"You, Mademoiselle," cried Nina, and for the first time a slight warmth coloring the tone of her manner, "you, Mademoiselle, the belle, the beauty, the acknowledged beauty of Florence!"

"Nina! Nina!" cried Kate rebukingly.

"I hope Mademoiselle will forgive me. I would not for the world fail in my respect," said Nina, with deep humility; "but I was only repeating what others spoke."

"I am not angry, Nina, at least, not with you," said Kate, hurriedly.

"With myself, indeed, I 'm scarcely quite pleased. But who could have said such a silly thing?"

"Every one, Mademoiselle, every one, as they were standing beneath the terrace t' other evening. I overheard Count Labinski say it to Captain Onslow; and then my Lady took it up, and said, 'You are quite right, gentlemen; there is nothing that approaches her in beauty.'"

"Nina! dear Nina!" said Kate, covering her flushed face with both hands.

"The Count de Melzi was more enthusiastic than even the rest. He vowed that he had grown out of temper with his Raffaelles since he saw you."

A hearty burst of laughter from Kate told that this flattery, at least, had gone too far. And now she resumed her seat at the writing-table.

It was of the Splugen Pa.s.s and Como she had been writing; of the first burst of Italy upon the senses, as, crossing the High Alps, the land of the terraced vine lay stretched beneath. She tried to fall back upon the memory of that glorious scene as it broke upon her; but it was in vain.

Other and far different thoughts had gained the mastery. It was no longer the calm lake, on whose mirrored surface snow-peaks and glaciers were reflected; it was not of those crags, over which the wild-fig and the olive, the oleander and the mimosa, are spreading, she could think.

Other images crowded to her brain; troops of admirers were before her fancy; the hum of adulation filled her ears; splendid salons, resounding with delicious music, and ablaze with a thousand wax-lights, rose before her imagination, and her heart swelled with conscious triumph. The transition was most abrupt, then, from a description of scenery and natural objects to a narrative of the actual life of Florence:

"Up to this, Nelly, we have seen no one, except Mr. Jekyl, whom you will remember as having met at Baden. He dines here several days every week, and is most amusing with his funny anecdotes and imitations, for he knows everybody, and is a wonderful mimic. You 'd swear Dr. Grounsell was in the next room if you heard Mr. Jekyl' s imitation. There has been some difficulty about an opera-box, for Mr. Jekyl, who manages everybody, will insist upon having Prince Midchekoff's, which is better than the royal box, and has not succeeded. For this reason we have not yet been to the Opera; and, as the Palace has been undergoing a total change of decoration and furniture, there has been no reception here as yet; but on Tuesday we are to give our first ball.

All that I could tell you of splendor, my dearest Nelly, would be nothing to the reality of what I see here. Such magnificence in every detail; such troops of servants, all so respectful and obliging, and some dressed in liveries that resemble handsome uniforms! Such gold and silver plate!

such delicious flowers everywhere on the staircase, in the drawing-room, here, actually, beside me as I write! And, oh, Nelly, if you could see my dress! Lace, with bouquets of red camellia, and looped up with strings of small pearls. Think of me, of poor Kate Dal ton, wearing such splendor! And, strange enough, too, I do not feel awkward in it. My hair, that you used to think I dressed so well myself, has been p.r.o.nounced a perfect horror; and although I own it did shock me at first to hear it, I now see that they were perfectly right. Instead of bands, I wear ringlets down to my very shoulders; and Nina tells me there never was such an improvement, as the character of my features requires softening. Such quant.i.ties of dress as I have got, too! for there is endless toilette here; and although I am now growing accustomed to it, at first it worried me dreadfully, and left me no time to read. And, a propos of reading, Lady Hester has given me such a strange book, 'Mathilde,' it is called; very clever, deeply interesting, but not the kind of reading you would like; at least, neither the scenes nor the characters such as you would care for. Of course I take it to be a good picture of life in another sphere from what I have seen myself; and if it be, I must say there is more vice in high society than I believed. One trait of manners, however, I cannot help admiring, the extreme care that every one takes never to give even the slightest offence; not only that the wrong thing is never said, but ever even suggested.

