The day after the dance, at table, Cornélie received a strange
impression: suddenly, as she sipped her delicious Genzano, ordered
for her by Rudyard, she became aware that it was not by accident that
she was sitting with the Baronin and her daughter, with Urania and
Miss Taylor; she saw that the marchesa had an intention behind this
arrangement. Rudyard, always civil, polite, thoughtful, always full
of attentions, his pockets always filled with cards of introduction
very difficult to obtain--or so at least he contended--talked without
ceasing, lately more particularly to Miss Taylor, who went faithfully
to hear all the best church music and always returned home in ecstasy.
The pale, simple, thin little Englishwoman, who at first used to go
into raptures over museums, ruins and the sunsets on the Aventine or
the Monte Mario and who was tired by her rambles through Rome, now
devoted herself exclusively to the hundreds of churches, visited and
studied them all and above all faithfully attended the musical services
and spoke ecstatically of the choir in the Sistine Chapel and the
quavering _Glorias_ of the male _soprani_.
Cornélie spoke to Mrs. Van der Staal and the Baronin von Rothkirch
of the conversation between the marchesa and her nephew which she
had heard through the half-open door; but neither of them, though
interested and curious, took the marchesa's words seriously, regarding
them only as so much thoughtless talk between a foolish, match-making
aunt and an unwilling nephew. Cornélie was struck by seeing how
unable people are to take things seriously; but the Baronin was
quite indifferent, saying that Rudyard could do her no harm and was
still supplying her with tickets; and Mrs. van der Staal, who had
been in Rome a long time and was accustomed to little boarding-house
conspiracies, considered that Cornélie was making herself too uneasy
about the fair Urania's fate.
Suddenly, however, Miss Taylor disappeared from the table. They
thought that she was ill, until it came to light that she had left
the Pension Belloni. Rudyard said nothing; but, a few days later,
the whole _pension_ knew that Miss Taylor had been converted to the
Catholic faith and had moved to a _pension_ recommended by Rudyard, a
_pension_ frequented by _monsignori_ and noted for its religious tone.
Her disappearance produced a certain constraint in the conversation
between Rudyard, the German ladies and Cornélie; and the latter, in the
course of a week which the Baronin was spending at Naples, changed her
seat and joined her fellow-countrywomen the van der Staals. The Von
Rothkirches also changed, because of the draught, said the Baronin;
their seats were taken by new arrivals; and Urania was left alone with
Rudyard at lunch and dinner, amid those foreign elements.
Cornélie reproached herself and one day spoke seriously to the American
girl and warned her. But she dared not repeat what she had overheard
at the dance; and her warning made no impression on Urania. And,
when Rudyard had obtained for Miss Hope the privilege of a private
audience of the Pope, Urania would not hear a word against Rudyard and
considered him the kindest man whom she had ever met, Jesuit or no
Jesuit.
But Rudyard continued to appear through a haze of mystery; and people
were not agreed as to whether he was a priest or a layman.