Monsieur Leroy seemed to hesitate what question +to ask. + +"Perhaps it is a child," suggested the Princess, in a tremulous tone. + +A sharp rap. Yes, it was a child. Was it a little girl? Yes. Had it been +dead long? Yes. More than ten years? Yes. More than twenty? Yes. Fifty? +No. Forty? Yes. + +Monsieur Leroy began to count, pausing after each number. + +"Forty-one--forty-two--forty-three--forty-four----" + +The sharp rap again. The Princess drew a quick breath. + +"How old was it when it died?" she managed to ask. + +Monsieur Leroy began to count again, beginning with one. At the word +seven, the rap came. The Princess started violently, almost upsetting +the table against her companion. + +"Adelaide!" She cried in a broken voice. + +One rap. + +"Oh, my darling, my darling!" + +The old woman bent down over the table, and her outspread hands tried +frantically to take up the flat surface, and she kissed the polished +wood passionately, again and again, not knowing what she did, nor +hearing her own incoherent words of mixed joy and agony. + +"My child! My little thing--my sweet--speak to me----" + +Her whole being was convulsed. Little storms of rappings seemed to +answer her. The perspiration trickled down Monsieur Leroy's temples. He +seemed to be making an effort altogether beyond his natural strength. + +"Speak to me--call me by the little name!" sobbed the Princess, and her +tears wet her hands and the table. + +Monsieur Leroy began to repeat the alphabet. From time to time a rap +stopped him at a letter, and then he began over again. In this way the +rapping spelt out the word "Mamette." + +"She says 'Mamette,'" said Monsieur Leroy, in a puzzled tone. "Does that +mean anything?" + +But the Princess burst into passionate weeping. It was the name she had +asked for, the child's own pet name for her, its mother; it was the last +word the poor little dying lips had tried to form. Never since that +moment had the heart-broken woman spoken it, never since the fourth year +before Monsieur Leroy had been born. + +He looked at her, for he seemed to have preserved his self-control, and +he saw that if matters went much further the poor sobbing woman would +reach a state which might be dangerous. He withdrew his hands from the +table and waited. + +"She is gone, but she will come again now, whenever you call her," he +said gently. + +"No, do not go!" cried the Princess, clutching at the smooth wood +frantically. "Come back, come back and speak to me once more!" + +"She is gone, for to-night," said Monsieur Leroy, in the same gentle +tone. "I am very much exhausted." + +He pressed his handkerchief to his forehead and to his temples, again +and again, while the Princess moaned, her cheek upon the table, as she +had once let it rest upon the breast of her dead child. + +Monsieur Leroy rose cautiously, fearing to disturb her. He was trembling +now, as men sometimes do who have escaped alive from a great danger. He +steadied himself by the back of the arm-chair, behind which the candle +was burning steadily. With an effort, he stooped and took up the +candlestick and set it on the table. Then he looked at his watch and saw +that it was past eleven o'clock. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + +It was some time since Guido had seen Lamberti, but the latter had +written him a line to say that he was going with a party of men to stop +in an old country house near the seashore, not far from Civita Vecchia. +The quail were very abundant in May that year, and Lamberti was a good +shot. He had left home suddenly on the morning after telling Guido the +story of his adventure in the Forum. Guido had at first been mildly +surprised that his friend should not have spoken of his intention on +that evening; but some one had told him that the party had been made up +at the club, late at night, which accounted for everything. + +Guido was soon too much occupied to miss the daily companionship, and +was glad to be alone, when he could not be with Cecilia. He no longer +concealed from himself that he was very much in love with her, and that, +compared with this fact, nothing in his previous life had been of any +importance whatever. Even the circumstances of his position with regard +to his aunt sank into insignificance. She might do what she pleased, she +might try to ruin him, she might persecute him to the extreme limit of +her ingenuity, she might invent calumnies intended to disgrace him; he +was confident of victory and sure of himself. + +One of the first unmistakable signs of genuine love is the certainty of +doing the impossible. An hour before meeting Cecilia, Guido had been +reduced to the deepest despondency, and had talked gravely of ending a +life that was not worth living. A fortnight had passed, and he defied +his aunt, Monsieur Leroy, the whole world, an adverse fate, and the +powers of evil. They might do their worst, now, for he was full of +strength, and ten times more alive than he had ever been before. + +It was true that he could not see the smallest change in Cecilia's +manner towards him since the memorable evening on which she had +laughingly agreed to take advantage of what was thrust upon them both. +Her colour did not change by the least shade of a blush when she met +him; there was not the slightest quivering of the delicate eyelids, +there was nothing but the most friendly frankness in the steady look of +welcome. But she liked him very much, and was at no pains to conceal it. +She liked him better than any one she had ever met in her short life, +except her stepfather, and she told Guido so with charming unconcern. +As he could not be jealous of the dead ambassador, he was not at all +discouraged by the comparison. Sometimes he was rather flattered by it, +and he could not but feel that he had already acquired a position from +which any future suitor would find it hard to dislodge him. + +The Countess Fortiguerra looked on with wondering satisfaction. Her +daughter had not led her to believe that she would readily accept what +must soon be looked upon by society as an engagement, and what would +certainly be one before long. When Guido went to see his aunt, she +received him with expansive expressions of affection. + +He noticed a change in the Princess, which he could only explain by the +satisfaction he supposed she felt in his conduct. There were times when +her artificial face softened with a look of genuine feeling, especially +when she was silent and inattentive. Guido knew her well enough, he +thought, to impute these signs to her inward contentment at the prospect +of his marriage, from which she was sure of extracting notable financial +advantage. But in this he was not just, though he judged from long +experience. Monsieur Leroy alone knew the secret, and he kept his own +counsel. + +An inquisitive friend asked the Countess Fortiguerra boldly whether she +intended to announce the engagement of her daughter at the garden party. + +"No," she answered, without hesitation, "that would be premature." + +She was careful, in a way, to do nothing irrevocable--never to take +Guido into her carriage, not to ask him to dinner when there were other +guests, not to leave him alone with Cecilia when there was a possibility +of such a thing being noticed by the servants, except by the discreet +Petersen, who could be trusted, and who strongly approved of Guido from +the first. But when it was quite safe, the Countess used to go and sit +in a little boudoir adjoining the drawing-room, leaving the doors open, +of course, and occupying herself with her correspondence; and Guido and +Cecilia talked without restraint. + +The Countess had enough womanly and instinctive wisdom not to ask +questions of her daughter at this stage, but on the day before the +long-expected garden party she spoke to Guido alone, in a little set +speech which she had prepared with more conscientiousness than +diplomatic skill. + +"You have seen," she said, "that I am always glad to receive you here, +and that I often leave you and Cecilia together in the drawing-room. +Dear Signor d'Este, I am sure you will understand me if I ask you +to--to--to tell me something." + +She had meant to end the sentence differently, rounding it off with +"your intentions with regard to my daughter"; but that sounded like +something in a letter, so she tried to make it more vague. But Guido +understood, which is not surprising. + +"You have been very kind to me," he said simply. "I love your daughter +sincerely, and if she will consent to marry me I shall do my best to +make her happy. But, so far, I have no reason to think that she will +accept me. Besides, whether you know it already or not, I must tell you +that I am a poor man. I have no fortune whatever, though I receive an +allowance by my father's will, which is enough for a bachelor. It will +cease at my death. Your daughter could make a very much more brilliant +marriage." + +The good Countess had listened in silence. The Princess, for reasons of +her own, had explained Guido's position with considerable minuteness, if +not with scrupulous accuracy. + +"Cecilia is rich enough to marry whom she pleases," the Countess +answered. "Even without considering her inclinations, your social +position would make up for your want of fortune." + +"My social position is not very exalted," Guido answered, smiling at her +frankness. "I am plain 'Signor d'Este,' without any title whatsoever, or +without the least prospect of one." + +"But your royal blood----" protested the Countess. + +"I am more proud of the fact that my mother was an honest woman," +replied Guido, quietly. + +"Yes--oh--of course!" The Countess was a little abashed. "But you know +what I mean," she added, by way of making matters clear. "And as for +your fortune--I would say, your allowance, and all that--it really does +not matter. It is natural that you should have made debts, too. All +young men do, I believe." + +"No," said Guido. "I have not a debt in the world." + +"Really?" + +The single word sounded more like an exclamation of extreme surprise +than like an interrogation, and the Countess, who was incapable of +concealment, stared at Guido for a moment in undisguised astonishment. + +"Why are you so much surprised?" he asked, with evident amusement. "My +allowance is fifty thousand francs a year. That is not wealth, but it is +quite enough for me." + +"Yes. I should think so. That is--of course, it is not much--is it? I +never know anything about money, you know! Baron Goldbirn manages +everything for us." + +"I suppose," Guido said, looking at her curiously, "that some one must +have told you that I had made debts." + +"Yes--yes! Some one did tell me so." + +"Whoever said it was quite mistaken. I can easily satisfy you on that +point, for I am a very orderly person. I used to play high when I was +twenty-one, but I got tired of it, and I do not care for cards any +longer." + +"It is very strange, all the same!" The Countess was still wondering, +though she believed him. "How people lie!" she exclaimed. + +"Oh, admirably, and most of the time," Guido answered, with a little +laugh. + +There was a short pause. He also was wondering who could have maligned +him. No doubt it must have been some designing mother who had a son to +marry. + +"Forgive me," he said at last. "I have told you exactly what my position +is. Have you, on your side, any reason to think that your daughter will +consent?" + +"Oh, I am sure she will!" answered the Countess, promptly. + +Guido repressed a movement, and for an instant the colour rose faintly +in his face, then sank away. + +"Quite sure?" he asked, controlling his voice. + +"I mean, in the end, you know. She will marry you in the end. I am +convinced of it. But I think I had better not ask her just yet." + +There were matters in regard to which she was distinctly afraid of her +daughter. + +"May I?" Guido enquired. "Will you let me ask her to marry me, when I +think that the time has come?" + +"Certainly! That is----" The Countess believed that she ought to hesitate. +"After all, we have only known you a fortnight. That is not long. Is +it?" + +"No. But, on the other hand, you had never seen me when you and my aunt +agreed that your daughter and I should be married." + +"How did you know that we had talked about it?" + +"It was rather evident," Guido answered, with a smile. + +The artlessness which is often a charm in a young girl looks terribly +like foolishness if it lasts till a woman is forty. Yet in old age it +may seem charming again, as if second childhood brought with it a second +innocence. + +Guido was an Italian only by his mother, and from his father he +inherited the profoundly complicated character of races that had ruled +the world for a thousand years or more, and not always either wisely or +justly. Under his indifference and quiet dislike of all action, as well +as of most emotions, he had always felt the conflicting instincts +towards good and evil, and the contempt of consequences bordering on +folly, if not upon real insanity, which had brought about the decline +and fall of his father's kingdom. The perfect simplicity of the real +Italian character when in a state of equilibrium always amused him, and +often pleased him, and he had a genuine admiration for the splendidly +violent contrasts which it develops when roused by passion. He could +read it like an open book, and predict what it would do in almost any +circumstances. + +For the first time in his life, he felt something of its directness in +himself, moving to a definite aim through the maze of useless +complications, hesitations, and turns and returns of thought with which +he was familiar in his own character. He smiled at the idea that he +might end by resembling Lamberti, with whom to think was to feel, and to +feel was to act. Were there two selves in him, of which the one was in +love, and the other was not? That was an amusing theory, and a fortnight +ago it would have been pleasant to sit in his room at night, among his +Duerers, his Rembrandts, and his pictures, with an old book on his knee, +dreaming about his two conflicting individualities. But somehow dreaming +had lost its charm of late. He thought only of one question, and asked +only one of the future. Was Cecilia Palladio's friendship about to turn +into anything that could be called love, or not? His intention warned +him that if the change had come she herself was not conscious of it. He +was authorised to ask her, now that the Countess had spoken--formally +authorised, but he was quite sure that if he had believed that she +already loved him, he would not have waited for any such permission. His +father's blood resented the restraint of all ordinary conventions, and +in the most profound inaction he had always morally and inwardly +reserved the right to do what he pleased, if he should ever care to do +anything at all. + +He was just going to dress for dinner that evening when Lamberti came +in, a little more sunburned than usual, but thinner, and very restless +in his manner. Guido explained that he was going to dine with the +Countess Fortiguerra. He offered to telephone for permission to bring +Lamberti with him. + +"Do you know them well enough for that already?" Lamberti asked. + +"Yes. I have seen them a great deal since you left. Shall I ask?" + +"No, thank you. I shall dine at home with my people." + +"Shall you go to the garden party to-morrow?" + +"No." + +Guido looked at him curiously, and he immediately turned away, unlike +himself. + +"Have you had any more strange dreams since I saw you?" Guido asked. + +"Yes." + +Lamberti did not turn round again, but looked attentively at an etching +on the table, so that Guido could not see his face. His monosyllabic +answers were nervous and sharp. It was clear that he was under some kind +of strain that was becoming intolerable, but of which he did not care to +speak. + +"How is it going?" he asked suddenly. + +"I think everything is going well," answered Guido, who knew what he +meant, though neither of them had spoken to the other of Cecilia, except +in the most casual way, since they had both met her. + +"So you are going to marry an heiress after all," said Lamberti, with +something like a laugh. + +"I love her," Guido replied. "I cannot help the fact that she is rich." + +"It does no harm." + +"Perhaps not, but I wish she had no more than I. If she had nothing at +all, I should be just as anxious to marry her." + +"You do not suppose that I doubt that, do you?" Lamberti asked quickly. + +"No. But you spoke at first as if you were reproaching me for changing +my mind." + +"Did I? I am sorry. I did not mean it in that way. I was only thinking +that fate generally makes us do just what we do not intend. There is +something diabolically ingenious about destiny. It lies in wait for you, +it seems to leave everything to your own choice, it makes you think that +you are a perfectly free agent, and then, without the least warning, it +springs at you from behind a tree, knocks you down, tramples the breath +out of you, and drags you off by the heels straight to the very thing +you have sworn to avoid. Man a free agent? Nonsense! There is no such +thing as free will." + +"What in the world has happened to you?" Guido asked, by way of answer. +"Is anything wrong?" + +"Everything is wrong. Good night. You ought to be dressing for dinner." + +"Come with me." + +"To dine with people whom I hardly know, and who have not asked me? +Besides, I told you that I meant to dine at home." + +"At least, promise me that you will go with me to-morrow to the Villa +Madama." + +"No." + +"Look here, Lamberti," said Guido, changing his tone, "you and I have +known each other since we were boys, and I do not believe there exist +two men who are better friends. I am not sure that the Contessina +Palladio will marry me, but her mother wishes it, and heaven knows that +I do. They are both perfectly well aware that you are my most intimate +friend. If you absolutely refuse to go near them they can only suppose +that you have something against them. They have already asked me if they +are never to see you. Now, what will it cost you to be decently civil to +a lady who may be my wife next year, and to her mother, who was your +mother's friend long ago? You need not stay half an hour at the villa +unless you please. But go with me. Let them see you with me. If I really +marry, do you suppose I am going to have any one but you for my best +man?" + +Lamberti listened to this long speech without attempting to interrupt +Guido. Then he was silent for a few moments. + +"If you put it in that light," he said, rising to go, "I cannot refuse. +What time shall you start? I will come here for you." + +"Thank you," said Guido. "I should like to get there early. At four +o'clock, I should say. I suppose we ought not to leave here later than +half-past three." + +"Very well. I shall be here in plenty of time. Good night." + +When Guido pressed his hand, it was icy cold. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + +On the following morning Lamberti went out early, and before nine +o'clock he was in the private study of a famous physician, who was a +specialist for diseases of the nerves. Lamberti had never seen him and +had not asked for an appointment, for the simple reason that his visit +was spontaneous and unpremeditated. He had spent a wretched night, and +it suddenly struck him that he might be ill. As he had never been ill in +his life except from two or three wounds got in fight, he had been slow +to admit that anything could be wrong with his physical condition. But +it was possible. The strongest men sometimes fell ill unaccountably. A +good doctor would see the truth at a glance. + +The specialist was a young man, squarely built, with a fresh complexion, +smooth brown hair, and a well-trimmed chestnut beard. At first sight, no +one would have noticed anything remarkable in his appearance, except, +perhaps, that he had unusually bright blue eyes, which had a fixed look +when he spoke earnestly. + +"I am a naval officer," said Lamberti, as he took the seat the doctor +offered him. "Can you tell me whether I am ill or not? I mean, whether I +have any bodily illness. Then I will explain what brings me." + +The doctor looked at him keenly a few seconds, felt his pulse, pressed +one ear on his waistcoat to listen to his heart, and then against his +back, made him face the light and gently drew down the lower lids of his +eyes, and finally stood off and made a sort of general survey of his +appearance. Then he made him stretch out one hand, with the fingers +spread out. There was not the least tremor. Last of all, he asked him to +shut his eyes tightly and walk slowly across the room, turn round, and +walk back. Lamberti did so, steadily and quietly. + +"There is nothing wrong with your body," said the doctor, sitting down. +"Before you tell me why you come here, I should like to know one thing +more. Do you come of sound and healthy people?" + +"Yes. My father is the Marchese Lamberti. My brothers and sisters are +all alive and well. So far as I know, there was never any insanity in my +family." + +"Were your father and mother cousins?" enquired the doctor. + +"No." + +"Very good. That is all I need to know. I am at your service. What is +the matter?" + +"If we lived in the Middle Ages," said Lamberti, "I should say that I +was possessed by the devil, or haunted." He stopped and laughed oddly. + +"Why not say so now?" asked the doctor. "The names of things do not +matter in the least. Let us say that you are haunted, if that describes +what troubles you. Very good. What haunts you?" + +"A young girl," Lamberti answered, after a moment's pause. + +"Do you mean that you see, or think you see, the apparition of a young +girl who is dead?" + +"She is alive, but I have only met her once. That is the strange thing +about it, or, at least, the beginning of the strange thing. Of course it +is perfectly absurd, but when I first saw her, the only time we met, I +had the sensation of recognising some one I had not seen for many years. +As she is only just eighteen, that is impossible." + +"Excuse me, my dear sir, nothing is impossible. Every one is +absent-minded sometimes. You may have seen the young lady in the street, +or at the theatre. You may have stared at her quite unconsciously while +you were thinking of something else, and her features may have so +impressed themselves upon your memory, without your knowing it, that you +actually recognised her when you met her in a drawing-room." + +"I daresay," admitted Lamberti, indifferently. "But that is no reason +why I should dream of her every night." + +"I am not sure. It might be a reason. Such things happen." + +"And every night when I wake from the dream, I hear some one close the +door of my room softly, as if she were just going out. I always lock my +door at night." + +"Perhaps it sometimes shakes a little in the frame." + +"It began at home. But I have been stopping in the country nearly a +fortnight, and the same thing has happened every night." + +"You dream it. One may get the habit of dreaming the same dream every +time one sleeps." + +"It is not always the same dream, though the door is always closed +softly when she goes away. But there is something else. I was wrong in +saying that I only met the lady once. I should have said that I have +spoken with her only once. This is how it happened." + +Lamberti told the doctor the story of his meeting Cecilia at the house +of the Vestals. The specialist listened attentively, for he was already +convinced that Lamberti was a man of solid reason and practical good +sense, probably the victim of a series of coincidences that had made a +strong impression on his mind. When Lamberti paused, there was a +moment's silence. + +"What do you yourself think was the cause of the lady's fright?" asked +the doctor at last. + +"I believe that she had dreamed the same dream," Lamberti answered +without hesitation. + +"What makes you believe anything so improbable?" + +"Well--I hardly know. It is an impression. It was all so amazingly real, +you see, and when our eyes met, she looked as if she knew exactly what +would happen if she did not run away--exactly what had happened in the +dream." + +"That was on the morning after you had first dreamt it, you say. Of +course it helped very much to strengthen the impression the dream had +made, and it is not at all surprising that the dream should have come +again. You know as well as I, that a dream which seems to last hours +really passes in a second, perhaps in no time at all. The slightest +sound in your room which suggested the closing of a door would be enough +to bring it all back before you were awake, and the sound might still be +audible to you." + +"Possibly. Whatever it is, I wish to get rid of it." + +"It may be merely coincidence," the doctor said. "I think it is. But I +do not exclude the theory that two people who have made a very strong +impression one on another, may be the subjects of some sort of mutual +thought transference. We know very little about those things. Some queer +cases come under my observation, but my patients are never sound and +sane men like you. What I should like to know is, why did the lady run +away?" + +"That is probably the one thing I can never find out," Lamberti +answered. + +"There is a very simple way. Ask her." The doctor smiled. "Is it so very +hard?" he enquired, as Lamberti looked at him in surprise. "I take it +for granted that you can find some opportunity of seeing her in a +drawing-room, where she cannot fly from you, and will not do anything to +attract attention. What could be more natural than that you should ask +her quite frankly why she was so frightened the other day? I do not see +how she could possibly be offended. Do you? When you ask her, you need +not seem too serious, as if you attached a great deal of importance to +what she had done." + +"I certainly could try it," said Lamberti thoughtfully. "I shall see her +to-day." + +"She may try to avoid you, because she is ashamed of what she did. But +if I were you, I would not let the chance slip. If you succeed in +talking to her for a few minutes, and break the ice, I can almost +promise that you will also break the habit of this dream that annoys +you. Will you make the attempt? It seems to me by far the wisest and +most sensible remedy, for I am nearly sure that it will turn out to be +one." + +"I daresay you are right. Is there any other way of curing such habits +of the mind?" + +"I could hypnotise you and stop your dreaming by suggestion." + +"Nobody could make me sleep against my will." Lamberti laughed at the +mere idea. + +"No," answered the doctor, "but it would not be against your will, if +you submitted to it as a cure. However, try the simpler plan first, and +come and see me in a day or two. You seem to hesitate. Perhaps you have +some reason for not wishing to make the nearer acquaintance of the lady. +That is your affair, but one more interview of a few minutes will not +make much difference, as your health is at stake. You are under a mental +strain altogether out of proportion with the cause that produces it, and +the longer you allow it to last the stronger the reaction will be, when +it comes." + +"I have no good reason for not knowing her better," Lamberti said after +a moment's thought, for he was convinced against his previous +determination. "I will take your advice, and then I will come and see +you again." + +He took his leave and went out into the bright morning air. It was a +relief to feel that he had been brought to a determination at last, and +he knew that it was a sensible one, from any ordinary point of view, and +that his one great objection to acting upon it had no logical value. + +But the objection subsisted, though he had made up his mind to override +it. It was out of the question that he could really be in love with +Cecilia Palladio, who was probably quite unlike what she seemed to be in +his dreams. He had fallen in love with a fancy, a shadow, an unreal +image that haunted him as soon as he closed his eyes; but when he was +wide awake and busy with life the girl was nothing to him but a mere +acquaintance. His pulse would not beat as fast when he met her that very +afternoon as it had done just now, in the doctor's study, when he had +been thinking of the vision. + +Besides, what Guido had said was quite true. He could not possibly +continue not to know Guido's future wife; and as there was no danger of +his falling in love with her when his eyes were open, he really could +not see why he should be so anxious to avoid her. So the matter was +settled. He took a long walk, far out of Porta San Giovanni, and turned +to the right by the road that leads through the fields to the tomb of +Cecilia Metella. + +As he passed the great round monument, swinging along steadily, its name +naturally came to his mind, and it occurred to him for the first time +that Cecilia had been a noble name among the old Romans, that it had +come down unchanged, and that there had doubtless been more than one +Vestal Virgin who had borne it. The Vestal in his dream was certainly +called Cecilia. He was in the humour, now, to smile at what he called +his own folly, and as he strode along he almost laughed aloud. Before +the sun should set, the whole matter would be definitely at rest, and he +would be wondering how he could ever have been foolish enough to attach +any importance to it. He followed the Appian Way back to the city, with +a light heart. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + +The Villa Madama was probably never inhabited, for it was certainly +never quite finished, and the grand staircase was not rebuilt after +Cardinal Pompeo Colonna set fire to the house. That was in the wild days +when Rome was sacked by the Constable of Bourbon's Spaniards and +Franzperg's Germans, and Pope Clement the Seventh was shut up in the +stronghold of Sant' Angelo; and at nightfall he looked from the windows +of the fortress and saw the flames shoot up on the slope of Monte Mario, +from the beautiful place which Raphael of Urbino had designed for him, +and which Giovanni of Udine had decorated, and he told those who were +with him that Cardinal Colonna was revenging himself for his castles +sacked and burned by the Pope's orders. + +That was nearly four hundred years ago, and the great exterior staircase +was never rebuilt; but in order to save that part of the little palace +from ruin unsightly arches were reared up against the once beautiful +wing, and because of Giulio Romano's frescoes and Giovanni of Udine's +marvellous stucco work, the roof has been always kept in good repair. +Moreover, a good deal has been written about the building, some of which +is inaccurate, to say the least; as, for instance, that one may see the +dome of Saint Peter's from the windows, whereas the villa stands halfway +down the slope of the hill on the side which is away from the church, +and looks towards the Sabines and towards Tivoli and Frascati. + +Those who have taken the trouble to visit the villa in its half-ruinous +condition, and who have lingered on the grass-grown terraces and at the +noble windows, on spring afternoons, when the sun is behind the hill, +can easily guess what it became when it passed into the ownership of the +Contessina Cecilia Palladio. Her guardian, the excellent Baron Goldbirn, +had bought it for her because it was offered for sale at a low price, +and was an excellent investment as well as a treasure of art; and he had +purposed to coat the brown stone walls with fresh stucco, to erect a +"belvedere" with nice green blinds on the roof, to hang the rooms with +rich magenta damask, to carpet them with Brussels carpets, to furnish +them with gilt furniture, to warm the house with steam heat, and to +light it with electricity. + +To his surprise, his ward rejected each of these proposals in detail and +all of them generally, and declared that since the villa was hers she +could deal with it according to her own taste, which, she maintained, +was better than Goldbirn's. The latter answered that as he was +sixty-five years old and Cecilia was only eighteen, this was impossible; +but that under the circumstances he washed his hands of the matter, only +warning her that the Italian law would not allow her to cut down the +trees more than once in nine years. + +"As if anything could induce me to cut them down at all!" Cecilia +answered indignantly. "There are few enough as it is!" + +"My dear," the Countess had answered with admirable relevancy, "I hope +you are not ungrateful to your guardian." + +Cecilia was not ungrateful, but she had her own way, for it was +preordained that she generally should, and it was well for the Villa +Madama that it was so. She only asked her guardian how much he would +allow her to spend on the place, and then, to his amazement and +satisfaction, she only spent half the sum he named. She easily persuaded +a good artist, whom her stepfather had helped at the beginning of his +career, to take charge of the work, and it was carried out with loving +and reverent taste. The wilderness of sloping land became a garden, the +beautiful "court of honour" was so skilfully restored with old stone and +brick that the restoration could hardly be detected, the great exterior +staircase was rebuilt, the close garden on the other side was made a +carpet of flowers; the water that gushed abundantly from a deep spring +in the hillside poured into an old fountain bought from the remains of a +villa in the Campagna, and then, below, filled the vast square basin +that already existed, and thence it was distributed through the lower +grounds. There were roses everywhere, already beginning to climb, and +the scent of a few young orange trees in blossom mingled delicately with +the odour of the flowers. Within the house the floor of the great hall +was paved with plain white tiles, and up to the cornice and between the +marvellous pilasters the bare walls were hung with coarse linen woven in +simple and tasteful patterns and in subdued colours. + +The little gods and goddesses and the emblematic figures of the seasons +in the glorious vaults overhead, smiled down upon such a scene as had +not rejoiced the great hall for centuries. The Countess had asked all +Rome to come, with an admirable indifference to political parties and +social discords; and all Rome came, as it sometimes does, in the best of +tempers with itself and with its hostess. Roman society is good to look +at, when it is gathered together in such ways; for mere looks, there is +perhaps nothing better in all Europe, except in England. The French are +more brilliant, no doubt, for their women, and, alas, their men also, +affect a greater variety of dress and ornament than any other people. +German society is magnificent with military uniforms, Austrians +generally have very perfect taste; and so on, to each its own advantage. +But the Romans have something of their own, a beauty most distinctly +theirs, a sort of distinction that is genuine and unaffected, but which +nevertheless seems to belong to more splendid times than ours. When the +women are beautiful, and they often are, they are like the pictures in +their own galleries; among the men there are heads and faces that remind +one of Lionardo da Vinci, of Caesar Borgia, of Lorenzo de' Medici, of +Guidarello Guidarelli, even of Michelangelo. Romans, at their best, have +about them a grave suavity, or a suave gravity, that is a charm in +itself, with a perfect self-possession which is the very opposite of +arrogance; when they laugh, their mirth is real, though a little +subdued; when they are grave, they do not look dull; when they are in +deep earnest, they are not theatrical. + +Those who went to the Fortiguerra garden party never quite forgot the +impression they received. It was one of those events that are remembered +as memorable social successes, and spoken of after many years. It was +unlike anything that had ever been done in Rome before, unlike the +solemn receptions of the chief of the clericals, when the cardinals come +in state and are escorted by torch-bearers from their carriages to the +entrance of the great drawing-room, and back again when they go away; +unlike the supremely magnificent balls in honour of the foreign +sovereigns who occasionally spend a week in Rome, and are amusingly +ready to accept the hospitality of Roman princes; most of all, it was +unlike an ordinary garden party, because the Villa Madama is quite +unlike ordinary villas. + +Moreover, every one was pleased that such very rich people should not +attempt to surprise society by vulgar display. There were no state +liveries, there were no ostentatious armorial bearings, there was no +overpowering show of silver and gold, there was no Hungarian band +brought expressly from Vienna, nor any fashionable pianist paid to play +about five thousand notes at about a franc apiece, to the great +annoyance of all the people who preferred conversation to music. +Everything was simple, everything was good, everything was beautiful, +from the entrancing view of Rome beyond the yellow river, and of the +undulating Campagna beyond, with the soft hills in the far distance, to +the lovely flowers in the garden; from the flowers without, to the +stately halls within; from their charming frescoes and exquisite white +traceries, to the lovely girl who was the centre, and the reason, and +the soul of it all. + +Her mother received the guests out of doors, in the close garden, and +thirty or forty people were already there when Guido d'Este and Lamberti +arrived; for every one came early, fearing lest the air might be chilly +towards sunset. The Countess introduced the men and the young girls to +her daughter, and presented her to the married women. Presently, when +the garden became too full, the people would go back through the house +and wander away about the grounds, lighting up the shadowed hillside +with colour, and filling the air with the sound of their voices. They +would stray far out, as far as the little grove on the knoll, planted in +old times for the old-fashioned sport of netting birds. + +Guido had told Cecilia on the previous evening that his friend had +returned from the country and was coming to the villa, and he had again +seen the very slight contraction of her brows at the mere mention of +Lamberti's name. He wondered whether there were not some connection +between what he took for her dislike of Lamberti, and the latter's +strong disinclination to meet her. Perhaps Lamberti had guessed at a +glance that she would not like him. He would of course keep such an +opinion to himself. + +Guido watched Cecilia narrowly from the moment she caught sight of him +with Lamberti--so attentively indeed that he did not even glance at the +latter's face. It was set like a mask, and under the tanned colour any +one could see that the man turned pale. + +"You know Cecilia already," said the Countess Fortiguerra, pleasantly. +"I hope the rest of your family are coming?" + +"I think they are all coming," Lamberti answered very mechanically. + +He had resolutely looked at the Countess until now, but he felt the +daughter's eyes upon him, and he was obliged to meet them, if only for a +single instant. The last time he had met their gaze she had cried aloud +and had fled from him in terror. He would have given much to turn from +her now, without a glance, and mingle with the other guests. + +He was perfectly cool and self-possessed, as he afterwards remembered, +but he felt that it was the sort of coolness which always came upon him +in moments of supreme danger. It was familiar to him, for he had been in +many hand-to-hand engagements in wild countries, and he knew that it +would not forsake him; but he missed the thrill of rare delight that +made him love fighting as he loved no sport he had ever tried. This was +more like walking bravely to certain death. + +Cecilia was all in white, but her face was whiter than the silk she +wore, and as motionless as marble; and her fixed eyes shone with an +almost dazzling light. Guido saw and wondered. Then he heard Lamberti's +voice, steady, precise, and metallic as the notes of a bell striking the +hour. + +"I hope to see something of you by-and-by, Signorina." + +Cecilia's lips moved, but no sound came from them. Then Guido was sure +that they smiled perceptibly, and she bent her head in assent, but so +slightly that her eyes were still fixed on Lamberti's. + +Other guests came up at that moment, and the two friends made way for +them. + +"Come back through the house," said Guido, in a low voice. + +Lamberti followed him into the great hall, and to the left through the +next, where there was no one, and out to a small balcony beyond. Then +both stood still and faced each other, and the silence lasted a few +seconds. Guido spoke first. + +"What has there been between you two?" he asked, with something like +sternness in his tone. + +"This is the second time in my life that I have spoken to the +Contessina," Lamberti answered. "The first time I ever saw her was at +your aunt's house." + +Guido had never doubted the word of Lamberto Lamberti, but he could not +doubt the evidence of his own senses either, and he had watched +Cecilia's face. It seemed utterly impossible that she should look as she +had looked just now, unless there were some very grave matter between +her and Lamberti. All sorts of horrible suspicions clouded Guido's +brain, all sorts of reasons why Lamberti should lie to him, this once, +this only time. Yet he spoke quietly enough. + +"It is very strange that two people should behave as you and she do, +when you meet, if you have only met twice. It is past my comprehension." + +"It is very strange," Lamberti repeated. + +"So strange," said Guido, "that it is very hard to believe. You are +asking a great deal of me." + +"I have asked nothing, my friend. You put a question to me,--a +reasonable question, I admit,--and I have answered you with the truth. I +have never touched that young lady's hand, I have only spoken with her +twice in my life, and not alone on either occasion. I did not wish to +come here to-day, but you practically forced me to." + +"You did not wish to come, because you knew what would happen," Guido +answered coldly. + +"How could I know?" + +"That is the question. But you did know, and until you are willing to +explain to me how you knew it----" + +He stopped short and looked hard at Lamberti, as if the latter must +understand the rest. His usually gentle and thoughtful face was as hard +and stern as stone. Until lately his friendship for Lamberti had been by +far the strongest and most lasting affection of his life. The thought +that it was to be suddenly broken and ended by an atrocious deception +was hard to bear. + +"You mean that if I cannot explain, as you call it, you and I are to be +like strangers. Is that what you mean, Guido? Speak out, man! Let us be +plain." + +Guido was silent for a while, leaning over the balcony and looking down, +while Lamberti stood upright and waited for his answer. + +"How can I act otherwise?" asked Guido, at last, without looking up. +"You would do the same in my place. So would any man of honour." + +"I should try to believe you, whatever you said." + +"And if you could not?" Guido enquired almost fiercely. + +It was very nearly an insult, but Lamberti answered quietly and firmly. + +"Before refusing to believe me, merely on apparent evidence, you can ask +the Contessina herself." + +"As if a woman could tell the truth when a man will not!" Guido laughed +harshly. + +"You forget that you love her, and that she probably loves you. That +should make a difference." + +"What do you wish me to do? Ask her the question you will not answer?" + +"The question I have answered," said Lamberti, correcting him. "Yes. Ask +her." + +"Your mother was an old friend of her mother's," Guido said, with a new +thought. + +"Yes." + +"Why is it impossible that you two should have met before now?" + +"Because I tell you that we have not. If we had, I should not have any +reason for hiding the fact. It would be much easier to explain, if we +had. But I am not going to argue about the matter, for it is quite +useless. Before you quarrel with me, go and ask the Contessina to +explain, if she will, or can. If she cannot, or if she can and will not, +I shall try to make you understand as much as I do, though that is very +little." + +Guido listened without attempting to interrupt. He was not a rash or +violent man, and he valued Lamberti's friendship far too highly to +forfeit it without the most convincing reasons. Unfortunately, what he +had seen would have convinced an even less suspicious man that there was +a secret which his friend shared with Cecilia, and which both had an +object in concealing from him. Lamberti ceased speaking and a long +silence followed, for he had nothing more to say. + +At last Guido straightened himself with an evident effort, as if he had +forced himself to decide the matter, but he did not look at Lamberti. + +"Very well," he said. "I will speak to her." + +Lamberti bent his head, silently acknowledging Guido's sensible +conclusion. Then Guido turned and went away alone. It was long before +Lamberti left the balcony, for he was glad of the solitude and the +chance of quietly thinking over his extraordinary situation. + +Meanwhile Guido found it no easy matter to approach Cecilia at all, and +it looked as if it would be quite impossible to speak with her alone. He +went back through the great hall where people were beginning to gather +about the tea-table, and he stood in the vast door that opens upon the +close garden. Cecilia was still standing beside her mother, but they +were surrounded by a group of people who all seemed to be trying to talk +to them at once. The garden was crowded, and it would be impossible for +Guido to get near them without talking his way, so to say, through +countless acquaintances. By this time, however, most of the guests had +arrived, and those who were in the inner garden would soon begin to go +out to the grounds. + +Cecilia was no longer pale; on the contrary, she had more colour than +usual, and delicate though the slight flush in her cheeks was, it looked +a little feverish to Guido. As he began to make his way forward he tried +to catch her eye, but he thought she purposely avoided an exchange of +glances. At last he was beside her, and to his surprise she looked at +him quite naturally, and answered him without embarrassment. + +"You must be tired," he said. "Will you not sit down for a little +while?" + +"I should like to," she answered, smiling. + +Then she looked at her mother, and seemed to hesitate. + +"May I go and sit down?" she asked, in a low voice. "I am so tired!" + +"Of course, child!" answered the Countess, cheerfully. "Signor d'Este +will take you to the seat over there by the fountain. I hardly think +that any one else will come now." + +Guido and Cecilia moved away, and the Countess smiled affectionately at +their backs. Some one said that they were a very well-matched pair, and +another asked if it were true that Signor d'Este would inherit the +Princess Anatolie's fortune at her death. A third observed that she +would never die; and a fourth, who was going to dine with her that +evening, said that she was a very charming woman; whereupon everybody +laughed a little, and the Countess changed the subject. + +Cecilia was really tired, and gave a little sigh of satisfaction as she +sat down and leaned back. Guido looked at her and hesitated. + +"I must have shaken hands with at least two hundred people," she said, +"and I am sure I have spoken to as many more!" + +"Do you like it?" Guido asked, by way of gaining time. + +"What an idle question!" laughed Cecilia. + +"I had another to ask you," he answered gravely. "Not an idle one." + +She looked at him quickly, wondering whether he was going to ask her to +be his wife, and wondering, too, what she should answer if he did. For +some days past she had understood that what they called their compact of +friendship was becoming a mere comedy on his side, if not on hers, and +that he loved her with all his heart, though he had not told her so. + +"It is rather an odd question," he continued, as she said nothing. "You +have not formally given me any right to ask it, and yet I feel that I +have the right, all the same." + +"Friendship gives rights, and takes them," Cecilia answered +thoughtfully. + +"Exactly. That is what I feel about it. That is why I think I may ask +you something that may seem strange. At all events, I cannot go on +living in doubt about the answer." + +"Is it as important as that?" asked the young girl. + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +"Wait a moment. Let these people pass. How in the world did you succeed +in getting so many roses to grow in such a short time?" + +"You must ask the gardener," Cecilia answered, in order to say something +while a young couple passed before the bench, evidently very much +absorbed in each other's conversation. + +Guido bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and not looking at +her, but turning his face a little, so that he could speak in a very low +tone with an outward appearance of carelessness. It was very hard to put +the question, after all, now that he was so near her, and felt her +thrilling presence. + +"Our agreement is a failure," he began. "At all events, it is one on my +side. I really did not think it would turn out as it has." + +She said nothing, and he knew that she did not move, and was looking at +the people in the distance. He knew, also, that she understood him and +had expected something of the sort. That made it a little easier to go +on. + +"That is the reason why I am going to ask you this question. What has +there ever been between you and Lamberti? Why do you turn deathly pale +when you meet him, and why does he try to avoid you?" + +He heard her move now, and he slowly turned his face till he could see +hers. The colour in her cheeks had deepened a little, and there was an +angry light in her eyes which he had never seen there. But she said not +a word in answer. + +"Do you love him?" Guido asked in a very low tone, and his voice +trembled slightly. + +"No!" The word came with sharp energy. + +"How long have you known him?" Guido enquired. + +"Since I have known you. I met him first on the same day. I have not +spoken with him since. I tried to-day, I could not." + +"Why not?" + +"Do not ask me. I cannot tell you." + +"Are you speaking the truth?" Guido asked, suddenly meeting her eyes. + +She drew back with a quick movement, deeply offended and angry at the +brutal question. + +"How dare you doubt what I tell you!" She seemed about to rise. + +"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "I really beg your pardon. It is +all so strange. I hardly knew what I was saying. Please forgive me!" + +"I will try," Cecilia answered. "But I think I would rather go back now. +We cannot talk here." + +She rose to her feet, but Guido tried to detain her, remaining seated +and looking up. + +"Please, please stay a little longer!" he pleaded. + +"No." + +"You are still angry with me?" + +"No. But I cannot talk to you yet. If you do not come with me, I shall +go back alone." + +There was nothing to be done. He rose and walked by her side in silence. +The garden was almost empty now, and the Countess herself had gone in to +get a cup of tea. + +"The roses are really marvellous," Guido remarked in a set tone, as they +came to the door. + +Suddenly they were face to face with Lamberti, who was coming out, hat +in hand. He had waited for his opportunity, watching them from a +distance, and Guido knew it instinctively. He was quite cool and +collected, and smiled pleasantly as he spoke to Cecilia. + +"May I not have the pleasure of talking with you a little, Signorina?" +he asked. + +Guido could not help looking anxiously at the young girl. + +"Certainly," she answered, without hesitation. "You will find my mother +near the tea table, Signor d'Este," she added, to Guido. "It is really +time that I should make your friend's acquaintance!" + +He was as much amazed at her self-possession now as he had been at her +evident disturbance before. He drew back as Cecilia turned away from him +after speaking, and he stood looking after the pair a few seconds before +he went in. At that moment he would have gladly strangled the man who +had so long been his best friend. He had never guessed that he could +wish to kill any one. + +Lamberti did not make vague remarks about the roses as Guido had done, +on the mere chance that some one might hear him, and indeed there was +now hardly anybody to hear. As for Cecilia, her anger against Guido had +sustained her at first, but she could not have talked unconcernedly now, +as she walked beside Lamberti, waiting for him to speak. She felt just +then that she would have walked on and on, whithersoever he chose to +lead her, and until it pleased him to stop. + +"D'Este asked me this afternoon how long I had known you," he said, at +last. "I said that I had spoken with you twice, once at the Princess's, +and once to-day. Was that right?" + +"Yes. Did he believe you?" + +"No." + +"He did not believe me either." + +"And of course he asked you what there was between us," said Lamberti. + +"Yes. I said that I could not tell him. What did you say?" + +"The same thing." + +There was a pause, and both realised that they were talking as if they +had known each other for years, and that they understood each other +almost without words. At the end of the walk they turned towards one +another, and their eyes met. + +"Why did you run away from me?" Lamberti asked. + +"I was frightened. I was frightened to-day when you spoke to me. Why did +you go to the Forum that morning?" + +"I had dreamt something strange about you. It happened just where I +found you." + +"I dreamt the same dream, the same night. That is, I think it must have +been the same." + +She turned her face away, blushing red. + +He saw, and understood. + +"Yes," he said. "What am I to tell d'Este?" he asked, after a short +pause. + +"Nothing!" said Cecilia quickly, and the subsiding blush rose again. +"Besides," she continued, speaking rapidly in her embarrassment, "he +would not believe us, whatever we told him, and it is of no use to let +him know----" she stopped suddenly. + +"Has he no right to know?" + +"No. At least--no--I think not. I do not mean----" + +They were standing still, facing each other. In another moment she would +be telling Lamberti what she had never told Guido about her feelings +towards him. On a sudden she turned away with a sort of desperate +movement, clasping her hands and looking over the low wall. + +"Oh, what is it