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"I've never mattered to any one." She muttered the words to herself. As she did so Artois seemed again to be looking into the magic mirror of the fattura della morte, to see the pale man, across whose face the shadow of a palm-leaf shifted, turning on his bed towards a woman who stood by an open door. "You have always mattered to me," he said.
And that fear of hers? She looked again round the room. Had that fear increased or diminished? Her eyes fell on Maria Addolorata, then on the Fattura della morte. She did not know why, but she was moved to speak about it. "You have nice rooms here," she said. "Si, Signora." Maddalena had rather a harsh voice. She spoke politely, but inexpressively. "What a curious thing that is on the wall!"
"The fattura della morte has gone!" repeated Ruffo. The repetition of the words struck a chill to the heart of Artois. Again he was beset by superstition. He caught it from these children of the South, who stared at him now with their grave and cloudy eyes. "Perhaps one of the servants " he began. "No, Signore. I have asked them. And they would not dare to touch it." "The Signorina?"
La fattura della morte! La fattura della morte! It has been brought to the house to-night! It has been put in my room to-night!" In her hand lay a green lemon pierced by many nails. "Monsieur Emile, what is it?" exclaimed Vere. The frightened servants were gone, half coaxed and half scolded into silence by Artois. He had taken the lemon from Peppina, and it lay now in his hand.
In the magic mirror of the fattura della morte other scenes formed themselves, were clearly visible for a moment, then dispersed, dissolved till scenes of the island came, till the last scene in the mirror dawned faintly before his eyes.
He saw among the scars and among the nails Hermione and himself! They were in Paris, at a table strewn with flowers. That was the first scene in the magic mirror of the fattura della morte, the scene in which they met for the first time. Hermione regarded him almost with timidity. And he looked at her doubtfully, because she had no beauty.
She might have left the island with some definite purpose, or moved by a blind impulse to get away, and be alone. Artois could not tell. But she had taken the fattura della morte. He wondered whether she knew its meaning, with what sinister intention it had been made. Something in the little worthless thing must have attracted her, have fascinated her, or she would not have taken it.
At this moment Gaspare came into the room with a face that was almost livid. "Who is it that has brought a fattura della morte here?" he exclaimed. His usually courageous eyes were full of superstitious fear. "Signore, do you " He stopped. He had seen the death-charm lying on the little table covered with silver trifles.
He approached it, made a sign of the cross, bent down his head and examined it closely, but did not touch it. Artois and Vere watched him closely. He lifted up his head at last. "I know who brought the fattura della morte here," he said, solemnly. "I know." "Who?" said Vere. "It was Ruffo." "Ruffo!" Vere reddened. "Ruffo! He loves our house, and he loves us!" "It is Ruffo, Signorina. It is Ruffo.
He crossed the bridge. When he was on it he heard the splash of oars below him in the Pool, but he took no heed of it. What were the fishermen to him to-night? Before the house door he met Gaspare and Ruffo. "What is it?" "The Signora is not in her room, Signore." "Not ? How do you know? Is the door open?" "Si, Signore. The Signora has gone! And the fattura della morte has gone."
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