Part 12 (1/2)
I listened, murmuring to myself: ”Strange! Here is one who can sing of his Alban hills and his Margarita one moment and cut a throat the next.
But here they come!”
For Trotto's voice had stopped the singer, and then I heard them coming upstairs. The heavy step of Piero halted, however, in the pa.s.sage, and Trotto entered alone, rubbing his hands together as usual, his white teeth s.h.i.+ning between their setting of red lip and short black moustache and beard. Of a truth Messire Torquato was a handsome man if an evil one. He came in with a set smile on his face. ”The ladies are safely at rest, and----”
”And we can while away the time with this wine, some more supper, and a little talk.”
”But your wounds, monsieur! They must be attended to. I have told Piero to bring up some salve and bandages.”
”Bah!” I laughed, ”let them keep. My wound, not wounds, is but a scratch, and hurts far less than the one that lost you that forefinger.” And I pointed to his left hand, which wanted a forefinger.
The captain's eyes flashed, and he dropped his hand to his side, though he said, calmly enough:
”I got that at Volterra. I was there with the Caraffa.”
”And I with Enghien. You see, we were comrades-in-arms without knowing it. 'Tis a pity we never met. We must fight our battles over again.
Come, let us drink to the old days!”
”With all my heart,” was the reply. ”A moment; and I will tell Piero to wait.” And he stepped to the door.
”Tell him to go to the devil,” I said, and Trotto laughed, and after a word or so exchanged with Piero he closed the door and came back to his seat. ”I have sent Piero off,” he said, and pouring out a b.u.mper for each of us he raised his cup, saying: ”Pledge me this toast, monsieur.
Long life to the bride and bridegroom!”
”Long life to the happy pair!” I clinked my cup with his, and drank, my mind working like a clock to find out what was meant, my eyes never moving from Trotto's face.
”Now,” I said, ”it is my turn. The wine, messire captain. And here is my toast: Confusion to the enemies of Bertrand Broussel!”
There was, perhaps, some want of heartiness in the captain's voice as he echoed the words but none in his manner of drinking, though he too began to look, as if seeking for a hidden meaning in my words, and his hand left his cup and dropped quietly to his side; but still I kept my eyes on his, as I said:
”That wine of yours is a rare cordial, captain; it makes me ravenous.
Do you remember how we starved before Volterra?” And I filled my cup again.
”Yes--well.”
”We were not birds of paradise exactly, and yet we had to live on air sometimes--and a thin enough diet it was. You will never guess what I had for supper once--try!”
”I am bad at guessing, monsieur.”
”A mask.”
”A mask!”
”Yes. It was not bad with a little olive oil and vinegar; but the very thought makes me hungry. What have you in that dish beside you?”
”Something better than a c.r.a.pe mask, I a.s.sure you.” And Trotto put aside the cover, only to let it fall with a little crash as he stared at the white thing, and glanced up to meet my eyes, and hear my gibe.
”A little surprise I prepared for you--a delicate attention.”
Trotto knew he was discovered. He began to breathe quickly, and his hand once more went down.