Part 41 (2/2)
I was silent. I was not even courteous enough to thank her for the wish. I was half angered that this girl should have been able to probe my thoughts so quickly and unerringly. Was I so bad an actor after all?
I glanced down at her as she leaned lightly on my arm.
”Marriage is a mere comedietta,” I said, abruptly and harshly. ”We have seen it acted to-night. In a few days I shall play the part of the chief buffoon--in other words, the husband.”
And I laughed. My young companion looked startled, almost frightened, and over her fair face there flitted an expression of something like aversion. I did not care--why should I?--and there was no time for more words between us, for we had reached the outer vestibule of the theater.
My wife's carriage was drawn up at the entrance--my wife herself was stepping into it. I a.s.sisted her, and also her two friends, and then stood with uncovered head at the door wis.h.i.+ng them all the ”felicissima notte.” Nina put her tiny jeweled hand through the carriage window--I stooped and kissed it lightly. Drawing it back quickly, she selected a white gardenia from her bouquet and gave it to me with a bewitching smile.
Then the glittering equipage dashed away with a whirl and clatter of prancing hoofs and rapid wheels, and I stood alone under the wide portico of the theater--alone, amid the pressing throngs of the people who were still coming out of the house--holding the strongly scented gardenia in my hand as vaguely as a fevered man who finds a strange flower in one of his sick dreams.
After a minute or two I suddenly recollected myself, and throwing the blossom on the ground, I crushed it savagely beneath my heel--the penetrating odor rose from its slain petals as though a vessel of incense had been emptied at my feet. There was a nauseating influence in it; where had I inhaled that subtle perfume last? I remembered--Guido Ferrari had worn one of those flowers in his coat at my banquet--it had been still in his b.u.t.tonhole when I killed him!
I strode onward and homeward; the streets were full of mirth and music, but I heeded none of it. I felt, rather than saw, the quiet sky bending above me dotted with its countless millions of luminous worlds; I was faintly conscious of the soft plash of murmuring waves mingling with the dulcet chords of deftly played mandolins echoing from somewhere down by the sh.o.r.e; but my soul was, as it were, benumbed--my mind, always on the alert, was for once utterly tired out--my very limbs ached, and when I at last flung myself on my bed, exhausted, my eyes closed instantly, and I slept the heavy, motionless sleep of a man weary unto death.
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
”Tout le monde vient a celui qui sait attendre.” So wrote the great Napoleon. The virtue of the aphorism consists in the little words 'qui sait'. All the world comes to him who KNOWS HOW to wait, _I_ knew this, and I had waited, and my world--a world of vengeance--came to me at last.
The slow-revolving wheel of Time brought me to the day before my strange wedding--the eve of my remarriage with my own wife! All the preparations were made--nothing was left undone that could add to the splendor of the occasion. For though the nuptial ceremony was to be somewhat quiet and private in character, and the marriage breakfast was to include only a few of our more intimate acquaintances, the proceedings were by no means to terminate tamely. The romance of these remarkable espousals was not to find its conclusion in bathos. No; the bloom and aroma of the interesting event were to be enjoyed in the evening, when a grand supper and ball, given by me, the happy and much-to-be-envied bridegroom, was to take place in the hotel which I had made my residence for so long. No expense was spared for this, the last entertainment offered by me in my brilliant career as a successful Count Cesare Oliva. After it, the dark curtain would fall on the played-out drama, never to rise again.
Everything that art, taste, and royal luxury could suggest was included in the arrangements for this brilliant ball, to which a hundred and fifty guests had been invited, not one of whom had refused to attend.
And now--now, in the afternoon of this, the last of my self-imposed probation--I sat alone with my fair wife in the drawing-room of the Villa Romani, conversing lightly on various subjects connected with the festivities of the coming morrow. The long windows were open--the warm spring sunlight lay like a filmy veil of woven gold on the tender green of the young gra.s.s, birds sung for joy and flitted from branch to branch, now poising hoveringly above their nests, now soaring with all the luxury of perfect liberty into the high heaven of cloudless blue--the great creamy buds of the magnolia looked ready to burst into wide and splendid flower between their large, darkly s.h.i.+ning leaves, the odor of violets and primroses floated on every delicious breath of air, and round the wide veranda the climbing white china roses had already unfurled their little crumpled rosette-like blossoms to the balmy wind. It was spring in Southern Italy--spring in the land where, above all other lands, spring is lovely--sudden and brilliant in its beauty as might be the smile of a happy angel. Gran Dio!--talk of angels! Had I not a veritable angel for my companion at that moment?
What fair being, even in Mohammed's Paradise of Houris, could outs.h.i.+ne such charms as those which it was my proud privilege to gaze upon without rebuke--dark eyes, rippling golden hair, a dazzling and perfect face, a form to tempt the virtue of a Galahad, and lips that an emperor might long to touch--in vain? Well, no!--not altogether in vain: if his imperial majesty could offer a bribe large enough--let us say a diamond the size of a pigeon's egg--he might possibly purchase one, nay!--perhaps two kisses from that seductive red mouth, sweeter than the ripest strawberry. I glanced at her furtively from time to time when she was not aware of my gaze; and glad was I of the sheltering protection of the dark gla.s.ses I wore, for I knew and felt that there was a terrible look in my eyes--the look of a half-famished tiger ready to spring on some long-desired piece of prey. She herself was exceptionally bright and cheerful; with her riante features and agile movements, she reminded me of some tropical bird of gorgeous plumage swaying to and fro on a branch of equally gorgeous blossom.
”You are like a prince in a fairy tale, Cesare,” she said, with a little delighted laugh; ”everything you do is superbly done! How pleasant it is to be so rich--there is nothing better in all the world.”
”Except love!” I returned, with a grim attempt to be sentimental.
Her large eyes softened like the pleading eyes of a tame fawn.
”Ay, yes!” and she smiled with expressive tenderness, ”except love. But when one has both love and wealth, what a paradise life can be!”
”So great a paradise,” I a.s.sented, ”that it is hardly worth while trying to get into heaven at all! Will you make earth a heaven for me, Nina mia, or will you only love me as much--or as little--as you loved your late husband?”
She shrugged her shoulders and pouted like a spoilt child.
”Why are you so fond of talking about my late husband, Cesare?” she asked, peevishly; ”I am so tired of his name! Besides, one does not always care to be reminded of dead people--and he died so horribly too!
I have often told you that I did not love him at all. I liked him a little, and I was quite ill when that dreadful monk, who looked like a ghost himself, came and told me he was dead. Fancy hearing such a piece of news suddenly, while I was actually at luncheon with Gui--Signore Ferrari! We were both shocked, of course, but I did not break my heart over it. Now I really DO love YOU--”
I drew nearer to her on the couch where she sat, and put one arm round her.
”You really DO?” I asked, in a half-incredulous tone; ”you are quite sure?”
She laughed and nestled her head on my shoulder.
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