He bowed stiffly and moved on; not towards the stairs but straight to the main door and out into the open. Princess Agnes watched as he disappeared into the darkness outside.
It was nearly three o’clock when the Kollonich carriage was driven up to the portico in front of the Park Club entrance. It was a beautiful carriage hung elegantly on eight-fold springs, so elegant indeed that only the French word équipage could describe it. There were only two or three others to compare with it in the whole of Budapest. It was drawn by two large bay horses, perfectly matched and as perfectly groomed, their coats shining and when, as now, they stood still their hind legs were stretched out behind them like horses in equestrian statues. They were so carefully trained that they would stand motionless, without even the smallest movement of their neatly docked tails, for as long as the coachmen wished.
Most people had already switched to automobiles but the Princess Kollonich was so proud of her carriage and beautifully matched pairs of horses that she did not want to part with them. Their perfection had been a labour of love only achieved after many years’ study and careful preparation and, after all, anyone with enough money could own an expensive motor. A perfect équipage was only for those who understood such matters and to whom tradition and style were more important than the latest fashion. And why should anyone struggle to arrive more quickly when there was nothing to hurry for?
The two grooms jumped down and hurried forward to take their places on each side of the Park Club doorway. They bowed deeply as the princess and Klara, both wrapped in furs, moved slowly down the steps. One of them took Klara’s flowers from a footman who had followed them out, while the other hastened forward to open the carriage door and let down the folding steps. When the ladies were seated and a rug placed over their knees, the steps were folded up again, the doors firmly closed and the grooms jumped back to their places. The carriage moved slowly off, its rubber wheels making no sound on the pavement. The only noise to be heard was the ‘clip-clop’ of the horses’ hoofs as the carriage made its slow way back to town with the two ladies inside sitting in silence. Both lay back against the silken upholstery with tightly compressed lips.
The princess was pursuing the train of thought that had begun the moment that Montorio had so icily taken his leave of her.
What had happened? Something must have happened. Montorio had danced the quadrille with Klara so he must have had supper with her. He must have proposed at the table and been refused. That must be it! Nothing else would explain that angry glint in his eyes. This girl! This stupid, stubborn girl who could give up the chance of a husband who had everything, good looks, money, health, high rank. To refuse such a parti, she must be mad! Unless there was someone else? But who? Of course! She must have been blind! For Laci, that little nobody, Laci, her own despised nephew! It must be. Hadn’t they sat together at supper throughout the whole Carnival? How naïve they must be if they thought that no one would notice!
These had been Princess Agnes’s first thoughts as she watched Montorio leave the club. After he had gone she went up to the ballroom and, as she had expected, there she found that Klara and Laszlo were dancing together, It was clear that they had eyes only for each other and that Klara was totally absorbed in her partner.
Now the princess found herself obliged to hide her thoughts and sit down with other mothers who were watching the dancing. To these she smiled and made polite conversation, to others she waved with friendly condescension and she chatted languidly with the elderly gentlemen whose families had forced them to attend the ball. No one must notice anything was wrong, and it was especially important to her that her sister Elise, the wife of Antal Szent-Gyorgyi, should not see her agitation. Elise was sitting beside her, calm and benign, but even she, with her great position, would not understand her sister’s distress. Elise was luckier than she was. She, too, had made a brilliant marriage but it had been a love-match and it had made her very happy. Szent-Gyorgyi was very different from Kollonich — the ‘good Louis, as she used deprecatingly to speak of her husband — for his manner was so autocratic, scornful and proud that everyone was afraid of him and his wife had been immediately accepted not only because of his unassailable social position but also because he expected it. On the other hand Kollonich was so good-natured that he noticed nothing, not even that his wife had had to struggle to be accepted into the top ranks of Hungarian society. He had been no help to her. How she had to work and plan and fight to get where she now was! And now Klara had to ruin it all and make a fool of her! It was unbearable and a sense of irritation kept sweeping over her in such waves that she had to struggle hard to control herself and maintain that calm, regal air that she always adopted when in the presence of others.
More and more she noticed little details which annoyed and irritated her. She saw that Klara was wearing a yellow carnation pinned to her dress. It was obviously Laci’s flower. He always wore yellow carnations and had them made up in corsages for his partners. So she had only to pick out one of those! How easy, but how despicable to give oneself away like that! How stupid! Did the girl have no pride?
And then she thought of her letters to Montorio’s mother in which she had written her flattering praises of the son in such terms that they could equally be read either as the reaction of the whole family or that of Klara in particular. Of course the Montorios must have taken these letters as assurance of Klara’s complaisance; but even if they had Montorio himself need not have been so stupidly maladroit. What on earth had he thought he was doing to arrive in the morning and propose the same evening with no preparation, no subtlety, no courting? Why couldn’t he have consulted her, asked her advice, got her to prepare the ground? What a fool he had been! Well, the damage was done now and no doubt he was already blaming her, pretending that he had been misled! She was sure he was dimwitted enough to do just that!
These thoughts led her swiftly to an even more disconcerting idea. The next day Montorio would be home in Vienna and would report all this at once to his mother, who no doubt would think of her in the same way as the son so obviously now did. And, of course, the result would be that the next time they met the Princess Visconti-Montorio, backed by the pride of her Bourbon-Modena blood, would snub the Princess Kollonich, as she had before, wrinkling her nose at her from the oh-so-desirable height of the ‘Olympus’. It was insufferable! It was all Klara’s fault, and it hurt!
How it hurt! All the more so because, being no fool, she knew that there was more than a little truth in what they might think. She knew that she had misled the Montorios, even if she had done it from the best motives, fully believing in her ability to carry it all off. They had every right to feel aggrieved and cross. Of course she would have succeeded if Montorio had not rushed everything, as stupid young men were so apt to do.
The supper-csardas came to an end and was replaced by a waltz. Klara and Laszlo continued dancing together, the girl’s waist melting into her lover’s arms. Both had their eyes almost closed like sleep-walkers. This, thought the princess, is too much. It was unbearable, indecent! She waited until the music stopped, and then waved to her stepdaughter:
‘My sweet, let’s go home! I’m very tired today!’