The Gadfly, E. L. Voynich [best books to read for self development .txt] 📗

I can’t. You must have the stuff.”

 

The Gadfly took it without speaking. Then he

turned away and closed his eyes. Martini sat

down again, and listened as the breathing became

gradually deep and even.

 

The Gadfly was too much exhausted to wake

easily when once asleep. Hour after hour he lay

absolutely motionless. Martini approached him

several times during the day and evening, and

looked at the still figure; but, except the breathing,

there was no sign of life. The face was so

wan and colourless that at last a sudden fear seized

upon him; what if he had given too much opium?

The injured left arm lay on the coverlet, and he

shook it gently to rouse the sleeper. As he did

so, the unfastened sleeve fell back, showing a

series of deep and fearful scars covering the arm

from wrist to elbow.

 

“That arm must have been in a pleasant condition

when those marks were fresh,” said Riccardo’s voice

behind him.

 

“Ah, there you are at last! Look here,

Riccardo; ought this man to sleep forever? I

gave him a dose about ten hours ago, and he

hasn’t moved a muscle since.”

 

Riccardo stooped down and listened for a moment.

 

“No; he is breathing quite properly; it’s nothing

but sheer exhaustion—what you might expect

after such a night. There may be another

paroxysm before morning. Someone will sit up,

I hope?”

 

“Galli will; he has sent to say he will be here

by ten.”

 

“It’s nearly that now. Ah, he’s waking! Just

see the maidservant gets that broth hot. Gently

—gently, Rivarez! There, there, you needn’t

fight, man; I’m not a bishop!”

 

The Gadfly started up with a shrinking, scared

look. “Is it my turn?” he said hurriedly in

Spanish. “Keep the people amused a minute;

I–- Ah! I didn’t see you, Riccardo.”

 

He looked round the room and drew one hand

across his forehead as if bewildered. “Martini!

Why, I thought you had gone away. I must have

been asleep.”

 

“You have been sleeping like the beauty in the

fairy story for the last ten hours; and now you are

to have some broth and go to sleep again.”

 

“Ten hours! Martini, surely you haven’t been

here all that time?”

 

“Yes; I was beginning to wonder whether I

hadn’t given you an overdose of opium.”

 

The Gadfly shot a sly glance at him.

 

“No such luck! Wouldn’t you have nice quiet

committee-meetings? What the devil do you

want, Riccardo? Do for mercy’s sake leave me in

peace, can’t you? I hate being mauled about by

doctors.”

 

“Well then, drink this and I’ll leave you in

peace. I shall come round in a day or two,

though, and give you a thorough overhauling. I

think you have pulled through the worst of this

business now; you don’t look quite so much like

a death’s head at a feast.”

 

“Oh, I shall be all right soon, thanks. Who’s

that—Galli? I seem to have a collection of all

the graces here to-night.”

 

“I have come to stop the night with you.”

 

“Nonsense! I don’t want anyone. Go home,

all the lot of you. Even if the thing should come

on again, you can’t help me; I won’t keep taking

opium. It’s all very well once in a way.”

 

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Riccardo said.

“But that’s not always an easy resolution to stick

to.”

 

The Gadfly looked up, smiling. “No fear!

If I’d been going in for that sort of thing, I should

have done it long ago.”

 

“Anyway, you are not going to be left alone,”

Riccardo answered drily. “Come into the other

room a minute, Galli; I want to speak to you.

Good-night, Rivarez; I’ll look in to-morrow.”

 

Martini was following them out of the room

when he heard his name softly called. The Gadfly

was holding out a hand to him.

 

“Thank you!”

 

“Oh, stuff! Go to sleep.”

 

When Riccardo had gone, Martini remained a

few minutes in the outer room, talking with Galli.

As he opened the front door of the house he heard

a carriage stop at the garden gate and saw a

woman’s figure get out and come up the path. It

was Zita, returning, evidently, from some evening

entertainment. He lifted his hat and stood aside

to let her pass, then went out into the dark lane

leading from the house to the Poggio Imperiale.

Presently the gate clicked and rapid footsteps

came down the lane.

 

“Wait a minute!” she said.

 

When he turned back to meet her she stopped

short, and then came slowly towards him, dragging

one hand after her along the hedge. There

was a single street-lamp at the corner, and he saw

by its light that she was hanging her head down

as though embarrassed or ashamed.

 

“How is he?” she asked without looking up.

 

“Much better than he was this morning. He

has been asleep most of the day and seems less

exhausted. I think the attack is passing over.”

 

She still kept her eyes on the ground.

 

“Has it been very bad this time?”

 

“About as bad as it can well be, I should

think.”

 

“I thought so. When he won’t let me come

into the room, that always means it’s bad.”

 

“Does he often have attacks like this?”

 

“That depends–- It’s so irregular. Last

summer, in Switzerland, he was quite well; but

the winter before, when we were in Vienna, it was

awful. He wouldn’t let me come near him for

days together. He hates to have me about when

he’s ill.”

