“Success to your first exploit,” reechoed the whole company.
“Noble Signor,” replied Verezzi, glad to find he had escaped Montoni’s resentment, “with my good will, you shall build your ramparts of gold.”
“Pass the goblet,” cried Montoni. “We will drink to Signora St. Aubert,” said Cavigni. “By your leave we will first drink to the lady of the castle,” said Bertolini.—Montoni was silent. “To the lady of the castle,” said his guests. He bowed his head.
“It much surprises me, Signor,” said Bertolini, “that you have so long neglected this castle; it is a noble edifice.”
“It suits our purpose,” replied Montoni, “and is a noble edifice. You know not, it seems, by what mischance it came to me.”
“It was a lucky mischance, be it what it may, Signor,” replied Bertolini, smiling. “I would, that one so lucky had befallen me.”
Montoni looked gravely at him. “If you will attend to what I say,” he resumed, “you shall hear the story.”
The countenances of Bertolini and Verezzi expressed something more than curiosity; Cavigni, who seemed to feel none, had probably heard the relation before.
“It is now near twenty years,” said Montoni, “since this castle came into my possession. I inherit it by the female line. The lady, my predecessor, was only distantly related to me; I am the last of her family. She was beautiful and rich; I wooed her; but her heart was fixed upon another, and she rejected me. It is probable, however, that she was herself rejected of the person, whoever he might be, on whom she bestowed her favour, for a deep and settled melancholy took possession of her; and I have reason to believe she put a period to her own life. I was not at the castle at the time; but, as there are some singular and mysterious circumstances attending that event, I shall repeat them.”
“Repeat them!” said a voice.
Montoni was silent; the guests looked at each other, to know who spoke; but they perceived, that each was making the same enquiry. Montoni, at length, recovered himself. “We are overheard,” said he: “we will finish this subject another time. Pass the goblet.”
The cavaliers looked round the wide chamber.
“Here is no person, but ourselves,” said Verezzi: “pray, Signor, proceed.”
“Did you hear anything?” said Montoni.
“We did,” said Bertolini.
“It could be only fancy,” said Verezzi, looking round again. “We see no person besides ourselves; and the sound I thought I heard seemed within the room. Pray, Signor, go on.”
Montoni paused a moment, and then proceeded in a lowered voice, while the cavaliers drew nearer to attend.
“Ye are to know, Signors, that the Lady Laurentini had for some months shown symptoms of a dejected mind, nay, of a disturbed imagination. Her mood was very unequal; sometimes she was sunk in calm melancholy, and, at others, as I have been told, she betrayed all the symptoms of frantic madness. It was one night in the month of October, after she had recovered from one of those fits of excess, and had sunk again into her usual melancholy, that she retired alone to her chamber, and forbade all interruption. It was the chamber at the end of the corridor, Signors, where we had the affray, last night. From that hour, she was seen no more.”
“How! seen no more!” said Bertolini, “was not her body found in the chamber?”
“Were her remains never found?” cried the rest of the company all together.
“Never!” replied Montoni.
“What reasons were there to suppose she destroyed herself, then?” said Bertolini.—“Aye, what reasons?” said Verezzi.—“How happened it, that her remains were never found? Although she killed herself, she could not bury herself.” Montoni looked indignantly at Verezzi, who began to apologise.
“Your pardon, Signor,” said he: “I did not consider, that the lady was your relative, when I spoke of her so lightly.”
Montoni accepted the apology.
“But the Signor will oblige us with the reasons, which urged him to believe, that the lady committed suicide.”
“Those I will explain hereafter,” said Montoni: “at present let me relate a most extraordinary circumstance. This conversation goes no further, Signors. Listen, then, to what I am going to say.”
“Listen!” said a voice.
They were all again silent, and the countenance of Montoni changed. “This is no illusion of the fancy,” said Cavigni, at length breaking the profound silence.—“No,” said Bertolini; “I heard it myself, now. Yet here is no person in the room but ourselves!”
“This is very extraordinary,” said Montoni, suddenly rising. “This is not to be borne; here is some deception, some trick. I will know what it means.”
All the company rose from their chairs in confusion.
“It is very odd!” said Bertolini. “Here is really no stranger in the room. If it is a trick, Signor, you will do well to punish the author of it severely.”
“A trick! what else can it be?” said Cavigni, affecting a laugh.
The servants were now summoned, and the chamber was searched, but no person was found. The surprise and consternation of the company increased. Montoni was discomposed. “We will leave this room,” said he, “and the subject of our conversation also; it is too solemn.” His guests were equally ready to quit the apartment; but the subject had roused their curiosity, and they entreated Montoni to withdraw to another chamber, and finish it; no entreaties could, however, prevail with him. Notwithstanding his efforts to appear at ease, he was visibly and greatly disordered.
“Why, Signor, you are not superstitious,” cried Verezzi, jeeringly; “you, who have so often laughed at the credulity of others!”
“I am not superstitious,” replied Montoni, regarding him with stern displeasure, “though I know how to despise the commonplace sentences, which are frequently uttered against superstition. I will enquire further into this affair.” He then left the room; and his guests, separating for the night, retired to their respective apartments.
XXI
He wears the rose of
