A SYLVAN IDYL.
In the morning the Viscount Massetti's arm was found to be so much
swollen and his wound so painful that it was deemed advisable to send
for a physician, who resided in a neighboring hamlet not more than a
mile distant from the cabin of the Solaras. The man of medicine was soon
at Giovanni's bedside. After examining and dressing his hurt, he
declared that the patient ought not to be moved for at least a week, a
piece of intelligence at which the young man inwardly rejoiced,
notwithstanding all the torture he suffered, for his sojourn involved
nursing at the hands of the beautiful Annunziata, who had already shown
him that she possessed tenderness and a kind heart, as well as good
looks.
Esperance held a conference with his friend after the physician's
departure to decide upon what should be done. He proposed to go at once
to Rome and acquaint the Viscount's family with what had happened and
Giovanni's condition, but the young man firmly opposed this plan,
declaring that he would be well in a few days at most and protesting
that informing his relatives of his situation would involve explanations
he had no desire to give. Giovanni also begged Esperance to remain with
him and give no sign as to their place of retreat; so earnestly did he
solicit these favors that the son of Monte-Cristo, much against his will
and with many forebodings, finally consented to grant them.
Pasquale Solara returned home late on the day following the arrival of
the strangers at his hut. He was an old, but sturdy shepherd, whose
rough, sunburned visage spoke of exposure to the weather and hard toil.
He frequently was absent for days and nights in succession, absences
that he never explained and about which his son and daughter did not
dare to question him, for Pasquale was a harsh man, who grew angry at
the slightest pretext and was inclined to be severe with all who sought
to pry into his affairs. He expressed great fear of the bandits who
infested the vicinity of Rome and especially of Luigi Vampa's band, but
those who knew him best shook their heads doubtingly, and, though they
did not say so, it was plainly to be seen that they deemed this fear
merely assumed for purposes of his own. At any rate, it was a
significant fact that Pasquale was never disturbed in his wanderings,
while the brigands always left his dwelling and its inmates unmolested.
The old shepherd frowned darkly when informed by his children that they
had given shelter to a couple of travelers, one of whom had been wounded
in a fight with a brigand, but he said nothing and appeared disposed to
accept the situation without even a grumble. He did not, however, enter
the chamber in which Giovanni lay and avoided coming in contact with
Esperance, who caught but a passing glimpse of him ere he departed
again on another expedition, which he did after a stay of only half an
hour at his cabin.
The young peasant and Esperance soon became quite friendly, indulging in
many a ramble in the forest and beside the gurgling brook. The peasant's
name was Lorenzo, and he appeared to lead a free life, totally
unencumbered with avocation of any kind, save occasionally looking after
a few sheep that never strayed far from the banks of the little stream.
Annunziata for the time abandoned her visits to Rome, installing herself
as Giovanni's nurse. She was almost constantly beside him, and her
presence and care were more potent medicines than any the physician
administered. Her smile seemed to exercise a bewitching effect upon the
young Viscount, while her voice sounded in his ravished ear like the
sweetest music. The handsome girl was the very picture of perfect
health, and her well-developed form had all the charm of early maturity,
added to youthful freshness and grace. She wore short skirts, and her
shapely limbs were never encumbered with stockings, while her feet were
invariably bare. A low, loose body with short sleeves displayed her
robust neck and shoulders, and plump, dimpled arms that would have been
the envy of a duchess. Her hands as well as her feet were not small and
the sun had given them a liberal coat of brown, but they were neatly
turned and attractive, while her short, taper fingers were tipped with
pink, carefully trimmed nails. Altogether she looked like the spirit of
the place, a delicious wood nymph as enchanting as any a poet's fancy
ever created and yet a substantial, mortal reality well calculated to
fire a man's blood and set his brain in a whirl. If she had appeared
beautiful in Rome, amid the aristocratic fashion queens of the Piazza
del Popolo, she seemed a thousand-fold more delightful and fascinating
in her humble forest home, where she shook off all restraint and showed
herself as she really was, a bright, innocent child of nature, as pure
as the breath of heaven and as free from guile as the honey-fed
butterfly of the summer sunshine.
The more Giovanni saw of her the more he came under the dominion of her
irresistible charms, the empire of her physical attractiveness.
Gradually he mended, and as his wound healed his strength returned. At
length, towards the close of the week, he was able to quit his bed and
sit in a large chair by the window of his room. It had been agreed upon
between him and Esperance that, during their sojourn at the Solara
cabin, they should be known respectively as Antonio Valpi and Guiseppe
Sagasta, and already Annunziata had bestowed upon her patient the
friendly and familiar diminutive of Tonio, a name to which he answered
with wildly beating heart and eyes that spoke volumes.
