For a moment no one saw her. She heard men’s voices talking loudly and gayly, the clatter of plates, the clink of knives and forks. She looked round for the visitors’ book. If it were lying near she thought she would open it, search for what Emile had written, and then slip away at once unobserved.
There was a furtive spirit within her to-night.
But she could not see the book; so she sat still, listening to the blind man and gazing at the calm sea just below her. A boat was waiting there. She could see the cushions, which were white and looked ghastly in the darkness, the dim form of the rower standing up to search for clients.
“Barca! Barca!”
He had seen her.
She drew back a little. As she did so her chair made a grating noise, and instantly the sharp ears of the Padrone caught a sound betokening the presence of a new-comer in his restaurant. It might be a queen, an empress! Who could tell?
With his stiff yet alert military gait, he at once came marching down towards her, staring hard with his big, bright eyes. When he saw who it was he threw up his brown hands.
“The Signora of the storm!” he exclaimed. He moved as if about to turn around. “I must tell—”
But Hermione stopped him with a quick, decisive gesture.
“One moment, Signore.”