It was the hour of rest, and Beppo, the vine-dresser, sat at the gate, strumming an old, dilapidated lute; his red jacket and white shirt making the only bits of bright color in the sombre picture.
As the rude carriage stopped before the gate, Beppo arose and put aside his lute, and stood with a look of expectancy on his dark face.
The duke did not alight, but put his head out of the carriage window and beckoned the man to approach him.
Beppo came up, curiosity expressing itself in every feature of his speaking countenance.
"You have a young gentleman and lady—a young married couple—staying with you?" said the duke, but speaking in the Italian language.
"No, Excellenzo. The signora is here. The signor went away on the same day on which he brought the signora," deferentially answered the peasant, with a profound bow.
"The man has gone!" exclaimed the duke, losing his caution and his politeness in the phrenzy of baffled vengeance.
"Si, signer, the man has gone!" with another deep bow.
"Where, then, has he gone?"
"To Paris, signor; but the signora is still here. Will the signor deign to come into my poor house and see the signora, then?"