Chapter XXVIII: Jealousy

Neither the marquis nor Michel had heard a word of the conversation we have reported. But the first was tranquil in his mind, the other was not. The marquis, having assured himself that the princess was calm, had no fear that she incurred any immediate danger with the brigand; whereas Michel, not being familiar with her character, suffered keenly at the bare thought that the Piccinino might, in his speech, have gone beyond the bounds of respect. His suffering was intensified when he saw the Piccinino's face as he returned to the boudoir.

That face, ordinarily so indifferent and composed, was, as it were, illuminated by confidence and joy. The little man seemed to have grown a cubit taller, and his black eyes flashed flames which one would not have believed could be kindled in a head so cool and calculating.

No sooner had the princess, who was somewhat fatigued from having walked a long while in a small space, seated herself on the couch, to which he escorted her with the most dignified courtesy, than he fell, rather than sat down upon a chair, on the other side of the small boudoir, but with his face turned toward her as if he had stationed himself there to gaze at her in the glare of the chandelier. In truth, the Piccinino, after having enjoyed in the garden the sweetness of her voice, the flattering significance of her words, and the softness of her hand, desired, in order to put the finishing touch to the sensuous delight which he had felt for the first time in his life, to gaze at her at his leisure, without the labor of speech or of thought. He fell into a silent meditation, more eloquent than Michel could have desired. He feasted his bold eyes with the sight of that exquisite and fascinating woman, whom it seemed to him that he already possessed, as with a treasure which he had stolen, and which he took pleasure in gloating over, as it lay gleaming before him.

The young painter's distress was intensified by the fact that, under the mysterious influence of that all-pervading passion, which but just born was already spreading with the rapidity of a conflagration, the bandit acquired a strange power of fascination. His exquisite beauty shone forth like a star emerging from the vapors on the horizon. All that was unusual in the outlines of his features and disquieting in their veiled expression gave way to a subtle charm, an overpowering effusiveness, albeit silent, and, as it were, overwhelmed by its own ardor. He was lying back in his chair, but no longer affected indifference or absent-mindedness. His hanging arms, his bent back, his eyes, glistening and fascinated, and fixed intently on the princess, indicated that he was shattered, as it were, by the explosion of a force unknown to himself, and drowned in the anticipated joys of his triumph. Michel was afraid of him for the first time. He would still have defied him fearlessly in the ill-omened solitude of the _Destatore's Cross_; but in that room, radiant with a strange ecstasy, he seemed too overpowering for any woman to escape the fascination of that basilisk glance.

However, Agatha did not seem to notice it, and whenever he turned his eyes from the bandit to her, he found her apparently calm and undisturbed, having no thought either of attacking or of defending herself.

"My friends," she said, after pausing a moment to take breath, "we can say good-night and separate with our minds at rest. I place my full confidence in this new friend whom Providence, acting through the wisdom of Fra Angelo, has sent to us. You will share my confidence when I tell you that he knew beforehand, and knew far better than ourselves, what we had to fear and to hope."

"It is a decidedly interesting affair, it is true," said the Piccinino, making an effort to emerge from his dreaming; "and it is time that this young man should know why I roared with laughter when he came to see me. You will laugh too, I hope, Master Michelangelo, when you learn that you came and entrusted your fate to a man who had been strenuously urged, an hour earlier, to do you a bad turn; and if I were not calm and prudent in such affairs, if I believed blindly the words of those who came to consult me, while you were urging me in her highness's behalf to kidnap Abbé Ninfo, I should have seized you and thrown you into my cellar, securely bound and gagged, at the request of Abbé Ninfo. I see by your manner that you would have resisted vigorously. Oh! I know that you are brave, and I fancy that you are stronger than I. You have an uncle who has kept his muscles in play so persistently for twenty years past, breaking stone, that he cannot have lost any of the strength which caused him to be called _Iron Arm_ when he plied another trade on the mountain; but, when one is engaged in a matter of great political moment, one takes precautions, and I had but to touch a little bell to have my house surrounded by determined men, who would not have afforded you even the pleasure of resistance."

Having spoken thus, his eyes fixed upon Michel with a playful expression, the Piccinino turned again to the princess. She had concealed her pallor behind her fan, and when the brigand met her eyes, they were armed with a tranquil expression which dispelled the last traces of his ironical humor. The secret pleasure which it always afforded him to frighten those who ventured into his presence disappeared before that womanly glance, which seemed to say to him: "You shall not do it, I forbid you."

