The Boy excused himself, and jumped up. I should have liked to go with
him, but courtesy to the ladies forbade, and I sat still, feeling
guilty of disloyalty somehow, nevertheless, because of a look he threw
me. It seemed to say, "We were such friends, but a woman has come
between. My affairs are nothing to you now."
I had thought that he would be back in time for coffee, but he did
not appear, and the curiosity of Gaeta, who had been restless since
the Boy's departure, could no longer be kept within bounds. "Do go and
see if he has got that wonderful bag," she said. "He might come to
tell us!"
I obeyed, nothing loth, but only to learn from the concierge that the
young gentleman had gone away with the man who had called.
"Did he leave no message?" I asked.
"No, Monsieur. He talked with the man here in the hall for a few
minutes; then he ran upstairs and soon came down again with a cap and
coat. Immediately after, he and the man went out together."
"What sort of man was he?"
"An Italian, Monsieur; a very rough-looking peasant-fellow of middle
age, poorly dressed in his working clothes. I have never seen him
before."
I did not like this description, nor the news the concierge had given.
It was nine o'clock, and very dark, for it had begun to rain towards
evening, and a monotonous drip, drip mingled with the plash of the
fountain in the garden.
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