Neither the next evening nor the following ones did Biagio Speranza
come to the pension.
Momo Cariolin and Dario Scossi ceased teasing Carolinona after the
first evening, and, truth to say, she was somewhat distant with them.
Trunfo tried to take his revenge by reminding them how he had warned
them not to joke stupidly in a matter that had no joke in it. Cedebonis
gave himself no peace, thinking that with this marriage had been
celebrated the funeral of mirth, and for several evenings he repeated
this phrase, which seemed to him particularly felicitous. He alone,
with his Calabrian obstinacy, continued fuming; he fumed because the
fire would not once more burst forth with the fine witticisms of
former days. But no one paid any attention to him, and he consoled
himself after a fashion, thinking that a renewal of this huge joke was
inevitable, in one way or another, as soon as Cocco Bertolli should
leave the hospital.
Trunfo, meanwhile, who had resumed his former habits, between one
note and another of his hissed opera, instigated Carolinona to avenge
herself.
At these vindictive exhortations of his a desire for vengeance flamed
in the heart of the Pentoni; but soon after, suffocated, as though the
flame had suddenly become smoke--a slow, dense smoke--she buried her
face in her hands, and shook her head bitterly.
“Make good your rights,” said Trunfo. “A woman never lacks for means.”
But she really recognized no rights of hers, and saw no means. He had
made the terms of the agreement plain to her in advance. It was true,
they were injurious, even shameful for her, but had she not accepted
them? And if there arose in her heart a sentiment she had never before
felt, and which she was not capable of explaining to herself, but which
tormented her, and which she blushed for without respite, what fault
was it of his? He had given her but a single cause for offense; he did
not wish to believe in her honesty. What vengeance could she take for
that? Possibly, if she felt herself capable of it, she might actually
deceive him--But no, never! She inclined rather toward the advice of
Martinelli, who counseled her to win him by fair means, to soften him.
“Write to him,” finally advised Martinelli. “Ask him to come as before,
to do at least--yes, I say--his duty, now that that other--yes, I
say--that example of the wrath of God is about to leave the hospital.”
“Have you news of him?” asked Carolinona.
Yes, Signor Martinelli had news, but he gave it to her with
compunction, anxiously. Unfortunately, that “wrath of God” would be
discharged in two or three days--the beast! One of the nurses had told
him that while he was already convalescent he heard of this marriage
and had had a relapse. “A dangerous fellow, dangerous!” finished Signor
Martino. “So much so that I would almost advise you to go to the police
without further delay.” Poor Pentoni stood pondering for a moment, then
smiled.
“Signor Martino, do you know what I have decided? I shall not do
anything. I will not move even a finger. Let Bertolli come and beat me.
Or perhaps he will wish to kill me? It would really be laughable. Let
us leave it to God!”
Now that is all very well; God is great, omnipotent, watches over
all, protects the good and the oppressed. Nevertheless, Martinelli
thought it well to inform Scossi and Cedebonis of the violent
designs with which Cocco Bertolli would leave the hospital. It was
therefore decided, after a long confabulation, to send Scossi to the
home of Biagio Speranza, whom no one had seen since that day he had
disappeared; and if he was not at home, a note was to be left, warning
him of the Pentoni’s danger; if he was away, Scossi was to learn his
address and telegraph him.
He was neither at home nor out of town. Dario Scossi was obliged to
hire a cab and repair to a farm belonging to Speranza’s old landlady,
some three kilometers outside of the city gates. Yes, Biagio had
been there for four days and was to remain until his departure for
Barcelona; he had warned his landlady not to tell any one where he had
taken refuge, and the landlady, as we have seen, had kept her promise.
But it really was a question of something serious?
“Most serious! Most serious!” Scossi reassured her.
Having thus forced the citadel, Scossi began to feel the real necessity
for believing in the danger that threatened Carolinona, and in the
dreadfulness of Cocco Bertolli, so that he might have courage enough
to face Biagio Speranza. The cab finally stopped before a rustic gate,
consisting of a single bar, supported on posts not less rustic, behind
which rose two tall cypress trees. A narrow path led up from the gate,
between the vines, to the little knoll, on the summit of which stood
the small house, amid trees. What poetry! What a dream! What quietude!
Before ringing the bell, Scossi glanced up the path for a few minutes;
suddenly he heard the shrill squawks of geese, then the voice of Biagio
Speranza, calling gaily: “Nannetta! Nannetta!”
Oh, wretch; Oh, renegade! A true idyl! He began to regret having come.
“Shall I wait?” asked the driver.
