Among the first to arrive was the Mayor of Ajaccio, accompanied by his two daughters, Carlotta and Josefa. Count Napier Mont d’Oro escorted his mother, the Countess, and Miss Renville. Admiral Enright was accompanied by his daughter, Helen. Vivienne, whose quick eye saw every guest long before he was presented to her, noticed that Lieutenant Duquesne was not with them. The thought came to her that her brother Pascal had, without doubt, told the young Englishman that his presence was no longer desired, but her inward anger against her brother was far less intense than against Count Mont d’Oro, whom she looked upon as the real cause of the young man’s proscription. Among the late arrivals was Dr. Valentino Procida, who was the proprietor of a private asylum for the insane at Salvanetra, a village about five miles from Alfieri. The company grew by constant accessions, until it became both large and brilliant, completely filling the spacious drawing-room.
Pascal and Julien, attired in the national costume, over which they wore the regalia of the Batistelli family, together with the traditional red rosette upon their left breasts, acted as ushers and presented the guests to Vivienne, upon whose face forced smiles quickly appeared, immediately followed by unmistakable looks of disappointment.
At a signal from Pascal the musicians began to play, while Julien motioned to the guests to step back, thereby leaving Vivienne standing alone in the middle of the great room.
Seven young and pretty girls, also wearing the national dress, entered, one of them bearing a floral wreath containing eighteen roses, which she placed upon Vivienne’s head. As she did so, the musicians, who were provided with bells, rang out a silvery chime. The girls then joined hands, formed a circle about Vivienne, while their fresh young voices sang the Birthday Song:
“Set the birthday bells a-ringing;
To our queen her friends are bringing
Freshest flowers of every hue,
Dripping with the evening dew.
All advancing,
We are dancing,
Bringing flowers of every hue,
Dripping with the evening dew.
Hear the ringing and the chiming
Of the merry, merry bells,
Eighteen years their story tells.
How within the heart it swells!
All advancing,
We are dancing,
To the ringing of the bells,
Merry, merry birthday bells.”
At the close of the song they let go of each other’s hands and formed in line, facing Vivienne. Seven young men, dressed in the costume of peasants of the better class, next entered, and took positions behind the row of maidens. Pascal and Julien then stepped forward and escorted Vivienne to a rustic chair, which was covered with a profusion of flowers and which had been reserved for her use.
Now the musicians played some weird, peculiar dance music and the fourteen youths and maidens took part in a wild, characteristic Corsican dance. The steps and gestures were full of abandon, and although the staid Miss Helen Enright was not absolutely shocked, when the dance was over she had the impression that the conventionalities of society were not kept within as strict lines in Corsica as they were in England.
All sailors love to dance and to see others dance, Admiral Enright was delighted. In the exuberance of his feelings, he grasped Pascal’s hand and ejaculated:
“Bless my soul! A most re-mark-a-ble performance!” He turned to his daughter—“Helen, would it not be a grand idea to introduce so pleasant a custom into English society?”
Miss Enright was an adept in concealing her real thoughts—the ability to do so is a defensive armour which education only can supply—and she responded: