The Veiled Lady, and Other Men and Women — John Shaqi
The Veiled Lady, and Other Men and WomenSmith, Francis Hopkinson
General
The Veiled Lady, and Other Men and Women
Smith, Francis Hopkinson
Short stories, American
"He did not at first,--but twice Francesco came to see Loretta with
messages from her mother, and went sneaking off when Vittorio came up
in his boat, and then that night some one would tell him--'that fellow
meets Loretta every day;' that he was her old lover. These people on
the Giudecca do not like the San Giuseppe people, and there is always
jealousy. If Vittorio had married any one from his own quarter it would
have been different. You don't know these people, Signore,--how
devilish they can be and how stupid."
"That was why he threw the ring in her face?"
"No and yes. Yesterday was Sunday, and some people came to see her from
San Giuseppe, and they began to talk. I was not there; I did not get
there until it was all over, but my wife heard it. They were all in the
garden, and one word led to another, and he taunted her with seeing
Francesco, and she laughed, and that made him furious; and then he said
he had heard her mother was a nobody; and then some one spoke up and
said that was true--fools all. And then Loretta, she drew herself up
straight and asked who it was had said so, and a woman's voice
came--'Francesco,--he told me--' and then Vittorio cried--'And you meet
him here. Don't deny it! And you love him, too!--' and then the fool
sprang at her and caught her hand and tore the ring from her finger and
spat on it and threw it on the ground. He is now at his father's house."
"And she said nothing, Luigi?" The story seemed like some horrible
dream.
"No, nor shed a tear. All she did was to keep repeating--'Francesco!
Francesco! Francesco!' I got there at daylight this morning and have
been there ever since. I told her I was coming for you. She was sitting
in a chair when I went in,--bolt up; she had not been in her bed. She
seems like one in a trance--looked at me and held out her hand. I tried
to talk to her and tell her it was all a lie, but she only
answered--'Ask Francesco,--it is all Francesco,--ask Francesco.' Hurry,
Signore,--we will miss her if we go to her house. We will go at once to
our canal and wait for her. They have heard nothing down there at San
Giuseppe, and you can talk to her without being interrupted, and then
I'll get hold of Vittorio. This way, Signore."
I had hardly reached the water landing of my canal ten minutes later
when I caught sight of her, coming directly toward me, head up, her
lips tight-set, her black shawl curving and floating with every
movement of her body--(nothing so wonderfully graceful and nothing so
expressive of the wearer's moods as these black shawls of the
Venetians). She wore her gala dress--the one in which she was
married--white muslin with ribbons of scarlet, her wonderful hair in a
heap above her forehead, her long gold earrings glinting in the
sunshine. All the lovelight had died out of her eyes. In its place were
two deep hollows rimmed about by dark lines, from out which flashed two
points of cold steel light.
I sprang from my gondola and held out my hand:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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