“I will try, Excellency,” answered Ruggiero, opening his blue eyes very wide.  Beatrice laughed a little.

“You see,” she said, “you did it again.”

“Yes, Signorina,” replied Ruggiero.  “But I will not forget again.  When the tongue of the ignorant has learned a word it is hard to change it.”

“Well, good-day Ruggiero.  Your story is very interesting.  I am going to breakfast, and I thank you for what you did for me.”

“It is not I who deserve any thanks.  And good appetite to you, Signorina.”  She turned and walked slowly back towards the hotel.

“And may Our Lady bless you and keep you, and send an angel to watch over every hair of your blessed head!” said Ruggiero in a low voice as he watched her graceful figure retreating in the distance.

CHAPTER IX.

After what had happened on the previous evening Ruggiero had expected that Beatrice would treat him very differently.  He had assuredly not foreseen that she would call him from his seat by the porter’s lodge, ask an important service of him, and then enter into conversation with him about the origin of his family and the story of his own life.  His slow but logical mind pondered on these things in spite of the disordered action of his heart, which had almost choked him while he had been talking with the young girl.  Instead of going back to his brother, he turned aside and entered the steep descending tunnel through the rock which leads down to the sea and the little harbour.

Two things were strongly impressed on his mind.  First, the nature of the service he had done Beatrice in making that enquiry at the telegraph office, and secondly her readiness to forget his own reckless conduct at Tragara.  Both these points suggested reflections which pleased him strangely.  It was quite clear to him that Beatrice distrusted San Miniato, though he had of course no idea of the nature of the telegram concerning which she had wanted information.  He only understood that she was watching San Miniato with suspicion, expecting some sort of foul play.  But there was an immense satisfaction in that thought, and Ruggiero’s eyes sparkled as he revolved it in his brain.

As for the other matter, he understood it less clearly.  He was quite conscious of the enormity of his misdeed in telling a lady, and a great lady, according to his view, that he loved her, and in daring to touch the sleeves of her dress with his rough hands.  He could not find it in him to regret what he had done, but he was prepared for very hard treatment as his just reward.  It would not have surprised him if Beatrice had then and there complained of him to her mother or to San Miniato himself, and the latter, Ruggiero supposed, would have had no difficulty in having him locked up in the town gaol for a few weeks on the rather serious ground of misdemeanour towards the visitors at the watering-place.  A certain amount of rather arbitrary power is placed in the hands of the local authorities in all great summer resorts, and it is quite right that it should be so—­nor is it as a rule unjustly used.