She slept late the next day, and woke with a feeling of utter
weariness of body and prostration of spirit. When her dressing-maid
Giovanna came at her summons, she informed her that a gentleman had
twice called to see her, but left no name or card. "Let no one be
admitted to-day but the manager of the opera," said Rosa. "I will
dress now; and if Mamma Balbino is at leisure, I should like to have
her come and talk with me while I breakfast."
"Madame has gone out to make some purchases," replied Giovanna. "She
said she should return soon, and charged me to keep everything quiet,
that you might sleep. The Signor is in his room waiting to speak to
you."
"Please tell him I have waked," said Rosa; "and as soon as I have
dressed and breakfasted, ask him to come to me."
Giovanna, who had been at the opera the preceding evening, felt the
importance of her mission in dressing the celebrated Señorita Rosita
Campaneo, of whose beauty and gracefulness everybody was talking. And
when the process was completed, the _cantatrice_ might well have been
excused if she had thought herself the handsomest of women. The glossy
dark hair rippled over her forehead in soft waves, and the massive
braids behind were intertwisted with a narrow band of crimson velvet,
that glowed like rubies where the sunlight fell upon it. Her morning
wrapper of fine crimson merino, embroidered with gold-colored silk,
was singularly becoming to her complexion, softened as the contact was
by a white lace collar fastened at the throat with a golden pin. But
though she was seated before the mirror, and though her own Spanish
taste had chosen the strong contrast of bright colors, she took no
notice of the effect produced. Her face was turned toward the
window, and as she gazed on the morning sky, all unconscious of its
translucent brilliancy of blue, there was an inward-looking expression
in her luminous eyes that would have made the fortune of an artist, if
he could have reproduced her as a Sibyl. Giovanna looked at her with
surprise, that a lady could be so handsome and so beautifully dressed,
yet not seem to care for it. She lingered a moment contemplating the
superb head with an exultant look, as if it were a picture of her
own painting, and then she went out noiselessly to bring the
breakfast-tray.
The Señorita Campaneo ate with a keener appetite than she had ever
experienced as Rosabella the recluse; for the forces of nature,
exhausted by the exertions of the preceding evening, demanded
renovation. But the services of the cook were as little appreciated as
those of the dressing-maid; the luxurious breakfast was to her simply
food. The mirror was at her side, and Giovanna watched curiously to
see whether she would admire the effect of the crimson velvet gleaming
among her dark hair. But she never once glanced in that direction.
When she had eaten sufficiently, she sat twirling her spoon and
looking into the depths of her cup, as if it were a magic mirror
revealing all the future.
She was just about to say, "Now you may call Papa Balbino," when
Giovanna gave a sudden start, and exclaimed, "Signorita! a gentleman!"
And ere she had time to look round, Fitzgerald was kneeling at her
feet. He seized her hand and kissed it passionately, saying, in an
agony of entreaty: "O Rosabella, do say you forgive me! I am suffering
the tortures of the damned."
The irruption was so sudden and unexpected, that for an instant she
failed to realize it. But her presence of mind quickly returned, and,
forcibly withdrawing the hand to which he clung, she turned to the
astonished waiting-maid and said quite calmly, "Please deliver
_immediately_ the message I spoke of."
Giovanna left the room and proceeded directly to the adjoining
apartment, where Signor Balbino was engaged in earnest conversation
with another gentleman.
Fitzgerald remained kneeling, still pleading vehemently for
forgiveness.
"Mr. Fitzgerald," said she, "this audacity is incredible. I could not
have imagined it possible you would presume ever again to come into my
presence, after having sold me to that infamous man."
"He took advantage of me, Rosa. I was intoxicated with wine, and knew
not what I did. I could not have done it if I had been in my senses.
I have always loved you as I never loved any other woman; and I never
loved you so wildly as now."
"Leave me!" she exclaimed imperiously. "Your being here does me
injury. If you have any manhood in you, leave me!"
He strove to clutch the folds of her robe, and in frenzied tones cried
out: "O Rosabella, don't drive me from you! I can't live without--"
A voice like a pistol-shot broke in upon his sentence: "Villain!
