Next morning it fell about that Stella Rawson was allowed to go into
the Musso Nazionale in the Diocletian baths, accompanied only by
Martha, her uncle and aunt having decided they would take a rest and
write their English letters. The museum was so near, a mere hundred
yards, there could be no impropriety in their niece's going there with
Martha, even in an exhibition year in Rome.
Stella was still suffering from a nameless sense of depression.
Eustace's train would get in at about five o'clock, and he would
accompany them to the Embassy. A cousin of her own and Aunt Caroline's
was one of the secretaries, and had already been written to about the
invitation. So that even if Count Roumovski should be presented to her,
and make the whole thing proper and correct, she would have no chance
of any conversation. The brilliant sunlight felt incongruous and hurt
her, and she was glad to enter the shady ancient baths. She had glanced
furtively to right and left in the hotel as she came through the hall,
but saw no one who resembled the Russian, and they had walked so
quickly through the vestibule she had not remarked a tall figure coming
from the staircase, nor had seen him give some rapid order to a
respectful servant who was waiting about, and who instantly followed
them: but if she had looked up as she paid for the two tickets at the
barrier of the museum, she would have seen this same lean man turn
swiftly round and retreat in the direction of the hotel.
Martha was sulky and comatose on this very warm morning; she took no
interest in sculpture. "Them naked creatures," she called any
masterpiece undraped--and she resented being dragged out by Miss
Stella, who always had fancies for art.
They walked round the cloisters first, a voyage of discovery to Miss
Rawson, who looked a slim enough nymph herself in her lilac cambric
frock and demure gray hat shading her big brown eyes.
Then suddenly, from across the garden in the center, she became aware
that an archaic Apollo clad in modern dress had entered upon the scene,
and the blood rushed to her cheeks, and her heart beat.
Martha puffed with the heat and exercise, and glanced with longing eyes
at a comfortable stone bench in the shade.
"Would you like to rest here, Martha, you old dear?" Miss Rawson said.
"There is not a creature about, and I will walk round and join you from
the other side."
The Aunt Caroline's elderly maid easily agreed to this. It was true
there did not seem to be anyone adventurous-looking, and Miss Stella
would be more or less under her eye--and she was thoroughly tired with
traveling and what not. So Stella found herself happily unchaperoned,
except by Baedecker, as she strolled on.
The Russian had disappeared from view, the bushes and vases in the
center of the garden plot gave only occasional chances to see people at
a distance.
But when Stella had entered the Ludovici collection she perceived him
to the right, gazing at the statue of the beautiful Mars.
He turned instantly, as though some one told him she was near--and his
calm eyes took in the fact that she was alone. The small room was empty
but for the two, and he addressed her as he removed his hat.
"Good morning, mademoiselle," he said gravely. "Mars is a strong
attraction. I knew I should presently find you here--so when I caught
sight of your spiritual outline across the garden, I came and--waited."
"He is most splendid-looking, is he not," Stella returned, trying to
suppress the sudden tingle of pleasure that was thrilling her, "and
look how much character there is in his hands."
"Shall we go and study the others, or shall we find a bench in the
garden and sit down and talk?" Count Roumovski asked serenely, and then
smiled to himself as he noticed his companion's apprehensive glance in
the direction where, far away, Martha dozed in peace.
"It would be nice out of doors--but--" and Stella faltered.
"Do not let us be deprived of pleasure by any buts--there is one out
there who will warn us when your maid wakes. See--" and he advanced
toward the entrance door, "there is a bench by that rose tree where we
can be comparatively alone."
Stella struggled no more with herself. After all, it was her last
chance--Eustace Medlicott's train got in at five o'clock!
She had a sense of security, too, the complete serenity of her
companion inspired confidence. She almost felt she would not care if
Aunt Caroline herself slept instead of the elderly maid.
There was some slight change in Count Roumovski's manner to-day--he
kept his eyes fixed upon her face, and the things he said were less
abstract and more personal. After an entrancing half hour she felt she
had seen vivid pictures of his land and his home. But he was a great
traveler it appeared, and had not been there often in later years.
