CHAPTER XVI

THE PRINCE MAKES LOVE

On leaving the house of Mlle. Solini, Naumann returned directly to his rooms at No. 5 Walderin Place, in a state of mind not easily to be described.

There could be no more nonsense about forgetting Vivi Janvour—that he knew. He loved her, and he would always love her. He wanted her as he wanted nothing else in the world.

He called himself a fool, an idiot, a thundering imbecile. After all, had she asked him anything unreasonable? Was not her attitude toward Mlle. Solini perfectly understandable—more, was it not commendable? Should she be condemned for her loyalty?

Still, if she loved him, could she not make concessions to his prejudices and beliefs—beliefs well founded on knowledge?

One thing was certain—he could do nothing about the poisoned tarts. The note might possibly be proved a forgery, but Vivi herself had been nearly deceived by it. It was written on her own paper.

Any activity of his in the matter would probably result in more trouble for her than for the one he knew to be guilty. Aline Solini possessed the cleverness of the devil himself. So thought Naumann as he took the box containing the four remaining tarts and threw it on the fire.

Then he sat down to watch it burn, railing at Fate, as many another man has done with less reason before and since.

There we will leave him, to return to No. 341 the Drive, after passing over an afternoon and a night. You may be sure Mlle. Solini was wasting no time in railing at Fate; she was not in the habit of leaving her affairs to the management of that dame’s capricious hands.

Nevertheless, her great campaign was not prospering. Her ship of intrigue was caught in a dead calm. Her subtle and powerful attack appeared to have been repulsed not only with ease, but also with contempt.

In plain English, she had received no message nor hint of one from the Prince of Marisi since General Nirzann’s diplomatic mission of two days before. True, she had seen the general several times, but all he would say of the prince was that Aline’s message had been delivered, and that there was no reply.

So much being explained, you will understand the light that flashed in the eyes of Mlle. Solini when, on the day following that on which Naumann had won and lost his love, she was informed by Czean, as she sat at her writing-desk in her boudoir, that the Prince of Marisi was awaiting her in the drawing-room.

“Tell him I will be down shortly,” said Aline, while her eyes flashed with joy. Fifteen minutes later she descended, having made a hasty but by no means ineffective toilet.

In the first minute, after greeting the royal visitor, she saw that the message carried by General Nirzann had had its effect. The prince had descended from the attitude of a man who takes what he wants to that of one who takes what he can get.

It was not exactly that he treated her with increased respect, for he had never been lacking in that; it was something subtle and indefinable in his manner of looking at her and speaking to her that seemed to say, “You make the rules; I will follow them.”

They conversed for an hour, amiably but quite impersonally, on every conceivable topic. The prince made no mention whatever of the message he had sent by General Nirzann, or the one that had been returned to him.

He appeared to think it quite natural to drop in for a little chat with Mlle. Solini, though Aline knew that no one else in Marisi had ever been similarly honored.

As he rose to go the prince said, “No doubt you received a card from De Mide?”

Aline answered in the negative.

The prince continued, “Perhaps he hasn’t sent them out yet. I am giving a dinner at the palace tomorrow evening, and I have placed your name on the list. I shall see you there?”

“Is it not a command?” smiled Aline carelessly, concealing the elation that rose within her. Had not the Countess Potacci tried to console her the day before because she had not been invited to this dinner?

“I would not have you consider it so,” the prince was saying in answer to her question. “When we are willing to ask a favor of anyone we do not presume to command them.”

“If it is a command, I obey.”

“And if it is a favor?”

“I grant it.”

A minute later the prince departed. The door had no sooner closed behind him than Aline rushed to her room to send a note to the dear countess.

When the card of invitation arrived that evening it was found to contain the name of Mlle. Janvour as well as that of Mlle. Solini. This struck Aline as a little curious; nevertheless, she went with it at once to Vivi’s room to acquaint her with the news and consider what dress she should wear.

But Vivi declined flatly to go at all. She was lying on the bed with a damp cloth tied round her head; her eyes were red and swollen and her face white.

“Come,” said Aline, “this is absurd! And all for that little fool of a Naumann! Dear child, he isn’t worth a single tear. You must go; an invitation from the prince is a command.”

Vivi said stubbornly, “I can’t help it. I won’t go! Say I’m sick; say anything you want. I won’t go!”

Aline was forced to give it up.

Accordingly, the following evening, at a little before seven o’clock, Mlle. Solini departed for the palace alone in her limousine. Strictly speaking, of course, it was Stetton’s limousine; but no one knew that.

