Page:Once a Week Volume 7.djvu/728

720 more than thirty, he had passed eight years in exile, having been banished by the ducal government for his extreme opinions. He had spent this interval in England, where he supported himself as a teacher of Italian.

He had now returned to Gariglano under a special permission, which extended to but three days, given him to dispose finally of some small property he owned in the village.

Such was the abject influence of the terrorism that prevailed at the time, that though Sebastian was well liked and esteemed in the place, none had the courage to invite to their house a man who lay under proscription by the government. Whether adversity had taught him to expect hard usage in life, or that his pride would not stoop to resent such meanness, the young man never seemed to notice the coldness of his townsfolk, and so he frequented the café and appeared at the bowling-green with the rest, not displaying in any way a sense of the injury done him.

In an evil hour Carlo Eisingarde mistook this forbearance, and read it as a tacit submission to his own sway and a humble recognition of the superior position he occupied. He thought the young Count—for he was a Count—made way for him as he passed with a studied deference; he fancied that he removed his hat in saluting him with a more than common respect; he imagined innumerable little evidences of Sebastian’s homage, and persuaded himself that these were only the legitimate tributes paid by a fallen family to the representative of a rich and rising house. Nor was it a small self-flattery to feel that as he lived in the palace of the old lords of the village, a descendant of this haughty race should come to show him personally all the deference due to one above him in station.

In the three days of his stay, Sebastian had never exchanged a word with Carlo; they met frequently, joined in the same sports, and mingled in the same laughter, but never once had come into actual communication with each other. It was on the last day of Sebastian’s leave that he was seated in a little arbour in the bowling-green, quietly smoking his cigar, and watching the game with the easy indolence of an idle man: while he sat thus an ill-directed ball rolled into the summer house and struck him lightly on the foot. Sebastian kicked it back carelessly, and sent it again towards the players.

“Who is it that returns my ball in this fashion?” called out Carlo Eisingarde, in the insolent tone he ever assumed towards his companions. No one replied, and he repeated his question more defiantly than before. “I wish that whoever had the temerity to be insolent would have the courage to avow it.”

“It was I kicked your ball back,” said Sebastian calmly, while he continued to puff his cigar with the greatest composure.

“Then I must say, sir, foreign travel does not seem to have done much for your good manners.”

“I am grieved to hear you say so,” said Sebastian, with mock humility.

“You shall hear it again, then,” said Eisingarde, walking up to him with an insolence all the greater because he saw his opponent disposed to submission. “Is it because your family called themselves Counts that you attempt these impertinences?—Counts who have not a crown in their coffers!”

“In the money point it were better we had been clockmakers,” said the other, with a laugh.

Eisingarde, stung to madness by the retort, sprung towards him, but the other quickly bounded to his feet, and in a voice of a very different tone from what he spoke in before, said:

“Have a care what you do! I have pledged my word of honour to the government of Parma to engage in no quarrel during the few hours I pass within this frontier. To-morrow I will meet you at Massa, at Lucca, on the Lombard frontier, wherever you like, anywhere but here.”

“What a convenient pledge,” cried out Eisingarde to the by-standers; “we ought to be very grateful to our rulers for their paternal care of us, not but that they might have gone a step further, and where they bound you not to fight, made you promise to behave like a gentleman.”

“Will you tell me where it is your pleasure to meet me to-morrow?” whispered Sebastian in a very low voice.

“You shall hear, sir; you shall hear to-night,” said the other, as he turned and walked away.

Generosity was not a feature of the bowling-green company, and when Sebastian sauntered towards the inn, no one joined him.

The greater part of the night he sat up writing letters; he had a great deal to do, many friends to communicate with, and business details to complete. He was surprised, as time went on, to receive no tidings of Eisingarde, but occupied so deeply as he was, it was only at intervals that he remembered him. At length the grey dawn began to mingle with the lamp light; he opened his window and looked out; four post-horses were being led along by a postilion, and he asked whither they were going.

“For the Signorino Carlo,” cried the man, “he’s off for Parma in all haste.”

Sebastian closed the window, and went to bed. He slept very soundly, and only awoke late in the afternoon by hearing some loud talking in the room next him.

Some one imperiously asked for the Count Sebastian Spada, and as he hastily slipped on a dressing-gown and presented himself, he was shown a warrant for his arrest and committal to prison at Parma, the routine words—“on the following charges”—being scratched out, and in the after space simply, “by order of me, Wilhelm von Essling, Commandant.”

“That’s enough,” said Sebastian; “when I read that name on the foot of a document, I never ask for an explanation. When I saw it last, it cost me two years and four months of a dungeon, perhaps I may call myself lucky if I escape with as little now.”

The grim brigadier gave no sign that he heard him, but merely urged him to be speedy, saying:

“I have five other arrests to make this morning, and came to you first, because, as a gentleman, you would like a little more time for your arrangements than these townsfolk.”

“And so there are others. Who are they?”