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Updated: June 5, 2025
Hillard asked pleasantly. "She is not in the Campo Formosa, signore." Bettina, recovering her scattered wits, laughed. "But you were last night." "Yes. I watched you and your friend for some time." Bettina's eyes were merry. She would play with him. Everything was so tedious now. "Your mistress is in Venice." "Perhaps. At least her maid is." "I should not dare suggest a bribe," he said slyly.
"I am human enough to be hungry, sometimes." She summoned the waiter. The dinner was excellent, but Hillard scarcely knew what this or that plate was. All his hunger lay in his eyes.
Among the lesser nobles the American duchesses were creating a favorable impression in spite of their husbands. "What a fine sensation it must be," Hillard murmured, "to be able at any time to plunge one's noble white hand into a sack of almost inexhaustible American dollars!" He dropped the paper. The same old stories, warmed over. There was really nothing new in the world.
"But the mask, the mask! If you heard the policeman call my name, you must have heard him speak of one Leddy Lightfinger." "I did indeed. And is it not possible that I am that very person?" Hillard dropped his hand toward his watch. "Why do you hate Italy?" She sat straight, and what little he could see of her mouth had hardened.
Emerson prudently detained them until after the townspeople were safely in their churches, and then accompanied them. It is a pleasant retrospect to think of those two mighty men, so like and yet so unlike, together with their amiable and gifted friend, going off on this Sunday excursion. Mr. Hillard was a fortunate companion for him, for no one could serve better as a mean between two extremes.
"Well, a Hillard two hundred years ago had his head cut off by an ax. His executioner wore a mask." "A mistake. Your ancestor should have been hanged." "And I along with him, you would imply?" "Are you not Irish? I have known Irishmen by the name of Hillard." "They were in disguise. But I have a generous strain of Irish blood in me.
The Italian struck out savagely and fearlessly, but Hillard seized his arm and held it firmly. There was a short tableau. Each man could hear the breathing of the other, quick and deep. The devil gleamed in the Italian's eyes, but there was a menace Hillard's equally strong. "You meddling figure of a dog!" "Take care lest the dog bite, signore." "Release my arm and stand aside!" "Presently.
You could arrange with more ease." "Thank you," said Hillard, "but I am perfectly comfortable where I am. If this gentleman has anything to say, he must say it here and now." "Colonel!" cried the subaltern, as his senior smoothed the gloves and placed them carefully in his left hand, closing his fingers over them. "Oh, I am calm. But I have been dreaming of this moment. Now!"
To Bettina this was an enormous sum in these unfortunate days. Her resolution wavered. "A hundred-lire note!" She felt that she could make no strong defense against such an assault. Hillard drew the note from his pocket and crinkled it. "A new dress and bits of lace." Bettina saw duty one way and avarice the other. Her mistress would never know.
But Hillard disillusioned him. Rarely were there any fish, nor were these waters drinkable, passing as they did over immense beds of lime. There was a change of cars at Rome and a wait of two hours. Hillard led the way to a popular café in the Piazza delle Terme, near the station. Here they lunched substantially.
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