CHAPTER VI.
"What is it, dear girl?--Let me think?" said Leonora to her youngcousin. They sat in a small ante-room between their sleeping chambers,which gave entrance from the corridor to each.
"And what would you think of, Leonora?" asked Bianca, laughingwickedly.
Leonora gazed from the window, whence was seen the garden below bathedin moonlight, with faint glimpses of the distant country, and thesparkle of the rays upon the fountain whose voice came murmuring up.She did not answer, but continued silent, with her cheek resting onher hand, and her arm upon the sill of the window.
"I know right well whom you are thinking of," said Bianca, bendingdown her head so as to gaze upon the beautiful face.
"Not you," said Leonora; "I am thinking of my father; and how strangeit is that he who loves me well, I know, should show his love solittle."
"Can you think of two things at once, Leonora?" asked her cousin, "forI know one thing you are thinking of, and you tell me of another. Youare thinking of Lorenzo Visconti; and how strange it is that you, wholove him well, have not the heart to own it to yourself."
"Go, go, you are a silly child," answered Leonora, "you cannot knowwhat love is, nor I either, except love for your parents or yourkinsfolk. I think not of Lorenzo Visconti; he is a comely youth, andpleasant in his conversation; but he will go hence in a day, forget mein another, and I him before the third evening comes. You want to makeme fall in love with him, but I tell you, Blanche, you will tire me ofhim."
"Faith, I do not want you to love him," replied Bianca, "for I am halfin love with him myself, and can't spare him--only, you know, there isone obstacle."
"Well, well, go and sleep over it," replied Leonora, "then riseto-morrow, and whisper gently in his ear that, if he will but wait ayear or two--this loving land and warm climate notwithstanding--he canwed the beautiful heiress of the house of Rovera, and--but whatobstacle do you talk of, Blanche?"
"The Church! the Church!" replied the other girl; "we are fullcousins, you know, Leonora--within the forbidden degrees. My mother'seldest sister was his mother."
"But a poor obstacle," answered Leonora; "one of the two bags of theChurch is always open to take in gold, and the other to let outdispensations."
"Yes: but somehow I can never look on him as aught else but a cousin,"replied Bianca--"a sort of brother. As such I love him well; but as Isaid, I am only half in love with him---a fraternal love, which is ahalf love, I suppose. I do not know much about it; but I do not judgeI could let him kiss me so coolly if I loved him any better. Bless mypoor heart, Leonora, we were boy and girl together when we were inFlorence, and were we to marry, I should always think him playfellowinstead of husband. But I'll to bed and sleep; I have nothing to keepme awake. You go to bed and sleep, if you can. I know you, Leonora."
"No, you do not," murmured her cousin; "but I shall sit up and look atthe moonlight for a time."
"And wish that the nightingale had not ceased to sing true-loveditties," replied Bianca gaily. "Well, good night. Leave the doorsopen, that I may hear if you sigh about Lorenzo in your sleep."
Bianca, or, as the French called her, Blanche Marie, then left hergaily, and with a light heart was soon asleep. Leonora d'Orco satquite still by the window, and gazed forth. All was still andtranquil. The air was clear and soft, and yet there seemed a sort ofhaze--a haze of brightness over the landscape. Have you neverremarked, reader, especially in southern climates, that the moonsometimes pours forth her pale rays in such profusion that it seems asif a mist of light spread over the scene? So was it at that moment;and though the nightingale, as Blanche Marie had said, no longertrilled his summer song, yet every now and then a note or two from hissweet voice burst upon the ear--a song, begun as if in memory, andbroken off as if in despair. The time of love was past, and he couldsing no more; but the remembrance of happy days woke up under the warmautumn splendour, and a few short plaintive notes came welling fromthe fountains of regret.
Of what was the young maiden thinking? What feelings woke up in herbosom under that bright moon?
What harmonious chord vibrated in her bosom to the broken tones of thesolitary songster of the night?
