The Wheat Princess Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  THE Roystons approached Rome by easy stages along the Riviera, and astheir prospective movements were but vaguely outlined even tothemselves, they suffered their approach to remain unheralded. PaulDessart, since his talk with Marcia, had taken a little dip into thefuture, with the result that he had decided to swallow any hurtfeelings he might possess and pay dutiful court to his relatives. Theimmediate rewards of such a course were evident.

  One sunny morning early in April (he had been right in his forecast ofthe time: Palm Sunday loomed a week ahead) a carriage drew up beforethe door of his studio, and Mrs. Royston and the Misses Roystonalighted, squabbled with the driver over the fare, and told him he neednot wait. They rang the bell, and during the pause that followed stoodupon the door-step, dubiously scanning the neighbourhood. It was one ofthe narrow, tortuous streets between the Corso and the river; a streetof many colours and many smells, with party-coloured washingsfluttering from the windows, with pretty tumble-haired children in goldear-rings and shockingly scanty clothing sprawling underfoot. The houseitself presented a blank face of peeling stucco to the street, withnothing but the heavily barred windows below and an ornamental cornicefour stories up to suggest that it had once been a palace and astronghold.

  Mrs. Royston turned from her inspection of the street to ring the bellagain. There was, this time, a suggestion of impatience in her touch. Asecond wait, and the door was finally opened by one of the fantasticlittle shepherd models, who haunt the Spanish steps. He took off hishat with a polite '_Permesso_, signore,' as he darted up the stairsahead of them to point the way and open the door at the top. Theyarrived at the end of the five flights somewhat short of breath, andwere ushered into a swept and garnished workroom, where Paul, in awhite blouse, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, was immersed in a largecanvas, almost too preoccupied to look up. He received his relativeswith an air of delighted surprise, stood quite still while his auntimplanted a ponderous kiss upon his cheek, and after a glance at hiscousins, kissed them of his own accord.

  Mrs. Royston sat down and surveyed the room. It was irreproachablyworkmanlike, and had been so for a week. Visibly impressed, shetransferred her gaze to her nephew.

  'Paul, you _are_ improved,' she said at length.

  'My dear aunt, I am five years older than I was five years ago.'

  'Well,' with a sigh of relief, 'I actually believe you are!'

  'Paul, I had no idea you were such a desirable cousin,' was Margaret'sfrank comment, as she returned from an inspection of the room to areinspection of him. 'Eleanor said you wore puffed velveteen trousers.You don't, do you?'

  'Never had a pair of puffed velveteen trousers in my life.'

  'Oh, yes, you did!' said Eleanor. 'You can't fib down the past thatway. Mamma and I met you in the Luxembourg gardens in broad daylightwearing puffed blue velveteen trousers, with a bottle of wine in onepocket and a loaf of bread in the other.'

  'Let the dead past bury its dead!' he pleaded. 'I go to an Englishtailor on the Corso now.'

  'Marcia Copley wrote that she was very much pleased with you, but shedidn't tell us how good-looking you were,' said Margaret, still frank.

  Paul reddened a trifle as he repudiated the charge with a laughinggesture.

  'Don't you think Miss Copley's nice?' pursued Margaret. 'You'd betterthink so,' she added, 'for she's one of our best friends.'

  Paul reddened still more, as he replied indifferently that Miss Copleyappeared very nice. He hadn't seen much of her, of course.

  'I hope,' said his aunt, 'that you have been polite.'

  'My dear aunt,' he objected patiently, 'I really don't go out of my wayto be impolite to people,' and he took the Baedeker from her hand andsat down beside her. 'What places do you want to see first?' heinquired.

  They were soon deep in computations of the galleries, ruins, andchurches that should be visited in conjunction, and half an hour later,Paul and Margaret in one carriage, with Mrs. Royston and Eleanor in asecond, were trotting toward the Colosseum; while Paul was reflectingthat the path of duty need not of necessity be a thorny one.

  During the next week or so Villa Vivalanti saw little more of Marciathan of her uncle. She spent the greater part of her time in Rome,visiting galleries and churches, with studio teas and other Lentenrelaxations to lighten the rigour of sight-seeing. Paul Dessart provedhimself an attentive cicerone, and his devotion to duty was notunrewarded; the dim crypts and chapels, the deep-embrasured windows ofgalleries and palaces afforded many chances for stolen scraps ofconversation. And Paul was not one to waste his opportunities. Thespring was ideal; Rome was flooded with sunshine and flowers and theItalian joy of being alive. The troubles of Italy's paupers, which Mr.Copley found so absorbing, received, during these days, littleconsideration from his niece. Marcia was too busy living her own lifeto have eyes for any but happy people. She looked at Italy throughrose-coloured glasses, and Italy, basking in the spring sunshine,smiled back sympathetically.

