But immediately the instinctive need for excusing herself called up the reasons that had led her to be persuaded; namely, her fear of being bound to that other crazy man, who wished to become her husband by force; the pitying promise which she had allowed her lips to utter that day in the hospital because of having listened to that fool Martinelli. “Bah!” she thought. “And when that crazy man comes out of the hospital furious, he, my husband, will defend me, recognizing the reason for which I consented to play the buffoon.”
She began to unfasten her gown. Suddenly she stopped; it was useless, since she was to sleep sitting in the chair. Another lie this, unearthed to prevent herself from acknowledging a foolish hope which she knew could not be realized even in a dream. She extinguished the lamp, she seated herself in the armchair. Through the silence that reigned in the street below she listened intently, unconsciously. Where was he at this hour? Perhaps in some café with his friends. And she imagined the room of a café, illuminated, and saw them all, her boarders, seated there at little tables, and he was laughing, laughing, and answering witticisms. Certainly her name was in every one’s mouth, and derided. What did it matter to her? She waited for the noisy reunion to come to an end that she might see him alone. Where would he go? Home? Or would he perhaps—perhaps go elsewhere? At this thought she paused, as before an unexpected abyss, taken aback. Why, yes, yes! Was he not absolutely free?
And she was seated there in the armchair. Oh, fool, oh, madwoman! And she found sleep impossible.
V
No, Biagio Speranza had not gone to the café, as Carolinona had imagined.
Annoyed by the jokes of his friends, he had gone home, with the firm determination of setting out for Barcelona the next day, and making an end of it.
He had begun preparing what he needed for the journey, when he thought that he had not enough money for this hastened departure. And then, confronted with this material obstacle, he agreed that, on the whole, flight was not worthy of him. Yes, yes; he had really done wrong to be annoyed, to sneak away thus. And he must not abandon to the wrath of Cocco Bertolli that poor woman who had nothing to do with these pranks, who would keep to her agreement, and would never annoy or molest him; of that he was sure.
“Poor Carolinona!” he thought with a smile. “With what a look she pronounced that 'yes’ with a glance at the official, as much as to say: 'You see what value that can have! For my part, I do not think that one should jest thus, but these young fellows thought that there was no harm in it, and here I am to satisfy them. What else could I do? I must write too? Sign my name?’”
He went to bed, and was not long in falling asleep. He had bad dreams! Carolinona would not listen to reason; was she or was she not his wife? And she wished to enjoy all her rights—ready, oh, most ready, to take upon herself all her duties. She seized him by the arm and did not intend to let him go. But how about their agreement? It was all a joke! Joke? She had really signed the contract. And therefore he must stay here with her. Infamy, treachery! All the doors closed? Kicks, pinches, blows at each door. In vain! Oh, what grief, what rage, what agony! Behind those closed, bolted doors the friends laughed as though they would split their sides: Cariolin, Scossi, Cedebonis, and even Martinelli. Trunfo sneered. An infamous conspiracy! Did they then wish his death? No, no, even if it cost him his life, no; he would not be made to sleep in that bed. Ah, they would take him by force? They were binding him? Cowards! So many against one! Softly, softly! There at the throat, no—Ah, they were suffocating him—
He rose late, and in the worst of humors. He would go to the pension as usual that day, and by his manner would make his friends understand that it was time to be done with the whole affair.