Jerry

CHAPTER XVI

Tony jumped over the wall. He might have landed in the midst of a family party; but in so much luck was with him. He found the Farfalla bobbing at the foot of the water-steps with Mr. Wilder and Miss Hazel already embarked. They were waiting for Constance, who had obligingly run back to the house to fetch the rainbow shawl (finished that afternoon) as Miss Hazel distrusted the Italian night breeze.

Constance stepped out from the door as Tony emerged from the bushes. She regarded him in startled surprise; he was still in some slight disarray from his encounter with the lieutenant.

‘May I speak to you, Miss Wilder? I won’t detain you but a moment.’

She nodded and kept on, her heart thumping absurdly. He had received the letter, of course; and there would be consequences. She paused at the top of the water-steps.

‘You go on,’ she called to the others, and pick me up on your way back. Tony wants to see me about something, and I don’t like to keep Mrs. Eustace and Nannie waiting.’

Giuseppe pushed off and Constance was left standing alone on the water-steps. She turned as Tony approached; there was a touch of defiance in her manner.

‘Well?’

He came to her side and leaned carelessly against the parapet, his eyes on the Farfalla as she tossed and dipped in the wash of the Regina Margarita which was just puffing out from the village landing. Constance watched him, slightly taken aback; she had expected him to be angry, sulky, reproachful—certainly not nonchalant. When he finally brought his eyes from the water, his expression was mildly melancholy.

‘Signorina, I have come to say good-bye. It is very sad, but to-morrow, I too’—he waved his hand toward the steamer—‘shall be a passenger.’

‘You are going away from Valedolmo?’

He nodded.

‘Unfortunately, yes. I should like to stay, but’—he shrugged—‘life isn’t all play, Miss Wilder. Though one would like to be a donkey-man for ever, one only may be for a summer’s holiday. I am your debtor for a unique and pleasant experience.’

She studied his face without speaking. Did it mean that he had got the letter and was hurt, or did it perhaps mean that he had got the letter and did not care to appear as Jerry Junior? That he enjoyed the play so long as he could remain incognito and stop it where he pleased, but that he had no mind to let it drift into reality? Very possibly it meant—she flushed at the thought—that he divined Nannie’s plot, and refused also to consider the fourth candidate.

She laughed and dropped into their usual jargon.

‘And the young American man, Signor Abraham Lincoln, will he come to-morrow for tea?’

‘Ah, signorina, he is desolated, but it is not possible. He has received a letter and he must go; he has stopped too long in Valedolmo. To-morrow morning early, he and I togever, we sail away to Austria.’

His eyes went back to the trail of smoke left by the little steamer.

‘And Costantina, Tony. You are leaving her behind?’ It took some courage to   put this question, but she did not flinch; she put it with a laugh which contained nothing but raillery.

Tony sighed—a deep melodramatic sigh—and laid his hand on his heart.

‘Ah, signorina, zat Costantina, she has not any heart. She love one man one day, anozzer ze next. I go away to forget.’

His eyes dropped to hers; for an instant the mocking light died out; a questioning wounded look took its place.

She felt a quick impulse to hold out her hands, to say, ‘Jerry, don’t go! ‘If she only knew! Was he going because he thought that she wished to dismiss him, or because he wished to dismiss himself? Was it pique that bade him carry the play to the end, or was it merely the desire to get out of an awkward situation gracefully?

She stood hesitating, scanning the terrace pavement with troubled eyes; when she raised them to his face the chance was gone. He straightened his shoulders with an air of finality and picked up his hat from the balustrade.

‘Some day, signorina, in New York, perhaps I play a little tune underneaf your window.’

She nodded and smiled.

‘I will give the monkey a penny when he comes—good-bye.’

He bowed over her hand and touched it lightly to his lips.

‘Signorina, addio!’

