i was duly introduced by the marchese, and signora morone received me in the most amiable manner. she was certainly a very charming woman, and had i not known her true character, i would doubtless have been fascinated by her gracious affability; but, in spite of her courtesy, i could hardly speak to her without a feeling of repulsion. this beautiful woman, so suave, so smiling, so seductive, inspired me with that sensation of absolute dread which one experiences at the sight of a sleek, velvet-footed pantheress--a comely beast to admire, but a terrible one to caress. i replied to her polite inquiries in a somewhat mechanical fashion, which she doubtless put down to my imperfect knowledge of italian, for in spite of all my efforts to feel at ease in her society, yet i was unable to do more than behave with strained courtesy towards this woman whose mask i had torn off, whose secret i had penetrated, and the wickedness of whose heart i knew.
there were several other gentlemen in the room, who talked gaily with the contessa, and amused themselves by eating the bonbons and crystallised fruits provided for refreshments. the last act of the opera had not yet commenced, so signora morone sank gracefully into a velvet-cushioned chair, and permitted her courtiers to retail all the news of the day for her amusement. i am afraid this description sounds somewhat hyperbolical, but indeed it is the only way in which i can describe this woman, whose every movement was full of sinuous grace and feline treachery. cat, tigeress, pantheress as she was, her claws were now sheathed in her velvet paws, but the claws were there all the same, and would doubtless scratch at the least provocation.
some people do not believe in transmigration, but i am a true disciple of pythagoras in that bizarre doctrine, and i firmly believe that in a former existence the soul of giulietta morone had animated the body of some tawny tigeress who had stolen through the jungle beneath the burning skies of hindostan, slaying and devouring her victims in conformity with the instincts of her savage nature. now she was a woman--a fair, majestic woman--but the instinct of the beast was there, the desire for slaughter and the lust for blood. what made me indulge still more in this fancy was the colours of the dress she wore black and yellow--all twisted in and out with a curious resemblance to the sleek fur of the beast to which i had likened her. the soft glimmer of the pearl strings twined in her magnificent red hair seemed out of place as ornaments for this woman; but the rubies suited her nature well, the red, angry rubies that shot flashes of purple fire from her neck at every heave of her white bosom. leaning back in her deep chair with a cruel smile on her full crimson lips, the glimmer of pearls, the fire-glint of the fierce-tinted gems, and the bizarre mixture of amber and black in her dress, she slowly waved her sandalwood fan to and fro, diffusing a strange, sleepy perfume through the room, and looking what i verily believed her to be, the type of incarnate evil in repose.
while i was thinking in this fanciful fashion, the contessa was talking to her friends in a slow, rich voice, and beltrami--well, beltrami was watching me closely. do you know that strange sensation of being watched? that uneasy consciousness that some unseen eye is observing the least movement? yes, of course you do! every one has felt it, in a more or less degree, according to their nervous susceptibility. at the present time, with all my senses on the alert for unexpected events, it was therefore little to be wondered at that i felt the magnetism of beltrami's gaze, and, on looking up, saw his keen black eyes fixed upon me with an enigmatical expression. for the moment i was startled, but immediately that feeling passed away for i well knew the strange nature of the marchese, which was a peculiar mixture of good and evil, of kindness and cruelty, of hate and love, which must have proceeded from some aberration of his subtle intellect.
beltrami's face always put me in mind of that sinister countenance of sigismondo malatesta, which sneers so malevolently at the curious onlooker from the walls of the duomo at rimini. he had the same treacherous droop of the eyelids, the same thin nose with wide, sensitive nostrils, and the same malignant smile on his thin lips. yet he was handsome enough, this young italian; but his face, in spite of my friendship, repelled me--in a less degree, it is true, but still it repelled me in the like manner as did that of the contessa morone. so he was going to marry her. well, they were certainly well-matched in every respect, and if the man had not the active wickedness of the woman, still the capability of evil was there, and would awaken to life when necessary to be exercised. both beltrami and his future wife were anachronisms in this nineteenth century, and should have lived, smiled, and died in the time of the renaissance, when they would have been fitted companions of those italian despots of whom machiavelli gives the typical examples in his book "the prince."
the marchese saw my inquiring look, and with an enigmatic smile walked across to where i was standing in the warm, yellow light.
"ebbene! signor hugo," he whispered, with a swift glance at the contessa, "tell me what you think of my choice."
"it does you credit, marchese. you will have a beautiful wife."
"and a loving one, i hope. tell me, mon ami, do you not envy me?"
i hesitated a moment before replying, and then blurted out the truth,--
"honestly speaking, signor luigi, i do not!"
"dame! and why?"
"well, i can hardly tell you my reasons, but i have them, nevertheless."
beltrami looked hard at me with an inquisitive look in his dark eyes, and a satirical smile on his thin lips.
"you are not complimentary, my friend," he said, turning away with a supercilious laugh.
i laid my hand on his shoulder and explained,--
"pardon me, beltrami, you do not understand----"
"eh! do not apologise! i understand better than you think."
he was evidently not at all offended, and i felt puzzled by his manner. it was true he had candidly acknowledged that he was making this marriage for money, but surely he must also love this woman, whose ripe beauty was so attractive to the passionate nature of the italians. yet, judging from his mode of speech, he evidently had some mistrust--a mistrust for which i could not account. he could know nothing of the affair at the palazzo morone, so there certainly could be no reason for suspicion on his part. she was a beautiful woman, a rich woman, an attractive woman, so with this trinity of perfections she decidedly merited a warmer love than beltrami appeared inclined to give her. could it be that her evil beauty repelled him, as it did me? no! that was impossible, seeing that, according to my idea, their natures were wonderfully alike. altogether the whole demeanour of the marchesa perplexed me by its strangeness, and i watched him narrowly as he approached the contessa, to see if she perceived the lack of warmth on the part of her lover.
