The Rising Storm

footman returned and ushered him through a pair of fine wrought-iron gates, beyond which were heavily brocaded curtains, into a spacious salon.

There were five people in it, but there was no mistaking which one of them was Donna Livia. She was reclining on a lion-headed day-bed in a loose white robe with a silver, key pattern border, and in the first glance Roger decided that he had rarely seen a more beautiful woman. Evidently she was proud of her luxuriant Titian hair, as she wore it unpowdered. Her cheeks and jowl were just a shade on the heavy side, but her green eyes were magnificent, her forehead broad, her nose straight, her mouth a full-lipped cupid's bow and her teeth, as she smiled a welcome at him, two perfectly even rows of dazzling whiteness.

Her companions were two middle-aged ladies of aristocratic mien, a very old one who sat dozing in a rocking-chair in a far corner of the room, and an elderly cherub-faced man. The latter was holding Roger's note and immediately addressed him in indifferent English.

'The Lady Livia say verri much pleasure you come, sir. But she no speek Inglish. She have only Italian an' German. You speek some per'aps ?'

Roger was much relieved, as he spoke fairly fluent German; and, having kissed the plump hand that Donna Livia extended to him, he thanked her in that language for receiving him.

She then introduced the two ladies, whom he gathered were both Marchesas, although he did not catch their names, and the plump man as Signor Babaroni, master of the Grand Duke's ballet. The old woman she ignored. Having made his bows, Roger was given a chair and, as he had feared would be the case if he found Donna Livia with company, the conversation at once turned to opera.

Fortunately for him, Signor Babaroni spoke no German and only one of the ladies understood it; the other spoke some English, and asked him if he talked French; but he promptly denied all knowledge of it, so was able to confine himself to two languages and thus be open to his remarks being challenged by no more than two of them at one time.

On Donna Livia asking him what operas were now being performed in London, he said that at the time of his leaving they were giving Bianchi's La VillaneUa Rapita; as it so happened that he had taken Isabella to see that piece while they were in Marseilles.

She then enquired his opinion of Bianchi and he replied that he considered La Villanella Rapita by no means that composer's best work.

It was a shot in the dark and, apparently, not a very good one, as Donna Livia gave him a slightly surprised look. Moreover, it immedi­ately produced the question: 'Then to which of his operas, Miester Courtnay, would you give the palm?'

This completely bowled him out, as before his visit to Marseilles he had never head of the composer. But for the moment he saved himself from exposure by his wits; although he flushed to the eyebrows as he said: 'To whichever one you might lift from the rut by singing in it, gracious lady. . . .'

Pleased by the compliment she smilingly repeated it to her friends in Italian. Then she asked him where he had heard her sing, and in what part

This was infinitely worse than anything he had expected, and he had all he could do to hide his dismay; but he punted for Milan, that being the safest bet he could think of, and for Scarlatti's Telemaco as a classic in which she must have played on many occasions.

Again he seemed to have saved his bacon, as she did not declare that he could never have done so; but remarked that he must have travelled in Italy when he was scarcely more than a boy, as His Highness had not allowed her to leave Tuscany since her first season in Florence.

To that he promptly replied: 'My lady; people are often deceived at a first meeting by my youthful appearance; but I vow that I could give you two years for every year you are over twenty.'

As it seemed impossible that he could be anywhere near thirty the remark inferred that she could hardly be more than twenty-four, and as in fact she was twenty-eight, he had succeeded in paying her another pretty compliment.

Acutely anxious now to avoid further questions on the subject of music, he hardly gave her time to smile before rushing into a panegyric on the beauties of Florence and its art treasures.

Here he was on safer ground, but after he had been speaking with glowing enthusiasm for a few moments on the masterpieces in the Pitti, she said:

'But I thought, Miester Courtnay, that you were only passing through Florence? You speak as though you had been here several days, and if that is so, I take it ill of you that you should have waited almost till the moment of your departure before coming to see me.'

Hastily he bridged the pitfall he had inadvertently dug for himself, by assuring her that his sight-seeing had been limited to a few hours during that afternoon. But the statement cut the safe ground from under his feet; as, after it, he dared not develop the conversation as he had intended, by talking of the Duomo, the Badia, the house in which Bianca Capella had lived,, and other places of interest in the city.

Signor Babaroni seized Roger's pause to say in his halting English that as a young man he had visited London and heard the great Francesca de l'Epine sing at Drury Lane.

Roger showed suitable awe although he had never heard of this long-dead prima donna. The ballet master then revealed that his father had done much to ease the last years of her equally famous English rival, Mrs. Katherine Tofts, who had eventually gone mad and died in Venice. As he translated his remarks for the benefit of the ladies the conversation was soon back to opera and the individual triumphs of great artists past and present.

Gamely Roger strove to keep his end up, by putting in a remark here and there that he could only hope was suitable. He was now heartily cursing himself for his folly in having adopted his new role; but as one of the Marchesas spoke German he dared not tell Donna Livia that he had got in to her on false pretences and was anxious to talk to her on a private matter. Yet every moment he feared that he would make some hopeless gaffe that would reveal him beyond all question as an impostor.

At length his hostess provided him with a welcome respite, by saying: 'No doubt, Miester Courtnay, like so many Englishmen you are interested in gardens. Would you care to see mine ?'

With almost indecent haste, he jumped at the proposal; so, lan­guidly rising from her couch, she signed to the others to remain where they were, and led him to the far end of the room.

It gave on to a verandah of beautifully scrolled ironwork from which sprouted gilded lilies, the outer edge of its roof being supported by a row of slender rose-coloured pillars of Verona marble, crowned with arcanthus-leaf capitols carved in white stone. Beyond it lay the garden, which was actually no more than a big yard enclosed by high walls; but it contained a lovely fountain surrounded by small Cyprus trees, an arbour, stone seats of delicate design, camellia and magnolia bushes, and many delightful rock plants in the interstices of its stone paving.

As they were descending the steps from the verandah she said softly: 'For the director of a Royal Opera Company you know singu­larly little about music, Miester Courtnay; and I thought it best to take you away from them before you made some fatal slip.'

Her friendly, conspiratorial air made him sigh with relief, and he replied with a smile: 'I will confess, my lady, that I was on tenterhooks, as I did not seek admittance to your presence to talk of opera, but of a very different subject.'

In a glance her magnificent green eyes swept him from head to foot, then came to rest upon his deep-blue ones. She did not seek to conceal her appreciation of his handsome looks and fine bearing; and with a wicked little smile, she said:

'Few women could fail to be flattered by the attentions of such a beau as yourself; but you are a very rash young man. None of my Florentine admirers would dare to practise such an imposture. They would be much too frightened that discovery of it would land them in prison, as the victims of His Highness's wrath.'

Instantly Roger was seized with a new apprehension. He saw that he had jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire. Clearly the beautiful Donna Livia now thought that he was so desperately in love with her that he had risked imprisonment for the chance of pouring out his passion at her feet. How was she going to take it when he confessed that he had come to see her only on a matter of business? But without waiting for a reply, she turned back towards the house, and said:

'Such audacious gallantry reminds one of an old romance, and is worthy of at least some reward. I am inclined to give it to you, so I will get rid of these people and you shall tell me about your real self.'

More worried than ever by the turn matters had taken, Roger followed her inside. There she spoke to her