"I can do that," said Carmela, who was now all smiles. "Does the signorina wish me to take them up? They are all ready. They are waiting in the wood-room."
The wood-room was a remote store-room for fuel; it was detached from the rest of the apartment. "Why did you put them there?" inquired Miss Senter, astonished.
"They are musicians—yes; but who knows what else they may be? Thieves, perhaps!" said the deputy, shrewdly.
"Get them out immediately and take them up to the gallery," said Miss Senter. "And tell them to play something lively as a beginning."
Carmela, quick as usual, was gone before the words were ended.
"Now, Ercole, wait until you hear the music. Then come in," said the Consuless.
She returned to the drawing-room, making a motion with her hands as she advanced, which indicated that her guests were to move a little more towards the walls on each side, leaving the centre of the room free. And then, as the music burst out above, Ercole came bounding in. His dress was ordinary; Miss Senter was vexed anew that he had not told her of his plan, for if he had she could have provided a perfectly fresh costume. But no one noticed the costume; all eyes were fixed upon the gambols; for, keeping time to the music, he was advancing up the room, dancing, bounding, leaping, turning somersets, and every now and then striking an attitude with extraordinary skill. He was so light that his white linen feet made no sound, and so graceful that the fixed grin of his mask became annoying, clashing as it did with the beauty of his poses. This thought, however, came to the elders only; for to the children, fascinated, shouting with delight, the broad red smile was an important part.
"It's our gondolier," explained Miss Senter. "It's Ercole," she had whispered to her brother.
"You are always so fortunate in servants," said Lady Kay. "That little woman you have, too, Carmela—she is a miracle for an Italian."
Four times the clown made his pyrotechnic progress up and then down the long salon, never twice repeating the same pose, but always something new; then, after a final tremendous pigeon-wing, he let his white arms fall and his white head droop on his breast, as if saying that he was taking a moment for repose.