“He has not been found himself. That is why they are going to hold the boy as witness against him, and for possible complicity in the crime. Did you see the man who entered this room last night and took the jewels?”
Carlota stared up at him almost beseechingly, and shook her head.
“I fainted when Mr. Ward’s arms touched me.” She shuddered at the memory of that moment. “But I know Dmitri is not guilty.” She hesitated. Dmitri, Griffeth’s friend, to whom she had gone last night in her trouble. His buoyant words rang in her mind when he had left her. She was to have no fear. He would recover the jewels for her and bring them to her. Did he have them in his possession at that very moment? Was it all part of some secret conspiracy to escape with them himself, defrauding not only her, but Jurka as well? She lifted her head with swift resolution.
“I am going to Griffeth. No, you cannot hold me, Maria. Come with me if you like, but I am going to him. He will need me greatly. If you will not, then I must ask the Marchese to take me to him.”
And Maria Roma, looking into her eyes, knew the days of girlhood had passed and the feet of Paoli’s grandchild had scaled the wall of Tittani in her quest for love.
CHAPTER XX
Sauntering from the elevated station at Eighth Street over to the Square, Jacobelli mused upon the vagaries of a golden voice. His point of view was changing with the speed of an Alpine tourist. Maria had acquainted him with the decision of Carlota.
“Ah, signor, believe me, she does not feign illness. Her heart is not breaking. It is freezing, which is worse. Never will she sing again, she declares, if you deny her the one whom she loves. She spoke his name in her sleep. It is the romance beautiful, the divine fire from heaven alighted upon the altar of a woman’s heart, it is—”
“Enough!” exclaimed Jacobelli. “I capitulate. Doubtless she is right. Two—three years nearly I have taught her all I know, and yet what is it? She cannot sing the wonderful heart-throb music as the great woman artiste must. Not all the technique in the world can put it into her voice; yet one day she meets the man she loves, and lo! it is there, she excels. I knew it when she came to me that day at the studio after she had quarreled with him. I heard it then in her voice, the glory—the abandon—the power of the woman who claims the universe for her love. And I am a fool, Maria, I lose my head entirely. I am jealous of this unknown teacher who has opened the heart of my star. I hate him. At the Nevins fête I make the grand fool of myself, signora. But now, I see, I bow. Let her have her love if she will. I have lunched with the Marchese, and am at peace with the world. After the honeymoon tell her we will resume her lessons.”
He felt marvelously benevolent as he made his way towards Ames’s studio. Possibly his luncheon chat with the Marchese had much to do with it, also the fact that later he had seen Casanova. Count D’Istria had kept his word to Griffeth, and Casanova, ever ready to observe the way of the wind with managerial straws, had promised to bring the operetta to the immediate attention of the Metropolitan directors with his sanction on its production the coming season.