"Fair play, signor! Fair play! Strength becomes mere bullying when it is employed against absolute weakness."
Ferrari laughed again, but this time uneasily, and ceasing his monkeyish pranks, walked to the window. Smoothing Stella"s tumbled hair, I added with a sarcastic smile:
"This little donzella, will have her revenge when she grows up.
Recollecting how one man teased her in childhood, she, in return, will consider herself justified in teasing all men. Do you not agree with me, madame?" I said, turning to my wife, who gave me a sweetly coquettish look as she answered:
"Well, really, conte, I do not know! For with the remembrance of one man who teased her, must come also the thought of another who was kind to her--yourself--she will find it difficult to decide the juste milieu."
A subtle compliment was meant to be conveyed in these words. I acknowledged it by a silent gesture of admiration, which she quickly understood and accepted. Was ever a man in the position of being delicately flattered by his own wife before? I think not! Generally married persons are like candid friends--fond of telling each other very unpleasant truths, and altogether avoiding the least soupcon of flattery. Though I was not so much flattered as amused--considering the position of affairs. Just then a servant threw open the door and announced dinner. I set my child very gently down from my knee and whisperingly told her that I would come and see her soon again. She smiled trustfully, and then in obedience to her mother"s imperative gesture, slipped quietly out of the room. As soon as she had gone I praised her beauty warmly, for she was really a lovely little thing--but I could see my admiration of her was not very acceptable to either my wife or her lover. We all went in to dinner--I, as guest, having the privilege of escorting my fair and spotless spouse! On our reaching the dining-room Nina said--
"You are such an old friend of the family, conte, that perhaps you will not mind sitting at the head of the table?"
"Tropp" onore, signora!" I answered, bowing gallantly, as I at once resumed my rightful place at my own table, Ferrari placing himself on my right hand, Nina on my left. The butler, my father"s servant and mine, stood as of old behind my chair, and I noticed that each time he supplied me with wine he eyed me with a certain timid curiosity--but I knew I had a singular and conspicuous appearance, which easily accounted for his inquisitiveness. Opposite to where I sat, hung my father"s portrait--the character I personated permitted me to look at it fixedly and give full vent to the deep sigh which in very earnest broke from my heart. The eyes of the picture seemed to gaze into mine with a sorrowful compa.s.sion--almost I fancied the firm-set lips trembled and moved to echo my sigh.
"Is that a good likeness?" Ferrari asked, suddenly.
I started, and recollecting myself, answered: "Excellent! So true a resemblance that it arouses along train of memories in my mind--memories both bitter and sweet. Ah! what a proud fellow he was!"
"Fabio was also very proud," chimed in my wife"s sweet voice. "Very cold and haughty."
Little liar! How dared she utter this libel on my memory! Haughty, I might have been to others, but never to her--and coldness was no part of my nature. Would that it were! Would that I had been a pillar of ice, incapable of thawing in the sunlight of her witching smile! Had she forgotten what a slave I was to her? what a poor, adoring, pa.s.sionate fool I became under the influence of her hypocritical caresses! I thought this to myself, but I answered aloud:
"Indeed! I am surprised to hear that. The Romani hauteur had ever to my mind something genial and yielding about it--I know my friend was always most gentle to his dependents."
The butler here coughed apologetically behind his hand--an old trick of his, and one which signified his intense desire to speak.
Ferrari laughed, as he held out his gla.s.s for more wine.
"Here is old Giacomo," he said, nodding to him lightly. "He remembers both the Romanis--ask him HIS opinion of Fabio--he worshiped his master."
I turned to my servant, and with a benignant air addressed him:
"Your face is not familiar to me, my friend," I said. "Perhaps you were not here when I visited the elder Count Romani?"
"No, eccellenza," replied Giacomo, rubbing his withered hands nervously together, and speaking with a sort of suppressed eagerness, "I came into my lord"s service only a year before the countess died--I mean the mother of the young count."
"Ah! then I missed making your acquaintance," I said, kindly, pitying the poor old fellow, as I noticed how his lips trembled, and how altogether broken he looked. "You knew the last count from childhood, then?"
"I did, eccellenza!" And his bleared eyes roved over me with a sort of alarmed inquiry.
"You loved him well?" I said, composedly, observing him with embarra.s.sment.
"Eccellenza, I never wish to serve a better master. He was goodness itself--a fine, handsome, generous lad--the saints have his soul in their keeping! Though sometimes I cannot believe he is dead--my old heart almost broke when I heard it. I have never been the same since--my lady will tell you so--she is often displeased with me."
And he looked wistfully at her; there was a note of pleading in his hesitating accents. My wife"s delicate brows drew together in a frown, a frown that I had once thought came from mere petulance, but which I was now inclined to accept as a sign of temper. "Yes, indeed, Giacomo,"
she said, in hard tones, altogether unlike her usual musical voice.
"You are growing so forgetful that it is positively annoying. You know I have often to tell you the same thing several times. One command ought to be sufficient for you."
Giacomo pa.s.sed his hand over his forehead in a troubled way, sighed, and was silent. Then, as if suddenly recollecting his duty, he refilled my gla.s.s, and shrinking aside, resumed his former position behind my chair.
The conversation now turned on desultory and indifferent matters. I knew my wife was an excellent talker, but on that particular evening I think she surpa.s.sed herself. She had resolved to fascinate me, THAT I saw at once, and she spared no pains to succeed in her ambition.
