(The parish poor were never in such
dire distress, the parish organ never so hopelessly deranged, as during
that annual week when the FLUTTERBY rode at anchor.)
In fact there was no doubt about it: van Koppen had the gifts of making
himself beloved. But nobody's company was more markedly to his taste
than that of Count Caloveglia. The two old men spent hours together in
Caloveglia's shady courtyard, eating candied fruits, sipping home-made
liqueurs of peaches or mountain-herbs and talking--ever talking. Between
them there existed some strong and strange bond of friendship or
interest. Speculation was rife as to its origin, its meaning, its end.
What was all the talk about?
Andrea, the devoted retainer, however artfully approached on the
subject, was ambiguous to a distressing degree. It was understood, none
the less, that Count Caloveglia was perhaps of use to the other in the
accumulation of classical relics which--the Italian Government
forbidding the export of antique works of art--were smuggled at
night-time on board the FLUTTERBY to be incorporated in a magnificent
museum somewhere out West, a museum which was destined to be presented
by van Koppen as a gift to the great American people.
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