Part 26 (1/2)
What it was that had sustained and carried her through that terrible ordeal, she could never understand.
When the curtain dropped, Fitzgerald was about to rush after her; but his wife caught his arm, and he was obliged to follow. It was an awful penance he underwent, submitting to this necessary restraint; and while his soul was seething like a boiling caldron, he was obliged to answer evasively to Lily's frequent declaration that the superb voice of this Spanish _prima donna_ was exactly like the wonderful voice that went wandering round the plantation, like a restless ghost.
Papa and Mamma Balbino were waiting to receive the triumphant _cantatrice_, as she left the stage. ”_Brava! Brava_!” shouted the Signor, in a great fever of excitement; but seeing how pale she looked, he pressed her hand in silence, while Madame wrapped her in shawls. They lifted her into the carriage as quickly as possible, where her head drooped almost fainting on Madame's shoulder. It required them both to support her unsteady steps, as they mounted the stairs to their lofty lodging. She told them nothing that night of having seen Fitzgerald; and, refusing all refreshment save a sip of wine, she sank on the bed utterly exhausted.
CHAPTER XX.
She slept late the next day, and woke with a feeling of utter weariness of body and prostration of spirit. When her dressing-maid Giovanna came at her summons, she informed her that a gentleman had twice called to see her, but left no name or card. ”Let no one be admitted to-day but the manager of the opera,” said Rosa. ”I will dress now; and if Mamma Balbino is at leisure, I should like to have her come and talk with me while I breakfast.”
”Madame has gone out to make some purchases,” replied Giovanna. ”She said she should return soon, and charged me to keep everything quiet, that you might sleep. The Signor is in his room waiting to speak to you.”
”Please tell him I have waked,” said Rosa; ”and as soon as I have dressed and breakfasted, ask him to come to me.”
Giovanna, who had been at the opera the preceding evening, felt the importance of her mission in dressing the celebrated Senorita Rosita Campaneo, of whose beauty and gracefulness everybody was talking. And when the process was completed, the _cantatrice_ might well have been excused if she had thought herself the handsomest of women. The glossy dark hair rippled over her forehead in soft waves, and the ma.s.sive braids behind were intertwisted with a narrow band of crimson velvet, that glowed like rubies where the sunlight fell upon it. Her morning wrapper of fine crimson merino, embroidered with gold-colored silk, was singularly becoming to her complexion, softened as the contact was by a white lace collar fastened at the throat with a golden pin. But though she was seated before the mirror, and though her own Spanish taste had chosen the strong contrast of bright colors, she took no notice of the effect produced. Her face was turned toward the window, and as she gazed on the morning sky, all unconscious of its translucent brilliancy of blue, there was an inward-looking expression in her luminous eyes that would have made the fortune of an artist, if he could have reproduced her as a Sibyl. Giovanna looked at her with surprise, that a lady could be so handsome and so beautifully dressed, yet not seem to care for it. She lingered a moment contemplating the superb head with an exultant look, as if it were a picture of her own painting, and then she went out noiselessly to bring the breakfast-tray.
The Senorita Campaneo ate with a keener appet.i.te than she had ever experienced as Rosabella the recluse; for the forces of nature, exhausted by the exertions of the preceding evening, demanded renovation. But the services of the cook were as little appreciated as those of the dressing-maid; the luxurious breakfast was to her simply food. The mirror was at her side, and Giovanna watched curiously to see whether she would admire the effect of the crimson velvet gleaming among her dark hair. But she never once glanced in that direction.
When she had eaten sufficiently, she sat twirling her spoon and looking into the depths of her cup, as if it were a magic mirror revealing all the future.
She was just about to say, ”Now you may call Papa Balbino,” when Giovanna gave a sudden start, and exclaimed, ”Signorita! a gentleman!”
And ere she had time to look round, Fitzgerald was kneeling at her feet. He seized her hand and kissed it pa.s.sionately, saying, in an agony of entreaty: ”O Rosabella, do say you forgive me! I am suffering the tortures of the d.a.m.ned.”
The irruption was so sudden and unexpected, that for an instant she failed to realize it. But her presence of mind quickly returned, and, forcibly withdrawing the hand to which he clung, she turned to the astonished waiting-maid and said quite calmly, ”Please deliver _immediately_ the message I spoke of.”
Giovanna left the room and proceeded directly to the adjoining apartment, where Signor Balbino was engaged in earnest conversation with another gentleman.
Fitzgerald remained kneeling, still pleading vehemently for forgiveness.
”Mr. Fitzgerald,” said she, ”this audacity is incredible. I could not have imagined it possible you would presume ever again to come into my presence, after having sold me to that infamous man.”
”He took advantage of me, Rosa. I was intoxicated with wine, and knew not what I did. I could not have done it if I had been in my senses.
I have always loved you as I never loved any other woman; and I never loved you so wildly as now.”
”Leave me!” she exclaimed imperiously. ”Your being here does me injury. If you have any manhood in you, leave me!”
He strove to clutch the folds of her robe, and in frenzied tones cried out: ”O Rosabella, don't drive me from you! I can't live without--”
A voice like a pistol-shot broke in upon his sentence: ”Villain!
Deceiver! What are you doing here? Out of the house this instant!”
Fitzgerald sprung to his feet, pale with rage, and encountered the flas.h.i.+ng eyes of the Signor. ”What right have _you_ to order me out of the house?” said he.
”I am her adopted father,” replied the Italian; ”and no man shall insult her while I am alive.”
”So _you_ are installed as her protector!” retorted Fitzgerald, sneeringly. ”You are not the first gallant I have known to screen himself behind his years.”
”By Jupiter!” vociferated the enraged Italian; and he made a spring to clutch him by the throat.