The Princess Passes Volume 56 by Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson (book recommendations .TXT) 📖

Think Her Conversion Within Sight?"

 

"Just Round The Corner, If I May So Express It."

 

"Yet I Hear That She Tells Her Employer She Is Devoting All Her

Energies Towards Saving You From Eternal Fire. It Was Her Excuse For

Letting The Bag Drop Off Souris' Back Without Noticing It, And For

Allowing Fanny's Saddle To Chafe."

 

"Ah, Monsieur, Women Are Ready With Excuses. Do You Think I Would

Permit Any Preoccupation Of Mine To Interfere With The Well-Being Of

Finois?"

 

"Even Saving A Pretty Woman's Soul? No, Joseph, To Do You Justice, I

Don't. But I Warn You, You May Not Have Much More Time Before You To

Finish Your Good Work. Innocentina's Employer And I May Part Company

Before Long." Though I Smiled, I Spoke Heavily.

 

Joseph's Melancholy Dark Face Flushed, And The Light Died Out Of His

Eyes. "Thank You, Monsieur, I Will Do My Best To Be Quick," Said He,

As If It Had Been A Question Of Saddling Finois, Instead Of Rescuing A

Young Lady From The Clutches Of The Scarlet Woman. Whatever Progress

He Had Really Been Making With Innocentina's Soul, It Was Clear That

She Had Been Getting In Some Deadly Work Upon His Honest Heart.

 

Chapter 20 (The Great Paolo) Pg 146

     "Condescension Is An Excellent Thing; But It Is Strange How

     One-Sided The Pleasure Of It Is."--R.L. Stevenson.

 

 

After I Went To Bed That Night, I Thought Long And Bitterly Of The

Chapter 20 (The Great Paolo) Pg 147

Little Pal's Defection. Mentally I Addressed Him As A Young Gazelle

Who Had Gladdened Me With His Soft Dark Eye, Only To Withdraw The

Light Of That Orb When It Was Most Needed. As He Apparently Wished Me

To Understand That, Now He Was On With Gaetà, He Would Fain Be Off

With Me, I Would Take Him Not Only At His Word, But Before It. I Would

Make An Excuse To Avoid Stopping At The Contessa's Villa, But Would

Let Him Revel There Alone In His Glory; If One Did Not Count The Di

Nivolis.

 

Next Morning We Met By Appointment At Eight O'clock, And Tried To

Behave As If Nothing Had Happened; But I Realised That I Would Have

Been A Dead Failure As An Actor. I Was Grumpy And Glum, And The

Coaxing, Child-Like Ways Which The Boy Used For My Beguiling Were In

Vain. I Did Not Say Anything About My Change Of Plans For Aix, But I

Brooded Darkly Upon Them Throughout The Day, My Mood Eating Away All

Pleasure In The Charming Scenery Through Which We Passed, As A Black

Worm Eats Into The Heart Of A Cherry.

 

We Had About Twenty-Nine Kilometres To Go, And By The Time That The

Shadows Were Growing Long And Blue, We Were Approaching Aix-Les-Bains.

Nature Had Gone Back To The Simple Apparel Of Her Youth, Here. She

Was Idyllic And Charming, But We Were Not To Ask Of Her Any More

Sensational Splendours, By Way Of Costume, For She Had Not Brought

Them With Her In Her Dress-Basket. There Were Near Green Hills, And

Far Blue Mountains, And Certain Rocky Eminences In The Middle

Distance, But Nothing Of Grandeur. Poplars Marched Along With Us On

Either Side, Primly On Guard, And Puritanical, Though All The While

Their Myriad Little Fingers Seemed To Twinkle Over The Keyboard Of An

Invisible Piano, Playing A Rapid Waltz.

 

Then We Came At Last Into Aix-Les-Bains, Where I Had Spent A Merry

Month During A "Long," In Oxford Days. I Had Not Been Back Since.

 

Already The Height Of The Season Was Over, For It Was September Now,

But The Gay Little Watering-Place Seemed Crowded Still, And In Our

Knickerbockers, With Our Pack-Mule And Donkeys, And Their Attendants,

We Must Have Added A Fantastic Note To The Dance-Music Which The Very

Breezes Play Among Tree-Branches At Light-Hearted Aix.

 

"Pretty, Isn't It?" I Remarked Indifferently, As We Passed Through

Some Of The Most Fashionable Streets.

 

"Yes, Very Pretty," Said The Boy. "But What Is There That One Misses?

There's Something--I'm Not Sure What. Is It That The Place Looks

Huddled Together? You Can't See Its Face, For Its Features. There Are

People Like That. You Are Introduced To Them; You Think Them Charming;

Yet When You've Been Away For A Little While You Couldn't For Your

Life Recall The Shape Of Their Nose, Or Mouth, Or Eyes. I Feel It Is

Going To Be So With Aix, For Me."

 

The Villa Which The Contessa Had Taken For A Few Weeks Before Her

Annual Flitting For Monte Carlo, Was On The Way To Marlioz, And We Had

Been Told Exactly How To Find It. Still Silent As To My Ultimate

Chapter 20 (The Great Paolo) Pg 148

Intentions, I Tramped Along With The Boy Beside Me, Joseph And

Innocentina Bringing Up The Rear. We Would Know The Villa From The

Description We Had Been Given, And Having Passed Out Of The Town, We

Presently Saw It; A Little Dun-Coloured House, Standing Up Slender And

Graceful Among Trees, Like A Charming Grey Rabbit On The Watch By Its

Hidden Warren In The Woods.

