The Point of View: Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Next morning it fell about that Stella Rawson was allowed to go
into the Musso Nazionale in the Diocletian baths, accompanied only
by Martha, her uncle and aunt having decided they would take a
rest and write their English letters. The museum was so near, a
mere hundred yards, there could be no impropriety in their niece's
going there with Martha, even in an exhibition year in Rome.

Stella was still suffering from a nameless sense of depression.
Eustace's train would get in at about five o'clock, and he would
accompany them to the Embassy. A cousin of her own and Aunt
Caroline's was one of the secretaries, and had already been
written to about the invitation. So that even if Count Roumovski
should be presented to her, and make the whole thing proper and
correct, she would have no chance of any conversation. The
brilliant sunlight felt incongruous and hurt her, and she was glad
to enter the shady ancient baths. She had glanced furtively to
right and left in the hotel as she came through the hall, but saw
no one who resembled the Russian, and they had walked so quickly
through the vestibule she had not remarked a tall figure coming
from the staircase, nor had seen him give some rapid order to a
respectful servant who was waiting about, and who instantly
followed them: but if she had looked up as she paid for the two
tickets at the barrier of the museum, she would have seen this
same lean man turn swiftly round and retreat in the direction of
the hotel.

Martha was sulky and comatose on this very warm morning; she took
no interest in sculpture. "Them naked creatures," she called any
masterpiece undraped--and she resented being dragged out by Miss
Stella, who always had fancies for art.

They walked round the cloisters first, a voyage of discovery to
Miss Rawson, who looked a slim enough nymph herself in her lilac
cambric frock and demure gray hat shading her big brown eyes.

Then suddenly, from across the garden in the center, she became
aware that an archaic Apollo clad in modern dress had entered upon
the scene, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, and her heart beat.

Martha puffed with the heat and exercise, and glanced with longing
eyes at a comfortable stone bench in the shade.

"Would you like to rest here, Martha, you old dear?" Miss Rawson
said. "There is not a creature about, and I will walk round and
join you from the other side."

The Aunt Caroline's elderly maid easily agreed to this. It was
true there did not seem to be anyone adventurous-looking, and Miss
Stella would be more or less under her eye--and she was thoroughly
tired with traveling and what not. So Stella found herself happily
unchaperoned, except by Baedecker, as she strolled on.

The Russian had disappeared from view, the bushes and vases in the
center of the garden plot gave only occasional chances to see
people at a distance.

But when Stella had entered the Ludovici collection she perceived
him to the right, gazing at the statue of the beautiful Mars.

He turned instantly, as though some one told him she was near--and
his calm eyes took in the fact that she was alone. The small room
was empty but for the two, and he addressed her as he removed his
hat.

"Good morning, mademoiselle," he said gravely. "Mars is a strong
attraction. I knew I should presently find you here--so when I
caught sight of your spiritual outline across the garden, I came
and--waited."

"He is most splendid-looking, is he not," Stella returned, trying
to suppress the sudden tingle of pleasure that was thrilling her,
"and look how much character there is in his hands."

"Shall we go and study the others, or shall we find a bench in the
garden and sit down and talk?" Count Roumovski asked serenely, and
then smiled to himself as he noticed his companion's apprehensive
glance in the direction where, far away, Martha dozed in peace.

"It would be nice out of doors--but--" and Stella faltered.

"Do not let us be deprived of pleasure by any buts--there is one
out there who will warn us when your maid wakes. See--" and he
advanced toward the entrance door, "there is a bench by that rose
tree where we can be comparatively alone."

Stella struggled no more with herself. After all, it was her last
chance--Eustace Medlicott's train got in at five o'clock!

She had a sense of security, too, the complete serenity of her
companion inspired confidence. She almost felt she would not care
if Aunt Caroline herself slept instead of the elderly maid.

There was some slight change in Count Roumovski's manner to-day--
he kept his eyes fixed upon her face, and the things he said were
less abstract and more personal. After an entrancing half hour she
felt she had seen vivid pictures of his land and his home. But he
was a great traveler it appeared, and had not been there often in
later years.

