Next morning Urania's maid was showing Cornélie through a maze of
galleries to the garden, where breakfast was to be served, when she met
Gilio on the stairs. The maid turned back.
"I still need a guide to find my way," Cornélie laughed.
He grunted some reply.
"How did you sleep, prince?"
He gave another grunt.
"Look here, prince, there must be an end of this ill-temper of yours.
Do you hear? It's _got_ to finish. I insist. I won't have any more
sulking to-day; and I hope that you'll go back to your cheerful, witty
style of conversation as soon as possible, for that's what I like in
you."
He mumbled something.
"G-ood-bye, prince," said Cornélie, curtly.
And she turned to go away.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To my room. I shall breakfast in my room."
"But why?"
"Because I don't care for you as a host."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Yesterday you insult me. I defend myself, you go on being
rude, I at once become as amiable as ever, I give you my hand, I
even give you a kiss. At dinner you sulk with me in the most uncivil
fashion. You go to bed without bidding me good night. This morning you
meet me without a word of greeting. You grunt, sulk and mumble like a
naughty child. Your eyes are blazing with anger, you are yellow with
spleen. Really, you're looking very bad. It doesn't suit you at all.
You are most unpleasant, rough, rude and petty. I have no inclination
to breakfast with you in that mood. And I'm going to my room."
"No," he implored.
"Yes, I am."
"No, no!"
"Then be different. Make an effort, don't think any more about your
defeat and be nice to me. You're behaving as the offended party,
whereas it is I who ought to take offence. But I don't know how to
sulk and I am not petty. I can't behave pettily. I forgive you; do you
forgive me too. Say something nice, say something pleasant."
"I am mad about you."
"You don't show it. If you're mad about me, be pleasant, civil, gay and
witty. I demand it of you as my host."
"I won't sulk any longer ... but I do love you so! And you struck me!"
"Will you never forget that act of self-defence?"
"No, never!"
"Then good-bye."
She turned to go.
"No, no, don't go back. Come to breakfast in the pergola. I apologize,
I beg your pardon. I won't be rude again, I won't be petty. You are not
petty. You are the most wonderful woman I ever met. I worship you."
"Then worship in silence and amuse me."
His eyes, his black carbuncle eyes, began to light up again, to laugh;
his face lost its wrinkles and cheered up.
"I am too sad to be amusing."
"I don't believe a word of it."
"Honestly, I am full of sorrow and suffering....
"Poor prince!"
"You just won't believe me. You never take me seriously. I have to be
your clown, your buffoon. And I love you and have nothing to hope for.
Tell me, mayn't I hope?"
"Not much."
"You are inexorable ... and so severe!"
"I have to be severe with you: you are just like a naughty boy.... Oh,
I see the pergola! Do you promise to improve?"
"I shall be good."
"And amusing?"
He heaved a sigh:
"Poor Gilio!" he sighed. "Poor buffoon!"
She laughed. In the pergola were Urania and Bob Hope. The pergola,
overgrown with creeping vine and rambler roses hanging in crimson
clusters, displayed a row of marble caryatids and hermes--nymphs,
satyrs and fauns--whose torsos ended in slender, sculptured pedestals,
while their raised hands supported the flat roof of leaves and
flowers. In the middle was an open rotunda like an open temple; the
circular balustrade was also supported by caryatids; and an ancient
sarcophagus had been adapted to serve as a cistern. A table was laid
for breakfast in the pergola; and they breakfasted without old Prince
Ercole or the marchesa, who broke her fast in her room. It was eight
o'clock; a morning coolness was still wafted from the lake; a haze of
blue gossamer floated over the hills, in the heart of which, as though
surrounded by a gently fluted basin, the lake was sunk like an oval
goblet.
"Oh, how beautiful it is here!" cried Cornélie, delightedly.
Breakfast was a sunny and cheerful meal, after yesterday's dark and
gloomy dinner. Urania talked vivaciously about her _albergo_, which
she was going to visit presently with Cornélie, Gilio recovered his
amiability and Bob ate heartily. And, when Bob went off bicycling,
Gilio even accompanied the ladies to the town. They drove at a
foot-pace in a landau down the castle road. The sun grew hotter and
the little old town lit up, with whitish-grey and creamy-white houses
like stone mirrors, in which the sun reflected itself, and little open
spaces like walls, into which the sun poured its light. The coachman
pulled up outside the partly finished _albergo_. They all alighted; the
contractor approached ceremoniously; the perspiring masons looked round
at the prince and princess. The heat was stifling. Gilio kept on wiping
his forehead and sheltered under Cornélie's parasol. But Urania was
all vivacity and interest; quick and full of energy in her white-pique
costume, with her white sailor-hat under her white sun-shade, she
tripped along planks, past heaps of bricks and cement and tubs full of
mortar, accompanied by her contractor. She made him explain things,
proffered advice, disagreed with him at times and pulled a wise face,
saying that she did not like certain measurements and refused to
accept the contractor's assurance that she would like the measurements
as the building progressed; she shook her head and impressed this
and that upon him, all in a quick, none too correct, broken Italian,
which she chewed between her teeth. But Cornélie thought her charming,
attractive, every inch the Princess of Forte-Braccio. There was not a
doubt about it. While Gilio, fearful of dirtying his light flannel suit
and brown shoes with the mortar, remained in the shadow of her parasol,
puffing and blowing with the heat and taking no interest whatever, his
wife was untiring, did not trouble to think that her white skirt was
becoming soiled at the hem and spoke to the contractor with a lively
and dignified certainty which compelled respect. Where had the child
learnt that? Where had she acquired her powers of assimilation? Whore
did she get this love for San Stefano, this love for its poor? How had
the American girl picked up this talent for filling her new and exalted
position so worthily? Gilio thought her _admirabile_ and whispered as
much to Cornélie. He was not blind to her good qualities. He thought
Urania splendid, excellent; she always astounded him. No Italian woman
of his own set would have been like that. And they liked her. The
servants at the castle loved her. Giuseppe would have gone through fire
and water for her; that contractor admired her; the masons followed her
respectfully with their eyes, because she was so clever and knew so
much and was so good to them in their poverty.
"Admirabile!" said Gilio.
But he puffed and blew. He knew nothing about bricks, beams and
measurements and did not understand where Urania had got that technical
sense from. She was indefatigable. She went all over the works, while
he cast up his eyes to Cornélie in entreaty. And at last, speaking in
English, he begged his wife in Heaven's name to come away. They went
back to the carriage; the contractor took off his hat, the workmen
raised their caps with an air of mingled gratitude and independence.
And they drove to the cathedral, which Cornélie wanted to see. Urania
showed her round. Gilio asked to be excused and went and sat on the
steps of the altar, with his hands hanging over his knees, to cool
himself.