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Updated: June 9, 2025
If any tourists come to-day, I propose to show them round the place." O'Mally was quite in earnest. Pietro's eyes flashed angrily. "No, no! Mine, all mine!" "Oh, I'm not going to rob you. I'll give you the tips, amico. What I want is the fun of the thing. Comprendery?" Pietro understood; that was different.
Merrihew, Kitty, O'Mally and Smith were in the dark as to what had passed verbally; they could only surmise. But here was something they all understood. La Signorina was first to recover. She sprang toward the combatants and grasped Hillard's hand, the one buried in the prince's throat, and pulled. She was not strong enough. "Merrihew, O'Mally, quick! He is killing him!" she cried wildly.
Worth looked at O'Mally, who looked at Smith, who looked at Kitty; then all four looked at La Signorina. "Are you not lightening our trials by joking?" asked Worth dubiously. "I am positively serious." "Impossible! It would be nothing less than madness to fly in the face of this stroke of luck." "Call it madness, if you like. I shall go as the princess." "But the authorities! It will be prison."
They learned that O'Mally had had two beers, a vast piece of recklessness. He was ripe for anything, and gaily welcomed his fellow unfortunates. He laughed, told funny stories, and made himself generally amusing. Smith made weak attempts to assist him. On the other hand, Worth seldom smiled and rarely spoke. Through her veil their former prima donna studied them carefully, with a purpose in mind.
You're as fine a looking chap as there's in New York. But this man Worth has the looks of a lady-killer. He's been eying Kitty, but it doesn't go. Hang it, I can't see why she won't marry me now. She's got to, some time or other." "You must have patience." "Or more money. Can't O'Mally tell a good story, though?" "Good company, too; but I should hate to turn him loose in my wine-cellars.
O'Mally, half hidden behind a tree, wondered if he had not fallen asleep over some tale by Scheherazade and was not dreaming this. But here was old Pietro standing close by. It was all real.
O'Mally led the party to the fountain. "What's this?" asked the woman. "This," O'Mally began, with a careless wave of the hand, "is the famed fountain by Donatello. It was originally owned by Catherine d'Medissy. The Borgias stole it from her, and Italy and France nearly came to war over it." "The Borgias?" doubtfully. "Were these two families contemporaneous?" "They were," scornfully.
He come nex' day; watch, watch!" Pietro elevated his shoulders slowly and dropped them sharply. "All ar-r-r-rest!" "You think so?" "Si." "But you wouldn't betray her for money, Pietro?" "No!" energetically. Pietro might be loyal; still, O'Mally had some shadow of doubt. "La Signorina is very beautiful," irrelevantly. "Ah!" with a gesture toward the heavens.
She turned to them again. "But it is the insanity of a sane person, the insanity of impulse and folly, of wilfulness and lack of foresight. As Mr. O'Mally said, I have gone and done it. What possessed me to say that I am the princess is as inexplicable to me as to you, though you may not believe it. But for me there is no withdrawing now; flight would do us no good.
"But to walk straight into jail, with my eyes open, that's a horse of a different color." "I like you none the less for your frankness, Mr. O'Mally. And I apologize for doubting your courage. But if to-morrow I should produce a telegram from her Highness that would do away with all your doubts?" "I'll answer that when I see the telegram." O'Mally made an unsuccessful attempt to roll a cigarette.
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