SIGNOR FERRARI DECLINES.
"Number One is the greater number; if I assisted Number Two it would
become the lesser."
Signor Ferrari was a gentleman who knew how to make himself thoroughly
comfortable; and, in order to do so, squandered his earnings in a most
spendthrift fashion. At present he was receiving a very handsome
salary for his singing in Sultana Fatima, therefore he denied himself
nothing in the way of luxury. He was a true Bohemian in every action
of his life, and accepted his fluctuating fortunes with the utmost
equanimity. If he fared badly on dry bread and water one day, he was
hopeful of oysters and champagne the next; and when the feast of Dives
was before him, made the most of it in eating and drinking, so as to
recompense himself for all future deprivations, which would be the lot
of poverty-stricken Lazarus.
While his voice lasted he was well aware that he could command an
excellent income which satisfied him completely; for when he grew old
and songless he was quite prepared to return to Italy, and live there
the happy-go-lucky life of his youth on polenta and sour wine. In his
impulsive southern fashion he loved Mrs. Belswin madly; but, strangely
enough, it never for a moment occurred to him to save money against
his possible marriage with her. If he starved, she would starve; if he
made money, she would share it; and if she objected to such a
chequered existence, Signor Ferrari was quite confident enough in his
own powers of will and persuasion to be satisfied that he could force
her to accept his view of the matter. This was the Ferrari philosophy,
and no bad one either as times go, seeing that a singer's livelihood
depends entirely upon the caprice of the public. As long as he could
get enough to eat, be the food rich or plain, a smoke, and plenty of
sleep, the world could go hang for all he cared. He lived in the
present, never thought about the past, and let the future take care of
itself; so altogether managed to scramble through life in a leisurely,
selfish manner eminently egotistical in fashion.
At present, being in the heyday of life, he was dining with Dives,
which was happiness enough in itself; but, in order that nothing
should be wanting to complete his felicity, he had received a letter
from Mrs. Belswin, telling him of her contemplated arrival. Under
these circumstances he had nothing left to wish for, and lounging on
the sofa in his sitting-room in a state of blissful contentment
awaited the coming of his fair friend.
"Buõno," said the signor, with smiling satisfaction, folding up the
letter and putting it in his pocket, "the singing-bird returns to its
nest. This time I will clip its wings, so that it flies not again. Per
Bacco, the kind heart of Stephano surprises himself, for who would let
his bird fly as he has done? But I fear not the jealousy, offspring of
suspicion. Ecco! she loves but me, and comes again to the nest. And
what a nest! Cospetto! My Lucrezia will be hard to please if she likes
not this palazzo del amor."
It was a very pretty nest indeed, from a lodging-house point of view,
although its incongruity of colouring and furnishing would have driven
an artist out of his mind; but then the signor was not exacting in the
way of harmonious effect, and, provided his dwelling was fairly
comfortable, felt completely satisfied. Lying on the sofa, he looked
complacently at the furniture, covered with painfully bright blue
satin, at the scarlet curtains, the green wall-paper, and at all the
wax flowers, Berlin wool mats, and gimcrack ornaments with which the
room was adorned. Ferrari had added to this splendid furnishing an
excellent piano for professional purposes, and numerous photographs,
principally feminine, of his artistic friends; so that he conceived
himself to be housed in a princely fashion.
It was three o'clock by the incorrect French timepiece on the tawdry
mantelpiece, and Ferrari was getting somewhat impatient, as Mrs.
Belswin had mentioned two o'clock as the time of her arrival; but with
his accustomed philosophy he manifested no anger at the delay.
"La Donna é mobile," he hummed, shrugging his shoulders, as he
strolled towards the piano. "Women are always late; it is one of their
charming follies. Ah! EH! EE! Diavolo! my voice is bad this day. These
English fogs are down my throat Ah! Eh! EE! Dio! What a note! Voce del
oca.
"Ask not the stars the fate they deal.
Read in my eyes the love I feel."
"That's a good song, that serenade to Fatima. It shows off my voice.
I'll sing it to exercise my high notes."
He did so, and was just in the middle of the first verse when Mrs.
Belswin made her appearance, upon which he stopped abruptly, and came
forward to greet her with theatrical effusion.
"Stella dora! once more you shine," he cried, seizing her hands, with
a passionate look in his dark eyes. "Oh, my life! how dear it is to
see thee again."
"You missed me then, Stephano?" said Mrs. Belswin, sinking wearily
into a chair.
"Missed thee, carissima!" exclaimed the Italian, throwing himself on
his knees before her and kissing her hand; "by this, and this, and
this again, I swear that all has been dark to me without the light of
thine eyes. But you will not leave me again, angela mia. Thou hast
come back for ever to be my wife."
