Chapter II: Distaffs and Threads (2)

Massimo came down from Sant' Ubaldo with his heart full of bitterness, believing firmly, with Carnesecca, that Don Aurelio's dismissal had been brought about by his championship of the Lutheran missioner. He wondered anxiously what would happen to his poor friend. Even if the unfortunate priest should wander far in search of another diocese, would not these calumnies follow him? Would he not be met on all sides with reluctance, diffidence, and timidity?

Hardly had his hand touched the Montanina gate than another anxiety beset him, overruling the first. He thought of his approaching meeting with the Signorina, which he desired and yet at the same time dreaded. The green, flowery loveliness of the villa's setting seemed to him to distil a subtle sense of awe-inspiring mystery. Instead of going straight to the house he turned to the left, past the clump of poplars and the bridge, overgrown with roses, and walked along the bank of the Riderella to where a tiny waterfall sings, almost in the shade of the walnut-trees. Presently he asked himself impatiently what was the meaning of this agitation on account of one whom he had never seen. For answer the two photographs rose to his mind, and he shrank from the thought of being confronted by that pale face and the downcast eyes. He started towards the villa, trying to steel himself into indifference. In the distance, by the stables, he saw Teresina talking to a gentleman, whom he learned from her later was the village doctor, who had not deemed it prudent to intrude upon Signor Marcello without a plausible excuse. Massimo went up to his room and stood gazing for some time at Andrea's picture. Then he carefully and almost reverently changed the water in the glass that held the rose, the rose that had drooped a little lower and become more languid, its outside petals already touched by the first pallor of death. Again he re-read his letters to his lost friend, letters whose pages were still more faded than the rose. He was standing at the window in passive enjoyment of this feast of sunshine, wind, and living things that exhorted to life, when he heard a heavy step in the corridor, and, turning, saw the door slowly pushed open. It was Signor Marcello, who, on perceiving him, uttered an exclamation of apology.

"I did not know you had returned," said he.

In his hand he carried a fresh rose, a magnificent white one, like the other. They stood gazing at each other for a while in silent sympathy; then Massimo, deeply moved, took the rose, and Signor Marcello withdrew.

Towards half-past eleven, while Massimo was writing letters, Giovanni brought a message from his master, asking the young man to come down.

"He is in the drawing-room with the Signorina."

"Which shall I see?" was the thought that sprang to Massimo's mind as he went down the wooden staircase.

Leila was seated with her back to the stairs at the writing-table placed crosswise between the spacious window and the fireplace. She was annoyed with herself because her heart was beating so violently; she would not admit, even to herself, her burning curiosity to see this man who was descending the stairs; she would not have turned her head to look at him, either then or later, if she could have avoided doing so without being set down as hopelessly discourteous.

"Leila!" said Signor Marcello gently.

She laid down her pen, opened the drawer to place something in it, seemed to be searching in it for an instant, and finally rose and faced about.

Signor Marcello introduced her: "My daughter."

She barely inclined her head. Massimo bowed low, murmuring something incoherent of which the only word distinguishable was "pleasure."

Yes, pleasure! Here was neither the one face nor the other. Here was the serious face of a girl who receives for the first time a friend of her dead lover. It was the face of one who had once given everything to love, and had now consecrated her life to the memory of that love. Massimo might have been more critical of the irregularities of this face had its expression been different. But the irregularities seemed to him too insignificant to dwell upon, and he thought her almost beautiful. He could not but admire her figure, which, though not tall, was perfect in all its lines, revealed by her simple grey gown, trimmed with black, and cut slightly low at the neck. He noticed the splendid, fair hair that crowned her small head, and the grace of her neck, which was the colour of old ivory. His bearing immediately became less constrained.

But Leila became even more rigid. Signor Marcello saw, by a slight movement on her part, that she was about to flee, like a child whose feet fidget to be off. He tried to detain her by making her the subject of conversation.

"She has sacrificed herself for my poor wife and myself," he began, but obtained the opposite result to that at which he aimed. Leila cried reproachfully, "Papa!" and darted off. Signor Marcello was hurt, and called after her:

"Leila!"

She paused on the threshold of the dining-room, turned towards them, and stood resting her hands against the door-jambs. Massimo shuddered. It was the face he had dreaded--the marble sphinx, with downcast eyes. The vision lasted but an instant. Then Leila looked up with a forced smile.

"I must go, Papa," she said--"that is, if you want any luncheon!"

"Oh, very well ..." sighed Signor Marcello, more displeased than submissive.

Hardly had she left the room than he began to sing her praises. She was kind, intelligent, a musician, a skilful housewife. Massimo listened in silence. As soon as possible he brought the conversation round to Don Aurelio's dismissal, of which, of course, Signor Marcello had not yet heard. Massimo was as yet unacquainted with the particulars, but the fact itself was certain.

