 In the weird circle, in this cave, by the restless sea, we are met to call from out the past stories, strange, and weird. Bellkeeper, hold the bell, so all may know we are gathered again in the weird circle. Phantom of a world gone by, speak again, their immortal tale, the vendetta. May a penny mademoiselle, just a penny for an old lady. I'll tell you a story if you'll give me a penny, monsieur. Sorry, Gypsy, not today. How about you, madame? Me? How about a penny for my story? Well, now... Just a penny for a story, a story you won't forget. I never could resist a story. It's a deal. You tell the story and I'll give you the penny. Well, we'd better sit down on the front steps of the museum here. Now, the story starts in an attic of an old ponceum. The story is of two lovers who were sitting together in an old attic in a two-gable building where the wind softly shook the old shutters as it blew by. The girl was beautiful, and those two were in love, and she was telling him the story of the vendetta. Jenny, my darling, tell me about the vendetta. It was so long ago, Louis, but I'll never forget the fires and the flames. Sometimes at night I still think of myself as that little girl in Corsica, sitting with her mother in the living room. I can still see our sworn enemies, the Porter family, breaking in, pouring kerosene on our rugs and see the fire start. Those fires, which were meant as our fume of fire, I can still hear my mother scream before she died. Somehow, my father saved my life and told me to hide in the wastelands and wait for him. And then there was more fire and more flames, and the vendetta was set. The Porter family was dead. And then we came to Paris to the ponceum next door. I remember the ugly white stone building, the long, rickety flight of stairs to the three-room flat on the third floor. I remember the landlady, who was so kind and showed us to our rooms, talking in that empty hallway. You'll like it here, Mr. de Pionble. You and your little girl, pretty child, isn't she? Watch out for the stairs. Thank you. I'll be careful of my damn money. We're all one happy family here. A German family lives on this floor and a young newlywed couple lives on this floor. And guess who owns the building next door? Mr. Cervantes. He's an artist and runs an exclusive school for young women who are interested in the art. Well, these are your quarters. Your room's in the back. The child's room is just to the left. You have your own cooking facilities if you wish to use them. Yes, you told us. Well, I guess you want to be alone to make friends with your new quarters. Rooms that like people have to be treated with kindness. Be happy. Are you tired, Ginny? Very, very tired. Father, are we going to see Mother again? They took her from us, Ginny. But the porters have paid for it with their lives. All of them. You're all I have left, Ginny. You're all I have left in the world. You'll be a little queen someday. I'll make you a queen, Ginny. And Paris will be at your feet. You're such lovely black hair, Ginny. Such lovely warm black hair, darling. Never leave me. Father, darling, I'll never leave you. How could I? We belong together. And so you and your father lived in the pension? You were happy, Ginny? Oh, so happy, Louis. You've no idea. Well, when I was 20 years old, I started to paint. Our landlady showed my painting to Monsieur Savain and Monsieur granted me a scholarship in his school. My easel was in the corner of the studio, and when I climbed on a chair, I could pierce through the skylight into Monsieur Savain's attic across the way near the gable. The attic always fascinated me. It was dark and lonely and struck a responsive chord somewhere inside me. And then last week, I saw you there, darling. And I knew you were wounded. I started to paint you. I stood on the chair looking at you. Laurie was singing behind me, and Amelia was talking too much. The little chime clock on the wall chatted, too. They saved a soldier escape somewhere in this neighborhood, but they'll get him. There's no doubt of that. After all, he deserves to die. Every bonaparteist soldier deserves to die. After all, who are they? Nothing but a lot of cutthroats in Corsica. Amelia, what a cruel thing to say. What do you think of our darling Ginevra? Oh, honestly, Laurie, you