“Vestments, … and why priest?” I stood under the marble colonnade bewildered, lost in thought, hardly seeing the lovely blue boundless sea and our squadron.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE “MARRIAGE.”
The 22nd of February was lovely, almost like summer in its warmth, not a cloud in the skies, the sea calm as a mirror, a holiday feeling in the air. The English consul had invited the count and Princess, and all their suite to luncheon. The Princess arrived, splendidly and tastefully dressed, and, as always, gay and lively. Where was her illness? She chatted merrily with the other guests. On the terrace, adorned with flowers, she walked, carelessly laughing and joking. Every one showed her the greatest attention and respect.
Count Alexis Gregorevitch was a model cavalier-servant of the Princess, holding her fan and her gloves, and taking from the hands of the servants the cool refreshing drinks, to offer them himself to her. All noticed that his amorous glances followed her everywhere, and that she seemed born to new life. As by magic her languor had disappeared; her preux chevalier, the tamed lion, was at her feet.
“Ha! our Celadon, what think you of him?” whispered Christianok. “Yes, resting on his laurels of Chesma, the hero does not disdain another conquest!”
Admiral Greig, by nature of a very taciturn disposition, took no part in the conversation, but sat a little apart, extremely stern, sad of countenance, and with downcast eyes, seeming to notice nothing.
Some one walked up to the window. From there you could see the blue sea and the Russian flotilla. The ladies began talking of pleasant sails on the sea.
“Well, count! show us your ships,” said the Princess. “In Civita Vecchia you showed them the mock-fight of Chesma; you gave others pleasure, honour us also.”