stretched before him; he passed the pink villa without a glance. At the gate he stood aside to admit a horse and rider. The horse was prancing in spite of the heat; the rider wore a uniform and a shining sword. There was a clank of accoutrements as he passed, and the wayfarer caught a gleam of piercing black eyes and a slight black moustache turned up at the ends. The rider saluted politely and indifferently, and jangled on. The young man scowled after him maliciously until the cypresses hid him from view; then he turned and took up the dusty road back towards the Hotel du Lac.

It was close upon five, and Gustavo was in the court-yard feeding the parrot, when his eye fell upon the American guest scuffling down the road in a cloud of white dust. Gustavo hastened to the gate to welcome him back, his very eyebrows expressive of his eagerness for news.

“You are returned, signore?”

The young man paused and regarded him unemotionally.

 “Yes, Gustavo, I am returned—with thanks.”

“You have seen ze Signorina Costantina?”

“Yes, I saw her.”

“And is it not as I have said, zat she is beautiful as ze holy angels?”

“Yes, Gustavo, she is—and just about equally remote. You may make out my bill.”

The waiter’s face clouded.

“You do not wish to remain longer, signore?”

“Can’t stand it, Gustavo; it’s too infernally restful.”

Poor Gustavo saw a munificent shower of tips vanishing into nothing. His face was rueful but his manner was undiminishingly polite.

“Si, signore, sank you. When shall you wish ze omnibus?”

“Tomorrow morning for the first boat.”

Gustavo bowed to the inevitable; and the young man passed on. He paused half way across the court-yard.

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