_En Route,
May._
Goodbye, Rome! I’m on the train at last, speeding away from the
Eternal City.
When I came home to dress for my farewell Roman dinner last evening,
there was a note on the table from the Doyen of the Ambassadors
stating that the King would receive at twenty-one hours and thirty
minutes. I hurriedly calculated this would be half-past ten, so calmly
went off to dine with some of my old pals, a sort of goodbye party,
thinking there would be plenty of time. Suddenly I had a lucid moment
and realized that twenty-one thirty meant half-past nine! I looked at
my watch--just twenty-eight minutes past. Whew, but I flew--took a
cab and galloped at full speed to the Quirinal, rushed up the great
staircase past the astonished lackeys, through the guard room into the
State Reception Rooms, got there, terribly out of breath, but--on the
minute!
It was a pretty sight, the Royal Circle in the Salon of the Mirrors.
We stood in a row,--“we few, we happy few, we band of brothers”--while
the King and Queen went as usual to each and talked. When he came to
me, I told him I was going home to be married, and got so enthusiastic
in telling how happy I was, how anxious and eager, how it was the only
thing which made me willing to leave His Majesty’s Court that he got
roused, too, and said really very pleasant things, and shook me by the
hand with a hearty good wish and good-bye, and strutted away most
amicably. To the Queen, also, I insisted on talking of my felicity,
and she said she had heard of it and wished us well. So! A Royal Pair
approves our wedding, if not an Aunt. You might point that out to your
title-loving guardian; perhaps she will think a little more kindly of
me.
Today before I left the Embassy, my successor arrived, and to him I
handed all the lire that were left, and papers and so forth. The
office had been thoroughly cleaned and dusted, a new carpet put down,
and new window-curtains put up. I showed him everything I could think
of, shook him by the hand, and just caught my train.
Now we are climbing the Italian Alps, which are wonderfully beautiful
in the afternoon sun, and in a little while we shall pass through the
tunnel of Mt. Cenis and out of Italy. Every day will bring me nearer
to you, dear Polly, and twenty thousand times more happy. Dearest, a
few weeks more, and we shall begin the first of our married life, and
you--my wife!
A telegram was handed me on the train just now which quite takes my
breath away, though its news does not surprise me as much as it will
you. Peppi and his little divorcée, gray eyes, Mona Lisa smile, and
all, were married today in Rome, with only Gonzaga, Pan, and Jonkheer
Jan at the wedding!
My dear, I am going to tell you something. The lady came to my rooms
quite unexpectedly the other day, and asked for tea, which Gilet made
for her, and then she just sat and looked at me with her inscrutable
smile and her mysterious eyes. Finally she got up and went over and
looked at your photograph for a long while, then turned and said,
“Your little Polly is very sweet, even if she doesn’t like me. Is it
true that you return for your wedding soon?”
“Quite true,” I replied.
“We’ve been very good friends, you and I,” she went on, “and I am
sorry to have you go. Goodbye.” She gave me her hand which I kissed,
for there were tears on her lashes, and I followed her down to put her
in the cab. She said with that usual cryptic look of hers, “I’ve made
up my mind to something this afternoon. Don’t be surprised when you
get word of it. Farewell.”
The man cracked his whip and off she went.
But still, there remains some mystery about her and about Peppi to be
unravelled yet. The two are married, so far, so good, but where does
the Prince come in? Surely he and she were conspiring about
something. She evidently wanted you to marry him, and she may have
thought then that I could be more devoted to her, who knows? Then,
too, there were those paintings, the copies of old masters, all packed
and addressed to Boris in New York. Peppi I trust, Lisa I pity, but
your Muscovite I believe is a rascal. Won’t we have a lot to talk
over? And think, too, dear, from now on I’ll be traveling every hour
toward you.
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