'Ah, you believe me now!'
'Listen!' I said. 'If this is not true, I swear by all the saints that I
will kill you.'
'Good; if it is not true, kill me. But, by all the saints, I swear it is
true, true, true!' She repeated the words in triumph, and each one fell
like the stab of a dagger in my heart.
I left her. As I walked home, I fancied the people were looking at me,
and smiling. Once I was on the verge of going up to a man, and asking
him why he laughed, but I contained myself. How I was suffering! I
remembered that Giulia had not seemed so pleased to see me; at the time
I chid myself, and called myself exacting, but was it true? I fancied
she turned away her lips when I was imprinting my passionate kisses on
them. I told myself I was a fool, but was it true? I remembered a slight
movement of withdrawal when I clasped her in my arms. Was it true? Oh
God! was it true?
I thought of going to Matteo, but I could not. He knew her before her
marriage; he would be willing to accept the worst that was said of her.
How could I be so disturbed at the slanders of a wicked, jealous woman?
I wished I had never known Claudia, never given her reason to take this
revenge on me. Oh, it was cruel! But I would not believe it; I had such
trust in Giulia, such love. She could not betray me, when she knew what
passionate love was poured down upon her. It would be too ungrateful.
And I had done so much for her, but I did not wish to think of that....
All that I had done had been for pure love and pleasure, and I required
no thanks. But surely if she had no love, she had at least some tender
feeling for me; she would not give her honour to another. Ah no, I would
not believe it. But was it true, oh God! was it true?
I found myself at home, and suddenly I remembered the old steward, whom
I had left in charge of my house. His name was Fabio; it was from him
that I got the name when I presented myself as a serving-man to old
Orso. If anything had taken place in the house he must know it; and she,
Claudia, said the whole town knew it.
'Fabio!'
'My master!'
He came into my room, and I looked at him steadily.
'Fabio, have you well looked after all I left in your hands when I went
to Rome?'
'Your rents are paid, your harvests taken in, the olives all gathered.'
'I left in your charge something more precious than cornfields and
vineyards.'
'My lord!'
'I made you guardian of my honour. What of that?'
He hesitated, and his voice as he answered trembled.
'Your honour is--intact.'