Chapter XLII: An Embarrassing Conjuncture

The sound of footsteps not far away aroused them both from their delirious excitement. The princess rose, somewhat alarmed by the approach of strangers, and, seizing Michel's arm, hurried on toward her villa with him. She walked more rapidly than before, carefully veiled, but leaning upon him with a sacred joy. And he, with wildly-beating heart, bewildered with happiness, but penetrated with the most profound respect, hardly dared to raise to his lips from time to time the hand that he held in his.

Not until he saw the gate of the princess's garden before him did he recover the power of speech.

"What! leave you already?" he said anxiously; "part so soon? It is impossible! I shall die of excitement and despair."

"We must part here," said the princess. "The time has not come when we shall not part at all. But that happy day will come soon. Have no fear; leave everything to me. Rely upon me and my boundless love to see to it that we are united forever."

"Is it possible? Do these words that I hear really come from your mouth? That day will come, you say? We shall be united? we shall never part? Oh! do not trifle with my simplicity! I dare not believe in such happiness; and yet, when it is you who say it, I cannot doubt!"

"Doubt the permanence of the stars that shine above us, doubt your own existence rather than the power of my heart to overcome the obstacles which seem to you so immense, but which now seem to me so trifling! Ah! on the day when I shall no longer have aught except the world to fear, I shall be very strong, I promise you!"

"The world?" said Michel. "Ah! yes, I remember; I had forgotten everything except you and myself. The world will deny you, the world will be offended with you, all because of me! O God, forgive the impulses of my pride! I abhor them now. Oh! let my happiness be shrouded in mystery, and let no one know of it! I insist that it shall be so; I will never suffer you to ruin yourself for love of me."

"Noble-hearted child!" cried the princess, "let your mind be at rest; we will triumph together; but I thank you for this generous impulse of your heart. Ah! yes, all your impulses are generous, I know. I am not happy simply, I am proud of you!"

And she took the young man's head in both hands and kissed him again.

But Michel thought that he heard footsteps a short distance away, and the fear of compromising that courageous woman triumphed over his happiness.

"We may be watched or surprised," he said to her; "I am sure that someone is coming this way. Fly! I will stay hidden in the bushes here until these people, whether spies or mere passers-by, are out of hearing. But we shall meet to-morrow, shall we not?"

"Oh! surely," she replied. "Come here in the morning, as if to work, and go up to my Casino."

She pressed him to her heart once more, then entered the park and disappeared among the trees.

The noise he had heard had ceased, as if the persons who were approaching had gone in another direction.

Michel stood for a long time, motionless as a statue, and as it were bereft of reason. After so many fascinating illusions, after such mighty efforts not to believe in them, he was falling back once more under the empire of dreams--at least he feared so. He dared not believe that he was awake; he was afraid to take a step--to move a muscle--lest he might thereby dispel the illusion once more, as in the Naiad's grotto. He could not decide to question reality. Even the probabilities frightened him. How could Agatha love him? Why did she love him? He could find no answers to those questions, whereupon he cast them aside as blasphemous. "She loves me! she told me so!" he exclaimed mentally. "To doubt it would be a crime. If I distrusted her word, I should be unworthy of her love."

And he plunged into an ocean of blissful reveries. He lifted up his thoughts toward heaven, which had caused him to be born to so happy a fate. He felt capable of the greatest deeds, since he was deemed worthy of the greatest joys. Never had he believed so fervently in the divine mercy, never had he felt so proud and so humble, so devout and so brave.

"O my God!" he said in his heart, "forgive me; until this day I believed myself to be a creature of some importance. I was proud, I abandoned myself to self-love; and yet I was not loved. Not until to-day have I really lived. I have received life, I have received a heart, I am a man! But I shall never forget that of myself I am nothing, and that the enthusiasm which possesses me, the strength which overflows within me, the virtue of which I realize the full worth to-day, were born under that woman's breath, and live in me only through her. O day of boundless bliss! O sovereign tranquillity, ambition satisfied without selfishness and without remorse! O blessed victory which leaves the heart modest and overflowing with generous sentiments! Love is all this and more. How kind Thou art, O God, not to have allowed me to divine it beforehand, and how vastly this surprise enhances the ecstasy of a heart just coming forth from its utter insignificance!"

He was about to walk slowly away when he saw a dark figure glide along the wall and disappear among the branches. He drew back still farther into the shadow to watch, and soon he recognized the Piccinino, as he removed his cloak and tossed it over the wall, so that he might scale it more readily.

All Michel's blood flowed back toward his heart. Was Carmelo expected? Had the princess authorized him to come and confer with her, at any hour of the night, and to introduce himself into her villa by any means he might choose? It is true that there were important secrets between them, and that, it being more natural, as he said, for him to travel as the crow flies, scaling a wall by night was a natural method of procedure for him. He had warned Agatha that he might ring the bell at the gate of her flower-garden when she least expected him. But was it not unwise on her part to give him permission? Who could be sure of the intentions of such a man as the Piccinino? Agatha was alone; would she be imprudent enough to admit him and listen to him? If she carried her confidence to that point, Michel could not make up his mind to share it. Did she realize that that man was in love with her, or that he pretended to be? What had they said to each other in the flower-garden, while Michel and the marquis looked on but could not hear?

