Kitabı oku: «A Fluttered Dovecote», sayfa 7
“Escaped,” I muttered; and then a sigh came with a great gasp, as I exclaimed, “Oh! if Clara will only not betray me, I shall be safe, too.”
But, oh, what a tableau was there! – night-caps, dressing-gowns, flannel garments, every token of hurried half-dressing; while the light from candle after candle streamed down upon poor Clara, prone upon the white stones of the conservatory.
“Good heavens!” I heard Mrs Blunt exclaim, “that it should have come to this! – that my establishment should be debased by the presence of such a creature. Abandoned, lost girl, what will become of you?”
Oh, how my poor teeth did chatter!
“Dreadful!” squeaked Miss Furness.
“Shocking!” echoed Miss Sloman.
“Ach ten, bad madchen” croaked the Fraülein; while Miss Murray and the pupils present sighed in concert.
“Lost one!” began Mrs Blunt again.
Crish! crash! crash! came the sound of breaking glass upon the leads; the girls shrieked, and, in an agony of fear, the whole party dashed back to the drawing-room door; while, in the dim light given by a fallen candle, I saw poor Clara slowly raise her head and look towards the open window – our window.
But there was no other sound; and at last, after quite five minutes’ pause, came the lady principal’s voice from the drawing-room, in awful tones —
“Miss Fitzacre; come in directly, and close the window after you.”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t fasten it,” I whispered; “and oh, Clara, pet, don’t – pray, don’t – betray me!”
“Hush!” whispered the poor darling, rising up like a pale ghost.
And as I stood, squeezed up in the corner, trembling ever so, she closed the conservatory window, looking out as she did so; then entered the drawing-room, clattered the shutters to; and then, by the sound, I knew that they had all entered the breakfast-room, so I stole out of my hiding-place, and tried the window.
At first my heart sank, for I thought it was fastened; but, no, it yielded to my touch, and as I pushed, the shutters slowly swung open, to show me the room all in darkness. Stepping quickly in, I closed window and shutters, and then stole over to reach the door where I could hear the buzz of voices, and Mrs Blunt scolding fearfully.
I crossed the room as quietly as I could, feeling my way along in the darkness – for Clara had trampled out the fallen candle – when all at once I gave myself up for lost I had knocked over one of the wretched little drawing-room chairs; and I stood trembling and stooping down, meaning to creep under the large ottoman if I heard any one coming.
But they did not hear the noise; and, after waiting awhile, I ventured to open the door, when I could hear plainly poor Clara sobbing bitterly in the breakfast-room; and I was filled with remorse, as I felt how that I ought to be there to take my share of the blame. But I could not – no, I could not, I must own – summon up courage enough to go in and avow my fault.
I had hardly closed the drawing-room door, when I heard a hand rattle the door of the breakfast-room, as if some one was about to open it, so I bounded along the hall to the back staircase; and hardly in time, for the breakfast-room door opened just as I was out of sight, and I heard Mrs Blunt’s voice, in loud tones, to the teachers, I suppose —
“Ladies, be kind enough to see that the drawing-room window is properly secured.”
Up I darted to reach my own room, and it was well that I made for the back staircase; for there, regularly fringing the balustrade of the best staircase, were all the younger pupils and the servants looking down and listening; while I could hear the sounds coming up from the hall, as my Lady Blunt and the teachers began again to storm at the poor silent girl, who never, that I could hear, answered them one single word, and in the act of slipping into my room, I nearly brushed the dress of one of the pupils.
And now, if Clara would only be a martyr, I felt safe, as I stood inside our room, and listened for a few moments to the words which came up quite plainly in the still night.
“Once more, I insist upon knowing who it was,” shrieked Mrs Blunt, while her satellites added their feeble echoes.
“Tell, directly!” screamed Miss Sloman.
“Bad gell – bad gell!” croaked the Fraülein.
“You must confess,” cried Miss Furness, in shrill, treble tones.
“Who was it, Miss Fitzacre?” cried Mrs Blunt.
And then there was a stamp upon the floor, but not a word from Clara; and I dared stay for no more, but closed the door, listened to Patty snoring more loudly and ever, and then dashed to the washstand, recalling poor Clara’s smutty face, and sponged my own quickly. Then I slipped on my bonnet de nuit, and undressed quicker than I ever before did in my life. Then just as I had finished, I heard them coming up the stairs – scuffling of feet and shutting of doors as the pupils hurried into their rooms, some skirmishing at a terrible rate past my door; so I slipped into bed with my head turned towards the window, and lay there with my heart beating tumultuously.