to my surprise, as he bent over her chair to speak, she shrank away with a gesture of disdain, and the rubies shot forth a red flame, as if to warn the lover that there was danger in pressing upon this woman his unwelcome attentions. unwelcome, i am sure they were, for as he adjusted her cloak and aided her to rise, in order to return to the box, i saw that she accepted all his politeness with forced civility and cold smiles. so then she did not love him--he had almost openly acknowledged to me that he did not love her, and yet these two people, who had no feeling of love in their hearts, were about to marry. it was most extraordinary, and i marvelled greatly at the juxtaposition of these two human beings, who evidently hated one another heartily.
at this moment the contessa spoke of the man she had murdered, and i was horrified in the cold, callous tones in which she veiled her iniquity.
"do you know, gentlemen, if anything has been heard of this lost tenor?"
beltrami shot a keen glance at her, then a second at me, and i felt more bewildered than ever by this strange action.
"nothing has been heard of him, contessa," he said quickly, before the others could speak; "he has vanished altogether, but no doubt he will appear again."
"ah, you think so?" observed the contessa, with a cruel smile.
"i am sure of it!"
she winced, and looked at him in a startled manner, upon which, impelled by some mysterious impulse, i know not what, i joined in the conversation,--
"on the contrary, madame, i do not think signor pallanza will ever be seen again."
all present turned round in surprise, and the contessa darted a look at me which seemed to pierce my soul. only beltrami was unmoved, and he, with a smile on his face, laid his hand upon my shoulder.
"eh, signor hugo, and why do you think so?"
"a mere fancy, marchese, nothing more."
"ma foi! and a fancy that may turn out true!"
i was annoyed at having yielded to the impulse and spoken out, as, unless i told all about my adventure, i could not substantiate my statement, and i was certainly not going to reveal anything i knew, particularly in the presence of the woman so deeply implicated in the affair. beltrami's mocking manner irritated me fearfully, the more so as it was so very unaccountable, and i was about to make some sharp reply, when the opening chorus of the last act sounded, and all the gentlemen, after making their adieux to the contessa, left the room.
the marchese offered his arm to madame morone, but she dismissed him with a haughty gesture.
"one moment, marchese--i wish to speak with this signor for a few minutes."
beltrami darted one of his enigmatic looks at us both, and with a low bow to conceal the smile on his lips, left the room. as soon as he had disappeared, madame morone turned round on me with a quick gesture of surprise.
"signor hugo, why did you say the tenor pallanza would never be seen again?"
"i have no reason, signora," i replied, being determined to baffle her curiosity; "i merely spoke on the impulse of the moment."
"do you know signor pallanza?"
"no, madame, i have not the pleasure of his acquaintance."
"ah!"
she heaved a sigh of relief, and looked at me long and earnestly, as if to see whether i was speaking the truth. apparently she was satisfied with her scrutiny, for she laughed softly, and placed her hand within my arm.
"confess now, signor hugo, you think me most mysterious, but i will tell you why i speak thus. i heard pallanza at rome, when he sang at the apollo, and i hoped to see him again here, therefore i am annoyed at his disappearance and anxious for him to be found. a selfish wish, signor hugo, for it is only my desire to hear him sing again. ecco!"
"i do not think your wish at all selfish, madame, for i hear he is a charming singer."
"oh, yes! the new mario they call him in milan. will you not hear the rest of the opera in my box?"
"if you will excuse me, madame, i will say no, as i have an engagement."
this was a lie, but i was so fearful of betraying myself to this terrible woman, who had evidently a half-suspicion that i knew something of pallanza, that i was anxious to get away as soon as possible. she, saying good-night, in a cold, polite manner, re-entered the box, and i was moving away when beltrami suddenly appeared.
"eh, hugo, how cruel! the contessa tells me you must go?"
"yes. i will see you again, marchese!"
"to-morrow then; if not, the next day. here is my card, and i am always at home in the afternoon. do not fail to come, mon ami--i wish to speak to you about--about----"
he paused, and i asked curiously,--
"about what?"
"eh, dame! i forget. i will tell you at our next meeting' a rivederci! signor hugo. don't forget your old friend, or he will quarrel with you."
he nodded, smiled, and vanished, then i took my departure from the theatre, and wandered up and down the street in the moonlight. i felt that to sit out the ballet would be more than i could bear, as i was so excited over the meeting with the contessa morone, therefore i strolled up and down the street, smoking and thinking. as time passed on i grew calmer, and thought i would return to the ezzelino, not to see the ballet, but to catch a glimpse of the contessa once more.
as i reached the portico of the theatre she was just coming down the steps to her carriage, leaning on the arm of beltrami, and i, hidden in the crowd, could see her looking hither and thither as if searching for some one. she could not see me, and in order to satisfy myself in every way as to her identity with the creature of the night i had seen leave the graveyard, with a sudden inspiration i hummed a few bars of the strange song i had heard in the fatal chamber.
being close to me she could hear quite plainly, and gave a kind of gasping cry as she fell back into the arms of beltrami, just as he was helping her into the carriage.
"what is the matter, cara?" he asked quickly.
she clutched his arm with so powerful a grasp that it made him wince, and i heard her mutter with white lips,--
"pallanza! pallanza!"
this was all i wanted to hear, and, fearful of discovery, i threaded my way quickly among the crowd, and hastened home to my hotel.
i had recognised guiseppe, i had found the woman who had slain him, but i had yet to discover where she had hidden the body of her victim--and then!--well, my future movements would be guided by circumstances.