Michel fell headlong from the sky to the earth. A violent paroxysm of jealousy took possession of him, and, to delude himself, he tried to make up his mind that he feared nothing but the danger of insult for the lady of his thoughts. Was it not his duty to watch over her safety and to protect her against the whole world?

He noiselessly opened the gate, the key of which he had retained as well as that of the flower-garden, and glided into the park, resolved to watch the enemy. But, after the Piccinino had agilely scaled the wall, he could find no trace of him.

He walked toward the cliff, and, being perfectly certain that there was nobody in front of him, he decided to ascend the staircase cut in the lava, turning every moment to see if the Piccinino were following him. His heart beat very fast, for a conflict with him upon that staircase would have been decisive. On seeing him there, the brigand would have realized that he had been deceived, that Michel was Agatha's lover--and to what extremities would his rage not have impelled him? Michel did not fear a bloody struggle on his own account; but how could he prevent Carmelo from wreaking vengeance upon Agatha, if he should come forth alive from that struggle?

Nevertheless, Michel kept on to the top, and, having made sure that he was not followed, entered the flower-garden, locked the gate, and approached Agatha's boudoir. The room was lighted, but empty. A moment later a maid came and extinguished the candles, then went away. All was silence and darkness.

Michel had never been more intensely disturbed. His heart beat as if it would burst, as the silence and uncertainty continued. What was taking place in Agatha's apartments? Her bedroom was behind the boudoir; it could be entered from the flower-garden through a short passage where a lamp was still burning. Michel could see it by looking through the key-hole of the carved door. Perhaps that door was not locked on the inside. Michel tried it, and, meeting with no resistance, entered the Casino.

Where was he going and what did he intend to do? He had no very clear idea himself. He said to himself that he was going to the assistance of Agatha, whose security was threatened by the Piccinino. He did not choose to admit that he was spurred on by the demon of jealousy.

He fancied that he could hear voices in Agatha's bedroom. They were two women's voices: they might be Agatha's and her maid's, or the second one might be Carmelo's soft and almost feminine voice.

Michel stood irresolute, trembling from head to foot. If he should go back into the flower-garden, the door of the passage-way would doubtless soon be locked by the maid; and in that case how was he to get in again unless by breaking a pane of glass in the boudoir--an expedient suited to the genius of the Piccinino, but naturally repugnant to Michel.

It seemed to him that centuries had passed since he saw the bandit climb the wall; but it was less than a quarter of an hour. However, one can live years in a minute, and he said to himself that the Piccinino had evidently preceded him, as he was so slow about following him.

Suddenly the door of Agatha's bedroom opened, and Michel had barely time to step behind the pedestal of the statue which held the lamp. "Lock the garden door," said Agatha to her maid, who came out of the bedroom, "but leave this one open; it is horribly hot in my room."

The girl returned after obeying her mistress's orders. Michel was comforted, Agatha was alone with her maid. But he was locked in, and how could he get out? or how could he explain his presence if he were discovered hiding there at the princess's door?

"I will tell the truth," he thought, not admitting to himself that it was only half of the truth. "I will say that I saw the Piccinino climb the park wall, and that I came to defend her whom I adore against a man whom I do not trust."

But he determined to wait until the maid had been dismissed, for he did not know whether she possessed her mistress's entire confidence, and whether she would not attribute a criminal meaning to that mark of their intimacy.

A few moments later, Agatha did dismiss her. There was a sound of footsteps and of doors, as if the maid closed them all behind her as she withdrew. Determined not to delay showing himself, Michel resolutely entered Agatha's bedroom, but found himself alone there. The princess had gone into her oratory before retiring, and Michel saw her kneeling on a velvet cushion. She was dressed in a long, floating white robe. Her black hair fell to her feet in two great braids, the weight of which would have disturbed her sleep if she had kept them about her head at night. The faint light of a lamp under a bluish globe cast a melancholy, transparent reflection upon her, which made her resemble a ghost. Michel paused, overcome with respect and dread.

But, as he was hesitating whether he should interrupt her prayer, and wondering how he could attract her attention without frightening her, he heard the door of the little passageway open, and steps, so light that none but a jealous lover's ear could distinguish them, approach Agatha's bedroom. Michel had just time to jump behind the bedstead of carved ebony, decorated with small ivory figures. It did not stand against the wall, as our beds do, but some little distance away, as is customary in hot countries, with its foot near the centre of the room. Between the wall and the high headboard of that ancient piece of furniture there was sufficient room for Michel to hide. He did not stoop for fear of moving the white satin curtains. He had no time to take many precautions. Chance favored him, for, despite the swift and inquisitive glance which the Piccinino cast about the room, he saw no disorder, no movement to betray the presence of a man who had arrived before him.

