Gambara | Page 6

had eluded him, and
blamed himself for not having followed her.
"For, after all," said he to himself, "if she really wished to avoid me and
put me off her track, it is because she loves me. With women of that
stamp, coyness is a proof of love. Well, if I had carried the adventure
any further, it would, perhaps, have ended in disgust. I will sleep in
peace."
The Count was in the habit of analyzing his keenest sensations, as men
do involuntarily when they have as much brains as heart, and he was
surprised when he saw the strange damsel of the Rue Froid-Manteau
once more, not in the pictured splendor of his dream but in the bare
reality of dreary fact. And, in spite of it all, if fancy had stripped the
woman of her livery of misery, it would have spoilt her for him; for he
wanted her, he longed for her, he loved her--with her muddy stockings,
her slipshod feet, her straw bonnet! He wanted her in the very house
where he had seen her go in.
"Am I bewitched by vice, then?" he asked himself in dismay. "Nay, I
have not yet reached that point. I am but three-and-twenty, and there is
nothing of the senile fop about me."
The very vehemence of the whim that held possession of him to some
extent reassured him. This strange struggle, these reflections, and this
love in pursuit may perhaps puzzle some persons who are accustomed
to the ways of Paris life; but they may be reminded that Count Andrea
Marcosini was not a Frenchman.
Brought up by two abbes, who, in obedience to a very pious father, had
rarely let him out of their sight, Andrea had not fallen in love with a
cousin at the age of eleven, or seduced his mother's maid by the time he
was twelve; he had not studied at school, where a lad does not learn
only, or best, the subjects prescribed by the State; he had lived in Paris
but a few years, and he was still open to those sudden but deep
impressions against which French education and manners are so strong

a protection. In southern lands a great passion is often born of a glance.
A gentleman of Gascony who had tempered strong feelings by much
reflection had fortified himself by many little recipes against sudden
apoplexies of taste and heart, and he advised the Count to indulge at
least once a month in a wild orgy to avert those storms of the soul
which, but for such precautions, are apt to break out at inappropriate
moments. Andrea now remembered this advice.
"Well," thought he, "I will begin to-morrow, January 1st."

This explains why Count Andrea Marcosini hovered so shyly before
turning down the Rue Froid-Manteau. The man of fashion hampered
the lover, and he hesitated for some time; but after a final appeal to his
courage he went on with a firm step as far as the house, which he
recognized without difficulty.
There he stopped once more. Was the woman really what he fancied
her? Was he not on the verge of some false move?
At this juncture he remembered the Italian table d'hote, and at once
jumped at the middle course, which would serve the ends alike of his
curiosity and of his reputation. He went in to dine, and made his way
down the passage; at the bottom, after feeling about for some time, he
found a staircase with damp, slippery steps, such as to an Italian
nobleman could only seem a ladder.
Invited to the first floor by the glimmer of a lamp and a strong smell of
cooking, he pushed a door which stood ajar and saw a room dingy with
dirt and smoke, where a wench was busy laying a table for about
twenty customers. None of the guests had yet arrived.
After looking round the dimly lighted room where the paper was
dropping in rags from the walls, the gentleman seated himself by a
stove which was roaring and smoking in the corner.
Attracted by the noise the Count made in coming in and disposing of
his cloak, the major-domo presently appeared. Picture to yourself a lean,
dried-up cook, very tall, with a nose of extravagant dimensions, casting
about him from time to time, with feverish keenness, a glance that he
meant to be cautious. On seeing Andrea, whose attire bespoke
considerable affluence, Signor Giardini bowed respectfully.
The Count expressed his intention of taking his meals as a rule in the
society of some of his fellow-countrymen; he paid in advance for a

certain number of tickets, and ingenuously gave the conversation a
familiar bent to enable him to achieve his purpose quickly.
Hardly had he mentioned the woman he