The eggs were not heavy, but Gustavo insisted upon carrying them; he was determined to see her safely aboard the Farfalla, with no further accidents possible. That she had not identified the young man of the garden with the donkey-driver of yesterday was clear—though how such blindness was possible, was not clear. Probably she had only caught a glimpse of his back at a distance; in any case he thanked a merciful Providence and decided to risk no further chance. As they neared the end of the arbor, Gustavo was talking—shouting fairly; their approach was heralded.
They turned into the grove. To Gustavo’s horror the most conspicuous object in it was this same reckless young man, seated on the water-wall nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. The young man rose and bowed; Constance nodded carelessly, while Gustavo behind her back made frantic signs for him to flee, to escape while still there was time. The young man telegraphed back by the same sign language that there was no danger; she didn’t suspect the truth. And to Gustavo’s amazement, he fell in beside them and strolled over to the water steps. His recklessness was catching; Gustavo suddenly determined upon a bold stroke himself.
“Signorina,” he asked, “zat man I send, zat donk’ driver—you like heem?”
“Tony?” Her manner was indifferent. “Oh, he does well enough; he seems honest and truthful, though a little stupid.”
Gustavo and the young man exchanged glances.
“And Gustavo,” she turned to him with a sweetly serious air that admitted no manner of doubt but that she was in earnest. “I told this young man that in case he cared to do any mountain climbing, you would find him the same guide. It would be very useful for him to have one who speaks English.”
Gustavo bowed in mute acquiescence. He could find no adequate words for the situation.
The boat drew alongside and Constance stepped in, but she did not sit down. Her attention was attracted by two washer-women who had come clattering on to the little rustic bridge that spanned the stream above the water steps. The women, their baskets of linen on their heads, had paused to watch the embarkation.
“Ah, Gustavo,” Constance asked over her shoulder, “is there a washer-woman here at the Hotel du Lac named Costantina?”
“Si, signorina, zat is Costantina standing on ze bridge wif ze yellow handkerchief on her head.”