The Greatest Works of Edith Wharton - 31 Books in One Edition. Edith Wharton

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СКАЧАТЬ The frightened vice-roy was preparing to withdraw from Milan to Verona, and Radetsky continued to pour his men across the Alps, till a hundred thousand were massed between the Piave and the Ticino. And now every eye was turned to Turin. Ah, how we watched for the blue banner of Piedmont on the mountains! Charles Albert was pledged to our cause; his whole people had armed to rescue us, the streets echoed with avanti, Savoia! and yet Savoy was silent and hung back. Each day was a lifetime strained to the cracking-point with hopes and disappointments. We reckoned the hours by rumors, the very minutes by hearsay. Then suddenly—ah, it was worth living through!—word came to us that Vienna was in revolt. The points of the compass had shifted and our sun had risen in the north. I shall never forget that day at the villa. Roberto sent for me early, and I found him smiling and resolute, as becomes a soldier on the eve of action. He had made all his preparations to leave for Milan and was awaiting a summons from his party. The whole household felt that great events impended, and Donna Marianna, awed and tearful, had pleaded with her brother that they should all receive the sacrament together the next morning. Roberto and his sister had been to confession the previous day, but the Countess Faustina had again excused herself. I did not see her while I was with the Count, but as I left the house she met me in the laurel-walk. The morning was damp and cold, and she had drawn a black scarf over her hair, and walked with a listless dragging step; but at my approach she lifted her head quickly and signed to me to follow her into one of the recesses of clipped laurel that bordered the path.

      “Don Egidio,” she said, “you have heard the news?”

      I assented.

      “The Count goes to Milan tomorrow?”

      “It seems probable, your excellency.”

      “There will be fighting—we are on the eve of war, I mean?”

      “We are in God’s hands, your excellency.”

      “In God’s hands!” she murmured. Her eyes wandered and for a moment we stood silent; then she drew a purse from her pocket. “I was forgetting,” she exclaimed. “This is for that poor girl you spoke to me about the other day—what was her name? The girl who met the Austrian soldier at the fair at Peschiera—”

      “Ah, Vannina,” I said; “but she is dead, your excellency.”

      “Dead!” She turned white and the purse dropped from her hand. I picked it up and held it out to her, but she put back my hand. “That is for masses, then,” she said; and with that she moved away toward the house.

      I walked on to the gate; but before I had reached it I heard her step behind me.

      “Don Egidio!” she called; and I turned back.

      “You are coming to say mass in the chapel tomorrow morning?”

      “That is the Count’s wish.”

      She wavered a moment. “I am not well enough to walk up to the village this afternoon,” she said at length. “Will you come back later and hear my confession here?”

      “Willingly, your excellency.”

      “Come at sunset then.” She looked at me gravely. “It is a long time since I have been to confession,” she added.

      “My child, the door of heaven is always unlatched.”

      She made no answer and I went my way.

      I returned to the villa a little before sunset, hoping for a few words with Roberto. I felt with Faustina that we were on the eve of war, and the uncertainty of the outlook made me treasure every moment of my friend’s company. I knew he had been busy all day, but hoped to find that his preparations were ended and that he could spare me a half hour. I was not disappointed; for the servant who met me asked me to follow him to the Count’s apartment. Roberto was sitting alone, with his back to the door, at a table spread with maps and papers. He stood up and turned an ashen face on me.

      “Roberto!” I cried, as if we had been boys together.

      He signed to me to be seated.

      “Egidio,” he said suddenly, “my wife has sent for you to confess her?”

      “The Countess met me on my way home this morning and expressed a wish to receive the sacrament tomorrow morning with you and Donna Marianna, and I promised to return this afternoon to hear her confession.”

      Roberto sat silent, staring before him as though he hardly heard. At length he raised his head and began to speak.

      “You have noticed lately that my wife has been ailing?” he asked.

      “Every one must have seen that the Countess is not in her usual health. She has seemed nervous, out of spirits—I have fancied that she might be anxious about your excellency.”

      He leaned across the table and laid his wasted hand on mine. “Call me Roberto,” he said.

      There was another pause before he went on. “Since I saw you this morning,” he said slowly, “something horrible has happened. After you left I sent for Andrea and Gemma to tell them the news from Vienna and the probability of my being summoned to Milan before night. You know as well as I that we have reached a crisis. There will be fighting within twenty-four hours, if I know my people; and war may follow sooner than we think. I felt it my duty to leave my affairs in Andrea’s hands, and to entrust my wife to his care. Don’t look startled,” he added with a faint smile. “No reasonable man goes on a journey without setting his house in order; and if things take the turn I expect it may be some months before you see me back at Siviano.—But it was not to hear this that I sent for you.” He pushed his chair aside and walked up and down the room with his short limping step. “My God!” he broke out wildly, “how can I say it?—When Andrea had heard me, I saw him exchange a glance with his wife, and she said with that infernal sweet voice of hers, ‘Yes, Andrea, it is our duty.’

      “‘Your duty?’ I asked. ‘What is your duty?’

      “Andrea wetted his lips with his tongue and looked at her again; and her look was like a blade in his hand.

      “‘Your wife has a lover,’ he said.

      “She caught my arm as I flung myself on him. He is ten times stronger than I, but you remember how I made him howl for mercy in the old days when he used to bully you.

      “‘Let me go,’ I said to his wife. ‘He must live to unsay it.’

      “Andrea began to whimper. ‘Oh, my poor brother, I would give my heart’s blood to unsay it!’

      “‘The secret has been killing us,’ she chimed in.

      “‘The secret? Whose secret? How dare you—?’

      “Gemma fell on her knees like a tragedy actress. ‘Strike me—kill me—it is I who am the offender! It was at my house that she met him—’

      “‘Him?’

      “‘Franz Welkenstern—my cousin,’ she wailed.

      “I suppose I stood before them like a stunned ox, for they repeated the name again and again, as if they were not sure of my having heard it.—Not hear it!” he cried suddenly, dropping into a chair and hiding his face in his hands. “Shall I ever on earth СКАЧАТЬ