The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ palpitation when the air again was still. For deep feeling has a potency of its own, and all that careless group felt as if some deific cloud had passed by.

      As for Eve, what coquetry there was in her nature was but the innocent coruscation of happy spirits, the desire to see her power, the necessity of being dear to all she touched. Far from pleasant was this vehemence of devotion; the approach of it oppressed her; she comprehended Luigi as a creature of another species, another race, than herself; she shrank before him now with a kind of horror. That night in a nervous excitation she did not close an eye, and in the morning she was wan as a flower after rain.

      This state of things found at least one observer, a personage of no less authority in household matters than Paula, the tall and stately woman of Nubian lineage who had been the nurse of Eve, and who every morning now stood behind her chair at breakfast, familiarly joining in and gathering what she chose of the conversation. Erect as a palm-tree, slender, queenly, with her thin and clearly cut features, and her head like that of some Circassian carved in black marble, she had a kinship of picturesqueness with Luigi, and could meet him more nearly on his own ground than another, for her voice was as sweet as his, and he was only less dark than she. Breakfast over, she took her way into the garden, set open the gate, and busied herself pinching the fresh shoots of the grape-vine, too luxuriant in leaves. She did not wait long before Luigi came up the side-street, his tray upon his head, his gait less elastic than beseemed the fresh, fragrant morning. Paula stepped forward and gave him pause, with a gesture.

      "Sir!" said she, commandingly.

      Luigi looked up at her inquiringly. Then a pleasant expectation overshot his gloomy face; he smiled, and his teeth glittered, and his eyes. Instantly he unslung his tray and set it upon the level gate-post.

      "Sir," said Paula, "do you come here often?"

      "Tutti i giorni," answered Luigi, scarcely considering her worth wasting his sparse and precious English upon.

      "You come here often," said Paula. "Will you come here no more?"

      Luigi opened his eyes in amaze.

      "You will come here no more," said Paula.

      "Chi lo,—who wishes it?" stammered Luigi.

      "My mistress," answered Paula, proudly, as if to be her servant were more than enough distinction, and to mention her name were sovereign.

      "Who commands?" he demanded, imperatively.

      "Still my mistress."

      "She said—Tell me that!"

      "She said, 'Paula, if the boy disturbs us further, we must take measures.'"

      "The Signorina?"

      "Her mother."

      "Not the Signorina, then!" And Luigi's gloomy face grew radiant.

      "She and her mother are one," replied Paula.

      Luigi was silent for a moment. One could see the shadows falling over him. Then he said, softly,—

      "My Paula, you will befriend me?"

      Paula bridled at the address; arrogant in family-place, she would have assured him plainly that she was none of his, to begin with, had he been an atom less disconsolate.

      "Never more than now!" said she, loftily.

      Luigi did not understand her; her tone was kind, but there was a "never" in her words.

      "I should be the most a friend," said Paula, unbending, "in urging you to forget us."

      "Ah, never!"

      "Let me say. Can you read?"

      "Some things," replied Luigi quickly, his brow brightening.

      "Can you write?"

      "It may be. Alas! I have not tried."

      "You see."

      There was no appeal from Paula's dictatorial demeanor.

      "Dio! I am unfit! Ah, Jesu, I am unfit! But if she cared not—if I learned"—and he paused, striving now for the purest, most intelligible speech, while his face beamed with his smiling hope.

      "Listen," interposed Paula, with the dignity of the headsman. "You have no truer friend than me at this moment, as some day you will discover. Come, now, will you do me a favor?"

      "Di tutto cuore!"

      "Then leave us to ourselves."

      "Not possible!" cried Luigi, stung with disappointment.

      "What would you do, then? Would you wear her life out? Would you keep her in a terror? She has said to me that she must go away. It suffocates one to be pursued in this manner. You are not pleasant to her. Hark. She dislikes you!" And Paula bent toward him with uplifted finger, and, having delivered her stroke, after watching its effect a moment, reared herself and adjusted her gay turban with internal satisfaction.

      Luigi cast his eyes slowly about him; they fell on the smooth grass-plats rising with webs of shaking sparkle, the opening flowers half-bowed beneath the weight of the shining spheres they held, the brilliant garden bathed in dew, the waving boughs tossing off light spray on every ravaging gust, the far fair sky bending over all. Then he hid his face against the great gate-post, murmuring only in a dry and broken sob,—

      "C' è sole?"

      Paula herself was touched. She put her hand on his shoulder.

      "It is a silly thing," said she. "Do not take it so to heart. Put it out of sight. There is many a pretty tambourine-tosser to smile upon you, I'll warrant!"

      But Luigi vouchsafed no response.

      "Come," said she, "pluck up your courage. You will soon be better of it."

      "Non sarò meglio!" answered Luigi. "I shall never be better."

      He lifted his head and looked at her where she stood in the light, black, but comely, transfixing her on the burning glances of his bold eyes. "In your need," said he, "may you find just such friend as I have found!" The words were of his native language, but the malediction was universal. Paula half shivered, and fingered the amulet that her princely Nubian ancestor had fingered before her, while he spoke. Then he bowed his head to its burden, fastened the straps, and went bent and stooping upon his way, repeating sadly to himself, "And does the sun shine?"

      A week passed. Part of another. Eve saw no more of Luigi, but was yet all the time uncomfortably conscious of his espionage. He was hardly a living being to her, but, as soon as night fell, the soft starry nights now in which there was no moon, she felt him like a darker film of spirit haunting the shadow. In the daytime, sunshine reassured her, and she remained almost at peace.

      She was sitting one warm afternoon at the open window up-stairs, looking over a box of airy trifles, flowers and bows and laces, searching for a parcel of sheer white love-ribbon, a slip of woven hoarfrost that was not to be found. There was none like it to be procured; this was the night of the little masquerade; it was indispensable; and immediately she proceeded to raise the house. In answer to her descriptive inquiry, Paula, who every noon nestled as near the sun as possible, responded in a high key from the attic a descriptive negative; neither had her mother, waking from a siesta СКАЧАТЬ