CHAPTER XI.
San Giacinto had signally failed in his attempt to prevent the meetingbetween Gouache and Faustina Montevarchi, and had unintentionallycaused trouble of a much more serious nature in another quarter. TheZouave returned to his lodging late at night, and of course found nonote upon his dressing-table. He did not miss the pin, for he of coursenever wore it, and attached no particular value to a thing of suchsmall worth which he had picked up in the street and which consequentlyhad no associations for him. He lacked the sense of order in hisbelongings, and the pin had lain neglected for weeks among a heap ofuseless little trifles, dingy cotillon favours that had been theresince the previous year, stray copper coins, broken pencils, uniformbuttons and such trash, accumulated during many months and totallyunheeded. Had he seen the pin anywhere else he would have recognisedit, but he did not notice its absence. The old woman, Caterina Ranucci,hugged her money and said nothing about either of the visitors who hadentered the room during the afternoon. The consequence was that Gouacherose early on the following morning and went towards the church with alight heart. He did not know certainly that Faustina would come there,and indeed there were many probabilities against her doing so, but inthe hopefulness of a man thoroughly in love, Gouache looked forward toseeing her with as much assurance as though the matter had beenarranged and settled between them.
The parish church of Sant' Agostino is a very large building. Themasses succeed each other in rapid succession from seven o'clock in themorning until midday, and a great crowd of parishioners pass in and outin an almost constant stream. It was therefore Gouache's intention toarrive so early as to be sure that Faustina had not yet come, and hetrusted to luck to be there at the right time, for he was obliged tovisit the temporary barrack of his corps before going to the church,and was also obliged to attend mass at a later hour with his battalion.On presenting himself at quarters he learned to his surprise that MonteRotondo had not surrendered yet, though news of the catastrophe wasexpected every moment. The Zouaves were ordered to remain under armsall day in case of emergency, and it was only through the friendlyassistance of one of his officers that Anastase obtained leave toabsent himself for a couple of hours. He hailed a cab and drove to thechurch as fast as he could.
In less than twenty minutes after he had stationed himself at theentrance, Faustina ascended the steps accompanied by a servant. Thelatter was a middle-aged woman with hard features, clad in black, andwearing a handkerchief thrown loosely over her head after the manner ofmaids in those days. She evidently expected nothing, for she lookedstraight before her, peering into the church in order to see beforehandat which chapel there was likely to be a mass immediately. Faustina wasa lovely figure in the midst of the crowd of common people who throngedthe doorway, and whose coarse dark faces threw her ethereal featuresinto strong relief while she advanced. Gouache felt his heart beathard, for he had not seen her for five days since they had parted onthat memorable Tuesday night at the gate of her father's house. Hereyes met his in a long and loving look, and the colour rose faintly inher delicate pale cheek. In the press she managed to pass close to him,and for a moment he succeeded in clasping her small hand in his, hermaid being on the other side. He was about to ask a question when shewhispered a few words and passed on.
"Follow me through the crowd, I will manage it," was what she said.
Gouache obeyed, and kept close behind her. The church was very full andthere was difficulty in getting seats.
"I will wait here," said the young girl to her servant. "Get us chairsand find out where there is to be a mass. It is of no use for me to gothrough the crowd if I may have to come back again."
The hard-featured woman nodded and went away. Several minutes mustelapse before she returned, and Faustina with Gouache behind her movedacross the stream of persons who were going out through the door in theother aisle. In a moment they found themselves in a comparatively quietcorner, separated from the main body of the church by the movingpeople. Faustina fixed her eyes in the direction whence her woman wouldprobably return, ready to enter the throng instantly, if necessary.Even where they now were, so many others were standing and kneelingthat the presence of the Zouave beside Faustina would create nosurprise.
"It is very wrong to meet you in church," said the girl, a little shy,at first, with that timidity a woman always feels on meeting a man whomshe has last seen on unexpectedly intimate terms.