all?" she cried, in great distress. "I am in the dream +again, talking as if I had known you all my life! What must you think of +me?" + +Lamberti stood beside her, resting his hands upon the wall. + +"It is exactly what I feel," he said quietly. + +"Then you dream, too?" she asked. + +"Every night--of you." + +"We are both dreaming now! I am sure of it. I shall wake up in the dark +and hear the door shut softly, though I always lock it now." + +"The door? Do you hear that, too?" asked Lamberti. "But I am wide awake +when I hear it." + +"So am I! Sometimes I can manage to turn up the electric light before +the sound has quite stopped. Are we both mad? What is it? In the name of +Heaven, what is it all?" + +"I wish I knew. Whatever it is, if you and I meet often, it is quite +impossible that we should talk like ordinary acquaintances. Yes, I +thought I was going mad, and this morning I went to a great doctor and +told him everything. He seemed to think it was all a set of +coincidences. He advised me to see you and ask you why you ran away that +day, and he thought that if we talked about it, I might perhaps not +dream again." + +"You are not mad, you are not mad!" Cecilia repeated the words in a low +voice, almost mechanically. + +Then there was silence, and presently she turned from the wall and began +to walk back along the wide path that passed by the central fountain. +The sun, long out of sight behind the hill, was sinking now, the thin +violet mist had begun to rise from the Campagna far to south and east, +and the mountains had taken the first tinge of evening purple. From the +ilex woods above the house, the voice of a nightingale rang out in a +long and delicious trill. The garden was deserted, and now and then the +sound of women's laughter rippled out through the high, open door. + +"We must meet soon," Lamberti said, as they reached the fountain. + +It seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should say it. She +stopped and looked at him, and recognised every feature of the face she +had seen in her dreams almost ever since she could remember dreaming. +Her fear was all gone now, and she was sure that it would never come +back. Had she not heard him say those very words, "We must meet soon," +hundreds and hundreds of times, just as he had said them long ago--ever +so long ago--in a language that she could not remember when she was +awake? And had they not always met soon? + +"I shall see you to-night," she answered, almost unconsciously. + +"Tell me," he said, looking into the clear water in the fountain, "does +your dreaming make you restless and nervous? Does it wear on you?" + +"Oh no! I have always dreamt a great deal all my life. I rest just as +well." + +"Yes--but those were ordinary dreams. I mean----" + +"No, they were always the same. They were always about you. I almost +screamed when I recognised you at the Princess's that afternoon." + +"I had never dreamt of your face," said Lamberti, "but I was sure I had +seen you before." + +They looked down into the moving water, and the music of its fall made +it harmonious with the distant song of the nightingale. Lamberti tried +to think connectedly, and could not. It was as if he were under a spell. +Questions rose to his lips, but he could not speak the words, he could +not put them together in the right way. Once, at sea, on the training +ship, he had fallen from the foreyard, and though the fall was broken by +the gear and he had not been injured, he had been badly stunned, and for +more than an hour he had lost all sense of direction, of what was +forward and what was aft, so that at one moment the vessel seemed to be +sailing backwards, and then forwards, and then sideways. He felt +something like that now, and he knew intuitively that Cecilia felt it +also. Amazingly absurd thoughts passed through his mind. Was to-morrow +going to be yesterday? Would what was coming be just what was long past? +Or was there no past, no future, nothing but all time present at once? + +He was not moved by Cecilia's presence in the same way that Guido was. +Guido was merely in love with her; very much in love, no doubt, but that +was all. She was to him, first, the being of all others with whom he was +most in sympathy, the only being whom he understood, and who, he was +sure, understood him, the only being without whom life would be +unendurable. And, secondly, she was the one and only creature in the +world created to be his natural mate, and when he was near her he was +aware of nature's mysterious forces, and felt the thrill of them +continually. + +Lamberti experienced nothing of that sort at present. He was overwhelmed +and carried away out of the region of normal thought and volition +towards something which he somehow knew was at hand, which he was sure +he had reached before, but which he could not distinctly remember. +Between it and him in the past there was a wall of darkness; between him +and it in the future there was a veil not yet lifted, but on which his +dreams already cast strange and beautiful shadows. + +"I used to see things in the water," Cecilia said softly, "things that +were going to happen. That was long, long ago." + +"I remember," said Lamberti, quite naturally. "You told me once----" + +He stopped. It was gone back behind the wall of darkness. When he had +begun to speak, quite unconsciously, he had known what it was that +Cecilia had told him, but he had forgotten it all now. He passed his +hand over his forehead, and suddenly everything changed, and he came +back out of an immeasurable distance to real life. + +"I shall be going away in a few days," he said. "May I see you before I +go?" + +"Certainly. Come and see us about three o'clock. We are always at home +then." + +"Thank you." + +They turned from the fountain while they spoke, and walked slowly +towards the house. + +"Does your mother know about your dreaming?" Lamberti asked. + +"No. No one knows. And you?" + +"I have told that doctor. No one else. I wonder whether it will go on +when I am far away." + +"I wonder, too. Where are you going?" + +"I do not know yet. Perhaps to China again. I shall get my orders in a +few days." + +They reached the threshold of the door. Lamberti had been looking for +Guido's face amongst the people he could see as he came up, but Guido +was gone. + +"Good-bye," said Cecilia, softly. + +"Good night," Lamberti answered, almost in a whisper. "God bless you." + +He afterwards thought it strange that he should have said that, but at +the time it seemed quite natural, and Cecilia was not at all surprised. +She smiled and bent her graceful head. Then she joined her mother, and +Lamberti disappeared. + +"My dear," said the Countess, "you remember Monsieur Leroy? You met him +at Princess Anatolie's," she added, in a stage whisper. + +Monsieur Leroy bowed, and Cecilia nodded. She had forgotten his +existence, and now remembered that she had not liked him, and that she +had said something sharp to him. He spoke first. + +"The Princess wished me to tell you how very sorry she is that she +cannot be here this afternoon. She has one of her attacks." + +"I am very sorry," Cecilia answered. "Pray tell her how sorry I am." + +"Thank you. But I daresay Guido brought you the same message." + +"Who is Guido?" asked Cecilia, raising her eyebrows a little. + +"Guido d'Este. I thought you knew. You are surprised that I should call +him by his Christian name? You see, I have known him ever since he was +quite a boy. To all intents and purposes, he was brought up by the +Princess." + +"And you are often at the house, I suppose." + +"I live there," explained Monsieur Leroy. "To change the subject, my +dear young lady, I have an apology to make, which I hope you will +accept." + +Cecilia did not like to be called any one's "dear young lady," and her +manner froze instantly. + +"I cannot imagine why you should apologise to me," she said coldly. + +"I was rude to you the other day, about your courses of philosophy, or +something of that sort. Was not that it?" + +"Indeed, I had quite forgotten," Cecilia answered, with truth. "It did +not matter in the least what you thought of my reading Nietzsche, I +assure you." + +Monsieur Leroy reddened and laughed awkwardly, for he was particularly +anxious to win her good grace. + +"I am not very clever, you know," he said humbly. "You must forgive me." + +"Oh certainly," replied Cecilia. "Your explanation is more than +adequate. In my mind, the matter had already explained itself. Will you +have some tea?" + +"No, thank you. My nerves are rather troublesome. If I take tea in the +afternoon I cannot sleep at night. I met Guido going away as I came. He +was enthusiastic!" + +"In what way?" + +"About the villa, and the house, and the flowers, and about you." He +lowered his voice to a confidential tone as he spoke the last words. + +"About me?" Cecilia was somewhat surprised. + +"Oh yes! He was overcome by your perfection--like every one else. How +could it be otherwise? It is true that Guido has always been very +impressionable." + +"I should not have thought it," Cecilia said, wishing that the man would +go away. + +But he would not, and, to make matters worse, nobody would come and +oblige him to move. It was plain to the meanest mind that since Cecilia +was to marry Princess Anatolie's nephew, the extraordinary person whom +the Princess called her secretary must not be disturbed when he was +talking to Cecilia, since he might be the bearer of some important +message. Besides, a good many people were afraid of him, in a vague way, +as a rather spiteful gossip who had more influence than he should have +had. + +"Yes," he continued, in an apologetic tone, "Guido is always falling in +love, poor boy. Of course, it is not to be wondered at. A king's son, +and handsome as he is, and so very clever, too--all the pretty ladies +fall in love with him at once, and he naturally falls in love with them. +You see how simple it is. He has more opportunities than are good for +him!" + +The disagreeable little man giggled, and his loose pink and white cheeks +shook unpleasantly. Cecilia thought him horribly vulgar and familiar, +and she inwardly wondered how the Princess Anatolie could even tolerate +him, not to speak of treating him affectionately and calling him +"Doudou." + +"I supposed that you counted yourself among Signor d'Este's friends," +said the young girl, frigidly. + +"I do, I do! Have I said anything unfriendly? I merely said that all the +women fell in love with him." + +"You said a good deal more than that." + +"At all events, I wish I were he," said Monsieur Leroy. "And if that is +not paying him a compliment I do not know what you would call it. He is +handsome, clever, generous, everything!" + +"And faithless, according to you." + +"No, no! Not faithless; only fickle, very fickle." + +"It is the same thing," said the young girl, scornfully. + +She did not believe Monsieur Leroy in the least, but she wondered what +his object could be in speaking against Guido, and whether he were +really silly, as he often seemed, or malicious, as she suspected, or +possibly both at the same time, since the combination is not uncommon. +What he was telling her, if she believed it, was certainly not of a +nature to hasten her marriage with Guido; and yet it was the Princess +who had first suggested the match, and it could hardly be supposed that +Monsieur Leroy would attempt to oppose his protectress. + +Just then there was a general move to go away, and the conversation was +interrupted, much to Cecilia's satisfaction. There was a great stir in +the wide hall, for though many people had slipped away without +disturbing the Countess by taking leave, there were many of her nearer +friends who wished to say a word to her before going, just to tell her +that they had enjoyed themselves vastly, that Cecilia was a model of +beauty and good behaviour, and of everything charming, and that the +villa was the most delightful place they had ever seen. By these means +they conveyed the impression that they would all accept any future +invitation which the Countess might send them, and they audibly +congratulated one another upon her having at last established herself in +Rome, adding that Cecilia was a great acquisition to society. More than +that it was manifestly impossible to say in a few well-chosen words. +Even in a language as rich as Italian, the number of approving +adjectives is limited, and each can only have one superlative. The +Countess Fortiguerra's guests distributed these useful words amongst +them and exhausted the supply. + +"It has been a great success, my dear," said the Countess, when she and +her daughter were left alone in the hall. "Did you see the Duchess of +Pallacorda's hat?" + +"No, mother. At least, I did not notice it." Cecilia was nibbling a +cake, thoughtfully. + +"My dear!" cried the Countess. "It was the most wonderful thing you ever +saw. She was in terror lest it should come too late. Monsieur Leroy knew +all about it." + +"I cannot bear that man," Cecilia said, still nibbling, for she was +hungry. + +"I cannot say that I like him, either. But the Duchess's new hat----" + +Cecilia heard her voice, but was too much occupied with her own thoughts +to listen attentively, while the good Countess criticised the hat in +question, admired its beauties, corrected its defects, put it a little +further back on the Duchess's pretty head, and, indeed, did everything +with it which every woman can do, in imagination, with every imaginary +hat. Finally, she asked Cecilia if she should not like to have one +exactly like it. + +"No, thank you. Not now, at all events. Mother dear," and she looked +affectionately at the Countess, "what a deal of trouble you have taken +to make it all beautiful for me to-day. I am so grateful!" + +She kissed her mother on both cheeks just as she had always done when +she was pleased, ever since she had been a child, and suddenly the elder +woman's eyes glistened. + +"It is a pleasure to do anything for you, darling," she said. "I have +only you in the world," she added quietly, after a little pause, "but I +sometimes think I have more than all the other women." + +Then Cecilia laid her head on her mother's shoulder for a moment, and +gently patted her cheek, and they both felt very happy. + +They drove home in the warm dusk, and when they reached the high road +down by the Tiber they looked up and saw moving lights through the great +open windows of the villa, and on the terrace, and in the gardens, like +fireflies. For the servants were bringing in the chairs and putting +things in order. The nightingale was singing again, far up in the woods, +but Cecilia could hear the song distinctly as the carriage swept along. + +Now the Countess was kind and true, and loved her daughter devotedly, +but she would not have been a woman if she had not wished to know what +Guido had said to Cecilia that afternoon; and before they had entered +Porta Angelica she asked what she considered a leading question, in her +own peculiar contradictory way. + +"Of course, I am not going to ask you anything, my dear," she began, +"but did Signor d'Este say anything especial to you when you went off +together?" + +Cecilia remembered how they had driven home from the Princess's a +fortnight earlier, almost at the same hour, and how her mother had then +first spoken of Guido d'Este. The young girl asked herself in the moment +she took before answering, whether she were any nearer to the thought of +marrying him than she had been after that first short meeting. + +"He loves me, mother," she answered softly. "He has made me understand +that he does, without quite saying so. I like him very much. That is our +position now. I would rather not talk about it much, but you have a +right to know." + +"Yes, dear. But what I mean is--I mean, what I meant was--he has not +asked you to marry him, has he?" + +"No. I am not sure that he will, now." + +"Yes, he will. He asked me yesterday evening if he might, and of course +I gave him my permission." + +It was a relief to have told Cecilia this, for concealment was +intolerable to the Countess. + +"I see," Cecilia answered. + +"Yes, of course you do. But when he does ask you, what shall you say, +dear? He is sure to ask you to-morrow, and I really want to know what I +am to expect. Surely, by this time you must have made up your mind." + +"I have only known him a fortnight, mother. That is not a long time when +one is to decide about one's whole life, is it?" + +"No. Well--it seems to me that a fortnight--you see, it is so +important!" + +"Precisely," Cecilia answered. "It is very important. That is why I do +not mean to do anything in a hurry. Either you must tell Signor d'Este +to wait a little while before he asks me, or else, when he does, I must +beg him to wait some time for his answer." + +"But it seems to me, if you like him so much, that is quite enough." + +"Why are you in such a hurry, mother?" asked Cecilia, with a smile. + +"Because I am sure you will be perfectly happy if you marry him," +answered the Countess, with much conviction. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + +Guido d'Este walked home from the Villa Madama in a very bad temper with +everything. He was not of a dramatic disposition, nor easily inclined to +sudden resolutions, and when placed in new and unexpected circumstances +his instinct was rather to let them develop as they would than to direct +them or oppose them actively. For the first time in his life he now felt +that he must do one or the other. + +To treat Lamberti as if nothing had happened was impossible, and it was +equally out of the question to behave towards Cecilia as though she had +not done or said anything to check the growth of intimacy and friendship +on her side and of genuine love on his. He took the facts as he knew +them and tried to state them justly, but he could make nothing of them +that did not plainly accuse both Cecilia and Lamberti of deceiving him. +Again and again, he recalled the words and behaviour of both, and he +could reach no other conclusion. They had a joint secret which they had +agreed to keep from him, and rather than reveal it his best friend was +ready to break with him, and the woman he loved preferred never to see +him again. He reflected that he was not the first man who had been +checked by a girl and forsaken by a friend, but that did not make it any +easier to bear. + +It was quite clear that he could not submit to be so treated by them. +Lamberti had asked him to speak to Cecilia before quarrelling +definitely. He had done so, and he was more fully convinced than before +that both were deceiving him. There was no way out of that conviction, +there was not the smallest argument on the other side, and nothing that +either could ever say could shake his belief. It was plainly his duty to +tell them so, and it would be wisest to write to them, for he felt that +he might lose his temper if he tried to say what he meant, instead of +writing it. + +He wrote to Lamberti first, because it was easier, though it was quite +the hardest thing he had ever done. He began by proving to himself, and +therefore to his friend, that he was writing after mature reflection and +without the least hastiness, or temper, or unwillingness to be +convinced, if Lamberti had anything to say in self-defence. He expressed +no suspicion as to the probable nature of the secret that was withheld +from him; he even wrote that he no longer wished to know what it was. +His argument was that by refusing to reveal it, Lamberti had convicted +himself of some unknown deed which he was ashamed to acknowledge, and +Guido did not hesitate to add that such unjustifiable reticence might +easily be construed in such a way as to cast a slur upon the character +of an innocent young girl. + +Having got so far, Guido immediately tore the whole letter to shreds and +rose from his writing table, convinced that it was impossible to write +what he meant without saying things which he did not mean. After all, he +could simply avoid his old friend in future. The idea of quarrelling +with him aggressively had never entered his mind, and it was therefore +of no use to write anything at all. Lamberti must have guessed already +that all friendship was at an end, and it would consequently be quite +useless to tell him so. + +He must write to Cecilia, however. He could not allow her to think, +because he had apologised for rudely doubting her word, that he +therefore believed what she had told him. He would write. + +Here he was confronted by much greater difficulties than he had found in +composing his unsuccessful letter to Lamberti. In the first place, he +was in love with her, and it seemed to him that he should love her just +as much, whatever she did. He wondered what it was that he felt, for at +first he hardly thought it was jealousy, and it was assuredly not a mere +passing fit of ill-tempered resentment. + +It must be jealousy, after all. He fancied that she had known Lamberti +before, and that she had been girlishly in love with him, and that when +she had met him again she had been startled and annoyed. It was not so +hard to imagine that this might be possible, though he could not see why +they should both make such a secret of having known each other. But +perhaps, by some accident, they had become intimate without the +knowledge of the Countess, so that Cecilia was now very much afraid lest +her mother should find it out. + +Guido's reflections stopped there. At any other time he would have +laughed at their absurdity, and now he resented it. The plain fact +stared him in the face, the fact he had known all along and had +forgotten--Lamberti could not possibly have met Cecilia since she had +been a mere child, because Guido could account for all his friend's +movements during the last five years. Five years ago, Cecilia had been +thirteen. + +He was glad that he had torn up his letter to Lamberti, and that he had +not even begun the one to Cecilia, after sitting half an hour with his +pen in his hand. Yes, he went over those five years, and then took from +a drawer the last five of the little pocket diaries he always carried. +There was a small space for each day of the year, and he never failed to +note at least the name of the place in which he was, while travelling. +He also recorded Lamberti's coming and going, the names of the ships to +which he was ordered, and the dates of any notable facts in his life. It +is tolerably easy to record the exact movements of a sailor in active +service who is only at home on very short leave once in a year or two. +Guido turned over the pages carefully and set down on a slip of paper +what he found. In five years Lamberti's leave had not amounted to eight +months in all, and Guido could account for every day of it, for they had +spent all of it either in Rome or in travelling together. He laid the +little diaries in the drawer again, and leaned back in his chair with a +deep sigh of satisfaction. + +He was too generous not to wish to find his friend at once and +acknowledge frankly that he had been wrong. He telephoned to ask whether +Lamberti had come back from the Villa Madama. Yes, he had come back, but +he had gone out again. No one knew where he was. He had said that he +should not dine at home. That was all. If he returned before half-past +ten o'clock d'Este should be informed. + +Guido dined alone and waited, but no message came during the evening. At +half-past ten he wrote a few words on a correspondence card, told his +man to send the note to Lamberti early in the morning, and went to bed, +convinced that everything would explain itself satisfactorily before +long. As soon as he was positively sure that Lamberti and Cecilia could +not possibly have known each other more than a fortnight, his natural +indolence returned. Of course it was very extraordinary that Cecilia +should have felt such a strong dislike for Lamberti at first sight, for +it could be nothing else, since she seemed displeased whenever his name +was mentioned; and it was equally strange that Lamberti should feel the +same antipathy for her. But since it was so, she would naturally draw +back from telling Guido that his best friend was repulsive to her, and +Lamberti would not like to acknowledge that the young girl Guido wished +to marry produced a disagreeable impression on him. It was quite +natural, too, that after what Guido had said to each of them, each +should have been anxious to show him that he was mistaken, and that they +should have taken the first opportunity of talking together just when he +should most notice it. + +Everything was accounted for by this ingenious theory. Guido knew a man +who turned pale when a cat came near him, though he was a manly man, +good at sports and undeniably courageous. Those things could not be +explained, but it was much easier to understand that a sensitive young +girl might be violently affected by an instinctive antipathy for a man, +than that a strong man's teeth should chatter if a cat got under his +chair at dinner. That was undoubtedly what happened. How could either of +them tell him so, since he was so fond of both? Lamberti had said that +as a last resource, he would try to explain what the trouble was. Guido +would spare him that. He knew what he had felt almost daily in the +presence of Monsieur Leroy, ever since he had been a boy. Lamberti and +Cecilia probably acted on each other in the same way. It was a +misfortune, of course, that his best friend and his future wife should +hate the sight and presence of one another, but it was not their fault, +and they would probably get over it. + +It was wonderful to see how everything that had happened exactly fitted +into Guido's simple explanation, the passing shadow on Cecilia's face, +the evident embarrassment of both when Guido asked each the same +question, the agreement of their answers, the readiness both had shown +to try and overcome their mutual dislike--it was simply wonderful! By +the time Guido laid his head on his pillow, he was serenely calm and +certain of the future. With the words of sincere regret he had written +to Lamberti, and with the decision to say much the same thing to Cecilia +on the following day, his conscience was at rest; and he went to sleep +in the pleasant assurance that after having done something very hasty he +had just avoided doing something quite irreparable. + +Lamberti had spent a less pleasant evening, and was not prepared for the +agreeable surprise that awaited him on the following morning in Guido's +note. He was neither indolent nor at all given to self-examination, and +he had generally found it a good plan to act upon impulse, and do what +he wished to do before it occurred to any one else to do the same thing; +and when he could not see what he ought to do, and was nevertheless sure +that he ought to act at once, he lost his temper with himself and +sometimes with other people. + +He was afraid to go to bed that night, and he went to the club and +watched some of his friends playing cards until he could not keep his +eyes open; for gambling bored him to extinction. Then he walked the +whole length of the Corso and back, in the hope that the exercise might +prevent him from dreaming. But it only roused him again; and when he was +in his own room he stood nearly two hours at the open window, smoking +one cigar after another. At last he lay down without putting out the +light and read a French novel till it dropped from his hand, and he fell +asleep at four o'clock in the morning. + +He was not visited by the dream that had disturbed his rest nightly for +a full fortnight. Possibly the doctor had been right after all, and the +habit was broken. At all events, what he remembered having felt when he +awoke was something quite new and not altogether unpleasant after the +first beginning, yet so strangely undefined that he would have found it +hard to describe it in any words. + +He had no consciousness of any sort of shape or body belonging to him, +nor of motion, nor of sight, after the darkness had closed in upon him. +That moment, indeed, was terrible. It reminded him of the approach of a +cyclone in the West Indies, which he remembered well--the dreadful +stillness in the air; the long, sullen, greenish brown swell of the oily +sea; the appalling bank of solid darkness that moved upon the ship over +the noiseless waves; the shreds of black cloud torn forwards by an +unseen and unheard force, and the vast flashes of lightning that shot +upwards like columns of flame. He remembered the awful waiting. + +Not a storm, then, but an instant change from something to nothing, with +consciousness preserved; complete, far-reaching consciousness, that was +more perfect than sight, yet was not sight, but a being everywhere at +once, a universal understanding, a part of something all pervading, a +unification with all things past, present, and to come, with no desire +for them, nor vision of them, but perfect knowledge of them all. + +At the same time, there was the presence of another immeasurable +identity in the same space, so that his own being and that other were +coexistent and alike, each in the other, everywhere at once, and +inseparable from the other, and also, in some unaccountable way, each +dear to the other beyond and above all description. And there was +perfect peace and a state very far beyond any possible waking happiness, +without any conception of time or of motion, but only of infinite space +with infinite understanding. + +Another phase began. There was time again, there were minutes, hours, +months, years, ages; and there was a longing for something that could +change, a stirring of human memories in the boundless immaterial +consciousness, a desire for sight and hearing, a gradual, growing wish +to see a face remembered before the wall of darkness had closed in, to +hear a voice that had once sounded in ears that had once understood, to +touch a hand that had felt his long ago. And the longing became +intolerable, for lack of these things, like a burning thirst where there +is no water; and the perfect peace was all consumed in that raging wish, +and the quiet was disquiet, and the two consciousnesses felt that each +was learning to suffer again for want of the other, till what had been +heaven was hell, and earth would be better, or total destruction and the +extinguishing of all identity, or anything that was not, rather than the +least prolonging of what was. + +The last change now; back to the world, and to a human body. Lamberti +was waked by a vigorous knocking at his door, which was locked as usual. +It was nine o'clock, and a servant had brought him Guido's note. + +"My dear friend," it said, "I was altogether in the wrong yesterday. +Please forgive me. I quite understand your position with regard to the +Contessina, and hers towards you, but I sincerely hope that in the end +you may be good friends. I appreciate very much the effort you both made +this afternoon to overcome your mutual antipathy. Thank you. G. d'E." + +Lamberti read the note three times before the truth dawned upon him, and +he at last understood what Guido meant. At first the note seemed to have +been written in irony, if not in anger, but that would have been very +unlike Guido; the second reading convinced Lamberti that his friend was +in earnest, whatever his meaning might be, and at the third perusal, +Lamberti saw the true state of the case. Guido supposed that he and +Cecilia were violently repelled by each other. + +He did not smile at the absurdity of the idea, for he felt at once that +the results of such a misunderstanding must before long place Cecilia +and himself in a false position, from which it would be hard to escape. +Yet he was well aware that Guido would not believe the truth--that the +coincidences were too extraordinary to be readily admitted, while no +other rational theory could be found to explain what had happened. If +Lamberti saw Cecilia often, Guido would soon perceive that instead of +mutual dislike and repulsion the strongest sympathy existed between +them, and that they would always understand each other without words. It +would be impossible to conceal that very long. + +Besides, they would love each other, if they met frequently; about that +Lamberti had not the smallest doubt. His instincts were direct and +unhesitating, and he knew that he had never felt for any living woman +what he felt for the fair young girl whose unreal presence visited his +dreams, and who, in those long visions, loved him dearly in return, with +a spiritual passion that rose far above perishable things and yet was +not wholly immaterial. There was that one moment when they stood near +together in the early morning, and their lips met as if body, heart, and +soul were all meeting at once, and only for once. + +After that, in his dreams, there was much that Lamberti could not +understand in himself, and which seemed very unlike the self he knew, +very much higher, very much purer, very much more inclined to sacrifice, +constantly in a sort of spiritual tension and always striving towards a +perfect life, which was as far as anything could be, he supposed, from +his own personality, as he thought he knew it. The story he dreamed was +simple enough. He was a Christian, the girl a Vestal Virgin, the +youngest of those last six who still guarded the sacred hearth when the +Christian Emperor dissolved all that was left of the worship of the old +gods. He bade the noble maidens close the doors of the temple and depart +in peace to their parents' homes, freed from their vows and service, and +from all obligations to the state, but deprived also of all their old +honours and lands and privileges. And sadly they buried the things that +had been holy, where no man knew, and watched the fire together, one +last night, till it burned out to white ashes in the spring dawn; and +they embraced one another with tears and went away. Some became +Christians, and some afterwards married; but there was one who would +not, though she loved as none of them loved, and she withdrew from the +world and lived a pure life for the sake of the old faith and of her +solemn vows. + +So, at last, the Christian believed what she told him, that it was +better to love in that way, because when he and she were freed at last +from all earthly longings, they would be united for ever and ever; and +she became a Christian, too, and after the other five Vestals were dead, +she also passed away; and the man who had loved her so long, in her own +way, died peacefully on the next day, loving her and hoping to join her, +and having led a good life. After that there was peace, and they seemed +to be together. + +That was their story as it gradually took shape out of fragments and +broken visions, and though the man who dreamt these things could not +conceive, when he remembered them, that he could ever become at all a +saintly character, yet in the vision he knew that he was always himself, +and all that he thought and did seemed natural, though it often seemed +hard, and he suffered much in some ways, but in others he found great +happiness. + +It was a simple story and a most improbable one. He was quite sure that +no matter in what age he might have lived, instead of in the twentieth +century, he would have felt and acted as he now did when he was wide +awake. But that did not matter. The important point was that his +imagination was making for him a sort of secondary existence in sleep, +in which he was desperately in love with some one who exactly resembled +Cecilia Palladio and who bore her first name; and this dreaming created +such a strong and lasting impression in his mind that, in real life, he +could not separate Cecilia Palladio from Cecilia the Vestal, and found +himself on the point of saying to her in reality the very things which +he had said to her in imagination while sleeping. The worst of it was +this identity of the real and the unreal, for he was persuaded that with +very small opportunity the two would turn into one. + +He hated thinking, under all circumstances, as compared with action. It +was easier to follow his impulses, and fortunately for him they were +brave and honourable. He never analysed his feelings, never troubled +himself about his motives, never examined his conscience. It told him +well enough whether he was doing right or wrong, and on general +principles he always meant to do right. It was not his fault if his +imagination made him fall in love in a dream with the young girl who was +probably to be his friend's wife. But it would be distinctly his fault +if he gave himself the chance of falling in love with her in reality. + +Moreover, though he did not know how much further Cecilia's dream +coincided with his own, and believed it impossible that the coincidence +should be nearly as complete as it seemed, he felt that she would love +him if he chose that she should. The intuitions of very masculine men +about women are far keener and more trustworthy than women guess; and +when such a man is not devoured by fatuous vanity he is rarely mistaken +if he feels sure that a woman he meets will love him, provided that +circumstances favour him ever so little. There is not necessarily the +least particle of conceit in that certainty, which depends on the direct +attraction between any two beings who are natural complements to each +other. + +Lamberti was a man who had the most profound respect for every woman who +deserved to be respected ever so little, and a good-natured contempt for +all the rest, together with a careless willingness to be amused by them. +And of all the women in the world, next to his own mother, the one whom +he would treat with something approaching to veneration would be Guido's +wife, if Guido married. + +Without any reasoning, it was plain that he must see as little as +possible of Cecilia Palladio. But as this would not please Guido, the +best plan was to go away while there was time. In all probability, when +he next returned, say in two years, he would no longer feel the +dangerous attraction that was almost driving him out of his senses at +present. + +He had been in Rome some time, expecting his promotion to the rank of +lieutenant-commander, which would certainly be accompanied by orders to +join another ship, possibly very far away. If he showed himself very +anxious to go at once, before his leave expired, the Admiralty would +probably oblige him, especially as he just now cared much less for the +promised step in the service than for getting away at short notice. The +best thing to be done was to go and see the Minister, who had of late +been very friendly to him; everything might be settled in half an hour, +and next week he would be on his way to China, or South America, or East +Africa, which would be perfectly satisfactory to everybody concerned. + +It was a wise and honourable resolution, and he determined to act on it +at once. His hand was on the door to go out, when he stopped suddenly +and stood quite still for a few seconds. It was as if something unseen +surrounded him on all sides, in the air, invisible but solid as lead, +making it impossible for him to move. It did not last long, and he went +out, wondering at his nervousness. + +In half an hour he was in the presence of the Minister, who was speaking +to him. + +"You are promoted to the rank of lieutenant-commander. You are +temporarily attached to the ministerial commission which is to study the +Somali question, which you understand so well from experience on the +spot. His Majesty specially desires it." + +"How long may this last, sir?" enquired Lamberti, with a look of blank +disappointment. + +"Oh, a year or two, I should say," laughed the Minister. "They do not +hurry themselves. You can enjoy a long holiday at home." + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + +Though it was late in the season, everybody wished to do something to +welcome the appearance of Cecilia Palladio in society. It was too warm +to give balls, but it did not follow that it was at all too hot to dance +informally, with the windows open. We do not know why a ball is hotter +than a dance; but it is so. There are things that men do not understand. + +So dinners were given, to which young people were asked, and afterwards +an artistic-looking man appeared from somewhere and played waltzes, and +twenty or thirty couples amused themselves to their hearts' delight till +one o'clock in the morning. Moreover, people who had villas gave +afternoon teas, without any pretence of giving garden parties, and there +also the young ones danced, sometimes on marble pavements in great old +rooms that smelt slightly of musty furniture, but were cool and +pleasant. Besides these things, there were picnic dinners at Frascati +and Castel Gandolfo, and everybody drove home across the Campagna by +moonlight. Altogether, and chiefly in Cecilia Palladio's honour, there +was a very pretty little revival of winter gaiety, which is not always +very gay in Rome, nowadays. + +The young girl accepted it all much more graciously than her mother had +expected, and was ready to enjoy everything that people offered her, +which is a great secret of social success. The Countess had always +feared that Cecilia was too fond of books and of serious talk to care +much for what amuses most people. But, instead, she suddenly seemed to +have been made for society; she delighted in dancing, she liked to be +well dressed, she smiled at well-meaning young men who made compliments +to her, and she chatted with young girls about the myriad important +nothings that grow like wild flowers just outside life's gate. + +Every one liked her, and she let almost every one think that she liked +them. She never said disagreeable things about them, and she never +attracted to herself the young gentleman who was looked upon as the +property of another. Every one said that she was going to marry d'Este +in the autumn, though the engagement was not yet announced. Wherever she +was, he was there also, generally accompanied by his inseparable friend, +Lamberto Lamberti. + +The latter had grown thinner during the last few weeks. When any one +spoke of it, he explained that life ashore did not suit him, and that he +was obliged to work a good deal over papers and maps for the ministerial +commission. But he was evidently not much inclined to talk of himself, +and he changed the subject immediately. His life was not easy, for he +was not only in serious trouble himself, but he was also becoming +anxious about Guido. + +The one matter about which a man is instinctively reticent with his most +intimate man friend is his love affair, if he has one. He would rather +tell a woman all about it, though he does not know her nearly so well, +than talk about it, even vaguely, with the one man in the world whom he +trusts. Where women are concerned, all men are more or less one +another's natural enemies, in spite of civilisation and civilised +morals; and each knows this of the other, and respects the other's +silence as both inevitable and decent. + +Guido had told Lamberti that he should be the first to know of the +engagement as soon as there was any, and Lamberti waited. He did not +know whether Guido had spoken yet, nor whether there was any sort of +agreement between him and Cecilia by which the latter was to give her +answer after a certain time. He could not guess what they talked of +during the hour they spent together nearly every day. People made +inquiries of him, some openly and some by roundabout means, and he +always answered that if his friend were engaged to be married he would +assuredly announce the fact at once. Those who received this answer were +obliged to be satisfied with it, because Lamberti was not the kind of +man to submit to cross-questioning. + +He wondered whether Cecilia knew that he loved her, since what he had +foreseen had happened, and he did not even try to deny the fact to +himself. He would not let his thoughts dwell on what she might feel for +him, for that would have seemed like the beginning of a betrayal. + +She never asked him questions nor did anything to make him spend more +time near her than was inevitable, and neither had ever gone back to the +subject of their dreams. She had asked Lamberti to come to the house at +an hour when there would not be other visitors, but he had not come, and +neither had ever referred to the matter since. He sometimes felt that +she was watching him earnestly, but at those times he would not meet her +eyes lest his own should say too much. + +It was hard, it was quite the hardest thing he had ever done in his +life, and he was never quite sure that he could go on with it to the +end. But it was the only honourable course he could follow, and it would +surely grow easier when he knew definitely that Cecilia meant to marry +Guido. It was bitter to feel that if the man had been any one but his +friend, there would have been no reason for making any such sacrifice. +He inwardly prayed that Cecilia would come to a decision soon, and he +was deeply grateful to her for not making his position harder by +referring to their first conversation at the Villa Madama. + +Guido had not the slightest suspicion of the true state of things, but +he himself was growing impatient, and daily resolved to put the final +question. Every day, however, he put it off again, not from lack of +courage, nor even because he was naturally so very indolent, but because +he felt sure that the answer would not be the one hoped for. Though +Cecilia's manner with him had never changed from the first, it was +perfectly clear that, however much she might enjoy his conversation, she +was calmly indifferent to his personality. She never blushed with +pleasure when he came, nor did her eyes grow sad when he left her; and +when she talked with him she spoke exactly as when she was speaking with +her mother. He listened in vain for an added earnestness of tone, meant +for him only; it never came. She liked him, beyond doubt, from the +first, and liking had changed to friendship very fast, but Guido knew +how very rarely the friendship a woman feels for a man can ever turn to +love. Starting from the same point, it grows steadily in another +direction, and its calm intellectual sympathy makes the mere suggestion +of any unreasoning impulse of the heart seem almost absurd. + +But where the man and woman do not feel alike, this state of things +cannot last for ever, and when it comes to an end there is generally +trouble and often bitterness. Guido knew that very well and hesitated in +consequence. + +Princess Anatolie could not understand the reason for this delay, and +was not at all pleased. She said it would be positively not decent if +the girl refused to marry Guido after acting in public as if she were +engaged to him, and Monsieur Leroy agreed with her. She asked him if he +could not do anything to hasten matters, and he said he would try. The +old lady had felt quite sure of the marriage, and in imagination she had +already extracted from Guido's wife all the money she had made Guido +lose for her. It is now hardly necessary to say that she had received +spirit messages through Monsieur Leroy, bidding her to invest money in +the most improbable schemes, and that she had followed his advice in +making her nephew act as her agent in the matter. Monsieur Leroy had +pleaded his total ignorance of business as a reason for keeping out of +the transaction, by which, however, it may be supposed that he profited +indirectly for a time. He never hesitated to say that the unfortunate +result was due to Guido's negligence and failure to carry out the +instructions given him. + +But the Princess knew that at least a part of the fault belonged to +Monsieur Leroy, though she never had the courage to tell him so; and +though it looked as if nothing could sever the mysterious tie that +linked their lives together, he had forfeited some of his influence over +her with the loss of the money, and had only recently regained it by +convincing her that she was in communication with her dead child. So +long as he could keep her in this belief he was in no danger of losing +his power again. On the contrary, it increased from day to day. + +"Guido is so very quixotic," he said. "He hesitates because the girl is +so rich. But we may be able to bring a little pressure to bear on him. +After all, you have his receipts for all the money that passed through +his hands." + +"Unless he marries this girl, they are not worth the paper they are +written on." + +"I am not sure. He is very sensitive about matters of honour. Now a +receipt for money given to a lady looks to me very much like a debt of +honour. What happened in the eyes of the world? You lent him money which +he lost in speculation." + +"No doubt," answered the Princess, willing to be convinced of any +absurdity that could help her to get back her money. "But when a man has +no means of paying a debt of honour----" + +"He shoots himself," said Monsieur Leroy, completing the sentence. + +"That would not help us. Besides, I should be very sorry if anything +happened to Guido." + +"Of course!" cried Monsieur Leroy. "Not for worlds! But nothing need +happen to him. You have only to persuade him that the sole way to save +his honour is to marry an heiress, and he will marry at once, as a +matter of conscience. Unless something is done to move him, he will +not." + +"But he is in love with the girl!" + +"Enough to occupy him and amuse him. That is all. By-the-bye, where are +those receipts?" + +"In the small strong-box, in the lower drawer of the writing table." + +Monsieur Leroy found the papers, and transferred them to his +pocket-book, not yet sure how he could best turn them to account, but +quite certain that their proper use would reveal itself to him before +long. + +"And besides," he concluded, "we can always make him sell the Andrea del +Sarto and the Raphael. Baumgarten thinks they are worth a good sum. You +know that he buys for the Berlin gallery, and the British Museum people +think everything of his opinion." + +In this way the Princess and her favourite disposed of Guido and his +property; but he would not have been much surprised if he could have +heard their conversation. They were only saying what he had expected of +them as far back as the day when he had talked with Lamberti in the +garden of the Arcadians. