Historical fiction; Italy -- History -- Revolution of 1848 -- Fiction; War stories
'There; in there!' said Aennchen, pointing to a light that came
through the folds of a curtain. Beppo kissed her fingers as they tugged
unreluctantly in his clutch, and knew by a little pause that the case
was hopeful for higher privileges. What to do? He had not an instant
to spare; yet he dared not offend a woman's vanity. He gave an ecstatic
pressure of her hand upon his breastbone, to let her be sure she was
adored, albeit not embraced. After this act of prudence he went toward
the curtain, while the fair Austrian soubrette flew on her previous
errand.
It was enough that Beppo found himself in a dark antechamber for him to
be instantly scrupulous in his footing and breathing. As he touched the
curtain, a door opened on the other side of the interior, and a tender
gabble of fresh feminine voices broke the stillness and ran on like a
brook coming from leaps to a level, and again leaping and making noise
of joy. The Duchess of Graatli had clasped the Signora Laura's two hands
and drawn her to an ottoman, and between kissings and warmer claspings,
was questioning of the little ones, Giacomo and her goddaughter Amalia.
'When, when did I see you last?' she exclaimed. 'Oh! not since we met
that morning to lay our immortelles upon his tomb. My soul's sister!
kiss me, remembering it. I saw you in the gateway--it seemed to me,
as in a vision, that we had both had one warning to come for him, and
knock, and the door would be opened, and our beloved would come forth!
That was many days back. It is to me like a day locked up forever in a
casket of pearl. Was it not an unstained morning, my own! If I weep, it
is with pleasure. But,' she added with precipitation, 'weeping of any
kind will not do for these eyelids of mine.' And drawing forth a tiny
gold-framed pocket-mirror she perceived convincingly that it would not
do.
'They will think it is for the absence of my husband,' she said, as only
a woman can say it who deplores nothing so little as that.
'When does he return from Vienna?' Laura inquired in the fallen voice of
her thoughtfulness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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