‘Signorina,’ he whispered, ‘you make me ver’ happy to-night.’
She drew her hand away.
‘I’m tired, Tony. I’m not quite myself.’
‘No, signorina, yesterday I sink maybe you not yourself, but to-day you ver’ good, ver’ kind—jus’ your own self ze way you ought to be.’
The piazza, after the dark, narrow streets that led to it, seemed bubbling with life. The day’s work was finished and the evening’s play had begun. In the centre, where a fountain splashed into a broad bowl, groups of women and girls with copper water-jars were laughing and gossiping as they waited their turns. One side of the square was flanked by the imposing façade of a church with the village saint on a pedestal in front; the other side, by a cheerfully inviting osteria with tables and chairs set into the street and a glimpse inside of a blazing hearth and copper kettles.
Mr. Wilder headed in a straight line for the nearest chair and dropped into it with an expression of permanence. Constance followed, and they held a colloquy with a bowing host. He was vague as to the finding of carriage or donkeys, but if they would accommodate themselves until after supper there would be a diligence along which would take them back to Valedolmo.
‘How soon will the diligence arrive?’ asked Constance.
The man spread out his hands.
‘It is due in three-quarters of an hour, but it may be early and it may be late. It arrives when God and the driver wills.’
‘In that case,’ she laughed, ‘we will accommodate ourselves until after supper—and we have appetites! Please bring everything you have.’