Lily shook her head. “He asked me hardly any questions. He seemed exceedingly glad that I felt so sure it was Mr. Ponting’s body, for he had been having a lot of trouble over the poor man’s disappearance.”
Lily got up from the chair on which she was sitting.
“Please forgive me,” she said pleadingly. “I am very, very sorry that I’ve brought all this trouble and worry on you and on Uncle Angelo. It wasn’t my fault.”
“No, it was not your fault,” said the Countess graciously, “and I must ask you, dear child, to accept my own apology. I fear you thought me rather unkind. But you do not know—English people never can understand—how very disagreeable any fracas with the police can be, in either France or Italy. It means such endless trouble!”
The Countess walked to the window, she opened it and looked out into the semi-darkness.
“I suppose Angelo walked on down the hill with that man—perhaps to find out for himself the hour of the funeral. Do you mean to go to it, dear child?”
The question surprised Lily. “Would you like me to do so, Aunt Cosy?”
The Countess remained silent for a few moments.
“Yes,” she said decidedly. “It would be a mark of respect. I will not offer to go myself. There are things I must do before the arrival of my beloved Beppo. And then I could not walk up the hill again. I should have to have a carriage. You and Uncle Angelo do not mind walking.” She lowered her voice: “With regard to Cristina, encourage her to think of other things. Fortunately, she is fond of Beppo. His coming will be a distraction and pleasure to us all. Oh, my dear Lily, I do hope that my son and you will be good pals—as you so funnily say in England!”