Part 8

“Because I can not,” promptly replied Carolinona. “Pardon me, but you must understand that it can not please me that you, to make an end to an annoying joke, are forced to make me play a part that does not suit me--”

“What!” exclaimed Biagio. “The rôle of wife! By heavens, you ought to thank me.”

Carolinona took fire. “Pardon me, and am I to thank you also for the words you said to Trunfo on my account? Your wife for a joke I understand; but since you have committed the folly of giving me your name in the eyes of the law, it seems to me, I do not know, but it seems to me that you ought at least to show that you do not believe certain calumnies, and not make a jest of them. Because they are calumnies I would have you to know! The vilest calumnies! I have always attended to my own business. I am poor, yes, but honest, honest! It is well that you should know it. And you may set your mind at rest on this point--”

Biagio looked at her and let his arms fall. “You alarm me, Carolinona! I did not believe you capable of telling the truth with such insistence and such warmth. I believe you, I believe you--but let me look out of this window and see if those tiresome fellows are gone, and we will make an end to this at once.”

He went to the window and looked out into the street. “No one,” said he, turning away. “I am sorry that the joke has finished really badly. Enough; the thing is done, and we must think no more about it. Good-by, eh?”

He held out his hand; the Pentoni hesitatingly laid her own, fat and black, in it, murmuring: “Good-by.” Then, all vibrating with emotion, she shut herself up in her room, and burst into tears.

Biagio Speranza, having taken a few steps, saw, spying in the shadows of the little square opposite the door, instead of Scossi and Cedebonis, Signor Martinelli, who was rubbing his hands with the cold. The good man was quite robbed of breath at hearing his name called. Then a hand smote him sharply on the shoulder.

“What are you doing here, my fine fellow? Tell me, were you perhaps waiting until I should have gone away to--”

“May Heaven forbid! What are you saying, Signor Speranza?” stammered poor Martinelli, so tremblingly that Biagio could not keep from laughing. “I--I was just going--”

“And meanwhile you are here!” replied Biagio, recovering himself, and pretending to be severe. He took him by the arm, and added as they moved away: “Come, let us go, and explain to me--”

“But, sir--” Martinelli hastened to reply, greatly embarrassed, “I confess--since you, yes, I say--since you suspected me--(May Heaven defend me!) I confess that I remained here, not so much out of curiosity, as because--yes, I say--to congratulate myself that finally you had recognized the--the--the sacredness of the bond, because--”

“And am I really to believe you?” Biagio interrupted him, standing still. “You stood there in the shadow like a vile deceiver; you can not deny it.”

“But pray do not say that even in jest!” cried Signor Martinelli, his eyes turned heavenward, and forcing himself to smile. “Pardon me, but at my age? And then she--a thoroughly virtuous woman, I would swear it--And she has always been so--so good to me, has always confided--yes, I say--confided so many things to me, poor thing--And I stood there, believe me, congratulating myself--that--”

“You must excuse me! Good-by!” Biagio Speranza hastily interrupted him, withdrew his arm, and hurried after a flashily dressed woman who at that moment emerged from a café.

Martino Martinelli stood there, abandoned in the middle of the street; involuntarily he raised his hand to his hat, then his eyes followed for a time the couple who went away together laughing loudly, perhaps at him, perhaps at the Pentoni; and he shook his head sorrowfully, wounded.

VI

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.”

VII

Biagio Speranza came somewhat late, saluted the lady of the house and his friends, and seated himself in his usual place. Some embarrassment was felt at first, but gradually conversation became more or less general. Only Martinelli kept his round, owl-like eyes fixed on Speranza as though expecting any moment some explanation of his unworthy manner of acting, some sign of repentance.

Carolinona sat with lowered eyes; but from time to time she would look about her, and if she saw that no one was looking, give a rapid side glance at Speranza, and become greatly moved. She suffered; she felt that she suffered, but still she controlled herself so that no one noticed it. She had given orders to the servant not to open the door without first looking through the peep-hole. If Cocco Bertolli came in the daytime she was to tell him that her mistress was not at home; if in the evening, while the boarders were at table, before opening the front door she was to come into the dining-room and give warning.