Deceiver! What are you doing here? Out of the house this instant!"
Fitzgerald sprung to his feet, pale with rage, and encountered the
flashing eyes of the Signor. "What right have _you_ to order me out of
the house?" said he.
"I am her adopted father," replied the Italian; "and no man shall
insult her while I am alive."
"So _you_ are installed as her protector!" retorted Fitzgerald,
sneeringly. "You are not the first gallant I have known to screen
himself behind his years."
"By Jupiter!" vociferated the enraged Italian; and he made a spring to
clutch him by the throat.
Fitzgerald drew out a pistol. With a look of utter distress, Rosa
threw herself between them, saying, in imploring accents, "_Will_ you
go?"
At the same moment, a hand rested gently on the Signor's shoulder, and
a manly voice said soothingly, "Be calm, my friend." Then, turning to
Mr. Fitzgerald, the gentleman continued: "Slight as our acquaintance
is, sir, it authorizes me to remind you that scenes like this are
unfit for a lady's apartment."
Fitzgerald slowly replaced his pistol, as he answered coldly: "I
remember your countenance, sir, but I don't recollect where I have
seen it, nor do I understand what right you have to intrude here."
"I met you in New Orleans, something more than four years ago,"
replied the stranger; "and I was then introduced to you by this lady's
father, as Mr. Alfred King of Boston."
"O, I remember," replied Fitzgerald, with a slight curl of his lip. "I
thought you something of a Puritan then; but it seems _you_ are her
protector also."
Mr. King colored to the temples; but he replied calmly: "I know not
whether Miss Royal recognizes me; for I have never seen her since the
evening we spent so delightfully at her father's house."
"I do recognize you," replied Rosabella; "and as the son of my
father's dearest friend, I welcome you."
She held out her hand as she spoke, and he clasped it for an
instant. But though the touch thrilled him, he betrayed no emotion.
Relinquishing it with a respectful bow, he turned to Mr. Fitzgerald,
and said: "You have seen fit to call me a Puritan, and may not
therefore accept me as a teacher of politeness; but if you wish to
sustain the character of a cavalier, you surely will not remain in a
lady's house after she has requested you to quit it."
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Mr. Fitzgerald took his hat, and
said, "Where ladies command, I am of course bound to obey."
As he passed out of the door, he turned toward Rosabella, and, with a
low bow, said, "_Au revoir_!"
The Signor was trembling with anger, but succeeded in smothering his
half-uttered anathemas. Mr. King compressed his lips tightly for a
moment, as if silence were a painful effort. Then, turning to Rosa, he
said: "Pardon my sudden intrusion, Miss Royal. Your father introduced
me to the Signor, and I last night saw him at the opera. That will
account for my being in his room to-day." He glanced at the Italian
with a smile, as he added: "I heard very angry voices, and I thought,
if there was to be a duel, perhaps the Signor would need a second. You
must be greatly fatigued with exertion and excitement. Therefore, I
will merely congratulate you on your brilliant success last evening,
and wish you good morning."
"I _am_ fatigued," she replied; "but if I bid you good morning now, it
is with the hope of seeing you again soon. The renewal of acquaintance
with one whom my dear father loved is too pleasant to be willingly
relinquished."
"Thank you," he said. But the simple words were uttered with a look
and tone so deep and earnest, that she felt the color rising to her
cheeks.
"Am I then still capable of being moved by such tones?" she asked
herself, as she listened to his departing footsteps, and, for the
first time that morning, turned toward the mirror and glanced at her
own flushed countenance.
"What a time you've been having, dear!" exclaimed Madame, who came
bustling in a moment after. "Only to think of Mr. Fitzgerald's coming
here! His impudence goes a little beyond anything I ever heard of.
Wasn't it lucky that Boston friend should drop down from the skies,
as it were, just at the right minute; for the Signor's such a
flash-in-the-pan, there 's no telling what might have happened. Tell
me all about it, dear."
