Duco had at first wished to decline the invitation, but Cornélie
said that she would think it pleasanter if he came. And it was an
exquisite dinner in the restaurant of the Grand-Hôtel and Cornélie
had enjoyed herself exceedingly and looked most charming in an old
yellow ball-dress, dating back to the first days of her marriage,
which she had altered quickly here and there and draped with the
prince's old lace. Urania had looked very handsome, with her clear,
fresh complexion, her shining eyes and gleaming teeth, clad in a
close-fitting frock in the latest fashion, blue-black spangles on
black tulle, as though she were moulded in a cuirass: the prince said,
a siren with a mermaid's tail. And the people at the other tables had
stared across at theirs, for everybody knew Virgilio di Forte-Braccio;
everybody knew that he was going to marry a rich American heiress;
and everybody had noticed that he was paying great attention to the
slender, fair-haired woman whom nobody knew. She had been married,
they thought; she was chaperoning the future princess; and she was
very intimate with that young man, a Dutch painter, who was studying
art in Italy. They had soon found out all that there was to know.
Cornélie had thought it pleasant that they all looked at her; and
she had flirted so obviously with the prince that Urania had become
angry. And early next morning, while Cornélie was still in bed, no
longer thinking of last night but pondering over a sentence in her
pamphlet, the maid knocked, brought in her breakfast and letters and
said that Miss Hope was asking to speak to her. Cornélie had Urania
shown in, while she remained in bed and drank her chocolate. And
she looked up in surprise when Urania at once overwhelmed her with
reproaches, burst into sobs, scolded and raved, made a violent scene,
said that she now saw through her and admitted that the marchesa had
urged her to be careful of Cornélie, whom she described as a dangerous
woman. Cornélie waited until she had had her say and replied coolly
that she had nothing on her conscience, that on the contrary she had
saved Urania and been of service to her as a chaperon, though she did
not tell her that the prince had wanted her, Cornélie, to dine with
him alone. But Urania refused to listen and went on ranting. Cornélie
looked at her and thought her vulgar in that rage of hers, talking
her American English, as though she were chewing filberts; and at
last she answered, calmly:
"My dear girl, you're upsetting yourself about nothing. But, if
you like, I will write to the prince that he must pay me no more
attentions."
"No, no, don't do that: it'll make Gilio think I'm jealous!"
"And aren't you?"
"Why do you monopolize Gilio? Why do you flirt with him? Why do
you make yourself conspicuous with him, as you did yesterday, in a
restaurant full of people?"
"Well, if you dislike it, I won't flirt with Gilio again or make myself
conspicuous with him again. I don't care twopence about your prince."
"That's an extra reason."
"Very well, dear, that's settled."
Her coolness calmed Urania, who asked:
"And do we remain good friends?"
"Why, of course, my dear girl. Is there any occasion for us to
quarrel? I don't see it."
Both of them, the prince and Urania, were quite indifferent to
her. True, she had preached to Urania in the beginning, but about a
general idea: when afterwards she perceived Urania's insignificance,
she withdrew the interest which she took in her. And, if the girl
was offended by a little gaiety and innocent flirtation, very well,
there should be no more of it. Her thoughts were more with the proofs
which the post had brought her.
She got out of bed and stretched herself:
"Go into the sitting-room, Urania dear, and just let me have my bath."
Presently, all fresh and smiling, she joined Urania in the
sitting-room. Urania was crying.
"My dear child, why are you upsetting yourself like this? You've
achieved your ideal. Your marriage is as good as certain. You're
waiting for an answer from Chicago? You're impatient? Then cable
out. I should have cabled at once in your place. You don't imagine,
do you, that your father has any objection to your becoming Duchess
di San Stefano?"
"I don't know yet what I myself want," said Urania, weeping. "I don't
know, I don't know."
Cornélie shrugged her shoulders:
"You're more sensible than I thought," she said.
"Are you really my friend? Can I trust you? Can I trust your advice?"
"I won't advise you again. I have advised you. You must know your
own mind."
Urania took her hand:
"Which would you prefer, that I accepted Gilio ... or not?"
Cornélie looked her straight in the eyes:
"You're making yourself unhappy about nothing. You think--and
the marchesa probably thinks with you--that I want to take Gilio
from you? No, darling, I wouldn't marry Gilio if he were king and
emperor. I have a bit of the socialist in me: I don't marry for the
sake of a title."
"No more would I."
"Of course, darling, no more would you. I never dreamt of suggesting
that you would. But you ask me which I should prefer. Well, I tell
you in all sincerity: I don't prefer either. The whole business leaves
me cold."
"And you call yourself my friend!"
"So I am, dear, and I will remain your friend. Only don't come
overwhelming me with reproaches on an empty stomach!"
"You're a flirt."
"Sometimes. It comes natural to me. But, honestly, I won't be so
again with Gilio."
"Do you mean it?"
"Yes, of course. What do I care? He amuses me; but, if it offends you,
I'll gladly sacrifice my amusement for your sake. I don't value it
so much."
"Are you fond of Mr. van der Staal?"
"Very."
"Are you going to marry him, Cornélie?"
"No, dear. I sha'n't marry again. I know what marriage means. Are
you coming for a little walk with me? It's a fine day; and you have
upset me so with your little troubles that I can't do any work this
morning. It's lovely weather: come along and buy some flowers in the
Piazza di Spagna."
They went and bought the flowers. Cornélie took Urania back to
Belloni's. As she walked away, on the road to the osteria for lunch,
she heard somebody following her. It was the prince.
"I caught sight of you from the corner of the Via Aurora," he
said. "Urania was just going home."
"Prince," she said at once, "there must be no more of it."
"Of what?"
"No more visits, no more joking, no more presents, no more dinners
at the Grand-Hôtel, no more champagne."
"Why not?"
"The future princess won't have it."
"Is she jealous?"
Cornélie described the scene to him:
"And you mayn't even walk with me."
"Yes, I may."
"No, no."
"I shall, for all that."
"By the right of the man, of the strongest?"
"Exactly."
"My vocation is to fight against it. But to-day I am untrue to my
vocation."
"You are charming ... as always."
"You mustn't say that any more."
"Urania's a bore.... Tell me, what do you advise me to do? Shall I
marry her?"
Cornélie gave a peal of laughter:
"You both of you keep asking my advice!"
"Yes, yes, what do you think?"
"Marry her by all means!"
He did not observe her contempt.
"Exchange your escutcheon for her purse," she continued and laughed
and laughed.
He now perceived it:
"You despise me, perhaps both of us."
"Oh, no!"
"Tell me that you don't despise me."
"You ask me my opinion. Urania is a very sweet, dear child, but she
ought not to travel by herself. And you ..."
"And I?"
"You are a delightful boy. Buy me those violets, will you?"
"Subito, subito!"
He bought her the bunch of violets:
"You're crazy over violets, aren't you?"
"Yes. This must be your second ... and your last present. And here
we say good-bye."
"No, I shall take you home."
"I'm not going home."
"Where are you going?"
"To the osteria. Mr. van der Staal is waiting for me."
"He's a lucky man!"
"Why?"
"He needs must be!"
"I don't see why. Good-bye, prince."
"Ask me to come too," he entreated. "Let me lunch with you."
"No," she said, seriously. "Really not. It's better not. I believe...."
"What?"
"That Duco is just like Urania."
"Jealous?... When shall I see you again?"
"Really, believe me, it's better not.... Good-bye, prince. And thank
you ... for the violets."
He bent over her hand. She went into the osteria and saw that Duco
had witnessed their leave-taking through the window.