So that he at once assumed an expression of hearty good-will, and said to Michel:

"You see, my young friend, that I had my reasons for insisting upon an explanation of the affair, and for not being in too much of a hurry. Now that I am convinced that honor and truth are on one side, infamy and falsehood on the other, my choice is made, and you can sleep with both eyes shut. I propose to go with you to Catania," he added, addressing Michel in an undertone, "where I must arrange the worthy abbé's departure for to-morrow. But I absolutely require two hours' rest. Can you promise me a corner in your house where I can sleep soundly for two hours without danger of being seen? For my features are hardly known in the city, and I do not wish them to become known there until it is necessary. Tell me, can I enter your house without fear of inquisitive eyes, especially women's eyes?"

"I have a young sister who is moderately inquisitive," replied Michel smiling; "but she will be in bed at this time of night. Trust me, as I trusted you; I will give you my own bed, and sit up in the room if you wish."

"I accept," said the bandit, who, while talking with Michel, was trying to overhear the words, unimportant in themselves, which the princess was exchanging with the marquis, in order not to embarrass the conversation between the two young men. Michel observed that, notwithstanding the Piccinino's assertion that he could not do two things at once, he did not lose a gesture, a word, or a movement of Agatha's, while he was talking with him.

When he was assured of the two hours' absolute rest which was, he said, indispensable to put him in a condition to act intelligently, the Piccinino rose and prepared to retire. But the coquettish moderation with which he arranged his cloak about his flexible figure, the languid grace of his preoccupied air during that momentous operation, and the imperceptible quivering of his silky black moustache, showed plainly enough that he went away with regret, and after the manner of a man who is striving to dispel the mists of drunkenness in order to return to work.

"You do not wish to be seen?" said Agatha; "then step into the marquis's carriage with Michel. He will drive you to the outskirts of the city, and you can slip through the narrow streets."

"Many thanks, signora!" replied the bandit. "I have no desire to take your servants and the signor marquis's into my confidence. To-morrow morning Abbé Ninfo, whose discernment exceeds their discretion, would learn that a mountaineer came out of your apartments whom nobody had seen go in; and the excellent abbé, thinking that that performance savored somewhat of the _bravo_, would insult me by withdrawing the confidence with which he honors me. I must be his fidus Achates and his very good friend for twelve hours more. I will go out with Michel as I came."

"And when shall I see you again?" said Agatha, courageously offering him her hand, despite the lustful flame in his unshrinking eyes.

"You will not see me again," he replied, putting one knee to the floor and kissing her hand with a sort of frenzy in marked contrast to the humility of his attitude, "until your orders are carried out. I cannot fix the day and hour, but I will answer for the safety of all your friends--even the stout doctor--with my life! I know the way to your Casino. When I ring _one_, _three_ and _seven_ at the gate of your flower-garden, will your ladyship deign to admit me to your presence?"

"You can rely upon it, captain," she replied, giving no sign of the alarm caused her by that request.

The Marquis della Serra did not fail to take his leave at the same time that the two young men went from the boudoir into the garden. His respect for the princess was so punctilious that he would not for the world have assumed the attitude of a favored lover. But he descended the staircase of the palace slowly, still disturbed in mind, and ready to go up again at the slightest noise.

On leaving the garden, the Piccinino locked the gate himself and handed the key to Michel, reproaching him for his carelessness.

"Except for me," he said, "this all-important key--this key that cannot be replaced--would have been left in the lock."

A moment's self-possession, before entering the boudoir, had sufficed for the bandit to take the impression of the key on a lump of wax which he always carried with him for emergencies.

They had no sooner started down the staircase cut in the rock than Agatha's maid, who was entirely devoted to her, came to her and said:

"The young man whom your highness sent for is waiting in the picture gallery."

Agatha put her finger to her lips to warn the maid to speak lower on such occasions, and went down to the floor below, where Magnani had been waiting more than half an hour.

