FAUSTINA.
And she was beautiful, they said;
I saw that she was more--
One of those women women dread,
Men fatally adore.
--_Anon._
It was a saloon of magnificent proportions and splendid decorations.
And Claudia was sailing across it with majestic gait, in the full
consciousness of being the Viscountess Vincent and Lady of the
Castle, when suddenly her eyes fell upon an object that arrested her
footsteps, while she gazed in utter amazement.
One of the most transcendently beautiful women that she had ever
beheld lay reclining in the most graceful and alluring attitude upon
a low divan. Her luxuriant form, arrayed in rich, soft, white moire
antique and lace, was thrown into harmonious relief by the crimson
velvet cover of the divan. She was asleep, or perhaps affecting to
be so. One fine, round, brown arm, with its elbow deep in the downy
pillow, rose from its falling sleeve of silk and lace, and with its
jeweled hand, buried in masses of glittering, purplish black
ringlets, supported a head that Rubens would have loved to paint.
Those rich ringlets, flowing down, half veiled the rounded arm and
full, curved neck and bosom that were otherwise too bare for
delicacy. The features were formed in the most perfect mold of
Oriental beauty, the forehead was broad and low; the nose fine and
straight; the lips plump and full; and the chin small and rounded.
The eyebrows were black, arched, and tapering at the points; the
eyelashes were black, long, and drooping over half-closed, almond-
shaped, dark eyes that seemed floating in liquid fire. The
complexion was of the richest brown, ripening into the most
brilliant crimson in the oval cheeks and dewy lips that, falling
half open, revealed the little glistening white teeth within. While
one jeweled hand supported her beautiful head the other drooped over
her reclining form, holding negligently, almost unconsciously,
between thumb and finger, an odorous tea-rose.
Claudia herself was a brilliant brunette, but here was another
brunette who eclipsed her in her own splendid style of beauty as an
astral lamp outshines a candle. Cleopatra, Thais, Aspasia, or any
other world-renowned siren who had governed kingdoms through kings'
passions, might have been just such a woman as this sleeping Venus.
Doubting really whether she slept or not, Claudia approached and
looked over her; and the longer she looked the more she wondered at,
admired, and instinctively hated this woman.
Who was she? What was she? How came she there?
So absorbed was Claudia in these questions, while gazing at the
beautiful and unconscious subject of them, that she did not perceive
the approach of Lord Vincent until he actually stood at her side.
Then she looked up at him inquiringly, and pointed at the sleeping
beauty.
But instead of replying to her, he bent over the sleeper and
whispered:
"Faustina!"
Now, whether she were really sleeping or shamming, the awakening,
real or pretended, was beautiful. The drooping, black-fringed
eyelids slowly lifted themselves from the eyes--two large black orbs
of soft fire; and the plump, crimson lips opened, and dropped two
liquid notes of perfect music--the syllables of his baptismal name:
"Malcolm!"
"Faustina, you are dreaming; awaken! remember where you are," he
said in a low voice.
She slowly raised herself to a sitting posture and looked around;
but every movement of hers was perfect grace.
"Lady Vincent, this is Mrs. Dugald," said the viscount.
Claudia drew back a step, and bent her head with an air of the most
freezing hauteur.
Mrs. Dugald also bent hers, but immediately threw it up and shook it
back with a smile.
So graceful was this motion that it can be compared to nothing but
the bend and rebound of a lily.
But when Claudia looked up she detected a strange glance of
intelligence between her two companions. The beauty's eyes flashed
from their sheath of softness and gleamed forth upon the man--two
living stilettos pointed with death.
His look expressed annoyance and fear.
He turned away and touched the bell.
"Let dinner be served immediately," he said to the servant who
answered the summons.
"Dinner is served, my lord," answered the man, pushing aside the
sliding doors opening into the dining room.
Lord Vincent waved his hand to Lady Vincent to precede them, and
then gave his arm to Mrs. Dugald to follow her.
But when they reached the dining room Mrs. Dugald left his arm,
advanced to the head of the table, and stood with her hand upon the
back of the chair and her gaze upon the face of the viscount.
"No; Lady Vincent will take the head of the table," said his
lordship, giving his hand to Claudia and installing her.
"As you will; but 'where the MacDonald sits, there is the head of
the table,'" said Mrs. Dugald, quoting the haughty words of the Lord
of the Isles, as she gave way and subsided into a side seat.
Lord Vincent, with a lowering brow, sat down.
Old Cuthbert, who sometimes officiated as butler, placed himself
behind his lord's chair, and two footmen waited on the table.
The dinner was splendid in its service, and luxurious in its viands;
but most uncomfortable in its company, and it suggested the
Scripture proverb: "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than
a stalled ox and hatred therewith."
Claudia, for one, was glad when it was over, and they were permitted
to return to the saloon, where coffee awaited them.
"Mrs. Dugald, will you give me some music?" said Lord Vincent, in
the course of the evening.
The beauty arose, and floated away in her soft, swimming gait
towards the piano.
Lord Vincent went after her and opened the instrument; and when she
sat down he stood behind her chair to turn over the music.
She played a brilliant prelude, and then commenced singing.
Claudia, who, at the proposition that Mrs. Dugald should give Lord
Vincent "some music," had shrugged her shoulders and turned her
back, was now startled. She turned around--listened. Claudia was a
most fastidious connoisseur of music, and she recognized in this
performer an artiste of the highest order. Claudia had heard such
music as this only from the best opera singers--certainly from no
unprofessional performer.
After executing a few brilliant pieces the beautiful musician arose
with a weary air and, saying that she was tired, courtesied, smiled,
and withdrew from the room.
Lord Vincent walked slowly up and down the floor.
"Who is Mrs. Dugald?" inquired Claudia coldly.
"Mrs. Dugald is--Mrs. Dugald," replied his lordship, affecting a
light tone.
"That is no answer, my lord." "Well, my lady, she is a relation of
mine. Will that do for an answer?"
"What sort of a relation?"
"A very near one."
"How near?"
"She is my--sister," smiled Lord Vincent.
"Your sister? I know that you have only two sisters, and they are
styled 'ladies'--Lady Eda and Lady Clementina Dugald. This is a
'Mrs.' She cannot be your sister, and not even your sister-in-law,
since you have no brother."
The viscount coolly lighted his cigar and walked out of the room.
Claudia remained sitting where he had left her, deeply perplexed in
mind. Then, feeling too restless to sit still, she arose and began
to walk about the room and examine its objects of interest--its
pictures, statues, vases, et cetera.
She then went to the windows; the shutters were closed, the blinds
down and the curtains drawn, so that she could not look out into the
night; but she could hear the thunder of the sea as it broke upon
the rock on which the castle was founded.
Tired of that, she went to the music stand, near the piano, and
began to turn over the music books.
She picked up one from which Mrs. Dugald had been singing. In
turning it over her eyes fell upon the picture of a full-length
female form engraved upon the cover. She looked at it more closely.
It was the portrait of the woman who had been introduced to her as
Mrs. Dugald. But it bore the name: La Faustina, as Norma.