“Now, if they only did not come here first, I’m safe,” I muttered.
I felt how exceedingly fortunate it was for me that Patty slept so soundly: for not only had she not seen me enter, but if she had slept all through the disturbance, and had not heard Clara go, why should I not have done the same? And I felt that it would help to remove suspicion from me.
They seemed a terribly long time coming, but I kept telling myself that Clara would not betray me; and I recalled with delight now that I had suffered punishment for her trick, when she moved the lady principal’s chair to her fall.
“But there,” I said to myself, “they shall tear me in pieces before they know anything I don’t, want to tell. But, oh, did poor Achille escape? and what was that fearful crash? I do hope it was the Signor, for poor Achille’s sake. But how wet whoever it was must have been!”
“And you will prepare your things for leaving early in the morning, Miss Fitzacre,” exclaimed Mrs Blunt, angrily, as she opened the door of the bedroom, and the light shone in. “Now, go to bed immediately. Is Miss Bozerne here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, just raising my head from the pillow.
“Oh! that is right,” said her ladyship; “and Miss Smith?”
There was no answer.
“Miss Smith! where is Miss Smith?” shrieked Lady Blunt from the door, evidently thinking that poor Patty was in the plot. “Miss Smith! Miss Smith!” she shrieked again.
“D-o-o-o-n’t – Be quiet!” muttered the sleepy-headed little thing.
“Oh! that will do,” said Mrs Blunt. “Don’t wake her. Miss Bozerne, you must excuse me for locking you in during the rest of the night; but if you object, perhaps Fraülein Liebeskinden will allow you to sleep with – ”
“Oh no, thank you, ma’am,” I said, hastily; “I shall not mind.”
“Good night, then, Miss Bozerne,” she said, very shortly; while I felt such a hypocrite that I hardly knew what to do. “Lost girl!” she continued, as she shut the door, and turned the key, which she took away with her, leaving poor Clara standing, pale and motionless, in the centre of the room; but no sooner had the light disappeared, and shone no more in beneath the crack at the bottom of the door, than she gave one great sob —
“Oh! Laura,” she exclaimed; and then, throwing herself into my arms, she cried and sobbed so wildly and hysterically, that I was quite frightened.
For she was now giving vent to the pent-up feelings of the last quarter of an hour; but after awhile she calmed down, and with only a sob now and then to interrupt us – for, of course, I too could not help crying – we quietly talked the matter over.
“No; not a word,” said the poor girl, in answer to a question of mine – which, of course, you can guess – “not a word; they may send me away and punish me as they like, but not a word will I ever say about it.”
“Then they know nothing at all about me, or – ” I stammered and stopped.
“You ought to have more confidence in me than to ask such a thing,” cried Clara, passionately, as she began to sob again. “You would not have betrayed me if you had been in my position; now, would you?”
I did not know. While, being naturally nervous, I was afraid perhaps I might, if put to the test; but I did not say so.
“What could have made that horrible crashing noise?” said Clara at last; “do you think it was the policeman, dear?”
“Perhaps it was,” I said; “but I know poor Achille went into the cistern. I pushed him in; and I’m afraid he must have been drowned, for I’m not sure that I heard him crawl out. Oh, dear! oh, dear!” I said at last, “what a passion is this love! I feel so old, and worn, and troubled I could die.”
“It would be ruin to the poor Signor to be found out,” murmured Clara – thinking more of her tiresome, old, brown Italian than of poor Achille. “Oh me! I know it was all my fault; but then how odd that the policeman should have had a meeting too! Or was he watching? Poor Giulio! would that I had never let him love me. I declared that I did not like him a bit to-night when we were together, and I had quite made up my mind never to meet him any more without he would talk of something else than beautiful Italy. Bother beautiful Italy! But now I half think I love him so dearly that I would dare anything for him. That I would.”