Signor Marcello was more disappointed and grieved than indignant. Four-and-twenty hours before he would have felt differently. Of Carnesecca, Massimo only knew that he had fled, and he greatly doubted whether Don Aurelio would be able to keep his engagement to luncheon. He also spoke of Donna Fedele, although he was unaware on what terms she stood at the Montanina. Signor Marcello expressed his pleasure at discovering that there was a link between them, repeating several times how glad he was, without giving any reason why, and without any special praise for any of the persons concerned, and going on to tell how the Vayla di Breas had come to settle in Arsiero. At this point Don Aurelio arrived.

He came in with a bright manner, and answered Signor Marcello's and Massimo's questions briefly. Yes, it was quite true that he must leave his benefice within a fortnight. But it was no one's fault. Ismaele was only a poor visionary. The rough time he had had at Posina had made him fancy there was persecution everywhere. A priest, with his mother and sister, were coming to Lago. Probably it was to assist them, poor things--while he, without any such claims upon him----And he shrugged his shoulders, as if it would be the easiest thing in the world for him to earn a livelihood. Changing the subject, he became eloquent in his account of Carnesecca's wanderings, saying that, at the present moment, he was in bed in a comfortable little room at the Villino, in a state of beatitude. Well, perhaps not precisely of beatitude, because the three hundred and fifty-nine bones had begun to ache again, but, nevertheless----! The footman here announced that luncheon was served. Leila was waiting in the dining-room.

* * * * *

The four seated themselves at the square table, one on each side. Leila sat facing the glass door opening into the garden and commanding a view of the crags of Barco; Massimo was on her left. On her right sat Don Aurelio, who began talking to her at once, telling her he had often seen her coming down the road from the Battery, carrying wild flowers. He referred to the rhododendrons that grew luxuriantly where landslides have torn the slopes of Priaforà. She knew these well, and admitted that those wild spots were favourites of hers. Her voice was deeper and not so sweet as Donna Fedele's, but rich, sympathetic, and soft, nevertheless, suggesting as far as a woman's voice can the notes of a violoncello, and rich with potential feeling. Her answer to Don Aurelio's question, whether she was fond of solitudes, came unhesitatingly and in the affirmative, but she added quickly, fearing she had not understood aright:

"Solitude, you say?"

"I really said 'solitudes.'"

Without looking at Massimo she felt he was about to speak, and hastened to renew the conversation with Don Aurelio, asking him if he had seen the rhododendrons of Priaforà in blossom. Alas! no, that was impossible! The Signorina forgot that he had only come to Sant' Ubaldo in October.

"You will see them in July," she said.

Don Aurelio smiled.

"I am sorry to say that Don Aurelio is leaving us," Signor Marcello announced sadly.

"As a matter of fact it is not he who----" Massimo began.

"He is leaving us?" Leila broke in, more astonished than grieved.

"They are driving him away," said Massimo, with some irritation, and determined to conquer the girl's assumption of indifference towards himself. She flung him a glance that seemed to say, "What have you to do with it?" and once more repeated, "He is giving us up?"

But when Alberti was determined it was no easy matter to silence him.

"Yes, indeed, they are driving him away," he reiterated, speaking rather to Don Aurelio himself than to Leila. "The archpriest has dismissed him. He is sending him away because he has housed a Protestant! Or it may be perhaps because he believes him to be a Modernist."

To Massimo, Don Aurelio's humble meekness towards his enemies seemed excessive, and sometimes irritated him, as it had a moment since when he had alluded to his needy successor. He was burning to tell him so openly, to make him see the truth clearly. During his outburst Don Aurelio could only protest in monosyllables, but when his friend had finished he expressed the pain such violent language and these unproved accusations caused him.

"He is capable of it," murmured Signor Marcello with bowed head, alluding to the archpriest. "Quite capable of it--quite!"

"The archpriest knows perfectly well I am not a Modernist," Don Aurelio went on with a last protesting gesture. His superior had, indeed, assured him of his most complete satisfaction on that point.

"Nonsense!" said Signor Marcello. "You a Modernist indeed!"

"He certainly is not," Massimo interposed. "At the most he may be a Modernist only in the way Antonio Rosmini was. They say I am one also," he added candidly.

Don Aurelio laughed heartily.

"You ... you...!" he cried, with a blankness that was eloquent.

Massimo understood, and looking round, met a glance from Leila's eyes that pierced him like a shaft of fire. For an instant he felt blinded, and it was only by an effort that he brought himself to answer Don Aurelio.

"Yes," he said, "I may be more of a Modernist than you are, but I am not one, after all."