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + +It is not strange that Cecilia should have been much less disturbed than +Lamberti by what he had described to the doctor as a possession of the +devil, or a haunting. Men who have never been ailing in their lives +sometimes behave like frightened children if they fall ill, though the +ailment may not be very serious, whereas a hardened old invalid, +determined to make the best of life in spite of his ills, often laughs +himself into the belief that he can recover from the two or three mortal +diseases that have hold of him. Bearing bodily pain is a mere matter of +habit, as every one knows who has had to bear much, or who has tried it +as an experiment. In barbarous countries conspirators have practised +suffering the tortures likely to be inflicted on them to extract +confession. + +Lamberti had never before been troubled by anything at all resembling +what people call the supernatural, nor even by anything unaccountable. +It was natural that he should be made nervous and almost ill by the +persistence of the dreams that had visited him since he had met Cecilia, +and by what he believed to be the closing of a door each time he awoke +from them. + +Cecilia, on the contrary, had practised dreaming all her life and was +not permanently disturbed by any vision that presented itself, nor by +anything like a "phenomenon" which might accompany it. She felt that her +dreams brought her nearer to a truth of some sort, hidden from most of +the world, but of vital value, and after which she was groping +continually without much sense of direction. The specialist whom +Lamberti had consulted would have told her plainly that she had learned +to hypnotise herself, and a Japanese Buddhist monk would have told her +the same thing, adding that she was doing one of the most dangerous +things possible. The western man of science would have assured her that +a certain resemblance of the face in the dream to Lamberti was a mere +coincidence, and that since she had met him the likeness had perfected +itself, so that she now really dreamed of Lamberti; and the doctor would +have gone on to say that the rest of her vision was the result of +auto-suggestion, because the story of the Vestal Virgins had always had +a very great attraction for her. She had read a great deal about them, +she had followed Giacomo Boni's astonishing discoveries with breathless +interest, she knew more of Roman history than most girls, and probably +more than most men, and it was not at all astonishing that she should be +able to construct a whole imaginary past life with all its details and +even its end, and to dream it all at will, as if she were reading a +novel. + +She would have admitted that the pictured history of Cecilia, the last +Vestal, had been at first fragmentary, and had gradually completed +itself in her visions, and that even now it was constantly growing, and +that it might continue to grow, and even to change, for a long time. + +Further, if the specialist had known positively that similar fragments +of dreams were little by little putting themselves together in +Lamberti's imagination, though the latter had only once spoken with +Cecilia of one or two coincidences, he would have said, provided that he +chose to be frank with a mere girl, that no one knows much about +telepathy, and that modern science does not deny what it cannot explain, +as the science of the nineteenth century did, but collects and examines +facts, only requiring to be persuaded that they are really facts and not +fictions. No one, he would have said, would build a theory on one +instance; he would write down the best account of the case which he +could find, and would then proceed to look for another. Since wireless +telegraphy was possible, the specialist would not care to seek a reason +why telepathy should not be a possibility, too. If it were, it explained +thoroughly what was going on between Cecilia and Lamberti; if it were +not, there must be some other equally satisfactory explanation, still to +be found. The attitude of science used to be extremely aggressive, but +she has advanced to a higher stage; in these days she is serene. Men of +science still occasionally come into conflict with the official +representatives of different beliefs, but science herself no longer +assails religion. Lamberti's specialist professed no form of faith, +wherefore he would rather not have been called upon to answer all three +of Kant's questions: What can I know? What is it my duty to do? What may +I hope? But it by no means followed that his answers, if he gave any, +would have been shocking to people who knew less and hoped more than he +did. + +Cecilia thought much, but she followed no such form of reasoning to +convince herself that her experiences were all scientifically possible; +on the contrary, the illusion she loved best was the one which science +and religion alike would have altogether condemned as contrary to faith +and revolting to reason, namely, her cherished belief that she had +really once lived as a Vestal in old days, and had died, and had come +back to earth after a long time, irresistibly drawn towards life after +having almost attained to perfect detachment from material things. + +Her meeting with Lamberti, and, most of all, her one short conversation +with him, had greatly strengthened her illusion. He had come back, too, +and they understood each other. But that should be all. + +Then she took up Nietzsche again, not because every one read _Thus spake +Zarathushthra_, or was supposed to read the book, and talked about it in +a manner that discredited the supposition, but because she wanted to +decide once for all whether his theory of the endless return to life at +all suited her own case. + +She turned over the pages, but she knew the main thought by heart. Time +is infinite. In space there is matter consisting of elements which, +however numerous, are limited in number, and can therefore only combine +in a finite number of ways. When those possible combinations are +exhausted, they must repeat themselves. And because time is infinite, +they must repeat themselves an infinite number of times. Therefore +precisely the same combinations have returned always and will return +again and again for ever. Therefore in the past, every one of us has +lived precisely the same life, in a precisely similar world, an infinite +number of times, and will live the same life over again, to the minutest +detail, an infinite number of times in the future. In the fewest words, +this is Nietzsche's argument to prove what he calls the "Eternal +Return." + +No. That was not at all what she wished to believe, nor could believe, +though it was very plausible as a theory. If men lived over again, they +did not live the same lives but other lives, worse or better than the +first. Nietzsche in this was speaking only of matter which combined and +combined again. If it did, each combination might have a new soul of its +own. It was conceivable that different souls should be made to suffer +and enjoy in precisely the same way. And as for the rest, as for a good +deal of _Thus spake Zarathushthra_, including the Over-Man, and the +overcoming of Pity, and the Man who had killed God, she thought it +merely fantastic, though much of it was very beautiful and some of it +was terrible, and she thought she had understood what Nietzsche meant. + +Tired of reading, she lay back in her deep chair and let the open book +fall upon her knees. She was in her own room, late in the morning, and +the blinds were drawn together to keep out the glare of the wide street, +for it was June and the summer was at hand. Outside, the air was all +alive with the coming heat, as it is in Italy at the end of spring, and +perhaps nowhere else. The sunshine seems to grow in it, like a living +thing, that also fills everything with life. It gets into the people, +too, and into their voices, and even the grave Romans unbend a little, +and laugh more gaily, and their step is more elastic. By-and-by, when +the full warmth of summer fills the city, the white streets will be +almost deserted in the middle of the day, and men who have to be abroad +will drag themselves along where the walls cast a narrow shade, and +everything will grow lazy and sleepy and silently hot. But the first +good sunshine in June is to the southern people the elixir of life, the +magic gold-mist that floats before the coming gods, the breath of the +gods themselves breathed into mortals. + +Within the girl's room the light was very soft on the pale blue damask +hangings, and a gentle air blew now and then from window to window, as +if a sweet spirit passed by, bringing a message and taking one away. It +stirred Cecilia's golden hair, and fanned her forehead, and somehow, +just then, it brought intuitions of beautiful unknown things with it, +and inspiration with peace, and clear sight. + +Maidenhood is blessed with such moments, beyond all other states. In all +times and in all countries it has been half divine, and ever +mysteriously linked with divine things. The maid was ever the priestess, +the prophetess, and the seer, whose eyes looked beyond the veil and +whose ears heard the voices of the immortals; and she of Orleans was not +the only maiden, though she was the last, that lifted her fallen country +up out of despair and led men to fight and victory who would follow no +man-leader where all had failed. + +Maidenhood meets evil, and passes by on the other side, not seeing; +maidenhood is whole and perfect in itself and sweetly careless of what +it need not know; maidenhood dreams of a world that is not, nor was, nor +shall be, hitherwards of heaven; maidenhood is angelhood. In its +unconsciousness of evil lies its strength, in its ignorance of itself +lies its danger. + +Cecilia was not trying to call up visions now; she was thinking of her +life, and wondering what was to happen, and now and then she was asking +herself what she ought to do. Should she marry Guido d'Este, or not? +That was the sum of her thoughts and her wonderings and her questions. + +She knew she was perfectly free, and that her mother would never try to +make her marry against her will. But if she married Guido, would she be +acting against her will? + +In her own mind she was well aware that he would speak whenever she +chose to let him do so. The most maidenly girl of eighteen knows when a +man is waiting for an opportunity to ask her to be his wife, whereas +most young men who are much in love do not know exactly when they are +going to put the question, and are often surprised when it rises to +their lips. Cecilia considered that issue a foregone conclusion. The +vital matter was to find out her own answer. + +She had never known any man, since her stepfather died, whom she liked +nearly as much as Guido, and she had met more interesting and gifted men +before she was really in society than most women ever know in a +lifetime. She liked him so much that if he had any faults she could not +see them, and she did not believe that he had any which deserved the +name. But that was not the question. No woman likes a man because he has +no faults; on the contrary, if he has a few, she thinks it will be her +mission to eradicate them, and reform him according to her ideal. She +believes that it will be easy, and she knows that it will be delightful +to succeed, because no other woman has succeeded before. That is one +reason why the wildest rakes are often loved by the best of women. + +Cecilia liked Guido for his own sake, and felt an intellectual sympathy +for him which took the place of what she had sorely missed since her +stepfather died; she liked him also, because he was always ready to do +whatever she wished; and because, with the exception of that one day at +the Villa Madama, his moral attitude before her was one of respectful +and chivalrous devotion; and also because he and she were fond of the +same things, and because he took her seriously and never told her that +she was wasting time in trying to understand Kant and Fichte and Hegel, +though he possibly thought so; and she liked the little ways he had, and +his modesty, though he knew so much, and his simple manner of dressing, +and the colour of his hair, and a sort of very faint atmosphere of +Russian leather, good cigarettes, and Cologne water that was always +about him. There were a great many reasons why she was fond of him. For +instance, she had found that he never repeated to any one, not even to +Lamberti, a word of any conversation they had together; and if any one +at a dinner party or at a picnic attacked any favourite idea or theory +of hers, he defended it, using all her arguments as well as his own; and +when he knew she could say something clever in the general talk, he +always said something else which made it possible for her to bring out +her own speech, and he was always apparently just as much pleased with +it as if he had not heard it already, when they had been alone. It would +be impossible to enumerate all the reasons why she was sure that there +was nobody like him. + +She knew that what she felt for him was affection, and she was quite +willing to believe that it was love. He certainly had no rival with her +at that time, and if she hesitated, it was because the thought of +marriage itself was repugnant to her. + +In the secondary life of her imagination she was bound by the most +solemn vows, and under the most terrible penalties, to preserve herself +intact from the touch of man. In the dream, it was sacrilege for a man +to love her, and meant death to love him in return. She knew that it was +a dream, but she loved to believe that all the dream was true, and she +was too much accustomed to the thought not to be influenced by it. + +There are great actors who become so used to a favourite part that they +go on acting it in real life, and have sometimes gone mad in the end, it +is said, believing themselves really to be the heroes or tyrants they +have represented. Only great second-rate actors "learn" their parts and +attain to a sort of perfection in them by mechanical means. The really +great first-rate artists make themselves a secondary existence by +self-suggestion, and really have two selves, one that thinks and acts +like Othello, or Hamlet, or Louis the Eleventh, the other that goes +through life with the opinions, convictions, and principles of Sir Henry +Irving, of Tommaso Salvini, or of Madame Sarah Bernhardt. + +In a higher degree, because she had never learned but one part, and that +one proceeded in some way out of her own intelligence, Cecilia was in +the same state of dual consciousness, and if her waking life was +influenced by her imaginary existence in dreams, her dreams were +probably affected also by her waking life. + +"Thou shalt so act, as to be worthy of happiness," said her favourite +philosopher. She could undoubtedly marry Guido, in spite of her +imaginary vows, if she chose to shake off the shadowy bond by an act of +everyday will. Would that be acting so as to deserve to be happy? What +is happiness? The belief that one is happy; nothing else. As Guido's +wife, should she believe that she was happy? Yes, if there were +happiness to be found in marriage. But she was happy already without it, +and would always be so, she was sure. Therefore she would be risking a +certainty for a possibility. "Who leaves the old and takes new, knows +what he leaves, not what he may find"; so says the old Italian proverb. +And again, she had heard a friend of her stepfather's say with a laugh +that hope seems cheap food, but is always paid for by those who live on +it. + +To act so as to be worthy of happiness, meant to act in such a way that +the reason for each action might be a law for the happiness of all. That +was the Categorical Imperative, and Cecilia believed in it. + +Then, if she married Guido, she ought to be sure that all young girls in +her position would marry under the circumstances, and that the majority +of them would be happy. With a return of practical sense from the +regions of philosophy, she asked herself how she should feel if Guido +married some one else, one of the many young girls who were among her +friends. Should she be jealous? + +At the mere thought she felt a little dull sinking that was anticipated +disappointment. Yes, she liked him enough, she was fond enough of him to +miss him terribly if he were taken away from her. This was undoubtedly +love, she thought. She could not be happy without that companionship, +though she wished that it might continue all her life, without the +necessity of being married to him. + +Of all the other men she had met during the last month, the only one +whom she instinctively understood was Lamberti, but that was different. +It was the understanding of a fear that was sometimes almost abject; it +was the certainty that if he only would, he could lead her anywhere, +make her do anything, direct her as he directed his own hand. When she +had met him in the house of the Vestals, she had been sure that if she +stood a moment longer where he had come upon her, he would take her in +his arms and kiss her, and she would not resist. It was of no use to +argue about it, to tell herself that she would have been safe on a +desert island with Guido's trusted friend; the conviction was strong. At +the Villa Madama, he had made her say what he pleased, go with him where +he chose, tell him her secret. It was too horrible for words. She had +asked him to come to see her at an hour when there would be no visitors, +and she knew that she had meant to see him alone, in spite of her +mother, and even by stealth if need were. When he was out of her sight, +his influence was gone with him, and she thanked heaven that he had not +come, and that he apparently took care never to be alone with her for a +moment now. He had only to look at her in a certain way, and she must +obey him; if he ever touched her hand she would be his slave, powerless +to resist him. + +Sometimes she could not help looking at him, but then he never turned +his eyes towards her, and she was thankful when she could turn hers +away. When he was not present, she hoped that she might never see his +face again, except in dreams, for there he was not the same. There, but +for that one passionate kiss that told all, he was tender, and gentle, +and true, and he listened to her, and in the end he lived as she wished +him to live. But he had come back to life with the same face, another +man--one whom she feared as she feared nothing in the world, and few +things beyond it, for he was born her master, and was strong, and had +ruthless eyes. Even Guido could not save her from him, she was sure. + +Yet in spite of all this, she could meet him with outward indifference +in the world, before other people. She felt that there was no danger so +long as she was not alone with him, because he would not dare to use his +power, and the world protected her by its cheerful, careless presence. +She did not hate him, she only feared him, with every part of her, body +and soul. + +She was sure that he knew it, but she was not grateful to him for +avoiding her. She could not be grateful to any one of whom she was in +terror. It was merely his will to avoid her, or perhaps, as Guido seemed +to think, he did not like her; or possibly it was for Guido's sake, +because Guido trusted him, and he was a man of honour. + +He was that beyond doubt, for every one said so, and she knew that he +was brave; but though he might possess every quality and virtue under +the sun, she could never be less afraid of him. Her fear had nothing to +do with his character; it was bodily and spiritual, not reasonable. She +had found out that he was perfectly truthful, for nothing he said +escaped her, and Guido told her that he was kind, but that was hard to +believe of any one with those eyes. Yet the man in the dream was +gentleness itself, and his eyes never glittered when they looked at her. + +To think that she could ever love Lamberti was utterly absurd. When she +was married to Guido she would tell him that she feared his friend. Now, +it was impossible. He would smile quietly and tell her there was nothing +to be afraid of; he would smile, too, if she told him that she had a +dual existence, and dreamed herself into the other every day. + +And now she was smiling, too, as she thought of him, for she had thought +too long about Lamberti, and it was soothing to go back to Guido's +companionship and to all that her real affection for him meant to her. +It was like coming home after a dangerous journey. There he was, always +the same, his hands stretched out to welcome her back. She would have +just that sensation presently when he came to luncheon, and he would +have just that look. She and he were made to spend endless days +together, sometimes talking, sometimes thoughtful and silent, always +happy, and calm, and utterly peaceful. + +After all, she thought, what more could a woman ask? With each other's +society and her fortune, they would have all the world held that was +pleasant and beautiful around them, and they would enjoy it together, as +long as it lasted, and it would never make the least difference to them +that they should grow old, and older, until the end came; and at +eighteen it was of no use to think of that. + +Surely this was love, at its best, and of the kind that must last; and +if, after all, in order to get such happiness as that seemed, there was +no way except to marry, why then, she must do as others did and be Guido +d'Este's wife. + +What could she know? That she loved him, in a way not at all like what +she had supposed to be the way of love, but sincerely and truly. What +should she do? She should marry him, since that was necessary. What +might she hope? She could hope for a lifetime of happiness. Should she +then have acted so as to deserve it? Yes. Why not? Might the reason for +her marriage be a rule for others? Yes, for others in exactly the same +case. + +So she smilingly answered the mightiest questions of transcendental +philosophy as if they all referred to the pleasant world in which she +lived, instead of to the lofty regions of Pure Reason. In that, indeed, +she knew that she was playing with them, or applying them empirically, +if any one chose to define in those terms what she was doing. After all, +why should she not? Of the three questions, the first only was +"speculative," and the other two were "practical." The philosopher +himself said so. + +Besides, it did not matter, for Guido d'Este was coming to luncheon, and +afterwards her mother would go and write notes, unless she dozed a +little in her boudoir, as she sometimes did while the two talked; and +then Cecilia would say something quite natural, but quite new, and she +would let her look linger in Guido's a little longer than ever before, +and then he would ask her to marry him. It was all decided beforehand in +her small head. + +She was glad that it was, and she felt much happier at the prospect of +what was coming than she had expected. That must be a sign that she +really loved Guido in the right way, and the pleasant little thrill of +excitement she felt now and again could only be due to that; it would be +outrageous to suppose that it was caused merely by the certainty that +for the first time in her life she was going to receive an offer of +marriage. Why should any young girl care for such a thing, unless she +meant to marry the man, and why in the world should it give her any +pleasure to hear a man stammer something that would be unintelligible if +it were not expected, and then see him wait with painful anxiety for the +answer which every woman likes to hesitate a little in giving, in order +that it may have its full value? Such doings are manifestly wicked, +unless they are sheer nonsense! + +Cecilia rose and rang for her maid; for it was twelve o'clock, and +Romans lunch at half-past twelve, because they do not begin the day +between eight and nine in the morning with ham and eggs, omelets and +bacon, beefsteak and onions, fried liver, cold joints, tongue, cold ham +and pickles, hot cakes, cold cakes, hot bread, cold bread, butter, jam, +honey, fruit of all kinds in season, tea, coffee, chocolate, and a +tendency to complain that they have not had enough, which is the +unchangeable custom of the conquering races, as everybody knows. It is +true that the conquerors do not lunch to any great extent; they go on +conquering from breakfast till dinner time without much intermission, +because that is their business; but it is believed that their women, who +stay at home, have a little something at twelve, luncheon at half-past +two, tea between five and six, dinner at eight, and supper about +midnight, when they can get it. + +Cecilia rang for the excellent Petersen, and said that she would wear +the new costume which had arrived from Doucet's two days ago. + +There was certainly no reason why she should not wish to look well on +this day of all others, and as she turned and saw herself in the glass, +she had not the least thought of making a better impression than usual +on Guido. She was far too sure of herself for that. If she chose, he +would ask her to marry him though she might be dressed in an old +waterproof and overshoes. It was merely because she was happy and was +sure that she was going to do the right thing. When a normal woman is +very happy, she puts on a perfectly new frock, if she has one, in real +life or on the stage, even when she is not going to be seen by any one +in particular. In this, therefore, Cecilia only followed the instinct of +her kind, and if the pretty new costume had not chanced to have come +from Paris, she would not have missed it at all, but would have worn +something else. As it happened to be ready, however, it would have been +a pity not to put it on, since she expected to remember that particular +day all the rest of her life. + +Petersen said it was perfection, and Cecilia was not far from thinking +so, too. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + +Guido d'Este was already in the drawing-room with the Countess when +Cecilia entered, but she knew by their faces and voices that they had +not been talking of her, and was glad of it; for sometimes, when she was +quite sure that they had, she felt a little embarrassment at first, and +found Guido a trifle absent-minded for some time afterwards. + +She took his hand, and perhaps she held it a second longer than usual, +and she looked into his eyes as she spoke to her mother. Yesterday she +would have very likely looked at her mother while speaking to him. + +"I hope I am not late," she said, "Have I kept you waiting?" + +"It was worth while, if you did," Guido said, looking at her with +undisguised admiration. + +"It really is a success, is it not?" Cecilia asked, turning to her +mother now, for approval. + +Then she turned slowly round, raised herself on tiptoe a moment, came +back to her original position, and smiled happily. Guido waited for the +Countess to speak. + +"Yes--yes," the latter answered critically, but almost satisfied. "When +one has a figure like yours, my dear, one should always have things +quite perfect. A woman who has a good figure and is really well dressed, +hardly ever needs a pin. Let me see. Does it not draw under the right +arm, just the slightest bit? Put your arm down, child, let it hang +naturally! So. No, I was mistaken, there is nothing. You really ought to +keep your arm in the right position, darling. It makes so much +difference! You are not going to play tennis, or ride a bicycle in that +costume. No, of course not! Well, then--you understand. Do be careful!" + +Cecilia looked at Guido and smiled again, and her lips parted just +enough to show her two front teeth a little, and then, still parted, +grew grave, which gave her an expression Guido had never seen. For a +moment there was something between a question and an appeal in her face. + +"It is very becoming," he said gravely. "It is a pleasure to see +anything so faultless." + +"I am glad you really like it," she answered. "I always want you to like +my things." + +Everything happened exactly as she had expected and wished, and the +Countess, when she had sipped her cup of coffee after luncheon, went to +the writing table in the boudoir, and though the door was open into the +great drawing-room, she was out of sight, and out of hearing too. + +Cecilia did not sit down again at once, but moved slowly about, went to +one of the windows and looked down at the white street through the slats +of the closed blinds, turned and met Guido's eyes, for he was watching +her, and at last stood still not far from him, but a little further from +the open door of the boudoir than he was. At the end of the room a short +sofa was placed across the corner; before it stood a low table on which +lay a few large books, of the sort that are supposed to amuse people who +are waiting for the lady of the house, or who are stranded alone in the +evening when every one else is talking. They are always books of the +type described as magnificent and not dear; if they were really +valuable, they would not be left there. + +"How you watch me!" Cecilia smiled, as if she did not object to being +watched. "Come and sit down," she added, without waiting for an answer. + +She established herself in one corner of the short sofa behind the +table, Guido took his place in the other, and there would not have been +room for a third person between them. The two had never sat together in +that particular place, and there was a small sensation of novelty about +it which was delightful to them both. There was not the least +calculation of such a thing in Cecilia's choice of the sofa, but only +the unerring instinct of woman which outwits man's deepest schemes at +every turn in life. + +"Yes," Guido said, "I was watching you. I often do, for it is good to +look at you. Why should one not get as much aesthetic pleasure as +possible out of life?" + +The speech was far from brilliant, for Guido was beginning to feel the +spell, and was not thinking so much of what he was saying as of what he +longed to say. Most clever men are dull enough to suppose that they bore +women when they suddenly lose their cleverness and say rather foolish +things with an air of conviction, instead of very witty things with a +studied look of indifference. The hundred and fifty generations of men, +more or less, that separate us moderns from the days of Eden, never +found out that those are the very moments at which a woman first feels +her power, and that it is much less dangerous to bore her just then than +before or afterwards. It is a rare delight to her to feel that her mere +look can turn careless wit to earnest foolishness. For nothing is ever +more in earnest than real folly, except real love. + +"You always say nice things," Cecilia answered, and Guido was pleasantly +surprised, for he had been quite sure that the silly compliment was +hardly worth answering. + +"And you are always kind," he said gratefully. "Always the same," he +added after a moment, with a little accent of regret. + +"Am I? You say it as if you wished I might sometimes change. Is that +what you mean?" + +She looked down at her hands, that lay in her lap motionless and white, +one upon the other, on the delicate dove-coloured stuff of her frock; +and her voice was rather low. + +"No," Guido answered. "That is not what I mean." + +"Then I do not understand," she said, neither moving nor looking up. + +Guido said nothing. He leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, and +stared down at the Persian rug that lay before the sofa on the smooth +matting. It was warm and still in the great room. + +"Try and make me understand." + +Still he was silent. Without changing his position he glanced at the +open door of the boudoir. The Countess was invisible and inaudible. +Guido could hear the young girl's soft and regular breathing, and he +felt the pulse in his own throat. He knew that he must say something, +and yet the only thing he could think of to say was that he loved her. + +"Try and make me understand," she repeated. "I think you could." + +He started and changed his position a little. He had been accustomed so +long to the belief that if he spoke out frankly the thread of his +intercourse with her would be broken, that he made a strong effort to +get back to the ordinary tone of their conversation. + +"Do you never say absurd things that have no meaning?" he asked, and +tried to laugh. + +"It was not what you said," Cecilia answered quietly. "It was the way +you said it, as if you rather regretted saying that I am always the +same. I should be sorry if you thought that an absurd speech." + +"You know that I do not!" cried Guido, with a little indignation. "We +understand each other so well, as a rule, but there is something you +will never understand, I am afraid." + +"That is just what I wish you would explain," replied the young girl, +unmoved. + +"Are you in earnest?" Guido asked, suddenly turning his face to her. + +"Of course. We are such good friends that it is a pity there should ever +be the least little bit of misunderstanding between us." + +"You talk about it very philosophically!" + +"About what?" She had felt that she must make him lose patience, and she +succeeded. + +"After all, I am a man," he said rather hoarsely. "Do you suppose it is +possible for me to see you day after day, to talk with you day after +day, to be alone with you day after day, as I am, to hear your voice, to +touch your hand--and to be satisfied with friendship?" + +"How should I know?" Cecilia asked thoughtfully. "I have never known any +one as well as I know you. I never liked anyone else well enough," she +added after an instant. + +A very faint colour rose in her cheeks, for she was afraid that she had +been too forward. + +"Yes. I am sure of that," he said. "But you never feel that mere liking +is turning into something stronger, and that friendship is changing into +love. You never will!" + +She said nothing, but looked at him steadily while he looked away from +her, absorbed in his own thought and expecting no answer. When at last +he felt her eyes on him, he turned quickly with a start of surprise, +catching his breath, and speaking incoherently. + +"You do not mean to tell me--you are not----" + +Again her lips parted and she smiled at his wonder. + +"Why not?" she asked, at last. + +"You love me? You?" He could not believe his ears. + +"Why not?" she asked again, but so low that he could hardly hear the +words. + +He turned half round, as he sat, and covered her crossed hands with his, +and for a while neither spoke. He was supremely happy; she was convinced +that she ought to be, and that she therefore believed that she was, and +that her happiness was consequently real. + +But when she heard his voice, she knew, in spite of all, that she did +not feel what he felt, even in the smallest degree, and there was a +doubt which she had not anticipated, and which she at once faced in her +heart with every argument she could use. She must have done right, it +was absolutely necessary that what she had done should be right, now +that it was too late to undo it. The mere suggestion that it might turn +out to be a mistake was awful. It would all be her fault if she had +deceived him, though ever so unwittingly. + +His hands shook a little as they lay on hers. Then they took one of hers +and held it, drawing it slowly away from the other. + +"Do you really love me?" Guido asked, still wondering, and not quite +convinced. + +"Yes," she answered faintly, and not trying to withdraw her hand. + +She had been really happy before she had first answered him. A minute +had not passed, and her martyrdom had begun, the martyrdom by the doubt +which made that one "yes" possibly a lie. Guido raised her hand to his +lips, and she felt that they were cold. Then he began to speak, and she +heard his voice far off and as if it came to her through a dense mist. + +"I have loved you almost since we first met," he said, "but I was sure +from the beginning that you would never feel anything but friendship for +me." + +A voice that was neither his nor hers, cried out in her heart: + +"Nor ever can!" + +She almost believed that he could hear the words. She would have given +all she had to have the strength to speak them, to disappoint him +bravely, to tell him that she had meant to do right, but had done wrong. +But she could not. He did not pause as he spoke, and his soft, deep +voice poured into her ear unceasingly the pent-up thoughts of love that +had been gathering in his heart for weeks. She knew that he was looking +in her face for some response, and now and then, as her head lay back +against the sofa cushion, she turned her eyes to his and smiled, and +twice she felt that her fingers pressed his hand a little. + +It was not out of mere weakness that she did not interrupt him, for she +was not weak, nor cowardly. She had been so sure that she loved him, +until he had made her say so, that even now, whenever she could think at +all, she went back to her reasoning, and could all but persuade herself +again. It was when she was obliged to speak that her lips almost refused +the word. + +For she was very fond of him. It would have been pleasant to sit there, +and even to press his hand affectionately, and to listen to his words, +if only they had been words of friendship and not of love, and spoken in +another tone--in his voice of every day. But she had waked in him +something she could not understand, and to which nothing in herself +responded, nothing thrilled, nothing consented; and the inner voice in +her heart cried out perpetually, warning her against something unknown. + +He was eloquent now, and spoke without doubt or fear, as men do when +they have been told at last that they are loved; and her occasional +glance and the pressure of her hand were all he wanted in return. He +said everything for her, which he wished to hear her say, and it seemed +to him that she spoke the words by his lips. They would be happy +together always, happy beyond volumes of words to say, beyond thought to +think, beyond imagination to imagine. Quick plans for the future, near +and far, flashed into words that were pictures, and the pictures showed +him a visible earthly paradise, in which they two should live always, in +which he should always be speaking as he was speaking now, and she +listening, as she now listened. + +He forgot the time, and forgot to glance at the open door of the +boudoir, but at last Cecilia started, and drew back her hand from his, +and blushed as she raised her head from the back of the sofa. Her mother +was standing in the doorway watching, and hearing, an expression of rapt +delight on her face, not daring to move forwards or backwards, lest she +should interrupt the scene. + +Cecilia started, and Guido, following the direction of her eyes, saw the +Countess, and felt that small touch of disappointment which a man feels +when the woman he is addressing in passionate language is less +absent-minded than he is. He rose to his feet instantly, and went +forwards, as the Countess came towards him. + +"My dear lady," he said, "Cecilia has consented to be my wife." + +Cecilia did not afterwards remember precisely what happened next, for +the room swam with her as she left her seat, and she steadied herself +against a chair, and saw nothing for a moment; but presently she found +herself in her mother's arms, which pressed her very hard, and her +mother was kissing her again and again, and was saying incoherent +things, and was on the point of crying. Guido stood a few steps away, +apparently seeing nothing, but looking the picture of happiness, and +very busy with his cigarette case, of which he seemed to think the +fastening must be out of order, for he opened it and shut it again +several times and tried it in every way. + +Then Cecilia was quite aware of outward things again, and she kissed her +mother once or twice. + +"Let me go, mother dear," she whispered desperately. "I want to be +alone--do let me go!" + +She slipped away, pale and trembling, and had disappeared almost before +Guido was aware that she was going towards the door. She heard her +mother's voice just as she reached the threshold. + +"We will announce it this evening," the Countess said to Guido. + +Cecilia sped through the long suite of rooms that led to her own. She +met no one, not even Petersen, for the servants were all at dinner. She +locked the door, stood still a moment, and then went to the tall glass +between the windows, and looked at herself as if trying to read the +truth in the reflection of her eyes. It seemed to her that her beauty +was suddenly gone from her, and that she was utterly changed. She saw a +pale, drawn face, eyes that looked weak and frightened, lips that +trembled, a figure that had lost all its elasticity and half its grace. + +She did not throw herself upon her bed and burst into tears. Old +Fortiguerra had taught her that it was not really more natural for a +woman to cry than it is for a man; and she had overcome even the very +slight tendency she had ever had towards such outward weakness. But like +other people who train themselves to keep down emotion, she suffered +much more than if she had given way to what she felt. She turned from +the reflection of herself with a sort of dumb horror, and sat down in +the place where she had come to her great decision less than two hours +ago. + +The room looked very differently now; the air was not the same, the June +sunshine was still beating on the blinds, but it was cruel now, and +pitiless, as all light is that shines on grief. + +She tried to collect her thoughts, and asked herself whether it was a +crime that she had committed against her will, and many other such +questions that had no answer. Little by little reason began to assert +itself again, as emotion subsided. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + +The news of Cecilia Palladio's engagement to Guido d'Este surprised no +one, and was generally received with that satisfaction which society +feels when those things happen which are appropriate in themselves and +have been long expected. A few mothers of marriageable sons were +disappointed, but no mothers of marriageable daughters, because Guido +had no fortune and was so much liked as to have been looked upon rather +as a danger than a prize. + +Though it was late in the season, and she was about to leave Rome, the +Princess Anatolie gave a dinner party in honour of the betrothed pair, +and by way of producing an impression on Cecilia and her mother, invited +all the most imposing people who happened to be in Rome at that time; +and they were chiefly related to her in some way or other, as all +semi-royal personages, and German dukes and grand-dukes and mediatised +princes, and princes of the Holy Empire, seemed to be. Now all these +great people seemed to know Cecilia's future husband intimately and +liked him, and called him "Guido"; and he called some of them by their +first names, and was evidently not the least in awe of any of them. They +were his relations, as the Princess was, and they acknowledged him; and +they were inclined to be affectionate relatives, because he had never +asked any of them for anything, and differed from most of them in never +having done anything too scandalous to be mentioned. They were his +family, for his mother had been an only child; and Princess Anatolie, +who was distinctly a snob in soul, in spite of her royal blood, took +care that the good Countess Fortiguerra should know exactly how matters +stood, and that her daughter ought to be thankful that she was to marry +among the exalted ones of the earth--at any price. + +Now, when she had been an ambassadress, the Countess had met two or +three of those people, and had been accustomed to look upon them as +personages whom the Embassy entertained in state, one at a time, when +they condescended to accept an invitation, but who lived in a region of +their own, which was often, and perhaps fortunately so, beyond the +experience of ordinary society. She was therefore really pleased and +flattered to find herself in their intimacy and to hear what they had to +say when they talked without restraint. Her position was certainly very +good already, but there was no denying that her daughter's marriage +would make it a privileged one. + +In the first place, Guido and Cecilia were clearly expected to visit +some of his relations during their wedding trip and afterwards, and at +some future time the Countess would go with them and see wonderful +castles and palaces she had heard of from her childhood. That would be +delightful, she thought, and the excellent Baron Goldbirn of Vienna +would die of envy. Not that she wished him to die of envy, nor of +anything else; she merely thought of his feelings. + +Then--and perhaps that was what gave her the most real +satisfaction--Cecilia was to take the place for which her beauty and her +talents had destined her, but which her birth had not given her. The +mother's heart was filled with affectionate pride when she realised that +the marvel she had brought into the world, the most wonderful girl that +ever lived, her only child, was to be the mother of kings' and queens' +second cousins. It was quite indifferent that she should be called plain +Signora d'Este, and not princess, or duchess, or marchioness. The +Countess did not care a straw for titles, for she had lived in a world +where they are as plentiful as figs in August; but to be the mother of a +king's second cousin was something worth living for, and she herself +would be the mother-in-law of an ex-King's son, which would have made +her the something-in-law of the ex-King himself, if he had been alive. +Yet she cared very little for herself in comparison with Cecilia. She +was only a vicarious snob, after all, and a very motherly and loving +one, with harmless faults and weaknesses which every one forgave. + +The Princess Anatolie saw that the impression was made, and was +satisfied for the present. She meant to have a little serious +conversation with the Countess before they parted for the summer, and +before the first impression had worn off, but it would have been a great +mistake to talk business on such an occasion as the present. The fish +was netted, that was the main thing; the next was to hasten the marriage +as much as possible, for the Princess saw at once that Cecilia was not +really in love with Guido, and as the fortune was hers, the girl had the +power to draw back at the last moment; that is to say, that all the +mothers of marriageable sons would declare that she was quite right in +doing what Italian society never quite pardons in ordinary cases. An +Italian girl who has broken off an engagement after it is announced does +not easily find a husband at any price. + +Cecilia noticed that Monsieur Leroy was not present at the dinner, and +as she sat next to Guido she asked him the reason in an undertone. + +"I do not know," he answered. "He is probably dining out. My aunt's +relations do not like him much, I believe." + +The Countess was affectionately intent on everything her daughter said +and did, and was possessed of very good hearing; she caught the exchange +of question and answer, and it occurred to her that an absent person +might always be made a subject of conversation. She was not far from the +Princess at table. + +"By-the-bye," she asked, agreeably, "where is Monsieur Leroy?" + +Every one heard her speak, and to her amazement and confusion her words +produced one of those appalling silences which are remembered through +life by those who have accidentally caused them. Cecilia looked at +Guido, and he was gravely occupied in digging the little bits of truffle +out of some pate de foie gras on his plate, for he did not like +truffles. Not a muscle of his face moved. + +"I suppose he is at home," the Princess answered after a few seconds, in +her most disagreeable and metallic tone. + +As Monsieur Leroy had told Cecilia that he lived in the house, she +opened her eyes. Nobody spoke for several moments, and the Countess got +very red, and fanned herself. A stout old gentleman of an apoplectic +complexion and a merry turn of mind struggled a moment with an evident +desire to laugh, then grasped his glass desperately, tried to drink, +choked himself, and coughed and sputtered, just as if he had not been a +member of an imperial family, but just a common mortal. + +"You are a good shot, Guido," said a man who was very much like him, but +was older and had iron-grey hair, "you must be sure to come to us for +the opening of the season." + +"I should like to," Guido answered, "but it is always a state function +at your place." + +"The Emperor is not coming this year," explained the first speaker. + +"Why not?" asked the Princess Anatolie. "I thought he always did." + +The man with the iron-grey hair proceeded to explain why the Emperor was +not coming, and the conversation began again, much to the relief of +every one. The Countess listened attentively, for she was not quite sure +which Emperor they meant. + +"Please ask your mother not to talk about Monsieur Leroy," Guido said, +almost in a whisper. + +Cecilia thought that the advice would scarcely be needed after what had +just happened, but she promised to convey it, and begged Guido to tell +her the reason for what he said when he should have a chance. + +"I am sorry to say that I cannot," he answered, and at once began to +talk about an indifferent subject. + +Cecilia answered him rather indolently, but not absently. She was at +least glad that he did not speak of their future plans, where any one +might hear what he said. + +She was growing used to the idea that she had promised to marry him, and +that everybody expected the wedding to take place in a few weeks, though +it looked utterly impossible to her. + +It was as if she had exchanged characters with him. He had become +hopeful, enthusiastic, in love with life, actively exerting himself in +every way. In a few days she had grown indolent and vacillating, and was +willing to let every question decide itself rather than to force her +decision upon circumstances. She felt that she was not what she had +believed herself to be, and that it therefore mattered little what +became of her. If she married Guido she should not live long, but it +would be the same if she married any one else, since there was no one +whom she liked half as much. + +On the day after the engagement was announced Lamberti came, with Guido, +to offer his congratulations. Cecilia saw that he was thin and looked as +if he were living under a strain of some sort, but she did not think +that his manner changed in the least when he spoke to her. His words +were what she might have expected, few, concise, and well chosen, but +his face was expressionless, and his eyes were dull and impenetrable. He +stayed twenty minutes, talking most of the time with her mother, and +then took his leave. As soon as he had turned to go, Cecilia +unconsciously watched him. He went out and shut the door very softly +after him, and she started and caught her breath. It was only the +shutting of a door, of course, and the door was like any other door, and +made the same noise when one shut it--the click of a well-made lock when +the spring pushes the bevelled latch-bolt into the socket. But it was +exactly the sound she thought she heard each time her dream ended. + +The impression had passed in a flash, and no one had noticed her nervous +movement. Since then, she had not met Lamberti, for after the engagement +was made known she went out less, and Guido spent much more of his time +at the Palazzo Massimo. Many people were leaving Rome, too, and those +who remained were no longer inclined to congregate together, but stayed +at home in the evening and only went out in the daytime when it was +cool. Some had boys who had to pass their public examinations before the +family could go into the country. Others were senators of the Kingdom, +obliged to stay in town till the end of the session; some were connected +with the ministry and had work to do; and some stayed because they liked +it, for though the weather was warm it was not yet what could be called +hot. + +The Countess wished the wedding to take place in July, and Guido agreed +to anything that could hasten it. Cecilia said nothing, for she could +not believe that she was really to be married. Something must happen to +prevent it, even at the last minute, something natural but unexpected, +something, above all, by which she should be spared the humiliation of +explaining to Guido what she felt, and why she had honestly believed +that she loved him. + +And after all, if she were obliged to marry him, she supposed that she +would never be more unhappy than she was already. It was her fate, that +was all that could be said, and she must bear it, and perhaps it would +not be so hard as it seemed. A character weaker than hers might perhaps +have turned against Guido; she might have found her friendly affection +suddenly changed into a capricious dislike that would soon lead to +positive hatred. But there was no fear of that. She only wished that he +would not talk perpetually about the future, with so much absolute +confidence, when it seemed to her so terribly problematic. + +Such conversations were made all the more difficult to sustain by the +fact that if they were married, she, as the possessor of the fortune, +would be obliged to decide many questions with regard to their manner of +life. + +"For my part," Guido said, "I do not care where we live, so long as you +like the place, but you will naturally wish to be near your mother." + +"Oh yes!" cried Cecilia, with more conviction than she had shown about +anything of late. "I could not bear to be separated from her!" + +Lamberti had once observed to Guido that she was an indulgent daughter; +and Guido had smiled and reminded his friend of the younger Dumas, who +once said that his father always seemed to him a favourite child that +had been born to him before he came into the world. Cecilia was +certainly fond of her mother, but it had never occurred to Guido that +she could not live without her. He was in a state of mind, however, in +which a man in love accepts everything as a matter of course, and he +merely answered that in that case they would naturally live in Rome. + +"We could just live here, for the present," she said. "There is the +Palazzo Massimo. I am sure it is big enough. Should you dislike it?" + +She was thinking that if she could keep her own room, and have Petersen +with her, and her mother, the change would not be so great after all. +Guido said nothing, and his expression was a blank. + +"Why not?" Cecilia insisted, and all sorts of practical reasons +suggested themselves at once. "It is a very comfortable house, though it +is a little ghostly at night. There are dreadful stories about it, you +know. But what does that matter? It is big, and in a good part of the +city, and we have just furnished it; so of what use in the world is it +to go and do the same thing over again, in the next street?" + +"That is very sensible," Guido was obliged to admit. + +"But you do not like the idea, I am sure," Cecilia said, in a tone of +disappointment. + +"I had not meant that we should live in the same house with your +mother," Guido said, with a smile. "Of course, she is a very charming +woman, and I like her very much, but I think that when people marry they +had much better go and live by themselves." + +"Nobody ever used to," objected Cecilia. "It is only of late years that +they do it in Rome. Oh, I see!" she cried suddenly. "How dull of me! +Yes. I understand. It is quite natural." + +"What?" asked Guido with some curiosity. + +"You would feel that you had simply come to live in our house, because +you have no house of your own for us to live in. I ought to have thought +of that." + +She seemed distressed, fancying that she had hurt him, but he had no +false pride. + +"Every one knows my position," he answered. "Every one knows that if we +live in a palace, in the way you are used to live, it will be with your +money." + +There was a little pause, for Cecilia did not know what to say. Guido +continued, following his own thoughts: + +"If I did not love you as much as I do, I could not possibly live on +your fortune," he said. "I used to say that nothing could ever make me +marry an heiress, and I meant it. One generally ends by doing what one +says one will never do. A cousin of mine detested Germans and had the +most extraordinary aversion for people who had any physical defect. She +married a German who had lost the use of one leg by a wound in battle, +and was extremely lame." + +"Did she love him?" asked Cecilia. + +"Devotedly, to his dying day. They were the most perfectly loving couple +I ever knew." + +"Would you rather I were lame than rich?" Cecilia asked, with a little +laugh. + +Guido laughed too. + +"That is one of those questions that have no answers. How could I wish +anything so perfect as you are to have any defect? But I will tell you a +story. An Englishman was very much in love with a lady who was lame, and +she loved him but would not marry him. She said that he should not be +tied to a cripple all his life. He was one of those magnificent +Englishmen you see sometimes, bigger and better looking than other men. +When he saw that she was in earnest he went away and scoured Europe till +he found what he wanted--a starving young surgeon who was willing to cut +off one of his legs for a large sum of money. That was before the days +of chloroform. When the Englishman had recovered, he went home with his +wooden leg, and asked the lady if she would marry him, then. She did, +and they were happy." + +"Is that true?" Cecilia asked. + +"I have always believed it. That was the real thing." + +"Yes. That was the real thing." + +Cecilia's voice trembled a very little, and her eyes glistened. + +"The truth is," said Guido, "that it is easier to have one's leg cut off +than to make a fortune." + +He was amused at his thought, but Cecilia was wondering what she would +be willing to suffer, and able to bear, if any suffering could buy her +freedom. At the same time, she knew that she would do a great deal to +help him if he were in need or distress. She wondered, too, whether +there could be any fixed relation between a sacrifice made for love and +one made for friendship's sake. + +"There must never be any question of money between us," she said, after +a pause. "What is mine must be ours, and what is ours must be as much +yours as mine." + +"No," Guido answered gently. "That is not possible. I have quite enough +for anything I shall ever need, but you must live in the way you like, +and where you like, with your own fortune." + +"And you will be a sort of perpetual guest in my house!" + +For the first time there was a little bitterness in her laugh, and he +looked at her quickly, for after the way she had spoken he had not +thought that what he had said could have offended her. Of the two, he +fancied that his own position