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Updated: June 20, 2025
Suddenly it was as if an iron hand seized Vanno's heart and slowly pressed the blood out of it. The thought had flashed into his head that she was more than ever before like a gentle and lovely Juliet, but Juliet in the tomb, her white beauty lit by many candles. If she were dead if those people had killed her Never had Vanno seen any one sleep so soundly.
Days passed, and Vanno's project which concerned Mary and the curé was still in abeyance, for the priest was not free yet to leave Roquebrune. The man whose death was daily expected had not died, and the curé spent as much time with him as could be spared from other duties. But Vanno Della Robbia was not the only one who sought the services of a friend in order to "help" Mary.
"Could it be," she reflected aloud, "that the person who had the tablet put up associated this place with some one who was English maybe a woman, if he was a man and so he wanted to use her language, not his own?" "You have guessed right!" exclaimed Vanno, boyishly delighted with her intuition. "He was an Italian. He loved an English girl."
She must be worthy, because there was no other princess for this kingdom of his, east of the sun and west of the moon; and without her the rooms of the castle would hold only echoes. Vanno would have died rather than speak out such thoughts to any one on earth, for they were the property of that self which his brother Angelo said was at war with the other self, the self which the world knew.
"That is what everybody wonders," Vanno said, finding it as difficult as Mary found it, not to show that this conversation was of immense, exciting importance. "It puzzled me so much when I first came this way that I couldn't get it out of my head. I asked a friend who has lived for years not many miles away, if he could tell me what it meant." "And could he tell you?"
"The brothers are alike... they adore purity... and they have a pitying horror of women who aren't innocent." Could Vanno believe her not innocent now? Could his eyes "stars of love," Marie had called his and Angelo's could his eyes that had adored, look at her with the dreadful coldness of Angelo's at this moment, the coldness which would be death for Marie?
Without waiting for proof, you take it for granted that I'm guilty, that I've deceived Vanno and you." "Your silence when you might have defended yourself from Miss Bland and from the American woman was proof in itself. If you are not the person concerned in their story, surely you would have denied your identity with her. You said nothing. You bowed your head under the storm.
Vanno saw that Marie was looking at her husband intently, with a peculiar, almost frightened expression, as if she were studying him wistfully, and finding out something new which she had not wholly understood. "Angelo," she ventured, in a small, beguiling voice, "perhaps this poor man has his pride of an artist. You see, I have a fellow feeling!"
Engaged to Prince Vanno Della Robbia, approved by his elder brother, and the guest of the popular Winters, those who counted in the great world were quite ready to forget that she had been "rather talked about," or else to like her all the better for that reason. It was only the people who were on the fringe of things, like Mrs. Cayley-Binns, or beyond the pale, like Mrs.
Vanno had not gone so far as to fall in love at first sight; yet coming back from the desert with his heart open to beauty and romance, he had been willing to let himself go to the brink, or over it, if it were worth while, else he would not have followed Juliet's eyes. But he wished to have nothing to do with the white angel if she were a fallen angel.
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