Part 17 (1/2)
They made a wonderful contrast, as they sat side by side. Donna Diana's perfect features were more mature than Leonora's, her bearing was more n.o.ble, and her look more quiet and self-possessed. She wore a loose peignoir of white, with lace and white silk ribbons, such as none but perfect blondes can wear. But nothing could dim the dazzling whiteness of her skin, or detract from her marvellous beauty. She was calm, and statue-like, and it was only now and then that a glance from her deep grey eyes betrayed the warm and sympathising heart within. A grand, regal woman, fit to wear a crown or to have been the priestess of an ancient people. She had it all from her mother, who had been like her, though in a smaller mould, and had died, still young and beautiful, when Diana and her brother were little children. It was impossible to imagine her for a moment deprived of her perfect grace, and ease, and quiet.
Leonora was altogether more earthly. She moved well, but often impetuously. Her extraordinary vitality, when not reduced by reaction to a state of unnatural apathy, was forever seeking an outlet. She loved the light and the stir of society life, while she amused herself with reflecting on its emptiness. She was instinct with strength, and motion, and elasticity. Her skin was always fresh, whether in heat or cold, but from the enthusiasm with which she did things, she sometimes lost the smoothness and correctness--as she would have called it--of her appearance. And yet even at such times she had a strange charm and fascination of her own. As she often said, she was far less beautiful than Diana, but much more alive,--though with a life that might perhaps be less strong and enduring than Diana's. Diana was a queen--Leonora a brilliant and irresponsible princess.
They talked a little together, and Leonora found it easy to lead the conversation to the plans she was making for the amus.e.m.e.nt of her sister-in-law.
”By the bye,” said she, ”I ought to tell you. Mr. Julius Batis...o...b.. is staying here this week. I suppose you know him?”
Leonora had no idea of anything having existed in former times in the way of sentiment between Diana and Julius. She was sent to convey a piece of information, and she did it as well as she could, not even looking at Diana as she spoke. Had she suspected anything she would have watched her, and she could have seen the least possible trembling of the eyelids, and the lightest imaginable shade of annoyance on her guest's fair face.
”Oh yes,” she said calmly, ”I know him. I have known him a long time. So he is staying with you?”
”Yes. He is so very agreeable, and Marcantonio wished it. He has been in Sorrento some time, and he took us to Castellamare to see that ironclad launched. He is so very clever.”
”Because he took you in his boat?” laughed Diana. ”Yes, my dear, a man is clever indeed who can get such charming company.”
Leonora was pleased with the little speech,--it sounded kindly, and as Diana spoke she laid her hand softly on Leonora's.
”How cold your hands are,” said Diana. And indeed they were chilled through, though it was a very hot day in July. ”'Cold hands, warm heart,' you know, as the proverb says.”
Leonora blushed a little. It seemed so odd to be talking about Julius Batis...o...b.. to a stranger that it frightened her a little, and she was conscious that her heart beat faster. Nevertheless she wondered vaguely why she felt the blood rise to her cheek. He was only her friend, and the remark about the heart could have nothing to do with him.
But Diana supposed she changed colour because she was thinking of Marcantonio. It was natural for a young bride to blush at the mention of her heart, of course, and altogether charming. She patted the cold little hand sympathetically and talked of something else. It is so easy to misunderstand a blush. But Leonora felt as though she were being patronised, which is the thing people of her stamp most bitterly resent of all others; and accordingly there sprang up in her breast a little breeze of opposition, which might by and by blow a gale.
When the party met in the drawing-room before the midday breakfast, everything seemed arranged for the best, and Marcantonio rubbed his hands with delight, and made numerous hospitable gestures as he walked round the three lambs of his fold. Batis...o...b.. rose and bowed low to Madame de Charleroi. She nodded pleasantly as to an old acquaintance, and gave him her hand. He turned a little pale under the sunburnt bronze of his face.
”I am glad to see you,” said she. ”I thought you had probably been s.h.i.+pwrecked in that boat of yours. It was in all the papers, you know.”
”The sea would not be so ill-bred as to swallow me up before I had had the honour of making my homage to you, madame,” said Batis...o...b.. with a bow and a smile.
