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Updated: June 11, 2025
They have lent it, and they will take their payment in blood and tears of those who believe them." "But there is love in the world, somewhere," said Francesca, gently. "Yes and in hell! But not in heaven where you will be." Francesca sighed unconsciously, and looked long away towards the great windows at the end of the hall. Reanda gathered up his palette and brushes with a steadier hand.
The great, strong mouth smiled at her with a smile that was at once evil and sad and fatal. The strange eyes looked her through and through from beneath the vast brow. "It is diabolical, satanical!" she responded, under her breath. Reanda still smiled wickedly and watched her. The face seemed to grow and grow till it filled the whole range of vision.
Reanda came to the fireside, and stood there, spreading out his trembling hands to the blaze. He dreaded the first word, as a man lying ill of brain fever dreads each cracking explosion in a thunderstorm. Strained as their relations had been for a long time, he had never failed to kiss Gloria when he came home.
"Nobody can hear me here, you know." "I should not think anybody would wish to," answered the Scotchman; but he spoke in Italian, in consideration of his guest, who did not understand English. "I do not know why you are always so angry if I sing anything foolish," said the young girl, going back to Italian. "One cannot be always serious. But I was talking about your frescoes, Signor Reanda.
His magnificent frame seemed to belong to one person, his voice and manner to another. Both might be good in their way, but her curiosity was excited by the side which was the less apparent. They all went through the house till they came to a door which divided the inhabited part from the hall in which Reanda was working.
To see a young girl flying through the air like Simon Magus! It was enough!" Francesca laughed gently. Reanda shook his head with slow disapprobation, and frowned. "I say the truth," he said. "There is something I cannot explain. But I can show you," he added quickly. He took up his palette and brushes from the chair on which they lay, and reached the white plastered wall in two steps.
Reanda felt it, too, but said nothing. He was almost foolishly in love with his wife, and he was devotedly attached to Francesca herself. For the present he was very simple in his dealings with himself, and he quietly shut his eyes to the possibility of a disagreement between the two women, though he felt that it was in the air.
His leonine strength of body impressed her strongly, and she felt his presence in the room, even when she was not looking at him. Reanda was physically a weak and nervous man. When he was painting, the movements of his hand seemed to be independent of his will and guided by a superior unseen power, rather than directed by his judgment and will.
When they had found what they wanted, Donna Francesca generally drove home in a cab, and Reanda went to his midday meal before returning. For the line of his intimacy with her was drawn at this point. He had never sat down at the same table with her, and he never expected to do so.
"Three lights mean death," said Gloria, promptly; and she laughed, as she went quickly up the steps. "It is true," answered Reanda, in a low voice, as he followed her; and it occurred to him that in a flash he had seen death written in the brilliant young face. Ten minutes later, they were seated around the table in the Dalrymples' small dining-room.
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