“Do not think that I am inquisitive, but…” began the lady.
“I am quite willing to satisfy your curiosity, Madam,” he said; “you are surprised that a dog trainer is able to sing a little. But I have not always been what I am now. When I was younger I was… the servant of a great singer, and like a parrot I imitated him. I began to repeat some of the songs he practiced in my presence. That is all.”
The lady did not reply. She looked hard at Vitalis. He seemed embarrassed.
“Good-by, sir,” she said at last, laying a stress on the word “sir.” “Good-by, and once more let me thank you for the exquisite delight you have given me this evening.” And leaning towards Capi she dropped a gold piece in his cup.
I thought that Vitalis would escort her to the door, but he did nothing of the kind, and when she was out of hearing I heard him swear softly in Italian.
“She gave Capi a louis,” I said.
I thought he was going to give me a blow, but he let his raised hand fall to his side.
“A louis,” he said, as though he were coming out of a dream. “Ah, yes, poor Pretty-Heart. I had forgotten him. Let us go back to the little creature at once.”
I climbed the stairs of the inn first and went into the room. The fire was not out, but there were no flames. I lit a candle quickly. I was surprised not to hear any sound from Pretty-Heart. I found him, lying under his coverlets, stretched out his full length, dressed in his general’s uniform. He appeared to be asleep. I leaned over him and took his hand gently to wake him up. His hand was cold. Vitalis came into the room. I turned to him.
“Pretty-Heart is cold,” I said.