Constance studied him more intently. There was something elusively familiar about his expression; she was sure she had seen him before.
"
Buon giorno
," she replied in Italian. "You have lived in the United States?"
"
Si
, signorina."
"What is your name?"
"I spik Angleesh," he observed.
"I don't care if you do speak English; I prefer Italian--what is your name?" She repeated the question in Italian.
"
Si
, signorina," he ventured again. An anxious look had crept to his face and he hastily turned away and commenced carrying parcels from the kitchen. Constance looked after him, puzzled and suspicious. The one insult which she could not brook was for an Italian to fail to understand her when she talked Italian. As he returned and knelt to tighten the strap of a hamper, she caught sight of the thread that held his earring. She looked a second longer, and a sudden smile of illumination flashed to her face. She suppressed it quickly and turned away.
"He seems rather slow about understanding," she remarked to the others, "but I dare say he'll do."
"The poor fellow is embarrassed," apologized her father. "His name is Tony," he added--even he had understood that much Italian.
"Was there ever an Italian who had been in America whose name was not Tony? Why couldn't he have been Angelico or Felice or Pasquale or something decently picturesque?"
"My dear," Miss Hazel objected, "I think you are hypercritical. The man is scarcely to blame for his name."
"I suppose not," she agreed, "though I should have included that in my order."
Further discussion was precluded by the appearance of a station-carriage which turned in at the gate and stopped before them. Two officers descended and saluted. In summer uniforms of white linen with gold shoulder-straps, and shining top-boots, they rivalled the donkey-man in decorativeness. Constance received them with flattering acclaim, while she noted from the corner of her eye the effect upon Tony. He had not counted upon this addition to the party, and was as scowling as she could have wished. While the officers were engaged in making their bow to the others, Constance casually reapproached the donkeys. Tony feigned immersion in the business of strapping hampers; he had no wish to be drawn into any Italian tête-à-tête. But to his relief she addressed him this time in English.
"Are these donkeys used to mountain-climbing?"
"But yes, signorina!
Sicuramente
. Zay are ver' strong, ver' good. Zat donk', signorina, he go all day and never one little stumble."
His English, she noted with amused appreciation, was an exact copy of Gustavo's; he had learned his lesson well. But she allowed not the slightest recognition of the fact to appear in her face.
"And what are their names?" she inquired.
"Dis is Fidilini, signorina, and zat one wif ze white nose is Macaroni, and zat ovver is Cristoforo Colombo."
Elizabetta appeared in the doorway with two rush-covered flasks, and Tony hurried forward to receive them. There was a complaisant set to his shoulders as he strode off, Constance noted delightedly; he was felicitating himself upon the ease with which he had fooled her. Well! She would give him cause before the day was over for other than felicitations. She stifled a laugh of prophetic triumph and sauntered over to Beppo.
"When Tony is engaged as a guide do you always go with him?"
"Not always, signorina, but Carlo has wished me to go to-day to look after the donkeys."
"And who is Carlo?"
"He is the guide who owns them."
Beppo looked momentarily guilty; the answer had slipped out before he thought.
"Oh, indeed! But if Tony is a guide why doesn't he have donkeys of his own?"
"He used to, but one unfortunately fell into the lake and got drowned and the other died of a sickness."
He put forth this preposterous statement with a glance as grave and innocent as that of a little cherub.
"Is Tony a good guide?"
"But yes, of the best!"
There was growing anxiety in Beppo's tone. He divined suspicion behind these persistent inquiries, and he knew that in case Tony were dismissed, his own munificent pay would stop.
"Do you understand any English?" she suddenly asked.
He modestly repudiated any great knowledge. "A word here, a word there; I learn it in school."
"I see!" She paused for a moment and then inquired casually, "Have you known Tony long?"
"
Si
, signorina."
"How long?"
Beppo considered. Someone, clearly, must vouch for the man's respectability. This was not in the lesson that had been taught him, but he determined to branch out for himself.
"He is my father, signorina."
"Really! He looks young to be your father--have you any brothers and sisters, Beppo?"
