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Updated: June 20, 2025
At one of the tables near were sitting several officers of the garrison of the Maine. From their glances and whispering together it was easy to perceive that they were struck by Gemma's beauty; one of them, who had probably stayed in Frankfort, stared at her persistently, as at a figure familiar to him; he obviously knew who she was.
It would have been difficult for Sanin to have said anything more foolish than these words ... he was conscious of it himself.... But, at any rate, the silence was broken. 'Angry? she answered. 'What for? No. 'And you believe me? he went on. 'In what you wrote? 'Yes. Gemma's head sank, and she said nothing. The parasol slipped out of her hands.
Thank Heaven for that!" she said, and she sat down on the brick floor to take off her stockings. Gemma's fidanzato, her lawyer from Lucca, was coming to Siena for a week.
Poor Astorre had not been devout in any sense, but he had written his friend a long letter on the day after Gemma's suicide, and he had asked for her prayers then. "Fausto told me how you knelt there in the street beside the dead Odalisque and said the Pater-noster and the Miserere. Perhaps you will do as much for me one day.
They had been hearing Montanelli preach in the Cathedral; and the great building had been so thronged with eager listeners that Martini, fearing a return of Gemma's troublesome headaches, had persuaded her to come away before the Mass was over. The sunny morning, the first after a week of rain, offered him an excuse for suggesting a walk among the garden slopes by San Niccolo.
When he halted before those two they seemed to feel the heat that seethed in his steel-bound breast. His disfigured face still insolvable, Lapo Cercamorte plunged his stare into Madonna Gemma's eyes, then looked into the eyes of Raffaele. His hoarse voice broke the hush; he said to the young man: "So you are the sister of my friend Count Nicolloto?"
Sanin, on his side, questioned Emil about his father, his mother, and in general about their family affairs, trying every time not to mention Gemma's name and thinking only of her. To speak more precisely, it was not of her he was thinking, but of the morrow, the mysterious morrow which was to bring him new, unknown happiness!
The next instant she wrenched her fingers away from his, and struck him across the cheek with her open hand. A kind of mist came over his eyes. For a little while he was conscious of nothing but Gemma's white and desperate face, and the right hand which she had fiercely rubbed on the skirt of her cotton dress. Then the daylight crept back again, and he looked round and saw that he was alone.
"I have guessed what it is: Rivarez is taken, of course?" he said, as he came into Gemma's room. "He was arrested last Thursday, at Brisighella. He defended himself desperately and wounded the captain of the squadron and a spy." "Armed resistance; that's bad!" "It makes no difference; he was too deeply compromised already for a pistol-shot more or less to affect his position much."
Fausto admires you, but you frighten him." "Is he Gemma's adorer?" she asked with a careful display of indifference. "Yes, he is always amoroso." "Ah! Does he smoke?" "Yes. Why?" "Oh, nothing," she said. She did not really believe that the man on the stairs could have been Fausto. Gemma would not look twice at such a harmless infant now.
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