“I’m glad you agree with me. It is now five minutes past four; do you think the American family would be taking a siesta?”
“I do not know, signore.” Gustavo’s tone was still patient.
“And whereabouts is the rose-colored villa with the terrace on the lake?”
“It is a quarter of a hour beyond ze Porta Sant’ Antonio. If ze gate is shut you ring at ze bell and Giuseppe will open. But ze road is ver’ hot and ver’ dusty. It is more cooler to take ze paf by ze lake. Straight to ze left for ten minutes and step over ze wall; it is broken in zat place and quite easy.”
“Thank you, that is a wise suggestion; I shall step over the wall by all means.” He jumped to his feet and looked about for his hat. “You turn to the left and straight ahead for ten minutes? Good-bye then till dinner. I go in search of the Signorina Costantina who is beautiful as the angels in Paradise, and who lives in a rose-colored villa set in a cypress grove on the shores of Lake Garda—not a bad setting for romance, is it, Gustavo?—Dinner, I believe, is at seven o’clock?”
“Si, signore, at seven; and would you like veal cooked Milanese fashion?”
“Nothing would please me more. We have only had veal Milanese fashion five times since I came.”
He waved his hand jauntily and strolled whistling down the arbor that led to the lake. Gustavo looked after him and shook his head. Then he took out the two-lire piece and rang it on the table. The metal rang true. He shrugged his shoulders and turned back indoors to order the veal.