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

Marble Ladies Lying In Stately Right Of Possession By Their Sides, Or

Had Their Fancy Wandered To Others Whose Dust Lay Now In Some Far,

Obscure Corner Of Earth?

If My Homage Could Have Compensated In Any Small Degree For Kingly

Unfaith, A Drop Of Balm Would Have Fallen Upon The Marble Heart Of

Each Royal Lady To Whom Such Injustice Had Perchance Been Done; For I

Loved Them All For Their Noble Dignity, And The Sweet Femininity Which

Remained To Them Even Under The Mask Of Stone. Their Names Alone

Warmed The Blood With The Wine Of Romance: The Princess Yolande; The

Duchess Beatrix; The Lady Melusine. Surely, With Such Names And Such

Profiles, They Had Been Worth A Man's Living Or Dying For; And If Life

Had Not Been So Vivid For Me That Day, I Should Have Wished Myself

Back In The Far Past, In Heavy, Uncomfortable Armour, Fighting Their

Battles.

"'Where Are All The Dear, Dead Women?'" Asked The Boy. "'What's Become

Of All The Gold That Used To Hang, And Brush Their Shoulders?' Maybe

Part Of The Answer To Browning's Question Lies In Those Tombs."

"They Were Princesses, Like Your Sister," Said I. "I've Been Fancying

Them With Her Eyes."

"What Do You Know About Her Eyes?" He Asked Quickly.

"I Imagine Them Like Yours."

"Let's Get Out Into The Sunshine Again," Said The Boy. "I'm Afraid

It's Time To Leave The Princesses, And Go Back To The Contessa."

  "Contending With The Fretful Elements."

                             --Shakespeare.

It Is The Early Bird Which Gathers The Worm, If The Worm Has

Thoughtlessly Got Up Early Too; But It Is Also The Bird Which Comes

Flying From Afar Off, Whatever His Engagements Elsewhere May Be; The

Bird Which, Having Come, Remains On The Spot Favoured By The Worm,

Singing Sweet Songs To Charm It Into A Mood Ripe For The Gathering.

Such A Bird Was Paolo, And Such--But Perhaps It Would Be More Gallant

Not To Carry The Simile Further, Since Even Poetry Could Scarcely

License It.

It Is Enough To Say, In Proof Of The Proverb, That When The Boy And I

Arrived At The Villa In Time For _Déjeuner_, To Which I Had Been

Invited Over Night, We Found Paolo With Gaetà, Under The Red Umbrella,

Unencumbered By Any Irrelevant Barons Or Baronesses.

Gaetà Was Looking Pale And A Little Frightened. Her Dimples Were In

Abeyance, As If Waiting To Learn Whether Something Had Happened To

Twinkle About, Or Something Which Would More Likely Extinguish Them

Forever. But The Aëronaut Might Have Invented An Air-Ship To Take The

Place Of Ordinary Channel Traffic, So Great With Pride Was He. He

Appeared To Have Grown Several Inches In Height, And To Have

Increased Considerably In Chest Measurement, As He Sprang From His

Chair To Welcome Us, As If We Had Been Long-Lost Brothers.

"Congratulate Me," Said He. "The Contessa Has Just Consented To Be My

Wife."

Gaetà Clutched The Arm Of Her Rustic Seat With A Tiny Hand Upon Which

A New Ring Glittered, Like A New Star In The Firmament. Her Warm Dark

Eyes, Eager, Expectant, Deliciously Fearful, Were On The Boy. If The

Discarded Favourite Of Yesterday Had Leaped To The Throat Of The

Accepted Lover Of To-Day (Her "Whirlwind"), She Would Have Screamed A

Silvery Little Scream And Implored Him For _Her_ Sake To Accept The

Inevitable Calmly; She Would Have Given Him A Reproachful Flash Of The

Eyes, To Say, "Why Didn't _You_ Take Me, Instead Of Letting Him Carry

Me Away? What Could I Do, When You Left Me Alone, At His Mercy--I So

Frail, He So Big And Strong?" Her Glance Would Then Have Telegraphed

To Paolo, "You Have Won Me And My Love; You Can Afford To Spare A

Defeated Rival Who Is Desperate"; And Perhaps She Might Even Have

Thrown Me A Crumb For Auld Flirtation's Sake.

But The Boy Did Not, Apparently, Feel The Least Magnetic Attraction

Towards Paolo's Throat, Or Any Other Vulnerable Part Of The Aëronaut's

Person. Nor Did He Stamp On The Ground, Crying Upon Earth To Open And

Swallow The Master Of The Air. I, Too, Kept An Unmoved Front; But

Then, Being English, That Might Have Been Pardoned To My National

_Sang-Froid_. There Was, However, No Such Excuse For The Mercurial

Young American, And Flat Disappointment Struck Out The Spark In

Gaetà's Eye. The Second Act Of Her Little Drama Seemed Doomed To

Failure.

