The Saint Part 38

"If Jeanne would only come!" she said softly.

She made an imperceptible sign to her husband, and proposed that they both go and see if by any chance she had returned and they had not been informed. While they were crossing the Jardin d'Hiver she said she thought di Leyni should be told who Jeanne really was. Signora Dessalle had not yet returned. Giovanni took the young man aside, and spoke to him in a low tone. Maria, who was watching him, saw him tremble and turn pale, his eyes dilate; saw him, in his turn, speak, asking something.

Jeanne Dessalle entered hurriedly, smiling.

The porter had given her a note from a doctor. It said:

"I do not expect to be able to come back. This morning he was without fever. Let us hope the attack may not return."

Jeanne saw at once that there was no question of removing the patient.

She embraced Maria and shook hands with Selva, who presented di Leyni.

Then she apologised to them all because she was obliged to leave them for five minutes. Her brother was waiting for her. As soon as she had left the room, promising to return at once, di Leyn drew Selva aside once more. Maria saw the look of anxiety he had worn before reappear on his face, saw that he was asking many questions, and that her husband's answers seemed to be calming him. At last she saw her husband place his hands on the young man's shoulders, and say something to him, she believed she knew what; it was something secret, not yet known to Jeanne. She saw emotion and profound reverence in the young man's eyes.

A waiter came to say that Signora Dessalle was waiting for them in her apartment. There was much movement in the hotel. The rustling of long skirts, the m.u.f.fled beat of footsteps mingled on the carpets of the corridors; subdued foreign voices, gay, plaintive, flattering or indifferent, came and went; the lifts were being taken by storm. Each member of the little silent group experienced the same bitter sense of all this indifferent worldliness. Jeanne was in her salon next to Carlino's room, where he was accompanying Chieco's violoncello on the piano. She came forward to meet her friends with a smile that, combined with the music--antique Italian music, simple and peaceful--made their hearts ache. She seemed rather surprised to see di Leyn, from whom she had not expected a visit. She had really asked them to come up stairs that they might speak more freely, but she told them she had wished to offer them a little of Chieco's music, and now he would not allow the door to remain open. However, one could hear very well with the door closed. Giovanni at once informed her that the Cavaliere di Leyn had a message for her from, the Senator.

"While you are speaking together we will listen to the music," he said.

He and his wife stepped aside from Jeanne, who had turned pale, and who, in spite of her violent effort to do so, could not entirely conceal her impatience to hear this message. Di Leyn sat down beside her, and began to speak in a low tone.

The violoncello and the piano were jesting together on a pastoral theme, full of caresses and of simple and lively tenderness. Maria could not refrain from murmuring, "_Dio!_ Poor woman!" and her husband could not refrain from following, on Jeanne's face, the painful words her companion was speaking to the sound of this tender and lively music.

He watched the young man's face also, who, while speaking to the lady, often looked towards him as if to express his grief and to ask for advice. Jeanne listened to him, her eyes fixed on the ground. When he had finished she raised to the Selvas those great eyes of hers, so full of pitiful distress. She looked from one to the other saying mutely, involuntarily, "You know?" The sad eyes of both husband and wife replied, "Yes, we know!" There came a loud outburst of joyous music.

Maria took advantage of this to murmur to her husband:

"Do you think he told her what he said about wis.h.i.+ng to die in Rome?"

Her husband answered that it would be best for her to know, that he hoped he had told her. Jeanne let her gaze rest on the door whence came the sound of the music. She waited a moment, and then signed to the Selvas to approach. She said, her voice quite firm, that she felt the Senator should have informed them, that she did not understand why he had appealed to her. They must now arrange what was to be done.

The music ceased. They could hear Carlino and Chieco talking. Di Leyn, who occupied bachelor's quarters on the Sant' Onofrio hillside, offered them eagerly. But what about the warrant? What if they were only waiting to serve it until Benedetto should have left the Senator's house?

Jeanne calmly denied the possibility of an arrest. The Selvas looked at her, full of admiration for that forced calm. For some time past Jeanne had suspected that they were acquainted with Benedetto's real name.