Mrs. Belswin drew her hand away sharply and frowned, for in her
present irritable state of mind the exaggerated manner of Ferrari
jarred on her nerves.
"Do be sensible, Stephano," she said in a vexed tone. "You are always
acting."
"How can that be acting, cruel one, which is the truth?" replied
Ferrari, reproachfully, rising from his knees. "Thou knowst my love,
and yet when I speak you are cold. Eh, Donna Lucrezia, is your heart
changed?"
"My heart remains as It always was, my friend; but I've come up to see
you on business----"
"Oh, business!" interrupted Stephano, suspiciously. "Cospetto! You
want once more to leave me."
"For a time; yes."
"Oh, for a time; yes!" echoed Ferrari, mockingly. "Amica mia, you have
a strange way of speaking to him who adores you. Dio, you play with me
like a child. I love you, and wish you for my wife. You say 'yes,' and
depart for a time. Now return you to me and again say, 'Stephano, I
leave you for a time.'"
"I made no promise to be your wife," said Mrs. Belswin, angrily, "nor
will I do so unless you help me now."
"Help you! and in what way? Has the little daughter been cruel? You
wish me to speak as father to her."
"I wish you to do nothing of the sort. My daughter is quite well, and
I was perfectly happy with her."
"And without me," cried Ferrari, jealously; upon which Mrs. Belswin
made a gesture of irritation.
"We can settle that afterwards," she said, drawing off her gloves:
"meanwhile let us talk sense. I shall be up in town for a fortnight."
"And you stay, cara?"
"At an hotel in the Strand. I'll give you the address before I leave."
"Bene! I will then have you to myself for two weeks."
"It all depends on whether you will help me in what I wish to do."
"Ebbene! Is it il marito?"
Mrs. Belswin nodded, and the Italian burst out laughing.
"Povero diavolo. He has then come again."
"No! but he arrives next week."
"How pleased you are," said Ferrari, mockingly. "Oh, yes, he will be
so sweet to behold you."
"That's the very question! I don't want him to see me."
"Then return not to the little daughter."
"I must! I must!" cried Mrs. Belswin in despair. "I can't give up my
child after meeting her again. Twenty years, Stephano, and I have not
seen her; now I am beside her every day. She loves me--not as her
mother, but as her friend. I can't give up all this because my husband
is returning."
Signor Ferrari shrugged his shoulders and lighted a cigarette.
"But there is nothing more you can do," he said, spreading out his
hands with a dramatic gesture, "eh, carrissima? Think of what is this
affair. Il marito has said to you, 'Good-bye.' The little daughter
thinks you to be dead. If then you come to reveal yourself, il
marito--eh, amica mia! it is a trouble for all."
"What can I do?"
"Nothing! oh no, certainly! You have beheld the little daughter for a
time. Now you are to me again. I say, Stella 'dora, with me remain and
forget all."
"No, I will not! I will not!" cried Mrs. Belswin, savagely, rising to
her feet. "Cannot you see how I suffer? If you love me as you say, you
must see how I suffer. Give up my child, my life, my happiness! I
cannot do it."
"Dio! you cannot make the miracles."
"I can! I must! Do you think I will stay with you while my child calls
me?"
"With me you must stay, my Norma. I love thee. I will not leave you no
more."
"You can't stop me."
"Ebbene," said Ferrari, conscious that he held the advantage. "Go,
then, and see how il marito will behold you."
Mrs. Belswin felt her helplessness, and clenched her hands with a
savage cry of despair, that seemed to be torn out of her throbbing
heart. Up and down the gaudy room she paced, with her face convulsed
with rage, and her fierce eyes flashing with an unholy fire, while
Ferrari, secure in his position, sat quietly near the window, smoking
leisurely. His self-possession seemed to provoke her, ready as she was
to vent her impotent anger on anything, and, stopping abruptly she
poured forth all her anger.
"Why do you sit there smiling, and smiling, like a fool?" she
shrieked, stamping her foot. "Can you not suggest something? Can you
not do something?"
"Eh, carissima, I would say, 'Be quiet' The people below will hear you
cry out."
"Let them! What do I care? I am a desperate woman, Ferrari, and I am
determined to keep my position beside my child. I will stop at
nothing--nothing--not even murder!"
"Murder!"
Signor Ferrari let the cigarette drop from his fingers, and jumped up
with a cry of dismay looking pale and unnerved. She saw this, and
lashing him with her tongue, taunted him bitterly.
"Yes, murder, you miserable! I thought you were a brave man; but I see
I made a mistake. You love me! You want to be my husband! No, no, no!
