"You shall join one or the other of them," said I, "in a few moments.
Have no doubt of that, and let me alone. One condition. I will drop my arm and walk into the house, placing my back at your disposal, if you, in the article of death, as you now stand, will pledge your word to save Virginia from Semifonte. What do you say?"
He gazed at me, open-mouthed, eyes aglow, as I stood waiting. I could see that he was torn; I could see the fiend working and gouging within him, and (I believe) a good angel contending against him. Some time this lasted. Then Palamone gave a bitter laugh--like the barking of a leopard in the night.
"Say?" he mocked me. "Why, I say that you are an exquisite, adorable fool--the very pink of fools. For two ticks I would have taken you at your word. For two ticks."
"It was the third that prevented you," says I. "You are not such a villain as you think yourself."
"I believe that I am not, indeed," he says ruefully. "I have lost a chance. Well, I am ready. But here the shadow is bad. Let us go to the obelisks and stand each back to one. There is a pa.s.sable light there."
"As you will." I went directly out into the middle of the Piazza, and he followed--with my life between his wild hands.
I know not to this hour whether that act of mine was one of sublime courage or of the cra.s.sest folly; I remember that I strode blithely forward, and that he followed; that some chance thing or another caused me to turn my head--the sun burning in a cas.e.m.e.nt, a pigeon, a cat, some speck of accident. That motion saved my life, for immediately afterwards I heard the report, and felt the ball flicker through my hair. The fiend had gouged him again, and he had tried to murder me. At that certainty, in all the fury of disgust that came with it, my stomach turned, and I was possessed by blind rage. I rounded full upon him, and he must have seen cold death in my eyes, for round went he too and ran for his life.
I pelted after him.
He made for the angle of the church whence he had come. There were railings there about a loggia, much broken down, by which, I suppose, he hoped to get some sort of a screen, but I intended him to fight me in the Piazza, so increased my speed, and cut him off that retreat. He doubled, and scoured past the steps of the church, round by the hospital, making for the Via del Fosso; I cut a segment of his circle and stopped him there. Round he span, slavering at the lips, and went dead over the Piazza, to the obelisks, I so close on his traces that I could not have missed him if I had chosen for murder. It was like coursing a hare, for hare-like in his pains, he began to scream--not very loudly; a wretched, wrung and wiry appeal, like some bad woman"s, was all he could muster. Between the obelisks he fell on his knees, and when I reached him was praying, "Sancta Mater! Diva Mater! Ab hostium incidiis libera me!" I saw a head at a window, a head in a night-cap--a man"s. Over it peeped another--a woman"s. But I knew my Florence: there would be no interference in a duel. I said, "Get up, Palamone, and fight with me."
He was wild with terror--cried, "No, no, no--spare me! I give you my word, my sacred word--"
"You have none to give; you have broken it," I told him. "I will have no word in pieces. Get up, liar, and fight."
I got him to his feet, set him by his obelisk to face me. I loaded his piece for him, put it into his hands, then stepped back, facing him always, till I was fifteen yards away. "Drop your glove when you are ready," I told him, "and fire first."
He took as good aim as he could, I am sure; but I could see his shaking arm quite well. He missed me by a full yard at least. Then he waited for me, having got his courage back. I shot him in the breast, and he fell at once, and lay still. The faces at the window had disappeared; looking round the Piazza, I could see nothing but blank green shutters.
When I went up to Palamone he opened his eyes. He was not bleeding freely, and seemed more weak than in pain. "I am a dead man," he said in a whisper--I had to kneel down to hear him--"a dead man who has got his deserts. Semifonte intended to have your Virginia--but it was not Giraldi--it was not Gir--" Strength failed him; I could not catch any more than the name of Aurelia.
"Where are you hurt? Shall I fetch a surgeon?" He was hardly bleeding at all now--a bad sign. He shook his head and lay quiet. I made a pillow of my coat.
When he opened his eyes again they were very dim. "I"m off," he said, in that same dry whisper. "You have served me right--I love you for it. I have always loved you--but--yes, always loved you. Kiss me, Francis, if you can."
I could not refuse. I did kiss him, and he me. "G.o.d receive you, Palamone, and forgive me. I shall go and fetch you a priest." My face being very near him, suddenly he lifted his head and caught my cheek in his teeth. They met there--the dying act of a savage. I wrenched myself free, and heard his head knock with a thud on the pavement. Then I felt the blood stream down my neck. Stopping it as best I could, I went for a surgeon and a priest.
