‘She wash clothes at ze Hotel du Lac,’ he called after her.
Constance paused and glanced over her shoulder with a laugh.
‘Tony,’ she said, ‘the quality which I admire most in a donkey-driver, besides truthfulness and picturesqueness, is imagination.’
CHAPTER VII
On the homeward journey Tony again trudged behind while the officers held their post at Constance’s side. But Tony’s spirits were still singing from the little encounter on the castle platform, and in spite of the animated Italian which floated back, he was determined to look at the sunny side of the adventure. It was Mr. Wilder who unconsciously supplied him with a second opportunity for conversation. He and the Englishman, being deep in a discussion involving statistics of the Italian army budget, called on the two officers to set them straight. Tony, at their order, took his place beside the saddle; Constance was not to be abandoned again to Fidilini’s caprice. Miss Hazel and the Englishwoman were ambling on ahead in as matter-of-fact a fashion as if that were their usual mode of travel. Their donkeys were of a sedater turn of mind than Fidilini—a fact for which Tony offered thanks.
They were by this time well over the worst part of the mountain, and the brief Italian twilight was already fading. Tony, with a sharp eye on the path ahead and a ready hand for the bridle, was attending strictly to the duties of a well-trained donkey-man. It was Constance again who opened the conversation.
‘Ah, Tony?’
‘Si, signorina?’
‘Did you ever read any Angleesh books—or do you do most of your reading in Magyar?’