accord than wait for the results of the letter she wrote to Lord Wellesley in the first flush of her anger after her quarrel with Canning, making cruel fun of the ambassador. Read it for yourself.'
Like a conjuror, Jolival suddenly produced a sheet of writing paper and held it out to Marianne. She took it automatically but with unconcealed amazement.
'But how do you come to have the letter?'
'Count Karazine again. He really is a most efficient fellow. This is only a copy, of course, and none too difficult to come by. Lady Hester was so angry that she could not resist the pleasure of reading her vindictive epistle to a few friends. Karazine was one of them and since he possesses an amazing memory… I must say, it's a remarkable document.'
Marianne began to read the letter. The very first words made her smile.
'Mr. Canning,' Hester had written, 'is young and inexperienced, very zealous, but full of prejudice…' There followed a lively account of their differences and the masterly epistle ended: 'In conclusion, I would entreat your lordship not to receive Mr. Canning with a mere stiff bow and a forbidding countenance or to permit the ladies to make fun of him. The best reward for all the services he has rendered would be to appoint him to be commander in chief and ambassador extraordinary to those peoples having the greatest need of the suppression of vice and the cultivation of patriotism: this last consisting in tying oneself in more knots than dervishes at the mere mention of the name of Bonaparte…'
Marianne laughed aloud.
'You shouldn't have shown me this letter, Arcadius. It's done me so much good that for a little more I'd take Hester to Alexandria after all! If Canning ever gets to hear of this—'
'But he knows already and lies awake at nights thinking about it, you may be sure. He must be haunted by hideous visions of the red dispatch box going the rounds of the Foreign Office to the general delight.'
'Well, the ambassador's sleepless nights won't help me, Jolival. Far from it,' Marianne said, suddenly serious again. 'If he holds me responsible for Hester's pranks it will only make him hate me more than ever. So the question remains. What am I to do?'
'Nothing for the present, I'm afraid. Wait and let your husband decide for you, because I honestly don't know what to advise.'
The answer came that very evening in the person of Prince Corrado, who arrived a little before sunset while Marianne was taking a gentle stroll in the garden on Jolival's arm. The blue mosaic paths were covered now with fallen leaves that rustled with a dry, papery sound as the hem of her dress brushed over them.
Corrado bowed to Marianne with his habitual frigid politeness and then clasped Jolival's hand.
'I was at home when your letter was brought to me,' he said, 'and I came at once. What has happened?'
In a few words the vicomte outlined to him the gist of what had passed between Marianne and Lady Hester Stanhope and of his own subsequent investigations. Corrado listened attentively and it was soon clear to Marianne that he was not taking the matter lightly. By the time Jolival had finished, the crease between his brows was mirrored on the prince's face.
'Lady Hester may have been exaggerating a good deal,' the vicomte said at the end, 'but then again, she may not. We have no means of finding out and we don't know what to do for the best.'
Corrado thought for a moment.
'Exaggerated or not, the threat remains,' he said at last. 'We are obliged to take it seriously because with a man like Canning there is never any smoke without a fire. There must be a fair amount of truth in what you have been told.' He turned to Marianne. 'What do you want to do?'
'I don't want to do anything, Prince, except keep out of trouble. I think it is for you to decide for me, for are you not—are you not my husband?'
It was the first time she had used that word to him and it seemed to her that the shadow of some emotion disturbed the calm of the fine, dark-skinned face. But it was only for an instant, like a fleeting ripple on the smooth surface of a pool. Corrado bowed.
'I am obliged to you for remembering it at such a time. I should like to think of it as a mark of confidence —'
'And so it is, believe me.'
'You will agree to abide by my decision?'
'I am asking you to make the decision, because I don't know what I should do. I wondered,' she went on a little timidly, 'whether I ought not to leave Constantinople perhaps—and sail to the Morea—or to France.'
'No purpose would be served by that,' the prince returned evenly. 'It would be dangerous as well because you would run the risk of meeting the English fleet and this time you would not find it easy to escape. What is more, Captain Beaufort may well have left Monemvasia by now, and you might easily pass one another at sea and not know it.'
All of which was depressingly true. Marianne bent her head so that the prince should not see the disappointment written all too clearly on her face. All afternoon she had been hugging the thought of a voyage to Greece that would serve to reunite her with Jason all the sooner.
Jolival guessed at her feelings and it was he who asked the next question:
'What, then?'
'Remain in Constantinople, only not in this house, of course. An abduction from Phanar would be too easy.'
'Then where shall we go?'
'To my house—at Bebek.'
He turned back to Marianne and, without giving her time to utter a word, continued very quickly: 'I'm sorry to force this on you. You cannot wish it and I had hoped to spare you the need to share my roof, but it is the only way. You might ask Princess Morousi to shelter you on her estates at Arnavut Koy, it is true. Indeed, it is quite close to Bebek. But that would not avert the danger. It is the first place they would look for you and if Mr. Canning really has obtained the sultan's help in this the English could turn for help to the garrison of Roumeli Hissar, which is nearby.'
'But it's even nearer to Bebek,' Jolival objected.
The prince gave him a slow smile and his white teeth gleamed. 'Yes—but who would think of looking for the Princess Sant'Anna in the house of Turhan Bey, the rich African merchant who is honored with the sultan's friendship?'
The irony of his words was not without a hint of bitterness but Marianne was beginning to think that where the prince was concerned it was better to keep her imagination under control. It was impossible to guess what his real thoughts or feelings were. Dressed in the eastern clothes which surely became him more than European garments would have done, he was still the same as he had been on Jason's ship—a marvelous figure of stone, with a control that would not break even under the lash. He was one of those who would die without uttering a sound. What he was saying at that moment, however, was not without interest.
'If you accept my offer a Turkish woman will come here tomorrow, at some time during the morning, ostensibly with a message for your hostess. She will have a boatman with her. You will change clothes with her and, disguised in the veil and
'Donna Lavinia? Here?' Marianne cried, filled with a sudden happiness at the thought of the old housekeeper who had been such a comfort and support to her at the time of her strange marriage and whose advice had helped her so much during those trying days at the Villa dei Cavalli.
The shadow of a smile passed over the prince's face.
'I sent for her when you agreed to keep the child, for it is she, and no one else, who will naturally have charge of him. She has just arrived and I was going to bring her to you. She is very eager to see you again. I—I believe that she is very fond of you.'
'I love her, too, and—'
But Corrado was not to be drawn onto such dangerously emotional terrain. Turning to the vicomte, he went on: 'I hope that you, Monsieur de Jolival, will also honor me by accepting my hospitality?'