"I could not go away without seeing you," replied Gouache, his eyesintent on her face. "And I knew you would understand my signs, thoughno one else would. You have made me very happy, Faustina. It would havebeen agony to march away without seeing your face again--you do notknow what these days have been without you! Do you realise that we usedto meet almost every afternoon? Did they tell you why I could not come?I told every one I met, in hopes you might hear. Did you? Do youunderstand?"
Faustina nodded her graceful head, and glanced quickly at his face.Then she looked down, tapping the pavement gently with her parasol. Thecolour came and went in her cheeks.
"Do you really love me?" she asked in a low voice.
"I think, my darling, that no one ever loved as I love. I would that Imight be given time to tell you what my love is, and that you mighthave patience to hear. What are words, unless one can say all onewould? What is it, if I tell you that I love you with all my heart, andsoul and thoughts? Do not other men say as much and forget that theyhave spoken? I would find a way of saying it that should make youbelieve in spite of yourself--"
"In spite of myself?" interrupted Faustina, with a bright smile whileher brown eyes rested lovingly on his for an instant. "You need notthat," she added simply, "for I love you, too."
Nothing but the sanctity of the place prevented Anastase from takingher in his arms then and there. There was something so exquisite in hersimplicity and earnestness that he found himself speechless before herfor a moment. It was something that intoxicated his spirit more thanhis senses, for it was utterly new to him and appealed to his own loyaland innocent nature as it could not have appealed to a baser man.
"Ah Faustina!" he said at last, "God made you when he made the violets,on a spring morning in Paradise!"
Faustina blushed again, faintly as the sea at dawn.
"Must you go away?" she asked.
"You would not have me desert at such a moment?"
"Would it be deserting--quite? Would it be dishonourable?"
"It would be cowardly. I should never dare to look you in the faceagain."
"I suppose it would be wrong," she answered with a bitter little sigh.
"I will come back very soon, dearest. The time will be short."
"So long--so long! How can you say it will be short? If you do not comesoon you will find me dead--I cannot bear it many days more."
"I will write to you."
"How can you write? Your letters would be seen. Oh no! It isimpossible!"
"I will write to your friend--to the Princess Sant' Ilario. She willgive you the letters. She is safe, is she not?"
"Oh, how happy I shall be! It will be almost like seeing you--no, notthat! But so much better than nothing. But you do not go at once?"
"It may be to-day, to-morrow, at any time. But you shall know of it. AhFaustina! my own one--"
"Hush! There is my maid. Quick, behind the pillar. I will meet her.Good-bye--good-bye--Oh! not good-bye--some other word--"
"God keep you, my beloved, and make it not 'good-bye'!"
With one furtive touch of the hand, one long last look, they separated,Faustina to mingle in the crowd, Gouache to follow at a long distanceuntil he saw her kneeling at her chair before one of the side altars ofthe church. Then he stationed himself where he could see her, andwatched through the half hour during which the low mass lasted. He didnot know when he should see her again, and indeed it was as likely asnot that they should not meet on this side of eternity. Many a gallantyoung fellow marched out in those days and was picked off by a bulletfrom a red-shirted volunteer. Gouache,
indeed, did not believe that hislife was to be cut short so suddenly, and built castles in the air withthat careless delight in the future which a man feels who is not at allafraid. But such accidents happened often, and though he might be morelucky than another, it was just as possible that an ounce of leadshould put an end to his soldiering, his painting and his courtshipwithin another week. The mere thought was so horrible that his brightnature refused to harbour it, and he gazed on Faustina Montevarchi asshe knelt at her devotions, wondering, indeed, what strange chancesfate had in store for them both, but never once doubting that sheshould one day be his. He waited until she passed him in the crowd, andgave him one more look before going away. Then, when he had seen herdisappear at the turning of the street, he sprang into his cab and wasdriven back to the barracks where he must remain on duty all day.
