Part 48 (1/2)

Guglielmi looked round--Angelo came forward.

”Conduct Count n.o.bili to the room prepared for him,” said the lawyer.

”There, Count n.o.bili, I will attend you in a few minutes.”

CHAPTER VIII.

FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME.

When the marchesa entered the sala after she had left the chapel, her steps were slow and measured. Count n.o.bili's words rang in her ear: ”I will not live with her.” She could not put these words from her. For the first time in her life the marchesa was shaken in the belief of her mission.

If Count n.o.bili refused to live with Enrica as his wife, all the law in the world could not force him. If no heir was born to the Guinigi, she had lived in vain.

As the marchesa stood in the dull light of the misty afternoon, leaning against the solid carved table on which refreshments were spread, the old palace at Lucca rose up before her dyed with the ruddy tints of summer sunsets. She trod again in thought those mysterious rooms, shrouded in perpetual twilight. She gazed upon the faces of the dead, looking down upon her from the walls. How could she answer to those dead; for what had she done? That heroic face too with the stern, soft eyes--how could she meet it? What was Count n.o.bili or his wealth to her without an heir? By threats she had forced n.o.bili to make Enrica his wife, but no threats could compel him to complete the marriage.

As she lingered in the sala, stunned by the blow that had fallen upon her, the marchesa suddenly recollected the penciled lines which Guglielmi had torn from his tablet and slipped into her hand. She drew the paper from the folds of her dress and read these words:

”_We are beaten if Count n.o.bili leaves the house to-night.

Keep him at all hazards_.”

A sudden revulsion seized her. She raised her head with that snake-like action natural to her. The blood rushed to her face and neck. Guglielmi then still had hope?--All was not lost. In an instant her energy returned to her. What could she do to keep him? Would Enrica--Enrica was still within the chapel. The marchesa heard the murmur of voices coming through the corridor. No, though she wors.h.i.+ped him, Enrica would never lend herself to tempt n.o.bili with the bait of her beauty--no, even though she was his wife. It would be useless to ask her. ”Keep him--how?” the marchesa asked herself with feverish impatience. Every moment was precious. She heard footsteps. They must be leaving the chapel. n.o.bili, perhaps, was going. No. The door to the garden, by which n.o.bili had entered the chapel, was now locked. Adamo had given her the key. She must therefore see them when they pa.s.sed out through the sala. At this moment the howling of the dogs was audible. They were chained up in the cave under the tower. Poor beasts, they had been forgotten in the hurry of the day. The dogs were hungry; were yelping for their food. Through the open door the marchesa saw Adamo pa.s.s--a sudden thought struck her.

”Adamo!”

”Padrona.” And Adamo's bullet-head and broad shoulders fill up the doorway.

”Where is Count n.o.bili?”

”Along with the lawyer from Lucca.”

”He is safe, then, for the present,” the marchesa told herself.

Adamo could not speak for staring at his mistress as she stood opposite to him full in the light. He had never seen such a look upon her face all the years he had served her.

She almost smiled at him.

”Adamo,” the marchesa addresses him eagerly, ”come here. How many years have you lived with me?”

Adamo grins and shows two rows of white teeth.

”Thirty years, padrona--I came when I was a little lad.”

”Have I treated you well, Adamo?”

As she asks this question, the marchesa moves close to him.

”Have I ever complained,” is Adamo's answer, ”that the marchesa asks me?”

”You saved my life, Adamo, not long ago, from the fire.” The eager look is growing intenser. ”I have never thanked you. Adamo--”