Jim Schuyler did not leave Stellamare next day. His butler-valet had the
pleasure of unpacking again. The motor was at Peter's service in the
morning, and soon after eleven she was driving through the beautiful
gateway of the Villa Mirasole.
Americo answered her ring, bowing politely, but one who knew the ruddy
brown face would have seen that he was not himself. In some stress of
emotion the man in him had got the better of the servant. His eyes were
round as an owl's as he informed the stranger that Miss Grant was no
longer at the villa. He even forgot to speak English, a sign with him of
deep mental disturbance.
"Where has Miss Grant gone?" Peter inquired, thinking the fellow an
idiot.
"I do not know, Mademoiselle."
"Then go and inquire, please."
"I regret, it is useless. No one in this house can tell where Mees Grant
is."
"You must be mistaken. I'll send my name to the Princess and ask her to
see a friend of Miss Grant's."
Americo's face quivered, and his eyes bulged. "Mademoiselle," he said,
"I do not think her Highness can see any one this morning. There
is--family trouble."
Peter still hesitated, determined somehow to get news of Mary. Could it
be that the engagement had been broken off? she asked herself. As she
stood wondering what to do, a tall young man flashed from an inner room
into the vestibule, seized a hat from a table, and without appearing to
see the butler, pushed past the distressed Americo. He would have passed
Peter also like a whirlwind, unconscious of her existence, had she not
called out sharply, "Is it Prince Giovanni Della Robbia?"
He wheeled abruptly as a soldier on drill, and stared sombrely from
under frowning brows. His pallor and stifled fury of impatience made him
formidable, almost startling. Peter thought of a wounded stag at bay.
"I beg your pardon," she stammered, losing the gay self-confidence of
the spoilt and pretty American girl. "I'm a great friend of Mary
Grant's. I must know where she is."
The man's faced changed instantly. Fierce impatience became fiery
eagerness. For a second or two he looked at Peter without speaking, his
interest too intense to find expression in words. Then, as she also was
silent, he said:
"There is no one I would rather see than a friend of Mary's, except Mary
herself. Tell me where you knew her."
"At the convent in Scotland," Peter answered promptly. "I suppose she's
told you about it. Did she mention her friend Molly Maxwell?"
"She said she had two friends named Mary. We had little time to talk
together--not many days in all. When did you see her last?"
"In November, just before she left the convent. She went and stayed with
an aunt a few weeks in London, and then came here. She wrote me about
you, and I recognized you from her description. That's why I----"
"Forgive me. I believe you can be of the greatest service to Mary, and
to me." He glanced at Americo, who held the door open. "Let us walk in
the woods, if you aren't afraid of damp. I've something important to
say."
They went down the steps and out of the gate together, like old
acquaintances. Peter had no longer any doubt that the "family trouble"
concerned Mary; but it was easy to see that whatever it might be, Prince
Vanno was on her side. Peter admired him, and burned to serve her
friend.
"There has been an abominable lie told," Vanno began, as soon as they
were outside his brother's gate. "I must explain to you quickly what's
happened, if you're to understand. I went to Rome to tell my father of
our engagement. I left Mary with my brother and sister-in-law. I had two
happy letters from her. This morning I arrived here in the Rome express.
I came straight to Cap Martin, expecting to find Mary. Instead I found
my brother and his wife alone. My sister-in-law, I must say in justice,
seemed terribly grieved at what had happened. She could or would tell me
nothing. But Angelo--my brother--began some rigmarole about Mary having
run away from her convent-school years ago with a man, and--but I won't
repeat the story. I refused to listen. I can never forgive my brother."
"Good for you!" exclaimed the American girl. "But I see the whole thing,
and you needn't even try to repeat the story. I know it without your
telling. It happened to another girl with a name almost exactly like
Mary's. That's how the mistake must have come about. The girl who ran
away disappeared about four years ago. _My_ Mary was at the convent till
last fall. I can prove everything I say."
"Will you see my brother and his wife now, and tell them what you know?"
"With the greatest pleasure."
"Thank God you came! In another minute I should have been gone. And I
don't know where to look for Mary."
"You don't know? Didn't she write? Or did she expect you to believe
things against her?"
"I could hardly have blamed her if she had expected it, for--I failed
her once. But that was before I knew her. Nothing could make me doubt
her now. She did write to me. I found a letter waiting at the villa this
morning--a letter postmarked Monte Carlo, to say I mustn't look for
her--that all is over for ever and ever."
"But you're going to look for her all the same?"
"And to find her. I won't rest till I've got her back."
"You're the right sort of man, though you aren't an American."
"My mother was one."
"So much the better. Let's go into the house, and I'll soon make your
people swallow any words they've said against Mary."
Americo was still at the door, or had returned there. "Highness," he
said, "the Princess wishes me to make you come in. She has to talk. She
send me in woods, but I not go, because of young lady with you. I wait
here. Princess in yellow saloon, by her lone."
"Come," Vanno said to Peter. "We'll speak to her, and find out what she
wants. Then my brother shall come and hear your story."
"Go first and explain me, please," Peter said.
Vanno would have obeyed, but Princess Della Robbia gave him no time. She
was wandering restlessly about the room, too impatient to sit down. When
she saw Vanno at the door, she went to him swiftly. "I'm so glad Americo
found you," she cried. "I need to have a word with you alone. Angelo is
so hard! He wouldn't let me see Mary before she went, or even write her
a line of love and sympathy. I've hardly eaten or slept since that awful
afternoon. If you could know how ill I am, you wouldn't blame me so
much! I love Mary. My heart's breaking for her trouble. But I can do
nothing, except send a letter for you to give, in case you find her.
Please take it--I've written it already, in case--and don't tell
Angelo."
