When Donna Tullia quitted the Palazzo Astrardente her head swam. She had
utterly failed to do what she had expected; and from being the accuser,
she felt that she was suddenly thrust into the position of the accused.
Instead of inspiring terror in Corona, and causing Giovanni the terrible
humiliation she had supposed he would feel at the exposure of his
previous marriage, she had been coldly told that she was mad, and that
her pretended proofs were forgeries. Though she herself felt no doubt
whatever concerning the authenticity of the documents, it was very
disappointing to find that the first mention of them produced no
startling effect upon any one, least of all upon Giovanni himself. The
man, she thought, was a most accomplished villain; since he was capable
of showing such hardened indifference to her accusation, he was capable
also of thwarting her in her demonstration of their truth--and she
trembled at the thought of what she saw. Old Saracinesca was not a man to
be trifled with, nor his son either: they were powerful, and would be
revenged for the insult. But in the meanwhile she had promised to produce
her proofs; and when she regained enough composure to consider the matter
from all its points, she came to the conclusion that after all her game
was not lost, seeing that attested documents are evidence not easily
refuted, even by powerful men like Leone and Giovanni Saracinesca. She
gradually convinced herself that their indifference was a pretence, and
that they were accomplices in the matter, their object being to gain
Corona with all her fortune for Giovanni's wife. But, at the same time,
Donna Tullia felt in the depths of her heart a misgiving: she was clever
enough to recognise, even in spite of herself, the difference between a
liar and an honest man.
She must get possession of these papers--and immediately too; there must
be no delay in showing them to Corona, and in convincing her that this
was no mere fable, but an assertion founded upon very substantial
evidence. Del Ferice was suddenly gone to Naples: obviously the only
way to get at the papers was to bribe his servant to deliver them up. Ugo
had once or twice mentioned Temistocle to her, and she judged from the
few words he had let fall that the fellow was a scoundrel, who would
sell his soul for money. Madame Mayer drove home, and put on the only
dark-coloured gown she possessed, wound a thick veil about her head,
provided herself with a number of bank-notes, which she thrust between
the palm of her hand and her glove, left the house on foot, and took a
cab. There was nothing to be done but to go herself, for she could trust
no one. Her heart beat fast as she ascended the narrow stone steps of
Del Ferice's lodging, and stopped upon the landing before the small green
door, whereon she read his name. She pulled the bell, and Temistocle
appeared in his shirt-sleeves.
"Does Count Del Ferice live here?" asked Donna Tullia, peering over the
man's shoulder into the dark and narrow passage within.
"He lives here, but he is gone to Naples," answered Temistocle, promptly.
"When will he be back?" she inquired. The man raised his shoulders to his
ears, and spread out the palms of his hands to signify that he did not
know. Donna Tullia hesitated. She had never attempted to bribe anybody
in her life, and hardly knew how to go about it. She thought that the
sight of the money might produce an impression, and she withdrew a
bank-note from the hollow of her hand, spreading it out between her
fingers. Temistocle eyed it greedily.
"There are twenty-five scudi," she said. "If you will help me to find a
piece of paper in your master's room, you shall have them."
Temistocle drew himself up with an air of mock pride. Madame Mayer looked
at him.
"Impossible, signora," he said. Then she drew out another. Temistocle
eyed the glove curiously to see if it contained more.
"Signora," he repeated, "it is impossible. My master would kill me. I
cannot think of it." But his tone seemed to yield a little. Donna Tullia
found another bank-note; there were now seventy-five scudi in her hand.
She thought she saw Temistocle tremble with excitement. But still he
hesitated.
"Signora, my conscience," he said, in a low voice of protestation.
"Come," said Madame Mayer, impatiently, "there is another--there are a
hundred scudi--that is all I have got," she added, turning down her empty
glove.
Suddenly Temistocle put out his hand and grasped the bank-notes eagerly.
But instead of retiring to allow her to enter, he pushed roughly past
her.
"You may go in," he said in a hoarse whisper, and turning quickly, fled
precipitately down the narrow steps, in his shirt-sleeves as he was.
Madame Mayer stood for a moment looking after him in surprise, even when
he had already disappeared.
