Part 8 (1/2)
A creature of energy and of action, who felt herself to be above all danger, she attached no meaning to the word uneasiness. So she slept, on the night which followed that soiree, a sleep as profound, as refres.h.i.+ng, as if Gorka had never returned with vengeance in his heart, with threats in his eyes. Toward ten o'clock the following morning, she was in the tiny salon, or rather, the office adjoining her bedroom, examining several accounts brought by one of her men of business. Rising at seven o'clock, according to her custom, she had taken the cold bath in which, in summer as well as winter, she daily quickened her blood.
She had breakfasted, 'a l'anglaise', following the rule to which she claimed to owe the preservation of her digestion, upon eggs, cold meat, and tea. She had made her complicated toilette, had visited her daughter to ascertain how she had slept, had written five letters, for her cosmopolitan salon compelled her to carry on an immense correspondence, which radiated between Cairo and New York, St. Petersburg and Bombay, taking in Munich, London, and Madeira, and she was as faithful in friends.h.i.+p as she was inconstant in love. Her large handwriting, so elegant in its composition, had covered pages and pages before she said: ”I have a rendezvous at eleven o'clock with Maitland. Ardea will be here at ten to talk of his marriage. I have accounts from Finoli to examine.
I hope that Gorka will not come, too, this morning.”.... Persons in whom the feeling of love is very complete, but very physical, are thus.
They give themselves and take themselves back altogether. The Countess experienced no more pity than fear in thinking of her betrayed lover.
She had determined to say to him, ”I no longer love you,” frankly, openly, and to offer him his choice between a final rupture or a firm friends.h.i.+p.
The only annoyance depended upon the word of explanation, which she desired to see postponed until afternoon, when she would be free, an annoyance which, however, did not prevent her from examining with her usual accuracy the additions and multiplications of her intendant, who stood near her with a face such as Bonif.a.gio gave to his Pharisees. He managed the seven hundred hectares of Piove, near Padua, Madame Steno's favorite estate. She had increased the revenue from it tenfold, by the draining of a sterile and often malignant lagoon, which, situated a metre below the water-level, had proved of surprising fertility; and she calculated the probable operations for weeks in advance with the detailed and precise knowledge of rural cultivation which is the characteristic of the Italian aristocracy and the permanent cause of its vitality.
”Then you estimate the gain from the silkworms at about fifty kilos of coc.o.o.ns to an ounce?”
”Yes, Excellency,” replied the intendant.
”One hundred ounces of yellow; one hundred times fifty makes five thousand,” resumed the Countess. ”At four francs fifty?”
”Perhaps five, Excellency,” said the intendant.
”Let us say twenty-two thousand five hundred,” said the Countess, ”and as much for the j.a.panese.... That will bring us in our outlay for building.”
”Yes, Excellency. And about the wine?”
”I am of the opinion, after what you have told me of the vineyard, that you should sell as quickly as possible to Kauffmann's agent all that remains of the last crop, but not at less than six francs. You know it is necessary that our casks be emptied and cleaned after the month of August.... If we were to fail this time, for the first year that we manufacture our wine with the new machine, it would be too bad.”
”Yes, Excellency. And the horses?”
”I think that is an opportunity we should not let escape. My advice is that you take the express to Florence to-day at two o'clock. You will reach Verona to-morrow morning. You will conclude the bargain. The horses will be sent to Piove the same evening....
”We have finished just in time,” she continued, arranging the intendant's papers. She put them herself in their envelope, which she gave him. She had an extremely delicate sense of hearing, and she knew that the door of the antechamber opened. It seemed that the administrator took away in his portfolio all the preoccupation of this extraordinary woman. For, after concluding that dry conversation, or rather that monologue, she had her clearest and brightest smile with which to receive the new arrival, who was, fortunately, Prince d'Ardea.
She said to the servant:
”I wish to speak with the Prince. If any one asks for me, do not admit him and do not send any one hither. Bring me the card.” Then, turning toward the young man, ”Well, Simpaticone,” it was the nickname she gave him, ”how did you finish your evening?”
”You would not believe me,” replied Peppino Ardea, laughing; ”I, who no longer have anything, not even my bed. I went to the club and I played.... For the first time in my life I won.”
