They did not alter their mode of life. Duco, however, after a scene
with his mother, no longer slept at Belloni's but in a little room,
adjoining his studio, originally filled with trunks and lumber.
Cornélie was sorry about the scene: she had always had a liking for
Mrs. Van der Staal and the girls. But a certain pride arose in her;
and Cornélie despised Mrs. Van der Staal because she was unable to
understand either her or Duco. Still, she would have been pleased
to prevent this coolness. At her advice Duco went to see his mother
again, but she remained cool and sent him away. Thereupon Cornélie
and Duco went to Naples. They did not do this by way of an elopement,
they did it quite simply: Cornélie told Urania and the prince that she
was going to Naples for a little while and that Van der Staal would
probably follow her. She did not know Naples and would appreciate
it greatly if Van der Staal showed her the town and the surrounding
country. Cornélie kept on her rooms in Rome. And they spent a fortnight
of sheer, careless and immense happiness. Their love grew spacious
and blossoming in the golden sunlight of Naples, on the blue gulfs of
Amalfi, Sorrento, Capri and Castellamare, simply, irresistibly and
restfully. They glided gradually along the purple thread of their
lives, they walked hand in hand down their lines now fused into one
path, heedless of the laws and ideas of men; and their attitude was so
lofty, their action so serene and so certain of their happiness, that
their relations did not degenerate into insolence, although within
themselves they despised the world. But this happiness softened all
that pride in their soaring souls, as if their happiness were strewing
blossoms all around it. They lived in a dream, first among the marbles
in the museum, then on the flower-strewn cliffs of Amalfi, on the beach
of Capri or on the terrace of the hotel at Sorrento, with the sea
roaring at their feet and, in a pearly haze, yonder, vaguely white, as
though drawn in white chalk, Castellamare and Naples and the ghost of
Vesuvius, with its hazy plume of smoke.
They held aloof from everybody, from all the people and excursionists;
they had their meals at a small table; and it was generally thought
that they were newly married. If others looked up their names in the
visitors' book, they read two names and made whispered comments. But
the lovers did not hear, did not see; they lived their dream, looking
into each other's eyes or at the opal sky, the pearly sea and the hazy,
white mountain-vistas, studded with villages like little specks of
chalk.
When their money was almost exhausted, they smiled and went back to
Rome and resumed their former lives: she in her rooms and he, now, in
his studio; and they took their meals together. But they pursued their
dreams among the ruins in the Via Appia, around and near Frascati,
beyond the Ponte Molle, on the slopes of the Monte Mario and in the
gardens of the villas, among the statues and paintings, mingling their
happiness with the Roman atmosphere: he interweaving his new-found love
with his love for Rome; she growing to love Rome because of him. And
because of that charm they were surrounded by a sort of aura, through
which they did not see ordinary life or meet ordinary people.
At last, one afternoon, Urania found them both at home, in Cornélie's
room, the fire lighted, she smiling and gazing into the fire, he
sitting at her feet and she with her arm round his neck. And they were
evidently thinking of so little besides their own love that neither
of them heard her knock and both suddenly saw her standing before
them, like an unexpected reality. Their dream was over for that day.
Urania laughed, Cornélie laughed and Duco pushed an easy chair closer.
And Urania, blithe, beautiful and brilliant, told them that she was
engaged. Where on earth had they been hiding, she asked, inquisitively.
She was engaged. She had been to San Stefano, she had seen the old
prince. And everything was lovely and good and dear: the old castle a
dear old house, the old man a dear old man. She saw everything through
the glitter of her future princess' title. Princess and duchess! The
wedding-day was fixed: immediately after Easter, in a little more than
three months therefore. It was to be celebrated at San Carlo, with
all the splendour of a great wedding. Her father was coming over for
it with her youngest brother. She was obviously not looking forward
to their arrival. And she never finished talking: she gave a thousand
details about her bridal outfit, with which the marchesa was helping
her. They were going to live at Nice, in a large flat. She raved
about Nice: that was a first-rate idea of Gilio's. And incidentally
she remembered and told them that she had become a Catholic. That was
a great nuisance! But the _monsignori_ saw to everything and she
allowed herself to be guided by them. And the Pope was to receive her
in private audience, together with Gilio. The difficulty was what to
wear at the audience: black, of course, but ... velvet, satin? What did
Cornélie advise her? She had such excellent taste. And a black-lace
veil on her head, with brilliants. She was going to Nice next day, with
the marchesa and Gilio, to see their flat.
When she was gone after begging Cornélie to come and admire her
_trousseau_, Cornélie said, with a smile:
"She is happy. After all, happiness is something different for
everybody, A _trousseau_ and a title would not make me happy."
"These are the small people," he said, "who cross our lives now and
again. I prefer to get out of their way."
And they did not say so, but they both thought--with their fingers
interlaced, her eyes gazing into his--that they also were happy, but
with a loftier, better and nobler happiness; and pride arose within
them; and they beheld as in a vision the line of their life winding up
a steep hill. But happiness snowed blossoms down upon it; and amid the
snowing blossoms, holding high their proud heads, with smiles and eyes
of love, they walked on in their dream remote from mankind and reality.