"Ingeborg, if I were you, I'd get to the bottom of this, there's something mysterious about it."

"No," said Ingeborg, "I won't pry; if Ragna had wished me to know, she would have told me. As long as she doesn't, I wouldn't spy on her for all the world. She must have some good reason, it's not like her to fly off at a tangent!"

"If you knew more, you might be able to help her, to explain things to your Aunt."

"Yes," said Ingeborg, "that is true; I might--"

"I have an idea," said Astrid suddenly, "I shall write to the Signora Ferrati, she may be able to tell us something; you know Ragna went back to Florence with her so she must know all about it."

"Wouldn't that seem like going behind Ragna's back?" objected Ingeborg.

"Oh, I shall be careful about that. I shall just write in a friendly way and say how surprised we all were at the announcement of the marriage.

And it will be only natural for her to tell how it came about, in her reply. We may find out a good deal that way, and I don't know how else.

Besides she is very fond of Ragna, and wouldn't do or say anything to hurt her feelings."

"Very well," agreed Ingeborg grudgingly, "write to the Signora Ferrati, and show me her answer, when it comes. But, Astrid, you won't say anything to anybody, except just that Ragna is married, will you?"

"Of course not, dear."

Then they kissed each other on the cheek, and Ingeborg accompanied Astrid to the door and went to her own room, the one that had been Ragna's formerly, and sat down to compose a letter to her sister.

Fru Boyesen was writing also, a letter which she was to bitterly regret, the more so that her pride would not let her recall it or abandon the position she had taken. She felt a savage joy in wounding as she had been wounded, and re-read the finished note with the pride of an artist in his masterpiece, yet with a pang at heart.

"My dear niece," it ran, "I am much obliged to you for your letter, showing, as it does, so nice a consideration for my feelings and so just an appreciation of your duty towards me. I rejoice in your independence of spirit, and since you have shown yourself quite able to dispense with my counsel or a.s.sistance I shall not trouble you in future with either.

"(Signed) YOUR AUNT GITTA.

"P. S.--You need not bother about answering this letter, as I think you must understand that any correspondence between us has become unnecessary."

She stamped the letter, frowning as she wrote the address, and affixed a large seal of black wax. Allowing herself no time for reflection, she rang for a maid and gave orders that the letter should be immediately posted. Then, determined that the shock which had broken the whole current of her life should leave no trace on her everyday existence, she brought out her account-books, it being her accustomed Sat.u.r.day morning's task, and proceeded to carefully check the tradesmen's bills for the week.

CHAPTER IV

To Ragna her Aunt's letter was a shock and a grief, but not unexpected.

She had warned Egidio that something of the kind was to be looked for and as Ingeborg's letter arrived at the same time bidding Ragna be patient and hope for the best, promising that she, Ingeborg, would bend all her efforts to winning their Aunt over, Valentini was not really disappointed. Ingeborg, however, had made the mistake of advising Ragna strongly against writing to Fru Boyesen in the existing state of affairs. The poor woman in spite of her plainly expressed wish to the contrary, was secretly hoping for a letter from Ragna, a dutifully humble letter which might permit of her abating somewhat of her wrath.

But Ragna followed her sister's advice, and no letter came. So the misunderstanding deepened.

It has been said that one can accustom one's self to anything, and it is certain that after the first few days of her marriage Ragna lost, to a great extent, the feeling of moral and physical degradation which at first had made her wish to cover her face forever from the eyes of mankind. Or rather, as some feelings are too poignant to be born long, there ensued a deadening of the fibres, and the daily torment became a burden to which she learned to bend her back. She even took a bitter satisfaction in saying to herself that she was paying her debt to the full, earning her salt of outward respectability as it were, by the prost.i.tution of her soul. As for her body, it seemed to her a thing to leave out of account henceforward, a temple profaned beyond all hope of purification.

Respite came to her though, after some time, by Dr. Ferrati's dissatisfaction with her state of health, and his consequent prescription of complete rest.

He even took Valentini aside and berated him soundly.

"Have you no sense at all, Egidio, you who know your wife's condition, that you take so little care of her? If you keep on in this way, I tell you, I won't be answerable for the consequences!"

Virginia watched the course of events but refrained from comment, much to her husband's relief, for there was something in the expression of Ragna's eyes, a miserable, hunted look that made him most uncomfortable.

She never complained and when he tried to sound her, she fenced as before her marriage; once even, when he went so far as to put a direct question, she resolutely denied any cause for unhappiness.

Virginia had received Astrid's letter, and had answered it, but could not give any information as she did not feel free to disclose Ragna's secret, the real reason of her marriage. Instead she insinuated her doubts of Valentini's disinterestedness, leaving Ragna as much out of the question as she could. The letter, such as it was, carried a great light to Astrid, who recalled her indiscreet confidences to Valentini, in his studio. His motive, she saw clearly enough--but Ragna's? Here all was still mystery. She re-read the letter and understood that the Signora's reticence was intentional, and that she might hope to learn nothing more from that source.

Ingeborg, to whom she took the letter, remained as much in the dark as ever, for Astrid naturally omitted to tell of her own conversation with Valentini on the subject of Ragna's prospects.