As he descended he was surprised to see Sant' Ilario standing upon thepavement, very pale, and apparently in a bad humour, his overcoatbuttoned to his throat, and his hands thrust in the pockets. There wasno one in the street, but the sentinel at the doorway, and Giovanniwalked quickly up to Gouache as the latter fumbled for the change topay his driver. Anastase smiled and made a short military salute. Sant'Ilario bowed stiffly and did not extend his hand.
"I tried to find you last night," he said coldly. "You were out. Willyou favour me with five minutes' conversation?"
"Willingly," answered the other, looking instinctively at his watch, tobe sure that he had time to spare.
Sant' Ilario walked a few yards up the street, before speaking, Gouachekeeping close to his side. Then both stopped, and Giovanni turnedsharply round and faced his enemy.
"It is unnecessary to enter into any explanations, Monsieur Gouache,"he said. "This is a matter which can only end in one way. I presume youwill see the propriety of inventing a pretext which may explain ourmeeting before the world."
Gouache stared at Sant' Ilario in the utmost amazement. When they hadlast met they had parted on the most friendly terms. He did notunderstand a word of what his companion was saying.
"Excuse me, prince," he said at length. "I have not the least idea whatyou mean. As far as I am concerned this meeting is quite accidental. Icame here on duty."
Sant' Ilario was somewhat taken aback by the Zouave's politeastonishment. He seemed even more angry than surprised, however; andhis black eyebrows bent together fiercely.
"Let us waste no words," he said imperiously. "If I had found you lastnight, the affair might have been over by this time."
"What affair?" asked Gouache, more and more mystified.
"You are amazingly slow of comprehension, Monsieur Gouache," observedGiovanni. "To be plain, I desire to have an opportunity of killing you.Do you understand me now?"
"Perfectly," returned the soldier, raising his brows, and then breakinginto a laugh of genuine amusement. "You are quite welcome to as manyopportunities as you like, though I confess it would interest me toknow the reason of your good intentions towards me."
If Gouache had behaved as Giovanni had expected he would, the latterwould have repeated his request that a pretext should be found whichshould explain the duel to the world. But there was such extraordinaryassurance in the Zouave's manner that Sant' Ilario suddenly becameexasperated with him and lost his temper, a misfortune which veryrarely happened to him.
"Monsieur Gouache," he said angrily, "I took the liberty of visitingyour lodgings yesterday afternoon, and I found this letter, fastenedwith this pin upon your table. I presume you will not think any furtherexplanation necessary."
Gouache stared at the objects which Sant' Ilario held out to him anddrew back stiffly. It was his turn to be outraged at the insult.
"Sir," he said, "I understand that you acted in the most impertinentmanner in entering my room and taking what did not belong to you. Iunderstand nothing else. I found that pin on the Ponte Sant' Angelo amonth ago, and it was, I believe, upon my table yesterday. As for theletter I know nothing about it. Yes, if you insist, I will read it."
There was a pause during which Gouache ran his eyes over the few lineswritten on the notepaper, while Giovanni watched him very pale andwrathful.
"The pin is my wife's, and the note is written on her paper andaddressed to you, though in a feigned hand. Do you deny that both camefrom her, were brought by her in person, for yourself?"
"I deny it utterly and categorically," answered Gouache. "Though I willassuredly demand satisfaction of you for entering my rooms without mypermission, I give you my word of honour that I could receive no suchletter from the princess, your wife. The thing is monstrouslyiniquitous, and you have been grossly deceived into injuring the goodname of a woman as innocent as an angel. Since the pin is the propertyof the princess, pray return it to her with my compliments, and saythat I found it on the bridge of Sant' Angelo. I can remember the verydate. It was a quarter of an hour before I was run over by PrinceMontevarchi's carriage. It was therefore on the 23d of September. Asfor the rest, do me the favour to tell me where my friends can findyours in an hour."
