"Touched!" cried Veronica, at the same instant.

He said nothing. Then, a second later, she uttered a sharp cry of horror, dropped her foil upon the floor and raising her mask stared at him with wild, white face. Not heeding what she did, she had taken the sharp foil by mistake. It was dark in the corner where the chest stood.

"It is nothing," he said. "It is nothing, I a.s.sure you."

"What is the matter?" asked Gianluca, in astonishment, for he could not see that the foil had no b.u.t.ton.

But Veronica did not answer him. She was close to Taquisara now, clutching his arm with both hands and staring at the wire mask which covered his face.

"You are hurt! I know you are hurt!" she said, in a voice faint with fear.

"Oh no!" he answered, with a short laugh. "I was a little surprised.

Take another foil. It is nothing, I a.s.sure you."

"I know you are hurt," she repeated. "Oh G.o.d! I might have killed you--"

She felt dizzy, and sick with horror, and she clung to his arm, now, for support.

"Do you mean to say that you had the sharp foil?" asked Gianluca, beginning to understand.

"It is nothing at all," said Taquisara. "It ran through my jacket, just under the arm. It did not touch me."

"It might have run through you," said Gianluca, gravely. "It might have killed you."

"Oh--please--please--" cried Veronica, still clinging to Taquisara's arm and turning her pale face to Gianluca.

He looked on, and his face changed. There was something in her att.i.tude, just for a few seconds, in her ghastly pallor, in the tones of her voice, that went through Gianluca like a knife. The dreadful instinctive certainty that she loved the man she had so nearly killed, took possession of him in a dark prevision of terror. Veronica was strong and brave, but it would have been strange indeed if she had shown nothing of what she felt.

It did not last long, and perhaps she knew what she had shown, for she dropped Taquisara's arm, and the colour rushed to her face as she stooped and picked up the foil with the green hilt. The hilts of the others were blue, like those of many Neapolitan foils, and in the lamp-light she could hardly distinguish the difference.

With sudden anger Veronica set her foot upon the steel and bent it up, trying to break it. She could not, for it was of soft temper, but she bent it out of all shape, so as to be useless.

She forced herself to take another, and they fenced again for a few minutes. Gianluca watched them at first, but soon his head fell back, and he stared at the ceiling. Death had entered into his soul. He had guessed half the truth. But in the state in which he was on that evening, and after what had pa.s.sed between him and Veronica, the suspicion alone would have been enough. Nothing could have saved him from it, since it was indeed the truth. Such pa.s.sionate, strong love could only hide itself so long as it lived in the even, unchanging light of monotonous days. In the flash of a danger, a terror, a violent chance, its shape stood out for an instant and was not to be mistaken.

Gianluca scarcely spoke again on that evening. The next morning, before he left his own room, Taquisara was with him, walking up and down and smoking while Gianluca drank his coffee. They had been discussing the accident of the previous evening, and Taquisara had laughed over it. But Gianluca was sad and grave.

"I wish to ask you a question," he said, after a short silence. "When I fainted, that day--did Don Teodoro p.r.o.nounce all the proper words? You must have heard him. Was it a real marriage, without any defect of form?"

Taquisara stopped in his walk and hesitated. After all, since Don Teodoro had written to him that the marriage must be performed again, it was much better that Gianluca should be prepared for it, since he himself had put the question.

"Since you ask me," answered Taquisara, after a moment's thought, "I may as well tell you what I know. After it was done, both Don Teodoro and I had doubts as to whether the marriage were perfectly valid, and he determined to consult a bishop. I suppose that he has done so, for he has written to me about it. He says that the ecclesiastical authority before whom the matter was laid declares that there were informalities, and that you must be married again. You see, in the first place, there were no banns published in church, and there was no permission from the bishop to omit publishing them. But, of course, that might be set aside.

I fancy that the real trouble may have been that you were unconscious.

At all events, it is a very simple matter to be married again."

"In other words, it is no marriage at all. I thought so--I thought so."

Gianluca repeated the words slowly and sadly.

"What does it matter?" asked Taquisara, turning away and walking again.

"It is a question of five minutes. I should think that you would be glad--"

"Yes--perhaps I am glad," said Gianluca, so low that the words were scarcely an interruption.

"Because you can be married in your full senses," continued Taquisara, bravely, "with your father and mother beside you, and all the rest of it."

Gianluca said nothing to this, and again there was a short silence. Just as Taquisara came to the table in his walk, Gianluca spoke again.

"Stop a moment," he said. "Look at me, Taquisara. If you were in my place, what would you do?"

Their eyes met, and Gianluca saw the quick effort of the other's features, controlling themselves, as though he had been struck unawares.

"I?" exclaimed Taquisara, taken entirely off his guard. "If I were in your place? Why--" he recovered himself--"I should get married again, as soon as possible, of course. What else should any one do?"

But the bold eyes for once looked down a little, their steadiness broken.

"You would do nothing of the sort," said Gianluca.

"What do you mean?" Again Taquisara started almost imperceptibly, and his brows contracted as he looked up sharply.

"If you were in my place," said Gianluca, "you would cut your throat rather than ruin the life of the woman you loved, by tying your misery to her for life, a load for her to carry."

"Do not say such things!" exclaimed the Sicilian, turning suddenly from the table and resuming his walk. "You are mad!"

"No--not mad. But not cowardly either. There is not much left of me, but what there is shall not be afraid. I am not truly married to her. I will not be. I will not die with that on my soul."

"Gianluca--for G.o.d's sake do not say such things!" Taquisara turned upon him, staring.

He sat in his deep chair, his fair angel head thrown back, the dark blue eyes bright, brave, and daring--all the rest, dead.

"I say them, and I mean them," he answered. "I love her very much. I love her enough for that. I love her more than you do."

"Than I?" Taquisara's voice almost broke, as the blow struck him, but there was no fear in his eyes either. He drew a breath then, and spoke strong words. "Now may Christ forget me in the hour of death, if I have not been true to you!"

"And me and mine if I blast your life and hers," came back the unflinching answer.

A deep silence fell upon them both. At last Gianluca spoke again, and his voice sank to another tone.

"She loves you, too," he said.

"Loves me?" cried Taquisara, his brows suddenly close bent. "Oh no!

Unsay that, or--no--Gianluca--how dare you even dream the right to say that of your wife?"

It was beyond his strength to bear.

"She is not my wife," said Gianluca. "You have told me so--she is not my wife. She has done what no other living woman could have done, to be my wife and to love me. But she is not my wife, and what I say is true, and right as well, your right and hers.

"No--not that--not hers." Taquisara turned half round, against the table, where he stood, and his voice was low and broken.

"Yes, hers. You will know it soon--when I have taken my love to my grave, and left her yours on earth."