A
servant blazing with gold lace stood behind. Francesca recognized
Rodolphe, and smiled at seeing him like a statue on a pedestal. The
carriage, which the lover followed with his eyes as he climbed the
hill, turned in at the gate of a country house, towards which he ran.
"Who lives here?" he asked the gardener.
"Prince and Princess Colonna, and Prince and Princess Gandolphini."
"Have they not just driven in?"
"Yes, sir."
In that instant a veil fell from Rodolphe's eyes; he saw clearly the
meaning of the past.
"If only this is her last piece of trickery!" thought the
thunder-struck lover to himself.
He trembled lest he should have been the plaything of a whim, for he
had heard what a _capriccio_ might mean in an Italian. But what a
crime had he committed in the eyes of a woman--in accepting a born
princess as a citizen's wife! in believing that a daughter of one of
the most illustrious houses of the Middle Ages was the wife of a
bookseller! The consciousness of his blunders increased Rodolphe's
desire to know whether he would be ignored and repelled. He asked for
Prince Gandolphini, sending in his card, and was immediately received
by the false Lamporani, who came forward to meet him, welcomed him
with the best possible grace, and took him to walk on a terrace whence
there was a view of Geneva, the Jura, the hills covered with villas,
and below them a wide expanse of the lake.
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