A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
"Fixed was her look and stern her air;
Back from her shoulders streamed her hair;
Her figure seemed to rise more high;
Her voice, Despair's wild energy
Had given a tone of prophecy."—Marmion.
eeks passed away. Louis became a daily visitor at the Palazzo B——. His growing intimacy with the beautiful "Queen of Song" was looked upon with jealous eyes by her numerous admirers; and many were the rumors circulated regarding her affection for the handsome young American. But Madame Evelini was either too proud or too indifferent to heed these reports, and visited Louis in his studio whenever she pleased, leaving the world to say of her what it listed. Louis, too, was winning fame as an artist, and, next to madame herself, was becoming one of the greatest celebrities in Venice.
"What a handsome boy that attendant of yours is!" said the lady, one day, to Louis, as Isadore quitted the room; "all who visit you vie with each other in their praises of his beauty."
"Who? Isadore? Yes, he is handsome; but a most singular youth—silent, taciturn, at times almost fierce, and at others, sullenly morose."
"He seems to have a strong antipathy to ladies, and to me in particular," said Madame Evelini; "he looks as if he wished to shut the door in my face every time I come here."
"Yes, that is another of his oddities; in fact, he is quite an unaccountable lad."
"He is very much attached to you, at all events. If he were a woman, I should say he is in love with you, and jealous of the rest of us," said madame, laughing. "As it is, it can only be accounted for by ill-nature on his part. Well, adieu!" said madame, rising to take her leave.
Louis soon had a most convincing proof of the lad's attachment. Being detained one evening, by some business, in one of the narrow courts inhabited by the lower class in Venice, he returned with a violent headache. He grew worse so rapidly, that before night he was in a high fever, raving deliriously.
A physician was sent for, who pronounced it to be a dangerous and most infectious fever, and advised his immediate removal to a hospital, where he might receive better attendance than he could in his lodgings. But Isadore positively refused to have him removed, vehemently asserting that he himself was quite competent to take care of him.
And well did he redeem his word. No mother ever nursed her sick child with more tender care than he did Louis. Night and day he was ever by his side, bathing his burning brow, or holding a cooling draught to his feverish lips. And though his pale face grew paler day after day, and his lustrous black eyes lost their brightness with his weary vigils, nothing could tempt him from that sick room. With womanly care, he arranged the pillows beneath the restless head of the invalid; drew the curtains to exclude the glaring light, totally unheeding the danger of contagion. With jealous vigilance, too, he kept out all strangers. Madame Evelini, upon hearing of her friend's illness, immediately came to see him, but she was met in the outer room by Isadore, who said, coldly:
"You cannot see him, madame; the physician has forbidden it."
"But only for one moment. I will not speak to him, or disturb him," pleaded Madame Evelini.
"No; you cannot enter. It is impossible," said Isadore, as he turned and left the room, fairly shutting the door in her face.
In his wild delirium, Louis talked incessantly of Celeste, and urged her with passionate vehemence to fly with him. At such times, the dark brow of Isadore would knit, and his eyes flash with smoldering fire beneath their lids. But if his own name was mentioned, his beautiful face would light up with such a radiant look of light and joy, that he seemed recompensed for all his weary watching and unceasing care.
At length, a naturally strong constitution, and the tender nursing of Isadore triumphed over disease, and Louis became convalescent. And then he began to realize all he owed to the boy who had been his guardian-angel during his illness.
"How can I ever repay you, Isadore?" he said, one day, as the youth hovered by his side, smoothing the tossed pillows, and arranging the bed-clothes with a skill few nurses could have surpassed.
"I wish for no return, signor. I am only too happy to have been of service to you," said the boy, dropping his eyes.
"Well, at least, you will find I am not ungrateful. Once I am well, you shall no longer remain a servant. I will place you in a fair way to make your fortune," said Louis.
"Signor, I beg you will not think of such a thing. I have no wish to leave you," said Isadore, in alarm.
"But with me you will only be an obscure servant, while it is in my power to place you in a situation to become honored and wealthy."
"I would rather remain with you."
"Strange boy! Why are you so anxious to stay with me?"
"Because——"
"Well?"
"Because I love you, Signor," said the boy, while his whole face, a moment before so pale, grew vivid crimson.
Louis looked at him in surprise.
"And what have I done for you, that you should love me so?" he asked, at length.
"Do we only love those who have conferred favors upon us, Signor?"
"Well, generally speaking, among men it is so. If you were a woman, now, it would be different," said Louis, laughing.
"Would you love me, if I were a woman?" asked the boy, in a tone so abrupt and startling, that Louis gazed at him in wonder.
"Not more than I do now. One cannot love two women at a time, as you will find out when you grow older."
"Then the signor is already in love?" asked Isadore, raising his dark eyes, now filled with dusky fire.
There was no reply. Louis turned aside restlessly, so that the boy could not see the expression of his face. And Isadore, paler than before, seated himself in silence, and fixed his burning black eyes steadily on the ground.
Louis now rapidly recovered, and in a short time was able to resume his duties. During his first interview with Madame Evelini, she related the scene that had taken place between her and Isadore.
"His motive in keeping me out was certainly other than the physician's commands," she said. "In fact, my dear Louis, I should not be surprised if your Isadore should turn out to be a female in disguise. His conduct savors so strongly of jealousy that I more than half suspect him. Some fiery Italian might have conceived a romantic passion for you, and taken this means of following you. Those hot-blooded Venetians will do such things sometimes."
The words were lightly spoken, but they set Louis to thinking. What if they were true? A number of things, trifling in themselves, rushed on his mind, tending to confirm this opinion. He started up, seized his hat, bade madame a hasty farewell, and started for home, fully resolved to discover immediately whether or not her words were true.
On entering, he found Isadore standing with folded arms, gazing with eyes almost fiendish with hate upon a picture on the easel. It was the portrait of Celeste as a child, standing as when he first beheld her caressing her wounded bird. No words can describe the look of fierce hatred with which the boy regarded it.
"Well, Isadore, you seem struck by that painting. Did you ever see a sweeter face?" asked Louis, pointing to Celeste, but keeping his eyes fixed steadily on the face of the boy.
"Do you love her?" asked Isadore, hoarsely, without looking up.
"Yes, with my whole heart and soul!" replied Louis, fervently.
"Ungrateful wretch!" cried the youth, in a voice of intense passion; and lifting his head, he disclosed a face so pale, and eyes so full of fire, that Louis started back. "Was it for this that I left home, and country, and friends, that I assumed a disguise like this to follow you? Was it for such a turn as this I risked my life for yours? Was it for words like these I cast aside my pride, and became your menial? Was it not enough for you to call on her unceasingly during your delirium—she who feared the opinion of the world more than she loved you—while I, who braved disgrace and death for your sake, was unnamed and forgotten? Look on me, most ungrateful of men," he continued, almost with a shriek. "Look at me; and say, do you yet know me?"
He dashed his cap to the ground, and with features convulsed with contending passions, stood before him. Louis looked, turned deadly pale, and exclaimed, in a voice of utter surprise:
"Merciful heaven! Minnette!"