What can he be thinking of me at this moment, alone in his room with his little lamp for sole companion?"
Revolted by this idea, Clelia cast a look of horror at the magnificent illumination of the drawing-rooms of the Minister of the Interior.
"Never," the word went round the circle of courtiers who had gathered round the two reigning beauties, and were seeking to join in their conversation, "never have they talked to one another with so animated and at the same time so intimate an air.
Can the Duchessa, who is always so careful to smooth away the animosities aroused by the Prime Minister, can she have thought of some great marriage for Clelia?"
This conjecture was founded upon a circumstance which until then had never presented itself to the observation of the court: the girl's eyes shewed more fire, and indeed, if one may use the term, more passion than those of the beautiful Duchessa.
The latter, for her part, was astonished, and, one may say it to her credit, delighted by the discovery of charms so novel in the young recluse; for an hour she had been gazing at her with a pleasure by no means commonly felt in the sight of a rival.
"Why, what can have happened?" the Duchessa asked herself; "never has Clelia looked so beautiful, or, one might say, so touching: can her heart have spoken? … But in that case, certainly, it is an unhappy love, there is a dark grief at the root of this strange animation… . But unhappy love keeps silent.
Can it be a question of recalling a faithless lover by shining in society?"
And the Duchessa gazed with attention at all the young men who stood round them.
Nowhere could she see any unusual expression, every face shone with a more or less pleased fatuity.
"But a miracle must have happened," the Duchessa told herself, vexed by her inability to solve the mystery. "Where is Conte Mosca, that man of discernment?
No, I am not mistaken, Clelia is looking at me attentively, and as if I was for her the object of a quite novel interest.
Is it the effect of some order received from her father, that vile courtier?
I supposed that young and noble mind to be incapable of lowering itself to any pecuniary consideration.
Can General Fabio Conti have some decisive request to make of the Conte?"
About ten o'clock, a friend of the Duchessa came up to her and murmured a few words; she turned extremely pale: Clelia took her hand and ventured to press it.
"I thank you, and I understand you now … you have a noble heart," said the Duchessa, making an effort to control herself; she had barely the strength to utter these few words.
She smiled profusely at the lady of the house, who rose to escort her to the door of the outermost drawing-room: such honours were due only to Princesses of the Blood, and were for the Duchessa an ironical comment on her position at the moment.
And so she continued to smile at Contessa Zurla, but in spite of untold efforts did not succeed in uttering a single word.
Clelia's eyes filled with tears as she watched the Duchessa pass through these rooms, thronged at the moment with all the most brilliant figures in society.
"What is going to happen to that poor woman," she wondered, "when she finds herself alone in her carriage? It would be an indiscretion on my part to offer to accompany her, I dare not… . And yet, what a consolation it would be to the poor prisoner, sitting in some wretched cell, if he knew that he was loved to such a point!
What a frightful solitude that must be in which they have plunged him!
And we, we are here in these brilliant rooms, how horrible!
Can there be any way of conveying a message to him?
Great God!
That would be treachery to my father; his position is so delicate between the two parties!
What will become of him if he exposes himself to the passionate hatred of the Duchessa, who controls the will of the Prime Minister, who in three out of every four things here is the master?
On the other hand, the Prince takes an unceasing interest in everything that goes on at the fortress, and will not listen to any jest on that subject; fear makes him cruel… . In any case, Fabrizio" (Clelia no longer thought of him as Signor del Dongo) "is greatly to be pitied… . It is a very different thing for him from the risk of losing a lucrative post! … And the Duchessa! … What a terrible passion love is! … And yet all those liars in society speak of it as a source of happiness!
One is sorry for elderly women because they can no longer feel or inspire love… . Never shall I forget what I have just seen; what a sudden change!
How those beautiful, radiant eyes of the Duchessa turned dull and dead after the fatal word which Marchese N—— came up and said to her! … Fabrizio must indeed be worthy of love!"
Breaking in upon these highly serious reflexions, which were absorbing the whole of Clelia's mind, the complimentary speeches which always surrounded her seemed to her even more distasteful than usual.
To escape from them she went across to an open window, half screened by a taffeta curtain; she hoped that no one would be so bold as to follow her into this sort of sanctuary.
This window opened upon a little grove of orange-trees planted in the ground: as a matter of fact, every winter they had to be protected by a covering, Clelia inhaled with rapture the scent of their blossom, and this pleasure seemed to restore a little calm to her spirit.
"I felt that he had a very noble air," she thought, "but to inspire such passion in so distinguished a woman!
She has had the glory of refusing the Prince's homage, and if she had deigned to consent, she would have reigned as queen over his States… . My father says that the Sovereign's passion went so far as to promise to marry her if ever he became free to do so… . And this love for Fabrizio has lasted so long!
For it is quite five years since we met them by the Lake of Como… . Yes, it is quite five years," she said to herself after a moment's reflexion. "I was struck by it even then, when so many things passed unnoticed before my childish eyes.
How those two ladies seemed to admire Fabrizio! … "
Clelia remarked with joy that none of the young men who had been speaking to her with such earnestness had ventured to approach her balcony.
One of them, the Marchese Crescenzi, had taken a few steps in that direction, but had then stopped by a card-table.
"If only," she said to herself, "under my window in our palazzo in the fortress, the only one that has any shade, I had some pretty orange-trees like these to look at, my thoughts would be less sad: but to have as one's sole outlook the huge blocks of stone of the Torre Farnese… .
Ah!" she cried with a convulsive movement, "perhaps that is where they have put him.
I must speak about it at once to Don Cesare!
He will be less severe than the General.
My father is certain to tell me nothing on our way back to the fortress, but I shall find out everything from Don Cesare… . I have money, I could buy a few orange-trees, which, placed under the window of my aviary, would prevent me from seeing that great wall of the Torre Farnese.
How infinitely more hateful still it will be to me now that I know one of the people whom it hides from the light of day! … Yes, it is just the third time I have seen him.
Once at court, at the ball on the Princess's birthday; to-day, hemmed in by three constables, while that horrible Barbone was begging for handcuffs to be put on him, and the other time by the Lake of Como. That is quite five years ago.
What a hang-dog air he had then! How he stared at the constables, and what curious looks his mother and his aunt kept giving him.
Certainly there must have been some secret that day, some special knowledge which they were keeping to themselves; at the time, I had an idea that he too was afraid of the police… ." Clelia shuddered; "But how ignorant I was!
No doubt at that time the Duchessa had already begun to take an interest in him. How he made us laugh after the first few minutes, when the ladies, in spite of their obvious anxiety, had begun to grow more accustomed to the presence of a stranger! … And this evening I had not a word to say in reply when he spoke to me… . O ignorance and timidity! How often you have the appearance of the blackest cowardice!
And I am like this at twenty, yes and past twenty! … I was well-advised to think of the cloister; really I am good for nothing but retirement. 'Worthy daughter of a gaoler!' he will have been saying to himself.