"It is so agreeable to let the body move from place to place, and
remain in a peaceful aloofness of the spirit all the time," he said at
last. "To watch all the rushing currents which dominate human beings
when they do not know how to manipulate them. If they did, the
millennium would come,--but, meanwhile, it is reserved for the few who
have learned them to enjoy this present plane we are on."
"You mean you can control events and shape your life as you please,
then?" Stella asked surprised, while she raised her sweet shy eyes to
his inquiringly. "I wish I knew how!"
"Shall I try to teach you, mademoiselle?" he said.
"Yes, indeed."
"Then you must not look down all the time, even though the
contemplation of your long eyelashes gives me a pleasure--I would
prefer the eyes themselves--the eyes are the indication of what is
passing in the soul, and I would study this moving panorama."
Stella's color deepened, but she met his blue orbs without
flinching--so he went on:
"I had the fortune to be born a Russian, which has given me time to
study these things. My country does not require my work beyond my being
a faithful servant of my Emperor. Since I am not a soldier, I can do as
I choose. But you in England are now in a seething caldron, and it
would be difficult, no doubt, for you to spend the hours
required--although the national temperament would lend itself to all
things calm if it were directed."
"But for myself," Stella demanded, "I am not a man, and need not
interest myself in the nation's affairs--how can I grow to guide my
own--as you seem to do?"
"Never permit yourself to be ruffled by anything to commence with,"
Count Roumovski began gravely, while the pupils of his eyes appeared to
grow larger. "Whatever mood you are in, you connect yourself with the
cosmic current of that mood--you become in touch, so to speak, with all
the other people who are under its dominion, and so it gains strength
because unity is strength. If you can understand that as a basic
principle, you can see that it is only a question of controlling
yourself and directing your moods with those currents whose
augmentation can bring you good. You must never be negative and drift.
You can be drawn in any adverse way if you do."
"I think I understand," said Stella, greatly interested.
"Then you must use your critical faculties and make selections of what
is best--and you must encourage common sense and distrust altruism.
Sanity is the thing to aim at."
"Yes."
"The view of the world has become so distorted upon almost every point
which started in good, that nothing but a cultivation of our individual
critical faculties can enable us to see the truth--and nine-tenths of
civilized humanity have no real opinion of their own at all--they
simply echo those of others."
"I feel that is true," said Stella, thinking of her own case.
"It is not because a thing is bad or good that it succeeds--merely how
much strength we put into the desire for it," he went on.
"But surely we must believe that good will win over evil," and the
brown eyes looked almost troubled, and his softened as he looked at her.
"The very fact of believing that would make it come to pass by all
these psychic laws. Whatever we really believe we draw," he said almost
tenderly.
"Then, if I were to believe all the difficulties and uncertainties
would be made straight and just go on calmly, I should be happy, should
I?" she asked, and there was an unconscious pathos in her voice which
touched him deeply.
"Certainly," he answered. "You have not had a fair chance--probably you
have never been allowed to do a single thing of your own accord--have
you?"
"N--no," said Stella.
"In the beginning, were you engaged to this good clergyman of your own
wish?" and his eyes searched her face.
She stiffened immediately, the training of years took offense, and she
answered rather stiffly:
"I do not think you have the right to ask me such a question, Count
Roumovski."
He was entirely unabashed--he stroked his pointed silky beard for a
moment, then he said calmly:
"Yes--I have, you agreed that I should teach you how to shape your life
as you pleased, you must remember. It is rather essential that I should
know the truth of this matter before I can go further--you must see
that."
"We can avoid the subject."
"It would be Hamlet without Hamlet, then," he smiled. "One could draw
up no scheme of rules and exercises, unless one has some idea of how
far the individual was responsible for the present state of things. If
it was your wish in the beginning, or if you were coerced makes all the
difference."
Stella was silent--only she nervously plucked an offending rose which
grew upon a bush beside them: she pulled its petals off and kept her
eyes lowered, and Sasha Roumovski smiled a wise smile.
"You have unconsciously answered me," he said, "and your agitation
proves that not only are you aware that you did not become engaged of
your own wish, but that you are afraid to face the fact and admit that
its aspect appals you. You must remember, in your country, where, I
understand, divorce is not tres bien vu, especially among the clergy,
the affair is for life, and the joy or the gall of it could be
infinite."
