“I was the best-circumstanced of those she had to choose from, and I think—I believe—some beam of liking for me flickered in her cold breast; but I don’t know. She decided to give me her promise.”
“Which she ratified?” said Paul Desfrayne, as Gilardoni paused.
“Yes. We were married within a few weeks at the nearest chapel. Some time before our marriage, Lucia’s brother who had been brought up in France by his mother’s uncle, and reared as a priest, had come to take charge of our spiritual affairs. We were married by him. I believed there had never been a happier man than myself when I led the cruel, treacherous girl away from the little altar.”
“Go on, I beg of you.”
“For some months all went well. Lucia commanded, and I obeyed. There was but one will in the house—hers; nothing clashed with it, and so nothing clouded our happiness. She was very well satisfied; she had fine clothes, a pretty house, an adoring husband, and triumphed when she knew she was envied by some of her girl friends. Then, one day, a famous singer came along. He was staying in the village—it was his native place, and he roamed about all day. One morning, he was walking near our cottage: he heard Lucia singing in the little rose-garden. I was away at a neighboring town. He spoke to her—inflamed her ambition by telling her she had a fortune in her throat. She did not tell him she was married, or let him see the ring on her finger, and he told her she might marry an emperor some day if she pleased.”
“Did she run away with him?” asked Captain Desfrayne.
“She told him she would give him an answer in a week, after she had consulted with her friends, for he asked if she would go to Florence with him. When I returned, she was like one crazy, her eyes all a-glitter with joy and astonished delight. I instantly told her I would never hear of her becoming a singer, and going on the stage. She tried coaxing, storming, threatening, entreaties, crying, sullenness, all to no purpose. I was inflexible. During the whole of the week the same scenes occurred every day, from morning until night—nay, for the twenty-four hours. The eve of the day when the signor was to come for his answer found her as resolute as at first to follow the course pointed out to her by his selfish hand—found me as doggedly determined to keep her from destroying her own peace and mine.”
“You did not think you were flinging away a fortune?” said Paul Desfrayne.
“All I thought of was that they asked me to scatter my happiness to the winds,” replied Gilardoni. “What did we want with fortune when we had enough for our needs? The signor came. He must have learned that this young girl was married, but he made no sign. She was on the watch for him, and ran to meet him before he reached the door.”
“Why did you not hinder them from speaking?”