The Andante, calm, broad and solemn, dominated by a wonderful and pathetic melody, had ended in a sudden outburst of grief. The Finale lingered in a certain rhythmic monotony full of plaintive weariness.
"Now comes your favourite Bach," said Donna Maria.
And when the music commenced they both felt an instinctive desire to draw closer to each other. Their shoulders touched; at the end of each part Andrea leant over her to read the programme which she held open in her hands, and in so doing pressed against her arm, inhaling the perfume of her violets, and sending a wild thrill of ecstasy through her. The Adagio rose with so exultant a song, soared with so jubilant a strain to the topmost summits of rapture, and flowed wide into the Infinite, that it seemed like the voice of some celestial being pouring out the joy of a deathless victory. The spirits of the audience were borne along on that irresistible torrent of sound. When the music ceased, the tremor of the instruments continued for a moment in the hearers. A murmur ran from one end of the hall to the other. A moment later and the applause broke forth vehemently.
The lovers turned simultaneously and looked at one another with swimming eyes.
The music continued; the light began to fade; a gentle warmth pervaded the air, and Donna Maria"s violets breathed a fuller fragrance. Seeing n.o.body near him whom he knew, Andrea almost felt as if he were alone with her.
But he was mistaken. Turning round in one of the pauses, he caught sight of Elena standing at the back of the hall with the Princess of Ferentino. Instantly their eyes met. As he bowed to her, he seemed to catch a singular smile on Elena"s lips.
"To whom are you bowing?" asked Donna Maria, turning round too, "who are those ladies?"
"Lady Heathfield and the Princess of Ferentino."
She noticed a tremor of annoyance in his voice.
"Which of them is the Princess of Ferentino?"
"The fair one."
"The other is very beautiful."
Andrea said nothing.
"But is she English?" she asked again.
"No, she is a Roman. She was the widow of the Duke of Scerni, and now married again to Lord Heathfield."
"She is very lovely."
"What is coming next?" Andrea asked hurriedly.
"The Brahms Quartett in C minor."
"Do you know it?"
"No."
"The second movement is marvellous."
He went on speaking to hide his embarra.s.sment.
"When shall I see you again?" he asked.
"I do not know."
"To-morrow?"
She hesitated. A cloud seemed to have come over her face.
"To-morrow," she answered, "if it is fine I shall take Delfina to the Piazza di Spagna about twelve o"clock."
"And if it is not fine?"
"On Sat.u.r.day evening I shall be at the Countess Starnina"s----"
The music began once more. The first movement expressed a sombre and virile struggle, the Romance a memory full of pa.s.sionate but sad desire, followed by a slow uplifting, faltering and tentative, towards the distant dawn. Out of this a clear and melodious phrase developed itself with splendid modulations. The sentiment was very different from that which animated Bach"s Adagio; it was more human, more earthly, more elegiacal. A breath of Beethoven ran through this music.
Andrea"s nervous perturbation was so great that he feared every moment to betray himself. All his pleasure was embittered. He could not exactly a.n.a.lyse his discomfort; he could neither gather himself together and overcome it, nor put it away from him; he was swayed in turn by the charm of the music and the fascination exercised over him by each of these women without being really dominated by any of the three. He had a vague sensation as of some empty s.p.a.ce, in which heavy blows perpetually resounded followed by dolorous echoes. His thoughts seemed to break up and crumble away into a thousand fragments, and the images of the two women to melt into and destroy one another without his being able to disconnect them or to separate his feeling for the one from his feeling for the other. And above all this mental disturbance was the anxiety occasioned by the immediate circ.u.mstances, by the necessity for adopting some practical line of action. Donna Maria"s slight change of att.i.tude had not escaped him, and he seemed to feel Elena"s gaze riveted upon him. What course should he pursue? He could not make up his mind whether to accompany Donna Maria when she left the concert, or to approach Elena, nor could he determine where this incident would be favourable to him or otherwise with either of the ladies.
"I am going," said Donna Maria, rising at the end of the movement.
