successful beginning. He had failed to see Columbine, made an enemy of
her father, and been forced, into the bargain, to pay a crown for the
nastiest drink he had ever tasted.
[Illustration]
_Violetta Sets Her Wits to Work_
“Wherever have you been all this time?” asked Violetta, as Harlequin
entered the inn.
“Nowhere in particular,” said Harlequin carelessly.
Violetta laughed.
[Illustration]
“That means that he has been somewhere very particular indeed,” she
said to Scaramouche. “I shouldn’t mind wagering twenty crowns that he
has been trying to see Columbine.”
“And I shouldn’t mind wagering fifty that he has not succeeded,”
replied Scaramouche.
“Did you, Harlequin?” Violetta asked.
“No, I didn’t,” Harlequin admitted. “But I made the acquaintance of her
papa.”
“I am sure he was delighted to make yours,” said Scaramouche
sarcastically. “He is noted for his hospitality.”
“He certainly insisted on giving me a drink,” said Harlequin, pulling a
wry face.
“Do tell us what happened,” cried Violetta.
So Harlequin told them; and before he had finished they were both
nearly dying of laughter.
“I don’t see that it was as funny as all that,” said Harlequin sulkily.
“Poor Harlequin!” said Violetta. “What a shame! But I should have
thought you were too clever to go such a simple way to work.”
“Well,” said Harlequin, “since Columbine hardly ever goes outside the
house, I thought my best chance of seeing her was to get inside.”
“Pantaloon was quite right,” said Scaramouche, “you are a logician,
Harlequin. Unfortunately, things don’t always happen logically in this
casual and rather ridiculous world.”
“You know a lot of long words, Scaramouche,” said Violetta, “but they
won’t help Harlequin to see Columbine.”
“Is it absolutely necessary that he should see her?” Scaramouche asked.
“Of course it is,” replied Violetta. “He wants to; and Harlequin is
one of those people who must always have what they want. Aren’t you,
Harlequin?”
“How well you know me, Violetta!” said Harlequin.
“But Columbine might not like him if she did see him,” objected the
sceptical Scaramouche.
“Nonsense!” said Violetta. “Who could help liking Harlequin?”
“Violetta, you are a darling,” cried Harlequin, and kissed the girl.
“You haven’t done that for more than twenty-four hours,” she said.
“It won’t be twenty-four seconds before I do it again,” Harlequin
retorted. And it wasn’t.
“You seem to be getting away from the matter in hand,” Scaramouche
remarked drily.
“Oh, no, we aren’t,” replied Violetta. “Harlequin is only rehearsing.”
“Don’t be unkind, Violetta,” said Harlequin, giving her waist a gallant
squeeze. “I am not sure that I want to meet Columbine after all.”
“Now you are being silly, Harlequin,” said Violetta. “You know you want
to meet her. Of course you like kissing me--who wouldn’t? But wait till
you have kissed Columbine.”
“It appears that I shall have to wait,” said Harlequin.
“You are a faint-hearted fellow,” said Scaramouche, “to be put off at
the first check. Why don’t you try again when Pantaloon is out?”
“That is no good,” said Violetta scornfully. “Pantaloon very rarely
goes out--except when he is summoned to a patient. And when he does go,
he locks the door on the outside--so that neither Columbine nor Pierrot
can open it.”
“Do you mean to say that he locks them up alone together?” cried
Harlequin. “But after all,” he added, “why shouldn’t he? That
white-faced moon-gazer is more like a girl than a boy--and more like a
ghost than either.”
“Poor Pierrot!” said Violetta. “I pity him.”
“You pity everybody,” said Harlequin rather shortly.
“Violetta has a very large heart,” said Scaramouche.
“And a tolerably long head,” the girl retorted. “Harlequin doesn’t seem
to be able to help himself; and you are far too lazy to try to help
him. But I have a notion that I can.”
“Have you?” cried Harlequin eagerly. “Oh, do tell me! Quick!”
