‘Then is nobody there?’ I pursued.
‘Nobody,’ she answered.
‘You’re wrong,’ said I. ‘I saw somebody there to-day.’
‘Oh, a peasant perhaps.’
‘Well, the dress didn’t look like it. Do you really want to go there now?’
‘Haven’t you mocked me enough?’ she burst out. ‘Take me back to my prison.’
Her tragedy-air was quite delightful. But I had been leading her up to something which I thought she ought to know.
‘There’s a woman in that cottage,’ said I. ‘Not a peasant; a woman in some dark-coloured dress, who uses opera-glasses.’
I saw her draw back with a start of surprise.
‘It’s false,’ she cried. ‘There’s no one there. Constantine told me no one went there except Vlacho and sometimes Demetri.’