Cecilia Part 22

"Does your mother know about your dreaming?" Lamberti asked.

"No. No one knows. And you?"

"I have told that doctor. No one else. I wonder whether it will go on when I am far away."

"I wonder, too. Where are you going?"

"I do not know yet. Perhaps to China again. I shall get my orders in a few days."

They reached the threshold of the door. Lamberti had been looking for Guido's face amongst the people he could see as he came up, but Guido was gone.

"Good-bye," said Cecilia, softly.

"Good night," Lamberti answered, almost in a whisper. "G.o.d bless you."

He afterwards thought it strange that he should have said that, but at the time it seemed quite natural, and Cecilia was not at all surprised.

She smiled and bent her graceful head. Then she joined her mother, and Lamberti disappeared.

"My dear," said the Countess, "you remember Monsieur Leroy? You met him at Princess Anatolie's," she added, in a stage whisper.

Monsieur Leroy bowed, and Cecilia nodded. She had forgotten his existence, and now remembered that she had not liked him, and that she had said something sharp to him. He spoke first.

"The Princess wished me to tell you how very sorry she is that she cannot be here this afternoon. She has one of her attacks."

"I am very sorry," Cecilia answered. "Pray tell her how sorry I am."

"Thank you. But I daresay Guido brought you the same message."

"Who is Guido?" asked Cecilia, raising her eyebrows a little.

"Guido d'Este. I thought you knew. You are surprised that I should call him by his Christian name? You see, I have known him ever since he was quite a boy. To all intents and purposes, he was brought up by the Princess."

"And you are often at the house, I suppose."

"I live there," explained Monsieur Leroy. "To change the subject, my dear young lady, I have an apology to make, which I hope you will accept."

Cecilia did not like to be called any one's "dear young lady," and her manner froze instantly.

"I cannot imagine why you should apologise to me," she said coldly.

"I was rude to you the other day, about your courses of philosophy, or something of that sort. Was not that it?"

"Indeed, I had quite forgotten," Cecilia answered, with truth. "It did not matter in the least what you thought of my reading Nietzsche, I a.s.sure you."

Monsieur Leroy reddened and laughed awkwardly, for he was particularly anxious to win her good grace.

"I am not very clever, you know," he said humbly. "You must forgive me."

"Oh certainly," replied Cecilia. "Your explanation is more than adequate. In my mind, the matter had already explained itself. Will you have some tea?"

"No, thank you. My nerves are rather troublesome. If I take tea in the afternoon I cannot sleep at night. I met Guido going away as I came. He was enthusiastic!"

"In what way?"

"About the villa, and the house, and the flowers, and about you." He lowered his voice to a confidential tone as he spoke the last words.

"About me?" Cecilia was somewhat surprised.

"Oh yes! He was overcome by your perfection--like every one else. How could it be otherwise? It is true that Guido has always been very impressionable."

"I should not have thought it," Cecilia said, wis.h.i.+ng that the man would go away.

But he would not, and, to make matters worse, n.o.body would come and oblige him to move. It was plain to the meanest mind that since Cecilia was to marry Princess Anatolie's nephew, the extraordinary person whom the Princess called her secretary must not be disturbed when he was talking to Cecilia, since he might be the bearer of some important message. Besides, a good many people were afraid of him, in a vague way, as a rather spiteful gossip who had more influence than he should have had.

"Yes," he continued, in an apologetic tone, "Guido is always falling in love, poor boy. Of course, it is not to be wondered at. A king's son, and handsome as he is, and so very clever, too--all the pretty ladies fall in love with him at once, and he naturally falls in love with them.

You see how simple it is. He has more opportunities than are good for him!"

The disagreeable little man giggled, and his loose pink and white cheeks shook unpleasantly. Cecilia thought him horribly vulgar and familiar, and she inwardly wondered how the Princess Anatolie could even tolerate him, not to speak of treating him affectionately and calling him "Doudou."

"I supposed that you counted yourself among Signor d'Este's friends,"

said the young girl, frigidly.

"I do, I do! Have I said anything unfriendly? I merely said that all the women fell in love with him."

"You said a good deal more than that."

"At all events, I wish I were he," said Monsieur Leroy. "And if that is not paying him a compliment I do not know what you would call it. He is handsome, clever, generous, everything!"

"And faithless, according to you."

"No, no! Not faithless; only fickle, very fickle."

"It is the same thing," said the young girl, scornfully.

She did not believe Monsieur Leroy in the least, but she wondered what his object could be in speaking against Guido, and whether he were really silly, as he often seemed, or malicious, as she suspected, or possibly both at the same time, since the combination is not uncommon.

What he was telling her, if she believed it, was certainly not of a nature to hasten her marriage with Guido; and yet it was the Princess who had first suggested the match, and it could hardly be supposed that Monsieur Leroy would attempt to oppose his protectress.

Just then there was a general move to go away, and the conversation was interrupted, much to Cecilia's satisfaction. There was a great stir in the wide hall, for though many people had slipped away without disturbing the Countess by taking leave, there were many of her nearer friends who wished to say a word to her before going, just to tell her that they had enjoyed themselves vastly, that Cecilia was a model of beauty and good behaviour, and of everything charming, and that the villa was the most delightful place they had ever seen. By these means they conveyed the impression that they would all accept any future invitation which the Countess might send them, and they audibly congratulated one another upon her having at last established herself in Rome, adding that Cecilia was a great acquisition to society. More than that it was manifestly impossible to say in a few well-chosen words.

Even in a language as rich as Italian, the number of approving adjectives is limited, and each can only have one superlative. The Countess Fortiguerra's guests distributed these useful words amongst them and exhausted the supply.

"It has been a great success, my dear," said the Countess, when she and her daughter were left alone in the hall. "Did you see the d.u.c.h.ess of Pallacorda's hat?"

"No, mother. At least, I did not notice it." Cecilia was nibbling a cake, thoughtfully.

"My dear!" cried the Countess. "It was the most wonderful thing you ever saw. She was in terror lest it should come too late. Monsieur Leroy knew all about it."

"I cannot bear that man," Cecilia said, still nibbling, for she was hungry.