Part 27 (2/2)

Sentimental and theatrical, the world would have said. But the man who could bear to be unjustly called liar and coward rather than break his oath was able to keep such a promise if he chose. And he did.

So far as he was humanly able, too, in the world to which he belonged, he kept the first one also; for, when they bent over him as he lay upon the wet gra.s.s a few hours later, the pistol he held was loaded still.

The world said that he had been shot before he had time to fire, because he was trying to aim too carefully. But Gianforte Campodonico bared his head and bent it respectfully as they carried Pietro Ghisleri away.

”There goes the bravest man I ever knew,” he said to his second.

CHAPTER XIV.

The report that Ghisleri had been killed by his old adversary in a quarrel about Laura Arden spread like wildfire through society. It was not until San Giacinto formally proclaimed that he had been to Ghisleri's lodging, and that, although shot through the right lung, he was alive and might recover, that the world knew the truth.

It was of course perfectly evident that Laura was the cause of the difference. Even San Giacinto had no other explanation to suggest, when he was appealed to, and could only say that it seemed incredible that two men should fight with pistols at a dangerously short distance, because the one said that Lady Herbert was a jettatrice, and the other denied it. If Campodonico had been less universally liked than he was, he would have become very unpopular in consequence of the duel; for, although few persons were intimate with Ghisleri, he also was a favourite with the world.

The Gerano faction was very angry with both men, though Adele was secretly delighted. It was a scandalous thing, they said, that a duel should be fought about a young widow, whose husband had not been buried much more than two months. Both should have known better. And then, Campodonico was a young married man, which made matters far worse.

Duelling was an abominable sin, of course; but Ghisleri, at least, was alone in the world and could risk his soul and body without the danger of bringing unhappiness on others. Gianforte's case was different and far less pardonable.

But Casa Gerano and Casa Savelli belonged rather to the old-fas.h.i.+oned part of society, though Adele and her husband were undeniably in the gay set, and there were many who judged the two men more leniently. The world had certainly been saying for some time that Ghisleri went very often to see Lady Herbert, and was neglecting Maddalena dell' Armi. The cruel words the Contessa had overheard at the Emba.s.sy were but part of the current gossip, for otherwise mere strangers, like those who had spoken, could not have already learned to repeat them. If, then, Ghisleri was in love with Laura Arden, it was natural enough that he should resent the story about the evil eye. Meanwhile, poor man, no one could tell whether he could ever recover from his dangerous wound.

The Contessa dell' Armi was one of the very first to know the truth. She had spent a miserable and sleepless night, and it was still very early in the morning when she sent to Ghisleri's lodgings for news. She was very anxious, for she knew more than most people about the old story, and she guessed that Campodonico would do his best to hurt Pietro. But she had no idea that pistols were to be the weapons, and Ghisleri's reputation as a swordsman was very good. Short of an accident, she thought, nothing would be really dangerous to him. But then, accidents sometimes happened.

The answer came back, short and decisive. He was shot through the very middle of the right lung, he had not fired upon his adversary, and he lay in great danger, between life and death, in the care of a surgeon and a Sister of Charity, neither of whom left his side for a moment.

Maddalena did not hesitate. She dressed herself in an old black frock she found among her things, put on a thick veil, went out alone, and drove to Pietro's lodgings. Such rash things may be done with impunity in Paris or London, but they rarely remain long concealed in a small city like Rome. He was still unconscious from weakness and loss of blood. His eyes were half closed and his face was transparently white.

Maddalena stood still at the foot of the bed and looked at him, while the doctor and the nurse gazed at her in surprise. During what seemed an endless time to them she did not move. Then she beckoned to the surgeon, and led him away to the window.

”Will he live?” she asked, hardly able to p.r.o.nounce the words.

”He may. There is some hope, for he is very strong. I cannot say more than that for the present.”

For a few moments Maddalena was silent. She had never seen the doctor, and he evidently did not know her.

”My place should be here,” she said at last. ”Would an emotion be bad for him--if he were angry, perhaps?”

”Probably fatal,” answered the surgeon with decision. ”If he is likely to experience any emotion on seeing you, I beg you not to stay long. He may soon be fully conscious.”

”He cannot know me now?” she asked anxiously.

”No. Not yet.”

”Not if I went quite near to him--if I touched him?”

The doctor glanced back at the white face on the pillow.

”No,” he answered. ”But be quick.”

Maddalena went swiftly to the bedside, and, bending down, kissed Ghisleri's forehead, gazed at him for a moment, and then turned away.

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