What a significant glance from the marble sphinx that had been!

Signor Marcello stretched out his hand, and laid it upon Massimo's, that rested on the table.

"My dear young friend," said he, "remember an old man's words: 'There is but one true form of Modernism, and that is the Modernism of Dante! Therein is the whole Catholic creed to the last iota, inspired by ardent faith, bringing the Gospel in simple language to all men, regardless of the shades of their opinions. Dante, dear friend, Dante! And now talk about the rhododendrons again.'"

But instead Massimo spoke of the room Carnesecca had left unoccupied at Sant' Ubaldo, saying there was no longer any excuse for his intruding upon Signor Marcello. The old man, astonished and somewhat hurt by this display of formality, protested that he could not hear of Massimo's leaving. His friend's speech seemed to upset Don Aurelio also, who generally found it easier to express his feelings by certain restless physical movements than by words. But Massimo persisted. Like Don Aurelio, he also accompanied broken sentences with various gestures, that were the visible signs of unspoken arguments.

"I assure you," cried his friend, half in jest, half in earnest, "by your presence in my house you would injure me more than poor Carnesecca did, and I can't have you! You will have to listen to Signor Marcello."

A conviction that he was being encompassed by some irresistible influence suddenly overwhelmed Massimo. His brain struggled feebly to send forth the words "Then I will return to Milan," but they remained unsaid, and he kept silence.

Leila had not spoken since meeting the glance which had said, "Are you interested in me?" She could not forgive herself her own glance. She perfectly understood Signor Marcello's displeasure, but she could not see why Don Aurelio did not wish to have his friend at Sant' Ubaldo. She encouraged her forced contempt for Massimo by telling herself he did not really wish to leave, that if he had wished it, instead of bringing the matter up at the luncheon-table, he would have come down later with his luggage ready strapped, and said to Signor Marcello: "There is no longer any excuse for my remaining here, and I am going." But, of course, Signor Alberti preferred a comfortable room, a nice house, and a good table to the priest's poor home and meagre fare.

* * * * *

So he was a Modernist as well! Of Modernism Leila knew less than nothing. She disliked the name, and she disliked her own ignorant interpretation of it. She had never thought about her own attitude towards religious observance. A creature of instinct and of passions rather than of reason, the vagaries of her fancy and ideas were in no wise checked by the regular, if mechanical, performance of religious duties. She looked upon Modernism, not as an effort to adapt traditional Catholicism to modern conditions, but rather as a doctrine that sought to substitute for the ancient religious obligations of Catholic tradition new obligations that were more extensive, less clearly defined, and heavier.

At times she prayed devoutly, but always with the traditional forms and never spontaneously. Her prayers were for definite and immediate objects, and not for Divine love and for spiritual blessing. Her impulse, nevertheless, was sincere, and she found a help in prayer of this kind.

She imagined, and the thought was odious to her, that Modernism was incompatible with traditional prayer. The only aspect of Modernism that could appeal to her was its element of rebellion, but she judged it an abortive, half-hearted rebellion at best. And so Signor Alberti was a Modernist! This helped her in her determination to despise him.

The fruit had been placed on the table and Leila rose.

* * * * *

Her obstinate silence after that fiery glance, from which Massimo still smarted, was, to his mind, the necessary complement of that glance, and was characteristic of his conception of her as a marble sphinx. In rising with the others when Leila rose, the young man recalled certain teasing words a friend had once spoken, the recollection of which often galled him: "You have not yet experienced it, but when you do fall in love, it will be sudden and overwhelming." As he passed into the drawing-room behind Leila he noticed certain tiny red spots upon her white neck. He was glad to see these, for they seemed to diminish somewhat the power of physical attraction which this strange creature possessed. Taking Don Aurelio's arm, he scolded him gently for not wishing to have him at Sant' Ubaldo. But Don Aurelio had found a useful excuse. "You would compromise me!" said he, laughing his hearty laugh that shook his whole frame. "Is it not true, Signorina?"

"It seems to me," she said, without looking at either of them, "that compromise cannot matter now." And she busied herself in pouring out the coffee.

Don Aurelio, always slow to recognise a thrust, failed absolutely to recognise this one, which wounded Massimo more deeply than himself. He murmured humbly: "I am only in jest, only in jest, you know!" and added, in his simplicity and inexperience of _double entente_:

"Poor Massimo cannot compromise any one."

Massimo was somewhat embarrassed, but said nothing. Leila, however, smiled slightly, thus making Don Aurelio aware of his blunder.

"Ah, well ... yes ... of course ... what nonsense!" he stammered, answering her with a laugh almost of regret for unspoken words. "I speak simply, and must be taken simply."

