"Signor! a word of warning! I constitute myself the protector of those ladies. I have a very good right to do so. Any idle and public inquiries concerning them, or any attempt to obtrude an acquaintance upon them, I shall—punish! You understand!"
"Certainly," he answered. "You have only to prove the offense and the right of protectorship, and I shall be at your service. You probably know little concerning the men of my country. Let me tell you that we are not in the habit of forcing ourselves upon unknown ladies, nor in our respect for them are we second to the men of any nation in the world. I wish you good-evening, Signor."
He walked away with his head in the air, an object of much curiosity to the many scattered little groups of dusky foreigners and Jews through which he passed. At the door of the hotel he paused for a moment, and then, instead of joining the stream of promenaders, he entered and slowly ascended the broad marble staircase toward his room. Just as he reached the first landing, however, he felt a light touch on his arm, and a guttural voice In his ear. He turned sharply round, and found before him one of the waiters—the one who had served him with his coffee outside.
"Well! what do you want?" he asked.
The man answered in a low tone, with his eyes glancing suspiciously around all the time.
"The Signor was inquiring the name of the lady who passed by," he said apologetically. "The Signor spoke loudly, and I could not choose but hear."
The Englishman came to a sudden standstill, and looked down into the ferretlike face and black eyes of the man who had followed him.
"Well?"
"I can tell it to the Signor."
"Look sharp then!"