Soon after daybreak on the following morning the Cardinal’s courier
arrived at Orvieto with tidings that his Eminence might be expected the
same evening. It was a rare event, indeed, which honoured the villa with
a visit from its princely owner; and great was the bustle and stir of
preparation to receive him. The same activity prevailed within doors and
without. Troops of men were employed in the gardens, on the terraces,
and the various pleasure-grounds; while splendid suites of rooms, never
opened but on such great occasions, were now speedily got in readiness
and order.
Gerald wandered about amid this exciting turmoil, puzzled and confused.
How was it that he fancied he had once seen something of the very same
sort, exactly in the self-same place? Was this, then, another rush of
that imagination which so persisted in tormenting him, making life a
mere circle of the same events? As he moved from place to place, the
conviction grew only stronger and stronger: this seemed the very statue
he had helped to replace on its pedestal; here the very fountain he
had cleared from weeds and fallen leaves; the flowers he had grouped
in certain beds; the walks he had trimly raked; the rustic seats he had
disposed beneath shady trees; all rose to his mind and distracted him
by the difficulty of explaining them. As he walked up the great marble
stairs and entered the spacious hall of audience, a whole scene of the
past seemed to fill the space. The lovely girl--a mere child as she was,
with golden hair and deep blue eyes--rose again before his memory, and
his heart sank as he bethought him that the whole vision must have had
no reality.
The rapid tramp of horses’ feet suddenly led him to the window, and
he now saw the outriders, as they dashed up at speed, followed quickly
after by three travelling carriages, each drawn by six horses, and
escorted by mounted dragoons. Gerald did not wait to see his Eminence
descend, but hastened to his room to dress, and compose his thoughts for
the approaching interview.
The Chevalier had grown to be somewhat vain of his personal appearance.
It was a Stuart trait, and sat not ungracefully upon him; and he now
costumed himself with more than ordinary care. His dress was of a dark
maroon velvet, over which he wore a scarf of his own tartan; the collar
and decoration presented by the Cardinal York ornamenting the front
of the dress, as well as the splendidly embossed dagger which once had
graced the belt of the Prince Charles Edward. Though his toilet occupied
him a considerable time, no summons came from his Eminence, either to
announce his arrival or request a meeting; and Gerald, half pained by
the neglect, and half puzzled lest the fault might possibly be ascribed
to some defect of observance on his own part, at length took his hat and
left the house for a stroll through the gardens.
As he wandered along listlessly, he at last gained a little grassy
eminence, from which a wide view extended over a vast olive plain,
traversed by a tiny stream. It was the very wood through which, years
before, he had journeyed when he had fled from the villa to seek his
fortune. Some indistinct, flitting thoughts of the event, the zigzag
path along the river, the far-away mountains of the Maremma, were yet
puzzling him, when he heard a light step on the gravel-walk near. He
turned, and saw a young girl coming toward him, smiling, and with an
extended hand. One glance showed him that she was singularly beautiful,
and of a demeanour that announced high station.
‘Which of us is to say, “welcome here,” Chevalier? at all events, let
one of us have the courage to speak it. I am your guest, or your host,
whichever it please you best.’
‘The Contessa Ridolfi,’ said Gerald, as he kissed her hand respectfully.
‘I perceive,’ said she, laughing, ‘you have heard of my boldness,
and guess my name at once; but, remember, that if I had waited to be
presented to you by my uncle, I should have been debarred from thus
clearing all formality at a bound, and asking you, as I now do, to
imagine me one you have known long and well.’
‘I am unable to say whether the honour you confer on me or the
happiness, be greater,’ said Gerald warmly.
‘Let it be the happiness, since the honour must surely come from your
side,’ said she, in the same light, half-careless tone. ‘Give me your
arm, and guide me through these gardens; you know them well, I presume.’
‘I have been your guest these four months and more, Contessa,’ said he,
bowing.
‘So that this poor villa of ours may have its place in history, and men
remember it as the spot where the young Prince sojourned. Nay, do not
blush, Chevalier, or I shall think that the shame is for _my_ boldness.
When you know me better you will learn that I am one so trained to the
licence of free speech that none are offended at my frankness.’
‘You shall never hear me complain of it,’ said Gerald quickly.
‘Come, then, and tell me freely, has this solitude grown intolerable; is
your patience well-nigh worn out with those interminable delays of what
are called “your friends”?’
‘I know not what you allude to. I came here to recover after a long
illness, weak and exhausted. My fever had left me so low in energy, that
I only asked rest and quietness: I found both at the villa. The calm
monotony that might have wearied another, soothed and comforted _me_.
Of what was real in my past life--what mere dreamland--I never could
succeed in defining. If at one moment I seemed to any one’s eyes of
princely blood and station, at the next I could not but see myself a
mere adventurer, without friends, family, or home. I would have given
the world for one kind friend to steady the wavering fabric of my mind,
to bring back its wandering fancies, and tell me when my reason was
aright.’
‘Will you take me for such a friend?’ said Guglia, in a soft, low voice.
‘Oh, do not ask me, if you mean it not in serious earnest,’ he urged
rapidly. ‘I can bear up against the unbroken gloom of my future; I could
not endure the changeful light of a delusive hope.’
‘But it need not be such. It is for you to decide whether you will
accept of such a counsellor. First of all,’ added she hastily, and ere
leaving him time to reply, ‘I am more deeply versed in your interests
than you are perhaps aware. Intrusted by my uncle, the Cardinal, to deal
with questions not usually committed to a young girl’s hands, I have
seen most parts of the correspondence which concerns you; nay, more,
I can and will show you copies of it. You shall see for yourself,
what they have never yet left you to judge, whether it is for your own
interest to await an eventuality that may never come, or boldly try to
create the crisis others would bid you wait for; or lastly, there is
another part to take, the boldest, perhaps, of all.’
‘And what may that be?’ broke in Gerald, with eagerness, for his
interest was now most warmly engaged.
‘This must be for another time,’ said she quickly; ‘here comes his
Eminence to meet us.’
And as she spoke, the Cardinal came forward, and with a mingled
affection and respect embraced Gerald and kissed him on both cheeks.