Poor Magnani had been more dead than alive since he received the princess's mysterious message. Being very different from the Piccinino, he was so far from entertaining the slightest hope that he imagined the worst that could possibly happen. "I must have made a terrible mistake," he said to himself, "in confiding to Michel the secret of my folly. He probably talked about it with his sister, and Mila has seen the princess, who treats her like a spoiled child. The chatter of that girl, who cannot understand the gravity of such a disclosure, terrified and disgusted the princess. But why not banish me without any explanation? What can she say to me that will not be horribly painful and uselessly cruel?"

That hour of suspense seemed to him a century. He was cold; he felt as if he should die, when the secret door of the gallery opened noiselessly, and he saw Agatha approaching him, pale with the excitement through which she had just passed, and diaphanous in her white lace cape. The enormous gallery was lighted only by a single glass lamp. It seemed to him that the princess did not walk, but that she glided toward him, after the manner of a ghost.

She approached without hesitation, and offered him her hand as if he were an intimate friend. And, as he hesitated to give her his, thinking that he was dreaming, fearing that he might misunderstand the meaning of that gesture, she said to him in a soft but firm voice:

"Give me your hand, my child, and tell me if you still feel for me the friendship which you once expressed when you thought that you owed me some gratitude for your mother's cure. Do you remember? I have never forgotten that generous outburst of your heart!"

Magnani could not reply. He dared not put Agatha's hand to his lips. He pressed it gently in his as he bent over it. She felt that he was trembling.

"You are very timid," she said; "I hope that if you are afraid of me there is no touch of distrust in your fear. I must speak to you quickly; do you answer in the same way. Are you disposed to do me a very great favor, at the risk of your life? I ask it in your mother's name!"

Magnani fell on his knees. Only with his eyes, which were streaming with tears, could he testify his enthusiasm and his devotion. Agatha understood him.

"You must return to Catania," she said; "run until you overtake two men who have just left here and who will not have five minutes' start of you. One is Michelangelo Lavoratori; you can readily recognize him in the moonlight. The other is a mountaineer wrapped in his cloak. Follow them without seeming to watch them, but do not lose sight of them. At the least suspicious gesture on that man's part, you will hurl yourself upon him and throw him down. You are strong," she added, touching the young artisan's robust arm; "but he is active and cunning. Be on your guard! See, here is a dagger; use it only in self-defence. That man is either my enemy or my preserver, I do not know which. Spare his life, if possible. Fly with Michel, if you can thereby avoid a bloody battle. You live in the same house with Michel, do you not?"

"Almost, signora."

"Be where you can assist him at the first alarm. Do not go to bed; pass the night as near his room as you can. The man I speak of will go away before daylight; do not leave your house and do not let Michel go away unless you go together, always together, do you understand? And be ready until I give different orders. To-morrow I will explain everything to you; I will see you. Rely upon me, from this day forth, as a second mother. Come, my child, follow me; I will put you on the track of Michel and his companion."

She took him by the arm and hastily led him up to the Casino, which they passed through without a word. She opened the garden gate, and pointing to the staircase in the rock, "Go," she said, "celerity, caution, and your noble heart, the heart of a man of the people, for your friend's buckler!"

Magnani descended the stairs as swiftly and noiselessly as an arrow. He wasted no time in reflection, nor did he exhaust the force of his determination by worrying. He did not even ask himself the question whether Michel was his fortunate rival, and whether he should not be tempted to run him through the heart. Impelled by the magic force which Agatha's hand and breath had given him, he was all ready to lay down his life for that favored child of fortune, and he felt no more regret than hesitation at the thought of sacrificing himself thus. Nay, more, he was happy and proud to obey the woman he loved, and her words rang in his heart like a voice from Heaven.

He was soon in the fields and discovered two men walking along a path. He recognized Michel; he recognized the mountaineer's cloak. He took pains not to show himself; but he measured with a glance the distance and the obstacles that he would have to pass over in case of an alarm. The mountaineer stopped for a moment, talking earnestly. Magnani, with a determined effort of strength and activity, which under other circumstances would have been beyond the power of man, reached a point sufficiently near to overhear him, and found that he was talking of love and poetry.

He allowed them to gain on him again, and, gliding through a narrow path among the blocks of lava that lay in great heaps at the entrance to the city, he arrived before them in the yard of the adjoining houses occupied by his family and Michel's. He watched his young friend and his suspicious guest enter the house. Then Magnani made the circuit of the houses, looking for a place where he could pass the night, unseen, but within hearing of the slightest noise, the slightest commotion inside.