I marry a brave man--yes, a brave man; not a coward!"
Ferrari winced, with an angry glitter in his eyes.
"Eh, Lucrezia. You think I am a brave man if I go to assassin il
marito. Cospetto! I am an Italian; but the Italians are not fools. If
another man loved you, and would take you away, I would kill him--yes!
But il marito--eh, that is not quite the same. I kill him and you
return to the little daughter for always. What gain to me, carissima?
I kill him, and your law gives me the rope. What gain to me? No, Donna
Lucrezia. Do what you love. Stab him with a stiletto, or give the
poison, I say nothing; but as for me to obey--Dio, the life is not
trouble to me yet."
"You are afraid."
He bounded across the room, and seized her roughly by the wrist.
"Devil-woman, I have no fear! You lie to speak so I You lie, figlia
inferna."
"Then why do you refuse to help me?"
"Per Bacco, I am no assassin. Il marito is not an enemy to me. To you
he is hateful. Revenge yourself as it pleases; but I--cospetto. You
ask too much."
He flung her away from him with a gesture of anger, and began to walk
about the room. Mrs. Belswin remained silent, savagely disappointed at
the failure of her plan, and presently Ferrari began to talk again in
his rapid, impulsive fashion.
"If there was any gain. Yes. But I see not anything. I would work
against myself. You know that, Signora Machiavelli. Ah, yes; I am not
blind, cara mia. While il marito lives, you are mine. He will keep you
from the little daughter. But he dies--eh, and you depart."
"No, no! I swear----"
"I refuse your swearing. They are false. Forget, il marito--forget the
little daughter! You are mine, mia moglie, and you depart not again."
Mrs. Belswin laughed scornfully, and put on her gloves again with the
utmost deliberation. Then, taking up her umbrella, she moved quickly
towards the door; but not so quickly as to prevent Ferrari placing
himself before her.
"Where go you?" demanded the Italian, between his clenched teeth.
"To find a braver man than Stephano Ferrari."
"No; you will find no one."
"Won't I? Pshaw! I have found one already."
The Italian sprang on her with a bound like a tiger, seized her hands,
and placed his face so close to her own that she could feel his hot
breath on her cheek.
"You have a lover, traditrice?"
"No."
"You lie! I believe you not!"
Mrs. Belswin laughed, and made an attempt to go away.
"Sit in that chair, infamous!"
"I will not."
"Sit in that chair, I order."
"You order!"
"Yes, I, Stephano Ferrari."
She looked first at the Italian, then at the chair; and his aspect was
so determined that, in order to avoid an unseemly struggle, she sat
down as desired, with a shrug of the shoulders.
"Now, tell me of this lover."
"There is nothing to tell."
"You lie!"
"I do not lie."
With eyes as fierce as his own, she looked straight at him, and it
became a question as to which of them had the stronger will. Her
determination to retain her position at any price, even at the cost of
her husband's life, had roused all her worst passions, and for the
first time since he had known her, the Italian averted his eyes with a
shudder of dread.
"Jettatura," he cried, recoiling from her malignant gaze, and making
horns with his fingers to avert the blighting consequences of her
look. Mrs. Belswin saw her advantage, and immediately began to play on
his superstition.
"I have the evil eye, you think. Yes; it is so. Why have you never
discovered it before? Because I gave you love. To those who cross me
not, I am kind; but an insult---- Ah! you shrink. Well, then, take
care. I never forgive. I never forget."
Ferrari, completely cowed by her manner, threw himself on his knees
before her, and held out his hands with a gesture of entreaty.
"Stella 'dora, leave me not. Behold me at your feet, cruel one. I die
in your anger."
Mrs. Belswin saw that she had gained command over him, but was too
wise to push her conquest too far; so, bending down, she gave him her
hand, which he covered with fierce kisses.
"Rise, Stephano, and I will tell you all. For two weeks I will be in
town, and with you all the days. You can call at my hotel if it
pleases you. If I decide nothing about my husband you can come down
with me to Deswarth, and we will face him together."
"But this lover?"
"I have no lover. I spoke in jest. Your devotion has touched me, and I
will reward it by becoming your wife. For the present," said Mrs.
Belswin, with a charming smile, "I will say 'a reverderci.' If you
send me a box I will come and hear you sing to-night."
Ferrari once more kissed her hand, there was a rustling of skirts, a
closing of the door, and she was gone.
The Italian stood where she had left him, with a scared look on his
face; and after a few minutes looked at the door through which she had
vanished, with a nervous smile.
"Jettatura!" he muttered, shivering. "Jettatura."