240 OLYMPIA

cavern.  Rinaldo, indignant at his companions’ cowardice, for they had no courage but in the open field, and dared not venture into Rome, looked at them with scorn.

“Then I go alone?” said he.  He seemed to reflect, and then he went on:  “You are poor wretches.  I shall proceed alone, and have the rich booty to myself.—­You hear me!  Farewell.”

  “My Captain,” said Lamberti, “if
  you should be captured without
  having succeeded?”

  “God protects me!” said Rinaldo,
  pointing to the sky.

  With these words he went out,
  and on his way he met the steward

“That is the end of the page,” said Lousteau, to whom every one had listened devoutly.

“He is reading his work to us,” said Gatien to Madame Popinot-Chandier’s son.

“From the first word, ladies,” said the journalist, jumping at an opportunity of mystifying the natives, “it is evident that the brigands are in a cave.  But how careless romancers of that date were as to details which are nowadays so closely, so elaborately studied under the name of ‘local color.’  If the robbers were in a cavern, instead of pointing to the sky he ought to have pointed to the vault above him.—­In spite of this inaccuracy, Rinaldo strikes me as a man of spirit, and his appeal to God is quite Italian.  There must have been a touch of local color in this romance.  Why, what with brigands, and a cavern, and one Lamberti who could foresee future possibilities —­there is a whole melodrama in that page.  Add to these elements a little intrigue, a peasant maiden with her hair dressed high, short skirts, and a hundred or so of bad couplets.—­Oh! the public will crowd to see it!  And then Rinaldo—­how well the name suits Lafont!  By giving him black whiskers, tightly-fitting trousers, a cloak, a moustache, a pistol, and a peaked hat—­if the manager of the Vaudeville Theatre were but bold enough to pay for a few newspaper articles, that would secure fifty performances, and six thousand francs for the author’s rights, if only I were to cry it up in my columns.

“To proceed:—­

         OR ROMAN REVENGE 219

The Duchess of Bracciano found her glove.  Adolphe, who had brought her back to the orange grove, might certainly have supposed that there was some purpose in her forgetful- ness, for at this moment the arbor was deserted.  The sound of the fes- tivities was audible in the distance.  The puppet show that had been promised had attracted all the guests to the ballroom.  Never had Olympia looked more beautiful.  Her lover’s eyes met hers with an answering glow, and they under- stood each other.  There was a mo- ment of silence, delicious to their souls, and impossible to describe.  They sat down on the same bench where they had sat in the presence of the Cavaliere Paluzzi and the

“Devil take it!  Our Rinaldo has vanished!” cried Lousteau.  “But a literary man once started by this page would make rapid progress in the comprehension of the plot.  The Duchesse Olympia is a lady who could intentionally forget her gloves in a deserted arbor.”