Poor girl! she grew so hysterical again, that I quite grieved for her, and told her so; and then, poor thing, she crept up close to me; and really it did seem so noble of her to take all the blame and trouble upon herself, while she was so considerate over it, that I could not help loving her very, very, very much for it all. But at last we both dropped off soundly asleep, just as the birds were beginning to twitter in the garden; and, feeling very dull and low-spirited, I was half wishing that I was a little bird myself, to sit and sing the day long, free from any trouble; no lessons to learn, no exercises to puzzle one’s brain, no cross lady principal or teachers, no mamma to send me to be finished. And it was just as I was half feeling that I could soar away into the blue arch of heaven, that I went into the deep sleep wherein I was tortured by seeing those eyes again – always those eyes – peering at me; but this time out of the deep black water of the cistern. By that I knew that I had drowned poor Achille, and that was to be my punishment – always to sit, unable to tear myself away, and be gazed at by those dreadful eyes from out of the deep, black water of the tank.
Chapter Twelve.
Memory the Twelfth – Than next Morning
I have often awoke of a morning with the sensation of a heavy, pressing-down weight upon my mental faculties; and so it was after the dreadful catastrophe narrated in the last chapter. I opened my eyes, feeling – no, let me be truthful, I did not wake, for Patty Smith brought me to my senses by tapping my head with her nasty penetrating hair-brush – feeling, as I said before, feeling that the dull pressure upon me was caused by the dread truth that poor Achille really was drowned; while it was the Signor whom I had heard escaping. And so strong was the impression, and so nervous and so low did I feel with the adventures of the past night, that I turned quite miserable, and could not keep from crying.
The morning was enough to give anybody the horrors, for it rained heavily; and there were the poor birds, soaking wet, and with their feathers sticking close to their sides, hopping about upon the lawn, looking for worms. All over the window-panes, and hanging to the woodwork, were great tears, as if the clouds shared my trouble and sorrow; while all the flowers looked drooping and dirty, and splashed and miserable.
Then I began to think about Achille, and his coming to give his lesson that morning; and then about his being in the cistern, with those wonderful eyes looking out at me; when, there again, if there was not that tiresome old Tennyson’s poem getting into my poor, weary head, and, do what I would, I could not keep it out. There it was – buzz, buzz, buzz – “Dreary – and weary – and will not come, she said;” till at last I began to feel as if I was the real Mariana in the Moated Grange.
To make me worse, too, there was that poor Clara – pale-faced, red-eyed, and desolate-looking – sitting there dressed, and resting her hot head upon her hand as she gazed out of the window; and though I wished to comfort her, I felt to want the comfort more myself. At last I could bear it no longer, and, in place of weeping gently, I was so nervous, and low, and upset with the night’s troubles, that I sat down and had a regular good cry, and all the while with that great, stupid, fat, gawky goose of a Patty sitting and staring at me, with her head all on one side, as she was brushing out half of her hair, which she had not finished in all the time I had taken to dress.
“Don’t, Patty!” I half shrieked, at last – she was so tiresome.
“Well, I ain’t,” said Patty.
“But please don’t, then!” I exclaimed, angrily.
“Don’t what?” said the great, silly thing.
“Don’t stare so, and look so big and glumpy!” I exclaimed; for I felt as if I could have knocked off her tiresome head, only it was so horribly big; and I don’t care what anybody says, there never were anywhere before such a tempting pair of cheeks to slap as Patty’s – they always looked so round, and red, and soft, and pluffy.
“You ain’t well,” said the nasty, aggravating thing, in her silly, slow way. “Take one of my Seidlitz powders.”
“Ugh!” I shuddered at the very name of them. Just as if one of the nasty, prickly-water, nose-tickling things was going to do me any good at such a time as this.
It really was enough to make one hit her. I never did take a Seidlitz powder but once, and then it was just after reading “Undine” with the Fraülein, and my head was all full of water-nymphs, and gods, and “The Mummelsee and the Water Maidens,” and all sorts. And when I shut my eyes, and drank the fizzing-up thing, it all seemed to tickle my nose and lips; and I declare if I did not half fancy I was drinking the waters of the sparkling Rhine, and one of the water-gods had risen to kiss me, and that was his nasty prickly moustache I had felt. But to return to that dreadful morning when Patty wanted me to take one of her Seidlitz powders.
“Mix ’em in two glasses is best,” she went on, without taking any notice of my look of disgust – “the white paper in one, and the blue paper in the other, and then drink off the blue first, and wait while you count twenty, and then drink off the white one – slushions they call ’em. It does make you feel so droll, and does your head ever so much good. Do have one, dear!”
I know that I must have slapped her – nothing could have prevented it – if just then the door had not been unlocked, and that horrible Miss Furness came in.
