A day with a stranger may seem long, but a month with a friend how short! To live with Vere had been like living with a part of herself.
But now what would it be like? And when Emile came, and they three were together?
When Hermione contemplated that reunion, she felt that it would be to her intolerable. And yet she desired it. For she wanted to know something, and she was certain that if she, Vere, and Emile could be together, without any fourth person, she would know it.
A little while ago, when she had longed for bracing action, she had resolved to ask Emile to meet the Marchesino. She had felt as if that meeting would clear the air, would drive out the faint mystery which seemed to be encompa.s.sing them about. The two men, formerly friends, were evidently in antagonism now. She wanted to restore things to their former footing, or to make the enmity come out into the open, to understand it thoroughly, and to know if she and Vere had any part in it. Her desire had been to throw open windows and let in light.
But now things were changed. She understood, she knew more. And she wanted to be alone with Emile and with Vere. Then, perhaps, she would understand everything.
She said this to herself quite calmly. Her mood was changed. The fire had died down in her, and she felt almost sluggish, although still restless. The monstrous idea had come to her again. She did not vehemently repel it. By nature she was no doubt an impulsive. But now she meant to be a watcher. Before she took up her book and began to read she had been, perhaps, almost hysterical, had been plunged in a welter of emotion in which reason was drowned, had not been herself.
But now she felt that she was herself.
There was something that she wished to know, something that the knowledge she had gained in her child"s room that day suggested as a possibility.
She regretted her note to Emile. Why had not she asked him to come alone, to-morrow, or even to-night--yes, to-night?
If she could only be with him and Vere for a few minutes to-night!
CHAPTER XXIII
When Artois received Hermione"s letter he asked who had brought it, and obtained from the waiter a fairly accurate description of Gaspare.
"Please ask him to come up," he said. "I want to speak to him."
Two or three minutes later there was a knock at the door and Gaspare walked in, with a large-eyed inquiring look.
"Good-day, Gaspare. You"ve never seen my quarters before, I think," said Artois, cordially.
"No, Signore. What a beautiful room!"
"Then smoke a cigar, and I"ll write an answer to this letter."
"Thank you, Signore."
Artois gave him a cigar, and sat down to answer the letter, while Gaspare went out on to the balcony and stood looking at the bathers who were diving from the high wooden platform of the bath establishment over the way. When Artois had finished writing he joined Gaspare. He had a great wish that day to break down a reserve he had respected for many years, but he knew Gaspare"s determined character, his power of obstinate, of dogged silence. Gaspare"s will had been strong when he was a boy. The pa.s.sing of the years had certainly not weakened it.
Nevertheless, Artois was moved to make the attempt which he foresaw would probably end in failure.
He gave Gaspare the letter, and said:
"Don"t go for a moment. I want to have a little talk with you."
"Si, Signore."
Gaspare put the letter into the inner pocket of his jacket, and stood looking at Artois, holding the cigar in his left hand. In all these years Artois had never found out whether Gaspare liked him or not. He wished now that he knew.
"Gaspare," he said, "I think you know that I have a great regard for your Padrona."
"Si, Signore. I know it."
The words sounded rather cold.
"She has had a great deal of sorrow to bear."
"Si, Signore."
"One does not wish that she should be disturbed in any way--that any fresh trouble should come into her life."
Gaspare"s eyes were always fixed steadily upon Artois, who, as he spoke the last words, fancied he saw come into them an expression that was almost severely ironical. It vanished at once as Gaspare said:
"No, Signore."
Artois felt the iron of this faithful servant"s impenetrable reserve, but he continued very quietly and composedly:
"You have always stood between the Padrona and trouble whenever you could. You always will--I am sure of that."
"Si, Signore."
"Do you think there is any danger to the Signora"s happiness here?"
"Here, Signore?"
Gaspare"s emphasis seemed to imply where they were just then standing.
Artois was surprised, then for a moment almost relieved. Apparently Gaspare had no thought in common with the strange, the perhaps fantastic thought that had been in his own mind.
"Here--no!" he said, with a smile. "Only you and I are here, and we shall not make the Signora unhappy."
"Chi lo sa?" returned Gaspare.
And again that ironical expression was in his eyes.
"By here I meant here in Naples, where we all are--or on the island, for instance."
"Signore, in this life there is trouble for all."
"But some troubles, some disasters can be avoided."
"It"s possible."
"Gaspare"--Artois looked at him steadily, searchingly even, and spoke very gravely--"I respect you for your discretion of many years. But if you know of any trouble, any danger that is near to the Signora, and against which I could help you to protect her, I hope you will trust me and tell me. I think you ought to do that."
"I don"t know what you mean, Signore."
"Are you quite sure, Gaspare? Are you quite sure that no one comes to the island who might make the Signora very unhappy?"
Gaspare had dropped his eyes. Now he lifted them, and looked Artois straight in the face.