“Well,” said Violetta, “the important thing is not that Columbine
should see you, but that she should see you dancing. She adores dancing
more than anything else in the world, though it is not much that she
gets of it, poor lamb! There is no one to dance with her, and I am sure
she has little heart for dancing alone. Pierrot, though he sings very
nicely, can’t dance a bit; and as for Lelio, if looks go for anything,
he is far too stiff and solemn for anything livelier than a minuet. So
to see a dancer like you, Harlequin, would be a wonderful treat for
her. And if you could only dance together, she would be yours for ever.”
“What bliss!” exclaimed Harlequin. “But how is it to be managed? How
can we ever dance together?”
“That we must think about later,” said Violetta. “It is no use being
impatient: we must take one step at a time. If only we can contrive
that she should see you, that would be a great thing.”
“But can we?” Harlequin asked.
“I think so,” Violetta answered. “You can dance in the street as well
as in a house, I suppose?”
“Of course,” said Harlequin.
“And Columbine can look out of a window,” said Violetta. “The point
is to get her to look out of the window at the same time that you are
dancing in the street.”
“That ought to be easy,” said Harlequin.
“It isn’t in the least easy,” replied Violetta. “How are we to let her
know that you are going to be there?”
“By sending her a letter, I suppose,” said Harlequin.
“By sending her a letter!” repeated Violetta in contemptuous tones.
“Why, Pantaloon would be the first to read it. All the same, a letter
it must be--only it mustn’t be _sent_: it must be delivered straight
into Columbine’s own hands by some one we can trust.”
“Whom can we trust?” asked Harlequin, who was beginning to despair.
“Only ourselves,” said Violetta. “You--I--and Scaramouche. At least I
suppose we can trust you, Scaramouche?”
“You can count on me, my dear,” said the musician. “I am no
spoil-sport.”
“But which of us is to deliver the letter?” said Harlequin.
“Well, you have seen what luck you had when you tried to get near the
young lady,” said Violetta. “And Scaramouche would fare no better. It
is plain that it will have to be me.”
“Oh, will you?” cried Harlequin. “Dear Violetta!”
“I will try, at any rate,” the girl replied. “But it is not going to be
easy even for me. Besides, there is another thing.”
“Oh dear!” said Harlequin. “There seems to be no end to the
difficulties. What is this one?”
“Pantaloon himself,” said Violetta. “Of course he must be got out of
the way. It wouldn’t help us much if he were to catch you at your
capers, would it?”
“I’ll look after Pantaloon,” said Scaramouche.
[Illustration:]
_Violetta Plots and Columbine Wonders_
So Violetta set out for Pantaloon’s house. She would not tell Harlequin
and Scaramouche exactly what she meant to do, but they noticed that she
carried under her arm a bottle of the best wine in her father’s cellar.
“Good afternoon, Pierrot,” she said, when the doctor’s pale assistant
had opened the door to her.
“Good afternoon, Violetta,” said Pierrot. “What brings you here? I hope
you are not ill.”
“Dear me, no,” replied Violetta. “I only want to see Pantaloon.”
“He is very busy at his books,” said Pierrot doubtfully.
“Tell him my father has sent him a present,” said Violetta, and held
up the bottle. “That will fetch him, I know.”
“Couldn’t I take it to him?” Pierrot asked.
“No,” said Violetta. “I don’t trust you.”
“Oh, Violetta!” Pierrot protested. “What a thing to say! I daresay I
have my faults, like other people; but I am not a thief. Besides, I
never drink wine. Half a glass makes me tipsy.”
“That is just why I don’t trust you,” said Violetta. “You have such a
weak head. Why, you would go dreaming along and drop the bottle before
you had got it to Pantaloon.”
“You have a very poor opinion of me, haven’t you, Violetta?” said
Pierrot pathetically.
“Now don’t stay arguing,” cried Violetta. “Run along and fetch
Pantaloon, that is a good boy.”
When Pantaloon heard what Violetta had brought him, he came out of his
study without delay.
