The Princess Passes Volume 56 by Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson (great book club books .txt) 📕

Been The Hour When The Bag Vanished, Evidently Someone Had Found And

Gone Off With It. Nevertheless, Many Young Persons Of Both Sexes Were

Eager To Try Their Luck In A Second Quest.

The Boy, Who Had Been Up For Hours, Had It In Mind To Wait At Orsières

Until His Treasure Should Be Found, Or Hope Abandoned; But I Suggested

Going On At Once To Martigny. There, We Could Have Handbills Printed,

Offering A Large Reward, And These Could Be Distributed Over The

Country. The Diligence Drivers Would Help In The Work, And We Could

Also Advertise In A Local Paper. To This Proposal The Little Pal

Consented; And We Started Off Again Upon Our Way, A Sadder If Not A

Wiser Party.

It Was Late Afternoon When We Straggled Into Martigny. Now, Our Far

Away Alpine Rome With Its Crumbling Towers And Castles, Our Remote

Heights Where A Grey Monastery Was Ever Mirrored In The Blue Eye Of

The Mountain Lake, Seemed Like Phases Of A Dream.

Friends Of The Boy's (Nameless To Me, Like All Links With His Outside

Life) Had Stopped Lately At The Hotel Where Molly, Jack, And I Had

Stayed; He Therefore Proposed To Go To The Same House, And This Jumped

With My Inclination: For The Hotel Had A Cheerful And Home-Like

Individuality Which I Liked.

Pitying The Little Pal's Distress, Though I Chaffed Him For It, I

Undertook The Business Of Getting Out The Handbills I Had Suggested,

And Arranging For An Advertisement In A Paper With A Local

Circulation. I Had To Visit The Post-Office, Engaging In A Long

Discussion With The Officials Who Controlled The Diligence, And The

Business Occupied More Than An Hour. In Mercy To Boy, I Had Not

Delayed For Any Selfish Attention To Personal Comfort, And Tramping

Back Through An Inch Of White Dust To The Hotel, I Was Still As

Travel-Worn As On Our Arrival In The Town, Nearly Two Hours Ago. I Had

Forbidden The Tired Child To Accompany Me, And By This Time He Would

No Doubt Be Refreshed With A Bath And A Change Of Clothing, As,

Fortunately, Not All His Personal Belongings Had Been Contained In The

Ill-Fated Bag. He Would Be Impatiently Waiting For Me At The Hotel

Door, Perhaps; And I Quickened My Steps, In Haste To Give Him Details

Of My Doings.

Entering The Garden, I Had To Bound Onto The Grass, To Escape Being

Run Over By A Pair Of Horses Prancing Round The Curve, At My Back. I

Turned With A Basilisk Glare Intended For The Coachman, But Instead

Met The Astonished Gaze Of The Very Last Eyes I Could Possibly Have

Expected. My Glare Melted Into A Smile, But Not One Of My Best, Though

The Eyes Which Called It Forth Were Alluringly Beautiful.

"Contessa!" I Exclaimed. "Is This You, Or Your Astral Body?"

"Lord Lane!" The Lovely Lady-Of-The-Eyes Responded. "But No, It Is Not

Possible!"

Just As I Was About To Protest That It Was Not Only Possible, But

Certain, I Caught Sight Of The Boy, In The Doorway. As, At The

Contessa's Word, The Carriage Came To A Sudden Halt, She Reaching Out

To Me Two Little Grey Suede Hands, The Slim Figure At The Door Drew

Back A Step, As If Involuntarily; But There Was No Getting Round It,

My Italian Beauty Had Made Boy A Present Of My Name, Whether He Wanted

It Or Not.

    "She Was The Smallest Lady Alive,

     Made In A Piece Of Nature's Madness,

     Too Small, Almost, For The Life And Gladness

     That Over-Filled Her."

                                --Robert Browning.

Here Was A Case Of Mahomet, _En Route_ To Pay His Respects To The

Mountain, Being Met Halfway By The Object Of His Pilgrimage; Though To

Liken The Contessa Di Ravello To A Mountain Is Perhaps To Brutalise A

Poetic License. She Is A Fairy Of A Woman, A Pocket Venus. Gaetà Is

Her Name, And Her Sponsors In Baptism Must Have Been Endowed With

Prophetic Souls, For She Is The Very Spirit Of Irresponsible,

Childlike Gaiety.

Not That She Has A Sense Of Humour. There Is All The Difference In The

World Between A Sense Of Humour And A Sense Of Fun, And Truth To Tell,

The Contessa Had No More Humour Than A Frolicsome Kitten. She Had

Always Been In A Frolic Of Some Sort, When I Had Known Her In Davos,

Whither She Had Gone Because She Thought It Would Be "What You Call A

Lark"; And She Was In A Frolic Now, Judging By Her Merry Laughter When

She Saw Me.

Her Great Wine-Brown Eyes Were Laughing, Her Full, Cupid-Lips Were

Laughing, And More Than All, The Two Deep, Round Dimples In The Olive

Cheeks Were Laughing. Even The Little Rings Of Black Hair On Her Low

Forehead Seemed To Quiver With Mirth, As Her Head Moved With Quick,

Bird-Like Gestures. She Was Dressed All In Grey, And The Cut-Steel

Buttons On Her Dress Twinkled As If They Too Were In The Joke.

