Giacinto abstractedly caressed her coarse hand.
"Tell me," he said, "does the French gentleman leave tonight? I mean the one who first arrived."
"What business is that of yours?" she asked, annoyed at her lover's coldness.
"Because," said the Sicilian in a passionate tone, "if he goes I must leave you, my darling, for we sail together."
"He leaves tonight and the other also, No. 10. But, if you prefer to stay, other vessels will leave tomorrow."
Giacinto gazed into her eyes with promise. Then, dashing off the Chianti, he ran to his room, smiling at the credulity of servant maids. He threw on his cloak, tied a sash around his waist, into which he thrust a pair of pistols, grasped a thick stick, glided out of the hotel and was soon lost in the mist.
[Chapter V]
THE CREAKING BOOTS
The night grew darker, and the mist denser. At half past eleven, Volpetti, followed by Brosseur, took the road leading to the wharf, the latter carrying the traveling bags and other baggage. Volpetti had the box of documents and Brosseur grumbled at the heaviness of his own load, which prevented his keeping up with his master. Being scarcely able to see him, he followed by listening to the creaking of his boots. But he was obliged to walk so slowly that the creaking became fainter and fainter, seeming finally to die out altogether. Suddenly, he heard boots again and hurried on, succeeding at last in overtaking the owner of them; just then this owner turned and, with no warning, dealt Brosseur a blow on the head so effective that the valet rolled over into the mud, emitting only a smothered bellow. René leaned over his victim, turning on the light from his lantern. A stream of blood tricked down his face and he seemed insensible. Thrusting his hand into Brosseur's breast and pockets, he extracted a bunch of keys. With these he opened the wallets, but no box did he find. Then, shaking the fellow, to convince himself that he was still unconscious, René hurried after Volpetti. A moment later Giacinto stumbled upon the wounded man.