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Updated: June 21, 2025
After another longish interval of brooding, he sauntered down to the riverside, through his fragrant garden, fragrant and fresh with the cool odours of the night, and peered into the darkness, towards Castel Ventirose. Here and there he could discern a gleam of yellow, where some lighted window was not entirely hidden by the trees.
She would as soon think of marrying a Paynim Turk." In the end, no doubt, a kind of exhaustion followed upon his excitement. Questions and answers suspended themselves; and he could only look up towards Ventirose, and dumbly wish that he was there.
Already, the lake, the mountain slopes, the villas and vineyards westward, were totally blotted out, hidden behind walls and walls of water; and even the neighbouring lawns of Ventirose, the confines of his own garden, were barely distinguishable, blurred as by a fog. The big drops pelted the river like bullets, sending up splashes bigger than themselves.
"Versatile ?" puzzled Marietta. But then, risking her own interpretation of the recondite word, "Oh, no, Signorino. He is of the country." "Ah, he's of the country, is he? So much the better. Then he will know the way to Castel Ventirose?" "But naturally, Signorino." Marietta nodded.
They were the great people of this region for countless generations, the Farfalla. They were Princes of Ventirose and Patricians of Milan. And then the last of them was ruined at Monte Carlo, and killed himself there, twenty-odd years ago. That is how all their gioja and amore ended. It was the case of a butterfly literally broken upon a wheel.
"The Signorino's landlady is the Duchessa di Santangiolo," she answered, in accents of resignation. But then the name seemed to stimulate her; and she went on "She lives there at Castel Ventirose." Marietta pointed towards the castle. "She owns all, all this country, all these houses all, all."
"Oh-h-h!" shuddered Beatrice and Emilia, in a breath; and they resumed their walk. Francois was dining with an appearance of great fervour. Peter sat on his rustic bench, by the riverside, and watched him, smoking a cigarette the while. The Duchessa di Santangiolo stood screened by a tree in the park of Ventirose, and watched them both.
"But he will be free now, and it is so long since he has been at the castle had you not better ask him to luncheon or dinner?" "Why should I?" answered Beatrice. "If he does not come to Ventirose, it is presumably because he does not care to come. If he does care to come, he needs no invitation. He knows that he is at liberty to call whenever he likes."
"I will," he resolved all at once, drawing a deep breath, and clenching his fists. He left the Casino, and set forth to walk to Ventirose. He could not wait for the omnibus, which would not leave till four. He must strike while his will was hot. He walked rapidly; in less than an hour he had reached the tall gilded grille of the park.
At the same time he was filled with a kind of exultancy. All that he had hoped had come to pass, and more, vastly more. Not only had he been received as a friend at Ventirose, but he had been encouraged to tell her a part at least of the story by which her life and his were so curiously connected; and he had been snatched from the peril of telling her too much.
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