"I've brought a friend of Mary's who can prove to you both that she
isn't the heroine of that story you and my brother were so quick to
believe," Vanno broke in, lacking patience to hear her through.
With a faint "Oh!" Marie shrank back, looking suddenly smaller and
older. The pretty hand which had pressed Vanno's sleeve dropped heavily
as if its many rings weighed the fingers down. Sickly pale, she fixed
her eyes upon him, unable to speak, though her lips fell apart, seeming
to form the word "Who?"
Vanno waited for no further explaining, but called Peter, who hovered
outside the open door. "Miss Maxwell, will you come?"
Peter appeared instantly, but seeing the Princess, stopped on the
threshold, with the face of one who meets a ghost. "Marie Grant!" she
exclaimed, the two short words explosive as revolver shots.
The figure in white collapsed like a tossed bundle, into a chair. It
seemed that the woman ceased to breathe. In a second the peculiar
freshness of her beauty had shrivelled as if scorched by a rushing
flame. Only her eyes were alive. They moved wistfully from Peter to
Vanno, and from Vanno to the half-open door, as if seeking mercy or
escape. She looked agonized, broken, like a fawn caught in a trap.
Peter turned to Vanno. "This is the girl who ran away from our convent
with a man," she said crudely. "As she's here in the house, how did Mary
come to be suspected?"
"That is my sister-in-law, Princess Della Robbia," Vanno answered. As he
spoke his forehead flamed, and his eyes grew keen as swords. His look
stripped Marie's soul bare of lies.
She held out her hands, but there was no mercy for her then in either
heart. In a moment the two had judged her, with the unhesitating cruelty
of youth. Peter's eyes narrowed in disgust, as if the white thing
cowering in the chair were a noxious animal, a creature to be
exterminated.
"I understand too, very well," she said slowly. "Horrible, wicked woman!
You put the blame of your own sins on my Mary, to save yourself, and
like the saint she is, she let you do it. But I won't. God sent me here,
I see now. You've got to confess, and right my girl."
Tears fell from Marie's eyes. Her face quivered, then crinkled up
piteously as a child's face crinkles in a storm of weeping. "Shut the
door," she stammered between sobs. "For God's sake, shut the door! If
Angelo should come!"
Neither Vanno nor Peter moved. They wished Angelo to come. Seeing them
stand there, rigid, relentless, Marie realized as she had not fully
realized before that they were her enemies, that no softness or
prettiness, no agony of tears could turn their hearts. She sprang up
with a choking cry, and stumbled toward the door. Vanno, thinking she
meant to run away, took two long steps and placed himself before her.
"Angel with the flaming sword!" were the words that spoke themselves in
Peter's mind. But she had no pity yet for Marie.
"I--I only want to shut the door--that's all--because you wouldn't," the
Princess faltered. "Just for a few minutes. It's all I ask. Give me a
little time."
Vanno closed the door without noise, and stood in front of it like a
sentinel. "You may have a few minutes," he said. "Then I shall call
Angelo to hear the truth from you or from me. It's for you to choose
which."
"Haven't you any mercy in your heart?" she wailed. "I'm only a woman.
I'm your brother's wife. He loves me."
"I love Mary," Vanno said.
"It was Mary who spared me. She saw it was worse for me than for her,
because I'm married to Angelo. My whole life's at stake. That's why she
sacrificed herself. I----"
"The more you say, the worse you make us hate you," Peter cut her short.
"You were always selfish. Even when I liked you, I used to think you
just like a white Persian cat. When you were petted, you purred. When
things went wrong, you scratched. You don't deserve the name of woman.
What you've done is as bad as murder."
"I did it for Angelo," Marie pleaded. "I love him so! I couldn't lose
his love."
"So you flung Mary to the wolves!" Vanno said. He had not believed that
he could see a woman cry without pitying and wishing to help her. But
his heart felt hard as stone as he watched Marie's streaming tears. All
the brutality of his fierce ancestors had rushed to arms in his nature.
The fancy came to his mind that he would still be hard and cold if he
had to see her flogged. Then at the suggested picture, something in him
writhed and revolted. He was not so hard as he had thought. He had to
steel himself against her by thinking of what she had done to Mary.
"You deserve to die!" said Peter.
"I want to die," Marie answered pitifully. She stood supporting herself
with an arm that clung to the high straight back of a Florentine chair.
"If you will only not tell Angelo till I am dead, that's all I'll ask.
Please wait--a little while. I couldn't live and look him in the face if
he knew, so I would have to kill myself before you told. I'm too unhappy
to be afraid of dying--for my own sake. I've suffered such agonies of
fear, nothing could be worse. But there's a reason why it would be
wicked to die just now--of my own accord. There's a child coming--in a
few months. Afterward, I'll swear to you to kill myself, and then you
can tell Angelo everything. Won't you wait till then--only till the end
of the summer? Mary would say yes, if she were here."
The one weapon by which she could defend herself against their justice,
she had drawn, and stood weakly on guard, her strength spent.
Vanno and Peter looked at one another in silence, in the eyes of each
the same question. "Is this the truth?"
Marie read their faces. "Angelo knows that there will be a baby," she
whispered. "Indeed it's true. As soon as my child is born, I'm ready to
die."
"No one wants you to die!" Peter said sharply.
"Except myself. I must die if you're going to tell. If you won't wait,
it will have to be now, at any cost."
"You know that you force us to wait," Vanno answered. "Trust weak woman
to conquer! We cannot wish for your death. But I'll find Mary and marry
her, in spite of herself. As for my brother, never will I forgive him.
And I hope that I may never see you or Angelo again. Let your own soul
punish you, while you live."
"Are we to go?" asked Peter.
"Yes," Vanno said.
They went out together, and left Marie staring after them.
For a little while she was safe.