"Teutons--?" questioned Marietta wrinkling her brow.

"Yes--Germanic," said he.

"But I thought the Signorino was English?"

"So he is."

"But the cow is not Germanic. White, with black horns, that is

the purest Roman breed, Signorino."

"Fa niente," he instructed her. "Cows and Englishmen, and all

such sentimental cattle, including Germans, are Germanic.

Italians are Latin--with a touch of the Goth and Vandal. Lions

and tigers growl and fight because they're Mohammedans. Dogs

still bear without abuse the grand old name of Sycophant. Cats

are of the princely line of Persia, and worship fire, fish, and

flattery--as you may have noticed. Geese belong indifferently

to any race you like--they are cosmopolitans; and I've known

here and there a person who, without distinction of

nationality, was a duck. In fact, you're rather by way of

being a duck yourself: And now," he perorated, "never deny

again that I can talk nonsense with an aching heart."

"All the same," insisted Marietta, "it is very comical to see a

cow weep."

"At any rate," retorted Peter, "it is not in the least comical

to hear a hyaena laugh."

"I have never heard one," said she.

"Pray that you never may. The sound would make an old woman of

you. It's quite blood-curdling."

"Davvero?" said Marietta.

"Davvero," he assured her.

And meanwhile the cow stood there, with her head on his

shoulder, silently weeping, weeping.

He gave her a farewell rub along the nose.

"Good-bye," he said. "Your breath is like meadowsweet. So dry

your tears, and set your hopes upon the future. I 'll come and

see you again to-morrow, and I 'll bring you some nice coarse

salt. Good-bye."

But when he went to see her on the morrow, she was grazing

peacefully; and she ate the salt he brought her with heart-whole

bovine relish--putting out her soft white pad of a tongue,

licking it deliberately from his hand, savouring it tranquilly,

and crunching the bigger grains with ruminative enjoyment between

her teeth. So soon consoled! They were companions in misery no

longer. "I 'm afraid you are a Latin, after all," he said, and

left her with a sense of disappointment.

That afternoon Marietta asked, "Would you care to visit the

castle, Signorino?"

He was seated under his willow-tree, by the river, smoking

cigarettes--burning superfluous time.

Marietta pointed towards Ventirose.

"Why?" said he.

"The family are away. In the absence of the family, the public

are admitted, upon presentation of their cards."




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