"At my house. But allow me to add that I do not believe a word of whatyou say."
"Is it a Roman custom to insult a man who has agreed to fight withyou?" inquired Gouache. "We are more polite in France. We salute ouradversaries before beginning the combat."
Therewith the Zouave saluted Giovanni courteously and turned on hisheel, leaving the latter in an even worse humour than he had found him.Gouache was too much surprised at the interview to reason connectedlyabout the causes which had led to it, and accepted the duel with Sant'Ilario blindly, because he could not avoid it, and because whateveroffence he himself had unwittingly given he had in turn been insultedby Giovanni in a way which left him no alternative but that of a resortto arms. His adversary had admitted, had indeed boasted, of havingentered Gouache's rooms, and of having taken thence the letter and thepin. This alone constituted an injury for which reparation wasnecessary, but not content with this, Sant' Ilario had given him thelie direct. Matters were so confused that it was hard to tell which wasthe injured party; but since the prince had undoubtedly furnished apretext more than sufficient, the soldier had seized the opportunity ofproposing to send his friends to demand satisfaction. It was clear,however, that the duel could not take place at once, since Gouache wasunder arms, and it was imperatively necessary that he should havepermission to risk his life in a private quarrel at such a time. It wasalso certain that his superiors would not allow anything of the kind atpresent, and Gouache for his part was glad of the fact. He preferred tobe killed before the enemy rather than in a duel for which there was noadequate explanation, except that a man who had been outrageouslydeceived by a person or persons unknown had chosen to attack him for athing he had never done. He had not the slightest intention of avoidingthe encounter, but he preferred to see some active service in a causeto which he was devoted before being run through the body by one whowas his enemy only by mistake. Giovanni's reputation as a swordsmanmade it probable that the issue would be unfavourable to Gouache, andthe latter, with the simple fearlessness that belonged to hischaracter, meant if possible to have a chance of distinguishing himselfbefore being killed.
Half an hour later, a couple of officers of Zouaves called upon Sant'Ilario, and found his representatives waiting for them. Giovanni hadhad the good fortune to find Count Spicca at home. That melancholygentleman had been his second in an affair with Ugo del Ferice nearlythree years earlier and had subsequently killed one of the latter'sseconds in consequence of his dishonourable behaviour in the field. Hehad been absent in consequence until a few weeks before the presenttime, when matters had been arranged, and he had found himself free toreturn unmolested. It had been remarked at the club that somethingwould happen before he had been in Rome many days. He was a very talland cadaverous man, exceedingly prone to take offence, and exceedinglyskilful in exacting the precise amount of blood which he considered afair return for an injury. He had never been known to kill a man byaccident, but had rarely failed to take his a
dversary's life when hehad determined to do so. Spicca had brought another friend, whom it isunnecessary to describe. The interview was short and conclusive.
The two officers had instructions to demand a serious duel, and Spiccaand his companion had been told to make the conditions even moredangerous if they could do so. On the other hand, the officersexplained that as Rome was in a state of siege, and Garibaldi almost atthe gates, the encounter could not take place until the crisis waspast. They undertook to appear for Gouache in case he chanced to beshot in an engagement. Spicca, who did not know the real cause of theduel, and was indeed somewhat surprised to learn that Giovanni hadquarrelled with a Zouave, made no attempt to force an immediatemeeting, but begged leave to retire and consult with his principal, aninformality which was of course agreed to by the other side. In fiveminutes he returned, stating that he accepted the provisions proposed,and that he should expect twenty-four hours' notice when Gouache shouldbe ready. The four gentlemen drew up the necessary "protocol," andparted on friendly terms after a few minutes' conversation, in whichvarious proposals were made in regard to the ground.
Spicca alone remained behind, and he immediately went to Giovanni,carrying a copy of the protocol, on which the ink was still wet.
"Here it is," he said sadly, as he entered the room, holding up thepaper in his hand. "These revolutions are very annoying! There is noend to the inconvenience they cause."
