beside it a rose in a crystal vase.
Throughout the meal, it was to the invisible mistress of the house rather than to his youthful neighbour that the old gentleman addressed his remarks. Occasionally he would turn to Marianne, exerting himself to conduct the conversation as if it were actually being directed and initiated by the ghostly countess, and he gave to it a turn of delicate and outmoded gallantry that brought tears to his young guest's eyes. She was overcome with emotion at the sight of a love so faithful that it could transcend the grave and recreate the loved one's presence with this touching persistence.
She learned that the countess's name was Fiorenza, and so strong was her husband's evocation of her presence that he almost made it seem an objective reality. Twice Marianne thought she saw the silken fan quiver delicately.
Now and then she let her eyes wander past the crested back of her host's chair to meet those of Athanasius, standing there in his everyday black suit with the addition of a pair of white gloves. She was not much surprised to note that they seemed abnormally bright.
The food was good and plentiful but in spite of the appalling hunger that was always with her these days, reminding her very much of Adelaide's, Marianne could not do justice to the meal. She nibbled a little, forcing herself to maintain her part in the ghostly conversation and uttering anguished mental prayer that it would soon be over.
When the Count rose at last and, bowing, offered her his arm, it was all she could do not to sigh aloud with relief. She allowed him to lead her back to the door, suppressing a crazy urge to break into a run, and even went so far as to smile and curtsey to the empty chair.
Athanasius followed three paces behind them, bearing a torch.
At the door, she begged the Count not to accompany her further, insisting that she had no wish to disturb his evening, and it wrung her heart to see how he brightened and hurried back into the dining-room. As the door shut behind him, she turned to the steward who was looking at her absently.
'You did right to warn me, Athanasius. It's frightening! Poor man!'
'Your highness must not pity him. He is happy so. For many, many evenings, now, he will talk of your highness's visit, with the Countess Fiorenza. To him, she is still living. He sees her come and go, take her seat facing him at table and sometimes, in the winter, he will play for her on the harpsichord that he had brought here once, at great expense, from a town called Ratisbon in Germany, for she loved music.'
'Was it long ago she died?'
'Oh, she is not dead, or if she is now, we shall never know. She left here, twenty years ago, with the Ottoman governor of the island, who had seduced her. If she still lives, it must be in a harem somewhere…'
'She ran away with a Turk?' Marianne gasped with amazement. 'Was she mad? Your master seems such a good man, so gentle… and he must have been quite handsome at that time…'
Athanasius made a little movement of his shoulders which precisely expressed his opinion of the logic of the female mind, and confined himself to a vaguely apologetic statement which excused nothing:
'Mad, no. She was only a pretty, feather-headed woman for whom life here was not very amusing.'
'I daresay she must have found it infinitely more amusing in a harem,' Marianne said with sarcasm.
'Bah! The Turks are not such fools. There are plenty of women who were made for that kind of life. And there are others who cannot bear to be put on a pedestal. It makes them lonely and afraid. Our countess belonged to both kinds at once. She adored luxury and idleness and sweetmeats, and thought her husband a poor kind of man because he loved her too much. It was after she left that something went wrong with him. He's never accepted the fact that she's gone away, and he has gone on living with the memory of her as if nothing had happened. And what with wanting so much to see her, I think in the end he really came to it, and now he's reached a kind of happiness that's greater, maybe, than he would have had if she'd stayed with him, because the years have not changed the thing he loves… But I'm boring you. Your highness must wish to retire.'
'You aren't boring me, and I'm not tired. Only a little upset. Tell me, where is Theodoras? I haven't seen him.'
'At my house. Since he can't tear himself away from the harbour, I thought best to send him there. My mother will look after him. But if you require his services…'
'No, thank you,' Marianne said, smiling. 'I think I can manage without the services of Theodoros. Let us go up, if you please.'
The first thing she noticed on entering her bedchamber was a small tray placed near her bed, on which was bread and cheese and fruit.
'I thought,' said Athanasius, 'that madame might not have much appetite for dinner, but that perhaps a little something during the night…?'
This time Marianne went straight up to him and, taking his plump hand in both of hers, shook it warmly.
'Athanasius,' she said, 'if you weren't about the only thing your master has left to him, I'd ask you to come with me. A man-servant like you is a gift from heaven!'
'I love my master, that is all… I am sure your highness has the capacity to arouse a devotion as great, or greater than mine. May I wish your highness a good night – and no regrets.'
The night might well have proved every bit as good as the worthy man had hoped, if only it had been allowed to run its proper course. But Marianne was still in her first sleep when she was shaken vigorously awake by a rough hand on her shoulder.
'Hurry! Get up!' said Theodoros' hurried voice. 'The ship is here!'
Marianne peered through half-open eyes at the big man's face, tense in the wavering light of a candle.
'What?' she asked, sleepily.
'You must get up, I tell you. The ship is here and waiting! Get up!'
By way of extra encouragement to her to hurry out of bed, he laid hold of the covers and flung them back, discovering what had evidently been the last thing he had thought of in his haste: a female form clad only in a tumbled mass of dark hair and touched to warm gold by the candlelight. He stood literally rooted to the spot while Marianne, wide awake now, flung herself on the sheet with a howl of rage.
'How dare you! Are you mad?'
He stirred with difficulty and passed a shaking hand over his bearded chin, but his eyes still stared at the place in the now empty bed where the girl's body had lain an instant before.
'I'm sorry…' he managed to say at last. 'I did not know – I didn't think—'
'I'm not interested in what you thought. I gather you have come in search of me? Well, what is all this about? Are we leaving now?'
'Yes – at once. The ship is waiting. Athanasius came to tell me.'
'This is ridiculous! It's the middle of the night! What time is it?'
'Midnight, I think – a little after.'
He was still standing in the same place, speaking like a man in a dream. From her refuge behind the bedcurtains, Marianne watched him uneasily. He seemed to have forgotten his haste. Almost he seemed to have forgotten why he had come there, but there was a softness about that ferocious countenance which Marianne had never seen there before. Theodoros was in the process of succumbing to a kind of witchcraft that must be dispelled at once.
Without quitting her refuge, she reached out towards a small brass bell that Athanasius had left with her in case she should need anything in the night, but she was still reluctant to wake the echoes of the sleeping house.
'Go back to bed,' she advised. 'It is an excellent thing that the boat has come, but we can hardly leave like this, without telling anyone.'
Before the Greek could answer, even supposing that he was going to, Athanasius crept softly round the half-open door. He took in the scene before him at a glance. It was certainly an unusual one: the Princess huddled behind the bed curtains with only her head and her bare shoulders showing, and Theodoros staring at the bed as though about to fall into it.
'Well?' Athanasius said in a reproachful whisper. 'What are you doing? Time is short.'
'Then it's true what this man says?' Marianne asked, not moving. 'We are leaving now?'
'Yes, madame, and you must do so quickly if you would avoid serious trouble. The risk we run here, with the Turks, is nothing compared to it. The master of the polacca sent from Hydra has heard that three vessels belonging
