Part 46 (1/2)

Then she heard his step; but she was wakened by the soft sound of the latch bolt of her door in its socket, and she sprang to her feet, straight and white, with a little sharp cry, for the fancied sound had always frightened her as nothing else could. This time she had not turned the key, and the door opened.

”Did I startle you, child?” asked her mother's voice, kindly. ”I am sorry. Signor Lamberti is in the drawing-room. I think you had better come. He has heard of the article in the _Figaro_, and is reading it now.”

”I will come in a minute, mother,” Cecilia answered, turning her face away. ”Let me slip on my frock.”

”It is only Signor Lamberti,” the Countess observed, rather thoughtlessly. ”But I will send you Petersen.”

The door was shut again, and Cecilia heard her mother's tripping footsteps on the glazed tiles in the corridor. She knew that she had blushed quickly, for she had been taken unawares, but the room was darkened and her mother had noticed nothing. She was suddenly aware that her cheeks and her neck were wet, and she remembered what she had dreamt and wondered that her tears should have been real. She had let in more light now and she looked at herself in the gla.s.s with curiosity, for she did not remember to have cried since she had been a little girl. The dried tears gave her face a stained and spotted look she did not like, and she made haste to bathe it in cold water. Even the near-sighted Petersen might see something unusual, and she would not let Lamberti guess that she had been crying on that day of all days.

It was all very strange, and while she dressed she wondered still why the real tears had come, and why she had dreamt she had broken her vow.

She had never dreamt that before, not even when she used to meet Lamberti in her dreams by the fountain in the Villa Madama. It was stranger still that she should not have been able to call up the waking vision in the old way. It was as if some power she had once possessed had left her very suddenly, a power, or a faculty, or a gift; she could not tell what it was, but it was gone and something told her that it would not return. She made haste, and almost ran along the broad pa.s.sage.

When she went into the drawing-room Lamberti was standing with the _Figaro_ in his hand, before her mother who was sitting down. He bowed rather stiffly, though he smiled a little, and she saw that his blue eyes glittered and his face had the ruthless look she used to dread. She knew what it meant now, and was pleased. She wished she could see him shake the wretch who had written the article; she was glad that he was just what he was, not too tall, strong, active, red-haired and angry, a fighting man from head to foot, roused and ready for a violent deed. She had waited for him so long, outside the closed Temple of Vesta in the cold night wind!

”It is not the article that matters,” he said, taking it for granted that she knew the contents. ”It is what Guido would feel if he read it.”

”Especially just now,” observed the Countess, looking at Cecilia.

”What are you going to do?” Cecilia asked as quietly as she could.

”Shall you go to Paris?”

”No! this was written in Rome. I will wager my life that the lawyer who is mentioned here wrote it all and got some clever Frenchman to translate it for him. I know the fellow by name.”

”I thought Monsieur Leroy was at the bottom of it,” said Cecilia.

Lamberti looked at her a moment.

”I daresay,” he said. ”I am sure that the Princess never meant that anything of this sort should be printed. Did Guido ever tell you about her money dealings with him?”

Guido had never mentioned them, of course, and Lamberti explained in a few words exactly what had happened, and the nature of the receipts Guido had given to his aunt.

”I daresay you are right about Monsieur Leroy,” he concluded, ”for the old lady is far too clever to have done such an absurd thing as this, and it is just like his blundering hatred of Guido.”

”I wish he were here,” said Cecilia, looking at Lamberti's hands. ”I wonder what you would do to him.”

”The lawyer is here, which is more to the purpose,” Lamberti answered.

”You cannot fight a lawyer, can you?” asked the young girl. ”You cannot shoot him.”

”One can without doubt,” returned Lamberti, smiling. ”But it will not be necessary.”

”My dear child,” cried the Countess in a reproachful tone, ”I had no idea you could be so bloodthirsty! Your father fought with Garibaldi, but I am sure he never talked like that.”

”Men have no need of talking, mother. They can fight themselves.”

”May I take the _Figaro_ with me?” asked Lamberti. ”I may not be able to buy a copy. By the bye, Baron Goldbirn is your guardian, is he not? He must have important relations with the financiers in Paris.”