As he strode away into the dusky lane of cypresses, she heard him whistling softly ‘Santa Lucia.’ It was the last stroke, she reflected angrily; he might at least have omitted that! She turned away and dropped down on the water-steps to wait for the Farfalla. The terrace, the lake, the beautiful Italian night, suddenly seemed deserted and empty. Before she knew it was coming, she had leaned her head against the balustrade with a deep sob. She caught herself sharply. She to sit there crying, while Tony went whistling on his way!

As the Farfalla drifted idly over the water, Constance sat in the stern, her chin in her hand, moodily gazing at the shimmering path of moonlight. But no one appeared to notice her silence, since Nannie was talking enough for both. And the only thing she talked about was Jerry Junior, how funny and clever and charming he was, how phenomenally good—for a man; when she showed signs of stopping, Mr. Wilder by a question started her on. It seemed to Constance an interminable two hours before they dropped their guests in the garden of the Hotel du Lac, and headed again for Villa Rosa.

As they approached their own water-steps it became apparent that some one—a man—was standing at the top in an   attitude of expectancy. Constance’s heart gave a sudden bound and the next instant sank deep. A babble of frenzied greetings floated out to meet them; there was no mistaking Gustavo. Moreover, there was no mistaking the fact that he was excited; his excitement was contagious even before they had learned the reason. He stuttered in his impatience to share the news.

‘Signore! Dio mio! A calamity has happened. Zat Tony, zat donk’-man! he has got hisself arrested. Zay say it is a lie, zat he is American citizen; he is an officer who is dessert from ze Italian army. Zay say he just pretend he cannot spik Italian—but it is not true. He know ten—leven words.’

They came hurrying up the steps and surrounded him, Mr. Wilder no less shocked than Gustavo himself.

‘Arrested—as a deserter? It’s an outrage!’ he thundered.

Constance laid her hand on Gustavo’s sleeve and whirled him about.

‘What do you mean? I don’t understand. Where is Tony?’

Gustavo groaned.

‘In jail, signorina. Four carabinieri are come to take him away. And he fight—Dio mio! he fight like ze devil. But zay put—’ he indicated handcuffs—‘and he go.’

Constance dropped down on the upper step, and leaning her head against the balustrade, she laughed until she was weak.

Her father whirled upon her indignantly.

‘Constance! Haven’t you any sympathy for the man? This isn’t a laughing matter.’

‘I know, Dad, but it’s so funny—Tony an Italian officer! He can’t pronounce the ten—’leven words he does know right.’

‘Of course he can’t; he doesn’t know as much Italian as I do. Can’t these fools tell an American citizen when they see one? I’ll teach ’em to go about chucking American citizens in jail. I’ll telegraph the consul in Milan; I’ll make an international matter of it!’

He fumed up and down the terrace, while Constance rose to her feet and followed after with a pretence at pacification.

‘Hush, Dad! Don’t be so excitable. It was a very natural mistake for them to make. But if Tony is really what he says he is it will be very easily proved. You must be sure of your ground, though, before you act. I don’t like to say anything against poor Tony now that he is in trouble, but I have always felt that there was a mystery connected with him. For all we know he may be a murderer or a brigand or an escaped convict in disguise. We only have his word, you know, that he is an American citizen.’

‘His word!’ Mr. Wilder fairly exploded. ‘Are you utterly blind? He’s exactly as much an American citizen as I   am. He’s–’ He stopped and fanned himself furiously. He had sworn never to betray Tony’s secret, and yet, the present situation was exceptional.

Constance patted him on the arm. ‘There, Dad. I haven’t a doubt his story is true. He was born in Budapest, and he’s a naturalized American citizen. It’s the duty of the United States Government to protect him—but it won’t be difficult; I dare say he’s got his naturalization papers with him. A word in the morning will set everything straight.’

‘Leave him in jail all night?’

‘But you can’t do anything now; it’s after ten o’clock; the authorities have gone to bed.’

She turned to Gustavo; her tone was reassuring.

‘In the morning we’ll get some American warships to bombard the jail.’

‘Signorina, you joke!’ His tone was reproachful.

