languid voice seemed composed of a dozen harmonious sounds, and each resonant word was touching Tonio like a child’s soft fist pressed to Tonio’s throat.
“…is concerned about you,” Giacomo continued. “He has heard a rumor of trouble here, that you had, shortly after your arrival, made a mortal enemy of another student, that that student made an attack on your person which you were forced to defend.”
Giacomo’s brows came together in a caricature of deep concern; his tone, so pregnant with duty, had become condescending, though there was nothing in him but a tormented sincerity. Ah, youth, Tonio found himself thinking, just as if he were an old man.
But a silence had fallen between them. And Tonio could see the sudden, clear warning in Guido’s face. Guido’s face said Danger.
“Your brother is very concerned that perhaps you are not safe here, Marc Antonio,” said Giacomo. “Your brother is concerned that you did not write of this occurrence to my mother and…”
Yes, danger, Tonio thought, to my heart and my soul. For the first time since he had commenced to speak, Giacomo was again looking him in the eye.
And at some intangible little point in this exchange, Tonio saw the whole of it, what it was about, what was wanted here. Concerned for his safety! This foolish young man didn’t even guess the nature of his own mission!
“If you are in any danger, Marc Antonio, you must tell us….”
“No danger,” Tonio said suddenly. And the coldness of his own voice astonished him, and yet he went on. “There was never any question of danger,” he said, almost sneering, and his words had such an authority to them that he saw his cousin ever so slightly recoil. “The affair ended stupidly enough, but there was nothing I could do to prevent it. You must tell my brother he worries about nothing, and that he has taken too much trouble and expense in sending you here.”
In the shadowy distance, Guido gave a desperate negative shake of the head.
But Tonio had reached for his cousin’s arm, and taking him firmly in hand, was turning him and leading him towards the front doors.
Giacomo seemed mildly astonished. Far from offended at being dismissed, he was staring at Tonio with a vaguely concealed fascination, and as he spoke now there was almost a relief in his voice.
“Then you are content here, Tonio,” he said.
“More than content.” Tonio gave a short laugh. He moved Giacomo steadily down the corridor. “And you must tell your mother that she is not to worry, as well.”
“But did this boy who attacked you—”
“This boy,” Tonio said, “as you put it, stands now before a sterner judge than you or I. Say a prayer for him at mass. Now it’s Christmas morning, and surely you do not wish to spend it here.”
Giacomo stopped at the door. This was all happening too fast for him. Yet as he hesitated, he could not prevent his eyes from moving rapidly, almost greedily over Tonio, and then he gave a small but very warm smile. “It’s good to see you are so well, Tonio,” he confessed. And it seemed just for a moment he wanted to say more, but thinking the better of it, he looked quickly to the floor. He seemed to grow smaller, to become exactly the boy he’d been at Venice, and Tonio realized silently, without the slightest change of expression, that his cousin was feeling love for him and pain.
“You were always exceptional, Tonio,” Giacomo said, almost in a whisper, and tentatively he raised his eyes to Tonio’s eyes again.
“And how is that, Giacomo?” Tonio said almost wearily, as though he were bearing all of this, without, however, being the slightest bit rude.
“You were, well…you were always the little man,” Giacomo said, and his manner invited Tonio to understand and to smile at this with him. “You seemed to grow up so quickly, it was as if you were older than us.”
“I didn’t know very much about children.” Tonio smiled.
And when his cousin seemed lost suddenly, Tonio said:
“And you are relieved to see that I have not suffered so far away from home?”
“Oh, very relieved!” Giacomo said.
Then when they looked at each other again, neither moved to look away. The silence lengthened, and the dim wavering light of the sconces made their shadows grow large, then small.
“Goodbye, Giacomo,” Tonio said softly. He held his cousin firmly by both arms.
Giacomo could only stare at him for a moment. Then reaching into his velvet frock