Then she turned and entered the door rather timidly; but before she had
gone two steps in the dark passage, she uttered a cry of horror. Del
Ferice stood in her way, wrapped in a loose dressing-gown, a curious
expression upon his pale face, which from its whiteness was clearly
distinguishable in the gloom. Temistocle had cheated her, had lied in
telling her that his master was absent, had taken her bribe and had fled.
He would easily find an excuse for having allowed her to enter; and with
his quick valet's instinct, he guessed that she would not confess to
Del Ferice that she had bribed him. Ugo came forward a step and instantly
recognised Madame Mayer.
"Donna Tullia!" he cried, "what are you doing? You must not be seen
here."
A less clever man than Ugo would have pretended to be overjoyed at her
coming. Del Fence's fine instincts told him that for whatever cause she
had come--and he guessed the cause well enough--he would get a firmer
hold upon her consideration by appearing to be shocked at her imprudence.
Donna Tullia was nearly fainting with fright, and stood leaning against
the wall of the passage.
"I thought--I--I must see you at once," she stammered.
"Not here," he answered, quickly. "Go home at once; I will join you in
five minutes. It will ruin you to have it known that you have been here."
Madame Mayer took courage at his tone.
"You must bring them--those papers," she said, hurriedly. "Something
dreadful has happened. Promise me to come at once!"
"I will come at once, my dear lady," he said, gently pushing her towards
the door. "I cannot even go down-stairs with you--forgive me. You have
your carriage of course?"
"I have a cab," replied Donna Tullia, faintly, submitting to be put
out of the door. He seized her hand and kissed it passionately, or
with a magnificent semblance of passion. With a startled look, Donna
Tullia turned and went rapidly down the steps. Del Ferice smiled
softly to himself when she was gone, and went in again to exchange his
dressing-gown for a coat. He had her in his power at last. He had guessed
that she would betray the secret--that after the engagement became known,
she would not be able to refrain from communicating it to Corona
d'Astrardente; and so soon as he heard the news, he had shut himself up
in his lodging, pretending a sudden journey to Naples, determined not to
set foot out of the house until he heard that Donna Tullia had committed
herself. He knew that when she had once spoken she would make a desperate
attempt to obtain the papers, for he knew that such an assertion as hers
would need to be immediately proved, at the risk of her position in
society. His plot had succeeded so far. His only anxiety was to know
whether she had mentioned his name in connection with the subject, but he
guessed, from his knowledge of her character, that she would not do so:
she would respect her oath enough to conceal his name, even while
breaking her promise; she would enjoy taking the sole credit of the
discovery upon herself, and she would shun an avowal which would prove
her to have discussed with any one else the means of preventing the
marriage, because it would be a confession of jealousy, and consequently
of personal interest in Don Giovanni. Del Ferice was a very clever
fellow.
He put on his coat, and in five minutes was seated in a cab on his way to
Donna Tullia's house, with a large envelope full of papers in his pocket.
He found her as she had left him, her face still wrapped in a veil,
walking up and down her drawing-room in great excitement. He advanced
and saluted her courteously, maintaining a dignified gravity of bearing
which he judged fitting for the occasion.
"And now, my dear lady," he said, gently, "will you tell me exactly what
you have done?"
"This morning," answered Madame Mayer, in a stifled voice, "I heard of
the Astrardente's engagement to Don Giovanni. It seemed such a terrible
thing!"
"Terrible, indeed," said Del Ferice, solemnly.
"I sent for you at once, to know what to do: they said you were gone to
Naples. I thought, of course, that you would approve if you were here,
because we ought to prevent such a dreadful crime--of course." She waited
for some sign of assent, but Del Ferice's pale face expressed nothing but
a sort of grave reproach.
"And then," she continued, "as I could not find you, I thought it was
best to act at once, and so I went to see the Astrardente, feeling that
you would entirely support me. There was a terrific scene. She sent for
the two Saracinesca, and I--waited till they came, because I was
determined to see justice done. I am sure I was right,--was I not?"
"What did they say?" asked Del Ferice, quietly watching her face.