She suddenly looked anxious. ‘Gustavo, is the jail strong?’

‘Ver’ strong, signorina.’

‘He can’t escape and get over into Austria? We are very near the frontier, you know.’

‘No, signorina, it is impossible.’ He shook his head hopelessly.

Constance laughed and slipped her hand through her father’s arm.

‘Come, Dad. The first thing in the   morning we’ll go down to the jail and cheer him up. There’s not the slightest use in worrying any more to-night. It won’t hurt Tony to be kept in—er—cold storage for a few hours—I think on the whole it will do him good!’

She nodded dismissal to Gustavo, and drew her father, still muttering, toward the house.

CHAPTER XVII

Jerry Junior’s letter of regret arrived from Riva on the early mail. In the light of Constance’s effusively cordial invitation, the terse formality of his reply was little short of rude; but Constance read between the lines and was appeased. The writer, plainly, was angry, and anger was a much more becoming emotion than nonchalance. As she set out with her father toward the village jail, she was again buoyantly in command of the situation. She carried a bunch of oleanders, and the pink and white egg basket swung from her arm. Their way led past the gate of the Hotel du Lac, and Mr. Wilder, being under the impression that he was enjoying a very good joke all by himself, could not forgo the temptation of stopping to inquire if Mrs. Eustace and Nannie had heard any news of the prodigal. They found the two at breakfast in the courtyard, an open letter spread before   them. Nannie received them with lamentations.

‘We can’t come to the villa! Here’s a letter from Jerry wanting us to start immediately for the Dolomites—did you ever know anything so exasperating?’

She passed the letter to Constance, and then as she remembered the first sentence, made a hasty attempt to draw it back. It was too late; Constance’s eyes had already pounced upon it. She read it aloud with gleeful malice.

‘“Who in thunder is Constance Wilder?”—If that’s an example of the famous Jerry Junior’s politeness, I prefer not to meet him, thank you.—It’s worse than his last insult; I shall never forgive this!’ She glanced down the page and handed it back with a laugh; from her point of vantage it was naïvely transparent. From Mr. Wilder’s point, however, the contents were inscrutable; he looked from the letter to his daughter’s serene smile, and relapsed into a puzzled silence.

‘I should say, on the contrary, that he doesn’t want you to start immediately for the Dolomites,’ Constance observed.

‘It’s a girl,’ Nannie groaned. ‘I suspected it from the moment we got the telegram in Lucerne. Oh, why did I ever let that wretched boy get out of my sight?’

‘I dare say she’s horrid,’ Constance put in. ‘One meets such frightful Americans travelling.’

‘We will go up to Riva on the afternoon boat and investigate.’ It was Mrs. Eustace who spoke. There was an undertone in her voice which suggested that she was prepared to do her duty by her brother’s son, however unpleasant that duty might be.

‘American girls are so grasping,’ said Nannie plaintively. ‘It’s scarcely safe for an unattached man to go out alone.’

Mr. Wilder leaned forward and reexamined the letter.

‘By the way, Miss Nannie, how did Jerry learn that you were here? His letter, I see, was mailed in Riva at ten o’clock last night.’

Nannie examined the postmark. ‘I hadn’t thought of that! How could he have found out—unless that beast of a head waiter telegraphed? What does it mean?’

Mr. Wilder spread out his hands and raised his shoulders. ‘You’ve got me!’ A gleam of illumination suddenly flashed over his face; he turned to his daughter with what was meant to be a carelessly off-hand manner. ‘Er—Constance, while I think of it, you didn’t discharge Tony again yesterday, did you?’

Constance opened her eyes.

‘Discharge Tony? Why should I do that? He isn’t working for me.’

‘You weren’t rude to him?’

‘Father, am I ever rude to any one?’

Mr. Wilder looked at the envelope again and shook his head. ‘There’s something mighty fishy about this whole business. When you get hold of that brother of yours again, my dear young woman, you make him tell what he’s been up to this week—and make him tell the truth.’

