He got his hat, opened his door, and went quietly down-stairs. He did not
wish to see Hermione before he went. Perhaps he would return with his
mind relieved of its heaviest burden, and then at least he could meet her
eyes without a furtive guilt in his.
At the foot of the stairs he met Ferdinando.
"Can you get me a donkey, Ferdinando?" he said.
"Si, signore."
"I don't want a boy. Just get me a donkey, and I shall go for a short
ride. You say the signora has not asked for me?"
"No, signore."
"If she does, explain to her that I have gone out, as I did not like to
disturb her."
Hermione might think him heartless to go out riding at such a time. He
would risk that. He would risk anything to spare her the last, the
nameless agony that would be hers if what he suspected were true, and she
were to learn of it, to know that all these people round her knew it.
That Hermione should be outraged, that the sacredness of her despair
should be profaned, and the holiness of her memories utterly
polluted--Artois felt he would give his life willingly to prevent that.
When the donkey came he set off at once. He had drawn his broad-brimmed
hat down low over his pale face, and he looked neither to right nor left,
as he was carried down the long and narrow street, followed by the
searching glances of the inhabitants, who, as he had surmised, were all
out, engaged in eager conversation, and anxiously waiting for the return
of the Pretore and his assistants, and the announcement of the result of
the autopsy. His appearance gave them a fresh topic to discuss. They fell
upon it like starveling dogs on a piece of offal found in the gutter.
Once out of the village, Artois felt a little safer, a little easier; but
he longed to be in the train with Hermione, carrying her far from the
chance of that most cruel fate in life--the fate of disillusion, of the
loss of holy belief in the truth of one beloved.
When presently he reached the high-road by Isola Bella he encountered the
fisherman, Giuseppe, who had spent the night at the Casa del Prete.
"Are you going to see the place where the poor signore was found,
signore?" asked the man.
"Si," said Artois. "I was his friend. I wish to see the Pretore, to hear
how it happened. Can I? Are they there, he and the others?"