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

"To Take Your Lovers On The Road With You, For All That You

    Leave Them Behind You."

                                              --Walt Whitman.

The Contessa Had To Be Pacified, But She Adored Romance, And She Was

Pleased To Say That The Story Of The Bag, Lost And Found, Which I--Not

The Boy--Told Her, Came Under That Category. She Was In The Best Of

Tempers For A Day Of Travelling, And Saw Us Off, Before Her Friends

Were Dressed And Ready To Begin Their Drive To Chamounix.

"They Are Taking As Long As They Can, On Purpose," She Whispered To

Me, With The Air Of A Naughty Child Planning Mischief Behind The Backs

Of Its Elders. "Anything To Keep Me To Themselves And Away From You!

But You Are Walking, And The Way Is Uphill For A Very Long Time, So

The Hotel People Say. We Shall Catch You Up, And Just To Spite The Di

Nivolis, If Nothing More, I Shall Beg First One Of You, Then The

Other, To Let Me Give You A Lift. Neither Of You Must Refuse, Or I

Shall Cry, And No Man Has Ever Made Me Cry Yet."

"I'm Sure No Man Ever Will," I Answered Promptly.

"And No Boy?" She Asked, With A Long-Lashed Glance At My Companion,

Who Had Given No Answer Save A Smile.

"I Wonder How You Would Look When You Cried, Contessa?" Was The Only

Reply The Little Wretch Deigned, But Instead Of Offending, It Appeared

To Amuse Her. She Watched Our Cavalcade Out Of The Hotel Garden (The

_Rücksack_ Once More On Souris' Faithless Back), And The Silver Bells

Of Her Laughter Lightly Rang Us Down The Road.

Again We Had To Pass Through Martigny Bourg, And Presently, Turning

Aside From The Road Which Had Led Me To The Grand St. Bernard, We Took

The Way On The Right, Almost At Once Feeling The Rise Of The Hill.

Steeper And Steeper It Grew, And Warmer And Warmer We, Though The Day

Was Young. Often We Were Glad Of The Excuse The View Gave Us To Stop

And Look Back, Down Into The Wide Bowl Of The Rhone Valley, With A

Heat-Haze Of Quivering Blue, Creating An Effect Of Great Distance,

Like A "Gauze Drop" On The Stage.

Surely This Was The Longest Lull On Earth, And When We Reached The

Top--If We Ever Did--We Should Find That We Had Been Climbing Jack's

Beanstalk, Coming Out Into A Different World! Up And Up We Dragged For

Hours, The Boy Determined Not To Take To Donkey-Back, Despite The

Protestations Of Innocentina, Emphatic, But Slightly Modified By

Constant Association With The Man She Was Engaged In Converting.

Sometimes We Were Ministered To By Small Maidens, With Marvellously

Neat, Sleek Hair, Who Sprang Up Under Our Eyes, Apparently From

Rabbit-Holes, Their Arms Hooked Into The Handles Of Big Fruit Baskets

Which Might Easily Have Been Their Bathtubs Or Cradles. If We Seemed

Inclined To Turn Away With An Expressionless Gaze, The Little

Creatures Forged After Us With A Determined Trot, Laid Back With Tiny

Brown Hands The Dainty White Napkin Hiding The Basket's Contents, And

Tempted Us With Purple Plums Or Mellow Pears. In The End, We

Invariably Succumbed To These Wiles, Even When We Had Sickened At The

Thought Of Fruit, And Were Obliged Surreptitiously To Hide Our

Purchases By The Wayside, When The Sturdy Young Vendors' Backs Were

Turned.

We Carried Our Panamas In Our Hands, And The Boy's Short Chestnut

Curls Clung To His Forehead In Damp Rings, Making Him Look Absurdly

Childish. I Wondered At Myself For Discussing With Eager Interest, As

I Often Did, So Many Of Life's Unanswerable Questions With Such A Slip

Of Boyhood. Still, I Knew That I Should Often Do It Again, While We

Remained Together, And That He Would Know How To Measure Wits With

Mine, To My Disadvantage, Compelling Always My Respect For His

Opinions, Unless He Happened To Be In An Inconsequential Or Impish

Mood.

After A Long Climb, We Called A Halt At The Most Attractive Of Several

Little Wayside Châlets We Had Passed. Each Was Thoughtfully Provided

With An Awning Or Wooden Roof Stretching Across The Road To Give Shade

To Travellers, Who Were Lured To Pause By Bottles Of Bright-Coloured

Syrups, Wine, And Beer Displayed On Flower-Decked Tables. Our Chosen

Châlet Made A Specialty Of Milk, And A View. There Was A Rough Balcony

At The Back, Built Over A Sheer Precipice, And Far Beneath, The Rhone

Valley Spread Itself For Our Eyes. We Sat Resting, With Glasses Of

Rich Yellow Milk In Our Hands, When A Voice Under The Road-Shelter In

Front Roused Us From Reverie. It Was The Contessa Greeting Joseph And

Innocentina, Who Were Reposing On A Bench In The Delicious Shade.

"I Was Just Thinking It Was Rather Queer They Hadn't Caught Us Up," I

Said, Rising; And Then I Asked Myself Why I Had Said It; For, When I

Came To Cross-Question My Own Thoughts, They Had To Own Up That The

Contessa Had Not Been In Them.

