Manasseh Part 13

"Faster! Put more fire into it!" cried the dancer. But Blanka could not go on.

"Ah, you don't remember it, after all."

"I can't play when I look at you," was the reply; and the Marchioness Caldariva believed her. "You could drive a man fairly insane."

"As long as the men will torment us, we must be able to pay them back."

She took Blanka's arm and returned with her to the other room. "Woe to him who invades my kingdom!" she continued. "He is bound to lose his reason. Do you wish to wager that I can't drive all Rome crazy over me?

If I took a notion to dance the 'Gitana' on the opera-house stage for the benefit of the wounded soldiers, all Rome would go wild with enthusiasm, and the people would half smother me with flowers."

"I will make no such wager with you," returned Blanka, "because I know I should lose."

The beautiful Cyrene changed the subject and invited the princess to attend one of her masked b.a.l.l.s,--"a masquerade party," she explained, "of only forty guests at the most, and those the chief personages of Roman society. I ferret out all their secrets and can see through their masks; but I use no witchery about it. My guests are admitted by ticket only, and my major-domo, who receives these cards, writes on the back of each a short description of the bearer's costume. So I have only to go to him and consult his notes to learn my guest's ident.i.ty."

"But cannot your guests also procure information from the same source--for a consideration?"

"Undoubtedly. My domestics are none of them incorruptible."

Blanka laughed, and Rozina hastened to take advantage of her good humour.

"And now just imagine among these forty masks one guest who comes neither through the door, nor through the major-domo's anteroom, so that no card, no personal description, no cab-number, no information of any kind, is to be had concerning her from my servants. She is acquainted with all the secrets of those around her, but no one can guess her secret, or fathom her mystery. Meanwhile a young painter has taken his seat in one corner behind a screen of foliage, and sketches the lively scene before him. He is the only one who, with beating heart, guesses the name of the mysterious unknown. What do you say,--will this bewitching guest from fairyland deign to figure as the chief personage on my young artist's canvas?"

"Before deciding, may I see a list of those whom you have invited?"

"Certainly--a very proper request." The marchioness handed over her fan, the ribs of which were of ivory, and served the owner as tablets. They were covered with a miscellaneous list of well-known names from all cla.s.ses, and the last among them was Mana.s.seh Adorjan's. "You can order a costume of black lace, spangled with silver stars," the fair Cyrene went on; "then, with a black velvet mask, you will be ready to appear as the Queen of Night."

Blanka offered no objection to this plan.

"I will admit you upon signal, through our secret pa.s.sageway, into my boudoir, and from there you will pa.s.s, when the way is clear, into the ladies' dressing-room, and thence into the ballroom. With this fan of mine in your hand, you will, after some instructions from me, be able to puzzle and mystify all whom you address, while no one will be in a position even to hazard a surmise as to your ident.i.ty. When you tire of the sport, come to me, pretend to tease me, and then turn and run away.

I will give chase, and under cover of this diversion you will slip out of the room, and return to your own apartments by the same way you came, while I continue the hunt and summon all present to aid me in finding my mysterious guest."

Such was the speaker's influence over Blanka, that the latter could not give her a refusal. Accordingly, when the two parted, it was with the understanding that they were soon to see each other again at the marchioness's masquerade.

CHAPTER XIII.

A SUDDEN FLIGHT.

Blanka sat in her room, with closed doors, preparing her costume for the masked ball. Affairs in the world outside had moved rapidly during the past few days. In the feverish excitement of that revolutionary period, mob violence was threatening to gain the upper hand. Shouts of boisterous merriment reached the princess from the street. From the adjoining wing of the palace, too, other sounds, almost equally boisterous, fell on her ear at intervals. The fair Cyrene was entertaining a company of congenial spirits.

Gradually the noise in the street grew louder, until it seemed as if a cage of wild animals had been let loose before the Cagliari palace.

Suddenly, as Blanka stood before her fire, all her senses alert, she saw the glowing phoenix rise from its position, and her fair neighbour stood in the opening.

"Put out your fire, and let me in," bade the marchioness. "I have emptied my extinguisher. Don't you hear the mob storming my palace gates? The soldiery who were summoned to restore order have made common cause with the rioters, and we are in frightful peril. Quick! Out with your fire, and let me and my guests through. We can make our escape by your rear door, and so gain the riverside in safety."

Blanka could not refuse this appeal. She opened the way for the marchioness and her motley company to pa.s.s out; then she herself, first closing the secret pa.s.sage between the two wings of the palace, followed the other fugitives and, gaining the street by a wide detour, engaged a cab to take her to the Vatican.

"His Holiness receives no one this afternoon," was the announcement made to her at the door.

Almost in despair, and bewildered by the sudden turn of events which had thus cast her homeless on the streets, the princess returned to her carriage.