"If you will believe it, that monster of villany, Don Giovanni, was as
cold as stone, and denied the whole matter from beginning to end; but his
father was very angry. Of course they demanded the proofs. I never saw
anything like the brazen assurance of Don Giovanni."
"Did you mention me?" inquired Del Ferice.
"No, I had not seen you: of course I did not want to implicate you. I
said I would show them the papers to-morrow at the same hour."
"And then you came to see me," said Del Ferice. "That was very rash. You
might have seriously compromised yourself. I would have come if you had
sent for me."
"But they said you had gone to Naples. Your servant," continued Donna
Tullia, blushing scarlet at the remembrance of her interview with
Temistocle,--"your servant assured me in person that you had gone to
Naples--"
"I see," replied Del Ferice, quietly. He did not wish to press her to a
confession of having tried to get the papers in his absence. His object
was to put her at her ease.
"My dear lady," he continued, gently, "you have done an exceedingly rash
thing; but I will support you in every way, by putting the documents in
your possession at once. It is unfortunate that you should have acted so
suddenly, for we do not know what has become of this Felice Baldi, nor
have we any immediate means of finding out. It might have taken weeks to
find her. Why were you so rash? You could have waited till I returned,
and we could have discussed the matter carefully, and decided whether it
were really wise to make use of my information."
"You do not doubt that I did right?" asked Donna Tullia, turning a little
pale.
"I think you acted precipitately in speaking without consulting me. All
may yet be well. But in the first place, as you did not ask my opinion,
you will see the propriety of not mentioning my name, since you have
not done so already. It can do no good, for the papers speak for
themselves, and whatever value they may have is inherent in them. Do you
see?"
"Of course there is no need of mentioning you, unless you wish to have a
share in the exposure of this abominable wickedness."
"I am satisfied with my share," replied Del Ferice, with a quiet smile.
"It is not an important one," returned Donna Tullia, nervously.
"It is the lion's share," he answered. "Most adorable of women, you have
not, I am sure, forgotten the terms of our agreement--terms so dear to
me, that every word of them is engraven for ever upon the tablet of my
heart."
Madame Mayer started slightly. She had not realised that her promise to
marry Ugo was now due--she did not believe that he would press it; he had
exacted it to frighten her, and besides, she had so persuaded herself
that he would approve of her conduct, that she had not felt as though she
were betraying his secret.
"You will not--you cannot hold me to that; you approve of telling the
Astrardente, on the whole,--it is the same as though I had consulted
you--"
"Pardon me, my dear lady; you did not consult me," answered Del Ferice,
soothingly. He sat near her by the fire, his hat upon his knee, no longer
watching her, but gazing contemplatively at the burning logs. There was a
delicacy about his pale face since the wound he had received a year
before which was rather attractive: from having been a little inclined to
stoutness, he had grown slender and more graceful, partly because his
health had really been affected by his illness, and partly because he had
determined never again to risk being too fat.
"I tried to consult you," objected Donna Tullia. "It is the same thing."
"It is not the same thing to me," he answered, "although you have not
involved me in the affair. I would have most distinctly advised you to
say nothing about it at present. You have acted rashly, have put yourself
in a most painful situation; and you have broken your promise to me--a
very solemn promise, Donna Tullia, sworn upon the memory of your mother
and upon a holy relic. One cannot make light of such promises as
that."
"You made me give it in order to frighten me. The Church does not bind us
to oaths sworn under compulsion," she argued.
"Excuse me; there was no compulsion whatever. You wanted to know my
secret, and for the sake of knowing it you bound yourself. That is not
compulsion. I cannot compel you. I could not think of presuming to compel
you to marry me now. But I can say to you that I am devotedly attached to
you, that to marry you is the aim and object of my life, and if you
refuse, I will tell you that you are doing a great wrong, repudiating a
solemn contract--"
"If I refuse--well--but you would give me the papers?" asked Donna
Tullia, who was beginning to tremble for the result of the interview. She
had a vague suspicion that, for the sake of obtaining them, she would
even be willing to promise to marry Del Ferice. It would be very wrong,
perhaps; but it would be for the sake of accomplishing good, by
preventing Corona from falling into the trap--Corona, whom she hated!