When I came back with them--I may have been half an hour finding the couple--Fra Palamone was gone, and my pistol too, which had my name on the b.u.t.t. "Gentlemen," I said, "I am very sorry, but I a.s.sure you that I left a dying man on this spot. I can only ask you to excuse me for breaking your repose."
The priest said, "He has been found and taken away--no doubt of it."
"He has walked off, most like," said the surgeon. I shook my head. I was sure I had killed him.
"If you are sure of it," said the surgeon, "there is little I could have done for him, and as it is far more to the purpose to dress a living man than a dead one, permit me to attack that ugly flesh wound in your cheek. G.o.d of mercy!" he cried, as he looked into it, "your man must have shot you with a currycomb."
When he had done his best for me I went to bed, and immediately fell asleep.
CHAPTER XXVIII
VIRGINIA ON HER METTLE
I slept like a log until the hour of noon--perfectly dreamless sleep. It was Virginia who awoke me then by shaking my shoulder, not (as usually) by opening the shutter. I heard the bells of the hour ringing and guessed the time; I remembered that Scipione was away; I remembered everything.
"I have your chocolate, Don Francis," she said. "Drink it and rise as soon as possible. You must be out of this."
I replied, "I see no reason for haste. I will write a letter--Ser Bartolo shall take it for me--the answer will be satisfactory."
Virginia kept herself calm by main force. "The house is surrounded," she said. "You will be taken in your bed if you don"t leave it soon." I sat up.
"Virginia, I ask your pardon." She shivered and turned away.
"Speak no more of that."
"But I must. You were right, and I--" She threw up her head with a little cry, fell upon her knees. She took my hand and covered it with kisses.
"No more. I cannot bear it. Who am I? What am I? Say what you please to me, but never plead with me." I could see her shoulders shaking.
"I must say what I have to say--" I would have continued. She gave another sharp cry--shivered again miserably. In the half light of the room I could see her lift her pale face towards the ceiling. It seemed to me that she prayed. After a while she looked down again and said quietly, "Speak now--and have done with it."
I told her what had occurred in the small hours; I did not spare myself.
When I said that I had shot Fra Palamone she shook her head.
"You might as well hope to shoot the devil. All you have done is to give yourself into the hands of them who hire him. You are to be sent to Volterra or the galleys for this. The men outside are sbirri."
I told her that I should write to Count Giraldi. She laughed. "Your Count Giraldi will be out of Florence. Do you think him a child? His one desire is to get rid of you. No, no. You must disguise yourself. This is a trap."
"I refused to take your word last night, my dear," I said, "and should be sorry to do it again. If the sbirri want me they can take me on a warrant."
"They have no warrant. They will get that afterwards. Do you think them so stupid? While they were getting their warrant you might get clear away. Or suppose you appeared? The whole story might come out, and a number of fine people implicated. And what of your English resident? And what of your Donna Aurelia, if you are not careful of yourself? Do you wish to get her name abroad? No, no. In Tuscany we imprison a man first and get the warrant afterwards, if necessary. That is how they will work, quietly, with decency--no conversations. They have been here since eight o"clock this morning, and the Piazza is quite empty. They have seen to that, of course. If you look through the shutter you can see them. They are in no sort of hurry."
I did look, and saw that she was right. There were no people in the Piazza--at midday--but four men, who stood at intervals in att.i.tudes of detachment and irresponsibility far too p.r.o.nounced to be real. The church was closed, most of the houses were shuttered; all this was too remarkable not to have been arranged. Virginia and I looked at one another; but she watched me like a cat, keeping guard over every movement of mine. One hand pressed her bosom, the other was stretched downwards--a straight, tense line from shoulder to finger-tips.
"Virginia, listen to me," I began; a heedless invocation. Every fibre of her listened and watched. "If this is a trap, as I agree it is, then you are the mouse. n.o.body in Florence would care whether I have shot Fra Palamone, or he me. The count--taking him as you take him--knows that I have no intentions but honest ones towards Donna Aurelia; taking him as I take him he will defend me. No, my child, this is the marchese"s affair. I can see that he has been after you from the time he saw you playing the handsome lady at Prato. He thinks he has you, but I will show him that he is wrong. Let me once get you away, be a.s.sured of your safety, and I shall open the door to the pleasure of these gentlemen.
Father Carnesecchi--the count--oh, I have no fear of Palamone"s posthumous acts, I can a.s.sure you."
