The Baron's impulse on going into the bedroom had been merely to escape
from one who must be a runaway prisoner, and therefore little better
than a madman, whose worst madness would be provoked by his own
presence; but when he realised that Rossi was self-possessed, and even
magnanimous in his hour of peril, the Baron felt ashamed of his
hiding-place, and felt compelled to come out. In spite of his pride he
had been forced to overhear the conversation, and he was humiliated by
the generosity of the betrayed man, but what humbled him most was the
clear note of the woman's love.
Knight of the Annunziata! Cousin of the King! President of the Council!
Dictator! These things had meant something to him an hour ago. What were
they now?
The agony of the Baron's jealousy was intolerable. For the first time in
his life his ideas, usually so clear and exact, became confused. Roma
was lost to him. He was going mad.
He looked at the revolver which he had snatched up when Roma let it
fall, examined it, made sure it was loaded, cocked it, put it in the
right-hand pocket of his overcoat, and then opened the door.
The two in the other room did not at first see him. He spoke, and their
arms slackened and they stood apart.
After a moment of silence Rossi spoke. "Roma," he said, "what is this
gentleman doing here?"
The Baron laughed. "Wouldn't it be more reasonable to ask what you are
doing here, sir?" he asked.
Then trying to put into logical sequence the confused ideas which were
besieging his tormented brain, he said, "I understand that this
apartment belongs now to the lady; the lady belongs to me, and when she
denounced you to the police it was merely in fulfilment of a plan we
concocted together on the day you insulted both of us in your speech in
the piazza."
Rossi made a step forward with a threatening gesture, but Roma
intervened. The Baron gripped firmly the revolver in his pocket, and
said:
"Take care, sir. If a man threatens me he must be prepared for the
consequences. The lady knows what those consequences may be."
Rossi, breathing heavily, was trying to retain the mastery of himself.
"If you tell me that the lady...."
"I tell you that according to the law of nature and of reason the lady
is my wife."
"It's a lie."
"Ask her."
"And so I will."
Roma saw the look of triumph with which Rossi turned to her. The
terrible moment she had lived in fear of had come to pass. The letters
she had written to Rossi had not yet reached him, and her enemy was
telling his story before she had told hers.
What was she to do? She would have said anything at that moment and
believed herself justified before God. But even lying itself would be of
no avail. She remembered the Baron's threat and trembled. If she told
the truth her confession, coming at that moment, would be worse than
vain. If she told a lie, Rossi would insult the Baron, the Baron would
challenge Rossi, and they would fight with all the consequences the
Baron had foretold.
"Roma," said Rossi, "forgive me for putting the question, but a
falsehood like this, affecting the character of a good woman, ought to
be stopped in the slanderer's throat. Don't be afraid, dear. You know I
will believe you before anybody in the world. What the man says is a
lie, isn't it?"
Roma stood for a moment looking in a helpless way from Rossi to the
Baron, and from the Baron back to Rossi. She made an effort to speak,
but at first she could not do so. At length she said:
"Can't you trust me, David?"
"Trust you? Answer me on this one point and I will trust you on all the
rest. Say the man speaks falsely, and I will stake my life on your
word."
Roma did not reply, and the Baron tried to laugh.
"If the lady can deny what I say, let her do so. If she cannot, you must
come to your own conclusions."
"Deny it, Roma! Deny it, and I will fling the man's insult in his face."
"David, if I could tell you everything...."
"Everything! It's only one thing I want to know, Roma."
"If you had received my letters addressed to England...."
"Letters? What matter about letters now. Don't you understand, dear?
This gentleman says that before you married me you ... had already
belonged to him. That's what he means, and it's false, isn't it?"
"My mouth is closed. If I could say anything one way or other...."
"Yes or no--that is all that is necessary."
Roma looked up at him with a pleading expression, but seeing nothing in
his face except the magistrate who was interrogating her, she turned her
back and hung her head, and cried like a helpless child.
