"Oh, this one, beyond doubt," answered his master.
Now, I thought that I understood most of this conversation, and I was very sorry that Euphrosyne was not by my side to listen to it. But I had heard about enough for my purpose, and I had turned to crawl away stealthily—it is not well to try fortune too far—when I heard the sound of a door opening in the house. Constantine's voice followed directly on the sound.
"Ah, my darling, my sweet wife," he cried, "not sleeping yet? Where will your beauty be. Vlacho and I must plot and plan for your sake, but you need not spoil your eyes with sleeplessness."
Constantine did it uncommonly well. His manner was a pattern for husbands. I was guilty of a quiet laugh all to myself, in the veranda.
"For me? You're sure it's for me?" came in that Greek tongue with a strange accent which had first fallen on my ears in the Optimum restaurant.
"She's jealous, she's most charmingly jealous!" cried Constantine, in playful rapture. "Does your wife pay you such compliments, Vlacho?"
"She has not cause, my lord. Now my Lady Francesca thinks she has cause to be jealous of the Lady Euphrosyne."
Constantine laughed scornfully at the suggestion.
"Where is she now?" came swift and sharp from the woman. "Where is Euphrosyne?"
"Why, she's a prisoner to that Englishman," answered Constantine.