The evening after the execution, the Prince of Carini dined with the
Archbishop of Montreal, while Gemma, who was not admissible into the
society of the prelate, remained at the Villa Carini.
The evening was as delightful as the morning had been. From one of the
windows of the room which was hung with blue satin, the room in which
the first scene of our history took place, Alicudi might plainly be
seen, and behind it, like a vapour floating on the sea, the isles of
Filicudi and Salina. The other window overlooked a beautiful park,
filled with orange trees and pomegranates; on the right, might be seen
Mount Pellegrino from its base to its very summit, and on the left the
view extended as far as Montreal.
The beautiful Countess Gemma, of Castel Nuovo, had remained for some
time at this window, her eyes fixed on the ancient residence of the
Norman kings, and seeking in every carriage as it came towards Palermo
for the equipage of the viceroy. But at length the darkness of the
evening increased, and distant objects becoming indistinct, she entered
her chamber and rang for her maid, and, fatigued as she had been by the
emotions of the day, she retired to rest.
It was late before the prince was able to relieve himself from the
kind attentions of his host, and eleven o’clock struck by the cathedral
(built by William the Good) before the viceroy’s carriage, drawn by four
splendid horses, departed at a gallop. Half an hour was sufficient to
enable him to reach Palermo, and in five minutes afterwards, he had
cleared the distance between the city and his villa.
The prince hastily proceeded to Gemma’s chamber, he attempted to enter
the door, but it was fastened on the inside: he then went to the secret
door that opened on the other side of the bed, close to the recess in
which Gemma reposed. Having opened it softly, that he might not awake
the charming sleeper, he stood a moment to gaze upon her in the sweet
and beautiful abandonment of repose.
An elaborate lamp, suspended from the ceiling by three strings of
pearls, was the only light in the room, and its light was arranged in
such a manner as to prevent its dazzling the eyes of the sleeper. The
prince, therefore, leaned over the bed that he might see better.
Gemma was lying with her chest almost entirely uncovered, and her boa,
rolled round her neck, contrasted beautifully by its dark colour with
the whiteness of her skin.
The prince for an instant gazed on the enchanting statue, but its want
of animation soon astonished him; he drew closer, and perceived that a
strange paleness overspread her features. He bent his ear over her, but
could not hear her respiration; he seized her hand, it was cold. Then he
placed his arm beneath the form he loved so well, that he might warm it
by pressing it to his breast; but he suddenly allowed it again to fall,
and uttered a cry of anguish and horror. Gemma’s head had fallen from
her shoulders and rolled upon the carpet.
The next morning the yataghan of Ali was found beneath the window!
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg’s The Sicilian Bandit, by Alexandre Dumas, pere