Whosoever Shall Offend | Page 8

for the
kitchen; near by it there was a rough coach-house and a stable with
room for a dozen horses. The carriage usually went back to Rome on
the day after every one had arrived, and was sent for when wanted; but
there were a number of rough Campagna horses in the stable, such as
are ridden by the cattle herders about Rome, tough little beasts of fairly
good temper and up to a much heavier weight than might be guessed by
a stranger in the country. In the morning the men of the party usually
went shooting, if the wind was fair, for where quail are concerned
much depends on that. Dinner was in the middle of the day, and every
one was supposed to go to sleep after it. In the late afternoon the horses
were saddled, and the whole party went for a gallop on the sands, or up
to classic Ardea, or across the half-cultivated country, coming back to

supper when it was dark. A particularly fat and quiet pony was kept for
Marcello's mother, who was no great rider, but the Contessa and
Aurora rode anything that was brought them, as the men did. To tell the
truth, the Campagna horse is rarely vicious, and, even when only half
broken, can be ridden by a lady if she be an average horsewoman.
Everything happened as usual. The party reached the cottage in time for
a late luncheon, rested afterwards, and then rode out. But the Signora
Corbario would not go.
"Your pony looks fatter and quieter than ever," said Maddalena dell'
Armi with a smile. "If you do not ride him, he will turn into a fixture."
"He is already a very solid piece of furniture," observed Folco, looking
at the sleek animal.
"He is very like the square piano I practise on," said Aurora. "He has
such a flat back and such straight thick legs."
"More like an organ," put in Marcello, gravely. "He has a curious,
half-musical wheeze when he tries to move, like the organ in the church
at San Domenico, when the bellows begin to work."
"It is a shame to make fun of my horse," answered the Signora, smiling.
"But really I am not afraid of him. I have a little headache from the
drive, that is all."
"Take some phenacetine," said Corbario with concern. "Let me make
you quite comfortable before we start."
He arranged a long straw chair for her in a sheltered corner of the
verandah, with cushions and a rug and a small table beside it, on which
Marcello placed a couple of new books that had been brought down.
Then Folco went in and got a little glass bottle of tablets from his wife's
travelling-bag and gave her one. She was subject to headaches and
always had the medicine with her. It was the only remedy she ever
carried or needed, and she had such confidence in it that she felt better
almost as soon as she had swallowed the tablet her husband gave her.

"Let me stay and read to you," he said. "Perhaps you would go to
sleep."
"You are not vain of your reading, my dear," she answered with a smile.
"No, please go with the others."
Then the Contessa offered to stay, and the good Signora had to use a
good deal of persuasion to make them all understand that she would
much rather be left alone. They mounted and rode away through the
trees towards the beach, whence the sound of the small waves, breaking
gently under the afternoon breeze, came echoing softly up to the
cottage.
The two young people rode in front, in silence; Corbario and the
Contessa followed at a little distance.
"How good you are to my wife!" Folco exclaimed presently, as they
emerged upon the sand. "You are like a sister to her!"
Maddalena glanced at him through her veil. She had small and classic
features, rather hard and proud, and her eyes were of a dark violet
colour, which is very unusual, especially in Italy. But she came from
the north. Corbario could not see her expression, and she knew it.
"You are good to her, too," she said presently, being anxious to be just.
"You are very thoughtful and kind."
Corbario thought it wiser to say nothing, and merely bent his head a
little in acknowledgment of what he instinctively felt to be an
admission on the part of a secret adversary. Maddalena had never said
so much before.
"If you were not, I should never forgive you," she added, thinking
aloud.
"I don't think you have quite forgiven me as it is," Folco answered
more lightly.

"For what?"
"For marrying your best friend."
The little speech was well spoken, so utterly without complaint, or
rancour,