CHAPTER XLI

THE INTERVIEW

Merthyr saw Laura first. He thought that Vittoria must be lying on her

couch: but Laura simply figured her arm in a sling, and signified, more

than said, that Vittoria was well and taking the air. She then begged

hungrily for news of Rome, and again of Rome, and sat with her hands

clasped in her lap to listen. She mentioned Venice in a short breath of

praise, as if her spirit could not repose there. Rome, its hospitals, its

municipal arrangements, the names of the triumvirs, the prospects of the

city, the edicts, the aspects of the streets, the popularity of the

Government, the number of volunteers ranked under the magical

Republic--of these things Merthyr talked, at her continual instigation,

till, stopping abruptly, he asked her if she wished to divert him from

any painful subject. "No, no!" she cried, "it's only that I want to feel

an anchor. We are all adrift. Sandra is in perfect health. Our bodies,

dear Merthyr, are enjoying the perfection of comfort. Nothing is done

here except to keep us from boiling over."

"Why does not Count Ammiani come to Rome?" said Merthyr.

"Why are we not all in Rome? Yes, why! why! We should make a carnival of

our own if we were."

"She would have escaped that horrible knife," Merthyr sighed.

"Yes, she would have escaped that horrible knife. But see the difference

between Milan and Rome, my friend! It was a blessed knife here. It has

given her husband back to her; it has destroyed the intrigues against

her. It seems to have been sent--I was kneeling in the cathedral this

morning, and had the very image crossing my eyes--from the saints of

heaven to cut the black knot. Perhaps it may be the means of sending us

to Rome."

Laura paused, and, looking at him, said, "It is so utterly impossible for

us women to comprehend love without folly in a man; the trait by which we

recognize it! Merthyr, you dear Englishman, you shall know everything. Do

we not think a tisane a weak washy drink, when we are strong? But we

learn, when we lie with our chins up, and our ten toes like stopped

organ-pipes--as Sandra says--we learn then that it means fresh health and

activity, and is better than rivers of your fiery wines. You love her, do

you not?"

The question came with great simplicity.

"If I can give a proof of it, I am ready to answer," said Merthyr, in

some surprise.

"Your whole life is the proof of it. The women of your country are

intolerable to me, Merthyr: but I do see the worth of the men. Sandra has

taught me. She can think of you, talk of you, kiss the vision of you, and

still be a faithful woman in our bondage of flesh; and to us you know

what a bondage it is: How can that be? I should have asked, if I had not

seen it. Dearest, she loves her husband, and she loves you. She has two

husbands, and she turns to the husband of her spirit when that, or any,

dagger strikes her bosom. Carlo has an unripe mind. They have been

married but a little more than four months; and he reveres her and loves

her." . . . . Laura's voice dragged. "Multiply the months by thousands,

we shall not make those two lives one. It is the curse of man's education

in Italy? He can see that she has wits and courage. He will not consent

to make use of them. You know her: she is not one to talk of these

things. She, who has both heart and judgement--she is merely a little

boat tied to a big ship. Such is their marriage. She cannot influence

him. She is not allowed to advise him. And she is the one who should lead

the way. And--if she did, we should now be within sight of the City."

Laura took his hand. She found it moist, though his face was calm and his

chest heaved regularly. An impish form of the pity women feel for us at

times moved her to say, "Your skin is as bronzed as it was last year.

Sandra spoke of it. She compared it to a young vine-leaf. I wonder

whether girls have really an admonition of what is good for them while

they are going their ways like destined machines?"

"Almost all men are of flesh and blood," said Merthyr softly.

"I spoke of girls."

"I speak of men."

"Blunt--witted that I am! Of course you did. But do not imagine that she

is not happy with her husband. They are united firmly."

"The better for her, and him, and me," said Merthyr.

Laura twisted an end of her scarf with fretful fingers. "Carlo Albert has

crossed the Ticino?"

"Is about to do so," Merthyr rejoined.

"Will Rome hold on if he is defeated?"

"Rome has nothing to fear on that side."

"But you do not speak hopefully of Rome."

"I suppose I am thinking of other matters."

"You confess it!"

