Jack Harkaway and his Sons Escape from the Brigands of Greece | Page 5

and rank, and money do wonders," she said. "Why are we not all about equal? I'm as good as the best of them, I'm sure, and very much better looking."
With this mixture of feminine vanity and republican sentiments, she bustled about, putting the room a bit in order.
Now her first job was to put away several dresses.
The first of these was a short Spanish skirt of pink satin, with deep black lace flounces.
"I wonder how I should look in this?" she murmured.
She held up the dress beside her to test the colour against her complexion.
"Beautiful!"
Beautiful; yes, this was her frank opinion, and, really, we are by no means sure but that her own estimate was very near the mark.
On went the dress.
She strutted up and down, and then, when she had feasted her eyes enough upon her own loveliness, she plaited her hair, and, twisting it up into a rich knot behind, she stuck a high comb into it, and fastened the thick lace veil about her.
Mathias watched it all.
He gloated over that pretty little picture, and, shameless rascal! chuckled to think how little she suspected his presence.
"There," she said, folding the veil about her head with the most coquettish manner, "if I don't look the prettiest se?orita alive, why, call me--call me anything odious--yes, even an Englishwoman--ha, ha, ha! How that would please my mistress!"
And then she figured about before the glass, and capered through a Spanish bolero with considerable grace and dexterity, while she sang an impromptu verse to an old air.
The verse was naturally doggerel, and maybe given in English as follows--
"Sweet Marietta, Rarely has been A sweeter or better Face or form seen; My chestnut tresses, And my Spanish fall, Would eclipse all the dresses At the masked ball. Then why, Marietta. Dally?--ah, no! Pluck up, you'd better, Your courage and go!"
And as she came to the last line, this impudent little maid whirled round, spinning her skirts about her like a top.
Mathias was enraptured.
With difficulty he kept himself from applauding.
"She'd make her fortune upon the stage," he said to himself.
Marietta had made quite a conquest; a double conquest, it might almost be said.
The hidden robber was enraptured, and she was scarcely less pleased with herself.
"I'll go," she said to herself, "Why should I not? They'll never find it out; I can do just as Cenerentola (Cinderella) did, and who knows but that some prince might fall over head and ears in love with me? I can get back long before they do."
Out she skipped too, and tripped down the stairs.
She was off to the ball.
Little dreamt she that for the last half hour her life hung upon the most slender thread.
And now, the coast being clear, the three brigands prepared to carry out their plans.
CHAPTER II.
AT THE CONTESSA'S FETE-A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE BETWEEN CERTAIN OLD FRIENDS.
The most brilliant f��te of the year was that given by the rich Contessa Maraviglia at her palazzo.
All the rank and fashion of the land were there.
The palazzo itself was a building of great beauty, and stood in grounds of great extent.
The contessa, who was a widow, had a princely fortune, and she spent it lavishly too.
Upon the night of the masquerade the gardens were brilliantly lighted.
Upon the miniature lake there was a fairy gondola, with a coloured lantern dangling at the prow, and hung with curtains of pale blue silk gauze.
In this gondola a lady was seated.
She had taken to the gondola, not alone for the sake of the freshness of the breeze upon the water, but to read without interruption a letter she had received from a mysterious man who professed to be deeply smitten with her charms, and who, the messenger of love let fall, was a prince.
She wore a black domino, but was not masked, for as she threw back its folds to breathe more freely, you could see that her only veil was a thick fall of black lace, fastened to a high comb in the back of her head.
"I hope he will not be long," said she to herself, while her heart beat high with expectation. "His note says clearly enough on the lake in the fairy gondola. Well, it will certainly be nice to be a princess, but I do hope that his highness may prove to be a dashing, handsome youth, such as a Cinderella might sigh for. Hush, boatman!"
"Lady?"
"Do you hear?"
"Someone singing on the bank yonder? Yes! I hear, lady."
"Row that way."
A voice was heard carolling gently the serenade--"Fair shines the moon to-night."
The voice meant well, evidently, but something rather spoilt the effect.
It was not altogether in tune, nor had the singer the best idea in the world of time.
Perhaps his singing was spoilt by excess of love.
Perhaps by liquor.
The latter idea was suggested by a certain unsteadiness that would appear to