THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

The fair Aurelia was flushed and disarrayed. Her hair was half uncoiled, her bodice undone. She lay, or rather reclined, upon a
garden seat; one hand was clapped to her side, one hand guarded her bosom. The count, who had his back to me, was upon
one knee before her. He was, or had been, eloquent. At the moment of my appearance he had finished his period, and still
trembled with the passion of it. For the cynic philosopher he professed to be, he was, at the moment, singularly without relish of
the humours of his position.
Coming upon all this, I stopped suddenly short. Aurelia saw me, and uttered a cry. At the same instant her hands were busy
with her dress. The count, on his feet in a moment, turned his head, started violently, then controlled himself, and advanced to
meet me, whom he had once called his friend.
"My dear Don Francis," he said briskly, "let me be one of the first to welcome you. I had heard of your arrival only to-day—
indeed, I came here to prepare Donna Aurelia for a pleasant surprise. I believe I was being eloquent on your account at this
moment. You may have overheard me—if I was too partial, blame my esteem."
I scarcely heard him, and was perhaps barely civil. I went past him, hat in hand, towards the lady. I saluted her profoundly.
"Madam," I said, "my intrusion is pure accident. I was told that your ladyship was in the house. Ten thousand pardons that I
come unannounced before you—unwelcome I must needs be, unworthy of your clemency—since we parted unhappily. Forgive
me, I beseech you." I then offered the count my hand.
"Oh, Signor Francesco," says Aurelia in a twitter, "I am glad to see you again." She was tremulous, beautiful; she had her old
wayward, ardent ways, her childish bloom and roundness had not left her, nor her sumptuousness, nor her allure—and yet I
could look calmly into her face and know that she had no charm left for me.
"Madam," I said, "since you showed me so plainly that my company was not to your taste, I have no right to be here. My fault
—my old fault—is so clearly before me that I should not have dared commit another. If I may once more ask your pardon——
"
"Oh, my pardon!" cried she, faltering. "Why, what harm have you done me now, pray?"
"Madam," says the count, "my young friend's fault is a very natural one. If he is a sinner, what must your ladyship be? For if it is
sinful to love, is it not worse to inspire it?" The lady made no reply at this gallant diversion.
The position was very awkward. I could not speak as I felt, or as I ought to feel; the count would not, and Donna Aurelia was
on the verge of tears. Obviously I must retire.
"Madam," I said, "I intruded upon you by misfortune, and may not trespass. I beg my service to the learned judge, my
profoundest respect to your ladyship. The young man who once showed himself unworthy to be at your feet may now stand
upon his own. Don Francis has offended Donna Aurelia——"
"Oh, no, no, no!" said Aurelia in distress. "Oh, Checho, don't leave me."
I came off my stilts, for I saw that she was unhappy.
"Can I serve you?" I asked her. "Can I be so honoured?"
"Yes, yes," she said brokenly, "stay with me. I need you—stay." Count Giraldi took a step forward.
"Madam," he said, "I salute your ladyship's hand, and shall do myself the honour to wait upon you upon a less urgent occasion.
Don Francis, your humble servant—to meet again, no doubt."
He bowed himself away, and left me alone with Aurelia.
For some time neither of us spoke. She sat pensive, with signs of distress—storm signals—still displayed; she was very
nervous, looking at her fingers at play in her lap. I stood up beside her, not knowing, in truth, what in the world she wanted with
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