‘And his real name that comes on his letters?’
‘Jayreem Ailyar, signorina.’
‘Say it again, Gustavo.’ She cocked her head.
He gathered himself together for a supreme effort. He rolled his r’s; he shouted until the courtyard reverberated.
‘Meestair-r Jay-r-reem Ailyar-r!’
Constance shook her head.
‘Sounds like Hungarian—at least the way you pronounce it. But anyway it’s of no consequence; I merely asked out of idle curiosity. And Gustavo’—she still held the lira—‘if he asks you if I looked in this register, what are you going to say?’
‘I say, “No, Meestair Ailyar, she stay all ze time in ze courtyard talking wif ze parrot, and she was ver’ moch shocked at his Angleesh.”’
‘Ah!’ Constance smiled and laid the lira on the table. ‘Gustavo,’ she said, ‘I hope, for the sake of your immortal soul, that you go often to confession.’
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 arbour, Gustavo was talking—shouting fairly; their approach was heralded.