Still, it would be a generous act to save her. The minds of women like
Madame Mayer are apt to be a little tortuous when they find themselves
hemmed in between their own jealousies, hatreds, and personal interests.
"If you refused--no; if you refused, I am afraid I could not give you the
papers," replied Del Ferice, musing as he gazed at the fire. "I love you
too much to lose that chance of winning you, even for the sake of saving
the Duchessa d'Astrardente from her fate. Why do you refuse? why do you
bargain?" he asked, suddenly turning towards her. "Does all my devotion
count for nothing--all my love, all my years of patient waiting? Oh, you
cannot be so cruel as to snatch the cup from my very lips! It is not for
the sake of these miserable documents: what is it to me whether Don
Giovanni appears as the criminal in a case of bigamy--whether he is
ruined now, as by his evil deeds he will be hereafter, or whether he goes
on unharmed and unthwarted upon his career of wickedness? He is nothing
to me, nor his pale-faced bride either. It is for you that I care, for
you that I will do anything, bad or good, to win you that I would risk my
life and my soul. Can you not see it? Have I not been faithful for very
long? Take pity on me--forget this whole business, forget that you have
promised anything, forget all except that I am here at your feet, a
miserable man, unless you speak the word, and turn all my wretchedness
into joy!"
He slipped from his seat and knelt upon one knee before her, clasping one
of her hands passionately between both his own. The scene was well
planned and well executed; his voice had a ring of emotion that sounded
pleasantly in Donna Tullia's ears, and his hands trembled with
excitement. She did not repulse him, being a vain woman and willing to
believe in the reality of the passion so well simulated. Perhaps, too, it
was not wholly put on, for she was a handsome, dashing woman, in the
prime of youth, and Del Ferice was a man who had always been susceptible
to charms of that kind. Donna Tullia hesitated, wondering what more he
could say. But he, on his part, knew the danger of trusting too much to
eloquence when not backed by a greater strength than his, and he pressed
her for an answer.
"Be generous--trust me," he cried. "Believe that your happiness is
everything to me; believe that I will take no unfair advantage of a hasty
promise. Tell me that, of your own free will, you will be my wife, and
command me anything, that I may prove my devotion. It is so true, so
honest,--Tullia, I adore you, I live only for you! Speak the word, and
make me the happiest of men!"
He really looked handsome as he knelt before her, and she felt the light,
nervous pressure of his hand at every word he spoke. After all, what did
it matter? She might accept him, and then--well, if she did not like the
idea, she could throw him over. It would only cost her a violent scene,
and a few moments of discomfort. Meanwhile she would get the papers.
"But you would give me the papers, would you not, and leave me to decide
whether--Really, Del Ferice," she said, interrupting herself with a
nervous laugh, "this is very absurd."
"I implore you not to speak of the papers--it is not absurd. It may seem
so to you, but it is life or death to me: death if you refuse me--life if
you will speak the word and be mine!"
Donna Tullia made up her mind. He would evidently not give her what she
wanted, except in return for a promise of marriage. She had grown used to
him, almost fond of him, in the last year.
"Well, I do not know whether I am right," she said, "but I am really very
fond of you; and if you will do all I say--"
"Everything, my dear lady; everything in the world I will do, if you will
make me so supremely happy," cried Del Ferice, ardently.
"Then--yes; I will marry you. Only get up and sit upon your chair like a
reasonable being. No; you really must be reasonable, or you must go
away." Ugo was madly kissing her hands. He was really a good actor, if
it was all acting. She could not but be moved by his pale delicate face
and passionate words. With a quick movement he sprang to his feet and
stood before her, clasping his hands together and gazing into her face.
"Oh, I am the happiest man alive to-day!" he exclaimed, and the sense of
triumph that he felt lent energy to his voice.
"Do sit down," said Donna Tullia, gaily, "and let us talk it all over. In
the first place, what am I to do first?"
Del Ferice found it convenient to let his excitement subside, and as a
preliminary he walked twice the length of the room.
"It is so hard to be calm!" he exclaimed; but nevertheless he presently
sat down in his former seat, and seemed to collect his faculties with
wonderful ease.
"What is to be done first?" asked Donna Tullia again.