was the harder to accept, the position of +the "perpetual guest" in his wife's palace, just able to pay for his +gloves, his cigarettes, and his small luxuries. He did not quite +understand why she was hurt, as she seemed to be. + +On her part she felt as if she had done all she could, and was angry +with herself, and not with him, because all her fortune was not worth a +tenth of what he was giving her, nor a hundredth part. For an instant +she was on the point of speaking out frankly, to tell him that she had +made a great mistake. Then she thought of what he would suffer, and once +more she resolved to think it all over before finally deciding. + +So nothing was decided. For when she was alone, all the old reasons came +and arrayed themselves before her, with their hopeless little faces, +like poor children standing in a row to be inspected, and trying to look +their best though their clothes were ragged and their little shoes were +out at the toes. + +But they were the only reasons she had, and she coaxed them into a sort +of unreal activity till they brought her back to the listless state in +which she had lived of late, and in which it did not matter what became +of her, since she must marry Guido in the end. + +Her mother paid no attention to her moods. Cecilia had always been +subject to moods, she said to herself, and it was not at all strange +that she should not behave like other girls. Guido seemed satisfied, and +that was the main thing, after all. He was not, but he was careful not +to say so. + +The preparations for the wedding went on, and the Countess made up her +mind that it should take place at the end of July. It would be so much +more convenient to get it over at once, and the sooner Cecilia returned +from her honeymoon, the sooner her mother could see her again. The good +lady knew that she should be very unhappy when she was separated from +the child she had idolised all her life; but she had always looked upon +marriage as an absolute necessity, and after being married twice +herself, she was inclined to consider it as an absolute good. She would +no more have thought of delaying the wedding from selfish considerations +than she would have thought of cutting off Cecilia's beautiful hair in +order to have it made up into a false braid and wear it herself. So she +busied herself with the dressmakers, and only regretted that both +Cecilia and Guido flatly refused to go to Paris. It did not matter quite +so much, because only three months had elapsed since the last interview +with Doucet, and all the new summer things had come; and after all one +could write, and some things were very good in Rome, as for instance all +the fine needle-work done by the nuns. It would have been easier if +Cecilia had shown some little interest in her wedding outfit. + +The girl tried hard to care about what was being made for her, and was +patient in having gowns tried on, and in listening to her mother's +advice. The days passed slowly and it grew hotter. + +After she had become engaged to Guido, she had broken with her dream +life by an effort which had cost her more than she cared to remember. + +She had felt that it was not the part of a faithful woman to go on +loving an imaginary man in her dreams, when she was the promised wife of +another, even though she loved that other less or not at all. + +It was a maidenly and an honest conviction, but at the root of it lay +also an unacknowledged fear which made it even stronger. The man in the +dream might grow more and more like Lamberti, the dream itself might +change, the man might have power over her, instead of submitting to her +will, and he might begin to lead her whither he would. The mere idea was +horrible. It was better to break off, if she could, and to remember the +exquisite Vestal, faithful to her vows, living her life of saintly +purity to the very end, in a love altogether beyond material things. To +let that vision be marred, to suffer that life to be polluted by +mortality, to see the Vestal break the old promises and fall to the +level of an ordinary woman, would be to lose a part of herself and all +that portion of her own existence which had been dearest to her. That +would happen if the man's eyes changed ever so little from what they +were in the dream to the likeness of those living ones that glittered +and were ruthless. For the dream had really changed on the very night +after she had met Lamberti; the loving look had been followed by the one +fierce kiss she could never forget, and though afterwards the rest of +the dream had all come back and had gone on to its end as before, that +one kiss came with it again and again, and in that moment the eyes were +Lamberti's own. It was no wonder that she dared not look into them when +she met him. + +And worse still, she had begun to long for it in the dream. She blushed +at the thought. If by any unheard-of outrage Lamberti should ever touch +her lips with his in real life, she knew that she would scream and +struggle and escape, unless his eyes forced her to yield. Then she +should die. She was sure of it. But she would kill herself rather than +be touched by him. + +She did not understand exactly, that is to say, scientifically, how she +put herself into the dream state, for it was not a natural sleep, if it +were sleep at all. She did not put out the light and lay her head on the +pillow and lose consciousness, as Lamberti did, and then at once see the +vision. In real sleep, she rarely dreamed at all, and never of what she +always thought of as her other life. To reach that, she had to use her +will, being wide awake, with her eyes open, concentrating her thoughts +at first, as it seemed to her, to a single point, and then abandoning +that point altogether, so that she thought of nothing while she waited. + +It was in her power not to begin the process, in other words not to +hypnotise herself, though she never thought of it by that name; and when +she had answered Guido's question, rightly or wrongly, she knew that it +must be right to break the old habit. But she did not know what she had +resolved to forego till the temptation came, that very night, after she +had shut the door, and when she was about to light the candles, by force +of habit. She checked herself. There was the high chair she loved to sit +in, with the candles behind her, waiting for her in the same place. If +she sat in it, the light would cast her shadow before her and the vision +would presently rise in it. + +She had taken the lid off the little Wedgwood match box and the candles +were before her. It seemed as if some physical power were going to force +her to strike the wax match in spite of herself. If she did, five +minutes would not pass before she should see the marble court of the +Vestals' house, and then the rest--the kiss, and then the rest. She +stiffened her arm, as if to resist the force that tried to move it +against her will, and she held her breath and then breathed hard again. +She felt her throat growing slowly dry and the blood rising with a +strange pressure to the back of her head. If she let her hand move to +take the match, she was lost. As the temptation increased she tried to +say a prayer. + +Then, she did not know how, it grew less, as if a sort of crisis were +past, and she drew a long breath of relief as her arm relaxed, and she +replaced the lid on the box. She turned from the table and took the big +chair away from its usual place. It was a heavy thing for a woman to +carry, but she did not notice the weight till she had set it against the +wall at the further end of the room. + +She slept little that night, but she slept naturally, and when she awoke +there was no sound of the door being softly closed. But she missed +something, and felt a dull, inexplicable want all the next day. + +A habit is not broken by a single interruption. It is hard for a man +whose nerves are accustomed to a stimulant or a narcotic to go without +it for one day, but that is as nothing compared with giving it up +altogether. Specialists can decide whether there is any resemblance +between the condition of a person under the influence of morphia or +alcohol, and the state of a person hypnotised, whether by himself or by +another, when that state is regularly accompanied by the illusion of +some strong and agreeable emotion. Probably all means which produce an +unnatural condition of the nerves at more or less regular hours may be +classed together, and there is not much difference between the kind of +craving they produce in those who use them. Moreover it is often said +that it is harder for a woman to break a habit of that sort, than for a +man. + +Cecilia was young, fairly strong and very elastic, but she suffered +intensely when night came and she had to face the struggle. Bodily pain +would have been a relief then, and she knew it, but there was none to +bear. The chair looked at her from its distant place against the wall, +and seemed to draw her to it, till she had it taken away, pretending +that it did not suit the room. But when it was gone, she knew perfectly +well that it really made no difference, and that she could dream in any +other chair as easily. + +And then came a wild desire to see the man's face again, and to be sure +that it had not changed. She was certain that she only wished to see it; +she would have been overwhelmed with shame, all alone in her room, if +she had acknowledged that it was the kiss that she craved and the one +moment of indescribable intoxication that came with it. + +Are there not hundreds of men who earn their living by risking their +lives every night in feats of danger, and who miss that recurring moment +when they cannot have it? They will never admit that what they crave is +really the chance of a painful death, yet it is perfectly true. + +Cecilia could not have been induced to think that she desired no longer +the lovely vision of a perfect life; that she could have parted with +that easily enough, though with much calm regret; and that, instead, she +had a nervous, material, most earthly longing for the single moment in +that life which was the contrary of perfect, which she despised, or +tried to despise, and which she believed she feared. + +She struggled hard, and succeeded, and at last she could go to bed +quietly, without even glancing at the place where the chair had stood, +or at the candles on the table. + +Then, when it all seemed over, a terrible thing happened. She dreamed of +the real Lamberti in her natural sleep, in a dream about real life. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + +Cecilia knelt in the church of Santa Croce, near one of the ancient +pillars. At a little distance behind her, Petersen sat in a chair +reading a queer little German book that told her the stories of the +principal Roman churches with the legends of the saints to which they +are dedicated. A thin, smooth-shaven lay brother in black and white +frock was slowly sweeping the choir behind the high altar. There was no +one else in the church. + +Cecilia was kneeling on the marble floor, resting her folded hands upon +the back of a rough chair, and there was no sound in the dim building, +but the regular, soft brushing of the monk's broom. The girl's face was +still and pale, her eyes were half closed, and her lips did not move; +she did not hear the broom. + +That was the first time she had ever tried to spend an hour in +meditation in a church, for her religion had never seemed very real to +her. It was compounded of habit and the natural respect of a girl for +what her mother practises and has taught her to practise, and it had +continued to hold a place in her life because she had quietly exempted +it from her own criticism; perhaps, too, because her reading had not +really tended to disturb it, since by nature she was strongly inclined +to believe in something much higher than the visible world. + +The Countess Fortiguerra believed with the simplicity of a child. Her +first husband, freethinker, Garibaldian, Mazzinian, had at first tried +to laugh her out of all belief, and had said that he would baptize her +in the name of reason, as Garibaldi is said to have once baptized a +new-born infant. But to his surprise his jests had not the slightest +effect on the rather foolish, very pretty, perfectly frank young woman +with whom he had fallen in love in his older years, and who, in all +other matters, thought him a great man. She laughed at his atheism much +more good-naturedly than he at her beliefs, and she went to church +regularly in spite of anything he could say; so that at last he shrugged +his shoulders and said in his heart that all women were half-witted +creatures, where priests were concerned, but that fortunately the +weakness did not detract from their charm. On her side, she prayed for +his conversion every day, with clock-like regularity, but without the +slightest result. + +Fortiguerra had been a man of remarkable gifts, extremely tolerant of +other people's opinions. He never laughed at any sort of belief, though +his wife never succeeded in finding out what he really thought about +spiritual matters. He evidently believed in something, so she did not +pray for his conversion, but interceded steadily for his enlightenment. +Before he died he made no objection to seeing a priest, but his wife +never knew whether he consented because it would have given her pain if +he had refused, or whether he really desired spiritual comfort in his +last moments. He was always most considerate of others and especially of +her; but he was very reticent. So she mourned him and prayed that +everything might be well with both her departed husbands, though she +doubted whether they were in the same place. She supposed that +Fortiguerra had sometimes discussed religion with his step-daughter, but +he always seemed to take it for granted that the latter should do what +her mother desired of her. + +It could hardly be expected that the girl should be what is called very +devout, and as Petersen turned over the pages of her little book she +wondered what had happened that Cecilia should kneel motionless on the +marble pavement for more than half an hour in a church to which they had +never come before, and on a week-day which was not a saint's day either. + +It was something like despair that had brought her to Santa Croce, and +she had chosen the place because she could think of no other in which +she could be quite sure of being alone, and out of the way of all +acquaintances. She wanted something which her books could not give her, +and which she could not find in herself; she wanted peace and good +advice, and she felt that she was dealt with unjustly. + +Indeed, it was of little profit that she should have forced herself to +give up what was dearest to her, unreal though it might be, since she +was to be haunted by Lamberti's face and voice whenever she fell asleep. +It was more like a possession of the evil one now than anything else. +She would have used his own words to describe it, if she had dared to +speak of it to any one, but that seemed impossible. She had thought of +going to some confessor who did not know her by sight, to tell him the +whole story, but her common sense assured her that she had done no +wrong. It was advice she needed, and perhaps it was protection too, but +it was certainly not forgiveness, so far as she knew. + +Lamberti pursued her, in her imagination, and she lived in terror of +him. If she had been already married to Guido, she would have told her +husband everything, and he would have helped her. By a revulsion that +was not unnatural, it began to seem much easier to marry him now, and +she turned to him in her thoughts, asking him to shield her from a man +she feared. Guido loved her, and she was at least a devoted friend to +him; there was no one but him to help her. + +As she knelt by the pillar she went over the past weeks of her life in a +concentrated self-examination of which she would never have believed +herself capable. + +"I am a grown woman," she said to herself, "and I have a right to think +what grown women think. I know perfectly well which thoughts are good +and which are bad, just as I know right from wrong in other ways. It was +wrong to put myself into that dream state, because I wanted him to come +to me. Yes, I confess it, I wanted him to come and kiss me that once, in +the vision every night. It would not have been wrong if I had not said +that I would marry Guido, but that made the difference. Therefore I gave +it up. I will not do anything wrong with my eyes open. I will not. I +would not, if I did not believe in God, because the thing would be wrong +just the same. Religion makes it more wrong, that is all. If I were not +engaged to Guido, and if I loved the other instead, then I should have a +right to wish and dream that the other kissed me." + +She thought some time about this point, and there was something that +disturbed her, in spite of her reasoning. + +"It would have been unmaidenly," she decided, at last. "I should be +ashamed to tell my mother that I had done it. But it would not have been +wrong, distinctly not. It would be wrong and abominable to think of two +men in that way. + +"That is what is happening now, against my will. I go to sleep saying my +prayers, and yet he comes to me in my dreams, and looks at me, and I +cannot help letting him kiss me, and it is only afterwards that I feel +how revolting it was. And in the daytime I am engaged to Guido, and I +cannot help knowing that when we are married he will want to kiss me +like that. It was different before, since I was able to give up seeing +the marble court and being the Vestal, and did give it up. This is +another thing, and it is bad, but it is not a wrong thing I am doing. +Therefore it is something outside of my soul that is trying to do me +harm, and may succeed in the end. It is a power of evil. How can I fight +against it, since it comes when I am asleep and have no will? What ought +I to do? + +"I am afraid to meet Signor Lamberti now, much more afraid than I was a +week ago, before this other trouble began. But when I am dreaming, I am +not afraid of him. I do what he makes me do without any resistance, and +I am glad to do it. I want to be his slave, then. He makes me sit down +and listen to him, and I believe all he says. We always sit on that +bench near the fountain in my villa. He tells me that he loves me much +better than Guido does, and that he is much better able to protect me +than Guido. He says that his heart is breaking because he loves me and +is Guido's friend, and he looks thin and worn, just as he does in real +life. When I dream of him, I do not mind the glittering in his eyes, but +when I meet him it frightens me. Of course, it is quite impossible that +he should know how I dream of him now. Yet, I am sure he knew all about +the other vision. He said very little, but I am sure of it, though I +cannot explain it. This is much worse than the other. But if I go back +to the other, I shall be doing wrong, because I shall be consenting; and +now I am not doing wrong, because it happens against my will, and I go +to sleep praying that it may never happen again, and I am in earnest. +God help me! I know that when I sit beside him on the bench I love him! +And yet he is the only man in all the world whom I wish never to meet +again. God help me!" + +Her head sank upon her folded hands at last, and her eyes were closely +shut. She threw her whole soul into the appeal to heaven for help and +strength, till she believed that it must come to her at once in some +real shape, with inspired wisdom and the comfort of the Holy Spirit. She +had never before in her life prayed as she was praying now, with heart +and soul and mind, though not with any form of words. + +Then came a moment in which she thought of nothing and waited. She knew +it well, that blank between one state and the other, that total +suspension of all her faculties just before she began to see an unreal +world, that breathless stillness of anticipation before the supreme +moment of change. She was quite powerless now, for her waking will was +already asleep. + +The instant was over, and the vision had come, but it was not what she +had always seen before. It was something strangely familiar, yet +beautiful and high and clear. Her consciousness was in the midst of a +world of light, at peace; and then, all round her, a brightness stole +upwards as out of a clear and soft horizon, more radiant than the light +itself that was already in the air. And as when evening creeps up to the +sky the stars begin to shine faintly, more guessed at than really seen, +so she began to see heavenly beings, growing more and more distinct, and +she was lifted up among them, and all her heart cried out in joy and +praise. And suddenly the cross shone out in a rosy radiance brighter +than all, and from head to foot and from arm to arm of it the light +flowed and flashed, and joined and passed and parted, in the holy sign. +From itself came forth a melody, in which she was rapt and swept upwards +as though she were herself a wave of the glorious sound. But of the +words, three only came to her, and they were these: Arise and +conquer![1] + +[1: A free translation of some passages in the fourteenth canto +of Dante's _Paradiso_.] + +Then all was still and calm again, and she was kneeling at her chair, +the sight still in her inward eyes, the words still ringing in her +heart, but herself awake again. + +She knew the vision now that it was past; for often, reading the +matchless verses of the "Paradise," she had intensely longed to see as +the dead poet must have seen before he could write as he wrote. It did +not seem strange that her hope should have been fulfilled at last in the +church of the Holy Cross. Her lips formed the words, and she spoke them, +consciously in her own voice, sweet and low: + +"Arise and conquer!" + +It was what she had prayed for--the peace, the strength, the knowledge; +it was all in that little sentence. She rose to her feet, and stood +still a moment, and her face was calm and radiant, like the faces of the +heavenly beings she had looked upon. There was a world before her of +which she had not dreamt before, better than that ancient one that had +vanished and in which she had been a Vestal Virgin, more real than that +mysterious one in which she had floated between two existences, and +whence the miserable longing for an earthly body had brought her back to +be Cecilia Palladio, and to fight again her battle for freedom and +immortality. + +It mattered little that her prayer should have been answered by the +imagined sight of something described by another, and long familiar to +her in his lofty verse. The prayer was answered, and she had strength to +go on, and she should find wisdom and light to choose the right path. +Henceforth, when she was weak and weary, and filled with loathing of +what she dreaded most, she could shut her eyes as she had done just now, +and pray, and wait, and the transcendent glory of paradise would rise +within her, and give her strength to live, and drive away that power of +evil that hurt her, and made night frightful, and day but a long waiting +for the night. + +She came out into the summer glare with the patient Petersen, and +breathed the summer heat as if she were drawing in new life with every +breath; and they drove home, down the long and lonely road that leads to +the new quarter, between dust-whitened trees, and then down into the +city and through the cooler streets, till at last the cab stopped before +the columns of the Palazzo Massimo. + +Celia ran up the stairs, as if her light feet did not need to touch them +to carry her upwards, while Petersen solemnly panted after her, and she +went to her own room. + +She had a vague desire to change everything in it, to get rid of all the +objects that reminded her of the miserable nights, and the sad hours of +day, which she had spent there; she wanted to move the bed to the other +end of the room, the writing table to the other window, the long glass +to a different place, to hang the walls with another colour, and to +banish the two tall candlesticks for ever. It would be like beginning +her life over again. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + +After this Cecilia no longer avoided Lamberti; on the contrary, she +sought opportunities of seeing him and of talking with him, for she was +sure that she had gained some sort of new strength which could protect +her against her imagination, till all her old illusions should vanish in +the clear light of daily familiarity. For some time she did not dream of +Lamberti, she believed that the spell was broken, and her fear of +meeting him diminished quickly. + +She made her mother ask him to dinner, but he wrote an excuse and did +not come. Then she complained to Guido, and Guido reproached his friend. + +"They really wish to know you better," he said. "If the Contessina ever +felt for you quite the same antipathy which you felt for her, she has +got over it. I think you ought to try to do as much. Will you?" + +The invitation was renewed for another day, and Lamberti accepted it. In +the evening, in order to give his friend a chance of talking with +Cecilia, Guido sat down by the Countess, and began to discuss matters +connected with the wedding. It would have been contrary to all +established custom that the marriage should take place without a +contract, and that alone was a subject about which much could be said. +Guido insisted that Cecilia should remain sole mistress of her fortune, +and the Countess would naturally have made no objection, but the +Princess had told her, and had repeated more than once, that she +expected Cecilia to bring her husband a dowry of at least a million of +francs. Baron Goldbirn thought this too much, but the Countess was +willing to consent, because she feared that the Princess would make +trouble at the last minute if she did not. Cecilia had of course never +discussed the matter with the Princess, but she was altogether of the +latter's opinion, and told her mother so. The obstacle lay in Guido's +refusal to accept a penny of his future wife's fortune, and on this +point the whole obstinacy of his father's race was roused. The Countess +could manifestly not threaten to break off the engagement because Guido +would not accept the dowry, but on the other hand she greatly feared +Guido's aunt. So there was ample matter for discussion whenever the +subject was broached. + +It was a hot evening, and all the curtains were drawn back before the +open windows, only the blinds being closed. Cecilia and Lamberti +gravitated, as it were, to the farther end of the room. A piano stood +near the window there. + +"Do you play?" Lamberti asked, looking at the instrument. + +He thought that she did. All young girls are supposed to have talent for +music. + +"No," Cecilia answered. "I have no accomplishments. Do you play the +piano?" + +"Only by ear. I do not know a note of music." + +"Play me something. Will you? But I suppose the piano is out of tune, +for nobody ever uses it since we stopped dancing." + +Lamberti touched the keys, standing, and struck a few soft chords. + +"No," he said. "It is not badly out of tune. But if I play, it will be +the end of our acquaintance." + +"Perhaps it may be the beginning," Cecilia answered, and their eyes met +for a moment. + +"If it amuses you, I will try," said Lamberti, looking away, and sitting +down before the keys. "You must be easily pleased if you can listen to +me," he added, laughing, as he struck a few chords again. + +Cecilia sat down in a low chair between him and the window, at the left +of the key-board. Her mother glanced at Lamberti with a little surprise, +and then went on talking with Guido. + +Lamberti began to play a favourite waltz, not loud, but with a good deal +of spirit and a perfect sense of time. Cecilia had often danced to the +tune in the spring, and liked it. He broke off suddenly, and made slow +chords again. + +"Have you forgotten the rest?" Cecilia asked. + +"No. I was thinking of something else. Did you ever hear this?" + +He played an old Sicilian melody with one hand, and then took it up in a +second part, and then a third, that made strange minor harmonies. + +"I never heard that," Cecilia said, as he looked at her. "I like it. It +must be very ancient. Play it again." + +By way of answer, he began to sing the old song, accompanying himself +with the same old harmonies. He had no particular voice, and it was more +like humming than singing, so far as the tone was concerned, but he +pronounced every word distinctly, and imitated the peculiar intonation +of the southern people to perfection. + +"Do you understand?" he asked, when he came to the end. + +"Not a word." Cecilia asked, "Is it Arabic? It sounds like it." + +"No. It is our own beloved Italian," laughed Lamberti, "only it is the +Sicilian dialect. If that sort of thing amuses you, I can go on for +hours." + +Many Italians have the facility he possessed, and the good memory for +both words and music, and he had unconsciously developed what talent he +had, in places where time was long and there was nothing to do. He +changed the key and hummed a little Arab melody from the desert. + +Cecilia sat quite still and watched the outline of his head against the +light. It was an energetic head, but the face was not a cruel one, and +this evening she had not seen what she called the ruthless look in his +eyes. She was not at all afraid of him now, nor would she have been even +if they had been quite alone in the room. She almost wished to tell him +so, and then smiled at the thought. + +So this was the reality of the vision that had haunted her dreams and +had caused her such unutterable suffering until she had found strength +to break the habit of her imagination. The reality was not at all +terrible. She could imagine the man roused to action, fighting for his +life, single-handed against many, as she had been told that he had +fought. He looked both brave and strong. But she could not imagine that +she should ever have cause to be afraid of him again. There he sat, +beside her, humming snatches of songs he remembered from his many +voyages, his hands moving not at all gracefully over the keys; he was +evidently a very simple and good-natured man, willing to do anything +that could amuse her, without the slightest affectation. He was just the +kind of friend for Guido, and it was her duty to like Guido's friend. It +would not be hard, now that she had got out of the labyrinth of absurd +illusions that had made it impossible. She resolutely put aside the +recollection of that afternoon at the Villa Madama. It belonged to the +class of things about which she was determined never to think again. +"Arise and conquer!" She had come back to her real self, and had +overcome. + +He stopped singing, but his hands still lay on the keys and he struck +occasional chords; and he turned his face half towards her, and spoke in +an undertone. + +"I am very sorry if I offended you by not coming more often to your +house," he said. "Guido told me. I thought perhaps you would understand +why I did not come." + +Cecilia looked at him and was silent for a moment, but she felt very +strong and sure of herself. + +"Signor Lamberti," she said presently, "I want to ask you to do +something--for me." + +There was a little emphasis on the last word. He turned quite towards +her now, but he still made chords on the instrument, for he knew that +the Countess had extraordinary ears. His impulse was to tell her that he +would do anything she asked of him, no matter how hard it might be; but +he controlled it. + +"Certainly," he answered. "What is it?" + +"Forget that we met in the Forum, and forget what we said to each other +at the garden party. Will you? It was all a coincidence, of course, but +I behaved very foolishly, and I do not like to think that you remember +it. Will you try and forget it all?" + +"I will try," Lamberti answered, looking down at the keys. "At all +events, I can promise never to remind you of it, as I did just now." + +"That is what I meant," Cecilia said. "Let us never remind each other of +it. Of course we cannot really forget, in our own selves, but we can +begin again from the beginning, this evening, as if it had never +happened. We can be real friends, as we ought to be." + +"Can we?" Lamberti asked the question in a doubtful tone, and glanced +uneasily at her. + +"I can, if you can," she answered courageously, "and I mean to be." + +"Then I can, too," Lamberti said, but his lips shut tightly as if he +regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. + +"It will be easy, now," Cecilia went on. "It will be much easier +because----" She stopped. + +"Why will it be so much easier?" Lamberti asked, looking down again. + +"We were not going to speak of those things again," Cecilia said. "We +had better not begin." + +"I only ask that one question. Tell me why it will be easier now. It may +help me to forget." + +"It will be easier--because I do not dream of you any more--I mean of +the man who is like you." She was blushing faintly, but she knew that he +would not look at her, and she was sitting in the shadow. + +"On what day did you stop dreaming?" he asked, between two chords. + +"It was last week. Let me see. It was a Wednesday. On Wednesday night I +did not dream." He nodded gravely over the keys, as if he had expected +the answer. + +"Did you ever read anything about telepathy?" he asked. "I did not dream +of you on Wednesday night either. It seemed to me that I tried to find +you and could not." + +"Were you trying to find me before?" Cecilia asked, as if it were the +most natural question in the world. + +"Yes. In my dreams I almost always found you. There was a break--I +forget when. The old dream about the house of the Vestals stopped +suddenly. Then I missed you and tried to find you. You were always +sitting on that bench by the fountain in the villa. Last Wednesday I +dreamt I was there, but you did not come." + +Cecilia shuddered, as if the night air from the open window chilled her. + +"Are you cold?" he asked. "Shall I shut the window?" + +"No, I was frightened," she answered. "We must never talk about all that +again. Do you know, I think it is wrong to talk about them. There is +some power of evil----" + +"I do not deny the existence of the devil at all," Lamberti answered, +with a faint smile. "But I think this is only a strange case of +telepathy. I will do as you wish; though my own belief is, after this +evening, that it is better to talk about it all quite fearlessly, and +grow used to it. We shall be much less afraid of it if we look upon it +as something not at all supernatural, which could easily be explained if +we knew enough about those things." + +"Perhaps," Cecilia answered doubtfully. "You may be right. I do not +know." + +"You are going to marry my most intimate friend," Lamberti continued, +"and I am unfortunately condemned to stay in Rome for some time, for a +year, I fancy, and perhaps even longer." + +"Why do you say that you are 'unfortunately condemned' to stay?" + +"Because I did my best to get away. You look surprised. I begged the +Minister to shorten my leave and send me to sea at once, with or without +promotion. Instead, I was named a member of a commission which will sit +a long time. Since we are talking frankly, I wanted to get away from +you, and not to see you again for years. But now that I must stay here, +or leave the service, we cannot help meeting; so I think it is more +sensible not to take any solemn oaths never to allude to these strange +coincidences, or whatever they are, but to talk them out of existence; +all the more so, as they seem to have suddenly come to an end. I only +tell you what would be easier for me; but I will do whatever makes it +most easy for you." + +"I prayed that they might stop," said Cecilia, in a very low voice. "I +want you to be my friend, and as long as I dreamt of you--in that way--I +felt that it was impossible." + +"Of course," Lamberti answered, without hesitation. Then, with an +attempt at a laugh, he corrected himself. "I apologise for all the +things I said to you in my dreams." + +"Please do not laugh about it." Her voice was a little unsteady, and she +was looking down, so that he could not see her face. + +"It is better not to take it too seriously," he replied gravely. "Could +anything be more absurd than that two people who were mere acquaintances +then should fall in love with each other in their dreams? It is utterly +ridiculous. Any sane person would laugh at the idea." + +"Yes; no doubt. But there is more than that. Call it telepathy, or +whatever you please, it cannot be a mere coincidence. Do you know that, +until last Wednesday, I met you in my dream, just where you dreamed of +meeting me, at the bench in the villa?" + +He did not seem surprised, but listened attentively while she continued. + +"I am sure that we really met," she went on gravely. "It may be in some +natural way or not. It does not matter. We must never meet again like +that--never. Do you understand? We must promise never to try and find +each other in our dreams. Will you promise?" + +"Yes; I promise." Lamberti spoke gravely. + +"I promise, too," Cecilia said. + +Then they were both silent for a time. It was like a real parting, and +they felt it, and for a few moments each was thinking of the bench by +the fountain in the Villa Madama. + +"We owe it to Guido," Lamberti said at last, almost unconsciously. + +"Yes," the girl answered; "and to ourselves. Thank you." + +With an impulse she did not suspect, she held out her hand to him, and +waited for him to take it. Neither her mother nor Guido could see the +gesture, for Lamberti's seated figure screened her from them; but he +could not have taken her hand in his right without changing his +position, since she was seated low on his other side; so he took it +quietly in his left, and the two met and pressed each the other for a +second. + +In that touch Cecilia felt that all her fear of him ended for ever, and +that of all men she could trust him the most, and that he would protect +her, if ever he might, even more effectually than Guido. His hand was +cool, and steady, and strong, and enfolding--the hand of a brave man. +But if she had looked she would have seen that his face was paler than +usual, and that his eyes seemed veiled. + +She rose, and he followed her as she moved slowly forward. + +"What a charming talent you have!" cried the Countess in an encouraging +tone, when Lamberti was near her. + +"Have you made acquaintance at last?" Guido was asking of Cecilia, in an +undertone. + +"Yes," she answered gravely. "I think we shall be good friends." + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + +People said that Guido had ceased to be interesting since he had been +engaged to be married. Until that time, there had been an element of +romance about him, which many women thought attractive; and most men had +been willing to look upon him as a being slightly superior to +themselves, who cared only for books and engravings, though he never +thrust his tastes upon other people, nor made any show of knowing more +than others, and whose opinion on points of honour was the very best +that could be had. It was so good, indeed, that he was not often asked +to give it. + +Now, however, they said that he was changed; that he was complacent and +pleased with himself; that this was no wonder, because he was marrying a +handsome fortune with a pretty and charming wife; that he had done +uncommonly well for himself; and much more to the same purpose. Also, +the mothers of impecunious marriageable sons of noble lineage said in +their maternal hearts that if they had only guessed that Countess +Fortiguerra would give her daughter to the first man who asked for her, +they would not have let Guido be the one. + +The judgments of society are rarely quite at fault, but they are almost +always relative and liable to change. They are, indeed, appreciations of +an existing state of things, rather than verdicts from which there is no +appeal. The verdict comes after the state of things has ceased to exist. + +Guido was happy, and nothing looks duller than the happiness of quiet +people. Nobody will go far to look at the sea when it is calm, if he is +used to seeing it at all; but those who live near it will walk a mile or +two to watch the breakers in a storm. + +In the first place, Guido was in love, and more in love with Cecilia's +face and figure than he guessed. In the early days of their acquaintance +he had enjoyed talking with her about the subjects in which she was +interested. Such conversation generally brought him to that condition of +intellectual suspense which was peculiarly delightful to him, for though +she did not persuade him to accept her own points of view, she made him +feel more doubtful about his own, so far as any of them were fixed, and +doubt meant revery, musing, imaginative argument about questions that +might never be answered. But he and she had now advanced to another +stage. Unconsciously, all that side of his nature had fallen into +abeyance, and he thought only of positive things in the immediate +future. When he was with Cecilia, no matter how the conversation began, +it soon turned upon their plans for their married life; and he found it +so infinitely pleasant to talk of such matters that it did not occur to +him to ask whether she regarded them as equally interesting. + +She did not; she saw the change in him, and regretted it. A woman who is +not really in love, generally likes a man less after he has fallen +hopelessly in love with her. It is true that she sometimes likes herself +the better for her new conquest, and there may be some compensation in +that; but there is something tiresome, if not repugnant to her, in the +placid, possessive complacency of a future husband, who seems to forget +that a woman has any intelligence except in matters concerning furniture +and the decoration of a house. + +Cecilia was not capricious; she really liked Guido as much as ever, and +she would not even admit that he bored her when he came back again and +again to the same topics. She tried hard to look forward to the time +when all the former charm of their intercourse should return, and when, +besides being the best of friends, he would again be the most agreeable +of companions. It seemed very far off; and yet, in her heart, she hoped +that something might happen to hinder her marriage, or at least to put +it off another year. + +Her life seemed very blank after the great struggle was ended, and in +the long summer mornings before Guido came to luncheon, she was +conscious of longing for something that should take the place of the old +dreams, something she could not understand, that awoke under the +listlessness which had come upon her. It was a sort of sadness, like a +regret for a loss that had not really been suffered, and yet was +present; it was a craving for sympathy where she had deserved none, and +it made her inclined to pity herself without reason. She sometimes felt +it after Guido had come, and it stayed with her, a strange yearning +after an unknown happiness that was never to be hers, a half-comforting +and infinitely sad conviction that she was to die young and that people +would mourn for her, but not those, or not that one, who ought to be +most sorry that she was gone. All her books were empty of what she +wanted, and for hours she sat still, doing nothing, or stood leaning on +the window-sill, gazing down through the slats of the blinds at the +glaring street, unconscious of the heat and the strong light, and of the +moving figures that passed. + +Occasionally she drove out to the Villa Madama in the afternoon with her +mother, and Guido joined them. Lamberti did not come there, though he +often came to the house in the evening, sometimes with his friend, and +sometimes later. The two always went away together. At the villa, +Cecilia never sat down on the bench by the fountain, but from a distance +she looked at it, and it was like looking at a grave. In dreams she had +sat there too often with another to go there alone now; she had heard +words there that touched her heart too deeply to be so easily forgotten, +and there had been silences too happy to forget. She had buried all that +by the garden seat, but it was better not to go near the place again. +What she had laid out of sight there might not be quite dead yet, and if +she sat in the old place she might hear some piteous cry from beneath +her feet; or its ghost might rise and stare at her, the ghost of a +dream. Then, the yearning and the longing grew stronger and hurt her +sharply, and she turned under the great door, into the hall, and was +very glad when her mother began to chatter about dress and people. + +But one day the very thing happened which she had always tried to avert. +Guido insisted on walking up and down the path with her, and they passed +and repassed the bench, till she was sure that he would make her sit +down upon it. She tried to linger at the opposite end, but he was +interested in what he was saying and did not notice her reluctance to +turn back. + +Then it came. He stood still by the fountain, and then he sat down quite +naturally, and evidently expecting her readiness to do the same. She +started slightly and looked about, as if to find some means of escape, +but a moment later she had gathered her courage and was sitting beside +him. + +The scene came back with excessive vividness. There was the evening +light, the first tinge of violet on the Samnite mountains, the base of +Monte Cavo already purple, the glow on Frascati, and nearer, on Marino; +Rome was at her feet, in a rising mist beyond the flowing river. Guido +talked on, but she did not hear him. She heard another voice and other +words, less gentle and less calm. She felt other eyes upon her, waiting +for hers to answer them, she felt a hand stealing near to hers as her +own lay on the bench at her side. + +Still Guido talked, needing no reply, perfectly confident and happy. She +did not hear what he said, but when he paused she mechanically nodded +her head, as if agreeing with him, and instantly lost herself again. She +could not help it. She expected the touch, and the look, and then the +blinding rush that used to come after it, lifting her from her feet and +carrying her whole nature away as the south wind whirls dry leaves up +with it and far away. + +That did not come, and presently she was covering her face with both +hands, shaking a little, and Guido was anxiously asking what had +happened. + +"Nothing," she answered rather faintly. "It is nothing. It will be over +in a moment." + +He thought that she had felt the sudden chill of the evening which is +sometimes dangerous in Rome in midsummer, and he rose at once. + +"We had better go in before you catch cold," he said. + +"Yes. Let us go in." + +For the first time, his words really jarred on her. For the rest of her +life, he would tell her when to go indoors before catching cold. He was +possessive, complacent; he already looked upon her as a person in his +charge, if not as a part of his property. Unreasoningly, she said to +herself it was no concern of his whether she caught cold or not, and +besides, there was no question of such a thing. She had covered her eyes +with her hands for a very different reason, and was ashamed of having +done it, which made matters worse. In anger she told herself boldly that +she wished that he were not himself, only that once, but that he were +Lamberti, who at least took the trouble to amuse her and never put on +paternal airs to enquire about her health. + +It was the beginning of revolt. Guido dined with them that evening, and +she was silent and absent-minded. Before the hour at which he usually +went away, she rose and bade him good night, saying that she was a +little tired. + +"I am sure you caught cold to-day," he said, with real anxiety. + +"We will not go to the villa again," she answered. "Good night." + +It was late before she really went to bed, for when she was at last rid +of the conscientious Petersen, she sat long in her chair at the writing +table with a blank sheet of letter paper before her and a pen in her +hand. She dipped it into the ink often, and her fingers moved as if she +were going to write, but the point never touched the paper. At last the +pen lay on the table, and she was resting her chin upon her folded +hands, her eyes half closed, her breath drawn in short sighs that came +and went between her parted lips. Then, though she was all alone, the +blood rose suddenly in her face and she sprang to her feet, angry with +herself and frowning, and ashamed of her thoughts. + +She felt hot, and then cold, and then almost sick with disgust. The +vision that had delighted her was far away now; she had forced herself +not to see it, but the man in it had come back to her in dreams; she had +driven him out of them, and for a time she had found peace, but now he +came to her in her waking thoughts and she longed to see his living face +and to hear his real voice. With utter self-contempt and scorn of her +own heart, she guessed that this was love, or love's beginning, and that +nothing could save her now. + +Her first impulse was to write to him, to beg him to go away at any +price, never to see her again as long as she lived. As that was out of +the question, she next thought of writing to Guido, to tell him that she +could not marry him, and that she had made up her mind to retire from +the world and spend her life in a convent. But that was impossible, too. + +There was no time to be lost. Either she must make one supreme effort to +drive Lamberti from her thoughts and to get back to the state in which +she had felt that she could marry Guido and be a good wife to him, or +else she must tell him frankly that the engagement must end. He would +ask why, and she would refuse to tell him, and after that she did not +dare to think of what would happen. It might ruin his life, for she knew +that he loved her very much. She was honestly and truly much more +concerned for him than for herself. It did not matter what became of +her, if only she could speak the truth to him without bringing harm to +him in the future. The world might say what it pleased. + +It was right to break off her engagement, beyond question, and she had +done very wrong in ever agreeing to it; it was the greatest sin she had +ever committed, and with a despairing impulse she sank upon her knees +and poured out her heart in full confession of her fault. + +Never in her life had she confessed as she did now, with such a +whole-hearted hatred of her own weakness, such willingness to bear all +blame, such earnest desire for forgiveness, such hope for divine +guidance in making reparation. She would not plead ignorance, nor even +any omission to examine herself, as an excuse for what she had done. It +was all her fault, and her eyes had been open from the first, and she +was about to see the whole life of a good friend ruined through her +miserable weakness. + +As she went over it all, burying her face in her hands, the conviction +that she loved Lamberti grew with amazing quickness to the certainty of +a fact long known. This was her crime, that she had been too proud to +own that she had loved him at first sight; her punishment should be +never to see him again. She would abase herself before Guido and confess +everything to him in the very words she was whispering now, and she +would implore his forgiveness. Then, since Lamberti could not leave +Rome, she and her mother would go away on a long journey, to Russia, +perhaps, or to America, or China, and they would never come back. It +must be easy enough to avoid one particular person in the whole world. + +This she would do, but she would not deny that she loved him. All her +fault had lain in trying to deny it in spite of what she felt when he +was near her, and it must be still more wrong to force the fact out of +sight now that it had brought her into such great trouble. There was +nothing to be done but to acknowledge it, though it was shame and +humiliation to do so. It stared her in the face, now that she had +courage to own the truth, and a voice called out that she had lied to +herself, to her mother, and to Guido for many weeks, and persistently, +rather than admit that she could fall so low. But even then, in the +midst of her self-abasement, another voice answered that it was no shame +to love a good and true man, and that Lamberto Lamberti was both. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + +That night seemed the longest in all Cecilia's young life. She was worn +out with fatigue, and could have slept ten hours, yet she dreaded to +fall asleep lest she should dream of Lamberti, and speak to him in her +dream as she meant never to speak to any man now. Just when she was +losing consciousness, she roused herself as one does who fears a +horrible nightmare that comes back again and again. She was afraid to be +alone in the dark with her fear, and she had left one light burning +where it could not shine into her eyes. If she did not sleep before +daylight, she might not dream after that. When she shut her eyes she saw +Lamberti looking at her. + +She rose and bathed her face and temples. The water was not very cold in +July, after standing in the room half the night, but it cooled her brows +a little and she lay down again, and tried to repeat things she knew by +heart. She knew all the fourteenth canto of the "Paradise," for +instance, and said it over, and tried to see what it described as she +had seen it all in the church of Santa Croce. While she whispered the +words she looked forward to those she loved best, the ones that bade her +rise and get the victory, and she went on with intense anticipation. +Before she reached them she lost herself, and they formed themselves on +her lips unnoticed as she saw Lamberti's face again. + +It was unbearable. She sat up on the edge of the bed and stared into the +shadow, and presently she grasped her left arm above the elbow and tried +to force her nails into the flesh, with the instinctive idea that pain +must bring peace after it. But she could hardly hurt herself at all in +that way. Again she rose, and she went and looked at her reflection in +the tall glass. + +There was not much light in the room, but she could see that she was +very pale, and that her eyes had a strange look in them, more like +Lamberti's than her own. It was a possession; she found him everywhere. +Behind her image in the glass she saw the door of the room, the only one +there was, which she had so often heard closed softly just as her dream +ended. She shivered, for the Palazzo Massimo is a ghostly place at +night, and her nerves were unstrung by what she had suffered. She knew +that she was dizzy for a moment, and the glass grew misty and then +clear, and reflected nothing to her sight, nothing but the whole door, +as if she herself were not standing there, all in white, between it and +the mirror. + +It was going to open, she felt sure. It was going to open softly, though +she knew it was locked, and then some one would enter. She shivered +again, and felt her loose hair rising on her head, as if lifted by a +cool breeze. It was a moment of agony, and her teeth chattered. He was +coming, and she was paralysed, helpless to move, rooted to the spot. In +one second more she must hear the slipping of the latch bolt, and he +would be behind her. + +No, nothing came. Gradually she began to see herself in the glass again, +a faint ashy outline, then a transparent image, like the wraith of her +dead self, with staring eyes and dishevelled colourless hair. Her terror +was gone; she vaguely wondered where she had been, and looked curiously +at her reflected face. + +"I think I am going mad," she said aloud, but quite quietly, as she +turned away from the mirror. + +She lay down again on her back, her arms straightened by her sides, and +she looked at the ceiling. Since she must think of something, she would +try to think out what she was to say and do on the morrow. She would +telephone to Guido in the morning to come and see her, of course, and in +twenty minutes he would be sitting beside her on the little sofa in the +drawing-room. Then she would tell him everything, just as she had +confessed it all to herself that evening. She would throw herself upon +his mercy, she would say that she was irresistibly drawn to his friend; +but she would promise never to see Lamberti again, since that was to be +the punishment of her fault. There was clearly nothing else to do, if +she had any self-respect left, any modesty, any sense of decency. It +would be hard in the beginning, but afterwards it would grow easier. + +Poor Guido! he would not understand at first, and he would look at her +as if he were dazed. She would give anything to save him the pain of it +all, but he must bear it, and in the end it would be much better. Of +course, the cowardly way would be to make her mother tell him. + +She had not thought of her mother till then, but she had grown used to +directing her, and to feeling that she herself was the ruling spirit of +the two. Her mother would accept the decision, though she would protest +a good deal, and cry a little. That was to be regretted, but it did not +really matter since this was a question of absolute right or absolute +wrong, in which there was no choice. + +She would not see Lamberti again, not even to say good-bye. It would be +wicked to see him, now that she knew the truth. But it was right to own +bravely that she loved him. If she hesitated in that, there would be no +sense in what she meant to do. She loved him with all her heart, with +everything in her, with every thought and every instinct, as she had +loved long ago in her vision. And as she had overcome then, for the sake +of a vow from which she was really freed, so she would conquer again for +the sake of the promise she had given to Guido d'Este, and was going to +revoke to-morrow. + +A far cry echoed through the silent street, and there was a faint grey +light between the slats of the blinds. The darkness was ended at last, +and perhaps she might allow herself to sleep now. She tried, but she +could not, and she watched the dawn growing to cold daylight in the +room, till the single lamp hardly glimmered in the corner. She closed +her lids and rested as well as she could till it was time to get up. + +She was very pale, and there were deep violet shadows under her eyes and +below the sharp arches of her brows, but Petersen was very near-sighted, +and noticed nothing unusual. Cecilia told her to telephone to Guido, +asking him to come at ten o'clock. When the maid returned, Cecilia bade +her arrange her hair very low at the back and to make it as smooth as +possible. There was not the slightest conscious desire for effect in the +order; when a woman has made up her mind to humiliate herself she always +makes her hair look as unobtrusive as possible, just as a +conscience-stricken dog drops his tail between his legs and hangs down +his ears to avert wrath. We men are often very unjust to women about +such things, which depend on instincts as old as humanity. Eastern +mourners do not strew ashes on their heads because it is becoming to +their appearance, and a woman's equivalents for ashes and sackcloth are +to do her hair low and wear grey, if she chances to dislike that colour. + +"Are you going to confession, my dear?" asked the Countess in some +surprise when they met. + +"No," Cecilia answered. "I could not sleep last night. I have telephoned +to Guido to come at ten." The Countess looked at her and instantly +understood that there was trouble. + +"You are as white as a sheet," she said, with caution. "You had better +let him come after luncheon to-day." + +"No. I must see him at once." + +"Something has happened," the Countess said nervously. "I know something +has happened." + +"I will tell you by-and-by. Please do not ask me now." + +Her mother's look of anxiety turned slowly to an expression of real +fear, her eyes opened wide, she grew pale, and her jaw fell as her lips +parted. She looked suddenly old and grey. + +"You are not going to marry him after all," she said, after a breathless +little silence. + +Some seconds passed before Cecilia answered, and then her voice was sad +and low. + +"How can I? I do not love him." + +The Countess was horror-struck now, for she knew her daughter well. She +began to speak rather incoherently, but with real earnestness, imploring +Cecilia to think of what she was doing before it was too late, to +consider Guido's feelings, her own, everybody's, to reflect upon the +view the world would take of such bad faith, and, finally, to give some +reason for her sudden decision. + +It was in vain that she pleaded. Cecilia, grave and suffering, answered +that she had taken everything into consideration and knew that she was +doing right. The world might call it bad faith to break an engagement, +but it would be nothing short of a betrayal to marry Guido since she had +become sure that she could never love him. That was reason enough, and +she would give no other. It was better that Guido should suffer for a +few days than be made to suffer for a lifetime. She had not consulted +any one, she said, when her mother questioned her; she would have done +so if this had been a matter needing judgment and wisdom, but it was +merely one of right and wrong, and she knew what was right, and meant to +do it. + +The Countess began to cry, and when Cecilia tried to soothe her, she +pushed the girl aside and left the room in tears. A few minutes later +Petersen telephoned for the carriage, and in less than half an hour the +Countess was on her way to see Princess Anatolie, entirely forgetful of +the fact that Cecilia would be quite alone when Guido came at ten +o'clock. + +Cecilia sat quite still in the drawing-room waiting for him. She was +very tired and pale, and her eyes smarted for want of sleep, but her +courage was not likely to fail her. She only wished that all might be +over soon, as condemned men do when they are waiting for execution. + +She sat still a long time and she heard the little French clock on her +mother's writing table in the boudoir strike its soft chimes at the +third quarter, and then ring ten strokes at the full hour. She listened +anxiously for the servant's step beyond the door, and now and then she +caught her breath a little when she thought she heard a sound. It was +twenty minutes past ten when the door opened. She expected the man to +stand still, and announce Guido, and she looked away; but the footsteps +came nearer and nearer and stopped beside her. The man held out a small +salver on which lay a note addressed in Guido's hand. It was like a +reprieve after the long tension, for something must have happened to +prevent him from coming, something unexpected, but welcome, though she +would not own it. + +In answer to her question, the man said that the messenger had gone +away, and he left the room. She tore the envelope with trembling +fingers. + +Guido was ill. That was the substance of the note. He had felt ill when +he awoke early in the morning, but had thought it nothing serious, +though he was very uncomfortable. Unknown to him, his man had sent for a +doctor, who had come half an hour ago, after Cecilia's message had been +received and answered. The doctor had found him with high fever, and +thought it was a sharp attack of influenza; at all events he had ordered +Guido to stay in bed, and gave him little hope of going out for several +days. + +The note dropped on Cecilia's knees before she had read the words of +loving regret with which it closed, and she found herself wondering +whether Lamberti would have been hindered from coming by a mere touch of +fever, under the same circumstances. But she would not allow herself to +dwell on that long, for it gave her pleasure to think of Lamberti, and +all such pleasure she intended to deny herself. It was quite bad enough +to know that she loved him with all her heart. She went back to her own +room. + +There was nothing to be done but to write to Guido at once, for she +would not allow the day to pass without telling him what she meant to +do. She sat down and wrote as well as she could, weighing each sentence, +not out of caution, but in fear lest she should not make it clear that +she was altogether to blame for the mistake she had made, and meant to +bear all the consequences in the eyes of the world. She was truly and +sincerely penitent, and asked his forgiveness with touching humility. +She did not mention Lamberti, but she confessed frankly that since she +had been in Rome she had begun to love another man, as she ought to have +loved Guido, a man whom she rarely saw, and who had never shown the +least inclination to make love to her. + +That was the substance of what she wrote. She read the words over, to be +sure that they said what she meant, and she told Petersen to send a man +at once with the letter. There was no answer, he was not to wait. She +gave the order rather hurriedly, for she wished her decision to become +irrevocable as soon as possible. It was a physical relief, but not a +mental one, to feel that it was done and that she could never recall the +fatal words. After reading such a letter there could be nothing for +Guido to do but to accept the situation and tell his friends that she +had broken the engagement. As for the immediate effect it might have on +him, she did not even take his slight illness into consideration. The +fact that he could not come and see her might even make it easier for +him to bear the blow. Of course, if he came, she should be obliged to +receive him, but she hoped that he would not. It would hurt her to see +how much he was hurt, and she was suffering enough already. In time she +trusted that he and she might be good friends, as young girls have an +unreasonable inclination to hope in such cases. + +When the Countess came back from her visit to the Princess Anatolie she +was a little flushed, and there was a hard look in her face which +Cecilia had never seen before, and which made her expect trouble. To her +surprise, her mother kissed her affectionately on both cheeks. + +"That old woman is a harpy," she said, as she left the room. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + +Guido took Cecilia's letter with a smile of pleasure when his man +brought it to him, and, as he felt its thickness between his fingers, +the delightful anticipation of reading it alone was already a real +happiness. She was distressed and anxious for him, he was sure, and +perhaps in saying so she had found some expression less formal than +those she generally used when she talked with him and assured him that +she really liked him very much. + +"You may go," he said to his servant. "I need nothing more, thank you." + +He was in bed, propped up by three or four pillows, and his face was +unnaturally flushed and already looked thin. A new book of memoirs, half +cut, and with the paper-knife between the leaves, lay on the arras +counterpane, in the middle of which royal armorial bearings with crown +and sceptre were represented in the fat arms of smiling cherubs. The +head of the carved bed was towards the windows of the wide room, so that +the light fell from behind; for Guido was an indolent man, and often lay +reading for an hour before he got up. On the small table beside him +stood a heavy Venetian tumbler of the eighteenth century, ornamented +with gold designs. A cigarette-case lay beside it. The carpet of the +room had been taken up for the summer, and the floor was of dark red +tiles, waxed and immaculate. In a modest way, and though he was +comparatively a poor man, Guido had always managed to have what he +wanted in the way of surroundings. + +He looked at the address on the note, prolonging his anticipation as +much as possible. He recognised the neat French envelope as one of those +the Countess always had on her table in a stamped leather paper-rack. He +felt it again, and was sure that it contained at least four sheets. It +was good of her to write so much, and he had not really expected +anything. He forgot that his head was aching, that he had a tiresome +pain in his bones, and could feel the fever pulse beating in his +temples. + +He glanced at the door, and then raised the letter to his dry lips, with +a look of boyish pleasure. Five minutes later the crumpled pages were +crushed in his straining fingers, and he lay twisted to one side, his +face to the wall and half buried in the pillow. The grief of his life +had come upon him unawares, and he was not able to bear it. Even if he +had not been alone, he could not have hidden what he felt then. + +After a long time he got up and softly locked the door. He felt very +dizzy as he came and lay down again. One of the crumpled sheets of +Cecilia's letter had fallen to the floor, the rest lay on the bed beside +him and under him. + +He lay still, and when he shut his eyes he saw red waves coming and +going, for the fever was high, and the blood beat up under his ears as +if the arteries must burst. + +In an hour his man knocked at the door, and almost at the same instant +turned the handle, for he was accustomed to be admitted at once. + +"Go away!" cried Guido, in a hoarse voice that stuck in his throat. + +The servant's footsteps echoed in the corridor, and there was silence +again, and time passed. Then the knock was repeated, very discreetly and +with no attempt to turn the handle. Guido answered with an oath. + +But his man was not satisfied this time, and he stood still outside, +with a puzzled expression. He had never heard Guido swear at any one, in +all the years of his service, much less at himself. His master was +either in a delirium, or something very grave had happened which he had +learned by the letter. The doctor had said that he was not dangerously +ill, so it was not likely that he should be already raving with the +fever. The man went softly away to his pantry, where the telephone was, +shutting each door carefully behind him. There was nothing to be done +but to inform Lamberti at once, if he could be found. + +It was late in the afternoon before he got the message, on coming home +from a long day's work at the Ministry of War. He had not breakfasted +that day, for he had been unexpectedly sent for in the morning and had +been kept at the Ministry without a moment's respite. Without going to +his room he ran down the stairs again and hailed the first cab he met as +he hurried towards the Palazzo Farnese. + +The bedroom door was still locked, but he spoke to Guido through it, in +answer to the rough order to go away which followed his first knock. +There was no reply. + +"Please let me in," Lamberti said quietly. "I want very much to see +you." + +Something like a growl came from the room, and presently there was a +sound of slippers on the smooth tiles, coming nearer. The key turned and +the door was opened a little. + +"What is it?" Guido asked, in a voice unlike his own. + +"I heard you were ill, and I have come to see you." + +Lamberti spoke gently and steadily, but he was shocked by Guido's +appearance, as the latter stood before him in his loose silk garments, +looking gaunt and wild. There were great rings round his eyes, his face +was haggard and drawn, and his cheek-bones were flushed with the fever. +He looked much more ill than he really was, so far as his body was +concerned. + +"Well, come in," he said, after a moment's hesitation. + +As soon as Lamberti had entered Guido locked the door again to keep his +servant out. + +"I suppose you had better be the first to know," he said hoarsely, as he +recrossed the room with unsteady steps. + +He sat down upon the edge of his bed, supporting himself with his hands +on each side, his head a little bent. + +"What has happened?" Lamberti asked, sitting on the nearest chair and +watching him. "Has your aunt been troubling you again?" + +"No. It is worse than that." Guido paused, and his head sank lower. "The +Contessina has changed her mind," he managed to say clearly enough to be +understood. + +Lamberti started and leaned forward. + +"Do you mean to say that she has thrown you over?" + +"Yes." + +A dead silence followed. Then Guido threw himself on the bed again and +turned his face away. + +"Say something, man," he cried, almost angrily. + +The afternoon light streamed through the closed blinds and fell on the +crumpled sheet of the letter that lay at Lamberti's feet. He did not +know what he saw as he stared down at it, and he would have cut off his +hand rather than pry into any one's letters, but four words had +photographed themselves upon his brain before he had realised their +meaning, or even that he had seen them. + +"I love another man." + +Those were the words, and he had never seen the handwriting, but he knew +that Cecilia had written them. Guido's cry for some sort of consolation +was still ringing in his ears. + +"It is impossible," he said, in a dull voice. "She cannot break off such +an engagement." + +"She has," Guido answered, still looking away. "It is done. She has +written to say that she will never marry me." + +"Why?" Lamberti asked mechanically. + +"Because----" Guido stopped short. "That is her secret. Unless she chooses +to tell you herself." + +Lamberti knew the secret already, but he would not pain Guido by saying +so. The four words he had read had explained enough, though he had not +the slightest clew to the name of the man concerned, and his anger was +rising quietly, as it did when he was going to be dangerous. He loved +Cecilia much and unreasoningly, yet so long as his friend had stood +between her and himself he had been strong enough not to be jealous of +him; but he was under no obligation to that other man, and now he wished +that he had him in his hands. Moreover, his anger was against the girl, +too. + +"It is outrageous," he said, at last, with a conviction that comforted +Guido a little. "It is perfectly abominable! What shall you do?" + +"I can do nothing, of course." + +Guido tossed on his pillows, turned his head, and stared at Lamberti, +hoping to be contradicted. + +"It is of no use to go to bed because a woman is faithless," answered +Lamberti rather savagely. Guido almost laughed. + +"I am ill," he said. "I can hardly stand. She telephoned to me to go and +see her, but I could not, and so she wrote what she had to say. It is +just as well. I am glad she cannot see me just now." + +"I wish she could," answered Lamberti, closing his teeth on the words +sharply. "But you will see her, will you not?" he asked, after a pause. +"You will not accept such a dismissal without telling her what you think +of her?" + +"Why should I tell her anything? If I have not succeeded in making her +love me yet, I shall never succeed at all! It is better to bear it as if +I had never expected anything else." + +"Is there any reason why a woman should be allowed to do with impunity +what one man would shoot another for doing?" asked Lamberti, roughly. +"She has changed her mind once, she can be made to change it again." + +The more he thought of what had happened the angrier he grew, and his +jealousy against the unknown man who had caused the trouble was boiling +up. + +Guido caught at the straw like a drowning man, and raised himself on his +elbow. + +"Do you really think that she may change her mind? That this is only a +caprice?" + +"I should not wonder. All women have caprices now and then. It is a fit +of conscience. She is not quite sure that she likes you enough to marry +you, and you have said something that jarred on her, perhaps. If you had +been able to go and see her this morning, she would have begun by being +very brave, but in five minutes she would have been as ready to marry +you as ever. I will wager anything that when she had written that letter +she sent it off as soon as possible for fear that she should not send it +at all!" + +"What do you advise me to do?" asked Guido, his hopes rising. "I believe +you understand women better than I do, after all!" + +"They are only human animals, like ourselves," Lamberti answered +carelessly. "The chief difference is that they do all the things that we +are sometimes inclined to do, but should be ashamed of doing." + +"I daresay. But I want your advice." + +"Go and tell her that she has made a mistake, that she cannot possibly +be in earnest, but that if she does not feel that she can marry you in a +fortnight, she can put off the wedding till the autumn. It is quite +simple. It has all been rather sudden, from the first, and it is much +better that the engagement should go on a little longer." + +"That is reasonable," Guido answered, growing calmer every moment. "I +wish I could go to her at once." + +"I suppose you cannot," said Lamberti, looking at him rather curiously. + +He remembered that he had once dragged himself five miles with a bad +spear-wound in his leg, to take news to a handful of men in danger, but +he supposed that Guido was differently organised. He did not like him +the less. + +"No!" Guido answered. "The fever makes me so giddy that I can hardly +stand." + +He put out his hand for the tumbler on the table, but it was empty. + +"Lamberti!" he said. + +"Yes, I will get you some water at once," the other answered, rising to +his feet. + +"No," Guido said. "Never mind that, I will ring presently. Will you do +something for me?" + +"Of course." + +"Will you speak to her for me?" + +Lamberti was standing by the bedside, and he saw the serious and almost +timid look in his friend's eyes. But he had not expected the request, +and he hesitated a moment. + +"You would rather not," said Guido, disappointed. "I suppose I must wait +till I am well. Only it may be too late then. She will tell every one +that she has broken off the engagement." + +"You misunderstood me," Lamberti said calmly, for he had found time to +think while Guido was speaking. "I will see her at once." + +It had not been easy to say, for he knew what it meant. + +"Thank you," Guido murmured. "Thank you, thank you!" he repeated with a +profound sense of relief, as his head sank back on the pillow. + +"Will it do you any harm if I smoke?" asked Lamberti, looking at a cigar +he had taken from his pocket. + +"No. I wish you would. I cannot even smoke a cigarette to-day. It tastes +like bad hay." + +There is a hideous triviality about the things people say at important +moments in their lives. But Lamberti was not listening, and he lit his +cigar thoughtfully, without answering. Then he went to the window and +looked down through the blinds in silence, pondering on what was before +him. + +It was certainly the place of a friend in such a case to accept the +position Guido was thrusting upon him, and from the first Lamberti had +not meant to refuse. He had a strong sense of man's individual right to +get what he wanted for himself without great regard for the feelings of +others, and he was quite sure that he would not have done for his own +brother what he was about to do for Guido. It is even possible that he +would not have been so ready to do it for Guido himself if he had not +accidentally seen those four words of Cecilia's letter. The knowledge of +her secret had at once determined the direction of his impulses. For +himself he hoped nothing, but he had made up his mind that if Cecilia +would not marry Guido she should by no means marry any other man living, +and he was fully determined to make her confess her passing fancy for +the unknown one, in order that he might have the right to reproach her +with it. He even hoped that he could find out the man's name, and, as he +was of a violent disposition, he at once planned vengeance to be wreaked +upon him. He turned from the window at last, and blew a cloud of grey +smoke into the quiet room. + +"I will send a message now," he said, "and I will go myself this +evening. They can hardly be dining out." + +"No. They are at home. I was to have dined with them." + +Guido's voice was faint, but he was calm now. Lamberti unlocked the door +and opened it. The man servant was just coming towards it followed by +the doctor. + +The latter found Guido worse than when he had seen him in the morning. +He said it was what he had expected, a sharp attack of influenza, and +that Guido must not think of leaving his bed till the fever had +disappeared. He dilated a little upon the probable consequences of any +exposure to the outer air, even in summer. No one could ever tell what +the influenza might leave behind it, and it was much safer to be +patient. + +"You see," said Guido to Lamberti, when the physician was gone. "It will +be quite impossible for me to go out to-morrow, or for several days." + +"Quite," Lamberti answered, looking for his straw hat. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + +Lamberti dined at home that evening, and soon after nine o'clock he was +on his way to the Palazzo Massimo. Though the evening was hot and close +he walked there, for it was easier to think on his feet than leaning +back in a cab. His normal condition was one of action and not of +reflection. + +His thoughts also took an active dramatic shape. He did not try to bind +future events together in a connected sequence leading to a result; on +the contrary, he seemed to hear the very words he would soon be +speaking, and Cecilia Palladio's answers to them; he saw her face and +noted her expression, and the interview grew violent by degrees till he +felt the inward coolness stealing through him which he had often known +in fight. + +He had written a note to Countess Fortiguerra which he had left at her +door on his way home. He had explained that Guido, being too ill to +move, had begged him to speak to the Contessina, and he expressed the +hope that he might be allowed to see the young lady for a few minutes +alone that evening, in the capacity of the sick man's representative and +trusted friend. + +Such a request could hardly be refused, and the Countess had always felt +that Lamberti was one of those exceptional men in whom one may safely +believe, even without knowing them well. She said that Cecilia had +better see him when he came. She herself had letters to write and would +sit in the boudoir. + +It was the last thing Cecilia had expected, and the mere thought was +like breaking the promise she had made to herself, never to see Lamberti +again; yet she realised that it was impossible to avoid the meeting. The +course she had taken was so extraordinary that she felt bound to give +Guido a chance to answer her letter in any way he could. In the +afternoon her mother had exhausted every argument in trying to make her +revoke her decision. She did not love Guido; that was her only reply; +but she felt that it ought to be sufficient, and she bowed her head +meekly when the Countess grew angry and told her that she should have +found that out long ago. Yes, she answered, it was all her fault, she +ought to have known, she would bear all the blame, she would tell her +friends that she had broken off the engagement, she would do everything +that could be required of her. But she would not marry Guido d'Este. + +The Countess could say nothing more. On her side she was reticent for +once in her life, and told nothing of her own interview with Princess +Anatolie. Whether something had been said which the mother thought unfit +for her daughter's ears, or whether the Princess's words had been of a +nature to hurt Cecilia's pride, the young girl could not guess; and +though her maidenly instinct told her to accept her mother's silence +without question, if it proceeded from the first cause, she could not +help fearing that the Countess had done or said something hopelessly +tactless which might produce disagreeable consequences, or might even do +some harm to Guido. + +Her heart was beating so fast when Lamberti entered the drawing-room +that she wondered how she should find breath to speak to him, and she +did not raise her eyes again after she had seen his face at the door, +till he was close to her, and had bowed without holding out his hand. + +"I hope you got my note," he said to her mother. "D'Este is ill, and has +given me a verbal message for your daughter." + +"Yes," said the Countess. "I will go into the next room and write my +letters." + +She was gone and the two stood opposite each other in momentary silence. +Lamberti's voice had been formal, and his face was almost +expressionless. + +"Where will you sit?" he asked. "It will take some time to tell you all +that he wishes me to say." + +Cecilia led the way to the little sofa in the corner farthest from the +boudoir. It was there that Guido had asked her to be his wife, and it +was there that she had waited for him a few hours ago to tell him that +she could not marry him. She took her accustomed place, but Lamberti +drew forward a light chair and sat down facing her. He felt that he got +an advantage by the position, and that to a small extent it placed him +outside of her personal atmosphere. At such a moment he could not afford +to neglect the least circumstance which might help him. As for what he +should say, he had thought of many speeches while he was in the street, +but he did not remember any of them now, nor even that he had seemed to +hear himself speaking them. + +"Why did you write that letter?" he asked, after a moment's pause. + +Cecilia looked up quickly, surprised by the direct question, and then +gazed into his face in silence. She had confessed to herself that she +loved him, but she had not known how much, nor what it would mean to sit +so near him and hear him asking the question that had only one answer. +His eyes were steady and brave, when she looked at them, but not so hard +as she had expected. In earlier days she had always felt that they could +command her and even send her to sleep if he chose, but she did not feel +that now. The question had been asked suddenly and directly, but not +harshly. She did not answer it. + +"Did Guido show you my letter?" she asked in a low voice. + +But she was sure of the reply before it came. + +"No. He told me that you broke off your engagement with him very +suddenly. I suppose you have done so because you think you do not care +for him enough to marry him, but he did not tell me so. Is that it?" + +Cecilia nodded quickly, folded her hands nervously upon her knees, and +looked across the room. + +"Yes," she said. "That is it. I do not love him." + +"Yet you like him very much," Lamberti answered. "I have often seen you +together, and I am sure you do." + +"I am very fond of him. If I had not been foolish, he might always have +been my best friend." + +"I do not think you were foolish. You could hardly do better than marry +your best friend, I think. He is mine, and I know what his friendship is +worth. You will find out, as I have, that if he is sometimes indolent +and slow to make up his mind, he never changes afterwards. You may be +separated from him for a year or two, but you will find him always the +same when you meet him again, always gentle, always true, always the +most honourable of men." + +"He is that, and more," Cecilia said softly. "I like everything about +him." + +"And he loves you," Lamberti continued. "He loves you as men do not +often love the women they marry, and as you, with your fortune, may +never be loved again." + +"I know it. I feel it. It makes it all the harder." + +"But you thought you loved him, I am sure. You would not have accepted +him otherwise." + +"Yes. Thank you for believing that much of me," Cecilia answered humbly. +"I thought I loved him." + +"You sent for him this morning, because you had suddenly persuaded +yourself that you had made a great mistake. When you heard that he could +not come, you wrote the letter, and when it was written you sent it off +as fast as you could, for fear that you would not send it at all. Is +that true?" + +"Yes. That is just what happened. How did you know?" + +"Listen to me, please, for d'Este's sake. If you had not felt that you +were perhaps making another mistake, should you have been in such a +hurry to send the letter?" + +Cecilia hesitated an instant. + +"It was a hard thing to do. That is why I made haste to get it over. I +knew it would hurt him, but I thought it was wrong to deceive him for +even a few hours, after I had understood myself." + +"It would have been kinder to wait until you could see him, and break it +gently to him. He was ill when he got your letter, and it made him +worse." + +"How is he?" Cecilia asked quietly, a little ashamed of not having +enquired already. "It is nothing very serious, is it? Only a little +influenza, he said." + +"He is not dangerously ill, but he had a good deal of fever this +afternoon. You will not see him for a week, I fancy. That is the reason +why I am here. I want you to postpone your decision, at least until he +is well and you have talked with him." + +"But I have decided already. I shall take all the blame. I will tell my +friends that it is all my fault." + +"Is that the only answer you can give me for him?" + +"Yes. What can I say? I do not love him. I never shall." + +"What if something happens?" + +"What?" + +"Suppose that I go to him to-morrow morning, and tell him what you say, +and that when I have left him there alone with his servant, as I must in +the course of the day, he locks the door, and in a fit of despair puts a +bullet through his head? What then?" + +Cecilia leaned forward, wide-eyed and frightened. + +"You do not really believe that he would kill himself?" she cried in a +low voice. + +"I think it is more than likely," Lamberti answered quietly enough. +"D'Este is the most good-hearted, charitable, honourable fellow in the +world, but he believes in nothing beyond death. We differ about those +questions, and never talk about them; but he has often spoken of killing +himself when he has been depressed. I remember that we had an argument +about it on the very afternoon when we both first met you." + +"Was he so unhappy then?" Cecilia asked with nervous interest. + +"Perhaps. At all events I know that he has a bad habit of keeping a +loaded revolver in the drawer of the table by his bed, in case he should +have a fancy to go out of the world, and it is very well known that +people who talk of suicide, and think of it a great deal, often end in +that way. When I left him this afternoon I gave him some hope that you +might at least prolong the engagement for a few months, and give +yourself a chance to grow more fond of him. If I have to tell him that +you flatly refuse, I am really afraid that it may be the end of him." + +Cecilia leaned back in the sofa and closed her eyes, confronted by the +awful doubt that Lamberti might be right. He was certainly in earnest, +for he was not the man to say such a thing merely for the sake of +frightening her. She could not reason any more. + +"Please, please do not say that!" she said piteously, but scarcely above +her breath. + +"What else can I say? It is quite true. You must have some very strong +reason for refusing to reconsider your decision, since your refusal may +cost as much as that." + +"But men do not kill themselves for love in real life!" + +"I am sorry to say they do," Lamberti answered. "A fellow-officer of +mine shot himself on board the ship I was last with for exactly the same +reason. He left a letter so that there should be no suspicion that he +had done it to escape from any dishonour." + +"How awful!" + +"I repeat that you must have a very strong reason indeed for not waiting +a couple of months. In that time you may learn to like Guido better--or +he may learn to love you less." + +"He may change," Cecilia said, not resenting the rather rough speech; "I +never shall." + +Lamberti fixed his eyes on her. + +"There is only one reason that could make you so sure about yourself," +he said. "If I thought you were like most women, I would tell you that +you were heartless, faithless, and cruel, as well as capricious, and +that you were risking a man's life and soul for a scruple of conscience, +or, worse than that, for a passing fancy." + +"Oh, please do not say such things of me!" She spoke in great distress. + +"I do not. I know that you are honest and true, and are trying to do +right, but that you have made a mistake which you can mend if you will. +Take my advice. There is only one possible reason to account for what +you have done. You think that you love some other man better than +d'Este." + +Cecilia started and stared at him. + +"You said that Guido did not show you my letter!" She was offended as +well as distressed now. + +"No; he did not. But I will not pretend that I have guessed your secret. +As Guido lay on his bed talking to me, I was staring at a crumpled sheet +of a letter that lay on the floor. Before I knew what I was looking at I +had read four words: 'I love another man.' When I realised that I ought +not to have seen even that much, I knew, of course, that it was your +writing. You see how much I know. All the same, if you were not what I +know you are, I would call you a heartless flirt to your face." + +Again he looked at her steadily, but she said nothing. + +"If you are not that," he continued, "you never loved Guido at all, but +really believed you did, because you did not know what love was, and you +are sure that you love this other man with all your heart." + +Cecilia was still silent, but a delicate colour was rising in her pale +face. + +"Has the other ever made love to you?" Lamberti asked. + +"No, no--never!" + +She could not help answering him and forgetting that she might have been +offended. She loved him beyond words, he did not know it, and he was +unconsciously asking her questions about himself. + +"Is he younger than Guido? Handsomer? Has he a great name? A great +fortune?" + +"Are those reasons for loving a man?" + +Cecilia asked the question reproachfully, and as she looked at him and +thought of what he was, and how little she cared for the things he had +spoken of, but how wholly for the man himself, her love for him rose in +her face, against her will. + +"There must be something about him which makes you prefer him to Guido," +he said obstinately. + +"Yes. But I do not know what it is. Do not ask me about him." + +"Considering that you are endangering the life of my dearest friend for +him, I think I have some right to speak of him." + +She was silent, and they faced each other for several seconds with very +different expressions. She was pale again, now, but her eyes were full +of light and softness, and there was a very faint shadow of a smile +flickering about her slightly parted lips, as if she saw a wonderful and +absorbing sight. Lamberti's gaze, on the contrary, was cold and hard, +for he was jealous of the unknown man and angry at not being able to +find out who he was. She did not guess his jealousy, indeed, for she did +not suspect what he felt; but she knew that his righteous anger on +Guido's behalf was unconsciously directed against himself. + +"You will never know who he is," she said at last, very gently. + +"We shall all know, when you marry him," Lamberti answered with +unnecessary roughness. + +"No, I shall never marry him," she said. "I mean never to see him again. +I would not marry him, even if he should ever love me." + +"Why not?" + +"For Guido's sake. I have treated Guido very badly, though I did not +mean to do it. If I cannot marry Guido, I will never marry at all." + +"That is like you," Lamberti answered, and his voice softened. "I +believe you are in earnest." + +"With all my heart. But promise me one thing, please, on your word." + +"Not till I know whether I may." + +"For his sake, not for mine. Stay with him. Do not leave him alone for a +moment till you are sure that he is safe and will not try to kill +himself. Will you promise?" + +"Not unless you will promise something, too." + +"Do not ask me to pretend that I love him. I cannot do it." + +"Very well. You need not pretend anything. Let me tell him that you will +let your engagement continue to all appearance, and that you will see +him, but that you put off the wedding for the reasons you gave in your +letter. Let me tell him that you hope you may yet care for him enough to +marry him. You do, do you not?" + +"No!" + +"At least let me say that you are willing to wait a few months, in order +to be sure of yourself. It is the only thing you can do for him. Perhaps +you can accustom him by slow degrees to the idea that you will never +marry him." + +"Perhaps." + +"In any case, you ought to do your best, and that is the best you can +do. See him a few times when he is well enough, and then leave Rome. +Tell him that it will be a good thing to be parted for a month or two, +and that you will write to him. Do not destroy what hope he may have, +but let it die out by degrees, if it will." + +Cecilia hesitated. After what had passed between them she could hardly +refuse to follow such good advice, though it was hard to go back to +anything approaching the state of things with which she had broken by +her letter. But that was only obstinacy and pride. + +"Let it be distinctly understood that I do not take back my letter at +all," she said. "If I consent to what you ask, it is only for Guido's +sake, and I will only admit that I may be more sure of myself in a few +months than I am now, though I cannot see how that is possible." + +"It shall be understood most distinctly," Lamberti answered. "You say, +too, that you mean never to see this other man again." + +"I cannot help seeing him if I stay longer in Rome," Cecilia said. + +Lamberti wondered who he might be, with growing hatred of him. + +"If he is an honourable man, and if he had the slightest idea that he +had unconsciously come between you and Guido, he would go away at once." + +"Perhaps he could not," Cecilia suggested. + +"That is absurd." + +"No. Take your own case. You told me not long ago that you were +unfortunately condemned to stay in Rome, unless you gave up your career. +He might be in a very similar position. In fact, he is." + +There was something so unexpected in the bitter little laugh that +followed the last words that Lamberti started. She had kept her secret +well, so far, but she had now given him the beginning of a clew. He +wished, for once, that he possessed the detective instinct, and could +follow the scent. There could not be many men in society who were in a +position very similar to his own. + +"I wish I knew his name," he said, only half aloud. + +But she heard him, and again she laughed a little harshly. + +"If I told you who he is, what would you do to him? Go and quarrel with +him? Call him out and kill him in a duel? I suppose that is what you +would do if you could, for Guido's sake." + +"I should like to know his name," Lamberti answered. + +"You never shall. You can never find it out, no matter how ingenious you +are." + +"If I ever see you together, I shall." + +"How can you be so sure of that?" + +"You forget something," Lamberti said. "You forget the odd coincidences +of our dreams, and that I have seen you in them when you were in +earnest--not as you have been with Guido, but as you seem to be about +this other man. I know every look in your eyes, every movement of your +lips, every tone of your voice. Do you think I should not recognise +anything of all that in real life?" + +"These were only dreams," Cecilia tried to say, avoiding his look. "I +asked you not to speak of them." + +"Do you dream of him now?" Lamberti asked the question suddenly. + +"Not now--no--that is--please do not ask me such questions. You have no +right to." + +"I beg your pardon. Perhaps I have not." + +He was not in the least sorry for having spoken, but his anger increased +against the unknown man. She had evidently dreamt of him at one time or +another, as she used to dream of himself. + +"You have such an extraordinary talent for dreaming," he said, "that the +question seemed quite natural. I daresay you have seen Guido in your +visions, too, when you believed that you cared for him!" + +"Never!" Cecilia could hardly speak just then. + +"Poor Guido! that was a natural question too. Since you used to see a +mere acquaintance, like myself, and fancy that you were----" + +"Stop!" + +"----that you were talking familiarly with him," continued Lamberti +unmoved, "it would hardly be strange that you should often have seen +Guido d'Este in the same way, while you thought you loved him, and it is +stranger that you should not now dream about a man you really love--if +you do!" + +"I say that you have no right to talk in this way," said Cecilia. + +"I have the right to say a great many things," Lamberti answered. "I +have the right to reproach you----" + +"You said that you believed me honest and true." + +The words checked his angry mood suddenly. He passed his hand over his +eyes and changed his position. + +"I do," he said. "There is no woman alive of whom I believe more good +than I do of you." + +"Then trust me a little, and believe, too, that I am suffering quite as +much as Guido. I have agreed to take your advice, to obey you, since it +is that and nothing else----" + +"I have no power to give you orders. I wish I had!" + +"You have right on your side. That is power, and I obey you. You have +told me what to do, and I shall do it, and be glad to do it. But even +after what I have done, I have some privileges left. I have a secret, +and I am ashamed of it, and it can do no good to Guido to know it, much +less to you. Please let me keep it in my own way." + +"Yes. But if you are afraid that I should hurt the man, if I knew his +name, you are mistaken." + +"I am not in the least afraid of that," Cecilia answered, and the light +filled her eyes again as she looked at him. "You are too just to hate an +innocent man. It is not his fault that I love him, and he will never +know it. He will never guess that I think him the best, and truest, and +bravest man alive, and that he is all this world to me, now and for +ever!" + +She spoke quietly enough, but there was a radiant joy in her face which +Lamberti never forgot. While keeping her secret, she was telling him at +last to his face that she loved him, and it was the first time she had +ever spoken such words out of her dreams. In them indeed they had been +familiar to her lips, as words like them had been to his. + +He leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee, and his chin upon his +closed hand, and he looked at her long in silence. He envied her for +having been able to say aloud what she felt, under cover of her secret, +and he longed to answer her, to tell her that he loved her even better +than she loved that unknown man, to hear himself say it to her only +once, come what might. But for Guido he would have spoken, for as he +gazed at her the instinctive masculine conviction returned stronger than +ever, that if he chose he could make her love him. For a moment he was +absolutely sure of it, but he only sat still, looking at her. + +"You believe me now," she said at last, leaning back and turning her +eyes away. + +"Poor Guido!" he exclaimed. + +He knew indeed that there was no longer any hope for his friend. + +"Yes," he added thoughtfully. "It was in your eyes just then, when you +were speaking, just as if that man had been there before you. I shall +know who he is if I ever see you together. It is understood, then," he +went on, changing his tone, "I am to tell him that you wish to put off +the marriage till you are more sure of yourself--that you wrote that +letter under an impulse." + +"Yes, that is true. And you wish me to try to make him understand by +degrees that it is all over, and to go away from Rome in a few days, +asking him not to follow me at once." + +"I think that is the kindest thing you can do. On my part I will give +him what hope I can that you may change your mind again." + +"You know that I never shall." + +"I may hope what I please. There is always a possibility. We are human, +after all. One may hope against conviction. May I see you again +to-morrow to tell you how he takes your message?" + +To his surprise Cecilia hesitated several seconds before she answered. + +"Of course," she said at last. "Or you can write to me or to my mother, +which will save you the trouble of coming here." + +"It is no trouble," Lamberti answered mechanically. "But of course it is +painful for you to talk about it all, so unless something unexpected +happens I will write a line to your mother to say that Guido accepts +your decision, and to let you know how he is. If there is anything +wrong, I will come in the evening." + +"Thank you. That is the best way." + +"Good night." He rose as he spoke. + +"Good night. Thank you." She held out her hand rather timidly. + +He took it, and she withdrew it precipitately, after the merest touch. +She rose quickly and went towards the door of the boudoir, calling to +her mother as she walked. + +"Signor Lamberti is going," she said. + +There was a little rustle of thin silk in the distance, and the Countess +appeared at the door and came forward. + +"Well?" she asked, as she met Lamberti in the middle of the room. + +"Your daughter has decided to do what seems best for everybody," +Lamberti said. "She will tell you all about it. Let me thank you for +having allowed me to talk it over with her. Good night." + +"Do stay and have some tea!" urged the Countess, and she wondered why +Cecilia, standing behind Lamberti, frowned and shook her head. "Of +course, if you will not stay," she added hastily, "I will not try to +keep you. Pray give my best messages to Signor d'Este, and tell him how +distressed I am, and say--but you will know just what to say, I am sure. +Good night." + +Lamberti bowed and shook hands. As he turned, he met Cecilia face to +face and bade her good night again. She nodded rather coldly, and then +went quickly to ring the bell for the footman. