Read CHAPTER XXXI - DISCOVERED of The American Baron, free online book, by James De Mille, on ReadCentral.com.

The report of the pistol had startled Minnie, and for a moment had greatly agitated her.  The cry of Mrs. Willoughby elicited a response from her to the effect that all was right, and would, no doubt, have resulted in a conversation, had it not been prevented by Girasole.

Minnie then relapsed into silence for a time, and Ethel took a seat by her side on the floor, for Minnie would not go near the straw, and then the two interlocked their arms in an affectionate embrace.

“Ethel darling,” whispered Minnie, “do you know I’m beginning to get awfully tired of this?”

“I should think so, poor darling!”

“If I only had some place to sit on,” said Minnie, still reverting to her original grievance, “it wouldn’t be so very bad, you know.  I could put up with not having a bed, or a sofa, or that sort of thing, you know; but really I must say not to have any kind of a seat seems to me to be very, very inconsiderate, to say the least of it.”

“Poor darling!” said Ethel again.

“And now do you know, Ethel dear, I’m beginning to feel as though I should really like to run away from this place, if I thought that horrid man wouldn’t see me?”

“Minnie darling,” said Ethel, “that’s the very thing I came for, you know.”

“Oh yes, I know!  And that dear, nice, good, kind, delightful priest!  Oh, it was so nice of you to think of a priest, Ethel dear!  I’m so grateful!  But when is he coming?”

“Soon, I hope.  But do try not to talk so.”

“But I’m only whispering.”

“Yes, but your whispers are too loud, and I’m afraid they’ll hear.”

“Well, I’ll try to keep still; but it’s so awfully hard, you know, when one has so much to say, Ethel dear.”

Minnie now remained silent for about five minutes.

“How did you say you were going to take me away?” she asked at length.

“In disguise,” said Ethel.

“But what disguise?”

“In an old woman’s dress ­but hu-s-s-s-sh!”

“But I don’t want to be dressed up in an old woman’s clothes; they make me such a figure.  Why, I’d be a perfect fright.”

“Hu-s-s-s-sh!  Dear, dear Minnie, you’re talking too loud.  They’ll certainly hear us,” said Ethel, in a low, frightened whisper.

“But do ­do promise you won’t take me in an old woman’s clothes!”

“Oh, there ­there it is again!” said Ethel.  “Dear, dear Minnie, there’s some one listening.”

“Well, I don’t see what harm there is in what I’m saying.  I only wanted ­”

Here there was a movement on the stairs just outside.  Ethel had heard a sound of that kind two or three times, and it had given her alarm; but now Minnie herself heard it, and stopped speaking.

And now a voice sounded from the stairs.  Some Italian words were spoken, and seemed to be addressed to them.  Of course they could make no reply.  The words were repeated, with others, and the speaker seemed to be impatient.  Suddenly it flashed across Ethel’s mind that the speaker was Girasole, and that the words were addressed to her.

Her impression was correct, and the speaker was Girasole.  He had heard the sibilant sounds of the whispering, and, knowing that Minnie could not speak Italian, it had struck him as being a very singular thing that she should be whispering.  Had her sister joined her?  He thought he would go up and see.  So he went up softly, and the whispering still went on.  He therefore concluded that the “Italian woman” was not doing her duty, and that Mrs. Willoughby had joined her sister.  This he would not allow; but as he had already been sufficiently harsh he did not wish to be more so, and therefore he called to the “Italian woman.”

“Hallo, you woman there! didn’t I tell you not to let the ladies speak to one another?”

Of course no answer was given, so Girasole grew more angry still, and cried out again, more imperatively: 

“Why do you not answer me?  Where are you?  Is this the way you watch?”

Still there was no answer.  Ethel heard, and by this time knew what his suspicion was; but she could neither do nor say any thing.

“Come down here at once, you hag!”

But the “hag” did not come down, nor did she give any answer.  The “hag” was trembling violently, and saw that all was lost.  If the priest were only here!  If she could only have gone and returned with him!  What kept him?

Girasole now came to the top of the stairs, and spoke to Minnie.

“Charming mees, are you awake?”

“Yes,” said Minnie.

“Ees your sistaire wit you?”

“No.  How can she be with me, I should like to know, when you’ve gone and put her in some horrid old room?”

“Ah! not wit you?  Who are you whisperin’ to, den?”

Minnie hesitated.

“To my maid,” said she.

“Does de maid spik Inglis?” asked Girasole.

“Yes,” said Minnie.

“Ah!  I did not know eet.  I mus have a look at de contadina who spiks Inglis.  Come here, Italiana.  You don’t spik Italiano, I tink.  Come here.”

Ethel rose to her feet.

Girasole ran down, and came back after a few minutes with a lamp.  Concealment was useless, and so Ethel did not cover her face with the hood.  It had fallen off when she was sitting by Minnie, and hung loosely down her shoulders from the strings which were around her neck.  Girasole recognized her at one glance.

“Ah!” said he; and then he stood thinking.  As for Ethel, now that the suspense was over and the worst realized, her agitation ceased.  She stood looking at him with perfect calm.

“What dit you come for?” he asked.

“For her,” said Ethel, making a gesture toward Minnie.

“What could you do wit her?”

“I could see her and comfort her.”

“Ah! an’ you hope to make her escape.  Ha, ha! ver well.  You mus not complain eef you haf to soffair de consequence.  Aha! an’ so de priest bring you here ­ha?”

Ethel was silent.