"In the first place," answered Del Ferice, "here are those precious
papers. As they are notary's copies themselves, and not the originals, it
is of no importance whether Don Giovanni tears them up or not. It is easy
to get others if he does. I have noted down all the names and dates. I
wish we had some information about Felice Baldi. It is very unfortunate
that we have not, but it would perhaps take a month to find her."
"I must act at once," said Donna Tullia, firmly; for she remembered old
Saracinesca's threats, and was in a hurry.
"Of course. These documents speak for themselves. They bear the address
of the notary who made the copies in Aquila. If the Saracinesca choose,
they can themselves go there and see the originals."
"Could they not destroy those too?" asked Donna Tullia, nervously.
"No; they can only see one at a time, and the person who will show them
will watch them. Besides, it is easy to write to the curate of the church
of San Bernardino to be on his guard. We will do that in any case. The
matter is perfectly plain. Your best course is to meet the Astrardente
to-morrow at the appointed time, and simply present these papers for
inspection. No one can deny their authenticity, for they bear the
Government stamp and the notary's seal, as you see, here and here. If
they ask you, as they certainly will, how you came by them, you can
afford to answer, that, since you have them, it is not necessary to know
whence they came; that they may go and verify the originals; and that in
warning them of the fact, you have fulfilled a duty to society, and have
done a service to the Astrardente, if not to Giovanni Saracinesca. You
have them in your power, and you can afford to take the high hand in the
matter. They must believe the evidence of their senses; and they must
either allow that Giovanni's first wife is alive, or they must account
for her death, and prove it. There is no denial possible in the face of
these proofs."
Donna Tullia drew a long breath, for the case seemed perfectly clear; and
the anticipation of her triumph already atoned for the sacrifice she had
made.
"You are a wonderful man, Del Ferice!" she exclaimed. "I do not know
whether I am wise in promising to marry you, but I have the greatest
admiration for your intellect."
Del Ferice glanced at her and smiled. Then he made as though he would
return the papers to his pocket. She sprang towards him, and seized him
by the wrist.
"Do not be afraid!" she cried, "I will keep my promise."
"Solemnly?" he asked, still smiling, and holding the envelope firmly in
his hand.
"Solemnly," she answered; and then added, with a quick laugh, "but you
are so abominably clever, that I believe you could make me marry you
against my will."
"Never!" said Del Ferice, earnestly; "I love you far too much." He had
wonderfully clear instincts. "And now," he continued, "we have settled
that matter; when shall the happy day be?"
"Oh, there is time enough to think of that," answered Donna Tullia, with
a blush that might have passed for the result of a coy shyness, but which
was in reality caused by a certain annoyance at being pressed.
"No," objected Del Ferice, "we must announce our engagement at once.
There is no reason for delay--to-day is better than to-morrow."
"To-day?" repeated Donna Tullia, in some alarm.
"Why not? Why not, my dear lady, since you and I are both in earnest?"
"I think it would be much better to let this affair pass first."
"On the contrary," he argued, "from the moment we are publicly engaged I
become your natural protector. If any one offers you any insult in this
matter, I shall then have an acknowledged right to avenge you--a right
I dearly covet. Do you think I would dread to meet Don Giovanni again? He
wounded me, it is true, but he has the marks of my sword upon his body
also. Give me at once the privilege of appearing as your champion,
and you will not regret it. But if you delay doing so, all sorts of
circumstances may arise, all sorts of unpleasantness--who could protect
you? Of course, even in that case I would; but you know the tongues of
the gossips in Rome--it would do you harm instead of good."
"That is true, and you are very brave and very kind. But it seems almost
too soon," objected Donna Tullia, who, however, was fast learning to
yield to his judgment.
"Those things cannot be done too soon. It gives us liberty, and it gives
the world satisfaction; it protects you, and it will be an inestimable
pleasure to me. Why delay the inevitable? Let us appear at once as
engaged to be married, and you put a sword in my hand to defend you and
to enforce your position in this unfortunate affair with the
Astrardente."
"Well, you may announce it if you please," she answered, reluctantly.
"Thank you, my dear lady," said Del Ferice. "And here are the papers.
