Part 53 (2/2)
Ferrati seated himself, facing Valentini across the table; he spoke, and his voice was incisive and authoritative.
”Do you realize what you have done? You have accused your wife of jealousy, but I know, and all Florence knows, Egidio, that she has good reason to be. However, she is patient and bears with it all until you outrage every sense of decency by running after her own maid in her own house--you need not deny it, I have seen the way you look at Carolina.
Then because she dares reproach you with your conduct you drive her away, for that is what it amounts to. Do you realize what this means to you? Your wife is loved and respected here, and when the story of her leaving you comes out, as it surely will--what will the world say of you?”
He had deliberately touched the chord of Egidio's susceptibility to public opinion, the one to which he responded most readily.
”The world knows me, I am not afraid of the world--it is Ragna who will be condemned.”
”Ah, there you are wrong, the world is not so easily hoodwinked as you choose to think; there are more whispers afloat as to your conduct than you dream of. There are a number of people already, who accept you only on your wife's account, and if that were not enough, _I_ am here,” he drew himself up, his stern eyes fixed on Valentini, ”if I am questioned, as I am sure to be, I shall answer the truth!”
Valentini bounded on his chair.
”I thought you were my friend--a nice one you are indeed! I have nourished a viper in my bosom--I--”
”I am your friend, Egidio, your best friend, if you only knew it, for I am the only one who dares speak the truth to you without fear or favour.
But my friends.h.i.+p cannot compel me to deceit to an unworthy end. I shall tell the truth to the world, and you, Egidio, must make that truth such that it may be told without shame to yourself. You must persuade your wife to come back.”
”Persuade her, humble myself to her? Never.”
But Ferrati had seen the wavering in his eyes,
”Well, then, leave the 'persuasion' to me.”
”You can tell her that I am willing to forgive her, if you like, that I am willing to consider that nothing has come between us--See, I am ready to make concessions, to add one more sacrifice--”
The battle was won, or at least as far as Valentini was concerned; the vague stirring of regret for his violence, the fear of his friend's judgment, the thought of his life without the comforts of a well-ordered home--even the thought of losing Ragna herself, although she had come to be but a _souffre douleur_, had undermined his obstinacy, and the threat of the condemnation of society had been the finis.h.i.+ng touch. His declaration of his willingness to ”forgive” his wife was, however, all that he could be brought to admit, as Ferrati well knew. It must be taken as the capitulation it signified, and acted upon without further discussion. Remained the problem of Ragna; where was she? Would she return? And, above all, could she be persuaded to resume the burden of Valentini's ill-humour? At least Ferrati intended that she should have the a.s.surance of his friends.h.i.+p and his help in future, for now, after this revealing scene with Valentini he had the weapons for her protection ready to hand.
”Ebbene?” asked Valentini impatiently, anxious to put an end to the interview. ”Are you or are you not going to see the children?”
”Of course!” said Ferrati, rising, ”poor little things, I had almost forgotten them! But,” he added, sharply, turning to the other who was preparing to accompany him, ”you must stop here, the sight of you might throw them into convulsions. Wait here, Egidio, and I will come down and report to you when I have seen them.”
”Oh, very well,” growled Egidio, his mouth twitching with discomfiture, ”have it your own way!”
He thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets and slouched moodily up and down the studio. It had been a most unpleasant day for him, the culminating point of many, and the worst of it was he had come out of it with anything but flying colours. The curious part of it was that he felt weak, back-boneless, his rage had burnt itself out--for the time.
He could not understand it. He lit a _toscano_ and chewed it meditatively as he marched up and down. The fact was that the interview with Ferrati had cowed him; like all bullies he was a coward at heart and his friend's fearless condemnation had as effectually crushed him as physical chastis.e.m.e.nt would have done. He had met one stronger than himself, and was obliged to recognize the fact. In an astonis.h.i.+ngly mild humour, he awaited events.
CHAPTER XIII
Ferrati found the children in bed, reeking of the arnica with which Carolina and a.s.sunta had been bathing their bruises.
”Signor Dottore!” cried Carolina, as he entered, ”their poor little bodies are striped like zebras! If the Santissima Madonna and Gesu Bambino had not protected them they would have been killed!”
Both children burst out sobbing at this rehearsal of their woes, and Ferrati had some ado to make himself heard.
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