vendetta-第7章

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〃Can　you　restore　the　Emperor？〃　she　said。　〃Do　you　expect　to　raise　that

giant　who　could　not　maintain　himself？〃



〃But　what　can　I　do？〃　said　the　young　man；　addressing　the　two　friends

whom　chance　had　sent　to　him。　〃I　have　not　a　relation　in　the　world。

Labedoyere　was　my　protector　and　my　friend；　without　him；　I　am　alone。

To…morrow　I　myself　may　be　condemned；　my　only　fortune　was　my　pay。　I

spent　my　last　penny　to　come　here　and　try　to　snatch　Labedoyere　from　his

fate；　death　is；　therefore；　a　necessity　for　me。　When　a　man　decides　to

die　he　ought　to　know　how　to　sell　his　life　to　the　executioner。　I　was

thinking　just　now　that　the　life　of　an　honest　man　is　worth　that　of　two

traitors；　and　the　blow　of　a　dagger　well　placed　may　give　immortality。〃



This　spasm　of　despair　alarmed　the　painter；　and　even　Ginevra；　whose　own

nature　comprehended　that　of　the　young　man。　She　admired　his　handsome

face　and　his　delightful　voice；　the　sweetness　of　which　was　scarcely

lessened　by　its　tones　of　fury。　Then；　all　of　a　sudden；　she　poured　a

balm　upon　the　wounds　of　the　unfortunate　man：



〃Monsieur；〃　she　said；　〃as　for　your　pecuniary　distress；　permit　me　to

offer　you　my　savings。　My　father　is　rich；　I　am　his　only　child；　he　loves

me；　and　I　am　sure　he　will　never　blame　me。　Have　no　scruple　in　accepting

my　offer；　our　property　is　derived　from　the　Emperor；　we　do　not　own　a

penny　that　is　not　the　result　of　his　munificence。　Is　it　not　gratitude

to　him　to　assist　his　faithful　soldiers？　Take　the　sums　you　need　as

indifferently　as　I　offer　them。　It　is　only　money！〃　she　added；　in　a　tone

of　contempt。　〃Now；　as　for　friends；those　you　shall　have。〃



She　raised　her　head　proudly；　and　her　eyes　shone　with　dazzling

brilliancy。




〃The　head　which　falls　to…morrow　before　a　dozen　muskets　will　save

yours；〃　she　went　on。　〃Wait　till　the　storm　is　over；　you　can　then　escape

and　take　service　in　foreign　countries　if　you　are　not　forgotten　here；

or　in　the　French　army；　if　you　are。〃



In　the　comfort　that　women　give　there　is　always　a　delicacy　which　has

something　maternal；　foreseeing；　and　complete　about　it。　But　when　the

words　of　hope　and　peace　are　said　with　grace　of　gesture　and　that

eloquence　of　tone　which　comes　from　the　heart；　and　when；　above　all；　the

benefactress　is　beautiful；　a　young　man　does　not　resist。　The　prisoner

breathed　in　love　through　all　his　senses。　A　rosy　tinge　colored　his

white　cheeks；　his　eyes　lost　something　of　the　sadness　that　dulled　them；

and　he　said；　in　a　peculiar　tone　of　voice：



〃You　are　an　angle　of　goodness　But　Labedoyere！〃　he　added。　〃Oh；

Labedoyere！〃



At　this　cry　they　all　three　looked　at　one　another　in　silence；　each

comprehending　the　others'　thoughts。　No　longer　friends　of　twenty

minutes　only；　they　were　friends　of　twenty　years。



〃Dear　friend；〃　said　Servin；　〃can　you　save　him？〃



〃I　can　avenge　him。〃



Ginevra　quivered。　Though　the　stranger　was　handsome；　his　appearance　had

not　influenced　her；　the　soft　pity　in　a　woman's　heart　for　miseries　that

are　not　ignoble　had　stifled　in　Ginevra　all　other　emotions；　but　to　hear

a　cry　of　vengeance；　to　find　in　that　proscribed　being　an　Italian　soul；

devotion　to　Napoleon；　Corsican　generosity！ah！　that　was；　indeed；　too

much　for　her。　She　looked　at　the　officer　with　a　respectful　emotion

which　shook　his　heart。　For　the　first　time　in　her　life　a　man　had　caused

her　a　keen　emotion。　She　now；　like　other　women；　put　the　soul　of　the

stranger　on　a　par　with　the　noble　beauty　of　his　features　and　the　happy

proportions　of　his　figure；　which　she　admired　as　an　artist。　Led　by

accidental　curiosity　to　pity；　from　pity　to　a　powerful　interest；　she

came；　through　that　interest；　to　such　profound　sensations　that　she　felt

she　was　in　danger　if　she　stayed　there　longer。



〃Until　to…morrow；　then；〃　she　said；　giving　the　officer　a　gentle　smile

by　way　of　a　parting　consolation。



Seeing　that　smile；　which　threw　a　new　light　on　Ginevra's　features；　the

stranger　forgot　all　else　for　an　instant。



〃To…morrow；〃　he　said；　sadly；　〃but　to…morrow；　Labedoyere〃