Make the best use of them you can--any use that you make of them will be
good, I know. How could it be otherwise?"
Donna Tullia's fingers closed upon the large envelope with a grasping
grip, as though she would never relinquish that for which she had paid so
dear a price. She had, indeed, at one time almost despaired of getting
possession of them, and she had passed a terrible hour, besides having
abased herself to the fruitless bribery she had practised upon
Temistocle. But she had gained her end, even at the expense of permitting
Del Ferice to publish her engagement to marry him. She felt that she
could break it off if she decided at last that the union was too
distasteful to her; but she foresaw that, from the point of worldly
ambition, she would be no great loser by marrying a man of such cunning
wit, who possessed such weapons against his enemies, and who, on the
whole, as she believed, entirely sympathised with her view of life. She
recognised that her chances of making a great match were diminishing
rapidly; she could not tell precisely why, but she felt, to her
mortification, that she had not made a good use of her rich widowhood:
people did not respect her much, and as this touched her vanity, she was
susceptible to their lack of deference. She had done no harm, but she
knew that every one thought her an irresponsible woman, and the thrifty
Romans feared her extravagance, though some of them perhaps courted her
fortune: many had admired her, and had to some extent expressed their
devotion, but no scion of all the great families had asked her to be his
wife. The nearest approach to a proposal had been the doubtful attention
she had received from Giovanni Saracinesca during the time when his
headstrong father had almost persuaded him to marry her, and she thought
of her disappointed hopes with much bitterness. To destroy Giovanni by
the revelations she now proposed to make, to marry Del Ferice, and then
to develop her position by means of the large fortune she had inherited
from her first husband, seemed on the whole a wise plan. Del Ferice's
title was not much, to be sure, but, on the other hand, he was intimate
with every one she knew, and for a few thousand scudi she could buy some
small estate with a good title attached to it. She would then change
her mode of life, and assume the pose of a social power, which as a young
widow she could not do. It was not so bad, after all, especially if she
could celebrate the first day of her engagement by destroying the
reputation of Giovanni Saracinesca, root and branch, and dealing a blow
at Corona's happiness from which it would not recover.
As for Del Ferice, he regarded his triumph as complete. He cared little
what became of Giovanni--whether he was able to refute the evidence
brought against him or not. There had been nothing in the matter which
was dishonest, and properly made out marriage-certificates are not easy
things to annul. Giovanni might swim or sink--it was nothing to Ugo del
Ferice, now that he had gained the great object of his life, and was at
liberty to publish his engagement to Donna Tullia Mayer. He lost no time
in telling his friends the good news, and before the evening was over a
hundred people had congratulated him. Donna Tullia, too, appeared in more
than usually gay attire, and smilingly received the expressions of good
wishes which were showered upon her. She was not inclined to question the
sincerity of those who spoke, for in her present mood the stimulus of a
little popular noise was soothing to her nerves, which had been badly
strained by the excitement of the day. When she closed her eyes she had
evil visions of Temistocle retreating at full speed down the stairs with
his unearned bribe, or of Del Ferice's calm, pale face, as he had sat in
her house that afternoon grasping the precious documents in his hand
until she promised to pay the price he asked, which was herself. But
she smiled at each new congratulation readily enough, and said in her
heart that she would yet become a great power in society, and make her
house the centre of all attractions. And meanwhile she pondered on the
title she should buy for her husband: she came of high blood herself, and
she knew how such dignities as a "principe" or a "duca" were regarded
when bought. There was nothing for it but to find some snug little
marquisate--"marchese" sounded very well, though one could not be called
"eccellenza" by one's servants; still, as the daughter of a prince, she
might manage even that. "Marchese"--yes, that would do. What a pity there
were only four "canopy" marquises--"marchesi del baldacchino"--in Rome
with the rank of princes! That was exactly the combination of dignities
Donna Tullia required for her husband. But once a "marchese," if she was
very charitable, and did something in the way of a public work, the Holy
Father might condescend to make Del Ferice a "duca" in the ordinary
course as a step in the nobility. Donna Tullia dreamed many things that
night, and she afterwards accomplished most of them, to the surprise of
everybody, and, if the truth were told, to her own considerable
astonishment.