“This is very kind of Burattino,” he cried, gazing affectionately
at the bottle. “Very kind, indeed.... Why, my dear, whatever is the
matter?”
For Violetta had suddenly uttered a desperate groan.
“Oh dear! Oh dear!” she cried. Clutching at her bodice, she gave
another groan more harrowing than the first, and leaned against the
wall as though she could not stand without support.
“She is fainting,” said Pierrot.
“I am afraid she is,” said Pantaloon. “We must bring her indoors.”
Together, though neither of them was very strong and Violetta was a
solidly built young woman, they got her into the house; while all the
time Violetta gasped and groaned and clutched at her dress.
“She will suffocate, if she goes on like this,” said Pantaloon. “We
must undo her stays.”
At that Violetta gave forth a shriek of horror.
[Illustration]
“No, no!” she cried. “I won’t let you! I am a modest girl.” Then she
groaned again.
“You must let us,” said Pantaloon. “Otherwise you will stifle.”
“I would rather stifle,” said Violetta obstinately, “than let you touch
me.”
“You can’t stifle in my house,” said Pantaloon. “Think of my
reputation.”
Violetta only groaned worse than ever.
“I must undo them,” said Pantaloon.
“No,” cried Violetta. “Not for the world!”
“Then undo them yourself,” said the Doctor crossly.
“I can’t,” Violetta moaned. “I feel too weak.”
“What is to be done?” cried Pantaloon.
“There is only one thing to be done, master,” said Pierrot. “We must
call Columbine. After all, it is only a girl.”
“I suppose there is nothing else for it,” said Pantaloon reluctantly.
“If the young woman dies here, that old gossip Burattino will tell
everybody, and I shall be ruined. Fetch Columbine, Pierrot.”
So Pierrot fetched Columbine, and Pantaloon told her what she was to
do.
“You must turn your backs,” said Violetta to Pantaloon and Pierrot.
“Very well,” said Pantaloon. “You are a very particular young lady--for
an innkeeper’s daughter. Turn round, Pierrot.”
Columbine was looking very much alarmed, but so soon as the men’s backs
were turned Violetta gave her an encouraging smile and beckoned her
to come close. Columbine prepared, with timid fingers, to do what she
supposed was expected of her, but the other girl impatiently stopped
her.
“Never mind about that,” she whispered. “Here, take this.” And she
thrust a twisted scrap of paper into Columbine’s hands. “Hide it!
Quick!”
Columbine, blushing and bewildered, thrust the note into the top of her
dress.
“We have finished,” said Violetta. “You may turn round now.”
“You have not been long,” said Pantaloon.
“Of course not,” replied Violetta scornfully. “Columbine is a
woman--not a clumsy man.”
“Well,” said Pantaloon. “I hope you feel better.”
“Much better, thank you,” said Violetta. “I can’t think what made me
come over so queer. How much have I to pay you?”
“I charge nothing to Burattino’s daughter,” Pantaloon answered with a
grin. He quite believed that he had saved the girl’s life, and hoped
that her father would show his gratitude with another bottle, or
perhaps a whole cask.
Violetta took her departure, and Columbine hurried back to her room.
She wanted to be alone to read that mysterious note.
It was a very short note indeed. This was all that was in it:
“_Next time your father goes out, look out of the window at the side
of the house._”
Nothing more--not even a signature. Columbine, who had never received
a letter before, found it very exciting. What could it mean? She would
certainly do as it told her, though unfortunately, she reflected, she
might have to wait a long time. Sometimes her father did not leave the
house for days together. Naturally kind hearted as she was, Columbine
could not help hoping that some one might soon be taken ill and send
for him.
The door opened and Pierrot entered. Columbine had only just time to
hide the note.
“I wish you would knock before you come into my room,” she said
severely.
“You have never asked me to do that before,” said Pierrot, with his
melancholy smile.
“Perhaps not,” replied Columbine. “But I am grown up now, remember.”
