Gilio had followed the advice of his cousin, the Countess di Rosavilla. Immediately after dinner, he had stolen outside; and he walked along the pergola to the rotunda, into which the moonlight fell as into a white beaker. But there was shadow behind a couple of caryatides; and here he hid. He waited for an hour. But the night slept, the caryatides slept, standing motionless and supporting the leafy roof. He uttered a curse and stole indoors again. He walked down the corridors on tiptoe and listened at Van der Staal’s door. He heard nothing, but perhaps Van der Staal was asleep?...

Gilio, however, crept along another corridor and listened at CornÉlie’s door. He held his breath.... Yes, there was a sound of voices. They were together! Together! He clenched his fists and walked away. But why did he excite himself? He knew all about their relations. Why should they not be together here? And he went on and tapped at the countess’ door....

Next evening he again waited in the rotunda. They did not come. But, a few evenings later, as he sat waiting, choking with annoyance, he saw them come. He saw Duco lock the terrace-door behind him: the rusty lock grated in the distance. Slowly he saw them walk along and approach in the light, disappearing from view in the shadow, reappearing in the moonlight. They sat down on the marble bench....

How happy they seemed! He was jealous of their happiness, jealous above all of him. And how gentle and tender she was, she who considered him, Gilio, only good enough for her amusement, to flirt with, a clown: she, the devilish woman, was angelic to the man she loved! She bent towards her lover with a smiling caress, with a curve of her arm, with a proffering of her lips, with something intensely alluring, with a velvety languor of love which he would never have suspected in her, after her cold, jesting flirtation with him, Gilio. She was now leaning on Duco’s arms, on his breast, with her face against his.... Oh, how her kiss filled Gilio with flame and fury! This was no longer her icy lack of sensuous response towards him, Gilio, in the camera degli sposi. And he could restrain himself no longer: he would at least disturb their moment of happiness. And, quivering in every nerve, he stepped from behind the caryatides and went towards them, through the rotunda. Lost in each other’s eyes, they did not see him at once. But, suddenly, simultaneously, they both started; their arms fell apart then and there; they sprang up in one movement; they saw him approaching but evidently did not at once recognize him. Not until he was closer did they perceive who he was; and they looked at him in startled silence, wondering what he would say. He made a satirical bow:

“A delightful evening, isn’t it? The view is lovely, like this, at night, from the pergola. You are right to come and enjoy it. I hope that I am not disturbing you with my unexpected company?”

His tremulous voice sounded so spiteful and aggressive that they could not doubt the violence of his anger.

“Not at all, prince!” replied CornÉlie, recovering her composure. “Though I can’t imagine what you are doing here, at this hour.”

“And what are you doing here, at this hour?”

“What am I doing? I am sitting with Van der Staal....”

“At this hour?”

“At this hour! What do you mean, prince, what are you suggesting?”

“What am I suggesting? That the pergola is closed at night.”

“Prince,” said Duco, “your tone is offensive.”

“And you are altogether offensive.”

“If you were not my host, I would strike you in the face....”

CornÉlie caught Duco by the arm; the prince cursed and clenched his fists.

“Prince,” she said, “you have obviously come to pick a quarrel with us. Why? What objection can you have to my meeting Van der Staal here in the evening? In the first place, our relation towards each other is no secret for you. And then I think it unworthy of you to come spying on us.”

“Unworthy? Unworthy?” He had lost all self-control. “I am unworthy, am I, and petty and rude and not a man and my temperament doesn’t suit you? His temperament seems to suit you all right! I heard the kiss you gave him! She-devil! Demon! Never have I been insulted as I have by you. I have never put up with so much from anybody. I will put up with no more. You struck me, you demon, you she-devil! And now he’s threatening to strike me! My patience is at an end. I can’t bear that in my own house you should refuse me what you give to him.... He’s not your husband! He’s not your husband! I have as much right to you as he; and, if he thinks he has a better right than I, then I hate him, I hate him!...”

