The Honour of Savelli Part 34

"Not so fast, chevalier. I must leave my charge at the convent first."

He had to rest satisfied with this, but I was surprised that he made no inquiry as to the condition of Angiola, an ordinary civility that might have been expected.

At the gates of the convent, within which we were not allowed to enter, we were met by the lady abbess and her train. I dismounted, intending to a.s.sist Angiola out of the litter, but as it was set down, she sprang out of it of her own accord, and the next minute she was in the arms of the abbess, and there was much kissing and many congratulations, mingled with tears of joy.

I did not stay to receive the thanks I saw would shortly be showered on me, and thrusting a handful of crowns into the hands of the leader of the good fellows who bore the litter, as some reward for himself and his men, I looped Castor's reins into my arm, and set forward to walk to the villa. The chevalier came with me, and by the time I reached it I was quite giddy, being weak with the pain and the loss of blood. The saturnine old abbe was there, with more concern in his face than I had seen for a long time, and seeing me stagger, he put an arm round me and, aided by St. Armande, a.s.sisted me to a couch. The chevalier himself dressed my wound, with a gentle and skilful hand, making as much of me as if I had been run through the vitals. As he finished dressing the wound, the abbe remarked that I would have to rest for a few days to enable it to heal, and I had replied with some difficulty, my jaw being bandaged up, that this was impossible, when Gian came in with a note. It was from Angiola, chiding me gently for not waiting to receive her thanks and those of the abbess, and begging me to come the following day, with a postscript to the effect that the lady abbess would so far relax the rules of the order, as to admit me within the courtyard. I dismissed Gian with thanks, and a message that I would be at the convent, charging him to say nothing of my wound, and then my thoughts went a wool-gathering, and I lay back with the missive in my hands. St. Armande was leaning against the window, his back to the light. He had taken up this position after whispering a word or two to the abbe, who left the room. I did not, however, observe him or anything else, my mind was full of mad thoughts, and for the moment I let them have full play, making no effort to resist.

Folding the letter up carefully, I placed it under my pillow, and was about to close my eyes, when the abbe returned, bearing a bowl in his hands. This St. Armande took from him, and approaching me said--

"Come, cavaliere--you must drink this at once."

His tone was sharp and incisive, and looking up in some surprise, I saw he was pale to the lips, and wondered what bee had stung him. I rose to a sitting posture to take the cup; but he would not have it so, and pa.s.sing his arm round my neck, made me drink like a child. The draught was cool and refres.h.i.+ng, and as I sank back on my pillows, my heart for a moment being gay at the thought of the letter, I said jestingly--

"Chevalier, you would make a most excellent nurse. Shave off that little moustache of yours, put on a black hood and gown, and _diavolo!_ But you would break as many hearts as you cured wounds."

The words were barely out of my mouth, when he brought his foot down with an angry stamp on the carpet, and with a face as scarlet now as it had been pale before, turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

I looked to the abbe, who was sitting watching me, stroking his chin with his hand.

"St. John! But is he often taken this way?"

The cleric rose, and not answering my question, spoke.

"You had better try and sleep now, cavaliere, or else the potion may lose its effect." He then followed St. Armande.

I would have risen to apologise, but I felt a pleasant numbness stealing over me, and in a minute or so my thoughts began to grow confused, and I seemed to sink into a sleep. Not so profound a slumber, however, as to be unconscious of what was going on around me.

I was sure I once heard Bande Nere and Jacopo in my room, and that I was being carried apparently to a more comfortable bed. Then I felt soft hands bathing my wound, and heard a gentle voice whispering words of deep love in my ear. It was a dream, of course, but all through the night that soon came, Doris d'Entrangues hung over me, and tended me with words I cannot repeat.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE PAVILION OF TREMOUILLE.

When I awoke the next morning, my head was still dazed, but I was otherwise strong. At least, I felt so, as I lay still in my bed, all sense of fatigue gone, and trying to collect my thoughts. After a little, I glanced round the chamber, which was not the room where I had taken the potion, but another and a larger apartment. It was no fancy then, the voices of Jacopo and Bande Nere I heard and the sensation of being lifted and moved, which I experienced in the night.

