That evening, as usual, I was to meet Donna Faustina, but not her alone. Our friends were to assemble to bid us farewell, and it was at this soirée I saw her for the first time in all the éclat of a brilliant toilet. And, though I was far from foreseeing it, it was there I spoke to her for the last time!... And I was still further from foreseeing in what place and in what way I should afterwards find myself beside her for an instant!...
We both attracted much attention that evening. Which of us was the more beautiful I cannot tell. As to this, I was indifferent to the opinion of all but one. What he thought I longed to know, and I now watched him in my turn. As I have said, he had good [pg 039] reason to pride himself on his penetration; but that was a faculty by no means lacking on my part, and one, it may be remarked en passant, that Sicilians of both sexes are said to be rarely devoid of. In this respect we were well matched. I knew every line in his forehead, and understood every movement of his mouth and the slightest change in his mobile, expressive face, and during the whole evening, when for the first time I was able to observe them together without attracting his attention, I used as much art in studying him as he knew how to use in studying others. I followed them with my eyes around the room; whereas, separated from me by the crowd, he forgot my presence, and, by some phenomenon akin to that of second sight, every word they uttered seemed to resound distinctly in my ears!... It was with reluctance I gave her my hand when I left her. It was she, and not Lorenzo, who was at that moment the object of the resentment that burned in my heart.
I had doubtless overcome some of my faults at that time, but far from all. I was not so frivolous as is usually the case at my age. I loved everything great and noble. But with all this, I was impetuous, wilful, and jealous, and, though not occupied about my appearance, I was with myself. The happiness I had an indisputable right to was menaced. All means of defending my rights seemed allowable, but to use address, prudence, and management would have amounted almost to insincerity in my eyes.
Pretexts, and even excuses, are seldom wanting for yielding to the impulse of the moment. Therefore I yielded to mine when I again found myself alone with Lorenzo, breaking a long silence which he did not notice, or would not ask the reason of, with a violent outburst I afterwards regretted, but which, at the moment, it seemed impossible to repress.
“I have tried to please you, Lorenzo, and must still believe in your sincerity, which it would kill me to doubt; but I can no longer have any faith in the false, perfidious friendship of that woman.... My heart, my whole soul, revolts against her.... God forgive me, Lorenzo, I really believe I hate her, and feel as if I could never see her again!...”
Such were a few of the hasty, incoherent words that escaped from my lips. Lorenzo, with folded arms, compressed brow, and a cold, ironical look of surprise, listened without interrupting me.
As I gazed at him, I felt my impetuosity die away and give place to intolerable anguish. My heart swelled, and I should have burst out into sobs had not a certain pride hindered me from responding to the icy coldness of his smile with tears. He did not excuse himself, and by no means tried to defend her whom I thus attacked. He made neither protestations nor reproaches.
“As you please, cara mia,” said he with a calmness that seemed a thousand times more cruel than anger. “I will not attempt to oppose the furious fit of jealousy I see you are in. Indulge in it at your leisure.... Nothing is easier than to find some excuse for not spending to-morrow evening with Donna Faustina—and the day after, ma belle Ginevra,” continued he with a sarcastic look that was more marked than his words. “You seem to forget we are both going away, and very probably you will never see [pg 040] her again.... This is a reassuring circumstance, and ought to have sufficed, it seems to me, to prevent you from making so absurd a scene as this.”
His manner and words completely disconcerted me. I now felt painfully mortified at my outburst, and an earnest desire to repair it. And yet the sensation caused by his injustice still raged in my heart. But I repressed this by degrees, and when Lorenzo was on the point of leaving the room, I said in a low tone:
“Forgive me; I was too hasty. But I have suffered more than you may have supposed.”