Part 10 (1/2)
”Caro Beppo,” said she, turning to the servant, ”clear the table, please, and then stay outside until I call you. Meantime, admit no one.”
The two were left alone, and Vajdar was free to say what he wished.
Blanka made bold to rise and survey herself coquettishly in the mirror, as if to make sure of her own beauty. She was the first to speak.
”All these favourable turns in my affairs are due to your kind intervention, I infer,” she began.
”Without wis.h.i.+ng to be boastful, I must admit that they are. You know the prince: he has more whims and freaks than Caligula. He has moments when he is capable of throttling an angel from heaven, and gentle moods in which he is ready to do his most deadly enemy a secret kindness.
These latter phases of his humour it was my task to lie in wait for and turn to your account. Whether this was a difficult task or not, you who know the prince can judge.”
”You will find me not ungrateful,” said the princess. ”In case the unpleasant affair which has called me to Rome is settled satisfactorily, I shall make over to you, as the one chiefly instrumental in effecting this settlement, the yearly allowance intended for me by the prince. For myself I retain nothing further, and wish nothing further, than my golden freedom.”
Vajdar's face glowed with feeling. He was a good actor and could summon the colour to his cheeks at will.
”But even if you should give me your all, and the whole world besides,”
he returned, ”I should count it as dross in comparison with one kind word from your lips. I know it is the height of boldness on my part to strive for the object of my longing; but an ardent pa.s.sion justifies even the rashest presumption. You remember the fable of the giants'
piling Pelion upon Ossa in order to scale Olympus. I am capable of following their example. You would cease to look down on me were I of like rank with yourself; and this equality of station I shall yet attain.”
”I am sure I shall be the first to congratulate you.”
”The prince has promised to be a father to you if, as the result of a peaceful separation, he ceases to be your husband. A somewhat similar promise he has made to me also.”
”Does he intend to adopt you as his son?” asked Blanka.
”Such is his purpose,” replied Vajdar.
”And what, pray, is his motive in this?”
Benjamin Vajdar averted his face, as if contending with feelings of shame. ”Do not ask me,” he begged, ”to betray the weakness of my poor mother. Hers was an unhappy lot, and I am the child of her misfortune.
He whose duty it is to make that misfortune good is--Prince Cagliari.”
Blanka could hardly suppress an exclamation. ”Oh, you scoundrel!” she was on the point of crying, ”how can you dishonour your mother in her grave, and deny your own honest birth, merely to pa.s.s yourself off as a prince's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son?” Instead of this she clapped her hands and exclaimed: ”How interesting! It is just like a play at the theatre. 'Is not the little toe of your left foot broken?' 'Yes.' 'Then you are my son.' Or thus: 'Haven't you a birthmark on the back of your neck?' 'I have.' 'Let me see it. Aha! you are my long-lost boy.' Or, again: 'Who gave you that half of a coin which you wear on a string around your neck?' 'My mother, on her death-bed.' 'Come to my arms. You have found your father.'”
Her listener was convinced that he had to do with a credulous child whose ears were open to the flimsiest of fairy tales. He proceeded to entertain her with further interesting details of his story, after which the princess produced the anonymous letter she had that morning received. First smoothing it out on her knee,--for it had been sadly crumpled by a certain hand, and, indeed, even bore the impression of a man's thumb in oil,--she presented it to her visitor.
”Please read that,” said she, ”and then explain it to me.”
Vajdar had no sooner glanced at the letter than he perceived that the enemy, by a feigned retreat, had been decoying him over a mine which threatened presently to explode. Yet his a.s.surance did not desert him.
”A stupid bit of play-acting!” he exclaimed, throwing the letter down on the table.
”But whose interest could it have been to indulge in play-acting at my expense?” asked Blanka.
”I can tell you, for I recognise the handwriting. The Marchioness Caldariva wrote you that letter.”
”The Marchioness Caldariva? Is she here?”
”To be sure. The prince never travels without her.”
”But what motive had she thus to injure herself and, perhaps, prevent her marriage with the prince?”