"Wake, my dear one," he said, not observing the infant, which shone, at that moment, with supernatural light.
Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi's look, and smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely recognized his wife, now half mad.With a gesture of savage energy he showed her the gold.Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly she cried, in a dreadful voice:--"The child, Luigi, he is cold!"
She looked at her son and swooned.The little Bartolomeo was dead.
Luigi took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she clasped with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he went out to seek help.
"Oh! my God!" he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs."I have gold, gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying, too! Help me!"He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason, and also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the needs of so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans had carefully hidden it from a feeling of pride.
Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on which lay his wife.
"Father! take care of my son, who bears your name," she was saying in her delirium.
"Oh, my angel! be calm," said Luigi, kissing her; "our good days are coming back to us.""My Luigi," she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention, "listen to me.I feel that I am dying.My death is natural; I suffered too much; besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for.
Yes, my Luigi, be comforted.I have been so happy that if I were to live again I would again accept our fate.I am a bad mother; I regret you more than I regret my child-- My child!" she added, in a hollow voice.
Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little body she had no power to warm.
"Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra," she said."Tell him I have never blamed him."Her head fell upon her husband's arm.
"No, you cannot die!" cried Luigi."The doctor is coming.We have food.Your father will take you home.Prosperity is here.Stay with us, angel!"But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold.Ginevra turned her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was conscious of nought else.Confused images passed before her mind, now losing memory of earth.She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped his icy hand tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to save herself from some precipice down which she feared to fall.
"Dear," she said, at last, "you are cold; I will warm you."She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died.
Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room, bringing all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their despair.These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they had entered, an awful silence filled the room.
While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were sitting in their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast fireplace, where a glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of their salon.The clock told midnight.
For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep.At the present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their dotage, gazing about them at things they did not see.Their deserted salon, so filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single lamp which seemed expiring.Without the sparkling of the flame upon the hearth, they might soon have been in total darkness.
A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been sitting, remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans.Piombo was casting glances at that chair,--glances full of thoughts, crowding one upon another like remorse,--for the empty chair was Ginevra's.
Elisa Piombo watched the expressions that now began to cross her husband's pallid face.Though long accustomed to divine his feelings from the changeful agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so threatening, and anon so melancholy that she felt she could no longer read a soul that was now incomprehensible, even to her.
Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that chair? Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for the first time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy struck,--that hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now?
These reflections shook the mother's heart successively.For an instant her husband's countenance became so terrible that she trembled at having used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra's name.The night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so sharply against the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard a gentle rustling.Ginevra's mother dropped her head to hide her tears.Suddenly a sigh burst from the old man's breast; his wife looked at him; he seemed to her crushed.Then she risked speaking--for the second time in three long years--of his daughter.
"Ginevra may be cold," she said, softly.
Piombo quivered.
"She may be hungry," she continued.
The old man dropped a tear.
"Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!"said the mother, in accents of despair.
"Let her come! let her come to me!" cried Piombo."Oh! my precious child, thou hast conquered me."The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter.At that instant the door opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of humanity, stood suddenly before them.
"Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other.Here is all that remains of her," he said, laying Ginevra's long black hair upon the table.
The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had blasted them.
Luigi no longer stood before them.
"He has spared me a shot, for he is dead," said Bartolomeo, slowly, gazing on the ground at his feet.
End
