It was on a beautiful, bright afternoon that my lady reached the pretty house where Madame Vanira lived. A warm afternoon, when the birds sung in the green shade of the trees, when the bees made rich honey from the choice carnations, and the butterflies hovered round the budding lilies.
The countess drove straight to the house. She left her carriage at the outer gates, and walked through the pretty lawn; she gave her card to the servant and was shown into the drawing-room.
The Countess of Lanswell would not have owned for the world that she was in the least embarrassed, but the color varied in her face, and her lips trembled ever so little. In a few minutes Leone entered—not the terrified, lowly, loving girl, who braved her presence because she loved her husband so well; this was a proud, beautiful, regal woman, haughty as the countess herself—a woman who, by force of her wondrous beauty and wondrous voice, had placed the world at her feet.
The countess stepped forward with outstretched hands.
"Madame Vanira," she said, "will you spare me a few minutes? I wish to speak most particularly with you."
Leone rang the bell and gave orders that she was not to be disturbed. Then the two ladies looked at each other. Leone knew that hostilities were at hand, although she could not quite tell why.
The countess opened the battle by saying, boldly:
"I ought, perhaps, to tell you, Madame Vanira, that I recognize you."
Leone looked at her with proud unconcern.
"I recognize you now, although I failed to do so when I first saw you. I congratulate you most heartily on your success."