The Breaking of the Storm

should only do so to express his sorrow and his conviction that such ugly rumours must disappear as absolutely as they had arisen mysteriously. On the other hand, if any positive proof appeared of the relations that Giraldi maintained still existed between Ottomar and Ferdinanda, he⁠—Wallbach⁠—was quite determined to make the proper use of it on his sister’s account, to whom such a rivalry must, in the long run, be disagreeable. But this positive proof was still not procurable. There remained the affair of the bills of exchange! And if Ottomar came to grief tomorrow? and his proud father took the burden upon himself to avert the fearful disgrace which would recoil upon the whole family? He indeed knew the truth; but could he in that case speak? Would he not have to look on silently, while the father and son settled the matter amicably between them? Twenty thousand thalers indeed would not be so easily procured; but in such a case impossibilities might be overcome, and the General would be sure to have good and powerful friends. At the worst, if Baroness Kniebreche and the others who had been let into the secret should have too completely broken the sacred seal of confidence, there might be two or three duels, which would just suit Ottomar, who had laughingly asserted the other day that he should soon have made up his dozen!

A duel between him and Herr von Wallbach indeed! That would be decisive.

Only Herr von Wallbach, whose nerves were always a little unsteady, was thinking of anything but a duel. How to provoke Ottomar against him?

There would be difficulty about that. It would be necessary to speak more plainly, to mix himself up more directly in the business than before, and it had been his well-weighed decision not to let the mask fall, until⁠—

The Italian’s face grew still darker as he sat there brooding and meditating, his head lightly resting on his gloved right hand, his crush-hat on his knees, while from time to time joyous couples hastened past him to the ballroom, where they were still being summoned to the quadrille, which was more difficult to arrange now on account of the number of dancers.

If Valerie tomorrow, as he still hoped, agreed to everything, as she had always hitherto done, the mine could then, before it was fired, be so deeply laid that not one stone upon another should remain of the edifice of the Werbens’ prosperity; the very bones even of the hated race should be scattered here and there through the air.

But if she opposed him? If, after seven and twenty years of dumb submission, she should rebel? and not now, and for once only, but forever, should refuse him obedience? If she should appear as the mistress and superior? Well, she would do so at her peril! He was prepared for it too. The time for temporising, waiting, diplomatising, would be over at once; there would only be a very plain, very clearly-expressed question: Yes, or no? But she would never have the courage. And she was welcome to hate him, if only she feared and obeyed him.

A slight noise near him made him look up, and he started as he met the fiery black eyes of his young countryman.

“Eccolo!” cried Giraldi, stretching out his hand with his most bewitching smile; “how did you get here, my boy!”

“There was a lack of dancing-men,” answered Antonio, pressing the offered hand to his heart; “the maestro was desired to bring a few young artists with him, and was good enough to think of me.”

“And why are you not dancing?”

“I have not the happiness of being acquainted with so many beautiful young ladies as Eccellenza.”

Giraldi smiled, whilst he turned over in his own mind whether Antonio could have recognised in Bertalda the veiled lady who came to see Ferdinanda. It was extremely improbable, but he must give some explanation of his intimate conversation with the pretty girl.

“Do you envy me my happiness, Antonio?” he asked.

“I do not grudge Eccellenza his happiness. Who can deserve it better?” answered Antonio, with fawning humility.

“And since you are modest, you will be happier than all the gold in the world can make me. You are young and handsome, and⁠—you love; and that your love may be crowned with success, you have but to leave it to me and Brother Ambrosio. We are both busy on your behalf. Have a little patience only, and your probation will be ended, and you will have everything your heart can wish for⁠—yes, more than you have dreamed of in your wildest dreams; but, above all, revenge⁠—the most brilliant, triumphant, heart-stirring revenge⁠—upon your enemy! I swear it to you by the Sacred Heart and the Holy Virgin!” The two Italians crossed themselves. “And now, my boy, I will talk to you in a few days. For today forget the cares of love, and pluck the rose of pleasure, without wounding yourself with the thorns.”

He pointed towards the ballroom, again pressed Antonio’s hand, and went.

The young man looked after him with a gloomy brow, as he slowly walked away. He had never for a moment doubted that the charming young girl whom he had seen talking so earnestly and familiarly to the signor, was the same whom he had met that evening in the dusk⁠—that is to say, the same who had at one time repeatedly visited Ferdinanda; he knew her height and figure so well. She might be his mistress⁠—well, but then what had she to do with Ferdinanda? Why had he not told him the real state of the case? Why did he not tell him the lady’s name today? Why had he passed as quickly as possible to another subject⁠—or rather had only repeated the same fine speeches with which he had so often flattered his confiding companion, although to this day not one of his promises had come true? And were these to suffice him? Was he to prolong his miserable life