The Wheat Princess Read online

  CHAPTER III

  'MAY I come in for tea, Cousin Marcia?' Gerald inquired, with a note ofanxiety in his voice, as they climbed the stone staircase of thePalazzo Rosicorelli. They had been spending the afternoon in theBorghese gardens, and the boy's very damp sailor-suit bore witness tothe fact that he had been indulging in the forbidden pleasure ofcatching goldfish in the fountain.

  'Indeed you may not,' she returned emphatically. 'You may go withMarietta and have some dry clothes put on before your mother sees you.'

  Gerald, realizing the wisdom of this course, allowed himself to bequietly spirited off the back way, in spite of the fact that he heardthe alluring sound of Sybert's voice in the direction of the salon.Marcia went on in without waiting to take off her hat, and she met theMelvilles in the ante-room, on the point of leaving.

  'Good afternoon. Why do you go so early?' she asked.

  'Oh, we are coming back later; we are just going home to dress. Youruncle is giving a dinner to-night--a very formal affair.'

  'Is that so?' she laughed. 'I have not been invited.'

  'You will be; don't feel hurt. It's a general invitation issued to allcomers.'

  Marcia found no one within but her aunt and uncle and Mr. Sybert.

  'What is this I hear about your giving a dinner to-night, AuntKatherine?' she asked as she settled herself in a wicker chair andstretched out her hand for a cup of tea.

  'You must ask your uncle. I have nothing to do with it,' Mrs. Copleydisclaimed. 'He invited the guests, and he must provide the menu.'

  'What is it, Uncle Howard?'

  'Merely a little farewell dinner. I thought we ought to put on a brightface our last night, you know.'

  'One would think you were going to be led to execution at dawn.'

  'We will hope it's nothing worse than exile,' said Sybert.

  'Who are your guests, and when were they invited?'

  'My guests are the people who dropped in late to tea; I did not thinkof it early enough to make the invitation very general. The list, Ibelieve, includes the Melvilles, Signora Androit and the ContessaTorrenieri, Sidney Carthrope the sculptor, and a certain youngFrenchman, a most alluring youth, who called with him, but whose namefor the moment escapes me.'

  'Adolphe Benoit,' said Sybert.

  'The _Prix de Rome_?' asked Marcia. 'Oh, I know him! I met him a fewweeks ago at a tea; he's very entertaining. I suppose,' she added,considering the list, 'that he will fall to my share?'

  'Unless you prefer Mr. Sybert.'

  'An embarrassing predicament, Miss Marcia,' Sybert laughed. 'If it willfacilitate matters we can draw lots.'

  'Not at all,' said Marcia graciously, 'I know the Contessa would ratherhave you; and as she is the guest I will let her choose. I hope yourdinner will be a success,' she added to her uncle, 'but I can't helpfeeling that you show a touching faith in the cook.'

  'Thank you, my dear; I am of an optimistic turn of mind, and Francoishas never failed me yet.--How did the Borghese gallery go?'

  'Very well. I met Mr. Dessart there--and I met the King outside.'

  'Ah, I hope His Majesty was enjoying good health?'

  'He seemed to be. I didn't stop to speak to him, but there was a boy ina group of seminarists near us who called out, "Viva il papa," just ashe passed.'

  'And what happened?' Sybert inquired. 'Did the King's guard behead himon the spot, or did they only send him to the galleys for life?'

  'The King's guard fortunately had eyes only for the King, and the oldpriest gathered his flock together and scuttled off down one of theside paths, as frightened as a hen who sees a hawk.'

  'And with good reason--but wait till the lads grow up, and they'll dosomething besides shout and run.'

  There was an undertone in Sybert's voice different from his usuallistless drawl. Marcia glanced up at him quickly and Dessart'sinsinuations flashed through her mind.

  'Do you mean you would rather have Leo XIII king instead of Humbert?'she asked.

  'Heavens, no! No one wants the temporal power back--not even theCatholics themselves.'

  'I should think that when the Italians have gone through so much to gettheir king, they might be satisfied with him. They ought to have morepatience, and not expect the country to be rich in a minute. Everythingcan't be done all at once; and as for blaming the government becausethe African war didn't turn out well--why, no one could foresee theresult. It was a mistake instead of a crime.'

  Sybert was watching her lazily, with an amused smile about his lips.'Will you pardon me, Miss Marcia, if I ask if those are your ownconclusions, or the opinions of our young friend the American artist?'

  'He does not plot against the King, at any rate!' she retorted.

  'Please, Miss Marcia,' he begged, 'don't think so badly of me as that.Really, I'm not an anarchist. I don't want to blow His Majesty up.'

  'Go home and dress, Sybert,' Copley murmured, taking him by the arm. 'Ihave to go and interview the cook, and I don't dare leave you and myniece together. There's no telling what would happen.'

