Bernardo gave a slight shrug as he spoke the last words, but Romola discerned in his voice a feeling that accorded with her own.
“And he was disappointed to the last,” she said, involuntarily. But immediately fearing lest her words should be taken to imply an accusation against Tito, she went on almost hurriedly, “If we could only see his longest, dearest wish fulfilled just to his mind!”
“Well, so we may,” said Bernardo, kindly, rising and putting on his cap. “The times are cloudy now, but fish are caught by waiting. Who knows? When the wheel has turned often enough, I may be Gonfaloniere yet before I die; and no creditor can touch these things.” He looked round as he spoke. Then, turning to her, and patting her cheek, said, “And you need not be afraid of my dying; my ghost will claim nothing. I’ve taken care of that in my will.”
Romola seized the hand that was against her cheek, and put it to her lips in silence.
“Haven’t you been scolding your husband for keeping away from home so much lately? I see him everywhere but here,” said Bernardo, willing to change the subject.
She felt the flush spread over her neck and face as she said, “He has been very much wanted; you know he speaks so well. I am glad to know that his value is understood.”
“You are contented then, Madonna Orgogliosa?” said Bernardo, smiling, as he moved to the door.
“Assuredly.”
Poor Romola! There was one thing that would have made the pang of disappointment in her husband harder to bear; it was, that any one should know he gave her cause for disappointment. This might be a woman’s weakness, but it is closely allied to a woman’s nobleness. She who willingly lifts up the veil of her married life has profaned it from a sanctuary into a vulgar place.