"Do you know where Signor Scalcagnato lives?" she asked the driver.

"Scalcagnato the shoemaker, the champion of the people? To be sure I do: in the Piazza di Colosseo. But if the lady wishes to buy shoes of him she should not address him as _Signor_ Scalcagnato."

"Why not?"

"Because he will ask half as much more for them than if he were called plain _Citizen_ Scalcagnato."

After this gratuitous bit of information the coachman whipped up his horse and rattled away toward the Colosseum with his pa.s.senger.

Arriving at the shoemaker's shop, Blanka was received by a little man of lively bearing and a quick, intelligent expression.

"Pst! No words needed," was his greeting. "I know all about it. I am Citizen Scalcagnato, _il calzolajo_. Take my arm, citizeness. Cittadino Adorjano lives on the top floor, and the stairs are a trifle steep. He is out at present, but his studio is open to you."

The young lady was rea.s.sured. The honest cobbler evidently did not suspect her of coming to meet his tenant by appointment, but took her for an artist friend on a professional visit, or perhaps a customer come to buy a picture. The shoemaker took the artist's place, in the latter's absence, and sold his paintings for him. Perhaps, too, the artist sold his landlord's shoes when that worthy was abroad.

Thus it was that Blanka took the offered arm without a misgiving, and suffered the cobbler to lead her up the steep stairway to the little attic chamber that served her friend for both sleeping-room and studio.

It was as neat as wax, and as light and airy as any painter could desire. A large bow-window admitted the free light of heaven and at the same time afforded a fine view of the Palatine Hill. Leaning for a moment against the window-sill, in mute admiration of the prospect before her, the princess thought how happy a woman might be with this view to greet her eyes every day, while a husband who wors.h.i.+pped her and was wors.h.i.+pped by her worked at her side--or, rather, not _worked_, but _created_. It was a picture far more alluring than any that the Cagliari palace had to offer.

"Pst!" the cobbler interrupted her musing; "come and let me show you the portrait."

So saying, he conducted her to an easel on which rested a veiled picture, which he uncovered with an air of pride and satisfaction.

The feeling of rapture that took possession of Blanka at sight of her own portrait was owing, not to the fact that it was her likeness,--radiant though that likeness was with youth and beauty and all the charm of an ideal creation,--but to the thought that _he_ had painted it.

"The price is thirty-three million, three hundred and thirty-three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three _scudi_, and not a _soldo_ less!" announced the shoemaker, with a broad smile. Then he laid his fingers on his lips. "Pst! Not a word! I know all. It will be all right."

Blanka saw now that he had recognised her the moment she entered his shop.

"The citizen painter is not at home," continued the other, "but he will turn up at the proper time where he is wanted. Sun, moon, and stars may fall from heaven, but he will not fail you. No more words! What I have said, I have said. You can now return home, signorina, and need give yourself no further uneasiness. Whatever occurs in the streets, you need not worry. And finally"--they had by this time reached the ground floor again--"it will be well for you to take a pair of shoes with you, to make the coachman think you came on purpose for them. Here's a good stout pair, serviceable for walking or for mountain-climbing. You can rely on them. So take them along; you may need them sometime."

"But how do you know they will fit me?" asked Blanka.

"Citizeness, don't you remember the stone footprint of our Lord in the church of _Domine quo vadis_? And may not the footprint of an angel have been left in the sand of the Colosseum for a devout artist to copy in his sketch-book? Such a sketch is enough for the Cittadino Scalcagnato to make a pair of shoes from, so that they cannot fail to fit."

The princess turned rosy red. "I have no money with me to pay for them,"

she objected. "A footman usually accompanies me and pays for all my purchases; but to-day I left him at home, and I neglected to take my purse with me."

"No matter; I understand. I'll charge the amount. Here, take this purse and pay your cab-fare out of it when you reach the square. Don't go home in a carriage, but on foot. You needn't fear to do so, with a pair of shoes in your hand. If your gold-laced lackey were with you, you might meet with insult and abuse; but walking alone with the shoes in your hand, you will not be molested, and you will find all quiet at home by this time. Now enough said. I know all. You can pay me back later."

With that the little shoemaker escorted his guest to her carriage and took leave of her with a polite request--intended for the cabman's ear--for her further patronage.

Following the mysterious little man's directions, Blanka reached home unharmed, and found everything there as she had left it. Whatever violence the rioters may have allowed themselves in storming the marchioness's quarters, her own wing of the palace, for some reason that she could only vaguely conjecture, had been spared. After a.s.suring herself of this, the princess tried on her new shoes, and found that Citizen Scalcagnato was no less skilful as a shoemaker than eminent as a politician and a party-leader.

The house was now still and deserted, although the sounds of riotous excess were faintly audible in the distance. The servants had evidently fled at the same time that Blanka and the marchioness left the palace.