FullReads

“‘Your wife has a lover,’ he said.

“She caught my arm as I flung myself on him. He is ten times stronger than I, but you remember how I made him howl for mercy in the old days when he used to bully you.

“‘Let me go,’ I said to his wife. ‘He must live to unsay it.’

“Andrea began to whimper. ‘Oh, my poor brother, I would give my heart’s blood to unsay it!’

“‘The secret has been killing us,’ she chimed in.

“‘The secret? Whose secret? How dare you–?’

“Gemma fell on her knees like a tragedy actress. ‘Strike me–kill me–it is I who am the offender! It was at my house that she met him–‘

“‘Him?’

“‘Franz Welkenstern–my cousin,’ she wailed.

“I suppose I stood before them like a stunned ox, for they repeated the name again and again, as if they were not sure of my having heard it.–Not hear it!” he cried suddenly, dropping into a chair and hiding his face in his hands. “Shall I ever on earth hear anything else again?”

He sat a long time with his face hidden and I waited. My head was like a great bronze bell with one thought for the clapper.

After a while he went on in a low deliberate voice, as though his words were balancing themselves on the brink of madness. With strange composure he repeated each detail of his brother’s charges: the meetings in the Countess Gemma’s drawing-room, the innocent friendliness of the two young people, the talk of mysterious visits to a villa outside the Porta Ticinese, the ever-widening circle of scandal that had spread about their names. At first, Andrea said, he and his wife had refused to listen to the reports which reached them. Then, when the talk became too loud, they had sent for Welkenstern, remonstrated with him, implored him to exchange into another regiment; but in vain. The young officer indignantly denied the reports and declared that to leave his post at such a moment would be desertion.

With a laborious accuracy Roberto went on, detailing one by one each incident of the hateful story, till suddenly he cried out, springing from his chair–“And now to leave her with this lie unburied!”

His cry was like the lifting of a grave-stone from my breast. “You must not leave her!” I exclaimed.

He shook his head. “I am pledged.”

“This is your first duty.”

“It would be any other man’s; not an Italian’s.”

I was silent: in those days the argument seemed unanswerable.

At length I said: “No harm can come to her while you are away. Donna Marianna and I are here to watch over her. And when you come back–“

He looked at me gravely. “If I come back–“

“Roberto!”

“We are men, Egidio; we both know what is coming. Milan is up already; and there is a rumor that Charles Albert is moving. This year the spring rains will be red in Italy.”

“In your absence not a breath shall touch her!”

“And if I never come back to defend her? They hate her as hell hates, Egidio!–They kept repeating, ‘He is of her own age and youth draws youth–.’ She is in their way, Egidio!”

“Consider, my son. They do not love her, perhaps; but why should they hate her at such cost? She has given you no child.”

“No child!” He paused. “But what if–? She has ailed lately!” he cried, and broke off to grapple with the stabbing thought.

“Roberto! Roberto!” I adjured him.

He jumped up and gripped my arm.

“Egidio! You believe in her?”

“She’s as pure as a lily on the altar!”

“Those eyes are wells of truth–and she has been like a daughter to Marianna.–Egidio! do I look like an old man?”

“Quiet yourself, Roberto,” I entreated.

“Quiet myself? With this sting in my blood? A lover–and an Austrian lover! Oh, Italy, Italy, my bride!”

“I stake my life on her truth,” I cried, “and who knows better than I? Has her soul not lain before me like the bed of a clear stream?”