The second Court ball--one of the most brilliant functions of the Roman
season--was at its height when, having arrived direct from Paris, very
dirty and weary, Hubert hastened to his rooms, washed, changed into
uniform, and drove at once to the Palace.
He was all anxiety to hear what had occurred during his absence.
Pucci had left a note on the previous day saying that he hoped to call
and see him immediately upon his return. Apparently he had something to
communicate.
Hubert, smart in his diplomatic, gold-laced uniform, his cocked hat
tucked under his arm, and wearing his sword with the Royal Victorian
Order and two foreign decorations--the Spanish Order of the Toison d'Or,
and the Order of the Elephant of Denmark, passed the sentries of the
Royal bodyguard, and through the long lines of gorgeously dressed
flunkeys in the vestibule, and up the brilliantly lit grand staircase--
that same staircase which he had descended after his secret conversation
with His Majesty the King.
Above showed the fine fresco of Christ in a cloud of angels by Melozzo
da Forli, once in the Church of Santi Apostoli, and then as he greeted
the Royal Chamberlain and entered the great ballroom he suddenly found
himself in a whirl of gaiety amid the smartest and most exclusive Court
circle in Europe.
The scene was one of great brilliance and animation. The huge _salon_
with its polished floor, its great crystal electroliers, and its
beautiful tapestries and paintings, was a perfect phantasmagoria of
light and colour. In the gallery the Royal orchestra was playing a
pretty waltz from one of the latest Viennese musical comedies, and the
dancers, the women in Court gowns, and the men in uniforms and
glittering with decorations were whirling round the splendid chamber.
Upon the raised dais with the purple velvet hanging, on the left sat Her
Majesty the Queen, wearing a splendid tiara of diamonds and her
world-renowned pearls, while across her corsage showed the
parti-coloured sash of the Order of St Elisabeth. Near by her was the
King himself in his blue military tunic and pale grey trousers, wearing
the collar of the Order of the Annonciade, of which he was Grand Master,
while on his breast glittered the diamond stars of the Order of the
Crown of Italy, St Maurice and Lazarus, and a dozen others. With them
were two foreign minor royalties, and several other members of the Royal
circle, together with ladies-in-waiting and aides-de-camp and others
standing at the rear.
Waldron's eyes were searching for the Princess Luisa. At first he
failed to discover her, but a few moments later he saw her take her
place beside the Queen and bend to speak with her.
In white, with her hair beautifully dressed, she presented a sweet,
charming picture of youthful patrician beauty, of exquisite refinement.
From where he stood he could see the black watered ribbon of one of the
Imperial German Orders peeping over the edge of her low-cut corsage, and
from it was suspended the cross of the Order in brilliants.
She was looking unusually pale and worn. Her eyes seemed to have black
rings around them which told of anxiety, perhaps of sleepless nights--
different, indeed, to her appearance in those sunny, careless winter
days up the Nile.
As the British diplomat made his way through the throng--for the waltz
had just concluded--he bowed over the hands of a dozen pretty women,
dames of high degree in the Eternal City, wives of Roman princes, of
marquises, of great signori, and of diplomats. With many men,
politicians, financiers, Court sycophants, and those struggling for
distinction--that crowd of place-seekers and unscrupulous officials with
which every European Court is surrounded--he nodded acquaintance, until
suddenly espying Sir Francis Cathcart, he made his way to him.
"Hallo, Waldron--back?" exclaimed his Chief sharply.
"Yes, only an hour ago," was the other's reply.
"Come out into the conservatory. I want to have a word with you," said
the Ambassador, and the pair strolled together to the end of the room,
where, cunningly concealed, lights showed beneath the feathery foliage
of the palms of the great winter-garden.
"Well?" asked Sir Francis, when they were alone together; "I've heard
nothing more concerning that alarming report from Vienna. Have you
learnt anything?"
"Nothing," was Hubert's reply, "except one fact--that the rumour was
also afloat in Brussels."
"Ah! Some Bourse conspiracy, then!" was the Ambassador's quick remark,
for he was a shrewd and well-seasoned diplomat, who knew all the subtle
moves in the game of international politics.
"I cannot quite determine."
"Then you've been in Brussels?"
"Yes. In the interests of the matter which we were discussing."
"Curious that what is a secret here should be rumoured there!" remarked
the British Ambassador. "But a week has now gone, Waldron, therefore we
can only hope the storm-cloud has blown over."
And at that moment the Russian Ambassador, in his brilliant uniform,
passed, and Sir Francis joined him, leaving the secretary again alone.
As he returned to the ballroom he met the old yellow-toothed Marchesa
Genazzano face to face, and though he endeavoured to avoid her--for she
was such a terrible gossip and bore--he was compelled to bend over her
hand and stop to chat.
She was full of the latest titbit of scandal concerning a young and
pretty French Baronne, well-known in Roman Society, and her good-looking
chauffeur. It was being whispered that the lady had gone away on a
motor tour with him a fortnight ago and had not returned, while the
irate husband was searching frantically for the driver with a revolver.
"They were last seen in Brescia," the Marchesa said. "Probably they are
on their way back to France. I hear, too, that the Baronne, though
always supposed to be of the _haut monde_, was, before her marriage, a
variety artiste at Olympia in Paris. And"--she lowered her voice behind
her fan--"and there are all sorts of queer stories going about."
