Francis began to understand the superstitious purpose that she had in view. 'Are you (an educated woman) really of the same opinion as my sister's maid!' he exclaimed. 'Assuming your absurd superstition to be a serious thing, you are taking the wrong means to prove it true. If I and my brother and sister have seen nothing, how should Agnes Lockwood discover what was not revealed to us?
She is only distantly related to the Montbarrys--she is only our cousin.'
'She was nearer to the heart of the Montbarry who is dead than any of you,' the Countess answered sternly. 'To the last day of his life, my miserable husband repented his desertion of her.
She will see what none of you have seen--she shall have the room.'
Francis listened, utterly at a loss to account for the motives that animated her. 'I don't see what interest you have in trying this extraordinary experiment,' he said.
'It is my interest not to try it! It is my interest to fly from Venice, and never set eyes on Agnes Lockwood or any of your family again!'
'What prevents you from doing that?'
She started to her feet and looked at him wildly. 'I know no more what prevents me than you do!' she burst out. 'Some will that is stronger than mine drives me on to my destruction, in spite of my own self!'
She suddenly sat down again, and waved her hand for him to go.
'Leave me,' she said. 'Leave me to my thoughts.'
Francis left her, firmly persuaded by this time that she was out of her senses. For the rest of the day, he saw nothing of her.
The night, so far as he knew, passed quietly. The next morning he breakfasted early, determining to wait in the restaurant for the appearance of the Countess. She came in and ordered her breakfast quietly, looking dull and worn and self-absorbed, as she had looked when he last saw her. He hastened to her table, and asked if anything had happened in the night.
'Nothing,' she answered.
'You have rested as well as usual?'
'Quite as well as usual. Have you had any letters this morning?
Have you heard when she is coming?'
'I have had no letters. Are you really going to stay here?
Has your experience of last night not altered the opinion which you expressed to me yesterday?'
'Not in the least.'
The momentary gleam of animation which had crossed her face when she questioned him about Agnes, died out of it again when he answered her.
She looked, she spoke, she eat her breakfast, with a vacant resignation, like a woman who had done with hopes, done with interests, done with everything but the mechanical movements and instincts of life.
Francis went out, on the customary travellers' pilgrimage to the shrines of Titian and Tintoret. After some hours of absence, he found a letter waiting for him when he got back to the hotel.
It was written by his brother Henry, and it recommended him to return to Milan immediately. The proprietor of a French theatre, recently arrived from Venice, was trying to induce the famous dancer whom Francis had engaged to break faith with him and accept a higher salary.
Having made this startling announcement, Henry proceeded to inform his brother that Lord and Lady Montbarry, with Agnes and the children, would arrive in Venice in three days more. 'They know nothing of our adventures at the hotel,' Henry wrote; 'and they have telegraphed to the manager for the accommodation that they want.
There would be something absurdly superstitious in our giving them a warning which would frighten the ladies and children out of the best hotel in Venice. We shall be a strong party this time--too strong a party for ghosts! I shall meet the travellers on their arrival, of course, and try my luck again at what you call the Haunted Hotel.
Arthur Barville and his wife have already got as far on their way as Trent;and two of the lady's relations have arranged to accompany them on the journey to Venice.'
Naturally indignant at the conduct of his Parisian colleague, Francis made his preparations for returning to Milan by the train of that day.
On his way out, he asked the manager if his brother's telegram had been received. The telegram had arrived, and, to the surprise of Francis, the rooms were already reserved. 'I thought you would refuse to let any more of the family into the house,' he said satirically.
The manager answered (with the due dash of respect) in the same tone.
'Number 13 A is safe, sir, in the occupation of a stranger.
I am the servant of the Company; and I dare not turn money out of the hotel.'
Hearing this, Francis said good-bye--and said nothing more.
He was ashamed to acknowledge it to himself, but he felt an irresistible curiosity to know what would happen when Agnes arrived at the hotel. Besides, 'Mrs. James' had reposed a confidence in him.
He got into his gondola, respecting the confidence of 'Mrs. James.'
Towards evening on the third day, Lord Montbarry and his travelling companions arrived, punctual to their appointment.
'Mrs. James,' sitting at the window of her room watching for them, saw the new Lord land from the gondola first. He handed his wife to the steps. The three children were next committed to his care.
Last of all, Agnes appeared in the little black doorway of the gondola cabin, and, taking Lord Montbarry's hand, passed in her turn to the steps. She wore no veil. As she ascended to the door of the hotel, the Countess (eyeing her through an opera-glass)noticed that she paused to look at the outside of the building, and that her face was very pale.