It was her first glimpse within the palace, and the truth was that she was more than a little uneasy at her lack of knowledge of the proprieties and ceremonies to be observed. Once inside the great bronze gates at the entrance, she was conducted by a servant down the shining marble corridor to an apartment at its farther end. She had no sooner stepped on the threshold than she heard the voice of General Paul Nirzann.

“Ah! We have been expecting you, cousin.”

In another instant he was at her side, and they crossed the room together, surrounded by a low murmur of admiration from the assembled company at the appearance of Mlle. Solini. Aline was at home.

Three hours later she returned to No. 341 flushed with triumph. She had outshone every other woman in the room—that much she could see with her own eyes, even if she had not seen it in the eyes of the men.

At dinner she had sat at the right hand of the prince, and throughout the evening he had paid her marked attention, to the exclusion of everyone else. This, of course, had not pleased the ladies present; the old Countess Larchini had been moved to the point where she administered a direct snub to Aline loud enough for all to hear. Shortly afterward Aline had heard Mme. Chebe ask the countess the cause of her quarrel with “the beautiful Russian.”

“I have no quarrel with her,” Larchini had replied. “She is an upstart, and must be shown her place.”

To which Mme. Chebe had retorted, “Take care, countess; you are indiscreet; what if her place turns out to be the palace?”

At the recollection of which Aline was still smiling as she mounted the stairs to her room after returning home; the smile was a scornful one.

“Bah! They are of no importance one way or the other,” she said to herself as she rang the bell for her maid. “Well, we will see.”

Whatever were the prince’s thoughts, it soon became evident to all of Marisi that they were concerned with the beautiful Russian. On the afternoon of the day following the dinner-party his limousine was seen standing for two hours in front of No. 341. The next day it was the same, and the next, and many days thereafter.

Marisi began to talk. What was worse, Marisi began to whisper; and some slight echoes reached the ears of Mlle. Solini. At each succeeding report, carried to her by her faithful friend, the Countess Potacci, she frowned and said nothing.

Receptions and entertainments were now being given at the palace almost daily, and the beautiful Russian was always present, and the place of honor was always hers. She no longer accepted any invitations save those of the Countess Potacci and Mme. Chebe, who—as she was perfectly well aware—were engaged with the others in tearing her to pieces behind her back. Aline smiled at them, biding her time in patience.

It soon began to appear that she would need all the patience she possessed, and more: She had given up her afternoon drives, for the prince called every day. But when that is said, everything is said.

He did not speak the words that Mlle. Solini wanted to hear; he did not assume the attitude she expected and desired. He had attempted once or twice in his masterful way to make love to her; but Mlle. Solini, whose quick ear had detected at once the fact that he was pitched in the wrong key, had repulsed without offending him.

Each time he had responded to her desire with the most perfect good nature.

At length Mlle. Solini grew impatient. One evening after the prince had gone she sat for two hours alone in the library, meditating on her tactics and trying to discover the error in her strategy. There could be no doubt, she told herself, that the prince was fascinated by her.

He spent several hours of every day with her; he humored her slightest whim, when she thought it advisable to have any; twice, to try her power, she had actually dictated his policy on affairs of state, one of which had been of some importance.

What was it, then, that held him back? The mere fact that she was not of royal birth? She turned that suggestion aside with scorn; she knew the prince; he was not a man to be hindered in his desires by ordinary or conventional obstacles.

It must be—and this thought had occurred to Mlle. Solini many times within the month—it must be that General Nirzann had betrayed her by revealing to the prince the truth of his own connection with her. Ah, if he had! Aline’s eyes blazed dangerously.

“At any rate,” she said to herself as she arose to dress for dinner, “I shall know tomorrow. I shall risk all, and I shall either win or lose. We shall see.”

The following afternoon the prince called at a little after two o’clock, as usual. Aline received him in the library quite informally, for they had come to know each other very well indeed, and had long since dispensed with all ceremony. On this occasion, however, there was a certain constraint, an air of aloofness, in her manner, and the prince observed it at once, glancing at her curiously. The glance did not escape Mlle. Solini; she had resolved that on that afternoon nothing should escape her.

“I am moved once more to observe,” said the prince, drawing up an easy chair before the fire, “that this is easily the pleasantest spot in all Marisi. And if you knew how I love my study, mademoiselle, you would appreciate the compliment.”

Aline, who was seated in a chair by the table, merely smiled for reply.

“And all it needs for perfection,” continued the prince, “is for you to be reading aloud. Poor De Mide! I have grown to detest the very sound of the man’s voice. Yesterday morning, if you will believe me, I came nearly throwing a book at him. What shall it be today? Turgenef?”