 

She glanced up for a moment, and, dropping her

eyes again, went on:

 

“He always used to send me off to a ball, or

concert, or something, on one pretext or another,

when he felt it coming on. Then he would lock

himself into his room. I used to slip back and sit

outside the door—he would have been furious if

he’d known. He’d let the dog come in if it

whined, but not me. He cares more for it, I

think.”

 

There was a curious, sullen defiance in her

manner.

 

“Well, I hope it won’t be so bad any more,”

said Martini kindly. “Dr. Riccardo is taking the

case seriously in hand. Perhaps he will be able to

make a permanent improvement. And, in any

case, the treatment gives relief at the moment.

But you had better send to us at once, another

time. He would have suffered very much less if

we had known of it earlier. Good-night!”

 

He held out his hand, but she drew back with

a quick gesture of refusal.

 

“I don’t see why you want to shake hands with

his mistress.”

 

“As you like, of course,” he began in embarrassment.

 

She stamped her foot on the ground. “I hate

you!” she cried, turning on him with eyes like

glowing coals. “I hate you all! You come here

talking politics to him; and he lets you sit up the

night with him and give him things to stop the

pain, and I daren’t so much as peep at him through

the door! What is he to you? What right have

you to come and steal him away from me? I hate

you! I hate you! I HATE you!”

 

She burst into a violent fit of sobbing, and, darting

back into the garden, slammed the gate in his face.

 

“Good Heavens!” said Martini to himself, as he

walked down the lane. “That girl is actually

in love with him! Of all the extraordinary

things–-”

 

CHAPTER VIII.

 

THE Gadfly’s recovery was rapid. One afternoon

in the following week Riccardo found him

lying on the sofa in a Turkish dressing-gown,

chatting with Martini and Galli. He even talked

about going downstairs; but Riccardo merely

laughed at the suggestion and asked whether he

would like a tramp across the valley to Fiesole to

start with.

 

“You might go and call on the Grassinis for a

change,” he added wickedly. “I’m sure madame

would be delighted to see you, especially now,

when you look so pale and interesting.”

 

The Gadfly clasped his hands with a tragic

gesture.

 

“Bless my soul! I never thought of that!

She’d take me for one of Italy’s martyrs, and talk

patriotism to me. I should have to act up to the

part, and tell her I’ve been cut to pieces in an

underground dungeon and stuck together again

rather badly; and she’d want to know exactly what

the process felt like. You don’t think she’d believe

it, Riccardo? I’ll bet you my Indian dagger

against the bottled tape-worm in your den that

she’ll swallow the biggest lie I can invent. That’s

a generous offer, and you’d better jump at it.”

 

“Thanks, I’m not so fond of murderous tools

as you are.”

 

“Well, a tape-worm is as murderous as a dagger,

any day, and not half so pretty.”

 

“But as it happens, my dear fellow, I don’t

want the dagger and I do want the tape-worm.

Martini, I must run off. Are you in charge of this

obstreperous patient?”

 

“Only till three o’clock. Galli and I have to go

to San Miniato, and Signora Bolla is coming till

I can get back.”

 

“Signora Bolla!” the Gadfly repeated in a tone

of dismay. “Why, Martini, this will never do!

I can’t have a lady bothered over me and my ailments.

Besides, where is she to sit? She won’t

like to come in here.”

 

“Since when have you gone in so fiercely for the

proprieties?” asked Riccardo, laughing. “My

good man, Signora Bolla is head nurse in general

to all of us. She has looked after sick people ever

since she was in short frocks, and does it better

than any sister of mercy I know. Won’t like to

come into your room! Why, you might be talking

of the Grassini woman! I needn’t leave any

directions if she’s coming, Martini. Heart alive,

it’s half-past two; I must be off!”

 

“Now, Rivarez, take your physic before she

comes,” said Galli, approaching the sofa with a

medicine glass.

 

“Damn the physic!” The Gadfly had reached

the irritable stage of convalescence, and was

inclined to give his devoted nurses a bad time.

“W-what do you want to d-d-dose me with all

sorts of horrors for now the pain is gone?”

 

“Just because I don’t want it to come back.

You wouldn’t like it if you collapsed when Signora

Bolla is here and she had to give you opium.”

 

“My g-good sir, if that pain is going to come

back it will come; it’s not a t-toothache to be

frightened away with your trashy mixtures. They

are about as much use as a t-toy squirt for a house

on fire. However, I suppose you must have your

way.”

 

He took the glass with his left hand, and the

sight of the terrible scars recalled Galli to the

former subject of conversation.

 

“By the way,” he asked; “how did you get so

much knocked about? In the war, was it?”

 

“Now, didn’t I just tell you it was a case of

secret dungeons and–-”

 

“Yes, that version is for Signora Grassini’s

benefit. Really, I suppose it was in the war with

Brazil?”

 

“Yes, I got a bit hurt there; and then hunting

in the savage districts and one thing and another.”

 

“Ah, yes; on the scientific expedition. You

can fasten your shirt; I have quite done. You

seem to have had an exciting time of it out there.”

 

“Well, of course you can’t live in savage countries

without getting a few adventures once in a

way,” said