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + +Princess Anatolie was very angry when she learned that Cecilia was +breaking her engagement, and she said things to the poor Countess which +she did not regret, and which hurt very much, because they were said +with such perfect skill and knowledge of the world that it was +impossible to answer them and it did not even seem proper to show any +outward resentment, considering that Cecilia's conduct was apparently +indefensible. As it is needless to say, the Princess appeared to regret +the circumstance much more for Cecilia's sake than for Guido's. She said +that Guido, of course, would soon get over it, for all men were +perfectly heartless in reality, and could turn from one woman to another +as carelessly as if women were pictures in a gallery. She really did not +think that Guido had much more heart than the rest of his kind, and he +would soon be consoled. After all, he could marry whom he pleased, and +Cecilia's fortune had never been any object to him. She, his thoughtful +and affectionate aunt, would naturally leave him her property, or a +large part of it. Guido was not at all to be pitied. + +But Cecilia, poor Cecilia! What a life she had before her, sighed the +Princess, after treating a man in such a way! Of course, she could never +live in Rome after this, and as for Paris, she would be no better off +there. Guido's friends and relations were everywhere, and none of them +would ever forgive her for having jilted him. Perhaps England was the +only place for her now. The English were a sordid people, consisting +chiefly of shopkeepers, jockeys, tyrants, and professional beauties, and +as they thought of nothing but money and their own advantage, Cecilia's +fortune would insure her a good reception among them, even though it was +not a very large one. Not that the girl was lacking in the most charming +qualities and the most exceptional gifts, which would have made her a +desirable wife for any man, if only she had not made this fatal mistake. +Such things stuck to a woman through life, like a disgrace, though that +was a great injustice, because Cecilia was acting under conviction, poor +girl, and believed she was doing right! It was most unfortunate. The +Princess pitied her very much and would always treat her just as if +nothing had happened, if they ever met. Guido would certainly behave in +the same way and would always be kind, though he would naturally not +seek her society. + +The Princess was very angry, and it was not strange that the Countess +should have come home a little flushed after the interview and very +unexpectedly inclined to be glad, after all, that the engagement was at +an end. The Princess had not said one rude word to her, but it was quite +clear that she was furious at seeing Cecilia's fortune slip from the +grasp of her nephew. It almost looked as if she had expected to get a +part of it herself, though the Countess supposed that should be out of +the question. Nevertheless the past question of the million which was to +have constituted Cecilia's dowry began to rankle, and the Countess's +instinct told her that the old lady had probably had some interest in +the matter. Indeed, the Princess had told her that Guido had +considerable debts, and had vaguely hinted that she had herself +sometimes helped him in his difficulties. Of the two, Guido was more to +be believed than his aunt, but there was a mysterious element in the +whole matter. + +The Princess and Monsieur Leroy consulted the spirits now, and she found +some consolation when she was told that she should yet get back most of +the money she had lost, if she would only trust herself to her truest +friend, who was none other than Monsieur Leroy himself. The forlorn +little ghost of the only being she had ever really loved in the world +was made to assume the character of a financial adviser, and she herself +was led like a lamb by the thread of affection that bound her to her +dead child. + +Monsieur Leroy had not foreseen what was to happen, but he was not +altogether at a loss, and the first step was to insure the Princess's +obedience to his will. He did not understand the nature of the phenomena +he caused, but he knew that in some way certain things that passed in +her mind were instantly present in his, and that he could generally +produce by rappings the answers he desired her to receive. He at least +knew beforehand, in almost every case, what those answers would be, if +he did not consciously make the sounds that signified them. If he had +ever examined his conscience, supposing that he had any left, he would +have found that he himself did not know just where deception ended, and +where something else began which he could not explain, which frightened +him when he was alone, and which, when he had submitted wholly to it, +left him in a state of real physical exhaustion. He was inclined to +believe that the mysterious powers were really the spirits of dead +persons which possessed him for a short time, and spoke through him. Yet +when one of these spirits represented itself as being that of some one +whom neither he nor the Princess had ever met in life, he was dimly +conscious that it never said anything which had not been already known +to her or to him at some time, or which, if unknown, was the spontaneous +creation of his own clouded brain. + +To her, he always gravely asserted his sure belief in the authenticity +of the spirits that came, and since he had unexpectedly succeeded in +producing messages from her little girl, any doubt she had ever +entertained had completely disappeared. She was wholly at his mercy so +long as this state of things could be made to last, and he was +correspondingly careful in the use he made of his new power. + +The Princess was therefore told that she must trust him altogether, and +that he could get back the most of her money for her. She was consoled, +indeed, but she was naturally curious as to the means he meant to use, +and she questioned him when the rappings ceased and the lights were +turned up. He seemed less tired than usual. + +"I shall trust to the inspiration of the spirits," he said evasively. +"In any case we have the law on our side. Guido cannot deny his +signature to those receipts for your money, and he will find it hard to +show what became of such large sums. They are a gentleman's promise to +pay a lady, but they are also legal documents." + +"But they are not stamped," objected the Princess, who knew more about +such things than she sometimes admitted. + +"You are mistaken. They are all stamped for their respective values, and +the stamps are cancelled by Guido's signature." + +"That is very strange! I could almost have sworn that there was not a +stamp on any of them! How could that be? He used to write them on half +sheets of very thick note paper, and I never gave him any stamps." + +"He probably had some in his pocket-book," said Monsieur Leroy. "At all +events, they are there." + +"So much the better. But it is very strange that I should never have +noticed them." + +Like many of those singular beings whom we commonly call "mediums," +Monsieur Leroy was a degenerate in mind and body, and his character was +a compound of malign astuteness, blundering vanity, and hysterical +sensitiveness, all directed by impulses which he did not try to +understand. Without the Princess's protection through life, he must have +come to unutterable grief more than once. But she had always excused his +mistakes, made apologies for him, and taken infinite pains to make him +appear in the best light to her friends. He naturally attributed her +solicitude to the value she set upon his devotion to herself, since +there could be no other reason for it. Doubtless a charitable impulse +had at first impelled her to take in the starving baby that had been +found on the doorstep of an inn in the south of France. That was all he +knew of his origin. But he knew enough of her character to be sure that +if he had not shown some exceptional gifts at an early age, he would +soon have been handed over to servants or peasants to be taken care of, +and would have been altogether forgotten before long. Instead, he had +been spoiled, sent to the best schools, educated as a gentleman, treated +as an equal, and protected like a son. The Princess had given him money +to spend though she was miserly, and had not checked his fancies in his +early youth. She had even tried to marry him to the daughter of a rich +manufacturer, but had discovered that it is not easy to marry a young +gentleman who has no certificate of birth at all, and whose certificate +of baptism describes him as of unknown parents. On one point only she +had been inexorable. When she did not wish him to dine with her or to +appear in the evening, she insisted that he should stay away. Once or +twice he had attempted to disobey these formal orders, but he had +regretted it, for he had found himself face to face with one of the most +merciless human beings in existence, and his own character was far from +strong. He had therefore submitted altogether to the rule, well +satisfied with the power he had over her in most other respects, but he +felt that he must not lose it. The Princess was old and was growing +daily more capricious. She had left him a handsome competence in her +will, as much, indeed, as most bachelors would consider a fortune, but +she was not dead yet, and she might change her mind at the last moment. +He trembled to think what his end must be if she should die and leave +him penniless to face the world alone at his age, without a profession +and without real friends. For no one liked him, though some people +feared his tongue, and he knew it. Perhaps Guido would take pity on him +and give him shelter, for Guido was charitable, but the thought was not +pleasant. Never having been hungry since he could remember, Monsieur +Leroy thought starvation would be preferable to eating Guido d'Este's +bread. There was certainly no one else who would throw him a crust, and +though he had received a good deal of money from the Princess, and had +managed to take a good deal more from her, he had never succeeded in +keeping any of it. + +It was necessary to form some plan at once for extracting money by means +of Guido's receipts, since the marriage was not to take place, and as +Monsieur Leroy altogether failed to hit upon any satisfactory scheme he +consulted a lawyer in confidence, and asked what could be done to +recover the value. The lawyer was a man of doubtful reputation but of +incontestable skill, and after considering the matter in all its +bearings he gave his client some slight hope of success, proportionate +to the amount of money Guido could raise by the sale of his effects and +by borrowing from his many friends. He was glad to learn that Guido had +never borrowed, except, as Monsieur Leroy explained, from his aunt. A +man in such a position could raise a round sum if suddenly driven to +extremities to save his honour. + +The lawyer also asked Monsieur Leroy for details concerning Guido's life +during the last four or five years, inquiring very particularly about +his social relations and as to his having ever been in love with a woman +of his own rank, or with one of inferior station. Monsieur Leroy +answered all these questions with a conscientious desire to speak the +truth, which was new to him, for he realised that only the truth could +be of use in such a case, and that the slightest unfounded invention of +his own against Guido's character must mislead the man he was +consulting. In this he showed himself wiser than he often was. + +"Above all," the lawyer concluded, "never mention my name to any one, +and try to appear surprised at anything unexpected which you may hear +about Signor d'Este." + +Monsieur Leroy promised readily enough, though reticence was not his +strong point, and he went away well pleased with himself, after signing +a little paper by which it was agreed that the lawyer should receive +twenty per cent of any sums obtained from Guido through him. He had not +omitted to inform his adviser of the celebrated Doctor Baumgarten's +favourable opinion on the Andrea del Sarto and the small Raphael. The +lawyer told him not to be impatient, as affairs of this sort required +the utmost discretion. + +But the man saw that he had a good chance of being engaged in one of +those cases that make an unnecessary amount of noise and are therefore +excellent advertisements for a comparatively unknown practitioner who +has more wit than scruples. He did not believe that all of Guido's many +high and mighty relations would take the side of Princess Anatolie, and +if any of them took the trouble to defend her nephew against her, the +newspapers would be full of the case and his own name would be famous in +a day. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + +Cecilia told her mother what Lamberti had advised her to do for Guido's +sake, and that she had sent her message by him. The Countess was +surprised and did not quite like the plan. + +"Either you love him, or you do not, my dear," she said. "You were sure +that you did not, and you told him so. That was sensible, at least, +though I think you might have found out earlier what you felt. It is +much better to let him understand at once that you will not marry him. +Men would always rather know the truth at once and get over it than be +kept dangling at a capricious woman's beck and call." + +Cecilia did not explain that Lamberti feared for his friend's life. In +broad daylight that looked dramatic, and her mother would not believe +it. She only said that she was sure she was acting for the best and that +the engagement was to stand a little longer, adding that she wished to +leave Rome, as it was very hot. In her heart she was hurt at being +called capricious, but was too penitent to deny the charge. + +The Countess at once wrote a formal note to Princess Anatolie in which +she said that she had been hasty and spoken too soon, that her daughter +seemed undecided, and that nothing was to be said at present about +breaking the engagement. The marriage, she added, would be put off until +the autumn. + +The Princess showed this communication to Monsieur Leroy when he came +in. He did not mean to tell her about his visit to the lawyer, for he +had made up his mind to play on her credulity as much as he could and to +attribute any advantage she might gain by his manoeuvres to +supernatural intervention. The Countess's letter surprised him very +much, and as he did not know what to do, it seemed easy to do nothing. +He expressed his disgust at Cecilia's vacillation. + +"She is a flirt and her mother is a fool," he said, and the speech +seemed to him pithy and concise. + +The old Princess raised her aristocratic eyebrows a little. She would +have expressed the same idea more delicately. There was a vulgar streak +in his character that often jarred on her, but she said nothing, for she +was inexplicably fond of him. For her own part, she was glad that +Cecilia had apparently changed her mind again. + +Later in the day she received a few words from Guido, written in an +unsteady hand, to say that he was sorry he could not come and see her as +he had a bad attack of influenza. At the word she dropped the note as if +it burnt her fingers, and called Monsieur Leroy, for she believed that +influenza could be communicated in almost any way, and it was the only +disease she really feared: she had a presentiment that she was to die of +it. + +"Take that thing away, Doudou!" she cried nervously. "Pick it up with +the tongs and burn it. He has the influenza! I am sure I have caught +it!" + +Monsieur Leroy obeyed, while she retired to her own room to spend half +an hour in those various measures of disinfection which prophylactic +medicine has recently taught timid people. She had caused her maid to +telephone to Guido not to send any more notes until he was quite well. + +"You must not go near him for a week, Doudou," she said when she came +back at last, feeling herself comparatively safe. "But you may ask how +he is by telephone every morning. I do not believe there can be any +danger in that." + +Electricity was a mysterious power after all, and seemed infinitely +harder to understand than the ways of the supernatural beings with whom +Monsieur Leroy placed her in daily communication. She had heard a +celebrated man of science say that he himself was not quite sure what +electricity might or might not do since the discovery of the X-rays. + +Her precautions had the effect of cutting off communication between her +and her nephew until her departure from Rome, which took place in the +course of a few days, considerably to the relief of the Countess, who +did not wish to meet her after what had passed. + +Monsieur Leroy could not make up his mind to go and see the lawyer again +in order to stop any proceedings which the latter might be already +taking. Below his wish to serve the Princess and his hope of profiting +by his success, there lay his deep-rooted and unreasoning jealousy of +Guido d'Este, which he had never before seen any safe chance of +gratifying. It would be a profound satisfaction to see this man, who was +the mirror of honour, driven to extremities to escape disgrace. Another +element in his decision, if it could be called that, was the hopeless +disorder of his degenerate intelligence, which made it far easier for +him to allow anything he had done to bear fruit, to the last +consequence, than to make a second effort in order to arrest the growth +of evil. + +The lawyer was at work, silently and skilfully, and in a few days +Princess Anatolie and Monsieur Leroy were comfortably established in her +place in Styria, where the air was delightfully cool. + +What was left of society in Rome learned with a little surprise, but +without much regret, that the wedding was put off, and those who had +country places not far from the city, and had already gone out to them +for the summer, were delighted to know that they would not be expected +to come into town for the marriage during the great heat. No date had +ever been really fixed for it, and there was therefore no matter for +gossip or discussion. The only persons who knew that Cecilia had made an +attempt to break it off altogether were those most nearly concerned. + +The Countess and Cecilia made preparations for going away, and the +dressmakers and other tradespeople breathed more freely when they were +told that they need not hurry themselves any longer. + +But Cecilia had no intention of leaving without having seen Guido more +than once again, hard as it might be for her to face him. Lamberti had +written to her mother that he accepted Cecilia's decision gladly, and +hoped to be out of his room in a few days, but that he did not appear to +be recovering fast. He did not seem to be so strong as his friend had +thought, and the short illness, together with the mental shock of +Cecilia's letter, had made him very weak. The news of him was much the +same for three days, and the young girl grew anxious. She knew that +Lamberti spent most of his time with Guido, but he had not been to the +Palazzo Massimo since his interview with her. She wished she could see +him and ask questions, if only he could temporarily be turned into some +one else; but since that was impossible, she was glad that he did not +come to the house. She spent long hours in reading, while Petersen and +the servants made preparations for the journey, and she wrote a line to +Guido every day, to tell him how sorry she was for him. She received +grateful notes from him, so badly written that she could hardly read +them. + +On the fourth day, no answer came, but Lamberti sent her mother a line +an hour later to say that Guido had more fever than usual and could not +write that morning, but was in no danger, as far as the doctor could +say. + +"I should like to go and see him," Cecilia said. "He is very ill, and it +is my fault." + +The Countess was horrified at the suggestion. + +"My dear child," she cried, "you are quite mad! Why, the poor man is in +bed, of course!" + +"I hope so," Cecilia answered unmoved. "But Signor Lamberti could carry +him to his sitting room." + +"Who ever heard of such a thing!" + +"We could go in a cab, with thick veils," Cecilia continued. "No one +would ever know." + +"Think of Petersen, my dear! Women of our class do not wear thick veils +in the street. For heaven's sake put this absurd idea out of your head." + +"It does not seem absurd to me." + +"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," retorted the Countess, +losing her temper. "You do not even mean to marry him, and yet you talk +of going to see him when he is ill, as if he were already your husband!" + +"What if he dies?" Cecilia asked suddenly. + +"There will be time enough to think about it then," answered the +Countess, with insufficient reflection. "Besides he is not going to die +of a touch of influenza." + +"Signor Lamberti says he is very ill. Several people died of it last +winter, you know. I suppose you mean that I need not think of trying to +see him until we hear that there is no hope for him." + +"Well?" + +"That might be too late. He might not know me. It seems to me that it +would be better to try and save his life, or if he is not in real +danger, to help him to get well." + +"If you insist upon it," said the Countess, "I will go and see him +myself and take a message from you. I suppose that nobody could find +anything serious to say against me for it, though, really--I am not so +old as that, am I?" + +"I think every one would think it was very kind of you to go and see +him." + +"Do you? Well--perhaps--I am not sure. I never did such a thing in my +life. I am sure I should feel most uncomfortable when I found myself in +a young man's rooms. We had better send him some jelly and beef-tea. A +bachelor can never get those things." + +"It would not be the same as if I could see him," said Cecilia, mildly. + +Her mother did not like to admit this proposition, and disappeared soon +afterward. Without telling her daughter, she wrote an urgent note to +Lamberti begging him to come and dine and tell them all about Guido's +illness, as she and Cecilia were very anxious about him. + +Cecilia went out alone with Petersen late in the hot afternoon. She +wished she could have walked the length of Rome and back, but her +companion was not equal to any such effort in the heat, so the two got +into a cab. She did not like to drive with her maid in her own carriage, +simply because she had never done it. For the first time in her life she +wished she were a man, free to go alone where she pleased, and when she +pleased. She could be alone in the house, but nowhere out of doors, +unless she went to the villa, and she was determined not to go there +again before leaving Rome. It had disagreeable associations, since she +had been obliged to sit on the bench by the fountain with Guido a few +days ago. She remembered, too, that at the very moment when his paternal +warning not to catch cold had annoyed her, he had probably caught cold +himself, and she did not know why this lowered him a little in her +estimation, but it did. She was ashamed to think that such a trifle +might have helped to make her write the letter which had hurt him so +much. + +She went to the Forum, for there she could make Petersen sit down, and +could walk about a little, and nobody would care, because she should +meet no one she knew. + +As they went down the broad way inside the wicket at which the tickets +are sold, she saw a party of tourists on their way to the House of the +Vestals. Of late years both Germans and Americans have discovered that +Rome is not so hot in summer as the English all say it is, and that +fever does not lurk behind every wall to spring upon the defenceless +foreigner. + +The tourists were of the usual class, and Cecilia was annoyed to find +them where she had hoped to be alone; but they would soon go away, and +she sat down with Petersen to wait for their going, under the shadow of +the temple of Castor and Pollux. Petersen began to read her guide-book, +and the young girl fell to thinking while she pushed a little stone from +side to side with the point of her parasol, trying to bring it each time +to the exact spot on which it had lain before. + +She was thinking of all that had happened to her since she left Petersen +in that same place on the May morning that seemed left behind in another +existence, and she was wondering whether she would go back to that +point, if she could, and live the months over again; or whether, if the +return were possible, she would have made the rest different from what +it had been. + +It would have been so much easier to go on loving the man in the dream +to the end of her life, meeting him again and again in the old +surroundings that were more familiar to her than those in which she +lived. It would have been so much better to be always her fancied self, +to be the faithful Vestal, leading the man she loved by sure degrees to +heights of immaterial blessedness in that cool outer firmament where +sight and hearing and feeling, and thinking and loving, were all merged +in a universal consciousness. It would have been so much easier not to +love a real man, above all not to love one who never could love her, +come what might. And besides, if all that had gone on, she would never +have brought disappointment and suffering upon Guido d'Este. + +She decided that it would have been preferable, by far, to have gone on +with her life of dreams, and when awake to have been as she had always +known herself, in love with everything that made her think and with +nothing that made her feel. + +But in the very moment when the matter seemed decided, she remembered +how she had looked into Lamberti's eyes three nights ago, and had felt +something more delicious than all thinking while she told him how she +loved that other man, who was himself. That one moment had seemed worth +an age of dreams and a lifetime of visions, and for it she knew that she +would give them all, again and again. + +The point of the parasol did not move now, but lay against the little +stone, just where she was looking, for she was no longer weighing +anything in her mind nor answering reasons with reasons. With the +realisation of fact, came quickly the infinite regret and longing she +knew so well, yet which always consoled her a little. She had a right to +love as she did, since she was to suffer by it all her life. If she had +thrown over Guido d'Este to marry Lamberti, there would have been +something guilty in loving him. But there was not. She was perfectly +disinterested, absolutely without one thought for her own happiness, and +if she had done wrong she had done it unconsciously and was going to pay +the penalty with the fullest consciousness of its keenness. + +The tourists trooped back, grinding the path with their heavy shoes, +hot, dusty, tired, and persevering, as all good tourists are. They +stared at her when they thought she was not watching them, for they were +simple and discreet souls, bent on improving themselves, and though they +despised her a little for not toiling like themselves, they saw that she +was beautiful and cool and quiet, sitting there in the shade, in her +light summer frock, and her white gloves, and her Paris hat, and the men +admired her as a superior being, who might be an angel or a demon, while +all the women envied her to the verge of hatred; and because she was +accompanied by such an evidently respectable person as Peterson was, +they could not even say that she was probably an actress. This +distressed them very much. + +Kant says somewhere that when a man turns from argument and appeals to +mankind's common sense, it is a sure sign that his reasoning is +worthless. Similarly, when women can find nothing reasonable to say +against a fellow-woman who is pretty and well dressed, they generally +say that she looks like an actress; and this means according to the +customs of a hundred years ago, which women seem to remember though most +men have forgotten them, that she is an excommunicated person not fit to +be buried like a Christian. Really, they could hardly say more in a +single word. + +When the tourists were at a safe distance Cecilia rose, bidding Petersen +sit still, and she went slowly on towards the House of the Vestals, and +up the little inclined wooden bridge which at that time led up to it, +till she stood within the court, her hand resting almost on the very +spot where it had been when Lamberti had come upon her in the spring +morning. + +Her memories rose and her thoughts flashed back with them through ages, +giving the ruined house its early beauty again, out of her own youth. +She was not dreaming now, but she knew instinctively how it had been in +those last days of the Vestals' existence, and wished every pillar, and +angle, and cornice, and ornament back, each into its own place and +unchanged, and herself, where she was, in full consciousness of life and +thought, at the very moment when she had first seen the man's face and +had understood that one may vow away the dying body but not the +deathless soul. That had been the beginning of her being alive. Before +that, she had been as a flower, growing by the universal will, one of +those things that are created pure and beautiful and fragrant from the +first without thought or merit of their own; and then, as a young bird +in the nest, high in air, in a deep forest, in early summer, looking out +and wondering, but not knowing yet, its little heart beating fast with +only one instinct, to be out and alone on the wing. But afterwards all +had changed instantly and knowledge had come without learning, because +what was to make it was already present in subtle elements that needed +only the first breath of understanding to unite themselves in an ordered +and perfect meaning; as the electric spark, striking through invisible +mingled gases, makes perfect union of them in crystal drops of water. + +That had been the beginning, since conscious life begins in the very +instant when the soul is first knowingly answerable for the whole +being's actions, in the light of good and evil, and first asks the only +three questions which human reason has never wholly answered, which are +as to knowledge, and duty, and hope. + +Who shall say that life, in that sense, may not begin in a dream, as +well as in what we call reality? What is a dream? Sometimes a wandering +through a maze of absurdities, in which we feel as madmen must, +believing ourselves to be other beings than ourselves, conceiving the +laws of nature to be reversed for our advantage or our ruin, seeing +right as wrong and wrong as right, in the pathetic innocence of the +idiot or the senseless rage of the maniac, convinced beyond all argument +that the absolutely impossible is happening before our eyes, yet never +in the least astonished by any wonders, though subject to terrors we +never feel when we are awake. Has no one ever understood that confused +dreaming must be exactly like the mental state of the insane, and that +if we dreamed such dreams with open eyes, we should be raving mad, or +hopelessly idiotic? It is true, whether any one has ever said so or not. +Inanimate things turn into living creatures, the chair we sit on becomes +a horse, the arm-chair is turned into a wild beast; and we ride +a-hunting through endless drawing-rooms which are full of trees and +undergrowth, till the trees are suddenly people and are all dancing and +laughing at us, because we have come to the ball in attire so +exceedingly scanty that we wonder how the servants could have let us in. +And in the midst of all this, when we are frantically searching for our +clothes, and for a railway ticket, which we are sure is in the +right-hand pocket of the waistcoat, if only we could find it, and if +some one would tell us from which side of the station the train starts, +and we wish we had not forgotten to eat something, and had not unpacked +all our luggage and scattered everything about the railway refreshment +room, and that some kind person would tell us where our money is, and +that another would take a few of the fifty things we are trying to hold +in our hands without dropping any of them; in the midst of all this, I +say, a dead man we knew comes from his grave and stares at us, and asks +why we cruelly let him die, long ago, without saying that one word which +would have meant joy or despair to him at the last moment. Then our hair +stands up and our teeth chatter, because the secret of the soul has +risen against us where we least expected it; and we wake alone in the +dark with the memory of the dead. + +Is not that madness? What else can madness be but that disjointing of +ordered facts into dim and disorderly fiction, pierced here and there by +lingering lights of memory and reason? All of us sometimes go mad in our +sleep. But it does not follow that in dreaming we are not sometimes +sane, rational, responsible, our own selves, good or bad, doing and +saying things which we might say and do in real life, but which we have +never said nor done, incurring the consequences of our words and deeds +as if they were actual, keeping good faith or breaking it, according to +our own natures, accomplishing by effort, or failing through indolence, +as the case may be, blushing with genuine shame, laughing with genuine +mirth, and burning with genuine anger; and all this may go on from the +beginning to the end of the dream, without a single moment of +impossibility, without one incident which would surprise us in the +waking state. With most people dreams of this kind are rare, but every +one who dreams at all must have had them once or twice in life. + +If we are therefore sometimes sane in dreams we can remember, and act in +them as we really should, according to our individual consciences and +possessed of our usual intelligence and knowledge, it cannot be denied +that a series of such imaginary actions constitutes a real experience, +during which we have risen or fallen, according as we have thought or +acted. Some dreams of this kind leave impressions as lasting as that +made by any reality. The merit or fault is wholly fictitious, no doubt, +because although we have fancied that we could exercise our free will, +we were powerless to use it; but the experience gained is not imaginary, +where the dream has been strictly sane, any more than thought, in the +abstract, is fictitious because it is not action. People of some +imagination can easily, while wide awake, imagine a series of actions +and decide rationally what course they would pursue in each, and such +decisions constitute undoubted experience, which may materially affect +the conduct of the individual if cases similar to the fancied ones +present themselves in life. When there is no time to be lost, the +instantaneous recollection of a train of reasoning may often mean +instant decision, followed by immediate action, upon which the most +important consequences may follow. + +Will any one venture to maintain that the vivid impressions left by +rational dreams do not act in the same way upon the mind, and through +the mind upon the will, and by the will upon our actions? And if we +could direct our dreams as we pleased, so that they should be always +rational, as some persons believe that we can, should we not be +continually gaining experience of ourselves while sleeping, as well as +when awake? Moreover, it is certain that there are men and women who are +particularly endowed with the faculty of dreaming, and who can very +often dream of any subject they please. + +Since this digression is already so long, let one more thing be said, +which has not been said before, so far as the writer can find out. Our +waking memory is defective; with most men it is so to a lamentable +degree. It often happens that people forget that they have read a story, +for instance, and begin to read it again, and do not discover that they +have already done so till they have turned over many pages. It happens +constantly that the taste of something we eat, or the odour of something +we smell, recalls a scene we cannot remember at first, but which +sometimes comes back after a little while. Almost every one has felt now +and then that a fragment of present conversation is not new to him, and +that he has performed certain actions already, though he cannot remember +when. With some people these broken recollections are so frequent and +vivid as to lead to all sorts of theories to explain them, such as the +possibility of former existences on earth, or the more materialistic +probability that memories are transmitted from parents and ancestors +from the direct ascending lines. + +One theory has been neglected. At such times we may be remembering +vaguely, or even with some distinctness, parts of dreams of which we had +no recollection on waking, but which, nevertheless, made their +impressions on the brain that produced them, while we were asleep. +Unconscious ratiocination is certainly not a myth; and if, by it, we can +produce our own forgotten actions, and even find objects we have lost, +by doing over again exactly what we were doing when the thing we seek +was last in our hands, sure that the rest of the action will repeat +itself spontaneously, we should not be going much farther if we repeated +both actions and words unconsciously remembered out of dreams. Much that +seems very mysterious in our sensations may be explained in that way, +and the explanation has the advantage of being simpler than that +afforded by the theory of atavism, and more orthodox than that offered +by the believers in the transmigration of souls. + +Cecilia Palladio had no need of it, for she did not forget the one dream +that pleased her best, and she was never puzzled by uncertain +recollections of any other. Her life had begun in it, and had turned +upon it always, and after she had parted with it by an act of will, she +had retained the fullest remembrance of its details. + +She left the place where she had paused near the entrance, and slowly +walked up the long court, by the dry excavated basins; she ascended the +low steps to the raised floor beyond, and stood still before the door of +her own room, the second on the left. She had meant to go in and look at +it quietly, but since she had taken refuge there when she ran away from +Lamberti, iron gates had been placed at the entrances of all the six +rooms, and they were locked. In hers a quantity of fragments of +sculptured marble and broken earthen vessels were laid side by side on +the floor, or were standing against the walls and in the corners. + +She felt as if she had been shut out by an act of tyranny, just as when +she and her five companions had sadly left the House, obedient to the +Christian Emperor's decree, long ago. It had always been her room ever +since she had first dreamt. The beautiful narrow bronze bedstead used to +stand on the left, the carved oak wardrobe inlaid with ivory was on the +right, the marble table was just under the window, covered with objects +she needed for her toilet, exquisite things of chiselled silver and of +polished ivory. The chair, rounded at the back and with cushioned seat, +like Agrippina's, was near it. In winter, the large bronze brazier of +coals, changed twice daily, was always placed in the middle of the room. +The walls were wainscoted with Asian marble, and painted above that with +portraits in fresco of great and ancient Vestals who had been holier +than the rest, each in her snowy robes, with the white veil drawn up and +backwards over her head, and brought forward again over the shoulder, +and each holding some sacred vessel or instrument in her one uncovered +hand. There were stories about each which the Virgo Maxima used to read +to the younger ones from a great rolled manuscript, that was kept in an +ancient bronze box, or which she sometimes told in the moonlight on +summer nights when the maidens sat together in the court. + +She closed her eyes, her forehead resting against the iron bars, and she +saw it all as it had been; she looked again and the desolation hurt her +and shocked her as when in a wilderness an explorer comes suddenly upon +the bleached bones of one who had gone before him and had been his +friend. She sighed and turned away. + +The dream was better than the reality, in that and in many other ways. +She was overcome by the sense of utter failure, as she sat down on the +steps below the raised floor, lonely and forlorn. + +It was all a comedy now, a miserable petty play to hide a great truth +from herself and others. She had begun her part already, writing her +wretched little notes to poor Guido. She knew that, ill as he was, the +words that seemed lies to her were ten times true to him, and that he +exaggerated every enquiry after his condition and each expression of +hope for his recovery into signs of loving solicitude, that he had +already forgiven what he thought her caprice, and was looking forward to +his marriage as more certain than ever, in spite of her message. It was +all a vile trick meant to save his feelings and help him to get well, +and she hated and despised it. + +She was playing a part with Lamberti, too, and that was no better. She +had fallen low enough to love a man who did not care a straw for her, +and it needed all the energy of character she had left to keep him from +finding it out. Nothing could be more contemptible. If any one but he +had told her that she ought to go back to the appearance of an +engagement with Guido, she would have refused to do it. But Lamberti +dominated her; he had only to say, "Do this," and she did it, "Say +this," and she said it, whether it were true or not. She complained +bitterly in her heart that if he had bidden her lie to her mother, she +would have lied, because she had no will of her own when she was with +him. + +And this was the end of her inspired visions, of her lofty ideals, of +her magnificent rules of life, of her studies of philosophy, her +meditations upon religion, and her dream of the last Vestal. She was +nothing but a weak girl, under the orders of a man she loved against her +will, and ready to do things she despised whenever he chose to give his +orders. He cared for no human being except his one friend. He was not to +be blamed for that, of course, but he was utterly indifferent to every +one else where his friend was concerned; every one must lie, or steal, +or do murder, if that could help Guido to get well. She was only one of +his instruments, and he probably had others. She was sure that half the +women in Rome loved Lamberto Lamberti without daring to say so. It was a +satisfaction to have heard from every one that he cared for none of +them. People spoke of him as a woman-hater, and one woman had said that +he had married a negress in Africa, and was the father of black savages +with red hair. That accounted for his going to Somali Land, she said, +and for his knowing so much about the habits of the people there. +Cecilia would have gladly killed the lady with a hat pin. + +She was very unhappy, sitting alone on the steps after the sun had sunk +out of sight. The comedy was all to begin over again in an hour, for she +must go home and defend her conduct when her mother reproached her with +not acting fairly, and laughed at the idea that Guido was in danger of +his life. To-morrow she would have to write the daily note to him, she +would be obliged to compose affectionate phrases which would have come +quite naturally if she could have treated him merely as her best friend; +and he would translate affection to mean love, and another lie would +have been told. There was this, at least, about Guido, that he could not +order her about as Lamberti could. There was no authority in his eyes, +not even when he told her not to catch cold. Perhaps in all the time she +had known him, she had liked him best when he had been angry, at the +garden party, and had demanded to know her secret. But she would not +acknowledge that. If the situation had been reversed and Lamberti, +instead of Guido, had insisted on knowing what she meant to hide, she +could not have helped telling him. It was an abominable state of things, +but there was nothing to be done, and that was the worst part of it. +Lamberti knew Guido much better than she did, and if Lamberti told her +gravely that Guido might do something desperate if she broke with him, +she was obliged to believe it and to act accordingly. There might not be +one chance in a thousand, but the one-thousandth chance was just the one +that might have its turn. One might disregard it for oneself, but one +had no right to overlook it where another's life was concerned. At all +events she must wait till Guido was quite well again, for a man in a +fever really might do anything rash. Why did Lamberti not take away the +revolver that always lay ready in the drawer? It would be much safer, +though Guido probably had plenty of other weapons that would serve the +purpose. Guido was just the kind of pacific man who would have a whole +armoury of guns and pistols, as if he were always expecting to kill +something or somebody. She was sure that Lamberti, who had killed men +with his own hand, did not keep any sort of weapon in his room. If he +had a revolver of his own, it was probably carefully cleaned, greased, +wrapped up and put away with the things he used when he was sent on +expeditions. It was a thousand pities that Guido was not exactly like +Lamberti! + +Cecilia rose at last, weary of thinking about it all, disgusted with her +own weakness, and decidedly ill-disposed towards her fellow-creatures. +The slightly flattened upper lip was compressed rather tightly against +the fuller lower one as she went back to find Petersen, and as she held +her head very high, her lids drooped somewhat scornfully over her eyes. +No one can ever be as supercilious as some people look when they are +angry with themselves and are thinking what miserable creatures they +really are. + +It was late when Cecilia reached the Palazzo Massimo and went in on foot +under the dark carriageway after Petersen had paid the cab under the +watchful gaze of the big liveried porter. The Countess was already +dressing for dinner, and Cecilia went to her own room at once. The +consequence was that she did not know of her mother's invitation to +Lamberti, until she came into the drawing-room and saw the two together, +waiting for her. + +"Did I forget to tell you that Signor Lamberti was coming to dinner?" +asked her mother. + +"There was no particular reason why you should have told me," she +answered indifferently, as she held out her hand to Lamberti. "It is not +exactly a dinner party! How is he?" she asked, speaking to him. + +"He is better this evening, thank you." + +Why should he say "thank you," as if Guido were his brother or his +father? She resented it. Surely there was no need for continually +accentuating the fact that Guido was the only person living for whom he +had the slightest natural affection! This was perhaps exaggerated, but +she was glad of it, just then. + +She, who would have given all for him, wished savagely that some woman +would make him fall in love and treat him with merciless barbarity. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + +Cecilia felt that evening as if she could resist Lamberti's influence at +last, for she was out of humour with herself and with every one else. +When they had dined, and had said a multitude of uninteresting things +about Guido, for they were all under a certain constraint while the meal +lasted, they came back to the drawing-room. Lamberti had the inscrutable +look Cecilia had lately seen in his face, and which she took for the +outward sign of his indifference to anything that did not concern his +friend. When he spoke to her, he looked at her as if she were a chair or +a table, and when he was not speaking to her he did not look at her at +all. + +In the drawing-room, she waited her opportunity until her mother had sat +down. The butler had set the little tray with the coffee and three cups +on a small three-legged table. On pretence that the latter was unsteady, +Cecilia carried the tray to another place at some distance from her +mother. Lamberti followed her to take the Countess's cup, and then came +back for his own. Cecilia spoke to him in a low voice while she was +putting in the sugar and pouring out the coffee, a duty which in many +parts of Italy and France is still assigned to the daughter of the +house, and recalls a time when servants did not know how to prepare the +beverage. + +"Come and talk to me presently," she said. "I am sure you have more to +tell me about him." + +"No," said Lamberti, not taking the trouble to lower his voice much, +"there is nothing more to tell. I do not think I have forgotten +anything." + +He stirred his coffee slowly, but with evident reluctance to stay near +her. She would not have been a human woman if she had not been annoyed +by his cool manner, and a shade of displeasure passed over her face. + +"I have something to say to you," she answered. "I thought you would +understand." + +"That is different." + +In his turn he showed a little annoyance. They went back together to the +Countess's side, carrying their cups. In due time the good lady went to +write letters, feeling that it was quite safe to leave her daughter with +Lamberti, who seemed to be as cold as ice, and not at all bent on making +himself agreeable. Besides, the Countess was tired of the situation, and +could hardly conceal the fact that she reproached Guido for not getting +well sooner, in order that she might speak to him herself. + +There was silence for a time after she had gone into the next room, +while Cecilia and Lamberti sat side by side on the sofa she had left. +Neither seemed inclined to speak first, for both felt that some danger +was at hand, which could not be avoided, but which must be approached +with caution. She wished that he would say something, for she was not at +all sure what she meant to tell him; but he was silent, which was +natural enough, as she had asked for the interview. + +She would have given anything to have seen him somewhere else, in new +surroundings, anywhere except in her own drawing-room, where every +familiar object oppressed her and reminded her of her mistakes and +illusions. She felt that she must say something, but the blood rose in +her brain and confused her. He saw her embarrassment, or guessed it. + +"So far things have gone better than I expected," he said at last, "but +that only makes the end more doubtful." + +She turned to him slowly and with an involuntary look of gratitude for +having broken the silence. + +"I mean," he went on, "that since Guido is so ready to grasp at any +straw you throw him, it will be hard to make him understand you, when +things have gone a little further." + +"Is that all you mean?" She asked the question almost sharply. + +"Yes." + +"You do not mean that you still wish I would marry him after--after what +I told you the other evening?" + +The interrogation was in her voice, and that was hard, and demanded an +answer. Lamberti looked away, and did not reply at once, for he meant to +tell the exact truth, and was not quite sure where it lay. He felt, too, +that her manner had changed notably since they had last talked, and +though he had no intention of taking the upper hand, it was not in his +nature to submit to any dictation, even from the woman he loved. + +"Answer me, please," said Cecilia, rather imperiously. + +"Yes, I will. I wish it were possible for you to marry him, that is +all." + +"And you know that it is not." + +"I am almost sure that it is not." + +"How cautious you are!" + +"The matter is serious. But you said that you had something to say to +me. What is it?" + +"I wanted to tell you that I am sick of all this deception, of writing +notes that are meant to deceive a man for whom I have the most sincere +friendship, of letting the whole world think that I will do what I would +not do, if I were to die for it." + +He looked at her, then clasped his hands upon his knees and shook his +head. + +"I must see him," she said, after a pause, "I must see him at once, and +you must help me. If I could only speak to him I could make him +understand, and he would be glad I had spoken, and we should always be +good friends. But I must see him alone, and talk to him. Make it +possible, for I know you can. I am not afraid of the consequences. Take +me to him. It is the only true and honest thing to do!" + +Lamberti believed that this was true; he was a man of action and had no +respect for society's prejudices, when society was not present to +enforce its laws. It would have seemed incredible to Romans that an +Italian girl could think of doing what Cecilia proposed, and if it were +ever known, her reputation would be gravely damaged. But Cecilia was not +like other young girls; society should never know what she had done, and +she was quite right in saying that her plan was really the best and most +honourable. + +"I can take you to him," Lamberti said. "I suppose you know what you are +risking." + +"Nothing, if I go with you. You would not let me run any risk." + +She did not raise her voice, she hardly changed her tone, but nothing +she had ever said had given him such a thrilling sensation of pleasure. + +"Do you trust me as much as that?" he asked. + +"Yes, as much as that." + +She smiled, and looked down at her hand, and then glanced at him +quickly, and almost happily. If she had studied men for ten years she +could not have found word or look more certain to touch him and win him +to her way. + +"Thank you," he said, rather curtly, for he was thinking of another +answer. "If I take you to Guido, what shall you say to him?" + +She drew herself up against the back of the sofa, but the smile still +lingered on her lips. + +"You must trust me, too," she answered. "Do you think I can compose set +speeches beforehand? When shall we go? How is it to be managed?" + +"You often go out with your maid, do you not? What sort of woman is she? +A dragon?" + +"No!" Cecilia laughed. "She is very respectable and nice, and thinks I +am perfection. But then, she is terribly near-sighted, and cannot wear +spectacles because they fall off her nose." + +"Then she loses her way easily, I suppose?" said Lamberti, too much +intent on his plans to be amused at trifles. + +"Yes. She is always losing her way." + +"That might easily happen to her in the Palazzo Farnese. It is a huge +place, and you could manage to go up one way while she went up the +other. Besides, there is a lift at the back, not to mention the +servants' staircases, in which she might be hopelessly lost. Can you +trust her not to lose her head and make the porters search the palace +for you, if you are separated from her?" + +"I am not sure. But she will stay wherever I tell her to wait for me. +That might be better. You see, my only excuse for going to the Palazzo +Farnese would be to see the ambassador's daughter, and she is in the +country." + +"I think she must have come to town for a day or two, for I met her this +afternoon. That is a good reason for going to see her. At the door of +the embassy send your maid on an errand that will take an hour, and tell +her to wait for you in the cab at the gate. If the girl is at home you +need not stay ten minutes. Then you can see Guido during the rest of the +time. It will be long enough, and besides, the maid will wait." + +"For ever, if I tell her to! But you, where shall you be?" + +"You will meet me on the stairs as you come down from the embassy. Wear +something simple and dark that people have not seen you wear before, and +carry a black parasol and a guide-book. Have one of those brown veils +that tourists wear against the sun. Fold it up neatly and put it into +the pocket of the guide-book instead of the map, or pin it to the inside +of your parasol. You can put it on as soon as you have turned the corner +of the stairs, out of sight of the embassy door, for the footman will +not go in till you are as far as that. If you cannot put it on yourself, +I will do it for you." + +"Do you know how to put on a woman's veil?" Cecilia asked, with a little +laugh. + +"Of course! It is easy enough. I have often fastened my sister's for her +at picnics." + +"What time shall I come?" + +"A little before eleven. Guido cannot be ready before that." + +"But he has a servant," said Cecilia, suddenly remembering the detail. +"What will he think?" + +"He has two, but they shall both be out, and I shall have the key to his +door in my pocket. We will manage that." + +"Shall you be sure to know just when I come?" + +"I shall see you, but you will not see me till we meet on the landing." + +"I knew you could manage it, if you only would." + +"It is simple enough. There is not the slightest risk, if you will do +exactly what I have told you." + +It seemed easy indeed, and Cecilia was almost happy at the thought that +she was soon to be freed from the intolerable situation into which she +allowed herself to be forced. She was very grateful, too, and beyond her +gratitude was the unspeakable satisfaction in the man she loved. Instead +of making difficulties, he smoothed them; instead of prating of what +society might think, he would help her to defy it, because he knew that +she was right. + +"I should like to thank you," she said simply. "I do not know how." + +He seemed to say something in answer, in a rather discontented way, but +so low that she could not catch the words. + +"What did you say?" she asked unwisely. + +"Nothing. I am glad to be of service to you. Say the right things to +Guido; for you are going to do rather an eccentric thing in order to say +them, and a mistake would be fatal." + +He spoke almost roughly, but she was not offended. He had a right to be +rough, since he was ready to do whatever she asked of him; yet not +understanding him, while loving him, her instinct made her wish him +really to know how pleased she was. She put out her hand a little +timidly and touched his, as a much older woman might have done. To her +surprise, he grasped it instantly, and held it so tightly that he hurt +her for a moment. He dropped it then, pushing it from him as his hold +relaxed, almost throwing it off. + +"What is the matter?" Cecilia asked, surprised. + +But at that moment her mother entered the room from the boudoir. