LOVE
"Here she is, my Ginevra, Ginevrettina, Ginevrola, mia Ginevra bella!" cried the old man.
"Oh, father, you hurt me!"
Instantly Ginevra was put down with an air of respect. She nodded her
head with a graceful movement at her mother, who was frightened by her
cry, as if to say, "Don't be alarmed, it was only a trick to get
away."
The pale, wan face of the baroness recovered its usual tones, and even
assumed a look of gayety. Piombo rubbed his hands violently,—with him
the surest symptom of joy; he had taken to this habit at court when he
saw Napoleon becoming angry with those of his generals and ministers
who served him ill or committed blunders. When, as now, the muscles of
his face relaxed, every wrinkle on his forehead expressed benevolence. These two old people presented at this moment precisely the aspect of a drooping plant to which a little water has given fresh life after long dryness.
"Now, to dinner! to dinner!" cried the baron, offering his large hand
to his daughter, whom he called "Signora Piombellina,"—another
symptom of gayety, to which Ginevra replied by a smile.
"Ah ca!" said Piombo, as they left the table, "your mother has called
my attention to the fact that for some weeks you have stayed much
longer than usual at the studio. It seems that painting is more to you
than your parents—"
"Oh, father!"
"Ginevra is preparing some surprise for us, I think," said the mother.
"A picture of your own! will you bring us that?" cried the Corsican, clapping his hands.
"Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio," replied Ginevra, rather
slowly.
"What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning pale!" cried her mother.
"No!" exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolution,—"no! it shall
never be said that Ginevra Piombo acted a lie."
Hearing this singular exclamation, Piombo and his wife looked at their
daughter in astonishment.
"I love a young man," she added, in a voice of emotion.
Then, not venturing to look at her parents, she lowered her large
eyelids as if to veil the fire of her eyes.
"Is he a prince?" asked her father, ironically, in a tone of voice
which made the mother quail.
"No, father," she said, gently, "he is a young man without fortune."
"Is he very handsome?"
"He is very unfortunate."
"What is he?"
"Labedoyere's comrade; he was proscribed, without a refuge; Servin
concealed him, and—"
"Servin is a good fellow, who has done well," cried Piombo; "but you, my daughter, you do wrong to love any man, except your father."
"It does not depend on me to love, or not to love," replied Ginevra, still gently.
"I flattered myself," continued her father, "that my Ginevra would be
faithful to me until I died; and that my love and that of her mother
would suffice her till then; I did not expect that our tenderness
would find a rival in her soul, and—"
"Did I ever reproach you for your fanaticism for Napoleon?" said
Ginevra. "Have you never loved any one but me? Did you not leave me
for months together when you went on missions. I bore your absence
courageously. Life has necessities to which we must all submit."
"Ginevra!"
"No, you don't love me for myself; your reproaches betray your
intolerable egotism."
"You dare to blame your father's love!" exclaimed Piombo, his eyes
flashing.
"Father, I don't blame you," replied Ginevra, with more gentleness
than her trembling mother expected. "You have grounds for your
egotism, as I have for my love. Heaven is my witness that no girl has
ever fulfilled her duty to her parents better than I have done to you. I have never felt anything but love and happiness where others often see obligation. It is now fifteen years that I have never left your protecting wing, and it has been a most dear pleasure to me to charm your life. But am I ungrateful for all this in giving myself up to the joy of loving; is it ingratitude to desire a husband who will protect me hereafter?"
"What! do you reckon benefits with your father, Ginevra?" said Piombo, in a dangerous tone.
A dreadful pause then followed, during which no one dared to speak. Bartolomeo at last broke the silence by crying out in a heart-rending tone:—
"Oh! stay with us! stay with your father, your old father! I cannot
have you love another man. Ginevra, you will not have long to await
your liberty."