"I have four brothers, signorina, and five sisters." He fell back upon the truth with relief.
"
Davvero
!"
The signorina smiled upon him, a smile of such heavenly sweetness that he instantly joined the already crowded ranks of her admirers. She drew from her pocket a handful of coppers and dropped them into his grimy little palm.
"Here, Beppo, are some soldi for the brothers and sisters. I hope that you will be good and obedient and
always
tell me the truth."
CHAPTER V
After some delay--owing to Tony's inability to balance the chafing-dish on Cristoforo Colombo's back--they filed from the gateway, an imposing cavalcade. The ladies were on foot, loftily oblivious to the fact that three empty saddles awaited their pleasure. Constance, a gesticulating officer at either hand, was vivaciously talking Italian, while Tony, trudging behind, listened with a somber light in his eye. She now and then cast a casual glance over her shoulder, and as she caught sight of his gloomy face the animation of her Italian redoubled. The situation held for her mischief-loving soul undreamed-of possibilities; and though she ostensibly occupied herself with the officers, she by no means neglected the donkey-man.
During the first few miles of the journey he earned his four francs. Twice he reshifted the pack because Constance thought it insecure (it was a disgracefully unprofessional pack; most guides would have blushed at the making of it); once he retraced their path some two hundred yards in search of a veil she thought she had dropped--it turned out that she had had it in her pocket all of the time. He chased Fidilini over half the mountainside while the others were resting, and he carried the chafing-dish for a couple of miles because it refused to adjust itself nicely to the pack. The morning ended by his being left behind with a balking donkey, while the others completed the last ascent that led to their halting-place for lunch.
It was a small plateau shaded by oak trees with a broad view below them, and a mountain stream foaming down from the rocks above. It was owing to Beppo's knowledge of the mountain paths rather than Tony's which had guided them to this agreeable spot; though no one in the party except Constance appeared to have noted the fact. Tony arrived some ten minutes after the others, hot but victorious, driving Cristoforo Colombo before him. Constance welcomed his return with an off-hand nod and set him about preparing lunch. He and Beppo served it and repacked the hampers, entirely ignored by the others of the party. Poor Tony was beginning to realize that a donkey-man lives on a desert island in so far as any companionship goes. But his moment was coming. As they were about to start on, Constance spied high above their heads where the stream burst from the rocks, a clump of starry white blossoms.
"Edelweiss!" she cried. "Oh, I must have it--it's the first I ever saw growing; I hadn't supposed we were high enough." She glanced at the officers.
The ascent was not dangerous, but it was undeniably muddy, and they both wore white; with very good cause they hesitated. And while they hesitated, the opportunity was lost. Tony sprang forward, scrambled up the precipice hand over hand, swung out across the stream by the aid of an overhanging branch and secured the flowers. It was very gracefully and easily done, and a burst of applause greeted his descent. He divided his flowers into two equal parts, and sweeping off his hat, presented them with a bow, not to Constance, but to the officers, who somewhat sulkily passed them on. She received them with a smile; for an instant her eyes met Tony's, and he fell back, rewarded.
The captain and lieutenant for the first time regarded the donkey-man, and they regarded him narrowly, red sash, earrings, stiletto and all. Constance caught the look and laughed.
"Isn't he picturesque?" she inquired in Italian. "The head-waiter at the Hotel du Lac found him for me. He has been in the United States and speaks English, which is a great convenience."
The two said nothing, but they looked at each other and shrugged.
The donkeys were requisitioned for the rest of the journey; while Tony led Miss Hazel's mount, he could watch Constance ahead on Fidilini, an officer marching at each side of her saddle. She appeared to divide her favors with nice discrimination; it was not her fault if the two were jealous of one another. Tony could draw from that obvious fact what consolation there was in it.
[Illustration: "Constance ahead on Fidilini, an officer marching at each side of her saddle."]