  * * * * *

  One morning an accident happened at the villa, and though it may notseem important to the world in general, still, as events turned out, itproved to be the pivot upon which destiny turned. Gerald fell over theparapet, landing eight feet below--butter-side down--with a bleedingnose and a broken front tooth. He could not claim this time thatMarietta had pushed him over, as it was clearly proven that Marietta,at the moment, was sitting in the scullery doorway, smiling atFrancois. In consequence Marietta received her wages, a ticket to Rome,and fifty lire to dry her tears. A new nurse was hastily summoned fromCastel Vivalanti. She was a niece of Domenic, the baker, and had servedin the household of Prince Barberini at Palestrina, which wasrecommendation enough.

  As to the broken tooth, it was a first tooth and shaky at that. Mostpeople would have contented themselves with the reflection that thematter would right itself in the course of nature. But Mrs. Copley, whoperhaps had a tendency to be over-solicitous on a question involvingher son's health or beauty, decided that Gerald must go to thedentist's. Gerald demurred, and Marcia, who had previously had nothought of going into Rome that afternoon, offered to accompany theparty, for the sake--she said--of keeping up his courage in the train.As they were preparing to start, she informed Mrs. Copley that shethought she would stay with the Roystons all night, since they hadplanned to visit the Forum by moonlight some evening, and this appeareda convenient time. In the Roman station she abandoned Gerald to hisfate, and drove to the _Hotel de Londres et Paris_.

  She found the ladies just sitting down to their midday breakfast anddelighted to see her. It developed, however, that they had anunbreakable engagement for the evening, and the plan of visiting theForum was accordingly out of the question.

  'No matter,' said Marcia, drawing off her gloves; 'I can come in someother day; it's always moonlight in Rome'; and they settled themselvesto discussing plans for the afternoon. The hotel porter had givenMargaret a permesso for the royal palace and stables, and beinginterested in the domestic arrangements of kings, she was insistentthat they visit the Quirinal. But Mrs. Royston, who was conscientiouslybent on first exhausting the heavier attractions set forth in Baedeker,declared for the Lateran museum. The matter was still unsettled whenthey rose from the table and were presented with the cards of PaulDessart and M. Adolphe Benoit.

  Paul's voice settled the question: the city was too full of pilgrimsfor any pleasure to be had within the walls; why not take advantage ofthe pleasant weather to drive out to the monastery of Tre Fontane? Butthe matter did not eventually arrange itself as happily as he hadhoped, since he found himself in one carriage and Marcia in the other.At the monastery the monks were saying office in the main chapel whenthey arrived, and they paused a few minutes to listen to the deep riseand fall of the Gregorian chant as it echoed through the long, barenave. The dim interior, the low, monotonous music, the unseen monks,made an effective whole. Paul, awake to the possibilities of theoccasion, did his best
to draw Marcia into conversation, but she wastantalizingly unresponsive. The guide-book in Mrs. Royston's hands andthe history of the order appeared to absorb her whole attention.

  Fortune, however, was finally on his side. Mrs. Royston elected tostop, on their way back to the city, at St. Paul's without the Walls,and the whole party once more alighted. Within the basilica, Mrs.Royston, guide-book in hand, commenced her usual conscientiousinspection, while Eleanor and the young Frenchman strolled about,commenting on the architecture. Margaret had heard that one of themosaic popes in the frieze had diamond eyes, and she was insistentlybent on finding him. Marcia and Paul followed her a few minutes, butthey had both seen the church many times before, and both were atpresent but mildly interested in diamond-eyed popes.

  The door of the cloisters stood ajar, and they presently left theothers and strolled into the peaceful enclosure with its brick-flaggedfloor and quaintly twisted columns. It was tranquil and empty, with nosuggestion of the outside world. They turned and strolled down thelength of the flagging, where the shadow of the columns alternated withgleaming bars of sunshine. The sleepy, old-world atmosphere cast itsspell about them; Marcia's tantalizing humour and Paul's impatiencefell away. They walked on in silence, until presently the silence madeitself awkward and Marcia began to talk about the carving of thecolumns, the flowers in the garden, the monks who tended them. Paulresponded half abstractedly, and he finally broke out with what he wasthinking of: a talk they had had that afternoon several weeks before inthe Borghese gardens.

