Part 8 (1/2)
”Why should Zorzi not be at my wedding?” asked Marietta carelessly.
”Why should he?” asked the serving-woman with unusual bluntness. ”But I daresay the master will find something for him to do. He is clever enough at doing anything.”
”Yes-he is clever,” a.s.sented the young girl. ”Why do you not like him? Give me some more water-you are always afraid that I shall use too much!”
”I have a conscience,” grumbled Nella. ”The water is brought from far, it is paid for, it costs money, we must not use too much of it. Every day the boats come with it, and the row of earthen jars in the court is filled, and your father pays-he always pays, and pays, and pays, till I wonder where the money all comes from. They say he makes gold, over there in the furnace.”
”He makes gla.s.s,” answered Marietta. ”And if he orders gowns for me with pearls and gold, he will not grudge me a jug of water. Why do you dislike Zorzi?”
”He is as proud as a marble lion, and as obstinate as a Lombardy mule,” explained Nella, with fine imagery. ”If that is not enough to make one dislike a young man, you shall tell me so! But one of those days he will fall. There is trouble for the proud.”
”How does his great pride show itself?” asked Marietta. ”I have not noticed it.”
”That would indeed be the end of everything, if he showed his pride to you!” Nella was much displeased by the mere suggestion. ”But with us it is different. He never speaks to the other workmen.”
”They never speak to him.”
”And quite right, too, since he holds his head so high, with no reason at all! But it will not last for ever! I wonder what the master would think, for instance, if he knew that Zorzi takes the skiff in the evening, and rows himself over to Venice, all alone, and comes back long after midnight, and sleeps in the gla.s.s-house across the way because he cannot get into the house. Zorzi! Zorzi! The master cannot move without Zorzi! And where is Zorzi at night? At home and in bed, like a decent young man? No. Zorzi is away in Venice, heaven knows where, doing heaven knows what! Do you wonder that he is so pale and tired in the morning? It seems to me quite natural. Eh? What do you think, my pretty lady?”
Marietta was silent for a moment. It was only a servant's spiteful gossip, but it hurt her.
”Are you sure that he goes to Venice alone at night?” she asked, after a little pause.
”Am I sure that I live, that I belong to you, and that my name is Nella? Is not the boat moored under my window? Did I not hear the chain rattling softly last night? I got up and looked out, and I saw Zorzi, as I see you, taking the padlock off. I am not blind-praise be to heaven, I see. He turned the boat to the left, so he must have been going to Venice, and it was at least an hour after the midnight bells when I heard the chain again, and I looked out, and there he was. But he did not come into the house. And this morning I saw him coming out of the gla.s.s-house, just as the men went in. He was as pale as a boiled chicken.”
Marietta had seen him, too, and the coincidence gave colour to the rest of the woman's tale, as would have happened if the whole story had been an invention instead of being quite true. Nella was combing the girl's thick hair, an operation peculiarly conducive to a maid's chattering, for she has the certainty that her mistress cannot get away, and must therefore listen patiently.
A shadow had fallen on the brightness of Marietta's morning. She was paler, too, but she said nothing.
”Of course he was tired,” continued Nella. ”Did you suppose that he would come back with pink cheeks and bright eyes, like a baby from baptism, after being out half the night?”
”He is always pale,” said Marietta.
”Because he goes to Venice every night,” retorted Nella viciously. ”That is the good reason! Oh, I am sure of it! And besides, I shall watch him, now that I know. I shall see him whenever he takes the boat.”
”It is none of your business where he goes,” answered Marietta. ”It does not concern any one but himself.”
”Oh, indeed!” sneered Nella. ”Then the honour of the house does not matter! It is no concern of ours! And your father need never know that his trusty servant, his clever a.s.sistant, his faithful confidant, who shares all his secrets, is a good-for-nothing fellow who spends his nights in gambling, or drinking, or perhaps in making love to some Venetian girl as honourable and well behaved as himself!”
Marietta had grown steadily more angry while Nella was talking. She had her father's temper, though she could control it better than he.
”I will find out whether this story is true,” she said coldly. ”If it is not, it will be the worse for you. You shall not serve me any longer, unless you can be more careful in what you say.”
Nella's jaw dropped and her hands stood still and trembled, the one holding the comb upraised, the other gathering a quant.i.ty of her mistress's hair. Marietta had never spoken to her like this in her life.
”Send me away?” faltered the woman in utter amazement. ”Send me away!” she repeated, still quite dazed. ”But it is impossible-” her voice began to break, as if some one were shaking her violently by the shoulders. ”Oh no, no! You w-ill n-ot-no-o-o!”
The sound grew more piercing as she went on, and the words were soon lost, as she broke into a violent fit of hysterical crying.