“But that prospect is far distant; perhaps it may never come; you may be convicted of high treason; oh, heaven! you may be decapitated.”
“Well, if that is my fate, I shall meet it bravely: I am not afraid to die, let death come in what shape it will.” And he laughed recklessly. “No, Genevra, I fear no such catastrophe; I shall be able to clear myself: tremble not for me.”
“How unfortunate this has been; how disastrous for you to have embarked in this ill-omened business. Why did you do it?”
“Talk not of that which is past, Genevra,” said he, with something of his former sternness; “but come with me; the officials wait: let us bid each other farewell at the bedside of my child.”
He took my hand in his: the officials stationed without the door respectfully made way for us; we ascended to our bedchamber, where, slumbering in his oaken cradle, lay Raphael—his rosy hands crossed upon his bosom, which rose and fell with his gentle breathing; his long night robe hung without the cradle, and the calm little face, so innocent, so passionless, expressed the unconscious happiness of infancy. A large lamp, the shade depressed, to shield the glare of light from his eyes, sat on a table near; and his nurse sat by the cradle side and watched him—her strongly marked features of dusky hue, and fantastic dress, thrown strongly into relief by the effect of the lamp.
I sent her away, not wishing a witness of this scene; and my husband, kneeling by the cradle, gently took up the child in his arms, but did not awaken him; he still slept on. He looked at the babe long and wistfully: his very soul seemed gushing into his eyes as he contemplated the features of his son. He seemed looking forward into future years; he seemed inspired; he took one of the little hands in his, and kissed it: the child, with a slight start, withdrew it, and recrossed his arms on his bosom.
“Sweet little lamb, as yet innocent of guile, pure as thy Maker: of such, if there is a heaven, should it be composed; sleep on, and mayst thou ever remain as innocent as now.”
His thoughts appeared too deep for words; he replaced the babe, laid its satin coverlid over it, and rose on his feet, once more he wistfully regarded it, then turned to me.
“Let us kiss each other; adieu here, Genevra. You had better not come down stairs again; those officials are rude sometimes, and I, being under arrest, cannot protect you against whatever they choose to extend to you. Farewell! you shall hear from me soon; be comforted, you know your religion teaches you that out of much tribulation shall arise joy; be comforted, all is not lost.”
But I would not be put off with that abrupt farewell. I went down with him into the lower hall, where, standing around on the marble floor, in various attitudes, were the king’s functionaries. Count Calabrella had offered large sums of money to the chief, making himself responsible for Monsieur de Serval’s appearance for his trial in any state they should name, but the men were inexorable. Their commands from government were to bring him in person to Naples. No influence, no money could shield him. The count was traversing the hall with hasty strides, and gloomy expression of countenance, his steps resounding as he walked; seeing me approach on Rinaldo’s arm, on which I leant heavily, he came towards us, endeavoring to conceal his uneasiness by a forced smile.