“Where?”
“With the Women’s Movement.”
She laughed.
“Now I’m supposed to be nice?”
“Yes …”
“And promise to help you?”
What difference did it make to her?
“Oh angel, demon!” he exclaimed.
He nibbled a sweet.
“And what does Mr Van der Staal think?” he asked roguishly.
She raised her eyebrows.
“He doesn’t give it any thought. He thinks only about his art.”
“And about you.”
She looked at him, and bowed her head, assenting like a queen.
“And about me.”
“You dine with him often.”
“Yes.”
“Why not dine with me for a change.”
“Oh, I’d love to.”
“Tomorrow evening? Where?”
“Wherever you like.”
“At the Grand-Hôtel?”
“Invite Urania too.”
“Why not just the two of us?”
“I think it’s better to include your wife-to-be. I will chaperone her.”
“You’re right. You’re quite right. And ask Mr Van der Staal if he will do me the honour …”
“I shall.”
“Till tomorrow then, at eight-thirty?”
He got up to take his leave.
“I ought to go,” he said. “Actually I’d rather stay …”
“Well stay then … or stay some other time, if you have to go now.”
“You are so cool.”
“You don’t think nearly enough of Urania.”
“I’m thinking of the Women’s Movement.”
He sat down.
“You really should go,” she said, with a smile in her eyes. “I have to get dressed … to dine with Mr Van der Staal.”
He kissed her hand.
“You are an angel and a demon. You know everything. You can do everything. You are the most interesting woman I have ever met.”
“Because I correct proofs.”
“Because you are who you are …”
And very seriously, still holding her hand, he said, almost threateningly:
“I shall never be able to forget you …”
And he left. When she was alone she opened her windows. She was aware of being something of a coquette, but it was in her nature: she did it so naturally, with some men. Certainly not with all men. Never with Duco. Never with men she looked up to. She despised that jumped-up prince, with his flaming eyes and his kisses … But he was sufficient to amuse her …
She changed and went out, and she arrived in the restaurant long after the appointed hour, found Duco waiting for her, with his head in his hands, and told him at once that the prince had detained her.
XXIII
AT FIRST Duco had been unwilling to accept the prince’s invitation, but Cornélie told him she would enjoy it more if he came. And it had been an excellent dinner in the restaurant of the Grand-Hôtel, and Cornélie had thoroughly enjoyed herself and had looked utterly charming in an old yellow ball gown, a relic from the first days of her marriage, which she had quickly altered a little and draped with the prince’s antique lace. Urania had looked very beautiful, white, fresh, sparkling eyes, sparkling teeth, in a very modern, close-fitting outfit of blue-black sequins on black tulle, as if she were in chain mail; the prince’s verdict was: a siren with a scaly tail. And there had been much peering from other tables at their table, since everyone knew Virgilio di Forte-Braccio; everyone was aware he was to marry a rich American heiress, and everyone had thought that he was being extremely gallant towards the slim, blond woman whom no one knew … She had been married — it was thought; she was chaperoning the princess-to-be; and she was on very close terms with that young man, a Dutch painter, who was studying in Rome. People soon knew the whole story …
Cornélie had enjoyed people looking at her and had flirted so ostentatiously with the prince that Urania had become angry. And early the next morning, while Cornélie was still in bed, no longer thinking of the previous evening but pondering a phrase in her pamphlet, there was a knock and the maid brought in her breakfast and letters and said that Miss Hope wished to speak to her. Cornélie had Urania shown in, while she remained in bed and drank her hot chocolate. And she looked up in surprise when Urania immediately bombarded her with accusations, burst into sobs, called her names, and made an emotional scene, and said that she now saw through her, admitted that the marchesa had warned her to be wary of Cornélie and called her a dangerous woman. Cornélie allowed her to let off steam and replied coolly that she was not aware of any harm having been done, and that on the contrary she had saved Urania; that on the contrary she, as a married woman, had served Urania as a chaperone, not saying that the prince had wanted to dine alone with her, Cornélie … But Urania refused to listen and went on … Cornélie looked at her and found her vulgar in her rage, speaking her American English as if she were chewing hazelnuts, and finally answered coolly:
“Dear girl, you’re getting all worked up about nothing. But if you prefer, I shall write to the prince to ask him to stop his attentions …”
“No, no, don’t do that: Gilio will think I’m jealous …”
“And what are you then?”
“Why are you monopolising Gilio? Why are you flirting with him? Why do you flaunt yourself with him, like yesterday, in a crowded restaurant?”
“Well, if you don’t like it …I won’t flirt with Gilio any more and won’t flaunt myself with him … I don’t give two hoots about that prince of yours …”
“All the more reason.”
“It’s agreed, dear child.”
Her coolness calmed Urania, who asked,
“And we will stay good friends, won’t we?”
“But of course, dear girl. Is there any reason for us to fall out? I can’t see any …”
The pair of them, the prince and Urania, didn’t matter two hoots to her. True, she had preached at Urania at first, but about a general idea: later, when she realised Urania’s insignificance, she lost her interest in the girl. And if a little fun and innocent flirting upset her, well, that would be the end of it … Her mind was more on the proofs of her article that had come in the post … She got up, stretched …
“Go into the sitting-room, Urania my dear, and let me have my bath …”
After a while she rejoined Urania in the sitting-room, fresh and smiling. Urania was crying.
“My dear girl, what are you getting so upset about? Your dream has almost come true. Your marriage is a virtual certainty. Are you waiting for a reply from Chicago? Are you impatient? Send a telegram. I would have telegraphed to start with. You surely don’t think your father has an objection to your becoming duchess of San Stefano?”
“I don’t know if I do myself,” cried Urania. “I don’t know, I don’t know …”
Cornélie shrugged her shoulders.
“You’re cleverer than I thought …”
“Are you really a good friend? Can I trust you? Can I trust your advice?”
“I don’t want to give you any more advice. I gave you advice. Now you must make up your own mind.”
Urania took her hand.
“What do you prefer: that I take Gilio … or … not?”
Cornélie looked her deep in the eyes.
“You’re making yourself unhappy for nothing. You think, and the marchesa probably thinks with you, that I am trying to take Gilio away from you? No, darling, I would not want to marry Gilio, even if he were king and emperor. I have a bit of the Socialist in me: I won’t marry a title …”
“Neither will I …”
“Of course you won’t, darling. I would never dare maintain that you were doing it … But you’re asking me what I would like to see? Well, I give you a straight answer: I wouldn’t like to see anything. It leaves me completely cold.”