That afternoon at half-past three o'clock, the hour when in winter all
Rome goes out for its airing on the Pincio, Hubert Waldron was idling
along the terrace, gazing at the wonderful panorama of the Eternal City
stretched away before him in the yellow sundown.
In Rome it is the correct thing to go to the Pincio, and there pay
visits to the Roman ladies who sit in their smart carriages or
automobiles as they slowly file up the historic hill and down on the
other side. There, in those famous gardens of Lucullus, in which in
ancient days Messalina, the wife of Claudius, celebrated her orgies,
modern Rome daily holds its daily alfresco reception, for everybody who
is anybody in the capital goes there to see and to be seen.
Hubert had been chatting with the Baroness Lanzenhofen, an Austrian
hostess very popular in Rome, but her carriage had moved on, and now he
stood alone near the kerb looking out upon the wonderful view, and about
to descend to the city and drive back in a taxi to his rooms in the Via
Nazionale.
Behind him a procession of smart equipages of all kinds filed slowly
around the terrace, when of a sudden he heard an excited cry--his name:
"Signor Waldron! Signor Waldron!"
Turning in sudden surprise, he found himself face to face with Lola who,
seated alone in one of the royal carriages--a splendid landau bearing
the arms of Savoy upon its panels, a footman and coachman in the royal
livery and powdered hair--was smiling at him mischievously.
He raised his hat and advancing eagerly took the little white-gloved
hand outstretched to him, for the carriage had already pulled up, the
fine pair of bays champing impatiently at their bits.
"Well!" he cried. "This is really a great surprise!"
"Yes. I heard that you had been transferred here from Madrid," she
laughed, speaking in English. "But oh! I've got lots to explain. I
want to see you, Mr Waldron--to see you very particularly. I came here
this afternoon to find out if you were here. May I call on you this
evening? I know where you live, in the Via Nazionale. When will you be
at home?"
He was rather taken aback. Ever since his discovery of her portrait in
the Embassy a couple of hours ago he had been plunged in thought, for
did he not know her secret--the secret of this madcap Princess who had
scandalised the Royal House of Savoy?
"This is really a great surprise to me, Mademoiselle Lola," he answered,
scarce knowing what he said. "I, too, would like to have a chat with
you. But is it really wise for you to come to my rooms?" he asked in
English, glancing at the two royal servants sitting statuesque upon the
box.
"Nobody will know. These men do not know English. Shall we say at ten
o'clock to-night? I can get away then--not before, I fear. We have a
Court dinner."
"Very well," he said, looking into her splendid dark eyes. "At ten
o'clock then."
"_Addio_--eh! Till ten o'clock?" she laughed.
"But are you sure it would not be an injudicious step--to visit a
bachelor in his rooms?" he queried gravely.
"I don't care, Signor Waldron--if you don't. I always take every
precaution. My maid, Renata, is as silent as the Sphinx we saw in
Egypt. Do you remember? And how I fell off my camel?"
"Shall I ever forget those days?" he remarked as he took the
outstretched hand and bowed over it. "Very well, mademoiselle--at ten
o'clock."
"_Bene_. Then I will explain matters. You must be terribly puzzled. I
see it in your face," she laughed.
He smiled and as he stood hat in hand the royal carriage moved off, the
onlookers staring to note that the popular young Princess should have
stopped and have spoken to a man, an ordinary foot-passenger on the
Pincio.
For a second the diplomat glanced after her, then he turned upon his
heel and began to descend the winding roadway, past those busts of all
the distinguished Italians from Julius Caesar to Marin.
Before him lay that wonderful view of Rome, where beyond the Porta del
Popolo and the new quarter with the Palazzo di Giustizia, on the
opposite bank of the Tiber, rose the great dome of St Peter's from the
grey mists of the sunset, while on the right stood the spire of the
Church of Lourdes, the Vatican, and a portion of the Leontine wall.
Away on the right rose Monte Mario with its dark funereal cypresses,
while to the left of St Peter's could be seen the round castle of Sant
Angelo with the bronze angel that crowned it. The pines on the height
of the castle were familiar to him, being those of the Villa Lante on
the Janiculum with the Passeggiata Margherita on which the great statue
of Garibaldi was the most conspicuous object.