"_Mille Congratulations_," Said The Boy Cordially, I Basely Echoing

Him. We Shook Hands With Gaetà; We Shook Hands With Paolo, And

Something Was Said About Weddings And Wedding-Cake. Then The Baron And

Baronessa Appeared So Opportunely As To Give Rise To The Base

Suspicion That They Had Been Eavesdropping. More Polite Things Were

Mumbled, And We Went To Luncheon, Gaetà On Paolo's Arm, With A

Disappointed Droop Of Her Pretty Shoulders. We Drank To The Health And

Happiness Of The Newly Affianced Pair, A Habit Which Seemed To Be

Growing Upon Me Of Late, And Might Lead Me Down The Fatal Grade Of

Bachelordom. The Boy And I Were Unable To Conceal, As We Ought To Have

Done Out Of Politeness, The Fact That Our Appetites Had Sustained The

Shock Of Our Lady's Engagement, And I Saw In Her Eyes That She Could

Never Wholly Forgive Us, No, Not Even If We Made Love To Her After

Marriage.

"Shall You Take Your Wedding Trip In A Balloon?" Asked The Boy

Demurely; And This Was The Last Straw. Gaetà Did Not Make The Faintest

Protest When, Soon After, It Was Announced That He And I Thought Of

Leaving Aix On The Morrow. I Am Not Sure That She Even Heard My Vague

Apologies Concerning A Telegram From Friends.

We All Went To The Opera At One Of The Casinos That Night. It Was

"Rigoletto," And Gaetà And Paolo Sat Side By Side, Looking Into Each

Other's Eyes During The Love Scene In The First Act. But The Boy Was

Adamant, And I Did Not Turn A Hair. He And I Were Much Occupied In

Wondering At The Strange Infatuation Of The Stage Hero, But Especially

The Villain--Quite A Superior Villain--For The Heroine, Who Looked

Like An Elderly Papoose: Therefore We Had No Time To Be Jealous Of

Anything That Went On Under Our Noses. The Party Supped With Me, _En

Masse_, At My Hotel; And Afterwards I Said Good-Bye To Gaetà.

She Did Not Know That I Had Planned My Journey With A Thought Of

Seeing Her At The End, And Drowning My Sorrows In Flirtation; But The

Boy Knew, And Had Not Forgotten--The Little Wretch. I Saw His Thought

Twinkling In His Eyes, As I Said Debonairly That We Might All Meet On

The Riviera. If I Had Not Sternly Removed My Gaze, I Should Probably

Have Burst Out Laughing, And Precipitated A Second Duel In Which I,

And Not The Boy, Would Have Been A Principal.

When I Had Been In Aix-Les-Bains Before, I Had Made The Excursion To

Mont Revard, As All The World Makes It, By The Funicular Railway; And

After Half An Hour In The Little Train, I Had Arrived At The Top For

Lunch And The View, Both Being Enjoyed In A Conventional Manner. Now,

All Was To Be Changed. The Boy And I Did Not Regard Ourselves As

Tourists, But As Pilgrims.

Among Other Things That Self-Respecting Pilgrims Cannot Do, Is To

Ascend A Mountain By Means Of A Funicular Railway; Better Stay At The

Bottom, And Look Up With Reverence. Therefore, Instead Of Strolling

Out To The Little Station About Twelve O'clock, With The View Of

Reaching The Restaurant On The Plateau In Time For _Déjeuner_, We Met

On The Balcony Of The Bristol At Seven In The Morning. There We

Fortified Ourselves For A Long Walk, With Eggs And _Café Au Lait_,

While Innocentina And Joseph Grouped The Animals At The Foot Of The

Steps.

The Day Was Divinely Young, And Most Divinely Fair, When We Set Forth.

Only The Soft Fall Of An Occasional Leaf, Weary Of Keeping Up

Appearances On No Visible Means Of Support, Told That Autumn Had

Come. The Weather Put Me In Mind Of A Beautiful Woman Of Forty, Who

Can Still Cheat The World Into Believing That She Is In The Full

Summer Of Her Prime, And Is Making The Most Of The Few Good Years Left

Before The Crash.

As We Struck Up The Steep Hill That Leads Out Of Aix-Les-Bains And

Civilisation, Passing With All Our Little Procession Into The Oak

Copses Which Fringe The Lower Slopes Of Mont Revard, The Boy And I

Agreed That Nothing Became The Town So Well As The Leaving It Behind.

At Last Little Aix Unveiled Her Face To Us, As We Looked Down Upon It

From Airy Altitudes. We Had Space To See How Pretty She Was, How

Charmingly She Was Dressed, And How Gracefully She Sat In Her

Mountain-Backed Chair, With Her Dainty White Feet In The Lake, Which,

As Joseph Said, We Could Now Follow With Our Eyes _Dans Toute Son

Étendue_. A Beautiful _Étendue_ It Was, The Water Keeping Its

Extraordinary Brilliance Of Colour,