Fabio attempted to question her ... but she merely trembled....

The window-panes were reddening with the first gleams of dawn when, at last, she fell asleep in his arms.

VIII

On the following day Muzio disappeared early in the morning, and Valeria informed her husband that she intended to betake herself to the neighbouring monastery, where dwelt her spiritual father--an aged and stately monk, in whom she cherished unbounded confidence. To Fabio's questions she replied that she desired to alleviate by confession her soul, which was oppressed with the impressions of the last few days. As he gazed at Valeria's sunken visage, as he listened to her faint voice, Fabio himself approved of her plan: venerable Father Lorenzo might be able to give her useful advice, disperse her doubts.... Under the protection of four escorts, Valeria set out for the monastery, but Fabio remained at home; and while awaiting the return of his wife, he roamed about the garden, trying to understand what had happened to her, and feeling the unremitting terror and wrath and pain of indefinite suspicions.... More than once he entered the pavilion; but Muzio had not returned, and the Malay stared at Fabio like a statue, with an obsequious inclination of his head, and a far-away grin--at least, so it seemed to Fabio--a far-away grin on his bronze countenance.

In the meantime Valeria had narrated everything in confession to her confessor, being less ashamed than frightened. The confessor listened to her attentively, blessed her, absolved her from her involuntary sins,--but thought to himself: "Magic, diabolical witchcraft ... things cannot be left in this condition".... and accompanied Valeria to her villa, ostensibly for the purpose of definitely calming and comforting her.

At the sight of the confessor Fabio was somewhat startled; but the experienced old man had already thought out beforehand how he ought to proceed. On being left alone with Fabio, he did not, of course, betray the secrets of the confessional; but he advised him to banish from his house, if that were possible, his invited guest who, by his tales, songs, and his whole conduct, had upset Valeria's imagination. Moreover, in the old man's opinion, Muzio had not been firm in the faith in days gone by, as he now recalled to mind; and after having sojourned so long in regions not illuminated by the light of Christianity, he might have brought thence the infection of false doctrines; he might even have dabbled in magic; and therefore, although old friendship did a.s.sert its rights, still wise caution pointed to parting as indispensable.

Fabio thoroughly agreed with the venerable monk. Valeria even beamed all over when her husband communicated to her her confessor's counsel; and accompanied by the good wishes of both husband and wife, and provided with rich gifts for the monastery and the poor, Father Lorenzo wended his way home.

Fabio had intended to have an explanation with Muzio directly after supper, but his strange guest did not return to supper. Then Fabio decided to defer the interview with Muzio until the following day, and husband and wife withdrew to their bed-chamber.

IX

Valeria speedily fell asleep; but Fabio could not get to sleep. In the nocturnal silence all that he had seen, all that he had felt, presented itself to him in a still more vivid manner; with still greater persistence did he ask himself questions, to which, as before, he found no answer. Was Muzio really a magician? And had he already poisoned Valeria? She was ill ... but with what malady? While he was engrossed in painful meditations, with his head propped on his hand and restraining his hot breathing, the moon again rose in the cloudless sky; and together with its rays, through the semi-transparent window-panes, in the direction of the pavilion, there began to stream in--or did Fabio merely imagine it?--there began to stream in a breath resembling a faint, perfumed current of air....

Now an importunate, pa.s.sionate whisper began to make itself heard ...

and at that same moment he noticed that Valeria was beginning to stir slightly. He started, gazed; she rose, thrust first one foot, then the other from the bed, and, like a somnambulist, with her dull eyes strained straight ahead, and her arms extended before her, she advanced toward the door into the garden! Fabio instantly sprang through the other door of the bedroom, and briskly running round the corner of the house, he closed the one which led into the garden.... He had barely succeeded in grasping the handle when he felt some one trying to open the door from within, throwing their force against it ... more and more strongly ... then frightened moans resounded.

"But Muzio cannot have returned from the town, surely," flashed through Fabio's head, and he darted into the pavilion....

What did he behold?

Coming to meet him, along the path brilliantly flooded with the radiance of the moonlight, also with arms outstretched and lifeless eyes staring widely--was Muzio.... Fabio ran up to him, but the other, without noticing him, walked on, advancing with measured steps, and his impa.s.sive face was smiling in the moonlight like the face of the Malay.

Fabio tried to call him by name ... but at that moment he heard a window bang in the house behind him.... He glanced round....

In fact, the window of the bedroom was open from top to bottom, and with one foot thrust across the sill stood Valeria in the window ... and her arms seemed to be seeking Muzio, her whole being was drawn toward him.