  'She's a suspicious young woman,' Sybert complained. 'Can't you teachher to take your friends on trust?'

  'For the matter of that, she doesn't even take her uncle on trust.'

  'And no wonder!' said Marcia. 'I forgot to tell you my other adventure,just as the carriage turned into the Corso we got jammed in close tothe curb and had to stop. I looked up and saw a man standing on theside-walk, glaring at me over the top of a newspaper--simplyglaring--and suddenly he jumped to the side of the carriage and thrustthe paper in my hands. He said something in Italian, but too fast forme to catch, and before I could move, Marietta had snatched it up anddashed it back in his face. The paper was named the _Cry of thePeople_; I just caught one word in it, and that was--' she pauseddramatically--'Copley! Now, Uncle Howard,' she finished, 'do you thinkyou ought to be trusted? When it gets to the point that the people inthe street----'

  She stopped suddenly. She had caught a quick glance between her uncleand Sybert. 'What is it?' she asked. 'Do you know what it means?'

  'It means damned impudence!' said her uncle. 'I'll have that editorarrested if he doesn't keep still,' and the two men stood eyeing eachother a minute in silence. Then Copley gave a short laugh. 'Oh, well,'he said, 'I don't believe the _Grido del Popolo_ can destroy mycharacter. Nobody reads it.' He looked at his watch. 'You'd better goand dress, Marcia. My party begins promptly at eight.'

  'You needn't use any such clumsy method as that of getting rid of me,'she laughed. 'I'm not going to stay where I'm not wanted. All I have tosay,' she called back from the doorway, 'is that you'd better stopbadgering those poor old beggars, or you'll be getting a warning toleave Rome as well as Naples.'

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  Marcia rang for Granton.

  'Have you time to fix my hair now?' she inquired as the maid appeared,'or does Mrs. Copley need you?'

  'Mrs. Copley hasn't begun to dress yet; she is watching Master Geraldeat his supper.'

  'Oh, very well, then, there is time enough; I'll get through before sheis ready for you. Do my hair sort of Frenchy,' she commanded as she satdown before the mirror. 'What dress do you think I'd better wear?' shecontinued presently. 'That white one I wore last week, or the new greenone that came from Paris yesterday?'

  'I should think the white one, Miss Marcia, and save the new one forsome party.'

  'It would be more sensible,' Marcia agreed; 'but,' she added with alaugh, 'I think I'll wear the new one.'

  Granton got it out with an unsmiling face which was meant to convey thefact that she could not countenance this American prodigality. She hadlived ten years with an elderly English duchess, and had thought thatshe knew the ways of the aristocracy.

  The gown was a filmy green mousseline touched with rose velvet andyellow lace. Marcia put it on and surveyed herself critically. 'What doyou think, Granton?' she asked.

  'It's very becoming, Miss Marcia,' Granton returned pr
imly.

  'Yes,' Marcia sighed--'and very tight!' She caught up her fan andturned toward the door. 'Don't be hurt because I didn't take youradvice,' she called back over her shoulder. 'I never take anybody's,Granton.'

  She found her uncle alone in the salon, pacing the floor in a restlessfashion, with two frowning lines between his brows. He paused in hiswalk as she appeared, and his frown gave place, readily enough, to asmile.

  'You look very well to-night,' he remarked approvingly. 'You--er--havea new gown, haven't you?'

  'Oh, yes, Uncle Howard,' she laughed. 'It's all the gown. Send yourcompliments to my dressmaker, 45 Avenue de l'Opera. I thought I wouldwear it in honour of Mr. Sybert; it's so seldom we have him with us.'

  Mr. Copley received this statement with something like a grunt.

  'There! Uncle Howard, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Mr. Sybertis the nicest man that ever lived. And what I particularly like abouthim, is the fact that he is so genial and expansive and thoughtful forothers--always trying to put people at their ease.'

  Mr. Copley refused to smile. 'I am sorry, Marcia, that you don't likeSybert,' he said quietly. 'It's because you don't understand him.'

  'I dare say; and I suppose he doesn't like me, for the same reason.'

  'He is a splendid fellow; I've never known a better one--and a man canjudge.'

  Marcia laughed. 'Uncle Howard, do you know what you remind me of? AnItalian father who is arranging a marriage for his daughter, and havingchosen the man, is recommending him for her approval.'

  'Oh, no; I don't go to the length of asking you to fall in love withhim--though you might do worse--but I should be pleased if you wouldtreat him--er----'

  'Respectfully, as I would my father.'

  'More respectfully than you do your uncle, at any rate. He may not beexactly what you'd call a lady's man----'

  'A lady's man! Uncle Howard, you make me furious when you talk likethat; as if I only liked men with dimples in their chins, who dancewell and get ices for you! I'm sorry if I don't treat Mr. Sybertseriously enough; but really I don't think he treats me seriously,either. You think I don't know anything, just because I can't tell thedifference between the Left and the Right. I've only just come to Rome,and I don't see how you can expect me to know about Italian politics.You both of you laugh whenever I ask the simplest question.'

