The suite reserved for the singers and other entertainers was on the second floor. Carlota resented the line of demarcation between the professionals and the society participants, but Ames came to her as soon as he could relinquish Mrs. Nevins to Jurka. He was so happy and buoyant, she dared not say anything to curb or quell his enthusiasm.
“Forget them all, dear,” he whispered to her. “Think of what this may mean for us both. I wish Casanova were here. She tried to get him, but he hates these society round-ups, and I don’t blame him. Did you find your dressing-room? I got one for you alone.”
After he had gone one of the maids assisted her to unpack and slip into the court costume. There was a full-length mirror in the inner door. She regarded her reflection in it gravely as the woman arranged her curls, combing them into soft full clusters around her shoulders. The deep, vivid color of the gown was strikingly becoming to her.
“You should have some jewels—” she began.
“They are all there, in my handbag,” Carlota directed. As she opened the cases the maid gave a smothered exclamation of surprise, and glanced sharply at this girl pupil of Ames, who, she had heard the other servants say, had come from the Italian quarter in New York. Her experience told her these were real jewels and worth thousands of dollars.
“You will wear them all, miss?” she asked curiously, lifting the heavy stomacher of gold links, delicate as certain fragile shells.
Carlota nodded and set the tiara on her head herself. The great Zarathustra ruby in its center glowed and sparkled as if it held a heart of fire. She held out her hands for the necklace.
“Do you like them?” she asked simply, smiling for the first time at the maid. “They came from Italy and were my grandmother’s.”
“From Italy?” The woman straightened back her shoulders. “I am from Averna myself. You know Averna, near Roma?”
“Ah, do I not!” Carlota clasped her hands suddenly to her throat, the tears rising hot and quick to her lashes. Averna, the little tiny village one might see from the end of the gardens, Averna with its songs lifting on the evening air, and its little children clambering up the long steep rocky road, the young goats tumbling around them. “I—my home was near there, the Villa Tittani.”