“Lady,” said he, bending a piercing glance upon me from his expressive eyes, “the request you make would be as dangerous to myself (if granted), as it would be useless to you. The charms of your person, your judgment and talent, I appreciate to their fullest extent, and nothing could give me more delight than to revel in the sunshine of such presence; but that enjoyment would be as injurious to you as perfidious in me to my friend.”
The sad tones of his voice and significant manner of expression, did not allow me to misunderstand him. In my careless innocence I never recollected the cruel interpretation malice would put upon such companionship.
“My departure,” he continued, “will be all the more advantageous to you, since to-morrow I will proceed immediately to Naples, and perhaps, through intercession with his Majesty, be the means of liberating your husband. I shall, of course, see him immediately, wherever he is, and write you a description of affairs.”
He became silent, and mechanically stroked my infant’s rosy, downy cheeks. The vinter’s wife came tripping into the room, saying she would attend me to the apartments. Pasiphae, sad and quiet, preceded me, carrying Raphael; the count remained absorbed in thought. The rustic stairs were climbed, and with many low courtesies I was ushered into a large chamber, in which I noticed nothing but an immense fauteuil, into which I sank mechanically, completely overpowered. After making numerous demonstrations of respect and duty, the hostess withdrew.
In the meantime, Raphael, who had slept nearly all the way from the Chateau of the Ravine, awoke from the slumber in which he had been wrapt all day, and looked inquiringly for me. I took him in my arms and kissed him. The little one laid his tiny hands on my face and raised his large eyes wistfully to mine. He was too young to miss his father, or know that father’s fate,—that unhappy, wayward man who now inhabited, perhaps, a prison’s gloom: and as I childishly toyed with the ribbons of his dress and watched the light and play of his features, I wished—oh! what does not a mother wish?
I did not go down stairs again that afternoon and evening; but I distinctly heard the footsteps of the count as he continued to pace the floor of the lower room till a late hour. My own heart was the prey of contending emotions—of conflicting thoughts. Raphael fell asleep on my breast—his tiny hand clasped in mine—with an expression of conscious happiness on his smiling countenance. I fixed my gaze upon a crucifix which hung in a corner, and invoked to my support that invisible influence whom we worship in an earthly form. I conjured up before me visions of persecuted martyrs, dying saints, nuns devoted alone to the service of God; but, in spite of myself, other thoughts came stealing over me, and the recollections of the happy days of love and sunshine I had passed during the first part of my married life, were mingled with regrets at my husband’s misfortunes.
A glorious morning sun beaming through the lattice, awoke me at an early hour; a beautiful landscape met my eyes on going to the window; it commanded a view of the sea coast, which was not far distant; and I beheld with delight the blue rolling waves of the ocean, crested with foam, and swelling proudly as they rolled onward, and came and beat against the rocks on the shore, with a hoarse echoing sound; the high cliffs at the water’s edge, matted into quiet unassuming hills as they disappeared in the distance. The light fishing skiffs of the fishermen, chained to the shore, danced on the bosom of the blue waters, and the joyous song of the men as they drew in their nets, was wafted to my ears by the clear morning breeze. The shepherds and their flocks browsing on the hill tops, diminished by distance to the size of mice, were dimly visible. On that classic, quiet shore, silence and repose kept vigils gentle and imposing as such presence should be.
When I descended I found the count below in the parlor; he said his sleep had been disturbed by dismal dreams, and his sad face bore testimony to his words. After breakfast, at which little was said, he proposed a walk on the beach; mechanically I consented, put on my bonnet and shawl, and we went forth together.
We pursued a path through a small forest of palm, linden, and fir trees; their thick shade formed an impenetrable bower, relieved at their base by wild flowers of every description; the meandering course of numerous rivulets ran through the wood.
We continued on, the count occasionally making some remark about the beauty of the scenery, to which I responded by monosyllables; my mind was too intensely absorbed to talk. The forest was passed: the sun broke brightly from a cloud, and the beach and the murmuring waves lay before us; a small schooner, contending against the tide, was drifting slowly along.