FOR a moment I lost my self-possession. I scarcely remember now what I did. I know I clasped her almost roughly in my arms--I know that I kissed her passionately on lips, throat and brow--and that in the fervor of my embraces, the thought of what manner of vile thing she was came swiftly upon me, causing me to release her with such suddenness that she caught at the back of a chair to save herself from falling. Her breath came and went in little quick gasps of excitement, her face was flushed--she looked astonished, yet certainly not displeased. No, SHE was not angry, but I was--thoroughly annoyed--bitterly vexed with myself, for being such a fool.
"Forgive me," I muttered. "I forgot--I--"
A little smile stole round the corners of her mouth.
"You are fully pardoned!" she said, in a low voice, "you need not apologize."
Her smile deepened; suddenly she broke into a rippling laugh, sweet and silvery as a bell--a laugh that went through me like a knife. Was it not the self-same laughter that had pierced my brain the night I witnessed her amorous interview with Guido in the avenue? Had not the cruel mockery of it nearly driven me mad? I could not endure it--I sprung to her side--she ceased laughing and looked at me in wide-eyed wonderment.
"Listen!" I said, in an impatient, almost fierce tone. "Do not laugh like that! It jars my nerves--it--hurts me! I will tell you why. Once--long ago--in my youth--I loved a woman. She was NOT like you--no--for she was false! False to the very heart's core--false in every word she uttered. You understand me? she resembled you in nothing--nothing! But she used to laugh at me--she trampled on my life and spoiled it--she broke my heart! It is all past now, I never think of her, only your laughter reminded me--there!" And I took her hands and kissed them. "I have told you the story of my early folly--forget it and forgive me! It is time you prepared for your journey, is it not? If I can be of service to you, command me--you know where to send for me. Good-bye! and the peace of a pure conscience be with you!"
And I laid my burning hand on her head weighted with its clustering curls of gold. SHE thought this gesture was one of blessing. I thought--God only knows what I thought--yet surely if curses can be so bestowed, my curse crowned her at that moment! I dared not trust myself longer in her presence, and without another word or look I left her and hurried from the house. I knew she was startled and at the same time gratified to think she could thus have moved me to any display of emotion--but I would not even turn my head to catch her parting glance. I could not--I was sick of myself and of her. I was literally torn asunder between love and hatred--love born basely of material feeling alone--hatred, the offspring of a deeply injured spirit for whose wrong there could scarce be found sufficient remedy. Once out of the influence of her bewildering beauty, my mind grew calmer--and the drive back to the hotel in my carriage through the sweet dullness of the December air quieted the feverish excitement of my blood and restored me to myself. It was a most lovely day--bright and fresh, with the savor of the sea in the wind. The waters of the bay were of a steel-like blue shading into deep olive-green, and a soft haze lingered about the shores of Amalfi like a veil of gray, shot through with silver and gold. Down the streets went women in picturesque garb carrying on their heads baskets full to the brim of purple violets that scented the air as they passed--children ragged and dirty ran along, pushing the luxuriant tangle of their dark locks away from their beautiful wild antelope eyes, and, holding up bunches of roses and narcissi with smiles as brilliant as the very sunshine, implored the passengers to buy "for the sake of the little Gesu who was soon coming!"