“No?” she smiled. “Of course I did not know she was engaged to you. But you believe Count D’Istria surely. It all places me in a most delicate situation and jeopardized the success of the entire evening. Nathalie will be prostrated to-morrow. She had such faith in you.”
“But I can explain everything,” Ames replied moodily. Why on earth was Carlota lingering so long when Jacobelli might reappear any instant.
“I fear the opportunity is lost, although I do not doubt your aptitude for explaining anything.” She gave him her hand with a little, pitying smile. “She will be Jacobelli’s pupil after to-night, Mr. Ames. If you will send me your bill for expenses and services of Miss Roma and yourself, my secretary will mail you a check. Ah, my dear boy, you were too promising a genius to have permitted a little infatuation for this girl to ruin your career.”
She left him standing in the ivory and green salon, furious and helpless. At length the door of Carlota’s dressing-room opened, and she emerged, slim and demure in her long black velvet evening cloak. It was made with a monk’s hood falling back from her head, and as she hesitated, looking cautiously about for Jacobelli, he thought of Juliet, awaiting the return of the nurse in the garden.
Before he could reach her Jacobelli appeared, and took her resolutely under his care. Only one long look passed between them, but to Ames it was a promissory note from hope drawn on to-morrow. As he stood alone after they had gone, the Italian maid came from the room, and gave him a note, her black eyes filled with mystery.
“It is from her,” she whispered. “My name is Assunta Rizzio. My home is within sight of the tower windows of hers in Italy, and I love her. You may call upon me if you need me. See, I live here.”
He smiled gratefully, and crumpled the card she gave him into his pocket while he looked at Carlota’s last word:
It is all quite true, but I am alone to blame. I thought Mr. Phelps might have told you, and you were but playing our little game with me, of Pierrot and Columbine. Now, it is all over, is it not? You will hate me for ruining your opera, and I do not blame you. I am sorry, it is all I can say. I thought I was helping you. Give my love to Dmitri. He was right, was he not?—and behold, the Princess Fiametta should never have left the wall of Tittani.
He passed down into the court. It was nearly empty, only the few who remained for Mrs. Nevins’s private supper and dance. Ward talked with the ambassador, listening as D’Istria told happily of his memories at the old Contessa’s villa. As Ames approached, he turned to him eagerly, his fine, lean face alert with appreciation.
“It was superb, Mr. Ames, a most beautiful little conception. I trust that you may have a public production before long.”