After Dark

  CHAPTER I.

  Even the master-stroke of replacing the treacherous Italian forewoman bya French dressmaker, engaged direct from Paris, did not at first availto elevate the great Grifoni establishment above the reach of minorcalamities. Mademoiselle Virginie had not occupied her new situationat Pisa quite a week before she fell ill. All sorts of reports werecirculated as to the cause of this illness; and the Demoiselle Grifonieven went so far as to suggest that the health of the new forewoman hadfallen a sacrifice to some nefarious practices of the chemical sort, onthe part of her rival in the trade. But, however the misfortune had beenproduced, it was a fact that Mademoiselle Virginie was certainly veryill, and another fact that the doctor insisted on her being sent to thebaths of Lucca as soon as she could be moved from her bed.

  Fortunately for the Demoiselle Grifoni, the Frenchwoman had succeeded inproducing three specimens of her art before her health broke down. Theycomprised the evening-dress of yellow brocaded silk, to which she haddevoted herself on the morning when she first assumed her dutiesat Pisa; a black cloak and hood of an entirely new shape; and anirresistibly fascinating dressing-gown, said to have been first broughtinto fashion by the princesses of the blood-royal of France. Thesearticles of costume, on being exhibited in the showroom, electrified theladies of Pisa; and orders from all sides flowed in immediately on theGrifoni establishment. They were, of course, easily executed by theinferior work-women, from the specimen designs of the French dressmaker.So that the illness of Mademoiselle Virginie, though it might cause hermistress some temporary inconvenience, was, after all, productive of noabsolute loss.

  Two months at the baths of Lucca restored the new forewoman to health.She returned to Pisa, and resumed her place in the private work-room.Once re-established there, she discovered that an important change hadtaken place during her absence. Her friend and assistant, Brigida, hadresigned her situation. All inquiries made of the Demoiselle Grifonionly elicited one answer: the missing work-woman had abruptly left herplace at five minutes' warning, and had departed without confiding toany one what she thought of doing, or whither she intended to turn hersteps.

  Months elapsed The new year came; but no explanatory letter arrived fromBrigida. The spring season passed off, with all its accompaniments ofdressmaking and dress-buying, but still there was no news of her.The first anniversary of Mademoiselle Virginie's engagement with theDemoiselle Grifoni came round; and then at last a note arrived, statingthat Brigida had returned to Pisa, and that if the French forewomanwould send an answer, mentioning where her private lodgings were,she would visit her old friend that evening after business hours. Theinformation was gladly enough given; and, punctually to the appointedtime, Brigida arrived in Mademoiselle Virginie's little sitting-room.

  Advancing with her usual indolent stateliness of gait, the Italian askedafter her friend's health as coolly, and sat down in the nearest chairas carelessly, as if they had not been separated for more than a fewdays. Mademoiselle Virginie laughed in her liveliest manner, and raisedher mobile French eyebrows in sprightly astonishment.

  "Well, Brigida!" she exclaimed, "they certainly did you no injusticewhen they nicknamed you 'Care-for-Nothing,' in old Grifoni's workroom.Where have you been? Why have you never written to me?"

  "I had nothing particular to write about; and besides, I always intendedto come back to Pisa and see you," answered Brigida, leaning backluxuriously in her chair.

  "But where have you been for nearly a whole year past? In Italy?"

  "No; at Paris. You know I can sing--not very well; but I have a voice,and most Frenchwomen (excuse the impertinence) have none. I met with afriend, and got introduced to a manager; and I have been singing at thetheater--not the great parts, only the second. Your amiable countrywomencould not screech me down on the stage, but they intrigued against mesuccessfully behind the scenes. In short, I quarreled with our principallady, quarreled with the manager, quarreled with my friend; and here Iam back at Pisa, with a little money saved in my pocket, and no greatnotion what I am to do next."

  "Back at Pisa? Why did you leave it?"

  Brigida's eyes began to lose their indolent expression. She sat upsuddenly in her chair, and set one of her hands heavily on a littletable by her side.

  "Why?" she repeated. "Because when I find the game going against me, Iprefer giving it up at once to waiting to be beaten."

  "Ah! you refer to that last year's project of yours for making yourfortune among the sculptors. I should like to hear how it was you failedwith the wealthy young amateur. Remember that I fell ill before youhad any news to give me. Your absence when I returned from Lucca, and,almost immediately afterward, the marriage of your intended conquestto the sculptor's daughter, proved to me, of course, that you must havefailed. But I never heard how. I know nothing at this moment but thebare fact that Maddalena Lomi won the prize."

  "Tell me first, do she and her husband live together happily?"

  "There are no stories of their disagreeing. She has dresses, horses,carriages; a negro page, the smallest lap-dog in Italy--in short, allthe luxuries that a woman can want; and a child, by-the-by, into thebargain."

  "A child?"

  "Yes; a child, born little more than a week ago."

  "Not a boy, I hope?"

  "No; a girl."