Signor Marcello called them out to the terrace to see a fine effect of gathering storm-clouds. On the north the sun was beating upon the heights of Rotzo in Val d'Astico, that stood out, brightly gilded, against the clear blue, while the brow of the same uplands was lit up towards the east by continuous summer lightning, flashing out of a sky of turquoise. Leila hastened to obey the summons, pretending to have forgotten that she had not given Signor Alberti his coffee. When, a moment later, he appeared on the terrace with Don Aurelio, she withdrew, and slipping into the dining-room, crossed to the threshold of the garden door. A thunderstorm always made her nerves tingle with a mad delight, and she liked to enjoy it alone, drawn to it like a small cloud saturated with electricity. If there had been wind, she would have rushed out as she did sometimes at night, letting her hair blow wild. But as no leaf stirred, and as she heard Signor Marcello's voice asking for her, she returned to the terrace.

"The coffee, dear," said the old man. "Neither Alberti nor I have had ours."

She murmured some excuse. In helping Massimo her manner was not precisely rude, but there was something ungracious both in her face and bearing. Don Aurelio, who noted everything, with meekness indeed, but with keenness as well, reflected in his artless optimism that the memory of her lover could no longer be very vivid in her heart, if she could treat his dearest friend thus coldly.

"Where was it," said Signor Marcello suddenly to Massimo, "that you met that Benedetto from Subiaco?"

"At Jenne."

"And what was he like?"

"Well, I will not say that I adored him, for I object to the word, but I loved him better than I have ever loved any one in this world, except my mother."

Massimo had no idea the sphinx would speak.

"Was he indeed a saint, then?" said she.

"I beg your pardon, Signorina," he retorted, "but I have never felt the necessity for saintliness in those I love."

"But is it true he performed miracles?"

"No, he performed no miracles."

"Did he really die in a woman's arms?"

Don Aurelio, amazed that a young girl should ask such a question, could not suppress an exclamation of protest.

"Leila!" Signor Marcello ejaculated severely.

With flaming face Massimo exclaimed:

"It is a vile calumny! I never heard it before!"

"I read it somewhere," said Leila calmly.

Don Aurelio intervened.

"I would have you know, Signorina, that the man of whom you speak may have erred in matters of doctrine; on that point I can express no opinion. But, had the Church pointed out his errors to him, he would have been the first to recognise them. As to his private life, after his conversion it was one of perfect purity. I can answer for that, at least."

Signor Marcello, who was following the discussion with a nervous twitching of every line of his expressive face, now cut it short in a voice of authority. Saying that he wanted to speak privately with Don Aurelio, he proposed that Leila should take Alberti for a walk in the garden. Leila cast him a half-dazed glance, and then looked towards Massimo as if beseeching his support.

"It is too hot," she objected.

The young man protested that he was quite ready to go alone, but Signor Marcello would listen to no excuses. A heavy bank of clouds was rapidly darkening the villa's green surroundings, and the rain was more to be feared than the heat.

* * * * *

"You know the Montanina well?" said Leila, as she passed out by the south door that opens upon the green slope, studded with pines and mountain-oaks, and crowned, far above, with chestnuts. "You have seen the sun-dial, and Blessed Alberto Magno, and the goat's head, through whose mouth flow the waters of the Riderella?" All this she delivered like a tiresome and oft-repeated lesson, and, walking in front of him, did not appear to notice that he made no answer. She took the path leading upwards, on one side of the villa. "Do you know the Fonte Modesta also?" she inquired, as they passed near the small cave, filled with the spring's soft murmuring. On she went, pointing out this feature and that, regardless of Alberti's silence, and with all the perfunctoriness of a professional guide.

While she was speaking the words "the source of the Riderella" he interrupted her. He had been waiting to speak only until they should have reached a sufficient distance from the house.

"Signorina," said he, "I did not insist with Signor Marcello because I saw that I should cause him pain, but I wish you to understand that you need not put yourself out for me. If you will allow me, I will finish the walk alone."

Leila answered coldly: "As you like."

The path being narrow, she stepped aside to let him pass, standing with downcast eyes, like a statue of marble.

"Thank you," said the young man, quivering with indignation, and he passed her without a look. Why had this girl taken it into her head to treat him thus? Did she think he was going to make love to her? He could not fancy any other reason. And those foolish questions concerning Benedetto had simply been a piece of pointed impudence. Make love to her indeed!