make me sick. What are you doing standing on a chair, Ginevra? I was seeing something in my mind's eye. You were talking about Napoleon, Amelia. I'm interested in your views. Oh, of course. You're a Corsican. Are you for or against Napoleon? Since Napoleon's been banished, it doesn't make much difference, does it? Well, maybe not, except there's a soldier in Napoleon's army hiding out in this district. The police might be interested in you, Ginevra, if you're a sympathizer. If somebody were to tell them about you... Amelia, stop it. Let's see what you're painting, Ginevra. Oh, no, no, Laurie, please, I... Oh, darling, it's a lovely piece of work. Who is he? Who is who? This man Ginevra's painting. Oh, uh, man. Well, we didn't know. Now, Moselle, would you please return to your easels? No artist ever gave anything to art in the world with gossip. We were just admiring the Corsicans' work, Monsieur Sauvain. She's painting a portrait of a young man. Well, Moselle, let me know. I'm sure if you worked diligently as Moselle Ginevra, somebody would admire your work. It is four o'clock, ladies. Time for you to go home. I'm only half finished, Monsieur. Four o'clock, Moselle, Laurie. Your family will worry. Naturally, Laurie. Come along and stop being super conscientious. Good night, Ginevra. It's me. I'll be right along. Moselle Ginevra. Oh, yes, Monsieur. Would you mind staying after class? Of course not, Monsieur. Good night, Monsieur Sauvain. Good night, Monsieur Sauvain. Good night, Moselle. You'll find Madame Moselle Ginevra very interesting to talk to, Monsieur Sauvain. Especially if you ask her why she stands on a chair looking in an attic window. Good night, Monsieur Sauvain. Good night, Moselle Amidia. I'm sorry, Monsieur. I caused you so much trouble. That is a fine painting, Ginevra. How long have you known the soldier has been hiding in my attic? Just today. How much has Madame Moselle Amidia seen of him? Just this painting. Monsieur, please take me to him. Nobody knows he's up there but me. He's wounded and he looks so lonely. Your father would never forgive me if I do. And I'd never forgive you if you don't. Please, Monsieur. Nobody will ever know. I swear it. Please, Monsieur Sauvain. Please. And so he brought me to the attic. And I met you and loved you from the first time I saw you two weeks ago, Louis. Oh, I... I know all the words that rhyme with your name. I know all the funny little wrinkles in your face and the way you smile and the way you talk. Jenny. Jenny, darling, darling, you don't know what you're saying. I'm a hunted man. If I'm caught, I'll be hung. If you were killed, I'd be by your side. I'm sick and wounded. And you know so little about me. I know everything about you. We're fellow Corsicans. You're a brave soldier. And I love, love, love you. Where you go, I shall go. And your people shall be my people. Jenny, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many times. Oh, darling. Don't stop me, please, darling. We can't be married. Don't you understand? I love you. I love you so much. Oh, Louis. Father can help you leave the country. And I can join you later. And we'll return to Corsica. Corsica, Jenny. Warm sun and green meadows in the yellow pasture land. Oh, darling, you're like Corsica so very much like it. Tempestuous and warm. In your eyes are brown like the trees in the fall. And when you're happy, they're brown with red flames. Those are the fires of the vendetta, Louis. And when you're sad, the light dies. Like the sun on the ocean. I love you. I love you, Jenny. If only I were brave enough to own you. I'd own you in a little bit of Corsica and a world of our own. Oh, don't make it any more difficult for me than it is. What's wrong, Jenny? Look at the skylight in the studio. I could have sworn I saw somebody at the skylight. Nothing more than the cleaning woman, Jenny. Oh, my little darling. My darling, Jenny. Jenny for Bella. Bella, Bella, Jenny. What are you doing standing on the chair looking out the skylight wind, Amelia? What are you looking at? You know very well what I'm looking at, Lori. You've known all along about Jennifer and her lover and their secret rendezvous, haven't you? What if I have? My father is head of the Paris police force. We'll be very much interested in finding this escaped soldier. If