The Sword of Damocles Part 37

She was speaking aloud to herself, this Florentine maiden who had outstripped her lover in the garden, but the tone was the same he had heard beside his own hearthstone, and the archness that accompanied it had frequently met and encouraged some cheerful expression of his own.

These are the words she uttered. Listen with him to the _nave_, half tender, half pettish voice, and mark with his eyes the alternate lights and shadows that flit across her cheek as she broodingly murmurs:

He is certainly a most notable gallant. His "Good day, lady!"

and his "Good even to you!" are flavored with the cream of perfectest courtesy. But gallantry while it sits well upon a man, does not make him one, any more than a feather makes the cap it adorns. For a Tuscan he hath also a certain comeliness, but then I have ever sworn, in good faith too, that I would not marry a Tuscan, were he the best made man in Italy. Then there is his glance, which proclaims to all men's understandings that he loves me, which same seems overbold; but then his smile!

Well, for a smile it certainly does credit to his wit, but one cannot live upon smiles; though if one could, one might consent to make a trial of his--and starve belike for her pains. (_She drops her cheek into her hand and stands musing._)

Mr. Sylvester drew a deep breath and let his eyes fall, when suddenly a hum ran through the audience about him, and looking quickly up, he beheld Mr. Ensign dressed in full cavalier costume, standing behind the musing maiden with a half merry, half tender gleam upon his face, that made the thickly beating heart of his rival shrink as if clutched in an iron vise. What followed, he heard as we do the words of a sentence read to us from the judge's seat. The cavalier spoke first and a thousand dancing colors seemed to flash in the merry banter that followed.

_Martino._--She muses, and on no other than myself, as I am ready to swear by that coy and tremulous glance. I will move her to avow it. (_Advances._) Fair lady, greeting! A kiss for your sweet thoughts.

_Nita._ (_With a start_).--A kiss, Signior Martino? You must acknowledge that were but a sorry exchange for thoughts like mine, so if it please you, I will keep my thoughts and you your kiss; and lest it should seem ungracious in me to give nothing upon your asking, I will bestow upon you my most choice good day, and so leave you to your meditations. (_Curtseys and is about to depart._)

_Martino._--You have the true generosity, lady; you give away what it costs you the dearest to part from. Nay, rumple not your lip; it is the truth for all your pretty poutings!

Convince me it is not.

_Nita._--Your pardon, but that would take words, and words would take time, and time given to one of your persuasion would refute all my arguments on the face of them. (_Still retreating._)

_Martino._--Well, lady, since it is your pleasure to be consistent, rather than happy, adieu. Had you stayed but as long as the bee pauses on an oleander blossom, you would have heard--

_Nita._--Buzzing, signior?

_Martino._--Yes, if by that word you would denominate vows of constancy and devotion. For I do greatly love you, and would tell you so.

_Nita._--And for that you expect me to linger! as though vows were new to my ears, and words of love as strange to my understanding as tropical birds to the eyes of a Norseman.

_Martino._--If you do love me, you will linger.

_Nita._--Yet if I do, (_Slowly advancing_) be a.s.sured it is from some other motive than love.

_Martino._--So it be not from hate I am contented.

_Nita._--To be contented with little, proves you a man of much virtue.

_Martino._--When I have you, I am contented with much.

_Nita._--That _when_ is a wise insertion, signior; it saves you from shame and me from anger.--Hark! some one calls.

_Martino._--None other but the wind; it is a kindly breeze, and grieves to hear how harsh a pretty maiden can be to the lover who adores her.

_Nita._--Please your wors.h.i.+p, I do not own a lover.

_Martino._--Then mend your poverty, and accept one.

_Nita._--I am no beggar to accept of alms.

_Martino._--In this case, he who offers is the beggar.

_Nita._--I am too young to wear a jewel of so much pretension.

_Martino._--Time is a cure for youth, and marriage a happy speeder of time.

_Nita._--But youth needs no cure, and if marriage speedeth time, I'll live a maid and die one. The days run swift enough without goading, Signior Martino.

_Martino._--But lady--

_Nita._.--Nay, your tongue will outstrip time, if you put not a curb upon it. In faith, signior, I would not seem rude, but if in your courtesy you would consent to woo some other maiden to-day, why I would strive and bear it.

_Martino._--When I stoop to woo any other lady than thee, the moon shall hide its face from the earth, and s.h.i.+ne upon it no more.

_Nita._--Your thoughts are daring in their flight to-day.

_Martino._--They are in search of your love.

_Nita._--Alack, your wings will fail.

_Martino._--Ay, when they reach their goal.

_Nita._--Dost think to reach it?

_Martino._--Shall I not, lady?

_Nita._--'Tis hard to believe it possible, yet who can tell?

You are not so handsome, signior, that one would die for you.

_Martino._--No, lady; but what goes to make other men's faces fair, goes to make my heart great. The virtue of my manhood rests in the fact that I love you.

_Nita._--Faith! so in some others. 'Tis the common fault of the gallants, I find. If that is all--

_Martino._--But I will always love you, even unto death.

_Nita._--I doubt it not, so death come soon enough.

_Martino._ (_Taps his poiniard with his hand._)--Would you have it come now, and so prove me true to my word?

_Nita._ (_Demurely_).--I am no judge, to utter the doom that your presumption merits.

_Martino._--Your looks speak doom, and your sweet lips hide a sword keener than that of justice.

_Nita._--Have you tried them, signior, that you speak so knowingly concerning them? (_Retreating._) Your words, methinks, are somewhat like your kisses, all breath and no substance.

_Martino._--Lady! sweet one! (_Follows her._)

_Nita._--Nay, I am gone. (_Exit._)

_Martino._--I were of the fools' fold, did I fail to follow at a beck so gentle. (_Exit._)

That was not all, but it was all that Mr. Sylvester heard. Hastily retreating, he went out into the corridor and ere long found himself in the conservatory. He felt shaken; felt that he could not face all this unmoved. He knew he had been gazing at a play; that because this Florentine maiden looked at her lover with coyness, gentleness, tenderness perhaps, it did not follow that she, his Paula, loved the real man behind this das.h.i.+ng cavalier. But the possibility was there, and in his present frame of mind could not be encountered without pain.