Part 7 (1/2)

”Thank you, sir, but pray don't trouble yourself,” began Blanka. ”I can find my way very well alone.”

The innkeeper persisted, however, although the double doors to which he led her, and which he threw open before her, were not those of her own apartment. The ladies found themselves in a sumptuously furnished anteroom, from which, through a half-opened door, they looked into a s.p.a.cious drawing-room yet more luxuriously fitted up, with oil paintings on its walls and potted plants in its four corners. Leading out of this apartment, to right and left, were still other elaborately furnished rooms, which a footman in gold-braided red livery obsequiously threw open.

”While the princess was out,” explained the hotel keeper, with a bow and a smile, ”I had this suite of rooms put in order for her reception, and hope they will give entire satisfaction.”

”No, no, my dear sir,” protested Blanka, ”they appear far too magnificent for my needs, and I prefer to remain where I was. And how about this footman?”

”A servant of the house, but now dressed in the princess's livery,” was the reply. ”Henceforth he is to be at your sole disposal, and a liveried coachman in a white wig, with a closed carriage, is also ordered to serve you. All this is in compliance with directions from high quarters.

A gentleman was here in your absence and expressed great displeasure that Princess Cagliari and her party were lodged in a suite of only four rooms. Where is his card, Beppo? Go and fetch it.”

Blanka had no need to look at the card: she knew well enough whose name it bore. Controlling her agitation, she turned calmly to the hotel proprietor. ”I must beg you,” said she, ”not to receive orders from any one but my attorney. Otherwise I shall feel obliged to leave your hotel at once. Let my old rooms be opened for me again, and engage no special servants on my account.” So saying, she returned to her former quarters.

With no little impatience she awaited the advocate's return, and as soon as he appeared questioned him eagerly for news.

”None at all,” he answered, wearily. ”I've been running around all day, and have accomplished absolutely nothing; couldn't find the people I wished to see, and those I did find pretended not to understand a word I said. If I only knew where that fellow Mana.s.seh had hidden himself!”

”I could tell you,” thought Blanka, but did not offer to do so. ”Well,”

said she, aloud, ”if you have no news, I have. Look at this card.”

The lawyer put on his eyegla.s.ses and read the name,--”Benjamin Vajdar.”

”Prince Cagliari is in Rome also,” added Blanka.

The advocate looked at her. ”So Vajdar has been here, has he? Did you see him?”

”No; but he is sure to come again. I have given orders that he is to be referred to you. I have nothing to say to him.”

”Just let me get hold of him!” cried Gabriel, with menace in his looks, and then added: ”I only wish I knew where to find Mana.s.seh.”

”I know,” said the princess to herself. She had learned his address by a curious accident. When she and the young painter went to see the Sistine Chapel together they were called upon, as are all visitors, to give their names and addresses. Thus she could not avoid hearing the street and number of Mana.s.seh's temporary abode, and this street and number she had afterward written down in her sketch-book--foreign names are so hard to remember.

When her lawyer had withdrawn she sought her book and turned its leaves in search of the address. But though she hunted through all the pages again and again, she could not find the memorandum which she felt sure she had made. Suddenly she remembered having torn out and thrown away two or three leaves,--those containing her futile attempts to sketch the Colosseum.

At this point a letter was delivered to the princess. It was from Prince Cagliari, and asked Blanka to a.s.sign an hour at which to receive him.

She answered the note at once, naming ten o'clock of the following morning.

Promptly on the hour appointed the prince's equipage appeared at the hotel door, and he himself came up the stairs, leaning on his gold-headed cane. He enjoyed the full use of only one foot, although his gouty condition was not very apparent except when he climbed a flight of stairs. Ordinarily he showed admirable skill in disguising his defect.

He was still a fine-looking man, and only the whiteness of his hair betrayed his age. Clean-shaven and of florid complexion, he wore a constant smile on his finely chiselled lips, and bore himself with a graceful air of self-a.s.sertion that seldom failed of its effect on the women whom he chose to honour with his attentions.

The head waiter hurried on before him to announce his coming. Blanka met the prince in her antechamber. He took her offered hand and at the same time barred the waiter's exit with his cane.

”Is the princess still lodged in these rooms?” he demanded.

The servant could not find a word to say in apology, but the princess came to his aid.

”I wished to remain here,” said she, calmly.

The domestic was then dismissed and the visitor ushered into the next room.