"Fancy Meeting You Here, Of All Places!" She Said, In Her Pretty

English, Lisping But Correct. "It Is A Good Gift From The Saints. We

Have Had Such Stupid Adventures, And We Have Been So Bored."

"We" Were Evidently The Handsome, Slightly Moustached Women Of

Thirty-Five, And The Thin, Darkly Dour Man Of Fifty Who Were With The

Contessa In The Carriage; And A Moment Later She Had Introduced Me To

The Baron And Baronessa Di Nivoli. I Echoed The Name With Some

Interest. "Have I The Pleasure Of Meeting The Inventor Of The New

Air-Ship Which Is So Much Talked About?" I Asked.

"That Is My Brother Paolo," Replied The Baron, Unbending Slightly.

"He Will Join Us Later," Added The Baronessa, With A Quick Look At The

Pretty And Rich Little Widow Which Betrayed To Me A Secret. She Then

Turned A Dark, Disapproving Gaze Upon Me Which Told Another, And I

Could Have Laughed Aloud. "They Want To Nobble My Poor Little Contessa

For Brother-Aëronaut, And They Don't Countenance Chance Meetings With

Strange Young Men," I Said To Myself, Greatly Amused. "If They Can See

Through The Dust, And Suspect In Me A Possible Rival For The Absent,

They Have Sharp Eyes, Or Keen Imaginations, And I May Be In For A

Little Fun."

We Were At The Hotel Door, And I Was Allowed To Help The Contessa Out,

Though The Elder Lady Preferred The Aid Of The Concierge. For The

Moment Gaetà Had Forgotten The Claims Of Her Companions, And

Remembered Only Mine. It Is A Butterfly Way Of Hers To Forget Easily,

And Flutter With Delight In A New Corner Of The Garden, Just Because

It Is New.

"You Are Staying Here? How Nice!" She Exclaimed, Without Giving Me

Time To Answer. "We Should Have Arrived Last Night, But We Had An

Accident To Our Carriage--A Broken Wheel. It Was Coming Down From The

Hospice Of St. Bernard, Which We Had Been To Visit--Oh, Not To Please

_Me_, Do Not Think It. It Was The Baron, Here. In Dim Ages His People

And The Saint Were Cousins, Though The Idea Of A Saint Having Cousins

Seems Actually Sacrilegious, Doesn't It? I Do Not Love Monks, I Only

Respect Them, Which Is So Disagreeable. But The Baron Took Us. _Dio

Mio!_ I Have No Warm Blood Left. It Was Frozen Up There. And Then,

That Our Carriage Should Have Broken Down At A Little Place--The Wrong

End Of Nowhere--Bourg St. Something! We Had To Stop All Night. Fancy

Me Without My Maid, Who Was To Meet Me Here. I Do Not Know If My Dress

Is Not On Wrong Side Before. Later, We All Have To Go On To Chamounix

And Then To Aix-Les-Bains. I've Taken A Villa There For A Month. You

_Must_ Come And See Me."

Thus She Chattered On As We Entered The Hotel, And Then, Suddenly, Her

Bright Eyes Fell Upon The Boy, Who Had Retired Near The Stairway.

There He Stood, With A Book In His Hand, And An Unwonted Colour In His

Brown Cheeks, Glowing Red Under The Strange Blue Jewels Of His Eyes.

"What A Divine Boy!" The Countess Half Whispered To Me, Not Taking Her

Gaze From Him. "He Is Exactly Like A Wonderful Painting By Some Old

Master Of My Own Dear Country. What Eyes! They Are Better And Bigger

Sapphires Than Any I Own, Though I've Some Famous Ones. And How

Strange They Are--Looking Out Of His Brown Face, From Under Such

Black Lashes, Too. Oh, A Picture, Certainly. He Is Not Like A Modern,

Every-Day Boy, At All. He Can't Be English, Of That I'm Sure, And

Yet----"

"He Is American," I Said, When She Paused Thoughtfully, The Boy At His

Distance Reading Or Pretending To Read, As He Stood. "But You Are

Right. He Is Very Far From Being An Every-Day Boy."

"You Know Him, Then?"

"We've Been Travelling Companions For Days, And Have Got To Be

Tremendous Pals."

"How Old Is He?" Asked The Contessa, A Deep Glow Of Interest And

Curiosity Kindling In Her Warm Brown Eyes.

"I Don't Know. He Has Talked Freely About Himself Only Once Or Twice,

Though We've Discussed Together Most Other Subjects Under The Sun."

"How Deliciously Mysterious. Mysterious! Yes, That's The Word For Him.

He Has Mysterious Eyes; A Mysterious Face. There Is A Shadow Upon It.

That Is Part Of The Fascination, Is It Not? I Am Sure He Is

Fascinating."

"Extraordinarily So. I Have Never Met Anyone At All Like Him."

"He Might Be A Boy Tasso. But He Has Suffered; He Is Not A Child Any

More, Though