“When you are ready, Miss Smith, you will descend with Miss Bozerne – I will wait for you,” said the screwy old thing; but she took not the slightest notice of poor Clara, who sat there by the window, with her forehead all wrinkled up, and looking at least ten years older. It was of no good for one’s heart to bleed for her, not a bit, with Miss Furness, who had undertaken to act the part of gaoler, there; so I gave the poor, suffering darling one last, meaning look, which was of no use, for it was wasted through the poor thing not looking up; and then I followed Miss Furness out of the room, side by side with Patty Smith, whose saucer eyes grew quite cheese-platish as she saw the door locked to keep poor Clara in; and then the tiresome thing kept bothering me in whispers to know what was the matter, for she was quite afraid of Miss Furness.
However, I answered nothing, and went into the miserable, dreary, damp-looking classroom with an aching heart, and waited till the breakfast bell rang. For there was a bell rung for everything, when there was not the slightest necessity for such nonsense, only it all aided to make the Cedars imposing, and advertised it to the country round. But when I went into the hall, to cross it to reach the breakfast-room, there were a couple of boxes and a bundle at the foot of the back stairs, and the tall page getting himself into a tangle with some cord as he pretended to be tying them up.
Just then the drawing-room door opened, and I heard Mrs Blunt say —
“And don’t apply to me for a character, whatever you do;” whilst, very red-eyed and weeping, out came Sarah Ann, the housemaid.
“Once more,” said Mrs Blunt, “do you mean to tell me who it was that I distinctly saw, with my very own eyes, standing upon the leads talking to you?”
But Ann only gave a sob and a gulp, and I knew then that they did not know who had come to see her; whilst I felt perfectly certain that it was the policeman, and, besides, the Signor and Achille must have seen what he was.
I was standing close to Miss Furness, who, as soon as she saw Ann, began to bridle up with virtuous indignation; and then set to and hunted the girls into the breakfast-room.
“Is Ann going away?” said Patty Smith, in her dawdly, sleepy way. “I like Ann. What’s she going away for, Miss Furness, please?”
“Hush!” exclaimed Miss Furness, in a horrified way. “Don’t ask such questions. She is a very wicked and hardened girl, and Mrs Fortesquieu de Blount has dismissed her, lest she should contaminate either of the other servants.”
“I’ll tell you all about it, presently,” whispered Celia Blang; but not in such a low voice but that the indignant Miss Furness overheard her.
“You will do nothing of the kind,” said the cross old maid, “and I desire that you instantly go back to your seat. If you know anything, you will be silent – silence is golden. Such things are not to be talked about, Miss Blang.”
Celia made a grimace behind her back, although she was said to be Miss Furness’s spy, and supposed to tell her everything; so Patty’s curiosity remained unsatisfied, while of course I pretended to know nothing at all about what had been going on.
Directly after breakfast, though, Patty had it all by heart, and came red-hot to tell me how that Clara had been caught trying to elope out of the conservatory, whilst Ann was talking from the tall staircase window, when Miss Sloman happened to hear a whispering – for she was lying awake with a bad fit of the toothache. So she went and alarmed the lady principal; and then, with Miss Furness and the Fraülein, they had all watched, and they found it out. Some one, too, had been in the tank, and the conservatory windows were broken, and that was all, except that Mrs Blunt had been writing to Lady Fitzacre – Clara’s mamma – and the poor girl was to be expelled; while for the present she was to be kept in her room till her mamma came, unless she would say who was the gentleman she was about to elope with – such stuff! – and then, if she would confess, she was to sit with Mrs Blunt, under surveillance, as they called it. When, leaving alone betraying the poor Signor, of course Clara preferred staying in her own room.
Such a miserable wet morning, and though I wanted to, very badly indeed, I could not get into the conservatory to set my poor mind at rest by poking down into the cistern with a blind lath; for if I had gone it might have raised suspicions.
Could he still be in the tank, and were my dreams in slumber right?
“Oh, how horrible!” I thought; “why, I should feel always like his murderer.”
But, there, I could not help it – it was fate, my fate, and his fate – my fate to be his murderess, his to be drowned; and I would have given worlds, if I had had them, to be able to faint, when about eleven o’clock the cook came to the door, and asked Mrs Blunt, in a strange, mysterious way, to please come into the conservatory. For the man servant had not come back from the station, and taking Ann’s boxes.
