Remembrance by Danielle Steel

half outraged. That was another era, another time. But Marcella looked dragonlike as she drew herself up to her full five feet at Serena's bedside.
    “Now it is you. And you owe it to her, and to the others before her, to respect who and what you are.”
    “I'm me. Serena di San Tibaldo. Punto. Finito. Basta.”
    “Nonsense!” Marcella fussed as she smoothed the covers over Serena, and then looked at her gravely. “Don't ever forget who you are, Serena. She never did.”
    “She didn't have to. And she didn't live in the world we do now. That's all over, Marcella. All of it. It died with—” She had been about to say “my parents,” but couldn't bring herself to say it still. “It died with a whole generation of people whom our charming Duce attempted to destroy. Successfully, in a lot of cases. And what's left? People like me, who don't have ten lire left to their name, and have to get jobs digging ditches. Is that what being a principessa is all about, Celia?”
    “It's in here.” She pointed heatedly to her vast breast, indicating where her big generous heart was, and then to her head, “and in here. Not in what you do and what you don't do and how much money you have. Being a principe or a principessa is not money. She had not so much money either at the end. But she was always the principessa. And one day you will be like that too.”
    Serena shook her head firmly. “The world has changed, Marcella. Trust me. I know that.”
    “And what have you seen since you've been back here? The train station and what else?”
    “People. On the train, in the streets, soldiers, young people, old people. They're different, Celia. They don't give a damn about principesse, and they probably never did. Only we cared about that stuff, and if we're smart, we'll forget about it now.” And then with a return of cynicism she looked at the old woman. “Do you really think the Americans are going to care about that? If you told them you were hiding a principessa in your basement, do you think they would give a damn?”
    “I'm not hiding you, Serena.” Marcella looked sad. She didn't want to hear about this new world. The old world had been important to her. All of it. She believed in the old order and how it had worked. “You are staying here with me.”
    “Why?” Serena looked at her cruelly for a moment. “Because I am a principessa?”
    “Because I love you. I always did and I always will.” The old woman looked at her proudly, and tears rapidly filled Serena's eyes and she held out her arms from where she sat on the bed.
    “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that.” Marcella went to her and sat down. “It just hurts me to think about the old days. Everything I loved about them is gone. To me all that mattered were the people I loved. I don't want the damn title. I'd rather have Norma still here, and just be me.”
    “But she isn't, and this is what she has left you. It is all she has left you, and I know she would want you to be proud of it too. Don't you want to be a principessa, Serena?” She looked at the girl in surprise.
    “No.” Serena shook her head solemnly. “I want my breakfast.” She had only eaten bread and cheese at the station the day before. And she had forgotten dinner completely. But now she laughed at Marcella's earnestness, and the old woman dried her eyes and growled.
    “You haven't grown up at all! You're just as impossible as you always were! Fresh … rude. …” The old woman grumbled and Serena stretched and got lazily out of bed with a grin.
    “I told you. Princesses are a bad lot, Celia. Bad blood.”
    “Stop making light of that!” This time the growling was for real.
    “Only if you stop taking it so seriously.” Serena looked at her gently, but there was something very determined in her eyes. “I have better things to think about now.” The old woman made no further comment, but went back to the pantry to make a steaming pot of coffee, another precious commodity that was