“Still, I don't understand how you managed to get so much knocked about unless in a bad adventure with wild beasts—those scars on your left arm, for instance.”
“Ah, that was in a puma-hunt. You see, I had fired——”
There was a knock at the door.
“Is the room tidy, Martini? Yes? Then please open the door. This is really most kind, signora; you must excuse my not getting up.”
“Of course you mustn't get up; I have not come as a caller. I am a little early, Cesare. I thought perhaps you were in a hurry to go.”
“I can stop for a quarter of an hour. Let me put your cloak in the other room. Shall I take the basket, too?”
“Take care; those are new-laid eggs. Katie brought them in from Monte Oliveto this morning. There are some Christmas roses for you, Signor Rivarez; I know you are fond of flowers.”
She sat down beside the table and began clipping the stalks of the flowers and arranging them in a vase.
“Well, Rivarez,” said Galli; “tell us the rest of the puma-hunt story; you had just begun.”
“Ah, yes! Galli was asking me about life in South America, signora; and I was telling him how I came to get my left arm spoiled. It was in Peru. We had been wading a river on a puma-hunt, and when I fired at the beast the powder wouldn't go off; it had got splashed with water. Naturally the puma didn't wait for me to rectify that; and this is the result.”