He was so gay in relating his childish prank, he jested so merrily about his ruin, that the Countess looked at him in surprise, as he had looked at her on entering.... We understand ourselves so little, and we know so little about our own singularities of character, that each one was surprised at finding the other so calm. Ardea could not comprehend that Madame Steno should not be at least uneasy about Gorka's return and the consequences which might result therefrom. She, on the other hand, admired the strange youth who, in his misfortune, could find such joviality at his command. He had evidently expended as much care upon his toilette as if he had not to take some immediate steps to a.s.sure his future, and his waistcoat, the color of his s.h.i.+rt, his cravat, his yellow shoes, the flower in his b.u.t.tonhole, all united to make of him an amiable and incorrigibly frivolous dandy. She felt the need which strong characters have in the presence of weak ones; that of acting for the youth, of aiding him in spite of himself, and she attacked at once the question of marriage with f.a.n.n.y Hafner. With her usual common-sense, and with her instinct of arranging everything, Madame Steno perceived in the union so many advantages for every one that she was in haste to conclude it as quickly as if it involved a personal affair.
The marriage was earnestly desired by the Baron, who had spoken of it to her for months. It suited f.a.n.n.y, who would be converted to Catholicism with the consent of her father. It suited the Prince, who at one stroke would be freed from his embarra.s.sment. Finally, it suited the name of Castagna. Although Peppino was its only representative at that time, and as, by an old family tradition, he bore a t.i.tle different from the patronymic t.i.tle of Pope Urban VII, the sale of the celebrated palace had called forth a scandal to which it was essential to put an end. The Countess had forgotten that she had a.s.sisted, without a protestation, in that sale. Had she not known through Hafner that he had bought at a low price an enormous heap of the Prince's bills of exchange? Did she not know the Baron well enough to be sure that M. Noe Ancona, the implacable creditor who sold the palace, was only the catspaw of this terrible friend? In a fit of ill-humor at the Baron, had she not herself accused him in Alba's presence of this very simple plan, to bring Ardea to a final catastrophe in order to offer him salvation in the form of the union with f.a.n.n.y, and to execute at the same time an excellent operation? For, once freed from the mortgages which burdened them, the Prince's lands and buildings would regain their true value, and the imprudent speculator would find himself again as rich, perhaps richer.
”Come,” said Madame Steno to the Prince, after a moment's silence and without any preamble, ”it is now time to talk business. You dined by the side of my little friend yesterday; you had the entire evening in which to study her. Answer me frankly, would she not make the prettiest little Roman princess who could kneel in her wedding-gown at the tomb of the apostles? Can you not see her in her white gown, under her veil, alighting at the staircase of Saint Peter's from the carriage with the superb horses which her father has given her? Close your eyes and see her in your thoughts. Would she not be pretty? Would she not?”
”Very pretty,” replied Ardea, smiling at the tempting vision Madame Steno had conjured up, ”but she is not fair. And you know, to me, a woman who is not fair--ah, Countess! What a pity that in Venice, five years ago, on a certain evening--do you remember?”
”How much like you that is!” interrupted she, laughing her deep, clear laugh. ”You came to see me this morning to talk to me of a marriage, unhoped for with your reputation of gamester, of supper-giver, of 'mauvais sujet'; of a marriage which fulfils conditions most improbable, so perfect are they--beauty, youth, intelligence, fortune, and even, if I have read my little friend aright, the beginning of an interest, of a very deep interest. And, for a little, you would make a declaration to me. Come, come!” and she extended to him for a kiss her beautiful hand, on which gleamed large emeralds. ”You are forgiven. But answer--yes or no. Shall I make the proposal? If it is yes, I will go to the Palace Savorelli at two o'clock. I will speak to my friend Hafner. He will speak to his daughter, and it will not depend upon me if you have not their reply this evening or to-morrow morning. Is it yes? Is it no?”
”This evening? To-morrow?” exclaimed the Prince, shaking his head with a most comical gesture. ”I can not decide like that. It is an ambus.h.!.+ I come to talk, to consult you.”
”And on what?” asked Madame Steno, with a vivacity almost impatient.
”Can I tell you anything you do not already know? In twenty-four hours, in forty-eight, in six months, what difference will there be, I pray you? We must look at things as they are, however. To-morrow, the day after, the following days, will you be less embarra.s.sed?”
”No,” said the Prince, ”but--”
”There is no but,” she resumed, allowing him to say no more than she had allowed her intendant. The despotism natural to puissant personalities scorned to be disguised in her, when there were practical decisions in which she was to take part. ”The only serious objection you made to me when I spoke to you of this marriage six months ago was that f.a.n.n.y was not a Catholic. I know today that she has only to be asked to be converted. So do not let us speak of that.”