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + +In agreeing to the dangerous scheme, Lamberti had yielded to an impulse +founded upon his intuitive knowledge of women, and not at all upon his +inborn love of anything in which there was risk. The danger was for +Cecilia, not for himself, in any case; and it was real, for, if it +should ever be known that she had gone to Guido's rooms, nothing but her +marriage with him would silence the gossips. Society cannot be blamed +for drawing a line somewhere, considering how very far back it sets the +limit. + +Lamberti, without reasoning about it, knew that no woman ever does well +what she does not like doing. If he persisted in making Cecilia attempt +to break gradually with Guido, she would soon make mistakes and spoil +everything. That was his conviction. She felt, at present, that if she +could see Guido face to face, she could persuade him to give her up; and +the probability was that she would succeed, or else that she would be +moved by real pity for him and thus become genuinely ready to follow +Lamberti's original advice. The sensible course to follow was, +therefore, to help her in the direction she had chosen. + +Early in the morning Lamberti was at his friend's bedside. Guido was +much better now, and there was no risk in taking him to his sitting +room. Lamberti suggested this before saying anything else, and the +doctor came soon afterwards and approved of it. By ten o'clock Guido was +comfortably installed in a long cane chair, amongst his engravings and +pictures, very pale and thin, but cheerful and expectant. As he had no +fever, and was quite calm, Lamberti told him frankly that Cecilia had +something to say to him which no one could say for her, and was coming +herself. He was amazed and delighted at first, and then was angry with +Lamberti for allowing her to come; but, as the latter explained in +detail how her visit was to be managed, his fears subsided, and he +looked at his watch with growing impatience. His man had been sitting up +with him at night since his illness had begun, and was easily persuaded +to go to bed for the day. The other servant, who cooked what Guido +needed, had prepared everything for the day, and had gone out. He always +came back a little after twelve o'clock. At twenty minutes to eleven +Lamberti took the key of the door and went to watch for Cecilia's +coming, and half an hour later he admitted her to the sitting room, shut +the door after her, and left the two together. He went and sat down in +the outer hall, in case any one should ring the bell, which had been +muffled with a bit of soft leather while Guido was ill. + +Cecilia stood still a moment, after the door was closed; behind her, and +she lifted her veil to see her way, for there was not much light in the +room. As she caught sight of Guido, a frank smile lighted up her face +for an instant, and then died away in a look of genuine concern and +anxiety. She had not realised how much he could change in so short a +time, in not more than four or five days. She came forward quickly, took +his hand, and bent over him, looking into his face. His eyes widened +with pleasure and his thin fingers lifted hers to his lips. + +"You have been very ill," she said, "very, very ill! I had no idea that +it was so bad as this!" + +"I am better," he answered gently. "How good of you! How endlessly good +of you to come!" + +"Nobody saw me," she said, by way of answer. + +She smoothed the old pink damask cushion under his head, and +instinctively looked to see if he had all he needed within reach, before +she thought of sitting down in the chair Lamberti had placed ready for +her. + +"Tell me," he said, in a low and somewhat anxious voice, "you did not +mean it? You were out of temper, or you were annoyed by something, or--I +do not know! Something happened that made you write, and you had sent +the letter before you knew what you were doing----" + +He broke off, quite sure of her answer. He thought she turned pale, +though the light was not strong and brought the green colour of the +closed blinds into the room. + +"Hush!" she exclaimed soothingly, and she sat down beside him, still +holding his hand. "I have come expressly to talk to you about it all, +because letters only make misunderstandings, and there must not be any +more misunderstandings between us two." + +"No, never again!" He looked up with love in his hollow eyes, not +suspecting what she meant. "I have forgotten all that was in that +letter, and I wish to forget it. You never wrote that you did not love +me, nor that you loved another man. It is all gone, quite gone, and I +shall never remember it again." + +Cecilia sighed and gazed into his face sadly. He looked so ill and weak +that she wondered how she could be cruel enough to tell him the truth, +though she had risked her good name to get a chance of speaking plainly. +It seemed like bringing a cup of cold water to the lips of a man dying +of thirst, only to take it away again untasted and leave him to his +fate. She pitied him with all her heart, but there was nothing in her +compassion that at all resembled love. It was the purest and most +friendly affection, of the sort that lasts a lifetime and can devote +itself in almost any sacrifice; but it was all quite clear and +comprehensible, without the smallest element of the inexplicable +attraction that is deaf, and dumb, and, above all, blind, and which +proceeds from the deep prime cause and mover of nature, and mates lions +in the wilderness and birds in the air, and men and women among their +fellows, two and two, from generation to generation. + +"Guido," said Cecilia, after a long silence, "do you not think that two +people can be very, very fond of each other all their lives, and trust +each other, and like to be together as much as possible, without being +married?" + +She spoke quietly and steadily, trying to make her voice sound more +gentle than ever before; but there was no possibility of mistaking her +meaning. His thin hand started and shook under her soothing touch, and +then drew itself away. The light went out of his eyes and the rings of +shadow round them grew visibly darker as he turned his head painfully on +the damask cushion. + +"Is that what you have come to say?" he asked, in a groan. + +Cecilia leaned back in her chair and folded her hands. She felt as if +she had killed an unresisting, loving creature, as a sacrifice for her +fault. + +"God forgive me if I have done wrong," she said, speaking to herself. "I +only mean to do right." + +Guido moved his head on his cushion again, as if suffering unbearable +pain, and a sort of harsh laugh answered her words. + +"Your God will forgive you," he said bitterly, after a moment. "Man made +God in his own image, and God must needs obey his creator. When you +cannot forgive yourself, you set up an image and ask it to pardon you. I +do not wonder." + +The cruel words hurt her in more ways than one, and she drew her breath +between her teeth as if she had struck unawares against something sharp +and was repressing a cry of pain. Then there was silence for a long +time. + +"Why do you stay here?" Guido asked, in a low tone, not looking at her. +"You cannot have anything more to say. You have done what you came to +do. Let me be alone." + +"Guido!" + +She touched his shoulder gently as he lay turned from her, but he moved +and pushed her away. + +"It cannot give you pleasure to see me suffer," he said. "Please go +away." + +"How can I leave you like this?" + +There was despair in her voice, and the sound of tears that would never +come to her eyes. He did not answer. She would not go away without +trying to appease him, and she made a strong effort to collect her +thoughts. + +"You are angry with me, of course," she began. "You despise me for not +having known my own mind, but you cannot say anything that I have not +said to myself. I ought to have known long ago. All I can say in +self-defence now is that it is better to have told you the truth before +we were married than to have been obliged to confess it afterwards, or +else to have lied to you all my life if I could not find courage to +speak. It is better, is it not? Oh, say that it is better!" + +"It would have been much better if neither of us had ever been born," +Guido answered. + +"I only ask you to say that you would rather be suffering now than have +had me tell you in a year that I was an unfaithful wife at heart. That +is all. Will you not say it? It is all I ask." + +"Why should you ask anything of me, even that? The only kindness you can +show me now is to go away." + +He would not look at her. His throat was parched, and he put out his +hand to take the tumbler from the little table on the other side of his +long chair. Instantly she rose and tried to help him, but he would not +let her. + +"I am not so weak as that," he said coldly. "My hand is steady enough, +thank you." + +She sighed and drew back. Perhaps it would be better to leave him, as he +wished that she should, but his words recalled Lamberti's warning; his +hand was steady, he said, and that meant that it was steady enough to +take the pistol from the drawer in the little table and use it. He +believed in nothing, in no future, in no retribution, in no God, and he +was ill, lonely, and in despair through her fault. His friend knew him, +and the danger was real. The conviction flashed through her brain that +if she left him alone he would probably kill himself, and she fancied +him lying there dead, on the red tiles. She fancied, too, Lamberti's +face, when he should come to tell her what had happened, for he would +surely come, and to the end of her life and his he would never forgive +her. + +She stood still, wavering and unstrung by her thoughts, looking steadily +down at Guido's head. + +"Since you will not go away," he said at last, "answer me one question. +Tell me the name of the man who has come between us." + +Cecilia bit her lip and turned her face from the light. + +"Then it is true," Guido said, after a silence. "There is a man whom you +really love, a man whom you would really marry and to whom you could +really be faithful." + +"Yes. It is true. Everything I wrote you is true." + +"Who is he?" + +She was silent again. + +"Do you hope that I shall ever forgive you for what you have done to +me?" + +"Yes. I pray heaven that you may!" + +"Leave heaven out of the question. You have turned my life into +something like what you call hell. Do I know the man you love?" + +"Yes," Cecilia answered, after a moment's hesitation. + +"Do I often meet him? Have I met him often since you have loved him?" + +She said nothing, but stood still with bent head and clasped hands. + +"Why do you not answer me?" he asked sternly. + +"You must never know his name," she said, in a low voice. + +"Have I no right to know who has ruined my life?" + +"I have. Blame me. Visit it on me." + +He laughed, not harshly now, but gently and sarcastically. + +"You women are fond of offering yourselves as expiatory victims for your +own sins, for you know very well that we shall not hurt you! After all, +you cannot help yourself if you have fallen in love with some one else. +I suppose I ought to be sorry for you. I probably shall be, when I know +who he is!" + +He laughed again, already despising the man she had preferred in his +stead. His words had cut her, but she said nothing, for she was in dread +lest the slightest word should betray the truth. + +"You say that I know him," Guido continued, his cheeks beginning to +flush feverishly, "and you would not answer me when I asked you if I had +often met him since you have loved him. That means that I have, of +course. You were too honest to lie, and too much frightened to tell the +truth. I meet him often. Then he is one of a score of men whom I know +better than all the others. There are not many men whom I meet often. It +cannot be very hard to find out which of them it is." + +Cecilia turned her face away, resting one hand on the back of the chair, +and a deep blush rose in her cheeks. But she spoke steadily. + +"You can never find out," she said. "He does not love me. He does not +guess that I love him. But I will not answer any more questions, for you +must not know who he is." + +"Why not? Do you think I shall quarrel with him and make him fight a +duel with me?" + +"Perhaps." + +"That is absurd," Guido answered quietly. "I do not value my life much, +I believe, but I have not the least inclination to risk it in such a +ridiculous way. The man has injured me without knowing it. You have +taken from me the one thing I treasured and you are keeping it for him; +but he does not want it, he does not even know that it is his, he is not +responsible for your caprices." + +"Not caprice, Guido! Do not call it that!" + +"I do. Forgive me for being frank. Say that I am ill, if you please, as +an excuse for me. I call such things by their right name, caprices. If +you are going to be subject to them all your life, you had better go +into a convent before you throw away your good name." + +"I have not deserved that!" + +She turned upon him now, with flashing eyes. He had raised himself upon +one elbow and was looking at her with cool contempt. + +"You have deserved that and more," he answered, "and if you insist upon +staying here you must hear what I choose to say. I advised you to go +away, but you would not. I have no apology to make for telling you the +truth, but you are free to go. Lamberti is in the hall and will see you +to your carriage." + +There was something royal in his anger and in his look now, which she +could not help respecting, in spite of his words. She had thought that +he would behave very differently; she had looked for some passionate +outburst, perhaps for some unmanly weakness, excusable since he was so +ill, and more in accordance with his outwardly gentle character. She had +thought that because he had made his friend speak to her for him he +lacked energy to speak for himself. But now that the moment had come, he +showed himself as manly and determined as ever Lamberti could be, and +she could not help respecting him for it. Doubtless Lamberti had always +known what was in his friend's nature, below the indolent surface. +Perhaps he was like his father, the old king. But Cecilia was proud, +too. + +"If I have stayed too long," she said, facing him, "it was because I +came here at some risk to confess my fault, and hoped for your +forgiveness. I shall always hope for it, as long as we both live, but I +shall not ask for it again. I had thought that you would accept my +devoted friendship instead of what I cannot give you and never gave you, +though I believed that I did. But you will not take what I offer. We had +better part on that rather than risk being enemies. You have already +said one thing which you will regret and which I shall always remember. +Good-bye." + +She held out her hand frankly, and he took it and kept it a moment, +while their eyes met, and he spoke more gently. + +"I said too much. I am sorry. I shall forgive you when I do not love you +any more. Good-bye." + +He let her hand fall and looked away. + +"Thank you," she said. + +She left his side and went towards the door, her head a little bent. As +she laid her hand upon the handle, and looked back at Guido once again, +it turned in her fingers and was drawn quickly away from them. She +started and turned her head to see who was there. + +Lamberti stood before her, and immediately pushed her back into the room +and shut the door, visibly disturbed. + +"This way!" he said quickly, in an undertone. + +He led her swiftly to another door, which he opened for her and closed +as soon as she had passed. + +"Wait for me there!" he said, as she went in. + +"What is the matter?" asked Guido rather faintly, when he realised what +his friend had done. + +"Her mother is in the hall," Lamberti said. "Do not be startled, she +knows nothing. She insists on seeing for herself how you are. She says +her daughter begged her to come." + +"Tell her I am too ill to see her, please, and thank her very much. It +is all over, Lamberti, we have parted." + +A dark flush rose in Lamberti's face. + +"You must see the Countess," he said hurriedly. "I am sorry, but unless +she comes here, her daughter cannot get out without being seen. We +cannot leave her in your room. I will not do it, for your man may wake +up and go there. There is no time to be lost either!" + +"Bring the Countess in," said Guido, with an effort, and moving uneasily +on his couch. + +He felt that nothing was spared him. In the few seconds that elapsed, he +tried to decide what he should say to the Countess, and how he could +account for knowing that Cecilia had now definitely broken off the +engagement. Before he had come to any conclusion the Countess was +ushered in, rosy and smiling, but a little timid at finding herself in a +young bachelor's quarters. + +Meanwhile, Cecilia was in Guido's bedroom. An older woman might have +suspected some ignoble treachery, but her perfect innocence protected +her from all fear. Lamberti would not have brought her there in such a +hurry unless there had been some absolute necessity for getting her out +of sight at once. Undoubtedly some visitor had come who could not be +turned away. Perhaps it was the doctor. Moreover, she was too much +disturbed by what had taken place to pay much attention to what was, +after all, a detail. + +She looked about her and saw that there was another door by which +Lamberti would presently enter to let her out. There was the great bed +with the coverlet of old arras displaying the royal arms, and beside it +stood a small table of mahogany inlaid with brass. It had tall and +slender legs that ended below in little brass lions' paws, and it had a +single drawer. + +Without hesitation she went and opened it. Lamberti had been right. +There was the revolver, a silver-mounted weapon with an ivory handle, +much more for ornament than use, but quite effective enough for the +purpose to which Guido might put it. Beside it lay a little pile of +notes in their envelopes, and she involuntarily recognised her own +handwriting. He had kept all she had written to him within his reach +while he had been ill, and the thought pained her. The revolver was a +very light one, made with only five chambers. She took it and examined +it when she had shut the drawer again, and she saw that it was fully +loaded. Old Fortiguerra had taught her to use firearms a little, and she +knew how to load and unload them. She slipped the cartridges out quickly +and tied them together in her handkerchief, and then dropped them into +her parasol and the revolver after them. + +She went to the tall mirror in the door of the wardrobe and began to +arrange her veil, expecting Lamberti every moment. She had hardly +finished when he entered and beckoned to her. She caught up her parasol +by the middle so as to hold its contents safely, and in a few seconds +she was outside the front door of the apartment. Lamberti drew a breath +of relief. + +"Take those!" she said quickly, producing the pistol and the cartridges. +"He must not have them." + +Lamberti took the weapon and put it into his pocket, and held the +parasol, while she untied the handkerchief and gave him the contents. +Both began to go downstairs. + +"I had better tell you who came," Lamberti said, as they went. "You will +be surprised. It was your mother." + +"My mother!" Cecilia stopped short on the step she had reached. "I did +not think she meant to come!" + +She went on, and Lamberti kept by her side. + +"You can seem surprised when she tells you," he said. "You have +definitely broken your engagement, then? Guido had time to tell me so." + +"Yes, I could not lie to him. It was very hard, but I am glad it is all +over, though he is very angry now." + +They reached the last landing before the court without meeting any one, +and she paused again. He wondered what expression was on her face while +she spoke, for he could scarcely see the outline of her features through +the veil. + +"Thank you again," she said. "We may not meet for a long time, for my +mother and I shall go away at once, and I suppose we shall not come back +next winter." She spoke rather bitterly now. "My reputation is damaged, +I fancy, because I have refused to marry a man I do not love!" + +"I will take care of your reputation," Lamberti answered, as if he were +saying the most natural thing in the world. + +"It is hardly your place to do that," Cecilia answered, much surprised. + +"It may not be my right," Lamberti said, "as people consider those +things. But it is my place, as Guido's friend and yours, as the only man +alive who is devoted to you both." + +"I am more grateful than I can tell you. But please let people say what +they like of me, and do not take my defence. You, of all the men I know, +must not." + +"Why not I, of all men? I, of all men, will." + +She was standing with her back to the wall on the landing, and he was +facing her now. His face looked a little more set and determined than +usual, and he was rather pale, and he stood sturdily still before her. +She could see his face through her veil, though he could hardly +distinguish hers. He felt for a moment as if he were talking to a sort +of lay figure that represented her and could not answer him. + +"I, of all men, will take care that no one says a word against you," he +said, as she was silent. + +"But why? Why you?" + +"You have definitely given up all idea of marrying Guido? Absolutely? +For ever? You are sure, in your own conscience, that he has no sort of +claim on you left, and that he knows it?" + +"Yes, yes! But----" + +"Then," he said, not heeding her, "as you and I may not meet again for a +long time, and as it cannot do you the least harm to know it, and as you +will have no right to feel that I shall be lacking in respect to you, if +I say it, I am going to give myself the satisfaction of telling you +something I have taken great pains to hide since we first met." + +"What is it?" asked Cecilia, nervously. + +"It is a very simple matter, and one that will not interest you much." + +He paused one moment, and fixed his eyes on the brown veil, where he +knew that hers were. + +"I love you." + +Cecilia started violently, and put out one hand against the wall behind +her. + +"Do not be frightened, Contessina," he said gently. "Many men will say +that to you before you are old. But none of them will mean it more truly +than I. Shall we go? Your mother may not stay long with Guido." + +He moved, expecting her to go on, but she leaned against the wall where +she stood, and she stared at his face through her veil. For an instant +she thought she was going to faint, for her heart stopped beating and +the blood left her head. She did not know whether it was happiness, or +surprise, or fear that paralysed her, when his simple words revealed the +vastness of the mistake in which she had lived, and the immensity of joy +she had missed by so little. She pressed her hand flat against the wall +beside her, sure that if she moved it she must fall. + +"Have I offended you, Signorina?" Lamberti asked, and the low tones +shook a little. + +She could not speak yet, but his voice seemed to steady her, and her +heart beat again. As if she were making a great effort her hand slowly +left the wall, and she stretched it out towards him, silently asking for +his. He did not understand, but he took it and held it quietly, coming a +little nearer to her. + +"You have forgiven me," he said. "Thank you. You are kind. Good-bye." + +But then her fingers closed on his with almost frantic pressure. + +"No, no!" she cried. "Not yet! One moment more!" + +Still he did not understand, but he felt the blood rising and singing in +his heart like the tide when it is almost high. A strange expectation +filled him, as of a great change in his whole being that must come in +the most fearful pain, or else in a happiness almost unbearable, +something swelling, bursting, overwhelming, and enormous beyond +imagination. + +She did not know that she was drawing him nearer to her, she would have +blushed scarlet at the thought; he did not know that his feet moved, +that he was quite close to her, that she was clutching his hand and +pressing it upon her own heart. They did not see what they were doing. +They were standing together by a marble pillar in the Vestals' House. +They were out in the firmament beyond worlds, not seeing, not hearing, +not touching, but knowing and one in knowledge. + +The veil touched his cheek and lightly pressed against it. It was the +Vestal's veil. He had felt it in dreams, between his face and hers. Then +the world broke into visible light, and he heard her whisper in his ear. + +"That was my secret. You know it now." + +A distant footfall echoed from far up the stone staircase. Once more as +she heard it she pressed his hand to her heart with all her might, and +he, with his left round her neck, drew her veiled face against his and +held it there an instant in simple pressure, not trying to kiss her. + +Then those two separated and went down the remaining steps in silence, +side by side, and very demurely, as if nothing had happened. The +Countess's brougham was in the courtyard, and the porter, just going +into his lodge under the archway, touched his big-visored cap to +Lamberti and glanced at Cecilia carelessly as they went out. Petersen +was sitting in an open cab in the blazing sun, under a large white +parasol lined with green cotton, and her mistress was seated beside her +before she had time to rise. Cecilia had quickly turned up her veil over +the brim of her hat as soon as she had passed the porter's lodge, for he +knew her face and she did not wish him to see her go out with Lamberti. + +"Thank you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone as Lamberti stood hat in +hand in the sun by the step of the cab. "Palazzo Massimo," she called +out to the coach-man. + +She nodded to Lamberti indifferently, and the cab drove quickly away to +the right, rattling over the white paving-stones of the Piazza Farnese +in the direction of San Carlo a Catinari. + +"Did you see your mother?" Petersen asked. "She stopped the carriage and +called me when she saw me, and she said she was going to ask after +Signor d'Este. I said you had gone up to the embassy." + +"No," Cecilia answered, "I did not see her. We shall be at home before +she is." + +She did not speak again on the way. Petersen was too near-sighted and +unsuspicious to see that she surreptitiously loosened the brown veil +from her hat, got it down beside her on the other side, and rolled it up +into a ball with one hand. Somehow, when she reached her own door, it +was inside the parasol, just where the revolver had been half an hour +earlier. + +Lamberti put on his straw hat and glanced indifferently at the departing +cab as he turned away, quite sure that Cecilia would not look round. He +went back into the palace, feeling for a cigar in his outer breast +pocket. His hands felt numb with cold under the scorching sun, and he +knew that he was taking pains to look indifferent and to move as if +nothing extraordinary had happened to him; for in a few minutes he would +be face to face with Guido d'Este and the Countess Fortiguerra. He lit +his cigar under the archway, and blew a cloud of smoke before him as he +turned into the staircase; but on the first landing he stopped, just +where he had stood with Cecilia. He paused, his cigar between his teeth, +his legs a little apart as if he were on deck in a sea-way, and his +hands behind him. He looked curiously at the wall where she had leaned +against it, and he smoked vigorously. At last he took out a small pocket +knife and with the point of the blade scratched a little cross on the +hard surface, looked at it, touched it again and was satisfied, returned +the knife to his pocket, and went quietly upstairs. Most seafaring men +do absurdly sentimental things sometimes. Lamberti's expression had +neither softened nor changed while he was scratching the mark, and when +he went on his way he looked precisely as he did when he was going up +the steps of the Ministry to attend a meeting of the Commission. He had +good nerves, as he had told the specialist whom he had consulted in the +spring. + +But he would have given much not to meet Guido for a day or two, though +he did not in the least mind meeting the Countess. Cecilia could keep a +secret as well as he himself, almost too well, and there was not the +slightest danger that her mother should guess the truth from the +behaviour of either of them, even when together. Nor would Guido guess +it for that matter; that was not what Lamberti was thinking of just +then. + +He felt that chance, or fate, had made him the instrument of a sort of +betrayal for which he was not responsible, and as he had never been in +such a position in his life, even by accident, it was almost as bad at +first as if he had intentionally taken Cecilia from his friend. He had +always been instinctively sure that she would love him some day, but +when he had at last spoken he had really not had the least idea that she +already loved him. He had acted on an impulse as soon as he was quite +sure that she would never marry Guido; perhaps, if he could have +analysed his feelings, as Guido could have done, he would have found +that he really meant to shock her a little, or frighten her by the +point-blank statement that he loved her, in the hope of widening the +distance which he supposed to exist between them, and thereby making it +much more improbable that she should ever care for him. + +Even now he did not see how he could ever marry her and remain Guido's +friend. He was far too sensible to tell Guido the truth and appeal to +his generosity, for the best man living is not inclined to be generous +when he has just been jilted, least of all to the man to whom he owes +his discomfiture. In the course of time Guido might grow more +indifferent. That was the most that could be hoped. Nevertheless, from +the instant in which Lamberti had realised the truth, coming back to his +senses out of a whirlwind of delight, he had known that he meant to have +the woman he loved for himself, since she loved him already, and that he +would count nothing that chanced to stand in his way, neither his +friend, nor his career, nor his own family, nor neck nor life, either, +if any such improbable risk should present itself. He was very glad that +he had waited till he was quite sure that she was free, for he knew very +well that if the moment had come too soon he should have felt the same +reckless desire to win her, though he would have exiled himself to a +desert island in the Pacific Ocean rather than yield to it. + +And more than that. He, who had a rough and strong belief in God, in an +ever living soul within him, and in everlasting happiness and suffering +hereafter, he, who called suicide the most dastardly and execrable crime +against self that it lies in the power of a believing man to commit, +would have shot himself without hesitation rather than steal the love of +his only friend's wedded wife, content to give his body to instant +destruction, and his soul to eternal hell--if that were the only way not +to be a traitor. God might forgive him or not; salvation or damnation +would matter little compared with escaping such a monstrous evil. + +He did not think these things. They were instinctive with him and sure +as fate, like all the impulses of violent temperaments; just as certain +as that if a man should give him the lie he would have struck him in the +face before he had realised that he had even raised his hand. Guido +d'Este, as brave in a different way, but hating any violent action, +would never strike a man at all if he could possibly help it, though he +would probably not miss him at the first shot the next morning. + +A quarter of an hour had not elapsed since Lamberti had left the +Countess and Guido together when he let himself in again with his +latch-key. He went at once to the bedroom, walking slowly and +scrutinising the floor as he went along. He had heard of tragedies +brought about by a hairpin, a glove, or a pocket handkerchief, dropped +or forgotten in places where they ought not to be. He looked everywhere +in the passage and in Guido's room, but Cecilia had not dropped +anything. Then he examined his beard in the glass, with an absurd +exaggeration of caution. Her loose brown veil had touched his cheek, a +single silk thread of it clinging to his beard might tell a tale. He was +a man who had more than once lived among savages and knew how slight a +trace might lead to a broad trail. Then he got a chair and set it +against the side of the tall wardrobe. Standing on it he got hold of the +cornice with his hands, drew himself up till he could see over it, +remained suspended by one hand and, with the other, laid the revolver +and the cartridges on the top. Guido would never find them there. + +The Countess's unnecessary shyness had disappeared as soon as she saw +how ill Guido looked. His head was aching terribly now, and he had a +little fever again, but he raised himself as well as he could to greet +her, and smiled courteously as she held out her hand. + +"This is very kind of you, my dear lady," he managed to say, but his own +voice sounded far off. + +"I was really so anxious about you!" the Countess said, with a little +laugh. "And--and about it all, you know. Now tell me how you really +are!" + +Guido said that he had felt better in the morning, but now had a bad +headache. She sympathised with him and suggested bathing his temples +with Eau de Cologne, which seemed simple. She always did it herself when +she had a headache, she said. The best was the Forty-Seven Eleven kind. +But of course he knew that. + +He felt that he should probably go mad if she stayed five minutes +longer, but his courteous manner did not change, though her face seemed +to be jumping up and down at every throb he felt in his head. She was +very kind, he repeated. He had some Eau de Cologne of that very sort. He +never used any other. This sounded in his own ears so absurdly like the +advertisements of patent soap that he smiled in his pain. + +Yes, she repeated, it was quite the best; and she seemed a little +embarrassed, as if she wanted to say something else but could not make +up her mind to speak. Could she do anything to make him more +comfortable? She could go away, but he could not tell her so. He thanked +her. Lamberti and his man had taken most excellent care of him. Why did +he not have a nurse? There were the Sisters of Charity, and the French +sisters who wore dark blue and were very good; she could not remember +the name of the order, but she knew where they lived. Should she send +him one? He thanked her again, and the room turned itself upside down +before his eyes and then whirled back again at the next throb. Still he +tried to smile. + +She coughed a little and looked at her perfectly fitting gloves, wishing +that he would ask after Cecilia. If he had been suffering less he would +have known that he was expected to do so, but it was all he could do +just then to keep his face from twitching. + +Then she suddenly said that she had something on her mind to say to him, +but that, of course, as he was so very ill, she would not say it now, +but as soon as he was quite well they would have a long talk together. + +Guido was a man more nervous than sanguine, and probably more phlegmatic +than either, and his nervous strength asserted itself now, just when he +began to believe that he was on the verge of delirium. He felt suddenly +much quieter and the pain in his head diminished, or he noticed it less. +He said that he was quite able to talk now, and wished to know at once +what she had to say to him. + +She needed no second invitation to pour out her heart about Cecilia, and +in a long string of involved and often disjointed sentences she told him +just what she felt. Cecilia had done her best to love him, after having +really believed that she did love him, but it was of no use, and it was +much better that Guido should know the truth now, than find it out by +degrees. Cecilia was dreadfully sorry to have made such a mistake, and +both Cecilia and she herself would always be the best friends he had in +the world; but the engagement had better be broken off at once, and of +course, as it would injure Cecilia if everything were known, it would be +very generous of him to let it be thought that it had been broken by +mutual agreement, and without any quarrel. She stopped at last, rather +frightened at having said so much, but quite sure that she had done +right, and believing that she knew the whole truth and had told it all. +She waited for his answer in some trepidation. + +"My dear lady," he said at last, "I am very glad you have been so frank. +Ever since your daughter wrote me that letter I have felt that it must +end in this way. As she does not wish to marry me, I quite agree that +our engagement should end at once, so that the agreement is really +mutual and friendly, and I shall say so." + +"How good you are!" cried the Countess, delighted. + +"There is only one thing I ask of you," Guido said, after pressing his +right hand upon his forehead in an attempt to stop the throbbing that +now began again. "I do not think I am asking too much, considering what +has happened, and I promise not to make any use of what you tell me." + +"You have a right to ask us anything," the Countess answered, +contritely. + +"Who is the man that has taken my place?" + +The Countess stared at him blankly a moment, and her mouth opened a +little. + +"What man?" she asked, evidently not understanding him. + +"I naturally supposed that your daughter felt a strong inclination for +some one else," Guido said. + +"Oh dear, no!" cried the Countess. "You are quite mistaken!" + +"I beg your pardon, then. Pray forget what I said." + +He saw that she was speaking the truth, as far as she knew it, and he +had long ago discovered that she was quite unable to conceal anything +not of the most vital importance. She repeated her assurance several +times, and then began to review the whole situation, till Guido was in +torment again. + +At last the door opened and Lamberti entered. He saw at a glance how +Guido was suffering, and came to his side. + +"I am afraid he is not so well to-day," he said. "He looks very tired. +If he could sleep more, he would get well sooner." + +The Countess rose at once, and became repentant for having stayed too +long. + +"I could not help telling him everything," she explained, looking at +Lamberti. "And as for Cecilia being in love with some one else," she +added, looking down into Guido's face and taking his hand, "you must put +that out of your head at once! As if I should not know it! It is +perfectly absurd!" + +Lamberti stared fixedly at the top of her hat while she bent down. + +"Of course," Guido said, summoning his strength to bid her good-bye +courteously, and to show some gratitude for her visit. "I am sorry I +spoke of it. Thank you very much for coming to see me, and for being so +frank." + +In a sense he was glad she had come, for her coming had solved the +difficulty in which he had been placed. He sank back exhausted and +suffering as she left the room, and was hardly aware that Lamberti came +back soon afterwards and sat down beside him. Before long his friend +carried him back to his bed, for he seemed unable to walk. + +Lamberti stayed with him till he fell asleep under the influence of a +soporific medicine, and then called the man-servant. He told him he had +taken the revolver from the drawer, because his master was not to be +married after all, and might do something foolish, and ought to be +watched continually, and he said that he would come back and stay +through the night. The man had been in his own service, and could be +trusted now that he had slept. + +Lamberti left the Palazzo Farnese and walked slowly homeward in the +white glare, smoking steadily all the way, and looking straight before +him. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + +The Countess wrote that afternoon to Baron Goldbirn, of Vienna, and to +the Princess Anatolie, now in Styria, that the engagement between her +daughter and Signor Guido d'Este was broken off by mutual agreement. She +had told Cecilia that she had been to see Guido and had confessed the +plain truth, and that there need be no more comedies, because men never +died of that sort of thing after all, and it was much better for them to +be told everything outright. Cecilia seemed perfectly satisfied and +thanked her. Then the Countess said she would like to go to Brittany, or +perhaps to Norway, where she had never been, but that if Cecilia +preferred Scotland, she would make no objection. She would go anywhere, +provided the place were cool, and on the top of a mountain, or by the +sea, but she wished to leave at once. Everything had been ready for +their departure several days ago. + +"You do not really mean to leave Rome till Guido--I mean, till Signor +d'Este is out of all danger, do you?" asked the young girl. + +"My dear, since you are not going to marry him, what difference can it +make?" asked the Countess, unconsciously heartless. "The sooner we go, +the better. You are as pale as a sheet and as thin as a skeleton. You +will lose all your looks if you stay here!" + +Cecilia was in a loose white silk garment with open sleeves. She looked +at the perfect curve of her arm, from the slender wrist to the +delicately rounded elbow, and smiled. + +"I am not a skeleton yet," she said. + +"You will be in a few days," her mother answered cheerfully. "There is a +telegraph to everywhere nowadays, and Signor Lamberti will be here and +can send us news all the time. You cannot possibly go and see the poor +man, you know. If you could only guess how I felt, my dear, when I found +myself there this morning alone with him! I confess, I half expected +that the walls would be covered with the most dreadful pictures, those +things I do not like you to look at in the Paris Salon, you know. Women +apparently waiting for tea on the lawn--before dressing--that sort of +thing." The good Countess blushed at the thought. + +"They are only women!" said Cecilia. "Why should I not look at them?" + +"Because they are horrid," answered the Countess. "But I must say I saw +nothing of the sort in Guido's rooms. Nevertheless, I felt like the +wicked ladies in the French novels, who always go out in thick veils and +have little gold keys hidden somewhere inside their clothes. It must be +very uncomfortable." + +She prattled on and her daughter scarcely heard her. All sorts of hard +questions were presenting themselves to Cecilia's mind together. Had she +done wrong, or right? And then, though it might have been quite right to +let Lamberti know that she loved him, had her behaviour been modest and +maidenly, or over bold? After all, could she have helped putting out her +hand to find his just then? And when she had found it, could she +possibly have checked herself from drawing him nearer to her? Had she +any will of her own left at that moment, or had she been taken unawares +and made to do something which she would never have done, if she had +been quite calm? Calm! She almost laughed at the word as it came into +her thought. + +Her mother was reading the _Figaro_ now, having given up talking when +she saw that Cecilia did not listen. Ever since Cecilia could remember +her mother had read the _Figaro_. When it did not come by the usual post +she read the number of the preceding day over again. + +Cecilia was trying to decide where to spend the rest of the summer, +tolerably sure that she could make her mother accept any reasonable plan +she offered. By a reasonable plan she meant one that should not take her +too far from Rome. For her own part she would have been glad not to go +away at all. There was Vallombrosa, which was high up and very cool, and +there was Viareggio, which was by the sea, but much warmer, and there +was Sorrento, which had become fashionable in the summer, and was never +very hot and was the prettiest place of all. Something must be decided +at once, for she knew her mother well. When the Countess grew restless +to leave town, it was impossible to live with her. A startled +exclamation interrupted Cecilia's reflections. + +"My dear! How awful!" + +"What is it?" asked Cecilia, placidly, expecting her mother to read out +some blood-curdling tale of runaway motor cars and mangled nursery +maids. + +"This is too dreadful!" cried the Countess, still buried in the article +she had found, and reading on to herself, too much interested to stop a +moment. + +"Is anybody amusing dead?" enquired Cecilia, with calm. + +"What did you say?" asked the Countess, reaching the end. "This is the +most frightful thing I ever heard of! A million of francs--in small +sums--extracted on all sorts of pretexts--probably as blackmail--it is +perfectly horrible." + +"Who has extracted a million of francs from whom?" asked Cecilia, quite +indifferent. + +"Guido d'Este, of course! I told you--from the Princess Anatolie----" + +"Guido?" Cecilia started from her seat. "It is a lie!" she cried, +leaning over her mother's shoulder and reading quickly. "It is an +infamous lie!" + +"My dear?" protested the Countess. "They would not dare to print such a +thing if it were not true! Poor Guido! Of course, I suppose they take an +exaggerated view, but the Princess always gave me to understand that he +had large debts. It was a million, you see, just that million they +wished us to give for your dowry! Yes, that would have set him straight. +But they did not get it! My child, what an escape you have made! Just +fancy if you had been already married!" + +"I do not believe a word of it," said Cecilia, indignantly throwing down +the paper she had taken from her mother's hand. "Besides, there is only +an initial. It only speaks of a certain Monsieur d'E." + +"Oh, there is no doubt about it, I am afraid. His aunt, 'a certain +Princess,' his father 'one of the great of the earth.' It could not be +any one else." + +"I should like to kill the people who write such things!" Cecilia was +righteously angry. + +The seed sown by Monsieur Leroy was bearing fruit already, and in a much +more public place than he had expected, or even wished. The young lawyer +cared much less for the money he might make out of the affair than for +the advantage of having his name connected with a famous scandal, and he +had not found it hard to make the story public. The article appeared in +the shape of a letter from an occasional correspondent, and said it was +rumoured that since her nephew was to make a rich marriage the Princess +would bring suit to recover the sums she had been induced to lend him on +divers pretences. Her legal representative in Rome, it was stated, had +been interviewed, but had positively refused to give any information, +and his name was given in full, whereas all the others were indicated by +initials followed by dots. The lawyer flattered himself that this was a +remarkably neat way of letting the world know who he was and with what +great discretion he was endowed. + +As Cecilia thought of Guido's face as she had seen it that morning, her +heart beat with anger and she clenched her hand and turned away. Her +mother believed the story, or a part of it, and others would believe as +much. The _Figaro_ had come in the morning, and the article would +certainly appear in the Roman papers that very evening. Guido would not +hear of it at present, because Lamberti would keep it from him, but he +must know it in the end. + +The girl was powerless, and realised it. If she had been mistress of her +own fortune she would readily have satisfied the Princess's demands on +Guido, for she suspected that in some way the abominable article had +been authorised by his aunt. But she was still Baron Goldbirn's ward, +and the sensible financier would have laughed to scorn the idea of +ransoming Guido d'Este's reputation. So would her mother, though she was +generous; and besides, the Countess could not touch her capital, which +was held in trust for Cecilia. + +"What a mercy that you are not married to him!" she said, reading the +article again, while her daughter walked up and down the small boudoir. + +"You should not say such things!" Cecilia answered hotly. "Why do you +read that disgusting paper? You know the story is a vile falsehood, from +beginning to end. You know that as well as I do! Signor Lamberti will go +to Paris to-night and kill the man who wrote it." + +Her eyes flashed, and she had visions of the man she loved shaking a +miserable creature to death, as a terrier kills a rat. Oddly enough the +miserable creature took the shape of Monsieur Leroy in her vivid +imagination. + +"Monsieur Leroy is at the bottom of this," she said with instant +conviction. "He hates Guido." + +"I daresay," answered the Countess. "I never liked Monsieur Leroy. Do +you remember, when I asked about him at the Princess's dinner, what an +awful silence there was? That was one of the most dreadful moments of my +life! I am sure her relations never mention him." + +"He does what he likes with her. He is a spiritualist." + +"Who told you that, child?" + +"That dear old Don Nicola Francesetti, the archaeologist who showed us +the discoveries in Saint Cecilia's church." + +"I remember. I had quite forgotten him." + +"Yes. He told me that Monsieur Leroy makes tables turn and rap, and all +that, and persuades the Princess that he is in communication with +spirits. Don Nicola said quite gravely that the devil was in all +spiritualism." + +"Of course he is," assented the Countess. "I have heard of dreadful +things happening to people who made tables turn. They go mad, and all +sorts of things." + +"All sorts of things," in the Countess's mind represented everything she +could not remember or would not take the trouble to say. The expression +did not always stand grammatically in the sentence, but that was of no +importance whatever compared with the convenience of using it in any +language she chanced to be speaking. She belonged to a generation in +which a woman was considered to have finished her education when she had +learned to play the piano and had forgotten arithmetic, and she had now +forgotten both, which did not prevent her from being generally liked, +while some people thought her amusing. + +Just at that moment she seemed hopelessly frivolous to Cecilia, who was +in the greatest distress for Guido, and left her to take refuge in +solitude. She could remember no day in her life on which so much had +happened to change it, and she felt that she must be alone at last. + +In her old way she sat down to let herself dream with open eyes in the +darkened room. There could be no harm in it now, and the old longing +came upon her as if she had never tried to resist it. She sat facing the +shadows and concentrated all her thoughts on one point with a steady +effort, sure that presently she should be thinking of nothing and +waiting for the vision to appear, and for the dream-man she had loved so +long. He might take her into his arms now, and she would not resist him; +she would let his lips meet hers, and for one endless instant she would +be lifted up in strong and strange delight, as when to-day her veiled +cheek had pressed against his for a second--or an hour--she did not +know. He might kiss her in dreams now, for in real life he loved her as +she loved him, and some day, far off no doubt, when poor Guido was well +and strong again, and Lamberti had silenced all the calumnies invented +against him, then it would all surely come true indeed. + +But now she waited long, patiently, in the certainty that she could go +back to the marble court and stand by the pillar in the morning light +till she felt him coming up behind her. Yet she saw nothing, and her +eyes grew weary of watching the shadows, and closed themselves, for it +was afternoon, and very hot, and she was tired. She fell into a sweet +sleep in her chair, and presently the refreshing breeze that springs up +in Rome towards five o'clock in summer blew through the drawn blinds to +fan her delicate cheek, and stir the little golden ringlets at her +temples. While she slept her face grew sad by slow degrees, and on her +lap her hands moved and lay with their palms turned upwards as if she +were appealing piteously to some higher power for mercy and help. + +Shadows darkened softly under her eyes, as she lay thus, and the young +lids swelled and trembled; and she, who never shed tears waking, wept +silently in her sleep. The bright drops hung by the lashes and broke, +trickling down her cheeks, one by one, till they fell sideways upon her +bare white neck. Many they were and long they fell, and when they ceased +at last, her face was very white and still, as if she were quite dead, +and dead of a sorrow that could be consoled only in heaven. + +She had dreamed that the Vestal's vow was broken at last, and that she +was sitting alone at night on the steps of the closed Temple, leaning +back against the base of a pillar, watching the stars that slowly +ascended out of the east; and she was thinking of what she had been, and +that she should never again stand within the holy place to feed the +sacred fire with the consecrated wood, and sweep the precious ashes into +the mysterious pit beneath the altar. Never again was she to write down +the records of the lordly Roman unions that had kept the stock great and +pure and the free blood clean from that of slaves for a thousand years. +Never might she sit at the feet of the Chief Virgin in the moonlit +court, listening to tales of holy Vestals in old time, while the slow +water murmured in the channels between one fountain and another. + +It was all over, all ended, all behind her in the past for ever. Her vow +was broken, because her veiled cheek had touched the cheek of a living, +breathing man who had laid a strong hand upon her neck and had pressed +her close to him, she consenting, and always to consent. She was not to +die for it, since it was no mortal sin, but she was no longer a Vestal +now, and the Temple and the house of the pure in heart were shut against +her henceforth and would not be opened again. She knew that she had +passed the threshold for the last time, and that the man she loved would +soon come and take her away to another life. After that there would be +no fear in the world, since she would always be with him, and he would +make her forget all. But he had not come yet, and while she waited her +tears flowed quietly and sadly for all that was no more to be hers, but +most of all because she had broken a high and solemn promise which had +been the foundation of her life. In the old dream, when the Vestals were +dismissed from their office each to her own home, she was the most +faithful of them all, to the very end. But now she had been the very +first to yield, and they had put her out of their midst, sadly and +silently, to wait alone in the night for him she loved. So she waited +and wept, and the night wind seemed to freeze the salt tears on her face +and neck; yet he did not come. + +Then she heard his step; but she was wakened by the soft sound of the +latch bolt of her door in its socket, and she sprang to her feet, +straight and white, with a little sharp cry, for the fancied sound had +always frightened her as nothing else could. This time she had not +turned the key, and the door opened. + +"Did I startle you, child?" asked her mother's voice, kindly. "I am +sorry. Signor Lamberti is in the drawing-room. I think you had better +come. He has heard of the article in the _Figaro_, and is reading it +now." + +"I will come in a minute, mother," Cecilia answered, turning her face +away. "Let me slip on my frock." + +"It is only Signor Lamberti," the Countess observed, rather +thoughtlessly. "But I will send you Petersen." + +The door was shut again, and Cecilia heard her mother's tripping +footsteps on the glazed tiles in the corridor. She knew that she had +blushed quickly, for she had been taken unawares, but the room was +darkened and her mother had noticed nothing. She was suddenly aware that +her cheeks and her neck were wet, and she remembered what she had dreamt +and wondered that her tears should have been real. She had let in more +light now and she looked at herself in the glass with curiosity, for she +did not remember to have cried since she had been a little girl. The +dried tears gave her face a stained and spotted look she did not like, +and she made haste to bathe it in cold water. Even the near-sighted +Petersen might see something unusual, and she would not let Lamberti +guess that she had been crying on that day of all days. + +It was all very strange, and while she dressed she wondered still why +the real tears had come, and why she had dreamt she had broken her vow. +She had never dreamt that before, not even when she used to meet +Lamberti in her dreams by the fountain in the Villa Madama. It was +stranger still that she should not have been able to call up the waking +vision in the old way. It was as if some power she had once possessed +had left her very suddenly, a power, or a faculty, or a gift; she could +not tell what it was, but it was gone and something told her that it +would not return. She made haste, and almost ran along the broad +passage. + +When she went into the drawing-room Lamberti was standing with the +_Figaro_ in his hand, before her mother who was sitting down. He bowed +rather stiffly, though he smiled a little, and she saw that his blue +eyes glittered and his face had the ruthless look she used to dread. She +knew what it meant now, and was pleased. She wished she could see him +shake the wretch who had written the article; she was glad that he was +just what he was, not too tall, strong, active, red-haired and angry, a +fighting man from head to foot, roused and ready for a violent deed. She +had waited for him so long, outside the closed Temple of Vesta in the +cold night wind! + +"It is not the article that matters," he said, taking it for granted +that she knew the contents. "It is what Guido would feel if he read it." + +"Especially just now," observed the Countess, looking at Cecilia. + +"What are you going to do?" Cecilia asked as quietly as she could. +"Shall you go to Paris?" + +"No! this was written in Rome. I will wager my life that the lawyer who +is mentioned here wrote it all and got some clever Frenchman to +translate it for him. I know the fellow by name." + +"I thought Monsieur Leroy was at the bottom of it," said Cecilia. + +Lamberti looked at her a moment. + +"I daresay," he said. "I am sure that the Princess never meant that +anything of this sort should be printed. Did Guido ever tell you about +her money dealings with him?" + +Guido had never mentioned them, of course, and Lamberti explained in a +few words exactly what had happened, and the nature of the receipts +Guido had given to his aunt. + +"I daresay you are right about Monsieur Leroy," he concluded, "for the +old lady is far too clever to have done such an absurd thing as this, +and it is just like his blundering hatred of Guido." + +"I wish he were here," said Cecilia, looking at Lamberti's hands. "I +wonder what you would do to him." + +"The lawyer is here, which is more to the purpose," Lamberti answered. + +"You cannot fight a lawyer, can you?" asked the young girl. "You cannot +shoot him." + +"One can without doubt," returned Lamberti, smiling. "But it will not be +necessary." + +"My dear child," cried the Countess in a reproachful tone, "I had no +idea you could be so bloodthirsty! Your father fought with Garibaldi, +but I am sure he never talked like that." + +"Men have no need of talking, mother. They can fight themselves." + +"May I take the _Figaro_ with me?" asked Lamberti. "I may not be able to +buy a copy. By the bye, Baron Goldbirn is your guardian, is he not? He +must have important relations with the financiers in Paris." + +Cecilia looked at her mother, meaning her to answer the question. + +"He is always in Paris himself," said the Countess. "I mean when he is +not in Vienna." + +"Can you telegraph to him to use his influence in Paris, so that the +_Figaro_ shall correct the article? Newspapers never take back what they +say, but it will be enough if a paragraph appears in a prominent part of +the paper stating that some ill-disposed people having supposed that the +person referred to in a recent letter from a Roman correspondent was +Guido d'Este, the editors take the opportunity of stating positively +that no reference to him was intended. Will you telegraph that?" + +"But will it be of any use?" asked the Countess, who was slightly in awe +of Baron Goldbirn. + +"Please write the telegram yourself," Cecilia said. "Then there cannot +be any mistake. The address is Kaernthner Ring, Vienna." + +"You will find writing paper in my boudoir," said the Countess. "Cecilia +will show you." + +The young girl led the way to her mother's table in the next room, and +Lamberti sat down before it, while she pulled out a sheet of paper and +gave him a pen. Neither looked at the other, and Lamberti wrote slowly +in a laboured round hand unlike his own, intended for the telegraph +clerk to read easily. + +"How shall I sign it?" he asked when he had finished. + +"'Countess Fortiguerra.'" + +He wrote, blotted the page, and rose. For one moment he stood close +beside her. + +"Shall I tell your mother?" he asked, in a low voice. + +"Not yet." + +He bent his head and looked at her, and his face softened wonderfully in +that instant. But there was not a touch of their hands, though they were +alone in the room, nor a tender word spoken in a whisper to have told +any one that they loved each other so well. They were alike, and they +understood without speech or touch. + +Lamberti read the telegram to the Countess, who seemed satisfied, but +not very hopeful about the result. + +"I never could understand what financiers and newspapers have to do with +each other," she observed. "They seem to me so different." + +"There is not often any resemblance between a horse and his rider," said +Lamberti, enigmatically. + +"Will you come this evening and tell us what the lawyer says?" Cecilia +asked. + +"Yes, if I may." + +"Pray do," said the Countess. "We should so much like to know. Poor +Guido! Good-bye!" Lamberti left the room. