“Can you write?”

“It may be.  Alas!  I have not tried.”

“You see.”

There was no appeal from Paula’s dictatorial demeanor.

“Dio!  I am unfit!  Ah, Jesu, I am unfit!  But if she cared not—­if I learned”—­and he paused, striving now for the purest, most intelligible speech, while his face beamed with his smiling hope.

“Listen,” interposed Paula, with the dignity of the headsman.  “You have no truer friend than me at this moment, as some day you will discover.  Come, now, will you do me a favor?”

“Di tutto cuore!”

“Then leave us to ourselves.”

“Not possible!” cried Luigi, stung with disappointment.

“What would you do, then?  Would you wear her life out?  Would you keep her in a terror?  She has said to me that she must go away.  It suffocates one to be pursued in this manner.  You are not pleasant to her.  Hark.  She dislikes you!” And Paula bent toward him with uplifted finger, and, having delivered her stroke, after watching its effect a moment, reared herself and adjusted her gay turban with internal satisfaction.

Luigi cast his eyes slowly about him; they fell on the smooth grass-plats rising with webs of shaking sparkle, the opening flowers half-bowed beneath the weight of the shining spheres they held, the brilliant garden bathed in dew, the waving boughs tossing off light spray on every ravaging gust, the far fair sky bending over all.  Then he hid his face against the great gate-post, murmuring only in a dry and broken sob,—­

“C’ e sole?”

Paula herself was touched.  She put her hand on his shoulder.

“It is a silly thing,” said she.  “Do not take it so to heart.  Put it out of sight.  There is many a pretty tambourine-tosser to smile upon you, I’ll warrant!”

But Luigi vouchsafed no response.

“Come,” said she, “pluck up your courage.  You will soon be better of it.”

“Non saro meglio!” answered Luigi.  “I shall never be better.”

He lifted his head and looked at her where she stood in the light, black, but comely, transfixing her on the burning glances of his bold eyes.  “In your need,” said he, “may you find just such friend as I have found!” The words were of his native language, but the malediction was universal.  Paula half shivered, and fingered the amulet that her princely Nubian ancestor had fingered before her, while he spoke.  Then he bowed his head to its burden, fastened the straps, and went bent and stooping upon his way, repeating sadly to himself, “And does the sun shine?”

* * * * *

A week passed.  Part of another.  Eve saw no more of Luigi, but was yet all the time uncomfortably conscious of his espionage.  He was hardly a living being to her, but, as soon as night fell, the soft starry nights now in which there was no moon, she felt him like a darker film of spirit haunting the shadow.  In the daytime, sunshine reassured her, and she remained almost at peace.