By means of shrewdly managed questions the young Viscount had
ascertained that the flower-girl had no lover, that her breast had never
owned the tender passion, and this intelligence added fuel to the flame
that was consuming him. It is not to be supposed that Annunziata was
ignorant of the strong impression she had made upon her youthful and
handsome patient. She was perfectly aware of it and secretly rejoiced at
the manifest exhibition of the power of her charms. Perhaps she did not
as yet love Giovanni, perhaps it was merely the general physical
attraction of a woman towards a man, or it might have been that innate
spice of coquetry common to every female, but the fact remained that she
tacitly encouraged the young Viscount in his ardent attentions to her.
She, moreover, lured and inflamed him in such a careless, innocent way
that she acquired additional piquancy thereby. Had Annunziata been a
designing woman of the world intent upon trapping a wealthy lover,
instead of a pure and artless country maid totally unconscious of the
harm she was working, she could not have played her game with more
effect. Giovanni had become altogether her slave. He hung upon her
smiles, drank her words and could hardly restrain himself in her
presence. No shipwrecked mariner ever more greedily devoured with his
dazzled eyes the fateful loreley of a rocky, deserted coast than he did
her. Had she been his social equal, had her intelligence and education
matched her personal beauty, he would have forgotten Zuleika, thrown
himself impetuously at her feet and solicited her hand. As it was, while
Monte-Cristo's daughter possessed his entire heart, Annunziata Solara
enslaved his senses.
She received his approaches as a matter-of-course, without diffidence,
without a blush. His gallant speeches pleased her, she did not know why.
So thoroughly unsuspicious was she, that she failed to notice his
language was not that of the untutored peasant he claimed to be, that
his bearing as well as his words indicated a degree of culture and
refinement far above his assumed station. She was dazzled, charmed by
him as the bird is by the glittering serpent with its wicked,
fascinating eyes. She thought of nothing but the present and its novel
joys. She had never heeded the future--she did not heed it now.
One morning as she sat at his side by the open window, through which
stole the balmy air of the forest laden with the intoxicating perfume of
a thousand wild, intensely sweet flowers, Giovanni suddenly took her
brown hand, covering it with passionate kisses. The girl did not resist,
did not withdraw her hand from his; she did not even tremble, though a
slight glow came into her cheeks, making her look like a very Circe.
"Annunziata," said Giovanni, in a low voice scarcely above a whisper,
"do you care for me?"
"Care for you, Tonio?" replied the girl, gazing sweetly into his glowing
and agitated countenance. "Oh! yes! I care a great deal for you!"
He threw his arm about her neck, and, as his hand lay upon her shapely
shoulder, a magnetic thrill shot through him like a sudden shock from a
powerful electric battery. Annunziata did not seek to withdraw herself
from his warm embrace, and he drew her to him with tightening clasp
until her full, palpitating bosom rested against his breast. Her
tempting red lips, slightly parted, were upturned; he placed his upon
them in a long, lingering, delirious kiss. Then the color deepened in
her cheeks, and she gently disengaged herself. She did not, however,
avert her eyes, but gazed into his with a look of mute inquiry. All this
was new to her, and the more delicious because of its entire novelty.
"Neither my father, nor my brother, nor my dead mother ever kissed me
like that!" she said, artlessly.
Giovanni was enraptured; the girl's innocence was absolutely marvelous;
he had never dreamed that such innocence existed upon earth. Was she
really what she appeared?
"Annunziata," he said, abruptly, his heart beating furiously and his
breath coming thick and fast, "you have never experienced love, or you
would know the meaning of that kiss!"
"Love?" answered the girl, opening her large, lustrous eyes widely. "Oh!
yes, I have felt love. I love my father and Lorenzo, I love--everybody!"
"But not as you would love a young man, who would throw himself at your
pretty feet and pour out the treasures of his heart to you!"
"No young man has ever done that," said Annunziata, smiling and nestling
closer to him.
"But some one will before long, perhaps before many minutes! How would
you like me to be that one!" cried the Viscount, in his headlong
fashion.
"I cannot tell," answered the girl, "I do not know!"
"Then let me try the experiment!" said Giovanni, rising from his chair
and sinking on his knees in front of her. "Annunziata, I love you!"
The girl stroked his hair and then passed her taper fingers through his
flowing locks. She was silent and seemed to be thinking. Her bosom
heaved just a little more than usual, and the glow on her cheeks became
a trifle more intense. Giovanni, yet kneeling, seized her hand, holding
it in a crushing clasp.
"Do you hear me?" he cried, impatiently. "Do you understand me? I love
you!"