“You have grown up very suddenly,” said Pierrot. “I wonder if Violetta
helped you to grow up?”
“What do you mean?” cried Columbine.
“I only wondered,” said Pierrot.
[Illustration]
“I don’t believe you turned your back properly,” said Columbine angrily.
“Oh, yes I did,” Pierrot answered. “I always do what I am told. But my
eyes can see a long way round the corner, you know.”
Columbine looked at him. His long, narrow eyes certainly were very far
apart.
“What did you see?” she asked.
Pierrot smiled.
“I am not at all sure that I ought not to tell your father,” he said.
“Oh, Pierrot!” cried the girl, in a panic. “You wouldn’t do that!”
“It may be my duty,” said Pierrot solemnly. “I always like to do my
duty.”
“But what _did_ you see?” Columbine repeated.
Again Pierrot only smiled.
“I don’t believe you saw anything at all,” said Columbine. “You are
simply teasing me.”
“It is not what one sees, my dear,” Pierrot began still more solemnly.
“I am not your dear,” said Columbine, stamping her little foot.
“Yes, you are,” said Pierrot. “You may not think you are--you may not
want to be--but you are. And it is a very good thing for you that you
are. But to go on with what I was saying when you interrupted me--it is
not what one sees that is important: it is what one feels. And I feel
that there is mischief brewing.”
“I am sure I hope there is,” said Columbine rebelliously.
“Oh, Columbine!” said Pierrot, shocked.
“Well,” said Columbine, “it is about time something happened. I am
sick and tired of being cooped up here with nothing to do, never going
anywhere, and seeing no one but you and Papa.”
“And Lelio,” Pierrot put in.
“Oh, don’t talk to me of Lelio,” said Columbine, frowning.
“I am sure I don’t want to talk of him,” said Pierrot. “He is no friend
of mine. He treats me like a dog.”
“It’s a shame,” cried Columbine.
“I don’t really mind that,” said Pierrot sadly. “I am used to it. It
doesn’t matter how he treats me. But he is going to take Columbine
away. That is what I can’t forgive him.”
“He is going to do nothing of the kind,” said Columbine decidedly. “I
will never marry Lelio, Pierrot.”
“I don’t know what your father will do if you don’t,” Pierrot said.
“I don’t care what he does,” replied Columbine. Pierrot had never
seen her in so rebellious a mood, and he thought that it made her,
if possible, lovelier than ever. “He can lock me up and feed me on
bread and water,” she went on. “He can make me take all his nastiest
medicines every day. But I won’t marry Lelio.” And again she stamped
her foot.
“You know very well that I don’t want you to marry him,” said Pierrot.
“But all the same, I can’t help thinking that the sooner you are safely
settled in life, the better it will be. I am quite sure there is
mischief brewing. I feel it in my bones.”
“I don’t know where else you would feel it,” Columbine scoffed. “You
are nothing else but bones.”
“I have a heart, too, Columbine,” said Pierrot, sighing.
“Please don’t start talking about your heart, Pierrot,” said Columbine.
“I have heard about it so often.”
“Cruel Columbine!” sighed Pierrot.
Columbine pirouetted round the room.
“I can’t help it, Pierrot,” she said. “When you begin making love to me
I always want to laugh. Do you really love me very much, Pierrot?”
“You know I do,” cried Pierrot.
“Then will you do something for me?”
“Anything in the world,” said Pierrot, striking a lovelorn attitude.
“Then,” said Columbine, “promise me that whatever you have guessed, and
whatever you notice during the next few days, you will say nothing to
Papa.”
“Oh, Columbine!” cried Pierrot; “you are not going to do anything
dreadful?”
“I don’t know what I am going to do,” Columbine laughed. “I don’t know
what is going to happen. But promise. If you don’t you shall never
come into this room again, whether you knock or not.”
“I promise,” said Pierrot.
“Then you may kiss ... my hand,” said Columbine.
Pierrot, grateful for small mercies, fell on his knees.
