“Perhaps you doubt my story?”
She made no answer. A rapid impulse of fury possessed me.
“Speak!” I cried, fiercely, “or by the God above us I will make you! Speak!” and I drew the dagger I carried from my vest. “Speak the truth for once—’twill be difficult to you who love lies—but this time I must be answered! Tell me, do you know me! Do you or do you not believe that I am indeed your husband—your living husband, Fabio Romani?”
She gasped for breath. The sight of my infuriated figure—the glitter of the naked steel before her eyes—the suddenness of my action, the horror of her position, all terrified her into speech. She flung herself down before me in an attitude of abject entreaty. She found her voice at last.
“Mercy! mercy!” she cried. “Oh, God! you will not kill me? Anything—anything but death; I am too young to die! Yes, yes; I know you are Fabio—Fabio, my husband, Fabio, whom I thought dead—Fabio—oh!” and she sobbed convulsively. “You said you loved me to-day—when you married me! Why did you marry me? I was your wife already—why—why? Oh, horrible, horrible! I see—I understand it all now! But do not, do not kill me, Fabio—I am afraid to die!”
And she hid her face at my feet and groveled there. As quickly calmed as I had been suddenly furious, I put back the dagger. I smoothed my voice and spoke with mocking courtesy.
“Pray do not alarm yourself,” I said, coolly. “I have not the slightest intention of killing you! I am no vulgar murderer, yielding to mere brute instincts. You forget: a Neapolitan has hot passions, but he also has finesse, especially in matters of vengeance. I brought you here to tell you of my existence, and to confront you with the proofs of it. Rise, I beg of you, we have plenty of time to talk; with a little patience I shall make things clear to you—rise!”
She obeyed me, lifting herself up reluctantly with a long, shuddering sigh. As she stood upright I laughed contemptuously.
“What! no love words for me?” I cried, “not one kiss, not one smile, not one word of welcome? You say you know me—well!—are you not glad to see your husband?—you, who were such an inconsolable widow?”
A strange quiver passed over her face—she wrung her hands together hard, but she said no word.