“Many times I have heard my father speak of her beauty and art. I have myself been to her villa during her last years. She reigned there at Tittani as an ex-empress might have done.”
“She was incomparable,” Jacobelli murmured contentedly. “Then possibly you may recall the grandchild whom she adored, Bianca’s daughter. Her father was the young artist from Florence whom Paoli befriended, Peppino Trelango.”
The Count nodded and smiled. A child with eyes such as Del Sarto loved to paint. Yes, he remembered her. Delightedly, then, the old maestro launched into the romance of the old Contessa’s death, of how Maria Roma had brought Carlota to America, of the Marchese’s interest in her, and how Ogden Ward had insured her success with his patronage.
D’Istria shook his head at the mention of the financier.
“I would keep her out of his reach,” he advised. “She is too young to parry the advances of such a man. Mind, I admire him greatly. He is a power in the world, a very great patron of the arts if you will, but likewise, Jacobelli, of the artistes. Arm’s length, I beg.”
“He will be here to-night.” Jacobelli scanned the crowd, his five feet five overtopped by many. Suddenly his eyes glowed with interest, seeing a newcomer enter the court enclosure. “Is that not Jurka? I have not seen him since 1915. He was here on some government work, an attaché at Washington. A very handsome fellow, isn’t he?”
D’Istria did not glance behind him. Arms folded, he stood almost at attention, his lips compressed slightly, his eyes watching Mrs. Nevins as she came down the wide staircase with Griffeth Ames.
“There is the type of man whom I admire,” he said. “He has life and inspiration in his face, and he walks like one who has ridden the air.”
“I do not know him.” Jacobelli overlooked the stranger blandly. “Casanova told me Mrs. Nevins is a collector of celebrities. This is some youngster whose operetta she is to give a little try-out to-night, his first chance. I shall leave as soon as the daughter finishes her aria.”
But the Count appeared interested in the blond youngster, and merely followed with his gaze the slim, distinguished figure of the Bulgarian ex-attaché, as the latter moved through the throng.