to an ancient lady, who became very fond of her. It needed, indeed, a convenient bronchitis to give her her liberty again. When this occurred she found herself provided with a pretty legacy--enough to make her independent of the doctor, but at the same time more necessary to his happiness. She had intended, she said, for Siena; but the hospitality of Donna Giulia was pressed upon her, and the good services of the count were freely hers. There was talk of a judgeship for her husband; she would see how events turned about before she made any plans. "And you, Francis," she continued, "are not to be ridiculous any more, nor wander about without shoes, nor consort with rubbish any more. You are to go back to your studies and your books, and take your degree. You are to say good-bye to Aurelia as soon as you are well enough, and forget that you ever knew her, if you can."
"If I forget you, Aurelia, I shall forget Heaven," I said.
"We will talk about Heaven another time," said Aurelia. "Who was that saucy girl I met at the convent, who seemed to know all about you?"
I told her Virginia's story exactly. She said, "The piece is madly in love with you." I assured her that she was mistaken, but she shook her head, then nodded it many times. "Certainly, certainly she is in love with you," and after a pause--"and I don't wonder. You have greatly improved, Francis."
To this I said that nothing was further from my thoughts than to do Virginia any harm. I promised to marry her to my man Scipione as soon as possible, since protection of some sort was necessary to a bondswoman who had run away from the land to which she belonged. Aurelia heard me thoughtfully, tapping her little foot on the floor in that quick, impatient way I loved so well in her. "Marry her--yes," she said, "that will be only prudent on your part. Well! it is not for me to quarrel with you--but--" she shrugged and went on quickly--"Oh, I don't deny that the wench is well enough in her broomstick way!" she cried out.
I said, No, she looked very well when she was dressed. This was an unlucky speech.
"So I have understood, sir," cried Aurelia, breathing fast. "I hear that you were seen with her at Prato; that she was dressed in silk and a hoop, and had her hair on a cushion, and I dare say a fan, of the afternoons. And you think her very well? So--so--so!" My beloved Aurelia had tears in her eyes--one dropped and lay upon her bosom. I fell on my knees before her and would have kissed her foot, but she sprang from me, and went quickly out of the room.
I was left alone in the greatest agitation. It was the recollection of this scene which troubled me when, returning to my lodging, I found Virginia again in masquerade.
CHAPTER XXVI
I DISAPPOINT MY FRIENDS
My forebodings were more than fulfilled. The next time, which was at a week's interval, that I presented myself at the Villa San Giorgio, Donna Aurelia, in full reception, turned her back upon me and left the room in company of the Marchese Semifonte. I suffered the indignity as best I might--I did not quit the company; nobody, I flatter myself, knew what pangs of mortification I was feeling. I saw no more of Aurelia that evening, and a conversation which I had with Donna Giulia made matters no better. She spoke to me very plainly and with some warmth.
"Here you had, but a few days ago, your mistress in a most promising humour," she said, "detesting her doctor, yet resolved to have him back in order to give you a countenance. In Count Giraldi and myself you have, I take leave to say, two of the most complaisant friends in Europe; yet what are you doing? You maintain, for reasons best known to yourself, a pretty girl in your lodgings, pranked out in silks and furbelows--a runaway from a house of discipline--and (if it is all true that they tell me) one who, if she belongs to anybody, dare not belong, certainly, to you. Really, Don Francis, you are exorbitant. Pray, do you propose to us to keep Aurelia here in order that she may listen to your poetry, and then to return from your intellectual feast to the arms of your little peasant? And Aurelia is to know it and acquiesce? Good heavens! do you know that she is young, fresh, and charming, and of Siena? I ask your pardon, Don Francis--but oh, my perverse young friend, why on earth don't you take her?"
"Dearest lady!" I cried out, "what under Heaven am I to take? I adore Aurelia; I ask nothing better than leave to serve her, to kneel at her feet. If she is cruel to me, that is my pride. If she is kind, that is my humiliation. If she were to kill me, that would be my topmost reward."
"Very true indeed," she said. "And what if she were to do, as I should certainly do, ignore you altogether?"
"I should not cease to love her. I should have nothing to complain of," I said.
She tossed her hands up in despair. "If this is what conies of reading your Dante, I advise the 'Song of Solomon,'" she said. "I have never opened the 'Divine Comedy'--still less the 'Vita Nova'; but I consider the author a donkey, and am sure that was the opinion of his Donna Beatrice."
Count Giraldi, for some reason which I could not then comprehend, did not care to talk of my affair. He said nothing of Aurelia to me--and, so far as I could see, avoided the lady herself as much as the discussion of her position. He told me that he had been able to offer a judgeship of the Court of Cassation to Dr. Lanfranchi, and that he was in great hopes that he would take it. In that case he would, of course, reside in Florence; and "The rest," said he, "I shall leave to you."
I told him that, if Donna Aurelia was reconciled to her husband through his means, I should be eternally in his debt--and not less so though I should be in Padua and with the mountains between us.
He frowned, he was puzzled. "You leave us?" he said; "you abandon Donna Aurelia?" I told him that I could never cease to love her, but that love for a lady seemed to me an extremely bad reason for bringing about her ruin. I had gone so near to that already that nothing in the world would induce me to risk it again.
He affected to misunderstand me, in his scoffing way. "Admirable! Admirable!" he cried. "I see that you have recovered your spirits."
"I hope my spirit has never failed me yet when I have had need of it," I said. "I shall thank God on my knees this night that my lady has been saved alive. No lover in the world has ever begged for his mistress's surrender so heartily as I shall pray for the return of mine to her husband's arms."
He clapped me on the back. "You are a master of paradox indeed," he said.
I assured him that I was serious. "Then," said he, "I admire while I do not follow you. I ask you once more, do you wish me to understand that you abandon Donna Aurelia? I have my reasons, mind you, and have no wish to take you unawares."
"I cannot abandon what I do not pursue," I replied. "I can only repeat that it would be a very curious proof of my love for a lady to urge her to perdition on my account."
He looked at me oddly, fixedly, for a long time. Then he said, "It is true that you are an Englishman. I had forgotten it." Suddenly he threw up his hands. "What a nation! What a lover!" His hand came down and rested upon my shoulders. "My friend," he said, "I am not so young as I was, but I do believe that I can teach you something." With that he left me.
Upon returning to my house, sadly out of countenance by the coldness of Aurelia, I was met by Virginia, who reminded me that Scipione had obtained leave of absence for the night in order to visit his wife. She seemed excited and unlike herself, very careful to lock and bolt the front door, and was continually at the window, looking over the Piazza. Occupied as I was with my own troubles, I took no notice of her, and she, with the intelligence peculiar to her, saw how the land lay. She was not accustomed to pick her words with me--no Tuscan servants are-- and after a time of silence on my part and pretended business about the room on hers, she asked leave to speak to me, and without getting it, said, "Excuse me, Don Francis, for the liberty I take, but I see you very miserable, and guess the reason. You have had words with your mistress--and no wonder. Let me tell you that you have not the rudiments of love in you."
"Enough of that, Virginia," I said; but she would not oblige me.
"Let me tell your honour," said she, "that your sex has had the monopoly of mine since this world was first put in order. If