‘Mr. Wilder!’ Nannie was reproachful. ‘You don’t know Jerry; he’s incapable of telling anything but the truth.’

Constance tittered.

‘What are you laughing at, Constance?’

‘Nothing—only it’s so funny. Why don’t you advertise for him? Lost—a young man, age twenty-eight, height five feet eleven, weight one hundred and seventy pounds, dark hair, grey eyes, slight scar over left eyebrow; dressed when last seen in double-breasted blue serge suit and brown russet shoes. Finder please return to Hotel du Lac and receive liberal reward.’

‘He isn’t lost,’ said Nannie. ‘We know where he is perfectly; he’s at the Hotel Sole d’Oro in Riva, and that’s at the other end of the lake. We’re going up on the afternoon boat to join him.’

‘Oh!’ said Constance meekly.

‘You take my advice,’ Mr. Wilder put in. ‘Go up to Riva if you must—it’s a pleasant trip—but leave your luggage here. See this young man in person and bring him back with you; tell him we have   just as good mountains as he’ll find in the Dolomites. If by any chance you shouldn’t find him–’

‘Of course, we’ll find him!’ said Nannie.

Constance looked troubled.

‘Don’t go, it’s quite a long trip. Write instead and give the letter to Gustavo; he’ll give it to the boat steward who will deliver it personally. Then if Jerry shouldn’t be there–’

Nannie was losing her patience.

‘Shouldn’t be there? But he says he’s there.’

‘Oh! yes, certainly, that ends it. Only, you know, Nannie, I don’t believe there really is any such person as Jerry Junior! I think he’s a myth.’

Gustavo had been hanging about the gate looking anxiously up the road as if he expected something to happen. His brow cleared suddenly as a boy on a bicycle appeared in the distance. The boy whirled into the court and dismounted; glancing dubiously from one to the other of the group, he finally presented his telegram to Gustavo, who passed it on to Nannie. She ripped it open and ran her eyes over the contents.

‘Can any one tell me the meaning of this? It’s Italian!’ She spread it on the table while the three bent over it in puzzled wonder.

‘Ceingide mai maind dunat comtu Riva stei in Valedolmo geri.’

Constance was the first to grasp the meaning; she read it twice and laughed.

‘That’s not Italian; it’s English, only the operator has spelt it phonetically—I begin to believe there is a Jerry,’ she added, ‘no one could cause such a bother who didn’t exist.’ She picked up the slip and translated—

‘“Changed my mind. Do not come to Riva; stay in Valedolmo—Jerry.”’

‘I’m a clairvoyant, you see. I told you he wouldn’t be there!’

‘But where is he?’ Nannie wailed.

Constance and her father glanced tentatively at each other, and were silent. Gustavo, who had been hanging officiously in the rear, approached and begged their pardon.

‘Scusi, signora, but I sink I can explain. Ecco! Ze telegram is dated from Limone—zat is a village close by here on ze ozzer side of ze lake. He is gone on a walking trip, ze yong man, of two—tree days wif an Englishman who is been in zis hotel. If he expect you so soon he would not go. But patience, he will come back. Oh, yes, in a little while, after one—two day he come back.’

‘What is the man talking about?’ Mrs. Eustace was both indignant and bewildered. ‘Jerry was in Riva yesterday at   the Hotel Sole d’Oro. How can he be on a walking trip at the other end of the lake to-day?’

‘You don’t suppose’—Nannie’s voice was tragic—‘that he has eloped with that American girl?’

‘Good heavens, my dear!’ Mrs. Eustace appealed to Mr. Wilder. ‘What are the laws in this dreadful country? Don’t banns or something have to be published three weeks before the ceremony can take place?’

Mr. Wilder rose hastily.

‘Yes, yes, dear lady. It’s impossible; don’t consider any such catastrophe for a moment. Come, Constance, I really think we ought to be going.—Er, you see, Mrs. Eustace, you can’t believe—that is, don’t let anything Gustavo says trouble you. With all respect for his many fine qualities, he has not Jerry’s regard for truth. And don’t bother any more about the boy; he will turn up in a day or so. He may have written some letters of explanation that you haven’t got. These foreign mails–’ He edged toward the gate.

