Part 23 (2/2)

He remembered distinctly every word of Diana's concerning the trouble when Batis...o...b.. was in the house. Diana had said very distinctly that Julius had insulted Leonora--and Diana always spoke the truth.

Marcantonio had not asked her what the insult had been. He could not bring himself to do it, and he did not want to know anything more. He would have cheerfully fought with Batis...o...b.. on the strength of his sister's a.s.sertion, but she had dissuaded him, and now he was sorry for it.

The servant had spoken with an air of conviction, as though he thought it quite natural, and only wondered at Batis...o...b..'s strange appearance.

There could not be any doubt about it, at all.

A new sensation took possession of Marcantonio--an utterly new pa.s.sion, which he did not recognise as part of himself. He was jealous. He did not, he would not, understand the truth, but he would prevent his wife from ever seeing Julius Batis...o...b.. again, and then he would go in search of him and wreak his vengeance without stint. At the same time he hoped he might avoid a scene with Leonora. He was brave enough to fight the man, but he shrank from telling his wife what he knew. It seemed so brutal and uncourteous, and altogether contrary to his principles.

But, after all, he ought to ascertain whether Temistocle were right--whether Julius really disguised himself. He would go and see.

No, he could not do that! He could not play the spy upon his wife--it was low, ign.o.ble, unworthy. He would find some other way. His brain swam and it seemed too much for him. He grasped the arm of the chair and rose to his feet in pure desperation, feeling that he must get out of the way into his own rooms for a while, lest any one should see him in his present state.

In the hall Marcantonio paused a moment, holding his hand to his head, as though it hurt him, and as he waited the door opened, and Leonora faced him, beaming with light, and life, and happiness. Marcantonio looked at her one instant, and tried to speak; he would have said something courteous, from force of habit. But the words choked him, and losing all control of himself he turned and fled up the stairs, leaving his wife staring in blank amazement.

Poor fellow! she thought, he had probably got a touch of the sun. She hastened to her room and sent to inquire if the signore were ill, and if she might come to him. They brought back word that he was dressing, and that nothing was the matter. Then Leonora felt a cold chill descend to her heart, the dreadful presentiment of a real terror, not far distant.

But when she met her husband in the evening at dinner, she did not dare to refer to his strange behaviour in the hall.

During dinner he talked much as usual, except that he did not laugh at all, and seemed very grave. There was a preternatural calm about him that increased Leonora's fears. She knew him so little that she could not be sure what he would do, whether anything had really occurred, or whether he were subject to fits of insanity. He had looked like a madman in the afternoon.

When they were alone, he offered her his arm, and led her out into the air, and they sat down side by side in deep chairs. Marcantonio leisurely lighted a cigarette, and puffed a few minutes in silence.

”Leonora,” he said at last, ”I have heard a curious thing, and I must tell you immediately.” His voice was even and cold; his whole manner was different from anything she remembered in her experience of him; he was more imposing, altogether more of a man and stronger. Leonora trembled violently, knowing instinctively that he had discovered something. She did not speak, but let him continue.

”I chanced to inquire if you were at home this afternoon, and the man said he supposed you were gone out in the boat with Mr. Batis...o...b.., as you did every day. Is it true? The man who told me said it as though it were quite natural, as though every one in the house knew it except myself.”

Leonora was dumb for a moment. The accusation came so suddenly that she was taken off her guard, besides being thoroughly frightened at her husband's terrible calmness, so unlike his manner under ordinary circ.u.mstances. She lay back in her low chair and tried to collect her thoughts.

”The man had also observed,” continued Marcantonio, turning his keen dark eyes upon her, ”that Monsieur Batis...o...b.. had a beard, and was dressed like a fisherman. Altogether, it was extremely curious.”

Marcantonio and his sister always spoke the truth. Batis...o...b.. never lied in his life to save himself, but could do it boldly when it was absolutely necessary to save some one else. He had no principle about it, except that cowards told lies, and men did not,--that was the way he put it. He was not afraid of anything himself, but for a woman he would perjure himself by all the oaths in Christendom. It was his idea of chivalry to women, and could not altogether be blamed. But Leonora by a long apprentices.h.i.+p to a very worldly mother, and owing to the singular confusion of her ideas, had acquired a moral obliquity which she defended to herself on the ground that the ultimate results she obtained were intended to be good. The telling of untruths, she argued, was in itself neither good nor bad; the consequences alone deserved to be considered. But as the consequences of lies are not easily cast up into totals of good and bad from the starting point, it sometimes occurred that she got herself into trouble. However, she was not hampered by prejudice, and she was a very clever woman, much cleverer than the great majority, and she was just now in a very hard position. In a few minutes she had made up her mind, and she answered Marcantonio fluently enough.

”Why,” said she calmly, ”should I not go out with Mr. Batis...o...b.. when I please? If he chooses to dress like a fisherman, I suppose he has the right.”

Marcantonio was rather staggered at her sudden confession. He had expected a denial; but there she sat as calmly as possible, telling him to his face that it was all true. However, he was not likely to lose his nerve again now that he was face to face with the difficulty.

”It appears to me, Leonora,” he said, ”that when I have turned a man out of my house for insulting you, it is sufficient reason”--

”For insulting me?” exclaimed Leonora in well-feigned astonishment. ”Mr.

Batis...o...b.. never insulted me! You must be dreaming.” She laughed a small dry laugh. But Marcantonio was not so easily put off.

”My sister,” said he, ”told me that Batis...o...b.. insulted you in her hearing. I have always known my sister to speak the truth. Perhaps you will explain.”

”What explanation do you want? You sent Mr. Batis...o...b.. out of the house on the pretence that I was ill. Of course Diana made you do it,--I do not know how, nor what she said. You must talk it over with her. She was probably sick of him, and wanted him out of the way.”

Leonora spoke scornfully, and almost brutally, and Marcantonio's blood began to grow hot.

”That is absurd,” he said instantly. ”Perhaps Monsieur Batis...o...b.. would not object to being confronted with me for five minutes?”

”I am sure he would not object,” said Leonora, without hesitation. She was quite certain of her lover's courage, at all events. She knew he would face anybody.

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