CHAPTER 7.V.
Van seco pur anco
Sdegno ed Amor, quasi due Veltri al fianco.
"Ger. Lib." cant. xx. cxvii.
(There went with him still Disdain and Love, like two greyhounds
side by side.)
Glyndon did not perceive, as he hurried from the house, two forms
crouching by the angle of the wall. He saw still the spectre
gliding by his side; but he beheld not the yet more poisonous
eyes of human envy and woman's jealousy that glared on his
retreating footsteps.
Nicot advanced to the house; Fillide followed him in silence.
The painter, an old sans-culotte, knew well what language to
assume to the porter. He beckoned the latter from his lodge,
"How is this, citizen? Thou harbourest a 'suspect.'"
"Citizen, you terrify me!--if so, name him."
"It is not a man; a refugee, an Italian woman, lodges here."
"Yes, au troisieme,--the door to the left. But what of her?--she
cannot be dangerous, poor child!"
"Citizen, beware! Dost thou dare to pity her?"
"I? No, no, indeed. But--"
"Speak the truth! Who visits her?"
"No one but an Englishman."
"That is it,--an Englishman, a spy of Pitt and Coburg."
"Just Heaven! is it possible?"
"How, citizen! dost thou speak of Heaven? Thou must be an
aristocrat!"
"No, indeed; it was but an old bad habit, and escaped me
unawares."
"How often does the Englishman visit her?"
"Daily."
Fillide uttered an exclamation.
She never stirs out," said the porter. "Her sole occupations are
in work, and care of her infant."
"Her infant!"
Fillide made a bound forward. Nicot in vain endeavoured to
arrest her. She sprang up the stairs; she paused not till she
was before the door indicated by the porter; it stood ajar, she
entered, she stood at the threshold, and beheld that face, still
so lovely! The sight of so much beauty left her hopeless. And
the child, over whom the mother bent!--she who had never been a
mother!--she uttered no sound; the furies were at work within her
breast. Viola turned, and saw her, and, terrified by the strange
apparition, with features that expressed the deadliest hate and
scorn and vengeance, uttered a cry, and snatched the child to her
bosom. The Italian laughed aloud,--turned, descended, and,
gaining the spot where Nicot still conversed with the frightened
porter drew him from the house. When they were in the open
street, she halted abruptly, and said, "Avenge me, and name thy
price!"
"My price, sweet one! is but permission to love thee. Thou wilt
fly with me to-morrow night; thou wilt possess thyself of the
passports and the plan."
"And they--"
"Shall, before then, find their asylum in the Conciergerie. The
guillotine shall requite thy wrongs."
"Do this, and I am satisfied," said Fillide, firmly.
And they spoke no more till they regained the house. But when
she there, looking up to the dull building, saw the windows of
the room which the belief of Glyndon's love had once made a
paradise, the tiger relented at the heart; something of the woman
gushed back upon her nature, dark and savage as it was. She
pressed the arm on which she leaned convulsively, and exclaimed,
"No, no! not him! denounce her,--let her perish; but I have slept
on HIS bosom,--not HIM!"
"It shall be as thou wilt," said Nicot, with a devil's sneer;
"but he must be arrested for the moment. No harm shall happen to
him, for no accuser shall appear. But her,--thou wilt not relent
for her?"
Fillide turned upon him her eyes, and their dark glance was
sufficient answer.
