exquisitely, and aged diplomatistsand politicians bent beneath the weight of their gold-laced coats andmany decorations. The room was a bewildering blaze of colour, diamondsgleaming in the tiaras of the women and in the crosses of the men, whileon every hand was the loud, excited chatter of the gay, laughing crowdbidden there by royal command.
Lord Elton was chatting in English with Mary and her mother, explainingthat only yesterday he had returned from London, where he had been onleave, when of a sudden three loud, distinct knocks were heard, and inan instant there was silence. Then, a moment later, at the farther endof the apartment two long white doors were thrown open by the royalflunkeys bearing white wands in their hands, and through them flowed thecrowd into the magnificent ballroom, one of the finest both inproportions and in decoration of any palace in the world. And here andin the suite of huge gilded reception-rooms beyond the gay court ofItaly commenced its revels as the splendid orchestra in the balconystruck up the first dance upon the programme.
From the ballroom there opened out through the open doors a vista ofmagnificent salons unequalled in grandeur even in that city of ancientpalaces, and the elderly folk who did not care for dancing strolledaway, greeting their friends at every step, and forming little groupsfor gossip.
Mary, who had quickly become separated from her mother, found herself,almost before she was aware of it, in the arms of her friend CaptainFred Houghton, the British naval attache, dancing over the magnificentfloor and receiving his compliments, while in a corner of the room,apart from the others, stood Angelo Borselli in his general's uniform,watching her with a strange smile upon his thin lips.
And all around was in progress that drama of intrigue, of statecraft andduplicity, of diplomacy, of unscrupulous scheming for office and powerwhich is inseparable from the vicinity of every European throne.
In that gold and white room, while the orchestra played waltz-music, theprosperity of the gallant Italian nation often trembled in the balance,for those polished floors formed the stage whereon some of the strangestof modern dramas were enacted.
CHAPTER THIRTY.
THE PATH OF THE TEMPTER.
An hour had passed, and Mary, against her inclination, had danced withvarious partners, and had heard around her comments regarding herpersonal beauty and her dress such as always reached her ears on suchoccasions. Everyone courted and flattered her, for in that gay courtcircle she was one of its reigning queens. Yet the hot air stifled her;the mingled perfumes of flowers and chiffons nauseated her. She hatedit all, and was longing to get away back to the solitude of her ownroom, where, after old Teresa had brushed her hair, she might sit in herbig easy-chair and think.
Blase of life before her time, she was disappointed, world-weary, andheart-broken, although as yet only in her early womanhood. She had beendancing with the young Prince de Sarsina, a well-known figure in Romansociety, and he had led her to a seat beside the old Duchess de Rovigor,when, in the lull of the music, those mysterious knocks were againrepeated, and at the farther end of the ballroom there stood theblack-habited royal chamberlain.
There was silence at once. Then the royal official announced in Italianin a loud, ringing voice--
"His Majesty the King!"
And at the same moment a pair of long gilt and blue doors were flungopen, and into the room there advanced the sovereign, a well-set-up,pleasant-faced figure with white moustache, before whom all bowed lowthree times in obeisance as he strode with regal gait into the centre ofthe enormous ballroom. In his splendid uniform outrivalling all, andwearing the grand crosses of the Crown of Italy, Maurice and Lazarus,and Savoy orders of which he was master, his figure presented a fittingcentre to that brilliant assembly; and soon, when the obeisances weremade and he had saluted in return, he moved away in conversation withMorini, who, as all were aware, was one of his most intimate friends.
Then, when the queen, wearing her wonderful pearls, entered with thesame ceremony, together with the Crown Prince and Princess of Naples,the orchestra struck up again and the revelry continued notwithstandingthe presence of the sovereigns, who mixed freely with their guests andlaughed and talked with them.
Presently, as Mary on the arm of a partner was passing near to where HerMajesty was sitting upon the raised dais at the end of the room, thequeen suddenly beckoned to her, whereupon she left the man who was herescort, curtseyed as etiquette demanded, and approached the royalpresence.
