Gustavo hovered above, anxiously watching her face; he had been told that this would make everything right, that Abraham Lincoln was an exceedingly respectable name. Constance's expression did not change. She looked at the writing for fully three minutes, then she opened her purse and looked inside. She laid the money for the eggs in a pile on the table, and took out an extra lira which she held in her hand.
'Gustavo,' she asked, 'do you think that you _could_ tell me the truth?'
'Yes, I dare say he did--but it doesn't happen to be his name. Oh, I'm not blind; I can see plainly enough that he has scratched out his own name underneath.'
Gustavo leaned forward and affected to examine the page. 'It was a li'l' blot, signorina; he scratch heem out.'
'Gustavo!' Her tone was despairing. 'Are you incapable of telling the truth? That young man's name is no more Abraham Lincoln than Victor Emmanuel II. When did he write that, and why?'
Gustavo's eyes were on the lira; he broke down and told the truth.
'Yesterday night, signorina. He say, "Ze next time zat Signorina Americana who is beautiful as ze angels come to zis hotel she look in ze raygeester, an' I haf it feex ready."'
'And his real name that comes on his letters?'
'Say it again, Gustavo.' She cocked her head.
He gathered himself together for a supreme effort. He rolled his r's; he shouted until the courtyard reverberated.
'Sounds like Hungarian--at least the way you pronounce it. But anyway it's of no consequence; I merely asked out of idle curiosity. And Gustavo'--she still held the lira--'if he asks you if I looked in this register, what are you going to say?'
'I say, "No, Meestair Ailyar, she stay all ze time in ze courtyard talking wif ze parrot, and she was ver' moch shocked at his Angleesh."'
'Ah!' Constance smiled and laid the lira on the table. 'Gustavo,' she said, 'I hope, for the sake of your immortal soul, that you go often to confession.'
The eggs were not heavy, but Gustavo insisted upon carrying them; he was determined to see her safely aboard the _Farfalla_, with no further accidents possible. That she had not identified the young man of the garden with the donkey-driver of yesterday was clear--though how such blindness was possible, was not clear. Probably she had only caught a glimpse of his back at a distance; in any case he thanked a merciful Providence and decided to risk no further chance. As they neared the end of the arbour, Gustavo was talking--shouting fairly; their approach was heralded.