But that fiery glance! In thinking of it Massimo recalled the music he had heard in the night. What lay concealed in the soul of this mysterious creature? Her stiffness and indifference, her silent discourtesy, and her insolent words were not only intentional but incomprehensible as well. What reason had she to suppose he intended making love to her? What sign had he given? A suspicion flashed upon him. Don Aurelio had taken it into his head that his friend should marry young. Was it possible he had chosen this girl for him, that some inkling of his plan had reached her? No, it was impossible, and that for a hundred reasons, and if on account of nothing else, at least for the friendship between Don Aurelio and Signor Marcello. The conclusion, then? The conclusion was that one thing only was clear--the girl's pointed hostility. This he might have regarded as armour against budding affection had affection had time to bud. But as it was...?

He sat down to rest upon a rustic bench beneath the chestnut-tree. The great clouds were veiling Torraro, the shadows of the trees swayed in the wind on the flower-strewn banks, the white villa was smiling brightly down below in the sunshine, and the dull roar of the torrent and of the whirlpools of Perale rose through the silence of chestnut-groves. But Massimo could enjoy neither the shade nor the fresh breeze, nor the grand and gentle beauty of all things. He felt that beauty was a stranger to the bitterness of his heart, felt himself a stranger to beauty. He wondered what course he should pursue. He would not go back to the Montanina, and he must either persuade Don Aurelio to take him in or he must return to Milan. He took pleasure in recalling all the bitterness of his heart, mingling that which lay at the bottom, almost outside the bounds of memory, with the bitterness of the present hour. He tried to concentrate his thoughts on Don Aurelio's sad plight, for Signorina Leila's discourtesy was really not worth worrying about. But Don Aurelio! The old temptation rose up again, grim and violent. Would it not be better to break away at once and for all from the people who persecute such men as Don Aurelio, the very salt of the earth? But immediately he felt the grave eyes of Don Aurelio himself fixed upon him, the eyes of the victim who was all meekness towards his persecutors; and the impulse of rebellion was defeated. But to cease fighting the enemies of the Church for the Church's own sake, to stand by and watch the struggle--this was no temptation, but a wise counsel. But what should he do in the world, then? Ignore the world, obtain an appointment as parish doctor--why not? In some village, among the hills, would it not be happiness to taste something of the joys of love? Presently he saw Don Aurelio come out of the villa, look upwards, and start in his direction, and he went down to meet him. Don Aurelio appeared astonished to see him alone.

"And the Signorina?"

Massimo said he had begged her not to put herself out for him, and hastened to add that, being alone, he had had time to think of his own plans. He was resolved to leave the Montanina that very evening, and still hoped to occupy Carnesecca's room. Don Aurelio answered firmly, and at the same time regretfully, that he had just now promised Signor Marcello that Massimo would stay at least a fortnight at the Montanina, if not all the time he had arranged to spend at Lago di Velo. Massimo repeated that this was out of the question. If Don Aurelio would not have him as his guest during the few days that remained of his ministry, he would go back to Milan. Don Aurelio seized this favourable opportunity.

"Is it an interest in any special person that calls you back to Milan?" he asked.

Massimo answered promptly in the negative and smiled.

"Really, no? You can assure me of that?"

"Really, no! My hand upon it!" cried the young man, extending his hand, which Don Aurelio pressed.

"In that case," he said, "you must not disappoint this old man so cruelly."

But Massimo was so determined that the priest was forced to conclude something unpleasant had happened. He asked if the Signorina's questions about Benedetto had offended him. No, she had spoken in ignorance, repeating newspaper gossip. Perhaps there had been further discussion in the garden? No, there had not. But Don Aurelio pressed him so hard that at last Massimo confessed the real reason. The girl could not bear him, and had let him see it. This Don Aurelio refused to believe, and made him describe all Leila's hostile actions, which appeared insignificant enough in the telling; but the priest admitted that certain things that might almost pass unobserved may be keenly felt. It was only with difficulty that he extracted a promise from Massimo to postpone his departure until the morrow. He should be free to leave the next night if his impressions were confirmed. He advised him, at all events, to pay a farewell visit to the Villino delle Rose immediately, and pointed out the little house, showing like a red berry on the edge of the plain of Arsiero, that looks towards Seghe. Don Aurelio urged his friend to start at once, that he might be sure of finding Donna Fedele at home.

When Massimo had gone the priest returned to Signor Marcello, with whom he had a long talk. Then he left him to go back to Sant' Ubaldo. Signor Marcello sent for Leila. He told her how dear Alberti was to him, and said she must surely understand why. He wished him to remain some time at the Montanina, and he therefore begged her to be gracious to him. The old man spoke in low tones and with great gentleness, as one who wishes his manner to convey the seriousness of unspoken words. Leila, who had stood listening, pale and motionless, murmured that she had not been conscious of ungraciousness towards Signor Alberti. Signor Marcello looked at her, but did not answer. Presently he said, with the same gentleness as before:

"I ask it as a favour."