"You love me, Tonio?" replied the girl, slowly. "Well, it is only
natural! Every young man must love some young girl some time or other,
and I think--I think--I love you a little!"
"Think!" said Giovanni, amazed. "Do you not know it?"
"Perhaps!" answered Annunziata, still fondling his hair.
Giovanni threw his arms about her waist, an ample, healthful waist, free
from the restraints of corsets and the cramping devices of fashion. As
he did so the sound of footsteps was heard without, and he had scarcely
time to leap to his feet when Esperance entered the room.
Massetti was confused and his friend noticed the fact. He also remarked
that Annunziata was slightly flushed and seemed to have experienced some
agreeable agitation. Esperance instantly leaped to a conclusion.
Giovanni's flirtation with the fair flower-girl had gone a trifle too
far, had assumed a serious aspect. He would interfere, he would
remonstrate with him. It might not yet be too late after all.
Annunziata was a pure and innocent creature, unused to the ways of the
world and incapable of suspecting the wickedness of men. She was on the
point of falling into a deadly snare, on the point of being wrecked upon
the most dangerous shoal life presented. Her very purity and innocence
would make her an easy victim. Giovanni was not wicked; he was merely
young, the prey of the irresistible passion of youth. Annunziata's
surpassing loveliness had fired his blood, had driven him to the verge
of a reckless action, a crime against this beautiful girl that money
could not repair. This crime should not be committed, if he could help
it, and he would risk the Viscount's friendship to save him from
himself. Giovanni could not marry the humble peasant girl; he should not
mar her future.
When Esperance came into the chamber, his presence recalled Annunziata
to herself and also dampened Massetti's ardor. The girl arose and,
smiling at Esperance, tripped blushingly away. Giovanni was flushed and
somewhat angry at the intrusion at the critical moment of his love
making. Esperance's face was grave; he felt all the weight of the
responsibility he was about to assume.
"Giovanni," said he, in a measured tone, "I do not blame you for being
fascinated by a pretty, amiable girl like Annunziata Solara, far from
it. She is certainly a paragon of beauty, a model of rustic grace, a
very tempting morsel of rural virtue and innocence. She is well fitted
to turn the head of almost any young man--I freely acknowledge that. It
is pardonable to wish to enjoy her society--nay, a harmless flirtation
with her is, perhaps, not censurable; but that is the utmost length to
which a man of honor can go! Remember she has a reputation to lose, a
heart to break!"
"What do you mean by that long sermon?" demanded the Viscount, setting
his teeth and frowning savagely.
"I mean that you have been making love to this poor girl, that you have
been seeking to requite her care of you in a manner but little to your
credit!"
"I owe you my life, Esperance," replied Massetti, "but even my gratitude
will not shield you from my fury, if you step between me and Annunziata
Solara!"
"You mean to pursue her then, to soil her name, to blast her future, for
surely you are not courting her with marriage as your object?"
Giovanni flushed scarlet at this open accusation.
"I mean to pursue her--yes! What my object in the matter is concerns
only myself; you have nothing whatever to do with it!" he exclaimed,
hotly.
"But I have a great deal to do with it!" replied Esperance, firmly. "You
shall not pursue Annunziata Solara to her destruction! Between her good
name and your reckless intentions I will oppose a barrier you cannot
surmount--myself!"
"Do you mean to champion her to the extent of challenging me?" demanded
Massetti, fairly foaming with ire.
"If you persist in your nefarious designs, yes!" answered the son of
Monte-Cristo, with equal warmth. "You are my friend, my friend of
friends, Giovanni Massetti, but the instant you menace that innocent
girl's honor my friendship for you crumbles to dust and you become my
deadly foe! Take your choice. Either leave this hospitable cabin with me
as soon as the state of your wound will permit you to do so, meanwhile
respecting Annunziata Solara as you would your own sister, or meet me
pistol in hand on the field of honor! Take your choice, I say! What is
your decision?"
"I will not give up Annunziata!"
"Then you must fight!"
"I shall not hesitate!"
"So be it! My life against yours! I will defend this poor girl's honor
to the last drop of my blood!"
"When shall we fight?"
"To-morrow at dawn."
"Where?"
"In the clearing beyond the chestnut copse on the further side of the
brook. There is no need of witnesses; this matter is between us and us
alone!"
"So much the better, for it will be a duel to the death! I cannot as yet
hold my right arm aloft long enough to fight with it, but I will make my
left hand serve!" Then, as a sudden thought struck him, Massetti added:
"Do you propose to betray me, to carry your story to Annunziata and her
brother?"
Esperance surveyed his companion with intense scorn flashing from his
eyes.
"I am no traitor!" he said, coldly, and, turning, quitted the apartment.