At every ring of the bell they all stopped to listen, and the poor woman felt her heart almost burst with agitation until they went on talking.

After an unusually loud ring, Cedebonis remarked: “You will see that that is not he. He certainly will first try to get in by day, and not succeeding in this will return in the evening.” And this would undoubtedly have been the more logical method; but one thing Cedebonis did not take into account; Cocco Bertolli was mad. And so it happened that it _was_ just he who rang the bell. The servant rushed into the room in alarm to announce him.

All rose in consternation, save Biagio Speranza. “I beg you,” said he calmly, “to remain seated. I alone must go. You go on chatting here quietly. You will see; two peaceful words, and I shall make him reasonable.”

He rose and moved toward the door; but before leaving the dining-room he turned and added, raising one hand: “I beg you, then.” But the Pentoni, who until then had controlled herself with difficulty, burst into tears. Some surrounded her, trying to comfort her; others went on tiptoe to listen outside the drawing-room door.

Biagio Speranza himself went to open the door, resolutely; but at sight of Cocco Bertolli he stood as though turned to stone. The unfortunate fellow seemed to have scarcely an ounce of flesh on his bones, and his enormous ox-like eyes in his wasted, cadaverous face were positively terrifying. He paused at sight of Biagio Speranza, and twisted his mouth into a ferocious sneer. “Ah, you!” he murmured.

“Pardon me, what do you want?” asked Biagio.

“Now!” Cocco Bertolli clenched his fist, his eyes almost bursting from their sockets, “I merely wish to say two words to the lady in yonder, and to cut off her ears and nose.”

“Good Heavens! You would spoil her for _me_!” cried Biagio, laughing. “Come, come, my dear poet; you must know that I am now master of this house, and you shall enter it neither now nor at any other time.”

Cocco Bertolli, all of a tremor, drew down his loosely hanging vest, and said: “Very good. We will see about that. I merely wished to remind that good lady of a certain promise.”

“But pardon me, do you not understand,” Speranza tried to persuade him, “that the lady of whom you speak hoped, or rather was sure, that you--pardon me--that you were dying?”

“But I am not dead!” cried Cocco Bertolli, with fierce joy. “And I would have you understand that for her I have defied death!”

“Too bad!” exclaimed Biagio. “Too bad! Come now, if you will permit me to say so, do you really think that was worth while?”

“Ah, do you too know,” sneered Cocco Bertolli, “that your wife is a shameless woman?”

Biagio Speranza spread out his hands. “A stout woman, pardon, let us rather say a stout woman, so as not to offend her.”

“But I wish to offend her!” replied Cocco Bertolli, raising his arms, terrible in his wrath. “I wish to offend her before you, her worthy husband. Buffoon!”

Biagio Speranza paled, closed his eyes, then said mildly: “Listen, Cocco. Go away peaceably, or I will kick you out.”

“Me?”

“You. Or rather, see; I shut the door in your face to keep myself from kicking a poor madman, for you are nothing more than that.” And he closed the door.

“Vile clown!” roared Cocco Bertolli outside the door. “But I shall wait in the street for you, do you hear? I will make you pay for this!”

Biagio Speranza returned to the dining-room, still pale and trembling with the effort he had made to control himself. “Well?” asked all anxiously.

“Nothing,” he replied, with a nervous smile. “I have sent him away.”

“And he is waiting outside for you!” added Carolinona, who had heard in the hall the madman’s threat.

“Oh, Heavens!” moaned Carolinona, her face hidden in her handkerchief. “For my sake!” This weeping irritated Biagio Speranza; he felt an aversion for the part he was about to play, and shrugged his shoulders angrily. “Let him wait. I will go and give him what he deserves now!” And he looked for his hat and stick.

Then the Pentoni, as though impelled by a force stronger than her nature, started to her feet. “I implore you! For pity’s sake! Do not have anything to do with that madman. Let the others go first! Listen to me!”

All save Martinelli, who was shaking like a leaf, and the scornful Trunfo, echoed Carolinona’s words, and offered to go. But Biagio Speranza made way for himself violently, and crying, “Pray, what do you take me for?” he went out. The others followed him. At the foot of the stairs he turned, and again begged them to be good enough to remain behind.