Hardly above a whisper she answered, "Yes, Papa."

Then going to her room, she locked the door and burst into a violent fit of weeping.

IV

Massimo returned from the Villino delle Rose shortly before the dinner-hour. Signor Marcello came out to meet him, and drawing his arm through his own, repeated lovingly to him how delighted he was to have him at the Montanina. He meant to show him many treasured old letters, wherein he, Massimo, was mentioned. A few days ago he would not have believed himself able to do this, but now, largely owing to Massimo's presence at the Montanina, he felt quite strong. The young man, who was both touched and troubled, was at a loss how to introduce the painful but necessary question of his departure. He was still casting about in his mind for a suggestion when the bell rang for dinner. Then it was too late to speak, and he postponed the difficult announcement until later.

Leila was late for dinner. She was dressed in black and wore a bunch of pansies in her belt. She was very pale, and ate scarcely anything. With a visible effort she forced herself to put some questions to Massimo as to how he had spent the afternoon, paying but slight attention to his answers. Signor Marcello glanced frequently at the black gown and at the flowers she wore, with a look half tender, half regretful. He talked a great deal and with affectionate admiration of Donna Fedele, speaking of her former beauty, the youth that still shone in her brown eyes, and sweet voice. Looking at Leila, he said how sorry he was that the lady no longer came to the Montanina as before.

"To tell the truth," said Leila, "it is for us to go to see her."

Signor Marcello's face beamed with satisfaction and gratitude, and taking the hand that she allowed to rest limply in his, he pressed it tenderly.

Then the conversation turned upon Don Aurelio's dismissal. "Who is this archpriest?" Massimo inquired.

"Gèsummaria!" cried Signor Marcello, covering his eyes with his big, thin hands, a gesture that spoke volumes. And "Gèsummaria!" was all he would say, nor did Massimo press him. Leila's eyes were downcast, but her face was not sphinx-like; it wore rather the expression of one who disapproves and is grieved. This expression of hers goaded Massimo into saying that Don Aurelio was a priest whom the most uncompromising conservatives, even the _intransigenti_, had no excuse for persecuting. He was a follower of Rosmini, and had never been suspected of Modernism even in Rome, when he was living there. A few questions from Signor Marcello easily led the young man to speak of his own life in Rome, of Subiaco, and of Jenne; how he had come to know Don Aurelio, Dom Clemente, and Benedetto, and the adventures of his dead friend from the time he disappeared from his house at Oria, in Valsolda, in order that he might dedicate himself to God, to his death in Rome, in the gardener's cottage at Villa Mayda. He told the story of his last hours, and placed in its true light the part Jeanne Dessalle had played. It was almost dark when he finished his story. Coffee and lights had been forgotten, and Signor Marcello and Leila remained silent. Presently Giovanni entered, and asked if he should light the lamps.

"No," said Leila promptly, in a hushed voice. Then she asked Massimo if he had known Jeanne Dessalle. He replied that he had seen her that night at Villa Mayda.

Was she beautiful? He really could not say. She had simply passed him in one of the ante-rooms. It was not yet dark, but, as it was raining hard, there was little light in the room. Her figure had struck him as graceful. Leila then inquired what had become of her. No one knew. And where was Benedetto buried? Massimo hesitated an instant.

"At Campo Verano ... for the time being," he said.

"For the time being?"

The same astonished question fell from the lips of both his listeners. Massimo did not answer.

"And what will Don Aurelio do?" Leila asked. "Where will he go?"

"I do not know."

The room was full of shadows, and the three rose from the table in silence.

* * * * *

Giovanni having been ordered to light the drawing-room, had lighted a large lamp near the fireplace. Signor Marcello begged Leila to play for their guest, and at the same time he rang the bell, intending to have the lamp by the piano lighted. Leila hastened to prevent this.

"No, Papa, please not!"

She preferred this dim light, and Signor Marcello did not insist, but went out to the terrace, with stooping shoulders, to watch the darkness over in the west that was dotted with the lights of Arsiero.

"What sort of music would you like?" said Leila. "Serious or light?"

"Signorina," Massimo said, "you must not put yourself out for me."

Remembering their conversation in the garden, Leila said to herself: "He evidently has no other expression."

"Perhaps you are not fond of music?" she said.

"Perhaps not."

He smiled slightly as he spoke, and his smile hurt her like a blow upon the cheek. Without a word, she opened the piano and began playing something from Schumann's "Carnival" from memory.

