The Title Market | Page 3

tell me at once, what have you done?"
For a moment he looked defiant, then shrugged his shoulders. "Well,
since you will know----" he sprang from the bed, pulled a letter out of
his pocket, and, quite as a small boy hands over the note that his
teacher has caught him passing in school, he tossed her the envelope,
and left the room.
Her fingers trembled a little in unfolding the paper; and she breathed
quickly as she read. For some time she sat staring at the few lines of
writing before her. Then suddenly thrusting her feet into fur slippers,
she ran into the next room. "Sandro," she said, "come into my
sitting-room; I must speak with you."
He followed her through her bedroom into an apartment much smaller
and, unlike the other two rooms, quite warm. Just now, all the articles
of a woman's toilet were spread out on a table upon which a
dressing-mirror had been placed; and close beside a brazier of glowing
coals was a portable English tub; the water for the bath was heating in
the kitchen.
Seeing that there was no means of avoiding the inevitable, he said
doggedly: "I thought to make, of course, or I would not have gone into
the scheme." Then something in her face held him, and at the same
time his impulsive boyishness--a little dramatic, perhaps, but only so
much as is consistent with his race--carried him into a new mood.
"Leonora, I suppose I am in the wrong--indeed I am sure I am utterly at
fault; but help me. Don't you see, carissima, this time I did not
wager--it was a business venture!"
In the midst of her distress she could not help but smile at the
absurdity.

"Scorpa is doing it all," he continued--"not I. You know what a clever
business man he is! He assured me that it was a rare chance--the
opportunity of a lifetime. It was because I wanted so to restore to you
what my gambling had cost, that I agreed. I did not think it possible to
lose. But help me this once; believe me, I do know, and with shame,
that were it not for my accursed ill luck we should be living in luxury
now. But just this once--you will help me, won't you?"
His wife seated herself in a big armchair, and looked at him wearily,
running her fingers through the heavy waves of her hair. She had
beautiful hands--beautiful because they seemed part of her expression;
capable hands with nothing helpless in her use of them; the kind that a
sick person dreams of as belonging to an ideal nurse; gentle and smooth,
but quick and firm.
"It is not a question of willingness, Sandro." Her voice was as smooth
and strong, as flexible, as her hands. "You know everything we have
just as well as I. I never kept anything from you, and what we have is
ours jointly--as much yours as mine. I have, as you know, only two
jewels of value left, and they would not bring half the amount of this
debt."
"Leonora, no! you have sold too many already; I cannot ask such a
thing again."
His wife's smile was more sad than tears; it was not that she was
making up her mind for some one necessary sacrifice--it was a smile of
absolute helplessness. "If only I might believe you! We now have
nothing but what is held in trust for me. I am not reproaching
you--what is gone is gone. But Sandro! where will it end?"
The maid knocked and entered with two pails of hot water, which she
poured into the tub. She spread a bath towel over a chair, moved
another chair near, put out various articles of clothing, and left the
room again.
The princess threw off her slippers, and tried the temperature of the
water with her toes.

"I think, Sandro, we had better give up Rome," she said. "The money
saved for that will pay the greater part of the debt. It is the only way I
can see. But go now; I want to take my bath. We can talk more by and
by." She smiled quite brightly, and the prince, emboldened by her
cheerfulness, would have taken her in his arms. But she turned away,
her hand involuntarily put up as a barrier between herself and the kiss
that at the moment she shrank from. He took the hand instead and
pressed it to his lips.
When he had gone, she bathed quickly, partially dressed herself, and
called her maid to do her hair. Sitting before the improvised
dressing-table, she glanced in the mirror, and her reflection caught and
held her attention a long moment. A curious, half-wistful, half-pathetic
expression crept into her eyes