Читать книгу Monte-Cristo's Daughter - Flagg Edmund - Страница 10

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As the hour for the evening promenade drew near, Zuleika became painfully excited, and uneasy. She longed with all her heart to see Giovanni Massetti again, to hear the ardent words of love he would be sure to utter, but would she be doing right to meet him clandestinely and alone? Her mind misgave her. Of course she could trust her young Italian lover, for he was the very soul of chivalry and honor. But did others know this? How would her conduct be judged should the other pupils and Sister Agatha steal upon them unawares? Giovanni might escape without recognition, but with her it would be altogether different. She could escape only by coining an ingenious lie, and at that her whole nature revolted. She could not stoop to an innocent deception, much less to an absolute falsehood. Why had Giovanni tempted her? Why had he sought to place her in a situation he must know would be perilous? There was but one answer—because of his love—and that answer was sufficient to induce her to take the risk, however great it might be. Yes, she would meet him at the appointed time and spot.

At length the bell rang for the promenade, and Sister Agatha headed the little procession for the garden. For a brief space Zuleika lingered with her companions among the shady walks and gorgeous flowers, but at the first opportunity stole away and sought the leafy elm, beneath the friendly boughs of which she was to receive the welcome yet dreaded visit from the Viscount Massetti. She gained the rendezvous unobserved, with loudly beating heart. The young Italian was not there. She searched eagerly but vainly for him in the gathering twilight. What had happened to prevent his coming? She was on thorns of anxiety. Perhaps he had attempted to scale the wall and had fallen, sustaining some severe injury! Perhaps even then, while she was waiting for him, he was lying outside the wall, bruised and bleeding! But what could she do? Only wait, wait, with torturing thoughts seething in her troubled brain.

She listened intently. Not a sound. If Giovanni were wounded, disabled, he was maintaining a most heroic silence. She drew a magnificent gold watch, the exquisite case of which was thickly incrusted with diamonds, from her belt and glanced at the dial. It was after seven o'clock, and by eight all the scholars were required to be safely housed within the convent. Besides, she was not sure that she would not be missed, searched for and found. What should she do, what course should she take?

As she was debating within herself, uncertain whether to remain or return, there was a rustle amid the foliage of the chestnut tree immediately outside the garden enclosure, and a man's form swung from one of the branches to the top of the wall. Zuleika's emotion well-nigh overcame her. She had recognized Giovanni. In another instant he had leaped from the wall to the ground and was at her side. He stretched out his arms to her and the girl, all of a tremble, impetuously cast herself into them.

"Oh! Giovanni!" she murmured. "At last. I feared some terrible accident had befallen you."

"I am safe, darling Zuleika," answered the young Italian, folding her in a close embrace and showering ardent kisses upon her forehead and lips. "But you, dearest, you are well? You have not forgotten me, have not ceased to love me?"

"Forgotten you, ceased to love you, Giovanni!" whispered the quivering girl, in a tone of slight reproach, gazing fondly into his eyes. "Have I not given you my solemn promise to love you only?"

"Forgive me, my own!" cried the youthful Viscount. "What is a lover without fears and doubts? They are the proof of the strength of his adoration!"

They seated themselves at the foot of the branching elm, the friendly shelter of which shut them in. Then Zuleika said, with apprehension in her voice:

"Why did you come here, Giovanni? Are you not aware that you are running a great risk and putting me in peril? If we are found together, you will be ignominiously expelled and I severely punished. Besides, think of the disgrace for us both in such an event! The matter will get abroad, furnish food for gossip and certainly reach the ears of my father and brother, whose displeasure I dread more than all else! Think, too, that Espérance will call you to account for your conduct, and I could never bear a quarrel between you and him in which, perhaps, blood might be shed!"

"Never fear, Zuleika," replied Massetti, gallantly. "Should we be discovered I will shield you. As to your father and brother, they cannot be displeased, for I will explain all to them and end by demanding you in marriage. Why have I come here? Simply because I could hold aloof from you no longer. I felt that I must see you, speak with you, renew my vows of love. Oh! Zuleika, the world is all dark to me without your smile!"

"But you promised me to wait!"

"I know it; but I miscalculated my strength when I made that promise. Could I see you I might be patient; but to wait for weeks and weeks without even a glimpse of your dear face, without once hearing the sound of your beloved voice, is utterly beyond me. I cannot do it!"

"You must. Nothing else can be done. My father wishes me to remain at the convent school for a year, and the rules positively prohibit your visits. Be patient yet awhile, Giovanni. We both are very young and have a life of happiness to look forward to. Besides, we can see each other at the Palazzo Costi during vacation, and that is something."

