Historical fiction; Italy -- History -- Revolution of 1848 -- Fiction; War stories
Laura signalled to the chasseur that her answer was affirmative. As he
was retiring, his black-plumed hat struck against Beppo, who thrust
him aside and gave the hat a dexterous kick, all the while keeping a
decorous front toward the signora. She stood meditating. The enraged
chasseur mumbled a word or two for Beppo's ear, in execrable Italian,
and went. Beppo then commenced bowing half toward the doorway, and tried
to shoot through, out of sight and away, in a final droop of excessive
servility, but the signora stopped him, telling him to consider himself
her servant until the morning; at which he manifested a surprising
readiness, indicative of nothing short of personal devotion, and
remained for two minutes after she had quitted the room. So much time
having elapsed, he ran bounding down the stairs and found the hall-door
locked, and that he was a prisoner during the signora's pleasure.
The discovery that he was mastered by superior cunning, instead of
disconcerting, quieted him wonderfully; so he put by the resources of
his ingenuity for the next opportunity, and returned stealthily to his
starting-point, where the signora found him awaiting her with composure.
The man was in mortal terror lest he might be held guilty of a trust
betrayed, in leaving his mistress for an hour, even in obedience to her
command, at this crisis: but it was not in his nature to state the case
openly to the signora, whom he knew to be his mistress's friend, or to
think of practising other than shrewd evasion to accomplish his duty and
satisfy his conscience.
Laura said, without smiling, 'The street-door opens with a key,' and
she placed the key in his hand, also her fan to carry. Once out of the
house, she was sure that he would not forsake his immediate charge of
the fan: she walked on, heavily veiled, confident of his following. The
Duchess of Graatli's house neighboured the Corso Francesco; numerous
carriages were disburdening their freights of fair guests, and now and
then an Austrian officer in full uniform ran up the steps, glittering
under the lamps. 'I go in among them,' thought Laura. It rejoiced her
that she had come on foot. Forgetting Beppo, and her black fan, as no
Italian woman would have done but she who paced in an acute quivering of
the anguish of hopeless remembrances and hopeless thirst of vengeance,
she suffered herself to be conducted in the midst of the guests, and
shuddered like one who has taken a fever-chill as she fulfilled the
duchess's directions; she passed down the length of the saloon, through
a light of visages that were not human to her sensations.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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