"She is a friend of Ragna's, I can see that," said Ingeborg, folding and unfolding the letter, "and I am sure that if she can help her she will.

As for the rest, the reasons for this marriage, perhaps Ragna does not wish her to speak of them, or else she is too good a friend to pry and spy. I like her, I wish I could have a talk with her."

As time went on, the Valentinis became rather pinched for means. Shortly after the birth of Ragna's son, whom they called "Egidio," they removed to a smaller and cheaper apartment on the other side of the river.

Carolina, whose baby had been born a month before her mistress's, served as _balia_ and so avoided the expense of a professional wet-nurse, for Ragna's health was at this time too delicate and her recovery too slow, to permit of her nursing the child herself. The long strain had told on her severely, and for some time she was obliged to spend most of the day in her rattan reclining-chair. She welcomed this weakness--it was good just to lie there set apart from the everyday worries, and to let life slip past unresistingly. Egidio, to be just to him, was kind to her at this period, bringing her flowers and fruit and any little dainty he could afford. Her pale face and listless hands appealed to him, also he had a sort of vicarious pride in the plump st.u.r.dy child, and graciously accepted as his due the compliments that such of his friends as were admitted to his intimacy, lavished on his first born. As he had always been of a secretive nature as to his own affairs, the sudden appearance on the scene of a wife and child, surprised no one particularly,--the only wonder was that after keeping his marriage secret so long, he should have divulged it at all,--but again the birth of a son explained that.

Virginia often came to sit with Ragna during these days of languor, and the girl welcomed her as she never had before. Virginia was touched by the affectionate warmth of Ragna's manner towards her and during these visits her busy fingers fashioned many little garments for the baby. He was fair, like his mother, round and rosy, with great blue eyes, and from the first moment they had laid him in her arms she had loved him with a fierce tenderness that was almost aggressive in its intensity.

She looked to the child for compensation for all she had been through.

Virginia often observed the change in the young mother's expression, when Carolina left the baby with her; all the languor, all the listlessness disappeared, the thin pale cheeks took on the colour and the eyes the brightness that was natural to them. Virginia said to her one day:

"I am sure that if you made an effort, Ragna cara, you could overcome this weakness. It is because you voluntarily let yourself go that you get no better. Tell me, why is it that you don't want to get well and strong?"

Ragna lifted her head. She was dressing little Egidio. Her eyes, torn from the contemplation of his plump rosy body had a startled expression.

"How did you guess that, Virginia?"

The other smiled.

"It was not very difficult to guess. But seriously, carissima, you should make an effort,--for the child's sake, at least."

"I suppose I ought to, for the child's sake," said Ragna slowly, caressing the coral-pink feet and dimpled legs, "but I can't somehow, I can't make the effort. I--I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what, cara?"

"That when I am stronger, Egidio--"

The blood rose in Ragna's cheek; Virginia leaned forward and patted her hand.

"I understand, poverina,--but what would you have? We married women are not our own mistresses,--it is the way of the world. The Creator has willed that some of us serve our Purgatory on earth."

Before she left, she kissed Ragna tenderly, and murmured, "Poverina, I am sorry--but you have the bimbo! Let that make up to you for the rest!"

She was thinking of Egidio with his mouth like that of a beast.

After the Valentinis moved, Virginia was not able to come so often; they lived further apart, and her visits in consequence became less frequent.

Indeed, this had been part of Valentini's intention in going so far. He wished, partly from jealousy, and partly from mingled dislike and fear of Virginia to remove Ragna from her close companionship and the moving offered a good pretext for this, without the risk of offending the susceptibilities of his friend Ferrati.

Ragna missed Virginia greatly, she had grown to depend on her society, and as she had few friends and but little opportunity for making new acquaintances, her lonely days became singularly dull and empty.

Egidio had had a run of bad luck and had sold no pictures for some time and the expenses of Ragna's confinement had been a heavy drain on his resources. As week after week pa.s.sed, bringing no sign from Fru Boyesen, he grew impatient, although he had told himself to expect nothing for some time. The confinement had cost more than he expected, and he thought that Ragna's family might have helped him out, though realizing at the same time the absurdity of the idea, as they could and must know nothing of the birth of a child for some months to come. He grew moody and taciturn, and without speaking directly on the subject, gave Ragna to understand that her faulty diplomacy was to blame for their discomfort. This bewildered her, as she had even yet, no inkling of his real motive in marrying her.

She withdrew more and more into herself, realizing as time went on, how vain had been the hopes of a friendly comradeship on which she had founded her expectations of married life. Egidio no longer cared to talk with her about his work and his interests, and when she proposed a visit to his studio and a resumption of her lessons, he received the suggestion with such coldness and evident lack of pleasure, that she let the subject drop and never revived it again. He nearly always spent the evenings out now and when, by chance, he remained at home, his sour, forbidding expression and the aura of gloom that hung about him, effectually choked any conversation. Ragna felt a distinct relief in his absence for Carolina's cheery song rang out unreproved in the kitchen, little Egidio, or "Mimmo," as they called him, cooed and prattled in his crib--the whole household, in fact, seemed to stretch its cramped limbs and breathe freely, relieved of the oppressive presence of the master.