The ruined fortress, their destination, was now exactly above their heads. The last ascent boldly skirted the shoulder of the mountain, and then doubled upward in a series of serpentine coils. Below them the whole of Lake Garda was spread like a map. Mr. Wilder and the Englishman, having paused at the edge of the declivity, were endeavoring to trace the boundary line of Austria, and they called upon the officers for help. The two relinquished their post at Constance's side, while the donkeys kept on past them up the hill. The winding path was both stony and steep, and, from a donkey's standpoint, thoroughly objectionable. Fidilini was well in the lead, trotting sedately, when suddenly without the slightest warning, he chose to revolt. Whether Constance pulled the wrong rein, or whether, as she affirmed, it was merely his natural badness, in any case, he suddenly veered from the path and took a cross cut down the rocky slope below them. Donkeys are fortunately sure-footed beasts; otherwise the two would have plunged together down the sheer face of the mountain. As it was it looked ghastly enough to the four men below; they shouted to Constance to stick on, and commenced scrambling up the slope with absolutely no hope of reaching her.
It was Tony's chance a second time to show his agility--and this time to some purpose. He was a dozen yards behind and much lower down, which gave him a start. Leaping forward, he dropped over the precipice, a fall of ten feet, to a narrow ledge below. Running toward them at an angle, he succeeded in cutting off their flight. Before the frightened donkey could swerve, Tony had seized him--by the tail--and had braced himself against a boulder. It was not a dignified rescue, but at least it was effective; Fidilini came to a halt. Constance, not expecting the sudden jolt, toppled over sidewise, and Tony, being equally unprepared to receive her, the two went down together rolling over and over on the grassy slope.
"My dear, are you hurt?"
Mr. Wilder, quite pale with anxiety, came scrambling to her side. Constance sat up and laughed hysterically, while she examined a bleeding elbow.
"N--no, not dangerously--but I think perhaps Tony is."
Tony however was at least able to run, as he was again on his feet and after the donkey. Captain Coroloni and her father helped Constance to her feet while Lieutenant di Ferara recovered a side-comb and the white sun hat. They all climbed down together to the path below, none the worse for the averted tragedy. Tony rejoined them somewhat short of breath, but leading a humbled Fidilini. Constance, beyond a brief glance, said nothing; but her father, to the poor man's intense embarrassment, shook him warmly by the hand with the repeated assurance that his bravery should not go unrewarded.
They completed their journey on foot; Tony following behind, quite conscious that, if he had played the part of hero, he had done it with a lamentable lack of grace.
CHAPTER VI
Tony was stretched on the parapet that bordered the stone-paved platform of the fortress. Above him the crumbling tower rose many feet higher, below him a marvelous view stretched invitingly; but Tony had eyes neither for medieval architecture nor picturesque scenery. He lay with his coat doubled under his head for a pillow, in a frowning contemplation of the cracked stone pavement.
The four other men, after an hour or so of easy lounging under the pines at the base of the tower, had organized a fresh expedition to the summit a mile farther up. Mr. Wilder, since morning, had developed into an enthusiastic mountain-climber--regret might come with the morrow, but as yet ambition still burned high. The remainder of the party were less energetic. The three ladies were resting on rugs spread under the pines; Beppo was sleeping in the sun, his hat over his face, and the donkeys, securely tethered (Tony had attended to that) were innocently nibbling mountain herbs.
There was no obvious reason why, as he lighted a cigarette and stretched himself on the parapet, Tony should not have been the most self-satisfied guide in the world. He had not only completed the expedition in safety, but had saved the heroine's life by the way; and even if the heroine did not appear as thankful as she might, still, her father had shown due gratitude, and, what was to the point, had promised a reward. That should have been enough for any reasonable donkey-driver.
But it was distinctly not enough for Tony. He was in a fine temper as he lay on the parapet and scowled at the pavement. Nothing was turning out as he had planned. He had not counted on the officers or her predilection for Italian. He had not counted on chasing donkeys in person while she stood and looked on--Beppo was to have attended to that. He had not counted on anything quite so absurd as his heroic capture of Fidilini. Since she must let the donkey run away with her, why, in the name of all that was romantic--could it not have occurred by moonlight? Why, when he caught the beast, could it not have been by the bridle instead of the tail? And above all, why could she not have fallen into his arms, instead of on top of him?