Gaze down into a deep, deep well, reader, and if you gaze long enough,you will catch an uncertain gleam of light, you know not whence,glistening upon the surface of waters below you; but you cannot fathomthose waters with the eye, nor see aught that they cover; and so it iswith the heart of woman to those who would scan it from a distance. Ifyou would know what is beneath, plunge down into its depths, torch inhand; you may perish, but you will know all that can be known of thatmost deep, mysterious thing.
At length there was the sound of a light footstep on the terracebeneath, and Leonora started and listened. The foot that produced thesound was still distant, and she quietly glided through the open doorinto her cousin's chamber. Blanche Marie was already sleepingpeacefully, the light covering hardly veiling the contour of the youngbeautiful limbs, the hair already escaped from the net intended torestrain it, and the white uncovered arm cast negligently under thewarm, rosy cheek. Her breathing was soft, and low, and even, and thehalf-open lips showed the pearly teeth between.
"How beautiful she is!" murmured Leonora; "and how sweet and gentleshe looks! So looked Psyche;" and with a noiseless step she left theroom, and closed the door behind her.
She took her seat near the window again, behind the rich deepmoulding, as if she would see without being seen; but the lightedtaper on the table cast her shadow across without her knowing it; andthere she sat, and once more listened. The step was very, very nearnow, and the next instant it stopped beneath the window. Then came asilent pause for a moment, and Leonora's heart beat.
"Bianca," said the voice of Lorenzo, "is that you, dear cousin?"
Leonora was strongly tempted to say yes, but yet she felt ashamed ofthe positive falsehood, and, with a sort of compromise withconscience, she answered, almost in a whisper:
"Hush! speak low."
"Which is Leonora's chamber?" asked the voice again.
"Why?" demanded the young girl, in the same low tone, but with strangesensations in her bosom.
"I wish to sing to her," answered the youth, "and to tell her all Idared not tell this evening. I am ordered to Pavia early to-morrow,dear cousin, and must leave you to plead my cause, but I would fainsay one word for myself first."
Oh, how Leonora's heart beat.
"Then it is not Bianca," she murmured to herself; "it is not Bianca.The next room on your right," she answered, still speaking low; butsuddenly there came upon her a feeling of shame for the deception, andshe added, "What is it you would say, Lorenzo? Leonora is here; Biancahas been sleeping for an hour. But don't sing, and speak low. SignorRovera's apartments are close by."
But Lorenzo would not heed the warning; and though he did not raisehis voice to its full power, he sang, in a sweet, low tone, a littlecanzonetta, which had much currency some few years before in Florence:
"What time the Greek, in days of yore, Bent down his own, fair work before, He woke the echoes of the grove With words like these, 'Oh, could she love!'
"Heaven heard the sculptor's wild desire; Love warmed the statue with its fire; But when he saw the marble move, He asked, still fearful, 'Will she love?'
"She loved--she loved; and wilt thou be More cold, Madonna, unto me? Then hear my song, and let me prove If you can love--if you can love."
"Songs are false--men are falser, Lorenzo," answered Leonora, bendinga little from the window: "you will sing that canzonetta to the nextpretty eye you see."
"It will be Leonora's then," answered the youth. "Can you not comedown, dear Leonora, and let me hear my fate under the olive-trees? Ifear to tell you all I feel in this place, lest other ears should belistening. Oh! come down, for I must go hence by daybreak to-morrow."
"Oh! do not go so soon," murmured Leonora; "I will be down and on theterrace by daybreak; but to-night--no, no, Lorenzo, I cannot,
for verymaiden shame, come down to-night. There, take my glove, Lorenzo, andif I find you still wear it for my sake when next we meet, I shallknow--and then, perhaps--perhaps I will tell you more. But there issome one coming--fly! fly!--the other way. He is coming from the eastend of the terrace."
"I never turned my back on friend or foe," answered Lorenzo, turningto confront the new comer.
Leonora drew back from the window and put out the light, but shelistened with eager ears. "It was very like my father's figure," shethought; "his height, his walk, but yet, methinks, stouter. Hark! thatis not his voice--one of the servants, perhaps."
