THE NEW VALET.
Captain Desfrayne walked with hasty, irregular steps in the direction
of his own home.
The servant who admitted him said that a person was waiting up-stairs,
being earnestly desirous of an interview.
“I should not have let him wait, sir,” the man added apologetically,
“only he said he had an appointment with you for to-day, and seemed so
dreadfully disappointed because he didn’t see you.”
Captain Desfrayne had altogether forgotten that he had desired the
Italian valet to call upon him. His conscience reproached him for what
he considered selfishness, in being so engrossed; and he hurried up to
his own apartments.
The doors of the inner rooms were locked; but there was a pleasant
little antechamber, almost luxuriously furnished as a smoking-room.
This was now fully lighted from a handsome chandelier; and standing at
the table in the center of the apartment was the tall, gaunt Italian
who had claimed Captain Desfrayne’s sympathy the evening before.
The evening before! It seemed to Paul Desfrayne as if it must have been
months since he had gone through that short, half-smiling interview
with his mother.
The table was scattered over with newspapers, magazines, French novels,
and other aids to kill time agreeably and intellectually at the same
time.
As Captain Desfrayne entered, the Italian servant was looking at one of
the papers intently--so much absorbed that his left hand unconsciously
crushed it.
It was that day’s issue of an illustrated paper.
The entire page upon which the eyes of the man seemed fixed was
occupied by an oval-shaped portrait of a lady--of whom, Captain
Desfrayne could not discern.
The fellow clenched his right hand, and shook it at the mute
representation of the beautiful woman, and muttered some words in
Italian, in so low a key that their import did not reach Captain
Desfrayne.
The next moment the step of the latter made the valet start violently
and turn. He fumbled with the paper, and tried to turn over the pages,
but his hands were trembling so much that he was unable to do so; and
Captain Desfrayne was at the table before he could conceal what had so
much interested him.
It was the engraved portrait of the beautiful singer who had been
sitting in the balcony in Porchester Square the evening before.
Paul Desfrayne looked at the man, who had not had time to compose his
features. There was an expression of deadly hatred yet lingering upon
them, though he evidently tried hard to master his emotion.
For an instant Captain Desfrayne felt an almost overwhelming desire to
speak to him about the signora; but a second thought determined him to
be silent, and appear not to have noticed the little mute scene. He
resolved, however, at all hazards, to engage this man in his service;
for his curiosity, if no deeper feeling, was strongly excited.
“My good fellow,” he began, in a very kindly tone, “I am sincerely
sorry, but I totally forgot our arrangement. I had business of the
utmost importance to attend to, and so it slipped from my memory.”
Gilardoni bowed very low, dexterously turning the paper as he did so.
“I trust you will excuse the liberty I took in waiting for you, sir,”
he answered, with profound humility. “But I have no friend save you, if
I can dare to call you a friend.”
Paul Desfrayne had resolved to take the fellow into his service, if he
were anything short of an escaped galley-slave. He did not tell him so,
however, but said very quietly:
“I hope I may be able to show you some kindness, for you seem sorely in
need of it.”
Gilardoni clasped his hands, and looked at the captain.
“I will serve you truly and well, if you will let me,” he cried.
“What recommendations--what credentials have you to show?” asked
Captain Desfrayne.
The man eagerly unbuttoned his shabby, threadbare coat, and, diving his
thin fingers into an inner pocket, drew forth a bundle of letters and
papers. He chose one document, which he extended to Captain Desfrayne.
“This is a written character from my poor master, sir. You knew his
writing--you will see what he says of me.”
Captain Desfrayne took the envelope; and opening it, was about to
extract the enclosure, when a small, folded morsel of note-paper fell
out, and dropped on the table. Quick as lightning, Gilardoni snatched
it up--not rudely, but with a kind of panic expressed in his face and
in every gesture.
Captain Desfrayne’s eye had caught sight of the characters before he
was aware that he was guilty of any possible indiscretion in looking
upon them.
The blood rushed to his face, and then receded to his heart. Only too
easily did he recognize the ill-formed characters. It was the writing
of the woman who had influenced his life for evil--the beautiful
Signora Guiscardini.
With infinite presence of mind, he affected not to have particularly
observed the stray, fluttering paper, and began to read the letter of
recommendation.
More than ever, he had made up his mind to receive this man into his
service. He longed to ask him, then and there, bluntly, what the
mysterious tie might be that caused him to take so much interest in the
signora, and why he had a note written by her in his possession--a note
which he evidently feared any one else might see.
He was unable to study the man’s face; for as he read the
recommendatory letter, he was conscious that the fellow’s keen eyes
were fixed upon him with a furtive anxiety.
“When can you come to me?” he asked.
A glitter as of tears of delight gleamed in those bright, half-hungry
eyes, as Gilardoni eagerly answered:
“Any time. To-night, if you will, sir.”
“Very well. So be it.”
The little details of terms and so on were soon settled. Captain
Desfrayne unlocked the door leading to the inner apartments, and in a
very few minutes Gilardoni was occupied in noiselessly flitting about,
putting things straight with an almost womanly softness and dexterity.
Captain Desfrayne threw himself upon a sofa, lighted a cigar, and,
leaning back, watched him with a curiosity that was attaining an
uncomfortable height.
“I would give a thousand pounds, if I were so rich, to know what link
there is between this poor wretch and the star singer,” he thought.
“But I am sure to know in time, I imagine, and I must not startle him.
“Give me some of those papers that are lying on the table in the next
room,” he said, aloud.
Gilardoni obeyed his orders with nimble alacrity, and lighted a
reading-lamp that stood on a table at the head of the couch.