<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLV</h2>
<p class="first">It was all severely regulated, as by rule, and there
was no possibility of the least alteration: everything was done in
accordance with a fixed law. The reading of the newspaper; her hour and
a half to herself; then lunch. After lunch, the drive, the
Jetée, the visits; every day, those visits and afternoon teas.
Once in a way, a dinner-party; and in the evening generally a dance, a
reception or a theatre. She made new acquaintances by the score and
forgot them again at once and no longer remembered, when she saw them
again, whether she knew them or not. As a rule people were fairly
pleasant to her in that cosmopolitan set, because they knew that she
was an intimate friend of the Princess Urania’s. But, like Urania
herself, she was sometimes conscious, from the feminine bearers of the
old Italian names and titles which sometimes glittered in that set, of
an overwhelming pride and contempt. The men always asked to be
introduced to her; but, whenever she asked to be introduced to their
ladies, her only reward was a nod of vague surprise. She herself minded
very little, but she felt sorry for Urania. For she saw at once, at
Urania’s own parties, that they hardly looked upon her as the
hostess, that they surrounded and made much of Gilio, but accorded to
his wife no more than the civility which was her due as Princess di
Forte-Braccio, without ever forgetting that she was once Miss Hope. And
for Urania this contempt was more difficult to put up with than for
herself. For she accepted her <i>rôle</i> as the companion. She
always kept an eye on Mrs. Uxeley, constantly joined
her for a minute in the course of the evening, fetched a fan which Mrs.
Uxeley had left in the next room or did her this or that trifling
service. Then she would sit down, against the wall alone in the busily
humming drawing-room, and gaze indifferently before her. She sat,
always very smartly dressed, in an attitude of graceful indifference
and weary boredom, tapping her little foot or unfolding her fan. She
took no notice of anybody. Sometimes a couple of men would come up to
her and she spoke to them, or danced with one of them, indifferently,
as though conferring a favour. Once, when Gilio was talking to her, she
sitting and he standing, and the Duchess di Luca and Countess Costi
both came up to him and, standing, began to chaff him profusely,
without honouring her with a word or a glance, she first stared at the
ladies between her mocking lids, eyeing them from head to foot, and
then rose slowly, took Gilio’s arm and, with a glance which
darted sharp as a needle from her narrowed eyes, said:</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, but you must excuse me if I rob you of the
Prince di Forte-Braccio, because I have to finish a private
conversation.”</p>
<p>And with the pressure of her arm she made Gilio move on a few steps,
then at once sat down again, made him sit down beside her and began to
whisper with him very confidentially, while she left the duchess and
countess standing two yards away, open-mouthed with stupefaction at her
rudeness, and furthermore spread her train wide between herself and the
two ladies and waved her fan to and fro, as though to preserve a
distance. She could do this sort of thing so calmly, so tactfully and
haughtily, that Gilio was tickled to death and sat and giggled with
delight: </p>
<p>“I wish that Urania knew how to behave like that!” he
said, pleased as a child at the diversion which she had afforded
him.</p>
<p>“Urania is too nice to do anything so odious,” she
replied.</p>
<p>She did not make herself liked, but people became afraid of her,
afraid of her quiet malice, and avoided offending her in future.
Moreover, the men thought her pretty and agreeable and were also
attracted by her haughty indifference. And, without really intending
it, she achieved a position, apparently by using the greatest
diplomacy, but in reality quite naturally and easily. While Mrs.
Uxeley’s egoism was flattered by her little
attentions—always dutifully remembered and paid with a charming
air of maternal solicitude, in contrast to which Mrs. Uxeley thought it
delightful to simper like a young girl—Cornélie gradually
gathered a court of men around her in the evenings; and the women
became insipidly civil. Urania often told her how clever she thought
her, how much tact she displayed. Cornélie shrugged her
shoulders: it all happened of itself; and really she did not care. But
still, gradually, she recovered some of her cheerfulness. When she saw
herself standing in the glass, she had to confess to herself that she
was better-looking than she had ever been, either as a girl or as a
newly-married woman. Her tall, slender figure had a languorous line of
pride that gave her a special grace; her throat was statelier, her
bosom fuller; her waist was slimmer in these new dresses; her hips had
become heavier, her arms more rounded; and, though her features no
longer wore the look of radiant happiness which they had worn in Rome,
her mocking smile and her negligent irony gave her a certain attraction
for those unknown men, something more alluring and provoking than the
greatest coquetry would have been. And Cornélie had
not wished for this; but, now that it came of itself, she accepted it.
It was foreign to her nature to refuse it. And, besides, Mrs. Uxeley
was pleased with her. Cornélie had such a pretty way of
whispering to her:</p>
<p>“Dear lady, you were in such pain yesterday. Don’t you
think you ought to go home a little earlier to-night?”</p>
<p>And then Mrs. Uxeley would simper like a girl who was being
admonished by her mother not to dance too much that evening. She loved
these little ways of Cornélie’s; and Cornélie, with
careless indifference, gave her what she wanted. And those evenings
amused her more than they did at first; only, the amusement was
combined with self-reproach as soon as she thought of Duco, of their
separation, of Rome, of the studio, of the happiness of those past
days, which she had lost through her lack of fortitude. </p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />