“Sicuro!” the old man laughed, waving a hand negligently toward the Zattere. So we headed there. I thought that an hour or two spent in vainly trying to see the busy gentleman in command of Venice would probably do more than anything else to convince Signora Maironi of the futility of her quest. As I helped her to the quay from the gondola in front of the old convent which was now the military headquarters, she said gently, apologetically: “Don’t be so cross with me, signor! Think merely that I am an old woman and a mother with a son about to fight for his country.”
I saw her disappear within the gate after being questioned by the sentinel; then Giuseppe and I waited in the shadow of an interned German steamship—one, two, almost three hours, until the sun had set the marble front of the Ducal Palace aflame with a flood of gold. Then I heard Giuseppe murmuring triumphantly, “Ecco! la signora!” The little black figure was waiting for us by the steps, a contented smile on her lips.
“Have I been long?” she asked.
“It makes no difference, if you have found out something. Did you see the commandant?”
She nodded her head in a pleased manner.
“I thought I should never get to him—there were so many officers and sentinels, and they all tried to turn me off. But I wouldn’t go! It takes a great deal to discourage a mother who wants to see her son.”
“And he told you?” I asked impatiently.
“Heavens, how lovely the day is!” the signora remarked with her provoking inconsequentiality. “Let us go out to the Lido! Maybe we can find a fisherman’s osteria at San Nicolo where we can get supper under the trees.”
The gondola headed seaward in the golden light.
“It will be a terrible war,” the signora began presently. “They know it.... The commandant talked with me a long time after I got to him, while others waited.... There are many spies here in Venice, he told me—Austrians who are hidden in the city.... He was such a gentleman, so patient with me and kind.... Do you know, I wept—yes, cried like a great fool! When he told me I must return and wait for news in Rome, and I thought of that long ride back without seeing my sick boy—I just couldn’t help it—I cried.... He was very kind.”