"Oh, It Was The Contessa You Were Thinking Of, Then, When You Sat

Looking As If You Were A Thousand Miles Away, And Had Left Your Body

Behind To Keep Your Place?" Said The Boy, Jumping Up Quickly. "Well,

Here She Is; Your Mind May Be At Ease."

We Returned To The Front Of The House, Through The Neat, Bare

"Living-Room," The Boy A Step Or Two Ahead Of Me, As If Anxious To

Greet The New Arrivals. Off Came His Hat, And He Stood Leaning Against

The Carriage, Looking Up Into The Warm Brown Eyes Of Gaetà, Which Were

Warmer And Brighter Than Ever Because Of This Sudden Show Of Devotion.

Had The Magnetism Of Her Coquetry Fired Him? I Wondered, It Would Be

Strange If It Were Not So, For She Was Beautiful, And Her Manner

Flattering To A Boy So Young. Somehow, My Spirits Were Dashed At The

Thought That My Companion's Last Words To Me Might Be Explained By

Jealousy Of An Older Man With A Pretty Woman. It Would Be Hard If It

Were To Come To This Between Us. Though I Had Talked Of Going To See

Her In Monte Carlo, The Butterfly Contessa Was No More To Me Than A

Delicate Pastel On Someone Else's Wall, Or A Gay Refrain, Which Charms

The Ear Without Haunting The Memory. I Would Not Interfere With The

Boy; If He Chose To Encourage Gaetà To Flirt With Him, He Need Not

Fear Me; But I Had Liked To Think He Valued My Comradeship. Now, A

Fancy For This Child-Woman Would Rob Me Of Him. Instead Of Being

Piqued By The Contessa's Growing Preference For The Boy, As I Ought

To Have Been By All The Rules Of The Game Of Flirtation, I Was

Conscious Of Anger Against Her As An Intruder.

This Feeling Increased Almost To Sulkiness When The Boy Was Invited To

Take A Seat In The Carriage Beside The Gloomy Baron, And Accepted

Promptly.

The Driving Party Had Been Delayed A Long Time In Starting, Gaetà

Explained, Making Large Eyes Which Blamed Her Friends For Everything;

And The Driver Had Brought His Horses Slowly, Oh, So Slowly, Up The

Long Hill, The Stupid Fellow. But Now The Carriage Flashed Ahead, And

I Was Left To Tramp On Alone, While The Contessa And The Boy Flirted,

And Joseph And Innocentina Bickered, All Alike Unmindful Of Me.

We Lunched At The Col De Forclaz, Where The Hill, Tired Of Going Up,

Ran Down To Another Valley. There Was A Godlike Assemblage Of

Mountains, White And Blue, Mountains As Far As The Eye Could Reach,

And I Had A Thought Or Two Which I Would Have Liked To Exchange For

Some Of The Boy's. But If He Had Ever Really Had Any Thoughts, Save

For The Fun Of The Moment, He Had The Air Of Forgetting Them All For

Gaetà. When, In A Tone Of Unenthusiastic Politeness, She Asked If I

Would Not Take My Friend's Place In The Carriage For A While When We

Started On Again, Out Of Pure Spite Against The Little Wretch Who Had

Dropped Me For Her I Said That I Would.

I Could Not See The Boy's Face, To Make Sure If He Were Disappointed,

But I Hoped It. As For Myself, I Would Fain Have Walked. In A Scene Of

Such Exalted Beauty, Gaetà's Little Quips And Quirks Struck A Wrong

Note. Sitting With My Back To The Horses, I Could See The Boy Walking

On Behind, His Face Raised Mountain-Ward And Sky-Ward, And I Longed To

Know Of What He Was Thinking, For Evidently He Had Left His

Aggravating, "Awfully-Jolly-Don't-You-Know" Mood In The Carriage With

The Contessa.

The Baron And His Wife Disputed Volubly About The Date Of One Of

Paolo's Grand Dinners In Paris; Gaetà Yawned, And I Was Stricken With

Dumbness. I Could Think Of Nothing To Say Which She Would Think Worth

Hearing. Soon, The Tremendously Steep Descent Into The Valley Gave Me

The Best Of Excuses To Jump Down And Relieve The Horses, Which The

Coachman Was Leading. Somehow, I Don't Quite Know How, I Fell Back A

Good Distance Behind The Carriage, And Then I Found Myself So Near The

Boy, Who Had Been Slowly Following, That It Would Have Been Rude Not

To Join Him. After All, We Had No Quarrel, Yet Oddly Enough We Could

Not Take Up The Thread Of Our Intercourse Exactly Where It Had Been

Broken Off. There Seemed To Be A Knot Or A Tangle In It, Which Would

Have To Be Smoothed Out.

It Was A Wholly Irrelevant Incident Which Untied The Knot, And Left Us

As We Had Been, Though There Was No Reason For It But A Laugh Which We

Had Together.

The Thing Came About In This Wise. We Arrived At A Small Hotel Which

Boasted A Garden, And Was Famous As A View-Point. From The Door A

Carriage Containing A Man Was About To Drive Away. The Man Was

Approaching Middle Age, And Had An Air Of Quiet Self-Reliance Which

Redeemed Him From Insignificance. He Was Plainly Dressed,