"I only heard the news the day before yesterday on our return fromBerlin," exclaimed Her Majesty in English, with a kindly smile as thegirl came up to her. "But of course your engagement scarcely comes as asurprise. Let me congratulate you. You must present the count to me atthe first opportunity. Is he now in Rome?"
"No, Madame," was the girl's blushing reply. "But I thank your Majestyfor your kind thought of me."
"I wish you every happiness, my dear," declared the queen, for Mary wasan especial favourite with her. "Perhaps I may be able to attend yourwedding. When will it be?"
"In June, Madame."
"Very well. Give me good notice of the date, and I'll see if I cancome." And then she dismissed the Minister's daughter by turning tospeak with one of her ladies-in-waiting who had returned from executingsome commission upon which her royal mistress had sent her.
What irony, thought the girl, as she curtseyed and left the royal thetrap into which she had fallen!
Through those high-roofed, magnificent chambers, with their wonderfulfriezes, priceless paintings, and gilt furniture, she wandered on,acknowledging greetings on every hand, yet only mechanically, for herthoughts were far away from that scene of royal revelry. The atmosphereheld her asphyxiated, the music jarred upon her ears, and the gossip sheheard on every side was for her devoid of all interest.
One face alone arose before her amid that glittering throng, the face ofthe Englishman she had met so unexpectedly that morning--George Macbean.
And why? She asked herself that question, and yet to it could give nodirect response. His frank honesty of countenance and his muscularEnglish form attracted her, but when the suggestion crossed her mindthat she loved him, she laughed such an idea to scorn. They werecomparative strangers, and she prided herself on being one who had neverfallen into the error of affection at first sight as so many other girlsdid. Her character, it was true, was too well balanced for that.
Yet the truth remained that all her thoughts that day had been of him.
Both the Baron Riboulet, the French Ambassador, and old Prince Demidoffhad grasped her hand and paid their compliments, while the princessmanaged to whisper in French, "I never saw you looking so well asto-night, my dear. That gown suits you admirably, and is by far themost striking here. One cannot wonder at Count Dubard's choice. He hasalways been known in Paris as a connoisseur of beauty, you know," andHer Excellency the Princess showed her yellow teeth in a broad grin atwhat she meant as humour.
Wherever Mary went, half a dozen of the younger men followed in hertrain like bees about their queen. She laughed with them, made humorousremarks, and chatted to them with that air of bright, irresponsiblegaiety by which she so cleverly concealed the heavy burden of grief anddisappointment that filled her heart. In Roman society the younger menvied with each other to become friends of Mary Morini, hence at suchfunctions as these they liked to be seen in her company, laughing ordancing with her.
The young Duke di Forano, who had recently returned from Paris, where hehad acted as first secretary of the Italian Embassy, had taken her in tosupper in the huge winter garden where the tiny tables were set beneaththe palms, and they had been waited upon by the royal servants. In thedim light of the Chinese lanterns the duke, an old friend, had taken herhand in his; but she had withdrawn it in indignation, saying--
"You have no right to do that, now that I am engaged."
"Ah yes! of course," he exclaimed, with a word of apology, at onceinterested. "I heard something about it in Paris, but quite forgot.Jules Dubard is the lucky fellow--isn't he?"
> She nodded.
And as she looked into his dark, well-cut features in the half-light shefancied she discerned a curious look, half of pity and half of surprise.
"I hope you'll be happy," he remarked in a hard voice. "I alwaysthought you would marry Solaro--poor devil! Do you remember him?"
"Remember!" she echoed. "Yes; I recollect everything. You may well say`poor devil.' He has been convicted of being a traitor--of selling armysecrets to France."
"I know--I know," answered her companion quickly. "We had all thepapers concerning the charges through the Embassy, and I am aware of allthe facts. My own idea is that he's innocent, yet how can it be proved?He was betrayed by some heartless woman in Bologna, it seems. She madeall sorts of charges against him."
"She lied!" cried Mary quickly. "He is innocent. I know he is, andsome day I hope to