THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

child? His one desire is to get rid of you. No, no. You must disguise yourself. This is a trap."
"I refused to take your word last night, my dear," I said, "and should be sorry to do it again. If the sbirri want me they can take
me on a warrant."
"They have no warrant. They will get that afterwards. Do you think them so stupid? While they were getting their warrant you
might get clear away. Or suppose you appeared? The whole story might come out, and a number of fine people implicated.
And what of your English resident? And what of your Donna Aurelia, if you are not careful of yourself? Do you wish to get her
name abroad? No, no. In Tuscany we imprison a man first and get the warrant afterwards, if necessary. That is how they will
work, quietly, with decency—no conversations. They have been here since eight o'clock this morning, and the Piazza is quite
empty. They have seen to that, of course. If you look through the shutter you can see them. They are in no sort of hurry."
I did look, and saw that she was right. There were no people in the Piazza—at midday—but four men, who stood at intervals in
attitudes of detachment and irresponsibility far too pronounced to be real. The church was closed, most of the houses were
shuttered; all this was too remarkable not to have been arranged. Virginia and I looked at one another; but she watched me like
a cat, keeping guard over every movement of mine. One hand pressed her bosom, the other was stretched downwards—a
straight, tense line from shoulder to finger-tips.
"Virginia, listen to me," I began; a heedless invocation. Every fibre of her listened and watched. "If this is a trap, as I agree it is,
then you are the mouse. Nobody in Florence would care whether I have shot Fra Palamone, or he me. The count—taking him
as you take him—knows that I have no intentions but honest ones towards Donna Aurelia; taking him as I take him he will
defend me. No, my child, this is the marchese's affair. I can see that he has been after you from the time he saw you playing the
handsome lady at Prato. He thinks he has you, but I will show him that he is wrong. Let me once get you away, be assured of
your safety, and I shall open the door to the pleasure of these gentlemen. Father Carnesecchi—the count—oh, I have no fear of
Palamone's posthumous acts, I can assure you."
I spoke cheerfully, confidently, but Virginia was put into great agitation. She began to flit about the room like a moth, wringing
her hands and whimpering to herself.
"O Dio!" she fretted, "O Dio caro! What shall I do? Madonna, Madonna, Madonna, what will become of me?" She was quite
inarticulate, could only repeat her names, and wail, and beat herself into a fever. I went to comfort her, and then, as if some tie
were cut by the act, she turned upon me in a white tempest of fury, no longer a girl but a devil. "Do you dare?" she raved, "Do
you dare? Oh, but I could kill you now with my hands!" She took me by the shoulders and stared into my face, panting her
fierce breath upon me—blasts of breath as hot as fire. "Look at me, Francis, look at me, I say. You see the one person in the
world who loves you. You fool, you fool, with your Giraldis and Aurelias and Jesuit dogs—with your head in the air, and your
heart in your hand—to be thrown like soldi to these routing swine! Misery, ah, misery!" She flung her head sideways that she
should not look at me, and with her hands gripped my shoulders till I winced. She tossed her hair from her face and leapt into
the battle again, scolding, rating, praying like a mad thing. Her words came so fast that I cannot attempt their semblance here,
and her voice rose and fell in a kind of querulous chant to which sometimes she nodded her head, as if she was beating the time.
"Yes, I know, yes, I know—I will tell you the truth for once, and you shall kill Virginia with your own hands, and lay her on
your bed and go away and be a fool. Your Jesuit wants your money, and your count your mistress, and Palamone will take you
stripped of all and sell you to the Grand Duke. So you will kill your Virginia because she loves you, and love your Aurelia
because she does not, and all those others will trick you, and play with you, and suck you dry, and throw you away like the rind
of an orange. Ah, now you have the truth, and now you will kill me. Kill, kill, Francis!"
She had a fit of shivering which made her teeth chatter together and her breath draw in with a moaning most piteous to hear.
She showed the whites of her eyes, swayed about, was on the point of falling, when all of a sudden she came to herself again,
caught me in her arms, pressed her bosom against me, kissed me on the lips—kissed until I felt her teeth—then sprang from me,
and before I could stop her was out of the room, and half way downstairs. Half divining her purpose, I flew to get her back, but
was too late. I heard the street door open and shut. She was in the Piazza.
My landlord—he was a notary by trade, and by name Ser Torpe—was dismayed to see me in bedgown and slippers. "Never
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