A little later, in the leafy month of June, Corsini and his charming young wife spent a week-end with Salmoros at his beautiful place, Marwood Park, in Suss.e.x.
Salmoros, with that spirit of unconscious ostentation which often marks the _nouveau riche_, had built himself a very lordly pleasure house, designed by an eminent architect. Although a childless man, and a bachelor to boot, he had insisted upon a very s.p.a.cious dwelling.
The eminent architect, a man of some humour, had remarked to him when he laid before him the plans, "Most men, Baron, when they build houses, build them too small; afterwards they have to enlarge. I have made ample provision here for another wing, if it should be required.
It will not destroy the general scheme of the structure."
Of course, when the eminent architect made this suggestion, Salmoros was comparatively a young man. He might marry and want to put aside suites of rooms for his sons and daughters. The eminent architect had this in his eye when he suggested the possibility of another wing.
Salmoros had agreed, but the other wing had never been built. He had not married, and the house as it stood was s.p.a.cious enough for his wants.
Here he stored his valuable pictures, his rare china, his costly antiques. His gardens were the best laid-out in England, his rock walk was not to be equalled in the kingdom, his hot-houses were the pride of the county.
Everything that money could purchase was his, not from a mere common love of display, but that he would have everything of the best--cellars stocked with the finest wines, cabinets filled with the most choice cigars. A week-end with Salmoros was to the _bon viveur_ a period of ecstasy. Everything in that well-appointed _menage_ was perfect.
Even Nada, accustomed to the splendours of the Zouroff Palace, was a little overwhelmed by the stately magnificence of the great financier.
Corsini, of humble extraction, was fairly dazzled by it.
"We seem to walk on velvet, darling, don"t we?" he whispered to his wife as they went down the great staircase. "If we could only have a little music, we might think we were in Paradise."
But the Baron had provided for that. There were no other guests during the week-end. With the whim of an old man he had wanted to have them to himself.
During the perfect dinner, prepared by a _chef_ to whom he paid an enormous salary, a small orchestra played some exquisite music, so softly rendered that it did not interfere with conversation. Salmoros thought out all these things with the true spirit of the artist--the artist with perhaps, in his complex spirit, a little of the Oriental.
Nada was enchanted. What seemed barbarous in Russia was here touched with refinement, a different thing altogether. What a wonderful old man he was!
And Corsini was equally delighted, with his artistic appreciation of all that was beautiful and refined. The gaudy splendours of the Winter Palace were vulgar compared to this perfect setting--and only for a party of three--the exquisite gla.s.s and silver, the snowy napery, the well-trained service, the full but subdued light, and that orchestra in the gallery of the vast dining-room rendering that beautiful, but not obtrusive, music, every member of the small band an artist.
The long meal was ended. Salmoros rose.
"Come into my favourite sitting-room," he said. "We can smoke there in comfort, and Madame can have a cigarette."
He led the way into a cosy chamber, furnished in the most exquisite taste. Easy, comfortable chairs abounded. Salmoros presented a cigarette to the Princess and offered Corsini one of his choicest cigars. There was a little period of silence, and then the Baron turned to Corsini.
"Have you brought your violin with you, Nello?"
"I never travel without it, sir," replied the young man.
"Ah, then, when we have had our smoke, perhaps you will humour an old man"s whim. Will you play for me that lovely little romance which was always your encore? There is a piano in yonder corner. Perhaps your wife, who is a musician, will accompany you. If not, I will do my best."
Later on Nello played, his charming wife accompanying him. The Baron listened, enraptured.
"Ah, my dear Nello, that is exquisite music, exquisitely rendered," he said when Corsini had finished. "That fellow who leads my orchestra is good--good enough for dinner anyway--but he has not your perfect touch. Ah, you remember me telling you once what I would give if you could teach me to play like you. Well, that offer is still open."
Corsini smiled. "What would I not give to be the Baron Salmoros?"
The Baron raised himself from his artistic dreams. "Ah, my young friend, everybody wants something the other has got, and so it will be to the end of time."
He looked long and earnestly at the young couple before he spoke again.
"Ah, how very strange is the world! Why should we grope our way in dark, tortuous, and devious paths to destruction when sincerity, truth, courage, and honesty of purpose will do it with less trouble and more certainty. I sent you to St. Petersburg because I knew the peril in which the Emperor, our good and faithful friend, existed--a peril which, if the plot succeeded, would be a grave disaster to our own diplomacy of Great Britain, and to all other countries, save Germany. The plot was formed here, in London, by that traitor, Prince Boris Zouroff, who possessed his Majesty"s confidence. But all has ended, my dear Count Corsini, as I had planned."
Then rising, the great financier, who was also a statesman, added to Nada: "And I wish to heartily congratulate your Highness upon your husband--a man in whom your Emperor, the Queen of this country, and myself have the most perfect confidence."
THE END