Enter the Contessa
"She was the smallest lady alive,
Made in a piece of nature's madness,
Too small, almost, for the life and gladness
That over-filled her."
--ROBERT BROWNING.
Here was a case of Mahomet, _en route_ to pay his respects to the
Mountain, being met halfway by the object of his pilgrimage; though to
liken the Contessa di Ravello to a mountain is perhaps to brutalise a
poetic license. She is a fairy of a woman, a pocket Venus. Gaetà is
her name, and her sponsors in baptism must have been endowed with
prophetic souls, for she is the very spirit of irresponsible,
childlike gaiety.
Not that she has a sense of humour. There is all the difference in the
world between a sense of humour and a sense of fun, and truth to tell,
the Contessa had no more humour than a frolicsome kitten. She had
always been in a frolic of some sort, when I had known her in Davos,
whither she had gone because she thought it would be "what you call a
lark"; and she was in a frolic now, judging by her merry laughter when
she saw me.
Her great wine-brown eyes were laughing, her full, cupid-lips were
laughing, and more than all, the two deep, round dimples in the olive
cheeks were laughing. Even the little rings of black hair on her low
forehead seemed to quiver with mirth, as her head moved with quick,
bird-like gestures. She was dressed all in grey, and the cut-steel
buttons on her dress twinkled as if they too were in the joke.
"Fancy meeting you here, of all places!" she said, in her pretty
English, lisping but correct. "It is a good gift from the saints. We
have had such stupid adventures, and we have been so bored."
"We" were evidently the handsome, slightly moustached women of
thirty-five, and the thin, darkly dour man of fifty who were with the
Contessa in the carriage; and a moment later she had introduced me to
the Baron and Baronessa di Nivoli. I echoed the name with some
interest. "Have I the pleasure of meeting the inventor of the new
air-ship which is so much talked about?" I asked.
"That is my brother Paolo," replied the Baron, unbending slightly.
"He will join us later," added the Baronessa, with a quick look at the
pretty and rich little widow which betrayed to me a secret. She then
turned a dark, disapproving gaze upon me which told another, and I
could have laughed aloud. "They want to nobble my poor little Contessa
for brother-aëronaut, and they don't countenance chance meetings with
strange young men," I said to myself, greatly amused. "If they can see
through the dust, and suspect in me a possible rival for the absent,
they have sharp eyes, or keen imaginations, and I may be in for a
little fun."
We were at the hotel door, and I was allowed to help the Contessa out,
though the elder lady preferred the aid of the concierge. For the
moment Gaetà had forgotten the claims of her companions, and
remembered only mine. It is a butterfly way of hers to forget easily,
and flutter with delight in a new corner of the garden, just because
it is new.
"You are staying here? How nice!" she exclaimed, without giving me
time to answer. "We should have arrived last night, but we had an
accident to our carriage--a broken wheel. It was coming down from the
Hospice of St. Bernard, which we had been to visit--oh, not to please
_me_, do not think it. It was the Baron, here. In dim ages his people
and the saint were cousins, though the idea of a saint having cousins
seems actually sacrilegious, doesn't it? I do not love monks, I only
respect them, which is so disagreeable. But the Baron took us. _Dio
mio!_ I have no warm blood left. It was frozen up there. And then,
that our carriage should have broken down at a little place--the wrong
end of nowhere--Bourg St. Something! We had to stop all night. Fancy
me without my maid, who was to meet me here. I do not know if my dress
is not on wrong side before. Later, we all have to go on to Chamounix
and then to Aix-les-Bains. I've taken a villa there for a month. You
_must_ come and see me."
Thus she chattered on as we entered the hotel, and then, suddenly, her
bright eyes fell upon the Boy, who had retired near the stairway.
There he stood, with a book in his hand, and an unwonted colour in his
brown cheeks, glowing red under the strange blue jewels of his eyes.
"What a divine boy!" the Countess half whispered to me, not taking her
gaze from him. "He is exactly like a wonderful painting by some old
Master of my own dear country. What eyes! They are better and bigger
sapphires than any I own, though I've some famous ones. And how
strange they are--looking out of his brown face, from under such
black lashes, too. Oh, a picture, certainly. He is not like a modern,
every-day boy, at all. He can't be English, of that I'm sure, and
yet----"
"He is American," I said, when she paused thoughtfully, the Boy at his
distance reading or pretending to read, as he stood. "But you are
right. He is very far from being an every-day boy."
