“I'm afraid you're right,” Riccardo said. “But that's not always an easy resolution to stick to.”
The Gadfly looked up, smiling. “No fear! If I'd been going in for that sort of thing, I should have done it long ago.”
“Anyway, you are not going to be left alone,” Riccardo answered drily. “Come into the other room a minute, Galli; I want to speak to you. Good-night, Rivarez; I'll look in to-morrow.”
Martini was following them out of the room when he heard his name softly called. The Gadfly was holding out a hand to him.
“Thank you!”
“Oh, stuff! Go to sleep.”
When Riccardo had gone, Martini remained a few minutes in the outer room, talking with Galli. As he opened the front door of the house he heard a carriage stop at the garden gate and saw a woman's figure get out and come up the path. It was Zita, returning, evidently, from some evening entertainment. He lifted his hat and stood aside to let her pass, then went out into the dark lane leading from the house to the Poggio Imperiale. Presently the gate clicked and rapid footsteps came down the lane.
“Wait a minute!” she said.
When he turned back to meet her she stopped short, and then came slowly towards him, dragging one hand after her along the hedge. There was a single street-lamp at the corner, and he saw by its light that she was hanging her head down as though embarrassed or ashamed.
“How is he?” she asked without looking up.