And, blind with rage, he flew at Duco’s throat. The attack was so unexpected that Duco stumbled. They both wrestled furiously. All their hidden antipathy broke forth in fury. They did not hear CornÉlie’s entreaties, they struck each other with their fists, they grappled with arms and legs, breast to breast. Then CornÉlie saw something flash. In the moonlight she saw that the prince had drawn a knife. But the very movement was an advantage to Duco, who gripped his wrist as in a vice, forced him to the ground and, pressing his knee on Gilio’s chest, took him by the throat with his other hand.

“Let go!” yelled the prince.

“Let go that knife!” yelled Duco.

The prince obstinately persisted:

“Let go!” he yelled once more.

“Let go that knife.”

The knife dropped from his fingers. Duco grasped it and rose to his feet:

“Get up,” he said, “we can continue this fight, if you like, to-morrow, under less primitive conditions: not with a knife, but with swords or pistols.”

The prince stood panting, blue in the face.... When he came to himself, he said, slowly:

“No, I will not fight a duel. Unless you want to. But I don’t. I am defeated. She has a demoniacal force which would always make you win, whatever game we played. We’ve had our duel. This struggle tells me more than a regular duel would. Only, if you want to fight me, I have no objection. But I now know for certain that you would kill me. She protects you.”

“I don’t want to fight a duel with you,” said Duco.

“Then let us look on this struggle as a duel and now give me your hand.”

Duco put out his hand; Gilio pressed it:

“Forgive me,” he said, bowing before CornÉlie. “I have insulted you.”

“No,” said she, “I do not forgive you.”

“We have to forgive each other. I forgive you the blow you struck me.”

“I forgive you nothing. I shall never forgive you this evening’s work: not your spying, nor your lack of self-control, nor the rights which you try to claim from me, an unmarried woman—whereas I allow you no rights whatever—nor your attack, nor your knife.”

“Are we enemies then, for good?”

“Yes, for good. I shall leave your house to-morrow.”

“I have done wrong,” he confessed, humbly. “Forgive me. I am hot-blooded.”

“Until now I looked upon you as a gentleman....”

“I am also an Italian.”

“I do not forgive you.”

“I once proved to you that I could be a good friend.”

“This is not the moment to remind me of it.”

“I remind you of everything that might make you more gently disposed towards me.”

“It is no use.”

“Enemies then?”

“Yes. Let us go indoors. I shall leave your house to-morrow.”

“I will do any penance that you inflict upon me.”

“I inflict nothing. I want this conversation to end and I want to go indoors.”

“I will go ahead of you.”

They walked up the pergola. He himself opened the terrace-door and let them in before him.

They went in silence to their rooms. The castle lay asleep in darkness. The prince struck a match to light the way. Duco was the first to reach his room.

“I will light you to your room,” said the prince, meekly.

He struck a second match and accompanied CornÉlie to her door. Here he fell on his knees:

“Forgive me,” he whispered, with a sob in his throat.

“No,” she said.

And without more she locked the door behind her. He remained on his knees for another moment. Then he slowly rose to his feet. His throat hurt him. His shoulder felt as though it were dislocated.

“It’s over,” he muttered. “I am defeated. She is stronger now than I, but not because she is a devil. I have seen them together. I have seen their embrace. She is stronger, he is stronger than I ... because of their happiness. I feel that, because of their happiness, they will always be stronger than I....”

He went to his room, which adjoined Urania’s bedroom. His chest heaved with sobs. Dressed as he was, he flung himself sobbing on his bed, swallowing his sobs in the slumbering night that hung over the castle. Then he got up and looked out of the window. He saw the lake. He saw the pergola, where they had been fighting. The night was sleeping there; the caryatides, sleeping, stood out white against the shadow. And his eyes sought the exact spot of their struggle and of his defeat. And, with his superstitious faith in their happiness, he became convinced that there would be no fighting against it, ever.

Then he shrugged his shoulders, as if he were flinging a load off his back:

“Fa niente!” he said to console himself. “Domani megliore....”

And he meant that to-morrow he would achieve, if not this victory, another. Then, with eyes still moist, he fell asleep like a child.