Constance followed him and then turned back.

‘We’re on our way to the jail,’ she said, ‘to visit our donkey-driver, who has managed to get himself arrested. While we’re there we can make inquiries if you like; it’s barely possible that they might have got hold of Jerry on some false   charge or other. These foreign jails–’

‘Constance!’ said Nannie reproachfully.

‘Oh, my dear, I was only joking; of course it’s impossible. Good-bye.’ She nodded and laughed and ran after her father.

CHAPTER XVIII

If one must go to jail at all one could scarcely choose a more entertaining jail than that of Valedolmo. It occupies a structure which was once a palace; and its cells, planned for other purposes, are spacious. But its most gratifying feature, to one forcibly removed from social intercourse, is its outlook. The windows command the Piazza Garibaldi, which is the social centre of the town; it contains the village post, the fountain, the tobacco shop, the washing-trough, and the two rival cafés, the ‘Independenza’ and the ‘Libertà.’ The piazza is always dirty and noisy—that goes without saying—but on Wednesday morning at nine o’clock, it is peculiarly dirty and noisy. Wednesday is Valedolmo’s market day, and the square is so cluttered with booths and hucksters and anxious buyers, that the peaceable pedestrian can scarcely wedge his way through. The noise moreover is deafening; above the cries of vendors and buyers rises a shriller chorus of bleating kids and squealing pigs and braying donkeys.

Mr. Wilder, red in the face and short of temper, pushed through the crowd with little ceremony, prodding on the right with his umbrella, on the left with his fan, and using his elbows vigorously. Constance, serenely cool, followed in his wake, nodding here and there to a chance acquaintance, smiling on every one; the spectacle to her held always fresh interest. An image vendor close at her elbow insisted that she should buy a Madonna and Bambina for fifty centesimi, or at least a San Giuseppe for twenty-five. To her father’s disgust she bought them both, and presented them to two wide-eyed children who in bashful fascination were dogging their footsteps.

The appearance of the foreigners in the piazza caused such a ripple of interest, that for a moment the bargaining was suspended. When the two mounted the steps of the jail and jerked the bell, as many of the bystanders as the steps would accommodate mounted with them. Nobody answered the first ring, and Constance pulled again with a force which sent a jangle of bells echoing through the interior. After a second’s wait—snortingly impatient on Mr. Wilder’s part; he was being pressed close by the none too clean citizens of Valedolmo—the door was opened a very small crack by a frowsy jailoress. Her eye fell first upon the crowd, and she was disposed to close it again; but in the act   she caught sight of the Signorina Americana dressed in white, smiling above a bouquet of oleanders. Her eyes widened with astonishment. It was long since such an apparition had presented itself at that door. She dropped a curtsy, and the crack widened.

‘Your commands, signorina?’

‘We, wish to come in.’

‘But it is against the orders. Friday is visiting-day at thirteen o’clock. If the signorina had a permesso from the sindaco, why then–’

The signorina shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. She had no permesso and it was too much trouble to get one. Besides, the sindaco’s office didn’t open till ten o’clock. She glanced down; there was a shining two-franc piece in her hand. Perhaps the jailoress would allow them to step inside away from the crowd, and she would explain?

This sounded reasonable; the door opened farther and they squeezed through. It banged in the faces of the disappointed spectators, who lingered hopefully a few moments longer, and then returned to their bargaining. Inside the big damp stone-walled corridor Constance drew a deep breath and smiled upon the jailoress; the jailoress smiled back. Then as a preliminary skirmish, Constance presented the two-franc piece; and the jailoress dropped a curtsy.

‘We have heard that Antonio, our donkey-driver, has been arrested for deserting from the army and we have come to find out about it. My father, the signore here’—she waved her hand toward Mr. Wilder—‘likes Antonio very much, and is quite sure that it is a mistake.’

