Part 14

“I will do whatever you like,” he cried. “I will talk to Fräulein Gemma….”

Frau Lenore uttered a cry of delight.

“Only I really can’t say what result will come of it …”

“Ah, don’t go back, don’t go back from your words!” cried Frau Lenore in an imploring voice; “you have already consented! The result is certain to be excellent. Any way, I can do nothing more! She won’t listen to me!”

“Has she so positively stated her disinclination to marry Herr Klüber?” Sanin inquired after a short silence.

“As if she’d cut the knot with a knife! She’s her father all over, Giovanni Battista! Wilful girl!”

“Wilful? Is she!” … Sanin said slowly.

“Yes … yes … but she’s an angel too. She will mind you. Are you coming soon? Oh, my dear Russian friend!” Frau Lenore rose impulsively from her chair, and as impulsively clasped the head of Sanin, who was sitting opposite her. “Accept a mother’s blessing—and give me some water!”

Sanin brought Signora Roselli a glass of water, gave her his word of honour that he would come directly, escorted her down the stairs to the street, and when he was back in his own room, positively threw up his arms and opened his eyes wide in his amazement.

“Well,” he thought, “well, now life is going round in a whirl! And it’s whirling so that I’m giddy.” He did not attempt to look within, to realise what was going on in himself: it was all uproar and confusion, and that was all he knew! What a day it had been! His lips murmured unconsciously: “Wilful … her mother says … and I have got to advise her … her! And advise her what?”

Sanin, really, was giddy, and above all this whirl of shifting sensations and impressions and unfinished thoughts, there floated continually the image of Gemma, the image so ineffaceably impressed on his memory on that hot night, quivering with electricity, in that dark window, in the light of the swarming stars!

XXIV

With hesitating footsteps Sanin approached the house of Signora Roselli. His heart was beating violently; he distinctly felt, and even heard it thumping at his side. What should he say to Gemma, how should he begin? He went into the house, not through the shop, but by the back entrance. In the little outer room he met Frau Lenore. She was both relieved and scared at the sight of him.

“I have been expecting you,” she said in a whisper, squeezing his hand with each of hers in turn. “Go into the garden; she is there. Mind, I rely on you!”

Sanin went into the garden.

Gemma was sitting on a garden-seat near the path, she was sorting a big basket full of cherries, picking out the ripest, and putting them on a dish. The sun was low—it was seven o’clock in the evening—and there was more purple than gold in the full slanting light with which it flooded the whole of Signora Roselli’s little garden. From time to time, faintly audibly, and as it were deliberately, the leaves rustled, and belated bees buzzed abruptly as they flew from one flower to the next, and somewhere a dove was cooing a never-changing, unceasing note. Gemma had on the same round hat in which she had driven to Soden. She peeped at Sanin from under its turned-down brim, and again bent over the basket.

Sanin went up to Gemma, unconsciously making each step shorter, and … and … and nothing better could he find to say to her than to ask why was she sorting the cherries.

Gemma was in no haste to reply.

“These are riper,” she observed at last, “they will go into jam, and those are for tarts. You know the round sweet tarts we sell?”

As she said those words, Gemma bent her head still lower, and her right hand with two cherries in her fingers was suspended in the air between the basket and the dish.

“May I sit by you?” asked Sanin.

“Yes.” Gemma moved a little along on the seat. Sanin placed himself beside her. “How am I to begin?” was his thought. But Gemma got him out of his difficulty.

“You have fought a duel to-day,” she began eagerly, and she turned all her lovely, bashfully flushing face to him—and what depths of gratitude were shining in those eyes! “And you are so calm! I suppose for you danger does not exist?”

“Oh, come! I have not been exposed to any danger. Everything went off very satisfactorily and inoffensively.”

Gemma passed her finger to right and to left before her eyes … Also an Italian gesture. “No! no! don’t say that! You won’t deceive me! Pantaleone has told me everything!”

“He’s a trustworthy witness! Did he compare me to the statue of the commander?”

“His expressions may be ridiculous, but his feeling is not ridiculous, nor is what you have done to-day. And all that on my account … for me … I shall never forget it.”

“I assure you, Fräulein Gemma …”