The Contessa's Vendetta (34 page)

He
sprung up from his chair like a pleased child and pulled me to him in an embrace. “No, not in the least. Rather, I did not want to burden you by making you feel more grief.”

I looked
at him in loathing and disgust. Every word he spewed from his lips was defamed. He did not notice my expression. He was absorbed, excellent actor that he was, in the role he had chosen to play.

“
And so you acted sad because you did not wish to grieve me? Oh, you poor dear!” he said, in a caressing tone, such as he could assume when he chose. “But now that you see I am not unhappy, you will be cheerful again?
Si
? Know that I love you!” He held the ring out to me. “It is a small trifle, but because it once belonged to Carlotta, and to Carlotta’s father, whom you knew, I think you ought to have it. Will you take it and wear it to please me?” He slipped the diamond signet, my own ring, onto my finger.

I could have laughed aloud
, but I nodded seriously as I accepted it. “Only as a proof of your affection,
carissimo
, though it has a terrible association for me. I took it from Beatrice’s hand as she lay dying.”

“
Si
, I know! It must have been trying for you to have seen her dead. Try to forget the matter. Illnesses are very common occurrences, after all!”

“
Very common,” I answered, mechanically, still regarding the handsome face, the powerful allure of his eyes, the golden hair. “But they do not often end so fatally. The result of this one compels me to leave Vicenza for some days. I go to Venice tonight.”

“
To Venice?” he asked with interest. “Carlotta and I went there often when we were first married.”

“
And were you happy there?” I inquired, coldly. I remembered the times he spoke of; journeys of such feral, foolish joy!

“
Happy?
Si!
Everything was so new to me then. It was delightful to be free and out of the monastery.”

“
I thought you liked the monks?” I said.

“
Some of them, yes. The abbot is a kind man, but Brother Maurizio, the one that received you, I detest!”

“
Why?”

His
lips curled mutinously. “Because he is so sly and silent. Some of the boys here adore him, but they have no choice, for there is no one else to love behind these strict walls.

“
They have no choice? Must they?” I asked the question by rote, merely for the sake of saying something.

“
Of course they must,” he answered. “The boys are starved for love and attention, only they do not dare let the monks know. Since I have been here they follow me everywhere and ask me to tell them stories. And I do it because it vexes Brother Maurizio.”

I was silent.
What a curse love was. Its poison even finds its way into the hearts of children; young things shut within the walls of a secluded monastery, and guarded by the meticulous care of holy men.

“
And the monks?” I said, uttering half my thoughts aloud. “How do they manage without love?”

A wicked smile, brilliant and disdainful, glittered in h
is eyes. “Do they manage without love?” he asked, half indolently. “I suppose they do in one way or another.”

Roused by something in h
is tone, I caught his hand and held it firmly. “And you? Is it possible that you sympathize with those who participate in illicit lust?”

He
recollected himself in time. “Not me!” he answered, with a grave and virtuous air. “How can you think so? In my mind, there is nothing as horrible as deceit. No good ever comes of it.”

I loosened
his hand from mine. “You are right,” I said, calmly; “I am glad your values are so correct! I have always hated lies.”

“
So have I!” he declared with a frank look. “I have often wondered why people tell them. It is disastrous when they are found out.”

I bit my lips hard to
stop the accusations my tongue longed to utter. Why should I damn the actor or the play before the curtain was ready to fall on both? I changed the subject. “How long do you propose remaining here? Now there is nothing to prevent your return to Vicenza.”

He
pondered for some minutes before replying. “I told father superior I came here for a week. I had better stay till that time is expired. Not longer, because with Beatrice’s death, my presence in Vicenza is necessary.”

“
Indeed! May I ask why?”

He
laughed a little consciously. “Simply to put forth her last will and testament. Before she left for Rome, she gave it into my keeping.”

A light flashed on my mind.
“And its contents?” I inquired.

“
Its contents make me the owner of everything she died possessed of!” he said, with an air of quiet, yet malicious triumph.

Poor B
eatrice! What trust she had placed in this vile, self-interested, heartless man! She had loved him, even as I had loved him – he who was unworthy of any love! I controlled my rising emotion, and merely said with gravity, ““I congratulate you! May I be permitted to see this document?”

“
Certainly. I can show it to you now. I have it here,” and he drew a leather case from a pocket, and opening it, handed me a sealed envelope. “Break the seal!” he added eagerly. “She saled it up like that after I had read it.”

With
a reluctant hand, and a pained sympathy at my heart, I opened the packet. It was as he had said, a will drawn up in perfectly legal form, signed and witnessed, leaving everything unconditionally to Dario Gismondi of the Villa Mancini, Vicenza. I read it through and returned it to him. “She must have loved you very much!”

He
laughed. “Of course, but many people love me. That is nothing new. I am accustomed to be loved. But you see,” he went on, reverting to the will again, “it specifies -
Everything she dies possessed of
. That means all the money left to her by her uncle in Rome, does it not?”

I
nodded. I could not trust myself to speak.

“
I thought so,” he murmured, gleefully, more to himself than to me. “And I have a right to all her papers and letters.” There he paused abruptly and checked himself.

Now I clearly understood.
He wanted to get back his own letters to the dead woman, lest his intimacy with her should leak out in some way for which he was unprepared. Cunning devil! I was almost glad he showed me to what a depths of vulgarity he would sink. In his case, there was no hope for me to show any pity or restraint. If all the tortures invented by savages or inquisitors could be heaped upon him at once, such punishment would be light in comparison with his crimes; crimes for which the law gives you no remedy but divorce. I grew tired of this wretched comedy.