  'But you ask such exceedingly simple questions, dear.'

  'How can I help it when you give me such absurd answers?'

  'I'm sorry. We'll try to do better in the future. I suppose we've bothof us been a little worried this spring, and you probe us on a tenderpoint.'

  'But who ever heard of a man's being really worried over politics--thatis, unless he's running for something? They should be regarded as anamusement to while away your leisure. You and Mr. Sybert are so funny,Uncle Howard; you take your amusements so seriously.'

  '"Politics" is a broad word, Marcia,' he returned, with a slight frown;'and when it stands for oppression and injustice and starving peasantsit has to be taken seriously.'

  'Is it really so bad, Uncle Howard?'

  'Good heavens, Marcia! It's awful!'

  She was startled at his tone, and glanced up at him quickly. He wasstaring at the light, with a hard look in his eyes and his mouth drawninto a straight line.

  'I'm sorry, Uncle Howard; I didn't know. What can I do?'

  'What can any of us do?' he asked bitterly. 'We can give one day, andit's eaten up before night. And we can keep on giving, but what does itamount to? The whole thing is rotten from the bottom.'

  'Can't the people get work?'

  'No; and when they can, their earnings are eaten up in taxes. Thepeople in the southern provinces are literally starving, I tell you;and it's worse this year than usual, thanks to men like your father andme.'

  'What do you mean?'

  For a moment he felt almost impelled to tell her the truth. Then, as heglanced down at her, he stopped himself quickly. She looked sodelicate, so patrician, so aloof from everything that was sordid andmiserable; she could not help, and it was better that she should notknow.

  'What do you mean?' she repeated. 'What has papa been doing?'

  'Oh, nothing very criminal,' he returned. 'Only at a time like this onefeels as if one's money were a reproach. Italy's in a bad way just now;the wheat crop failed last year, and that makes it inconvenient forpeople who live on macaroni.'

  'Do you mean the people really haven't anything to eat?'

  'Not much.'

  'How terrible, Uncle Howard! Won't the government do anything?'

  'The government is doing what it can. There was a riot in Florence lastmonth, and they lowered the grain tax; King Humbert gave nine thousandlire to feed the people of Pisa a couple of weeks ago. You can do thesame for some other city, if you want to play at being a princess.'

  'I thought you believed in finding them work instead giving them money.'

  'Oh, as a matter of principle, certainly. But you can't have 'em dyingon your door-step, you know.'

  'And to think we're having a dinner to-night, when we're not theslightest bit hungry!'

  'I'm afraid our dinner wouldn't go far toward feeding the hungry inItaly.'

  'How does my dress look, my dear?' asked Mrs. Copley, appearing in thedoorway. 'I have been so bothered over it; she didn't fix the lace atall as I told her. These Italian dressmakers are not to be dependedupon. I really should have run up to Paris for a few weeks this spring,only you were so unwilling, Howard.'

  Marcia looked at her aunt a moment with wide-open eyes. 'Heavens!' shethought, 'do I usually talk this way? No wonder Mr. Sybert doesn't likeme!' And then she laughed. 'I think it looks lovely, Aunt Katherine,and I am sure it is very becoming.'

  The arrival of guests precluded any further conversation on the subjectof Italian dressmakers. The Contessa Torrenieri was small and slenderand olive-coloured, with a cloud of black hair and dramatic eyes. Shehad a pair of nervous little hands which were never still, and amagnetic manner which brought the men to her side and created atendency among the women to say spiteful things. Marcia was noexception to the rest of her sex, and her comments on the contessa'sdoings were frequently not prompted by a spirit of charitableness.

  To-night the contessa evidently had something on her mind. She barelyfinished her salutations before transferring her attention to Marcia.'Come, Signorina Copley, and sit beside me on the sofa; we harmonize sowell'--this with a glance from her own rose-coloured gown to Marcia'srose trimmings. 'I missed you from tea this afternoon,' she added. 'Itrust you had a pleasant walk.'

  'A pleasant walk?' Marcia questioned, off her guard.

  'I passed you as I was driving in the Borghese. But you did not see me;you were too occupied.' She shook her head, with a smile. 'It will notdo in Italy, my dear. An Italian girl would never walk alone with ayoung man.'

  'Fortunately I am not an Italian girl.'

  'You are too strict, contessa,' Sybert, who was sitting near, put inwith a laugh. 'If Miss Copley chooses, there is no reason why sheshould not walk in the gardens with a young man.'

  'A girl of the lower classes perhaps, but not of Signorina Copley'sclass. With her dowry, she will be marrying an Italian nobleman one ofthese days.'

