"It is well, Signor. There is no fear."
They crept out of the door, opening and closing it noiselessly, ascended into the street, and separated. The sound of their footsteps died away upon the rude stone pavements. For a minute or two unbroken silence reigned in the wine shop.
"Diabolo!"
The exclamation came from the man who had fallen while endeavoring to embrace the hostess, and who since, to all appearance, had been in a drunken sleep. A very remarkable change had come over him. He was sitting bolt upright on the floor, shaking the sawdust from his hair, and his dark eyes were no longer vacant, but bright and full of excitement. He peered cautiously over the counter. The woman who had repelled his advances was still loitering near the looking-glass. Then he stole softly on to his feet, and walking on tip-toe, and without the slightest difficulty, left the place. Outside he simulated once more the walk of a drunken man, and staggered down the street and out of sight.
Presently the hostess of the place, having arranged her head-dress to her own satisfaction, came out behind the counter. She leaned over and looked for her drunken admirer. After all, he had money in his pocket, and he was not such a bad fellow. She would take him into her little room behind, and let him sleep for a while more comfortably. But—but where was he? He was not there. She turned the light higher and looked around. There was no one in the room at all. Two hopelessly drunken men and the stranger had left the place without making the slightest sound, or without calling for more drink. It was incredible. But it was true. The wine-shop keeper had never been so surprised in her life. Not only was she surprised, but she was frightened. The thing was beyond belief. The sweat broke out upon her forehead, and she crossed herself. The devil himself must have come and fetched them away, and, if so, why should he not fetch her. She was wicked enough. What a horrible thought.
Half a dozen men, the crew of a fishing boat, suddenly entered the court, filling the air with their voices, and descended the steps. She came to herself while serving them, and commenced to forget her fright. But she did not mention that little occurrence, and the very thought of a drunken man for days afterwards made her shudder.
CHAPTER V
TREACHERY
It was almost midnight, and Palermo lay sleeping in the moonlight. The concert was over, and the people who had shouted themselves hoarse with enthusiasm had dispersed at last to their homes. The last of the broad-wheeled, heavily-built carriages had rolled away through the white streets of the town. One by one the promenaders had left the Marina, and all sound had died away. There was a faint, sighing breeze in the orange groves around the bay, but scarcely a ripple upon the water. One man alone lingered drinking in the sweetness of the night. The Englishman sat on the last seat of the Marina, in the shadow of a cluster of orange trees.