 

"I'm Tired, Aren't You?" Asked The Boy. "I Shall Be Glad To Rest."

 

Now Was My Time. "I Shan't Be Able To Rest Quite Yet," Said I, With A

Careless Air. "I Shall See You In, Say 'How-De-Do' To The Contessa,

And Then I Must Be Off To The Hotel Where I Used To Stop. I Remember

It As Delightful."

 

"Why," Exclaimed The Boy Blankly, "But I Thought--I Thought We Were

Going To Stay With The Contessa!"

 

"You Are, But I'm Not," I Explained Calmly. "My Friends The Winstons

May Very Likely Turn Up At The Same Hotel" (This Was True On The

Principle That Anything, No Matter How Unexpected, _May_ Happen); "And

If They Should, I'd Want To Be On The Spot To Give Them A Welcome. I

Wouldn't Miss Them For The World."

 

"The Contessa Will Be Disappointed," Said The Boy Slowly.

 

"Oh No, I Don't Think So; And If She Is, A Little, You Will Easily

Console Her."

 

"If I Had Dreamed That You Wouldn't----" The Boy Began His Sentence

Hastily, Then Cut It As Quickly Short.

 

I Opened The Gate. We Passed In Together, Joseph Remaining Outside

According To My Directions, Keeping Fanny-Anny As Well As Finois,

While Innocentina Followed The Boy With The Pack-Donkey.

 

A Turn In The Path Brought Us Suddenly Upon A Lawn, Surrounded With

Shrubbery Which At First Had Hidden It From Our View. There, Under A

Huge Crimson Umbrella, Rising Flowerlike By Its Long Slender Stem From

The Smooth-Shaven Grass, Sat Four Persons In Basket Chairs, Round A

Small Tea Table. Gaetà, In Green As Pale As Undine's Draperies, Sprang

Up With A Glad Little Cry To Greet Us. The Baron And Baronessa Smiled

Bleak "Society Smiles," And A Handsome, Fair Young Man Frankly Glared.

 

Evidently This Was The Great Paolo, Master Of The Air And Ships That

Sail Therein; And As Evidently He Had Heard Of Us.

 

Now I Knew What The Baron Had Meant When He Said To His Wife:

"Something _Shall_ Happen, My Dear." He Had Telegraphed A

Danger-Signal To Paolo, And Paolo Had Lost Not A Moment In Responding.

This Looked As If Paolo Meant Business In Deadly Earnest, Where The

Contessa Was Concerned; For How Many Dinners And Medals Must He Not

Have Missed In Paris, How Many Important Persons In The Air-World Must

He Not Have Offended, By Breaking His Engagements In The Hope Of

Chapter 20 (The Great Paolo) Pg 149

Making One Here?

 

He Was Fair, With A Latin Fairness, This Famous Young Man. There Was

Nothing Saxon Or Anglo-Saxon About Him. No One Could Possibly Bestow

Him--In A Guess--Upon Any Other Country Than His Native Italy. He Was

Thirty-One Or Two Perhaps, Long-Limbed And Wolfishly Spare, Like His

Elder Brother, Whom He Resembled Thus Only. He Had An Eagle Nose,

Prominent Red Lips, Sulky And Sensuous, A Fine Though Narrow Forehead

Under Brown Hair Cut _En Brosse_, A Shade Darker Than The Small, Waxed

Moustache And Pointed Beard. His Brows Turned Up Slightly At The Outer

Corners, And His Heavy-Lidded, Tobacco-Coloured Eyes Were Bold,

Insolent, And Passionate At The Same Time.

 

This Was The Man Who Wished To Marry Butterfly Gaetà, And Who Had Come

On The Wings Of The Wind, In An Airship "Shod With Fire," Or In The

_Train De Luxe_, To Defend His Rights Against Marauders.

 

His Look, Travelling From Me To The Boy, And From The Boy To

Innocentina And Meek Grey Souris, Was So Eloquent Of Contempt Passing

Words, That I Should Have Wanted To Knock The Sprawling Flannelled

Figure Out Of The Basket Chair, If I Had Not Wanted Still More To Yell

With Laughter.

 

He, The Boy And I Were Like Dogs From Rival Kennels Eyeing Each Other

Over, And Thinking Poorly Of The Other's Points. Paolo Di Nivoli Was

Doubtless Saying To Himself What A Splendid Fellow He Was, And How

Well Dressed And Famous; Also How Absurd It Really Would Be To Fear

One Of Us Dusty, Knickerbockered, Thick-Booted, Panama-Hatted Louts,

In The Tournament Of Love. The Donkey, Too, With Its Pack, And

Innocentina With Her Toadstool Hat, Must Have Added For The Aëronaut

The Last Touch Of Shame To Our Environment.

 

As For Us,--If I May Judge The Boy By Myself,--We Were Totting Up

Against The Italian His Stiff Crest Of Hair, For All The World Like A

Toothbrush, Rampant, Gules; The Smear Of Wax On The Spikes Of His

Unnecessarily Fierce Moustache; The Ridiculous Pinpoints Of His Narrow

Brown Shoes; The Flaunting Newness Of His White Flannels: The

Detestable Little Tucks In His Shirt; His Pink Necktie.

 

In Fact, Each Was Despising The Other For That On Which The Other

Prided Himself.

 

All This Passed In A Glance, But The Frigid