"You know him, then?"
"We've been travelling companions for days, and have got to be
tremendous pals."
"How old is he?" asked the Contessa, a deep glow of interest and
curiosity kindling in her warm brown eyes.
"I don't know. He has talked freely about himself only once or twice,
though we've discussed together most other subjects under the sun."
"How deliciously mysterious. Mysterious! yes, that's the word for him.
He has mysterious eyes; a mysterious face. There is a shadow upon it.
That is part of the fascination, is it not? I am sure he is
fascinating."
"Extraordinarily so. I have never met anyone at all like him."
"He might be a boy Tasso. But he has suffered; he is not a child any
more, though his face is smooth as mine. He must be eighteen or
nineteen?"
"I should give him less, though he has read and thought a tremendous
lot for a boy."
"Men are not judges of age, thank heaven. Women are. I _will_ have it
that your friend is nineteen. I should be too silly to take an
interest in him, were he less, if it were not motherly; and that
wouldn't be entertaining. You see, I am already twenty-two."
"You look eighteen," I said; and it was true. Widow as she was, it was
not possible to think of the Contessa as a responsible, grown woman.
"I told you that you were no judge of age. I was married at eighteen,
a widow at nineteen. _Dio mio!_ but it all seems a long time ago,
already! Lord Lane, you must introduce to me your friend the boy."
Here was a dilemma, but I got out of it by telling the truth, which is
usually, in the end, the best policy, many wise opinions to the
contrary notwithstanding. "You will laugh," I said, "but I don't know
his name."
"Not possible."
"True, nevertheless, like most things that seem impossible; nor does
he know mine, unless he heard you speak it driving up to the hotel. He
was at the door."
"Men are extraordinary! But, introduce him. You can manage somehow.
It's not his name I care for. It is those eyes. I shall invite him to
come and see me in Aix. Please bring him to me now. The Baron is
arranging about our rooms, and there is sure to be a misunderstanding
of some sort, as we had engaged for last night and did not come. The
Baronessa? Oh, never mind; she had better listen to her husband. She
is my friend, and is soon to be my guest, but she has got upon my
nerves to-day."
Thus bidden, I could do no less than walk away down the hall to where
the Boy stood with his book, leaning against the baluster.
"I've done all I could about the bag," I said. "The people in the
post-office seemed hopeful that the big reward would do the trick."
"Thank you. You are very good," he returned. Something in his tone
made me look at him closely. There was a change in him, though for my
life I could not have told what it was or why it had come; there was
ice in his voice, though I had spent nearly two dusty, unwashed hours
in his service, while he refreshed himself at leisure.
"I hope it will be all right," I went on, rather heavily. "Look here,
that pretty little fairy would like to know you. She's the Contessa di
Ravello. Come along and be introduced."
The Boy flung up his head, his blue eyes flashing. "Why am I to be
dragged at her chariot wheels?" he demanded.
"Oh, rot, my child. Don't put on airs. Men twice your age would snatch
at such a chance."
"I can't tell what I may be capable of when I'm twice my age. It's
difficult enough to know myself now. But I know----"
"Come on, do, like the dear Little Old Pal you really are," I cut in.
"You don't want to put me in a false position, do you? Besides, I'd
like particularly to get your opinion on the Contessa. I may have to
ask your advice about something connected with her, later."
This fetched him, though with not too good a grace. "You don't know my
name," he said, with a return of impishness, as we walked together
towards the Contessa.
"I think that you have the advantage of me in that way, now."
"If you call it an advantage. I had a presentiment you weren't plain
mister, so I'm not surprised. You may tell your Countess that my name
is Laurence."
"Christian name or 'Pagan' name?"
"Make the Christian name Roy."
In another moment I was introducing Mr. Roy Laurence to the Contessa
di Ravello; and as they stood eyeing each other, the fairy Gaetà
pulsing with coquetry through all her hot-blooded Italian veins, the
Boy aloof and critical, I was struck with the picture that the two
figures made.
