The woman’s mouth hardened; she nodded with emphasis.
‘Già. We have him, the man Antonio, if that is his name. He may not be the deserter they search—I do not know—but if he is not the deserter he is something else. You should have heard him last night, signorina, when they brought him in. The things he said! They were in a foreign tongue; I did not understand, but I felt. Also he kicked my husband—kicked him quite hard so that he limps to-day. And the way he orders us about! You would think he were a prince in his own palace and we were his servants. Nothing is good enough for him. He objected to the room we gave him first because it smelt of the cooking. He likes butter with his bread and hot milk with his coffee. He cannot smoke the cigars which my husband bought for him, and they cost three soldi apiece. And this morning’—her voice rose shrilly as she approached the climax—‘he called for a bath. It is true, signorina, a bath. Dio mio, he wished me to carry the entire village fountain to his room!’
‘Not really?’ Constance opened her eyes in shocked surprise. ‘But surely, signora, you did not do it?’
The woman blinked.
‘It would be impossible, signorina,’ she contented herself with saying.
Constance, with grave concern, translated the sum of Tony’s enormities to her father; and turned back to the jailoress apologetically.
‘My father is very much grieved that the man should have caused you so much trouble. But he says, that if we could see him, we could persuade him to be more reasonable. We talk his language, and can make him understand.’
The woman winked meaningly.
‘Eh—he pretends he cannot talk Italian, but he understands enough to ask for what he wishes. I think—and the Signor-Lieutenant who ordered his arrest thinks—that he is shamming.’
‘It was a lieutenant who ordered his arrest? Do you remember his name—was it Carlo di Ferara?’