Part 37 (1/2)

”Nevertheless--” began Don Teodoro, still obstinately unwilling to retract his word.

”Dear friend,” interrupted Veronica, with sudden gentleness, for she was fond of him, ”I like you very much. I respect you immensely. I could not do half I am doing without you. But you do not quite understand me. I am sorry that you should think me rash, if the idea of rashness is unpleasant to you--I will make any other concession in reason rather than quarrel with you. But please do not argue with me when I have made up my mind. I am quite sure that I shall have my own way in the end, and when the end comes, you will be very glad that you could not hinder me, because I am altogether right. Now we understand each other, do we not?”

Don Teodoro could not help smiling in a hopeless sort of way, and he lifted his hands a moment, spreading out the palms as though to express that he cleared his conscience of all possible responsibility. So they parted good friends, without further words.

But when Veronica was alone, she began to realize that Don Teodoro was not so altogether in the wrong as she believed herself to be in the right. People might certainly be found whom she could not cla.s.s with the world she so frankly despised, and who would say that if Gianluca recovered she should marry him, after extending such an invitation to him and his people, and that, if she did not, she would deserve to be called a heartless flirt--from their point of view. Gianluca's father and mother might say so.

He himself, at least, must know her better than that, she thought. And then, there was the terrible earnestness of Taquisara's letter, the sober statement of his best friend, next to herself, and a statement which it must have cost the man something to make, since it was necessarily accompanied by an apology. After all, though he had insulted her, she liked Taquisara for the whole-hearted way in which he took Gianluca's part in everything. There was that statement, and she felt that it was a true one. Gianluca was more to her than any one she knew, in a way which no one could understand, and she had a right to see him before he died. If, by any happy chance, he should live, people might perhaps talk. She should not care, for she should have done right.

That was the way in which she accounted to herself for her action; but the consciousness that Don Teodoro was not quite wrong was there. She remembered it afterwards, when the fatality that was quietly lying in wait for her raised its head from ambush and stared her in the face. But then, at the first beginning, she was angry with the old priest for trying to oppose her.

There was not more than time to finish the preparations, after all, for she received a note from the d.u.c.h.essa, written from Eboli, saying that they would arrive a day earlier than they had expected, as the heat in the plain was intense, and they were anxious to get Gianluca to a cooler region of the mountains as soon as possible. Veronica had written, too, placing the castle at Laviano at their disposal, as a resting-place, so as to break the journey more easily for the invalid, and she sent men over to see that all was in order and to take a few necessary things for the guests.

It was a sort of caravan that at last halted before the fountain of Muro, at the entrance to the village. Veronica had been warned of their near approach, and was there to meet them, with Don Teodoro by her side.

First came the Duca and d.u.c.h.essa together in a huge carriage drawn by four horses, with three servants, two men and a maid. Veronica could not see past the vehicle, as it blocked the way, and she stopped beside it to greet the couple.

”My dear child!” cried the d.u.c.h.essa. ”We shall never forget your kindness, and all the trouble you have taken! Gianluca is in the next carriage. I think you have saved his life!”

There was a sort of inoffensive motherliness in her tone which surprised Veronica--a suggestion of possession that irritated her. But she smiled, said a few words, and ordered the carriage to move on,--an operation which, though difficult in such a narrow way, was possible since she had improved and paved the streets. A couple of her men walked before the horses to clear the way of the women and children and the few men who were not away at work, for the news of the arrival had spread, and the people flocked together to see whether the visitors would bear comparison with their princess.

As the carriage rolled into the street, Veronica went up to meet the next. It was a very long landau, and in it Gianluca was almost lying down, his pale face and golden beard in strong relief against a dark brown silk cus.h.i.+on. To Veronica's amazement, Taquisara sat beside him, calmly smoking one of those long black cigars which he preferred to all others. He threw it away, when he saw her. She shook hands frankly with Gianluca.

”I am very glad you are here,” she said kindly and cheerfully. ”You will get well here. How do you do?” she added, turning to Taquisara as naturally as though she had expected him, for she supposed that there must have been some misunderstanding.

He explained his coming in a few words, before Gianluca could finish the sentence he began.

”He hates strangers,” he said, ”and I came up with him, to be of use on the journey. I am going back at once.”

”You will not go back this evening, at all events,” answered Veronica, with a little hospitable smile.

She was grateful to him for Gianluca's sake, both for his letter and for having accompanied his friend. For what had gone before, he had apologized and was forgiven.

”I beg your pardon,” he answered. ”I think I shall be obliged to go back this afternoon.”

”Has he any engagement that obliges him to return?” asked Veronica of Gianluca.

As she turned to him, she met his deep blue eyes, fixed on her face with a strange look, half happy, half hungry, half appealing.

”He has no engagement that I know of,” he answered.

”Then you will stay,” she said to Taquisara. ”Go on!” she added to the coachman, without giving time for any further answer.

There was a note in her short speech which the Sicilian had never heard before then. It was the tone of command--not of the drill-sergeant, but of the conqueror. He almost laughed to himself as the carriage moved slowly on, while Veronica and Don Teodoro followed on foot.

”You must stay, if she wishes it,” said Gianluca, in a low voice.

”I am not used to being ordered to quarters in that way,” answered Taquisara, smiling in genuine amus.e.m.e.nt. ”I can be of no more use to you when I have got you up to your room, and I think I shall go back as I intended.”

”I would not, if I were you. After all, it is a hospitable invitation, and you cannot invent any reasonable excuse for refusing to stay at least one night. The horses are worn out, too. You have no pretext.”