The Boy had three or four inches more of height than the Contessa, and
looked almost tall beside her, though I had thought of him as small.
Her round, dimpled face seemed no older than his oval brown one, in
this moment of his gravity, and the haughty air of a young prince
which he wore now, consciously or unconsciously, had a certain
provoking charm for a spoiled beauty used to conquest. The big blue
stars which lit his face expressed a resolve not to yield to any
blandishment, and this no doubt piqued Gaetà, before whom all the boys
and youths at Davos had gone down like grass before the scythe. Helen
Blantock came after she had left the place, otherwise she might have
had to fight for her rights as queen; but as it was, she had been
without rivals and probably had known few dangerous ones elsewhere.
Never had I seen her take as much real pains to be charming to a grown
man, as she took with this silent boy, during the few moments that her
friends spent in wrestling with the landlord. What lamps she lit in
the windows of her eyes, suddenly raising their curtains on dazzling
glances! What rosy flags she hung out in his honour, on dimpled
cheeks; what rich display of pearls and coral her cupid-mouth gave
him! but all in vain, so far as any change in his cold young face
showed. I had seen it warm for a gleam of light on the wing of a
swooping bird, or an effect of cloud-shadow on a mountain, as it would
not warm for this galaxy of bewitchments, and his quiet civility was
but a sharper pin-prick, I should fancy, to a woman's vanity.
The little scene was not long in playing, however. Soon the Baronessa
swept to her friend's side, and bore her away, like a large steam-tug
making off against wind and tide with a dainty sailing yacht.
Ignoring the subject of the lady; Boy began questioning me about the
business of the bag, thanking me again more cordially for what I had
done, when I had answered.
"I must have a bath and change now," said I at last. "At what time
shall we dine?"
"We? You will be dining with your new friend."
"She's an old friend, if one counts by time of acquaintance, and
charming, as you've seen; still, we're rather tired perhaps, and not
up to dinner pitch. I'm not sure but we'd get on better alone
together, you and I."
"I've taken a private sitting-room, and I'm going to dine there."
"Will you have me with you?"
"If you like."
"It will be a good opportunity to get your advice."
The Boy did not answer; but when we sat at table, and had talked for a
while of indifferent things, he said abruptly: "What were you going to
ask me?"
"Your advice as to whether it would be well to fall in love with the
little Contessa."
"Has she money?"
"Hang it all, do you think I'm the kind of man to want a woman for her
money?"
"I've known you about six days."
"Don't hedge. Can't six days tell you as much as six years--such six
days as we've had?"
"Yes. It's true. I would stake a good deal that you're not that kind
of man. I don't know why I said it. Something hateful made me. The
Contessa is very pretty. Could you--fall in love with her?"
"It would be an interesting experiment to try."
"If you think so, you must already have begun."
"No, not yet. I assure you I have an open mind. But it's an odd
coincidence meeting her like this. I was making the fact that she has
a house at Monte Carlo an excuse for going down there--sooner or
later--as an end to my journey. Now, she is to be in Chamounix, and
she intends to invite us both, it seems, to visit her in
Aix-les-Bains, where she has taken a villa."
The Boy looked at me suddenly, with a slight start. "She is going to
Chamounix?"
"So she says."
"And--she will invite you to visit her at her villa in Aix-les-Bains."
"You, too. You said yesterday you wanted to go to Aix, as you had
never been; and we planned an expedition by the mule-path up Mont
Revard."
"I know. But--but would you visit the Contessa?"
"We might amuse ourselves. She would be well chaperoned, no doubt by
the Baronessa. There's a brother of the Baron's in the background.
Probably he'll turn up at Aix. Certainly he will if his relatives
have any control over his actions. He's no other, it turns out, than
Paolo di Nivoli, the young Italian whose airship invention has been
made a fuss about lately. It would be rather a joke to try and cut him
out with the Contessa--if one could."
"Oh--cut him out." The Boy seemed thoughtful. "Though you aren't in
love with her?"
"Yes."
"I see."
"Will you go if I do--that is, if she really asks us?"
I expected him to flash out a refusal, but he brooded under a deep
shadow of eyelashes for a while, looking half cross, half mischievous,
and finally said: "I'll think it over."
[Illustration]