Donna Maria Boccapaduli had been waiting for her opportunity and attacked Ghisleri as soon as he had ceased talking with his other neighbour.

"Tell me," she said, "you like Laura Arden very much, do you not?" Of course she made the sign at Laura's name.

"Yes. She is a very charming woman."

"She ought to be grateful to you. She would be, if she knew how you stood up for her just now."

"I should be sorry if she ever came to know that she needed to be defended," answered Ghisleri, almost indifferently.

"She will, of course. It will be all over Rome to-night that you and Campodonico almost quarrelled about her. She is sure to hear about it.

Why do you take so much interest in her?"

"Because her husband was my friend," Pietro replied, rather wearily. "I just said so."

"You need not be so angry with me because I ask questions," said Donna Maria with a laugh. "I always do--it is the way to find out what one wants to know."

"And what do you want to know?"

"You will be angry if I ask you."

"Then ask me something else."

"But I want to know so much," objected Donna Maria, with an expression that made Ghisleri smile.

"Then you must take the risk," he said. "It is not very great."

"Well, then, I will." She dropped her voice almost to a whisper. "Is the lady in question--I mean--is she the sort of woman you can imagine falling in love with?"

"I do not think I should ever fall in love with her," answered Ghisleri, without betraying emotion or surprise.

"Why not? There must be some reason. So many men have said the same thing about her."

"She is too good a woman for any of us to love. We feel that she is too far above us to be quite human as we are."

"What a strange man you are, Ghisleri! I should never have dreamt that you could say such a thing as that. It is not at all like your reputation you know, and not in the least like those delightfully dreadful verses you addressed to the saint last year on Shrove Tuesday at Gouache's studio. I should think that Mephistopheles would delight in making love to saints."

"In real life Mephistopheles would get the worst of it, and be shown to the door with very little ceremony."

"I doubt that. Every woman likes a spice of devilry in the man she loves--and as for being shown to the door, that is ridiculous. Is there any reason in the world why you should not fall in love with a woman exactly like the unmentionable lady and marry her, too, if you love her enough--or little enough, according to your views of married life? You are quite free, and so is she, and you said yourself that in the course of time she would naturally come back to the world."

"No," said Ghisleri, thoughtfully, "I suppose there is no reason why I should not ask Lady Herbert Arden to marry me in four or five years, except that I do not love her in the least, and that she would most certainly refuse me. And those are two very good reasons."

The dinner was over and the party returned to the drawing-room. Ghisleri stood a little apart from the rest, examining a painting with which he had long been familiar, and slowly inhaling the smoke of a cigarette. It was a small copy of one of Zichy's famous pictures ill.u.s.trating Lermontoff's "Demon"--the one in which Tamara yields at last, in the convent, and throws her arms round the Demon's neck. Prince Durakoff had ordered the copy and had presented it to the Marchesa di San Giacinto.

Ghisleri had always liked it, and had a photograph of the original in his rooms. He now stood looking at it and recalling the strange, half allegorical romance of which the great Russian made such wonderful poetry.

Presently he was aware that some one was standing at his elbow. He turned to see who it was, and found himself face to face with Gianforte Campodonico, who was looking at him with an expression of indescribable hatred in his black eyes.

CHAPTER XIII.

Pietro at once realised the situation and the meaning of the look he saw. Something was pa.s.sing in his old enemy's mind which had pa.s.sed through his own while he was looking at the picture, for Campodonico and Ghisleri were both thinking of the extraordinary resemblance between poor Bianca Corleone and the Tamara of Zichy's painting. That resemblance, striking in a high degree, was the reason why Ghisleri liked it, and had a photograph of it at his lodging. He regretted now that he should have been so tactless as to stand long before it when Campodonico was in the room. It was too late, however, and there was nothing to be done but to meet the man's angry look quietly, and go away. It was unfortunate that there should have been any discussion between them at dinner, too, for Campodonico, as his wife said, was hot-tempered in the extreme, and Ghisleri, though outwardly calm, had always been liable to outbreaks of dangerous anger. There was, indeed, in the present instance, a very solemn promise given to a dying woman beloved by both, to keep them from quarrelling, and both really meant to respect it as they had done in past years. But to see Ghisleri calmly contemplating a picture which seemed intended to represent Bianca Corleone falling into the arms of a demon lover, was almost too much for the equanimity of Gianforte, which was by no means at any time very stable. Moreover, he not only hated Ghisleri with his whole heart as much as ever, but he despised him quite as much as Pietro despised himself, and probably a little more. He would never have forgiven him, at the best; but he might have respected him if Ghisleri had honoured Bianca's memory by leading a different life. It made his blood sting to think that a man who had been loved to the latest breath by such a woman as Bianca should throw himself at the feet of Maddalena dell' Armi--not to mention any of the others for whom Pietro had felt an ephemeral pa.s.sion during the last six years and more. And Pietro, on his side, knew that Campodonico was right in judging him as he judged himself, harshly and without mercy. Unfortunately, Pietro's judgments on himself generally came too late, when the evil he hated had already been done, and self-condemnation was of very little use. He had great temptations, too--far greater than most men, and was fatally attracted by difficulty in any shape.

On the present occasion he really desired to avoid doing the least thing which could irritate Campodonico, and if the latter had not done what he did Pietro would certainly have gone quietly away. He could not help being a little surprised at the persistent stare of his old adversary, considering that for years they had met and acted with perfectly civil indifference towards one another. Nevertheless, he relit his cigarette which had gone out, and made a step towards the other side of the room.

To Campodonico, the calm expression of his face seemed like scorn, and he became exasperated in a moment. He called the other back. They were at some distance from the other guests, and out of hearing if they spoke in low tones.

"Ghisleri!" Campodonico p.r.o.nounced the name he detested with an almost contemptuous accent. Pietro knew that an exchange of unfriendly words was inevitable. He turned instantly and came close to Gianforte, standing before him and looking down into his fierce eyes, for he was by far the taller man.

"What is it?" he asked, controlling his voice wonderfully.

"Do you not think there are circ.u.mstances under which one is justified in breaking a solemn promise?" asked Campodonico.

"No. I do not."

"I do."

"I am very sorry. I suppose you mean to say that you wish to quarrel with me again. Is that it?"

"Yes."

"You will find it hard. I shall do my very best to be patient whatever you do or say. In the first place, I begin by telling you that I sincerely regret having irritated you twice, as I have done this evening, the second time, as I know, very seriously."

"I did not ask you for an apology," said Gianforte, with contempt.

"But I have offered you one which you will find it hard not to accept."

"You were not formerly so ready with excuses. I dare say you have grown cautious with age, though you are not much older than I."

"Perhaps I have." Ghisleri grew slowly pale, as he bore one insult after the other for the dead woman's sake.

"In other words, you are a coward," said Campodonico, lowering his voice still more.

Pietro opened his lips and shut them without speaking. He glanced at the pa.s.sionate white face of the woman in the picture before he answered.

"I do not think so," he said. "But I make no pretence of bravery. Have you done?"

"No. You make a pretence of other things if not of courage. You pretend that you will not quarrel now because of the promise you gave."

"It is true."

"I do not believe you."

"I am sorry for it," answered Pietro.

"And do you mean to tell me that the promise binds us? If you had acted as a man should, if you had led a life that showed the slightest respect for that memory, it might be binding on me still."