[Illustration]
_Harlequin’s Opportunity_
Violetta returned to the inn, extremely well pleased with the success
of her ruse. She found the others eagerly awaiting her, and told them
what she had accomplished.
“Bravo!” cried Scaramouche. “You are a clever wench, Violetta.”
As for Harlequin, he was so delighted that he danced about the room and
made Violetta dance with him until she was breathless.
“You should save your breath for dancing to Columbine,” she panted,
when at last he had let her go.
“I am ready to begin now,” cried Harlequin, who could dance all day
without tiring. “What about your plan for getting old Pantaloon out of
the way, Scaramouche?”
“It is too late to carry it out this evening,” replied the musician.
“Upon my soul,” exclaimed Harlequin, “you are incorrigibly lazy!”
“You mustn’t be so impatient, Harlequin,” said Violetta. “It is much
too late. It is nearly dark--and what on earth would be the use of your
dancing before Columbine’s window if she could not see you?”
Harlequin could not help acknowledging the force of this argument: so
he made up his mind to wait till the morning with as much patience as
he could muster. But he was far too excited to sleep. He spent half the
night inventing new and fantastic dance steps--greatly to the annoyance
of Scaramouche, who shared a bedroom with him.
“If you don’t leave off jigging about there, and get into bed, I won’t
stir a finger to help you,” yawned the sleepy musician.
That quieted Harlequin; but though he lay down, he did not go to sleep,
and he dragged his friend out of bed at a very early hour.
“This is the last time I shall ever offer to assist any one in their
love affairs,” Scaramouche grumbled, as he pulled on his clothes.
After breakfast, over which, in spite of Harlequin’s growing
impatience, Scaramouche absolutely refused to hurry, the musician told
the dancer to go and hide near Pantaloon’s house.
“Be sure,” he added, “that you choose a spot where you cannot be seen,
but from which you can yourself see who goes in and out.”
Harlequin picked up his wand, kissed Violetta, and skipped away.
“That is the last of Harlequin,” said Violetta a little wistfully.
“But he will come back,” said Scaramouche.
“His body may,” Violetta replied, “but his heart will stay with
Columbine.”
“I don’t believe Harlequin has a heart,” said Scaramouche.
“Columbine will find one,” said Violetta.
Presently Spavente, who always slept late, swaggered in, and sent
Violetta for his breakfast.
Scaramouche strolled across to his table.
“Good morning, my dear Captain,” he said. “I hope you are feeling well
this fine morning.”
“Perfectly well, I thank you, sir,” replied Spavente, a good deal
surprised at the other’s unaccustomed politeness.
“I am very glad to hear you say so,” said Scaramouche, in a doubtful
tone. “Very glad indeed. In fact, I am very much relieved.”
“Why?” cried Spavente. “Don’t I look well?”
“Since you ask me,” said Scaramouche, “I feel obliged to confess that
you don’t. In my opinion, you look far from well.”
These words threw the Captain into a state of the utmost alarm; which
was exactly what the wily musician had hoped they would do, for he knew
that Spavente was as big a coward about his health as in other ways.
“Dear, dear!” said the unhappy Spaniard; “now that you mention it, I
really don’t think that I am altogether up to the mark.”
“I should say you were very much below it,” said Scaramouche.
“Yes,” said Spavente. “I am afraid I am.”
At that moment Violetta entered with his breakfast.
“Take it away,” cried Spavente, shuddering. “I can’t look at it.”
“Why, Captain,” Violetta asked, “whatever is the matter?”
“I am far too ill to eat anything,” said Spavente.
“Ill?” said the girl, in unfeigned surprise, for she was not in
Scaramouche’s secret. “It is nothing catching, I hope?”
“I don’t know what it is,” wailed the soldier. “I wish I did.”
“I think you ought to send for the doctor, my friend,” said Scaramouche.
“Yes, I think I ought,” agreed Spavente. “For whom had I better send?”