  "I am glad of that. Those rich people always want the first-born to bean heir. They will both be disappointed. I am glad of that."

  "Mercy on us, Brigida, how fierce you look!"

  "Do I? It's likely enough. I hate Fabio d'Ascoli and MaddalenaLomi--singly as man and woman, doubly as man and wife. Stop! I'll tellyou what you want to know directly. Only answer me another question ortwo first. Have you heard anything about her health?"

  "How should I hear? Dressmakers can't inquire at the doors of thenobility."

  "True. Now one last question. That little simpleton, Nanina?"

  "I have never seen or heard anything of her. She can't be at Pisa, orshe would have called at our place for work."

  "Ah! I need not have asked about her if I had thought a momentbeforehand. Father Rocco would be sure to keep her out of Fabio's sight,for his niece's sake."

  "What, he really loved that 'thread-paper of a girl' as you called her?"

  "Better than fifty such wives as he has got now! I was in the studio themorning he was told of her departure from Pisa. A letter was privatelygiven to him, telling him that the girl had left the place out of afeeling of honor, and had hidden herself beyond the possibility ofdiscovery, to prevent him from compromising himself with all his friendsby marrying her. Naturally enough, he would not believe that this washer own doing; and, naturally enough also, when Father Rocco was sentfor, and was not to be found, he suspected the priest of being at thebottom of the business. I never saw a man in such a fury of despairand rage before. He swore that he would have all Italy searched for thegirl, that he would be the death of the priest, and that he would neverenter Luca Lomi's studio again--"

  "And, as to this last particular, of course, being a man, he failed tokeep his word?"

  "Of course. At that first visit of mine to the studio I discovered twothings. The first, as I said, that Fabio was really in love with thegirl--the second, that Maddalena Lomi was really in love with him. Youmay suppose I looked at her attentively while the disturbance was goingon, and while nobody's notice was directed on me. All women are vain,I know, but vanity never blinded my eyes. I saw directly that I had butone superiority over her--my figure. She was my height, but not wellmade. She had hair as dark and as glossy as mine; eyes as bright andas black as mine; and the rest of her face better than mine. My nose iscoarse, my lips are too thick, and my upper lip overhangs my under toofar. She had none of those personal faults; and, as for capacity, shemanaged the young fool in his passion as well as I could have managedhim in her place."

  "How?"

  "She stood silent, with downcast eyes and a distressed look, all thetime he was raving up and down the studio. She must have hated the girl,and b
een rejoiced at her disappearance; but she never showed it. 'Youwould be an awkward rival' (I thought to myself), 'even to a handsomerwoman than I am.' However, I determined not to despair too soon, andmade up my mind to follow my plan just as if the accident of the girl'sdisappearance had never occurred. I smoothed down the master-sculptoreasily enough--flattering him about his reputation, assuring him thatthe works of Luca Lomi had been the objects of my adoration sincechildhood, telling him that I had heard of his difficulty in finding amodel to complete his Minerva from, and offering myself (if he thoughtme worthy) for the honor--laying great stress on that word--for thehonor of sitting to him. I don't know whether he was altogether deceivedby what I told him; but he was sharp enough to see that I really couldbe of use, and he accepted my offer with a profusion of compliments.We parted, having arranged that I was to give him a first sitting in aweek's time."

  "Why put it off so long?"

  "To allow our young gentleman time to cool down and return to thestudio, to be sure. What was the use of my being there while he wasaway?"

  "Yes, yes--I forgot. And how long was it before he came back?"

  "I had allowed him more time than enough. When I had given my firstsitting I saw him in the studio, and heard it was his second visit theresince the day of the girl's disappearance. Those very violent men arealways changeable and irresolute."

  "Had he made no attempt, then, to discover Nanina?"

  "Oh, yes! He had searched for her himself, and had set others searchingfor her, but to no purpose. Four days of perpetual disappointment hadbeen enough to bring him to his senses. Luca Lomi had written him apeace-making letter, asking what harm he or his daughter had done, evensupposing Father Rocco was to blame. Maddalena Lomi had met him in thestreet, and had looked resignedly away from him, as if she expected himto pass her. In short, they had awakened his sense of justice and hisgood nature (you see, I can impartially give him his due), and theyhad got him back. He was silent and sentimental enough at first, andshockingly sulky and savage with the priest--"

  "I wonder Father Rocco ventured within his reach."

  "Father Rocco is not a man to be daunted or defeated by anybody, Ican tell you. The same day on which Fabio came back to the studio, hereturned to it. Beyond boldly declaring that he thought Nanina had donequite right, and had acted like a good and virtuous girl, he would saynothing about her or her disappearance. It was quite useless to ask himquestions--he denied that any one had a right to put them. Threatening,entreating, flattering--all modes of appeal were thrown away on him.Ah, my dear! depend upon it, the cleverest and politest man in Pisa,the most dangerous to an enemy and the most delightful to a friend, isFather Rocco. The rest of them, when I began to play my cards a littletoo openly, behaved with brutal rudeness to me. Father Rocco, fromfirst to last, treated me like a lady. Sincere or not, I don't care--hetreated me like a lady when the others treated me like--"

  "There! there! don't get hot about it now. Tell me instead how youmade your first approaches to the young gentleman whom you talk of socontemptuously as Fabio."