"I will tell you about it, dear mamma," replied Rosa; "but I must beg
you to excuse me just now; for I am really very much flurried and
fatigued. If you hadn't gone out, I should have told you this morning,
at breakfast, that I saw Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald at the opera, and
that I was singing at them in good earnest, while people thought I was
acting. We will talk it all over some time; but now I must study, for
I shall have hard work to keep the ground I have gained. You know I
must perform again to-night. O, how I dread it!"
"You are a strange child to talk so, when you have turned everybody's
head," responded Madame.
"Why should I care for everybody's head?" rejoined the successful
_cantatrice_. But she thought to herself: "I shall not feel, as I did
last night, that I am going to sing _merely_ to strangers. There will
be _one_ there who heard me sing to my dear father. I must try to
recall the intonations that came so naturally last evening, and see
whether I can act what I then felt." She seated herself at the piano,
and began to sing, "_Oh, di qual sei tu vittima_." Then, shaking her
head slowly, she murmured: "No; it doesn't come. I must trust to the
inspiration of the moment. But it is a comfort to know they will not
_all_ be strangers."
* * * * *
Mr. King took an opportunity that same day to call on Mr. Fitzgerald.
He was very haughtily received; but, without appearing to notice
it, he opened his errand by saying, "I have come to speak with you
concerning Miss Royal."
"All I have to say to you, sir," replied Mr. Fitzgerald, "is, that
neither you nor any other man can induce me to give up my pursuit of
her. I will follow her wherever she goes."
"What possible advantage can you gain by such a course?" inquired his
visitor. "Why uselessly expose yourself to disagreeable notoriety,
which must, of course, place Mrs. Fitzgerald in a mortifying
position?"
"How do you know my perseverance would be useless?" asked Fitzgerald.
"Did she send you to tell me so?"
"She does not know of my coming," replied Mr. King. "I have told you
that my acquaintance with Miss Royal is very slight. But you will
recollect that I met her in the freshness of her young life, when she
was surrounded by all the ease and elegance that a father's wealth and
tenderness could bestow; and it was unavoidable that her subsequent
misfortunes should excite my sympathy. She has never told me anything
of her own history, but from others I know all the particulars. It is
not my purpose to allude to them; but after suffering all she _has_
suffered, now that she has bravely made a standing-place for herself,
and has such an arduous career before her, I appeal to your sense of
honor, whether it is generous, whether it is manly, to do anything
that will increase the difficulties of her position."
"It is presumptuous in you, sir, to come here to teach me what is
manly," rejoined Fitzgerald.
"I merely presented the case for the verdict of your own conscience,"
answered his visitor; "but I will again take the liberty to suggest
for your consideration, that if you persecute this unfortunate young
lady with professions you know are unwelcome, it must necessarily
react in a very unpleasant way upon your own reputation, and
consequently upon the happiness of your family."
"You mistook your profession, sir. You should have been a preacher,"
said Fitzgerald, with a sarcastic smile. "I presume you propose to
console the lady for her misfortunes; but let me tell you, sir, that
whoever attempts to come between me and her will do it at his peril."
"I respect Miss Royal too much to hear her name used in any such
discussion," replied Mr. King. "Good morning, sir."
"The mean Yankee!" exclaimed the Southerner, as he looked after him.
"If he were a gentleman he would have challenged me, and I should have
met him like a gentleman; but one doesn't know what to do with such
cursed Yankee preaching."
He was in a very perturbed state of mind. Rosabella had, in fact, made
a much deeper impression on him than any other woman had ever made.
And now that he saw her the bright cynosure of all eyes, fresh fuel
was heaped on the flickering flame of his expiring passion. Her
disdain piqued his vanity, while it produced the excitement of
difficulties to be overcome. He was exasperated beyond measure, that
the beautiful woman who had depended solely upon him should now be
surrounded by protectors. And if he could regain no other power, he
was strongly tempted to exert the power of annoyance. In some moods,
he formed wild projects of waylaying her, and carrying her off by
force. But the Yankee preaching, much as he despised it, was not
without its influence. He felt that it would be most politic to keep
on good terms with his rich wife, who was, besides, rather agreeable
to him. He concluded, on the whole, that he would assume superiority
to the popular enthusiasm about the new _prima donna_; that he would
coolly criticise her singing and her acting, while he admitted that
she had many good points. It was a hard task he undertook; for on the
stage Rosabella attracted him with irresistible power, to which was
added the magnetism of the admiring audience. After the first evening,
she avoided looking at the box where he sat; but he had an uneasy
satisfaction in the consciousness that it was impossible she could
forget he was present and watching her.
