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

Her And Her Friends In Their Private Sitting-Room.

I Would Have Preferred To Finish My Talk With The Little Pal, Which

Had Reached An Entertaining Point In The Announcement That He Seemed

To Know Me Less Well Since He Had Heard My Name--That Names, And Past

Histories, And Circumstances Were Barriers Between Lives. But The Boy,

Reluctant A Short Time Ago To Be Drawn Into The Contessa's Society,

Was Now Apparently Willing To Give Up The Tête-À-Tête.

We Left Our Coffee, And Went To Drink The Contessa's, Which Reached

Our Lips Chilled By The Silent Enmity Of Her Friends. But, Whether

Because Their Example Had Been A Warning, Or Because He Had Suffered A

"Change, Into Something New And Strange," The Boy Was No Longer A Wet

Blanket. He Did Not Show The Self Which I Had Learned To Know In Some

Of Its Phases, But He Was Shyly Conciliatory With The Contessa, The

Blue Eyes Hinting That, If She Were Persistent, His Admiration Might

Be Won. Still, He Often Answered In Monosyllables Or Briefly, When She

Spoke To Him, A Smile Curving His Short Upper Lip. I Could Not

Understand What His Manner Meant, Nor, I Am Sure, Could She; But She

Was Evidently Bent On Solving The Puzzle.

"Do You Play Tennis?" She Asked Him.

"Yes."

"Ah, So Do I, And Well, Too, Though I'm Not English. Lord Lane Will

Tell You That. And You Dance, I Know."

"Yes."

"You Love It? I Do."

"I Used To."

"That Sounds As If You Were A Hundred, Instead Of--Nineteen, Is It

Not?"

"I'm Not Quite Ninety-Nine."

"I Should Like To Dance With You. We Are The Right Size For Each Other

In The Dance, Are We Not?"

"I'd Try Not To Disappoint You."

"Oh, We Must Have A Dance. You Love Music, I Know. One Sees It By Your

Eyes. Once, When I Asked Lord Lane If He Sang Or Played, He Said That

He 'Had No Drawing-Room Tricks.' Rude Of Him, _N'est-Ce Pas_? But You?

Is It That You Play?"

"The Violin Will Talk For Me, If I Coax It."

"Ah, I Was Sure. We Are Going To Be Congenial. But The Singing? I See

By Your Face That You Sing, Though You Won't Say So. Here Is A Piano.

I Will Accompany You, If You Like, And If We Know The Same Things.

Perhaps Our Voices Would Be Well Together."

I Was Surprised To See The Boy Get Up And Go To The Piano. "I Will

Sing If You Like; But I Accompany Myself, Always," He Said. "I Don't

Sing Things That Many People Know."

For A Moment He Sat At The Piano, As If Thinking. Then He, Who Had

Never Told Me That He Sang, Never Even Spoken Of Singing, Turned Into

A Young Angel, And Gripped My Heart With A Voice As Strangely

Haunting As His Eyes And His Little Brown Face. Had He Been A Girl, I

Suppose His Voice Would Have Been Called A Deep Contralto. As He Was A

Boy--I Do Not Know How To Classify It.

I Can Say Only That, While The Mellow Music Rippled From His Parted

Lips, It Seemed As If The Gates Of Paradise Had Fallen Ajar. He Sang

An Old Ballad That I Had Never Heard. It Was All About "Douglas

Gordon," Whose Story Flowed With The Tide Of A Plaintive Accompaniment

Which I Think He Must Have Arranged Himself: For Somehow, It Was Like

Him. All The Sadness, All The Sweetness In This Sweet, Sad, Old World

Seemed Concentrated In The Boy's Angel Voice, And Listening, I Was

Douglas Gordon, And He Was Putting My Life-Sorrow Into Words. He Took

My Heart And Broke It, Yet I Would Not Have Had Him Stop. Then,

Suddenly, He Did Stop, And The Contessa Was In Tears. "Bravo! Bravo!"

She Cried, Diamonds Raining Over Two Spasmodic Dimples. "Again;

Something Else."

He Sang Christina Rossetti's "Perchance You May Remember, Perchance

You May Forget," And The Thrill Of It Was In The Marrow Of My Bones. I

Had Scarcely Known Before What Music Could Do With Me, And The Voice

Of The Little Gaetà, Following The Song, Jarred On My Ears As She

Praised The Boy, And Pleaded For More.

"I Can't Sing Again To-Night," Said He. "I'm Sorry, But I Can Sing

Only When I Feel In The Mood."

"But You Will Come With Lord Lane, And Stay At My Villa, Which I Have

Taken At Aix--Yes, If Only For A Few Days? The Baron And Baronessa

Will Be With Me, Too. You Are Going That Way. Lord Lane Has Told Me.

Will You Come?"

"Is He Coming?"

"Lord Lane, Tell Him That You Are."

"You Are Very Good, Contessa----"

"There! You Hear, It Is Settled."

"If--Lord Lane Makes You A Visit, I Will Also, As You Are Kind Enough

To Want Me."

