FullReads

Mrs. Landry came first, with outstretched hand, making some talk excusing delay; and, after a few paces, followed the loveliest of all the world. Beside her, in silhouette against the white window lights of the hotel, I saw the very long, thin figure of a man, which, even before I recognized it, carried a certain ominousness to my mind.

Mrs. Landry, in spite of her florid contentedness, had sometimes a fluttering appearance of trivial agitations.

“The Prince came down from Rome this morning,” she said nervously, and I saw my friend throw back his head like a man who declines the eye-bandage when they are going to shoot him. “He is dining with us. I know you will be glad to meet him.”

The beautiful lady took Poor Jr.’s hand, more than he hers, for he seemed dazed, in spite of the straight way he stood, and it was easy to behold how white his face was. She made the presentation of us both at the same time, and as the other man came into the light, my mouth dropped open with wonder at the singular chances which the littleness of our world brings about.

“Prince Caravacioli, Mr. Poor. And this is Signor Ansolini.”

It was my half-brother, that old Antonio!

Chapter Eight

Never lived any person with more possession of himself than Antonio; he bowed to each of us with the utmost amiability; and for expression–all one saw of it was a little streak of light in his eye-glass.

“It is yourself, Raffaele?” he said to me, in the politest manner, in our own tongue, the others thinking it some commonplace, and I knew by his voice that the meeting was as surprising and as exasperating to him as to me.

Sometimes dazzling flashes of light explode across the eyes of blind people. Such a thing happened to my own, now, in the darkness. I found myself hot all over with a certain rashness that came to me. I felt that anything was possible if I would but dare enough.

“I am able to see that it is the same yourself!” I answered, and made the faintest eye-turn toward Miss Landry. Simultaneously bowing, I let my hand fall upon my pocket–a language which he understood, and for which (the Blessed Mother be thanked!) he perceived that I meant to offer battle immediately, though at that moment he offered me an open smile of benevolence. He knew nothing of my new cause for war; there was enough of the old!

The others were observing us.

“You have met?” asked the gentle voice of Miss Landry. “You know each other?”

“Exceedingly!” I answered, bowing low to her.

“The dinner is waiting in our own salon,” said Mrs. Landry, interrupting. She led the way with Antonio to an open door on the terrace where servants were attending, and such a forest of flowers on the table and about the room as almost to cause her escort to stagger; for I knew, when I caught sight of them, that he had never been wise enough to send them. Neither had Poor Jr. done it out of wisdom, but because of his large way of performing everything, and his wish that loveliest things should be a background for that lady.

Alas for him! Those great jars of perfume, orchids and hyacinths and roses, almost shut her away from his vision. We were at a small round table, and she directly in opposition to him. Upon her right was Antonio, and my heart grew cold to see how she listened to him.

For Antonio could talk. At that time he spoke English even better than I, though without some knowledge of the North- American idiom which my travels with Poor Jr. had given me. He was one of those splendid egoists who seem to talk in modesty, to keep themselves behind scenes, yet who, when the curtain falls, are discovered to be the heroes, after all, though shown in so delicate a fashion that the audience flatters itself in the discovery.