As Constance emerged at the other end of the arbour, Gustavo, who had
been nodding on the bench beside the door, sprang to his feet,
consternation in his attitude.
'Signorina!' he stammered. 'You come from ze garden?'
She nodded in her usual off-hand manner and handed him the basket.
'Eggs, Gustavo--two dozen if you can spare them. I am sorry always to be
wanting so many, but'--she sighed--'eggs are so breakable!'
Gustavo rolled his eyes to heaven in silent thanksgiving. She had not, it
was evident, run across the American, and the cat was still safely in the
bag; but how much longer it could be kept there the saints alone knew. He
was feeling--very properly--guilty in regard to this latest escapade; but
what can a defenceless waiter do in the hands of an impetuous young
American whose pockets are stuffed with silver lire and five-franc notes?
'Two dozen? Certainly, signorina. _Subitissimo_!' He took the basket and
hurried to the kitchen.
Constance occupied the interval with the polyglot parrot of the
courtyard. The parrot, since she had last conversed with him, had
acquired several new expressions in the English tongue. As Gustavo
reappeared with the eggs, she confronted him sternly.
'Have you been teaching this bird English? I am surprised!'
'No, signorina. It was--it was----' Gustavo mopped his brow. 'He jus'
pick it up.'
'I'm sorry that the Hotel du Lac has _guests_ that use such language;
it's very shocking.'
'_Si_, signorina.'
'By the way, Gustavo, how does it happen that that young American man
who left last week is still here?'
Gustavo nearly dropped the eggs.
'I just saw him in the garden with a book--I am sure it was the same
young man. What is he doing all this time in Valedolmo?'
Gustavo's eyes roved wildly until they lighted on the tennis-court.
'He--he stay, signorina, to play lawn-tennis wif me, but he go
to-morrow.'
'Oh, he is going to-morrow?--What's his name, Gustavo?'
She put the question indifferently while she stooped to pet a
tortoise-shell cat that was curled asleep on the bench.
'His name?' Gustavo's face cleared. 'I get ze raygeester; you read heem
yourself.'
He darted into the bureau and returned with a black book.
'_Ecco_, signorina!' spreading it on the table before her.
His alacrity should have aroused her suspicions; but she was too intent
on the matter in hand. She turned the pages and paused at the week's
entries; Rudolph Ziegelmann und Frau, Berlin; and just beneath, in bold
black letters that stretched from margin to margin, Abraham Lincoln,
U.S.A.
Gustavo hovered above, anxiously watching her face; he had been told that
this would make everything right, that Abraham Lincoln was an
exceedingly respectable name. Constance's expression did not change. She
looked at the writing for fully three minutes, then she opened her purse
and looked inside. She laid the money for the eggs in a pile on the
table, and took out an extra lira which she held in her hand.
'Gustavo,' she asked, 'do you think that you _could_ tell me the truth?'
'Signorina!' he said reproachfully.
'How did that name get there?'
'He write it heemself!'
'Yes, I dare say he did--but it doesn't happen to be his name. Oh, I'm
not blind; I can see plainly enough that he has scratched out his own
name underneath.'
Gustavo leaned forward and affected to examine the page. 'It was a li'l'
blot, signorina; he scratch heem out.'
'Gustavo!' Her tone was despairing. 'Are you incapable of telling the
truth? That young man's name is no more Abraham Lincoln than Victor
Emmanuel II. When did he write that, and why?'
Gustavo's eyes were on the lira; he broke down and told the truth.
'Yesterday night, signorina. He say, "Ze next time zat Signorina
Americana who is beautiful as ze angels come to zis hotel she look in ze
raygeester, an' I haf it feex ready."'
'Oh, he said that, did he?'
'_Si_, signorina.'
'And his real name that comes on his letters?'
'Jayreem Ailyar, signorina.'
'Say it again, Gustavo.' She cocked her head.
He gathered himself together for a supreme effort. He rolled his r's; he
shouted until the courtyard reverberated.
'Meestair-r Jay-r-reem Ailyar-r!'
Constance shook her head.
'Sounds like Hungarian--at least the way you pronounce it. But anyway
it's of no consequence; I merely asked out of idle curiosity. And
Gustavo'--she still held the lira--'if he asks you if I looked in this
register, what are you going to say?'
'I say, "No, Meestair Ailyar, she stay all ze time in ze courtyard
talking wif ze parrot, and she was ver' moch shocked at his Angleesh."'
'Ah!' Constance smiled and laid the lira on the table. 'Gustavo,' she
said, 'I hope, for the sake of your immortal soul, that you go often to
confession.'
The eggs were not heavy, but Gustavo insisted upon carrying them; he was
determined to see her safely aboard the _Farfalla_, with no further
accidents possible. That she had not identified the young man of the
garden with the donkey-driver of yesterday was clear--though how such
blindness was possible, was not clear. Probably she had only caught a
glimpse of his back at a distance; in any case he thanked a merciful
Providence and decided to risk no further chance. As they neared the end
of the arbour, Gustavo was talking--shouting fairly; their approach was
heralded.
They turned into the grove. To Gustavo's horror the most conspicuous
object in it was this same reckless young man, seated on the water-wall
nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. The young man rose and bowed; Constance
nodded carelessly, while Gustavo behind her back made frantic signs for
him to flee, to escape while still there was time. The young man
telegraphed back by the same sign language that there was no danger; she
didn't suspect the truth. And to Gustavo's amazement, he fell in beside
them and strolled over to the water-steps. His recklessness was catching;
Gustavo suddenly determined upon a bold stroke himself.
'Signorina,' he asked, 'zat man I send, zat donk'-driver--you like heem?'
'Tony?' Her manner was indifferent. 'Oh, he does well enough; he seems
honest and truthful, though a little stupid.'
Gustavo and the young man exchanged glances.
'And, Gustavo,' she turned to him with a sweetly serious air that
admitted no manner of doubt but that she was in earnest. 'I told this
young man that in case he cared to do any mountain climbing, you would
find him the same guide. It would be very useful for him to have one who
speaks English.'
Gustavo bowed in mute acquiescence. He could find no adequate words for
the situation.
The boat drew alongside and Constance stepped in, but she did not sit
down. Her attention was attracted by two washer-women who had come
clattering on to the little rustic bridge that spanned the stream above
the water-steps. The women, their baskets of linen on their heads, had
paused to watch the embarkation.
'Ah, Gustavo,' Constance asked over her shoulder, 'is there a
washer-woman here at the Hotel du Lac named Costantina?'
'_Si_, signorina, zat is Costantina standing on ze bridge wif ze yellow
handkerchief on her head.'
Constance looked at Costantina, and nodded and smiled. Then she laughed
out loud, a beautiful rippling, joyous laugh that rang through the grove
and silenced the chaffinches.
Perhaps once upon a time Costantina was beautiful--beautiful as the
angels--but if so, it was long, long ago. Now she was old and fat, with a
hawk nose and a double chin and one tooth left in the middle of the
front. But if she were not beautiful, she was at least a cheerful old
soul, and, though she could not possibly know the reason, she echoed the
signorina's laugh until she nearly shook the clean clothes into the
water.
Constance settled herself among the cushions and glanced back toward the
terrace.
'Good afternoon,' she nodded politely to the young man.
He bowed with his hand on his heart.
'_Addio_, Gustavo.'
He bowed until his napkin swept the ground.
'_Addio_, Costantina,' she waved her hand toward her namesake.
The washer-woman laughed again, and her earrings flashed in the sunlight.
Giuseppe raised the yellow sail; they caught the breeze, and the
_Farfalla_ floated away.