She liked Helen from the first moment of their meeting. America often seemed far away to the contessa, and her new acquaintance brought it nearer to her; but beyond this Helen proved in herself to be more than ordinarily interesting. The contessa had known women as beautiful as Mrs. Armstrong, she had known women who carried themselves with equal self-confidence and independence; but never had she seen these combined with such lofty ideals actually maintained. Her early impression that Helen’s idealism was the result of innocence was soon corrected. In the school of experience there are taught two branches in which every clever woman of the world must perfect herself—character-reading and the gentle art of self-defence; both are absolutely essential to her success. Men underestimate their importance, and thus develop them to a lesser degree; as a result, the woman’s intuitive reading of character is as much more delicate and subtle as is her practise of self-defence, and to a similar extent more effective. Amélie was a medal pupil in both these branches, and her instinctive exercise of the first told her that she had discovered an unusual personality among conditions which under ordinary circumstances would work out along but one line. This solution was not in keeping with what she had read in Helen’s character, and she wondered how the conditions themselves had come to exist. The contessa hummed cheerily to herself as she moved about the villa the next morning, and the servants took it for granted that their master’s malady had taken a more decided turn for the worse.
In the afternoon the contessa’s motor-car drew up before the entrance to the Laurentian Library. The custodian at the gate took her card, and presently returned announcing that the librarian was in his study. The name of Morelli was well known to Cerini, who had assisted the count upon several occasions before his marriage in disposing of some of the rare volumes which had once been a part of his grandfather’s splendid collection. The librarian had even casually met the new contessa once or twice, but this was the first time she had honored him with a call, and he wondered what her errand might be. Possibly it was her desire to dispose of other volumes; perhaps it was to protest against further despoliation; at all events he would be guarded in his conversation until her object was disclosed.
“Welcome to the halls of the Medici!” exclaimed Cerini, cordially, rising to greet his visitor as she appeared in the doorway.
The contessa smiled so radiantly in acknowledging his salutation that the librarian was convinced that his first hypothesis must be correct. “You are surprised to see me,” she remarked, seating herself with deliberation and looking across at her host with a friendly air. “You may as well admit it, for I can read it in your face.”
“Both surprised and pleased, contessa,” Cerini answered, maintaining his guarded attitude.
“Your surprise should be that I have not been here before,” Amélie continued.
“Ah!” The old man held up his hand with a deprecatory gesture. “You society women have so much to divert you otherwise that I could scarcely expect, even with the wonderful books I have here, to prove a magnet sufficiently strong to draw you away from your customary pursuits. And your husband has so many splendid volumes in your own library that these here can hardly prove a novelty.”
“It is about these volumes that I came to see you.”
Cerini smiled sagely, feeling pleased at his intuition.
“Yes, we have some splendid old volumes, as you say,” the contessa continued. “I have looked them all over and have tried to study them, but beyond my admiration for their beauty I must admit that I can’t make much out of them.”