But this friendship, intellectual though it might be, was not the less intense after its kind. Madame de Carlsberg, therefore, felt a personal satisfaction as though she were avenging herself in taking steps to thwart the Prince's schemes as soon as she had left the Jenny. It was a poor revenge. It did not prevent her feeling that her heart was broken by the despair caused by her vanished love, even amid all the intrigues necessary to protect another's happiness.
Her first step after her conversation with Florence was to go to the villa that Andryana occupied on the road to Fréjus, at the other end of Cannes. She had no need to ask anything of the generous Italian. No sooner had she heard of the misunderstanding that separated Verdier and Miss Marsh, than she cried:—
"But why did she not speak? Poor, dear girl! I felt sure something was the matter these last few days. And that was it? But I will go straight away and see Verdier, see the Prince and tell them all the truth. They must know that Florence would never countenance any evil. Besides, I have had enough of living in hiding. I have had enough of being obliged to lie. I mean to disclose the fact of my marriage to-day. I only awaited some reason for deciding Corancez, and here it is."
"How about your brother?" asked Ely.
"What? My brother? My brother?" repeated the Venetian.
The rich blood swept to her cheeks in a flood of warm color at this allusion and then fled, leaving her pale. It was plain that a last combat was taking place in the nature so long downtrodden. The remains of her terror fought with her moral courage and was finally conquered. She had two powerful motives for being brave,—her love, strengthened by her happiness and rapture, and then a dawning hope of having a child to love. She told it to Ely with the magnificent daring that is almost pride of a loving wife.
"Besides," she added, "I shall not have any choice for very much longer. I think I am about to become a mother. But let us send for Corancez at once. Whatever you advise, he will do. I do not understand why he hesitates. If I had not perfect confidence in him, I should think he already regretted being bound to me."
Contrary to Andryana's sentimental fears, the Southerner did not raise any objection when Madame de Carlsberg asked him to reveal the mystery or comedy of the matrimonio segreto to the Archduke and his assistant. The occasion would have furnished his father with an opportunity of once more using his favorite dictum, "Marius is a cunning blade," if he had been able to see the condescending way with which he accorded the permission that brought to a culminating-point the desires of the cunning intriguer. There is both Greek and Tuscan in the Southerners from the neighborhood of Marseilles, and they appear to have written in their hearts the maxim which contains all Italian or Levantine philosophy: "Chi ha pazienza, ha gloria." He had expected to make his marriage public the instant there was a chance that he was to become a father. But he had never hoped for an opportunity of appearing both magnanimous and practical, such as was afforded him by consenting to the announcement upon the request of the Baroness Ely, and that out of chivalrous pity for a girl who had been calumniated. All these complexities, natural to an imaginative and practical personage, were to be found in the discourse that he held with the two women, a discourse that was almost sincere.
"We have to yield to fate, Andryana," he said. "That is a maxim I revere, you know. The story of Miss Marsh and Verdier gives us an indication of what we have to do. We must announce our marriage, no matter what happens. I should have liked to keep the secret a little longer. Our romance is so delightful. You know that I am romantic before everything, that I am a man of the old school, a troubadour. To see her, to worship her," he indicated Andryana, who blushed with pleasure at his protestations, "and without any witnesses of our happiness other than such friends as you"—he turned toward Ely—"such as Pierre, as Miss Marsh, was to realize an ideal. But it will be another ideal to be able to say proudly to every one, 'She chose me for a husband.' But," and he waited a moment in order to accentuate the importance of his advice, "if Corancez is a troubadour, he is a troubadour who knows his business. Unless it's contrary to your idea, I do not think it would be very wise for Andryana and me to announce our marriage to the Prince in person. Let me speak frankly, Baroness. Besides, I never was good at flattery. The Prince—I hardly know how to say it—the Prince attaches a great deal of importance to his own ideas. He does not care to be thwarted, and Verdier's feelings for Miss Marsh are not very much to his taste. He must know of their little quarrel. Indeed, he may have spoken very harshly of the young girl before his assistant. He wants to keep that youth in his laboratory, and it is only natural. Verdier has so much talent. In short, all that cannot make it very agreeable for two people to come and say to him, 'Miss Marsh has been slandered; she has been the friend of the most honorable and most loyal of women, who is honorably and legally married to Corancez.'
"And besides, to have to admit that you are in error in such a matter, and in public, is a very difficult position to be in. Frankly, it appears to me simpler and more practical, in order to bring about the final reconciliation, to let the Prince learn all about the matter from you, my dear Baroness, and from you alone. Andryana will write a letter to you this very moment. I will dictate it to her, asking you to be her intercessor with His Royal Highness, and announce our marriage. Everything else will work easily while we are arranging as well as we can with good old Alvise."