She played it too nervously and without sweetness. When she had finished Massimo thanked her dryly. That would have been the moment to go to Signor Marcello and press the question of departure, but he hesitated. The girl's conduct was beginning to strike him in a new light. The black dress and the pansies had jarred upon him as a sort of unnecessary hint to himself, but her questions during dinner, the interest she had shown in his story, and now her way of answering his "perhaps not," showing that she had understood his feelings and his irony, her choice of the author and of the passionate music, the very nervousness of the execution, and the immobility that followed it, gave him the impression of a state of mind that was neither hostile nor indifferent. He could not help thinking it a little strange of Signor Marcello to leave them together as he had done. For a minute or so Leila let the fingers of her right hand run softly along the high notes, and then she inquired carelessly if he wished to hear something else.

He remembered that melody by Bellini he had heard in the night.

"Will you play 'Sola, furtiva al tempio'?"

"'Norma'?"

She sought the beginning, but after the first notes struck a wrong one, tried others at random, and murmuring, "I don't know it," took her hands from the keyboard. Massimo was tempted to say, "You knew it well enough in the night!" But meanwhile the girl had tried again in an absent-minded way, and again had failed. Then, almost in a whisper, and studying the palm of her hand, she said:

"Was not your Benedetto a heretic?"

"No!" cried Massimo. "His teaching may sometimes have erred, but he lived in obedience to the Church, and preached that obedience always."

"Then would you mind explaining to me why they persecuted him as a heretic?"

The tone of the question was hostile, but Massimo answered, nevertheless.

"Willingly. Now, if you like!"

"No, no! To-morrow or the day after. Now I am going to play for Papa."

With a scale of chords Leila put an end to the dialogue that had been carried on softly and rapidly. Then she began an _Étude_ by Heller, and Massimo concluded that the Signorina did not really wish to hear his explanations, but, at any rate, it would be impossible to interrupt her now, and tell her the day after to-morrow would be too late.

"This is for Papa, you know," she said, still playing. "I don't care for it."

Massimo listened for some time, and then rose to go to Signor Marcello. He paused before the fireplace, where the light fell full upon the frieze of marguerites interwoven with the motto, _Forse che si, forse che no_ ("Perhaps yes, perhaps no").[2] The motto was so entirely in harmony with his own uncertainty that he looked curiously to see how it ended. He said to himself: "If it is cut short at _yes_, I will go. If it is not cut short, and ends in _no_, I will remain." He was conscious of reflecting that, according to all probability, it would end in _no_. The motto finished with _perhaps_!

Massimo stood gazing upon it, somewhat baffled, but presently he saw that there was another test he could apply. The marguerites in the frieze were all losing their leaves, but the one where the motto ended still retained a few. He might pluck these in imagination, and see if the answer were _yes_ or _no_.

A soft voice whispered close behind him:

"Are you consulting the oracle?"

The young man turned quickly. Donna Fedele stood smiling at him, her finger at her lips, for Heller's _Étude_ was not yet finished. She had arrived while Leila was playing Schumann, and had been chatting with Signor Marcello until, seeing Massimo contemplating the frieze, she had come behind him.

"I am really here on your account," she said, still smiling. The music ceased, and she turned from the fireplace towards Leila, who had risen. She kissed her affectionately, as if no shadow had ever touched her friendship for the girl. Congratulating her on her playing, she took her arm and returned with her to the fireside. Signor Marcello stood looking into the drawing-room.

"Did you know," Donna Fedele began, addressing Leila, "that Signor Alberti's mother and I were friends? He is going to dine with me to-morrow, for we must have a long talk about his mother. She was such a dear, poor thing!"

Massimo, who was both troubled and surprised, could only murmur:

"Thank you, but----"

"Just fancy," she went on, as if she had not heard his _but_, "Signor Alberti was kind enough to come and see me to-day, and I, who ever since last night have been meaning to invite him, entirely forgot to do so. I am so absent-minded! I came myself this evening instead of writing, because I had to go to Arsiero any way, and so had the carriage. But now it is late, and I must be off."

She kissed Leila again, pressed Signor Marcello's hand, and holding out her own to Massimo, said, with her charming smile, and a slight dropping of her chin towards her breast:

"At seven, then."

"We will let him go for once," said Signor Marcello, in a tone of satisfaction.

Donna Fedele went out with Leila, who walked with her as far as the carriage, that she had left at the main entrance.

* * * * *

Massimo resigned himself to postponing his departure, at least for a day, and persuaded himself that he was glad to do so only because it would please Don Aurelio. Signor Marcello made him sit with him on the terrace, and put his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Dear Alberti," he said with a sigh. Massimo took his other hand in both of his and answered:

"I do not forget, sir."

The old hand pressed the young one convulsively, and a long silence followed. They could hear no steps on the gravel. Signor Marcello glanced into the drawing-room, but there was no one there.

"Did he ever speak to you of Leila's family?" he said in an undertone.