"It is nothing to a man who wishes to see you constantly, to be always with you. Oh! Zuleika, I cannot bear our separation, I cannot do without you!"

The young man had risen to his feet and uttered these words loudly, recklessly. Zuleika sprang up and caught him by the arm, her face white with terror.

"Control yourself, Giovanni, control yourself!" she whispered, in a frightened tone. "Speak lower, with more caution, or other ears than mine will hear you!"

But the Viscount did not heed her. He was fearfully agitated and his entire frame shook with excitement and emotion.

"Fly with me, Zuleika, fly with me now, this very moment, and be my wife!" he exclaimed, in a voice so strangely altered that Monte-Cristo's daughter scarcely recognized it. "I am rich, and my family has wealth and power sufficient to protect us against everything and everybody, even your father, with all his untold gold and influence! The Count of Monte-Cristo seeks to part us; that is the reason he has sent you here, to this convent, where you are little less than a prisoner!"

He caught her wildly in his arms and held her against his breast as if defying fate. Zuleika, more terrified than ever, struggled in his embrace and finally released herself. She faced Giovanni, and said, warmly:

"You do my father injustice. He does not seek to part us. He esteems you greatly, Viscount Massetti, loves you for the service you rendered me, his daughter, and will reward that service with the highest recompense in his power to bestow—my hand. But he considers me a child as yet, wishes me to have education and experience before I marry, that I may be a wife worth having and not a mere useless doll. Respect his wishes, Giovanni, respect him. He is a good, kind-hearted man, and will do right. His wisdom has been shown too often for me to doubt it!"

"His wisdom!" cried Massetti, bitterly. "Yes, he is wise, too wise to bestow your hand upon me, a mere Viscount! What is my family in his eyes? Nothing. What is my wealth? An utter trifle compared to his. I tell you, Zuleika, he does not wish us to marry. He designs you for some high potentate with riches to match the princely marriage-portion you will have!"

"No, no!" cried the girl. "You are despondent, and in your despondency misjudge him. He cares nothing for wealth or exalted station, but values a good name and an unstained reputation above all else."

"But will you not be mine, will you not fly with me from this wretched prison, in which I can see you only by stealth and like a criminal?"

The Italian's eyes sparkled in the twilight and his voice was full of eloquent persuasion. He fell upon his knees at Zuleika's feet, and, seizing her hand, kissed it passionately again and again. The trembling young girl was deeply touched by his love and entreaties. For a moment she wavered, but for a moment only; then reason asserted its sway and cooler reflection came to her aid.

"Rise, Giovanni," she said, with comparative calmness, "rise and be a man. This proposition is altogether unworthy of you, and, should I accept it, we would both be disgraced. I am yours, my heart is in your keeping, and I will be your wife at the proper time with my father's full consent. But I cannot fly with you, I will not!"

The young man sprang to his feet as if an electric bat had struck him.

"You have no confidence in me, then!" he cried, impulsively. "You do not love me!"

"Do not love you!" exclaimed the girl, winding her shapely arms about his neck, as her lovely head sank upon his bosom. "I love you with all my heart, with all my soul, and it is because I love you that I will not fly with you!"

Giovanni kissed her hair rapturously, excitedly, and the beautiful girl, looking ten times more beautiful in her pleading earnestness, added, sweetly, persuasively:

"Leave me now, darling. The bell for the pupils to return to the convent will soon ring and I must not be missed from among them. Leave me, but remember the maxim, 'Wait and hope!'"

The lover was about to reply when the sound of footsteps suddenly broke upon their ears. They glanced at each other, startled, uncertain what to do. Giovanni was the first to recover self-possession. He noiselessly parted the boughs of the elm and peered cautiously in the direction of the sound.

"Three men are rapidly approaching," he said, hastily, in a whisper. "They are almost here!"

Zuleika looked, in her turn, through the branches.

"The gardener and his assistants," she whispered, nearly petrified by consternation. "They have evidently learned that you scaled the wall and are in quest of you!"

"See," said Giovanni, breathlessly, pointing to a group behind the men. "A number of nuns are also coming!"

"They are searching for me! Oh! Giovanni, fly, fly instantly!"

"And leave you to suffer, to bear the weight of my imprudence! Never! I will stay and protect you!"

"You will not protect me by remaining. You will only compromise us both the more. Go, I beseech you, go, while there is yet time!"

With tears in her imploring eyes, Zuleika pushed her lover gently towards the wall. He gazed at her for an instant and then at the approaching men and nuns, who were now very near.

The girl clasped her hands supplicatingly, then mutely pointed to the wall.

"It is your wish?" asked Massetti, hurriedly.