Such an excessive deference to others' feelings bespeaks great refinement, if not a higher and better quality. Lady Hester is delightful in this respect. I cannot tell you how the charm of her manner grows into a fascination. Captain Onslow I see little of, but he is always good-humored and gay; and as for Sir Stafford, he is like a father in the kindliness and affection of his cordiality. Sydney I miss greatly; she was nearly of my own age, and although so much superior to me in every way, so companionable and sisterlike. We are to write to each other if she does not return soon. I intended to have said so much about the galleries, but Mr. Jekyl does quiz so dreadfully about artistic enthusiasm, I am actually ashamed to say a word; besides, to me, Nelly, beautiful pictures impart pleasure less from intrinsic merit than from the choice of subject and the train of thoughts they originate; and for this reason I prefer Salvator Rosa to all other painters. The romantic character of his scenery, the kind of story that seems to surround his characters, the solemn tranquillity of his moonlights, the mellow splendor of his sunsets, actually heighten one's enjoyment of the realities in nature. I am ashamed to own that Raffaelle is less my favorite than t.i.tian, whose portraits appear to reveal the whole character and life of the individual represented. In Velasq'uez there is another feature--"

Here came an interruption, for Nina came with gloves to choose, and now arose the difficult decision between a fringe of silver filigree and a deep fall of Valenciennes lace, a question on both sides of which Mademoiselle Nina had much to say. In all these little discussions, the mock importance lent to mere trifles at first amused Kate, and even provoked her laughter; but, by degrees, she learned not only to listen to them with attention, but even to take her share in the consultation. Nina's great art lay in her capacity for adapting a costume to the peculiar style and character of the wearer; and, however exaggerated were some of her notions on this subject, there was always a sufficiency of shrewd sense and good taste in her remarks to overbear any absurdity in her theory. Kate Dalton, whose whole nature had been simplicity and frankness itself, was gradually brought to a.s.sume a character with every change of toilette; for if she came down to breakfast in a simple robe of muslin, she changed it for a costume de paysanna to walk in the garden, and this again for a species of hunting-dress to ride in the Cascini, to appear afterwards at dinner in some new type of a past age; an endless variety of these devices at last engaging attention, and occupying time, to the utter exclusion of topics more important and interesting.

The letter was now to be resumed; but the clew was lost, and her mind was only fettered with topics of dress and toilette. She walked out upon the terrace to recover her composure; but beneath the window was rolling on that endless tide of people and carriages that swells up the great flood of a capital city. She turned her steps to another side, and there, in the pleasure-ground, was George Onslow, with a great horse-sheet round him, accustoming a newly purchased Arabian to the flapping of a riding-skirt. It was a present Sir Stafford had made her the day before. Everything she saw, everything she heard, recalled but one image, herself! The intoxication of this thought was intense.

Life a.s.sumed features of delight and pleasure she had never conceived possible before. There was an interest imparted to everything, since in everything she had her share. Oh! most insidious of all poisons is that of egotism, which lulls the conscience by the soft flattery we whisper to ourselves, making us to believe that we are such as the world affects to think us. How ready are we to take credit for gifts that have been merely lent us by a kind of courtesy, and of which we must make rest.i.tution, when called upon, with what appet.i.te we may.

For the time, indeed, the ecstasy of this delusion is boundless. Who has not, at some one moment or other of his life, experienced the entrancing delight of thinking that the world is full of his friends and admirers, that good wishes follow him as he goes, and kind welcomes await his coming? Much of our character for good or evil, of our subsequent utility in life, or our utter helplessness, will depend upon how we stand the season of trial. Kate Daiton possessed much to encourage this credulity; she was not only eminently handsome, but she had that species of fascination in her air which a clever French writer defines as the feminine essence, "plus femme que les autres femmes." If a very critical eye might have detected in her manner and address certain little awkwardnesses, a less exacting judgment would have probably been struck with them as attractions, recalling the fact of her youth, her simplicity, and the freshness of her nature. Above all other charms, however, was the radiant happiness that beamed out in every word and look and gesture; such a thorough sense of enjoyment, so intense a pleasure in life, is among the very rarest of all gifts.

