Domenico nodded approvingly.
Si, si, Tommaso is right. The Americano has already tempted heaven far enough in this matter of the wheat, and it will not be the part of wisdom for him to add to the account. Apoplexies are as likely to fall on princes as on bakers, and a dead prince is no different from any other dead manonly that he goes to purgatory.
It was evident, however, that the foreigner was in truth going to tempt Fate; for in the afternoon two empty carriages came back from the villa and turned toward Palestrina, obviously bound for the station. All the ragazzi of Castel Vivalanti waited on the road to see them pass and beg for coppers; and it was just as Domenico had foretold: they never received a single soldo.
The remarks about the principe Americano were not complimentary in Castel Vivalanti that night; but the little yellow-haired principino was handled more gently. The black-haired little Italian boys told how he had laughed when they turned somersaults by the side of the carriage, and how he had cried when his father would not let him throw soldi; and the general opinion seemed to be that if he died young, he at least had a chance of paradise.
CHAPTER V
Meanwhile, the unconscious subjects of Castel Vivalantis apoplexies were gaily installing themselves in their new, old dwelling. The happy hum of life had again invaded the house, and its walls once more echoed to the ring of a childs laughter. They were very matter-of-fact peoplethese Americans, and they took possession of the ancestral home of the Vivalanti as if it were as much their right as a seaside cottage at Newport. Upstairs Granton and Marietta were unpacking trunks and hampers and laying Paris gowns in antique Roman clothes-chests; in the villa kitchen François was rattling copper pots and kettles, and anxiously trying to adapt his modern French ideas to a mediaeval Roman stove; while from every room in succession sounded the patter of Geralds feet and his delighted squeals over each new discovery.
For the past two weeks Roman workmen and Castel Vivalanti cleaning-women had been busily carrying out Mrs. Copleys orders. The florid furniture and coloured chandeliers of the latter Vivalanti had been banished to the attic (or what answers to an attic in a Roman villa), while the faded damask of a former generation had been dusted and restored. Tapestries covered the walls and hung over the balustrade of the marble staircase. Dark rugs lay on the red tile floors; carved chests and antique chairs and tables of coloured marble, supported by gilded griffins, were scattered through the rooms. In the bedrooms the heavy draperies had been superseded by curtains of an airier texture, while wicker chairs and chintz-covered couches lent an un-Roman air of comfort to the rooms.
In spite of his humorous grumbling about the trials of moving-day, Mr. Copley found himself very comfortable as he lounged on the parapet toward sunset, smoking a pre-prandial cigarette, and watching the shadows as they fell over the Campagna. Gerald was already up to his elbows in the fountain, and the ilex grove was echoing his happy shrieks as he prattled in Italian to Marietta about a marvellous two-tailed lizard he had caught in a cranny of the stones. Copley smiled as he listened, forCastel Vivalanti to the contraryhis little boy was very near his heart.
Marcia in the house had been gaily superintending the unpacking, and running back and forth between the rooms, as excited by her new surroundings as Gerald himself.
What time does Villa Vivalanti dine? she inquired while on a flying visit to her aunts room.
Eight oclock when any of us are in town, and half-past seven other nights.
I suppose its half-past seven to-night, alors! Shall I make a grande toilette in honour of the occasion?
Put on something warm, whatever else you do; I distrust this climate after sundown.
Youre such a distrustful person, Aunt Katherine! I cant understand how one can have the heart to accuse this innocent old villa of harbouring malaria.
She returned to her own room and delightedly rummaged out a dinner-gown from the ancient wardrobe, with a little laugh at the thought of the many different styles it had held in its day. Perhaps some other girl had once occupied this room; very likely a young Princess Vivalanti, two hundred years before, had hung silk-embroidered gowns in this very wardrobe. It was a big, rather bare, delightfully Italian apartment with tall windows having solid barred shutters overlooking the terrace. The view from the windows revealed a broad expanse of Campagna and hills. Marcia dressed with her eyes on the landscape, and then stood a long time gazing up at the broken ridges of the Sabines, glowing softly in the afternoon light. Picturesque little mountain hamlets of battered grey stone were visible here and there clinging to the heights; and in the distance the walls and towers of a half-ruined monastery stood out clear against the sky. She drew a deep breath of pleasure. To be an artist, and to appreciate and reproduce this beauty, suddenly struck her as an ideal life. She smiled at herself as she recalled something she had said to Paul Dessart in the gallery the day before; she had advised himan artistto exchange Italy for Pittsburg!
Mr. Copley, who was strolling on the terrace, glanced up, and catching sight of his niece, paused beneath her balcony while he quoted:
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Marcia brought her eyes from the distant landscape to a contemplation of her uncle; and then she stepped through the glass doors, and leaned over the balcony railing with a little laugh.
You make a pretty poor Romeo, Uncle Howard, she called down. Im afraid the real one never wore a dinner-jacket nor smoked a cigarette.
Mr. Copley spread out his hands in protest.
For the matter of that, I doubt if Juliet ever wore a gown fromwhere was it42, Avenue de lOpéra? How does the new house go? he asked.
Beautifully. I feel like a princess on a balcony waiting for the hunters to come back from the chase.
I cant get over the idea that Im a usurper myself, and that the rightful lord is languishing in a donjon somewhere in the cellar. Come down and talk to me. Im getting lonely so far from the world.
Marcia disappeared from the balcony and reappeared three minutes later on the loggia. She paused on the top step and slowly turned around in order to take in the whole affect. The loggia, in its rehabilitation, made an excellent lounging-place for a lazy summer morning. It was furnished with comfortably deep Oriental rush chairs, a crimson rug and awnings, and, at either side of the steps, white azaleas growing in marble cinerary urns.
Isnt this the most fun you ever had, Uncle Howard? she inquired as she brought her eyes back to Mr. Copley waiting on the terrace below. Well have coffee served out here in the morning, and then when it gets sunny in the afternoon well move to the end of the terrace under the ilex trees. Villa Vivalanti is the most thoroughly satisfying place I ever lived in. She ran down the steps and joined him. Arent those little trees nice? she asked, nodding toward a row of oleanders ranged at mathematical intervals along the balustrade. I think that Aunt Katherine and I planned things beautifully!
If every one were as well pleased with his own work as you appear to be, this would be a contented world. Theres nothing like the beautiful enthusiasm of youth.