Zuleika nodded her head affirmatively, and still more imperatively pointed to the wall.

"I will obey you," whispered the young Italian, "and I will 'wait and hope!'"

She had gained the victory. A joyous love-light came into her eyes, for the moment eclipsing her terror. Giovanni could not resist the temptation to embrace her, even in the face of the danger that threatened him. He wound his arms about her yielding form, drew her to him with a crushing strain, showering burning kisses upon her upturned lips.

"Farewell," he murmured, reluctantly releasing her, "farewell, my own!"

He turned from her and ran to the wall, scaled it with the agility of a cat and vanished.

When the gardener and his assistants reached the elm, they found Zuleika standing there alone. Had they seen Massetti scale the wall? Had they recognized him? These thoughts shot through the girl's agitated mind. She gave no attention to her own peril.

The men came to a halt and stood silently by, waiting for the nuns to arrive. Horror was pictured on their aged countenances, and they stared at Monte-Cristo's daughter as if she had committed some heinous, unpardonable crime.

The group of nuns speedily arrived, headed by Sister Agatha, who held an open letter in her hand. Zuleika gazed at this letter in silent dismay. It was hers, the one Giovanni had written her! How had it got into Sister Agatha's possession? She mechanically felt in her bosom where she had secreted it, as she thought, safely. Her hand touched only the empty envelope. The note must have fallen upon the floor of the school-room and been found by some malicious pupil, who, after reading it and discovering its compromising contents, had surrendered it to the nun, thus divulging the weighty secret.

Zuleika stood abashed and terror-stricken. No chance of escape now. No chance for deception had she wished to essay it. The letter told the whole story, and the proof of its truth was furnished, for was she not at the appointed rendezvous, and was it not probable that the men and the nuns had seen Giovanni quit her and scale the garden wall?

The nuns looked as horrified as the old servants, but they were more to be dreaded; they possessed the power of reprimanding and punishing, and what punishment would they think too severe in this extreme case? Sister Agatha spoke. Her tone was milder than Zuleika had expected.

"Oh! mademoiselle," she said, reproachfully, "what is this? A meeting with a lover, and within these holy precincts dedicated to celibacy, chastity and sacred things! What will your father, the Count of Monte-Cristo, say when your conduct is reported to him? You are young, and allowance must be made for youthful blood and passionate impulses; but still you have done wrong, very wrong! Is this man, who signs himself Giovanni and who just left you, your betrothed?"

"He is," murmured Zuleika, blushing and holding down her head.

"With your father's permission, mademoiselle?"

"My father does not object to him," replied the girl evasively.

"In that case your fault is not so great as I at first supposed," said the nun. "You are pardonable for receiving the man, who, with your father's consent, is in time to become your husband; but, nevertheless, in meeting him within the convent grounds you are censurable for lack of discipline, and also for conniving at a breach of our rule which excludes all male visitors, save parents or guardians."

Zuleika bowed her head in submission.

"The punishment," continued Sister Agatha, "shall be as light as possible, however, if you have never before met this man within the convent grounds."

"I have never met him here before," said Zuleika, "and I only met him in this instance because—because—"

She hesitated and burst into tears.

"Because what, my poor child?" asked the nun, kindly.

"Because I love him so, and because I was afraid, if I did not meet him, in his desperation he would seek me out in face of you all!"

"Have you ever written to him since you have been in this school?"

"Never!"

"Has he ever written to you before?"

"You hold his first letter to me in your hand!"

"How was this letter delivered, by what means did it reach you?"

Her face one mass of crimson, trembling from head to foot, Zuleika told the whole story of her adventure at noon that day. How she had strayed from her companions without any definite intention; how she had seated herself within the screening branches of the elm to meditate; how she had heard the singular noise in the chestnut tree, and, finally, how the letter, fastened to a stone, had come fluttering over the wall and fallen at her feet.

The nuns glanced at each other, horrified and amazed at the audacity of the young Italian.

"Zuleika," said Sister Agatha, "I told you your punishment should be as light as possible. You have been exposed and reprimanded; the blush of shame has been brought to your cheek! This, I think, is penalty sufficient for a first offense, considering also that it was, in a measure, forced upon you. But beware of a second infraction of our rules! Now, return to your companions."

So it happened that Zuleika suffered but slightly for the imprudence and headlong devotion of her lover. Fearing gossip, the Sisterhood of the Sacred Heart suppressed the matter, and the Count of Monte-Cristo never heard of it. Zuleika expected ridicule from her companions, but the warm-blooded, romantic Italian girls, instead of ridiculing her, looked upon her as a heroine and envied her the possession of a lover daring and devoted enough to scale the wall of a convent garden.