“After all, is it not in the nature of plain folks to aspire to grandeur?” she asked, with a mischievous glance at Rodolphe and at her husband.  “Were my feet made for fatigue?” she added, putting out two pretty little feet.  “My hands”—­and she held one out to Rodolphe—­ “were those hands made to work?—­Leave us,” she said to her husband; “I want to speak to him.”

The old man went into the drawing-room with sublime good faith; he was sure of his wife.

“I will not have you come with us to Geneva,” she said to Rodolphe.  “It is a gossiping town.  Though I am far above the nonsense the world talks, I do not choose to be calumniated, not for my own sake, but for his.  I make it my pride to be the glory of that old man, who is, after all, my only protector.  We are leaving; stay here a few days.  When you come on to Geneva, call first on my husband, and let him introduce you to me.  Let us hide our great and unchangeable affection from the eyes of the world.  I love you; you know it; but this is how I will prove it to you—­you shall never discern in my conduct anything whatever that may arouse your jealousy.”

She drew him into a corner of the balcony, kissed him on the forehead, and fled, leaving him in amazement.

Next day Rodolphe heard that the lodgers at the Bergmanns’ had left at daybreak.  It then seemed to him intolerable to remain at Gersau, and he set out for Vevay by the longest route, starting sooner than was necessary.  Attracted to the waters of the lake where the beautiful Italian awaited him, he reached Geneva by the end of October.  To avoid the discomforts of the town he took rooms in a house at Eaux-Vives, outside the walls.  As soon as he was settled, his first care was to ask his landlord, a retired jeweler, whether some Italian refugees from Milan had not lately come to reside at Geneva.

“Not so far as I know,” replied the man.  “Prince and Princess Colonna of Rome have taken Monsieur Jeanrenaud’s place for three years; it is one of the finest on the lake.  It is situated between the Villa Diodati and that of Monsieur Lafin-de-Dieu, let to the Vicomtesse de Beauseant.  Prince Colonna has come to see his daughter and his son-in-law Prince Gandolphini, a Neopolitan, or if you like, a Sicilian, an old adherent of King Murat’s, and a victim of the last revolution.  These are the last arrivals at Geneva, and they are not Milanese.  Serious steps had to be taken, and the Pope’s interest in the Colonna family was invoked, to obtain permission from the foreign powers and the King of Naples for the Prince and Princess Gandolphini to live here.  Geneva is anxious to do nothing to displease the Holy Alliance to which it owes its independence. Our part is not to ruffle foreign courts; there are many foreigners here, Russians and English.”

“Even some Gevenese?”

“Yes, monsieur, our lake is so fine!  Lord Byron lived here about seven years at the Villa Diodati, which every one goes to see now, like Coppet and Ferney.”