  "As it turned out, in the worst possible way. First, of course, I madesure of interesting him in me by telling him that I had known Nanina. Sofar it was all well enough. My next object was to persuade him that shecould never have gone away if she had truly loved him alone; and that hemust have had some fortunate rival in her own rank of life, to whom shehad sacrificed him, after gratifying her vanity for a time by bringinga young nobleman to her feet. I had, as you will easily imagine,difficulty enough in making him take this view of Nanina's flight. Hispride and his love for the girl were both concerned in refusing to admitthe truth of my suggestion. At last I succeeded. I brought him tothat state of ruffled vanity and fretful self-assertion in which it iseasiest to work on a man's feelings--in which a man's own wounded pridemakes the best pitfall to catch him in. I brought him, I say, to thatstate, and then _she_ stepped in and profited by what I had done. Is itwonderful now that I rejoice in her disappointments--that I should beglad to hear any ill thing of her that any one could tell me?"

  "But how did she first get the advantage of you?"

  "If I had found out, she would never have succeeded where I failed. AllI know is, that she had more opportunities of seeing him than I, andthat she used them cunningly enough even to deceive me. While I thoughtI was gaining ground with Fabio, I was actually losing it. My firstsuspicions were excited by a change in Luca Lomi's conduct toward me.He grew cold, neglectful--at last absolutely rude. I was resolved notto see this; but accident soon obliged me to open my eyes. One morningI heard Fabio and Maddalena talking of me when they imagined I had leftthe studio. I can't repeat their words, especially here. The blood fliesinto my head, and the cold catches me at the heart, when I only thinkof them. It will be enough if I tell you that he laughed at me, and thatshe--"

  "Hush! not so loud. There are other people lodging in the house. Nevermind about telling me what you heard; it only irritates you to nopurpose. I can guess that they had discovered--"

  "Through her--remember, all through her!"

  "Yes, yes, I understand. They had discovered a great deal more than youever intended them to know, and all through her."

  "But for the priest, Virginie, I should have been openly insulted anddriven from their doors. He had insisted on their behaving with decentcivility toward me. They said that he was afraid of me, and laughedat the notion of his trying to make them afraid too. That was the lastthing I heard. The fury I was in, and the necessity of keeping it down,almost suffocated me. I turned round to leave the place forever, when,who should I see, standing close behind me, but Father Rocco. He musthave discovered in my face that I knew all, but he took no notice ofit. He only asked, in his usual quiet, polite way, if I was looking foranything I had lost, and if he could help me. I managed to thank him,and to get to the door. He opened it for me respectfully, and bowed--hetreated me like a lady to the last! It was evening when I left thestudio in that way. The next morning I threw up my situation, and turnedmy back on Pisa. Now you know everything."

  "Did you hear of the marriage? or did you only assume from what you knewthat it would take place?"

  "I heard of it about six months ago. A man came to sing in the chorus atour theater who had been employed some time before at the grand concertgiven on the occasion of the marriage. But let us drop the subject now.I am in a fever already with talking of it. You are in a bad situationhere, my dear; I declare your room is almost stifling."

  "Shall I open the other window?"

  "No; let us go out and get a breath of air by the river-side. Come! takeyour hood and fan--it is getting dark--nobody will see us, and we cancome back here, if you like, in half an hour."

  Mademoiselle Virginie acceded to her friend's wish rather reluctantly.They walked toward the river. The sun was down, and the sudden night ofItaly was gathering fast. Although Brigida did not say another word onthe subject of Fabio or his wife, she led the way to the bank of theArno, on which the young nobleman's palace stood.

  Just as they got near the great door of entrance, a sedan-chair,approaching in the opposite direction, was set down before it; anda footman, after a moment's conference with a lady inside the chair,advanced to the porter's lodge in the courtyard. Leaving her friendto go on, Brigida slipped in after the servant by the open wicket, andconcealed herself in the shadow cast by the great closed gates.

  "The Marchesa Melani, to inquire how the Countess d'Ascoli and theinfant are this evening," said the footman.

  "My mistress has not changed at all for the better since the morning,"answered the porter. "The child is doing quite well."

  The footman went back to the sedan-chair; then returned to the porter'slodge.

  "The marchesa desires me to ask if fresh medical advice has been sentfor," he said.

  "Another doctor has arrived from Florence to-day," replied the porter.

  Mademoiselle Virginie, missing her friend suddenly, turned back towardthe palace to look after her, and was rathe
r surprised to see Brigidaslip out of the wicket-gate. There were two oil lamps burning on pillarsoutside the doorway, and their light glancing on the Italian's face, asshe passed under them, showed that she was smiling.