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But you are in that frame of mind, my dear Bosio, in which a man will sooner or later unburden himself to some one. You might do worse than choose me. I am your friend, I am old, and I know that I am discreet. I am extraordinarily discreet. It may seem strange that I should say so myself, but my own life has taught me that I am to be trusted with secrets." "Yes," replied Bosio.
If you stay in this house, by the truth of God, I believe that your life is not safe." "You believe it, I am sure," said Veronica. "But I cannot. The most I can believe is that poor Bosio was already mad when he told you this. It must be true.
The Duca della Spina rose painfully to his feet. He seemed quite unconscious of the tears he had shed, and too much shaken to take leave with any formality. Bosio stood quite still, when he had risen too, and his face was white. The old man passed him without a word, going to the door. "My poor son! my poor Gianluca!" he repeated to himself, as Gregorio Macomer accompanied him.
They clung, as Jews have clung wherever they have been scattered, to the memories and to the customs of their country, and that they retained their ancient mode of sepulture was curiously ascertained by Bosio, the first explorer of the catacombs.
You were always an idealist, Bosio you do not care for those things, and I daresay that when you are married you will not even care to take her titles, nor to spend much of her money. I know well enough what passes in your mind. Sit down. Let us talk about it. We cannot afford to quarrel, you and I, can we? I am sorry I spoke as I did and I never meant that you were cowardly in the ordinary sense.
And Bosio, whose intelligence was essentially dramatic and given to throwing future interviews into an imaginary dramatic shape, thought over and over what he would say to Veronica and what she might be expected to say to him.
It seems to me that I should see her at night, in the dark corners, when I should be alone. Ugh!" Matilde Macomer shivered suddenly, and then stared at Bosio with frightened eyes. He glanced at her nervously. "I am afraid of you," he said. "Of me?" Her presence of mind returned.
The cardinal and the world at large were in total ignorance of all the truth except the facts which could not be concealed; namely, that Bosio Macomer had killed himself and that his brother was mad. The latter fact explained the former; for everybody said that there was insanity in the family, and that Bosio had been mad, too.
For in the expansion of sympathy she enjoyed so much it all at once seemed to her that she could never marry any one but Bosio, who understood her so well, who anticipated what she was going to say, and knew beforehand what she thought upon almost any subject of conversation.
Bosio felt that shock of shame which smites a man in the back, as it were, when a woman is too strong for him and orders him brutally to do her will. "I told him the truth," he answered, and his pale cheeks reddened with futile anger. "The truth!" Matilde's face darkened. "What? What did you tell him?" Bosio was weakly glad to have frightened her a little.
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