Was it then possible that Noemi (though, indeed, she had admonished her often enough) should never have allowed a word to escape her? A moment before, when they had exchanged those silent and sorrowful glances, the Selvas and Jeanne had understood one another, Giovanni and his wife saw that if Jeanne were thus heroically controlling herself it was not on their account, but on di Leyn's account. And now, after Giovanni's words, di Leyn himself knew everything! It seemed to them they had almost been guilty of treason.

They were convinced that Jeanne must have reasons of which they were ignorant for saying she did not believe in the possibility of an arrest. They remarked that Benedetto might now accept their proffered hospitality. Jeanne was quick to remind them that Benedetto himself had expressed a desire, and that the Sant' Onofrio hillside would seem more suitable than the Via Arenula as the residence of an invalid who needed quiet. Nevertheless, it was her opinion that they could not possibly allow him to be moved without the doctor's express permission. All were of one mind on this point. The Selvas charged di Leyn to inform the Senator that Benedetto's friends would find him another place of refuge, but only on condition that the physician in attendance gave a written permission to remove him. While Giovanni was talking, a noisy _allegro_ burst from the piano in the next room, an _allegro_ all sobs and cries.

He ceased speaking, not wis.h.i.+ng to raise his voice too high, and let the rush of sad music pa.s.s. And sad was the word which his eyes and the young man's eyes uttered to each other, while their lips were silent.

Di Leyn had no time to lose, and so took his leave. He disliked going alone; he could have wished to appear before the Senator with some one of Benedetto's friends whose presence would intimidate him a little, for his conduct was inexplicable.

Giovanni muttered something about the vice-presidency of the Senate, to which that old man aspired, and which he would not obtain. It is a bitter grief to discover such sordid motives where they are least expected! Maria rose and offered to accompany di Leyn.

"You will stay?" Jeanne asked Giovanni anxiously. Her tone said, "You must stay!" Selva said that he had, indeed, intended to remain, and the expression of his voice, of his face, was such as to acquaint Jeanne with the fact that sad words, not yet spoken, were weighing on his heart. Oh! thought Jeanne, what if Chieco should leave now, and Carlino call? Then it would not be possible for us to speak together! For she also had something to say to Selva. She must repeat the Minister's discourse to him. The two musicians had once more ceased playing, and were talking. Jeanne knocked softly on the door, and blew a few gay words against it:

"_Bravi!_ Have you finished already?"

"No, pretty one," Chieco answered from the other side. "So much the worse for you if you are bored!"

He sent forth a fiendish whistle, fit to pierce a hole in the door.

Jeanne clapped her hands. The piano and the violoncello attacked a solemn _andante_.

She turned to Selva, who was coming in again after having accompanied his wife into the corridor, in order to tell her to telegraph to Don Clemente. She went towards him with clasped hands, her eyes full of tears.

"Selva," she murmured in a stifled voice, "you know everything now. I cannot hide my feelings from you. Is there something worse? Tell me the truth."

Selva took her hands and pressed them in silence, while the violoncello answered for him, bitterly and sadly: "Weep, weep, for there is no fate like thy fate of love and of grief." He pressed the poor icy hands, unable to speak. He saw clearly di Leyn had not dared to repeat the terrible words to her--"I will come and die in your house." It was his lot to deal her the first blow.

"My dear," he said, gently and paternally, "did he not tell you at the Sacro Speco that he would call you to him in a solemn hour? The hour is come, he calls you."

Jeanne started violently. She did not believe she had heard aright.

"Oh, how is this? No!" she exclaimed.

Then, as Selva continued silent, with the same pity in his eyes, a flash shot through her heart. "Ah!" she cried, and her whole being went out in mute and agonized questioning. Selva pressed her hands still harder, his tightly closed lips twitched, and a suppressed sob wrung his breast. She said never a word, but would have fallen had not his hands upheld her.

He supported her, and then led her to a seat,

"At once?" she said. "At once? Is it imminent?"

"No. No. He wishes to see you to-morrow. He believes it will be to-morrow, but he may be mistaken. Let us hope he is mistaken,"

"My G.o.d, Selva! But the doctor writes that he has no fever!"

