the while a feast of delusion; she could never be resuscitated in the shape he had known, not even clearly visioned. Not a day of her, not an hour, not a single look had been his own. She had been sold when he first beheld her, and should, he muttered austerely, have been ticketed the property of a middle-aged man, a worn-out French marquis, whom she had agreed to marry, unwooed, without love—the creature of a transaction. But she was innocent, she was unaware of the sin residing in a loveless marriage; and this restored her to him somewhat as a drowned body is given back to mourners.
After aimless walking he found himself on the Zattere, where the lonely Giudecca lies in front, covering mud and marsh and lagune-flames of later afternoon, and you have sight of the high mainland hills which seem to fling forth one over other to a golden sea-cape.
Midway on this unadorned Zattere, with its young trees and spots of shade, he was met by Renee and her father. Their gondola was below, close to the riva, and the count said, ‘She is tired of standing gazing at pictures. There is a Veronese in one of the churches of the Giudecca opposite. Will you, M. Nevil, act as parade-escort to her here for half an hour, while I go over? Renee complains that she loses the vulgar art of walking in her complaisant attention to the fine Arts. I weary my poor child.’
Renee protested in a rapid chatter.
‘Must I avow it?’ said the count; ‘she damps my enthusiasm a little.’
Nevil mutely accepted the office.
Twice that day was she surrendered to him: once in his ignorance, when time appeared an expanse of many sunny fields. On this occasion it puffed steam; yet, after seeing the count embark, he commenced the parade in silence.
‘This is a nice walk,’ said Renee; ‘we have not the steps of the Riva dei Schiavoni. It is rather melancholy though. How did you discover it? I persuaded my papa to send the gondola round, and walk till we came to the water. Tell me about the Giudecca.’
‘The Giudecca was a place kept apart for the Jews, I believe. You have seen their burial-ground on the Lido. Those are, I think, the Euganean hills. You are fond of Petrarch.’
‘M. Nevil, omitting the allusion to the poet, you have, permit me to remark, the brevity without the precision of an accredited guide to notabilities.’
‘I tell you what I know,’ said Nevil, brooding on the finished tone and womanly aplomb of her language. It made him forget that she was a girl entrusted to his guardianship. His heart came out.
‘Renee, if you loved him, I, on my honour, would not utter a word for myself. Your heart’s inclinations are sacred for me. I would stand by, and be your friend and his. If he were young, that I might see a chance of it!’
She murmured, ‘You should not have listened to Roland.’
‘Roland should have warned me. How could I be near you and not … But I am nothing. Forget me; do not think I speak interestedly, except to save the dearest I have ever known from certain wretchedness. To yield yourself hand and foot for life! I warn you that it must end miserably. Your countrywomen … You have the habit in France; but like what are you treated? You! none like you in the whole world! You consent to be extinguished. And I have to look on! Listen to me now.’
Renee glanced at the gondola conveying her father. And he has not yet landed! she thought, and said, ‘Do you pretend to judge of my welfare better than my papa?’
‘Yes; in this. He follows a fashion. You submit to it. His anxiety is to provide for you. But I know the system is cursed by nature, and that means by heaven.’
‘Because it is not English?’
‘O Renee, my beloved for ever! Well, then, tell me, tell me you can say with pride and happiness that the Marquis de Rouaillout is to be your—there’s the word—husband!’
Renee looked across the water.
‘Friend, if my father knew you were asking me!’
‘I will speak to him.’
‘Useless.’
‘He is generous, he loves you.’
‘He cannot break an engagement binding his honour.’
‘Would you, Renee, would you—it must be said—consent to have it known to him—I beg for more than life—that your are not averse … that you support me?’
His failing breath softened the bluntness.
She replied, ‘I would not have him ever break an engagement binding his honour.’
‘You stretch the point of honour.’
‘It is our way. Dear friend, we are French. And I presume to think that our French system is not always wrong, for if my father had not broken it by treating you as one of us and leaving me with you, should I have heard … ?’
‘I have displeased you.’
‘Do not suppose that. But, I mean, a mother would not have left me.’
‘You wished to avoid it.’
‘Do not blame me. I had some instinct; you were very pale.’
‘You knew I loved you.’
‘No.’
‘Yes; for this morning …’
This morning it seemed to me, and I regretted my fancy, that you were inclined to trifle, as, they say, young men do.’
‘With Renee?’
‘With your friend Renee. And those are the hills of Petrarch’s tomb? They are mountains.’
They were purple beneath a large brooding cloud that hung against the sun, waiting for him to enfold him, and Nevil thought that a tomb there would be a welcome end, if he might lift Renee in one wild flight over the chasm gaping for her. He had no language for thoughts of such a kind, only tumultuous feeling.
She was immoveable, in perfect armour.
He said despairingly, ‘Can you have realized what you are consenting to?’
She answered, ‘It is my duty.’
‘Your duty! it’s like taking up a dice-box, and flinging once, to certain ruin!’
‘I must oppose my father to you, friend. Do you not understand duty to parents? They say the English are full of the idea of duty.’
‘Duty to country, duty to oaths and obligations; but with us the heart is free to choose.’
‘Free to choose, and when it is most ignorant?’
‘The heart? ask it. Nothing is surer.’
‘That is not what we are taught. We are taught that the heart deceives itself. The heart throws your dicebox; not prudent parents.’
She talked like a woman, to plead the cause of her obedience as a girl, and
