When Viola was alone on the piazza she went to the stone balustrade and looked over it at the lake. Was there a boat close by? She could not see it. The chiming bells of the fishermen came up to her, mingling with the noise of the cascade. She took out her watch and held it up close to her eyes. The hour was half-past nine. She wondered what time Italian servants went to bed.
The butler came out and begged to know if she would not eat something. He seemed so distressed at her having missed dinner, that she went into the house, sat down at the dining table and made a pretence of eating. A clock struck ten as she finished.
“It is so warm that I am going to sit out in the piazza,” she said.
“Will the signora take coffee?”
“No—yes, bring me some there. And tell my maid—tell the servants they needn’t sit up. I may stay out quite late. If I do, I’ll lock the door on to the piazza when I go in.”
“Si, signora.”
When she reached the piazza she saw a shining red spark just above the balustrade. Paolo was there smoking a black cigar and leaning over sideways.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“That boat, signora. It has not gone.”
“How do you know? It may have gone when we were in the boat-house.”