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + +When Lamberti reached the Palazzo Farnese at eight o'clock he had all +Guido's receipts for the Princess's money in his pocket. He had +difficulty in getting the lawyer to see him on business so late in the +afternoon, and when he succeeded at last he did not find it easy to +carry matters with a high hand; but he had come prepared to go to any +length, for he was in no gentle humour, and if he could not get the +papers by persuasion, he fully intended to take them by force, though +that might be the end of his career as an officer, and might even bring +him into court for something very like robbery. + +The lawyer was obdurate at first. He of course denied all knowledge of +the article in the _Figaro_, but he said that he was the Princess's +legal representative, that the case had been formally placed in his +hands, and that he should use all his professional energy in her +interests. + +"After all," said Lamberti at last, "you have nothing but a few informal +bits of writing to base your case upon. They have no legal value." + +"They are stamped receipts," answered the lawyer. + +"They are not stamped," Lamberti replied. + +"They are!" + +"They are not!" + +"You are giving me the lie, sir," said the lawyer, angrily. + +"I say that they are not stamped," retorted Lamberti. "You dare not show +them to me." + +The lawyer was human, after all. He opened his safe, in a rage, found +the receipts, and showed one of them to Lamberti triumphantly. + +"There!" he cried. "Are they stamped or not? Is the signature written +across the stamp or not?" + +Lamberti had the advantage of knowing positively that when Guido had +given the acknowledgments to his aunt, there had been no stamps on them. +He did not know how they had got them now, but he was sure that some +fraud had been committed. It was broad daylight still, and he examined +the signature carefully while the lawyer held the half sheet of note +paper before his eyes. The paper was certainly the Princess's, and the +writing was Guido's beyond doubt. The Princess always used violet ink, +and Guido had written with it. It struck Lamberti suddenly that it had +turned black where the signature crossed the stamp, but had remained +violet everywhere else. Now violet ink sometimes turns black altogether, +but it does not change colour in parts. As he looked nearer, he saw that +the letters formed on the stamp were a little tremulous. Though he had +never heard of such a thing, it now occurred to him that the stamp had +been simply stuck upon the middle of the signature, and that the part of +the latter that had been covered by it had been cleverly forged over it. + +"The stamp makes very much less difference in law than you seem to +suppose," said the lawyer, enjoying his triumph. + +"It will make a considerable difference in law," answered Lamberti, "if +I prove to you that the stamp was put on over the first writing, and +part of the signature forged upon it. It has not even been done with the +same ink! The one is black and the other is violet. Do you know that +this is forgery, and that you may lose your reputation if you try to +found an action at law upon a forged document?" + +The lawyer was now scrutinising the signatures of the notes one by one +in the strong evening light. His anger had disappeared and there were +drops of perspiration on his forehead. + +"There is only one way of proving it to you," Lamberti said quietly. +"Moisten one of the stamps and raise it. If the signature runs +underneath it in violet ink, I am right, and the wisest thing you can do +is to hand me those pieces of paper and say nothing more about them. You +can write to Monsieur Leroy that you have done so. I even believe that +he would pay a considerable sum for them." + +It was as he said, and the lawyer was soon convinced that he had been +imposed upon, and had narrowly escaped being laughed at as a dupe, or +prosecuted as a party accessory to a fraud. He was glad to be out of the +whole affair so easily. Therefore, when Lamberti reached his friend's +door, he had the receipts in his pocket and he now meant to tell Guido +what had happened, after first giving them back to him. Guido would +laugh at Monsieur Leroy's stupid attempt to hurt him. But some one had +been before Lamberti. + +"He is very ill," said the servant, gravely, as he admitted him. "The +doctor is there and has sent for a nurse. I telephoned for him." + +Lamberti asked him what had happened, fearing the truth. Guido had felt +a little better in the afternoon and had asked for his letters and +papers. Half an hour later his servant had gone in with his tea and had +found him raving in delirium. That was all, but Lamberti knew what it +meant. Guido did not take the _Figaro_, but some one had sent the +article to him and he had read it. He had brain fever, and Lamberti was +not surprised, for he had suffered as much on that day as would have +killed some men, and might have driven some men mad. + +Lamberti did not wish to frighten Cecilia or her mother, but he sent +them word that he would not leave Guido that night, nor till he was +better, and that he had seen the lawyer and had recovered a number of +forged papers. + +After that there was nothing to be done but to watch and wait, and hear +the broken phrases that fell from the sick man's lips, now high, now +low, now laughing, now despairing, as if a host of mad spirits were +sporting with his helpless brain and body and mocking each other with +his voice. + +So it went on, hour after hour, and all the next day, till his strength +seemed almost spent. Lamberti listened, because he could not help it +when he was in the room, and again and again Cecilia's name rang out, +and the first passionate words of speeches that ran into incoherent +sounds and were drowned in a groan. + +Lamberti had nursed men who were ill and had seen them die in several +ways, but he had never taken care of one who was very near to him. It +was bad enough, but it was worse to know that he had an unwilling share +in causing his friend's suffering, and to feel that if Guido lived he +must some day be told that Lamberti had taken his place. It was +strangest of all to hear the name of the woman he loved so constantly on +another's lips. When the two men talked of her she had always been "the +Contessina," while she had been "Cecilia" in the hearts of both. + +There was something in the thought of not having told Guido all before +the delirium seized him, that still offended Lamberti's scrupulous +loyalty. It would be almost horrible if Guido should die without knowing +the truth. Somehow, his consent still seemed needful to Lamberti's love, +and it seemed so to Cecilia, too, and there was no denying that he was +now in danger of his life. If he was to die, there would probably be a +lucid hour before death, but what right would his best friend have to +embitter those final moments for one who would certainly go out of this +world with no hope of the next? Yet, when he was gone at last, would it +be no slur on the memory of such true friendship to do what would have +hurt him, if he could have known of it? Lamberti was not sure. Like some +strong men of rough temperament, he had hidden delicacies of feeling +that many a girl would have thought foolish and exaggerated, and they +were the more sensitive because they were so secret, and he never +suffered outward things to come in contact with them, nor spoke of them, +even to Guido. + +Some people said that Guido was Quixotic, and he was certainly the +personification of honour. If the papers Lamberti had safe in his pocket +had come into Guido's possession as they had come into Lamberti's own, +Guido would have sent them back to Princess Anatolie, quite sure that +she had a right to them, whether they were partly forged or not, because +he had originally given them to her and nothing could induce him to take +them back. The reason why Guido's illness had turned into brain fever +was simply that he believed his honourable reputation among men to have +been gravely damaged by an article in a newspaper. Honour was his god, +his religion, and his rule of life; it was all he had beyond the +material world, and it was sacred. He had not that something else, +simple but undefinable, and as sensitive as an uncovered nerve, that lay +under his friend's rougher character and sturdier heart. Nature would +never have chosen him to be one instrument in that mysterious harmony of +two sleeping beings which had linked Cecilia and Lamberti in their +dreams. It was not the melancholy and intellectual Cassius who trembled +before Caesar's ghost at Philippi; it was rough Brutus, the believer in +himself and the man of action. + +The illness ran its course. While it continued Lamberti went every other +day to the Palazzo Massimo and told the two ladies of Guido's state. He +and Cecilia looked at each other silently, but she never showed that she +wished to be alone with him, and he made no attempt to see her except in +her mother's presence. Both felt that Guido was dying, and knew that +they had some share in his sufferings. As soon as the Countess learned +that the danger was real she gave up all thought of leaving Rome, and +there was no discussion about it between her and her daughter. She was +worldly and often foolish, but she was not unkind, and she had grown +really fond of Guido since the spring. So they waited for the turn of +the illness, or for its sudden end, and the days dragged on painfully. +Lamberti was as lean as a man trained for a race, and the cords stood +out on his throat when he spoke, but nothing seemed to tire him. The +good Countess lost her fresh colour and grew listless, but she +complained only of the heat and the solitude of Rome in summer, and if +she felt any impatience she never showed it. Cecilia was as slender and +pale as one of the lilies of the Annunciation, but her eyes were full of +light. In the early morning she often used to go with her maid to the +distant church of Santa Croce, and late in the afternoons she went for +long drives with her mother in the Campagna. Twice Lamberti came to +luncheon, and the three were silent and subdued when they were together. + +Then the news came that Princess Anatolie had died suddenly at her place +in Styria, and one of the secretaries of the Austrian embassy, who was +obliged to stay in town, came to the Palazzo Massimo the same afternoon +and told the Countess some details of the old lady's death. There was +certainly something mysterious about it, but no one regretted her +translation to a better world, though it put a number of high and mighty +persons into mourning for a little while. + +She died in the drawing-room after dinner, almost with her coffee cup in +her hand. It was the heart, of course, said the young secretary. Two or +three of her relations were staying in the house, and one of them was +the man who had been at her dinner-party given for the engaged couple, +and who resembled Guido but was older. The Countess remembered his name +very well. It had leaked out that he was exceedingly angry at the +article in the _Figaro_ and had said one or two sharp things to the +Princess, when Monsieur Leroy had come in unexpectedly, though the +Princess had sent him away for a few days. No one knew exactly what +followed, but Monsieur Leroy was an insolent person and the Princess's +cousin was not patient of impertinence nor of anything like an attack on +Guido d'Este. It was said that Monsieur Leroy had left the room hastily +and that the other had followed him at once, in a very bad temper, and +that the Princess, who thought Monsieur Leroy was going to be badly +hurt, if not killed, had died of fright, without uttering a word or a +cry. She had always been unaccountably attached to Monsieur Leroy. The +secretary glanced at Cecilia, asked for another cup of tea, and +discreetly changed the subject, fearing that he had already said a +little too much. + +"I believe Guido may recover, now that she is dead," Lamberti said, when +he heard the story. + +The change in Guido's state came one night about eleven o'clock, when +Lamberti and the French nun were standing beside the bed, looking into +his face and wondering whether he would open his eyes before he died. He +had been lying motionless for many hours, turned a little on one side, +and his breathing was very faint. There seemed to be hardly any life +left in the wasted body. + +"I think he will die about midnight," Lamberti whispered to the nurse. + +The good nun, who thought so too, bent down and spoke gently close to +the sick man's ear. She could not bear to let him go out of life without +a Christian word, though Lamberti had told her again and again that his +friend believed in nothing beyond death. + +"You are dying," she said, softly and clearly. "Think of God! Try to +think of God, Signor d'Este!" + +That was all she could find to say, for she was a simple soul and not +eloquent; but perhaps it might do some good. She knelt down then, by the +bedside. + +"Look!" cried Lamberti in a low voice, bending forwards. + +Guido had opened his eyes, and they were wide and grave. + +"Thank you," he said, after a few seconds, faintly but distinctly. "You +are very kind. But I am not going to die." + +The quiet eyes closed, and the mystery of life went on in silence. That +was all he had to say. The nun knelt down again and folded her hands, +but in less than a minute she rose and busied herself noiselessly, +preparing something in a glass. It would be the last time that anything +would pass his lips, she thought, and it might be quite useless to give +it to him, but it must be ready. Many and many a time she had heard the +dying declare quietly that they were out of danger. Lamberti stood +motionless by the bedside, thinking much the same things and feeling as +if his own heart were slowly turning into lead. + +He stood there a long time, convinced that it was useless to send for +the doctor, who always came about midnight, for Guido would probably be +dead before he came. He would stop breathing presently, and that would +be the end. The lids would open a little, but the eyes would not see, +there would be a little white froth on the parted lips, and that would +be the end. Guido would know the great secret then. + +But the breathing did not cease, and the eyes did not open again; on the +contrary, at the end of half an hour Lamberti was almost sure that the +lids were more tightly closed than before, and that the breath came and +went with a fuller sound. In ten minutes more he was sure that the sick +man was peacefully sleeping, and not likely to die that night. He turned +away with a deep sigh of relief. + +The doctor came soon after midnight. He would not disturb Guido; he +looked at him a long time and listened to his breathing, and nodded with +evident satisfaction. + +"You may begin to hope now," he said quietly to Lamberti, not even +whispering, for he knew how deep such sleep was sure to be. "He may not +wake before to-morrow afternoon. Do not be anxious. I will come early in +the morning." + +"Very well," answered Lamberti. "By the bye, a near relation of his has +died suddenly while he has been delirious. Shall I tell him if he wakes +quite conscious?" + +"If it will give him great satisfaction to know of his relative's death, +tell him of it by all means," answered the doctor, his quiet eye +twinkling a little, for he had often heard of the Princess Anatolie, and +knew that she was dead. + +"I do not think the news will cause him pain," said Lamberti, with +perfect gravity. + +The doctor gave the nurse a few directions and went away, evidently +convinced that Guido was out of all immediate danger. Then Lamberti +rested at last, for the nun slept in the daytime and was fresh for the +night's watching. He stretched himself upon Guido's long chair in the +drawing-room, leaving the door open, and one light burning, so that the +nurse could call him at once. He had earned his rest, and as he shut his +eyes his only wish was that he could have let Cecilia know of the change +before he went to sleep. A moment later he was sitting beside her on the +bench in the Villa Madama, by the fountain, telling her that Guido was +safe at last. + +When he awoke the sun had risen an hour. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + +"I am like Dante," said Guido to Lamberti, when he was recovering. "I +have been in Hell, and now I am in Purgatory. But I shall not reach the +earthly Paradise at the top, much less the Heaven beyond." + +He smiled sadly and looked at his friend. + +"Who knows?" Lamberti asked, by way of answer. + +"Beatrice will not lead me further." + +Guido closed his eyes, and wondered why he had come back to life, out of +so much suffering, only to be tormented again in the same way, perhaps +when the end really came. His memories of his serious illness were vague +and indistinct, but they were all horrible. He only recalled the +beginning very clearly, how he had glanced through the newspaper article +and had dropped it in sudden and overwhelming despair; and then, how he +had roused himself and had felt in the drawer for his revolver; not +finding it, he had lost consciousness just as he realised that even that +means of escape from life had been taken from him. He remembered having +felt as if something broke in his brain, though he knew that he was not +dying. + +After that, fragments of his ravings came back to him with the still +vivid recollection of awful pain, of monstrous darkness, of lurid +lights, of hideous beings glaring and gnashing their jagged teeth at +him, and of a continual discordant noise of voices that had run all +through his delirium like the crying out and moaning of many creatures +in agony. It was no wonder that he compared what he remembered of his +sufferings to hell itself. + +And now that he was alive, of what use was life to him? His honour was +cleared, indeed, for Lamberti had taken care of that. Lamberti had +burned the papers before his eyes after telling him how Princess +Anatolie had died, and had read him the paragraph which Baron Goldbirn +had caused to be inserted in the _Figaro_. The Princess was dead, and +Monsieur Leroy would probably never trouble any one again. When he had +squandered what she had left him, he would probably get a living as a +medium in Vienna. Guido knew the secret of the tie that bound him to the +Princess, but was quite sure that the proud old woman had never let him +guess it himself, in spite of her doting affection for him. Those of her +family who knew it would not tell him, of all people, and if Monsieur +Leroy ever begged money of Guido he would not present himself as an +unfortunate cousin. + +Guido foresaw no difficulties in the future, but he anticipated no +happiness, and his life stretched before him, colourless, blank, and +idle. + +Since his delirium had ceased, he had not once spoken of Cecilia, and +Lamberti began to fear that he would not allude to her for a long time. +That did not make it easier to tell him the story he must hear, and the +time had come when he must hear it, come what might, lest he should ever +think that he had been intentionally kept in ignorance of the truth. +Lamberti was glad when he spoke of Cecilia as a Beatrice who would never +appear to lead him further, and knew at once that the opportunity must +not be lost. + +It was the hardest moment in Lamberti's life. It had been far easier to +hide what he felt, so long as he had not guessed that Cecilia loved him, +than it was to speak out now; it had cost him much less to be steadfast +in his silence with her while Guido's illness lasted. To make Guido +understand all, it would be necessary to tell all from the beginning, +even to explaining that what he had taken for mutual aversion at first, +had been an attraction so irresistible that it had frightened Cecilia +and had made Lamberti compare it with a possession of the devil and a +haunting spirit. + +The two men were sitting on the brick steps of the miniature Roman +theatre close to the oak which is still called Tasso's, a few yards from +the new road that leads over the Janiculum through what was once the +Villa Corsini. It was shady there, and Rome lay at their feet in the +still afternoon. The waiting carriage was out of sight, and there was no +sound but the rustling of leaves stirred by the summer breeze. It was +nearly the middle of August. + +"They are still in Rome," Lamberti said, after a moment's pause, during +which he had decided to speak at last. + +"Are they?" asked Guido, coldly. + +"Yes. Neither the Countess nor her daughter would go away till you were +well." + +"I am well now." + +He was painfully thin and his eyes were hollow. The doctor had ordered +mountain air and he was going to stay with one of his relatives in the +Austrian Tyrol as soon as he could bear the journey without too much +fatigue. + +"They wish to see you," Lamberti said, glancing sideways at his face. + +"I cannot refuse, but I would rather not see them. They ought to +understand that, I think." + +He was offended by what seemed very like an intrusion on the privacy of +a suffering that was still keen. Why could they not leave him alone? + +"They would not have gone away in any case till you recovered," Lamberti +answered, "but the Contessina would not have the bad taste to wish for a +meeting just now, unless there were a reason which you do not know, and +which I must explain to you, cost what it may." + +Guido looked at Lamberti in surprise and then laughed a little +scornfully. + +"Is she going to be married?" he asked. + +"Perhaps." + +"Already!" + +His tone was sad, and pitying, and slightly contemptuous. His lips +closed after the single word and he drew his eyelids together, as he +looked steadily out over the deep city towards the hills to eastward. + +"Then it was true that she cared for another man," he said, in a low +voice. + +"Yes. It was quite true." + +"She wrote me in that letter that he did not know it." + +"That was true also." + +"And that he was not in the least in love with her." + +"She thought so." + +"But she was mistaken, you mean to say. He loved her, but did not show +it." + +"Precisely. He loved her, but he was careful not to show it because he +understood that her mother and the Princess wished to marry her to you, +and because he happened to know that you were in earnest." + +"That was decent of him, at all events," Guido said wearily. "Some men +would have behaved differently." + +"I daresay," Lamberti answered. + +"Is he a man I know?" + +"Yes. You know him very well." + +"And now she has asked you to tell me his name. I suppose that is why +you begin this conversation. You are trying to break it gently to me." +He smiled contemptuously. + +"Yes!" + +The word was spoken as if it cost an effort. Lamberti held his stout +stick with both hands over his crossed knee and leaned back, so that it +bent a little with the strain. + +"My dear fellow," said Guido, with a little impatience, "it seems to me +that you need not take so much trouble to spare my feelings! If you do +not tell me who the man is, some one else will." + +"No one else can," Lamberti answered, with emphasis. + +"Why not? I would rather speak of her with you, if I must speak of her +at all, of course. But some obliging person is sure to tell me, or write +to me about it, as soon as the engagement is announced. 'My dear d'Este, +do you remember that girl you were engaged to last spring?' And so on. +Remember her!" + +"There is no engagement," Lamberti said. "No one will write to you about +it, and no one knows who the man is, except the Contessina and the man +himself." + +"And you," corrected Guido. "You may as well keep the secret, so far as +I am concerned. I have no curiosity about it. There will be time enough +to tell me when the engagement is announced." + +"I do not think that there can be any engagement until you know." + +"Oh, this is absurd! The Contessina was frank. She did not love me, she +told me so, and we agreed that our engagement should end. What possible +claim have I to know whom she wishes to marry now?" + +"You have the strongest claim that any man can have, though not on her. +The man is your friend." + +"Nonsense!" exclaimed Guido, becoming impatient. "A dozen men I like +might be called friends of mine, I suppose, but you know very well that +you are the only intimate friend I have." + +"Yes, I know." + +"Well? I can hardly fancy that you mean yourself, can I?" + +Lamberti did not move, but as Guido looked at him for an answer, he saw +that he could not speak just then, and that he was clenching his teeth. +Guido stared at him a moment and then started. + +"Lamberti!" he cried sharply. + +Lamberti slowly turned his head and gazed into Guido's eyes without +speaking. Then they both looked out at the distant hills in silence for +a long time. + +"The Contessina was very loyal to you, Guido," Lamberti said at last, in +a low tone. "She could not tell you that it was I, and I did not know +it." + +Again there was a silence for a time. + +"When did you know it?" Guido asked slowly. + +"After she had been to see you. It was my fault, then." + +"What was your fault?" + +"When we went downstairs, I thought I should never see her again, and I +never meant to. How could I know what she felt? She never betrayed +herself by a glance or a tone of her voice. I loved her with all my +heart, and when you had both told me that everything was quite over +between you, I wanted her to know that I did. Was that disloyal to you, +since you had definitely given up the hope of marrying her, and since I +did not expect to see her again for years and thought she was quite +indifferent?" + +"No," Guido answered, after a moment's thought. "But you should have +told me at once." + +"When I came upstairs the Countess was still there, and you were quite +worn out. I put you to bed, meaning to tell you that same evening, after +you had rested. When I came back you had brain fever, and did not know +me. So I have had to wait until to-day." + +"And you have seen each other constantly while I have been ill, of +course," said Guido, with some bitterness. "It was natural, I suppose." + +"Since that day when we spoke on the staircase we have only been alone +together once, for a moment. I asked her then if I should tell her +mother, and she said 'Not yet.' Excepting that, we have never exchanged +a word that you and her mother might not have heard, nor a glance that +you might not have seen. We both knew that we were waiting for you to +get well, and we have waited." + +Guido looked at him with a sort of wonder. + +"That was like you," he said quietly. + +"You understand, now," Lamberti continued. "You and I met her on the +same day at your aunt's, and when I saw her, I felt as if I had always +known her and loved her. No one can explain such things. Then by a +strange coincidence we dreamt the same dream, on the same night." + +"Was it she whom you met in the Forum, and who ran away from you?" asked +Guido, in astonishment. + +"Yes. That is the reason why we always avoided each other, and why I +would not go to their house till you almost forced me to. We had never +spoken alone together till the garden party. It was then that we found +out that our dreams were alike, and after that I kept away from her more +than ever, but I dreamt of her every night." + +"So that was your secret, that afternoon!" + +"Yes. We had dreamt of each other and we had met in the Forum in the +place we had dreamt of, and she ran away without speaking to me. That +was the whole secret. She was afraid of me, and I loved her, and was +beginning to know it. I thought there was something wrong with my head +and went to see a doctor. He talked to me about telepathy, but seemed +inclined to consider that it might possibly be a mere train of +coincidences. I think I have told you everything." + +For a long time they sat side by side in silence, each thinking his own +thoughts. + +"Is there anything you do not understand?" Lamberti asked at last. + +"No," Guido answered thoughtfully. "I understand it all. It was rather a +shock at first, but I am glad you have told me. Perhaps I do not quite +understand why she wishes to see me." + +"We both wish to be sure that you bear us no ill-will. I am sure she +does, and I know that I do." + +There was a pause again. + +"Do you think I am that kind of friend?" Guido asked, with a little +sadness. "After what you have done, too?" + +"I am afraid my mere existence has broken up your life, after all," +Lamberti answered. + +"You must not think that. Please do not, my friend. There is only one +thing that could hurt me now that it is all over." + +"What is that?" + +"I am not afraid that it will happen. You are not the kind of man to +break her heart." + +"No," Lamberti answered very quietly. "I am not." + +"It was only a dream for me, after all," Guido said, after a little +while. "You have the reality. She used to talk of three great questions, +and I remember them now as if I heard her asking them: 'What can I know? +What is it my duty to do? What may I hope?' Those were the three." + +"And the answers?" + +"Nothing, nothing, nothing. Those are my answers. Unless----" + +He stopped. + +"Unless--what?" Lamberti asked. + +Guido smiled a little. + +"Unless there is really something beyond it all, something essentially +true, something absolute by nature." + +Lamberti had never known his friend to admit such a possibility even +under a condition. + +"At all events," Guido added, "our friendship is true and absolute. +Shall we go home? I feel a little tired." + +Lamberti helped him to the carriage and drew the light cover over his +knees before getting in himself. Then they drove down towards the city, +by the long and beautiful drive, past the Acqua Paola and San Pietro in +Montorio. + +"You must go and see her this evening," Guido said gently, as they came +near the Palazzo Farnese. "Will you tell her something from me? Tell +her, please, that it would be a little hard for me to talk with her now, +but that she must not think I am not glad that she is going to marry my +best friend." + +"Thank you. I will say that." Lamberti's voice was less steady than +Guido's. + +"And tell her that I will write to her from the Tyrol." + +"Yes." + +It was over. The two men knew that their faithful friendship was +unshaken still, and that they should meet on the morrow and trust each +other more than ever. But on this evening it was better that each should +go his own way, the one to his solitude and his thoughts, the other to +the happiest hour of his life. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + +On the following afternoon Lamberti waited for Cecilia at the Villa +Madama, and she came not long after him, with Petersen. He had been to +the Palazzo Massimo in the evening, and a glance and a sign had +explained to her that all was well. Then they had sat together awhile, +talking in a low tone, while the Countess read the newspaper. When +Lamberti had given Guido's brave message, they had looked earnestly at +each other, and had agreed to tell her mother the truth at once, and to +meet on the morrow at the villa, which was Cecilia's own house, after +all. For they felt that they must be really alone together, to say the +only words that really mattered. + +The head gardener had admitted Lamberti to the close garden, by the +outer steps, but had not let him into the house, as he had received no +orders. When Cecilia came, he accompanied her with the keys and opened +wide the doors of the great hall. Cecilia and Lamberti did not look at +each other while they waited, and when the man was gone away Cecilia +told Petersen to sit down in the court of honour on the other side of +the little palace. Petersen went meekly away and left the two to +themselves. + +They walked very slowly along the path towards the fountain, and past +it, to the parapet at the other end, where they had talked long ago. But +as they passed the bench, they glanced at it quietly, and saw that it +was still in its place. Cecilia had not been at the villa since the +afternoon before Guido fell ill, and Lamberti had never come there since +the garden party in May. + +They stood still before the low wall and looked across the shoulder of +the hill. Saving commonplace words at meeting, they had not spoken yet. +Cecilia broke the silence at last, looking straight before her, her lids +low, her face quiet, almost as if she were in a dream. + +"Have we done all that we could do, all that we ought to do for him?" +she asked. "Are you sure?" + +"We can do nothing more," Lamberti answered gravely. + +"Tell me again what he said. I want the very words." + +"He said, 'Tell her that it would be a little hard for me to talk with +her now, but that she must not think I am not glad that she is going to +marry my best friend.' He said those words, and he said he would write +to you from the Tyrol. He leaves to-morrow night." + +"He has been very generous," Cecilia said softly. + +"Yes. He will be your best friend, as he is mine." + +She knew that it was true. + +"We have done what we can," Lamberti continued presently. "He has given +all he has, and we have given him what we could. The rest is ours." + +He took her hand and drew her gently, turning back towards the fountain. + +"It was like this in the dream," she said, scarcely breathing the words +as she walked beside him. + +They stood still before the falling water, quite alone and out of sight +of every one, in the softening light, and suddenly the girl's heart beat +hard, and the man's face grew pale, and they were facing each other, +hands in hands, look in look, thought in thought, soul in soul; and they +remembered that day when each had learned the other's secret in the +shadowy staircase of the palace, and each dreamt again of a meeting long +ago in the House of the Vestals; but only the girl knew what she had +felt of mingled joy and regret when she had sat alone at night weeping +on the steps of the Temple. + +There was no veil between them now, as their eyes drew them closer +together by slow and delicious degrees. It was the first time, though +every instant was full of memories, all ending where this was to begin. +Their lips had never met, yet the thrill of life meeting life and the +blinding delight of each in the other were long familiar, as from ages, +while fresh and untasted still as the bloom on a flower at dawn. + +Then, when they had kissed once, they sat down in the old place, +wondering what words would come, and whether they should ever need words +at all after that. And somehow, Cecilia thought of her three questions, +and they all were answered as youth answers them, in one way and with +one word; and the answer seemed so full of meaning, and of faith and +hope and charity, that the questions need never be asked again, nor any +others like them, to the end of her life; nor did she believe that she +could ever trouble her brain again about _Thus spake Zarathushthra_, and +the Man who had killed God, and the overcoming of Pity, and the Eternal +Return, and all those terrible and wonderful things that live in +Nietzsche's mazy web, waiting to torment and devour the poor human moth +that tries to fly upward. + +But as for Kant's Categorical Imperative, in order to act in such a +manner that the reasons for her actions might be considered a universal +law, it was only necessary to realise how very much she loved the man +she had chosen, and how very much he loved her; for how indeed could it +then be possible not to live so as to deserve to be happy? + +She had thought of these things during the night and had fallen asleep +very happy in realising the perfect simplicity of all science, +philosophy, and transcendental reasoning, and vaguely wondering why +every one could not solve the problems of the universe as she had. + +"Is it all quite true?" she asked now, with a little fluttering wonder. +"Shall I wake and hear the door shutting, and be alone, and frightened +as I used to be?" + +Lamberti smiled. + +"I should have waked already," he said, "when we were standing there by +the fountain. I always did when I dreamt of you." + +"So did I. Do you think we really met in our dreams?" She blushed +faintly. + +"Do you know that you have not told me once to-day that you care for me, +ever so little?" he asked. + +"I have told you much more than that, a thousand times over, in a +thousand ways." + +"I wonder whether we really met!" + + + + + MARIETTA + + A MAID OF VENICE + + By F. MARION CRAWFORD + + _Author of "Saracinesca," etc._ + + Cloth. 12 mo. $1.50 + + +"There are two important departments of the novelist's art in which +Marion Crawford is entirely at home. He can tell a love story better +than any one now living save the unapproachable George Meredith. And he +can describe the artistic temperament and the artistic environment with +a security born of infallible instinct."--_The New York Herald._ + +"This is not the first time that Mr. Crawford's pen has drawn the +conscious love of a pure girl for a man whose own heart she believed to +be untouched, yet, in the love of Marietta for the Dalmatian, we have +something that, while so utterly human, is so delicately revealed that +the reader must be a stoic indeed who does not take a delightful +interest in the fate of that love."--_New York Times._ + +"It suggests the bright shimmer of the moon on still waters, the soft +gliding of brilliant-hued gondolas, the tuneful voices of the gondoliers +keeping rhythmic time to the oar stroke and the faint murmuring of +lovers' vows lightly made and lightly broken."--_Richmond Dispatch._ + +"Furnishes another illustration of the author's remarkable facility in +assimilating different atmospheres, and in mastering, in a minute way, +as well as sympathetically, very diverse conditions of life.... The plot +is intricate, and is handled with the ease and skill of a past-master in +the art of story-telling."--_Outlook._ + +"The workshop, its processes, the ways and thought of the time,--all +this is handled in so masterly a manner, not for its own sake, but for +that of the story.... It has charm, and the romance which is eternally +human, as well as that which was of the Venice of that day. And over it +all there is an atmosphere of worldly wisdom, of understanding, +sympathy, and tolerance, of intuition and recognition, that makes Marion +Crawford the excellent companion he is in his books for mature men and +women."--_New York Mail and Express._ + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + + 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK + + + + + WRITINGS OF F. MARION CRAWFORD + + 12 mo. Cloth + + + Corleone $1.00 + + Casa Braccio. 2 vols 2.00 + + Taquisara 1.50 + + Saracinesca 1.00 + + Sant' Ilario 1.00 + + Don Orsino 1.50 + + Mr. Isaacs 1.00 + + A Cigarette-Maker's Romance, + and Khaled 1.50 + + Marzio's Crucifix 1.00 + + An American Politician 1.00 + + Paul Patoff 1.00 + + To Leeward 1.00 + + Dr. Claudius 1.50 + + Zoroaster 1.50 + + A Tale of a Lonely Parish 1.00 + + With the Immortals 1.00 + + The Witch of Prague 1.00 + + A Roman Singer 1.50 + + Greifenstein 1.00 + + Pietro Ghisleri 1.00 + + Katherine Lauderdale 1.00 + + The Ralstons 1.00 + + Children of the King 1.00 + + The Three Fates 1.00 + + Adam Johnstone's Son, and A + Rose of Yesterday 1.50 + + Marion Darche 1.50 + + Love in Idleness 2.00 + + Via Crucis 1.50 + + In the Palace of the King 1.50 + + Ave Roma Immortalis. 2 v. $6.00 net + + Rulers of the South: Sicily, + Calabria, Malta. 2 vols $6.00 net + + + + + CORLEONE + + A TALE OF SICILY + The last of the famous Saracinesca Series + +"It is by far the most stirring and dramatic of all the author's Italian +stories.... The plot is a masterly one, bringing at almost every page a +fresh surprise, keeping the reader in suspense to the very end."--_The +Times_, New York. + + + MR. ISAACS + +"It is lofty and uplifting. It is strongly, sweetly, tenderly written. +It is in all respects an uncommon novel."--_The Literary World._ + + + DR. CLAUDIUS + +"The characters are strongly marked without any suspicion of caricature, +and the author's ideas on social and political subjects are often +brilliant and always striking. It is no exaggeration to say that there +is not a dull page in the book, which is peculiarly adapted for the +recreation of the student or thinker."--_Living Church._ + + + + A ROMAN SINGER + +"A powerful story of art and love in Rome."--_The New York Observer._ + + + + AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN + +"One of the characters is a visiting Englishman. Possibly Mr. Crawford's +long residence abroad has made him select such a hero as a safeguard +against slips, which does not seem to have been needed. His insight into +a phase of politics with which he could hardly be expected to be +familiar is remarkable."--_Buffalo Express._ + + + TO LEEWARD + +"It is an admirable tale of Italian life told in a spirited way and far +better than most of the fiction current."--_San Francisco Chronicle._ + + + ZOROASTER + +"As a matter of literary art solely, we doubt if Mr. Crawford has ever +before given us better work than the description of Belshazzar's feast +with which the story begins, or the death-scene with which it +closes."--_The Christian Union_ (now _The Outlook_). + + + A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH + +"It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief +and vivid story. It is doubly a success, being full of human sympathy, +as well as thoroughly artistic."--_The Critic._ + + + MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX + +"We take the liberty of saying that this work belongs to the highest +department of character-painting in words."--_The Churchman._ + + + PAUL PATOFF + +"It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely +written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined +surroundings."--_New York Commercial Advertiser._ + + + PIETRO GHISLERI + +"The strength of the story lies not only in the artistic and highly +dramatic working out of the plot, but also in the penetrating analysis +and understanding of the impulsive and passionate Italian +character."--_Public Opinion._ + + + THE CHILDREN OF THE KING + +"One of the most artistic and exquisitely finished pieces of work that +Crawford has produced. The picturesque setting, Calabria and its +surroundings, the beautiful Sorrento and the Gulf of Salerno, with the +bewitching accessories that climate, sea, and sky afford, give Mr. +Crawford rich opportunities to show his rare descriptive powers. As a +whole the book is strong and beautiful through its simplicity."--_Public +Opinion._ + + + MARION DARCHE + +"We are disposed to rank 'Marion Darche' as the best of Mr. Crawford's +American stories."--_The Literary World._ + + + KATHERINE LAUDERDALE + +"It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely +written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined +surroundings."--_New York Commercial Advertiser._ + + + THE RALSTONS + +"The whole group of character studies is strong and vivid."--_The +Literary World._ + + + LOVE IN IDLENESS + +"The story is told in the author's lightest vein; it is bright and +entertaining."--_The Literary World._ + + + CASA BRACCIO + +"We are grateful when Mr. Crawford keeps to his Italy. The poetry and +enchantment of the land are all his own, and 'Casa Braccio' gives +promise of being his masterpiece.... He has the life, the beauty, the +heart, and the soul of Italy at the tips of his fingers."--_Los Angeles +Express._ + + + TAQUISARA + +"A charming story this is, and one which will certainly be liked by all +admirers of Mr. Crawford's work."--_New York Herald._ + + + ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON and A ROSE OF YESTERDAY + +"It is not only one of the most enjoyable novels that Mr. Crawford has +ever written, but is a novel that will make people think."--_Boston +Beacon._ + +"Don't miss reading Marion Crawford's new novel, 'A Rose of Yesterday.' +It is brief, but beautiful and strong. It is as charming a piece of pure +idealism as ever came from Mr. Crawford's pen."--_Chicago Tribune._ + + + SARACINESCA + +"The work has two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make +it great: that of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of +giving a graphic picture of Roman society.... The story is exquisitely +told, and is the author's highest achievement, as yet, in the realm of +fiction."--_The Boston Traveler._ + + + SANT' ILARIO + + A SEQUEL TO SARACINESCA + +"A singularly powerful and beautiful story.... It fulfils every +requirement of artistic fiction. It brings out what is most impressive +in human action, without owing any of its effectiveness to +sensationalism or artifice. It is natural, fluent in evolution, +accordant with experience, graphic in description, penetrating in +analysis, and absorbing in interest."--_The New York Tribune._ + + + DON ORSINO + + A SEQUEL TO SARACINESCA AND SANT' ILARIO + +"Offers exceptional enjoyment in many ways, in the fascinating +absorption of good fiction, in the interest of faithful historic +accuracy, and in charm of style. The 'New Italy' is strikingly revealed +in 'Don Orsino.'"--_Boston Budget._ + + + WITH THE IMMORTALS + +"The strange central idea of the story could have occurred only to a +writer whose mind was very sensitive to the current of modern thought +and progress, while its execution, the setting it forth in proper +literary clothing, could be successfully attempted only by one whose +active literary ability should be fully equalled by his power of +assimilative knowledge both literary and scientific, and no less by his +courage, and so have a fascination entirely new for the habitual reader +of novels. Indeed, Mr. Crawford has succeeded in taking his readers +quite above the ordinary plane of novel interest."--_The Boston +Advertiser._ + + + GREIFENSTEIN + +"... Another notable contribution to the literature of the day. Like all +Mr. Crawford's work, this novel is crisp, clear, and vigorous, and will +be read with a great deal of interest."--_New York Evening Telegram._ + + + A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE and KHALED + +"It is a touching romance, filled with scenes of great dramatic +power."--_Boston Commercial Bulletin._ + +"It abounds in stirring incidents and barbaric picturesqueness; and the +love struggle of the unloved Khaled is manly in its simplicity and noble +in its ending."--_The Mail and Express._ + + + THE WITCH OF PRAGUE + +"The artistic skill with which this extraordinary story is constructed +and carried out is admirable and delightful.... Mr. Crawford has scored +a decided triumph, for the interest of the tale is sustained +throughout.... A very remarkable, powerful, and interesting +story."--_New York Tribune._ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cecilia, by F. 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