Waldron was bored. The scandals of Rome--and, alas! Florence and the
Eternal City are the two most scandal-mongering centres in the whole of
Europe--were frequent. There seemed to be a fresh one daily, and
nobody's reputation was sacred from the venomous tongues of the old
women, of whom the Marchesa Genazzano was one.
Her Majesty had done all she could to put a stop to such gossip at
Court, but, alas! only six months before, one of her own
ladies-in-waiting, a pretty woman moving in the best Society, had kept a
secret tryst at an obscure restaurant down near the Tiber and had been
shot dead by her lover, a common soldier.
After that unfortunate scandal in her own entourage Her Majesty had been
powerless to prevent uncharitable chatter concerning others.
That night the whole of the great Quirinale Palace was ablaze with
light. Music and gaiety were everywhere, for through the great suite of
rooms the Sala of the Ambassadors, the Sala Regia, and the others,
supper was being served with all that pomp and ceremony characteristic
of the Italian Court.
Presently Hubert managed to escape the old lady, and offering his arm to
a young, dark-haired girl, the daughter of the Minister of the Interior,
made his way across the ballroom.
There was another waltz, and this he danced with his pretty little
companion, afterwards taking her back to her mother, a rather obese,
Hebrew-looking woman with more than a suspicion of dark hair upon her
upper lip.
He had bowed and withdrawn when, passing through the crowd, he suddenly
heard a low female voice utter his name, and saw at his side the
Princess Luisa.
"I must see you," she whispered, as he halted and bowed. "Go to the
small door of the Capella Paolina. I will meet you outside it in five
minutes."
And next instant she moved onward towards the raised dais where His
Majesty was standing chatting with Sir Francis Cathcart.
In obedience Hubert made his way by a circuitous route, first through
the great winter-garden, where many couples were sitting out, and then
through that long suite of heavily gilded State apartments comprising
fourteen magnificent chambers, each ornamented with wonderful tapestries
and paintings, and full of historic associations from the days of
Gregory XIII. Generations of courtiers had paced those oaken floors
until now, in our twentieth century, those who trod them were the
embodiment of selfishness, of avarice, and of vain glorification.
Ah! what a brilliant, glittering, tinselled world of sham and
subterfuge, of resplendent plutocracy, and adventurous politics, is each
of the European Courts of to-day--that of our own St James's not
excepted. The shameful traffic in titles goes on unchecked everywhere,
and many a man who struts about with a piece of gilded ironmongery upon
his breast and a handle to his name ought if he obtained his deserved
merits, to have more strongly forged ironmongery upon his wrists and eat
the bread of a felon's cell. Their Excellencies who are Ministers, too,
are many of them hypocrites and adventurers, who swell the purses from
the public funds, or, by means of their previous knowledge of
legislation, make coups upon the Bourse. Corruption is rife everywhere,
the public are gulled by the Press, and the religion of to-day is, alas!
the worship of the great god, Gold.
Beyond the blue drawing-room, with its many portraits of Sovereigns and
Princes, where only a few of the more elderly people were chattering,
Hubert passed down two long corridors, quite deserted save for the
sentries, and at length approached a small side door which led to the
Paolina Chapel--the private chapel of the Quirinale.
He was quite alone, and stood listening in expectation. From the
courtyard below came up the sounds of motor-cars and the tramp of the
Palace guard, while in the faint distance he could hear the strains of
music.
Suddenly, however, he saw a figure in white approaching, and a moment
later Lola was at his side.
"Follow me," she said hastily. "Follow me at a distance--to Villanova's
room. No one will be there."
General Villanova was Minister of the Royal Household.
And she went on, he lounging leisurely after her at a distance.
A couple of minutes afterwards he found himself with her in a small room
where a coal fire burned brightly--the private office of the Controller
of the Household.
"Well," she echoed eagerly. "You have seen him--eh? When did you
return?"
"To-night," Waldron replied. "He has sent you this," and from the
breast of his uniform coat he drew the letter from her lover, Henri
Pujalet.
With eager fingers she carried the note across to the shaded
reading-lamp upon the table, and tearing it open, read the message it
contained.
Hugh stood watching the expression of her pale, anxious face. It went
instantly white as the dress she wore; her pale lips slowly parted, and
in her splendid eyes was an expression of such horror that he had never
seen in any person's eyes before.
For a second she seemed transfixed by the words written there.
Next second, with an almost superhuman effort, she summoned all her
self-composure. Her slim, nervous fingers crushed the letter, and with
a quick movement she crossed to the fire near which Hubert was standing
and cast the message into the flames.
Hubert Waldron had acted as Cupid's messenger, but whatever the
Princess's secret lover had written, it apparently gave her grave
concern.
She stood, her left hand pressed to her heaving chest, a strangely
pathetic little figure in her Court dress and glittering diamond cross
upon her corsage. Her great, wonderful eyes were fixed upon the
moss-green carpet, and he saw that she was trembling as though in fear.
"Your Highness is distressed," he remarked in a low voice full of
sympathy. "Cannot I assist you further?"
"Distressed!" she cried, turning quickly upon him with her eyes flashing
suddenly. "Distressed!" she echoed. "Ah, Mr Waldron, you do not know
how crushing is this blow that has fallen upon me! I have done--my--
very best--what I believed to be for the best, but--ah, _Dio_!--all is
lost--lost--ah!--I--I--" And reeling suddenly, she clutched wildly at
air and would have fallen forward had he not sprung up to prevent her.
He took her in his strong arms and carried her insensible form to the
high couch near the window, whereon he laid her tenderly.
Then he looked around bewildered, not knowing how next to act.