The smile that accompanied the words became more seductive. Corsini was a little put to it to preserve his equilibrium. He had been welcomed cordially by a Princess and her charming daughter. Here was a celebrated prima donna of great beauty, openly declaring that she was ready to flirt with him – ready to be made love to, if he were disposed that way.
He paid her some gallant compliments, of the kind that come readily to the lips of members of the Latin races; but, as he did so, his glance stole unconsciously to the lovely young Princess, and involuntarily there came into his eyes a light that was noted by the observant Spanish woman.
“You admire the Princess Nada Zouroff immensely. Is it not so? You have a good excuse; she is certainly very beautiful. An exquisite bud rather than a full-grown rose, eh, my friend?”
“Perhaps, Madame,” replied the diplomatic Italian. “But all flowers are beautiful, whether in bud or full blossom.”
“For myself, were I a man, I should not be very greatly attracted by immaturity. We are using flowers in the form of an allegory. Of course we are really speaking of women.” She threw at him one of her most dazzling smiles. There was nothing immature, nothing of the ripening bud about the opulent beauty of La Belle Quéro.
Corsini, seeing what was expected of him, returned that alluring smile with a glance of respectful admiration. He had already gathered that she was a popular idol, and wielded great influence in the musical world.
Personally, he preferred the simpler and more modest loveliness of the charming young Princess. But it was politic to win the good opinion of such an influential personage, and she was evidently not the sort of woman to tolerate rivalry.
For the next five minutes he made himself as agreeable as possible, and the handsome singer was obviously impressed. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the conductor of the concert, who intimated to Corsini that his would be the next turn.
Madame Quéro rose. “I must not keep you. Well, I hope we shall be very great friends. I shall stay to hear your solo and then I shall leave. I feel just a little fatigued to-night; not quite in the mood for this sort of scene, gay and brilliant as it is.”
With a gracious inclination of her handsome head, she walked with her graceful, swimming gait to the entrance of the big saloon. Arrived at the doors she waited till Corsini was on the platform and listened attentively to his performance. There was great applause when he had finished, and she clapped her hands enthusiastically. The artist in her responded to the artist in him. It would not be true to say that she had not heard greater masters, but there was a subtle quality in his playing that revealed true genius. He always excelled in the appealing and sentimental passages.
But while she was listening, to all appearances with the closest attention, her glance was ever roaming through the open doors, down the grand staircase. It was evident that she was looking for somebody, and restless and disappointed because of his non-arrival.
And then, just as she was preparing to leave, a sudden light came into her beautiful eyes. The tall soldierly figure of Zouroff was ascending the stairs.
Her smile was just a little cold, her tones reproachful.
“I was just going; you promised to be here in time to hear me sing. Why are you so late?”
The Prince drew her a little out of earshot. He spoke with his usual ease and assurance. He admired the beautiful singer more than any woman of his acquaintance, but he never spoiled any member of the gentler sex with too great a display of politeness or solicitude.
“Is it so very difficult to guess? There are certain things that must always come first in a man’s life.”
“Spare me that ancient platitude. You have indulged in it so often.” Her voice was restrained and low, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Zouroff appealed in many ways to her passionate but rather hard nature, but there were times when his indifference, his brutal frankness, cut her to the quick.
But the Prince was not a man to pay more than passing heed to the symptoms of a woman’s gathering displeasure. By nature he was a savage. To a certain extent he was susceptible to female beauty and fascination, but deep down in his heart he had a profound contempt for women, for their uncontrolled feelings, their little tricks of sentiment, their abject subservience to their emotions.
“Things go well,” he said, in his hard, level tones. “I trust we shall not have to wait very long now. We held a very important meeting to-night; it was prolonged beyond the hour I expected. That is why I am late and could not get here in time to hear you sing.”
The beautiful singer seemed but half appeased by this rather curt apology. It confirmed what he had told her so often before, that overwhelming ambition, the advancement of his political schemes, were all powerful influences in his life; that a woman’s devoted affection weighed but as a feather in the scale against these.
“Let us talk of other things,” she said, speaking in a tone of assumed lightness.
“But I thought you took a great interest in these matters. At any rate you have pretended to.” His voice was hard and rasping, and there was a sneer in it, an angry gleam in his eyes. He could not bear to be crossed.
“At the proper time and place. But I don’t choose to talk of just one subject every moment we spend together. I am pleased, my friend, that the prospects are so good. And now, for a few seconds, shall we talk of those other things which are not quite so unimportant to the world in general as they appear to you.”
“And those other things?” inquired Zouroff in his surliest and most repellant manner.
“Well, for example, we have just been listening to our new Director of the Opera, Signor Corsini. He has played some very beautiful things; he is a fine artist. Have you met him yet?”
Zouroff frowned heavily. “Yes, I have. The fellow played once at the Embassy in London, and my mother and sister raved about him. You know I am no judge of instrumental music – rather dislike it than otherwise. And this young man seemed to me particularly objectionable.”
