"Rely then on me," said Gaetano.
Maulear heard a kiss. It struck on his ear like a dagger, and gave him such pain, that a sigh burst from his lips.
"Some one overheard us," said Gaetano, "Go, go."
Aminta immediately disappeared. Before Gaetano had time to distinguish Maulear in his place of concealment, the latter, become aware of the ridiculous part he was playing, hid himself in the thicket, and with his hair dishevelled, his features distorted, and his heart distressed, hurried to the house and shut himself up in his own room. His despair was indeed great; he fancied he had been laughed at by a coquette, while he thought he had been the suitor of an innocent girl. Why did she not tell me the truth yesterday, when I asked her? said he. Why did she not avow her love of young Brignoli? She dared not confide it to me; because she makes a mystery of it to her own mother. Why did she encourage me? Why did she speak of hope? What unworthy plan, what improper calculation influenced her? What part did she intend me to play in this drama of treason?
The old idea of Maulear—that sad fancy that women are only to be despised, and which he had conceived from women only worthy of that estimate—took possession of him. He could not believe he was a victim of mistake, or that the scene he had witnessed had any other motives than guilty ones. Of what else could Gaetano and Aminta speak, than love? An hour afterwards, Maulear returned to the drawing-room. His toilette was irreproachable, and his face, though pale, was calm. One would never have recognized in this elegant gentleman, so calm and dignified, the person who, an hour before, had heard with such excitement the conversation we have just described. Maulear had reflected, and as soon as his first anger had passed away, had nearly conceived an aversion for the young girl, whom he had almost adored the evening before. Revenge, too, would be sweet. To accomplish this, calmness, coldness, deliberation were required.
The excitement of the evening prevented the absence of the actors in this scene from having been remarked; besides it was a ball for young people, at which men of Maulear's age even were not expected to dance. Gaetano, who was only eighteen, was the true Coryphœus. Maulear approached Aminta in the interval between two waltzes.
"You have a pleasant anniversary of your birthday," said he.
"A delicious one, Signor, I was never so happy."
At any other time the answer of Aminta would have delighted Maulear; now he fancied she alluded to her love for Gaetano. This idea increased his anger. Midnight came, and those of the guests who lived at a distance remained at the villa: the others left. All soon became calm, and the house quiet. One man alone watched, for his bosom was irritated by the most exciting thoughts; by anger, despair, and jealousy. He was awake, and wept bitterly over a passion, which it is true had existed but a few days, but yet had taken deep root in his heart.
He was awake, and was indignant at the affront put on him. He was awake, for he had sworn to be avenged. Thinking that he understood the meaning of Gaetano's words, he did not doubt but that they had made a rendezvous for that very night. This rendezvous was not the first, for Maulear knew the secret of the veil he had found on the terrace on the first night he had passed at Sorrento. The veil belonged to Aminta, and the flitting shadow he had seen was the lady's self. Her accomplice was Gaetano. How could he doubt? Interrupted in their first intercourse by Maulear, they expected on another occasion to be more fortunate. No, cried he, that shall not be, they will find me between themselves and happiness. I wish them to at least learn, that I am not their dupe. I will cover her snowy brow with a blush, and avenge myself by disclosing to her my knowledge of her secret. But how could he surprise them? Would they dare to cross the terrace again? Perhaps, though, they can meet nowhere else. If so, they will brave every thing, and in that case I must not alarm them. The Marquis took the taper, which lighted his chamber, and placed it in a back room, which opened on the interior corridor of the house. Carefully opening the terrace window, he took refuge behind a group of trees, exactly opposite his room. The clock of Sorrento struck three—the night was clear and brilliant, and the sky was strewn with diamond stars—the air was soft and warm. It was a night for love and lovers.