And for days Francesco went about as one dazed. The Neapolitans laughed his exhortations to scorn, and seemed to invite the interdict rather than to submit to the Vulture of Provence.
He was ruminating over the situation, wishing for some inspiration, wishing for Ilaria, and noting idly how the soft siesta lights played upon the sea, when Francesco perceived a little pleasure barque skirting the coast, and heading apparently for his favorite spot,—where he had met Ilaria on coming to Naples. As the breeze impelled it nearer, music floated over the waters. A few moments, and he descried within the boat three of the most charming of the younger women of the court, with their attendant cavaliers. He eyed the little boat longingly, as it approached like some swift sprite of the sea. It was at hand now, moored to the tiny wharf, and one of the women called out gaily:
"Messer Eremito, we have found your cell!"
"And like many hermits," laughed Stefano Maconi, "he appears to welcome the intrusion."
"To be welcomed by Messer Francesco," suggested another, "we should be on the barque which Charon is rowing across the Styx."
Francesco found his tongue at last.
"Beauty should always have precedence over departed souls," he said with a smile. "Is it your pleasure to land and to enliven this solitude?"
"No, but to lure you out upon the waters," said the woman who had spoken.
Francesco, carried away by the spirit of the moment, ran down the marble steps of the terrace and leaped lightly into the boat.
"Violetta made a wager that you would not come,—Petronella that you would," said a third. "As for myself—I was neutral. But my fears were with Violetta."