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Updated: May 14, 2025
It was the owner of Nettuno, whose aquatic air and perfect self-possession now caused the officer to doubt whether he had not stopped a waterman of the lake a class privileged to come and go at will. "Thou knowest our usages," said the half-satisfied Genevese. "I were a fool else! Even the ass that often travels the same path comes in time to tell its turns and windings.
There were arguments enough: it was barely noon, and Marcello had not been gone four hours; he was used to taking long walks, he had probably gone as far as the tower, and had rested there before coming back; or he had gone to meet Ercole on the road to Porto d'Anzio; or he had gone off towards the Nettuno woods to get over his anger in solitude; it was natural enough; and after all, if he had gone to Rome as Aurora thought, no harm could come to him, for he would go home, and would surely send a telegram before evening.
This touching appeal was answered by a howl from Uberto, who leaped madly away and disappeared. Nettuno followed, barking wildly and with a deep throat. Pierre did not hesitate about following, and Sigismund, believing that the movement of the guide was to arrest the flight of the dogs, was quickly on his heels. Maso moved with greater deliberation.
Sigismund saw, in truth, that a party of three pedestrians was quitting the convent, taking the path for Italy. A sudden and painful suspicion flashed upon his mind. The dog was Nettuno, most probably driven by the mastiffs, as the monk had suggested, to seek a shelter in this retreat; and one of those who approached, by his gait and stature was no other than his master.
The worthy man spoke as if he himself had been present, telling how the crowd had thrown themselves upon their knees and wept, and how certain women, who were enemies, had embraced each other. In fact there had been only women and old men present, for the men of Jenne are all shepherds at Nettuno and Anzio, and do not return to the hills before the end of June.
"Nettuno is not apt to raise that bark with nothing but hail, and snow, and wind in his nostrils," said the calculating Italian. "We are either near another party of travellers, for such are on the mountains as I know" "God forbid! Art sure of this?" demanded the Signor Grimaldi, observing that the other had suddenly checked himself.
In his master, however, Nettuno found a steady friend, never failing to receive all that was necessary to his wants from the portion of Maso himself; for the faithful beast was admitted at his periodical visits to the temporary prison in which the latter was confined.
"Nettuno! gallant, gallant Nettuno!" shouted the indefatigable Maso, still at his post on the gangway, whence he cast his rope with unchanging perseverance.
The unknown animal, which the reader, however, will not be slow in recognizing to be the water-dog of Il Maledetto, received these unusual visitations with some surprise, and rather awkwardly; for, in his proper sphere, Nettuno had been quite as much accustomed to meet with demonstrations of friendship from the race he so faithfully served, as any of the far-famed and petted mastiffs of the convent.
The wind whistled, too, though but for a moment, and then it seemed to sail upward into the dark vault of the heavens. Nettuno barked audibly, and his master answered with another shout, for the sympathy of man in his kind is inextinguishable. "My brave, my noble Nettuno!" The stillness was now imposing, and Maso heard the dog growl.
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