CHAPTER IX
As Constance emerged at the other end of the arbor, Gustavo, who had beennodding on the bench beside the door, sprang to his feet, consternationin 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 bewanting so many, but--" she sighed, "eggs are so breakable!"
Gustavo rolled his eyes to heaven in silent thanksgiving. She had not, itwas evident, run across the American, and the cat was still safely in thebag; 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 youngAmerican whose pockets are stuffed with silver lire and five-franc notes?
"Two dozen? Certainly, signorina. _Subitissimo_!" He took the basket andhurried to the kitchen.
Constance occupied the interval with the polyglot parrot of thecourtyard. The parrot, since she had last conversed with him, hadacquired several new expressions in the English tongue. As Gustavoreappeared 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' pickit 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 manwho 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 sameyoung 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 tomorrow."
"Oh, he is going tomorrow?--What's his name, Gustavo?"
She put the question indifferently while she stooped to pet atortoise-shell cat that was curled asleep on the bench.
"His name?" Gustavo's face cleared. "I get ze raygeester; you read heemyourself."
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 intenton the matter in hand. She turned the pages and paused at the week'sentries; Rudolph Ziegelmann und Frau, Berlin; and just beneath, in boldblack letters that stretched from margin to margin, Abraham Lincoln, U.S. A.
Gustavo hovered above anxiously watching her face; he had been told thatthis would make everything right, that Abraham Lincoln was an exceedinglyrespectable name. Constance's expression did not change. She looked atthe writing for fully three minutes, then she opened her purse and lookedinside. She laid the money for the eggs in a pile on the table, and tookout 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!"
"She turned the pages and paused at the week's entries."]
"Yes, I dare say he did--but it doesn't happen to be his name. Oh, I'mnot blind; I can see plainly enough that he has scratched out his ownname 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 thetruth? That young man's name is no more Abraham Lincoln than VictorEmmanuel 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 SignorinaAmericana who is beautiful as ze angels come to zis hotel she look in zeraygeester, 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; heshouted 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 anywayit's of no consequence; I merely asked out of idle curiosity. AndGustavo--" She still held the lira--"if he asks you if I looked in thisregister, what are you going to say?"
"I say, 'no, Meestair Ailyar, she stay all ze time in ze courtyardtalking wif ze parrot, and she was ver' moch shocked at his Angleesh'."
"Ah!" Constance smiled and laid the lira on the table. "Gustavo," shesaid, "I hope, for the sake of your immortal soul, that you go often toconfession."
The eggs were not heavy, but Gustavo insisted upon carrying them; he wasdetermined to see her safely aboard the _Farfalla_, with no furtheraccidents possible. That she had not identified the young man of thegarden with the donkey-driver of yesterday was clear--though how suchblindness was possible, was not clear. Probably she had only caught aglimpse of his back at a distance; in any case he thanked a mercifulProvidence and decided to risk no further chance. As they neared the endof the arbor, Gustavo was talking--shouting fairly; their approach washeralded.
They turned into the grove. To Gustavo's horror the most conspicuousobject in it was this same reckless young man, seated on the water-wallnonchalantly smoking a cigarette. The young man rose and bowed; Constancenodded carelessly, while Gustavo behind her back made frantic signs forhim to flee, to escape while still there was time. The young mantelegraphed back by the same sign language that there was no danger; shedidn't suspect the truth. And to Gustavo's amazement, he fell in besidethem 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 likeheem?"
"Tony?" Her manner was indifferent. "Oh, he does well enough; he seemshonest 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 admittedno manner of doubt but that she was in earnest. "I told this young manthat in case he cared to do any mountain climbing, you would find him thesame guide. It would be very useful for him to have one who speaksEnglish."
Gustavo bowed in mute acquiescence. He could find no adequate words forthe situation.
The boat drew alongside and Constance stepped in, but she did not sitdown. Her attention was attracted by two washer-women who had comeclattering on to the little rustic bridge that spanned the stream abovethe water steps. The women, their baskets of linen on their heads, hadpaused to watch the embarkation.
"Ah, Gustavo," Constance asked over her shoulder, "is there awasher-woman here at the Hotel du Lac named Costantina?"
"_Si_, signorina, zat is Costantina standing on ze bridge wif ze yellowhandkerchief on her head."
Constance looked at Costantina, and nodded and smiled. Then she laughedout loud, a beautiful rippling, joyous laugh that rang through the groveand silenced the chaffinches.
Perhaps once upon a time Costantina was beautiful--beautiful as theangels--but if so, it was long, long ago. Now she was old and fat with ahawk nose and a double chin and one tooth left in the middle of thefront. But if she were not beautiful, she was at least a cheerful oldsoul, and, though she could not possibly know the reason, she echoed thesignorina's laugh until she nearly shook the clean clothes into thewater.
Constance settled herself among the cushions and glanced back toward theterrace.
"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.