  Marcia flushed with annoyance. 'I have not the slightest intention ofmarrying an Italian nobleman,' she returned.

  'One must marry some one,' said her companion.

  Mr. Melville relieved the tension by inquiring, 'And who was the heroof this episode, Miss Marcia? We have not heard his name.'

  Marcia laughed good-humouredly. 'Your friend Mr. Dessart.' TheMelvilles exchanged glances. 'I met him in the gallery, and as thecarriage hadn't come and Gerald was playing in the fountain andMarietta was flirting with a gendarme (Dear me! Aunt Katherine, Ididn't mean to say that), we strolled about until the carriage came.I'm sure I had no intention of shocking the Italian nobility; it wasquite unpremeditated.'

  'If the Italian nobility never stands a worse shock than th
at, it ishappier than most nobilities,' said her uncle. And the simultaneousannouncement of M. Benoit and dinner created a diversion.

  It was a small party, and every one felt the absence of thatpreliminary chill which a long list of guests invited two weeksbeforehand is likely to produce. They talked back and forth across thetable, and laughed and joked in the unpremeditated way that animpromptu affair calls forth. Marcia glanced at her uncle once or twicein half perplexity. He seemed so entirely the careless man of theworld, as he turned a laughing face to answer one of Mrs. Melville'ssallies, that she could scarcely believe he was the same man who hadspoken so seriously to her a few minutes before. She glanced across atSybert. He was smiling at some remark of the contessa's, to which heretorted in Italian. 'I don't see how any sensible man can beinterested in the contessa!' was her inward comment as she transferredher attention to the young Frenchman at her side.

  Whenever the conversation showed a tendency to linger on politics, Mrs.Copley adroitly redirected it, as she knew from experience that thesubject was too combustible by far for a dinner-party.

  'Italy, Italy! These men talk nothing but Italy,' she complained to theyoung Frenchman on her right. 'Does it not make you homesick for theboulevards?'

  'I suffered the nostalgie once,' he confessed, 'but Rome is a goodcure.'

  Marcia shook her head in mock despair. 'And you, too, M. Benoit!Patriotism is certainly dying out.'

  'Not while you live,' said her uncle.

  'Oh, I know I'm abnormally patriotic,' she admitted; 'but you're all sosluggish in that respect, that you force it upon one.'

  'There are other useful virtues besides patriotism,' Sybert suggested.

  'Wait until you have spent a spring in the Sabine hills, Miss Copley,'Melville put in, 'and you will be as bad as the rest of us.'

  'Ah, mademoiselle,' Benoit added fervently, 'spring-time in the Sabinehills will be compensation sufficient to most of us for not seeingparadise.'

  'I believe, with my uncle, it's a kind of Roman fever!' she cried. 'Inever expected to hear a Frenchman renounce his native land.'

  'It is not that I renounce France,' the young man remonstrated. 'I lofeFrance as much as ever, but I open my arms to Italy as well. To lofeanother land and peoples besides your own makes you, not littler, but,as you say, wider--broader. We are--we are---- Ah, mademoiselle!' hebroke off, 'if you would let me talk in French I could say what I mean;but how can one be eloquent in this halting tongue of yours?'

  '_Coraggio_, Benoit! You are doing bravely,' Sybert laughed.

  'We are,' the young man went on with a sudden inspiration, 'what youcall in English, citizens of the world. You, mademoiselle, areAmerican, La Signora Contessa is Italian, Mr. Carthrope is English, Iam French, but we are all citizens of the same world, and in whateverland we find ourselves, there we recognize one another for brothers,and are always at home; for it is still the world.'

  The young man's eloquence was received with an appreciative laugh. 'Andhow about paradise?' some one suggested.

  'Ah, my friends, it is there that we will be strangers!' Benoitreturned tragically.

  'Citizens of the world,' Sybert turned the stem of his wine glassmeditatively as he repeated the phrase. 'It seems to me, in spite ofMiss Marcia, that one can't do much better than that. If you're apatriotic citizen of the world, I should think you'd done your duty bymankind, and might reasonably expect to reap a reward in Benoit'sparadise.'

  He laughed and raised his glass. 'Here's to the World, our fatherland!May we all be loyal citizens!'

  'I think,' said Mrs. Melville, 'since this is a farewell dinner and weare pledging toasts, we should drink to Villa Vivalanti and a happyspring in the Sabine hills.'

  Copley bowed his thanks. 'If you will all visit the villa we willpledge it in the good wine of Vivalanti.'

  'And here's to the Vivalanti ghost!' said the young Frenchman. 'May itlif long and prosper!'

  'Italy's the place for such ghosts to prosper,' Copley returned.

  'Here's to the poor people of Italy--may they have enough to eat!' saidMarcia.

  Sybert glanced up in sudden surprise, but she did not look at him; shewas smiling across at her uncle.