“And that?” The question came breathlessly upon a whisper.
“That the purpose for which I entered it remains unfulfilled. That I have learnt no Greek.”
Again there was a pause. Then she moved forward, rustling a little, and came directly into his line of vision.
“I hear your servants, I think. I will leave you now.”
“I thank you, madonna. God be with you.”
But she did not go. She stood there between himself and the fireplace, slight and straight as on the first evening when he had seen her in her garden. She was dressed in a close-fitting gown of cloth of silver. He observed in particular now the tight sleeves which descended to the knuckles of her slim, tapering hands, and remembered that just such sleeves had she worn when first his eyes beheld her. Over this gown she wore a loose houppelande of sapphire velvet, reversed at throat and wide gaping sleeves with ermine. And there were sapphires in the silver caul that confined her abundant red-gold hair.
“Aye,” he said wistfully, dreamily, “it was just so you looked, and just so will I remember you as long as I remember anything. It is good to have served you, lady mine. It has made me glorious in my own eyes.”
“You have made yourself glorious, Lord Prince, in the eyes of all.”
“What do they matter?”
Slowly she came back to him. She was very pale and a little frown was puckering her fine brows. Very wistful, and mysterious as deep pools, were those dark eyes of hers. She came back, drawn by the words he had used, and more than the words, by something odd in his gently musing tone.
“Do I matter nothing, Bellarion?”
He smiled with an infinite sadness. “Must you ask that now? Does not the whole of my life in the world give you the answer, that never woman mattered more to a man? I have known no service but yours. And I have served you—per fas et nefas.”
She stood above him, and her lips quivered. What she said when at last she spoke had no apparent bearing upon the subject.
“I am wearing your colours, Bellarion.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes, as they sought confirmation of her statement in the azure and argent of her wear.
“And I did not remark the chance,” he cried.
“Not chance. It is design.”
“It was sweetly and generously courteous so to honour me.”
“It was not only to honour you that I assumed these colours. Have they no message for you, Bellarion?”
“Message?” For the first time in their acquaintance she saw fear in his bold eyes.
“Clearly they have not; no message that you look for. You have said that you covet nothing in this world.”
“Nothing within my reach. To covet things beyond it is to taste the full bitterness of life.”
“Is there anything in the world that is not within your reach, Bellarion?”
He looked at her as she smiled down upon him through her tears. He caught his breath gaspingly. With his sound left hand he clutched her left which hung at the level of his head.
“I am mad, of course,” he choked.
“Not mad, Bellarion. Only stupid. Do you still covet nothing?”
“Aye, one thing!” His face glowed. “One thing that would change into a living glory the tinsel glitter of the world, one thing that would make life … O God! What am I saying?”
“Why do you break off, Bellarion?”
“I am afraid!”
“Of me? Is there anything I could deny you, who have given all to serve me? Must I in return offer you all I have? Can you claim nothing for yourself?”
“Valeria!”
She stooped to kiss his lips. “My very hate of you in all these years was love dissembled. Because my spirit leapt to yours, almost from that first evening in the garden there, did it so wound and torture me to discover baseness in you. I should have trusted my own heart, rather than my erring senses, Bellarion. You warned me early that I am not good at inference. I have suffered as those suffer who are in rebellion against themselves.”
He pondered her, very pale and sorrowful. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I have the fever, as you said awhile ago. It must be that.”
Colophon
Bellarion the Fortunate
was published in 1926 by
Rafael Sabatini.
This ebook was produced for
Standard Ebooks
by
Jesse Stricker,
and is based on a transcription produced in 2022 by
Dagny and Laura Natal Rodrigues
for
Project Gutenberg
and on digital scans from the
Internet Archive.
The cover page is adapted from
La Belle Dame sans Merci,
a painting completed in 1893 by
John William Waterhouse.
The cover and title pages feature the
League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy
typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by
The League of Moveable Type.
The first edition of this ebook was released on
May 20, 2025, 4:14 p.m.
You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at
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