“You have made a mistake, Signor Conte,” she said, quietly enough.  “I am an honest girl, and though you are a great signore I will tell you that if you had any honour you would not be making love to me out here in the garden while you are paying court to the Signorina when you are in the house, and doing your best to marry her.  It is infamous enough, what you are doing, and I am not afraid to tell you so.  And take back your gold, for I do not want it, and it is not clean!  And so good-day, Signor Conte, and many thanks.  When you asked me to come here, I thought you had some private message for the Signorina.”

During Teresina’s speech San Miniato had not betrayed the slightest surprise or disappointment.  He quietly lighted a cigarette and smiled good-humouredly all the time.

“My dear Teresina,” he said, when she had finished, “what in the world do you think I wanted of you?  Not only am I paying court to your signorina, as you say, but I am already betrothed to her, since last night.  You did not know that?”

“The greater the shame!” exclaimed the girl, growing angry.

“Not at all, my dear child.  On the contrary, it explains everything in the most natural way.  Is it not really natural that on the occasion of my betrothal I should wish to give you a little remembrance, because you have always been so obliging, and have been with the Marchesa since you were a child?  I could not do anything else, I am sure, and I beg you to keep it and wear it.  And as for my telling you that you are pretty and young and fresh, I do not see why you need be so mortally offended at that.  However, Teresina, I am sorry if you misunderstood me.  You will keep the little chain?”

“No, Signor Conte.  Take it.  And I do not believe a word you say.”

She held out the parcel to him, but he, still smiling, shook his head and would not take it.  Then she let it drop at his feet, and turned quickly and left him.  He watched her a moment, and his annoyance at his discomfiture showed itself plainly enough, so soon as she was not there to see it.  Then he shrugged his shoulders, stooped and picked up the package, restored it to his waistcoat pocket and went back to his bench.

“It is a pity,” he muttered, as he took out his note-book again.  “It would have been such good practice!”

An hour later Bastianello was sitting alone in the boat, under the awning, enjoying the cool breeze and wishing that the ladies would go for a sail while it lasted, instead of waiting until late in the afternoon as they generally did, at which time there was usually not a breath of air on the water.  He was smoking a clay pipe with a cane stem, and he was thinking vaguely of Teresina, wondering whether Ruggiero would never speak to her, and if he never did, whether he, Bastianello, might not at last have his turn.

A number of small boys were bathing in the bright sunshine, diving off the stones of the breakwater and running along the short pier, brown urchins with lithe thin limbs, matted black hair and beady eyes.  Suddenly Bastianello was aware of a small dark face and two little hands holding upon the gunwale of his boat.  He knew the boy very well, for he was the son of the Son of the Fool.