you help the soldier escape, I'll tell my father you helped him to escape. They'll put you in jail, Lori, in a dark hole of a jail with rats and roaches. And they'll forget about you. And who let me go, Amelia? That is if you don't keep your mouth shut. My arm. What are you going to do with me? Wait and see, Lori. And if you want to stay out of jail, you keep your mouth shut. I think I'd better see Jennifer's father. Miss your D.P. Envo? Yes. I'm here for a schoolmate of your daughter's. Oh, please, come in, Mademoiselle. My daughter is late from school, but I'm sure she'll be home soon. Well, I... I didn't come here to talk to your daughter, Monsieur. I came to talk to you. A sort of ugly thing happened at our school lately, and... Oh, well, it's sort of difficult to explain, but... Well, Monsieur Sauvage has been allowing an escaped soldier to hide in his attic. Not so very... fresco. How could he? Well, every day, Jennifer and this soldier see each other, and I hear they intend to marry. It's the scandal of the school, Monsieur, and, well, if he's arrested, Jennifer will be in trouble, and... Are you positive of this, Mademoiselle? Oh, yes, and I'm worried for her. You see, my father is head of the Paris police, and I found out this escaped soldier is a fellow Corsican of yours, and you probably know him. He's parading under the name of Louis D'Angelo, but in reality, his name is Luigi Porter, youngest son of the Porter family, and the only survivor of a tragic fire which occurred in Corsica 15 years ago. Luigi Porter? I'm sure she never can take care of herself. Well, shall I report him to the police? No, maybe it won't be necessary for 24 hours. No, no, I think I'll wait. Good day, Monsieur D'Piambo. She never...she never will. Not a Porter. Oh, no, she never will. Not... Not marrying Luigi Porter, my own daughter. It cannot be my daughter's. But if she be married to a Porter, she must die by my hands. By the terms of the vendetta. I waited for you here on the landing, Amelia. What were you doing in my father's apartment? Don't you wish he knew? Tell me, Amelia, or I'll choke it out of you. I was always told the Corsicans were accrued people. I didn't know how true that was until now. Don't speak so loud. What do you know about this? What do you know? Everything that's important to know about you. I know that you're Corsican peasant blood, and I don't like associating with you. Sorry, Genevra, very sorry for this. Amelia, stop following me. I must know the truth. Did you tell my father about... Meeting a lover in secret, yes. It's time somebody stopped you. Who did you say this secret lover of mine was? I didn't know you knew. He is Luigi Porter. I thought you at least had loyalty to your father. Did you tell my father? Did you? Yes, Genevra, I told your father. I thought he preferred to know the truth. Goodbye, little princess. I was there. Oh, poor Luigi. Mama, don't cry. If somebody hurts our feelings, you'll get over it. Madame, would you do me a favor? Go upstairs to my father and tell him... Tell him you've sent me out on clearance. Please, please, Madame. Poor child, are you in trouble? Please, please, for the love of heaven. Go upstairs and tell my father you sent me out and make the lie good, make him believe it. You must make him believe it, Madame. Please, please, go upstairs now. Go upstairs, right this minute. I thought you wouldn't mind, Monsieur de Piambo. If Genevra went on this little errand for me, just a few blocks away to the butcher and I've hurt my foot. Naturally, your foot. Stubbed the toe. For a stubbed toe, you walk very well. Thank you, Monsieur. Very well indeed. I think I'd better go downstairs. Don't. Please don't. I'd much rather you wait up here, Madame Manet, so that I may see this parcel Genevra's to bring you. But, Monsieur... I said we'll wait up here, Madame. Six o'clock. We'll wait till seven, Madame. Till seven. She's not here by then. You and I will find her ourselves. I have to warn you, Louis, you're in such danger. Don't you understand? Father will kill you at the vendetta return. Jeanie, oh, Jeanie. Luigi or Louis, it makes no difference to me. Love knows no names. And I love you, Luigi Porter, with my whole heart. But if we're married, you'll become a porter. And by the terms of a vendetta, as