The random conversation wearied him. His foot tapped the floor.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Verily, for no other reason than that I have a wicked curiosity, and

that you come from Rome," said Laura, now perfectly frank, and believing

that she had explained her enigmatical talk, if she had not furnished an

excuse for it. Merthyr came from the City which was now encircled by an

irradiating halo in her imagination, and a fit of spontaneous

inexplicable feminine tenderness being upon her at the moment of their

meeting, she found herself on a sudden prompted to touch and probe and

brood voluptuously over an unfortunate lover's feelings, supposing that

they existed. For the glory of Rome was on him, and she was at the same

time angry with Carlo Ammiani. It was the form of passion her dedicated

widowhood could still be subject to in its youth; the sole one. By this

chance Merthyr learnt what nothing else would have told him.

Her tale of the attempted assassination was related with palpable

indifference. She stated the facts. "The woman seemed to gasp while she

had her hand up; she struck with no force; and she has since been

inanimate, I hear. The doctor says that a spasm of the heart seized her

when she was about to strike. It has been shaken--I am not sure that he

does not say displaced, or unseated--by some one of her black tempers.

She shot Rinaldo Guidascarpi dead. Perhaps it was that. I am informed

that she worshipped the poor boy, and has been like a trapped she-wolf

since she did it. In some way she associated our darling with Rinaldo's

death, like the brute she is. The ostensible ground for her futile bit of

devilishness was that she fancied Sandra to have betrayed Barto Rizzo,

her husband, into the hands of the polizia. He wrote to the Countess

Alessandra--such a letter!--a curiosity!--he must see her and

cross-examine her to satisfy himself that she was a true patriot, &c. You

know the style: we neither of us like it. Sandra was waiting to receive

him when they pounced on him by the door. Next day the woman struck at

her. Decidedly a handsome woman. She is the exact contrast to the

Countess Violetta in face, in everything. Heart-disease will certainly

never affect that pretty spy! But, mark," pursued Laura, warming, "when

Carlo arrived, tears, penitence, heaps of self-accusations: he had been

unkind to her even on Lake Orta, where they passed their golden month; he

had neglected her at Turin; he had spoken angry words in Milan; in fact,

he had misused his treasure, and begged pardon;--'If you please, my poor

bleeding angel, I am sorry. But do not, I entreat, distract me with

petitions of any sort, though I will perform anything earthly to satisfy

you. Be a good little boat in the wake of the big ship. I will look over

at you, and chirrup now and then to you, my dearest, when I am not

engaged in piloting extraordinary.'--Very well; I do not mean to sneer at

the unhappy boy, Merthyr; I love him; he was my husband's brother in

arms; the sweetest lad ever seen. He is in the season of faults. He must

command; he must be a chief; he fancies he can intrigue poor thing! It

will pass. And so will the hour to be forward to Rome. But I call your

attention to this: when he heard of the dagger--I have it from Colonel

Corte, who was with him at the time in Turin--he cried out Violetta

d'Isorella's name. Why? After he had buried his head an hour on Sandra's

pillow, he went straight to Countess d'Isorella, and was absent till

night. The woman is hideous to me. No; don't conceive that I think her

Sandra's rival. She is too jealous. She has him in some web. If she has

not ruined him, she will. She was under my eyes the night she heard of

his marriage: I saw how she will look at seventy! Here is Carlo at the

head of a plot she has prepared for him; and he has Angelo Guidascarpi,

and Ugo Corte, Marco Sana, Giulio Bandinelli, and about fifty others.

They have all been kept away from Rome by that detestable ----- you

object to hear bad names cast on women, Merthyr. Hear Agostino! The poor

old man comes daily to this house to persuade Carlo to lead his band to

Rome. It is so clearly Rome--Rome, where all his comrades are; where the

chief stand must be made by the side of Italy's Chief. Worst sign of all,

it has been hinted semi-officially to Carlo that he may upon application

be permitted to re-issue his journal. Does not that show that the

Government wishes to blindfold him, and keep him here, and knows his

plans?"

Laura started up as the door opened, and Vittoria appeared leaning upon

Carlo's arm. Countess Ammiani, Countess d'Isorella, and Pericles were

behind them. Laura's children followed.

When Merthyr rose, Vittoria was smiling in Carlo's face at something that

had been spoken. She was pale, and her arm was in a sling, but there was

no appearance of her being unnerved. Merthyr waited for her recognition

of him. She turned her eyes from Carlo slowly. The soft dull smile in

them died out as it were with a throb, and then her head drooped on one

shoulder, and she sank to the floor.