It is so easy to say pretty things in French, and as every one does it no one ever knows the genuine from the spurious. Diana was well used to Batis...o...b..'s ways, and she laughed a little. But somehow Leonora did not like the speech. The English part of her revolted against a generality of gallant language, though her Russian blood made it quite possible for her to accept such things as genuine when addressed to herself.
Breakfast was announced.
”Mon Dieu,” exclaimed Marcantonio, smiling at everybody, ”it is the most charming quartette imaginable. But there arises a terrible question of precedence. I must evidently give my arm to my wife or to my sister. It is very grave. Mesdames, I pray you, select.”
”Of course,” said Leonora, ”Diana is the guest. It is to her that you must give your arm; and Monsieur Batis...o...b.. must console himself as he can.”
Everybody smiled politely, as people do over the inanities of a very cheerful and hospitable host.
”Thank you,” said Batis...o...b.. in English, as he and Leonora followed the other couple into the breakfast-room at a little distance.
It became the duty of Batis...o...b.. and the two ladies to make Marcantonio believe that they were all enjoying themselves and each other immensely; their duty it was--the sacred and unavoidable duty of society towards its entertainers. Batis...o...b.. found the situation very unpleasant. Diana wished the week well over, and bore her part with the unfaltering serenity and cheerfulness that well-bred sovereigns exhibit when they are obliged to do some of the thousand disagreeable things that make up most of their lives. Leonora was beginning to be quite sure she could never like Diana. How could she like a woman who a.s.sumed airs of superiority? Diana was not in the least like the young ladies whom she knew in Rome, and whom, she promised herself, she would rule with a rod of iron now that she was married. And Marcantonio smiled and said all the pleasantest things he could imagine; and they were many, for pleasantness was his strong point. Batis...o...b.. seconded him to the best of his ability, and every now and then reflected for an instant on the extraordinary position in which he found himself.
Indeed, he had cause to wonder at the strangeness of fate. There he sat, eating his breakfast between the woman who had dominated him all his life, and the woman who fascinated him in the present, with ample opportunity to compare them with each other, and a determination not to do it. It seemed as though Diana's coming had roused his instincts of contrariety, as it had in Leonora, though for quite different reasons.
Diana knew well enough, he thought, that she ruled him and could bring him to her feet in a moment. Why, then, if she did not want him herself, did she come and disturb his peace and happiness? She need not have prevented him from enjoying the society of a charming woman, but she undoubtedly would. He knew well enough that her presence must be a check on the daily and hourly intercourse with Leonora which he just now most desired. She would not believe in the friends.h.i.+p which had seemed so real to Leonora and so possible to himself. She would watch him with those grey eyes of hers that knew him so well, and when she had an opportunity, she would give him a wholesome lecture on the error of his ways. He knew Diana well, and she knew him better.
He was forced to confess that she was more beautiful, more stately, and more perfect now, at eight and twenty, than she had been ten years ago at eighteen; that, if she lifted her finger to him now, he would be more entirely her servant and slave than ever before; and that in the bottom of his heart he wished she would do so, as he wished no other thing in the world. At the same time he knew perfectly well that she would not, and he thought it was not fair of her to disturb an innocent friends.h.i.+p which had, by force of circ.u.mstances, a.s.sumed a peculiar aspect. She excited in him all the obstinacy which attends weakness--and Julius was a weak man where women were concerned. And whether he would or not, he made up his mind not to relinquish his daily enjoyment of talking to Leonora for all the Dianas in the world,--if it were only to please his own vanity.
The repast was somehow or other a success so far as Marcantonio was concerned. He felt that everything was proceeding as it should, that all his little plans had turned out well, and that he was a happy husband and a happy brother. He was in complete ignorance of Julius Batis...o...b..'s daily visits to his wife during his absence. She had meant to tell him, honestly, how pleasant it had all been, and how much she had enjoyed it; but, somehow, the invitation to Batis...o...b.. to stay in the house had made her put it off. Marcantonio was so odd about some things, and he was sure to want so many explanations; she could tell him just as well after Diana and Batis...o...b.. were gone; and then, of course, it could not matter so much. She knew that Julius would never refer to all those days unless she herself did. If only that terrible Diana did not see or find out!
How dreadful it would be to have her say anything to Marcantonio!