A Lady of Rome

by F. Marion Crawford

She put the empty desk away in the drawer, and after a moment’s hesitation she unlocked the door of the passage that led to the chapel, opening it with one hand as she moved the key to turn up the electric light; she entered, shut the door after her, and went forwards, absorbed in her thoughts.

Before she was half-way down the long straight part of the passage, after the corner, the lights went out. She stood still in momentary surprise and then turned back. The electric light had been put in by a German company, and the keys were little flat levers that were kept in place by a spring. Maria thought she had perhaps not pushed the one at the boudoir door quite far enough to set it, and that it had sprung back of itself and cut off the current. She retraced her steps, following the smooth varnished wall with her hand till she reached the familiar corner, and then her own door. She pushed the lever both ways but no light came, so she concluded that an accident had happened to the wires just when she was half-way through the passage.

There were no candles in the room, but she lit a wax taper she used for sealing notes. It was a long and thick one, rolled on itself and fitted into an old silver stand with a handle like a candlestick, and it gave a very fair light. She threw the match into the fire, entered the passage again, and made her way towards the chapel. She went in and set the taper-stand on the marble floor beside her as she knelt down in the place which was always hers.

Three small silver lamps, fed with pure olive oil and hanging from the arch over the altar, shed a feeble light which was considerably strengthened by that from the taper. The ugly barocco angels and stucco work cast queer shadows above the altar and the walls, but Maria did not even glance at them and bent her head down over her clasped hands. The chapel had often been her refuge and her place of peace, since she had first come there long before dawn in the night that followed her husband’s return.

As she knelt there now in the silence and gloom she was thinking, rather than trying to say any prayer; she was going over in her mind the things she must say to be quite truthful. She was recalling the words she had once said to Castiglione, the two innocent kisses she had received from him, the promises both had given and both had kept until to-day; and in the presence of the mortal danger that was hanging over her now, she felt that the whispered words of love she had spoken that afternoon were perhaps but a small matter compared with it; a sin that concerned her own soul only, to be confessed, repented of, and forgiven in time, whereas the main great matters were her husband’s honour and the happiness she had tried so hard to give him in all ways.

If only she could make him see the truth as she had seen it, he would understand and still forgive; and her fortune could buy back the evidence of what had been no real betrayal of his honour. If only she could tell her true story as she knew it, that would be the result.

She started as she knelt, and looked round in the dimness, with the sudden conviction that she was not alone. Her hearing and sight were very keen, but she was not aware of having heard any sound or seen any moving shadow in the chapel. The certainty had come upon her all at once, instinctively, she knew not how.

There was nothing to be seen, but she listened intently with bent head. A moment later she looked up again, for she had heard something. Some one was breathing not far from her, and it was that soft and regular sound that had warned her before she was aware that she heard it.

Her first impulse was to rise and search the chapel with her taper, but it occurred to her that Montalto might have come there to say his prayers, and might be kneeling somewhere out of sight, behind one of the pillars that supported the arch. He had perhaps heard her enter, and had not wished to disturb her by betraying his presence. In his slow way he was very thoughtful for her. She would go away now, and not let him know that she had heard him breathing.