"You will not wait till the end?"
"No, I must be home by five o"clock."
"Do not forget--to-morrow morning----"
She held out her hand. It was perhaps the air of the close room that sent a flush to her pale cheek. A velvet mantle of a dull leaden shade, with a deep border of chinchilla, covered her to her feet, and amid the soft gray fur the violets were dying exquisitely. As she pa.s.sed out, she moved with such a queenly grace that many of the ladies turned to follow her with their eyes. It was the first time that in this spiritual creature, the pure Siennese Madonna, Andrea also beheld the elegant woman of the world.
The third movement of the Quartett began. The daylight had diminished so much that the yellow curtains had to be drawn back. Several other ladies left. A low hum of conversation was audible here and there. The fatigue and inattention which invariably marks the end of a concert began to make itself apparent in the audience. By one of those strange and abrupt manifestations of moral elasticity, Andrea experienced a sudden sense of relief, not to say gaiety. In a moment, he had forgotten his sentimental and pa.s.sionate pre-occupations, and all that now appealed to him--to his vanity, to his corrupt senses--was the licentious aspect of the affair.
He thought to himself that in granting him these little innocent rendezvous, Donna Maria had already set her foot on the gentle downward slope of the path at the bottom of which lies sin, inevitable even to the most vigilant soul; he also argued that doubtless a little touch of jealousy would do much towards bringing Elena back to his arms and that thus the one intrigue would help on the other--was it not a vague fear, a jealous foreboding that had made Donna Maria consent so quickly to their next meeting? He saw himself, therefore, well on the way to a two-fold conquest, and he could not repress a smile as he reflected that in both adventures the chief difficulty presented itself under the same guise: both women professed a wish to play the part of sister to him; it was for him to transform these sisters in something closer. He remarked upon other resemblances between the two--That voice! How curiously like Elena"s were some tones in Donna Maria"s voice! A mad thought flashed through his brain. That voice might furnish him with the elements of a study of imagination--by virtue of that affinity, he might resolve the two fair women into one, and thus possess a third, imaginary, mistress, more complex, more perfect, more _true_ because she would be ideal----
The third movement, executed in faultless style, finished in a burst of applause. Andrea rose and approached Elena--
"Oh, there you are, Ugenta! Where have you been all this time?"
exclaimed the Princess--"In the "pays du Tendre?""
"And your incognita?" asked Elena lightly as she pulled a bunch of violets out of her m.u.f.f and sniffed them.
"She is a great friend of my cousin Francesca"s, Donna Maria Ferres y Capdevila, the wife of the new minister for Guatemala," Andrea replied without turning a hair--"a beautiful creature and very cultivated--she was at Schifanoja with Francesca last September."
"And what of Francesca?" Elena broke in--"do you know when she is coming back?"
"I had the latest news from her a day or two ago--from San Remo.
Fernandino is better, but I am afraid she will have to stay on there another month at least, perhaps longer."
"What a pity!"
The last movement, a very short one, began. Elena and the Princess occupied two chairs at the end of the room, against the wall under a dim mirror in which the melancholy hall was reflected. Elena listened with bent head, slowly drawing through her fingers the long ends of her boa.
The concert over, she said to Sperelli: "Will you see us to the carriage?"
As she entered her carriage after the Princess, she turned to him again--"Won"t you come too? We will drop Eva at the Palazzo Fiano, and I can put you down wherever you like."
"Thanks," answered Andrea, nothing loath. On the Corso they were obliged to proceed very slowly, the whole roadway being taken up by a seething, tumultuous crowd. From the Piazza di Montecitorio and the Piazza Colonna came a perfect uproar that swelled and rose and fell and rose again, mingled with shrill trumpet-blasts. The tumult increased as the gray cold twilight deepened. Horror at the tragedy enacted in a far-off land made the populace howl with rage; men broke through the dense crowd running and waving great bundles of newspapers. Through all the clamour, the one word Africa rang distinctly.
"And all this for four hundred brutes who had died the death of brutes!"