"Why is he not coming? We thought he was a man of honour."
"And he is so still; but he has fallen from a rock and hurt his head and legs, and is unconscious."
Her interlocutor exchanged looks with the other man, and then said:
"You betray the truth at all events, Fenice Cattaneo, because you do not understand how to lie. If he had lost consciousness, how could he send you here to tell us of it?"
"Speech came back to him at intervals. And he then said that he was expected here at the inn; I was to let you know what had happened to him."
One of the other men gave a short, dry laugh. "You see," said the speaker, "these gentlemen do not believe much of your tale either. Certainly it is easier to play the poet than the man of honour."
"If, Signor, you mean by that that Signor Filippo has not come here out of cowardice, then it is an abominable falsehood, and may heaven reckon it to you!" She said this fiercely, and looked at them all three in succession.
"You wax warm, little one," scoffed the man. "You are doubtless Signor Filippo's sweetheart, eh?"
"No, the Madonna knows I am not!" replied she in her deepest voice. The men whispered together, and she heard one of them say: "That nest up there is Tuscan still."—"You don't seriously believe in this dodge?" asked the third. "He is no more at Treppi than——"