Inevitable

XLVIII

“URANIA, I beg you, help me!”

“What is it?”

“Come with me …”

She had dragged Urania away from De Breuil by the hand and pulled her into one of the deserted rooms. The suite of rooms had been almost completely abandoned, the throng of people were packed along the sides of the large ballroom to see the pavane being danced.

“What is it, Cornélie?”

Cornélie was trembling all over and was clinging to Urania’s arm. She pulled her to the furthest corner of the drawing-room. It was empty.

“Urania,” she begged, in a paroxysm of nervousness. “Help me! What am I to do? I’ve met him unexpectedly. Don’t you know who? My husband. My ex-husband. I had already seen him a few times, in the street and on the Jetée. That time when I gave such a start, you remember, when I almost fainted … it was because of him. Now, here, just now he spoke to me. And I’m afraid of him. I don’t know what it is, but I’m afraid of him. He was very friendly, he needed to talk to me. It was so strange. Everything was over between us. We were divorced. And suddenly I meet him, and he talks to me, he asks how I’ve been in the meantime; he tells me I look good, that I’ve become beautiful. Tell me what I’m to do, Urania. I’m afraid. I’m feverish with fear. I want to get away. I’d like to leave at once, and go to Florence, to Duco. I’m so afraid, Urania. I want to go to my room. Tell Mrs Uxeley that I want to go to my room.”

She scarcely knew what she was saying. The words tumbled out in a delirious stream. Male voices approached. It was Gilio, De Breuil, the Duke di Luca and the young journalists, who were busy making a name for themselves.

“Where has Signora de Retz got to? She’s needed everywhere,” said the duke, and the journalists, in the shadow of these grand gentlemen, agreed: she was needed everywhere …

“Call Mrs Uxeley and ask her to come here,” Urania whispered to Gilio. “Cornélie is ill, I think … I can’t leave her alone. She wants to go to her room. It’s better if Mrs Uxeley knows, otherwise she might get angry.”

Cornélie joked nervously, feverishly merry, with the duke, De Breuil and the journalists.

“Would you prefer me to take you straight to Mrs Uxeley?” whispered Gilio.

“I want to go to my room!” she whispered imploringly in reply from behind her fan.

The pavane seemed to be over. A hubbub of voices approached, as if the guests were spreading back through the rooms.

“There’s Mrs Uxeley,” said Gilio.

He went over to her, and talked to her. First she fluttered, leaning on the gold knob of her walking stick. Then she frowned angrily. She came closer. Cornélie went on joking with the duke: the journalists found everything equally amusing.

“Aren’t you well?” whispered Mrs Uxeley who had come closer and was put out. “And what about the cotillon?”

“I’ll look after everything, Mrs Uxeley,” said Urania.

“Impossible, my dear princess: and I wouldn’t dare accept.”

“Introduce me to your friend, Cornélie!” boomed a deep voice behind her.

She felt the voice inside her like bronze. She turned round automatically. It was him. She seemed not to be able to get away from him. And beneath his gaze, strangely enough, she seemed to regain her strength. He seemed not to want her to be ill … She murmured.

“Urania, may I … introduce … a countryman of mine … Baron Brox … the Princess di Forte-Braccio.”

Urania knew his name and knew who he was.

“Dearest,” she whispered to Cornélie. “Let me take you to your room. I’ll look after everything.”

“It’s no longer necessary,” she said. “I’m much better. I’d just like some champagne. I’m much better, Mrs Uxeley.”

“Why did you run away from me?” asked Rudolf Brox with that smile of his and his eyes in Cornélie’s eyes.

She smiled and had no idea what she said.

“The ball has begun,” said Mrs Uxeley. “But who is going to lead my cotillon?”

“If I can be of service, Mrs Uxeley,” said Brox. “I have a modest talent for leading cotillons …”

Mrs Uxeley was delighted. It was agreed that De Breuil and Urania, Gilio and Countess Costi, and Brox and Cornélie would lead the figures in turn.

“Poor darling,” said Urania in Cornélie’s ear, “can you manage it?”

Cornélie smiled.

“Yes, of course, I’m better,” she whispered.

And she went off to the ballroom on Brox’s arm, watched by a flabbergasted Urania.