Taquisara | Page 8

brother to keep his wife company if Veronica
chose to retire early.
The room was small and the first impression of colour which it gave
was that of a strong, deep yellow. There was yellow damask on the
walls, the curtains were of an old sort of silk material in stripes of
yellow and chocolate, and most of the furniture was covered with
yellow satin. The whole was in the style of the early part of this century,
modified by the bad taste of the Second Empire, with much gilded
carving about the doors and the corners of the big panels in which the
damask was stretched, while the low, vaulted ceiling was a mass of gilt
stucco, modelled in heavy acanthus leaves and arabesques, from the
centre of which hung a chandelier of white Venetian glass. There were
no pictures on the walls, and there were no flowers nor plants in pots,

to relieve the strong colour which filled the eye. Nevertheless the room
had the air of being inhabited, and was less glaring and stiff and
old-fashioned than it might seem from this description. There were a
good many books on the tables, chiefly French novels, as yellow as the
hangings; and there were writing materials and a couple of newspapers
and two or three open notes. A small wood fire burned in a deep, low
fireplace adorned with marble and gilt brass.
Matilde Macomer sat, leaning back, upon a little sofa which stood
across a corner of the room far from the fire. One hand lay idly in her
lap, the other, as she stretched out her arm, lay upon the back of the
sofa, and her head with its thick, brown hair was bent down. She had
fixed her eyes upon a point of the carpet and had not moved from her
position for a long time. The folds of her black gown made graceful
lines from her knees to her feet, and her imposing figure was thrown
into strong relief against the yellow background as she leaned to the
corner, one foot just touching the floor.
Bosio sat at a distance from her, on a low chair, his elbows on his knees,
staring at the fire. Neither had spoken for several minutes. Matilde
broke the silence first, her eyes still fixed on the carpet.
"You must marry Veronica," she said slowly; "nothing else can save
us."
It was clear that the idea was not new to Bosio, for he showed no
surprise. But he turned deliberately and looked at the countess before
he answered her. There were unusual lines in his quiet face--lines of
great distress and perplexity.
"It is a crime," he said in a low voice.
Matilda raised her eyes, with an almost imperceptible movement of the
shoulders.
"Murder is a crime," she answered simply. Then Bosio started violently
and turned very white, almost rising from his seat.

"Murder?" he cried; "what do you mean?"
Matilde's smooth red lips smiled.
"I merely mentioned it as an instance of a crime," she said, without any
change of tone. "You said it would be a crime for you to marry
Veronica. It did not strike me that it could be called by that name.
Crimes are murder, stealing, forgery--such things. Who would say that
it was criminal for Bosio Macomer to marry Veronica Serra? There is
no reason against it. I daresay that many people wonder why you have
not married her already, and that many others suppose that you will
before long. You are young, you have never been married, you have a
very good name and a small fortune of your own."
"Take it, then!" exclaimed Bosio, impulsively. "You shall have it all
to-morrow--everything I possess. God knows, I am ready to give you
all I have. Take it. I can live somehow. What do I care? I have given
you my life--what is a little money? But do not ask me to marry her,
your niece, here, under your very roof. I am not a saint, but I cannot do
that!"
"No," answered the countess, "we are not saints, you and I, it is true.
For my part, I make no pretences. But the trouble is desperate, Bosio. I
do not know what to do. It is desperate!" she repeated with sudden
energy. "Desperate, I tell you!"
"I suppose that all I have would be of no use, then?" asked Bosio,
disheartened.
"It would pay the interest for a few months longer. That would be all.
Then we should be where we are now, or shall be in three weeks."
"Throw yourself upon her mercy. Ask her to forgive you and to lend
you money," suggested Bosio. "She is kind--she will do it, when she
knows the truth."
"I had thought of that," answered