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How old he looked, poor devil! Hillard had not taken particular notice of him during the past week's excursions. Giovanni had aged ten years since they landed. "And was this cousin glad to see you? And is he to be trusted?" "Both, signore. He had some news. She is dancer in one of the Paris music-cafés." Hillard kindled his pipe thoughtfully.
"That's better than growing maudlin over a raft of saints who never did me any good. Your Titians and your Veroneses are splendid; there's color and life there. But these cross-eyed mosaics!" Merrihew threw up his hands in protest. Hillard let go his laughter.
Remember?" And so naturally they fell to recounting the splendid catches of the gamiest fish in water. When the interest in this waned, Hillard looked at his watch. "Only nine," he said. "Let's go over to Gambrinus' and hear the music." "And drink a boot of beer. Better than moping here." The Hotel Italie was but a few blocks from the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele.
"You might make the attempt, just to see what I should do." Merrihew stood watching them, having lost interest in the doves. "Supposing I should drop a hundred-lire note, accidentally, and walk away?" Hillard twisted the ends of his mustache. "But first I should have to tell you, accidentally, where my mistress is?" "That, of course." "A hundred-lire note!"
Uncle Dave was weeping: "Oh, Hillard Hillard," he said, "say all that over agin about the clouds an' the thunder of passion say all the last part over agin it sounds so good!" The congregation thronged around him and shook his hand.
A small but interested crowd had gathered by now, and Merrihew saw visions of Italian jails. Through the crowd the ever-present carabinieri shouldered their way. "It is nothing," said the colonel, motioning them to stand back, which they did with a sign of respect. This sign gave Hillard some food for thought. His antagonist was evidently a personage of some importance. Hillard laughed.
His tongue longed to wag, but by this time he was readily obeying Hillard in all things. A neat little woman was buying corn. Hillard stepped over to her and touched her arm. As she faced him, he raised his hat, smiling. "Oh!" The corn spilled in a golden shower, and the doves, fickle as all flighty things are, deserted Merrihew for the moment. "And where may I find your distinguished mistress?"
To-day, as he saw the Bishop ride up, he thought of his boyhood days, and of Tom Travis. How often had they gone with the old man hunting and fishing! How he reverenced the memory of his gentleness and kindness! The greatest desire of Hillard Watts had been to reform Edward Conway. He had prayed for him, worked for him. In spite of his drunkenness the old man believed in him.
She was about to rise and ask him to excuse her and retire, when Merrihew and Kitty came into view. There was nothing now to do but wait. She sought ease from the tenseness of the moment in sorting the roses. Hillard stirred the cold dregs in his tea-cup. Cold dregs, indeed! The light of the world was gone out. Merrihew's face was as broad and shining as the harvest moon.
The curiosity which is innate and child-like in all Latins soon overcame his dark superstitions. He was an ardent Catholic and believed that a few miracles should be left in the hands of God. The telephone had now become a kind of plaything, and Hillard often found him in front of it, patiently waiting for the bell to ring.
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