“Ah! you fear to say ­you fear you harma de priest ­ha?”

Minnie had thus far said nothing, but now she rose and looked at Girasole, and then at Ethel.  Then she twined one arm around Ethel’s waist, and turned her large, soft, childish eyes upon Girasole.

“What do you mean,” she said, “by always coming here and teasing, and worrying, and firing off pistols, and frightening people?  I’m sure it was horrid enough for you to make me come to this wretched place, when you know I don’t like it, without annoying me so.  Why did you go and take away poor darling Kitty?  And what do you mean now, pray, by coming here?  I never was treated so unkindly in my life.  I did not think that any one could be so very, very rude.”

“Charming mees,” said Girasole, with a deprecating air, “it pains me to do any ting dat you do not like.”

“It don’t pain you,” said Minnie ­“it don’t pain you at all.  You’re always teasing me.  You never do what I want you to.  You wouldn’t even give me a chair.”

“Alas, carissima mia, to-morrà you sall haf all!  But dis place is so remote.”

“It is not remote,” said Minnie.  “It’s close by roads and villages and things.  Why, here is Ethel; she has been in a village where there are houses, and people, and as many chairs as she wants.”

“Oh, mees, eef you will but wait an’ be patient ­eef you will but wait an’ see how tender I will be, an’ how I lof you.”

“You don’t love me,” said Minnie, “one bit.  Is this love ­not to give me a chair?  I have been standing up till I am nearly ready to drop.  And you have nothing better than some wretched promises.  I don’t care for to-morrow; I want to be comfortable to-day.  You won’t let me have a single thing.  And now you come to tease me again, and frighten poor, dear, darling Ethel.”

“Eet ees because she deceif me ­she come wit a plot ­she steal in here.  Eef she had wait, all would be well.”

“You mustn’t dare to touch her,” said Minnie, vehemently.  “You shall leave her here.  She shall stay with me.”

“I am ver pain ­oh, very; but oh, my angel ­sweet ­charming mees ­eet ees dangaire to my lof.  She plot to take you away.  An’ all my life is in you.  Tink what I haf to do to gain you!”

Minnie looked upon Girasole, with her large eyes dilated with excitement and resentment.

“You are a horrid, horrid man,” she exclaimed.  “I hate you.”

“Oh, my angel,” pleaded Girasole, with deep agitation, “take back dat word.”

“I’m sorry you ever saved my life,” said Minnie, very calmly; “and I’m sorry I ever saw you.  I hate you.”

“Ah, you gif me torment.  You do not mean dis.  You say once you lof me.”

I did not say I loved you.  It was you who said you loved me. I never liked you.  And I don’t really see how I could be engaged to you when I was engaged to another man before.  He is the only one whom I recognize now.  I don’t know you at all.  For I couldn’t be bound to two men; could I, Ethel dear?”

Ethel did not reply to this strange question.

But upon Girasole its effect was very great.  The manner of Minnie had been excessively perplexing to him all through this eventful day.  If she had stormed and gone into a fine frenzy he could have borne it.  It would have been natural.  But she was perfectly unconcerned, and her only complaint was about trifles.  Such trifles too!  He felt ashamed to think that he could have subjected to such annoyances a woman whom he so dearly loved.  And now he was once more puzzled.  Minnie confronted him, looking at him fixedly, without one particle of fear, with her large, earnest, innocent eyes fastened upon his ­with the calm, cool gaze, of some high-minded child rebuking a younger child-companion.  This was a proceeding which he was not prepared for.  Besides, the child-innocence of her face and of her words actually daunted him.  She seemed so fearless, because she was so innocent.  She became a greater puzzle than ever.  He had never seen much of her before, and this day’s experience of her had actually daunted him and confounded him.  And what was the worst to him of all her words was her calm and simple declaration, “I hate you!”

“Yes,” said Minnie, thoughtfully, “it must be so; and dear Kitty would have said the same, only she was so awfully prejudiced.  And I always thought he was so nice.  Yes, I think I really must be engaged to him.  But as for you,” she said, turning full upon Girasole, “I hate you!”

Girasole’s face grew white with rage and jealousy.

“Aha!” said he.  “You lof him.  Aha!  An’ you were engage to him.  Aha!”

“Yes, I really think so.”

“Aha!  Well, listen,” cried Girasole, in a hoarse voice ­“listen.  He ­he ­de rival ­de one you say you are engage ­he is dead!”

And with this he fastened upon Minnie his eyes that now gleamed with rage, and had an expression in them that might have made Ethel quiver with horror, but she did not, for she knew that Girasole was mistaken on that point.

As for Minnie, she was not at all impressed by his fierce looks.

“I don’t think you really know what you’re talking about,” said she; “and you’re very, very unpleasant.  At any rate, you are altogether in the wrong when you say he is dead.”

“Dead!  He is dead!  I swear it!” cried Girasole, whose manner was a little toned down by Minnie’s coolness.

“This is getting to be awfully funny, you know,” said Minnie.  “I really think we don’t know what one another is talking about.  I’m sure I don’t, and I’m sure he don’t, either; does he, Ethel darling?”

“De Inglis milor,” said Girasole.  “He is dead.”

“Well, but I don’t mean him at all,” said Minnie.

“Who ­who?” gasped Girasole.  “Who ­who ­who?”

“Why, the person I mean,” said Minnie, very placidly, “is Rufus K. Gunn.”

Girasole uttered something like a howl, and retreated.