But to what could his happiness compare? He was
loved. The lofty Princess, in the midst of her world, in this handsome
villa, kept the pledge given by the disguised exile, the capricious
beauty of Bergmanns' lodgings. The intoxication of such a moment
enslaves a man for life! A faint smile, refined and subtle, candid and
triumphant, curled Princess Gandolphini's lips, and at a moment when
she did not feel herself observed she looked at Rodolphe with an
expression which seemed to ask his pardon for having deceived him as
to her rank.
When the song was ended Rodolphe could make his way to the Prince, who
graciously led him to his wife. Rodolphe went through the ceremonial
of a formal introduction to Princess and Prince Colonna, and to
Francesca. When this was over, the Princess had to take part in the
famous quartette, _Mi manca la voce_, which was sung by her with
Tinti, with the famous tenor Genovese, and with a well-known Italian
Prince then in exile, whose voice, if he had not been a Prince, would
have made him one of the Princes of Art.
"Take that seat," said Francesca to Rodolphe, pointing to her own
chair. "_Oime_! I think there is some mistake in my name; I have for
the last minute been Princess Rodolphini."
It was said with the artless grace which revived, in this avowal
hidden beneath a jest, the happy days at Gersau. Rodolphe reveled in
the exquisite sensation of listening to the voice of the woman he
adored, while sitting so close to her that one cheek was almost
touched by the stuff of her dress and the gauze of her scarf.
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