“He does not look happy,” she said slowly. “I have never heard his name before. Who was he, Maria?”
Signora slipped from the clouds with a shock of reality and caught the medallion from her hand.
“No one, no one at all. See this ring, one single perfect solitaire surrounded by black pearls, a gift from the Empress of France, my child.”
Carlota rose, staring down at the wealth of jewels with puzzled, hurt pride.
“Why have we accepted money from Mr. Ward to pay for my tuition when we had these to sell?”
The vandalism of the suggestion horrified Maria. She replaced everything with a resolute hand, locking each case from a small bunch of keys suspended from a slender chain on her neck.
“You would market the trophies of your grandmother!” she said haughtily. “America has commercialized you. They belong to the woman you will be. I will give you the keys at your début.”
“I don’t care so very much for them. They are beautiful, but, after all, they are only things you buy. I asked you for something richer.” She laid her arms coaxingly about Maria’s throat. “Was my mother happy?”
“If love can make any woman happy, she was.” Signora Roma’s voice broke with agitation. “Do not ask me anything further.”
“She was very young to die, was she not, only twenty-two? She was younger than I am now when she first met my father, wasn’t she, Maria?” No answer, but she felt the tears on her own cheek as she pressed it to Maria’s face. “I think I know what it is you will not tell me. With all the jewels and triumphs, my grandmother lost her love, and somehow, my mother found love even though she died so young and was never famous. Is that it?”