Part 36 (2/2)

Meanwhile, she went to her own room, feeling sure that she could hear Marcantonio's door open, if he finished dressing and came out. But Marcantonio rang his bell at the end of an hour, and sent word to his sister that he felt tired and had gone to bed, and would not rise till midday.

Poor fellow--she was pleased at the intelligence, but the fact was that his mind had strayed again; he had forgotten the object of his journey, and being worn out had gone to bed like a tired child. The new place, the strange room, and the necessity of unpacking his clothes himself had confused him, and driven everything else out of his head.

Before he awoke, the confidential man had arrived, arrayed in the ordinary dress of an hotel servant. He was a quiet individual, with strong hands and iron-grey hair, neat in his appearance, and a little hesitating in his speech; but his eyes were keen and searching, and he moved quickly. Diana was pleased with him, and understood that the doctor had given her good advice, and that Marcantonio would be safely watched. The man said he would serve them in their own sitting-room, and perform the offices of valet for Marcantonio, and be altogether in the position of a private servant, which, however, was not his profession, as he took care to add.

When at last Diana and Marcantonio met, each rested and refreshed, he looked the less weary of the two. Diana had suffered too much to be entirely herself, and for the first time in her life felt as though she had taxed her strength too severely. Moreover, the strain was not removed, but increased hourly. Her woman's instinct told her that, in spite of the doctor's opinion, her brother was actually out of his mind, perhaps past all recovery. His sudden cheerfulness was horrible to her, and made her shudder when she thought of the magnitude of what he was forgetting.

”Let us take a carriage and see Turin, Diana,” he suggested gayly, as they finished their lunch and he lit a cigarette. ”I have never been in Turin with you. There are some very pretty things to see.”

”By all means,” said she readily. ”Let us go at once.”

The confidential servant was dispatched for a carriage. The idea of seeing sights with his sister pleased Marcantonio, and he never relapsed into his sadder self during the afternoon. Diana did not know whether to be glad or sorry; his forgetfulness was terrible, but his memory was worse. She remembered the scene with the cross on the previous day, in the railway-carriage, and she thought that if insanity brought peace it was better to be insane.

They drove about and saw what was to be seen,--the great squares, the memorial statues, the armory, where the mail-clad wooden knights sit silently on their mail-clad wooden horses, and they drove out at last to Moncalieri, in the cool of the evening. The confidential servant sat on the box and directed the driver, pointing out to Diana and Marcantonio the various objects of interest, so that Carantoni suspected nothing.

The man acted his part perfectly.

”How charming it is here!” exclaimed Marcantonio, admiring the trees, and the life, and the gay colours at Moncalieri. ”Why did we not think of coming here before, my dear?” He spoke in French, which he rarely did with his sister, though he had always done so with his wife. Diana hardly noticed it at the moment,--she was obliged to answer something.

”It was hardly the right season for it before this, I suppose,” said she. ”But now we can stay as long as we please.”

”Oh yes,” said he, in his old way, ”if it is agreeable to you, I ask nothing better. It is infinitely more pleasant than Sorrento. I never liked Sorrento, I cannot tell why. It never wholly agreed with you, mon ange--n'est-ce-pas?”

”I was always well there,--well enough, at least,” answered Diana, puzzled at this new phase of his humour.

”Ah no, you were never well after Diana left us. She is so good, she makes every one well!” He spoke pleasantly and naturally.

It was horrible, and Diana started with a new realisation of his state.

He no longer recognised persons,--he took her for Leonora!

But some new object attracted his attention, and he chattered on, almost to himself, almost childishly, but with a sweet smile on his pale, delicate face. Diana could scarcely restrain her tears,--she who had not wept for years until lately!

Poor Diana! Batis...o...b.. and Leonora were sinfully, wholly, happy with each other,--Batis...o...b.. selfishly so, perhaps, but none the less for that, and Leonora with a wild delight in her new life, that swallowed up the past and gilded the present. Even poor, crazy Marcantonio, chattering and making small French jokes about the people's dresses at Moncalieri, was happy for the moment. Only Diana, the brave woman who had fought for the right so well, seemed cut off from it all, bearing the whole burden on her shoulders, and silently bowing her queenly head to the storm of woe and grief and destruction.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Diana would have taken her brother away from Turin if she could, but there was a danger that the mere suggestion might revive the fixed idea that had driven him mad. His illusions had not the absolutely permanent character which is the most hopeless. For instance, on the evening of the very day when he had called his sister by his wife's name, he had known Diana perfectly well, and had sat for an hour talking about old times with her. Whether, at such moments, he had any recollection of recent occurrences, would be hard to say; and the doctor advised for the present that he should have perfect quiet and should be allowed to amuse himself and to be amused in any way which seemed best. In the course of a day or two the doctor saw him, coming on pretence of seeing Madame de Charleroi. He felt now, he said, from Marcantonio's manner, that he would recover before long, though his memory concerning the circ.u.mstances of the time when he was insane would probably be very uncertain.

But Diana felt relieved at this and devoted her time to her brother from morning till night, reading to him, driving with him, or talking to him as the case might be. She could do nothing more for the present. Turin is a pleasant city enough, the weather was not excessively hot, and the hotel was large and comfortable. In the course of time it would be possible to move Carantoni and take him to Paris, but at present any sudden change of place or surroundings was to be deprecated.

A week pa.s.sed in this way, and Diana grew pale with the constant strain of anxiety, and the great dark rings circled her grey eyes. But she bore bravely up, and rose each day with strength to do what lay before her.

She wrote to her husband, and he offered at once to come and help her to take care of Marcantonio, but she would not let him come, fearing the effect of a new face,--even that of an old friend like Charleroi. She received all the letters that came to her brother, and was surprised that there were no communications from the detectives he had employed.

The fact was that Marcantonio had given a separate address to them, and as they discovered nothing, after the manner of most detectives, they only systematically telegraphed that they had confidence of being on the track. The telegrams were addressed to another hotel, and were dropped into the box for unclaimed letters and were never heard of again. Diana knew that business communications would be harmless in Marcantonio's present state, and when any came she let him have them. He would read them over and often discuss with her the information they contained, and at last he would let her answer them, saying it was very good of her to save him so much trouble.

All these letters came from Rome, being forwarded by the steward who lived at the Palazzo Carantoni and managed the business of the household. Others came, re-directed over the original address, from friends in different parts of the country, and these Diana carefully put aside unopened, fearing always that some pa.s.sing reference or message to Leonora might disturb him and bring on a fresh outbreak. She could always distinguish the business letters, because they were either directed in the handwriting of the steward, or they bore the outward and visible printed address of the lawyer, farmer, or merchant, from whom they came.

<script>