“For many years, sir, the Comte and I have known each other, and I have only to own my surprise that none of my friends at Naples ever mentioned to me the arrival of one in every way so distinguished. But here is the Marquese; I must present you, Comte.” So saying, she introduced me to a tall, pompous-looking elderly gentleman, who, it is but fair to add, did not evince half so much satisfaction at sight of me as his wife showed. And now was I the lion of the evening. I, who had walked the Chiaia every day for weeks back without notice or recognition, and who might, had the idea occurred to me, have fallen down and died without one to pity me,—I became all of a sudden a most “interesting personage”! My African campaign was exalted into a perfect career of glory, and even my modesty was pushed hard to accept the praises most lavishly bestowed upon acts of heroism of which I had not even heard.
The Duke of Vallabretta, the younger brother of the king, was certain he had often heard of me from his “friend De St. Cloud.” He was quite positive that I was the officer of dragoons who, with one squadron of horse, captured “a Smala” defended by twelve hundred Arabs, while fully one half of the illustrious cruelties of the Oran war was generously laid to my charge. A dash of atrocity adds immensely to the charm of heroism in Italian estimation; and so I discovered that various acts of roasting prisoners, sending a cargo of noses to Toulon, and such like, were exceedingly popular with the ladies, who regarded me as a modern “Bayard.”
Not all these sensations of triumph, however, gave me one half the pleasure that I felt in trampling upon the little French attaché, whom I persecuted with a proud disdain that nearly drove him mad. All my ignorance of Neapolitan society, the obscurity in which I had lived hitherto, I laid at his door. I deplored most feelingly to the prince the inefficient mode in which we were represented at his court, and promised to use my influence in effecting a change. I fear my disposition is not so angelic as I usually conceive it, for I actually taxed my ingenuity for little subjects of attack against the unlucky diplomatist, and saw him at length retire from the salons crushed, crest-fallen, and miserable.
Another consideration, perhaps, added venom to my malignity: I knew not how short-lived might be my power, and determined to “make my running while the course was free.” The vicissitudes of fortune had often reversed in one short day all the prospect I trusted to be the most stable and certain; and, for the future, I was fully resolved never to forego the stroke to-day for which my arm might be too weak to-morrow. As I saw him depart, I felt like a naval hero when his enemy has struck, and, in the pride of victory, abandoned myself to pleasure.
If the Marchesa watched me at first with an uneasy and anxious eye, doubtful, perhaps, how I should acquit myself in that high and polished world, I soon saw that her fears were allayed as she saw the easy quietude of my manner, and that tranquil self-possession which is supposed to be only acquired by long admixture with the world of fashion. It was evident, too, that if any failure on my part would entail disgrace, success was just as certain to do her honor and credit, since I was a strong rebutting evidence against all those who denied that the Marchesa was ever known or recognized before in the high circles of a court.
“To-morrow, at noon,” said she, as I made my bow at parting; and it was not likely I should forget the appointment.
It was with very different feelings I drove up to the palace of the Marchesa on the day following, from those I had experienced on approaching it on the evening of the reception; nor was I long without perceiving that my confidence was well founded. The Groom of the Chambers received me with his most bland courtesy, and by his manner showed that he expected my arrival.
Preceding me through a suite of rooms whose magnificence I had not time to observe on the previous evening, he ushered me into a small chamber leading into a conservatory, from which the view extended over the wide Bay of Naples, and presented Vesuvius from base to summit. As I was left by myself here for some minutes, I had leisure to notice the varied elegance by which I was surrounded. Rare plants and flowers in jars of costly porcelain; alabaster statues and rich bronzes appeared amid the clustering foliage; and in the midst of all, two tiny swans, of the rare breed of Morocco, lay tranquilly in a little basin, whose water spouted from a silver fountain of most elaborate workmanship.
While yet gazing on the tasteful objects around, the Marchesa had entered, and so noiselessly that she was at my side ere I knew it. Paler than on the previous evening, she looked even handsomer; but in the sunken eye and the wearied expression of the mouth I could see that she had passed a sleepless night.
Having taken a seat upon a sofa, and motioned me to seat myself beside her, she looked fixedly at me for several minutes without a word. At last, in a voice of deep feeling, she said, “Do you remember the pledge with which we parted? Do you recollect the oath by which you bound yourself?'