The woman’s mouth hardened; she nodded with emphasis.

‘Già. We have him, the man Antonio, if that is his name. He may not be the deserter they search—I do not know—but if he is not the deserter he is something else. You should have heard him last night, signorina, when they brought him in. The things he said! They were in a foreign tongue; I did not understand, but I felt. Also he kicked my husband—kicked him quite hard so that he limps to-day. And the way he orders us about! You would think he were a prince in his own palace and we were his servants. Nothing is good enough for him. He objected to the room we gave him first because it smelt of the cooking. He likes butter with his bread and hot milk with his coffee. He cannot smoke the cigars which my husband bought for him, and they cost three soldi apiece. And this morning’—her voice rose shrilly as she approached the climax—‘he called for a bath. It is true, signorina, a bath. Dio mio, he wished me to carry the entire village fountain to his room!’

‘Not really?’ Constance opened her eyes in shocked surprise. ‘But surely, signora, you did not do it?’

The woman blinked.

‘It would be impossible, signorina,’ she contented herself with saying.

Constance, with grave concern, translated the sum of Tony’s enormities to her father; and turned back to the jailoress apologetically.

‘My father is very much grieved that the man should have caused you so much trouble. But he says, that if we could see him, we could persuade him to be more reasonable. We talk his language, and can make him understand.’

The woman winked meaningly.

‘Eh—he pretends he cannot talk Italian, but he understands enough to ask for what he wishes. I think—and the Signor-Lieutenant who ordered his arrest thinks—that he is shamming.’

‘It was a lieutenant who ordered his arrest? Do you remember his name—was it Carlo di Ferara?’

‘It might have been.’ Her face was vague.

‘Of the cavalry?’

‘Si, signorina, of the cavalry—and very handsome.’

Constance laughed. ‘Well, the plot thickens! Dad, you must come to Tony’s hearing this afternoon, and put it tactfully to our friend the lieutenant that we   don’t like to have our donkey-man snatched away without our permission.’ She turned back to the jailoress. ‘And now, where is the man? We should like to speak with him.’

‘It is against the orders, but perhaps—I have already permitted the head waiter from the Hotel du Lac to carry him newspapers and cigarettes. He says that the man Antonio is in reality an American nobleman from New York, who merely plays at being a donkey-driver for diversion, and that unless he is set at liberty immediately a ship will come with cannon, but—we all know Gustavo, signorina.’

Constance nodded and laughed.

‘You have reason! We all know Gustavo—may we go right up?’

The jailoress called the jailor. They talked aside; the two-franc piece was produced as evidence. The jailor with a great show of caution got out a bunch of keys and motioned them to follow. Up two flights and down a long corridor with peeling frescoes on the walls—nymphs and cupids and garlands of roses; most incongruous decorations for a jail—at last they paused before a heavy oak door. Their guide tried two wrong keys, swore softly as each failed to turn, and finally with an exclamation of triumph produced the right one. He swung the door wide and stepped back with a bow.

A large room was revealed, brick-floored   and somewhat scanty as to furniture, but with a view—an admirable view, if one did not mind it being checked off into iron squares. The most conspicuous object in the room, however, was its occupant, as he sat, in an essentially American attitude, with his chair tipped back and his feet on the table. A cloud of tobacco smoke and a wide-spread copy of a New York paper concealed him from too impertinent gaze. He did not raise his head at the sound of the opening door, but contented himself with growling–

‘Confound your impudence! You might at least knock before you come in.’

Constance laughed and advanced a hesitating step across the threshold. Tony dropped his paper and sprang to his feet, his face, assuming a shade of pink only less vivid than the oleanders. She shook her head sorrowfully.

‘I don’t need to tell you, Tony, how shocked we are to find you in such a place. Our trust has been rudely shaken; we had not supposed we were harbouring a deserter.’

Mr. Wilder stepped forward and held out his hand; there was a twinkle in his eye, which he struggled manfully to suppress.

