[HAWCASTLE gives her a paper.  HORACE takes the London Mail.  HAWCASTLE takes the Times.]

[ETHEL and MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY walk back to the terrace railing, chatting.  The others seat themselves about the tea-tables to read.]

HORACE [unfolding his paper, speaks crossly to MARIANO].  Mariano, how long is this noise to continue?

MARIANO [distractedly].  How can I know?  We can do nothing.

MICHELE [smilingly, looking up from table where he has continued to work].  The people outside will not go while they think there is once more a chance to see the North American who pull the automobile with those donkeys.

MARIANO.  He have confuse’ me; he have confuse’ everybody.  He will not be content with the dejeuner till he have the ham and the eggs.  And he will have the eggs cooked only on one side, and how in the name of heaven can we tell which side?

RIBIERE [appearing in the hotel doorway, speaks sharply but not loudly].  Garcon!

[MICHELE and MARIANO instantly step back from table and stand at attention, facing front, like soldiers.  RIBIERE exits quickly again into hotel.]

HAWCASTLE [looking up from paper].  Upon my soul, who’s all this?

MARIANO [not turning his head, replies in an awed undertone].  It is Herr von Groellerhagen, a German gentleman, Milor’.

HAWCASTLE [amused, to HORACE].  Man that owned the automobile.  Probably made a fortune in sausages.

VASILI [heard within the hotel, approaching].  Nein, nein, Ribiere!  ’S macht nichts!

[He enters from the hotel.  He is a portly man of forty-five, but rather soldierly than fat.  His hair, pompadour, is reddish blond, beginning to turn gray, like his mustache and large full beard; the latter somewhat “Henry IV.” and slightly forked at bottom.  His dress produces the effect rather of carelessness than of extreme fashion.  He wears a travelling-suit of gray, neat enough but not freshly pressed, the trousers showing no crease, the coat cut in “walking-coat style,” with big, slanting pockets, in which he carries his gloves, handkerchief, matches, and a silver cigarette-case full of Russian cigarettes.  On his head is a tan-colored automobile cap with buttoned flaps.  He is followed by RIBIERE, who, anxious and perturbed, wishes to call his attention to the item in the Neapolitan morning paper.]

VASILI [waving both RIBIERE and the paper aside, in high good-humor].  Las’ mich, las’ mich!  Geh’n sie weg!

[RIBIERE bows submissively, though with a gesture of protest, and exit into the hotel.  The group about the tea-table watch VASILI with hostility.]

LADY CREECH.  What a dreadful person!

[VASILI crosses to his seat at the breakfast-table in front of MARIANO and MICHELE, who bows profoundly as he passes.]

VASILI [lifting his hand in curt, semi-military salute, to acknowledge the waiters’ bows].  See to my American friend.