“Oh, he’s there, he’s there!” I muttered, as I wrung my hands beneath the table, and closed my eyes, thinking of the inquest and the other horrors to come; and seeing in imagination his wet body laid upon the white stones in the conservatory.
Oh, how I wanted to faint – how I tried to faint, and go off in a deep swoon, that should rest me for a while from the racking thoughts that troubled me. But I could not manage it anyhow; for of course nothing but the real thing would do at such a time as this.
Out went Mrs Blunt, to return in five minutes with what I thought to be a terribly pale face, as she beckoned out the three teachers who were most in her confidence, Miss Murray being considered too young and imprudent.
There! I never felt anything so agonising in my life – never; and I could not have borne it any longer anyhow. I’m sure, in another moment I must have been horribly hysterical and down upon the floor, tapping the boards with my heels, as I once saw mamma – and of course such things are hereditary – only I was saved by hearing a step upon the gravel. Then my heart leaped just after the fashion of that gentleman’s who wanted Maud to come into the garden so very badly. For there I could see the real eyes coming along the shrubbery, peeping over the fur collar of a long cloak, which hung down to the heels. And I felt so relieved, that a great heavy sob, that had been sticking in my throat all the morning, leaped out suddenly, and made Patty Smith look up and stare.
Then came tramping in Mrs Blunt and the three teachers, and as they whispered together, I was quite startled, for they talked about something being dragged out of the cistern with the tongs. And now I knew it could not be Achille, but made sure it was the poor Signor; when I felt nearly as bad as before, though I kept telling myself that it was quite impossible for them to have lifted the poor, dear, drowned dead man out with a pair of tongs – even if he was not so very stout. But there, my misery was again put an end to by the Fraülein, who said, out loud, —
“Oh, yes, it was. I see de mark – C. Fitzacre.”
And then I knew that it must have been one of Clara’s handkerchiefs that had been fished out, and “blessed my stars that my stars blessed me” by not letting it be my handkerchief that they had discovered.
There was a step in the hall, and how my heart fluttered!
“Monsieur Achille de Tiraille for the French lesson,” squeaked Miss Furness.
And soon after we were busy at work, going over the irregular verbs, and I could see Achille’s eyes wandering from face to face, as if to see whether there were any suspicion attaching to him. Then followed the reading and exercise correcting, while I could see plainly enough that he was terribly agitated – so much so, that he made at lest four mistakes himself, and passed over several in the pupils. And when he found that I did not give him a note with my exercise – one that should explain, I suppose, all that had since passed – when I had not had the eighth part of a chance to write one, he turned quite cross and pettish, and snapped one, and snubbed another. As for poor me, I could have cried, I could, only that all the teachers and Mrs Blunt were there, and Miss Furness looking triumphant. As a rule, all the teachers did not stay in the room while the French lessons were progressing, and this all tended towards making poor Achille fidgety and cross; but he need not have behaved quite so unkindly to me, for I’m sure I had been suffering quite enough upon his account, and so I should have liked to have told him if I had had the opportunity; while now that all this upset had come, I felt quite sorry for the disloyal thought that I had had, and should have been ready to do anything for his sake.
The lessons were nearly over, when all at once the door opened suddenly, and I saw poor Achille jump so that the pen with which he was correcting Patty Smith’s exercise made a long scrawling tail to one of the letters; but he recovered himself directly.
Well, the door opened suddenly, and the cook stood there, wiping her floury hands, for it was pasty-waster day, and she exclaimed loudly, —
“O’m! please’m! the little passage is all in a swim.”
“C-o-o-o-k!” exclaimed Mrs Blunt, in a dreadful voice, as if she meant to slay her upon the spot.
“O’m! please’m!” cried the cook again.
“Why, where is James, cook?” said Mrs Blunt, sternly.
“Cleaning hisself, mum,” said cook; “and as Hann’s gone, mum, I was obliged to come – not as I wanted to, I’m sure,” and cook looked very much ill-used.
Mrs Blunt jumped up, as much to get rid of the horrible apparition as anything; while cook continued, —
“There, do come, mum; it’s perfeckly dreadful!” and they went off together; when such a burst of exclamations followed that the three lady teachers rose and left the room, and I took the opportunity of Miss Murray’s back being turned to exchange glances with poor Achille, who had, at the least, been wet; while I longed, for poor Clara’s sake, to ask him about the Signor. But to speak was impossible, and there were too many eyes about for the glance to be long. So I let mine drop to my exercise, and then sat, with a strange, nervous sensation that I could not explain creeping over me, and it seemed like the forerunner of something about to happen.