‘Nonsense, Tony, we don’t believe a word of it. You a deserter from the Italian army? It’s preposterous! Where are your naturalization papers?’

‘Thank you, Mr. Wilder, but I don’t happen to have my papers with me—I trust it won’t be necessary to produce them. You see’—his glance rested entirely on Mr. Wilder; he studiously overlooked Constance’s presence—‘this Angelo Fresi, the fellow they are after, got into a quarrel over a gambling debt and struck a superior officer. To avoid being court-martialled he lit out; it happened a month ago in Milan and they’ve been looking for him ever since. Now last night I had the misfortune to tip Lieutenant Carlo di Ferara over into a ditch. The matter was entirely accidental, and I regretted it very much. I, of course, apologized. But what did the lieutenant do but take it into his head that I, being an assaulter of superior officers, was, by a priori reasoning, this Angelo Fresi in disguise. Accordingly’—he waved his hand around the room—‘you see me here.’

‘It’s an imposition! Depriving an American citizen of his liberty on any such trumped-up charge as that! I’ll telegraph the consul in Milan. I’ll–’

‘Oh, don’t trouble. I’ll get off this afternoon; they’ve sent for some one to identify me, and if he doesn’t succeed, I don’t see how they can hold me. In the meantime, I’m comfortable enough.’

Mr. Wilder’s eye wandered about the room. ‘H’m, it isn’t bad for a jail! Got everything you need—tobacco, papers?’   What’s this, New York Sun only ten days old?’ He picked it up and plunged into the headlines.

Constance turned from the window and glanced casually at Tony.

‘You didn’t go to Austria after all?’

‘I was detained; I hope to get off to-morrow.’

‘Oh, before I forget it.’ She removed the basket from her arm and set it on the table. ‘Here is some lemon jelly, Tony. I couldn’t remember whether one takes lemon jelly to prisoners or invalids—I’ve never known any prisoners before, you see. But anyway, I hope you’ll like it; Elizabetta made it.’

He bowed stiffly. ‘I beg of you to convey my thanks to Elizabetta.’

‘Tony!’ She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and glanced apprehensively over her shoulder to see if the jailor were listening. ‘If by any chance they should identify you as that deserter, just get word to me and I will have Elizabetta bake you a veal pasty with a rope ladder and a file inside. I would have had her bake it this morning, only Wednesday is ironing-day at the villa, and she was so awfully busy–’

‘This is your innings,’ Tony rejoined somewhat sulkily. ‘I hope you’ll get all the entertainment you can out of the situation.’

‘Thank you, Tony, that’s kind. Of course,’ she added with a plaintive note   in her voice, ‘this must be tiresome for you; but it is a pleasant surprise for me. I was feeling very sad last night, Tony, at the thought that you were going to Austria and that I should never, never see you any more.’

‘I wish I knew whether there’s any truth in that statement or not!’

‘Any truth! I realize well, that I might search the whole world over and never find another donkey-man who sings such beautiful tenor, who wears such lovely sashes and such becoming earrings. Why, Tony’—she took a step nearer and her face assumed a look of consternation—‘you’ve lost your earrings!’

He turned his back and walked to the window, where he stood moodily staring at the market. Constance watched his squared shoulders dubiously out of the corner of her eye; then she glanced momentarily into the hall where the jailor was visible his face flattened against the bars of an open window; and from him to her father, still deep in the columns of his paper, oblivious to both time and place. She crossed to Tony and stood at his side, peering down at the scene below.

‘I don’t suppose it will interest you,’ she said in an off-hand tone, her eyes still intent on the crowd, ‘but I got a letter this morning from a young man who is stopping at the Sole d’Oro in Riva—a very rude letter, I thought.’

He whirled about.

‘You know!’

‘It struck me that the person who wrote it was in a temper and might afterwards be sorry for having hurt my feelings, and so’—she raised her eyes momentarily to his—‘the invitation is still open.’