Rossi laid hold of her arm, twisted her about, and looked into her eyes.
"Crying, Roma? You don't mean to tell me that I am to believe what the
man says? Deny it! For God's sake deny it!"
"I ... I cannot ... I cannot speak," she stammered, and then there was a
dead silence.
When Rossi spoke again his face was dark as a thundercloud, and his
voice hoarse as a raven's.
"If that is so, there is nothing more to say."
She looked up at him with a pathetic remonstrance, but he met her eyes
with the gaze of a relentless judge who had tried and condemned her.
"I was not to blame, David--I swear before God I was not."
"Yet you allowed me to go on believing that falsehood. The woman who
could do a thing like that could do anything. She could pretend to be
poor, pretend to be tempted, pretend...."
"David, what are you saying?"
Rossi broke into a peal of mad laughter.
"Saying? That you have deceived me from the beginning, when you
undertook to betray me to your master and paramour."
"David!"
She tried to protest, but he bore her down with a laugh of scorn, and
then wheeled round on the Baron, who had been standing in silence behind
them.
"That's why you are here to-night, I suppose. You didn't expect to be
disturbed, did you? You didn't expect to see me. You thought I was
stowed away in a cell, and you could meet in safety.... Oh, my brain! my
brain! I shall go mad!"
"It isn't true," cried Roma. And turning to the Baron with flame in her
eyes she said, "Tell him it isn't true. You know it isn't true."
"True?" Again the Baron tried to laugh. "Of course it's true. Every word
the man has uttered is true. Don't ask me to lie to him as you have done
from first to last." At that Rossi's mad laughter stopped suddenly, and
he stepped up to the Baron with fury in his face.
"You scoundrel!" he said. "You've succeeded, you've separated us, but I
understand you perfectly. You have used this unhappy lady's shame to
compel her to carry out your infamous designs, and now that she is done
with, she must lose the man who played with her as well as the man she
has played with."
Roma saw that the Baron was feeling for something in the side pocket of
his overcoat, and she called to Rossi to warn him.
"One doesn't quarrel with an escaped criminal," said the Baron. "It is
sufficient to call the police ... Police!" he cried, lifting his voice
and taking a step forward.
Rossi stood between the Baron and the door.
"Don't stir," he said. "Don't utter a word, I warn you. I'm a hunted dog
to-night, and a hunted dog is dangerous."
"Let me pass," said the Baron.
"Not yet, sir," said Rossi. "You have something to do before you go. You
have to go down on your knees and beg the pardon of your victim...."
Roma saw the Baron draw the revolver. She saw Rossi spring upon him, and
seize him by the collar of the Annunziata which hung over his shirt
front. She saw the men go struggling through the door of the
sitting-room into the dining-room. She covered her ears with her hands
to shut out the sounds from the outer chamber, but she heard Rossi's
hoarse voice that was like the growl of a wild beast. Then came the
deafening report of a pistol-shot, then the vibration of a heavy fall,
and then dead silence.
Roma was still standing with her hands over her ears, shaking with
terror and scarcely able to breathe, when footsteps resounded on the
floor behind her. Giddy and dazed, with one agonising thought she
turned, saw Rossi, and uttered a cry of relief. But he was coming down
on her with great staring eyes, and the look of a desperate maniac. For
one moment he stood over her in his ungovernable rage, and scalding and
blistering words poured out of him in a torrent.
"He's dead. D'you hear me? He's dead. But it's as much your work as
mine, and you will never think of yourself henceforward without remorse
and horror. I curse you by the love you've wronged and the heart you've
broken. I curse you by the hopes you wasted and the truth you've
outraged. I curse you by the memory of your father, the memory of a
saint and martyr."
Before his last words were spoken Roma had ceased to hear. With a feeble
moan, interrupted by a faint cry, she had slowly retreated before him,
and then fallen face downwards. Everything about her, Rossi, herself,
the room, the lamp on the table and the shadows cast by it, had mingled
and blended, and gone out in a complete obscurity.