But still she did not know whether he had written that sentence in the book at Frisio"s carelessly, or prompted by some violent impulse to express a secret thought or feeling of the moment.
"Things good or evil?" she said, slowly.
"Perhaps both."
The Marchesino burst into a laugh. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head, and holding the table with his two hands. His white teeth gleamed.
"What is the joke?" asked Artois.
Vere turned her head.
"Oh, nothing. It"s too silly. I can"t imagine why the Marchesino is so much amused by it."
Artois felt shut out. But when Vere and he had laughed over the tea-table in a blessed community of happy foolishness, who could have understood their mirth? He remembered how he had pitied the imagined outsider.
He turned again to Hermione, but such conversation as theirs, and indeed all serious conversation, now seemed to him heavy, portentous, almost ludicrous. The young alone knew how to deal with life, chasing it as a child chases a colored air-ball, and when it would sink, and fall and be inert, sending it with a gay blow soaring once more towards the blue.
Perhaps Hermione had a similar thought, or perhaps she knew of it in him. At any rate, for a moment she had nothing to say. Nor had he. And so, tacitly excluded, as it seemed, from the merriment of the young ones, the two elders remained looking towards each other in silence, sunk in a joint exile.
Presently Artois began to fidget with his bread. He pulled out some of the crumb from his roll, and pressed it softly between his large fingers, and scattered the tiny fragments mechanically over the table-cloth near his plate. Hermione watched his moving hand. The Marchesino was talking now. He was telling Vere about a paper-chase at Capodimonte, which had started from the Royal Palace. His vivacity, his excitement made a paper-chase seem one of the most brilliant and remarkable events in a brilliant and remarkable world. He had been the hare. And such a hare! Since hares were first created and placed in the Garden of Eden there had been none like unto him. He told of his cunning exploits.
The fingers of Artois moved faster. Hermione glanced at his face.
Its ma.s.siveness looked heavy. The large eyes were fixed upon the table-cloth. His hand just then was more expressive. And as she glanced at it again something very pitiful awoke in her, something pitiful for him and for herself. She felt that very often lately she had misunderstood him--she had been confused about him. But now, in this moment, she understood him perfectly.
He pulled some more crumb out of his roll.
She was fascinated by his hand. Much as it had written, it had never written more clearly on paper than it was writing now.
But suddenly she felt as if she could not look at it any more, as if it was intolerable to look at it. And she turned towards the open window.
"What is it?" Artois asked her. "Is there too much air for you?"
"Oh no. It isn"t that. I was only thinking what a quant.i.ty of people pa.s.s by, and wondering where they were all going, and what they were all thinking and hoping. I don"t know why they should have come into my head just then. I suppose it will soon be time for us to start for the festa."
"Yes. We"ll have coffee in my sitting-room--when they are ready." He looked again at Vere and the Marchesino.
"Have we all finished? I thought we would go and have coffee up-stairs.
What do you say, Vere?"
He spoke cheerfully.
"Yes; do let us."
They all got up. As Hermione and Vere moved towards the door Artois leaned out of the window for a moment.
"You needn"t be afraid. There will be no storm to-night, Emilio!" said the Marchesino, gayly--almost satirically.
"No--it"s quite fine."
Artois drew in. "We ought to have a perfect evening," he added, quietly.
CHAPTER XXIX
"How are we going to drive to the Carmine?" said Artois to Hermione, when she had taken her cloak and was ready to go down.
"We must have two carriages."
"Yes."
"Vere and I will go in one, with Gaspare on the box, and you and the Marchese can follow in the other."
"Signora," said the Marchesino, drawing on his white gloves, "you still do not trust us? You are still determined to take the watch-dog? It is cruel of you. It shows a great want of faith in Emilio and in me."
"Gaspare must come."
The Marchesino said no more, only shrugged his shoulders with an air of humorous resignation which hid a real chagrin. He knew how watchful a Sicilian can be, how unyielding in attention to his mistresses, if he thinks they need protection.
But perhaps this Gaspare was to be bribed.
Instinctively the Marchesino put his hand into his waistcoat pocket, and began to feel the money there.
Yes, there was a gold piece.
"Come, Panacci!"
Emilio"s hand touched his shoulder, and he followed the ladies out of the room.
Emilio had called him "Panacci." That sounded almost like a declaration of war. Well, he was ready. At dinner his had been the triumph, and Emilio knew it. He meant his triumph to be a greater one before the evening was over. The reappearance of the gay child in Vere, grafted upon the comprehending woman whom he had seen looking out of her eyes on the day of his last visit to the island, had put the finishing touch to the amorous madness of the Marchesino. He dreamed Vere an accomplished coquette. He believed that her cruelty on the night of his serenade, that her coldness and avoidance of him on the day of the lunch, were means devised to increase his ardor. She had been using Emilio merely as an instrument. He had been a weapon in her girlish hands. That was the suitable fate of the old--usefulness.
The Marchesino was in a fever of antic.i.p.ation. Possibly Vere would play into his hands when they got to the festa. If not, he must manage things for himself. The Signora, of course, would make Emilio her escort. Vere would naturally fall to him, the Marchesino.
But there was the fifth--this Gaspare.
When they came out to the pavement the Marchesino cast a searching glance at the Sicilian, who was taking the cloaks, while the two carriages which had been summoned by the hotel porter were rattling up from the opposite side of the way. Gaspare had saluted him, but did not look at him again. When Hermione and Vere were in the first carriage, Gaspare sprang on to the box as a matter of course. The Marchesino went to tell the coachman which way to drive to the Carmine. When he had finished he looked at Gaspare and said:
"There will be a big crowd. Take care the Signora does not get hurt in it."
He laid a slight emphasis on the word "Signora," and put his hand significantly into his waistcoat-pocket.
Gaspare regarded him calmly.
"Va bene, Signor Marchese," he replied. "I will take care of the Signora and the Signorina."
The Marchesino turned away and jumped into the second carriage with Emilio, realizing angrily that his gold piece would avail him nothing.
As they drove off Artois drew out some small square bits of paper.