"It is so agreeable to let the body move from place to place, and
remain in a peaceful aloofness of the spirit all the time," he
said at last. "To watch all the rushing currents which dominate
human beings when they do not know how to manipulate them. If they
did, the millennium would come,--but, meanwhile, it is reserved
for the few who have learned them to enjoy this present plane we
are on."

"You mean you can control events and shape your life as you
please, then?" Stella asked surprised, while she raised her sweet
shy eyes to his inquiringly. "I wish I knew how!"

"Shall I try to teach you, mademoiselle?" he said.

"Yes, indeed."

"Then you must not look down all the time, even though the
contemplation of your long eyelashes gives me a pleasure--I would
prefer the eyes themselves--the eyes are the indication of what is
passing in the soul, and I would study this moving panorama."

Stella's color deepened, but she met his blue orbs without
flinching--so he went on:

"I had the fortune to be born a Russian, which has given me time
to study these things. My country does not require my work beyond
my being a faithful servant of my Emperor. Since I am not a
soldier, I can do as I choose. But you in England are now in a
seething caldron, and it would be difficult, no doubt, for you to
spend the hours required--although the national temperament would
lend itself to all things calm if it were directed."

"But for myself," Stella demanded, "I am not a man, and need not
interest myself in the nation's affairs--how can I grow to guide
my own--as you seem to do?"

"Never permit yourself to be ruffled by anything to commence
with," Count Roumovski began gravely, while the pupils of his eyes
appeared to grow larger. "Whatever mood you are in, you connect
yourself with the cosmic current of that mood--you become in
touch, so to speak, with all the other people who are under its
dominion, and so it gains strength because unity is strength. If
you can understand that as a basic principle, you can see that it
is only a question of controlling yourself and directing your
moods with those currents whose augmentation can bring you good.
You must never be negative and drift. You can be drawn in any
adverse way if you do."

"I think I understand," said Stella, greatly interested.

"Then you must use your critical faculties and make selections of
what is best--and you must encourage common sense and distrust
altruism. Sanity is the thing to aim at."

"Yes."

"The view of the world has become so distorted upon almost every
point which started in good, that nothing but a cultivation of our
individual critical faculties can enable us to see the truth--and
nine-tenths of civilized humanity have no real opinion of their
own at all--they simply echo those of others."

"I feel that is true," said Stella, thinking of her own case.

"It is not because a thing is bad or good that it succeeds--merely
how much strength we put into the desire for it," he went on.

"But surely we must believe that good will win over evil," and the
brown eyes looked almost troubled, and his softened as he looked
at her.

"The very fact of believing that would make it come to pass by all
these psychic laws. Whatever we really believe we draw," he said
almost tenderly.

"Then, if I were to believe all the difficulties and uncertainties
would be made straight and just go on calmly, I should be happy,
should I?" she asked, and there was an unconscious pathos in her
voice which touched him deeply.

"Certainly," he answered. "You have not had a fair chance--
probably you have never been allowed to do a single thing of your
own accord--have you?"

"N--no," said Stella.

"In the beginning, were you engaged to this good clergyman of your
own wish?" and his eyes searched her face.

She stiffened immediately, the training of years took offense, and
she answered rather stiffly:

"I do not think you have the right to ask me such a question,
Count Roumovski."

He was entirely unabashed--he stroked his pointed silky beard for
a moment, then he said calmly:

"Yes--I have, you agreed that I should teach you how to shape your
life as you pleased, you must remember. It is rather essential
that I should know the truth of this matter before I can go
further--you must see that."

"We can avoid the subject."

"It would be Hamlet without Hamlet, then," he smiled. "One could
draw up no scheme of rules and exercises, unless one has some idea
of how far the individual was responsible for the present state of
things. If it was your wish in the beginning, or if you were
coerced makes all the difference."

Stella was silent--only she nervously plucked an offending rose
which grew upon a bush beside them: she pulled its petals off and
kept her eyes lowered, and Sasha Roumovski smiled a wise smile.

"You have unconsciously answered me," he said, "and your agitation
proves that not only are you aware that you did not become engaged
of your own wish, but that you are afraid to face the fact and
admit that its aspect appals you. You must remember, in your
country, where, I understand, divorce is not tres bien vu,
especially among the clergy, the affair is for life, and the joy
or the gall of it could be infinite."

