The Saint Part 42

Jeanne would not come because she had guessed, because she could not do the same. She besought her, she entreated her, and whispered to her, holding her in an embrace: "Why will you not yield, at this moment?"

Jeanne, still sobbing, answered,

"Ah! you understand me!" And because Noemi protested that now she would not go, it was Jeanne's turn to entreat her to do so, to go at once; not to delay giving him this consolation. She, herself, could not go, could not, could not! It was impossible to move her. A servant came to call Selva. Maria and Noemi went out. When she was alone Jeanne was tempted, for a moment, to hasten after them, to yield, to go also, and say the joyful word to him. She fell upon her knees, and stretched out her arms, almost as if he were standing before her, and sobbed: "Dear one, dear one! How could I deceive you?" She had often struggled against her own unbelief, and always in vain. A surrender to faith through sudden impulse would not be lasting, that she knew.

"Why will you not have me alone?" she groaned again, still on her knees.

"Why will you not have me alone? That pious consciences may not be scandalised? That my despair may not trouble you? Why will you not have me alone? How can I say, before them, what is within me? You who are gentle as your Lord Jesus, why will you not have me alone? Oh!"

She started to her feet, convinced that if Piero heard her, he would answer, "Yes, come!" She stood a moment as if turned to stone, her hands pressed to her forehead; then she moved slowly, like one walking in her sleep, left the room, crossed the hall and went down into the garden.

It was raining so hard, the sky, still rent from time to time by lightning, was so dark, that although it was not yet seven o'clock, on that February evening it seemed almost like night. Just as she was, with bare head, Jeanne went out into the cold and streaming rain. Without hastening her steps, she took, not the avenue of orange-trees on the right, but the path which, on the left, leads downwards, between two rows of great agaves, to a little grove of laurels, cypresses and olives, to which roses cling. She pa.s.sed the great pine that looks towards the Crelian and winding down, on the right by a long curve of paths, she reached the spring which an ancient sarcophagus receives on the steep slope, within a belt of myrtles, a few steps below the gardener's little house. Here she stopped. A window in the little house was lit up; surely that was Piero's window. A shadow flitted across it--perhaps that was Noemi! Jeanne sat down on the marble rim of the basin. Would it be possible to drown in that? Would she try to die, if it were not for Carlino? Vain speculations! She did not linger over them. She waited, and waited in the cold rain, her eyes and her soul fixed on the lighted window. Other shadows pa.s.sed. Were they going now?

Yes, perhaps Maria and Noemi were going, but they would not leave Piero alone. Mayda would be there; the Benedictine and the sister would be there. Well, at least, she would try. A hurried footstep in the avenue of orange-trees; some one was going towards the gardener's house.

Jeanne, who had risen, sat down again. Now the unknown person entered. More shadows at the window. Two people came out, in animated conversation--the voices of the Professor and of Giovanni Selva. They seemed to be speaking of some one who had come for news. Others came out. The water from the eaves dripped on their umbrellas. It must be Maria and Noemi. Jeanne once more rose, and started forward.

She crossed the threshold of the little house, and saw people in the gardener's kitchen. She asked a girl to go up-stairs and see who was with the sick man. The girl hesitated, demurred at first, but finally went, and came down again immediately. The priest and the sister were in the room. Jeanne asked for a piece of paper, a pencil, and a light. She began to write.

"Padre--I appeal--" She stopped and listened. Someone was coming down the wooden stair. A man's step, therefore it must be the Padre. Then she would speak to him. She threw aside the pencil, and went to meet him on the stairs. It was dark, and Don Clemente mistook her for Maria Selva.

"He is quiet," the Benedictine said, before she could speak. "He seems to be asleep. What your sister told him did him so much good! The Professor thinks he will live through the night. Send for the other lady. He has asked for her. I thought you had already gone for her."

Jeanne was dumb. She stepped aside. With an "Excuse me" he pa.s.sed her without looking at her, and entered the kitchen, to ask for a little bread and some water, for he had been fasting since the night before.

Jeanne was trembling like a leaf. He had asked for her! The words and the opportunity thus offered made her dizzy. Noiselessly she mounted the stairs. Noiselessly she pushed the door open. The sister saw her, and started to rise. She signed to her, her finger on her lips, not to move, and noiselessly approached the bed. She saw a long, black something spread upon it, over the quilt, and stopped, horrified, not understanding. A faint groan. The man on the bed raised his right hand with a vague gesture, as if in search of something. The sister rose, but Jeanne, moving more swiftly, rushed to the pillow, and bent over Piero, who had begun to groan again and move his hand.

Jeanne questioned him anxiously, but he did not answer. He only groaned and looked at something beside the bed. Jeanne offered him a gla.s.s of water, but he shook his head. She was in despair because she could not understand. Ah! the Crucifix! the Crucifix! The sister lifted the light from the ground; Jeanne held out the Crucifix to Piero, who, pressing his lips to it, gazed at her, gazed at her with those great gla.s.sy eyes, from which death looked forth. The sister gave a cry and ran to call the Padre. Piero gazed and gazed at Jeanne. With a great effort, he clasped the Crucifix in both hands, and raised it towards her. His lips moved, moved again, but no sound came from them. Jeanne took Piero's hands between her own, and pressed a pa.s.sionate kiss upon the Crucifix. Then he closed his eyes. A smile broke across his face.

His head drooped a little towards his right shoulder. He moved no more.

THE END.