The day after the dance, at table, Cornélie received a strange
impression: suddenly, as she sipped her delicious Genzano, ordered
for her by Rudyard, she became aware that it was not by accident that
she was sitting with the Baronin and her daughter, with Urania and
Miss Taylor; she saw that the marchesa had an intention behind this
arrangement. Rudyard, always civil, polite, thoughtful, always full
of attentions, his pockets always filled with cards of introduction
very difficult to obtain--or so at least he contended--talked
without ceasing, lately more particularly to Miss Taylor, who went
faithfully to hear all the best church music and always returned
home in ecstasy. The pale, simple, thin little Englishwoman, who at
first used to go into raptures over museums, ruins and the sunsets
on the Aventine or the Monte Mario and who was always tired by her
rambles through Rome, now devoted herself exclusively to the hundreds
of churches, visited and studied them all and above all faithfully
attended the musical services and spoke ecstatically of the choir in
the Sistine Chapel and the quavering Glorias of the male soprani.
Cornélie spoke to Mrs. van der Staal and the Baronin von Rothkirch
of the conversation between the marchesa and her nephew which
she had heard through the half-open door; but neither of them,
though interested and curious, took the marchesa's words seriously,
regarding them only as so much thoughtless talk between a foolish,
match-making aunt and an unwilling nephew. Cornélie was struck by
seeing how unable people are to take things seriously; but the Baronin
was quite indifferent, saying that Rudyard could do her no harm and
was still supplying her with tickets; and Mrs. van der Staal, who had
been in Rome a long time and was accustomed to little boarding-house
conspiracies, considered that Cornélie was making herself too uneasy
about the fair Urania's fate.
Suddenly, however, Miss Taylor disappeared from the table. They thought
that she was ill, until it came to light that she had left the Pension
Belloni. Rudyard said nothing; but, a few days later, the whole pension
knew that Miss Taylor had been converted to the Catholic faith and
had moved to a pension recommended by Rudyard, a pension frequented
by monsignori and noted for its religious tone. Her disappearance
produced a certain constraint in the conversation between Rudyard,
the German ladies and Cornélie; and the latter, in the course of a
week which the Baronin was spending at Naples, changed her seat and
joined her fellow-countrywomen the Van der Staals. The Von Rothkirches
also changed, because of the draught, said the Baronin; their seats
were taken by new arrivals; and Urania was left alone with Rudyard
at lunch and dinner, amid those foreign elements.
Cornélie reproached herself and one day spoke seriously to the American
girl and warned her. But she dared not repeat what she had overheard
at the dance; and her warning made no impression on Urania. And,
when Rudyard had obtained for Miss Hope the privilege of a private
audience of the Pope, Urania would not hear a word against Rudyard
and considered him the kindest man whom she had ever met, Jesuit or
no Jesuit.
But Rudyard continued to appear through a haze of mystery; and people
were not agreed as to whether he was a priest or a layman.