I spoke cheerfully, confidently, but Virginia was put into great agitation. She began to flit about the room like a moth, wringing her hands and whimpering to herself.
"O Dio!" she fretted, "O Dio caro! What shall I do? Madonna, Madonna, Madonna, what will become of me?" She was quite inarticulate, could only repeat her names, and wail, and beat herself into a fever. I went to comfort her, and then, as if some tie were cut by the act, she turned upon me in a white tempest of fury, no longer a girl but a devil. "Do you dare?" she raved, "Do you dare? Oh, but I could kill you now with my hands!" She took me by the shoulders and stared into my face, panting her fierce breath upon me--blasts of breath as hot as fire. "Look at me, Francis, look at me, I say. You see the one person in the world who loves you. You fool, you fool, with your Giraldis and Aurelias and Jesuit dogs--with your head in the air, and your heart in your hand--to be thrown like soldi to these routing swine! Misery, ah, misery!" She flung her head sideways that she should not look at me, and with her hands gripped my shoulders till I winced. She tossed her hair from her face and leapt into the battle again, scolding, rating, praying like a mad thing. Her words came so fast that I cannot attempt their semblance here, and her voice rose and fell in a kind of querulous chant to which sometimes she nodded her head, as if she was beating the time. "Yes, I know, yes, I know--I will tell you the truth for once, and you shall kill Virginia with your own hands, and lay her on your bed and go away and be a fool. Your Jesuit wants your money, and your count your mistress, and Palamone will take you stripped of all and sell you to the Grand Duke. So you will kill your Virginia because she loves you, and love your Aurelia because she does not, and all those others will trick you, and play with you, and suck you dry, and throw you away like the rind of an orange. Ah, now you have the truth, and now you will kill me.
Kill, kill, Francis!"
She had a fit of shivering which made her teeth chatter together and her breath draw in with a moaning most piteous to hear. She showed the whites of her eyes, swayed about, was on the point of falling, when all of a sudden she came to herself again, caught me in her arms, pressed her bosom against me, kissed me on the lips--kissed until I felt her teeth--then sprang from me, and before I could stop her was out of the room, and half way downstairs. Half divining her purpose, I flew to get her back, but was too late. I heard the street door open and shut. She was in the Piazza.
My landlord--he was a notary by trade, and by name Ser Torpe--was dismayed to see me in bedgown and slippers. "Never go as you are, sir!"
he cried. "Go like an eccellenza, bid them fetch a chair. Light of Light, what a costume for Volterra!" I ran upstairs past him, took down my birding-piece, primed it and went to the window. Virginia was talking to two of the sbrri, putting up her hair as she did so, with complete unconcern of what she displayed. She was in her usual negligent undress-- all her cla.s.s are the same in the mornings--of a loose shift and stuff petticoat. Her bosom was bare, her bare feet were in slippers; for her hair she had but a single pin. It was to be seen that the men viewed her with admiration, as some wanton newly from her bed. They used an easy familiarity not at all pleasant; one of them, who could not take his eyes off her, said nothing, the other put his hand on her waist. I was angry with her, I confess without reason. She disengaged herself. I heard her impatient "No, no! ma senta--"; she continued in rapid undertones.
One of the men looked up at my window, and saw me, gun in hand. He shifted his glance a little higher and affected to be searching the roof of the house. A third man joined his companions; there was much laughing and jesting--no doubt some rough compliments pa.s.sed. Virginia, however, steered her way to her main purpose through the tangle of confessions, excuses and refusals which they forced upon her; but I suppose she had to give some ground, for presently two of their heads came very close to hers. I saw their eager faces and Virginia"s considering look. It was a courtship. She was playing her part, and they believed her to be what she appeared. That applied only to two of the three; the third, he who watched her so closely and said nothing, held apart. He had an ugly look. The others, absorbed in the pursuit, took no notice of him; but I kept my eyes upon him, and was not at all surprised at what followed.
Virginia, after long debate, pretended to yield. Something was proposed to her; she considered it. It was pressed upon her by two ardent voices; she looked awry and laughed. The chase quickened--one of the men took her hand, the other brought a coin from his pocket, spat on it, and pressed it on her. As she hesitated with the money on her palm, the silent watcher of all this whipped out a long knife and drove it into his comrade"s back between the shoulders. He groaned deeply, flung his arms out and fell. The fourth man came running over the Piazza from his point, Virginia shrieked and ran back to the house. I saw--as if invisible barriers had been removed--men, women and boys come running in from all side streets. It was like a performance in a theatre.