“Why, for Pantaloon, of course,” said Scaramouche, winking at
Violetta, who, immediately understanding what was afoot, winked
gleefully back. “He is the best doctor in Venice. Besides, he lives so
near. Let me fetch him for you.”
“Would you be so kind?” said Spavente. “I should take it as a great
favour if you would.”
“Say no more about that,” cried Scaramouche heartily. “Now just you go
back to bed, and I will have Doctor Pantaloon to you in ten minutes.”
* * * * *
Harlequin, watching from his hiding-place, saw Scaramouche arrive at
the Doctor’s door, which, after the usual delay, was opened by Pierrot.
Scaramouche went inside, but it was not long before he came out again,
and, to the dancer’s joy, he was accompanied by Pantaloon.
The Doctor, in fact, had been in no way loath to visit Spavente.
Knowing him only by sight, he judged him from his clothes to be a
very fine gentleman indeed, and scented a profitable patient. Had he
seen the length of the score chalked up against the Captain’s name on
Burattino’s slate, he would undoubtedly have stayed at home.
As it was, however, he hurried towards the inn as fast as his gouty
feet would carry him. And luckily he did not look round; or he would
have seen Harlequin blowing him a derisive kiss as he skipped towards
the window at which Violetta had told him that he might hope to see
Columbine.
Harlequin looked up at the window, and he was not disappointed. For no
sooner had Columbine heard the door close behind her father and his
visitor, than she had made haste to follow the instructions contained
in that mysterious and exciting letter. So Harlequin had a glimpse of a
golden head peeping timidly from behind the curtains.
Then he began to dance, as never in his life he had danced before. The
great ladies who had applauded him at Isabella’s and other houses would
have been amazed if they could have seen him. He had given them of his
best, but the hope of pleasing Columbine inspired him to something
far better than his best. He found himself doing beautiful intricate
steps which he did not know that he knew. Tunes came into his head more
delicious than any that had ever flowed from Scaramouche’s mandoline,
and his feet followed them of their own accord.
All the time, he was watching Columbine’s window. At first he could see
nothing but that glimpse of golden hair. Little by little, however, the
heavy curtains parted, and presently the casement was thrown open, and
Columbine, her timidity lost in wonder and delight, leaned far out over
the sill. Indeed, she leaned so far that Harlequin grew nervous and
stopped dancing.
For a few moments they looked at one another without speaking. Then
Harlequin made his most graceful bow.
“Well,” he said, “did you like it?”
“Oh, it was perfect,” cried Columbine. “I have never seen anything like
it before. But who are you? What is your name?”
Harlequin told her.
“I know yours,” he added.
“Do you?” said Columbine. But her thoughts were still on the wonderful
dancing.
“I never imagined any one could dance like that,” she said.
“You could yourself,” said Harlequin.
“Oh, no!” Columbine protested.
“Violetta says you could,” Harlequin replied. “She says you love
dancing.”
“I do,” cried Columbine, “above all things. But I can’t dance like you.”
“Try,” said Harlequin. “Let us dance together.”
“How can we?” Columbine asked. “I can’t get out.”
“But I could get in,” said Harlequin, “if you would let down a rope.”
“Oh, I daren’t!” cried Columbine. “Supposing my father should catch us?”
For his own part Harlequin was prepared to risk even that, so anxious
was he to get nearer to Columbine; but seeing that she was really
frightened by his suggestion, he did not press it.
“Well, then,” he said, “I will dance down here, and you shall dance up
there. How would that be?”
“Yes,” said Columbine. “Let us do that.”
So Harlequin began dancing again, and Columbine, after watching him for
a moment, joined in. She followed him perfectly, repeating even his
most intricate movements with exquisite grace.
They were still dancing, he on the ground and she at the window, when
Violetta appeared on the scene. She clapped her hands in admiration,
and then she put one of them on Harlequin’s shoulder.
“That was very pretty,” she cried, “but you must stop now. Pantaloon
will be here in a minute or two.”