Crucial Instances | Page 6

she said nothing, for to talk reason to the Duchess was
of no more use than praying for rain in a drought.
"Winter came early that year, there was snow on the hills by All Souls,
the wind stripped the gardens, and the lemon-trees were nipped in the
lemon-house. The Duchess kept her room in this black season, sitting
over the fire, embroidering, reading books of devotion (which was a
thing she had never done) and praying frequently in the chapel. As for
the chaplain, it was a place he never set foot in but to say mass in the
morning, with the Duchess overhead in the tribune, and the servants
aching with rheumatism on the marble floor. The chaplain himself
hated the cold, and galloped through the mass like a man with witches
after him. The rest of the day he spent in his library, over a brazier,
with his eternal books....
"You'll wonder, sir, if I'm ever to get to the gist of the story; and I've

gone slowly, I own, for fear of what's coming. Well, the winter was
long and hard. When it fell cold the Duke ceased to come out from
Vicenza, and not a soul had the Duchess to speak to but her
maid-servants and the gardeners about the place. Yet it was wonderful,
my grandmother said, how she kept her brave colors and her spirits;
only it was remarked that she prayed longer in the chapel, where a
brazier was kept burning for her all day. When the young are denied
their natural pleasures they turn often enough to religion; and it was a
mercy, as my grandmother said, that she, who had scarce a live sinner
to speak to, should take such comfort in a dead saint.
"My grandmother seldom saw her that winter, for though she showed a
brave front to all she kept more and more to herself, choosing to have
only Nencia about her and dismissing even her when she went to pray.
For her devotion had that mark of true piety, that she wished it not to be
observed; so that Nencia had strict orders, on the chaplain's approach,
to warn her mistress if she happened to be in prayer.
"Well, the winter passed, and spring was well forward, when my
grandmother one evening had a bad fright. That it was her own fault I
won't deny, for she'd been down the lime-walk with Antonio when her
aunt fancied her to be stitching in her chamber; and seeing a sudden
light in Nencia's window, she took fright lest her disobedience be found
out, and ran up quickly through the laurel-grove to the house. Her way
lay by the chapel, and as she crept past it, meaning to slip in through
the scullery, and groping her way, for the dark had fallen and the moon
was scarce up, she heard a crash close behind her, as though someone
had dropped from a window of the chapel. The young fool's heart
turned over, but she looked round as she ran, and there, sure enough,
was a man scuttling across the terrace; and as he doubled the corner of
the house my grandmother swore she caught the whisk of the chaplain's
skirts. Now that was a strange thing, certainly; for why should the
chaplain be getting out of the chapel window when he might have
passed through the door? For you may have noticed, sir, there's a door
leads from the chapel into the saloon on the ground floor; the only
other way out being through the Duchess's tribune.

"Well, my grandmother turned the matter over, and next time she met
Antonio in the lime-walk (which, by reason of her fright, was not for
some days) she laid before him what had happened; but to her surprise
he only laughed and said, 'You little simpleton, he wasn't getting out of
the window, he was trying to look in'; and not another word could she
get from him.
"So the season moved on to Easter, and news came the Duke had gone
to Rome for that holy festivity. His comings and goings made no
change at the villa, and yet there was no one there but felt easier to
think his yellow face was on the far side of the Apennines, unless
perhaps it was the chaplain.
"Well, it was one day in May that the Duchess, who had walked long
with Nencia on the terrace, rejoicing at the sweetness of the prospect
and the pleasant scent of the gilly-flowers in the stone vases, the
Duchess toward midday withdrew to her rooms, giving orders that her
dinner should be served in her bed-chamber. My grandmother helped to
carry in the dishes, and observed, she said, the singular beauty of the
Duchess, who in honor