Unspeakable wrath flooded Fabio's breast in a suddenly-invading torrent.--"Accursed sorcerer!" he yelled fiercely, and seizing Muzio by the throat with one hand, he fumbled with the other for the dagger in his belt, and buried its blade to the hilt in his side.

Muzio uttered a piercing shriek, and pressing the palm of his hand to the wound, fled, stumbling, back to the pavilion.... But at that same instant, when Fabio stabbed him, Valeria uttered an equally piercing shriek and fell to the ground like one mowed down.

Fabio rushed to her, raised her up, carried her to the bed, spoke to her....

For a long time she lay motionless; but at last she opened her eyes, heaved a deep sigh, convulsively and joyously, like a person who has just been saved from inevitable death,--caught sight of her husband, and encircling his neck with her arms, pressed herself to his breast.

"Thou, thou, it is thou," she stammered. Gradually the clasp of her arms relaxed, her head sank backward, and whispering, with a blissful smile:--"Thank G.o.d, all is over.... But how weary I am!"--she fell into a profound but not heavy slumber.

X

Fabio sank down beside her bed, and never taking his eyes from her pale, emaciated, but already tranquil face, he began to reflect upon what had taken place ... and also upon how he ought to proceed now. What was he to do? If he had slain Muzio--and when he recalled how deeply the blade of his dagger had penetrated he could not doubt that he had done so--then it was impossible to conceal the fact. He must bring it to the knowledge of the Duke, of the judges ... but how was he to explain, how was he to narrate such an incomprehensible affair? He, Fabio, had slain in his own house his relative, his best friend! People would ask, "What for? For what cause?..." But what if Muzio were not slain?--Fabio had not the strength to remain any longer in uncertainty, and having made sure that Valeria was asleep, he cautiously rose from his arm-chair, left the house, and directed his steps toward the pavilion. All was silent in it; only in one window was a light visible. With sinking heart he opened the outer door--(a trace of b.l.o.o.d.y fingers still clung to it, and on the sand of the path drops of blood made black patches)-- raversed the first dark chamber ... and halted on the threshold, petrified with astonishment.

In the centre of the room, on a Persian rug, with a brocade cushion under his head, covered with a wide scarlet shawl with black figures, lay Muzio, with all his limbs stiffly extended. His face, yellow as wax, with closed eyes and lids which had become blue, was turned toward the ceiling, and no breath was to be detected: he seemed to be dead. At his feet, also enveloped in a scarlet shawl, knelt the Malay. He held in his left hand a branch of some unfamiliar plant, resembling a fern, and bending slightly forward, he was gazing at his master, never taking his eyes from him. A small torch, thrust into the floor, burned with a greenish flame, and was the only light in the room. Its flame did not flicker nor smoke.

The Malay did not stir at Fabio's entrance, but merely darted a glance at him and turned his eyes again upon Muzio. From time to time he raised himself a little, and lowered the branch, waving it through the air,--and his dumb lips slowly parted and moved, as though uttering inaudible words. Between Muzio and the Malay there lay upon the floor the dagger with which Fabio had stabbed his friend. The Malay smote the blood-stained blade with his bough. One minute pa.s.sed ... then another.

Fabio approached the Malay, and bending toward him, he said in a low voice: "Is he dead?"--The Malay bowed his head, and disengaging his right hand from beneath the shawl, pointed imperiously to the door.

Fabio was about to repeat his question, but the imperious hand repeated its gesture, and Fabio left the room, raging arid marvelling but submitting.

He found Valeria asleep, as before, with a still more tranquil face. He did not undress, but seated himself by the window, propped his head on his hand, and again became immersed in thought. The rising sun found him still in the same place. Valeria had not wakened.

XI

Fabio was intending to wait until she should awake, and then go to Ferrara--when suddenly some one tapped lightly at the door of the bedroom. Fabio went out and beheld before him his aged major-domo, Antonio.

"Signor," began the old man, "the Malay has just informed us that Signor Muzio is ailing and desires to remove with all his effects to the town; and therefore he requests that you will furnish him with the aid of some persons to pack his things--and that you will send, about dinner-time, both pack-and saddle-horses and a few men as guard. Do you permit?"

"Did the Malay tell thee that?" inquired Fabio. "In what manner? For he is dumb."

"Here, signor, is a paper on which he wrote all this in our language, very correctly."

"And Muzio is ill, sayest thou?"

"Yes, very ill, and he cannot be seen."

"Has not a physician been sent for?"

"No; the Malay would not allow it."

"And was it the Malay who wrote this for thee?"

"Yes, it was he."

Fabio was silent for a s.p.a.ce.

"Very well, take the necessary measures," he said at last.

Antonio withdrew.