The next instant there was a clash of steel, and she ran anxiously tothe window. At some twenty yards distance she saw Lorenzo, sword inhand, defending himself against a man apparently much more powerfulthan himself. For a moment or two she gazed, bewildered, and notknowing what to do. Lorenzo at first seemed to stand entirely on thedefensive; but soon his blood grew hot, and, in answer to hisadversary's lunge, he lunged again; but the other held a dagger in hisleft hand, and with it easily parried the blade. The next pass she sawher lover stagger. She could bear no more, and, running down, shescreamed aloud to wake the servants, who slept near the hall. An oldman, a porter, was still dozing in a chair, and started up,exclaiming:
"What is it; what is it, signorina?"
"Haste! haste! Bring your halbert!" cried Leonora, pulling back slowlythe great heavy door, and running down the steps; "there is murderabout."
She fancied she should behold Lorenzo already fallen before his morevigorous enemy; but, on the contrary, he was now pressing him hardwith an agility and vigour which outweighed the strength of maturityon the part of the other. All was as clear in the bright moonlight asif the sun had been shining; and, as Leonora sprung forward, shebeheld, or thought she beheld, her lover's assailant gain someadvantage. Lorenzo was pressed back along the terrace towards the spotwhere she stood. He seemed to fly, though still with his face to hisadversary, but he had been well disciplined to arms in Italy as wellas France, and knew every art of defence or assault. The space betweenhim and his foe increased till he nearly reached the young girl'sside, and then, with a sudden bound, like that of a lion, he sprangupon his enemy and passed his guard. What followed Leonora could notsee; it was all the work of a moment; but the next instant she beheldthe elder man raise his hand as if to strike with his dagger, drop itagain, and fall back heavily upon the terrace.
Lorenzo leaned upon his sword, and seemed seeking to recover breath,while Leonora ran up to him, asking, "Are you hurt; are you hurt,Lorenzo?"
Ere he could answer there were many people around them. No house inItaly was unaccustomed to such scenes in those days. Indeed, scenesmuch more terrible habituated everybody, servants, masters, retinue,to wake at the first call, and to have everything ready for resistanceand defence. A number of the attendants poured forth from the door shehad left open, some with useless torches lighted, some with arms intheir hands. Then came her father, Ramiro d'Orco, and last, the oldCount Rovera himself, while Blanche Marie appeared at the windowabove, eagerly asking what had befallen.
No one answered her, but the Signor d'Orco advanced calmly to the sideof the fallen man, gazed at him for a moment, and then turned toLorenzo, asking, "Is he dead?"
"I know not," replied the young man, sheathing his sword.
"Who is he?" demanded Ramiro again.
"Neither know I that," said the youth; "he attacked me unprovoked as Iwalked here upon the terrace in the moonlight; but I never saw hisface before, that I know of."
"Walked and sang," answered Ramiro, drily. "Perhaps he did not likeyour music, Signor Visconti."
"Probably," replied the youth, quite calmly. "It was but poor, and yetnot worth killing a man for. Besides, as it was not intended for him,but for a lady, it could give him no offence."
"Not quite clear logic that, good youth," answered Ramiro. "Do any ofyou know this man?" he continued, turning to the servants.
"Not I;" "not I," answered several; but the old Count of Rovera bentdown his head toward the man's face, waving the rest away that themoonlight might fall upon him. "Why, this is Pietro Buondoni, ofFerrara;" he exclaimed; "an attendant on Count Ludovico, and a greatfavorite. What could induce him to attack you, Lorenzo?"
"I know not, sir," replied Lorenzo; "I never set eyes on him before.He called me a French hound, and, ere I could answer him, he hadnearly run me through the body. I had hardly time to draw."
"Well, bear him in--bear him in," said the old lord; "though I judgefrom his look he will not attack any one again. Did I not see Leonorahere?"
But by this time she was gone, and Lorenzo took care not to answer. Ashe followed the rest into the villa, however, he stooped to pick upsomething from the ground. What if it were a lady's glove!