Afterwards, When We Had Bidden The Contessa And Her Guardian Dragons

Good-Night, And It Was Arranged That We Were To Stay Over To-Morrow,

On Account Of The Lost Bag, I Said To The Boy On The Way Upstairs,

"You've Made A Conquest Of The Contessa."

He Blushed Furiously, Looked Angry, And Then Burst Out Laughing. "Are

You Jealous?" He Asked.

"I Ought To Be."

"But Are You?"

"I Haven't Had Time To Analyse My Emotions. Why Did You Never Tell Me

You Sang?"

"I Wasn't Ready--Till To-Night. Now--I Sang For You."

"I Thought It Was For The Contessa."

"Did You? Well"--With Sudden Crossness--"You May Go On Thinking So, If

You Like. Can She Sing?"

"Rather Well."

"As--Better Than I Can?"

"You Must Judge For Yourself When You Hear Her."

"You Might Tell Me. But No! I Don't Want You To, Now. It's Spoiled.

Good-Night."

"Good-Night. Dream Of Your Conquest."

"Probably She's Only Trying To--To Bring You To The Point, By Being

Nice To Me. I Wonder If You Care?"

I Would Not Give The Little Wretch Any Satisfaction. I Merely

Laughed, And An Odd Blue Light Flashed In His Eyes. He Was Making Up

His Mind To Something, For The Life Of Me I Could Not Tell What.

The Contessa And Her Satellites Should Have Gone On To Chamounix Next

Day, But Gaetà Frankly Announced Her Intention Of Waiting, So That We

Might Make The Journey Together. They Were Driving Over The Tête

Noire, And We Would Go Afoot, To Be Sure; Still, Said She, We Could

Keep More Or Less Together, Exchanging Impressions From Time To Time,

And Lunching At The Same Place. She Made Me Promise, As A Reward To

Her For This Delay, That The Boy And I Would Not Take The Way Of The

Col De Balme, By Which No Carriage Could Pass. If We Did This, Our

Party And Hers Must Part Company Early In The Day, And She Would Be

Left To The Tender Mercies Of The Baron And Baronessa For Many A

_Triste_ Hour.

"But Why Should You Be Imposed Upon By Them, If They Don't Amuse You?"

I Ventured To Ask; For Gaetà Was So Frank About Her Affairs That One

Was Sometimes Led Inadvertently To Take Liberties.

"Oh, It Was The Brother Who Amused Me, And He Amuses Me Still,"

Replied She, With A _Moue_, And A Shrug Of Her Pretty Shoulders. "At

Least, I Don't _Think_ I Shall Be Tired Of Him, When I See Him Again.

He Is A Whirlwind; He Carries A Woman Off Her Feet, Before She Knows

What Is Happening, And We Like That In A Man, We Italians. We Adore

Temperament. I Was Nice To The Baron And Baronessa For Paolo's Sake.

He Had To Go Away From Milan, Which Is My Real Home, You Know--(If I

Have A Home Anywhere)--To Have A Medal For His Air-Ship, And Many

Honours And Dinners Given Him In Paris; So, Without Stopping To Think,

I Invited The Baron And Baronessa To Visit Me In Aix. Then They

Suggested That We Should Have A Little Tour First; And We Are Having

It--_Dio Mio_, So Much The Worse For Me, Till I Met You! And Now They

Make Me Feel Like A Naughty Child."

"Will Paolo Come Also To The Villa?" I Asked, Smiling.

"He Has Engagements To Last A Fortnight Still. Perhaps Afterwards He

May Run Out To Aix."

The Boy's Face Fell When I Told Him That I Had Promised The Contessa

To Walk Along The Highroad, Over The Tête Noire.

"Innocentina And I----" He Began. Then His Eyes Wandered To Gaetà, Who

Stood With Her Friends At The Other End Of The Hail. She Was Looking

Extremely Pretty, And Chose That Instant To Throw A Quick Glance At

Me, Demanding Sympathy For Some _Ennui_ Or Other Caused By The

Baronessa. "Oh, Very Well," He Finished, "It Doesn't Matter."

He Was In Suspense All Day About His Mysteriously Important Bag.

Though Handbills Had Been Hastily Printed And Scattered Over The

Country, There Was No Certainty As To When We Should Hear Or Whether

We Should Hear At All. Late In The Evening, However, As We Were

Finishing Dinner In The _Salle-À-Manger_, At The Same Table With Gaetà

And Her Friends, A Message Came That A Man Desired To See The Young

Monsieur Who Had Advertised For A Lost Bag.

The Boy Excused Himself, And Jumped Up. I Should Have Liked To Go With

Him, But Courtesy To The Ladies Forbade, And I Sat Still, Feeling

Guilty Of Disloyalty Somehow, Nevertheless, Because Of A Look He Threw

Me. It Seemed To Say, "We Were Such Friends, But A Woman Has Come

Between. My Affairs Are Nothing To You Now."

I Had Thought That He Would Be Back In Time For Coffee, But He