Graceful sallies, witty bon-mots tipped with the pungent sparkle of satire, gay stories well and briskly told, all came easily from her lips, so that though I knew her so well, she almost surprised me by her variety and fluency. Yet this gift of good conversation in a woman is apt to mislead the judgment of those who listen, for it is seldom the result of thought, and still more seldom is it a proof of intellectual capacity. A woman talks as a brook babbles; pleasantly, but without depth. Her information is generally of the most surface kind--she skims the cream off each item of news, and serves it up to you in her own fashion, caring little whether it be correct or the reverse. And the more vivaciously she talks, the more likely she is to be dangerously insincere and cold-hearted, for the very sharpness of her wit is apt to spoil the more delicate perceptions of her nature. Show me a brilliant woman noted for turning an epigram or pointing a satire, and I will show you a creature whose life is a masquerade, full of vanity, sensuality and pride. The man who marries such a one must be content to take the second place in his household, and play the character of the henpecked husband with what meekness he best may. Answer me, ye long suffering spouses of "society women" how much would you give to win back your freedom and self-respect? to be able to hold your head up unabashed before your own servants? to feel that you can actually give an order without its being instantly countermanded? Ah, my poor friends! millions will not purchase you such joy; as long as your fascinating fair ones are like Caesar"s wife, "above suspicion" (and they are generally prudent managers), so long must you dance in their chains like the good-natured clumsy bears that you are, only giving vent to a growl now and then; a growl which at best only excites ridicule. My wife was of the true world worldly; never had I seen her real character so plainly as now, when she exerted herself to entertain and charm me. I had thought her spirituelle, ethereal, angelic! never was there less of an angel than she! While she talked, I was quick to observe the changes on Ferrari"s countenance. He became more silent and sullen as her brightness and cordiality increased. I would not appear aware of the growing stiffness in his demeanor; I continued to draw him into the conversation, forcing him to give opinions on various subjects connected with the art of which he was professedly a follower. He was very reluctant to speak at all; and when compelled to do so, his remarks were curt and almost snappish, so much so that my wife made a laughing comment on his behavior.
"You are positively ill-tempered, Guido!" she exclaimed, then remembering she had addressed him by his Christian name, she turned to me and added--"I always call him Guido, en famille; you know he is just like a brother to me."
He looked at her and his eyes flashed dangerously, but he was mute.
Nina was evidently pleased to see him in such a vexed mood; she delighted to pique his pride, and as he steadily gazed at her in a sort of reproachful wonder, she laughed joyously. Then rising from the table, she made us a coquettish courtesy.
"I will leave you two gentlemen to finish your wine together," she said, "I know all men love to talk a little scandal, and they must be alone to enjoy it. Afterward, will you join me in the veranda? You will find coffee ready."
I hastened to open the door for her as she pa.s.sed out smiling; then, returning to the table, I poured out more wine for myself and Ferrari, who sat gloomily eying his own reflection in the broad polished rim of a silver fruit-dish that stood near him. Giacomo, the butler, had long ago left the room; we were entirely alone. I thought over my plans for a moment or two; the game was as interesting as a problem in chess.
With the deliberation of a prudent player I made my next move.
"A lovely woman!" I murmured, meditatively, sipping my wine, "and intelligent also. I admire your taste, signor!"
He started violently. "What--what do you mean?" he demanded, half fiercely. I stroked my mustache and smiled at him benevolently.
"Ah, young blood! young blood!" I sighed, shaking my head, "it will have its way! My good sir, why be ashamed of your feelings? I heartily sympathize with you; if the lady does not appreciate the affection of so ardent and gallant an admirer, then she is foolish indeed! It is not every woman who has such a chance of happiness."
"You think--you imagine that--that--I--"
"That you are in love with her?" I said, composedly. "Ma--certamente!
And why not? It is as it should be. Even the late conte could wish no fairer fate for his beautiful widow than that she should become the wife of his chosen friend. Permit me to drink your health! Success to your love!" And I drained my gla.s.s as I finished speaking, Unfortunate fool! He was completely disarmed; his suspicions of me melted away like mist before the morning light. His face cleared--he seized my hand and pressed it warmly.
"Forgive me, conte," he said, with remorseful fervor; "I fear I have been rude and unsociable. Your kind words have put me right again. You will think me a jealous madman, but I really fancied that you were beginning to feel an attraction for her yourself, and actually--(pardon me, I entreat of you!) actually I was making up my mind to--to kill you!"
I laughed quietly. "Veramente! How very amiable of you! It was a good intention, but you know what place is paved with similar designs?"
"Ah, conte, it is like your generosity to take my confession so lightly; but I a.s.sure you, for the last hour I have been absolutely wretched!"
"After the fashion of all lovers, I suppose," I answered "torturing yourself without necessity! Well, well, it is very amusing! My young friend, when you come to my time of life, you will prefer the c.h.i.n.k of gold to the laughter and kisses of women. How often must I repeat to you that I am a man absolutely indifferent to the tender pa.s.sion?
Believe it or not, it is true."
He drank off his wine at one gulp and spoke with some excitement.
"Then I will frankly confide in you. I DO love the contessa. Love! it is too weak a word to describe what I feel. The touch of her hand thrills me, her very voice seems to shake my soul, her eyes burn through me! Ah! YOU cannot know--YOU could not understand the joy, the pain--"
"Calm yourself," I said, in a cold tone, watching my victim as his pent-up emotion betrayed itself, "The great thing is to keep the head cool when the blood burns. You think she loves you?"
"Think! Gran Dio! She has--" here he paused and his face flushed deeply--"nay! I have no right to say anything on that score. I know she never cared for her husband."
"I know that too!" I answered, steadily. "The most casual observer cannot fail to notice it."
"Well, and no wonder!" he exclaimed, warmly. "He was such an undemonstrative fool! What business had such a fellow as that to marry so exquisite a creature!"
My heart leaped with a sudden impulse of fury, but I controlled my voice and answered calmly:
"Requiescat in pace! He is dead--let him rest. Whatever his faults, his wife of course was true to him while he lived; she considered him worthy of fidelity--is it not so?"