On the following Sunday Gemma sent in to the committee of the Florentine branch of the Mazzinian party a statement that she wished to undertake a special work of a political nature, which would for a few months prevent her from performing the functions for which she had up till now been responsible to the party.
Some surprise was felt at this announcement, but the committee raised no objection; she had been known in the party for several years as a person whose judgment might be trusted; and the members agreed that if Signora Bolla took an unexpected step, she probably had good reasons for it.
To Martini she said frankly that she had undertaken to help the Gadfly with some “frontier work.” She had stipulated for the right to tell her old friend this much, in order that there might be no misunderstanding or painful sense of doubt and mystery between them. It seemed to her that she owed him this proof of confidence. He made no comment when she told him; but she saw, without knowing why, that the news had wounded him deeply.
They were sitting on the terrace of her lodging, looking out over the red roofs to Fiesole. After a long silence, Martini rose and began tramping up and down with his hands in his pockets, whistling to himself—a sure sign with him of mental agitation. She sat looking at him for a little while.
“Cesare, you are worried about this affair,” she said at last. “I am very sorry you feel so despondent over it; but I could decide only as seemed right to me.”
“It is not the affair,” he answered, sullenly; “I know nothing about it, and it probably is all right, once you have consented to go into it. It's the MAN I distrust.”
“I think you misunderstand him; I did till I got to know him better. He is far from perfect, but there is much more good in him than you think.”
“Very likely.” For a moment he tramped to and fro in silence, then suddenly stopped beside her.
“Gemma, give it up! Give it up before it is too late! Don't let that man drag you into things you will repent afterwards.”