  'Most men wouldn't care for this,' he nodded toward the prim littlegarden with its violets and roses framed in by the pillared cloisterand higher up by the dull grey walls of the church and monastery. 'Buta few do. Since that is the case, why not let the majority mine theircoal and build their railroads, and the very small minority who do carestay and appreciate it? It is fortunate that we don't all like the samethings, for there's a great variety of work to be done. Of course,' headded, 'I know well enough I'm never going to do anything very great; Idon't set up for a genius. But to do a few little things well--isn'tthat something?'

  They had reached the opposite end of the cloisters, and paused by oneof the pillars, leaning against the balustrade.

  'You think it's shirking one's duty not to live in America?' he asked.

  'I don't know,' Marcia smiled vaguely. 'I think--perhaps I'm changingmy mind.'

  'I only know of one thing,' he said in a low tone, 'that would make mewant to be exiled from Italy.'

  Marcia had a quick foreboding that she knew what he was going to say,and for a moment she hesitated; then her eyes asked: 'What is that?'

  Paul looked down at the sun-barred pavement in silence, and then helooked up in her face and smiled steadily. 'If you lived out of Italy.'

  Marcia received this in silence, while she dropped her eyes to theeffigy of a dead monk set in the pavement and commenced mechanicallyfollowing the Latin inscription. There was still time; she was stillmistress of the situation. By a laugh, an adroit turn, she couldoverlook his words; could bring their relations back again to theirnormal footing. But she was by no means sure that she wished to bringthem back to their normal footing; she felt a sudden, quite strongcuriosity to know what he would say next.

  'Hang it! Marcia,' he exclaimed. 'I suppose you want to marry a prince,or something like that?'

  'A prince?' she inquired. 'Why a prince?'

  'Oh, it's what you women are always after--having a coronet on yourcarriage door, with all the servants bowing and saying, "_Si, si,eccelenza_," every time you turn around.'

  'It would be fun,' she agreed. 'Do you happen to know of any desirableunmarried princes?'

  'There aren't any.'

  'No? Why, I met one the other day that I thought quite charming. Hisfamily is seven hundred years old, and he owns two castles and threevillages.'

  'He wouldn't stay charming. You'd find the castles damp, and thevillages dirty, and the prince stupid.' He dropped his hand over herswhere it rested on the balustrade. 'You'd better take me, Marcia; inthe long run you'll find me nicer.'

  Marcia shook her head, but she did not draw away her hand. 'Really,Paul, I don't know--and there's nothing I hate so much in the world asmaking up my mind. You shouldn't ask such unanswerable things.'

  'Look, mamma! aren't the cloisters lovely?' Margaret's voice suddenlysounded across the little court. 'Oh, there are Marcia and Paul overthere! We wondered where you had disappeared to.'

  'Oh, the deuce!' Paul exclaimed as he put his hands in his pockets andleaned back against the pillar. 'I told you,' he added, with a laugh,'that my family always arrived when they were not wanted!'

  They all strolled about together, and Marcia scarcely glanced at himagain. But her consciousness was filled with his words, and it requiredall her self-possession to keep up her part of the conversation. Asthey started on, Mrs. Royston suggested that they stop a second time atthe English cemetery just within the gate. Marcia, looking at herwatch, saw with a feeling of relief that she would have to go straighton if she were to catch Mrs. Copley and Gerald in time for the sixo'clock train. Bidding them good-bye at the Porta San Paolo, shehastily and emphatically refused Paul's proposition to drive to thestation with her.

  'No, indeed, Mr. Dessart,' she called out, as he was makingarrangements with Mrs. Royston to meet later at the hotel, 'I don'twant you to come with me; I shouldn't think of taking you away. My auntwill be at the station, and I am perfectly capable of getting therealone. Really, I don't want to trouble you.'

  He put his foot on the carriage-step.

  'It's no trouble,' he smiled.

  'No, no; I would rather go alone. I shall _really_ be angry if youcome,' she insisted in a low tone.

  The young man shrugged and removed his foot from the step.

  'As you please,' he returned in a tone which carried an impression ofslightly wounded feelings. The driver looked back expectantly, waitingfor his directions. Paul hesitated a moment, and then turned toward heragain as if inquiring the way. 'Is there any hope for me?' he said.

  She looked away without answering.

  'There's no other man?' he added quickly.

  Marcia for a second looked up in his face. 'No,' she shook her head,'there's no other man.'

  He straightened up, with a happy laugh. 'Then I'll win,' he whispered,and he shook her hand as if on a compact.

  '_Stazione_,' he called to the driver. And as the carriage started,Marcia glanced back and nodded toward the Roystons, with a quick smilefor Paul.