There was enough of singularity, of the adventurous, in the nature of her position, to excel all the romance of her nature; there was more than enough of real splendor around her to give an air of fact and truth to the highest flights of her imagination. Had she been the sole daughter of the house and name, flatteries and caresses could not have been lavished on her more profusely; her will consulted, her wishes inquired, her taste evoked on every occasion. And yet, with all these seductions about her, she was not yet spoiled not yet! Home and its dear a.s.sociations were ever present to her mind; her humble fortune, and that simple life she used to lead, enforcing lessons of humility not yet distasteful. She could still recur to the memory of the little window that looked over the "Murg," and think the scenery beautiful. Her dear, dear papa was still all she had ever thought him. Nelly was yet the sweet-tempered, gentle, gifted creature she worshipped as a sister; even Hanserl was the kind, quaint emblem of his own dreamy "Vaterland." As yet no conflict had arisen between the past and the present, between the remembrance of narrow fortune and all its crippling exigencies, and the enjoyment of wealth that seems to expand the generous feelings of the heart. The l.u.s.tre of her present existence threw, as yet, no sickly light over the bygone; would it might have been always so!

CHAPTER XXIII. A SMALL SUPPER PARTY.

THE great ball at the Mazzarini Palace "came off" just as other great b.a.l.l.s have done, and will continue to do, doubtless, for ages hence.

There was the usual, perhaps a little more than the usual, splendor of dress and diamonds; the same glare and crash and glitter and crowd and heat; the same buoyant light-heartedness among the young; the same corroding ennui of the old; taste in dress was criticised, looks were scanned, flirtations detected, quarrels discovered, fans were mislaid, hearts were lost, flounces were torn, and feelings hurt. There was the ordinary measure of what people call enjoyment, mixed up with the ordinary proportion of envy, shyness, pretension, sarcasm, coldness, and malice. It was a grand tournament of human pa.s.sions in white satin and jewels; and if the wounds exchanged were not as rudely administered, they were to the full as dangerous as in the real lists of combat.

Yet, in this mortal conflict, all seemed happy. There was an air of voluptuous abandonment over everything; and whatever cares they might have carried within, as far as appearance went, the world went well and pleasantly with them. The ball was, however, a splendid one; there was everything that could make it such. The salons were magnificent in decoration; the lighting a perfect blaze. There was beauty in abundance, diamonds in ma.s.ses, and a Royal Highness from the Court, an insignificant little man, it is true, with a star and a stutter, who stared at every one, and spoke to n.o.body. Still he was the centre of a glittering group of handsome aides-de-camp, who displayed their fascinations in every gesture and look.

Apart from the great flood-tide of pleasure, down which so many float buoyantly, there is ever on these occasions a deeper current that flows beneath, of human wile and cunning and strategy, just as, in many a German fairy tale, some curious and recondite philosophy lies hid beneath the little incidents related to amuse childhood. It would lead us too far from the path of our story were we to seek for this "tiny thread amid the woof;" enough for our present purpose if we slightly advert to it, by asking our reader to accompany us to the small chamber which called Albert Jekyl master, and where now, at midnight, a little table of three covers was laid for supper. Three flasks of champagne stood in a little ice-pail in one corner, and on a dumbwaiter was arranged a dessert, which, for the season, displayed every charm of rarity. A large bouquet of moss-roses and camellias ornamented the centre of the board, and shed a pleasant odor through the room. The servant, whose dress and look bespoke him a waiter from a restaurant in the neighborhood, had just completed all the arrangements of the table, placing chairs around it, and heaped fresh wood upon the hearth, when a carriage drew up at the door. The merry sound of voices and the step of feet were heard on the stairs, and the next moment a lady entered, whose dress of black lace, adorned with bouquets of blue flowers, admirably set off a figure and complexion of Spanish mould and character. To this, a black lace veil fastened to the hair behind, and worn across the shoulders, contributed. There was a lightness and intrepidity in her step, as she entered the room, that suited the dark, flashing, steady glance of her full black eyes. It would have, indeed, been difficult to trace in that almost insolent air of conscious beauty the calm, subdued, and almost sorrow-struck girl whom we have seen as Nina in a former chapter; but, however dissimilar in appearance, they were the same one individual; and the humble femme de chambre of Kate Dalton was the celebrated ballet-dancer of the great theatre of Barcelona.

