CHAPTER XXX. – A GRANTED PRAYER.
"Vous l'avez voulu, Georges Danclin, vous l'avez voulu." – Molière.
The morrow of the visit to the cave was the eve of the Francopazzi's departure from the Hercules valley, and early in the afternoon Gretchen set forth to pay her farewell visit.
When she knocked at the door of the apartment, she was encouraged to enter by Belita's voice saying "Avanti," in a somewhat muffled tone, the reason of which was soon obvious to Gretchen.
Belita was on her knees in the centre of the room, with more than a dozen pins in her mouth, and she was busied in draping the folds of a long grey tunic. This grey tunic (destined to form part of the Contessa's travelling dress) was at this moment worn by the Conte, who, in the character of lay-figure, was standing motionless and patient before his wife. He did not make a bad lay-figure by any means; he possessed the requisite slenderness of waist, and the requisite serenity of temper – in the matter of height alone did he fall short of the desired mark. But Belita was a woman of resources; she had obviated the difficulty by making her lord and master take up his position on a footstool, which raised his figure to the majestic proportions desirable for ensuring the successful fall of the tunic.
The Conte bowed with all the grace he could muster under the circumstances, and Belita, having disposed of her pins, addressed her visitor cheerfully.
"They looped up this thing so atrociously, my dear, that I have been forced to do it all over again. I could not have travelled a mile in it, as it was; utterly without chic. Take a chair, my dear child, and read something; I shall be at your disposal presently. I am glad you have come, for I wanted to talk to you. A little more to the left, please, Ludovico caro."
Gretchen, sitting down, applied herself to the only shape of literature visible, which was French fashion-papers. Here she was informed that diamond lizards were out of fashion, and that the new shape of jacket promised to be a wonderful success. She was begged not to suppose that chaussure was remaining stationary; also she was recommended to wear diamonds, happily mixed with opals.
She tossed the paper aside, and leant out of the window. Down there a travelling carriage, ready packed with luggage, stood waiting for some departing visitor. The Hercules valley was beginning to wear its autumn look – a look of desertion and solitude. Every day now made the change more sensible. There were fewer people lounging in the Cursalon, fewer people walking in the arcades: the meals on the oleander-shaded verandah grew daily less noisy and less crowded. More than one shop had put up its shutters for good, and stowed away the unsold things in the big wooden packing-cases which had brought them there in spring. The sun was bright, but no longer hot; the air so chilled and clear, that every sound in the valley sharpened into acute distinctness. They had seen the Hercules valley slowly waking from its winter sleep, stretching itself, as it were, yawning and rubbing its many eyes; it was strange now to watch the eyes closing one by one,
