to be read at dusk-第2章

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the　pretty　little　one　would　not　look　at　me　in　giving　answer；　but

WOULD　look　at　the　view。



But；　one　day　she　told　me　the　secret。



'If　you　must　know；'　said　Carolina；　'I　find；　from　what　I　have

overheard；　that　mistress　is　haunted。'



'How　haunted？'



'By　a　dream。'



'What　dream？'



'By　a　dream　of　a　face。　　For　three　nights　before　her　marriage；　she

saw　a　face　in　a　dream　…　always　the　same　face；　and　only　One。'



'A　terrible　face？'



'No。　　The　face　of　a　dark；　remarkable…looking　man；　in　black；　with

black　hair　and　a　grey　moustache　…　a　handsome　man　except　for　a

reserved　and　secret　air。　　Not　a　face　she　ever　saw；　or　at　all　like　a

face　she　ever　saw。　　Doing　nothing　in　the　dream　but　looking　at　her

fixedly；　out　of　darkness。'



'Does　the　dream　come　back？'



'Never。　　The　recollection　of　it　is　all　her　trouble。'



'And　why　does　it　trouble　her？'



Carolina　shook　her　head。



'That's　master's　question；'　said　la　bella。　　'She　don't　know。　　She

wonders　why；　herself。　　But　I　heard　her　tell　him；　only　last　night；

that　if　she　was　to　find　a　picture　of　that　face　in　our　Italian　house

（which　she　is　afraid　she　will）　she　did　not　know　how　she　could　ever

bear　it。'



