“No, my good fellow,” said I, in a gentle tone, wishing to ascertain what these men wanted; “what is your business with him, tell me, and I will communicate it to him when he returns?”
“We have orders, lady, from our chief,”—at that one of the others frowned on him, and he confusedly went on, “that is—I mean to say—it is a private matter of business with the master, I cannot tell any other than him.”
“Well,” said I, “you can go to the lower hall and wait for him, he will return soon;” and calling Guilo, I bade him conduct them thither, and added, in a whisper, an admonition to watch and not permit them to depart till my husband returned. They seemed unwilling to remain, and the chief said he would come again at a more convenient season, but I gently detained them, bidding them wait monsieur’s return; reluctantly they followed Guilo, who regarded them with suspicious glances.
An hour afterwards I was walking on the terrace, when I saw Rinaldo approaching, with Count Calabrella; he was speaking with great earnestness, and peering with penetrating eyes into those of his friend; they were evidently engaged in some deeply interesting discussion, in which the count, from his cloudy brow and downcast eyes, did not seem to acquiesce.
As they ascended the stone steps, at the summit of which I stood, both became silent, and the count, lifting his hat to me, made some remark about the beauty of the grounds. I hastened to tell my husband about the strangers.
“Monsieur de Serval,” addressing him by his surname, as was most polite, “three strangers of very mysterious appearance, whom I have often seen here before, now await you in the lower hall. As you were out, I asked their business, but they declined telling, and preferred waiting your return.”
“In the lower hall did you say?” said he abruptly, and with a disturbed look. “Why did you not send them to the studio? It must be him,” he added as if to himself; “what can have happened? how strange!” and, without saying another word to me, he walked rapidly away, and entered the castle. I looked after him with surprise, for by his startled looks and distorted manner, I plainly saw that this was some affair of importance, and could not refrain from wondering what it was. I had a vague presentiment that his conversation with the count in some way related to these men. I could have wished to have asked the count what had been the subject of their conversation, but he was almost a perfect stranger. I could not do so with propriety, and so, silently, he and I retired to the salon. There was something so inexpressibly delicate and gentle in his manners, in his looks, in every thing he said or did, that it threw a charm around him, and this magic influence soon extended to those of his acquaintance. He had sojourned with us but two days, and yet had ingratiated himself into the good graces of the domestics, and by his fine conversational powers had whiled away some of the many lonely hours I daily passed. My husband too possessed, at first sight, the most attractive and winning ways, but these soon gave place to capricious variations of feeling, which soon ended in complete indifference, like all roués the difficulty constituted the charm; that overcome, the graces, the charms soon vanished.
I often regretted—as I sat alone, gazing on the fickle fire-light—often regretted having left the stage and having exchanged the certainty of a brilliant fame, unbounded admiration, and a fortunate perspective, for the uncertainty of love.
My husband had been closeted with his visitors two or three hours when I saw them depart, and he came from the room, pale and anxious; with hasty strides he reached the court-yard, and having ordered one of the fleetest horses to be saddled, mounted, quick as lightning and rode off.
I pulled the bell, and Guilo answered the appeal.