Ginevra　turned；　put　a　finger　on　her　lips；　and　looked　at　him；　as　if　to

say：　〃Be　calm；　be　prudent。〃



And　the　young　man　cried　out　in　his　own　language：



〃Ah！　Dio！　che　non　vorrei　vivere　dopo　averla　veduta？who　would　not

wish　to　live　after　seeing　her？〃



The　peculiar　accent　with　which　he　pronounced　the　words　made　Ginevra

quiver。



〃Are　you　Corsican？〃　she　cried；　returning　toward　him　with　a　beating

heart。



〃I　was　born　in　Corsica；〃　he　replied；　〃but　I　was　brought；　while　very

young；　to　Genoa；　and　as　soon　as　I　was　old　enough　for　military　service

I　enlisted。〃



The　beauty　of　the　young　man；　the　mighty　charm　lent　to　him　by　his

attachment　to　the　Emperor；　his　wound；　his　misfortunes；　his　danger；　all

disappeared　to　Ginevra's　mind；　or；　rather；　all　were　blended　in　one

sentiment；a　new　and　delightful　sentiment。　This　persecuted　man　was　a

child　of　Corsica；　he　spoke　its　cherished　language！　She　stood；　for　a

moment；　motionless；　held　by　a　magical　sensation；　before　her　eyes　was　a

living　picture；　to　which　all　human　sentiments；　united　by　chance；　gave

vivid　colors。　By　Servin's　invitation；　the　officer　had　seated　himself

on　a　divan；　and　the　painter；　after　removing　the　sling　which　supported

the　arm　of　his　guest；　was　undoing　the　bandages　in　order　to　dress　the

wound。　Ginevra　shuddered　when　she　saw　the　long；　broad　gash　made　by　the

blade　of　a　sabre　on　the　young　man's　forearm；　and　a　moan　escaped　her。

The　stranger　raised　his　head　and　smiled　to　her。　There　was　something

touching　which　went　to　the　soul；　in　the　care　with　which　Servin　lifted

the　lint　and　touched　the　lacerated　flesh；　while　the　face　of　the

wounded　man；　though　pale　and　sickly；　expressed；　as　he　looked　at　the

girl；　more　pleasure　than　suffering。　An　artist　would　have　admired；

involuntarily；　this　opposition　of　sentiments；　together　with　the

contrasts　produced　by　the　whiteness　of　the　linen　and　the　bared　arm　to

the　red　and　blue　uniform　of　the　officer。



At　this　moment　a　soft　half…light　pervaded　the　studio；　but　a　parting

ray　of　the　evening　sunlight　suddenly　illuminated　the　spot　where　the

soldier　sat；　so　that　his　noble；　blanched　face；　his　black　hair；　and　his

clothes　were　bathed　in　its　glow。　The　effect　was　simple　enough；　but　to

the　girl's　Italian　imagination　it　was　a　happy　omen。　The　stranger

seemed　to　her　a　celestial　messenger；　speaking　the　language　of　her　own

country。　He　thus　unconsciously　put　her　under　the　spell　of　childhood's

memories；　while　in　her　heart　there　dawned　another　feeling　as　fresh；　as

pure　as　her　own　innocence。　For　a　short；　very　short　moment；　she　was

motionless　and　dreamy；　as　though　she　were　plunged　in　boundless

thought。　Then　she　blushed　at　having　allowed　her　absorption　to　be

noticed；　exchanged　one　soft　and　rapid　glance　with　the　wounded　man；　and

fled　with　the　vision　of　him　still　before　her　eyes。



The　next　day　was　not　a　class…day；　but　Ginevra　came　to　the　studio；　and

the　prisoner　was　free　to　sit　beside　her　easel。　Servin；　who　had　a

sketch　to　finish；　played　the　part　of　mentor　to　the　two　young　people；

who　talked　to　each　other　chiefly　in　Corsican。　The　soldier　related　the

sufferings　of　the　retreat　from　Moscow；　for；　at　nineteen　years　of　age；

he　had　made　the　passage　of　the　Beresins；　and　was　almost　the　last　man

left　of　his　regiment。　He　described；　in　words　of　fire；　the　great

disaster　of　Waterloo。　His　voice　was　music　itself　to　the　Italian　girl。

Brought　up　as　a　Corsican；　Ginevra　was；　in　some　sense；　a　child　of

Nature；　falseness　was　a　thing　unknown　to　her；　she　gave　herself　up

without　reserve　to　her　impressions；　she　acknowledged　them；　or；　rather；

allowed　them　to　be　seen　without　the　affectations　of　petty　and

calculating　coquetry；　characteristic　of　Parisian　girlhood。　During　this

day　she　sat　more　than　once　with　her　palette　in　one　hand；　her　brushes

in　another；　without　touching　a　color。　With　her　eyes　fastened　on　the

officer；　and　her　lips　slightly　apart；　she　listened；　in　the　attitude　of

painting　a　stroke　which　was　never　painted。　She　was　not　surprised　to

see　such　softness