"I suppose it could not be helped," answered Giovanni, gloomily.
"No. I believe I have not the reputation of wasting time in thesematters. You must try and amuse yourself as best you can until the daycomes. It is a pity you have not some other affair in the meanwhile,just to make the time pass pleasantly. It would keep your hand in, too.But then you have the pleasures of anticipation."
Giovanni laughed hoarsely, Spicca took a foil from the wall and playedwith it, looking along the thin blade, then setting the point on thecarpet and bending the weapon to see whether it would spring backproperly. Giovanni's eyes followed his movements, watching the slendersteel, and then glancing at Spicca's long arms, his nervous fingers andpeculiar grip.
"How do you manage to kill your man whenever you choose?" asked Sant'Ilario, half idly, half in curiosity.
"It is perfectly simple, at least with foils," replied the other,making passes in the air. "Now, if you will take a foil, I will promiseto run you through any part of your body within three minutes. You maymake a chalked mark on the precise spot. If I miss by a hair's-breadthI will let you lunge at me without guarding."
"Thank you," said Giovanni; "I do not care to be run through thismorning, but I confess I would like to know how you do it. Could notyou touch the spot without thrusting home?"
"Certainly, if you do not mind a scratch on the shoulder or the arm. Iwill try and not draw blood. Come on--so--in guard--wait a minute!Where will you be hit? That is rather important."
Giovanni, who was in a desperate humour and cared little what he did,rather relished the idea of a bout which savoured of reality. There wasa billiard-table in the adjoining room, and he fetched a piece of chalkat once.
"Here," said he, making a small white spot upon his coat on the outsideof his right shoulder.
"Very well," observed Spicca. "Now, do not rush in or I may hurt you."
"Am I to thrust, too?" asked Giovanni.
"If you like. You cannot touch me if you do."
"We shall see," answered Sant' Ilario, nettled at Spicca's poor opinionof his skill. "In guard!"
They fell into position and began play. Giovanni immediately tried hisspecial method of disarming his adversary, which he had scarcely everknown to fail. He forgot, however, that Spicca had seen him practisethis piece of strategy with success upon Del Ferice. The melancholyduellist had spent weeks in studying the trick, and had completelymastered it. To Giovanni's surprise the Count's hand turned as easilyas a ball in a socket, avoiding the pressure, while his point scarcelydeviated from the straight line. Giovanni, angry at his failure, made aquick feint and a thrust, lunging to his full reach. Spicca parried aseasily and carelessly as though the prince had been a mere beginner,and allowed the latter to recover himself before he replied. A full twoseconds after Sant' Ilario had resumed his guard, Spicca's foil ranover his with a speed that defied parrying, and he felt a short sharpprick in his right shoulder. Spicca sprang back and lowered his weapon.
"I think that is the spot," he said coolly, and then came forward andexamined Giovanni's coat. The point had penetrated the chalked mark inthe centre, inflicting a wound not more than a quarter of an inch deepin the muscle of the shoulder.
"Observe," he continued, "that it was a simple tierce, without a feintor any trick whatever."
On realising his absolute inferiority to such a master of the art,Giovanni broke into a hearty laugh at his own discomfiture. So long ashe had supposed that some sort of equality existed between them he hadbeen angry at being outdone; but when he saw with what ease Spicca hadaccomplished his purpose, his admiration for the skill displayed madehim forget his annoyance.
"How in the world did you do it?" he said. "I thought I could parry asimple tierce, even though I might not be a match for you!"