My removal was doubtless effected whilst I was under the influence of the drug; but the voice of madame? The almost certainty that she was by me through the hours of the night? I could not account for this, and seeing any such effort was useless, ceased to rack my brain on the subject, putting it down to a mad dream. For some while I lay mustering up courage to rise, fanned by the mild breeze, which played in from the open window on my right. Outside I could see the branches of the trees, as they swayed to and fro in the wind, and the joyous song of a mavis trilled out sweetly through the morning, from the thorn bushes whence he piped. In about a half hour my head began to grow clearer, I remembered Angiola's letter, and thrust my hand under the pillow to find it. Of course it was not there, as I had been moved, and a short exclamation of annoyance broke from me.

"Excellency!"

It was Jacopo's voice, and the good fellow, who had evidently been watching me, came forward from behind the head of the bed.

"Ah, Jacopo! Is it you? Here, help me to rise."

"Signore--but is your wors.h.i.+p able--the chevalier----"

"Never mind the chevalier. I am as well as ever, and there was no need of that to-do yesterday--_diavolo!_" and a twinge in my face brought me up sharply, and recalled Pluto's claws. I put my hand up to my face, and found I was still bandaged.

"It was lucky he only touched your wors.h.i.+p."

"Luckier still your being there with your arquebus, else. St. Peter and I had surely shaken hands--there--thanks--I will sit here for a few minutes," and I sank into an easy chair, being really weaker than I thought I was, the effects more of the narcotic than anything else.

"Will your wors.h.i.+p breakfast here?"

"No--but before doing anything, go to the room where I was last evening, and bring me the letter you will find under the cus.h.i.+ons of the couch there."

"Excellency!" and Jacopo left the room.

I now for the first time observed a bouquet of red and white roses, whose fragrance filled the chamber. I had been conscious of their perfume before, but thought the scent was borne in by the breeze from the garden outside. Whilst I was admiring the flowers, Jacopo returned.

"The letter."

"Is not there, signore, I have searched carefully."

It was a disappointment, but I said nothing, having determined to see for myself. As Jacopo a.s.sisted me to dress, I enquired to whom I was indebted for the flowers.

"I cannot say, excellency; they were here when I came this morning.

Possibly the Signor de St. Armande, who was with your wors.h.i.+p all night."

"All night!"

"Signore."

I could not help being touched by this proof of devotion, and when I had dressed went down, with the intention of finding my letter, and thanking the chevalier for his kindness. I was, I saw, still a little weak, but a few hours' rest would make me fit for action, and I could not help thinking I had been made much over, on too small an occasion.

St. Armande was in the room where I had left the letter, and at the first glance I saw he was haggard and worn, with dark circles under his eyes, eyes which many a beauty would have been proud to own. He seemed so slim, so small and delicate, as he came to meet me, that my heart began to misgive me again, as to his powers to endure the labour involved in the difficult adventure we had before us. He was much concerned at my having risen, made many enquiries about my condition, and put aside my thanks.

"_Per Bacco!_ chevalier," I said, "you look more of an invalid than I.

I fear me, I shall have to be nurse in my turn."

"It is but a touch of the megrims, I have; but you must not think of doing anything for a week."

"Or a month, or a year," I gibed, as I turned over the cus.h.i.+ons of the couch, and in answer to St. Armande's enquiring look, went on, "The letter I received yesterday--I am certain I left it here."

He came forward to help me, but with no avail.

"It must have been blown away," he said.

"But I put it under the cus.h.i.+ons!"

"True--but you forget you were moved, and the things were s.h.i.+fted.

Come to breakfast now, and I will have a thorough search made afterwards."

"Not yet; I will but step over to the convent, and enquire after the Lady Angiola----"

"What! With a bandaged face?"

"It is a wound," I answered coldly, and turning, went out of the villa. My lackey ran forward to enquire if a horse should be made ready; but thinking the walk would do me good, I declined. I was right in this, the fresh, air acted as a tonic, and when I reached the gates of the convent, all the giddiness had pa.s.sed. There, to my dismay, I heard that Angiola was unable to leave her room, a thing I might have expected, and sending a civil message I retraced my steps, entering the villa by a side gate, and walking towards it through a deserted portion of the garden. I went leisurely, stopping every now and again to admire the flowers and the trees. In one of these rests, whilst I idly gazed about me, my eye was arrested by a number of fragments of paper, that lay on the green turf at my feet. Yielding to an impulse I could not control, I stopped and picked up one of the pieces, and saw in a moment it was a piece of Angiola's letter to me. I lost no time in collecting the remaining bits of the paper, and carefully placed them in my vest pocket. Then I retraced my steps to the villa.

As we sat down to breakfast, the chevalier explained that he had made a further search for the letter, but in vain.