Selva made the gesture of one who is obliged to admit the presence of a misfortune without understanding it. The music was silent, he spoke in subdued tones. Benedetto had written to him. The doctor had found him free from fever, but he himself foresaw a fresh attack, after which the end would come. G.o.d was granting him the blessing of a sweet and peaceful respite. He had a favour to ask of Selva. He was aware that Signora Dessalle, a friend of Signorina Noemi's, was in Rome. He had promised this lady, before an alter at the Sacro Speco, to call her to him before his death, that they might speak together. Probably Signorina Noemi would be able to explain the reason of this to him.

Selva paused; he had the letter in his pocket, and began searching for it. Jeanne saw his movement, and was seized with convulsive shuddering.

"No, no," said he. "I repeat he may be mistaken."

He waited for her to become calm, and then, instead of taking the letter from his pocket, he repeated the last part of it by heart:

"The attack will return this evening or in the night; to-morrow night, or the day after to-morrow in the morning, the end will come. I wish to see Signora Dessalle to-morrow, to speak a word to her in the name of the Lord, to whom I am going. I asked the Senator, a few moments ago, to arrange this meeting for me, but he found excuses for not doing so.

Therefore I appeal to you."

Jeanne had covered her face with her hands and was speechless. Selva thought it best to say something hopeful. Perhaps the attack would not return; perhaps the fever was checked. She shook her head violently, and he did not dare to insist. Suddenly she fancied she heard Chieco saying good-bye. She shuddered, and removed her hands from her face, which was ghostly, under her disordered hair. But, instead, the first gay notes of the _Curricolo Napoletano_ burst forth; that was the piece Chieco always played last. She started to her feet, and spoke convulsively, tearlessly.

"Selva, I know Piero is dying, I know he is not mistaken. If possible make him stay where he is. Bring his friends to him--swear to me that you will bring his friends to him, that he may have that comfort! Tell them about me, all about me; tell them the truth. Tell them how pure, how holy Piero really is! I will wait here, I will not stir. When he calls me I will come, as you shall direct me. I am strong. See, I am no longer crying! Telegraph to Don Clemente that his disciple is dying, and that he must come. Let us do all we can. It is late. Go now. You, in one way or another, will see Piero to-night. Tell him----"

At this point a spasm of grief checked her words. Chieco came in, whistling, and beating one hand against the other in his own peculiar fas.h.i.+on, Selva slipped out through the door. Jeanne ran after him into the dark corridor. She seized one of his hands and pressed a wild kiss upon it.

A few hours later, towards ten o'clock, Jeanne was reading the Figaro to Carlino, who was--buried in an easy-chair, his legs enveloped in a rug, a large cup of milk, which he was holding with both hands, resting upon his knee. Jeanne read so badly, was so heedless of commas and of full-stops, that her brother was continually interrupting her, and was growing impatient. She had been reading about five minutes when her maid entered and announced that Signorina Noemi was there. Jeanne threw the paper aside, and was out of the room in a flash. Noemi related hurriedly, standing the while--for she was anxious to leave again on account of the lateness of the hour--that while Giovanni and Maria were at the Grand Hotel, Professor Mayda, just back from Naples, had come to their house, perfectly furious, and demanding an explanation of Benedetto's disappearance from his house. Then she had told him everything, and Mayda had gone directly to Via della Polveriera. There he had found Maria, di Leyn, the Senator, and the doctor, whose opinion was that Benedetto could be moved. A discussion had arisen between Mayda and the doctor on this point, to which Mayda had finally put an end by saying: "Well, rather than leave him here, I will carry him away again myself!" In an hour's time he was back again with a carriage full of pillows and rugs, and had indeed carried him off. It seemed the journey had been accomplished successfully.

When she had heard the story, Jeanne embraced her friend in silence, clasping her close. And her friend, trembling and full of tears, whispered to her:

"Listen, Jeanne! Will you pray for tomorrow?"

"Yes," Jeanne replied.

She was silent, struggling against a rising tempest of tears. When she had conquered it she went on, in a low tone:

"I do not know how to pray to G.o.d. Do you know to whom I pray? To Don Giuseppe Flores."