At first Massimo did not understand the allusion. Then, suddenly enlightened, he exclaimed:

"Yes, yes--several times!"

"How much did he tell you?"

"He said it was just on account of the family that you opposed his wishes, but that he was sure of the girl, and would find a means of keeping her parents at a distance after his marriage."

"Did he really know her parents well? I ask because, in talking with me, he did not appear to."

"Yes, yes; he knew them perfectly well. He told me the father, who carefully hid his evildoings, was quite as corrupt as the mother, whose evil reputation is a matter of public knowledge."

Signor Marcello listened again, and then began talking of Leila, who, he said, was a living confutation of the theories of heredity. He praised her virtue, which was as adamant, her warm heart, which often led her to commit acts of charitable folly, and made her the idol of all the servants, in spite of certain sudden outbursts of temper. He told of a little child whose mother was dead, and whom Leila had one day brought home with her to save it from a drunken father's brutality, and whom she proposed taking care of herself, although, poor girl! she had not the slightest idea how to set to work. He admitted certain peculiarities in her character that, he said, were more apparent than real, and pleaded her early and sad experience of life in her childhood as an excuse for language that was at times more bold, perhaps, than was seemly in a young girl.

And now, in thinking of the future and of those parents, the idea of leaving Leila unprotected caused him the greatest anxiety. His only hope was in God, and the only blessing for which he now asked was a worthy protector for her who was dearer to him than a daughter.

"You will live a long time yet," said Massimo.

"Dear Alberti, do you think it is kind to wish that for me? And, besides...."

The old man paused.

"I beg your pardon, sir," Said Massimo. "Besides what?"

"And, besides, my dear young friend, I am aware of something I do not speak of."

There were steps upon the gravel, coming from the Riderella bridge. The bell above a door announced Leila, who was entering the drawing-room from the open verandah. She came out to the terrace, kissed Signor Marcello good-night, saluted Massimo graciously enough, and withdrew.

* * * * *

It was after ten o'clock, and Giovanni brought Signor Marcello his coffee and the brass lamp. After the billiard-room door had closed upon him, Massimo still lingered on the terrace, contemplating the huge shadows of the mountains, breathing in the cool night air, and thinking how strangely confidential Signor Marcello's communications had been. He had doubtless failed to reflect that they might convey precisely that meaning which was most repugnant to his fatherly heart. At the same time Massimo confessed to himself that something had indeed stirred within him at the sound of Leila's step upon the gravel, and that her friendly good-night had caused him at once displeasure and delight. He had better not dwell upon all this, he thought, as he passed into the drawing-room on his way to bed.

On reaching the fireplace he raised his eyes almost mechanically to the frieze of marguerites and the mysterious _perhaps_. There was no longer any need to question the marguerites concerning his departure. He was tempted to consult them on another subject now, but he refrained. He stepped back from the fireplace and turned unconsciously to the piano. Awakening to a sense of his movement, he asked himself wonderingly what had prompted it, and stooped to examine the volume of Heller on the music-rack as if he had come there for that especial purpose. But he was possessed by the sense of Leila's presence and personality that breathed from objects, like a perfume perceptible only to the spirit. Upon the chair he saw a pansy that must have fallen from her belt, and he stooped to pick it up, but drew back his hand, and, turning, started upstairs, resisting a strong temptation to go down again. Hearing steps in the drawing-room, Giovanni appeared on the threshold, inquiring if he might put out the lights, and, having received permission, proceeded to do so. At the moment Massimo was glad of this interruption. When he reached his room he told himself that, had he picked up the pansy, he would have placed it beside his dead friend's picture, and he regretted that he had not done so.

* * * * *

Regardless of Teresina's protests, Leila had filled her room for the night with roses, honeysuckle, and acacia. It was a weakness of hers. She had as many flowers as possible brought to her room unknown to Signor Marcello, and she delighted in the strongest scents. That night she had a sea of flowers. She stuck several bunches of acacia between the bedhead and the wall, and a bunch of roses between the wall and a holy picture. She loved to lie in bed and feel the petals falling upon her face. Teresina begged her to leave all three windows open, and to this she agreed. As soon as Teresina had left the room she put out the light, turned upon her side, indulging her consciousness of fragrance as if she were listening to some caressing language, and gazing through the window at the black, crescent-shaped crown of woods, at the sharp dolomitic peaks against the dark sky, and neither thinking nor wishing to think.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Black and red insults: black from the clericals, and red from Socialists and free-thinkers.--TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.

[2] This strange motto, which Gabriele d'Annunzio has chosen for the title of his latest novel, may be found running through the rich decorations of the wooden ceiling of a room near Isabella d'Este's boudoir in the ducal palace at Mantua.--TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.