Upon　my　word　I　was　fearful　after　this　（said　the　Genoese　courier）　of

our　coming　to　the　old　palazzo；　lest　some　such　ill…starred　picture

should　happen　to　be　there。　　I　knew　there　were　many　there；　and；　as

we　got　nearer　and　nearer　to　the　place；　I　wished　the　whole　gallery

in　the　crater　of　Vesuvius。　　To　mend　the　matter；　it　was　a　stormy

dismal　evening　when　we；　at　last；　approached　that　part　of　the

Riviera。　　It　thundered；　and　the　thunder　of　my　city　and　its

environs；　rolling　among　the　high　hills；　is　very　loud。　　The　lizards

ran　in　and　out　of　the　chinks　in　the　broken　stone　wall　of　the

garden；　as　if　they　were　frightened；　the　frogs　bubbled　and　croaked

their　loudest；　the　sea…wind　moaned；　and　the　wet　trees　dripped；　and

the　lightning　…　body　of　San　Lorenzo；　how　it　lightened！



We　all　know　what　an　old　palace　in　or　near　Genoa　is　…　how　time　and

the　sea　air　have　blotted　it　…　how　the　drapery　painted　on　the　outer

walls　has　peeled　off　in　great　flakes　of　plaster　…　how　the　lower

windows　are　darkened　with　rusty　bars　of　iron　…　how　the　courtyard　is

overgrown　with　grass　…　how　the　outer　buildings　are　dilapidated　…

how　the　whole　pile　seems　devoted　to　ruin。　　Our　palazzo　was　one　of

the　true　kind。　　It　had　been　shut　up　close　for　months。　　Months？　…

years！　…　it　had　an　earthy　smell；　like　a　tomb。　　The　scent　of　the

orange　trees　on　the　broad　back　terrace；　and　of　the　lemons　ripening

on　the　wall；　and　of　some　shrubs　that　grew　around　a　broken　fountain；

had　got　into　the　house　somehow；　and　had　never　been　able　to　get　out

again。　　There　was；　in　every　room；　an　aged　smell；　grown　faint　with

confinement。　　It　pined　in　all　the　cupboards　and　drawers。　　In　the

little　rooms　of　communication　between　great　rooms；　it　was　stifling。

If　you　turned　a　picture　…　to　come　back　to　the　pictures　…　there　it

still　was；　clinging　to　the　wall　behind　the　frame；　like　a　sort　of

bat。



The　lattice…blinds　were　close　shut；　all　over　the　house。　　There　were

two　ugly；　grey　old　women　in　the　house；　to　take　care　of　it；　one　of

them　with　a　spindle；　who　stood　winding　and　mumbling　in　the　doorway；

and　who　would　as　soon　have　let　in　the　devil　as　the　air。　　Master；

mistress；　la　bella　Carolina；　and　I；　went　all　through　the　palazzo。

I　went　first；　though　I　have　named　myself　last；　opening　the　windows

and　the　lattice…blinds；　and　shaking　down　on　myself　splashes　of

rain；　and　scraps　of　mortar；　and　now　and　then　a　dozing　mosquito；　or

a　monstrous；　fat；　blotchy；　Genoese　spider。



When　I　had　let　the　evening　light　into　a　room；　master；　mistress；　and

la　bella　Carolina；　entered。　　Then；　we　looked　round　at　all　the

pictures；　and　I　went　forward　again　into　another　room。　　Mistress

secretly　had　great　fear　of　meeting　with　the　likeness　of　that　face　…

we　all　had；　but　there　was　no　such　thing。　　The　Madonna　and　Bambino；

San　Francisco；　San　Sebastiano；　Venus；　Santa　Caterina；　Angels；

Brigands；　Friars；　Temples　at　Sunset；　Battles；　White　Horses；

Forests；　Apostles；　Doges；　all　my　old　acquaintances　many　times

repeated？　…　yes。　　Dark；　handsome　man　in　black；　reserved　and　secret；

with　black　hair　and　grey　moustache；　looking　fixedly　at　mistress　out

of　darkness？　…　no。



At　last　we　got　through　all　the　rooms　and　all　the　pictures；　and　came

out　into　the　gardens。　　They　were　pretty　well　kept；　being　rented　by

a　gardener；　and　were　large　and　shady。　　In　one　place　there　was　a

rustic　theatre；　open　to　the　sky；　the　stage　a　green　slope；　the

coulisses；　three　entrances　upon　a　side；　sweet…smelling　leafy

screens。　　Mistress　moved　her　bright　eyes；　even　there；　as　if　she

looked　to　see　the　face　come　in　upon　the　scene；　but　all　was　well。



'Now；　Clara；'　master　said；　in　a　low　voice；　'you　see　that　it　is

nothing？　　You　are　happy。'



Mistress　was　much　encouraged。　　She　soon　accustomed　herself　to　that

grim　palazzo；　and　would　sing；　and　play　the　harp；　and　copy　the　old

pictures；　and　stroll　with　master　under　the　green　trees　and　vines

all　day。　　She　was　beautiful。　　He　was　happy。　　He　would　laugh　and　say

to　me；　mounting　his　horse　for　his　morning　ride　before　the　heat：



'All　goes　well；　Baptista！'



'Yes；　signore；　thank　God；　very　well。'



We　kept　no　company。　　I　took　la　bella　to　the　Duomo　and　Annunciata；

to　the　Cafe；　to　the　Opera；　to　the　village　Festa；　to　the　Public

Garden；　to　the　Day　Theatre；　to　the　Marionetti。　　The　pretty　little

one　was　charmed　with　all　she　saw。　　She　learnt　Italian　…　heavens！

miraculously！　　Was　mistress　quite　forgetful　of　that　dream？　I　asked

Carolina　sometimes。　　Nearly；　said　la　bella　…　almost。　　It　was

wearing　out。



One　day　master　received　a　letter；　and　called　me。



'Baptista！'



'Signore！'



'A　gentleman　who　is　presented　to　me　will　dine　here　to…day。　　He　is

called　the　Signor　Dellombra。　　Let　me　dine　like　a　prince。'



It　was　an　odd　name。　　I　did　not　know　that　name。　　But；　there　had　been

many　noblemen　and　gentlemen　pursued　by　Austria　on　political

suspicions；　lately；　and　some　names　had　changed。　　Perhaps　this　was

one。　　Altro！　　Dellombra　was　as　good　a　name　to　me　as　another。



When　the　Signor　Dellombra　came　to　dinner　（said　the　Genoese　courier

in　the　low　voice；　into　which　he　had　subsided　once　before）；　I　showed

him　into　the　reception…room；　the　great　sala　of　the　old　palazzo。

Master　received　him　with　cordiality；　and　presented　him　to　mistress。

As　she　rose；　her　face　changed；　she　gave　a　cry；　and　fell　upon　the

marble　floor。



Then；　I　turned　my　head　to　the　Signor　Dellombra；　and　saw　that　he　was

dressed　in　black；　and　had　a　reserved　and　secret　air；　and　was　a

dark；　remarkable…looking　man；　with　black　hair　and　a　grey　moustache。



Master　raised　mistress　in　his　arms；　and　carried　her　to　her　own

room；　where　I　sent　la　bella　Carolina　straight。　　La　bella　told　me

afterwards　that　mistress　was　nearly　terrified　to　death；　and　that

she　wandered　in　her　mind　about　her　dream；　all　night。



Master　was　vexed　and　anxious　…　almost　angry；　and　yet　full　of

solicitude。　　The　Signor　Dellombra　was　a　courtly　gentleman；　and

spoke　with　great　respect　and　sympathy　of　mistress's　being　so　ill。

The　African　wind　had　been　blowing　for　some　days　（they　had　told　him

at　his　hotel　of　the　Maltese　Cross）；　and　he　knew　that　it　was　often

hurtful。　　He　hoped　the　beautiful　lady　would　recover　soon。　　He

begged　permission　to　retire；　and　to　renew　his　visit　when　he　should

have　the　happiness　of　hearing　that　she　was　better。　　Master　would

not　allow　of　this；　and　they　dined　alone。



He　withdrew　early。　　Next　day　he　called　at　the　gate；　on　horse…back；

to　inquire　for　mistress。　　He　did　so　two　or　three　times　in　that

week。



What　I　observed　myself；　and　what　la　bella　Carolina　told　me；　united

to　explain　to　me　that　master　had　now　set　his　mind　on　curing

mistress　of　her　fanciful　terror。　　He　was　all　kindness；　but　he　was

sensible　and　firm。　　He　reasoned　with　her；　that　to　encourage　such

fancies　was　to　invite　melancholy；