"Many people have thought the same, my friend. There are two or threeelements in my process, one of which is my long reach. Another is theknack of thrusting very quickly, which is partly natural, and partlythe result of practice. My trick consists in the way I hold my foil.Look here. I do not grasp the hilt with all my fingers as you do. Thewhole art of fencing lies in the use of the thumb and forefinger. I laymy forefinger straight in the direction of the blade. Of course Icannot do it with a basket or a bell hilt, but no one ever objects tocommon foils. It is dangerous--yes--I might hurt my finger, but then, Iam too quick. You ask the advantage? It is very simple. You and I andevery one are accustomed from childhood to point with the forefinger atthings we see. The accuracy with which we point is much more surprisingthan you imagine. We instinctively aim the forefinger at the object toa hair's-breadth of exactness. I only make my point follow myforefinger. The important thing, then, is to grasp the hilt veryfirmly, and yet leave the wrist limber. I shoot in the same way with arevolver, and pull the trigger with my middle finger. I scarcely evermiss. You might amuse yourself by trying these things while you arewaiting for Gouache. They will make the time pass pleasantly."
Spicca, whose main pleasure in life was in the use of weapons, couldnot conceive of any more thoroughly delightful occupation.
"I will try it," said Giovanni, rubbing his shoulder a little, for thescratch irritated him. "It is very interesting. I hope that fellow willnot go and have himself killed by the Garibaldians before I get achance at him."
"You are absolutely determined to kill him, then?" Spicca's voice,which had grown animated during his exposition of his method, now sankagain to its habitually melancholy tone.
Giovanni only shrugged his shoulders at the question, as though anyanswer were needless. He hung the foil he had used in its place on thewall, and began to smoke.
"You will not have another bout?" inquired the Count, putting away hisweapon also, and taking his hat to go.
"Thanks--not to-day. We shall meet soon, I hope. I am very grateful foryour good offices, Spicca. I would ask you to stay to breakfast, but Ido not want my father to know of this affair. He would suspectsomething if he saw you here."
"Yes," returned the other quietly, "people generally do. I am ratherlike a public executioner in that respect. My visits often precede acatastrophe. What would you have? I am a lonely man."
"You, who have so many friends!" exclaimed Giovanni.
"Bah! It is time to be off," said Spicca, and shaking his friend's handhastily he left the room.
Giovanni stood for several minutes after he had gone, wondering with avague curiosity what this man's history had been, as many had wonderedbefore. There was a fatal savour of death about Spicca which everybodyfelt who came near him. He was dreaded, as one of the worst-temperedmen and one of
the most remarkable swordsmen in Europe. He was alwaysconsulted in affairs of honour, and his intimate acquaintance with thecode, his austere integrity, and his vast experience, made himinvaluable in such matters. But he was not known to have any intimatefriends among men or women. He neither gambled nor made love to othermen's wives, nor did any of those things which too easily lead toencounters of arms; and yet, in his cold and melancholy way he wasconstantly quarrelling and fighting and killing his man, till it was awonder that the police would tolerate him in any European capital. Itwas rumoured that he had a strange history, and that his life had beenembittered in his early youth by some tragic circumstance, but no onecould say what that occurrence had been nor where it had taken place.He felt an odd sympathy for Giovanni, and his reference to hisloneliness in his parting speech was unique, and set his friend towondering about him.
Giovanni's mind was now as much at rest as was possible, underconditions which obliged him to postpone his vengeance for anindefinite period. He had passed a sleepless night after his efforts tofind Gouache and had risen early in the morning to be sure of catchinghim. He had not seen his father since their interview of the previousevening, and had hoped not to see him again till the moment of leavingfor Saracinesca. The old man had understood him, and that was all thatwas necessary for the present. He suspected that his father would notseek an interview any more than he did himself. But an obstacle hadpresented itself in the way of his departure which he had not expected,and which irritated him beyond measure. Corona was ill. He did not knowwhether her ailment were serious or not, but it was evident that hecould not force her to leave her bed and accompany him to the country,so long as the doctor declared that she could not be moved. When Spiccawas gone, he did not know what to do with himself. He would not go andsee his wife, for any meeting must be most unpleasant. He had nervedhimself to conduct her to the mountains, and had expected that the longdrive would be passed in a disagreeable silence. So long as Corona waswell and strong, he could have succeeded well enough in treating her ashe believed that she deserved. Now that she was ill, he felt howimpossible it would be for him to take good care of her without seemingto relent, even if he did not relent in earnest; and on the other handhis really noble nature would have prevented him from being harsh inhis manner to her while she was suffering.