“Yes, wait. I will ring.” He rang very softly; the tongue of the bell
barely touched the edge, without giving a sound. Suddenly he pulled the
chain, and the bell rang furiously. “It is done! Now the deluge! By
Jove!”
Up at the end of the path an old peasant shortly afterward presented
himself, who, seeing the cab outside the gate, hastened to come down.
“What do you wish, sir?”
“Speranza.”
“What do you mean? Oh, yes, sir, you mean the young gentleman. He is
here.” He opened the gate, and Scossi entered. Again the geese squawked
from above, and the old peasant began to laugh, shaking his head.
“Biagio!” exclaimed Scossi. “What is he doing?”
“Oh, he does and thinks of a hundred things,” replied the peasant.
“Come and see. He has put soldiers’ caps on the poor geese, and drives
them thus toward the lady who stands down there by the garden fountain.”
“Nannetta, Nannetta!” once more cried Biagio from above. “Look at
Carolinona, who comes at a run! I have made her corporal.”
“Horrible!” cried Dario Scossi, presenting himself on the level stretch
of ground.
“Dario!” exclaimed Biagio Speranza, amazed. “What! You here?” And he
came toward him. But Scossi drew back a step, and gazed at him severely.
“You give a goose the name of your wife?”
“Oh, be quiet!” replied Biagio, shaking himself. “Have you come even
out here to annoy me? How did you know?”
Scossi then explained the reasons for his coming, told him that it
was neither just nor fair for him to leave that poor woman yonder in
her embarrassment, and that his presence at the pension was urgently
required for three or four days at least. Biagio Speranza grew
discouraged.
Suddenly there arrived at a run, her face crimson, a straw hat on her
beautiful, ruffled, tawny hair, Nannetta, the same woman whom Signor
Martinelli had seen coming out the café that evening.
“Well, Biagio? Oh, pardon me, how do you do, sir--”
“Good day, my dear,” replied Scossi, holding out his hand.
But Nannetta held her own in the air.
“I can not. They are dripping wet. If you like, with his permission,
you may give me a little kiss here.” And she offered her flaming cheek.
“Do you permit?” asked Scossi, moved to compunction. “Her hands are
wet--”
“One only,” replied Biagio gloomily. “There is nothing to be said. I
shall have to go.”
“Is your wife sending for you?” asked Nannetta sadly, her cheek still
upturned, upon which Scossi was all the while imprinting a series of
soft kisses. “Oh, that is enough, sir; one only, I beg of you. Your
wife, then?”
“Oh, do not you too annoy me!” cried Biagio, exasperated. “You may
thank your God, Scossi, that I have not a stick in my hand. Get out at
once. I shall return to the city to-morrow. This evening I am going to
make up for it all by staying here. I shall wring the neck of the goose
that looks so like her and eat it all for supper, with the appetite of
a cannibal. Get out!”
But Nannetta wished to keep Scossi for dinner. At table Biagio
explained to him why he had escaped.
“I do not say that she actually loves me; but it is near, do you know?
Who would ever have expected it? Of course I understand that I am a
very good-looking fellow, agreeable--” Nannetta protested with a laugh.
“And I assure you that she gave me a veritable lecture like a real
wife.”
“Poor woman!” cried Nannetta. “If what you say is true, then all of
you, especially you, Biagio, have been cruel beyond comparison. Go,
make up to her for it now. Believe me, it is the best thing that you
can do.”
Biagio Speranza did not open his lips, but opened his eyes very wide,
and stared at Nannetta with such an expression that she smiled, and
repeated: “Poor woman!”
“Enough, enough, my dear!” interrupted Scossi. “Or you will keep him
from ever returning to the city.”
“No, no,” said Biagio seriously. “I have promised, and I will come. To
think of it! For the diversion of humanity, Destiny had contrived a
truly ideal marriage: Cocco Bertolli and Carolinona. I, fool, stupid,
imbecile, go and interfere with her plans. I must pay for it. That
great man loved her, his dove, and now I must show him the door. I feel
remorseful, I assure you, but I have promised, and I will keep my word.”
The evening of the same day Dario Scossi related to the friend of
the pension what he had done, where he had found Speranza, and in
whose company. Cedebonis feigned to be scandalized at such immediate
infidelity; but Scossi, who, in relating the affair, had allowed this
information to escape him without intending it, replied that Carolinona
should not take it amiss in him. Wives were made purposely to be
deceived by their husbands, and vice versa, except in the case of the
Martinelli couple, of course, who were unique beneath the heavens.
Finally he announced that Biagio Speranza would return without fail the
evening of the following day. “The sheep will return to the fold.”