Nevertheless, he was about to take the prudent course of making a thorough search, when the princess, hearing his light footsteps, half rose, saying:

"Is that you, Nunziata?"

Receiving no reply, she put aside the portière which half concealed the interior of her bedroom, and saw the Piccinino standing in front of her. She rose to her feet and stood motionless with surprise and terror.

But, realizing that she must not betray her painful emotion in the presence of a man of that character, she kept silent so that her altered voice might reveal nothing, and walked toward him as if expecting him to explain his audacious visit.

The Piccinino knelt on one knee, and said, handing her a folded parchment:

"Signora, I knew that you must be extremely anxious concerning this important document, and I did not wish to postpone its delivery until to-morrow. I came here during the evening, but you were absent, and I was obliged to wait until you had returned. Forgive me if my visit is somewhat opposed to the proprieties of the society in which you live, but your highness is aware that I am compelled to act on all occasions, and especially in this matter, with the greatest secrecy."

"Signor captain," replied Agatha, after opening and glancing at the parchment, "I knew that my uncle's will had been stolen from Doctor Recuperati this morning. The poor doctor came here this afternoon, quite beside himself, to tell me of his misadventure. He could not imagine how his wallet had been taken from his pocket, and he accused Abbé Ninfo. I was not alarmed, because I felt sure that Abbé Ninfo would have to account to you for his theft in the course of the day. So I comforted the doctor, bidding him not mention the incident, and promising him that the will would soon be recovered. You can well believe that I could give him no hint as to how it would be done and by whom. Now, captain, it is not proper for me to have in my hands a document which I should have the appearance of having seized because I was distrustful of my uncle's intentions or the doctor's good faith. I will ask you, therefore, when the moment to produce it shall have come, to restore it by some means, indirect but sure, to the depositary who previously had it in charge. You are too ingenious not to discover such a means without betraying yourself in any way."

"You wish me to take charge of this again? can you think of such a thing, signora?" said the Piccinino, who was still standing and waiting impatiently an invitation to sit; but Agatha stood as she spoke to him, as if she anticipated his speedy withdrawal, while he was determined to prolong the interview at any price. He suggested difficulties.

"It is impossible," he said; "the cardinal is in the habit of signifying with his eyes that he wants his will to be shown to him, and he thinks of it every day. To be sure," he added, to gain time, resting his hand on the back of a chair as if he were very tired, "to be sure, the cardinal, being deprived of his interpreter, Abbé Ninfo, it would be easy for the doctor to pretend that he did not understand his eminence's eloquent glances.--Especially," continued the brigand, moving his chair a little and resting his elbow on it, "especially as the doctor's usual stupidity would make his failure to understand very probable. But," he added, respectfully offering the chair to the princess so that she might set him the example of sitting down, "the cardinal's meaning may be understood by some other trusty servitor, who would force the excellent doctor to the wall by saying to him: 'You see, his eminence wants to look at his will!'"

And the Piccinino made a graceful gesture to indicate that it pained him to see her standing before him.

But Agatha did not choose to understand, nor was she willing to keep the will, in order to avoid having to thank the Piccinino at such a moment in terms which should offend him by too great reserve, or encourage him by too great warmth. She was determined to maintain her proud attitude, while overwhelming him with manifestations of a confidence without bounds so far as her material interests were concerned.

"No, captain," she said, still standing and in perfect control of herself, "the cardinal will not ask again to see the will, for his condition has grown much worse in twenty-four hours. It seems that that wretched Ninfo kept him in a state of excitement which prolonged his life; for, since he disappeared this morning, my uncle has been in a sort of lethargic state, bordering closely, I doubt not, on the repose of the grave. His eyes are dull; he no longer seems to pay any heed to what is going on about him. He does not notice the absence of his familiar, and the doctor is compelled to resort to all the expedients of his profession to combat a drowsiness from which he fears that there will be no awakening."

"Doctor Recuperati has always lacked common sense," rejoined the Piccinino, seating himself on the edge of a console, and letting his cloak fall at his feet as if by inadvertence. "I ask your highness," he added, folding his arms across his breast, "if the so-called laws of humanity are not absurd and false in such cases, like almost all the laws of human respect and hypocritical propriety? What benefit do we confer on a dying man when we try to recall him to life, with the certainty that we shall not succeed, and that we are simply prolonging his torture in the world? If I were in Doctor Recuperati's place, I would say to myself that his eminence has lived quite long enough. It is the opinion of all respectable people, and of your highness yourself, that that man has lived too long. It is high time to allow him to repose from the fatiguing journey of this life, since he seems to desire it, so far as he himself is concerned, and to arrange his head comfortably on his pillow for his last sleep. I ask your highness's pardon for leaning on this console; my legs are giving way under me, I have run about so much to-day in your interest; and if I do not rest for a moment, it will be impossible for me to return to Nicolosi to-night."

Agatha made a gesture which invited the brigand to occupy the chair that stood between them; but she remained standing herself, to signify that she did not propose that he should abuse the privilege.