“
It is time to take my leave,” I said stiffly. “Moments fly fast whenever I am with you, but I have many things to attend to before I leave for Venice this evening. On my return, will you welcome me?”

“
You know it,” he returned pulling me close until I rested my head against his shoulder.

For appearance
’s sake I was forced to remain in his partial embrace.

“
I only wish you were not going at all. Do not stay away long.”

“
Absence strengthens love, they say,” I observed, with a forced smile. “May it do so in our case. Pray for me while I am gone. I suppose you do pray a great deal here, don’t you?”

“
What else is there to do?” He held my hands. The betrothal ring on his finger and the diamond signet on my own, flashed in the light like the crossing of swords.

“
Pray then for the repose of poor Beatrice’s soul. Remember that she loved you, even though you never loved her. Who knows, but maybe her spirit may be near us now, hearing our voices, watching our looks?”

His hands grew cold.

“
Si
,” I continued, more calmly. “You must not forget to pray for her. She was young and not prepared to die.”

My words
affected him. For once, his speech failed. He seemed as though he searched for a reply and could not find one. He still held my hands.

“
Promise me! And at the same time pray for your dead wife. She and poor Beatrice were such close friends. It will be kind of you to join their names in one prayer to God from whom no secrets are hid and who knows the sincerity of your intentions. Will you do it?”

He
smiled, a forced, faint smile. “I certainly will. I promise you.”

I pulled my hands away. I
was satisfied. If he dared to utter such prayers, I knew he would draw the wrath of Heaven down upon him, for I looked beyond the grave! The mere death of his body would be but slight satisfaction to me – it was the utter destruction of his wicked soul that I sought. He should never repent, I swore. He should never have the chance to cast off his vileness as a serpent casts its skin, and then reclothe himself in innocence. He should never have the gall to seek admittance into that same Heaven where my little child had gone. Never! No church should save him. No priest should absolve him. Not while I lived!

He
watched me as I fastened my mantle and began to draw on my gloves.

“
Are you going now?” he asked.

“
Si
, I am going now. Why? What has made you look so pale?”

For he had suddenly turned very white.

“Let me see your hand again; the hand on which I placed the ring!”

Smilingly and with readiness I took off the glove I had just put on.
“What is the matter?” I asked, with an air of playfulness.

He
gave me no answer, but took my hand and examined it closely and curiously. Then he looked up, his lips twitched nervously, and he laughed a little hard mirthless laugh. “Your hand, with that signet on it, is exactly like Carlotta’s!”

And before I had time to
speak another word he broke out into a cold sweat and walked away to face the window. With both hands on the sill, he tried to steady himself and stop his heavy breathing.

I rang the bell to summon assistance
. A lay-brother answered it. Seeing Dario’s condition, he rushed for a glass of water and summoned Brother Maurizio who entered with his quiet, stoic demeanor.

Brother Maurizio
took in the situation at a glance, dismissed the lay-brother, and took hold of the tumbler of water. He offered it to Dario who sipped some through clinched teeth. “What has happened?” he inquired in a stately manner.

“
I really cannot tell you,” I said, with an air of affected concern and vexation. “I told him of the unexpected death of a friend, but he bore the news with exemplary resignation.”

“It is nothing,” Dario said, somewhat recovered. “There was a resemblance between the
contessa’s hand and that of my deceased wife. At the sight, a jolt of grief passed through me.”

“
But that is absurd.” I shrugged my shoulders as though I were annoyed and impatient.

A sarcastic smile flitted over the monk’s face.
“Ah, a tender heart,” he said, in his passionless tone, which conveyed to me another meaning than that implied by the words he uttered. “We cannot perhaps understand the extreme delicacy of human emotion and we fail to do justice to them.”

Here
Dario looked at us with plainly and heaved a long, deep sigh.

“
You are better, I trust?” continued the monk, without any sympathy in his monotonous voice, and addressing him with some reserve. “You have greatly alarmed the Contessa Corona.”

“
I am sorry,” Dario said.

I hastened to
his side.

“
It was nothing!” I urged, forcing something like a lover’s ardor into my voice. “It is my misfortune to have hands like those of your late wife, and I regret it. Can you forgive me?”

He
was evidently conscious that he had behaved foolishly. He smiled, but looked worn and avoided glancing at Brother Maurizio, who stood at a slight distance, his body erect with a bland expression on his face and his silver crucifix glittering coldly on his still breast.

“
I should leave,” I announced.

“I am sorry you have to leave so soon.
Good-bye. Write to me from Venice.” He took my outstretched hand, and bowing over it, kissed it gently. He turned toward the door, when suddenly a mischievous idea seemed to enter his mind. He looked at Brother Maurizio and then back to me. “
Addio, amore mio
!” He threw his arms around me and kissed me passionately.

Then he glanced maliciously at the
monk who had lowered his eyes till they appeared fast shut, and breaking into a low peal of spiteful laughter, left the room.

I was somewhat confused. The suddenness of
Dario’s kiss had been a mere prank to vex Brother Maurizio’s religious scruples. I did not know what to say to the poor cleric who stood with downcast eyes and lips that moved dumbly as if in prayer. As the door closed after my husband’s retreating figure, the monk looked up.