Aline replied, “I don’t believe I shall read today, your highness. I don’t feel inclined that way.”

“No?” The prince turned around in his chair to look at her. “Not the headache, I hope?”

“No, I have not a headache today.” (The reader will understand that Mlle. Solini’s headaches had occurred on those rare occasions when she had been unable to refuse an afternoon to Mr. Richard Stetton, of New York.) “I don’t feel like reading; that is all.”

“I am sorry; I had really counted on something of Turgenef today,” said the prince in the tone of a man who has been unjustly deprived of a privilege. “Well, then we shall talk. You will be glad to hear that young Aschovin has been pardoned.”

“Your highness is most kind.”

“Come, now!” Again the prince turned around in his chair. “That is not a tone for you to use to me, mademoiselle. You know it.”

“Nevertheless, I use it, your highness.”

The prince rose to his feet, facing her, and said abruptly, “Something is wrong. What is it?”

“Nothing, your highness.”

“Have I offended you?”

Aline did not reply. She sat for a moment, returning his gaze in silence; then she also rose to her feet and stood facing him, with eyes that were clear with the light of a sudden resolve. Finally she spoke.

“Your highness is right; there is something wrong. I have something to say—something unpleasant—unpleasant, that is, for me.”

The prince frowned; when there was anything unpleasant to be said he much preferred to say it himself.

As he did not speak, Aline continued, “It is possible that your highness will be offended, and that is why it is unpleasant. Still, you ought not to be; you have told me often to be frank with you. It is this, that your highness must not come to see me anymore.”

The prince gazed at her as though he had not understood.

“Not come to see you anymore?” he repeated blankly.

“No. You will understand. Do you not know that all Marisi is talking about me? Perhaps your highness does not hear these things; then I will tell you that everyone is saying that I am your mistress. There, you see I am quite frank. It is absurd, of course; but I must preserve the shred of reputation that is left to me.”

Certainly the prince could understand that. He did so, and was instantly on his guard, though he could not quite conceal his astonishment as he looked at the beautiful Russian with a gaze that tried to force its way into her heart. There was a long silence.

Aline resumed her chair; the racing of her pulse was not betrayed by any expression of her face. The prince walked to the fireplace and stood for a long time looking down on the red coals. When he turned it was with a gesture of determination. He spoke abruptly.

“You say it is absurd for Marisi to suppose that you are my mistress. Why? You are playing with me, mademoiselle, and that is a dangerous game.”

Aline interrupted him with a voice quite as firm as his own, “Pardon me; your highness is mistaken.”

“Mademoiselle, it is hard to believe you.”

“Believe it or not, your highness, it is the truth.”

“Then, if that is so,” demanded the prince, taking a step toward her, “tell me why you have given your time to me. You have made me love you—you have made yourself necessary for my happiness—and now you send me away! Mademoiselle, there is something behind all this!”

“Nothing more, your highness, than a desire to preserve my honor.”

The prince glanced at her with quick suspicion. “And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that whatever my own happiness might require, I would not take it with a burden of shame.”

“Ah,” said the prince slowly, while the light of understanding appeared on his face, “I see!”

“I expected nothing,” Aline interrupted. “Or if I did, I do so no longer.”

Her voice was tremulous with emotion.

“Do you not see that you are being cruel to me? That what you say is more painful to me than death? It seems I expected the impossible. I am paying for it now.”

Her voice trembled so that she seemed scarcely able to go on.

“Yes, I admit it. I expected—everything. Now leave me—go—go!”

She leaned forward in her chair and buried her face in her arms on the table.

For a moment the prince stood looking down at her uncertainly; then suddenly he bent over and placed his arm across her shoulder. Her sleeve, flowing open, exposed her arm; his hand rested on her delicious white skin; his head was so close to hers that her hair was against his cheek and about his eyes.

He said in an uneven voice, “Aline—I did not think—it is impossible—come—you must love me—look at me—you must—”

Aline’s shoulders were shaking under his touch, and when her voice came it was mingled with sobs.

“Go!” she cried. “Leave me—please—you are brutal—go—go—”

He pulled at her; she would not move, but kept begging him to go. Then, feeling perhaps that a prince cannot afford to make himself ridiculous, he straightened up abruptly and turned away.

With a last, lingering glance at Aline’s shaking figure from the door of the library, he left the house without another word.

Aline waited till she had heard the outer door close behind him.

Then she jumped up from her chair and ran to the window in front in time to see him enter his limousine and drive away. When she turned there was a smile on her face—a smile of joy and triumph.

She said to herself aloud, “He is mine!”