"As you're here, if you would like to come in and sit down for a little—I mean, I don't want to seem inhospitable."
"I knew it," said I. "I knew she was, really."
"Goodbye, Silvia. Thank you very, very much all the same. I've found out what I wanted to know."
I slipped over the coping and set my foot in the thong. There was a rustle of silk and a quick step on the balcony. Then two soft hands took hold of my wrists. I looked up at the big eyes, the face white in the moonlight, the dark, straight-cut hair.
"Wait!" she said. "Who are you and where do you come from?"
"My name's Valentine," said I. "I am a gentleman of Verona."
The small mouth twitched. "Be serious," she said. I told her my name and spoke of my run from Trieste, adding that I sought Fladstadt and St. Martin. She heard me in silence. Then:
"Are you tired?" she said quietly.
"A little."
"Then I tell you that you may come in and rest for a while. Yes, and talk to me. Presently you can go on. I will show you the way."