She raised two beseeching eyes to his face at last.

"Oh, do not let us talk about it," she pleaded. "It is so warm and
pleasant here--I want to be happy."

He looked at her for a while with penetrating eyes, then he said
gently:

"It is a man's province to take care of a woman," and his
attractive voice filled with a new cadence. "I see you are in need
of direction. Leave all to me--and forget there is any one else in
the world for the moment but our two selves. Did you know that I
thought you looked particularly sweet last night, but rather
pale?"

"You never looked at me at all," said Stella before she was aware
of it, and then blushed crimson at the inference of her speech. He
would be able to understand perfectly that she must have been
observing him all the time to be conscious of this.

A gleam of gladness came into his eyes.

"I would like to watch you always openly, if I might," he
whispered. "Your little face is like a flower in its delicate
tints, and your eyes are true and tender and asking so many
questions of life,--and sometimes they are veiled and misty, and
then they look wise and courageous. I am beginning to know all
their changes."

"Then, in that case, monotony will set in," Stella was almost
arch--the day was so glorious!

"I am not afraid of that," he said. "I always know what I want and
what is worth while. I do not value my three matchless pearls the
less because I know their every iridescence--on the contrary, I
grow more fond of them and wear them every night in preference to
any others."

They were silent for a moment after this. He was examining her
minutely with his wise, calm eyes. He was noting the sensitive
curve of the pretty full lips, the tender droop of the set of her
head, the gracious charm of her little regular features, and the
intelligence of her broad brow. With all her simplicity, she
looked no fool or weakling. And to think that the narrow code of
those who surrounded her should force this sweet young creature
into the gray walls of a prison house, when she became the English
clergyman's wife; it was too revolting to him. Count Roumovski
suddenly made up his mind, trained to instantaneous decision by
his bent of studies, and sure and decided in its action. And if
Stella had looked up then she would have seen a keen gleam in the
peaceful blue of his eyes. He drew her on to talk of her home and
her tastes--she loved many things he did, he found--and she was so
eager to hear and to learn their meaning. He grew to feel a sort
of pride and the pleasure of a teacher when directing an extremely
intelligent child. There were no barriers of stupidity into
whatever regions the subjects might wander. They spent an hour of
pure joy investigating each other's thoughts. And both knew they
were growing more than friends.

Then Stella rose suddenly to her feet. A clock struck twelve.

"You said one must not be negative and drift," she announced
demurely, "so I am being decided and must now go to Martha again."

"Ivan has not warned us that she is thinking of stirring," Count
Roumovski said. "I told him to, and he will let us know in plenty
of time; you surely do not breakfast until half-past twelve, do
you?"

"Ivan?--who is Ivan?" Stella asked.

"He is a servant of mine who does what he is bid," her companion
answered. "To have peace to enjoy oneself one must calculate and
arrange for events. Had we only trusted to the probability of your
maid's sleeping, I should have had to be on the lookout, and my
uneasiness would have communicated itself to you, and we should
have had no happy hour--but I made a certainty of safety--and
unconsciously you trusted me to know, and so we have been
content."

Stella was thrilled. So he had taken all this trouble. He must be
a good deal interested in her, then; and feeling sure of this,
womanlike, she immediately took advantage of it to insist upon
leaving him.

"Very well," he said, when he could not dissuade her. "To-night
the wheel of fortune will revolve for us all, and it remains to be
seen who will draw a prize and who a blank."

Then he walked by her side to where they saw the quiet servant
standing, a motionless sentinel, and here Count Roumovski bowed
and turned on his heel, while Stella advanced to the bench on
which the comfortable Martha slept.

This latter was full of defence when she awoke. She had not closed
an eye, but thought Miss Stella was enjoying "them statues" better
without her, which was indeed true, if she had guessed!

Miss Rawson ate very little luncheon--the Russian did not appear--
and immediately after it she was taken as a treat to see the
Borghese Gardens by her uncle and aunt! It behooved her not to be
tired by more sightseeing, since her betrothed would arrive when
they returned for tea, and would expect her to be bright and on
the alert to please him, Aunt Caroline felt. As for Stella, as
that moment approached it seemed to her that the end of all joy
had come.

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