And as he went along his mind was filled with thoughts of the strange
situation, and of the amazing discovery he had that day made.
Lola, his charming little friend of the Nile, at whose side he had so
often ridden over the desert, was actually a Princess of the
blood-royal--the madcap Princess of the House of Savoy! And ere he had
descended the hill her splendid carriage with its jingling harness
flashed by him and she nodded merrily as he raised his hat, while two
cavalry officers, recognising her, raised their hands in ceremonious
salute.
He was reflecting upon those idle sunny days in the far-off Nile-land,
those evenings when the western sky was diffused and glorified with gold
and saffron, and the shades of night crept up from the silent bosom of
the desert where the Bedouins and Bishareen halted their caravans to
camp.
In that sunset hour he knew that the faces of the devout were now turned
towards Mecca--away from that golden mystery and beauty that the sun had
placed in the west--to recite their evening prayers. And up from the
mists, as he gazed away across to the low purple hills of the Campagna
rose that sweet, smiling, beautiful face--the face which he had once
again gazed upon, though he had believed it had passed out of his ken
for ever.
Punctually at ten o'clock that evening Waldron's English valet, Peters--
the faithful, clean-shaven, but hunch-backed old Peters who had been
with him over ten years--ushered Lola, a sweet-faced, girlish figure
into his sitting-room where he stood ready to receive her.
"Really, Mr Waldron, what awfully jolly quarters you have here!" she
exclaimed, glancing quickly around the well-furnished bachelor room.
The man he had succeeded at the Embassy believed in personal comfort,
and had furnished his flat in English style. Therefore he had been
fortunate in being able to purchase it cheaply, for its owner had been
transferred to Tokio.
"Yes," her host agreed: "they're not half bad. But," he added, "do you
really think it prudent to come and visit me at this hour?"
"Why not? I couldn't very well come in the daytime. Somebody might
recognise me."
"But is not ten o'clock at night a rather unusual time for a young lady
to visit a bachelor?" he queried.
"Well, I don't mind," she laughed gaily. "But there, you're such a
dear, conventional old thing!"
He noted that, contrary to her appearance in the afternoon, when she had
worn a smart costume and hat which was evidently the latest creation of
the Rue de la Paix, she was now very neatly, almost shabbily dressed in
a plain blue serge coat and skirt which had seen its best days, a small,
close-fitting little hat which showed evident signs of wear, and sadly
worn furs.
She noticed that he surveyed her as she took the armchair he offered
her.
"Yes," she said, "it is very fortunate that my maid, Renata, is about
the same figure as myself, and that her clothes fit me. I usually pass
as her when I go out at night. The sentries change every week, so as
long as I am dressed as a maid I have no difficulty--though I sometimes
have trouble to avoid the other servants."
"I should think you run very great risks of recognition," he remarked.
"And if the truth leaked out would there not be some serious trouble?"
"Trouble! Oh, I dread to think of it!" she declared with a shrug of the
shoulders. "I receive daily lectures about my non-observance of the
social amenities, my lack of personal pride, and all that. But there--
Mr Waldron, you must, I know, have been greatly surprised at meeting me
to-day. I know I deceived you. But it was imperative, as I was then
travelling incognita. So I hope you will forgive me."
"You practised a very cruel deception upon me," he said with mock
severity. "And I don't know if I really ought to forgive you."
"Oh yes, you will--you dear old thing," she cried persuasively, laughing
in his face. He was double her age, therefore the endearing terms in
which she addressed him were not exactly out of place. Yet, remembering
the secret lover, he wondered what had become of him.
"Then old Gigleux was not your uncle, after all?" remarked Waldron, for
he remembered how Jack Jerningham had recognised him on that New Year's
night at Shepheard's.
"No. Listen and I'll tell you the truth," the Princess said in very
good English. She was delightfully unconventional. "You see my aunt,
the Queen, was very much annoyed because I motored to Florence alone,
and some gossip got about regarding me--because I went to a fancy-dress
ball with a gentleman I know. Well, I fear I was a little hot-tempered,
with the result that I was unceremoniously packed off on a long tour to
Egypt and given into the charge of Miss Lambert and old Ghelardi, who
had been in the German Service, but who had just returned to Italy and
was appointed by the King as Chief of our Secret Police. I was ordered
by the King to assume the name of Duprez, while Ghelardi was to be known
as Jules Gigleux. And I think we kept up the farce fairly well--didn't
we?"
"Most excellently. Nobody had the slightest suspicion of the truth, I
feel sure."
"I know I told you some awful stories--about my poverty, and all that.
But you will forgive me--won't you?" she implored.
"Of course," replied the diplomat, charmed by her sweetness and
frankness of manner. "It was necessary in order to preserve your
incognita. I realise now the reason why your pseudo-uncle regarded me
with such a decided antipathy. First he feared lest we might fall in
love with each other--"
"And there was no fear of that, was there?" she laughed, interrupting.
"I don't know exactly," he answered half-dubiously. "You flirted with
me outrageously sometimes."
"Ah, I know I did! It was, I admit, too bad of me, Mr Waldron. But I
do hope even now you've found me out in all those white lies that it
will make no difference to our friendship."
"Why, not in the least," he declared. "I am greatly honoured by Your
Royal Highness's friendship."
"No, no," she cried impatiently, "not Highness to you, Mr Waldron.
Lola--still Lola, please."
"Very well," laughed the man. "But surely that will sound too familiar
from one in my station?"
"When we are alone, I mean. Of course in Society, or at Court I may be
Her Royal Highness the Principessa Luisa Anna Romana Elisabetta Marie
Giovanna di Savoia--and half a dozen other names and titles if you like.
They really don't trouble me," and she carelessly cast her well-worn
sealskin muff upon the couch near her.
"Ah," he sighed, "I fear you are a sad breaker of the conventionalities.
Before I knew that you were my little friend of the Nile I had heard
several stories of your various little escapades."
"Oh yes," she cried quickly. "No doubt you've been told some awful
tales about my doings--stories which get about Rome, and everyone
exaggerates them as they pass from mouth to mouth. My worst offence, I
believe, is because I entered for a motor-cycle race and won it. Well,
haven't your girls in England won similar races?"
"True, but what a shop-assistant may do is forbidden to a princess," was
his reproof.
"Ah, that's just it?" she exclaimed in protest. "Merely because I
happen to be born a princess I'm supposed to put on a veneer of Court
manners, and observe Court etiquette day in and day out, until it all
bores me stiff--as you say in English. Just because I try and behave
like other girls, obtain my freedom when I can, and enjoy myself with
open-air pursuits, I am held in horror by Their Majesties, and the
people declare that I am a disgrace to our Royal House."
"No--not a disgrace, Princess."
"Lola, please," she said, correcting him.
"Lola then--if you will have it so," he said. "The people secretly
admire you for your courage in breaking the steel bonds of Court
etiquette; nevertheless remember that such escapades as yours must lead
you into danger--grave personal danger. You are a girl, and remember
also that there are some blackguards about who, knowing your active and
daring temperament, may entrap you and then levy blackmail upon you."
Her beautiful face instantly fell. He saw that she grew paler and more
thoughtful. Her lips twitched slightly.
"You think so," she said slowly, her voice so changed that he wondered.
"You think that someone might really attempt to levy blackmail upon me--
eh?"
"Certainly. And in that lies the very serious peril to which you must
be exposed, if you continue to disregard the conventionalities which
surround you as a daughter of a Royal House."
"You are rather hard upon me, Mr Waldron," she said in a low voice,
quite unusual to her.
"Not in the least. Remember I am your friend. If at any time I can
serve you in any way you have only to come to me, and I will exert every
effort on your behalf," he said, speaking very earnestly. "But I would
beg of you to exercise the greatest discretion. Why continue to annoy
Their Majesties by this conduct which must sooner or later bring
unpleasantness, and perhaps trouble, upon you?"
"Trouble!" she echoed, her great dark eyes fixed upon him. "Trouble!
It has already brought trouble upon me. That is why I came here
to-night to see you--to tell you--to confess--and to ask your help as my
good, kind friend?"