William Le Queux - The Day of Temptation

As soon as he could, he returned to Florence, but the weather had then grown hot, and all who were able had left the sun-baked city. Then, disappointed at not finding her after an active search, he drifted down to the sea at Livorno, and within three days was delighted to see her strolling in the Passeggio with her ugly, cross-eyed serving woman. The recognition was mutual, and after one or two meetings she explained that she had a flat for the season in one of the great white houses opposite, and expressed a hope that he would call.

He lost no time in renewing the acquaintance, and now they were inseparable. He loved her.

“Do you know, Gemma,” he was saying seriously, “when I left Florence in March, I left my heart behind – with you.”

She blushed slightly beneath her veil, and raising her clear blue eyes to his, answered with a slight sigh in her soft Italian —

“You say you love me, caro; but can I really believe you?”

“Of course you can, dearest,” he answered earnestly, speaking her tongue with difficulty. “I love no other woman in the whole world but you.”

“Ah!” she exclaimed sadly, gazing blankly away across the sea, now glittering crimson in the blaze of the dying day. “I sometimes fear to love you, because you may tire of me one day, and go back to some woman of your own people.”

“Never,” he answered fervently. “As I told you yesterday, Gemma, I love you; and you, in return, have already given me your pledge.”

“And you can actually love me like this, blindly, without inquiring too deeply into my past?” she whispered, regarding him gravely with those calm, clear eyes, which seemed to penetrate his very soul.

“Your past matters not to me,” he answered in a deep, intense voice under his breath, so that passers-by should not overhear. “I have asked you nothing; you have told me nothing. I love you, Gemma, and trust to your honour to tell me what I ought to know.”

“Ah! you are generous!” she exclaimed; and he saw beneath her veil a single tear upon her cheek. “The past life of a man can always be effaced; that of a woman never. A false step, alas! lives as evidence against her until the grave.”

“Why are you so melancholy this evening?” he asked, after a pause.

“I really don’t know,” she answered. “Perhaps it is because I am so happy and contented. My peace seems too complete to be lasting.”

“While you love me, Gemma, I shall love you always,” he exclaimed decisively. “You need never have any doubt about my earnestness. I adore you.”

Her breast heaved and fell beneath its black lace and jet, and she turned her fine eyes upon him with an expression more eloquent than any words of assurance and affection.

Then, after a brief silence, he glanced around at the crowd about them, saying —

“It is impossible to speak further of our private affairs here. You will dine with me to-night. Where shall it be?”

“Let’s dine at the Eden. There’s plenty of air there. We can get a table facing the sea, and stay to the performance afterwards. Shall we?” she asked, her face brightening.

“Certainly,” he replied. “I’ll go across to the hotel and dress, while you go along home and put on another frock. I know you won’t go in black to a café chantant ,” he added, laughing.

“You’ll call for me?” she asked.

“Yes, at eight.”

As these words fell from his lips a man’s voice in English exclaimed —

“Hulloa, Charlie! Who’d have thought of finding you here?”

Armytage looked up quickly, and, to his surprise, found standing before him his old college chum and fellow clubman, Frank Tristram.

“Why, Frank, old fellow!” he cried, jumping up and grasping the other’s hand warmly. “We haven’t met for how long? The last time was one night in the Wintergarden at Berlin, fully two years ago – eh?”

“Yes. Neither of us are much in London nowadays, therefore we seldom meet. But what are you doing here?” asked the King’s messenger, looking cool and smart in his suit of grey flannel.

“Killing time, as usual,” his friend replied, with a smile.

“Lucky devil!” Tristram exclaimed. “While I’m compelled to race from end to end of Europe for a paltry eight hundred a year, you laze away your days in an out-of-the-world place like this.” And he glanced significantly at the sweet, fair-faced woman who, having given him a swift look, was now sitting motionless, her hands idly crossed upon her lap, her eyes fixed blankly upon the sunlit sea.

“Let me introduce you,” Armytage exclaimed in Italian, noticing his friend’s look of admiration. “The Signorina Gemma Fanetti – my friend, Captain Frank Tristram.”

The latter bowed, made a little complimentary speech in excellent Italian, and seated himself with Armytage beside her.

“Well,” Tristram said, still speaking in Italian, “this is quite an unexpected pleasure. I thought that in addition to the Ambassador out at Ardenza, and the jovial Jack Hutchinson, the Consul, I was the only Englishman in this purely Tuscan place.” Then turning to his friend’s companion, he asked, “Are you Livornese?”

“Oh, no,” she replied, with a gay, rippling laugh, “I live in Florence; only just now the place is stifling, so I’m down here for fresh air.”

“Ah, Florence!” he said. “The old city is justly termed ‘La Bella.’ I sometimes find myself there in winter, and it is always interesting, always delightful.”

At that moment an English lady, the wife of an Italian officer, bowed in passing, and Armytage sprang to his feet and began to chat to her. He had known her well during his stay in Florence earlier in the year.

As soon as Gemma noticed that her lover was no longer listening, her manner at once changed, and bending quickly towards the Captain, she exclaimed in rapid Italian, which she knew Armytage could not understand —

“Well, did you see Vittorina safely to London?”

Tristram started at the unexpected mention of that name.

“Yes,” he answered, with slight hesitation. “I saw her safely as far as Charing Cross, but was compelled to leave her there, and put her in a cab for Hammersmith.”

“How far is that?”

“About five kilometres,” he replied.

“I have had no telegram from her,” she observed. “She promised to wire to me as soon as she arrived, and I am beginning to feel anxious about her.”

“Worry is useless,” he said calmly. “She is no doubt quite safe with her friends. I gave the cabman the right address. My official business was pressing, or I would have gone out to Hammersmith with her.”

“You remember what I told you on the night we parted in Florence?” she said mysteriously.

He nodded, and his dark face grew a shade paler.

“Well, I have discovered that what I suspected was correct,” she said, her eyes flashing for an instant with a strange glint. “Some one has betrayed the secret.”

“Betrayed you!” he gasped.

She shrugged her shoulders. Her clear eyes fixed themselves fiercely upon him.

“You alone knew the truth,” she said. “And you have broken your promise of silence.”

He flinched.

“Well?” he said. “You are, of course, at liberty to make any charge you like against me, but I can only declare that I have not divulged one single word.” Then he added quickly, “But what of Armytage? Does he know anything?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she answered quickly. “I love him. Remember that you and I have never met before our introduction this afternoon.”

“Of course,” the Captain answered.

“Curious that Vittorina has disappeared! If I hear nothing of her, I shall go to London and find her,” Gemma observed, after a few moments’ silence.