The day after the second appearance of the Señorita Campaneo, Mrs.
Delano was surprised by another call from the Fitzgeralds.
"Don't think we intend to persecute you," said the little lady. "We
merely came on business. We have just heard that you were to leave
Rome very soon; but Mr. Green seemed to think it couldn't be so soon
as was said."
"Unexpected circumstances make it necessary for me to return sooner
than I intended," replied Mrs. Delano. "I expect to sail day after
to-morrow."
"What a pity your daughter should go without hearing the new _prima
donna_!" exclaimed Mrs. Fitzgerald. "She is really a remarkable
creature. Everybody says she is as beautiful as a houri. And as for
her voice, I never heard anything like it, except the first night I
spent on Mr. Fitzgerald's plantation. There was somebody wandering
about in the garden and groves who sang just like her. Mr. Fitzgerald
didn't seem to be much struck with the voice, but I could never forget
it."
"It was during our honeymoon," replied her husband; "and how could I
be interested in any other voice, when I had yours to listen to?"
His lady tapped him playfully with her parasol, saying: "O, you
flatterer! But I wish I could get a chance to speak to this Señorita.
I would ask her if she had ever been in America."
"I presume not," rejoined Mr. Fitzgerald. "They say an Italian
musician heard her in Andalusia, and was so much charmed with her
voice that he adopted her and educated her for the stage; and he named
her Campaneo, because there is such a bell-like echo in her voice
sometimes. Do you think, Mrs. Delano, that it would do your daughter
any serious injury to go with us this evening? We have a spare
ticket; and we would take excellent care of her. If she found herself
fatigued, I would attend upon her home any time she chose to leave."
"It would be too exciting for her nerves," was Mrs. Delano's laconic
answer.
"The fact is," said Mrs. Fitzgerald, "Mr. Green has told us so much
about her, that we are extremely anxious to be introduced to her.
He says she hasn't half seen Rome, and he wishes she could join our
party. I wish we could persuade you to leave her with us. I can assure
you Mr. Fitzgerald is a most agreeable and gallant protector to
ladies. And then it is such a pity, when she is so musical, that she
should go without hearing this new _prima donna_."
"Thank you," rejoined Mrs. Delano; "but we have become so much
attached to each other's society, that I don't think either of us
could be happy separated. Since she cannot hear this musical wonder, I
shall not increase her regrets by repeating your enthusiastic account
of what she has missed."
"If you had been present at her _début_, you wouldn't wonder at my
enthusiasm," replied the little lady. "Mr. Fitzgerald is getting over
the fever a little now, and undertakes to criticise. He says she
overacted her part; that she 'tore a passion to tatters,' and all
that. But I never saw him so excited as he was then. I think she
noticed it; for she fixed her glorious dark eyes directly upon our box
while she was singing several of her most effective passages."
"My dear," interrupted her husband, "you are so opera-mad, that you
are forgetting the object of your call."
"True," replied she. "We wanted to inquire whether you were certainly
going so soon, and whether any one had engaged these rooms. We took a
great fancy to them. What a desirable situation! So sunny! Such a fine
view of Monte Pincio and the Pope's gardens!"
"They were not engaged last evening," answered Mrs. Delano.
"Then you will secure them immediately, won't you, dear?" said the
lady, appealing to her spouse.
With wishes that the voyage might prove safe and pleasant, they
departed. Mrs. Delano lingered a moment at the window, looking out
upon St. Peter's and the Etruscan Hills beyond, thinking the while how
strangely the skeins of human destiny sometimes become entangled with
each other. Yet she was unconscious of half the entanglement.