“Do they enjoy it?”
“Oh, yes—at least the mother does, enormously. About the daughter, I am not so sure—she has something at the bottom of her heart—something I do not understand....”
“Yes?” he said, as she paused.
“Ah, well,” she said, with sudden vehemence, “what woman has not something at the bottom of her heart—a little worm which gnaws and gnaws!” She checked herself and touched her napkin to her lips. “Do not heed me—it is nothing!”
At that moment came the pauillac—those tender and delicious ribs of milk-fed lamb from the country below Bordeaux—and again the head waiter beamed at Selden’s approving nod.
“But it was amusing,” went on the countess; “those journalists camped about the place as at a siege. They have a villa at Cimiez, the Davises—a large place which they have taken furnished. They have picked up their servants where they could, and of course the servants are in no way loyal, but are looking only to make all they can out of the rich Americans. They had orders, those servants, to admit none of the journalists, but first this one and then that one would bribe his way in. But it was of no use. It seems that Baron Lappo had impressed upon Madame Davis that she was not to talk—not a word to any one. He must have hinted at terrible consequences, for she was quite awed, and all she would say was ‘Please go away,’ over and over again until the butler would come and lead the journalist away. Indeed, she had rather the air of expecting to be blown up, but she has set her heart upon being the mother of a queen, and nothing will deter her, not even assassination. She has even the idea that it might be well to cement the union doubly by marrying her son to the Princess Anna.”
Selden laughed.
“I fancy she will have some difficulty there!”
“Yes, but she is counting upon your assistance.”
“My assistance?”