It was all severely regulated, as by rule, and there was no possibility
of the least alteration: everything was done in accordance with a fixed
law. The reading of the newspaper; her hour and a half to herself;
then lunch. After lunch, the drive, the Jetée, the visits; every day,
those visits and afternoon teas. Once in a way, a dinner-party; and
in the evening generally a dance, a reception or a theatre. She made
new acquaintances by the score and forgot them again at once and no
longer remembered, when she saw them again, whether she knew them or
not. As a rule people were fairly pleasant to her in that cosmopolitan
set, because they knew that she was an intimate friend of the Princess
Urania's. But, like Urania herself, she was sometimes conscious,
from the feminine bearers of the old Italian names and titles which
sometimes glittered in that set, of an overwhelming pride and contempt.
The men always asked to be introduced to her; but, whenever she asked
to be introduced to their ladies, her only reward was a nod of vague
surprise. She herself minded very little, but she felt sorry for
Urania. For she saw at once, at Urania's own parties, that they hardly
looked upon her as the hostess, that they surrounded and made much of
Gilio, but accorded to his wife no more than the civility which was her
due as Princess of Forte-Braccio, without ever forgetting that she was
once Miss Hope. And for Urania this contempt was more difficult to put
up with than for herself. For she accepted her _rôle_ as the companion.
She always kept an eye on Mrs. Uxeley, constantly joined her for a
minute in the course of the evening, fetched a fan which Mrs. Uxeley
had left in the next room or did her this or that trifling service.
Then she would sit down, against the wall, alone in the busily humming
drawing-room, and gaze indifferently before her. She sat, always very
smartly dressed, in an attitude of graceful indifference and weary
boredom, tapping her little foot or unfolding her fan. She took no
notice of anybody. Sometimes a couple of men would come up to her and
she spoke to them, or danced with one of them, indifferently, as though
conferring a favour. Once, when Gilio was talking to her, she sitting
and he standing, and the Duchess of Luca and Countess Costi both
came up to him and, standing, began to chaff him profusely, without
honouring her with a word or a glance, she first stared at the ladies
between her mocking lids, eyeing them from head to foot, and then rose
slowly, took Gilio's arm and, with a glance which darted sharp as a
needle from her narrowed eyes, said:
"I beg your pardon, but you must excuse me if I rob you of the Prince
of Forte-Braccio, because I have to finish a private conversation."
And with the pressure of her arm she made Gilio move on a few steps,
then at once sat down again, made him sit down beside her and began to
whisper with him very confidentially, while she left the duchess and
countess standing two yards away, open-mouthed with stupefaction at her
rudeness, and furthermore spread her train wide between herself and
the two ladies and waved her fan to and fro, as though to preserve a
distance. She could do this sort of thing so calmly, so tactfully and
haughtily, that Gilio was tickled to death and sat and giggled with
delight:
"I wish Urania knew how to behave like that!" he said, pleased as a
child at the diversion which she had afforded him.
"Urania is too nice to do anything so odious," she replied.
She did not make herself liked, but people became afraid of her, afraid
of her quiet malice, and avoided offending her in future. Moreover, the
men thought her pretty and agreeable and were also attracted by her
haughty indifference. And, without really intending it, she achieved a
position, apparently by using the greatest diplomacy, but in reality
quite naturally and easily. While Mrs. Uxeley's egoism was flattered
by her little attentions--always dutifully remembered and paid with
a charming air of maternal solicitude, in contrast with which Mrs.
Uxeley thought it delightful to simper like a young girl--Cornélie
gradually gathered a court of men around her in the evenings; and
the women became insipidly civil. Urania often told her how clever
she thought her, how much tact she displayed. Cornélie shrugged her
shoulders; it all happened of itself; and really she did not care. But
still, gradually, she recovered some of her cheerfulness. When she saw
herself standing in the glass, she had to confess to herself that she
was better-looking than she had ever been, either as a girl or as a
newly-married woman. Her tall, slender figure had a languorous line
of pride that gave her a special grace; her throat was statelier, her
bosom fuller; her waist was slimmer in these new dresses; her hips had
become heavier, her arms more rounded; and, though her features no
longer wore the look of radiant happiness which they had worn in Rome,
her mocking smile and her negligent irony gave her a certain attraction
for those unknown men, something more alluring and provoking than the
greatest coquetry would have been. And Cornélie had not wished for
this; but, now that it came of itself, she accepted it. It was foreign
to her nature to refuse it. And, besides, Mrs. Uxeley was pleased with
her. Cornélie had such a pretty way of whispering to her:
"Dear lady, you were in such pain yesterday. Don't you think you ought
to go home a little earlier to-night?"
And then Mrs. Uxeley would simper like a girl who was being admonished
by her mother not to dance too much that evening. She loved these
little ways of Cornélie's; and Cornélie, with careless indifference,
gave her what she wanted. And those evenings amused her more than they
did at first; only, the amusement was combined with self-reproach as
soon as she thought of Duco, of their separation, of Rome, of the
studio, of the happiness of those past days, which she had lost through
her lack of fortitude.