At last he took out his watch. Ten minutes to one! No use waiting any
longer. He scribbled a hasty note, left it on the writing-table, and
walked into the garden past the impenetrable Caterina, who barely
deigned to glance up from her knitting. He would look for a carriage,
and give himself the luxury of a drive down. It was too hot to walk at
that hour.
Strolling along he espied a familiar courtyard that gave upon the
street; Count Caloveglia's place. On an impulse he entered the massive
portal which stood invitingly ajar. Two elderly gentlemen sat
discoursing in the shade of the fig tree; there was no difficulty in
recognizing the stranger as Mr. van Koppen, the American millionaire, a
frequent visitor, they said, of Count Caloveglia.
A bronze statuette, green with age, stood on a pedestal before them.
"How kind of you to come and see me!" said the Italian. "Pray make
yourself as comfortable as you can, though these chairs, I fear, are
not of the latest design. You are going to do me the honour, are you
not, of sharing my simple luncheon? Mr.
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