The figure which followed was a strange contrast to that light and elegant form. He was an old, short man, of excessive corpulence in body, and whose face was bloated and purple by intemperance. He was dressed in the habit of a priest, and was in reality a canon of the Dome Cathedral.

His unwieldy gait, his short and labored respiration, increased almost to suffocation by the ascent of the stairs and his c.u.mbrous dress, seemed doubly absurd beside the flippant lightness of the "Ballarina."

Jekyl came last, mimicking the old canon behind his back, and putting the waiter's gravity to a severe test by the bloated expansion of his cheek and the fin-like motion of his hands as he went.

"Ecco me!" cried he out, with a deep grunt, as he sank into a chair and wiped the big drops from his forehead with the skirt of his gown.

"You tripped up the stairs like a gazelle, padre," said the girl, as she arranged her hair before the gla.s.s, and disposed the folds of her veil with all the tact of coquetry.

A thick snort, like the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n a hippopotamus might have uttered, was the only reply, and Jekyl, having given a glance over the table to see all was in order, made a sign for Nina to be seated.

"Accursed be the stairs and he that made them!" muttered the padre. "I feel as if my limbs had been torn on the rack. I have been three times up the steps of the high altar already to-day, and am tired as a dog."

"Here is your favorite soup, padre," said Jekyl, as he moved the ladle through a smoking compound, whence a rich odor of tomato and garlic ascended. "This will make you young again."

"And who said I would wish to be young again?" cried the priest, angrily. "I have experience of what youth means every day in the confessional, and I promise you age has the best of it."

"Such a ripe and ruddy age as yours, padre!" said the girl, with affected simplicity.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 274]

"Just so, minx," rejoined he; "such ripeness as portends falling from the tree! Better even that than to be worm-eaten on the stalk; ay, or a wasp's nest within, girl, you understand me."

"You will never be good friends for half an hour together," said Jekyl, as he filled their gla.s.ses with champagne, and then touching his own to each, drank off a b.u.mper.

"These are from Savoy, these truffles, and have no flavor," said the padre, pushing away his plate. "Let me taste that lobster, for this is a half-fast to-day."

"They are like the priests," said Nina, laughing; "all black without and rotten within!"

"The ball went off admirably last night," interposed Jekyl, to stop what he foresaw might prove a sharp altercation.

"Yes," said Nina, languidly. "The dresses were fresher than the wearers.

It was the first time for much of the satin, the same could not be said for many of the company."

"The Balderoni looked well," said Jekyl.

"Too fat, caro mio, too fat!" replied Nina.

"And she has eight penances in the week," grunted out the canon.

"There 's nothing like wickedness for embonpoint, padre," said Nina, laughing.

"Angels always are represented as chubby girls," said the priest, whose temper seemed to improve as he ate on.

"Midchekoff, I thought, was out of temper all the evening," resumed Jekyl; "he went about with his gla.s.s in his eye, seeking for flaws in the lapis lazuli, or retouches in the pictures; and seemed terribly provoked at the goodness of the supper."

"I forgive him all, for not dancing with 'my Lady,'" said Nina. "She kept herself disengaged for the prince for half the night, and the only reward was his Russian compliment of, 'What a bore is a ball when one is past the age of dancing!'"

"Did the Noncio eat much?" asked the padre, who seemed at once curious and envious about the dignitary.

"He played whist all night," said Jekyl, "and never changed his partner!"

"The old Marchesa Guidotti?"

"The same. You know of that, then, padre?" asked Jekyl.