She raised two beseeching eyes to his face at last.
"Oh, do not let us talk about it," she pleaded. "It is so warm and
pleasant here--I want to be happy."
He looked at her for a while with penetrating eyes, then he said gently:
"It is a man's province to take care of a woman," and his attractive
voice filled with a new cadence. "I see you are in need of direction.
Leave all to me--and forget there is any one else in the world for the
moment but our two selves. Did you know that I thought you looked
particularly sweet last night, but rather pale?"
"You never looked at me at all," said Stella before she was aware of
it, and then blushed crimson at the inference of her speech. He would
be able to understand perfectly that she must have been observing him
all the time to be conscious of this.
A gleam of gladness came into his eyes.
"I would like to watch you always openly, if I might," he whispered.
"Your little face is like a flower in its delicate tints, and your eyes
are true and tender and asking so many questions of life,--and
sometimes they are veiled and misty, and then they look wise and
courageous. I am beginning to know all their changes."
"Then, in that case, monotony will set in," Stella was almost arch--the
day was so glorious!
"I am not afraid of that," he said. "I always know what I want and what
is worth while. I do not value my three matchless pearls the less
because I know their every iridescence--on the contrary, I grow more
fond of them and wear them every night in preference to any others."
They were silent for a moment after this. He was examining her minutely
with his wise, calm eyes. He was noting the sensitive curve of the
pretty full lips, the tender droop of the set of her head, the gracious
charm of her little regular features, and the intelligence of her broad
brow. With all her simplicity, she looked no fool or weakling. And to
think that the narrow code of those who surrounded her should force
this sweet young creature into the gray walls of a prison house, when
she became the English clergyman's wife; it was too revolting to him.
Count Roumovski suddenly made up his mind, trained to instantaneous
decision by his bent of studies, and sure and decided in its action.
And if Stella had looked up then she would have seen a keen gleam in
the peaceful blue of his eyes. He drew her on to talk of her home and
her tastes--she loved many things he did, he found--and she was so
eager to hear and to learn their meaning. He grew to feel a sort of
pride and the pleasure of a teacher when directing an extremely
intelligent child. There were no barriers of stupidity into whatever
regions the subjects might wander. They spent an hour of pure joy
investigating each other's thoughts. And both knew they were growing
more than friends.
Then Stella rose suddenly to her feet. A clock struck twelve.
"You said one must not be negative and drift," she announced demurely,
"so I am being decided and must now go to Martha again."
"Ivan has not warned us that she is thinking of stirring," Count
Roumovski said. "I told him to, and he will let us know in plenty of
time; you surely do not breakfast until half-past twelve, do you?"
"Ivan?--who is Ivan?" Stella asked.
"He is a servant of mine who does what he is bid," her companion
answered. "To have peace to enjoy oneself one must calculate and
arrange for events. Had we only trusted to the probability of your
maid's sleeping, I should have had to be on the lookout, and my
uneasiness would have communicated itself to you, and we should have
had no happy hour--but I made a certainty of safety--and unconsciously
you trusted me to know, and so we have been content."
Stella was thrilled. So he had taken all this trouble. He must be a
good deal interested in her, then; and feeling sure of this, womanlike,
she immediately took advantage of it to insist upon leaving him.
"Very well," he said, when he could not dissuade her. "To-night the
wheel of fortune will revolve for us all, and it remains to be seen who
will draw a prize and who a blank."
Then he walked by her side to where they saw the quiet servant
standing, a motionless sentinel, and here Count Roumovski bowed and
turned on his heel, while Stella advanced to the bench on which the
comfortable Martha slept.
This latter was full of defence when she awoke. She had not closed an
eye, but thought Miss Stella was enjoying "them statues" better without
her, which was indeed true, if she had guessed!
Miss Rawson ate very little luncheon--the Russian did not appear--and
immediately after it she was taken as a treat to see the Borghese
Gardens by her uncle and aunt! It behooved her not to be tired by more
sightseeing, since her betrothed would arrive when they returned for
tea, and would expect her to be bright and on the alert to please him,
Aunt Caroline felt. As for Stella, as that moment approached it seemed
to her that the end of all joy had come.