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But in vain the lady wooed; Viola hastened from her presence, threatening never more to come to plead Orsino's love; and all the reply she made to Olivia's fond solicitation was, a declaration of a resolution Never to love any woman. No sooner had Viola left the lady than a claim was made upon her valour.
"Did you find Del Ferice last night?" she asked, changing the subject without the least hesitation. "Yes," answered Orsino. Almost before the word was spoken there was a knock at the door and Del Ferice appeared. Orsino's face cleared, as though something pleasant had happened, and Maria Consuelo observed the fact.
Not seeing her face, one might not have singled her out of many as a very striking woman, for she had neither the stateliness of Orsino's mother, nor the enchanting grace which distinguished Gouache's wife. But no one could look into her eyes without feeling that she was very far from being an ordinary woman.
Now though Viola had the utmost deference for the duke's opinions, she could not help thinking this was not quite true, for she thought her heart had full as much love in it as Orsino's had; and she said, "Ah, but I know, my lord." "What do you know, Cesario?" said Orsino. "Too well I know," replied Viola, "what love women may owe to men. They are as true of heart as we are.
Having made an appointment, he ought at least to have sent word to the Palazzo Saracinesca of his departure. He had indeed left a message for Orsino, which was correctly delivered, to the effect that he would return in twenty-four hours, and requesting him to postpone the interview until the following afternoon. In Orsino's humour this was not altogether pleasant.
"And so you really mean to stay here all summer," he remarked, lighting a cigarette and looking at the people seated at a table behind Spicca. Spicca did not answer at first, and when he did his reply had nothing to do with Orsino's interrogatory observation. "We never get rid of the things we have done in our lives," he said, dreamily.
Orsino could hardly pronounce the words of the question. "Count Spicca." Maria Consuelo spoke quietly, but her fingers trembled nervously and she watched Orsino's face in evident distress and anxiety. As for Orsino, he was almost dumb with amazement. "Spicca! Spicca your father!" he repeated indistinctly.
She was amazed to find that she was becoming romantic now, in her dreams for Orsino's future. All sorts of ideas which she would have laughed at in her own youth flitted through her brain from morning till night. Her fancy built up a life for her eldest son, which she knew to be far from the possibility of realisation, but which had for her a new and strange attraction.
What is to be said to him, lady? for he seems fortified against all denial, and will speak with you, whether you will or no. Olivia, curious to see who this peremptory messenger might be, desired he might be admitted; and throwing her veil over her face, she said she would once more hear Orsino's embassy, not doubting but that he came from the duke, by his importunity.
"Monsieur de Saracinesca, will you not sit down? You make me a little nervous." Gouache raised his finely marked eyebrows almost imperceptibly at the odd form of address, which betrayed ignorance either of worldly usage or else of Orsino's individuality. He stepped back from the canvas and moved a chair forward. "Sit here, Prince," he said. "Madame can see you, and you will not be behind me."
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