Until he had been convinced that a duel with Gouache was for thepresent impossible, his anger had supported him, and had made the timepass quickly throughout the sleepless night and through the events ofthe morning. Now that he was alone, with nothing to do but to meditateupon the situation, his savage humour forsook him and the magnitude ofhis misfortune oppressed him and nearly drove him mad. He went over thewhole train of evidence again and again, and as often as he reviewedwhat had occurred, his conviction grew deeper and stronger, and heacknowledged that he had been deceived as man was never deceivedbefore. He realised the boundless faith he had given to this woman whohad betrayed him; he recollected the many proofs she had given him ofher love; he drew upon the store of his past happiness and torturedhimself with visions of what could never be again; he called up infancy Corona's face when he had led her to the altar and the very lookin her eyes was again upon him; he remembered that day more than twoyears ago when, upon the highest tower of Saracinesca, he had asked herto be his wife, and he knew not whether he desired to burn the memoryof that first embrace from his heart, or to dwell upon the sweetrecollection of that moment and suffer the wound of to-day to ranklemore hotly by the horror of the comparison. When he thought of what shehad been, it seemed impossible that she could have fallen; when he sawwhat she had become he could not believe that she had ever beeninnocent. A baser man than Giovanni would have suffered more in hispersonal vanity, seeing that his idol had been degraded for a meresoldier of fortune--or for a clever artist--whichever Gouache calledhimself, and such a husband would have forgiven her more easily had sheforsaken him for one of his own standing and rank. But Giovanni was farabove and beyond the thought of comparing his enemy with himself. Hewas wounded in what he had held most sacred, which was his heart, andin what had grown to be the mainspring of his existence, his trust inthe woman he loved. Those who readily believe are little troubled ifone of their many little faiths be shaken; but men who believe in a fewthings, with the whole strength of their being, are hurt mortally whenthat on which they build their loyalty is shattered and overturned.
Giovanni was a just man, and was rarely carried away by appearances;least of all could he have shown any such weakness when the yielding toit involved the destruction of all that he cared for in life. But theevidence was overwhelming, and no man could be blamed for accepting it.There was no link wanting in the chain, and the denials made by Coronaand Anastase could not have influenced any man in his senses. Whatcould a woman do but deny all? What was there for Gouache but to swearthat the accusation was untrue? Would not any other man or woman havedone as much? There was no denying it. The only person who remainedunquestioned was Faustina Montevarchi. Either she was the innocent girlshe appeared to be or not. If she were, how could Giovanni explain toher that she had been duped, and made an instrument in the hands ofGouache and Corona? She would not know what he meant. Even if sheadmitted that she loved Gouache, was it not clear that he had deceivedher too, for the sake of making an accomplice of one who was constantlywith Corona? Her love for the soldier could not explain the things thathad passed between Anastase and Giovanni's wife, which Giovanni hadseen with his own eyes. It could not account for the whisperings, thefurtive meeting and tender words of which he had been a witness in hisown house. It could not do away with the letter and the pin. But ifFaustina were not innocent of assisting the two, she would denyeverything, even as they had done.
As he thought of all these matters and followed the cruelly logicaltrain of reasoning forced upon him by the facts, a great darknessdescended upon Giovanni's heart, and he knew that his happiness wasgone from him for ever. Henceforth nothing remained but to watch hiswife jealously, and suffer his ills with the best heart he could. Thevery fact that he loved her still, with a passion that defied allthings, added a terrible bitterness to what he had to bear, for it madehim despise himself as none would have dared to despise him.