At last one day Checco came to me and threw himself on my bed.
'It's no good,' he said, in a tone of despair. 'It is all up.'
'I'm very sorry, Checco.'
'You had better go home now. You can do nothing here. Why should I drag you after me in my unhappiness?'
'But you, Checco, if you can do no good, why will not you come too?'
'I am better here than at Castello. Here I am at the centre of things, and I will take heart. War may break out any day, and then the Pope will be more ready to listen to me.'
I saw it was no use that I should stay, and I saw I could not persuade him to come with me, so I packed up my things, and bidding him good-bye, started on the homeward journey.
XXXIX
WHAT shall I say of the eagerness with which I looked forward to seeing my dear wife, the rapture with which, at last, I clasped her in my arms?
A little later I walked out to find Matteo. He was quite astonished to see me.
'We did not expect you so soon.'
'No,' I answered; 'I thought I should not arrive till after to-morrow, but I was so impatient to get home that I hurried on without stopping, and here I am.'
I shook his hand heartily, I was so pleased and happy.
'Er—have you been home?'
'Of course,' I answered, smiling; 'it was the first thing I thought of.'
I was not sure; I thought a look of relief came over Matteo's face. But why? I could not understand, but I thought it of no consequence, and it passed from my memory. I told Matteo the news I had, and left him. I wished to get back to my wife.
On my way I happened to see Claudia Piacentini coming out of a house. I was very surprised, for I knew that my efforts had succeeded, and Ercole's banishment decreed. I supposed the order had not yet been issued. I was going to pass the lady without acknowledgment, for since my marriage she had never spoken to me, and I could well understand why she did not want to. To my astonishment she stopped me.
'Ah, Messer Filippo!'
I bowed profoundly.
'How is it that now you never speak to me? Are you so angry with me?'
'No one can be angry with so beautiful a woman.'
She flushed, and I felt I had said a stupid thing, for I had made remarks too similar on another occasion. I added, 'But I have been away.'
'I know. Will you not come in?' She pointed to the house from which she had just issued.
'But I shall be disturbing you, for you were going out.'
She smiled as she replied. 'I saw you pass my house a little while ago; I guessed you were going to Matteo d'Orsi, and I waited for you on your return.'
'You are most kind.'
I wondered why she was so anxious to see me. Perhaps she knew of her husband's approaching banishment, and the cause of it.
We went in and sat down.
'Have you been home?' she asked.
It was the same question as Matteo had asked. I gave the same answer.
'It was the first thing I thought of.'
'Your wife must have been—surprised to see you.'
'And delighted.'
'Ah!' She crossed her hands and smiled.
I wondered what she meant.
'You were not expected for two days, I think.'
'You know my movements very well. I am pleased to find you take such interest in me.'
'Oh, it is not I alone. The whole town takes interest in you. You have been a most pleasant topic of conversation.'
'Really!' I was getting a little angry. 'And what has the town to say of me?'
'Oh, I do not want to trouble your peace of mind.'
'Will you have the goodness to tell me what you mean?'
She shrugged her shoulders and smiled enigmatically.
'Well?' I said.
'If you insist, I will tell you. They say that you are a complaisant husband.'
'That is a lie!'
'You are not polite,' she answered calmly.
'How dare you say such things, you impudent woman!'
'My good sir, it is true, perfectly true. Ask Matteo.'
Suddenly I remembered Matteo's question, and his look of relief. A sudden fear ran through me. I took hold of Claudia's wrists and said,—
'What do you mean? What do you mean?'
'Leave go; you hurt me!'
'Answer, I tell you. I know you are dying to tell me. Is this why you lay in wait for me, and brought me here? Tell me.'
A sudden transformation took place in Claudia; rage and hate broke out and contorted her face, so that one would not have recognised it.
'Do you suppose you can escape the ordinary fate of husbands?' She broke into a savage laugh.
'It is a lie. You slander Giulia because you are yourself impure.'
'You were willing enough to take advantage of that impurity. Do you suppose Giulia's character has altered because you have married her? She made her first husband a cuckold, and do you suppose that she has suddenly turned virtuous? You fool!'
'It is a lie. I will not believe a word of it.'
'The whole town has been ringing with her love for Giorgio dall' Aste.'
I gave a cry; it was for him that she abandoned me before....
'Ah, you believe me now!'
'Listen!' I said. 'If this is not true, I swear by all the saints that I will kill you.'
'Good; if it is not true, kill me. But, by all the saints, I swear it is true, true, true!' She repeated the words in triumph, and each one fell like the stab of a dagger in my heart.
I left her. As I walked home, I fancied the people were looking at me, and smiling. Once I was on the verge of going up to a man, and asking him why he laughed, but I contained myself. How I was suffering! I remembered that Giulia had not seemed so pleased to see me; at the time I chid myself, and called myself exacting, but was it true? I fancied she turned away her lips when I was imprinting my passionate kisses on them. I told myself I was a fool, but was it true? I remembered a slight movement of withdrawal when I clasped her in my arms. Was it true? Oh God! was it true?
I thought of going to Matteo, but I could not. He knew her before her marriage; he would be willing to accept the worst that was said of her. How could I be so disturbed at the slanders of a wicked, jealous woman? I wished I had never known Claudia, never given her reason to take this revenge on me. Oh, it was cruel! But I would not believe it; I had such trust in Giulia, such love. She could not betray