long as a piamba lives, all porters must die. If you become my wife, you must die as well as I. Without you, Louis, I wouldn't be alive. My life. My love. We'll take our chance. If only Monsieur Cervan is right. If only he can get us out of the country at midnight. We must believe it. Darling, as soon as the priest arrives and we're married, I'll return home and wait. I'll wait until midnight. Be careful, darling. Be careful. Nothing can go wrong, Luigi. The carriage will be waiting and Cervan has our passport already. How can you get out of the house without your father suspecting? I'll find a way somehow. I... Oh, oh. Monsieur Cervan, you've frightened me. I'm sorry, my dear, but the priest is waiting for you. Darling Geneva, take my arm, my sweet. Oh. Lead the way, Monsieur Cervan. Father, I'm sorry. I'm so late, Father. Are you angry with me? How could I be, Melissa? Tea is ready, Geneva. It's been ready a long time, waiting for you. I'm so sorry. Shall I warm the water? It's not necessary. I'm curious. Sit by the window with me, as you did when you were a little girl. A little girl. Of course. How gay the table looks, Father, almost as if we were celebrating something. Candle sticks, the best tea plate. Sit down, darling. Here, next to me. And the very best tea pot. And the old Corsican knife. It's a lovely knife. I've always loved it. What are we going to carve with it? You've no cake. Your tea, Geneva. Thank you. I knew you'd leave me for some men or other. I've always known that, Ginny. Come, curry simmer. Sit close to me, as you did when you were a little girl. But, Father... You're still my little girl. Father, I... You go away from me. Are you afraid of me? No, Father. No, darling. No. My little princess. My beautiful Geneva. Curry simmer. With your heavy, long black hair. Such heavy, warm black hair. Now the hair is dark. Now the hair is thick and fragrant. Now the hair is beautiful. But yours, Ginny, yours is Corsica. Corsica. Don't look at me, Ginny, every curry. Curry, curry. Look straight ahead out the window. Yes, Father. How do you see out there? Trees and grass. And people laughing. Happy people. A boy and a girl and a baby. And an old man. A lonely old man, Garret. There's no old man out there but... Father, what are you reaching for? The knife on the table. Why? You and the knife are the only two things left from Corsica. No, don't turn around. Keep looking out the window, Geneva. Keep telling me what you see, my darling curry simmer. Why, Father? By the boy and the girl happy. Father! Father, Geneva. Are they happy, darling? Father! I'll hold you in my arms, my darling, and the pain will go away. I waited for you. For too long hours. I stood by the window, watching and waiting. I saw Sir Van leave and return with the priest. Oh, Kara, Kara, Geneva. Then you came home. Not my curry simmer. Not my darling. Oh, Father. Pain, no. You came back to me. The wife of Luigi Porter. Your mother's murderer. You were pimple to become a porter. The pain, Father. The pain. Goodbye, Geneva. You're here. No more black hair. But out so slowly. In my life, in your life. The life of a pyambo for the life of a porter. Curry simmer. Kara, mia. Kara, mia. You'll not be alone. Not alone. In death. Geneva. Geneva, we've waited so long. Geneva. Geneva, my darling, what's happened to it? How could dead hates come out of the past and murder the only beauty in my life? Geneva, my darling. Darling, Geneva. My wife for five short hours. Yes, that's the way. Yes. The knife. Here. Shani. Shani, I'm coming to meet you. I hear your voice. Luigi, what have you done? Luigi. I'm not going to die, Luigi. I'm not going to die, Luigi. I'm not going to die. Didn't die. She lay for months in a hospital, trying to die. Not caring to make any effort to do anything. The doctors made her live. She had no will to, and she hasn't sinned. She hasn't sinned. What happened to her, Gypsy? What did she do? She lived in memories. But who cares? Who cares about Geneva now? She might be wandering the streets. An old woman. An old woman telling stories for Penny. Gypsy, here's your penny. Thank you, Madame. Thank you. A story? A story for a Penny? Just a penny, please. From the time-worn pages of the past, we have heard the immortal tale, the vendetta. Bell keepers, toll the bells.