Just then Miss Furness hurried in and out again, leaving the door ajar, so that from where I sat I could command a view of the little passage, and saw Mrs Blunt walk up, jingling her keys, and stepping upon the points of her toes over a little stream of water that was slowly flowing along. Then going up to the store-room door, I heard the key thrust in, as impelled by I know not what, I left my seat, and formed one of the group which stood looking upon the little stream that I could now see came from beneath the store-room door.
“The skylight must have been left open,” exclaimed Mrs Blunt, flinging open the door, and at the same moment the recollection of the crash flashed across my mind; for, as she flung open the door, in her pompous, bouncing way, and was about to step in, oh! – horror of horrors! how can I describe it all? There was the floor of the little room covered with broken glass, water, bits of putty, wood, and a mass of broken jam pots; and the little table, that had evidently stood beneath the skylight, had two of its legs broken off, and had slid its saccharine burden (that is better than saying load of jam) upon the floor in hideous ruin. Some pots were broken to pieces, some in half; while others had rolled to the other end of the room, and were staining their paper covers, or dyeing the water with their rich, cloying contents. But worse, far worse than all, with his face cut, scratched, and covered with dry blood, his shirt front and waistcoat all jam, crouching back in the farthest corner, was the poor Signor – regularly trapped when he had fallen through the skylight; for it was impossible for any one to have climbed up to the opening, through which the rain came like a shower bath, and there was no other way of exit.
The lady principal shrieked, the lady teachers performed a trio of witch-screams – the most discordant ever uttered – and my Lady Blunt would have plashed down into the puddle, only, seeing how wet it was, she only reeled and clung to me, who felt ready to drop myself, as I leaned against the wall half swooning.
Alarmed by the shrieks, Achille came running out, looking, as I thought, very pale.
“Ladies, ladies!” he ejaculated, “ma foi, qu’est ce que c’est?”
“Help, help! Monsieur Achille,” gasped Mrs Blunt.
He hurried forward, and relieved me of my load.
“Fetch the police,” cried Miss Furness.
“Nein, nein– it is a mistake,” whispered the Fraülein, who had a penchant, I think, for the poor Signor.
“Signor Pazzoletto, it is thou!” exclaimed Achille, with an aspect of the most profound amazement as he caught sight of his unfortunate friend – an aspect which was, indeed, truthful.
For, as he afterwards told me, he had been so drenched in the cistern, and taken up with making his own escape, that he had thought no more of the poor Signor; while, being a wet morning, he had not sought his lodging – which was some distance from the town – before coming, though he was somewhat anxious to consult him upon the previous night’s alarm, and hardly dared to show himself. So —
“Signor Pazzoletto, it is thou!” he exclaimed, regularly taken aback, as the sailors say.
“Altro! altro!” ejaculated the poor man, who sadly wanted to make his escape, but could see no better chance now than there had been all the night.
For the passage was blocked, while in the hall were collected together all the pupils and the servants – that gawky James coming back and towering above all, like a horrible lamp-post in a crowd.
“My vinaigrette,” murmured Madame Blunt.
When if that dreadful Achille did not place another arm around her; and that nasty old thing liked it, I could see, far more than Miss Furness did, and hung upon him horribly, pretending to faint; when I could have given anything to have snatched her away.
“Pauvre chère dame” murmured Achille, giving me at the same moment a comical look out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh! Monsieur Achille,” said Mrs Blunt, feebly, “oh, help! Send away that wretch. Otez moi cet homme là.”
“Aha! yais! mais oui!” exclaimed Achille – the base deceiver, to play such a part! – “Sare, you are not business here. Madame dismiss. Take away yourself off. Cut yourself! Go!”
I give this just as Achille spoke it; for I cannot but feel angry at the deceitful part he had played.
The Signor looked at Achille, and gave him a diabolical grin – just as if he would have liked to stiletto him upon the spot, with one of the pieces of broken glass. Then he looked at me, bestowing upon me a meaning glance, as he made a rush past us all, and escaped by the front door; but not without splashing right through the puddle, and sending the water all over the Fraülein, so that she exclaimed most indignantly, until the front door closed with a heavy bang.