“I wonder why?” inquired the prima donna with a most innocent expression. “Just because your mother and sister admired his genius? What a very insufficient reason.”
Zouroff vouchsafed no reply to this delicate raillery, and Madame Quéro continued in the same detached, indifferent tones. “The Count introduced him to me; we had a long chat together. I think he is a most charming young man, quite unaffected, with delightful manners and very handsome. I predict he will be excessively popular.”
“I wonder if you realise how much you are annoying me when you talk in this manner?” asked the Prince roughly.
La Belle Quéro held out her hand. “My friend, it seems to me you are in rather a savage mood to-night, and I am not in the best of tempers myself. If we talk much longer we may have a serious quarrel. I will say good-night.”
“Good-night,” said the Prince in a low and harsh voice. “Perhaps it is as well we should separate. There are a lot of people here I must speak to.”
Madame Quéro turned towards the staircase. He strode after her and laid his big, strong hand none too gently on her arm.
“And please listen once and for all to me. If it pleases you to amuse yourself with this young Corsini, or for the matter of that with any other effeminate foreigner, you need fear no interference from me. Understand that.”
Tears of rage came into the beautiful eyes. “Take your hand away, you savage, you are hurting me. As for what you have just said in your usual brutal manner, I perfectly grasp your meaning. And please also to understand this from me. If I choose to turn my fancy in that or any other direction, I shall not trouble to consult you, much less beg for your permission.”
With a muttered curse Zouroff released her arm, whose delicate flesh he had bruised, turned on his heel and re-entered the concert saloon.
And next morning, Golitzine, whose sharp eyes had noted the pleasant talk between Corsini and the beautiful singer, also the way in which Zouroff had flung away from her as she descended the grand staircase, was able to report to his Imperial Master that the first act in the little comedy had opened well.
CHAPTER XII
The relations between the handsome singer and the new Director, so pleasantly established on the night of the Countess Golitzine’s concert, progressed very smoothly. La Belle Quéro was unwontedly gentle and submissive in her acceptance of any professional suggestions from the handsome young Italian.
It was the general gossip that she was a good deal in love with Corsini, and wavering in her allegiance to the masterful and tyrannical Prince. Nello himself took the situation very calmly. In the first place, Madame Quéro was a married woman; to fall in love with her, were he so disposed, would be hopeless, unless he resolved to risk a scandal that might adversely affect their respective careers.
And more important still, although he felt for her a quite warm friendship, he was not the least in love. Her full and opulent beauty possessed little attraction for him.
Although at present he did not fully realise the fact, the serene loveliness of the young Princess Nada, combined with her girlish esprit, her air of rank and position, had cast a spell over him that he could not shake off. She would always be the lady of his dreams, although by the exigencies of their different stations, he would be compelled to worship her in secret and from afar.
She was surrounded with the halo of birth and great position. Madame Quéro, although a woman of genius and considerable brain power, had sprung from the peasant class. Her husband, whom she had married when little more than a child, had been a poor fisherman. She made him a handsome allowance, on the condition that he never intruded his rights nor exposed her to the annoyance of his presence.
Her glorious voice had lifted her from grinding poverty and obscurity, her quick mentality had enabled her to acquire much, to adapt herself, with more than fair success, to her new environment. But certain traces of her humble origin showed themselves very plainly at times, especially in moments of excitement – vulgarity of gesture, some common terms of speech, picked up from the gutter where she had played with other bare-footed children like herself.
To a man of Corsini’s naturally refined and elevated temperament, these unconscious revelations came as a disturbing shock. And the more intimate he became with her, the more frequently she revealed herself, having no longer occasion to wear a protecting mask.
In a palace or a fashionable drawing-room, with that careful mask on, La Belle Quéro was one personage, most careful as to speech and manner. In her dressing-room, or in familiar intercourse with a fellow artist, not of the great world, only belonging to the aristocracy of talent, she was quite another being, with the solecisms, the occasional coarse flashes of humor, of the Biscayan peasant.
No; although La Belle Quéro was so much nearer to him from the social point of view, for his origin had not been so much more distinguished than her own, he could not feel fascinated, in spite of her obvious liking for him.
Golitzine, who had spies everywhere, in the dressing-rooms of actresses, in the boudoirs of great ladies, knew all there was to know about the friendship of the conductor and the prima donna. Was Corsini taking advantage of his opportunities to acquire the woman’s confidence, so that it might serve his employer’s interest?
But Corsini was only being used as a pawn in the game. He did not even know that he was being used even in this humble capacity. He must have guessed that there were some subtle motives behind this sudden and unexpected preferment; but how could he possibly guess what these motives were?
If the young Italian was going to be made really useful, he would have to be enlightened. Salmoros, in his letter, had made a point of his being kept in the dark, fearful probably of some scruples on his part on being told that he was to play the rôle of a spy.
He, Golitzine, was loath to go against the advice of Salmoros, but astute and shrewd as the financier was, he could not have thought out the situation with his usual judgment. The time had certainly arrived when Corsini must be told frankly the part he was expected to play.