“You make me lose my patience by acting thus,” he called to them. “Do you seriously believe that I will lift my hand against that poor unfortunate who has just left the hospital, unless he actually drives me to the wall? So stay where you are, I beg of you! Do not let him see you, for if he does he will begin haranguing. Do not aggravate the ridiculousness of my position.”

Dario Scossi then made a sign to the others to stop, and let Speranza go on alone. Shortly after they continued downstairs and paused in the hall to spy. Cariolin, who was slightly in advance, put his head a little way out of the front door. Biagio and Cocco Bertolli were talking vigorously, a slight distance apart; but suddenly Cariolin saw Cocco Bertolli raise one hand and solemnly administer a blow upon Speranza. At that they all rushed forward. Carolinona, who was standing at a window, gave a scream and fell back fainting in the trembling arms of Martinelli, while Trunfo, attracted by the cries from the street, rushed to the entrance, repeating scornfully: “This is too much! A fight! Clowns!”

Biagio Speranza, tearful with rage, and struggling to free himself, cried out to the friends who were holding him: “Let me go! Let me go!”

“At your disposal!” roared Cocco Bertolli as they dragged him away, amid the crowd which was flocking from every direction. “At your disposal! The Caffè della Svizzero!”

Dario Scossi, Cedebonis, and Cariolin finally succeeded in leading Biagio Speranza away, while he cried furiously: “I must kill him! I must kill him! Two of you, you, Scossi, and you, Cariolin, go at once to find him. Ridiculous as it is, atrociously ridiculous, a duel with that wretch, because of that woman in yonder, I must fight, for otherwise when I see him I should kill him like a dog. Go, go, I will await you at my home.”

The three friends sought to dissuade him, to persuade him not to attach any importance to what had occurred. After all it was but the onset of a madman. But Biagio Speranza would not listen to reason. “He has struck me, do you understand?” And he sprang into a cab to go home, while Scossi and Cariolin, followed by Cedebonis, serious, placid, and curious, repaired to the Caffè della Svizzero.

They found Cocco Bertolli there, swelling with pride, while he narrated the adventure amid the laughter of the crowd that had followed him.

“At once! At your service!” he called, coming toward them. “Pistols, swords, daggers; what you please, at your choice! Or even with hands and feet; but at once!”

Scossi made him understand that two more men were needed, with whom they could discuss the details of the meeting.

“I know no one,” protested Cocco Bertolli. “I would like to send Signor Speranza my two friends, Nero and Erostratus, but unfortunately they are both dead. So, pray, find me two living wretches; I do not wish to trouble myself with such paltry details.”

“I would assist in my quality of physician,” said Cedebonis. “But what can I do? I have lessons at the _liceo_.”

So Dario Scossi and Cariolin, together with Cocco Bertolli, set out in search of two seconds other than Erostratus and Nero.

Biagio Speranza, trembling with impatience, waited in his home for almost an hour. Then the doorbell rang, but instead of Scossi and Cariolin appeared Nannetta, who, having heard at the café about the quarrel, had come for news.

“Why, yes, I have been struck!” said Biagio. “Come in, Nannetta. We were _so_ comfortable in the country, we two, were we not? I have acted foolishly, but what will you? I must pay for it, as I told you--”

“A duel?” Nannetta asked him, terrified.

“Of course. Struck, I tell you.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

Nannetta kissed his cheek. “Dear, and if they kill you? Have you thought of that?”

“No, really I have not!” said Biagio, shrugging his shoulders, and he continued staring impatiently out of the window.

Nannetta followed him, but instead of staring down into the street she began gazing up at the stars, which glowed thickly in the moonless sky. She sighed, and said: “Do you know, Biagio, that I really wish you would not fight this duel?”

Struck by the strange tone of her voice, Biagio asked her with a forced smile: “Are you so fond of me?”

Nannetta shrugged her shoulders, smiling mournfully; she closed her eyes, and replied: “How do I know?--I do not want--”

“Come!” cried Biagio, with a start, “no melancholy! I have here some _marsala_; let us drink it! I must have some biscuits too--then you shall help me pack my valises. To-morrow, after giving that dog a good lesson, I shall be off!”

“For always?”